thetube | Test Drive Meme: August 2015

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Welcome to the Underground test drive meme! This is where you can try out the AU version of your character, start some potential CR and get a feel for the world of the game. Choose your character's species, read up on the available factions and you're ready to go. Put your character's name in your subject line when you post, tag out, and have fun!

Note to current players: Activity in this meme counts as game canon! So you can use it for activity check. If you end up playing anything that you can't or don't want to use as game canon, it's fine to ignore it. (In that case you shouldn't submit it for activity check.)

For prospective players: Thinking about bringing a character to the game? Feel free to comment to our Potential CR Planning meme for OOC planning and discussion.

Here are some prompts to inspire you:

1) BABY COME BACK. Is there someone you miss? Maybe you've come to visit for the first time in months. Maybe you'll even stay.

2) FULL MOON. (29th August) Uh oh, it's that time of the month. Werewolves, have you been feeling more aggressive lately? A little short of temper? Better start preparing for your monthly transformation and hope that you don't get interrupted. And then there's the morning after, which feels like a massive hangover. Wait, where are your clothes?

3) CARNIVAL. (30th-31st August) It's the August bank holiday weekend and that can only mean one thing: the Notting Hill Carnival! With the sun high in the sky, enjoy the parade, the music and of course the food. Jerk chicken, anyone?

4) SPECIAL EFFECTS. There's nothing like a touch of subtle magic to add to the occasion. Dress up and show off. Mind you, there could be other supernatural types around who see straight through your tricks.

5) PARTY ALL NIGHT. It's not over when the sun goes down. Get yourself to one of the bars or after-parties and keep on partying. Just don't drink too much. You know it makes it harder to control your powers... and your urges.

6) BRAWL. The police work hard to keep London's gangs away from Carnival. When you have supernatural gangs to contend with, their job gets a whole lot harder. Drunk and disorderly or simply looking for an excuse to cause trouble, encounters between rival factions can soon become hostile. Now are you here to cause a fight or to stop it?

7) NIGHT IN JAIL. Oops. What did you do? And who's that with you?

8) CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. Anything goes.

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[She's blushing under her light smattering of freckles, twirling under her arm. It could almost have been like a dance at home in one of the pubs. Too often there were rounds of drinking songs and Irish music to be heard, and it always lead to dancing.

She did dance, then. But was never really any good.

Annie comes back to face Esmeralda, giggling.] No way. You're the one doing all the hard work.

While Dave's in the process of doing a talented acrobatic pirouette off of Chip's chest, Aradia's busy completely freaking out in the poor bastard's head.

The sensation that comes with possessing a living being is hard to describe to a non-ghost. She can feel everything, down to the individual thumps of his heart and the rough abrasion of his greasy wifebeater shirt on skin, there's no chance to filter it out and it's distracting and awful and she wants it to stop. Feedback bounces between spirit and host in a ever increasing loop, and if poor Chip's not already off his rocker from the Strider-approved beatdown by tomorrow, the migraine Aradia's leaving behind would probably finish the job.

In reality, it only takes a few seconds post-escape for her to be violently ejected, but it feels like an eternity. She doesn't so much hit pavement as get absorbed into it, glitching through the surface layer and. This sucks. She misses the missing chunks of her soul all the more now. "I regret everything."

Hopefully The Dude got away safe in the meantime. She didn't get a chance to check in the confusion. Owch.

He knew how to mix before he knew all of his multiplications. Not the most normal of educations but pretty handy these days as he and two others have to quench the thirst of others every evening if it isn't a holiday. Besides, it seems like she definitely needs it so of course he'll do his best to make sure it'll be something good.

The question over Margie has him grin, wiping down a glass and setting it aside as he spoke. "She officially has everyone in the staff wrapped around her little finger. Anton was the last one to meet her in person. One smile from her and he was putty."

Given that Anton is his security, a hulking bear of a man who is more bear than man most days. The sight of seeing Anton play peek-a-boo with a small baby was both hilarious and sobering of the consequences Matthew will face. "I am officially screwed. Have a lot of people to look after her but I'm certain she'll be the most spoiled little girl int he world."

Chip and Dale are down for the count and they better be: Chip looks like he's seen some shit after taking a nasty shit and is just refusing to move, looking like a pink buff starfish trying to do photosynthesis or something. Dale is still tasting gravel for breakfast in the coming months, knocked out cold like he was hit by the Stone Cold Stunner itself. It's safe to say that this is won for sure by yours truly with a bit of help.

Go Team Strider and Pebble Rain.

Though someone had the audacity to realise maybe they should stop this before someone got a real weapon on their hands and started calling for security to break up the fight when the fight was over seven minutes ago. Get with the times, grandpa in the nipple tassels.

Realising the jig was up faster than EggMcmuffin loudly proclaiming something dweeby in an attempt to impress him, Dave gets back on his feet and is ready to hide back in the ground when the beat of his head kicks in and the memories snap in place and oh yeah wasn't there someone here but now they're not here all Deception-style?

"--Hey?" He looks around, trying to see the person through the crowd. Still around, mystery chum? Were you real or did the chokehold allow him to see the face of god which happens to be a familiar face he knows in the past or what. "Hey. I'm serious about the fist bump. Least I can do. You didn't leave me hanging so I won't leave you hanging my mysterious saviour-sempai."

He could tell immediately that whoever it was had magic, and sat a little straighter to have a look as they brought her in. Not one he recognized-- which would mean Midnight, typically, but she was young enough that she could be new to one of the smaller covens. To be in here, looking entirely unbothered about it, the former seemed more likely.

He'd been sitting impatiently at the edge of the cot, resigned to looking a rumpled and lightly bruised disaster, and made no move to change that as the door slid shut. Witches didn't tend to fare well in the more physical public scuffles, and he'd long given up being so petty as to neaten his appearance by magic.

"Yes, the dubious honor of attempting to enforce self-control among those who have none." As if he could radiate Daybreak, or broad disapproval, any more clearly. "And you?"

Nancy was petty enough to neaten her appearance. Usually she'd cover some of her more visible marks and bruises when she was in public, but it could become draining. Whenever she was at home she tended to let the illusions slide off, where all the scars on her neck wouldn't draw any curious attention.

Vampires. What could you do? Other than offer another vein.

"That'll do it," she said with an air that suggested she knew first hand. "I," she said, because there was no point to hiding it given she was in a jail cell. "Am here on one count of soliciting. You think they'd arrest the man who was going to take me up on it." She looked at her nails trying to feign nonplussed.

Drunks corralled in a meagre cage had been Killian's people, too, once upon a time. He'd been a rather notorious pirate, had spent time in a few prisons just to prove he could bust out in the end. This is far from the first time he's wound up behind bars for something or another, and he too could probably get out if he was willing to make a bit of a mess... but he'd need to feed and that'd likely be stupid when surrounded by drunks, albeit drunken ones.

So he was the only one currently in the drunk tank that didn't seem particularly drunk, more grumpily hungover, and that wasn't quite right either. Grumpy was pretty close though. He'd taken over an entire bench to lay down with an arm over his eyes, and didn't seem keen on sharing. Nobody had yet to be brave enough to try and ask him to.

"Would you bloody stow it?" he snapped toward the direction of whoever thought a bit of Guns n' Roses would make this dreary experience better. (It wasn't.)

Stow it? Stow it?

"Well, if you sang along, grumpy guss, I wouldn't have to." Lucifer enjoyed very few things, but annoying people was one of them. This guy who was dressed to the nails in what could only be described as goth-pirate attire, taking up a whole bench while covering his eyes from the masses was definitely a prime target.

Lucifer kept clapping his hands, keeping with the rhythm. "Time to let the light shine in, neighbor!" He was a happy drunk.

Yes. Stow it. As in, employ silence, instead of horrific yowling that seemed to be intended as some kind of singing. As if Guns n' Roses didn't yowl enough on their own. The pirate had not had enough alcohol, and he had also not fed particularly recently. It made him more volatile than usual, and apparently, less of a fan of classic rock.

Killian rubbed wearily at his face as the tosser decided the best course was to be louder, and more obnoxious. He should have known better, really. "I'm already in here, mate, don't tempt me to add an assault charge." Because it really was tempting, honestly. Hook hadn't cared for drunken singing even when he was a pirate, so why would he appreciate it now, mostly sober, and surrounded by far too many potential meals in a very well monitored jail cell?

Lucifer chuckled at that, his voice going a bit lower, a bit darker. "Oh, I'd like to see you try, hotshot."

Picking a fight was a horrible idea. Well, another fight. But anyway, it was still a bad idea. He didn't have all that much in the way of powers anymore, even if Lucifer did miss the good old days. His weapons were his wit and way with words. Fists? Not so much.

"What horrible thing threw you in here, anyway? It must have been bad if you don't even want to do a sing-along." Everyone hated sing-alongs. That's why he loved them.

"Do you think I might convince you to stop talking?"

His cellmate is a middle-aged man, watching Dave with a very deadpan sort of exasperation; he ran out of patience some time ago, in the course of breaking up a particularly idiotic, very public fight. He looks rumpled and lightly bruised, as a result. Witches do not have much advantage in the physical sense, especially with witnesses.

But the accent's fairly posh, and he's not budged from his seat at the edge of the cot, for all that he keeps looking Dave over a bit too intently.

He gets the vague impression of power; the boy is-- something. He's really making a strong effort to care what. Between the eye-searing cape of orange feathers, and the fairly horrific babbling, he's becoming more inclined to ignore each other peaceably and wait this wreck of a situation out.

Man he should have seen Dave's bedazzled Storbucks if he wanted to see something wild but those bastards took it away when locking him up. The only danger his drink was going to be someone's waistline but only if they're a dirty liar and does it look like his hips lie, your honour?

Okay but really -- The first fight he got into was just as justifiable since he tried to break up the fight. The second one he thought he was in the right to deck the asshole's halls with his first because if Chip and Dale can't get away with being obnoxious assholes, he sure as hell isn't going to let someone insult his mother. He's going to be all up in her defence like Jean Valjean on the barricades.

Not that the popo got the gist of so here he is.

"What? We gotta pass the time here while we're trapped, trapped like rats. Since I don't think you're the type to play footsies, twenty questions seem like a good way to go." Dave shrugs the coolest shrug he could shrug, acting like it's every day someone offers to do foot play with a stranger in a cramper jail cell as they waited to be let out.

It flew in the U.S.A -- thanks Obama -- but maybe London here is different since they do spell their shit weird. "What are you in for?"

Giles is looking at Dave now with a sort of dawning horror. The babble isn't panic at being tossed in a jail cell, with or without an irritable stranger, is it. Is he high on something? Is that what they've thrown him in for? Does he just do this?

To be entirely honest, he has nothing better to pass the time. Perhaps someone should be enjoying the night, and he certainly hopes that the outfit and... demeanor serve some purpose, even if it's surely not for him.

"Oh, attempting to convince several idiots not to complicate their night and mine." He tips his head in a gesture to their general surroundings. "Unsuccessfully."

And, in case he ought to spell it out more effectively for the American, or in case it will head off something inane: "I was trying to break up a fight."

If Dave's high on anything it happens to be the sweet knowledge he won his fight, hands down, and that he looked fabulous while doing so. Welcome to Dave Strider's twisted mind. ♐ 19 ♐. Single and ready to never mingle. Anti-sincerity. Pro-irony. Unicorngate Supporter.

It takes him a second to realise teach over here is saying he got into a fight to make love, not blackeyes. And he wound up in here? Shit, thanks England-Obama.

And shit--

"--Oh. Shit. You're that dude who was nearby when someone said they played my mom like a video game controller." An offence. A grave offence that warranted Dave smacking the idiot's head in hopes it'll help get dislodged from his ass and see the light of Dave and learn the first commandment of Thou Shall Not Talk Shit If They Cannot Take a Hit. "Proper 'sup man. Didn't think I'll see your shoes here since they're the goody two brand."

"Are you kidding? Look around." She stepped so both women turned in a circle, so that Annie could see the crowd.
"People are watching you too. And you're doing well."

She pulled Annie back into the jig proper. "What's your name?"

Nancy raised her glass to him. "Well! I can't say I'm surprised, a sweet little thing like her." She was bright here in the lights of the pub, her eyes sparkling. It was good to have someone to talk to, who knew nothing about the supernatural aspects of her life (though he had his own supernatural aspects in his, she was sure). It set her at ease, in ways that even drinking or drugs could not and would not give her.

Here, she could just be a person, as people were. Not a whore, a witch, anything. She could just be Nancy.

"She'll have everyone she meets wrapped around her finger, I'll tell you. But there's nothing wrong with being spoiled. So long as she's got a good head on her shoulders. And with you as her father, I don't doubt that for a second."

The crowd around them had Annie not only giggling, but smiling and blushing as she saw them. It was better, that the other woman had dragged her up here. She could never have done it alone, easily, and maybe it kind of helped that so many people around them were likely drunk.

At Esmeralda's indication, she moved back to the jig, copying as much as she could. "I'm Annie." A small, mild name for the small, mild girl.

"No, I'm very sure you don't." A fight was a bad idea. Just as snapping through what last margin of control he had left and draining every last fool trapped in here with him would be a very bad idea. It was just very tempting as time passed and frustration mounted. It'd been quite some time since he had to test his control so completely...

Well, sadly, that wasn't quite true, he just didn't like to think about the implications of the other instances he wavered.

"Resisting arrest." So he wasn't very good with authority, even now. The fact he'd even been caught was quite aggravating. If there hadn't been such a crowd that saw his face, he wouldn't be trapped here. "Your singing voice very well should be illegal, but I doubt that's what you're in for." Perhaps the pirate had decided that conversation was better than singing. So far the ploy seemed to be working.

"Jesus Christ-- The poor world. I can't wait to see it deal with an older Margie." He was almost amused by the idea but, somehow, sounded a bit worried. He understood an inkling of who/what Lyra really was. It made him wonder what that made his daughter. Could she grow? Would she grow for a bit and then stop growing?

He shoves those thoughts aside, opting to be cheerful for the last hour or so of final call since the night has been good, Nancy is back, and it's been an alright week. Why not celebrate it by being less of a downer?

"Ah, thanks. Sometimes I worry that I'm doing somethin' kinda funny with her with me as her pops. This ain't the most conventional lifestyle." Because… He leans and pretends to look around, whispering conspiratorially to her, "Don't tell the patrons I told you this so soon but-- I live above the pub here since it's where my family and I grew up. She's there right now with a friend of mine, snuggled up and snoozing like a june bug."

He pulls back and gives her a wink, almost imagining the grumbles the others would say when they realised the 'secret' of the pub they had to learn after only a while was told to Nancy so soon. He trusted her, Margie liked her. Seems only right to let her know something crucial if she's looking after the girl when he and others can't. Call is an offer of trust.

Well. Isn't this a nuisance? Quite partial to the odd fight, this one; truth be told, he didn't care much one way or the other about the insult and he laughed along with his new punching bag. A keen eye obviously noted the way he was holding his beer by the neck of the bottle because now there's someone standing between him and the nose he was intending to break.

Eames can feel the magic rolling off the witch, and if he had to guess he'd say the stuffy-looking old man's Daybreak to boot. It makes him pre-emptively bored of the entire situation, but his tone is perfectly genial as he addresses this interloper.

"Pardon me," he smiles, putting a hand on Giles' shoulder to try and gently usher him out of the way, "but typically one is supposed to ask before they cut in."

Reno looked at Nancy, giving his new friend an appraising look. Nothing struck him as particularly special about her, just a young girl in on solicitation more than likely, but she's his company for the night. Might as well try and make nice in case she's the type to try and strangle a guy in his sleep because of some nutso reason.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled two cards out of his inside pocket, holding them up for Nancy to see between his fingers, "got a Jack of spades and a business card." Lips pursed, he looked a little closer at the business card to see what exactly it was for, (tattoo removal? Well that's rude,) and raised an eyebrow, "should be good enough for a game of Go Fish, right?"

"You're going to have a hellion on your hands. Just be sure you can keep up." she gave him a friendly wink over the top of her glass.

"Over the top of the bar? I lived in worse places than that, but don't use that as an excuse, as I didn't really turn out the best." To put it lightly. "But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me." And with the curse lifted, Nancy could happily say that was, ironically, the truth. She didn't make a habit of telling secrets, unless there was something in it for her. Or she was cursed.

She took a nice sip of her drink, leaning back slightly on her stool. "I think you're doing wonderfully by her, Matthew. It's easy to tell how much you love her, and how much she loves you, too. There's this way she looks at you, I don't know if you've seen it, but the entire room lights up when you're in it. Like you're all that matters in her little world. It's astounding to look at, actually."

"I've played with less." She gave him a slight smile as she pushes off of the wall with her upper back and takes a few steps around the cell to come sit next to him. Better than standing, and she wasn't about to sit on the floor in this skirt. She was a hooker, but she had class, thank you very much.

"So how d'we go about this, hmm? D'you have a Business Card?"

1) Jo had gone to Europe on little more than a whim. Or at least it felt like a whim. She had someone watching her apartment, had her mail forwarded to Hanson's, and her badge suspended before packing her bags and getting on a red eye to Paris.

Isaac had the whole trip planned out. Every minute. And while there was something comforting in knowing what they were going to do when they were going to do it, it was less comforting than having a every second dictated. Jo lost her patience somewhere between Caen and Portsmouth when Isaac told her what they'd be doing for the next week. She told him she couldn't do this anymore and she got on the next train to London where she sat at a cafe inside King's Cross with her luggage piled under her seat and a cup of coffee completely abandoned.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Jo groaned into her hands as she slumped forward onto her elbows. Isaac was probably already on a flight to New York. And she was stuck in a foreign country with no friends or family here.

7) This is what happens when you aren't an actual police officer and you try to intervene in a brawl. Jo couldn't flash her badge because well, she didn't have one. So she'd gotten dragged in with the rest of the group she was trying to break up.

"I'd say it can't get any worse, but -," Jo knocks on the wooden bench she's sitting on. She isn't superstitious by nature, but knowing how this trip is going - a little salt throwing and wood knocking couldn't hurt.

8) Whatever you want!

Edited 2015-09-04 04:10 (UTC)

"Ah." Yes, by Giles' profoundly unimpressed impression, he does in fact remember that. "Which makes you the one--"

Well. The crowd of absurdly-dressed and variously drunken idiots had all run together, after a point. But the boy had certainly done a number of things, none of them appreciated in Giles' night, before he was distracted by the ensuing chaos. And then the following responsibility, as the most sober and respectable-looking man to have not yet bolted or swaggered or stumbled away, of dealing with the police.

"And yet here I am." Doesn't he sound delighted about it, too. "Leaving further tourists to knock each other senseless in the street. Do let's hope the city is still standing by the time we're let out."

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Test Drive Meme: August 2015

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harken now the ancient words of mine ancestors, dave strider: do it for the vine.

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yesss and! first time they met, instead of fighting they ended up playing cards. aradia won.

phonetaggin so forgive any failure

of course!

( JAIL ) please forgive how slow I'm definitely gonna be!

all is forgiven

broken computers SUCK sobs about it BUT I WANNA HELP TDMERS OK

omgosh broken computers DO suck, I am so sorry for your loss

Jail!

Whoo! In advance I'm sorry for Dave's everything.

nah man I play Nepeta sometimes you have no idea

oh my gosh i saw that conversation with skull. no pressure but /excited vibrating

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it's in for repairs but I miss it like oxygen

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you can arrest me but you can't stop the party

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Jo Martinez | Forever | Human

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