sixthiteration | Test Drive (December & January)

→ 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:

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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Four years. He knew she looked different, but he's starting to process that she's an adult. Tears are pricking at the back of his eyes again, Kamala's turning seventeen and Chloe... God, he's a mess. Frank scrubs a hand over his face, ending somewhere between a laugh and a sob at her commentary.

"Kam likes it," he points out, but it also helps him hide. No one thinks much of him here and he much prefers that to the Mayor of Reims, called on for anything and everything at any and every hour. Now he's just Frank, the dog guy. He's quiet and makes his own way here, no drama. Well, mostly.

Chloe doesn't miss the mix of the sounds and part of her wants to get down off the counter and hug him again, to assure him that she's about as far from an adult as someone her age can possibly get, but she's not sure how true that is anymore. Not after everything. Not after what happened with the Bay and what she's seen.

"Who's Kam?" That seems like a safe question. "She's not totally wrong. I've seen worse hobos." No, she hasn't, because there's only one in her town and she looked nothing like Frank to even be able to compare. But that's not the point.

He blinks wetly as he focuses on her again, shaking his head. He's pretty sure she's just saying that to appease him, but it's appreciated anyway.

"Kamala. She's here, from Reims. Jessica too."

Hearing the pot start to boil, he turns on his heel to plate their soup and see if the bread is burnt. He got a little distracted there for a minute, but he thinks that was a proportionate reaction overall. He points for her to sit in a chair like he really is her dad before he slides the bowl over to her, a few slices of homemade bread extra crispy served alongside the elk stew.

"Is that it?" There was a tinge of hope, that maybe one of the closer friends she'd made would have been around, too - but it's small and she's not expecting it to come to anything. She'd been shocked enough by this chance meeting, she wasn't going to hold her breath for another.

Rolling her eyes at the pointing like a proper daughter, she slid off the counter with a dramatic groan of distaste before she went over to the chair and took a seat as instructed. Despite herself, her stomach still growls. Maybe she was hungrier than she thought. There's a muttered thanks, before she goes to break one of the slices of bread so she can dip it in the stew before taking a bite.

He pauses another second, but then nods. There's no real way to draw this out. It's just the three of them—four of them now.

"You might see some familiar faces... but they don't remember." Despite his insistence that she eat with manners, he stays standing and leans against the counter to eat himself. Mostly so he can watch her and convince himself that she's real.

She nods at that, staying silent again, keeping her eyes on her stew for a moment. She pushed the meet around without taking another bite. It's shitty to think about seeing people she cared for and having them not remember her, but she gets it, and supposes there is no reason to let herself linger on what she can't change.

She finally shovels a bite of the actual stew into her mouth, followed fairly quickly by another, because her manners beyond sitting when told to are hardly anything to write home about. At least it wasn't pancakes or pizza or something else she might inhale without even chewing.

It gets him to smile as he eats his own meal more sedately, knowing he's probably looking at her too much and for too long uninterrupted but he can't help himself. Against all odds, here she is: adult, alive, take your pick of unbelievable things. Frank can only think that it lends merit to his theory that everyone from Reims is safe. Or at least, as safe as they were to begin with in their homeworlds. Chloe was just as likely to die where she was from than the horrortown they'd both survived by the skin of their teeth.

"Hold on, I've got something for you." Frank sets his spoon down noisily, something that doesn't even make him jump anymore, and he goes searching in drawers until he finds where he hid it. A slim joint is held up for her appraisal, he only has so many to last the Winter but he can't think of a better person to share it with anyway. "After we eat."

He sets the joint down on the table, inexpertly rolled but not bad for one of his first few attempts, and picks back up his spoon to start eating faster himself. Frank glances outside, they can't smoke in the house because of Kamala, but he'll make sure Chloe is properly bundled this time before they head back out.

Apparently her own cringe still occurred, the memories still too fresh as she sorted through them to not. But she moved past it quickly enough and her forehead wrinkles at the statement because how could he already have something for her when they only just saw one another again? She slows in her eating to an almost stand still as she waits, leaning back in her chair so she can watch him look through the drawers.

Her eyes light up fairly brightly at the sight of the roll, though. Amateur as it may have been, she'd certainly know one anywhere. She grins widely, and if that wasn't incentive enough to go back to shoveling spoonfuls in her mouth, nothing would be. Chloe's apparently aiming to finish elk stew in record time because fuck if she isn't going to take him up on an offer to get high immediately.

"I didn't know you smoked," she said in the brief pause between chewing on mouthfuls.

He shrugs, trying not to grin around a bite though he's pretty sure he fails anyway.

"I do here." There's not much else to do sometimes, besides it'd be wasteful not to. "There's fields and fields of the shit in the Summer."

Oh, yeah, and maybe not as cool: "I make wine, too." He's a pool of nonstop surprises apparently.

"A man of many talents." As someone who has a severe drinking problem, it shouldn't have been cool, but it makes her look just as happy as the weed does. Or, well, almost as happy - because 'fields and fields' of pot sounds like a dream come true to her.

"Fuck, though - maybe this place won't be as bad as I thought," she said with only half-seriousness. She took the final bite of her stew, going to get up and put the dish into the sink.

He tips his head to concede the point, he already wasn't useless to begin with, but the more weird survival shit that gets thrown at him the more he learns. And the more he can teach as a result. Does he love her thinking this place is better than Reims just because it has an abundance of weed? No, but he also can't blame her. Especially not when that wrap is about the only thing that will keep him sane while he tells her all the ways in which it isn't.

Frank follows her to the sink and deposits his own dishes to worry about later. He touches her arm just as a silent show of solidarity and probably to try and get it through to his brain that she's really here. Then he's leading her to the living room where he's apparently been busy. There are scarves, hats and mittens laid out on the table in every scrubs color he knows of in slightly varying sizes though they skew towards "over", his needles and a half-knitted green scarf in the chair. He gestures for her to take his pick as he goes to his jacket hung up by the door with his own teal knitwear hanging to dry. Everything's still the tiniest bit damp but he decides after a toke it won't matter and he starts looking around to see if any of the dogs want to go out.

Chloe follows him towards the living room, looking over the options for only a second before her hand naturally guides itself to blue and starts to throw them on and prepare to go back into the cold. Much more worth it this time, she thinks, because at least she knows she won't be wandering and she'll have something to keep her spirits up. It was a highlight in what was otherwise an extremely shitty past four years.

Once she'd tugged her mittens on, she watched to see him look for the dogs for a moment, and had thought of heading outside ahead of him. But instead she took a few steps closer, wrapping her arm around his, holding it close to her side -waling out the door without him left the quiet worry that going out of his line of sight would make it so he never actually was able to follow her out the door and this would all just disappear. How many times had she seen her father solidly in front of her only to turn around and have him be gone?

She didn't want him to be another ghost.

Her head leaned down against his shoulder, eyes closing for a second, before she started to tug him towards the door.

The sudden warmth at his side startles him a tad, but then he's leaning his head against her cheek and shutting his eyes too, just for a second. It's easy to let her drag him, much easier than it ever would be to make her let go. Something that doesn't even cross his mind as Aretha and reluctantly, Aloe follow them out into the tundra. Keeping his massive arm at her side, he kicks snow out of their way so they can sit on the stoop like proper stoners while the dogs run out to find some snow to make yellow.

Frank manages to sit without dislodging her and pulls the joint out of his pocket to hand over to her, pulling off his mitten and placing it on his knee as he considers his options. There's a flint stone in his pocket and a knife at his ankle, that's usually how he gets the job done, but something else had happened recently that should make this way more convenient - if he can control it.

"Uh... hold on." He reluctantly pulls away, not wanting to burn her if he fucks up, turning to face forward so he can concentrate. He snaps and sparks fly out of his fingers like a Bic that won't quite catch. On the third try he gets a flame, held right there on his fingertips, first too much but then he manages to widdle it down to just a match's worth, leaning over to hold it against the joint so she can get it started. Once it's done, he shakes his hand and the flame disappears like it had never happened.

Glad for the excuse to not break contact, she plops herself down on the cold stoop beside him, watching as he fumbles around and starts to snap his fingers. The sparks should surprise her, the flame should make her even more shocked, really but -- Well, when your girlfriend makes the wind blow stronger when she screams, your best friend can rewind time and you've died who knows how many times now because of it, some things just start to roll off your back. Weird powers just become the norm.

She focuses instead on getting the spliff lit, breathing in deeply and holding it in her lungs as she closes her eyes. The burn is one of the first familiar things she's experienced here and it takes a moment of relishing in it before she blows it out in a long, relaxing sigh.

"That human lighter shit must be hella convenient," she says finally as she passed the joint to him.

"It just happened... recently," he admits, wondering if it had to do with using the vending machine, those cute-but-godawful mice or something else entirely. Maybe just a new way to fuck with them, whatever, he doesn't know. In this particular instance, she's right, it's convenient. "Have you noticed anything extra that you can do?"

Since coming here, he means, since as far as he knows she couldn't do anything extra-human before. And everyone he knew who had powers had lost them upon showing up. He takes the joint, pausing a few beats before taking a long pull - though not nearly as long as hers - and he still coughs at the end. Just a small one, more from the frigid cold than anything, the burn in his lungs such a contrast it sets him off. He gives her a look like he's sorry for being lame before passing the joint back over.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Test Drive (December & January)

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