sixthiteration | Test Drive 20 (August & September)

→ Holds and applications are always open. Holds are required for all applications.

→ 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.

→ Character want ads are here.

Prompts

Happy anniversary, villagers! Buckle up!

HEAT WAVE - Poor you. All you were trying to do was get yourself a little something to eat from the kitchen at the inn. Maybe you cooked it up yourself (The inn does, after all, have an electric stove — FANCY!), or maybe you just grabbed some leftovers. By accident or on purpose, you ended up with way more RED SALT in there than you maybe should have, and this is no ordinary seasoning. Whether you like things eye-wateringly spicy or not, it's August, you're sweating buckets, and it's only getting worse.

SKUNK DRUNK - Isn't that just the way? You're out and about, minding your own business, and you get sprayed by a BROWN SKUNK. The good news? It doesn't stink like a normal skunk. The also possibly good news, depending on who you ask? You're now in for about 5 hours of being very, very friendly. (Just remember to keep the test drive PG!)

BRAIN CANDY - Whether you made it to the anniversary party or not, you've gotten your hands on a piece of leftover candy from the big bash. Careful, though, these treats are more than meets the eye: Whatever COLOR it was, you've now taken on the associated personality traits. (Not the power, just the traits.) At least it only lasts 10 minutes.

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
- Display names may be changed by characters on the fly, but anyone can tap to see someone's real full name

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Vasquez lifts his head, just barely, in order to acknowledge the thanks he gets. It's not something he wants to talk too much about, but he appreciates that a man from about his time is willing to talk about these things with him.

He notices the other man being closer, but he doesn't mind. After all, he's used to finding things where he can, not wanting to stray too far. "In a cabin in the mountains of California," he says, since that hiding place is burnt. "I was found by a bounty hunter who made me an offer that I couldn't refuse, because the alternative, it was death."

Bobo toys with the cigarette as he considers that, arching a brow. "You know that begs the question, compadre, just what you had someone hunting you down for?" Not that he will outright ask. It's just not something you ask a man to do. Pushing him to talk about it though? That's something else, entirely.

"Let me tell you though, there's worse alternatives than death."

"I killed a ranger," he says. "He deserved it," is what he adds soon after because Vasquez will never be convinced that the man hadn't deserved the two gunshots that Vasquez put through him. He knows that he robbed and stole, but if people won't pay him enough or respect him, then he does what he has to do.

"Hiding, I think this is worse than death. Trapped in the same place, no people, no touch, no food..." He shakes his head as he shifts onto stable ground to lean against a tree and smoke.

"Everyone thinks the man they killed deserved it. Except maybe me. Not who I killed, but being killed," he says, but there's no judgment in his tones. Certainly more curious than concerned about killing a ranger. "Course, killing rangers so they know you did it? Kinda fucks only you over. Why not just kill them too?"

Asking that honestly, taking in the way that he moved away casually. "Not feeling trapped now, are you?" He might mean in this place. He might mean by him. Either way, that twisted little smirk is back. "Not going to argue the sentiment though. Spent over a hundred years trapped in the same damn town, just looking for a way out. Found this place instead, so guess I should've been more specific."

"One ranger," Vasquez thinks it's important to make that clear. "And he deserved it, promise. The others? They didn't," he clarifies, which is why they got to live even if they were coming after him. He doesn't like to kill that much, but sometimes it's needed to keep himself alive.

"No one wants me dead here, leaves me to smoke and drink and do what I like in peace," he admits. "It's bigger than most of the land I travelled and I never had nobody before," he says bluntly. "Yeah, this is better. What about you? Better or worse?"

Bobo's nose wrinkles, making a face because it's been too many years since he cared about who deserved what. After all, he didn't deserve to be cursed, but there he was. "Most don't get what they deserve one way or another, and if you hadn't come here then what? Stay in a cabin until you die of boredom?"

He shakes his head, not even sure what to think of that choice and fearing it might have actually been his choice.

"I'm still trapped. That said, so far there's no one here with a gun that can kill m..." The words trail off and all of the skunk residue and his own selfish desires kind of fade to the background. "Fuck. I hadn't thought about that. The rest of it's all gone... Well fuck."

Because he's not used to living worrying about dying if there's not an Earp and a gun around.

"Kinda fifty fifty now. Was going to agree with you."

"They let me out to fight against a bad man," he says, joking, but it's true. Rose Creek had been like a temporary reprieve that he'd never thought he'd get, but he'd managed to kill at least ten of Bogue's men and help those people, all while earning the favour of a bounty hunter.

Not bad, for a day's work.

He stares at the man curiously and wonders why he doesn't think that a gun can't kill him, because a good gun can kill anyone. "No guns here," he says, with a tone that says he already misses his. "What's your name?" he asks, then, because all this time, he's been sharing his history, and he doesn't even know his name.

"And what after that? When he's dead? I've heard things like that, and it never gets you where you want to be." He'd helped kill a bad man once. It had taken everything from him.

Bobo's head cants, frowning because for a moment, those words don't seem right to him. How can they when even in Purgatory now, there is still more guns than cars it seems. "None? At all?" He makes a sound, disgust etching his face. "Gonna tell me no blades either?"

He smirks then, because he hadn't given it though he'd considered it. Mostly because he had a choice here. No one knew the demon he had been, and he could recreate himself as Robert Svane without a second thought. Except that isn't the man he is.

"Bobo. Bobo Del Rey."

"I didn't pull the trigger to kill him, just his lackies. They killed one of mine," Vasquez says, eyes burning with the fierce defiance he'd felt when McCann had opened fire and hit Faraday. No one touched his people, especially ones that he'd brought into his circle the way he'd opened up for Faraday.

He's still hoping no one noticed the way he called him guerito, hoping no one knew how far down he'd connected. He shifts and digs out his lasso, holding it up. "Some weapons, just not the ones I prefer. You can have knives," he allows. "Mostly kitchen knives, so either you can cut a man's throat or make dinner," he jokes.

Gesturing to himself, he keeps a steady gaze on the other man. "Vasquez." No first name, not yet. That's heavy currency. "Del Rey? You don't look Mexican."

Bobo makes a face, giving a nod. "Worth killing them then, and wouldn't have to pull a trigger. Plenty of other ways to kill a man," he says with a chuckle, just pushing buttons now. "If they killed yours, can't imagine anyone but the law would fault you for killing all of them. Even some of them might not."

Given some law men he's known, killing was never really an issue.

He laughs at that though, appreciating the humor. "Can just plan to do both. Wipe it off between," he notes. "But can adapt one of those. Or make a better one for use if needed." He hasn't checked to see if there's any kind of a forge there, and while he's never used one himself, he knows the basics.

"I don't look like a Bobo either," he says. "It's a taken name, that I've had too long to go by anything else."

"It means 'of the king'," he supplies, as if the other man doesn't actually know what it is. Del Rey, he could say it a million times, and it's a better name than Vasquez, but then, he didn't pick that one. He hooks his lasso onto his belt as he thinks about all the way he's killed men, but usually, it's with a gun.

He's good with it, the fastest spinner in a long time, but again, no guns here to work with.

"Here, it's new. If you want to be called something else, I can call you whatever you like," he adds, and yes, there might just be a hint of flirtation in that, but best to keep his options open, that's all.

He inclines his head, a look of bemusement curving his lips as he touches his temple with two fingers as if in salute. "That it does. Fool of the King to be exact. Suits better than the name I was given."

Because, for him, it truly speaks of the sacrifice he made, and reminds him why trust never benefits a man. Others may not think of how the name came to be, or why he keeps something with that kind of meaning behind the words, but for Bobo it's as needed as the odd wear that had once been common place to him. Something that he truly misses in this place. Almost more than his abilities. It feels as if he's left behind an armor that does as much as that name.

He falls quiet then, staring at Vasquez for a long time. Silent, eyes narrowing, considering the other man while fighting so many thoughts in his mind. Not about the provocative words, the way his mind and body definitely takes them. About the rest. About starting a new life. About being whoever he wants to be. After a time he gives a shake of his head, dismissing most of it. No one here knew who Bobo Del Rey of Purgatory was, and he doesn't need to shed that to be the man he chooses to be here.

"If you're going to keep flashing ropes and talking like that, I'm going to come up with a lot of things you can say. Scream. Your call," he says, smirking, easily falling into the teasing words intended to push others and push away those thoughts of the past and the fool he had been.

Which King, is the question that Vasquez doesn't ask, but thinks about. There's always someone to serve, at least in his experience. He licks his lips in between inhalations and adjusts his lasso around his hand, knotting the rope and then tying the knot.

"You haven't even seen what I can do with it," Vasquez says cheerfully, because usually it takes a display or two of his talents before someone starts talking about making him scream, so this is a little better than usual. "Do you want a show?"

There's a lot of sayings about men who ignore their past and the pain that will visited upon them for that. Bobo will do whatever he can to not relive his mistakes for ignoring them.

That doesn't stop him from rushing in, as they say, where angels fear to tread. Course, the only angelic being he knew personally was a bit of a mad woman when it came to rushing in, but that's a life behind him now.

"If you're offering to show me what you can do..." Bobo takes a step back, dropping into a bow with an overly dramatic flourish. "Oh please go right ahead. Entertain me."

Vasquez snorts as he winds the lasso around his wrist thoughtfully and carefully. "You're sure? Because what I do with this, it usually makes people angry," he says, eyeing Bobo up and down and deciding that maybe hauling him in by the ankle isn't a good idea.

He knots the lasso and steps back to start creating a loop around him, stepping into it so he can spin it around him before he steps out, then using it to hit him around his waist, tightening fast and hard so the next tug he brings will tug Bobo towards him.

"I've always been a man to take chances," he says, suspecting what's about to happen. The teasing between them, the way the scent on him still left Bobo edgy in a way that he had long since left behind for love. But that was all behind him now, and she was gone.

Beyond that, he's kind of amused. Maybe it's taking too many chances, risking his safety in a place where he'll never find his way back to the Ghost River Triangle, but if that's the case, so be it. Dying in whatever crazy hell this place is no worse than going back to being a trapped in Purgatory once more. Especially alone.

Here though he's not the man he's been, and there is every chance of being whatever he wants here. Which may end up a killer if he found himself hung up by his ankles.

Bobo shifts his weight, clasping his hands before him. He's expecting things to go from a little flashy roping as the other man moves in the swirling lasso. Even expecting something like this, his hands come up, almost grabbing the lead of the rope as the rope tightens around is body.

Habit makes him lean back, though only for a moment before he gives in. In fact, enough so to take advantage of the pull to bring himself well into Vasquez's space and up against him unless he moves away.

"Full of tricks, aren't you?"

Vasquez looks Bobo over when he's got him close enough, still both hands on the rope to keep it taut as he lets his eyes settle on Bobo's mouth for a longer moment than's polite before he looks back up to his eyes, shrugging a little. "If I had my guns, I could show you all kinds of tricks, but these are easier."

He doesn't loosen the rope, but tugs just a little more so that he's practically flush against him. "You smell a bit strange, cabron," comes out, which is far from the most romantic thing he's ever said, but it's the truth.

He can't place the smell, but there's something there and he's not sure why, but it clouds his head and makes him feel funny.

Even knowing, well hoping, that this is where the rope trick was going to lead, Bobo is surprised when it gets there. It's not how he normally goes, and he's still coping with the loss of his love, but Hell. It's a new life and a new world.

"I'm sure you've got a gun on you that can turn all kinds of tricks."

Stepping into Vasquez's space, his hand tracing along the ropes... stopping just sigh of covering the other man's as he heard those words.

"Well, you sure as Hell know how to ruin a mood, doncha?" He leans his head over, sniffs. "Oh that. I thought it was a skunk but that's definitely not skunk. Some weird animal, in a world full of weird shit. You done ruining the mood?"

His laugh is soft and appreciative of the comment, keeping hold of the rope as he tugs a little and tries to get Bobo's hand near his, heart pounding and racing, because he might have had some affection and company lately, but it never stops being so incredible.

"You going to make me be done?" he challenges, smirking and hoping that the answer is yes, because he might want this, but he's never been good about letting something happen easy.

Maybe it's the spray that still soaks his clothes since they had drifted away from the river, but Bobo didn't care the cause. It's not as if he's ever denied himself pleasure, if only because his needs are more important than anything else. Not as if pleasure has anything to do with a man's heart after all.

Bobo steps into that tug, rocking his weight to his forward foot so that he can hook his foot around Vasquez's ankle. Just enough motion so that his body molds to the other man's as his hand slid along his arm, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

It isn't as if they could get much closer, but it's a controlling motion, one to allows him to rock against Vasquez, pushing buttons that could upset a man of that time they both knew well. Even if Bobo's life has moved far beyond that.

"I do tend to be a demanding bastard," he points out, words that may well be warning.

Vasquez gives a pleased sound when he gets trapped in like this. Normally, he'd buck away and try and make Bobo loosen the grip, but that's when he's fighting with someone. Right now, this is the furthest thing from a fight and he loves that.

His eyes blaze with it, afire with the possibility of what's coming next. The thing is, he likes to do this, likes what's happening, but also likes being a contrary bastard too. Part of him is stubbornly trying to make Bobo make a first move.

"I only really ever like other bastards, demanding or not," he points out. He rocks his hips against Bobo, the flush tightness meaning that he actually gets some relief and friction.

Bobo laughs then, those words setting off a hard gleam in his eyes. "That's how you like it? Well then, you've definitely hit the motherload."

Beyond two out of three Earp heirs, Bobo knows no other way to be than a right bastard. Another time and place and this could get bloody fast. Hell, Bobo isn't sure it won't but then that's part of the fun. What's the point of getting riled up if the outcome is determined. Too many years of the world not being an easy place and a man starts wanting things to be hard. Best way to get the most out of anything and everyone.

"Probably should have left the shirt off. Would save me some trouble," he growls, voice a lower rumble then, the teases definitely working against him. Even the tight dig of the rope in his skin tantalizes and excites. Even as it tempts him to see just how far he can turn this despite the bondage. Hell, because of it. Restraint is not normally something Bobo is keen on, but the right place, the right animal induced pheromones, and suddenly he's finding himself turned on by the prospect of a lot of things he might not normally enjoy.

The restraints keep his upper arms effectively pinned, but that doesn't stop him from gripping the fabric of that shirt. Tugging hard, harder than he should in a place where clothing and commodities are at a premium, but he also did have a bit of an oral fixation and he can't help leaning in to drag his tongue along the line of muscle just above the collarbone. A bit of tasting, a lot testing to see how far this particular game of chicken might go, and how much of it isn't a game.

"That's the kind of company I kept," Vasquez agrees and thinks of the other Seven that he'd ridden into town with. True, they probably all had decently qualities, but Vasquez knew they were no peaches, not really. They had murder counts and more bad habits than guns in Rose Creek, which means a good time.

He tugs on the rope again as his eyes blaze with the glint of adrenaline and pleasure, tipping his head to one side as he considers the line of Bobo's neck, letting his head fall back as he curses with pleasure for that first touch. "How do you feel about hair pulling?" he hisses out, meaning, in this case, Bobo's being pulled.

The life Bobo has once known reminds him that there really seems to have always been two kinds of men. The bastards, and those that haven't yet had a chance to prove that they really are bastards. Bobo's lived both, and embraced who he truly is, and sees no reason to deny that.

Knowing the other keeps that same kind of company means, to Bobo, no recriminations, no second thoughts, and no worries about being the man he is. Always makes life easier to not have to play games.

"I think if you're going to fuck it up, you damn well better make it worth my while," he warns, but there's a growl to his tone as he nips at Vasquez's throat. More playful than seeking to cause pain, just as his words are, pushing and taunting, better at getting what he wants than asking for it.

"Don't worry, I'll help make it better after," Vasquez promises, because it is a very impressive sight, reaching up with a fiercely wild glint in his eyes as he starts to tug and pull at it, tipping his head back and letting out a pleased yelp when the teeth give him a sharp burst of pain and pleasure all at once.

"You want to go back somewhere private or wait around for more skunks to get you in the mood?" Vasquez asks, cocking his brow upwards as he tugs the hair in his fingers a little harder.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

And that's what I get for doing tags at work.

and yet, I'm happy to get them no matter who they come from :-p

no subject

no subject