redmarsshit | test drive meme: april 2020

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!test drive

test drive meme: april 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.

▶ SPECIAL NOTE: We're only a month off from the 1 year anniversary of the first TDM, and we received this request for a fancy dress ball, so we thought it would be ~~funny~~ fun to run with it! This TDM will only have one prompt/event, as the monthly log with a bit more plot-related stuff will be going up on Friday May 1st.

a. an invitation.

There are ears everywhere in Anchor. A maintenance bot here, a surveillance AI there. SINI, restlessly pacing the dark digital hallways as she watches over the things that still matter to her. It doesn't take long for word to get out about Starscream's expedition plans. It takes an even shorter time for that news to circulate amongst Anchor's robo-population.

They know when you're unhappy. They always know.

It's why residents will start waking up one fine day to find gorgeous clothes laid out for them to wear and an invitation to a formal dinner taking place down at the plaza at Anchor’s base. The clothes aren't particularly specific to a character's gender, species, or culture - it's all about what the bots think your character would like best. Even if they're wildly off the mark, the clothes are still made to fit and fashioned beautifully. The invitations are marked "TOMORROW, STARTING AT 6PM LOCAL TIME." A smaller note underneath instructs attendees to see the tailor bot adjacent to the spa if they are unsatisfied with their assigned clothing, and also that the spa bots are on high alert, prepared to beautify anyone who wants some extra pampering and a dash of makeup.

Just be careful. Some of the makeover bots are really fond of glitter.

b. quite the spread.

True to the word of the invitation, the plaza is closed off under large white tents and guarded by bots who encouragingly steer you elsewhere should you try to get inside. They're nice, polite, all the things they've been programmed to be whether they like it or not, but there will be no sneaking by them into the party area.

At 6pm on the dot the day after the clothes arrive, characters will find music playing on all levels of Anchor, broadcast from the musical robots who have been practicing ever since that first tiny party almost a year ago.

Invitations will be taken by a bot in an impeccably tailored suit, and characters will be welcomed onto the red carpet that curves around the edge of the park and into the area cordoned off for festivities. The flashbulbs and cheering of bots that line the carpet echo through Anchor, broadcast along with the music until it sounds like the entire place is full of faintly electronic cheering. Each arrival is greeted with a fresh wave of enthusiasm, their image projected larger than life against the interior of Anchor's dome.

The sides of the tents have been rolled up, revealing the absolutely decadent set-up within.

Rows upon rows of buffet tables laid out with the most extravagant and strange dishes for residents to try. All of it delicious, though not all of it will appeal to every palate. There are sweet dishes, savory, spicy, whatever you can imagine. Appetizers of a hundred different kinds. Fruit plates formed into works of art, showing places and events from around Anchor. There are spun sugar reindire. Tiny plates of hors d'oeuvres that depict the faces of residents, both current and former. One particularly large dish is sculpted in the shape of what looks like an explosion emanating from Anchor's base, near where the locked and flooded rooms were found.

There's a cake near the middle of it all, frosting painting an image of a young, smiling man. Anyone who's seen him will, after a moment, recognize the whole and handsome features of a much younger Creepy Joe - the words on the cake say LET'S CELEBRATE OUR OLDEST LIVING RESIDENT!

While most of the food is at least recognizably from the general stores and from the agricultural level, there are other plants and garnishes that look entirely foreign. If asked where they came from, the bots will simply insist they're part of Anchor’s available resources.

There is also a full-service bar, but...not manned by the usual bartender (for anyone who might ask, the other bots will kindly inform them that the usual bartender is on sabbatical for stress). Instead there's a freshly-built bot serving drinks of all kinds, taking requests for old favorites and mixing up new cocktails based on guests' stated tastes.

The only thing not on the menu is a tequila sunrise.

There's a table full of hookahs and little treats that have various light, pleasant effects. These range from simple mood lifts to treats that will leave characters blissed out and relaxed.

c. dance, our residents, dance!

After people have finished arriving, the band picks up and guests' attention is directed upward toward Anchor's dome, where there's a truly magnificent light show being projected with musical accompaniment. It's spectacular, haunting and beautiful...and it shows more than just lights. It also shows celestial bodies in motion across the planet's dusk-red sky, meteor showers, strange northern lights. The show itself is almost an hour long, and ends with words unfurling across the apex of the dome.

HAPPY ∞ +1 ANNIVERSARY ANCHOR #3, THE LONGEST RUNNING COLONY.

STAY HERE, STAY HAPPY!

The show fades away and the music picks up again, encouraging guests to dance.

Go on, dance.

It’s a party after all.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

i.
Angel was, in a word, unbelievably excited. From the second she realised the dress was for her, and that there was somewhere to wear it. Not that she needed an excuse, she'd wear it just to walk around the long winding corridors of anchor as much as for a party. No reason or care why she couldn't do what she pleased when it came to these little freedoms. But even more so when she found it was for everyone to get their own interesting clothes, and that there were robots who had joined in with them, and would dress them up further.

So Angel, never one to refuse a robot much of anything, let them go to town with the glitter. Do her hair, and hang any kind of frippery in her horns, to match the golden dress. The thing clearly weighs a ton, but what else was super strength for but to carry herself effortlessly.

So, on Connor's arm, she arrives with him. A glittering bauble to his tall, dark and mysterious. Or so she thought they looked. It's for show and play, but she really is enjoying the fiction of it. Like they were some trendy socialites from Dionysus, or something like it. She smiles and smiles and smiles and the effect makes it all the more eye catching because in her happiness, her usually blue markings begin to glow and ebb. Turning a pure white light that makes the golden material and pearls shimmer as she walks. Happy to do a twirl of her skirts that make them flair out like Midas' dream.

Giggling to herself all the while.

But when it's over, she's there cheering and applauding everyone else who arrives, floating in her ridiculous dress.

II. Angel & Connor Open Prompt

Angel and Connor are to be found together for a good portion of the evening - which is a sight in itself, since they didn't necessarily hang about each other's pockets often but the affection they have for each other is plain, Angel smiles at him like he's her whole damn world, when she leans into his side and though he's a sight less so exuberant, he returns each smile with one of his own, often gentle and subdued but still very much there. Never far from each other's fingertips or casual touches.

But they're hardly secluded and secretive, both of them happy to talk and Angel is quick to draw in company with a glass of champagne into a passer-by's hand and to bring them in.

"I'm a bit worried, what am I going to give the Reindire to drink if there aren't any more Tequila Sunrises? But Connor told me most animals usually just drink water on his planet."

Connor for his part looks wary of whoever Angel invited, unless it is someone he's more familiar with and has decided can be trusted. His brow creases in a slight frown as he eyes the newcomer carefully, clearly sizing them up and trying to decide what to think of them.

iii.

For once in her whole life.

Angel looks at something.

And has no fucking clue what she's supposed to do.

Jack had money, Jack had so much money, and yes, she did know everything, so far as being the best search function anyone had ever invented. But what did eating and dining matter to her when she hadn't actually consumed a meal for the better part of her last five years? Food, like sleeping, physical intimacy, the feeling of the sun on her skin and hope for something better in life belonged wholly to the nice but practically not possible.

So when faced with the sheer line up of cutlery, she felt... Utterly lost.

This was like those first few weeks, when she couldn't walk all over again. Weak and unused to her own body. Only with forks. Why were there so many forks? Why were there so many spoons? Didn't you just need one glass for drinks? Why were they all different shapes?

But there was a order to this business, apparently, trying not to stare. Instead to surreptitiously study people around her to work out the order to this madness.

iv.

Angel's dancing is... Inelegant. Which is probably from a technical standpoint, one of the better things that can be said.

But she is deeply enthusiastic, which makes up for it, because something has to. Thankfully, with so much skirt to hang onto, she can't make too much of a fool of herself, and with hooves she's a lighter, surer step. Mostly she is content with what seems to be her primary dance move, dancing around in a circle so she could enjoy how the material floats around and flared out in a circle. Like a princess in one of those stories from Earth.

So no, maybe not the best dancer, or much of a dancer at all, but with her face tilted up, twirling about, she is utterly, giddily, finally herself.

And a little bit tipsy, though she doesn't send anyone flooring, she's mostly just prone to stopping and just catching herself from sending her and the other person tumbling with a big grin.

"Enjoying the party?"

Genji is feeling rather self conscious in the black and green suit the robots had picked out for him. It felt odd to wear clothes over his armor, not to mention he not only isn't wearing his helmet, he doesn't even have it with him. He'd left it in his room because he knew himself, at the first sign of awkwardness he'd be slamming it back on his head and hiding because that was easier than facing personal interaction head on.

He has gathered a plate of food and sat down and is now confronted with too many shiny silver utensils and half a dozen glasses. Like Angel he is utterly lost, sending a few panicked glances her way.

"Do you know what any of these are?" a hushed whisper as if they're co-conspirators in place setting espionage.

Angel's eyes dart back and forth at the cutlery in continue perplexed bafflement. Why were there so many other sizes for forks? Who needed this many kind of forks? It's not like any of these fired projectiles.

She thinks.

Might require testing.

"No." She whispers it back, lean into his side to keep up their confused little huddle. "Aren't they all just forks?"

"I think so?" They're various sizes and some have more tines than others, but they're all just forks right?

"What happens if we use the wrong one?" This isn't like a formal dinner from when he was a child where he would have been scolded for eating things out of turn. There's no one hovering over them waiting to judge how they ate, even the bots seemed mostly concerned with replenishing the food and drink and not so much with the guests.

He picks a fork at random and stabs something on his plate with it, his posture clearly indicating he's expecting alarms to go off and to be arrested by the dinner police.

She pauses, watching him like she's expecting something along the same lines. Flame throwers from the walls or zap collars or something.

But when nothing happens as he uses the first fork she lets out an audible breath.

"Okay, I think that one must be okay then."

Did he pass a test and find the proper fork? He breathes a sigh of relief and starts to eat. "I've never been to an event with so many plates? I do not know what they're all for. Am I supposed to eat this much?"

Because he definitely can, he's basically a never ending pit, cramming in calories to power all those metal appendages. But he's not sure what he's actually supposed to do here. And it feels odd that in a place with so many different people they hadn't included some sort of instruction manual.

"The food is good, so that's a good start!" And he hasn't dropped dead yet, so that's also good.

With him already piling up the food, she is going to take that as an invitation to join him.

Because Angel's metabolism wasn't..... underactive. No, she begins to take plate after plate and pile up her own with all the food around her, eating and eating all that she can in more than enough to match him.

"You are not kidding." Happily said in between big swallows of food.

Hopefully they don't find out it's poisoned much, much later, because that would definitely ruin how much he's enjoying it now. "Where did they get so much food? I've not seen the kitchens stocked with all this."

And he's in there a lot. Cooking. Eating. Poking around. More eating.

"I am probably doing this wrong. These little plates are probably for small foods, and the bigger ones for main courses. But I still do not understand the forks."

She looks over at each of the plates that - why would the plate size matter, and did it really have to do anything with the forks too? Another furtive glance about them, she investigates again as discreetly as possible.

Between them, they're going to clear this section of table, that was for sure. Maybe they could use that to their advantage and disguise themselves in their appetite?

So she reaches across to take what food he indicated for each plate, and she begins to pile it up, and then places it around them, between them, where they could both reach. Then put smaller plates together to join them like embellishment to the larger ones. Until there was a little scattered of every dish, big and small, for them both.

"Now no one can say we're using the wrong fork, if we're using all the forks."

ANGEL THE SIREN | BORDERLANDS

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