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.

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That gets a glance over his shoulder and narrowed eyes, but he doesn't say anything at first, digging through the refrigerator until he can find something to work with.

"How hungry are you?" he asks, gathering materials from the cupboard and fridge. He wouldn't cook for her if he didn't like her, right? He's letting it serve as his answer, anyway.

Actions over words. Alright, maybe he's more her type than she initially thought.

"Willing to go catch my own if I had to. Didn't work so well last time, but I'm willing to try anything twice." And she props herself backwards against the nearby counter space, mere feet away, watching him work.

His hands, in particular. Not just to imagine what they'd feel like, either, that's just surface level thoughts induced by whatever smacked her in the face. No, there are little details she's looking over, nicks, scars, bumps and callouses. He's a fighter, this one, or used to be. Well, you never really stop, do you? Information she tucks away, for the moment.

"There's some wild stuff out there," he agrees, not put off in the least by her watching him. It's familiar, the silent and easy way with which they'd always communicated rushing to the fore. Frank washes his hands and immediately sets to work. Some cured meat goes into a pan while he turns on the stove and starts cutting potatoes and vegetables for a quick stirfry. "Fish are usually the safest bet."

"You're telling me. Some overgrown rat with a big, fluffy tail hit me with something when I tried to sneak up on it. Knocked me right out." Probably not in any danger of a fish doing anything like that, not without biting or poking with a spine, or something of that nature.

Ranged hunting would be the way to go.

"Don't suppose you've got any weapons stocked away in here, too?"

He had been adamant about finding the weapons himself in his first weeks here, the thought almost gets a smile out of him. "There's a sign-out," he explains. "I can show you after lunch." So much for not doing the newbie thing.

Frank circles back, thinking about what animal she could mean. A skunk would leave behind a smell, unless it wasn't a real skunk. Like the vampire deer, there was more to them. Maybe their spray had different effects, if not odor? He looks down at the dogs patiently waiting for something to fall and sighs.

"You might not wanna go back out there on your own. Safety in numbers."

And she almost laughs out loud. Oh, if only. "You want me to stick around, you could just say so."

Right, that's a little overt. Whatever, subtlety's never been her strongest suit. She tears her gaze away -- whatever feeling has her blood running hot, it is not the boss of her -- and she distracts herself for a moment with the dog that's attached itself to her. Some kind of irony, that. She's still perfectly content to give it a few good scritches behind the ear, as she seems an agreeable sort of animal.

"I'm not afraid of what's out there. Whatever it is, I've seen worse." It's not a boast, not enough pride in her tone for that. But a few odd animals are nothing compared to--

Other things.

"So, got any other compelling reasons I should keep close?"

It makes his heart skip a beat. If only she knew. He's thinking of the first time he met her, he'd brought her food - a welcome basket. The parallels are stacking up. She'd grabbed him by the throat, ready to kill him for his kindness. He's still not sure what she saw in his eyes that made her stop.

"Yeah." He's seen worse, too. Even the Wendigo, the worst creature in this place by far, could die. That's better than the monsters he'd had in Reims. They can die, too, even if it's only temporary. It lends comfort it shouldn't, maybe, as does her familiar face.

He tosses the potatoes and greens in to roast with the meat, salting and peppering everything and leaning back to watch it cook. A compelling reason? To stick around him? He's got plenty of the opposite, that's for sure.

"Dogs." That's about all he's got. "And food." Hospitality is a dying art, after all.

Maybe the her before -- whoever she might have been -- saw what she sees now. Practical, helpful, not a big talker, not a lot of ego to speak of, probably good in a fight. Not terrible on the eyes, even being kind of a mess. Or maybe it's that resonance of hollowness behind the eyes, the thousand yard stare, the sort of bone-deep trauma no one else gets but someone who's lived through Hell, too.

No telling. It's not something she's got an inkling to analyze. What she's got is a belly gnawing in hunger, and growing itch to pin tall, broad and beardy over here against something sturdy for a hour or two. It's getting more distracting by the second, in fact.

"What about a bed?"

She doesn't even have the shame it takes to blink, as she says it.

It's a strange thing to process even as he gestures for her to sit down so he can serve her the impromptu meal. He doesn't take the comment the way she means it, at first, because he's thinking about helping her carry her bedframe after she'd almost killed him. And then she took it out of his hands like it weighed nothing. If Jessica's strength is gone, so is hers, though, but the houses also come pre-furnished here. It's a jumbling mess of thoughts, waiting to see if she'll sit and eat before attempting to plate a portion for himself and prop up against the counter to eat it.

"Do you have a place to stay?" he asks after too long a beat, plate held against his chest and up out of dogs' reach. Surely, she doesn't mean... with him, so he doesn't answer in that way, writing off the possibility before it can take root in his head.

Huh.

She rises with a final pat to the dog's head, hands braced on her hips, his expression pinching slightly as Frank motions towards the seating arrangements. He either really doesn't get it, or he's not remotely interested. Which, alright, fair enough. Don't fish where the fish aren't biting.

After a moment of just squinting at him in a vaguely perplexed way, like he's a particularly dense puzzle she's trying to solve, she seems to decide that food comes first after all. One hand reaches to swivel a chair out enough to take a seat, the other reaching for the plate in his hand as she settles in.

It smells a lot better than her perspective hunt outside, that's for damn sure. Almost immediately she reaches down and plucks up a piece of cooked meat between her fingers, popping it into her mouth without ceremony.

"Dunno. Got that bush I woke up in. Not the worst sleep I ever got."

That does get a smile even as he passes her a fork and decides he can sit across from her. It's hard to put himself on the same level as people he respects, but he's making an effort for her. Her comment gets a snort, at least, so he's probably not completely humorless.

"The empty houses are all up for grabs," he explains, slowly starting in on his food even if he's not strictly hungry.

That raises a flag. The way he says it, there's a selection to choose from. They're all up for grabs. Why so many empty houses, then? Were there just too few people here to fill them all out? Or was there a high turnover rate she wasn't aware of?

She continues chewing, frowning slightly as all this gets mulled over, before finally taking hold of the offered fork. "Sounds like I get my pick. Lucky me," comes the dry response, both brows arched down before she digs in, taking another bite.

Nice change of pace, eating something that isn't trying to fight its way back up your throat.

Yeah, an abandoned village usually doesn't bode well, but he's used to creepier places. The house he's made for himself, Kamala and their animals is about as cozy as it could get for this place, all things considered.

"It's okay?" he asks about the food, still watching her, waiting for a pin that doesn't drop.

It says something that she has to stop shoveling food into her mouth long enough to answer. And it involves finishing chewing, all while reaching up to swipe the heel of her palm across her mouth. He's actually worried she won't like, isn't he?

"...S'good."

She finishes chewing, licks her lips, waiting to see if that's a passable, or if he wants to converse. If everything's good? She's going to dig back in and polish off that plate quicker than anyone would have any right to, short of starving to death.

Beauty and grace right here, Frank.

He smiles softly at the assurance and tucks into his meal much more sedately. The last thing he'd want to do while she's enjoying what he'd made her is interrupt. And she'd be right in her initial assumption that Frank prefers not to speak until the moment calls for it. Which is why he'll allow silence to lapse long after they've both finished. He saves a little piece of meat and potato for each dog, tossing them one at a time before dealing them each a pat on the head.

He smiles. Actually smiles. Well isn't that something.

Of course, now that the edge has been taken off -- she could eat more, absolutely, but she can also manage fine without and will do until she knows what sort of rations they're working with here -- there's nothing to distract from that other gnawing sense of hunger. The one that has nothing to do with food.

"So...thanks for that, then." She nods to the empty plate, pressing a palm to the edge of her chair and hauling herself upwards as Frank continues to feed the dogs, who seemed to know this had been coming and had been biding their time up 'til now. "Used to cooking for strangers you run into in the woods, are you?"

Frank nods, accepting her gratitude on its face. His eyes widen a little when she gets up first, sliding up until they can meet hers, and he swallows.

"You have no idea," he admits dryly. He wishes he were better at ignoring the needs of others. He's supposed to be learning how to be a little selfish here, but some things are just hard-wired. He gets up too after a moment, hand brushing her arm as he reaches for her plate so he can wash up. He's never been good at leaving a mess for long.

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Test Drive 20 (August & September)

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