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

"Hm?"

He follows Jacob's gaze down to the holster, and only pauses in confusion for a moment. Wouldn't have thought of it as strange, because the weight of the revolver is so familiar and he hardly ever takes it off.

When he lifts his head, it's with a bit of a wry smile.

"Who knows? So far, I've had plenty of things to shoot at in this place."

"Good point." Jacob can admit that much. This place has its fair share of unpleasant and aggressive aliens out to get them. It's been very enjoyable fighting all of them.

"So, you're a good shot?"

He knows that Charles is, especially with a bow. And he's not bad himself, although he doesn't enjoy using guns as much as he likes fighting with his fists. Arthur, who Charles has spoken of fondly, probably is just as good.

He shrugs.

"I get by."

He doesn't have any desire to be known as a 'good shot', as such. Just seems to make people want him to prove it, and he doesn't think he has anything to prove. Then again, betting on who's the better shot tends to be entertaining, not to mention profitable, so ... Not that he wants everyone and their mother to bet that they can shoot more birds than him, or whatever else they might think of.

Maybe it depends on his mood and who's asking, plain and simple.

Jacob laughs.

"So you can just about hit a barn door at twenty feet?"

He doubts that's true. From what Charles has told them of life for the gang he was in, those that couldn't shoot didn't last long.

"Guns in my day were bloody useless. Just as likely to blow up in your face as to hit the other bloke. But I was bloody good, even if I say so myself."

And he drains the glass in his hand.

A barn door at twenty feet? He straightens in his seat again, one arm resting on the bar top as he turns half his body to look at Jacob with ... mostly a hint of disbelief, but it's there.

"A barn door at twenty feet would've gotten me killed by now."

Jacob isn't a mean drunk. He doesn't say the obvious but aren't you? and instead laughs as he pulls the other drink towards him.

"Well, you're the one who said you weren't that good."

Its worth pointing that out. "So, how good are you? As good as Charles? He's a decent shot."

Sure, but not from being shot.

"I said I get by," he says dryly, and downs another mouthful of whiskey. "Charles is probably better with the bow. With a gun? Might be even."

They haven't tested it. Never even crossed his mind.

"I'm willing to bet Charles is probably better." Jacob says, pouring whiskey for them both and swallowing down half of his. And then pouring some more out.

"Back home, we'd shoot bottles for practice. You do that, in America? Put them on walls, hang them from gutters. If the wind blew them about a bit, even better."

He shrugs. Maybe Charles is better. It wouldn't even surprise him. Charles has the sort of patience you need to get good at something with practice and consistency. Hosea and Dutch tried their best to teach Arthur those things, but it only got so far.

"Sure, we do that. Kept running into a Mexican who'd challenge me to see who could shoot bottles fastest. He insisted on doing it over and over, even though I kept beating him."

"You beat him every time and he kept coming back for more?" Jacob grins, "Sounds like a glutton for punishment."

He calls for the bartender to bring them some empty beer bottles and another full one, because they're going to need something to aim at, as well as something to quench their thirst, right?

He huffs softly in amusement. They're going to have a shooting contest now? Not sure about that, but he will have more drink.

"Think it was spite."

"I know bastards like that." Jacob says, grinning at the robotic bartender and setting up a line of five bottles on the bar. There's not all that many people at the bar at this point, thank goodness.

"Ready to show me what you've got?"

Now? Honestly, Jacob, calm down. Arthur stares at him for a second, and scoffs.

"Hell no. I'm gonna enjoy more drinks before we shoot up anything."

At least finish this whiskey bottles. He's only just started!

Jacob shakes his head. "Alright old man, we'll wait for you."

And so he'll settle back down and drain another long swig of beer, relaxing in his seat next to Arthur.

"You settling in? Got yourself a place to stay? Been up to see the horses?"

Old man. Sure, Arthur won't try to claim he doesn't feel like one but, honestly, the audacity. He rests one arm on the bar top, and turns to Jacob with raised eyebrow.

And here's Jacob trying to just move on.

Hm.

"Sure."

Yeah. That's all he's giving.

Jacob notices the change in the atmosphere. He had no idea what has changed, what he has done to upset things, and he frowns at Arthur, setting down his drink.

"What?"

He really doesn't know what he said to earn that disapproval.

He's not angry or upset, or even particularly offended. However, if Jacob is going to go and call him old, well ...

"I'll drink you under the table, boy."

"Sure you would try." Jacob chuckles, "But you're ahead of me on the hard stuff already."

He nods towards the whiskey. "That stuff can't be doing much for your aim. You sure you don't want to switch to something lighter? Like beer? Or neat vodka?"

"S'just one bottle."

Not enough to screw up his aim enough that he can't shoot targets that aren't even moving. No sweat.

Jacob snorts, and gestures for Arthur to pour some of the whiskey into his empty glass. "Alright then, I'm game."

He's not actually ever done this before. He's seen it done, but he's never actually tried to out drink someone. And not someone who clearly has more years of drinking behind them. But what could go wrong? Charles is somewhere, so is Connor and Angel. He can't get into that much trouble.

"That's the spirit."

He grins, and pours whiskey for both of them. Get smashed and then smash some bottles? Sounds like a great plan.

"More whiskey!"

Jacob will toast to that, and then raise the glass to his mouth, knocking it back while watching Arthur, making sure he keeps pace with him, and slams the glass back down on the table as fast as he can, trying to beat the cowboy.

And trying to ignore the burn of much stronger booze running down his throat. Jesus.

The bartender eagerly brings over another bottle, as Arthur empties his own glass, then proceeds to empty the first bottle by pouring them both another.

It's been quite some time since he's been able to do this, indulge in it. Enjoy good drink and good company, and probably make mistakes afterwards. He'd been too sick back home, and before this party there wasn't actually any good booze in Anchor.

So he downs the next glass just as eagerly.

Jacob has always been a bit of a drinker, sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad, but mostly it's because that's just what you do. He prefers to do it with people than alone, a social creature through and through.

Keeping up with Arthur isn't really a chore, even if he'd not choose whiskey himself.

"We were going to start brewing this stuff ourselves, you know. Bloody sick of tequila."

"Should probably still do it. Maybe they'll bring back the tequila."

Maybe it's just for tonight that they get treated to something else. Since it's apparently some sort of special occasion, it wouldn't surprise him. He does wonder who exactly arranged this, and with what supplies. Was all this made through what is growing on the Agricultural levels?

Ugh. Thinking too much. Not drunk enough yet.

He pours again.

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