sixthiteration | Test Drive (December & January)

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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:

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

I. SNOW BLIND - THE INN

The cold bites at his limbs before long. It's actually much easier to plow through the snow if you CAN'T feel the ice in your legs stinging like hell, honestly, there's rather a lot to be said for moderate hypothermia. --Well. Philip glances around for shelter, anyway. Might as well not bother. At this he won't spot the next building until he's slamming his head into its front door.

Shouldn't be too long now, actually, if his homing instinct is any indication. It is, obviously. Will be. He might have lost the ability to sense other people like a living bat, but that didn't stop him from memorising the way to the bar with his eyes closed. Or risking the walk there under less than fortunate weather conditions, for that matter.

The storm howls around his ears, more ferocious than before. Philip presses his arms tightly to his chest. Maybe this is how it should have ended, he thinks. Right after the library. Right after he'd found who he came for. Lost in the cold, before he waltzed into answers to questions he never thought, or wanted, to ask. Well before getting lost in a chain of bloody alternate dimensions, Christ.

Philip slams into the Inn's door. A voiceless curse leaves his lips.

Well.

About bloody time, at least, he was starting to get lost in the sort of thoughts generally reserved for people more sober than he strives to be on any given day these days. Right, that plus the dark purple fingers. He could stand to fix those, too.

He pushes open the door. Ideally he'll find a bar filled with plenty of liquor and no people whatsoever, but circumstances considered he'll take anything but the stark opposite of that scenario.

Philip squints into the Inn, and tentatively waves hello.

II. JUMPED-UP

Philip almost steps on the thing, too. Easy to get lost daydreaming about what exotic new animal will lunge at you from behind the next tree, and all that. But there it is, colourful, interesting, and probably in some way incredibly dangerous or inconvenient if interacted with. Better leave that for somebody else to find out. In fact--

Philip taps the shoulder of the person walking in front of him.

He types his message quickly, and holds up his watch for them to read.

'Still looking for a souvenir from this trip? Found the perfect thing for you.'

He nods down at the feather near their feet.

III. WILDCARD

[ Happy to do something else if you're in the mood. Just comment with whatever or write a PM to hash things out. Happy to write in prose or brackets. ]

[ The thing Dean's discovered about this shithole cabin in the shithole woods of whatever shithole island they're on is that the bar is a shithole. So, yeah, technically there's a bar in that there's shelves and stools and a place for people to put drinks, and they even have one of those friggin' fruit boxes where bartenders chop up limes and oranges and whatever else people stick on those little umbrellas (that he loves but shut your mouth).

But the box, like the shelves, are bare to the freaking bone. Nary a bottle of liquor to be found, which is probably why the population's usually low. Every now and then there's a chick with blue hair that drops off a jug of what he's pretty sure will strip off your insides like holy water, but apparently it takes her a while to brew it. Or... boil it, or however you make hooch. He's picturing a little Breaking Bad action.

Point is, he'd been about 2 seconds away from opening up a basement distillery and ringing up Giancarlo Esposito when he woke up to the box.

What's in the box??

Not a severed head, though it wouldn't be the first time. Nope, it was stacked to the god damn brim with about sixteen bottles of various kinds of whiskey.

He could've cried.

Did, actually, shed a single manly tear, he's not afraid to admit it.

So here's Dean Winchester in a bar with a bottle of whiskey he brought not from the bar, because he likes the bar atmosphere. He's predictable. It's called consistency. Bite him.

The one thing he ain't, though, is expecting company.

Door opens. Cold blast. Footsteps. Breathing.
You're gonna have to share the booze, says a voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Not Batman from a place that doesn't exist anymore, and it's with that unsettling thought in mind that he turns, lips pressed flat into a begrudging line, shot glass in hand.

what
the
actual
fuck ]

Test Drive (December & January)

Philip | Penumbra (+CRAU)

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