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

"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.

"I don't remember anyone knowing about aftercare in that day and age," Bobo teases, the words fading off into a rumble at the prickling sensation along his scalp. It's enough to make him roll his head, causing the strands to pull tighter and send sharp, tiny pinpricks along his skin that send shivers along his spine.

Bobo chuckles softly, leaning to angle himself closer, letting his fingers dig a bit into Vasquez's arm. "Private works. I don't mind giving a show but not willing to let you get all shy," he taunts, but he lets himself move back enough, just a step, enough for them to move apart.

Vasquez is lost about that word. "Aftercare?" He shakes his head, not knowing what the fuck he means. "I meant that I'd comb it again," he says, cocking a brow upwards, because he's not entirely sure what kind of care Bobo is after. Still, he tugs it again with a grin, playing with fire and hoping to get burned.

"Don't worry about shy, but I think I like to do this with a bed. Had too many rough gos in my time and if I don't have to, I don't want to," is his opinion.

Again came that rumbling sound of amusement. "Don't worry about it. Being a dick," he says, figuring that sums it up. He's sure as fuck not getting into that talk right now. Definitely him making a move to ruin the mood.

"That is a sentiment I share. Lead on then. Unless you're too worried I'll know where you live," he says, smirking as he pushes buttons still. "Definitely want to see the view."

Well, that's just a shame because Vasquez happens to enjoy the company of other men when they're being dicks and assholes. It just makes him feel at home, like he's allowed to prod and poke as much as he wants.

He chuckles as he tugs at Bobo's shirt collar, walking in a lazy stroll backwards. "Then you're going to get to meet plenty of people," he guarantees. "I live at the inn."

He grins at that, following along easily. Hell, if this place is going to turn out like this, maybe getting out after all the bullshit that went through Purgatory is the best thing that's happened to him in a long time. A very long time.

"Always made me nervous going to the Inn," he says, thinking back a lot of years. "Had to go through the Saloon most of the time, least in our town, and back then I hated being there," he admits, laughing at his own folly. "Oh the things I missed out on back then."

Robert had been a very conservative man, and even now the memories are easier to laugh at than face.

"Guess I've got more time to make up what I missed then."

"What's not to like about easy food and someone else to take care of your things for you?" That's Vasquez's opinion of the place and why he doesn't so much mind the Inn, where he can understand why other people wouldn't be in so much of a rush to enjoy it. He keeps tugging at him, almost tripping a few times on the root behind him.

He's grinning now, an idiot who looks drunk even if he's not. "Don't worry, pachuco," he taunts. "I'm good enough that you won't feel like you've missed too much."

"The man I was and the man I have become are worlds apart," he notes, watching Vasquez more than he is the path they're walking on. If he trips, so be it, though his gait is easy and used to uneven terrain. "Though a word or two can be said for privacy," he notes, hurrying his step slowly as his hand slides along Vasquez's waist, tucking along sensitive skin and trying to put him off his step just for the fun of it.

"Keep up the smart ass comments. I am definitely going to fix that for you."

Vasquez laughs, low and pleased, stumbling a little on a rock and not caring about it as he hauls Bobo up with him, mussing up that shirt of his a little more, wrinkling it with the way both hands fist at fabric. "Go on, then. Fix it," he coaxes.

"If you think you can," he adds, with a cock of his head to the side, like he's not so sure about that.

The hold that jerks Vasquez to him is not about keeping him from tripping. Never about that. It's all about grinding himself against the other man even as his step stops. One hand comes up, gripping Vasquez by the jaw as he leans in closer to him. Slowly, grinning as he nips at the other man's lower lip, playfully snapping, not even trying to truly catch his lip or hold him tight if he tries to move away.

"One, I thought you wanted a bed," he growls. "Two, I see what you're doing there, brat. You'll get what you want but don't think you're playing me," he says, but it's obvious he's amused and not upset.

If there's one thing he likes (but doesn't say out loud), it's the fight that comes of being held down, asked to submit. He'll complain, he might hate it, but it's the fire and the fight with it that turns him on. When Bobo grabs his jaw, fuck, his cock practically jumps up with interest.

"If I was playing you and you didn't notice, I wouldn't want you to fuck me," is Vasquez's pointed return, because then that would just be boring. "Brat?" he echoes. "What, am I that little?"

Test Drive 20 (August & September)

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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

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fade? because of the whole pg rule (lol)?