test drive meme: february 2020

[modblob]

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. a more colloquial situation with a few robo-friends.

Something odd has happened overnight. A plant stalk, festooned with flowers and crowned with an enormous bud the size of a minivan, has grown up out of the center of the park and almost to the top of the dome. And down below, at its base and in the field around it, there's a whole lot of commotion.

The robots are at it again, and by at it again, we mean they're gathering in the park and adorning tables with... robo-treats. There are cups of lubricant, motor oil, a "massage" table for repairs. The terrible robo band has gathered again, and they seem to have been practicing, because they're rolling out some good tunes, some for waltzes and some fast-paced jams that are more along the "throw yourself around and pretend it's a dance" line.

The robots, in fact, are dancing. Sometimes in pairs, sometimes in trios, but they're trading partners and showing off their moves in what appears to be a bot-run robo-celebration.

Of course, Anchorites aren't excluded. Though it might be a Bring Your Own Food kind of event, the bots have left a table out for people to do just that. There's even water and a ton of orange juice available courtesy of the bar bot, who seems to be enjoying a day off at the repair table. Maybe it'll be good for him.

And if you seem to want to dance but can't find yourself a partner, a bot is likely to volunteer with a sympathetic, "Ah, meatsack, you cannot find a corresponding fleshbag. Allow me to partner with you."

b. weeds & flowers.

There are also cushions scattered around in loose circles, each one centered around a hookah. An inhale from some will make dancing look fun. From another, and affectionate kisses might be in your future. Some are packed with herbs to instill calm. Take a deep enough inhale and you might find yourself settling in for a nap on those cushions, looking up at the flower-covered stalk of the plant with its huge leaves. It's shedding petals gently and almost constantly, turning the clearing around it into a delicate flurry of shades from deepest blue to bright orange.

There are flowers almost everywhere, in fact, in bouquets, yes, but also in little pots meant for those who want to spruce up their personal space with something bright and beautiful. The petals come in every imaginable pattern and shade, from delicate white-edged purple flowers that look like roses to clusters of tie-dye daisies. Go one, take one - they all smell lovely, and are hardy enough to survive the brownest thumb.

c. the city and the beanstalk.

For those uninterested in the party, there is another option: scaling the monstrously huge plant that sprang up like Jack's beanstalk overnight. It's possible to climb out on the enormous leaves where they protrude from the stalk, if you just feel like going up high to take a nap away from the noise. Of course, the more adventurous or curious might want to take the opportunity to get a closer look at the dome that protects and powers the city.

A better look at the dome, and a better look at what's outside on the horizon. There are normal outcroppings of rocks, the remains of the ship that crashed and threw Santa through the windshield, the slowly growing martian strip mall, and some bits of things left behind by the red shifts here and there. A part of a car. An old transistor radio. A pulsing green gooey thing that you might want to stay away from - even odds on whether it's acidic or poisonous or both.

Look farther, though, and there's a vast smudge on the horizon. Using telescopes, binoculars, or special abilities will give you a better look at what it is.

A city, seemingly dead, seemingly empty, stretching almost from horizon to horizon. It's too far to make it on foot, and if you took one of the vehicles out of the garage it would get you there--but not all the way back. Of course, you can try to get there anyway, but a sandstorm is bound to whip up somewhere between here and there, a precursor to a proper hallucinatory red shift. Wouldn’t want to be caught out in that, would you?

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.

Comments

Arthur Morgan // Red Dead Redemption 2

[towhatmatters]

A. Arrival

The first thing Arthur notices is that he can actually breathe. It startles him enough that for several seconds, he doesn't begin to register where he is (not that he would know) or what's happening. He takes the first deep, easy breath that he's taken for weeks, and then starts patting himself down, almost surprised to find that there's nothing different. What did he expect? He's not sure. He had no expectations of what an afterlife would be, if there was one at all. It wouldn't have surprised him if it left all belongings behind, but he still has his clothes on, and his revolvers. Everything except the satchel, hat and rifle that he gave to John.

Then, he finally takes a look around, the dead plants and dried up fountain and, most important, the screen playing the welcome video. Now, he's seen moving pictures before, but this looks entirely different from that. Not only is it far smoother and clearer, it's in colour, and for a moment he's so distracted by the fact that he doesn't hear what the man is actually saying.

None of this makes any sense.

It doesn't make much more sense when he finally gets out from that room either. The place looks nothing like what he's used to, sleek and vast and ... boring? No, not boring. It's somehow ... lifeless. Perhaps it's the lack of people more than the building itself. He can't quite place it, but there's something off. While looking this way and that, he looks simultaneously confused, baffled and annoyed, and very clearly new. Help him out?

B. Robot party

There is a giant stalk. There is a giant stalk and, somehow, it's not the strangest thing here, because at least it's a plant, and plants make more sense than the rest of this building. But it's a giant stalk. He spends a good minute staring at it, wondering how it could even get that big in the first place. Is it a beanstalk? Has he found himself in some sort of fairy tale world?

Then he notices the commotion down below, and makes it his mission to find a way down there. And when he does, he's schedules for another minute or so of just staring. Not that he hasn't seen this before. In fact, the machines that are clearly having some kind of party seem like more advanced, sophisticated versions of what that professor ... Dragic, was trying to make. Life, was it? This certainly looks more like life than the fragile machine he built.

"Huh ... Maybe he was onto something," he mutters to himself, just as one of the robots notices that he's there.

It seems to take his staring as some kind of longing, and invites him to a dance.

He has to laugh at it, though it's closer to a sharp exhale than anything. Is this really happening? A machine is inviting him to a dance. And what was that it called him? Meatsack? Well ... He supposes it's not wrong.

With a baffled smile on his face, he lifts his hands, shaking his head.

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

C. Wildcard

[ Give me a prompt if none of these strike your fancy. Arthur will be wandering around to try and learn where stuff is and probably looking continuously confused and baffled about it. He's also overall a helpful guy, so.

Also, brackets are very much fine if you prefer! ]

B

[nothinglikefather]

Jacob is there to survey the stalk more than he is to interfere with the robots. Not that he has anything against them, but he is a little baffled about machines with minds of their own. Its well beyond the science of his time, and while Angel could no doubt explain it, he might not understand why these machines act like they do anyway.

But does that make them much different to people?

He's not going to linger on that thought, but he is getting distracted from his original purpose but the strange scene. And other people seem to be getting pulled into the festivities too.

"That one seems to have taken a fancy to you." He says to one man with a robotic admirer or, at least, prospective dance partner.

[towhatmatters]

He snorts, turning his head towards Jacob with a raised eyebrow, but before he can express his doubts the robot responds.

"I thought he looked lonely," it says.

Now that gets more than an exhale or a snort. A loud bark of laughter, brief but genuinely amused. A machine is telling him that he looks lonely. Jesus. This can't actually be real. He must be delirious.

"Trust me, friend," he says. "I don't suffer for loneliness."

[nothinglikefather]

Jacob laughs too, not only glad that he's not been told he looks lonely, but because this stranger seems to be good-humoured. He looks rough, like Charles did when they first met, worn and toughened by a hard life without much comfort, and even his appearance is reminiscent of that. But he doesn't make assumptions.

"No man is an island." Jacob says after a moment, and picks up a bottle from the table of human foods and beverages. It's something alcoholic, although Jacob wouldn't want to hazard a guess on what sort. He offers it out even so, "Have a drink. Better than dancing."

Anything is better than dancing, especially as the band strike up a waltz. God save them from formal dancing.

[towhatmatters]

After turning the bottle over in his hand, he concludes that it's not a beverage he recognises, but opens it anyway.

"Thank you." He tries a sip, and decides it's a perfectly acceptable drink. "You look about as out of place as me."

The man doesn't look as lost as Arthur feels at all, but he doesn't quite look like he belongs here.

[nothinglikefather]

Jacob has opened a bottle of his own and is drinking it, whatever it is, nothing can be as bad as gin.

And it's nit, so he'll have another swallow.

"Oh, I am. Back home its 1868. But here... it isn't. I wish I could tell you when it is, or where exactly you are but I'm buggered if I know."

Or if anyone else here knows.

"Just arrived?"

[towhatmatters]

He's in the middle of a mouthful when Jacob says 1868, and he very nearly chokes on it. The man hardly looks old enough to have been here that long. And did he say that it is 1868? Maybe Arthur isn't delirious, because he doesn't think he could make this up, but that doesn't help the matter.

"Excuse me?" he says, his voice a little hoarse before he clears his throat. "1868? That ain't right. That's thirty years ago."

[nothinglikefather]

"Not for me." Jacob says, remembering when he would react that way to people saying they were from the 21st century. Or the 18th. "When I left home it was 1868, and that wasn't all that long ago. There are people here from a lot of different times."

Hopefully the alcohol will help make that easier to swallow. Its not an easy concept even so. Maybe there is some way of easing him into it. And then he realises that Charles is from sometime around then, the early 1900s. He doesn't recall when exactly, but perhaps knowing he isn't alone will help this man.

"There's someone else here from about then, from your side of the Atlantic. You adjust. People are very good at dealing with changing circumstances. He does just fine, even with all the technology."

[towhatmatters]

What precisely is he supposed to make of this?

For a long time, he's been very certain of how the world works and what his place in it is. Lately, the world or fate or whatever you want to call it has also been determined to chip away at his perceptions, bit by bit until all that was left for him was to reevaluate everything he thought he knew. Frankly, he's had enough of it already, and what he really wanted was ...

He just wanted a bloody vacation. A rest. If that only came with the darkness of the abyss, he was prepared to accept that too. This? This isn't even close, even with drink, wondrous machines and company that truly doesn't seem too shabby.

He scrubs a hand over his face, and then tilts his head back. At least there's a sky, though it doesn't look quite like the one he's used to.

Only one thing left to make certain of. He looks back down at Jacob, with a wry, crooked smile that kind of looks more like a grimace.

"You aren't dead, are you?"

C

[borntohurt]

Arthur Morgan is here.

That's the message he'd been sent, four simple words that hit like a freight train. Charles Smith is not a man to easily feel rattled, but that is exactly the word for it. Shaken, down to his bones.

He's here.

His feet carry him almost without thought through the complex, not quite running but still moving with purpose. He needs to see him with his own eyes for his mind to truly believe it. It's possible, of course. Different timelines and the like, and if Angel could have come here after what happened to her...

He can feel his pulse in his ears as he finally reaches the lowest levels, the greenest portion of Anchor by far. His eyes scan quietly, searching for sign of that familiar frame.

C

[towhatmatters]

As soon as Jacob mentioned the gang, Arthur felt almost completely sure that it had to be the one and only Charles Smith he was talking about. Tempted as he's been to go looking himself, he stays put, because if Charles got the message then he should be making his way down here soon enough. He's constantly throwing looks back the way he came, and scanning the rest of the park, in search of Charles.

When he finally spots him, there's a pang of some strange mixture between both sorrow and joy in his chest, that spreads until he can feel it all the way to his fingertips with a restlessness that urges him forward before he's actually aware he's moving. Once he does realise it, he only picks up the pace, lips and arms both spreading wide as his throat twists into itself and his eyes start burning. Doesn't matter. He's not sure he'd care much, at this point, if he started actually sobbing.

Dying really does change things.

[borntohurt]

When he finally catches sight of him, he stills for a moment. Like he's not sure, like he could be mistaken. He could be mistaken. He could just be seeing what he wants to see.

Arthur. Whole and healthy, not some desiccated shell on a lonely mountain, left to the animals and the elements.

Something twists sharply in his chest as he finally starts to move, at a slower pace but his destination still absolutely certain. There aren't words. Just a dazed look in his eyes as he draws closer, taking him all in--

And then letting out a strained laugh and reaching forward, arms winding tight around him. It's him. It's him and he's here and he's not sure what to do, or what he should do.

This, this is the only thing that really seems right.

[towhatmatters]

They don't normally hug this way, but this is far from normal circumstances. Arthur's not entirely sure how much Charles knows, but he must have been aware that his time was running out, and perhaps that's why he's holding onto him so tightly.

It's a little strange, but mostly ... just good. Arthur holds on just as tightly, perhaps almost desperately, like he has an anchor for the first time in his life and he can't ever let go of it lest he get swept away and loses himself. The past few weeks have been riddled with heartbreak but Charles is, as always, steady and strong and he hadn't realised he needed it.

His eyes keep burning, as he buries his face against Charles's shoulder and allows himself at least a moment of vulnerability. Maybe he'll even allow himself more.

[borntohurt]

Words have never been his strongest suit. Arthur has far more of a gift for quick wit and clever words, though perhaps not quite the skill of Dutch or Hosea. But at heart, they're both men of action over words.

Standing there in silence, eyes reddening, fingers curled into knuckle-clenched grips, speaks volumes for them. Charles shakes his head, at a loss, but it felt like an old, persistent ache in his chest had found a sudden warmth to fill it. Oh, he still remembers the hurt just fine, but hurt's a familiar friend by now.

He'd rather focus on this one, instead.

"...I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he murmurs quietly, swallowing against a growing lump in his throat.

[towhatmatters]

"Same to you."

Not that he'd been expecting to see much of anything. And if that sunrise had been the very last thing he'd seen, that would have been fine too, but this is definitely better. Much, much better. He may not understand how this is possible, how he's standing here, or what's going on, but Charles is very real. His voice, his grip, the way he smells that Arthur hasn't even really paid much mind before now.

All of that is still the same.

A part of him thinks it might be about time to let go, but a much louder part really doesn't want to. So he doesn't. Sense be damned, because this isn't the time for it.

[borntohurt]

"I should have been there with you."

The words come spilling out before he can stop them. It's the thought that haunted him all this time. Maybe it would have turned out differently, if Arthur had another gun by his side. Someone else willing to stand up to Dutch and Micah and the whole sham the gang had become by that point.

At the very least, he wouldn't have had to die alone.

A. (i'm sorry)

[hypothermic]

Arthur knows he's arrived in Anchor and not heaven when he meets Leonard Snart, a man who would egg the pearly gates and pick-pocket the devil, given the chance. A tall, lean man who doesn't bother to hide the fact he's trying to break into a utility closet with a set of lock-picking tools glares up at Arthur from where he's kneeling on the floor, one hand drifting to his hip in that timelessly cagey fashion.

At least it's something Arthur can recognize.

"You got a staring problem, cowboy?"

The bad mood isn't Arthur's fault. It's hard to catch Leonard in any other way, especially on his rare escapades into the colony proper. He's always edgy. Ready and waiting for this place to do something crazy, or go to shit, like it always does.

Anchor is something like purgatory. Not good, or evil, but distressingly neutral. Anchor doesn't care of if you're claustrophobic, anti-social, or ambitious, the colony, and the changing landscape surrounding it, will keep on keeping on whether you like it or not. Everyone else is just along for the ride.

Len's fingers remain perfectly still near the holster of his cold gun, a heavy, strange looking fire-arm strapping to his thigh, waiting on this Clint Eastwood looking motherfucker to give him a reason to use it.

Then he sees the door past Arthur, and does the math. Everyone stumbles out of the receiving room with the similar stupid, near pitiful looks on their faces. Like lost puppies.

Some more violent than others.

"If you're waiting for the welcome wagon, it ain't coming. People come and go all the time. No one cares." A smirk, hand falling away from the holster of his gun as Len shrugs off Arthur as no immediate annoyance or threat, is the only housewarming gift on offer.

Don't be lmao god

[towhatmatters]

If Heaven and Hell were real, Heaven's not where he'd expected he'd end up. Where else could he go but Hell? He's really not sure this is it, though.

At least this is something familiar. Whoever this lovely feller is, he's clearly used to a similar life to Arthur. One where strangers are rarely to be trusted and you need to look after yourself, unless you're lucky enough to find some people who will show you that not everyone is completely indifferent to your struggles.

Even if the gun Leonard's carrying is completely unfamiliar, at this point Arthur isn't surprised. Nothing here looks at all like what he's used to. Why would the weapons? He doesn't react outwardly to the fact that Leonard is clearly ready to draw it, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have his guard up. He's just usually faster than anyone else at drawing his weapon.

He's glad to see that it's apparently not going to come to that. Honestly, after the last few days, he doesn't feel very keen on killing anyone.

Even someone who's clearly an asshole. Not that Arthur can really judge.

"You angry 'cause you waited for the welcome wagon and didn't get one?"

Look.

He just can't resist a hornets nest.

A

[sleepyhollowed]

Ever since regaining his eyesight after what could only be described as the ultimate multi-level marketing scheme of trauma, Kieran has gone the extra mile (sometimes literally) to move around Anchor and really absorb his surroundings, much like how he had at the beginning of his stay. Now, though, there's more of an intense scrutiny behind his exploration. He tries to pay attention to the sounds, the way the air changes, if the smells range from stagnant to somewhat life-filled, even if not anywhere near the complexity of the fresh air back home.

It's calming, in its own way, or as calming as any activity can be to the perpetually nervous cowboy.

He finds himself close to the arrival area, memories from his own initial foray into Anchor floating into his mind. His eyes scan the cavernous room, sleek walls and all, until they fall on one familiar--and imposing--figure.

Kieran squints and, before he can stop himself, incredulously blurts a name aloud.

"Mister Arthur?"

[towhatmatters]

That's one way to make him believe that this just might be the afterlife. Seems a bit deserted for that, though, doesn't it? Or, he supposes it would have to be very big to deal with all the souls that were brought into it. What were the odds, then, that Kieran would just happen to be passing by this particular area just as he arrived?

Not that the man talking on that moving picture seemed to think this was an afterlife.

Worrying about that can come later, though. For now, he turns towards Kieran with no lack of surprise on his face. It's not an unpleasant surprise, as such, but not entirely pleasant either. He'd be lying if he tried to claim he didn't feel guilt for Kieran's fate. Even when other members of the gang expressed concern for Kieran, Arthur was too occupied with Dutch, Bronte, the Mayor and other bullshit to find the time to look into it.

Leave no one behind. That's how it was supposed to be. Kieran was one of them, and they failed him.

"Kieran Duffy! Well, I'll be damned."

He's not so certain Kieran is any happier to see him. Who would be, after being left for dead by those you essentially swore allegiance to? Or perhaps Kieran never thought that he had every right to be treated with the same importance as John or Sean.

[sleepyhollowed]

It's an odd combination of both, which leaves Kieran caught in an unsettling dichotomy of not knowing if he should feel slighted or if he received exactly what he deserved.

Getting thrown around from place to place had a tendency to hit you right in the self-worth.

That said, reliving those horrific moments when the O'Driscolls had taken his eyes––Anchor had a nasty habit of dredging up trauma––also brought with it some serious questions. Questions that, upon receiving validation from friends here who legitimately cared about him without a need for him to swear his allegiance or prove his worth. Not that he didn't try to do exactly that––old habits die hard, if they die at all––but having even that tiny bit of support had been enough to almost completely rock Kieran's worldview into, perhaps ironically, something a little more stable.

Unfortunately, stability is transient on the best of days for the local nervous cowboy. This moment, in all of its awkwardly absurd glory, is enough to push Kieran right back into the land of paralysis-inducing uncertainty.

"I-I-I-I..." he begins.

Then he pauses.

Finally, with a forced crooked grin and a furrowed brow, Kieran just manages to pull together an actual response, voice cracking.

"P-Probably, yeah! I-If ya wound up here, I-I mean..."

Cue an instinctive cringe––the kind that wordlessly begs for Arthur not to hurt him for that.

[towhatmatters]

That's Kieran all right, stuttering like a fool and, when he finally finds the words, they're not the best ones he could have chosen. Arthur, though, just hooks his thumbs into his gun belt and watches with a crooked grin, and when the 'actual response' comes, he barks a laughter, brief but enough for him to toss his head back with it too.

Guilt aside, though - and unfortunately for Kieran - he can't not poke and prod, so he raises a hand and gestures with two fingers.

"Hey. Come 'ere."

He doesn't sound like there's a threat behind it, because he doesn't intend to do any harm - no major harm, anyway - but Kieran can of course take it as he wants.

[sleepyhollowed]

Panic is a perpetual companion, always hovering around Kieran's general person. While not entirely welcome, it's also what kept him alive... for a time.

So when Arthur throws his head back for a good laugh, Kieran joins in for a brief moment, chuckling nervously. Said chuckle drops and dies right at his feet when his fellow cowpoke beckons him on over into his general vicinity. In the silence that follows, Kieran's eyes shift back and forth, his head turning along with them, as if he's trying to spy the catch out in the open. Because there's always a catch.

He toddles back and forth between his wobbly feet, ready to bolt at any moment (although that has nothing to do specifically with Arthur, and is more a testament to the general state of Kieran).

"Uhhh... w-what, now?"

He heard Arthur just fine, and it's obvious that he did, what with his initial reaction. It's also pretty obvious that this is Kieran's flight-fight response trying to buy him some time while he maths out the probability ratio of bodily harm to a genuine friendly gesture.

[towhatmatters]

He lowers his hand again, leaving it to hang by his side, and shakes his head a little, like he's disappointed.

"I said come here."

As he's sure Kieran heard, but he'll play along. If only to avoid saying that he's really not going to do anything. Would it even matter if he did say that? He could just as well be lying.

[sleepyhollowed]

Kieran's lips press into a thin line as he considers his (limited) options. If he were to run, Arthur could catch up to him with little issue, and it's almost a guarantee that he'd be just a little grumpier than usual.

So, Kieran goes with the option that's least likely to wind up with a whooped ass.

"Y-Yessir," he finally manages to meekly stammer as he scurries toward Arthur.