emptynesters | TEST DRIVE :003

Entry tags:

test drive

TEST DRIVE :003

WELCOME to the test drive and thank you for your interest in Station 72! To allow players to experiment with game mechanics, flexibility and to account for the fact that our TDMs tend to span a number of months to make up for our low player turnover, we've put together a game-themes random scenario generator for you to play with. Mix and match prompts at will, pick your own broodmates, experiment with abilities and specializations, talk to each other and maybe make up some pre-established CR, and generally play around however you like.

This test drive is not game canon, so take this chance to go nuts! Current in game players are also welcome to make top levels here and aren't beholden to their in-game characterizations (so if it makes more sense to be a broodmates of a character test driving, feel free to do so for the sake of these threads).

For the full experience, we strongly encourage players to write up a short blurb about what their fellow characters might know about them either through shared time on the Station or through the Nest mental link. Handy links can be found at the bottom of this entry if you have any questions and APPLICATIONS are always open if you decide you'd like to jump into the game proper. If you're having trouble coming up with a symbiote ability for your character for use in either the TDM or for your application, we have an ability workshop post located HERE.

(Mix and match these prompts at will to create your own TDM scenario - there's no obligation to use something from every category. Feel free to make up anything that isn't covered in the prompt if it lends to your playing.)

     THE PLACE

1. STATION 72 consists of massive, alien sprawl. While large sections of the Station might be mistaken for a Station manufactured for use by humanoid beings - the hangar is relatively standard other than its massive size, the Life Support deck with its series of living quarters seems normal enough (if you ignore the part where none of the rooms have doors on them), and there's even a Jai Alai court -, beyond the most well trod paths the Station quickly cedes to the utterly bizarre. Corridors twist and loop back in on themselves, great verandas overlook massive empty rooms, ramps because stairs which lead to dead ends. It's easy to get lost if you don't have a destination in mind. Strangely enough, if you do know where you want to be, the Station's twisting paths will eventually get you there as long as you keep your goal firmly in mind. Knowing that is another thing entirely.

2. THE MELTED WORLD was once beautiful. Then again, maybe it's always been a toughened old rock, but at some point the planet called Ojan was glassed in the throes of a brutal war. The planet's entire surface has become a twisted, mirror-like substance by whatever super hot biological weapon was poured into it. The material isn't actually that horrible, consuming black; it perfectly reflects the empty, quiet space that surrounds Ojan: a foreboding testament to a war long forgotten. But what lies below the surface of the desolated world?

3. THE SCEPTRE is a fabulous building structure suspended from an asteroid in orbit around a planet. The Sceptre pierces down through the atmosphere of the planet below and over the course of the asteroid's orbit, The Sceptre has an opportunity to pass through every habitat and climate the world below it has to offer. The Sceptre is sleek and beautiful (or it is? Maybe it's fallen into disrepair and only ghosts remain) and its massive windows look out onto a varied, verdant world (or do they? What state is the planet below in, exactly? Has it been so thoroughly paved over that the atmosphere is the only place left to build?).

4. PENTARA PRIME is the ancient, meandering capital of the lush garden world of Pentara. Unlike most cities, it is a large, verdant sprawl, made up eighteen clustered centers - groups of low, elegant stone buildings, strung together by winding roads populated with quietly humming pods moving people from spoke to spoke. The capital is built around leisure, not production and there are far more gardens and orchards than there are buildings. The sun is heavy and low, and the air is still and buzzes with the sounds of fat-bodied insects. It’s so still, so calm. It seems empty and there is something unsettling in the quiet. --Or is it? Maybe it's bustling with energy, just as vibrant and delightful as it seems on the surface.

5. CHORIUS is not quite a planet. Not anymore. Once long ago it was, but over time it has changed - been stripped clean of every valuable mineral, every scrap of rare metal, and eventually even of atmosphere. The core has cooled perceptibly and now even its rotation period has slowed dramatically. Now it is a made up of shaped carbon and steel that bridge over the stripped surface of the planet, pulsing with energies, shielded from the harshness of the sun by a webbed dome that keeps the electric scented air from escaping into the space around it. Here nothing is wasted. Everything - everyone - is recycled and reconstituted into new forms. Every one of the cities changes daily, reformatted to meet new goals and new needs. It is a dead world filled with the living. But whether it is thriving or dying is hard to say - and what the newest change will bring with it is even more difficult to guess.

6. SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER. There's a lot of it in every direction.

     THE PEOPLE

1. THE OUTLANDERS consist of small bands of settlers and explorers who have quested out into the unknown, the remote, and the dessicated parts of this galaxy looking for either new opportunities or forgotten mysteries. They are mostly upright though only vaguely humanoid, remnants of a civilization driven from their own failing world, each group is bound only by their own codes and personal laws. They're traders and nomads, largely peaceful but wary of the harsh, dangerous environment and beings they've crossed paths with. Don't cross a deal with an Outlander - they'll make you regret it.

2. A VERITABLE MELTING POT, the beings of this metropolis are as vibrant and diverse as is imaginable. These are a people developed by a myriad of cultural influences, technological insights, overlapping interests and clashing societal norms shaken up and spit out into something that more or less works as long as there's a whole lot of bureaucracy to keep it in order. And boy is there a lot of that. Mind your p's and q's - someone might haul you in for questioning if you cause too much of an uproar.

3. A RUINED GHOST is all that remains of this ancient civilization. Once there were people here leading brilliant or lives, or quiet ones, but all that's left are their ruined structures, old half-functional consoles and signs of lives abruptly arrested. What destroyed these people is initially unclear, but their extinction appears to have been absolute. --Or was it?

4. THE COURT is elegant and beautiful and perfect. Every being is shrouded in delicate, gauzy fabrics layered so densely as to obscure their elongated squirming bodies from head to toe. Each step sounds like a bell ringing from the the small metal plates at the bottom of their soft slippers; every gloved finger glints with small golden threads. The queens sweep through their secret insect gardens and their royal technomancers walk the halls with the glitter of hologlyphs sparkling at their fingertips and in the wake of their sweeping robes.

5. THE GREAT MILITARY is larger even than it’s name suggests. Every member of their civilization plays some part in it, every person has a rank, every family an insignia. The structure is rigid and inflexible and all-encompassing, and it has made them into ferocious enemies. They have been at war for as long as they have been a people, and their battle will never end, because if it did, they would go with it. The harshness of their life is painted on the sharp planes of their grey faces, but there is an indomitability and a pride to them that is hidden by their stern, unchanging expressions.

6. SCUM ALWAYS LIVES at the edge of the universe. Beware the dark of the space and the seedier underbelly of cities or the shadows of forgotten planet - pirates make their living there and these are desperate times, friend.

     THE OBJECTIVE

1. GET UP from where you've fallen. Or get up from the nesting deck pod where you've just woken up on the Station. Or get up to Level 672 where there's a ship waiting for you. Or get up from the knee you've taken before this alien queen. Get up.

2. THE RESCUE might be saving a city from a disaster engineered by an enemy force, playing bodyguard for a government official, or liberating a rare artifact from a crumbling structure.

3. IT'S A RACE AGAINST TIME to collect the relic you've been sent to retrieve from the collapsing ruin. Or to make your way free of the military blockade. Or to make your escape from a crumbling world.

4. THE MASQUERADE is all a cover - for an assassination. For a heist. For a political coup.

5. INFILTRATE you know what you need. And you know who has it. With a little help you’ll be able to break into the place no one is supposed to go. You could sneak in… or smash in. Or maybe just talk your way past every little problem.

6. COME ON AND SLAM and welcome to the jam. It’s a ritual or maybe it’s just a pastime, but whichever it is there are rules and there is a goal. There’s probably even points. If you’re lucky, you just might score one. Avoid the spiky pits? Or maybe the thrown fruit. Or perhaps just the other team...

6. EXPLORE and uncover the secrets this place have to offer. There’s a mystery here if you know where to find it. And all you have to do is look.

7. DON'T DIE is easy to say and hard to do when you're under the guns of an armada. Or when you're trying to outwit spies. Or when the ground is literally crumbling under your feet.

     INSPIRATION

NAVIGATION • PREMISE • FAQ • RULES • GLOSSARY • APPLICATIONS • SYMBIOTIC SKILLS • ABILITY POINTS

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( Mental links with Mat will be a little confusing. His memories have a lot of small and reasonably inconsequential gaps in them, and they also span hundreds of years and lives, meaning they'll be inconsistent. The general vibe will be a sense of timelessness, a disorienting lack of identity, and probably a lot of wariness/paranoia in response to any kind of mental hijinks. He's got awful self control, so his thoughts will generally be a big loud mess. I'm also playing w/the idea of his ability being power augmentation, so characters' abilities can trigger spontaneously in threads. )

(ONE) THE SCEPTRE/COURT/INFILTRATE

( A whole bloody universe away and lords still manage to get in the way. )

[ Whoever's stuck on this mission with Mat: congratulations, you drew the short straw. The sounds of the party on the other side of the wall are muted by the high, sleek walls, but he's got enough sense to keep his mouth shut (and his mind open, reluctantly) as he tugs sullenly on the sleeves of a coat that's too bright and too silk for his liking. ]

( What happens when they ask why we didn't use the front door? )

[ The servants' entrance had been the only one they could hack. That left them in what was basically the coat closet, currently, if a very glamorous one. Mat can come up with a few excuses for walking out of a closet at a party, but they mostly involve kissing and heavy petting, which—

Hard pass. While he's got the courtesy not to propose those ideas, however, that isn't going to stop anyone from skimming them off the top of his thoughts. ]

(TWO) PENTARA PRIME/GHOST/RACE

[ Dead cities are getting to be too much of a habit. This one looks different from the rest, on the surface — all lush green and polished metal, too rich to even have the decency to rust. Sometimes, a door or wall or screen will flicker to life, bright and alien enough for him to startle every single bloody time. Not visibly, maybe, because he's not completely made of milk, but the instinctive flinch still ripples across the mental link. ]

Burn that witch.

[ If his partner doesn't make the instant connection to Cathaway, the link will quickly fill in the blanks. Mat frowns heavily at a control panel as it glitches to life in front of him, opting to turn away from the door entirely instead of trying to coax it open. ]

And burn this dead bloody city. If it's hiding something so great, why's it in ruins?

[ Doesn't look the same, but it feels the same. Trading in stone walls for metal ones doesn't make it feel any less empty, or haunted, or like bad news waiting to happen. The memory of a ruby-hilted dagger stirs in his mind, followed by the steady build of what feels like rattling dice. ]

(THREE) WILDCARD

( Feel free to write up a totally different starter, or assume your character's playing long-distance backup for mental link threads on either of the above! )

[ There is little difference, to her, between a dead city and a living city. It functions still. Doors open and close. Lights turn on. Signs tell them where to go next. The city is as alive, to her, as if it were filled with people rather than machines tuned to function the way they are supposed to for centuries and centuries, meant to outlast their creators. Her mind is calm, filled with a sense of belonging, like a slot fitting perfectly into place.

When he turns away from the door, Ava steps in, resting her fingers on the panel. She is gentle, patient, like pleading with an infant to open its mouth to receive nourishment. There, there. The panel flickers and dies as the door slides open. ]

Are you angry? At this city.

[ And Cathaway. What does it say of her that she knows to keep this unsaid? Her eyes are on him, childlike in her curiosity. ]

Why?

[ The answer's straightforward. Yes, he's angry at the city, because it isn't behaving like a city should. Doors aren't meant to open without someone pulling on them, and women aren't meant to talk to lights like it's the most natural thing in the world. Saying as much is an admission that he's angry at the station, too, and at literally everything else. Mat's watching her silent interaction with the device, expression dubious, and he takes a moment to churn the thoughts over before he answers.

He could lie. He's at least got enough awareness to be embarrassed by being creeped out by doors. He decides against it, though that bitter chagrin undercuts their link as he speaks. ]

Because it doesn't act like a city ought to. None of this place makes any blasted sense.

[ Then again, neither does she. It takes all of his manners not to say that outright, and it takes the rest of his nerve to avoid fidgeting absently with the silver medallion around his neck. Easier to funnel that restless energy into something else, and he doesn't wait before stepping past her and into the small, domed building. ]

[ His reply is illogical, she finds, it is difficult to parse the meaning behind his words. She tries, watching him with undivided attention to derive more clues from his expressions. A place isn't a subject. It does nothing. As such there should be no expectations for how it acts. But he seems to expect more from this one.

She steps forward, eyes sharp, as if this is an attempt to intimidate despite the futility of doing so against a man who towers over her. Her voice remains gentle. ]

A city does not act. It fulfills its function by existing. Don't you agree?

[ Mat's sadly accustomed to being threatened by small women. He's also accustomed to those women being genuinely terrifying, though the medallion — which he gives up on ignoring, now, one hand going to his chest to close over the warm metal on impulse — has given him a leg up in the past.

Not here, though. Here, it doesn't seem to work at all, and Ava is just a little bit intimidating. Too direct, too calm. Mat takes a single step back, then he leans onto one of the smooth, bare desks as if he was just getting comfortable. ]

You've obviously never been to Shadar Logoth. [ The comment won't mean anything to her. He regrets mentioning it, if only because that particularly memory serves to creep him out further. ] A place can have as much sway as any human. The history of a city, it has a way of leaving a mark.

[ That sounds ridiculously superstitious. Whatever, he's already in. Might as well own it. ]

[ Ava's gaze drifts to the hand wrapping around the medallion. She doesn't need to, of course, her eyesight isn't limited to a pinprick of a fovea and she can see everything in her peripheral in perfect vision without needing to move her pupils. The gesture, therefore, is intentional. I want you to know that I see and I know. When she looks up to his face, there is a smile on her lips and in her eyes. Suspend the disbelief and she may even appear warm.

Her movements are too fluid, too practiced, stripped free of anything unnecessary, when she walks across the room to trace a hand at another desk similar to the one he's resting against. It seems like she's drawing something on the dusty surface. ]

We have time. We must wait for the ghosts to think we have gone the other way.

[ She turns back to him with a smile so naive. ]

Will you tell me of Shadar Logoth?

[ The medallion's just a useless charm, for all she knows. Mat thinks this, very assertively, and then he draws his hand away from the silver fox head anyway. It's a tell, and any gambler worth anything knows the harm in giving those up.

There's something in the stillness of her that reminds him more of dreams than Aes Sedai. Neither comparison's a good one. It's a bit easier to keep from bristling in response to it, at least, though that doesn't negate the chill it casts over his thoughts.

Does he want to tell her about Shadar Logoth? Not bloody likely. ]

... same as this place, in some ways. Great, domed buildings; vines all over everything, and two out of every three roofs caved in. [ Someone more in tune would probably just push the memories at her. His natural instinct is to speak, and the flickers of memory inevitably follow. ] Only take away all the lights, and put shadows in their stead.

[ Shadows is cue for a stronger spike of memory: dark shapes shifting, crawling and racing over stone and marble. The sense of being watched, visceral, like an itch across skin. This time, there's no outward tell. Mat pauses, looks thoughtful, then tries to feign interest. ] Are all your cities built like this one?

[ Caleb was afraid too, at first, afraid to see that she is just like him. Afraid to know that she is anything but. The language of fear comes in the form of the normal and mundane, skewed. There is something skewed about her, off-center, punctuated by her response to his question. ]

I have no cities.

[ A non sequitur.

She gestures with her hand for him to come over, stepping back from the table to show him what she sketched out upon the surface with just the tip of her finger and a layer of dust: the silver fox head made large, with each etching precisely where it should be. ]

Do you feel safer with this here?

[ He's met people without cities, of course, but he gets the distinct impression that she means it in a different way. There's nothing about her that reminds him of a peddler or a nomad. For once, his first response to "different" is curiosity, not fear — enough so that he steps forward when she asks, peering across the last few strides between them to get a look at the tabletop.

Mat would recognize the symbol anywhere, obviously. It still takes a moment to click, seeing it larger and out of place. When it does, the curiosity's shut neatly down, the connection stirring with biting wariness as his hackles rise. The reaction doesn't reach his expression; when he speaks, he sounds calmer than he's sounded yet. ]

It's just a trinket. [ Half true. It hasn't done him any good here, but it'd done plenty back home. ] And a bloody useless one, at that.

[ He considers swiping through the image to erase it, then rightly decides that would be childish. Instead Mat shifts his attention to her with a new sort of focus — just shy of suspicion, like she's a puzzle he's trying to work out. He hadn't noticed her staring at the medallion, but it's easy enough to assume she's been studying it to make such a fine copy. ]

Why do you want to know?

[ His response is the direct opposite of what she sought. Well, perhaps not quite. His response is the flip side of the coin she tosses in the air, wanting him to show gratitude and relief when instead she sees the other possibility: suspicion. Both were equally expected. Her mind does take the form of a puzzle. A complex maze made of plain hallways with red floors, black and white doors opening and closing, shifting places when one isn't paying attention. Everything about it feels clinical, synthetic, but there's intent in the way her maze transforms itself.

She tips her head to one side in question. ]

Because I want you to feel safer.

[ Ava can sound so naive, so earnest, the connection between their minds betraying nothing but a persistent sort of curiosity. She smiles, an amused sort, an almost-laugh in her voice. ]

Is it me you are afraid of?

[ Safer. As much as he wants to doubt the sentiment, it's hard to challenge this kind of honesty. He can feel that she means it, that it's all simple, curious intent. It's off putting, if only because it makes it difficult to be properly annoyed.

Mat's gaze drifts back to the symbol for a moment, taking in the details at scale. There's nothing reassuring in that symbol. The weight of the medallion is reassuring, though; like the weight of a shield on your arm. It's the difference between something tangible and superstition. ]

Burn you. [ He says it without much hostility, petty and quiet. ] You have no city, and you talk to— [ A brief pause, grasping for alien words. ] Machines. And you're in my head, which would make anyone bloody anxious.

[ So yes, basically. ]

[ Small space, long legs. This is beyond awkward, and he's beginning ( only JUST beginning?! ) to regret his decision to join Mat on this venture. Infiltration and sneaky-sneaking isn't his style; he's better as something loud, something flashy. Fire, storms, explosions - the Whee! Factor. Hiding in a closet and trying to figure out what bogus excuse to feed the fancy folk on the other side of the door is not very Whee! at all.

Mat opens his mind, and Harry IMMEDIATELY KNEES HIM IN THE SIDE. Except that he's all tangled up in one of the long, multi-armed jackets, so he winds up sort of kicking him in the shin and eating a mouthful of alien fur coat when he tries to protest the sudden deepening of their connection. He kicks him again, like the five year old he truly is, when he skims "Seven-Minutes-In-Heaven" off the backboard. Don't Professor XXX him, man!!!!!

He WHISPERS because THAT'S what you ACTUALLY do when crammed into a tight space like sardines. Alien sardines. This coat tastes terrible ah wait he's spat out the mouthful of fur okay we're good ]

We say that we thought it was the bathroom.

[ harry you

literally cannot use that excuse, because it NEVER WORKS ]

[ He's half expecting the medallion around his neck to go cold when Harry's irritation sparks, but it doesn't. What he does get is a kick to his shin, which earns a hissed curse and his best efforts not to start yelling and blow up their spot. He's less successful on the second kick, which he matches with a hard elbow to Harry's side. ]

That never works.

[ Mat knows. Not from infiltrating fancy parties in space, obviously; he's just caused enough trouble back home to know how low those odds are. There's no sign of embarrassment at how transparent his own thoughts are, because those thoughts clearly don't apply to Harry, anyway. Not even in the context of shitty lies, thank you very much. ]

Can't you find out who's on the other side of the door? We wait until they're elsewhere, or distracted. Skip the excuses altogether.

[ Find out what's going on with """"magic"""", he means, but fuck if he's making that suggestion explicit. Plausible deniability. ]

[ Just for that, he kicks Mat's shin again with a disgruntled noise. Actual Five-Year-Old. ]

Yeah, sure! Let me just reach into my fancy, tailored pockets and find my magical x-ray glasses.

[ The last fancy party that he crashed, he also annihilated. With a lot of fire. Exiting a closet, unnoticed, is another matter entirely. Perhaps pettily, he shoves the coat that he's been wrestling with into Mat's face, and cranes his neck, leveraging open the closet door - just a little!! - to be able to peer out through the crack. Solid goddamn P.I. work here, bruh. ]

Coat clerk. And a very drunk, very large duchess holding what can only be explained as a "gooey Pekingnese with a mouth full of shattered glass".

[ Your call, Mat. ]

Burn you— [ That's a little too loud. Lucky for them both, the room outside is louder. Mat catches the coat because he doesn't have much of a choice, but he's quick to shove it back into the row of frocks. The noise from the party filters in roughly when Harry cracks the door open, and Mat leans forward slightly, too, cautious not to get too far into Harry's precious space. ]

What in bloody ashes is a peek-neese.

[ Know your audience, buddy. Mat doesn't wait for an answer. Instead he squints through the light pouring in from the crack in the door, then pushes smoothly past Harry so he can step outside.

There's nothing for it, really. Here's hoping luck is on their side. ]

It's what I'm doing. Peekin' neese eyes through this crack in the door.

[ GOD ]

No, wait -- [ But Mat's already gone. Out the door, like an explosion of force and disgruntled partner. It's unfortunate that Harry likes him for that - a no-nonsense, throw-it-to-the-wind approach to a problem that relies on dumb luck and a brain that works better when the situation goes off the rails.

The duchess ( collar around her neck reading 'If Found Return To Prince Fido' makes Harry double-take ) is hovering all over the clerk, so that the "goo dog" can get off a round of heavy flirting that seems to be leaving the clerk more and more flustered by the moment. Harry, on the other hand, stands in the doorway of the closet after Mat and --

snickers. Because they just came out of the closet. HOW MATURE. And through his snickering, he breathes: ] G- go right, go right. Duck your head, they don't see us.

[ Are puns a thing in Andor? None that are that bad, probably. Mat's already out the door before he can fire off an insult for the bad joke, most of his focus fixed on the noblewoman and her weird pet. Or not a pet? Hard to say. Whatever it is, Mat looks equal parts annoyed and disgusted by the sight of it.

But he's still listening, and he catches that whispered cue without pause, smoothly striding to the right and sticking near the wall. He keeps walking for a good pace, more intent on getting away from the weird creature than as a precaution to keep their cover. When he does stop, he casts a quick glance over the room, absently speaking to Harry as he does. ]

The chambers we're looking for are through those doors. [ Offices, technically, but that's a weird application of familiar words. The doors in question are large, and one of them is conveniently cracked open. The guard standing in front of them, though — slightly less convenient. ] We need a distraction.

[She glances over to him with that signature half-bored, half-crazed look of hers she sports so often. Her hair, also as usual, is a bit of a wild blond mess.

Cathaway, is it? Hanna doesn't care, but she's too far gone to really care who comes into any line of fire she decides to create on a whim.]

Not a bright one, are you?

[Though the link reveals that she doesn't think of herself as too terribly bright either. Too many hits to the head and all that.]

Someone's tried to sack it before, probably. Can't find the thing you want, you just leave it because it's a pain in the ass. [Hanna shrugs as she idly walks around the space, flipping her trusty pair of heavy sticks.] Casualty of war, boredom, there's a billion reasons why a place can get leveled. Gotta think some Indiana Jones shit here.

[Bad news, sure, she feels it too. It hasn't stopped her for the past several years of her life. Missions are missions, and if she gets paid, alright then. Sounds good to her.]

Fancy knife.

[About the dagger, obviously.]

[ The insult isn't anything new. Mat weathers it without offense, save for a small, impulsive spike of pride that touches the connection. He might've frowned, too, if he weren't doing it already. ]

Brighter than most. [ Evidence would imply otherwise. He gets the faint sense of self-deprecation that follows her comment, and it's enough to distract him from the dusty panel he'd been studying. Mat watches her as she speaks, only sort of listening.

He knows there are plenty of reasons for a place to be leveled. He knows why his house was leveled, despite it being in a field with nothing of interest to absolutely anyone. His brow furrows at the name, but before he gets a chance to ask about Indiana Jones, she's asking about knives. ]

What knife? [ Punchy, yes, but only because he's confused. He catches on a beat later, and he feels the undeniably melodramatic urge to be ill. He runs over a half dozen answers, most of them curses or insults aimed at the knife. When he speaks, it's just a slightly petty: ] Get out of my head.

[She grins, a little cruel, a whole lot flirtatious, all teeth exposed from behind her red lips.

In truth? She wanted no one in her head, and she didn't care to be in anyone's head either. It got her in bad spots. It made her give a shit when the last thing she wanted to find more things to lose. Hanna had lost enough. What's left is this shell that can set itself on fire and a brutally efficient mercenary.

None of this is buried, simply ignored, shoved aside in favor of what's expected of her.]

I'll show you mine if you show me yours.

[But what is there to say about her own mind when it's a riot of wildfire and lurking shadows passing through the red and orange flames? The sheer violence that comes off in waves?]

[ Most of the women he knows like to pretend they aren't dangerous, as if that'll make him forget. He always found that dishonesty grating, sometimes patronizing. He isn't sure this is an improvement.

While she's got her trusty sticks, he has a strange, black spear. He carries it whenever it isn't too conspicuous to get away with it, and a dead city's fair game. Mat sets the end of it against the ground, leaning some of his weight on it in an effort to look nonchalant — and like that glimpse into her head isn't horrifying, which it sort of is. ]

I'll pass on that.

[ It reminds him a bit of Rand, though the bright, winding colors that go along with thoughts of his friend are more disorienting than violent. This is both, and his eyes narrow in thought as he watches her, expression turning critical. ]

Are you mad?

[ .... angry, he means, because that's what it feels like. Once he's said it, he realizes that either meaning applies just as well. She doesn't feel particularly stable, either. ]

[She shrugs noncommittally.]

Not anymore than usual.

[Which means, yes, she's mad. All the time. It's more of a blinding rage, really, and at its core a loss and a sadness she can't seem to let go.

As well as the other mad, too.]

Let's just get this done. Do you know what you're doing?

[ Nobody should be so comfortable about being mad. That's more jarring than madness, honestly, and the answer only makes him wary. ]

Burn me, no. Of course I don't know what I'm doing.

[ He's out of his element. He has been since he woke up on the station, and there's no shame in admitting that. But she isn't asking because she's worried about his existential status; she's asking about the mission. Mat takes his weight off the spear, tugging absently at the black scarf around his neck. ]

I'm looking, same as you. What else are we supposed to do?

[ Actually use the panels to open a door or two, probably. Use technology to track strange items or energy sources. There's a scanner in the pocket of his coat, the same one the rest of the team got. He hasn't touched it. ]

[If there's one thing that's more frightening than a madwoman, it's likely a madwoman with extensive black ops and military-oriented skills.

Hanna sighs.]

Move, freshmeat. You're going to get us killed.

[Though there's not a particular sense of caring about it coming from her.]

Watch the doors. We need to get through to move forward and I'm not counting on those doors being flammable. You got that tracker on you?

[Because she hasn't forgotten. She might be a human disaster, but she's still a mercenary and a soldier. Missions are her language.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TEST DRIVE :003

mat cauthon | wheel of time

TWO

ava!!

♥~!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

ONE.

i can't believe you're turning this into a smut meme

wtf you started it

you didn't have to rUN WITH IT

no subject

no subject

two

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject