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redmarsshit2020-02-21 07:33 pm
modblob) wrote in redmarsshit2020-02-21 07:33 pm
Entry tags:
test drive meme: february 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.
▶ 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."
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.
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?
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.
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
no subject
Does this mean that he didn't die? Except he must have done, because he can tell that he's not sick anymore. Unless, somewhere along the way on his journey here, he was magically cured. He supposes he can be grateful for that much, if so. Because it's not actually possible that he's dead, is it? Hell, he doesn't know. He understands none of this.
"So who else is it that's from 'my side of the Atlantic'?"
no subject
The question draws his thoughts away and his expression becomes a little softer as he takes another swallow from the bottle. Charles. He always grins when he thinks of him.
"There's a man called Charles Smith. I think he is from about the same time as you. Some man he knows called... Killian Duffy. Something like that. And Connor. But he's from a time before mine. The Revolution. But it's still America."
He leans back against the table, balancing the bottle on the edge. "There's probably some more Americans around. I've not met everyone here myself. Not by a long shot."
no subject
"What does this Charles Smith look like?"
no subject
"Very tall, broad in the shoulder. Dark skinned, long black hair. A few dozen scars."
He looks again at the man sharing a drink with him, contemplating him. Who is he? Is that a look of recognition? If so, is he a friend or foe?
"Know him?"
no subject
It would be very nice to see Charles again. After everything that's happened, Charles Smith is at least someone he knows he can still rely on. Someone who offered him words that weren't empty attempts to soothe or fix what couldn't be fixed, but tried to help him think of things in a different way.
There is definitely recognition, and the smile that spreads on his face and the warmth in his eyes is hopefully a clear enough sign that it's friend, not foe.
"Might do."
Let it be Charles. Please, let it be Charles.
no subject
He's not sure where Charles is at this moment. He could be helping out on the Agricultural level, or back at their place, or exploring with Connor or Angel or any number of things.
"Alright. Well, I can let know know you're here. He's down here a fair amount. Likes the trees and the outside feel to the place."
He pulls his phone free from his pocket. He can send a message now. "What's your name?"
no subject
"Arthur Morgan."
no subject
Arthur Morgan. Is that name familiar? He can't be sure.
Jacob catches the man's eye and pauses. He had been completely floored by these things when he had first seen them, but perhaps Arthur might have better luck, being from the last days o1f the century.
"You've heard of telegraphs and telephones? This is one of those. Sort of. It's very useful."
He's typing as he speaks and then stops.
Stops and looks up at Arthur with a sudden understanding. "You were in the same gang."
no subject
Whatever.
When Jacob suddenly looks up again, he raises an eyebrow questioningly. Same gang?
For a moment, he swears his heart stops beating.
It has to be Charles.
"Yeah. We were."
His mouth feels a little dry, so he goes ahead and takes another mouthful of whatever drink this is.
no subject
Charles will be pleased. Arthur was a good friend, one that he had mentioned before, almost every time he'd spoken about his time before the City. He needs someone here, someone who understands.
Better than Jacob, who wasn't there, who was never hunted or chased over a continent. Better than Jacob who has always been free to go where he liked and hardly ever felt fear.
"He's on his way." He says after a moment, once a couple of messages are exchanged.
no subject
He takes a deep breath, and nods.
"Thank you," he says, truly grateful.
no subject
It's not long before he sees Charles. There's something about his presence that he notices now, instinctively when Charles is nearby.
And without making a fuss he slips away from the pair of old friends so they can talk together without the awkward third wheel.