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.

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LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

STORYTIME

[justribbing]

[ She's probably not the only one reticent to sharing any stories -- there's a guy, though, a guy who ended up telling a pretty long story that turned out to be more of a comedic anecdote. Something about the cheerful misadventures of a hapless postman in a world where fridges kept things hot and everyone shopped at their local landfill.

Guy won a couple chuckles here and there, and that was plenty. Turns out that guy is plopping himself down nearby, without ever making a sound on his approach -- or maybe while others were preoccupied with something else.

In any case, turns out this guy is a skeleton -- not that it'd alarm a girl like Maka, huh? ]

Oh man, so it is you. [ There it is. The kind of grin given like one expects you to remember something or someone you might not; Death City's populous enough that mistakes like this aren't totally uncommon. Maybe. ]

ur my one tag before work and i have zero icons that arent madness icons

[the_word_is]

[Death City is a boarding school town, the sort of place where teens and preteens realize that "no parents" means "no fashion rules" just as much as it means "no laws against minors buying spray paint and applying it to the sides of every building" and "the dorm fire alarm going off at 3am again because someone forgot popcorn on the stove". And no fashion rules means that Maka stands out, not because of anything absurd she wears but because she's really plain for a DC kid. So plain it loops around to being instantly recognizable as "that plain girl I haven't really talked to before".

All that is to say that no, Maka doesn't usually get mistaken for someone else. Especially not by somethingone as recognizable as a comedian skeleton man. There aren't many of those in Death City, despite the general theme of the aesthetic. Magical cats? Sure. Zombies? Well you can't just let a good teacher stay dead. Skeletons? Nah bro put that thing back where it came from.

But she already sat for his story and laughed at at least one appropriate time, so his appearance doesn't really concern her. And the recognition doesn't really tip her off to any oddity either, not in this dreamy sort of world where anything can happen.]

Yeah.

I liked your story.

[justribbing]

[ Maka's never been 'plain' to Sans. Hell, he might not be able to remember the specific circumstances that lead to their friendship, but she's been a lot more than what's summarized by the word 'plain'.

Only plain thing here is that the polite indifference he sees isn't anything more or less than a lack of recognition. Of that, he's pretty sure.

He chuckles, which could be taken for laughing off the compliment. ]

Thanks. So, uh, don't suppose you got any stories about whatever boat landed us here, huh?

[the_word_is]

[Right. That's... a good question and probably an important one, but it's hard to worry about it.

It probably is something she should be worried about. Right, Maka, wake up and focus on your situation.]

No... and I haven't heard anyone else say anything about it either.

... I don't actually remember how I got here.

[justribbing]

[ What's it matter? Maybe she wakes up, maybe he doesn't. Although there's little point to trying to do anything about something that feels like he shouldn't concern himself with the inconsistencies, Sans is already the least inclined to do anything, even when it might make all the difference.

He's just along for the ride, and might as well have a good time while it lasts. Watching Maka try to think this one through, he rolls his shoulders in a shrug. ]

Eh. No biggie, me neither.

Hey, who knows? Maybe it'll come back to us.

[ He considers re-introducing himself. She doesn't know him, which is both a weird relief and kind of... twinges, like he's lost something he might not get back. Kid's probably better off, if he's honest. ]

I'm Sans.