sixthiteration | Test Drive 21 (October & November)

→ 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

STAYING POWER - Go down to the bunker, they said. You can get yourself amazing powers from the vending machine, they said. Well, you've done that, and you've made your choice, but one thing nobody told you was that unless it's a power you're familiar with, you might be on a teensy bit of a learning curve when it comes to keeping it under control. You have a week to figure it out without killing anyone; have fun!

FORGIVE AND... - You poor thing, you've gotten into some dust moths. Not that you can remember that, because depending on how big that swarm was and how quickly you got out of it, you might not remember much at all. Better hope somebody's got some Forget Me Nots on hand.

HIT & RUN - Life in the village can be pretty sleepy... until suddenly, it's not. Were you being a troublemaker? Were you disturbing the local wildlife? Because it's now disturbing you, chasing you down the street in front of everyone. Maybe it's a herd of chupapaca or a swarm of fireflies. Or maybe you went old school and it's just a really pissed off badger. Godspeed and good luck.

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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Clara has to laugh, because this time, she's not on the receiving end of the stampede. At least not yet, anyway. She could step back and simply give bits and pieces of advice, sure. Or she could step in and help as best she can. Clara doesn't really hesitate in reaching out to grab hold of the woman's hand, giving a gentle tug so she'll follow along as she starts to hurry off.

"Oh, they tire out eventually. Their legs are too short to keep going. But it's more fun to give chase for a while, don't you think?"

Faraday is smirking at him as he sets down the bottle, mostly to hide the shaking in his hand. Pulling off the scrub shit, wanting to put on something he knows he'll be more comfortable in. He's quiet a minute, thinking about that when he talks about only have two bottles.

"You might want to take that back then." He shifts, looking away and then looking back at Vasquez. "I haven't had a drink since I got here. I... You know how long before that I went without a drink?" Because he can't remember. A few hours? Maybe. That's it. Overnight because he's asleep? "I start now, I'm not giving that back."

Which might explain how much of an asshole he's being, though it is perhaps the nicest thing he's done in warning Vasquez before he drinks it all.

Staying Power

For being 1/9th of a Human Soul, experiencing the world in actual flesh and bone was still a bit of an adjustment for what was normally a little doll made of canvas and steel. She didn't have much of an interest in adding anything while she was still navigating the treacherous waters of social interaction.

However, as an eager volunteer for the secluded and lonely business of tube-watching, eventually her curiosity is piqued enough to try and telekinesis sounded like it would be the most useful; the ability to move items without touching them, to call things to you from out of reach, to lift things otherwise too heavy to do so manually.

She doesn't wait to leave the bunker in order to experiment with her new skills, immediately focusing on whatever solitary items she finds that aren't secured to the floor or walls.

A quick learner, it doesn't take her long to figure out how to lift them, but the velocity in which things happen after that are taking a little longer to figure out.

She reaches out for a piece of crumbling drywall she'd been practicing with, but when it shot at her head fast, she found it better to abort the movement and duck. Hopefully no one was standing behind her.

Forgive and Forget

The forest had quickly become a favored space for 7 when the press of people became too much. She'd had very limited experience with people before they'd all died in her world, and even among her own kind she'd had her moments of obstinacy.

Of a living world as well, she had little experience. Everything she encountered was new, and on her own it was wondrous and beautiful. Trekking through in the twilight, a little cloud of moths flutter up and up into the treetops, leaving behind a slight, nearly imperceptible cloud of dust motes.

7 sneezes - another new experience she's not terrible fond of - but thinks nothing more of the moment.

It's hours when she finally finds her way back to the village. While generally distrustful, there's an elevated sharpness to her movements, a curiosity that causes her to tail people, but an oppressive wariness that keeps her hanging in the shadows.

Wildcard!

Show me what you got!

When you hear enough people speaking about the bunker and the things within, a man finds himself needing to investigate. Especially while trying to figure out just what all of this is and what it means to him and what he's left behind.

Wearing a leather jacket he scrounged without the makeshift hood he's made up, he hears movement ahead, and therefor is creeping along as stealthily as he can. Delicate steps, pausing now and again to try and work out what it is he's hearing.

Seeing a woman ahead, he slows his step as he comes closer. Likely the smartest move he's made that day as she ducks and a chunk of the wall comes flying at him.

He moves swiftly, sharp and clean actions as he spins, ducking to one side. Following through as he comes around to catch the chunk with his foot, kicking it to one side to shatter against the wall.

Coming around fully to face her, hands up in defense, a blade in one hand, laying against his arm, partially obscured by the leather.

"In fairness, I had no plans at all to attack you," he says, sounding entirely accusatory and pouty at the same time.

Staying amongst the people has become more and more common, mostly with the lack of rooftops for the sort of eagle eyed view he is most comfortable with. He learns quite a bit though, listening, practicing what stealth he can, and tracking many of them to try and do the best he can to learn as much as he can. He may not be in London, but the goals that have guided him through his entire life have not changed.

It's the latter that Jacob is doing in that moment, tracking another and listening to their conversation when something goes rushing past his face.

He moves without thinking, snatching it out of the air, turning quickly to try and determine just who has thrown it, and instead finding a woman apologizing.

"I believe this is your projectile," he says, offering the book to her with a smile and a wink. "Though your aim was a bit off," he adds, definitely teasing.

After dropping down to the ground to miss taking a chunk of wall to the head, she pivots cleanly to watch where it landed - and was wholly unexpected to find another person there. She holds her position as he makes his own maneuvers out of the way and deals with the offending rubble. Immediately noting he movies with a speed and agility that she knows she's capable of herself, she mentally registers him as a possible threat.

Standing slowly as he approaches, wary despite his placating gesture, she crosses her arms and shifts her weight.

"In all fairness, I thought I was alone." Her tone is equally accusatory, but with an irritated edge where his pout had been.

Vasquez takes his fair share of a look, even though he finds himself feeling guilty and forced to look away, not because he feels improper, but because he's expecting to see scars and wounds there that don't exist. This isn't the same Faraday, thank god, but he's not going to see him without expecting that anytime soon.

His breath is still shaky, all that skin on display and his mind thinking about all the ways he could touch the other man circling through his head. "Fine, you get to have that bottle of whiskey, but no complaining when it's gone."

As if Faraday could ever stop complaining, which is a ridiculous idea. "Are you going to start here or are we going to our house?"

Already in this place Jacob has been learning that there is a discrepancy in how time works. Just the technology in this place is enough to reveal that. This though, if he's right about this man, then it would seem he isn't the only one taken from a time older than this place... and at least two from the Brotherhood? That worries him more than the time travel. How and why is a heavy worry in the back of his thoughts.

Trying not to let that show though, listening as he starts to put pieces together. He nods, smirking a bit. 'I'm comfortable thinking you're Arabic as well, if that helps." Kind of being a smart ass, though he makes a face at the accusation that he's not noble, not that he denies it but then that next statement and his makes a face, nose wrinkling.

"Bite your tongue," he says, rolling his eyes. "No. I am definitely not a Templar, but congratulations. Sounds as if you're starting to remember. If I ask you what year it is, do you think you have a clue?"

Slowly Jacob lowers his hands, absorbing that aggression with a winsome smile and a nod of his head.

"Fair enough, Miss. Though I might note you are in a public place, and I hadn't come down here to surprise you. I actually was curious about the devices in this place, since I don't know much of anything like them in my own place," he admits, slowly sliding the knife into a sheath, putting it all away in a show of trust.

"Do you understand it then? Have such technology in your life?" Trying to turn to her for assistant, see how she reacted. He understands that surprising a person might make them react that way, and he's trying to casually soothe her from shocking her.

7 considers his movements and his words carefully as he replies, and eventually the tension eases from her shoulders without the threat of immediate attack. While her arms are still crossed, her tone is far less fierce when she responds.

"I do not. The technology in my world was ... more advanced, but inoperable?" She hopes that makes sense. There'd been movies, and automobiles, and airplanes at one point, but she'd only seen the tail-end of their use before humans died out and the machines took over.

"-- and public doesn't necessarily mean crowded." She specifically liked it here because there were less people to deal with.

He began to answer, and then stopped himself before changing it to, "As the English count it, the Year of Their Lord, 1191." More came back to him the more he thought, the more he considered. The more he could see the flags on the battleground, the British king--

"King Richard and his Crusaders fight Salah ad-Din and his Saracens with the people caught in the middle. The Templars fight both sides from within. I..." He had almost grasped it. He had almost known, but it skittered away like an insect on still water, leaving him to frown. "I... feel I fought them both. But I find nothing specific there. But I have more distaste toward Salah ad-Din than Richard."

Why? If anything, the name felt it should be more like than dislike. Richard was a name that sat oddly on his tongue, while Salah ad-Din rolled from it with ease. What had this Salah ad-Din done that had garnered at least a flicker of anger while Richard... what was it? Grudging respect? Hm.

"So really, it was just kinda useless?" Not meaning to be as much of a jerk as he sounds, giving a nod though. "Mine was... Nothing like this," he says, gesturing to the room. "Above though, it's about like that. Nice stove those. Better than woodburning," he says, seemingly amused.

Pausing, he gives her a look with a sweet smile. "And two is not a crowd. It's barely a couple when the people are as warm and friendly as we appear to be," he says, all his slights softly couched, mostly teasing.

"Also, the name's Jacob. If you cared."

Jacob's brows lift at that. Not that he's entirely surprised, but he isn't sure that he expected to hear it. Listening and nodding slowly as he speaks on about what he remembers, and the Templars. Seeing him catching onto the strings of his memory and then losing them.

In fairness, Jacob feels sympathy for the man. He couldn't imagine knowing he was missing parts of who he is and being unable to hold on to them even as he caught glimpses of them. It would almost be better to have no idea at all that anything is missing.

"And your training? What do you remember of that? Of why you were fighting them?" It's that training that should remind him of who he is, and Jacob hopes with that his memory will return. "I wonder what they've done to you that you don't remember who you are."

Because they definitely need to be wary of that, and how they might use it against any of them in the future.

"Because I had to." The answer slipped free before he thought, and that, he realised, may have been the answer. If he thinks, it's harder to remember. If he speaks, it simply... happens. "They had--

"No. They wanted something. An object. And I..."

Malik--

A name. Was it his? Malik and-- Kadar, no, the names weren't his. He could hear a scolding voice, and another so painfully eager. His heart rose into his throat. "Kadar is dead," came the words, slipping free once more, rough in his throat. "Kadar is dead and Malik wounded because of me. Because of the--"

And then his eyes went wide, one piece of knowledge, one defining bolt of horror going through him as he began to look around frantically because, "The Apple! If I am here, the Apple is unguarded!"

Shifting his weight back onto one heel, Jacob folds his arms over his chest. Listening, nodding as he speaks, though he is really hoping for things that are more... No, less dead people that won't be here, and that he can't do anything about.

Hell, people that are long dead, and gone, and Jacob's already been ignoring that in this place. His life is long over. Should he ever find a wife and have kids, their lives may well be over too. It's worse thinking that he is in this place, and Evie is gone. Long gone.

But then thee's a definite distraction from those depressing thoughts. Much worse thoughts.

"You had a piece of Eden and..." He goes silent, just staring at the other man. "No. It has to be here. Somewhere. Did you have it with you before here?" Which is asking a lot given he can't even remember his name.

In truth, he doesn't even think about it in that moment. Just thankful to have that weirdly cut and oddly shaped shirt off and into something that feels familiar. Even if as he pulls it on he smells sweat and smoke and something that had become, in such a short time, entirely familiar to him. It was Vasquez, close and yet not close at the same time, nut there's something to it that's primal and sexy to him. Which leaves him uncertain and confused. It's not how he should feel as he slides into that shirt, tugging it down as his hands smooth over the fabric.

"Take it's not laundry day."

Because that's what you say when you're reacting rather than acting, standing there and just letting that scent surround him.

"I..." He frowns at that though, not sure what he expects, but glad to hear it. Enough so to unscrew the lid and take a deep swallow.

His fingers grip the neck of the bottle until his knuckles are white. Aching to take another drink, to chug until it's gone and the world is spinning and everything is hazy. Instead he screws the cap back on.

"It is within Masyaf--" And he was sure of that. As sure as he was that his heart still beat. He could see it in his hands, glowing and golden, and then on a pedestal and...

And then what?

His brows drew together, teeth grit as he worked against his own advice, straining to remember. Whispers came to him. Maria. Darim. Niccolo. The Mongols...

"I--

"I emptied Masyaf to keep them away from the Apple. But I stayed. The door... they cannot get through it without the keys. But they are brutes and will do all they can until the keys are theirs or until they all die."

HIT & RUN

It would seem, of course, that one wasn't even capable of having a pleasant walk out of doors without being bothered by some Maker-forsaken facet of this place. Dorian had, quite honestly, been minding his own business. Yes, it's true, he may not have paid as much attention as he should, but that really was no reason for the fauna to seek their revenge. Well, he did find he fancied their meat, but honestly?

That didn't really matter at the moment, of course. He stepped out onto the street and there it was, staring him down with those doey, kind eyes, but there was something sinister in their sheen. Instinctively, he raised a hand to shield himself, but whoever pulled him here had taken away his abilities. He was defenseless and the beast was tensing for a charge.

"It really needn't come to this, you know." The beast snorts. "I've done nothing to incite your wrath. At least give me a chance to earn it."

The beast snorts and the muscles ripple as it gathers the energy to leap into its charge. Dorian Pavus is not a man who runs, so help him.

No. Really.

WILDCARD

(OOC: Dorian is an explorer! If you've got an idea, throw it at me! You can find me on plurk @

vikael)

TEXTS
UN: remonstrate

Surely someone other than myself has noticed how sinister this whole affair is.

Alex has been in the family business long enough to know that when someone grabs your hand and tells you to run, you do it without question, and if it turns out that person is leading you into a trap, you worry about that when you have higher ground and somewhere to hide the body.

He also knows enough to look at what they're running from before they get anywhere with too many obstacles. "Oh shit-" he mutters once he registers the moths. Nope nope there is way too much new, fresh information in his head that he refuses to give up because some nocturnal insect decides he's a threat. Within a few moments, he's the one pulling Loki along in a sudden change of direction towards the door of an empty house.

Vasquez has to stop thinking about how much he likes seeing Faraday in his shirt, because it's probably not something he'll get to see very often. Shrugging, he doesn't feel guilty about the shirt smelling because, "You don't want to wear it, you can give it back to me." Somehow, he doesn't think that will happen with the temperature outside.

Maybe in the summer, Faraday will walk around more with nothing on, but a man can only hope.

He watches Faraday enjoy the bottle, lighting his cigarette as he does, digging out the half-drank bottle of tequila and gesturing with it. "Come on, let's go start the walk. It takes a while to get there."

"It's not useless if you know how to use it." A small smile with the return; you live in a dead world you make what you can with its bones.

"Jacob." She nods, seems to hesitate for a moment, then sticks her hand out awkwardly in greeting. "You can call me 7."

"Have you figured out how to work it? The stove?" A recent revelation about being human was that she needed to eat ... often ... and she was finding that working a stove would be helpful.

7 is not unfamiliar with dragging people out of the way of danger. She's been tracking the beast, having fashioned a spear out of found items and eager to test it.

She watched Dorian and the creature face each other down from the shadows, quietly frustrated at the interruption.

The moment it starts charging the man, who seems to just wave his hands to no effect, 7 moves, darting out of her hiding space. She intercepts Dorian and grabs his wrist with the intent to pull him out of the way.

"Move!"

In most situations, Dorian is rather unfond of being manhandled in such a fashion. When, however, the manhandler in question is pulling his rather useless hind side out of the way of a rampaging...whatever that thing is, he'll worry about his complaining later and allow himself to be pulled.

Luckily, at least in Dorian's opinion, of the both of them, the beast, while fast, doesn't turn well. At least...he hopes that's the case. He does spy her rather ramshackle spear, though, and makes a mental note to find some sort of more physical weapon, seeing as his magic is, well, late to the party.

"My hero. You are going to point that at the strange ox-creature, are you not?" Dorian isn't a coward by any means, but he has no way of defending himself at the moment, and so standing behind 7 is not an indication of cowardice. It's merely a survival tactic.

Hawke had been scouting around, her go-to exercise these days, with her sub-par bow she ~~stole~~ borrowed from the group supplies strapped to her back. What she would give for her own bloody weapons back. She'd give every piece of clothing on her back, in the village, and possibly one of her least important limbs. Ah well. She's spinning an arrow she cut herself in one hand as she more or less stumbles into the situation.

She sees the beast first, large as it is, and then hears a voice on the other side. Oh so that's fun. She can't help a moment of mischief, wondering if it's better to watch for a bit rather than get involved. Bad Hawke. Rude Hawke. She can almost see Varric's look, torn between being proud and being exasperated by her constant lack of reasonable decisions. Right, but she's determined to be a good one heres, with that second chance at life and everything.

She runs by the beast, sleek and nimble when she wants to be, and slides the arrow into the bow like it's an extension of her very being. "Find a tree, get into it. They can't reach and get bored." Hawke backs up but keeps the arrow aimed straight for its head. It probably won't go down from one arrow, so instead, she aims it at its knee. That'll slow it down. The arrow is set loose, slamming into the meat of the knee, and the animal cries out. It doesn't mean its down though. Probably just upset. Hawke turns toward Dorian. "Tree!"

What perfect timing this woman with the familiar voice and roguish demeanor possesses! He'll pay her back, of course, though he has the good sense to look offended at the suggestion he climb a tree like some sort of terrified woodland creature. "They' get bored'? Are you suggesting this antlered monstrosity is carnivorous?" The arrow had slowed the beast, but 'slow' and 'stop' are two very different things and much to his chagrin, it was already recovering.

"Vishante kaffas! This is preposterous!" Ridiculous as he may see this particular situation to be, and as annoying as he may find climbing a tree to run from an oversized deer, he does look around for an arboreal retreat he might make use of. There aren't many scrub trees in Tevinter able to hold his weight, of course, and even if there were Dorian had never been a climber. "Keep it distracted, won't you?"

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Test Drive 21 (October & November)

hit and run

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7 || 9

Staying Power

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Dorian Pavus | Dragon Age

Hit & running

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Hit and Run

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Hit and Run

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