sixthiteration | Test Drive 17

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→ Choose one of the scenarios below or make up your own. Feel free to try multiple scenarios.

→ Write LOGS or TEXT prompts, or both.

→ THERE ARE ONLY THREE RULES FOR THE TDM:

1. It has to take place in the 6I universe.
2. It cannot be the character's arrival into the game.
3. Please only test new characters who do not have a version in the game. Our cast list is here.

→ TDM threads cannot be used to meet AC, but if the character is accepted into the game and both players agree, you may keep the CR.

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Prompts

It's springtime in your brand-new home, villagers! Many exciting new experiences await you, although you might want to take care; not all are for the faint of heart.

NEW FRIENDS - Congratulations, you are now the lucky recipient of the undying love and devotion of your very own CROC-DOG. Maybe you fed it, or maybe you just didn't run away screaming when you saw it. Regardless, it's your buddy now through thick and thin. Constantly. Everywhere. All the time. We hope you're up for some companionship!

LET YOUR EENT SHINE DOWN - You've come across a SHINE BIRD. You heard its call. Now you can expect an hour's worth of sudden, intense increase in one of four emotions: Joy, sorrow, rage or loneliness. It's entirely possible you'll be apologizing to some people tomorrow.

SPRING IN SPRING - Hey look, it's everybody's favorite prompt: It's warm enough now that it's not completely crazy to go have a dip in the HOT SPRINGS. Naked. And then accidentally get caught.

WILDCARD - Choose your own adventure. Maybe play powers roulette.

Texts

All characters are fitted with a smart watch-like device on their left wrist, which they can use to send text messages to other villagers.

- Texts may only be 140 characters long
- No video or voice, text only
- No usernames, everyone is listed by their name

Please list your CHARACTER NAME, CANON & PROMPT in your SUBJECT LINE.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This was a different set of games than Peeta was used to, if they were games at all. The presence of the other victors, of his friends certainly was a reason to believe the idea, but there was something about this place that didn't feel like an arena. The houses, the lack of traps and dangers, all designed to push people together and encourage them to continue killing. There were gifts, like what the sponsors sent, but none of it was to help push them further in the games.

This was...just different. Finnick, Katniss and the others might think they were still playing, but Peeta took a different path. If this reminded him of anything, it was a district. It wasn't completely like District 12, they were allowed to hunt without problem and there was more food available. But the homes, the feeling of being controlled, not for entertainment but for other reasons, it all came closer to districts than an arena.

This was what lead him to lower his guard, if only a little. Survival wasn't based on every man for himself. This seemed to rely on the collective. It wasn't a good idea to be secretive or hostile, hiding out in the woods. They needed to be personable and that had always been his strongest suit.

Everyday he helped in the kitchens, as he had done at his family's bakery. With the few supplies they had and the gifts they received, he could prepare something nice for the villagers. Bread, muffins, and cake. There was no edible paint to use, but there were different berries. Mashing them up and creating a type of paint was simple and allowed him to return to what he knew.

Turning the finished product (a scene of the sea, which looked quite a bit like the one he and Katniss had briefly enjoyed in the arena), he smiled with pride. "What do you think?"

Sam liked the bakery. Not because she could enjoy the marvels it produced--because ha ha fuck you, Sam, you can't have nice things--but more because of the smell. There was something strangely grounding about the scent of fresh baking. It made her think of the time before the sky fell. She remembered sitting in the window seat of the Halper house, while her mother made challah and matzo ball soup. It felt too saccharine to call the smell a sense of 'home,' but Sam didn't have anything better for it.

Of course, if it wasn't the smell, it might be the cute boy behind the smell.

She looked up from her little perch by the bakery window, where she was working on her newest moonshine formula. "How the hell do you make icing that blue?" she asked. It wasn't a color found in nature.

Not that she was one to talk.

Snapping her notebook shut, she stood up, swaggering over to get a better look at the scene. "It's gorgeous."

It was nice to have the company, even if they didn't talk much. Having another person in the room reminded him of being with his family. While he didn't have fond memories of his mother, he did miss having someone around, people to talk while he did something he loved. It made him feel, if not free of the games, a bit more separated from them.

He didn't know the girl very well, but it was hard to forget her, given the color of her hair. He smiled in return, glad to see that the blue on the cake turned out so well. "It was just about mixing the right berries together. I had to go with a dark blue instead of a lighter one, but that's a small thing, I think."

It was just getting to paint a cake again. It was like nothing had changed. He was himself again.

"I used to do this back home."

It figured. She couldn't imagine someone just picking up such a luxurious hobby only after arriving in their little clown rodeo.

She leaned over to examine the details. "I feel like it would be a shame to eat it," she murmured, giving an approving, little nod.

Of course, it was a sin to waste food.

But that wasn't really the point.

Sam stepped back, hooking her thumbs through her back belt loops and rocking on the balls of her feet. "I tried to make some actual paint. Failed fantastically, but you've inspired me. I should try again."

The town could use some graffiti...

"It's kind of the point of a cake. You have to eat it." But he could understand her meaning. After all the work he put into making it, he wanted to enjoy it a bit longer before it was cut up. He could at least try to make it again later and fix the imperfections he was already noticing.

Nothing was going to come close to recreating that beach in the arena, but he could spend the rest of his time here trying to.

"I don't know if berry paint will actually work beyond cakes. It's sticky, but not enough to stay in place on a canvas. It would smear a lot." It would be nice to pain again, actually paint beyond this. "Maybe you will get some as a gift? Don't the Observers send these things sometimes?"

Sam made a face which said exactly how she felt about gifts from their Overlords (she refused to call them 'Observers'). "It would probably end up exploding or causing boils or diarrhea." True, she'd had a few innocuous experiences with the so-called gifts. But she'd also had some pretty fucking miserable ones. And even if social science was largely hokum, she knew enough about operational conditioning to recognize it when she saw it.

"You're right about the sticky-factor, though," she said, rocking back and forth. "Plus, the sugars might attract pests."

Anyway, there were better uses for food than paint, she supposed.

Still, she liked the idea of having a project.

She'd figure out the moonshine eventually.

"Wouldn't the last two only happen if you tried to eat the paint?" It was an odd thing to say, but he couldn't deny she had a point. How could they really trust anything sent by the Observers? If the others were paranoid, there was at least a reason for it. He had at least gotten used to the idea of mysterious gifts sent by people he didn't know. It was how he survived the first arena.

"More than the pests we already have?" It seemed like he was chasing out a number of bugs or stray animals that got too close. But that was no different than the bakery in District 12.

"What are you working on?" He nodded at the journal.

"Hooch," she said, flipping her notebook open. It was an Avery sort of word and she immediately hated herself a little for using it. She could never quite shake the fingerprints he'd left on her heart, pissed off though she still was at him for that Dominate shit.

For someone who'd been an only child for seventeen years, she'd gotten used to having a brother pretty fucking fast.

She set the notebook down on the counter, letting it clatter, like the noise would somehow banish Avery from her brain.

That never really worked.

At any rate, she turned to the pages and pages filled with her notes on chemical reactions and distillation. "I've been trying to use potatoes to produce vodka. But the end result is almost always either potato water or something so acrid you could probably use it to clean your silverware. Still working on a happy medium."

He'd long ago accepted that this wasn't the same as the arena, but it was something enough like it, with enough dangers that Peeta hadn't seen yet since he returned here, that Finnick still used the same instincts and training he'd relied on in the arena regularly here. He had one theory in common with Peeta, though, and that was the need to contribute to the collective survival.

(Admittedly, that was more Annie's strategy than Finnick's, but he acknowledged the sense in it and had worked to ensure that the two of them were as much a part of the community as they could be.)

Now that Peeta had returned, Finnick's daily rounds had had the other victor added to them, and so it was that he was there to see Peeta's cake. He didn't need to ask where the colors came from -- he'd seen Peeta's skill with camouflage in practice in last year's Games. More curious, though, was the scene of the ocean, not like the scenery on offer in Four, that Peeta would have seen on the Victory Tour.

"Pretty good," he said. "You didn't see that in Twelve."

Test Drive 17

Peeta Mellark | The Hunger Games

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