TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

[lifeaftr_mods]

Test Drive Meme #1

Hello, and welcome to our very first test drive! We’re pleased that you’re expressing an interest in the game. Here, you can test the waters, gauge how your character may fare in the world of LifeAftr, and even gain some in-game incentives, if you so choose.

Remember that Reserves will open on July 17th and that Applications will open on July 24th, in preparation for the game’s official opening on August 3rd!

But first, two important notes!

1. The island of Mu exists apart from the real world and possesses a dream-like quality that characters are innately aware of from the moment they appear on its shores. No need to panic or fret. Dreams are odd things, after all - and anything can happen in them. Why would anyone question where their mind chooses to wander in its sleep?

2. Due to the nature of Mu, threads in our test drive can not only be accepted as thread samples in your application, but can be accepted as game canon as well. In fact, certain choices your character makes in Mu have the potential to bear in-game consequences.

Shipwrecked
The white sand of the beach ridges the island’s edge, even if the clear water soon becomes murky the further out you look across the horizon until the turquoise gleam of the tide disappears in a coil of surrounding fog. Indeed, your best prospects may very well be to strike out among the trees or the crags looming out over the foam-capped waves. There’s lumber to be found and made from the palm-like trees, potentially fruit or edible tubers of some kind if you forage about some. The further you travel, however, the more of your surroundings will reveal themselves in a steady unspooling of curiosities.

One corner of Mu’s current construct drops away into a sheer cliff, initially too dangerous to brave for all but the more daredevilish, but if one starts to scan the sharp rocks below, you might catch sight of what appears to be sodden planks of wood - a wreckage tossed up against the rocks. And a little further...a bobbing, shattered wreck of a lifeboat’s remains, potentially bearing supplies that might yet be salvageable.

Fashion what you can from the wood and stone around you or scavenge from the ruin of the land, if you like. But you can’t simply stand around and wait forever. It’s going to get dark sometime - and if a creature of unknown terror doesn’t catch you, the elements surely will.

Storytime

There’s a sense of camaraderie in this cove, you think. As the sun hangs low over the horizon, the world cast into orange hues, long shadows dispersed by roaring fires that dot across the beach.

That’s right, folks: it’s storytime.

There’s no one to preside over this meeting of the minds in Mu. Call it a vague recreation of things to come, if you like, some vaguely fatidic dreamlike state where you may find yourself drawn to the heat and company that awaits you by the fire. And from there, compelled to default to that old instinct that most of intelligent civilization has revered since they were advanced enough to paint geometric shapes on cave walls.

You tell a story.

Perhaps it’s a tragedy, a tale of woe and of personal loss. Perhaps it’s the sort of thing you’d break out after a few rounds of your alcoholic beverage of choice, clapping hands to your knees as you try to bite back your mirth long enough to spill the punchline. Perhaps it’s an adventure of some sort, some unbelievable rendition of your past exploits. The only common thread to be had, as those gathered around the fire share their tales, is the fundamental rule of a ritualistic sharing of stories such as this: its truth.

But how one chooses to define "truth" is, in its own way, another story entirely...

Dance, Sucker, Dance!
The beat of your heart in your chest is difficult to ignore. It judders with a pulsing, rhythmic quality. If you’re one of those that lacks a heart, the beat is still omnipresent and all-encompassing, until your entire body is unwittingly bobbing in time to a metronomic tune that seems ingrained into your very soul. It’s inescapable. You can’t seem to move unless it’s in time to the rhythm that’s now singing in every atom of your being.

But rest assured, you’re not alone in this musical curse. Everything, from the swaying trees to the waves against the beach, jumps in time to the music. And so do the monsters approaching you, that - wait a minute.

Monsters?

Oh, yes. Did we mention those?


It seems you’ve encountered the wrath of the Boogieman, who curses you to only dance to his infernal beat. If you wish to best him, you’ll have to either evade or destroy the blobs of greenish slime that serve as his minions, all in time to the hard beat of the tune in your head. Clear the radius of his curse or risk an open confrontation, if you dare. Don’t worry if you look foolish; chances are anyone else caught in the Boogieman’s thrall feels just the same.

Mu isn’t pulling any punches to start with. It is a flighty creation, after all, and seems to revel in displacing people into new and uncomfortable situations.

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[leatherdaddy]

[ Somehow the raw look of those wounds unsettles him, like they're too fresh, but he's not sure why it bothers him so much. There's a vague sensation of displacement, but it fits the dreamlike haze that fits around everything here... hangs like an early morning fog. Its presence somehow makes perfect sense, but it nevertheless leaves him feeling like he's straining to see something that is just slightly out of focus, obscured.

Gladio laughs, enjoying the lighthearted banter that feels far more familiar than the sight of him. ]

We certainly have.

[ But what he's said before makes him eye Ignis a little more closely, quietly. It's hard to tell in the light of the campfire if he's looking paler than usual, harder still to determine if he's unwell. He watches him feel along the length of the metal rod that will serve as his cane and frowns. Ignis seems to be pushing himself. ]

...You should rest.

[ Gladio grunts as he gets to his feet. With all the palm leaves he's collected, it won't take long for him to fashion some crude shelter to keep a light rain off him, act as padding between him and sand. ]

Give me a few minutes and I'll have a shelter ready for you. Okay?

[shatteredlenses]

[Ignis purses his lips together, barely holding back a sharp remark about not being made of glass. He stays his words because he knows Gladio is trying to make the best of an unreal situation. In some ways, Ignis is actually glad for that prickle of irritation. It keeps him from thinking too hard about the fact this might just be some kind of fever dream, and at any time he may wake up in Altissia. Not that it really matters if he is here or there. No matter where he wakes up, he's not going to be able to see.

He reaches out in the Shield's direction almost as if he is trying to coax his friend back to sitting at his side.]

You realize there is no rush. I'm hardly going to melt if it decides to rain. I would have done so a long time ago considering how wet I was when I woke up.

[Busy the hands to quiet the mind. What exactly is Gladio trying so hard to not think about?]

I'm not so tired that I can't listen if a friend is in need. What's troubling you so? It's more than just this place.

[leatherdaddy]

[ Gladio pauses a few steps away, the sound of a breath lodging in his throat is and the way he freezes up betrays the fact that Ignis is right on the nose. Even blind and bearing the pain of his fresh injuries, he's still perceptive. And maybe it's because they're both long, lifetime servants to the line of Lucis that he's more frank with him, doesn't hesitate to call him out.

It's kind of unfair for him not to return the favor, so Gladio stares down at the white, powdery sand on the ground and the rough vegetation that clings deep into it in search of more fertile soil hidden below. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ignis move, stretch out his hand. He immediately springs into action, returning to his side with his brow furrowing.

His friend lives in darkness, he can't leave him hanging there like that... thinking he's alone. So he does the first thing he thinks of and grasps his fingers - briefly, just to let him know he's here. ]

...Something just feels off. [ But whenever he tries to put his fingers on exactly what, it seems to elude him. It's like it's on the tip of his tongue but he just can't spit it out. That feeling gets worse the longer he looks at Ignis' face. ]

Can't shake this weird feeling like... opening to a random page in a book and realizing you've read this chapter already, but not remembering when.

[shatteredlenses]

[If they were back at the Citadel where their daily routines had fewer immediate life or death consequences--though, some days getting Noctis out of bed on time was quite the life or death challenge in and of itself--Ignis would have been less blunt, but now with so much unknown around them and no vision to rely on, he can't justify it. At least, not with someone he's known for so long.

Still, there is a small part of him that wishes his all too accurate perceptions had been off this time.

He's grateful when he feels Gladio's fingers in his hand, giving them a gentle squeeze before he lets go.]

That is most strange. While, I can't remember anything after Altissia, I'm quite certain you've not made a habit of ending up stranded on strange tropical islands. Does the Prince's Shield have a secret life he hasn't been telling me about?

[There's a flash of a smile on Ignis' face before he grows serious again.]

Is there something that makes this feeling grow stronger? A sight or smell perhaps?

[leatherdaddy]

Heh. I wish.

[ It's the kind of brevity Gladio can get behind, to be honest. Ignis is the quietest among them, chief strategist as well, picking and choosing their battles in ways the Shield and all his passion cannot. He makes an excellent counterpoint to his aggression, and sometimes he suspects if their selection as the closest in service to their future king had taken this into account.

He also wonders how much of that has been diminished, Ignis' confidence that lent so much to his role as an advisor shaken when clarity has been taken so totally from him. He hates not being able to see clearly, and here he is asking him what he perceives that is triggering this strange, alien feeling.

Gladio glances at him and shifts uneasily, then straightens up. Squares his shoulders and closes his eyes. He listens intently - to the snap and crackle of fire chewing through dry wood, the distant call of wild things in the night, the swell of the ocean. He can taste and smell the island steeping into him from the smoke in his clothes, the salt on his skin. But these things are familiar and don't disturb him, they're relaxing.

It's when he opens his eyes and looks at Ignis that the feeling returns. His mouth pulls into a frown, his brow furrows and he glances away a moment, clearly displeased, disgruntled over it. ]

...Sorry, I've got nothing. [ He lies, dropping his elbows onto his knees and leaning forward. ] Maybe it'll come to me later.

[shatteredlenses]

[It is both too little of an answer and too much of one. Though Ignis' expression remains the same, his hands suddenly tighten around the makeshift cane in his lap hard enough that the leather of his gloves squeaks in protest. As much as he wants to take Gladio at his word, the subtle movement after the Shield paused to do his thinking and the feel of eyes on his face make Ignis' instincts crawl with suspicion.

Whatever is going on, it's something to do with him. Not the strange setting or the suddenness with which they appeared here, but him.

While no one would ever guess it, there are times when Ignis hates being so analytical. What good is logic when he develops the case on both sides so well he can't decide which direction to go in? Right now, one part of his mind tells him to continue being blunt, to call Gladio on what is very likely a lie so that the Shield doesn't get into the habit of treating him differently because of his injury. Isn't that what Ignis was worried about when he woke up blind? If anyone was going to have trouble with it, it would be Gladio because his duty--their duty--in protecting and guiding Noctis dictates leaving a crippled link behind.

And he's certainly that now, isn't he?

Never mind his mind still works even without vision. It's Ignis' confidence that is shaken and his pride that is in tatters. By the Six, he still hears the Chancellor's mocking words, and it makes him want to scream out the fear and anger he'd been unable to fully express then, pinned to the street with guns trained on his back. Not that he ever will. There's no way Ignis will ever let someone see him lose his composure so thoroughly.

If only that could stop him from feeling the need to do so.

The other part of his mind tells him to pick his battles as it always does. Is right now the time to push Gladio on something he's obviously not ready to talk about? It could stop future bad habits or it could set up worse ones. They don't have time to get tangled up in emotional reactions right now. They need to focus on survival, they need to find out what this place is, and they need to find a way back. That's the core of it, isn't it? The plan no matter how frustratingly vague. They need to stick to that, and he needs to box up his emotions and put them away like he always has in the past.

Still, when he finally speaks, hands still gripping the metal rod for dear life, Ignis can't make himself completely leave the issue hanging in the air unaddressed.]

You will tell me if you figure something out?