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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That certainly isn't what she'd expected would happen. It's been a while since she's seen a gun, it's startling again when her tail gets summarily shot-- twice-- and that's the end of it. Who is this man? A cop? He's no witch, that's for certain, or he would have just turned the hunter inside out instead of drawing attention to them with a gun.

A siren cuts through the ensuing stunned silence, and Elizabeth's shield grows holes and vanishes. "If you're trying to mug me, you've got another thing coming-- but if you're trying to help, we have to run, now!"

"Are you able to run?"

From his tone, he highly doubts it. But there are more ways to evade police than to run. In fact, nothing tends to attract more attention than that. Still, the sirens are getting closer. And what he can do in a short amount of times depends on how injured she is.

"I've been doing it for years, why stop now?" she says off-hand, trotting into a nearby narrow alley. Maybe it would cut through the block, maybe it would be a dead-end-- Elizabeth hasn't gotten the hang of London's streets yet.

She goes a couple of feet, but her limp is getting worse the more she tries to push herself to move. There's blood coming down her tights.

Illya watches her for a moment then shakes his head. He moves forward and puts a hand on her shoulder before gesturing to a fire escape. It provides a vantage point, if nothing else, and climbing puts more pressure on he arms than on both legs. It won't be easy, but it's something.

"Do you know any cloaking spells?" If she did, she'd probably have used them already, but it's worth asking, he figures.

She runs slow, but the second the man touches her, Elizabeth is jerking out from under his hand and backing away. It's already been one hell of day, she's not on board to get manhandled again. But, admittedly, the fire escape is a better idea than limping into a strange alley.

"Do you?" she raises an eyebrow at him. "Sorry to break it to you Mr. Romanov, I disappear like anybody else does." For a woman on the smaller side, she does have some arm strength to speak of-- Elizabeth takes the fire escape by pulling herself up most of the steps. "By getting out of sight.

"Who are you anyway? An informed citizen?"

"Kuryakin," he corrects automatically. Once she's up the fire escape, he follows in short order and forces a window open. One that had probably long since warped shut from heat, exposure, and other such things that came from being unattended. Then, he motions her inside.

An elegant escape? No. But one that could be used.

"You knew how to make a shield. You might know cloaking magic."

It had been worth asking, at least. Though that left her question... which he didn't answer quite yet. There would be time for that when he could be certain the police wouldn't find them.

Elizabeth watches him force open the window, then with a wince she crawls into what appears to be a musty guest bedroom. She looks around the room and spots a table lamp.

"Sorry. But speaking of that, Mr. Kuryakin--"

She picks up the lamp and yanks it out of the wall, shouldering it as the man comes through the window. "You better tell me whether I should use this or not. If it was your aim to shoot me, you would have done it in the street, and you know a lot about what just happened down there for a random Good Samaritan with a pistol."

Illya looks at her, torn between amusement and annoyance. A lamp to the head might hurt, yes, but it was hardly going to incapacitate a trained solider. Not that someone so young would know that. And she was obviously scared. Which didn't make it any less troublesome, but.

He shakes his head, motioning with his hand for her to keep her voice down. Then, he speaks quite calmly.

"I saw a man following a girl. So, I followed him. I know what magic looks like, so I know you used it. Is that sufficient?"

"Not when the girl being followed has reason to be hunted down by people trying to put her down. How do I know you're not with Comstock's coven? Killed off the Fitzroy interloper, figured you could get me to trust you and then into a duffel bag and away in a helicopter. Well I'll tell you something, Mister-- if you thought what I did in Columbia was bad, you're in for a surprise now that I've been trained. I could peel the paint off these walls with a thought if I wanted to."

...she actually can't, but it sounded good anyway.

"You want me to not go postal with this lamp? Tell me how you know what magic looks like. Right now, go!"

"Typical American," Illya mutters with something that was almost a laugh. If this girl was the type to hurt someone with magic, she wouldn't have used a shield when attacked. Or, at least, that's how his thinking goes. "Everything must centre around you."

He shakes his head again but makes no move toward her.

"Russia has witches, too. I work for one. So, I know what magic looks like."

"Yeah, well, the next time somebody sets an entire dark magic coven and an entire witch hunter's clan on your trail? I'll let everything revolve around you, how about that? Then I'll call you a typical Russian and it'll make the same amount of sense."

She narrows her eyes, lips pursed, suspicious but she believes him for some reason.

"Do you know who I am?"

God she hopes not.

Dark magic. Witch hunters. Really, it's not anything he hasn't heard before. But at least it's not vampires. He had enough of that in Germany. Still, when she asks her question, he arches an eyebrow.

"Am I supposed to? Did Solo tell you to come here?"

That is the only connection he can make. That maybe this girl knows the fae who likes to act American. After all, his kind predate most of those borders. They are of the country they choose to be.

"If not, then no."

The name doesn't mean anything to her, and it shows on her face. But she tosses that away after a moment because the main thing is that she's apparently not going to be hitting anybody with a lamp.

"Good. Let's keep it that way," Elizabeth says, putting the lamp back on the dresser. She's about to head for the window when she sees colored lights against it-- looks like the cops have arrived, and they've found a body. For the moment, it looks like neither of them are going anywhere.

Elizabeth sighs and strips off her coat, laying it down on the ground. She's wearing a blouse, sweater, skirt, and thick tights-- at least, on one leg she is. The right leg of them has been almost completely severed, hanging on by threads, cut by some kind of razor wire wrapped around her leg with weights on either end.

Awkwardly, she starts trying to lower herself so the injury will rest over the coat-- she can't get blood on this poor family's carpet. "Guess I'm doing this here."

The smell of blood makes him shake his head. At least he isn't a vampire. Then, this poor girl would be in even more trouble. As it is, he merely sighs a little.

"Do you know healing magic?"

Better to ask that before he does anything else.

"Pretty much the only thing I'm really good at," she says with a faint smile. Elizabeth pulls her purse over to her and fishes around for her Swiss Army knife. She's going to have to cut the wire, it's knotted around her leg.

"If it wasn't causing me so much pain, I'd have to applaud the design. It cut right in so I'd have to stop to remove it before I could heal myself."

The police are still outside, but they won't bother to search this building, especially not a few stories up. But, well, it would take them some time. Which meant he and this girl had to keep themselves tucked away for a small amount of time. Enough, he felt, to try to help her.

"Here," he said, holding out his hand for the knife. Since it was already out, he wouldn't bother fetching his. No need to startle her more. "Let me."

Which probably sounded odd.

"I've seen similar traps before. Set them, too. I can get it off easier."

...Which didn't help him. But, well, it was true. He had more than his fair share of hunting experience. Because he did as he was told. If he was told to bring in a witch, he brought them in. If he was told to kill a werewolf, he killed them. He followed his orders, and he was good at it.

Elizabeth hesitates for a moment (which, from where she was sitting, any sane person would do), but after a beat she folds the knife back into its safe position and holds it out for Mr. Kuryakin.

"So you hunt people like me for this... Russian witch?"

"I hunt what is dangerous."

He takes the knife, opens it, and leans over her leg. His grip is surprisingly gentle where he touches her leg, tilting it to carefully lift up one of the barbs out of the skin before cutting the straight part of the wire.

Nothing to be done but a slow extraction, and he knows it. It will take time... and it will hurt, but hopefully his familiarity with the kind of trap will make it a little less awful.

"If that is a witch, I hunt. Werewolf, I hunt. Human, I hunt. It does not matter."

As long as those are his orders, he obeys.

Ohhh boy.

Elizabeth tenses and blushes when he touches her. She doesn't look afraid so much as... embarrassed? Flustered? Unaware that he would have to touch her to do this right?

"...Oh." It's a very small word, and the strange feeling goes away very quickly when he pulls the barb out. Elizabeth covers her mouth and winces-- she's not used to pain, though she's definitely felt it in large quantities before. "Plenty out here. ...were you hunting that guy, then?" she asks, nodding her head towards the window to indicate the witch hunter he shot.

For his part, Illya seems to be very focused on his task. If he lets his attention slip for even a moment... Well. She won't be the only one very embarrassed. As his fingers make contact with skin due to the ripped tights, he only mutters one word.

"Sorry."

Whether for the touch or for how cold his hands are. Or, at least, how cold he's been told his hands are.

From there, he works in silence for a few long moments, working on detangling the wrapped wire while causing her as little pain as possible. Her question needs answering, though.

"Not officially. I saw him trailing you, and he did not seem like law enforcement. So, I decided to intervene."

"It's alright." Whatever he's apologizing for-- Elizabeth doesn't really know, it's more of a reflex to accept it. She keeps her lip between her teeth, wincing and biting when she has to, watching him work.

"...so you're actually a random Good Samaritan with a pistol?" She laughs quietly, then winces. "When I'm lucky, I'm really lucky."

"I hope I will not regret it," Illya says. It's with no particular inflection. After all, if she wants to hurt him, she has her chance. But he has his to react, too. With her knife and his gun, he stands a fair chance. Even against magic.

He cuts a final bit of wire and pulls the last of the barbs out.

"I doubt you will," Elizabeth sighs and makes another tiny noise of discomfort as the last of it comes out. "The Fitzroy Clan will blame his death on me. Use it as a rallying cry, they always do," she sighs, looking troubled. "They're not really into 'facts', they like to make their moves based on how wronged they feel. Which, admittedly, can be justified sometimes, but sending an entire clan after one neophyte witch is overkill. They count on these things to happen so that the clan will stay fixated on me--not on whoever happens to be standing nearby."

...Yes, she's completely oblivious to the idea that he might be talking about her.

Elizabeth hovers her hands over the red slashes in her leg and starts muttering to herself. Moments later, it looks as though the injury had never happened. She is, apparently, very good.

Very innocent or very clever. The two can look very much alike, and he knows it all too well. Still, he lets her talk, only half listening. Like the other American he knows, she says a great deal to convey a simple message. Perhaps that is all part of the 'American way.' Still, he offers a small nod.

Then, she begins her healing. He watches that with careful scrutiny. When she's done, he gives an approving click of his tongue.

"Hopefully I will run into you if injured. Then you can return the favour."

Elizabeth does talk a lot, it's true. No doubt it comes from talking to no one for a long, long time.

"Of course," she smiles, tucking her newly healed leg to the side and pulling her coat on (just in case they had to make a hasty escape...). She casts a glance at the mess of bloody wire he removed and chews on her lip in thought. "I'm Elizabeth DeWitt. And for better or worse, I end up as a field medic a lot."

She reaches for her bag again and pulls it over, digging through it. She finds a drug store receipt, a pen, and her phone.

"Someday I'll memorize this thing..." she mutters, trying to remember which menu has her number in it.

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