thetube | Test Drive Meme: August-September 2017

Entry tags:

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 potential players: Looking for an OOC space to brainstorm your AU? Head over to our permanent character workshop post to ask for feedback and share ideas.

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) WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE. Welcome to London! It's time to introduce yourself to your faction, to your fellow supernatural citizens, would-be friends, potential enemies... Will people quake with fear or awe when you enter the room? Or are you some nobody trying to make a name for yourself? Either way, gotta start networking.

2) THE RACE IS ON. The competition within your faction is even worse than the competition outside. That guy over there has turned sucking up to your boss into an art form. What about the woman who works out at 5am every morning and can probably punch through a wall? If you want to climb the ladder, you'd better start working harder.

3) THE WRONG DIRECTION. It's a big city and it's easy to get lost. Normally that's not such a big deal, but this time you've taken a wrong turn and ended up in hostile territory. If you're spotted by the wrong person, you could be in for a seriously bad time. Is there anyone around who can help?

4) NEVER LOSE CONTROL. You had one drink... or two... Maybe it's almost the full moon, or maybe there's some magic in the air messing with your hormones, but you're this close to going all out with your fangs or your claws or your magic. You need to get out of here, fast.

5) SWING IT, SHAKE IT. You've got a disco ball, a killer outfit and music so loud you can feel it pumping through the dance floor. Show the humans how it's done.

6) KARAOKE. It's karaoke night in one of London's favourite supernatural bars and that tone-deaf werewolf is hogging the mike again.

7) RUN AROUND. It seemed simple, right? One errand to run, just one. And yet the world seems to be conspiring against you. Your alarm didn't go off, you missed the bus or train, you got caught in traffic, someone spilled their drink on your brand new leather jacket, you tripped over and literally fell headfirst into a dumpster... Oh, God. Could this day get any worse?

8) CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. Anything goes.

Threaded | Flat

1: who do you think you are
The fae known as the Doctor has a terrible habit of changing his face every time he gets bored. The last time he was in London, over ten years ago, he looked like a young man with an astonishing lack of eyebrows, not the grumpy Scottish older gentleman that he looks like now with enough eyebrows for days. The problem here is that the new face he's got looks annoyingly familiar. He's copied a face before, but he's reluctant to do it nowadays. How awkward would it be if he ran into the person who's face he copied?

So naturally, there's one thing to do to find out just who's face this is: crowdsource! The Doctor's spent most of the past few hours asking people about his face, mostly humans who answer truthfully ('what? No! What the hell do you mean?') before the Doctor slips away to ask someone else. Occasionally though, he finds himself asking a member of the supernatural. They're not as fun to talk with as the humans but at least they're more used to eccentric fae bullshit...except for the fact that the Doctor's bullshit is all eccentric Doctor bullshit.

"Scuze me," he says, just sitting next to some random person, not really caring who they are or what they're doing. "Do you recognize this face?"

3: wrong direction
The problem with just recently returning to a city that you haven't been to in multiple years is that things change, businesses turn over, and people move. The Doctor has yet to realize that. As such, he's staring at at an Oxfam shop with a look of downright confusion and slight annoyance on his face.

"Why isn't this that fish and chips place?" Surprise random passerby, you're getting dragged into this bullshit, as the Doctor just turns to whoever's nearby, whether they're walking away or not, and just points angrily at the building. "Who gave them permission to change, that shouldn't be done without proper notice!"

The Doctor is a big ol'hypocrite. Also? This Oxfam shop has been here for the past eight years. The Doctor is just that oblivious.

8: wildcard!
The Doctor can also be found playing guitar in a park somewhere, waiting in line for food at all sorts of random places, or wherever the hell's needed in the Other Realms.

Never Lose Control
It's been just less than 24 hours since Eponine arrived in London. Even that short time, though, is enough for her to work out the faction system that dominates the city.
It's funny, really. She had lived in Paris for nearly the full entirety of her existence, both alive and as a vampire, but it is a city nothing like London with the complicated territory boundaries and politics galore. Montparnasse had warned her, had told her to go to Islington, and so she had. She was surprised, really, that he had bothered. Perhaps he did still care about her, a little bit.
She'd stumbled across the old cemetery in Bunhill Fields: she had no problem with breaking into one of the old mausoleums and making a bed on top of a crumbling coffin shelf. The irony of her resting place didn't cross her mind: hunger pangs instead consumed her and she decided to move on.

London, like Paris, never stops, and it didn't take long for a promising smell to attract Eponine. Sinking back into the shadows, she followed her prey on silent feet, not particularly taking note of where they led her.
She followed for ages, until at last, they stopped. Eponine did too, hesitating in the shadows to compose herself before stepping fully into the street behind her prey.

"Excuse-moi!" she called. "Your coin -" she held a pound coin out to her victim: once they were close enough, she could grab and slam in this quiet street, and disappear into her grave before anybody realised what had happened.

Run Around

So it's one job - one quick job and Eponine had been promised a couple of blood pouches to tide her over the weekend. To Eponine, it seemed a lot. Montparnasse tended to control her blood consumption, to keep her dependant on him. Little and often. Two whole pouches from a blood donor seemed like a lot to her. The shot of fae blood too, would be welcome. She was on a come-down, and her hands were already shaking. She needed her fix.

Eponine would have to hurry, though, if she were to get the promised blood. It was a letter, and she felt for it again, zipped into her jacket pocket as it was. The last thing she needed would be to lose the bloody thing.
She ran, elbowing her way through throngs spilling out of bars and clubs.
The smell, the alcoholic hum that hung in the air, made her salivate: she loved the bitterness of vodka running through a clubber's blood. It took her full determination to keep running.
One throng though, stopped her in her tracks. A fight was going on between two men: a girl stood in tears, as a circle of bodies penned the three in, pushing the men back towards one another when they tried to break free.

"Fucking MOVE!" Eponine grumbled, and began to elbow her way through again, jostling bystanders as she went. "Come on! Idiots. Just MOVE!"

Choose your own!
Eponine can generally be found skulking about the streets of Islington, window shopping both food (people) and clothes, and simply enjoying her freedom. She's set up her camp in Bunhill Fields, an old graveyard in central Islington, and will be wandering around there too. She is also on the look-out for people dealing the less than savoury items - especially fae blood.

The Wrong Direction

Busking is not always the most rewarding of jobs. Sometimes the money's decent and once you count up the coins and wadded up bills there's enough for a couple of meals or some new makeup and slightly fewer disapproving looks from your exasperated relatives. Then the money's gone and you have to whip out your dad's credit card (which is supposed to be for emergencies, not daily expenses), the disapproving looks become disapproving grumbles, and it's back to busking you go. Despite her protestations that she's living for her art, Imogen Reed will be the first person to tell you that it's a really, really shitty way to live.

Her favorite spot on the weekends is the entrance to the Piccadilly Circus Tube station, near the ticket machines (because of all the tourist traffic) but this afternoon she's running late and it's already taken by the time she gets there. Covent Garden's also a safe bet, so she finds herself on the surface, next to an alley near a seedier West End theater. It's a new spot for her; territory she's not familiar with and that throws her off a bit. The money's inconsistent at best and she doesn't sell a single demo CD, but an American teenager who doesn't seem to understand the exchange rate gives her £40 to play the new Taylor Swift single a couple times in a row and that saves the night.

At least, for the moment.

Imogen's just contemplating packing up when a couple of men approach her, leering in a way that tells her they aren't interested in hearing her sing. Being harassed by drunks is an occupational hazard, but this is different. There is something off about them that immediately puts her on edge; her stomach twists and she finds herself gripping the neck of her guitar like a club but she can't explain why.

The rest happens so quickly she can't quite remember it after the fact. She just knows that these guys are fast--faster than any drunks she's ever seen--and that they have fangs. But that can't be right. Maybe they're goths with a vampire fetish. Still, instinct kicks in and she starts running, leaving her guitar and the money and the CDs behind her. She doesn't know where she's going, but she knows that she needs to get away because they mean to hurt her.

Who Do You Think You Are?

Imogen cleans up nicely, when she wants to. Gone is the denim and the grungy eyeliner that she wears to promote her rock persona; it's jazz night and she's dressed accordingly. Even though she technically performs every day, it's been ages since she's actually been up in front of an audience like this and she's a bit nervous. It's just jazz standards, she reminds herself. She used to do them all the time in school, before she dropped out. The piano starts--"They Can't Take That Away From Me" is the first song in the set--and Imogen takes a breath. Okay, time to sing. She can do this. Singing's the easy part.

Later, between songs, she introduces herself to the crowd and hopes for the best. "Tip your bartender," she reminds them. "They're doing all the hard work for me." It's a laugh line but nobody laughs. All right then, no jokes. Introduce the band (even though she suddenly can't remember the name of the guy on bass), keep singing, and try to stop dwelling on the way everyone's watching you. Judging you.

Wild Card

Choose your own adventure! Imogen's a siren (of the lures-Greek-sailors-to-their-doom variety), but she's a changeling and that means she doesn't know it yet. She can be found around London, singing for her supper. Or maybe she'll be your character's supper. Who knows?

Edited 2017-08-27 20:14 (UTC)

1. Who Do You Think You Are?
Artemis Fowl was, for all those looking at him, a perfectly normal young boy. If perhaps extremely well dressed, and a touch too pale for most people's liking. He was Irish, over in London thanks to his Mother and Father thinking it would be a good move after his... going missing. If he could be stolen away from their private estates in Ireland, then the heart of London held less danger. They didn't know the truth, of course, and he had no plans of telling them, even if they would be less inclined to totally dismiss the idea. Then again, how did one explain to one's parents that you have been stolen by the Fae for nearly two years?

They didn't know of the thriving supernatural underground community in London. Father was trying to avoid all types of underground communities at any rate, so it was up to Artemis to cover that part of the family business. He stood outside the building. It looked so non-descript. Of course it would. No point in advertising to the humans, after all.

"Pardon me," he said, stepping forward with a tight-lipped smile that suggested it should not be made to become more than it was, "would you be able to tell me the location of the Night Council? I have... business with them."

7. Run Around
He was lost. He blamed Butler for this. It had been his idea to try public transport, on the pretense that London was really far too busy for the limo. Artemis suspected that Butler had just wanted to sight-see without making it too obvious. Or that he wanted Artemis to sight-see, which was ludicrous. Why would he need to play tourist.

Still... his phone was annoyingly lacking in signal, which meant he could neither track his own location or call for help. There was the one option, playing to his youth and gaining help that way.

The scowl on his face would probably make that one quite impossible.

8. Choose Your Own Adventure
Artemis can be found in the finer areas of London. Cafes, museums, the theatre... He's always well dressed, and generally seems to be very aware of what is going on around him.

1. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE
The first thing that Godric notices about London is that is it decidedly more overcast than Dallas, even when it has been a far nicer day here than it had in his old home. According to the weather reports on the BBC, that was. He was unsure as to whether there was any validity in the claim, but he supposed he could email to find out if he desperate to find out. For this evening, he was bound to check in with the Islington Nest, being that they were a group of other vampires. He was unsure as to how the Nests were run here, the States had been running on their own system for so long, but he was willing to learn.

He made his way to where he knew that there would be a good majority of the vampire kind, and looked around. It was... not unlike where he had just came from. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose," he quoted lightly, a small smile on his face.

He could ... be content here.

6. KARAOKE
No, he was not going to sing. Mostly because he couldn't sing, but he oddly enjoyed hearing others perform. Give any person enough alcohol, and they all seemed to be possessed of the belief of vocal talent. It was true the world over, and it was a truth that was comforting to someone who had spent over 2,000 years on the planet.

Though... if that werewolf didn't get off the mic anytime soon, it looked like a fight may start out. "I wonder if watching would be considered barbaric?" He muttered idly to himself, not meaning it in the slightest.

8. CHOSE YOUR OWN
Godric spends his evenings travelling around London in his first few weeks there, actually doing the tourist stuff. It's been many, many years since he's been to London, so a lot of this stuff is actually brand new to him. He's curious.

RUN AROUND
Galileo had always been terrible when it came to understanding directions. It wasn't that he had no sense of direction, it was just that once told, it would stay in his head for maybe five minutes, and then disappear. Also, never ask him for how to get to place, because he would blank. Even if he knew the place well. To make matters worse? He'd gotten the right bus, but going the wrong way round on the route. So he's ended up somewhere... well, that he wasn't meant to be. And it's raining. So here, world, have a kid standing lost in the rain, getting soaked.

"...Great."

KARAOKE
He likes being around music, he always has. It's why he's in a band, after all. But he's wincing a bit at the werewolf on the mike. The tone-deaf is ... yeah, it's painful. None of the notes are being hit and while he doesn't really see that as an issue - his band often plays with this punk group who swear notes are for idiots - it's the lack of being able to keep to the music that has him looking down at his drink trying to act like he can't hear anything at all.

Oh, and he's singing to himself.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
Galileo can be found in and around London. He works during the day at a music stall in Camden, and at night can be found in different smaller pubs and clubs around the city with the small rock band he's in When not working, he's generally just bumming around.

Edited (siren would be a kind of fae in ug right?) 2017-08-28 18:57 (UTC)

THE RACE

Hillingdon had felt like the natural place for her to go once she arrived, the best place for a limited skillset and to convince herself she hadn't come for the reasons she had. Because the pay for hunters is good here, because Jack got a hair up his ass about Flint being in London. Whatever. Anything except the truth.

A lot of these hunters seem like braggarts and posers to her, and Anne has no time for it. She's not here to make friends; she has Jack and sooner or later she'll end up back at Max's side too. That's all she needs, all she's ever needed.

That, and a way to buy food, so she quietly takes a bounty to fill herself. One that's not too flashy, doesn't have the highest pay of them all, but it's enough and the description looks dangerous enough to get her blood pumping at least. Some pair of shifters out in the suburbs, giving some family hell because they've got enough money to extort. Apparently they'd prefer if nobody killed the guy, but Anne's good for a tussle regardless.

She's not asking for help, but unless someone's really annoying she probably wouldn't turn down a second pair of hands.

NEVER LOSE CONTROL

Anne is practically a living shadow at the best of times; barely noticeable, even when being looked directly at. It's nothing supernatural, just a way about her that fades into the background. Leaves the floor open for those with bigger mouths and higher ambitions.

Normally, that's the end of it. She's not a talkative sort, not one to insert herself in others' business, but today she's highly strung. Anxious, though she'd never admit it, to be this close to Max and still have not seen her.

Anne's choice, of course, but she's never been above cutting her nose to spite her face. A show of strength, leaving for as long as she can when the betrayal stings more than the love soothes, but Anne always goes back.

Not yet, though.

So perhaps she's a little tense, a little easily riled up. Perhaps she sees a man she decides is being a little too familiar with a woman at the bar and has him pinned against it in due time, arm pulled up behind his back at an angle that could do some real damage if she doesn't let up.

Doesn't look like she's planning on it though.

CYOA
[Come at me bro]

[3]

Yasaburo's used to Kyoto, a sunny city that embraces him like an old friend wherever he chooses to wander. Sure, there are dangers (like the kind that got him sent to cool his heels here in London), but he's always been able to count on his internal compass pointing him home wherever he ends up on his aimless wanderings.

London's not like that. London's foggy. The buildings are tall and block off the sun, which is rapidly fading behind the clouds (with very little visible sunset and hours before it should be setting, by rights). The crows at the Tower remind him of angry tengu. The babbling of the Thames sounds like frantic whispers.

Yasaburo can roll with that, bucks himself up with how campy/famous vintage detective story-esque it makes the whole place seem. He's not afraid of being murdered by a human.

Vampires are a different story, and he's just now remembering that this is their territory. Dare to help a nervously grinning tanuki out? How about when he drops back into his fuzzy, 'natural' form, moving with a quiet pitter-patter under bridges and through alleys? Or would you prefer to try to catch him?

[5]

Other aspects of the London night are more to his liking though. Kyoto always did suffer a bit in the club department. It's 80s night, which means a sparkly vest and leather pants ~~that would make Draco envious~~. He dances uninhibitedly, swaying and spinning in time with the beat, loving every bit of attention it gets him. If you're watching him, he'll smile coqquetishely at you.

[6]

You know what? The werewolf might have been a bit too howly but Yasaburo puts his drink down and claps anyway. Good on him for giving it a try, he thinks. Things would probably be a lot less tense around here if more people let off steam that way.

Oh, looks like he's up. He downs his drink and jumps up to the stage. The new kid in town proceeds to hit a pitch perfect version of a hit from last night. He's not at all embarrassed about hitting those falsettos.

Edited 2017-09-06 06:14 (UTC)

1) WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE.

When Max arrives in town, her name is nowhere found in lights—which is not to say she goes entirely unnoticed. Before she even shoes her face in person, her aliases appear on several leases. A laundromat here. A coffee shop there. A small office building two blocks over. A six unit tenement building with narrow halls and in need of a new roof. Her contacts in her own court spread the news quietly. To the Seelie, it's no surprise when she finally makes her appearance on the scene.

Outside of the Seelie, though, who would even know her? Who would recognize the false names she uses? Who would know to question the sources of her capital as she invests it here, deposits it there, spends it yet another place? Perhaps there are a few. Those who knew her elsewhere, in other times. Those whose paths or purposes have crossed hers before. Still, she is new to London, and while she has been of late pressing her position within her own court, she has little reputation to be known by.

Either way, Max is here now and it is time to introduce herself. She's not an imposing woman physically, small and fey and lovely, but she carries herself like a queen as she approaches her target. "Hello," she says, her creole accent nearly swallowing the h entirely. "I don't think we've met. I am called Max."

Somehow, how she says it, there seems to be another message left unsaid in the air: "And I have a proposition for you."

8) CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE.

Go wild!

1. Butters hefted his dufflebag, stepping out into the London air. He shouldn't complain about an all-expenses paid trip to London, but he was on a mission and he knew he wasn't the best person for the job. He was just the only one the Chicago Alliance could spare.

He ducked into a cafe and stopped for his rendezvous. He hoped that, whoever, whatever they were they'd be interested enough in the fate of Chicago to help them fight off the Fomor. Hopefully someone would recognize that keeping the fairy-like Outsiders away from the world was in the best interests of London as well. "I'm a medical examiner, not a salesman" he grumbled. Then he felt eyes on him and looked up, adjusting the flower on his table, the secret sign.
"Hi! Call me Butters." He hopped up, nerves giving him energy.

4. Waldo is human. He's never had to worry about wolfing out or the urge to bite anyone in the neck. That doesn't mean he's immune to panic, especially being in a foreign country dealing with paranormal drama and talking to ghosts. To make things worse he's going about his errands under the full moon tonight.

He wraps his girlfriend's scarf around his neck. It smells comfortingly like her still. (And to anyone with excellent senses it smells more than a bit like werewolf.)

"Keep calm and carry on, that's a British thing isn't it? Keep calm and carry on and polka will never die."

Edited 2017-09-17 20:36 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

the Twelfth Doctor | Doctor Who | fae

Eponine Thenardier - Les Miserables - Vampire

Imogen Reed - Changeling Unseelie Fae - OC