The Sixth Iteration (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sixthiteration) wrote2018-11-28 05:44 pm
sixthiteration) wrote2018-11-28 05:44 pm
Entry tags:
Test Drive (December & January)
Test Drive
→ 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 NETWORK prompts, or both.
→ THERE ARE ONLY THREE RULES FOR THE TDM:
→ 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.
→ Choose one of the scenarios below or make up your own. Feel free to try multiple scenarios.
→ Write LOGS or NETWORK 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.
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
- SNOW BLIND - It's snowing, a lot, and pristine landscape though it might create, it also brings plenty of problems, especially when you live in an Edwardian-style village with a serious lack of snow shovels. It's currently blizzard conditions and visibility is nil — Maybe you gave in and ducked into the nearest house for temporary shelter, and discover someone else had the same idea (or just lives there, oops). Maybe you're stubborn enough to still be out in it, struggling against the wind and snow. Or maybe you've tromped into the South Village Inn like a human popsicle, and are just hoping you don't lose any fingers before you make it to the fireplace.
- JUMPED-UP - Winter's here, which means it's the perfect time for an expedition to warmer, southern climes. You've joined a group following the river all the way down to the far southern beach, for fun and for science. On this latest break in your journey, you've spotted a large, jewel-colored feather and picked it up, maybe as a specimen to bring back or just a feather for your cap. Turns out it's an archaeopteryx feather, and you're now, well... let's call it a little gravity-challenged. Not a bad benefit once you figure out how to control it.
- COLD CALL - The snow has slacked off, leaving behind a winter wonderland. Sure, there's plenty to do, but after being cooped up inside for days, most people won't blame you for a morale-booster — That is, unless your way of starting a snowball fight is to pop up and throw them at unsuspecting passers-by. Making a snow man or snow angels might come with a little less retribution, but you do you.
- WILDCARD - Choose your own adventure. Maybe play powers roulette.
Network
All characters are fitted with a smart watch-like device on their left wrist, which they can use to send text and video messages to other villagers.
- Text and/or video, any length
- 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.
cold call
From a distance, he's doing a doubletake, if not for his beard, the way he's bundled and his short-ty status, it would almost lend merit to the whole clone theory. It's typical for Frank to scope out the Village to see who might be in need of help, especially in the Winter time. In the Summer, he'd more or less remained hands-off since no one seemed all that interested in his aid then, but now that things are getting harder by the day, he isn't surprised to find people who need his particular survival skill-set. He approaches as silently as he can, out of habit much more than necessity, but as always the dogs give him away.
A bloodhound brays from not that far away, she's black-and-tan and seems to be thriving in the cold weather. The slate gray pitbull bringing up the rear seems less enthused about it, though he drags his nose along the snow's surface and licks it off when they finally come to a stop in front of the Inn. The short-haired dog is wearing a handmade coat, the body from some type of hide and fabric stitched together and the hood and edges a fluffy fur. Frank's discovered he can keep him outside longer with the coat's addition, and it's not like he doesn't have enough projects going simultaneously. What's one more?
Without saying anything to the equally laconic man, Frank scoops up a stack of wood like it's nothing and files in behind him. The dogs sprint in and start rolling around the floor to get the snow off their backs. He leaves his pile by the fireplace for the moment and lets it warm him, his crooked nose about the only thing that isn't covered in layers of clothing (or hair) and it's turned bright red with the abrupt temperature shift. He strips off his bright teal mittens and leaves them to dry by the fire, rubbing at his nose before it can run. He needs to get this guy outfitted in something warmer, he honestly looks miserable and that's the quickest way to get Frank to do something for you tbh. Other than just existing.
no subject
Under different circumstances, Maine might stop short at the sight of the bizarrely familiar man. Not because of recognizing himself under all that facial hair, but because of a rather striking familial resemblance. He might stare in silence, dark eyes wide, and think of his long-dead brothers. They were all military men, save for the youngest, so none of them ever achieved a beard quite as long as Frank's. But Maine might remember seeing them with growing beards on leave, basking in the fact that they didn't have to shave.
Under these circumstances, however? Maine's far more interested in the dogs.
One of the downsides of spending nearly half his life on spaceships and in war zones is that Maine rarely gets to play with dogs. Shit, he rarely even gets to see them. So that's where his attention immediately goes, intense gaze brightening as he watches them roll around on the floor. The big man steps carefully, making sure he doesn't disturb them as he moves to drop off his pile of wood. And then, without so much as glancing the man to whom the dogs belong, he joins Frank at the fireplace.
If he's honest with himself, Maine does need to spend some time indoors. He bundled up in everything that his pack contained, but he's still woefully underdressed. Hell, he doesn't even have gloves — instead, he's got an extra pair of socks on his hands. Those he pulls off as he warms his hands at the fire, exposing the kinds of scars and calluses with which Frank may be familiar: Maine spends a lot of time lifting weights, firing guns, and punching things very hard.
But Maine's not lingering at the fire because it's the smart thing to do. He's lingering so that he can keep watching the dogs. And when he finally speaks, voice deep and gravely and just on the human side of a growl, his question is about them.
"Names?"
Not Frank's name. The dogs' names.
no subject
He doesn't mind the other man sitting by him, though he crunches up a bit so Maine can get the benefit of the fire. He's never felt truly small just sitting next to someone before, even if the man looks like he could be half his age when he relaxes his face. It reminds him of boot camp and much simpler times. Frank understands too being more interested in dogs than people. That's obviously why he has so many. He might already be sizing Maine up to see if he might be the sort of person he can adopt a few animals to, but that can wait until after he has proper Winter gear. Naturally.
The one gruff word almost startles him, he had been so immersed in sitting here in silence he almost forgot people could speak here again. Frank leans back and cranes his neck to look at his morons. They've finally settled on the floor, Aretha laying on her paws and Aloe with his feet in the air. All he can do is roll his eyes as he points to first the gray pitbull and then the black and tan bloodhound. "Aloe, Aretha." He never thought Maine was asking for his name, so that circumvents some awkwardness anyway: he would have offered their names before his own whether he was asked or not. It would seem their passing resemblance isn't all they share.
no subject
And it's good, too, that the dogs look so relaxed. Certainly not afraid of anything. It brings the ghost of a smile to Maine's face, lips twitching up just slightly. It might be cold as fuck in this weird place, but at least the animals are happy.
The Freelancer hums in response to the names, head tilting as he considers them. Aloe and Aretha. Not the kind of names he'd expect dogs to have, but not bad ones.
"Aloe?" he asks. That one's unusual enough to warrant a question.
no subject
"Uh... I dunno if anyone's gotten into it yet with you, but there can be different versions of - yourself? And I guess Aretha was the last Frank's dog." Oh yeah, his name is Frank. Now you know. "So I just kinda... kept with the theme."
It doesn't really occur to him that not everyone would know who Aloe Blacc is.
no subject
It's only then that Maine gets a decent look at the other man's face.
Instantly, tension snaps into Maine's frame. His muscles tighten; his pupils dilate; his heart rate picks up as though his body is getting ready for a fight. He feels his lips part like he's about to say something, but no sound comes out. He just stares, silent and still.
It's like looking at a ghost. Frank's hairy and older and still looks red from the cold, but fuck, it's too familiar. Like he's looking at an uncle or cousin — or a future that was killed long before it could happen.
Something clenches tight in his chest. He jerks his gaze away. Stares into the fire without really seeing it. Grabs hold of the images roiling on the surface of his mind and shoves them down.
Focus, Agent.
The Freelancer swallows. Wipes the emotion from his face. Speaks again, voice unchanged.
"Theme?" Unless it's 'names that start with the letter A,' he can't guess what it is.
no subject
"Sorry," he manages, feeling like it really is his fault. God, Frank, pull it together. The slightest hint of a self-effacing smile tugs up the corner of his mouth a second later. "If I could change this mug, I would."
It would make being Pete Castiglione a whole lot easier, and it would make this interdimensional journeys a whole heck of a lot less awkward.
"It's okay if you don't believe me about that shit, I'm sure someone else could explain it better anyway." But no one can say he didn't try!! He almost forgot they were talking about the dogs before, confused for a second before he again recovers. "Uh. They're both singers? From my time anyway."
no subject
Maybe it would help if Maine explained his reaction, but the idea of doing so doesn't even cross the big man's mind. He doesn't talk about those he's lost. Ever. Not even when someone who looks like he could be a dead relative is sitting right beside him.
Dark eyes stay locked on the fire as Maine breathes past lingering emotions. As he finishes pushing them down until the tension ebbs from his frame. It doesn't take long; he's had years of practice.
When Frank mentions someone else explaining shit, Maine lifts one broad shoulder in a slight shrug. It's a little harder for the Freelancer to dismiss the possibility of "different versions" after seeing Frank. And, when Frank explains the origin of the dogs' names, Maine's quick latch onto the topic.
"2547," he says with a little gesture to himself. It's the year that he's from, though that may not be clear until he asks, "Year?"
no subject
Between this place and the last, he'd met a lot of people from different times, different places. It definitely doesn't even seem to phase him when he answers, "2017." It had been decades past that in Reims and while this place he doubts is much older than a few generations, it looks like something out of the turn of the century anyway. Weird is just what he thrives on, these days. He used to be much more fun to get reactions out of, sorry to say.
no subject
no subject
no subject