Test Drive Meme: Feb/March 2016

[undergroundmods]

"Pulp - Common People" (Watch on YouTube)

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.)

Here are some prompts to inspire you:

1) COMMON PEOPLE. What do normal Londoners do every day anyway? Sometimes you just want to blend in with everyone else. Make friends with humans. Talk about the weather. Go on, try it.

2) PENTHOUSE SUITE. But wait. Maybe you want to see how the other half live. The elite of the elite. You've been lucky enough to be asked to a meeting, or a luncheon, or a date. Find out what the most powerful people in London are really like.

3) GET OUT YOU FILTH. Supernatural prejudice is a regrettable fact of life in London. It doesn't matter what you are, there's someone out there who hates you because of it. They'll shun you, heckle you, even hunt you down and kill you. Of course, you're probably not immune to a few prejudices yourself.

4) SPEED DATING. Oh god. Why did you sign up to this. You should have known it was a bad idea when someone mentioned it was supernatural speed dating. Help.

5) THE REAL UNDERGROUND. Down in the darkest corners of the Tube, there are supernatural vagrants of all kinds, especially vampires. That friendly busker may well be a fae. That girl waiting for the next train is a ghost. Once you've seen it, you can't escape from it.

6) IN THE SUPERMARKET. On the other hand, you never know what you might find just walking around your local supermarket. You haven't forgotten how to do normal things like groceries, right?

7) A CURSED EXISTENCE. Maybe you literally are cursed. Maybe you just feel like it sometimes. There are things you can't do, weaknesses that normal humans aren't subject to, but they make everyday life in London that little bit more difficult. Try not to get too mad about it.

8) CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. Anything goes.

Comments

Sebastian Moran | Sherlock Holmes | shapeshifter

[precisionfocus]

1)

[Hailing a cab proved impossible, so Sebatian Moran is stuck on the Tube. And the damned car has come to a halt. The lights are off, only the emergency lights visible. Because that's precisely what his day-- week--

what his year needed to be complete.]

God fuckin' damn it.

Hoped some things had changed at least.

[It's took dark to even see his book properly, so he can't just settle in with that. Maybe it is time to go digital. Then he'd have a screen brightness to increase.]


4)

['What is the first line of your favourite poem?'

It's a stupid little prompt, but he's here to get into the spirit of the event. Besides, he's orienting himself with the community. Which is why his card leaves him open for men or women. If asked, he'd happily announce that he believes firmly in equal opportunity.

So, he flashes a bit of a smile.]

'Tyger! Tyger! burning bright.'

You?


6)

[Sebastian hasn't done his own shopping in about two years. Since then, he's always just had to write up a list and leave it posted to the icebox. Then, his kitchen would be stocked, everything already put away.

But he's on a budget now -- rather a tight one until he gets some proper work.

And he's in a brand new supermarket. And completely lost.]

Sorry. Do you work here?

[The first person who looks like they might pass as an employee will have to deal with the question.]

I'm looking for the coffee aisle.


7)

[He couldn't have tea.

It seemed like the worst thing possible for Sebastian. He didn't particularly like sugar, so Coke and its ilk were long out. He couldn't drink alcohol. Then, tea was taken from him. So he had a glass of water with his meal.

Which isn't awful, but--

He's dialling numbers as he eats, reaching out to members of the supernatural community to try and find someone who knows something about lifting this damn curse. A consequence, he supposes, for mouthing off to the wrong witch when the one he works for isn't around to back him up.]

1

[combatdoc]

[Typical that the one day he managed to get off shift at the clinic on time something would go wrong with the Tube on the way home and make him late anyway.

Seeing well in the dark isn't his particular talent, so it takes him a few blinks to even make out the vague shapes that constitute the other riders in the car, emergency lighting being just this side of useless. John fumbles for his phone in his pocket, intending to at least use the screen as a torch but it slips from his fingers to the floor with a clatter and he has to go groping after it on hands and knees like a moron.]

Shit...sorry-

[He's pretty sure that's someone's leg he's just brushed against.]

Mobile got away from me.

/not excited at all to see a Watson, nope nope

[precisionfocus]

No problem.

[Sebastian has his own mobile out, and he turns on the display. It's nearly dead anyway because of course it is. But it'll help the guy find his, at least.

A man who he thinks he recognizes. Then again, he's had a lot of people at the other end of his scope. And he's followed a lot more to get information for Moriarty. That man's business dealings were as varied as they were illegal. The magical black market? Owed a lot to James Moriarty.

So did he.

But now that man was in the wind, and he was settling back into London.

Though... there's something that's... Well. It never hurts to ask.]

Sorry. Kind of strange question. You look familiar, and I'm trying to place the face-- Did you serve?

[Because he distinctly thinks he knows this man wearing a uniform.]

/liar liar pants on fire~

[combatdoc]

Thanks. Got it.

[John mutters the words as he snatches up the phone, now clearly visible on the screen-lit section of floor beneath the stranger's feet. He thumbs it into life so that there are two beams of light illuminating the car and hastily gets to his feet.

He's about to make some lame joke about how navigating the Tube is even worse than he remembers these days but the man's query about the service stops him and forces him to take a closer look.

The man doesn't seem familiar at all, but John's seen so many faces in the military and lord knows people look different out of uniform, without gunfire in their ears and sand in every orifice.

He stands a bit straighter, shoulders back.]

Yeah, actually. Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Sorry, have we met?

[precisionfocus]

Colonel Sebastian Moran. First RIFLES.

[The name sounds familiar, but it's so hard to place. Especially after private work and military work. And everything. He's made too many contacts to know anyone who's not a top priority off the bat.

If they're not saved in his mobile, he doesn't have instant recall.

Now, when he looks through his files later... There might be a better reason he should have recognised them.]

[combatdoc]

Colonel.

[John can't quite resist the urge to salute, although it's hardly necessary considering the circumstances. He can't remember if he's ever been stationed with the First RIFLES but he's certainly familiar with them, especially as part of the 52 brigade.]

Always nice to meet a follow soldier. On leave or...?

[precisionfocus]

Discharged.

[Honourable. Barely, but all that mattered was what was on the books.]

Been out about two years. Private sector for about six months. Between jobs now.

[Which sounded better than the whole truth. What mattered was what was on paper. Just like with his discharge.]

What about you?

[combatdoc]

Invalided out, I'm afraid. Took a sniper shot to the shoulder and somehow gained myself a dodgy leg in the process.

[Which seemed to be the only thing he couldn't heal himself out of. The mind didn't knit together as neatly as skin and muscle, apparently.]

I've only been back in London four months. Trying to find something affordable on an army pension, well...you know how it is.

[precisionfocus]

Fuck the army pension. [It's out in a breath, and he catches himself only after it's said. He gives a sheepish smile that probably can't be seen to a young woman sitting not far away.

He was raised to be a gentleman, after all.]

Er. Yeah. Know what you mean.

'S why I went into the private sector. Money t' be made protecting the rich bastards [like his own father] who want that kind security.

[combatdoc]

[The outburst gets an honest laugh out of John and he grins. Civilians can put up with a bit of swearing on the Tube after all they've done for Queen and Country, really.]

No, you're right. Fuck the army pension.

I'm not sure I could stomach babysitting toffs, though. My mouth would get me in trouble.

Actually I was thinking of looking into some locum work.

[precisionfocus]

[At hearing him laugh, Sebastian laughs, too.]

Some of 'em are pricks, but some?

[He shrugs.]

Some of 'em are pretty decent.

Locum, huh? [A pause as he considers.]

What'd you do in the service?

[combatdoc]

I'll have to take your word on that.

[He doesn't know many in the upper echelon, after all.]

Field medic. I figure after that, anything I patch up here will seem like child's play.

[And more than a touch boring, but money is money.]

[precisionfocus]

Medic. Well. Always need those skills.

[One person you always wanted to have like you. Because a pissed medic? Meant they'd stay just inside of being reprimanded.

He grins and pulls out a business card that lists him as a 'security consultant.']

You get a place, lemme know. Prefer a medic to most of these physicians any day.

[combatdoc]

[He takes the card and looks at it briefly before slipping it into his pocket.]

Thanks, I will. But if all goes well, you won't need me.

Just in case, though... [He doesn't have a card of his own, but he can scribble his mobile number down on a ticket stub.]

If you ever need a patch-up. I keep a well-stocked kit.

4!

[nascensibility]

[Favourite poem, favourite verse of favourite poem, same thing - The Waste Land is excessively long and not for the faint of heart.]

'What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?'

[Evelyn returns the smile over her drink.]

What draws you to Blake?

[precisionfocus]

[It's strange to know he's among others. Those who know. Who he can be quite honest with.]

Almost all of my mother's side of the family can transform into Bengal tigers. So I grew up seeing them around, and the first time I heard that poem...

[He shrugs with a smile.]

It spoke to me.

7

[letsbloodydoit]

[Arthur drops into the seat across from the man, uninvited, with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He opens the bottle, pours one for the man, which he slides across to him, and then the other for himself, which he immediately downs. He finally speaks as he's pouring out another.]

What's your problem, then?

[precisionfocus]

[Oh Christ.

It has to be whiskey. Good whiskey from the smell of it. And it's tempting. Oh so very tempting. But he ignores the glass in front of him for now.]

Tea here's rubbish.

[Easier explanation than "I pissed off a witch and can't drink tea or I transform into a tiger."]

[letsbloodydoit]

[Arthur looks from the untouched glass to the man across from him, waiting expectantly and yet not seeming too bothered by it. He takes another sip from his own glass.]

Usually is, tea. Thought you could use something a bit stronger. Or are you convinced that's rubbish too?

[precisionfocus]

[Sebastian cracks a smile, uncertain and wavering a little.]

Not rubbish at all. Love the stuff. [But--] Haven't touched a drop in almost three years.

[letsbloodydoit]

Blimey. Then we should find something better to drink. [Because clearly not drinking for that long is a gross depravity and not any reasonable choice.

Arthur again polishes off his glass, but grabs the other man's and tosses its contents to the floor. He turns around to look over his shoulder, ignoring any potential protests, and yelling to the waiter not far off.] Oi! A bottle of your best whiskey. Irish, not Scotch.

[He returns his attention to the man before him as they wait for the bottle to arrive.] The name's Arthur Shelby. I own an establishment not far from here that's much better than this piss hole, if you're in the area. The Garrison, it's called.

[precisionfocus]

Sebastian Moran. Security consultant.

[Ex soldier. Gun for hire. It was the least he could do to introduce himself.]

But I have to say no to the drink. Crawled into a bottle and almost didn't live to get my head out of it.

[But he gets it. Not a lot of people understand just what happens when you actually drink too much. Almost drink yourself to death. Then don't touch it again.]

[letsbloodydoit]

Spent time in the war, eh?

[As far as Arthur's concerned, the only thing that really causes that kind of drinking is the traumas of warfare. He remembers his first war, back when he could still die like a normal man, and how horrifying it all was. In some ways, the trenches haunt him even now.

He gives the man a thanks and the appropriate notes as the new bottle is delivered, immediately opening it to pour himself another, even if Sebastian won't join him.]

Maybe the problem's your mortality and not the liquor. I'd wager it's about as easy a problem to solve. [In that neither one is easy.] Have you tried coffee? I hear that's lovely with an afternoon brunch.

[precisionfocus]

Afghanistan and Iraq. [He sighs. He doesn't like to say it, but it needs to be said. Because talking about issues helps. Even if they're bad subjects as hell.] Hit a bottle too heavy one night, wasn't sober for an ambush, and hit it even harder after.

[But. God damn. He won't forget that easy.]

Coffee's not too bad. I can live off that for awhile, I guess.

[letsbloodydoit]

Makes the wounds a little less painful for a time. Unless you let it control your bloody life. [Which he's seen a lot of through the years. Arthur himself was close to being such a person and might have been, if not for his family and the eventual curse of living so long. Not that he ever stopped drinking.]

Why'd you come here, if the tea's so bad and you aren't interested in the coffee? I know for a fact the food's a bit off and the prices are as good as any around. This your regular place or somethin'?