redmarsshit | test drive meme: january 2020

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test drive meme: january 2020

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

▶ Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.

a. nuclear fallout boy.

There is a mid-90s strip mall forming outside of Anchor.

Which is to say that there is now a Hot Topic next to the Blockbuster, and a little canopied sidewalk connecting the two. The difference between them is that the Hot Topic has an airlock entry and is safe from the radiation outside.

It's also not decked out for any Earth holidays, but it is fully stocked. Just not stocked with things that an Earth-based shopper would recognize as their "typical" fare. There are band t-shirts, with extreme fonts and symbols, but said fonts are almost cuneiform and the symbols are references that no one who wasn't living on Mars-15 in 1994 will get. The joke t-shirts are much the same, with cartoon characters, visual puns, memes, and designs that are, well, out of this world. There are bizarre earrings in standing cases, body decorations that might not quite fit a human, temporary tattoos, and random junk that cool fifteen-year-olds would snap up if it existed on Mars. (Use your imaginations, Anchorites.)

One thing you won't find in this store is advanced technology that serves any actual purpose. Sure, there are thumb-sized fart machines and little wall-mounted projectors that can decorate ceilings with preprogrammed holographic scenery (mostly starscapes). But none of it is any more useful than the keychain of that fat hipster cat with butterfly wings and bug eyes hanging from one of the displays. The cash register, which is the most futuristic thing in the place, is smashed to bits. Gotta get those Mars credits somewhere else.

b. looking kinda familiar.

There are little creatures scuttling through Anchor again, though these ones... well, they really are creatures more than they can be called animals. They're little blue-gray blobs of tissue, growing as they roll around until they finally split in two, both pieces then going their own way. Even though they don't have legs, the little blobs are fast, and many of them have no interest in interacting with the people of Anchor, and disappear into the ether never to be seen again.

Some of them, however, will single people out and start following them. The longer that little blob follows, the closer it gets, the more it takes the shape of an animal that represents the follow-ee's innermost soul or personality. The part of themselves that they hide away. As it begins to take shape, the person it follows will start to hear a tiny voice, at first just muffled sounds that could be coming from anywhere, but as the creature's form clarifies, the mumbling turns into actual speech. Clumsy, at first, almost like babytalk, but soon the little creature following its chosen Anchorite will be able to speak with its chosen person in full sentences. No one else can hear the little creature talk - only the one it decided to follow.

Keep the little bugger (or big bugger, if your innermost soul is an elephant or something) around for a week, and it will settle into its chosen shape, bonding to you for as long as you're alive. It can speak, listen, and understand, but you're the only one who can hear its voice. If this whole animal companion stalker situation isn't up your alley, though, and you're not feeling the connection, the little critter will slouch off to its own blobby existence.

c. creatures from the black locked room.

There's been a lot of exploration happening in that flooded area that Joe warned you all about. A lot of rooms opened, a lot of rooms explored and/or destroyed (thanks, Jacob et al. srsly). It's a lot of noise in a somewhat confined space. And something in one of the rooms is stirring...and done with being locked away.

Midday on the 20th of the month, the sounds of metal shrieking as it is twisted out of shape burble up out of the flooded halls. Thumping, rumbling, and eerie hooting noises are all muffled by the water at first.

There's only one at first, sloshing up out of the water and looking perfectly dry. Well... it looks like nothing, actually. A deep blackness that can hypnotize if it's stared at for too long. Long, dark claws that shine with a silvery edge. The vicious teeth in its shapeless head glow a pale blue-green.

Then another comes to the top of the stairs, and another.

They're perplexed at first by the webbing Peter Parker left to block off the hall, but a few experimental pokes with a claw shows that the stuff gives under their talons with only a little bit of effort. The three creatures slice their way free and move as a pack through the lower levels of Anchor, prepared to mob whoever they come across and tear them to shreds.

There's a problem when it comes to straight-up fighting these things, though: when physically attacked, they simply bounce back, when pieces are hacked off with a blade, each piece becomes a new, identical monster. The only way to beat them is with energy and other alternate fighting styles - magic, lasers, energy projectiles, etc.

Some people might be lucky enough not to run into them. Good luck to the rest.

d. the network.

Need to get hold of someone, call for help, ask the city at large a question? Need to ask a friend to back you up to take out the toothy voids? Maybe you need to hold your sat phone up to whatever crazy thing you're seeing and send out a recording to double-check if your eyes are deceiving you and what you're looking at is real?

Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.

Navigation.

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She pushes back, her legs parting, as she shows him just how bad it is - the bruising, the maybe broken ribs is one thing. But the far more obvious problem shows itself immediately.

The huge scratch marks that have taken down from the bottom of her thigh to mid-calf, scraping skin and tendons away. The blood leaking a torrent from the huge open wound. A visceral mess that leaves her gritting her teeth as she tries not to sob from the pain, give way into the shock of actually seeing it. Certainly, it had hurt, but she had been more focused on running, then looking at it. But not that she could - the smell of her own blood and how it drip, drip, drips onto the floor makes her stomach roll.

"This... this first."

Because she can't put weight on this, to say the least. There are others, scrapes down her arms, a bite on her arm, her shoulder. But none of them were as serious as this.

For as skittish as he is regarding monsters, the sight of blood and gore does little to move Carlisle. He nods, his glowing eyes taking it all in: skin and muscles torn, key ligaments impaired; punctures on her arm, likely a bite; minor abrasions here and there. Leg first, then ribs, then the arm if he can control his energies for that long. Get her moving, then worry about everything else. They cannot linger here.

Despite the blood, he doesn't hesitate to kneel beside her, figuring out where to put his gloved hands to quickly and accurately tend to her wounds. He rattles through his little spiel as he does, keeping his voice low: "I will get you walking again, but I must put my hands on you to do so. I will also inform you that the process of magical healing tends to sting, and can be a somewhat unpleasant experience, and as there are still creatures likely lurking about, please do your best to stifle any outward expressions of pain."

Monsters are attracted to screaming, right? Boy, he hopes not.

The relief is that there is no pain he can put her through she has no already gone through. Whether it was the electric shocks of her collar, the wracking pleasure-pain of the eridium searing her body to a living death, to the fact that to enhance her they had to do test after test of cutting her over and over again from the healing rate of Eridium - to truly and finally dying. Pain? Pain is nothing to her. "I won't scream."

She will do what she does best. She will close her eyes, she will grit her teeth and she will endure the things no one is meant to. "Do it."

"Good. Here we go."

He can do this, he reminds himself. Do not push too hard. If he feels himself slipping, he must be willing to let go for the sake of them both. Do not make the same mistake twice, especially in an area where the only living thing from which to draw energy, should he find himself in a bind, is the person he's supposed to be helping. He can do this.

He places his hands along her hips, deciding that's a good, central point between her legs and ribs, making for an easier break should something go wrong -- not that anything will, he chides internally. To those unfamiliar with his particular brand of healing, the feeling of having foreign energies channeled into one's veins is less soothing than one might expect, and more akin to white-hot fire. It sears as it moves through the muscles and tendons, singes as he does a cursory inspection of her injuries; he can sense through the way his energy batters against itself where there are anomalies in her structure.

And this creature certainly has many of those -- not just injuries, but pieces that aren't a part of her original frame, bones that look as though they were altered well after they fully formed. Transfiguration gone wrong? Why would—

No no no, no time for that. Get back to work. He hones in on her leg, the bones starting to snap back together, muscles and ligaments reattaching themselves as though commanded to do so.

"Are you all right thus far?"

He asks less to find out, and more to distract himself just a little from those concerns still looming at the back of his mind.

To say all right is probably a stretch.

It's searing in a way that is familiar and different. But the reaction is the same, her body drips with the sweat of pain, beading on her brow through the effort of clenching her teeth, in taking long but shallow breathes in a way that is familiar. Because there is a lot for him to learn, if he did, and the further he goes, the less it makes sense. Cybernetics put in at age twelve that weave metal wires like copper nerves between bone and sinew. The growth of bones remade, all magic that is dense as a stone and makes her heavy as earth. The sickly way her body is wasted and whole, wounded and perfectly healthy. Where magic, science and the things beyond the black of the stars have all lived inside such a little frame. Where she has died and come alive and been powerful and weak, over and over again to the point that she has given up even asking what she is, anymore.

What is most telling, perhaps, is not the sound or her scrunched face of concentration. But that she has gouged the ground below her in long claw mark that ribbon off the floor like a carving tool.

"Keep going."

Cracking his eyes open to see how his patient is handling the process allows him to see that claw mark on the floor, the metal shredded from it as easily as bark from an old tree. There is a lot about this woman that doesn't make sense, from the lingering magic in her bones to the artificial bits implanted for reasons he can only guess. As much as he wants to question it all, he forces himself to continue.

"Right."

He deems her leg as fully healed, the muscles and skin unblemished, as good as new -- better, if she had any injuries prior to this. With that, his energy recedes from the limb and moves toward her ribs, the fiery sensation going with it. One rib is broken, the bones cracking loudly (and likely painfully) as they realign and mend; another two are bruised, healed at the same time. There's a hairline fracture in another, so he'd better just—

Carlisle's body shakes as a tremor runs through him, his magic nearly escaping him as his undead body struggles to maintain its grasp over energies that counteract his animation; it is reflected in the flow of his channel as it flares, energy slamming through her like a frightened beast trapped in a cage. Though such a sudden burst likely gave his ward a shock (literally and figuratively), at least the influx finished the work on her ribs. Unfortunately, it leaves him relatively drained, and fearing everything will go horribly wrong, he withdraws. The energy retreats from her the way it came, out into his hands -- he pulls them away the moment he feels he can, his arms trembling as he murmurs an apology.

"S- sorry. Sorry sorry, I- I got the leg and your ribs, but- but I shouldn't- shouldn't tend to your arm just yet. It- it's not..."

He trails off. Pointing out how unsafe it is for him to keep doing the one thing he feels is his purpose in life is a unique kind of pain, and one he's still not sure how to handle... even if evidence to the contrary is right before him, evident in her now-missing injuries.

It isn't at all what Angel thinks when the pain subsides so much and she can open her eyes and see for herself the work he's done. Yes, she's shaking, drenched in the cold sweat from the effort of not screaming in pain. But that wasn't anything she cares about.

What she cares about is how she reaches down and touches her own leg, feeling, not just seeing, how he has repaired the skin - to look up at him in complete amazement.

All the things she has ever seen, done, there was nothing like that.

"Wow," it's a soft utter. Blinking at him in a muted amazement that is more about her exhaustion that is less of a reaction.

But shaking her head to dismiss the rest of his concerns. "The rest, I can take care of, this is enough. Help me up?"

She definitely does not trust her own strength or ability to walk in a straight line, not right now.

"Right," he murmurs in return, getting to his own feet. His legs wobble just a little as his energies struggle to right themselves: those aligned with healing counteract the ones that animate him, his limbs stiff and reluctant to move as a result. He offers her a hand automatically, not even considering the danger generally present in his rotting grasp; he still considers himself human at times, despite everything.

"Have you anywhere to go?" he asks. "Somewhere safe?"

"Connor." It's half gasped out as she tries to get herself together. But at least she doesn't need to worry about his grasp, there was some good things about being a monster, disease didn't touch her, affect her, so far as most of them, magical or otherwise went. "I need to get back to Connor. He's... he's patched me up a lot."

But once she's up, she takes her weight off him, leaning heavily into the wall. "He'll... he'll help."

Though she leans on the wall, Carlisle remains near in case he needs to catch her — as if he could, given he could be blown away by a strong gust of wind, and she's literally part monster.

"I- I don't know a Connor," he admits, "but if you can guide us, I will help you reach him."

If nothing else, he might be a good distraction for any creatures that find them along the way.

"This way - he should be this way - "

Even though she hasn't been here that long, she doesn't seem to have a problem navigating the floors of Anchor, though walking seems to take up most of her energy that she doesn't talk much beyond the half-smothered little gasps of pain as they keep going forward. Stopping every so often as she needs to get her breath back, then keep going.

"It's only a little bit further - I think I can hear him - "

Granted there isn't anything to hear, but she seems sure about it.

Carlisle stays close by, his eyes darting this way and that as he watches for the beasts that injured her, hoping they have found other prey by now. That's not the ideal way for a healer to think he chides inwardly: he should be hoping there are less injured, not simply wishing those hunted can get away better than he and—

And... cisth, how rude of him to not introduce himself. In all fairness, she was (and still is) wounded and he was hiding, and they are under threat of being attacked at any minute, even as they near the housing area. He waits until they're out of the main corridor before speaking, idly wondering which room they're headed toward.

"I assume you have better hearing than I do, Miss...?"

"Angel. I'm Angel."

Wish she could say nice to meet you but this wasn't exactly anyone's good idea of a first meeting, that was for sure as she clutched at his side, hobbling along on her tender legs.

"... And yeah, yeah I can hear down to a mouse's heartbeat on an average day." The world around her was so loud, their presence was exact to her. As much as it was overwhelming at times, for someone who had lived the life she had, it was comforting, too.

Oh good, he got her name out of her. "I'm—" He swallows down a moment of personal dread creeping out of his gut, though he can't pinpoint why it is he feels that. "I'm Carlisle Longinmouth, and that, ah. That is certainly better hearing than I have, to say the very least."

Were he not so focused on trying to get her to this mysterious and hopefully helpful Connor, he might have realized that if she truly can hear heartbeats, she can probably detect the absence of his. Thankfully, he doesn't, and any immediate panic he would have had related to that fact is put off for another day.

"Hello, Carlisle. Wish we'd met under better circumstances."

Truthfully, she doesn't think much of his lack of heartbeat. Plenty of Undead roamed in Ryslig. In fact, death tended to be required for a lot of Ryslig's creations. Nisha had lost her heartbeat long before Angel met her face to face.

"Just a little bit further, then I'll be off your hands, hopefully... Really, thank you. Thank you for helping me. I know I'm scary looking."

Carlisle's eyes hit the floor as he does his best to hide his embarrassment.

"I... Your appearance may be admittedly monstrous in some ways, but I have met worse monsters in those who look completely human. I apologize if I seemed off-put, as I could not immediately discern if you were any different from the beasts who did this to you. I ought not have been quick to judge."

He certainly shouldn't have, given what he is beneath his many layers.

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test drive meme: january 2020

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