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annexedmeme2022-07-31 04:43 pm
modaccount) wrote in annexedmeme2022-07-31 04:43 pm
Entry tags:
Test Drive Meme #1
Test Drive Info
⇝ Test Drive Memes usually take place in a virtual reality simulation occurring in characters' minds that tests them for 'fitness' before they enter the setting officially. However, for the first TDM, it will be set in the real world and centered around the arrival of the first crop of extra-universal "recruits."
⇝ Test Drive Meme threads may be considered game canon so long as all parties agree to it.
⇝ Test Drive Meme threads do count for Activity Check.
Welcome to the Broken World.
You can't even remember how you got here.
All you know is that one moment you were in a world you were used to, comfortable in. It might have been a regular day or the most important day of your life, in the middle of a meal or brushing your teeth or the battle to save the world or the moment of your death. Whoever took you didn't seem to care what you were doing when you were taken, and now that you're here, they still don't seem to care.
You wake up after what seems like the blink of an eye, nauseous and dizzy but otherwise unscathed, possessions taken away, barefoot and dressed only in a set of plain grey clothing, like the most bland uniform ever imagined, in an empty room with empty walls and one single door with a small barred window and a single number printed just above it. The door is locked and cannot be broken by any means, you can feel your connection with any superhuman powers you had severed, leaving them just out of reach - you can feel them there, tingling at your fingertips or in the back of your brain, but you just can't get to them. There is no one to greet you or explain what's happening. You start to lose track of time, the only sound the distant ticking of what sounds like a massive clock.
Just when things seem hopeless, when you feel like you're about to go mad, there's the sound of a commotion outside your door. The sounds of a battle, or perhaps an infiltration gone just slightly wrong. Either way, when the door opens, there is a figure there with a hand outstretched.
"Welcome to the Broken World. Come on, we'll explain everything just as soon as we get you and the others out of here."
i. The Rescue
The moment of peace and freedom doesn't last for long.
Even while you're still disoriented from everything that's happened in the past few hours, the person who's just freed you pushes a gun into your hands. If you're familiar with guns, it's simple enough to use, with a recognizable safety and trigger, a magazine of bullets attached to the bottom. If you're not familiar with guns, well...the person who just rescued you will give you a minute-long introduction to it. Press this button, click this hammer back, pull the trigger to shoot. Nothing fancy, but enough that you won't hurt yourself or anyone else you're not supposed to be hurting. Probably.
After being handed the gun, the person rescuing you looks at you not unkindly and gestures for you to follow, leads you through a maze of concrete corridors to the entrance of the building. There, you'll find something of a small warzone, a battle in progress though almost completed, in the parking and courtyard area between several small, squat concrete buildings. There, huddled in the safety of the building's entryway, the person who just rescued you will point across the courtyard toward an encroaching patch of jungle and quickly explain the situation - you've been brought to this place by the Sylphid, long-standing enemies who will "eat your soul" and replace you if they catch you, and the person rescuing you is part of a resistance army intending to overthrow them. You're to make your way across the courtyard and into the jungle, where you'll find someone named Brycen, a blue-skinned man who will get you out of here even as the battle rages on.
The courtyard is mainly open, with a few benches and trees that can be used as cover, and there is a small group of Sylphid - the enemy, the people who took you and are now shooting at you, but who look like average everyday people - who are taking potshots at whoever crosses the courtyard even as they engage with the rebels. You'll be provided with suppressive fire from those same rebels while you cross the courtyard, but other than that, you're on your own unless you want to take the run with whoever else just got rescued.
ii. Race Through The Jungle
Once you make your way across the courtyard and into the jungle, you'll find Brycen waiting for you about a 10 minute walk in. The moment he sees you, he gestures you over and leads you a few feet further into the underbrush where there are a few All-Terain Vehicles parked in a small clearing. Shooting you a little grin, Brycen spreads his arms to present the vehicles, then heads over to the closest one. What follows is a quick explanation of how to use the ATV, a small hovercraft that can seat two. Brycen points out another ATV that is driven by a member of the resistance, and tells you that this person will guide you to the Witches Camp, where you'll be living from now on. But it's on you to pilot the ATV from here to there.
Well, you and your new friend.
See, there are half as many ATVs as there are people, and each one does seat two. Brycen gestures at the nearest extra-universal arrival and tells both of you to hop on. Now, you're both bound for the Witches Camp together, for better or worse. It's a long walk, so don't piss off your pilot!
Or overturn the ATV or crash it, because the path from the clearing to the Witches Camp is rough, without many trails or paths that have been carved out of the underbrush, something the revolutionaries have done to avoid being tracked back to their home. The ride will be bumpy, hover-vehicle or not, with a lot of swerving to avoid obstacles and dodging to avoid branches. Hopefully, you won't have a run-in with any of the local jungle wildlife, which can range from small, relatively harmless animals to lizards the size of small dinosaurs and wild cats.
It's a wild ride, but eventually you make it to the Witches Camp, a sprawling maze of low-to-the-ground buildings and markets interspersed with jungle for cover, and the rebel leading you keeps doing so until you pull up in front of Central Command. This building is one of the nicer ones in the area, and houses the Witch herself as well as the seat of the revolution. This is where all of the rebel plans are made and where new arrivals are put up.
iii. Welcome Home
Once you enter Central Command, you'll find that they've prepared space for you. First, you'll be led to the residential area of the large building and given the keycard to your new apartment, a small furnished studio apartment with a main living/sleeping area, a desk, kitchenette, bathroom with shower stall, and a walk-in closet for storage. Once you've been oriented to your new apartment, you'll be taken to pick your network device from an array of devices ranging from ultra-modern tablets that can fold into the shape of a phone to an equivalent of regular modern-day cell phones to magical tablets or books that can be interacted with by characters unfamiliar with technology. They'll also offer to alter your own phone or device to access the network, if you prefer that.
After that, you will be guided to one of the big board rooms in the Central Command, where you'll find a large spread of food on the table, ready to be dug into - all the staff at Central Command have brought food from home to share with the new arrivals. You'll also find notebooks and pens to take notes, because this is the official orientation, and you'll come out of it having learned pretty much everything about the rebellion, the Sylphid, how the rebellion originated and most importantly, how you got here and how you can go home.
This is where the rebels point out that helping them is helping yourself, because the only way to send you home is to commandeer the device that brought you here in the first place, and the only way to do that is to overthrow the Sylphid overlords.
After this presentation, no matter how accepting or skeptical you are, you'll be given a small stipend and set free to explore the city, linger around and chat over the potluck leftovers, go back to your apartment, make a network entry to meet other people, or whatever else you'd like to do. Want some new clothes? They can direct you to the markets. Looking to start learning magic? They can direct you to the Mage's Sector where you can find a teacher. Looking to dance your cares away in the wake of this terrible upheaval? They can direct you to a club in The Electric Heart that sells cocktails that'll erase all your pain for the evening.
Go wild. The Witches Camp is your new home. What will you make of it?
iv. Network
Once you've settled into your apartment in the evening, you're free to browse the internet and intranet on your new network device. Care to make an entry and meet the others in your same situation?
✨bishonen senshi sailor viktor✨
For a dazed moment, Rokuro almost wonders if Viktor can lift the axe, and in that same moment the Sylphid seems to wonder too. Looking back over his shoulder so he can watch Viktor with an expression between sadistic amusement and morbid curiousity. Just because he can get the axe off the ground doesn't mean he can swing it, and the Sylphid is about to tell Viktor as much, only to have the words slapped out of his mouth by the air itself.
If Rokuro was in touch with his own magic he might have felt and seen the convalescence of power, but in his present dampened (and dazed) state he can't quantify what happened in any meaningful way, only that Viktor willed it into existence.
The Sylphid drops Rokuro, stunned, scared, slapping at the air around his head the way one might try to ward off a swarm of bees. Rokuro won't let the opening to go to waste. Rising from his knees, he swings the crutch upwards in a sharp arc, and catches the underside of the Sylphid's chin with every ounce of strength he has left.
The Sylphid's lower jaw goes one direction while his head continues on in the other. A low, gurgling moan as blood bubbles out of his mouth and down the front of his shirt, and he hits the ground like a sack of bricks. Alive, by the heavy rise and fall of his chest, but in no condition to give chase.
Rokuro sinks back against the tree, sucking in air, crutch clutched to his chest. At least until he looks at Viktor, and holds it out to him with a shaking hand.
Best to not piss off the guy who is seemingly in allegiance with the wind-god.
no subject
Best not, no.
But said guy is staring straight ahead, uncomprehending, sagging into his breath, an awkward arrangement of angles in the shape of a person. Blood crawls from his nostril, slips into the crease of his parted lips. His hand makes a loose, vague gesture down by his side, like it's about to reach but thinks better of it.
"You," he starts, all breath,
and it just hangs there in the quiet.
Just give him a second.
no subject
Although he doesn't understand Viktor's power, if power is what it is, but he does recognize the way it has affected him. Even those blessed by the gods are expected to make sacrifices. Rokuro also bleeds when he calls upon the moon, although he isn't half as frail as Viktor appears to be.
If only he could see inside of Viktor, to better understand the state of him-- and more selfishly, because he's curious.
After a moment of holding the crutch out, he simply sets it down upon the ground between him. Arm burning with exertion. If they're going to get out of here, rather than perish in the wilderness or upon discovery by another Sylphid search party, they both need to conserve their limited strength.
no subject
A couple of urgent half-hopped steps, one leg stiff, one hand on the tree—
He didn't have any lunch to lose, but his body isn't interested in technicalities. Its efforts are enthusiastic.
Kindly pardon the noise.
For a few minutes, any sign that Rokuro is even considering coming anywhere near him will be answered with a hand flapping sharply back at him, no.
no subject
Finally, when there is true quiet, he will hold the crutch out (and up) to Viktor again, because it seems unlikely he'll be able to get far on foot without it-- especially after how hard he fell.
A hard, painful swallow, and Rokuro attempts the whole 'speaking' thing a second time.
"I am sorry to have pushed you so hard. Are you greatly injured?"
no subject
"My shoulder," is fucked, but he can't describe exactly how. A fracture? A dislocation? Maybe just a pulled muscle? He doesn't exactly have the kind of lifestyle that leads to a lot of athletic injuries. Even so, some little flake of thought in Rokuro's mind, subconscious or otherwise, decided he could take a hard fall, and there's a kind of satisfaction in that—or will be, later, when he's not acutely feeling like hell about it.
Unluckily, the shoulder in question is the one usually pushed up to an angle by his crutch, but he has two of those and the other will do in a pinch.
His lingering look at the device's bent handle shortly turns sideways on Rokuro, meaningfully dour. Being used as a club didn't deform it, and it came away with no blood, but these aren't reasons enough to be glad. He tucks it under his arm.
"Is he dead?"
no subject
Looking at Viktor in his present condition, it's obvious they can't move at any speed without tending to the most obvious of his injuries. Rokuro reaches out towards him, bloody hand faltering before making contact. Viktor looks so much like an angry, wounded stray cat. All skin and bones beneath matted fur. Hissing at the world, for it has caused him so much hurt.
"My two hands see far better than my one eye. I believe I know what is wrong, but I will not know for certain until I feel it for myself."
no subject
He does look about ready to hiss as Rokuro's hands get near, raises his arm like he's about to swat him away, but the gesture stops well short of carrying through. A few breaths to decide, another glance to their third wheel—
"Fine, just... make it quick."
His body language barely relents. He stands tight, pulled into himself, small in the grey scrubs, ready to look away but not yet committed to it.
The shoulder is indeed dislocated—luckily not far, still teasing alignment with its socket.
no subject
"It is indeed dislocated."
With the exception of alcohol and opium, there is very little in the way of pain management where and when Rokuro is from. A patient's comfort is most often decided by the bedside manner of the person who is treating them. Rokuro is not unfamiliar with pain, and so he is more empathetic than most. Mortals are not built to channel the power of gods. To protect others he must hollow himself out, and to kill another is to kill himself-- slowly, but no less surely.
Whether or not Viktor believes that every living being contains energy, spiritual or otherwise, Rokuro doesn't just shove his shoulder back into its socket. First he guides positive energy towards Viktor's shoulder, and negative energy away. To encourage healing and deflect inflammation. Light hands moving in slow, sympathetic circles around the joint.
The entire process will only take a minute or so, and while time is a precious commodity as they make their escape, to Rokuro this care is non-negotiable. In Rokuro's mind, Viktor will move faster if he hurts less, so the trade-off is worth the risk.
"First there will be great pain, but then there will be great relief. Are you prepared?"
no subject
Grounds of healthy decay cling to the sweat on his elbows, his forearms. There's blood still smeared on his face, his hand, miraculously not on his shirt. There's a half-skeletal leaf in his hair. He's clammy and quivering with adrenaline. Absolutely miserable.
This minute seems to last an hour. At last—
"Yes," comes out strangled, too thin to be a snarl, but the spirit is there. "Do it."
no subject
He doesn't tell Viktor the when because he doubts the man wants to hear it. A press of his palm and clinch of his fingers, and Viktor's arm is right back where it should be with an almost audible pop.
"It is done. Shall we carry on?" Hands falling away. Watchful eye remaining.
Rokuro probably shouldn't let go and step back so immediately, in case Viktor swoons with the pain/relief/pleasure, but something tells him Viktor will remain conscious and on his feet-- if only out of spite.
no subject
An internal thump, one beat to gently resonate his bones, blunt pressure bursting into release. The joint is reseated.
Viktor wilts like his body is a fist slowly closing, the kind of measured movement that only comes with pain. He does remain on his feet, leaning heavy on his crutch, silent but for the breath blowing through his nostrils, until he's certain he can speak without a tremor.
At length, he says, rough and quiet, "You need to drive." His watery gaze remains averted. "I'll show you how."