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redmarsshit2020-04-27 08:43 pm
modblob) wrote in redmarsshit2020-04-27 08:43 pm
Entry tags:
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 befunny 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.
▶ 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
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.
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.
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.
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.
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
no subject
"Like what, babydoll?" It isn't really a question; they're not talking about the flower, are they. He strokes her cheek a little while longer; he likes doing what she likes him to do.
He drops his hand just as her eyes fall to his jacket. "Everybody's got style, babe. Some just need more help finding it than others." The tailor bot picked this out for him, but he won't admit that now. His voice turns smooth and honeyed as he leans in again, gently curling a forefinger beneath her chin, another whisper of cool metal against warm skin, hoping it coaxes her eyes back to his. "You're stealing the show tonight, if you ask me."
no subject
Ah, but she will have to tell him about Rey, and how that changes what they have. Later, perhaps — for tonight, she wants to dance with the fellow who understands the music and what it can do for them, how it can express what words cannot. She brushes her hair to rest across one shoulder, leaving the other bare for his hand.
"With a dance, we may steal the show." She lowers her voice, whispering coyly as she leans closer. "Like thieves."
no subject
"Anything for you, sweet thing."
Looking as proud as a peacock, Scaramouche draws back and straightens to his complete seven-and-a-half-foot height, his gaze never leaving her. The heat of her hand begins to warm up his own, her shoulder is given an affirming squeeze, and away they go, swaying to and fro, finding rhythm in no time at all.
But his attempts at fancy footwork--guiding them left and right, then back and forth to mix it up a bit--are clumsy at best. When he moves too fast, there's too much pull, and when he moves too slow, too much give. It becomes a stop-and-start slow dance. His attention falls to the space between them while he takes care not to step on or trip up his partner.
Who knew dancing with someone could be harder than dueling them?
His round and inquisitive optics slide to her face again. The smile that immediately pulls the corners of his mouth up is genuine.
no subject
So given what a unique individual he is, she finds it unusual to see him so uncertain, but as his glowing optics dart to the space between them, she sees the utter care he's taking, as though he's not entirely clear on where he should put his feet so as not to tread on her bare toes. There's something sweet about it — rather than making it up as he goes, never letting anyone know for a moment that he likely has no idea what he's doing, he's trying his absolute best to make sure she has a good time, even if it means he doesn't come across as smoothly as he'd normally like.
And that is impossibly endearing. Scaramouche looks to her face, and Elleru absolutely beams at him, a quiet chuckle rumbling from her throat. She spares him further duress as her hands tighten on him, and she starts leading them. Her steps are equally clumsy, uneven as they spin, and made all the wider when she shakes her head to twirl her hair, but they're moving in time with the beat, and she's having a blast. She releases one hand so she can take the edge of her skirt, allowing her to flourish it dramatically as they move; as the song crescendos, she leans back as she's seen on the covers of her novels, expecting he'll catch her.
And he'd better — unlike their amateur dance, he's done that before.
no subject
His smile takes on a goofy slant as she jigs and jives with careless abandon. He's getting lost in the music himself, his steps consistently falling in and out of tempo with hers. The song swells until it hits its peak and his optics are wide, bright and alert after he snaps into place and swoops in to catch her.
Scaramouche flashes her a gleaming white grin and lifts her back to her feet. Her shoulder is offered another light squeeze before he releases it in favor of her free hand. The delight on his face softens a bit as he raises their hands above her head, twirls her around, then tilts himself forward, steadily bringing her arms--his arms--over her front and folding them around her, her hands--his hands--coming to rest on either side of her waist. He keeps swaying along to the music and tips his head to murmur in her ear.
"How do you feel about black?"
Their joined hands move back up and over her head; Elleru is turned to face him again. He remembers their first rendezvous: the dark fur that she draped across her shoulders, how it slithered out of sight when he carried her to the bed, her body arching against black velvet while he kissed her all over.
Black makes her glow.