August 2022 Test Drive Meme

[folkie]

AUGUST 2022 TDM

INTRODUCTION

[ TDM Questions ★ Jump to Comments ★ Full Navigation ]
Welcome to Folkmore's monthly Test Drive Meme! Please feel free to test drive any and all characters regardless of your intent to apply or whether you have an invite or not.

All TDMs are game canon. You can choose to have your TDM thread be your introduction thread upon acceptance or start fresh. Each TDM will provide a scenario for how characters arrive in-game that particular month.

Playing TDMs will allow characters to immediately obtain canon items from homes especially weapons or other things they may have had on their person when they were pulled from their worlds! There will always be a prompt that provides some sort of "reward" to characters who complete certain tasks.

Current players are allowed to have in-game characters react to TDMs via the Network or make a log with the prompts. Current players are always encouraged to tag new people on the TDM!

TDM threads can be used for spoon spending at any time by characters accepted into the game.

[ Prompt One ★ Prompt Two]

Summer Is Over

Content Warnings: snakes, cultists, optional violence.

FALLING DOWN LIKE PIECES INTO PLACE

A breeze with the crisp smell of dying leaves caresses you awake. You sit up to find yourself in the middle of an apple orchard, rows spreading out in all directions. Mouth watering apples hang from the branches, and nobody will stop you from taking one. You can wander the orchard as long as you like, but eventually you will find yourself emerging into the front yard of a little farm. There’s a red barn with perfect white trim set far back, and to one side of the yard is a kiosk modeled to match the barn. This is staffed by a woman who sure looks a lot like the fox that brought you here.

On the side of the kiosk are advertised a few different items: pumpkin spice lattes, hot apple cider, cold alcoholic apple cider, and hot chocolate. The cider, you will be informed, is made on site. (But you have to be of legal age to be given that hard cider!)

There are two other things advertised: APPLE PICKING and a SCAVENGER HUNT.

“You need a buddy for those, though,” the woman running the kiosk will tell you. “Lucky for you there’s plenty of people you can pair up with.”

If you elect to try the scavenger hunt, you and your partner will be handed a piece of paper. On it reads the following:

TAKE A PICTURE OF THE FOLLOWING ON YOUR RELIC! :)

- YOU HOLDING HANDS WHILE YOU GO DOWN A PATH
- FEET WITH AUTUMN LEAVES
- SOMETHING YOU THINK IS TRULY BEAUTIFUL
- A GENUINE SMILE

“When you’re done, bring it back here and show me,” the woman instructs you. “You’ll get a prize if you do.”

It’s an easy enough list, right? Although you have to follow the instructions - you really DO have to find something you genuinely think is beautiful, and that smile can’t be forced! Those might require opening up to your partner a little bit!

If you succeed in the scavenger hunt, you will be gifted with an item from home.


Now, what if you decided to go apple picking?

You will be given a bucket. “Be careful to only pick apples from the trees in the rows,” the kiosk woman tells you with a secret smile. “You don’t want to bother the old trees off the path.”

Yeah. That sure sounds like a challenge, doesn’t it?

If you do stick to the orchard proper, you will be able to pick your fill of apples. All of them are crisp and sweet and delicious. But at some point you will see the other trees.

They’re both huge and old, standing on two sloping hills just past the orchard rows. One of them has apples red as blood, and the other apples gold as the sun. In the shade of these trees are weapons sticking half out of the earth, as if they were carelessly buried many years ago.

If you pick one of the red apples, you will find that you are suddenly besieged with huge snakes. They are as big as anacondas and an inky black that absorbs the light, with eyes the same red as the apples. They aren’t poisonous, but they bite and they crush, so you’ll have to fight them off at least long enough to run like hell!

If you pick the golden apples, a crowd of people will silently begin appearing from the orchard. They are all wearing animal masks… and they are all holding hand scythes. Uh oh. You’ll have to fight them off in order to escape! If you don’t manage that, well, in some places it’s traditional to have a big ol’ sacrificial bonfire…

All the weapons below the trees are non-enchanted items, but you may keep them.

Plaid Shirt Days and Nights

Content Warnings: Optional themes of identity and school trauma.

IMAKEOVER MAKEOVER

Thirteen believes passionately in education. There are, after all, five academies in Folkmore all catering to different types of learning. While these academies are open year round, it becomes apparent if you walk through any of the districts housing shops that back to school is definitely a thing.

A new school year represents a chance to learn more about the world, and about yourself.

Also? It’s a great time for a makeover!

Yes, step into any of the shops selling clothing and accessories anywhere in Folkmore and you will find yourself passionately invested in helping another person discover who it is they want to look like! Do they want to look cool and aloof? Warm and approachable? Are they an e-boy or a cottagcore witch? Punk or prep? You two can figure it out together!

As you shop together you will find it easier and easier to open up to one another, sharing who it is you want to be.

You’ll also be able to score a sweet outfit. Nice.

SAVED BY THE BELL

Wander into any school in Folkmore and you will find a handmade poster instructing all new students and faculty to report to the auditorium. Normal enough, one supposes… but the moment you enter the room you will find reality swims all around you and all of a sudden you’re stuck in a school nightmare!

You know the kind. You’re late for class, no matter how fast you run. You’re in gym class, trying to climb that goddamn rope. You’re getting your books dumped. You’re naked and giving a book report.

These could be memories, but it’s just as likely that they aren’t - you and another person are just trapped in this cliche together. Whichever one of you is in the audience role could maybe help the other one out? Get them some pants or something? Yeah.

Comments

Camilla Hect | The Locked Tomb | Familiar

[goesloud]

i. scavenger hunt

[So perhaps this isn't precisely the kind of activity she'd usually be keen to get involved with, and she may have been looking over the options purely in an attempt to gather information, but she's here now. Holding the list in one sturdy, calloused hand. Mildly scandalised that something so frivolous has been committed to a resource as precious as real paper.

The list itself is...interesting. It reads less like a scavenger hunt and more like a series of outlandish happenings. She tuns to face whoever’s close enough for her to be partnered with, the blunt sheet of her slate-brown hair swaying fluidly as she turns. One brow arched, incredulous.]

Some scavenger hunt.

ii. apple picking

[Camilla stops short as the other trees come into view. Ancient gnarled branches spider upwards like some particularly rough-made construct, the fruit hanging from their twisted bows gleaming in unexpected contrast. The apples look crisp and bright and delicious, so much more vibrant and enticing than those found throughout the rest of the orchard. Almost begging to be picked. It's the array of weapons nestled beneath the trees as though casually discarded and forgotten that have her dark eyes narrowing. That have something quickening long her spine, palms itching with anticipation.]

Odds of this being a trap?

[There's something in her voice which suggests she knows it is. Something that hints at the possibility that she might want it to be.]

iii. makeover

[Scholarship and life-long education is at least one thing she's intimately familiar with, but the array of clothes on display once she steps into this store? Decidedly less so. She stands there a moment, a compact grey wraith amidst a swirl of patterns and colour, looking decidedly non-plussed.]

Doesn't look especially practical, does it.

[Never mind that her near-shabby and colourless attire looks like it has seen better days.]

[ooc: this is literally me voice testing this character for the very first time so please bear with me whilst I try to get the hang of her!! ;; Happy to match brackets or prose as you prefer :)]

ii. apple picking

[necrosavior]

With a half eaten apple in one hand, Gideon steps up next to Camilla Hect. Her eyes are more for Camilla than for the weapons or the apples. That is not to place a definitive order of women > food > swords. No, this is a specific woman who Gideon knows, or at least, she hopes it is. The other versions of herself, one of which she doubts met Camilla Hect and Palamedes Sextus makes her ache at the thought she may be a stranger.

"Zero," Gideon answers, "It isn't a trap when they tell you it's a dangerous thing. It's a delivery on a promise."

[goesloud]

To her credit, Camilla loses none of her composure as Gideon Nav emerges from the greenery and pins her beneath an aureate gaze. The fox she followed may not have been thorough in her explanations, but she understands enough-- what she is now, one version of herself, her essence. That the Ninth Cavalier could be here - whole, intact, seemingly alive - is no more impossible than her own presence. Inside her there's still a sharp shock like a snapped stem, but it's one that quickly bleeds out into something softer. Warmer.

"Ninth," she says, and her voice is calm and dry as old bone. "Still a smartarse."

At last, her face betrays something of her inner feelings as its closed aspect breaks apart on a small, tight, genuine smile.

[necrosavior]

Ninth, her name and the name one of her used. Gideon hopes it's for her. She decides it is, and if she's wrong, she'll cross that bridge when she reaches it. Having no idea what came of Camilla, that minor issue of losing consciousness when she died, Gideon's glad to see her alive and well.

"Ask and ye shall receive," Gideon jokes. She takes another couple steps forward, checking out the weapons for ones that suit either of them. A pair, an equal set, for Camilla. Preferably something large for Gideon. Though, if she wants Harrow to get into shape, perhaps she should pick a rapier (groan).

"Wanna do it?" Gideon asks. They're gonna do it.

[goesloud]

Camilla doesn't laugh, not exactly, but she makes a quick dry sound that Gideon is free to interpret as amusement. For a moment she only watches the other girl as she moves toward the array of weapons scattered beneath the tree, only quietly marvelling at how she moves. Vibrant and alive. It's a sight for sore eyes, after ugly indeterminate months spent in close quatres to her inanimate counterpart.

She shakes her head, hair cutting fluidly away from her face, and then she's approaching. Eyes sharp, as Gideon suspects, for an equal set of knives. Walking into the not!trap is rash and frankly inadvisable, but when one's world has been balanced on the brink of ending for what feels like such an impossibly long time, who could blame her for wanting to cut loose a bit?

"I'm surprised you even have to ask." Of course they're gonna do it.

CW: references to suicide/sacrifice

[necrosavior]

Gideon blinks once. The Sixth always seemed so reasonable, measured, mature. Then Palamedes blew himself up to attack Cytherea, while Gideon was helplessly pinned like a butterfly in the hallway, able to hear every word of the conversation. Camilla attacked Cytherea with a vengeance and offered to sacrifice herself in hopes Gideon and Harrow got out. That should have been enough to make her change her mind, but Gideon had 'won' that sacrifice game and died. Her continued existence in Harrow's head lacked most memories of the time, if she had them, and there was the battle and the Big Conversation right before she came to Folkmore. So, perhaps it's reasonable her opinion remained that of the Sixth as she met them.

Gideon shakes her head once and laughs. Her tail unwraps from around her waist, where it looked no more than a scaled belt, and Gideon draws two rapiers from the ground. They don't quite match, but they're the same length.

"Ready or nooooooot," Gideon calls out. Her tail reaches up and picks a brilliant red apple.

apologies for the wait! ;;

[goesloud]

The tail is both new and unexpected, even if it elicits no more than the slight hike of Camilla's brows toward her blunt-cut bangs. There's a question to be answered here, but it's one that will have to wait for later because Gideon is already on the move, drawing weapons. The new appendage is already reaching toward the twisted branches, plucks one bright apple free--

--and Camilla moves to take the weapons, centre of gravity already shifting from one foot to the next in pure anticipation. Anticipation which is swiftly rewarded as - like smoke, or the sudden spill of liquid - a mass of inky-black serpents leak out from the foliage around them, one wickedly fanged bastard uncoiling itself from a branch behind Gideon's head.

"Look sharp," Camilla says even as she's already bursting into action, flowing forward with swift, sure movements as she slices Gideon's would-be attacker in two.

[necrosavior]

"Aiglamene, look away," Gideon mutters. She was never even allowed a knife in her off hand, much less another sword, a whole length sword. These are rapiers, not Camilla's twin knives. Her left hand holds close, the rapier a sharp edge between her and something coming for her. In a burst of movement, Gideon closes twelve feet to her reach and stabs the rapier neatly through a bright red eye.

This isn't like facing Naberius in the training room or constructs in Drearburh. It's the heralds, the fucking space wasps, except these snakes are the color of space, dark voids like shadows on the ground or around the tree trunks or anywhere else they come from. There's more. There's always more. Gideon doesn't want to test her ability to regrow a thumb. Thankfully, she has muscles.

Sticking near Camilla's back, guarding her as much as anything else, Gideon practices her precision in bursts of movements, counters that parry snakes to the side, and an occasional second shishkabob. "What you up to?" Gideon asks, stabbing number six through the top of its mouth to its brain.

Scavenger Hunt

[asyetunheard]

[Captain Judith Deuteros still had no idea what to think when it came to actual paper. The texture was awful to work with, and the overall strength and resiliency of the material could only be judged by the plentiful but evidently expendable trees that it was formed from. Steam puffed up from her cup of hot coffee (just coffee, with some sugar. She wasn't sure if she could even stand the creamy, spiced confection under normal conditions, nonetheless on a regrown stomach) caused the page she was holding to wilt and curl at the edges. Flimsy served her purposes better--

But, they were far from the planets where flimsy was the norm.

She looked up at Camilla with curiosity in her dark eyes. The swath of loose curls which she normally kept tied back had become disheveled while she had been busy righting herself in this strange world, and she brushed away a few stray locks in an effort to lessen some of her own bristling irritation.]

Agreed.

[A heavy sigh. The last thing she really wanted to do was go on a hike in a foreign territory-- even if doing so beside Camilla Hect was certainly better than doing so alone.]

...What are your thoughts so far?

[goesloud]

[The inward flinch Camilla feels in response to Judith's poor treatment of the paper isn't entirely suppressed, something of it showing around the scissor-blade angles of her face. You don't grow up in the Sixth House without a healthy respect for written artifacts...even if this one reads more like a Third House party game than anything of value. She takes one neat step away, and shrugs.]

Play along? At least whilst we're at it we can have a look around. See what we can learn about our environment.

[They can do that without playing along, of course...but there's a part of her that is academically curious over the prospect of Captain Deuterous attempting a genuine smile.]

Besides, there’s the small matter of the prize.

[asyetunheard]

An item from home...

[Judith trailed, pondering the possibility of attempting to get a genuine smile from Camilla. With her strength and her wit, there was no doubt that her smile was stunning-- in a purely aesthetic way that befit her position as Cavalier of the Sixth, of course. Setting her coffee aside, Judith neatly folded the paper ad pocketed it so that it wouldn't be swept away by the breeze. Although the game was fit for one of the Tridentarii birthday parties, it could indeed be useful for other reasons.]

Surely you already know what you'd request, [She commented with a knowing look, already guessing that Camilla might wish for the remains of the Warden which she had gathered. Or, perhaps, her knives.]

I'm not too certain where to begin.

[A shrug. So many items she would want were ones that she knew would inevitably remind her of Marta-- or even Coronabeth. Grief wasn't an emotion she wanted to give too much leeway to. Not yet, anway.

She sighed.]

I guess we can start with the basics. We're on a planet with a temperate forest and apparent seasons. Is it really necessary to document our feet amid the leaves?

[goesloud]

[Camilla gives a small, tight nod, eyes cutting sideways only briefly to observe the look on the Captain's face. She sees it there, that knowing, or at least what Judith thinks she knows, but she pushes that spikey bristling feeling away from herself for the moment. Judith isn't entirely wrong-- she'd clung to the scant earthly remains of her necromancer regardless of personal cost to herself. Had sought out what had become of the Reverend Daughter despite the intensity of the risk involved. Would do it again, instantly, urgently. Has found her hands groping for the worn little bag she's kept on her as close as her own heart, feels a bright pang of agony every time she does so and finds herself bereft of it, but--

--but. What they are here is a part of themselves. The animal guide had explained that thoroughly enough. That somewhere out there some other version of her is still a 'guest' of BoE. That in that corner of reality the Master Warden remains bound to his bones, but here...would that be necessary any longer? Couldn't he be collected up and reshaped and reformed as she had been--

She cuts herself off from this line of thinking, abruptly. There'll be time to consider that one in more depth later. For the moment her eyes move to Judith's face, and for the first time she regards her more thoroughly. Comparing her now to the last time they'd seen each other, looking for any signs of physical weakness.

She knows better than to ask how the other woman is feeling.

So she shrugs, and says in her hard, calm voice--]

Not necessary, no. I suppose this is someone's idea of fun.

[Lord Undying knows it has been some time since either of them experienced that.]

[asyetunheard]

[While they may have only been part of themselves, Judith was still on a subconscious level too rattled to fully let go of the physical state she had been in when Camilla had diverted them to meet with Harrow. Her dark eyes were alert and hesitant to just simply trust yet another new situation, with her aptitude a fraction of what it had been and the crutches that she still relied on for aid when she was tired by her side. The trials and traumas they had all faced while prisoners of war were not quick to fade-- but, the captain still had both her wits and her brisk, military attitude.

After all, she was a soldier.]

...Fun, hm?

[She kicked at a stray leaf, plainly uncertain but not wholly unyielding.]

I suppose it's harmless enough.

[Judith relented, fully aware that there was no way she was going to win if she tried to argue it. She was too tired to argue-- and, Camilla was right. Maybe there was something they could learn, even from a silly party game.]

apologies for the delay, I've been unwell ;;

[goesloud]

[Unfortunate. Camilla tries to conceal the assessing quality of her gaze as it flits briefly over Judith, notes that she still appears to be a whip-thin shadow of her former self. Better than she had looked, during those first ugly months of convalescence under the primitive care of BoE, but still worn and disconcertingly frail. Judith had always been robust, for a necromancer. Less impacted by the burn of muscle wastage than the Warden had been (that 'had', it still cuts at her insides even now). To see her reduced to the far edges of herself remains unsettling, even after all these months.

She says nothing of it, though. Only nods, unsurprised by the Captain's acquiescence. She's an intelligent - if obstinate - woman. Even inane frivolities can teach them something about the world they now inhabit.

Camilla tilts her chin toward the path that winds out a little way to their left, leading back into the trees with their bright, burnished foliage. Unblushingly, she says--]

Shall we then? There's a path. We could start with the hands.

iii. makeover

[punderworldgod]

Baphomet snerks at the comment. Admittedly, he's wearing black and steel, so he's not wearing those bright clothes. One of the few, perhaps, in the shop. Utility grey is... practical but boring.

"Describe your ideal outfit, head to toe," he says.

sorry this is so late!

[goesloud]

She looks back at him, one eyebrow lifted-- that outfit is certainly a choice. A choice she half imagines someone else she knows might be into, and perhaps it's this that has her answering with disconcerting honesty? Or perhaps its something else.

"Trousers and shirt made from study yet flexible materials to maximise both durability and movement. Boots light enough to allow for swiftness yet heavy enough to do damage if they connect with a body. An assortment of straps and sheaths for knives. Two at the shoulders, some hidden. Anything else is superfluous, but a jacket with internal pockets for storing essential items wouldn’t go amiss."

Because yes, her ideal outfit aligns quite closely with what a Cavalier Primary ought to be. Maybe she needs to get out more.

i hope she likes the outfit...

[punderworldgod]

He listens carefully. Ananke was a lot of things; fashion forward among them. All part of the biz, he supposes. This poor poor woman in all gray lists little more than function after function after function. Practical considerations. Not even a "and make it gray" at the end. Which, fine, he'll take some liberties with that. Not as many as he could, mind, the point is for it to work.

"One, two, three, four," Baphomet snaps his fingers and points at her. In the blink of an eye, she has a different outfit:

A soft but strong three-quarter sleeve turtleneck shirt/sweater with creamy pleated trousers and a brown leather belt, light caramel combat boots, with the requested straps/sheaths at her shoulders, boot knives, a trio of throwing knives, and a saddle brown jacket with 20 pockets.

Baphomet holds out a wine red Patagonia black hole MLC mini bag which contains what she was previously wearing. "How'd I do?" he asks with a grin.

vi. a Completely Unexpected wildcard!!

[masterwarden]

So that moment when Camilla finds a library, a respectably-sized library, one that might even be called a Library, is undoubtedly going to feel like a homecoming — and homecoming is completely appropriate for this season, isn't it? Even if there aren't any weird ovoid porcine items of sporting equipment involved. Whether or not she's finished her makeover already; whether or not someone dressed her up in flamboyant flannel plaid, or enough leather straps to hold onto forty new blades, or four hundred; whether or not she's sporting any fresh injuries by the time she gets there; whatever the case may be, it still feels like coming home.

Instead, off in a back corner that is nevertheless not actually that far out of the way, next to a nook with some very comfortable chairs that look big enough to serve as an impromptu napping spot for just about anyone (no matter how tall they might be), there's one of those familiar giant tables — the sort big enough to hold four people and an entire bookcase's worth of study materials, spread out all over everywhere; bigger than a king-size bed, frankly. And at the table, rather than the cozy chair, surrounded by four people's worth of books (with plain-grey feathers serving as bookmarks in most of them), a grey wraith of disgruntlement, a bundle of coat hangers wrapped up in a necromancer's robe — someone familiar and impossible seems to be fast asleep.

At least he remembered to take his glasses off before passing out ... this time.

sorry for the delay!! ;;

[goesloud]

Of course she finds the library, and of course she quietly delights in it. There is a strong, deep sense of arrival, like a breath been held for far too long finally released. The stuffy, old-paper scent of the books is like a slave to open wounds, and naturally she seeks out one of the quieter back corners, a number of hefty tomes - held with great reverence - in her hands.

And even with his back to her, made into a shapeless, grey collection of angles by the bulk of his robe and the slump of his spine, of course she recognises him. She would always know him. Anywhere, in any world. In any form he took.

Her compact form goes rigid and still for one slow, aching moment and there's a hot, desperate sensation inside her that feels almost like coming undone. She doesn't unravel though, doesn’t drop to her knees with the books hitting the floor in a bright, hard clatter with his name cracking like a gunshot off her lips. Instead, she takes a steadying breath. Steps closer. Places her collection down on the desk beside him with infinite gentleness--

--before elbowing him in the ribs.

"Look lively, Warden. You're going to get drool on the books," she says, deadpan, as she flashes him a hot-metal smile.

ha ha ha ha ummm sure no ... problem, yep ...

[masterwarden]

Anyone watching would be able to tell they're family, regardless of the similarities in their appearances — because his response is so similar; he sits bolt upright, rigid and still — his hair a bird's-nest of spiky chaos, glasses just slightly offset from his fumbling hand, a nearly military precision to his bearing and spare movements.

(His shadow, on the other hand, is a blurred profusion of edges, but that must just be a result of odd lighting, no...? He doesn't have that many not-dead limbs! Does he?)

"I'ready got th'extension," slurred from a sleep-clogged throat — and his fumbling fingers send those spectacles flying to the floor. "— Fuck!"

Oops.

scavenger hunt

[maserannas]

( Ellana arches a brow in return, lifting her shoulders and her right hand in a sort of open armed shrug. )

There's a distinct lack of giant spider battling or ancient ruins with potential demonic infestations mentioned, though it still sounds about as random as half the odd tasks that ever came my way the last five, six years.

( indicating with her arm ending in a prosthetic with a grappling hook launcher, she jests with a lopsided grin: )

Makes me feel practically overequipped.

apologies for the delay!!

[goesloud]

[Dark eyes alight on the prothesis as she gestures with it, and this time it's both of Camilla's brows that arch toward her hairline. She's seen a lot in the last eight months that she had never so much as imagined previously, yet here she is, still capable of surprise. She makes a short, dry sound that could be read as appreciative humour.]

Now, that's dedication.

[She says, without inflection. Then she adds--]

Should we be expecting oversized arachnids?

[She can't say it's her favourite idea, but it would at least liven things up a little.]

no worries!

[maserannas]

( She considers with a tap of her finger to her chin. )

Not likely, unless we find some ruins or a nice cave in the process of...

( A glance at the scavenger hunt paper: )

... finding feet with autumn leaves.

( Which ruins do have a rather large amount of, some portion of the time. Who knows what's out there! )

[goesloud]

Speaking of feet, the specifications seem almost purposely vague.

[She says it as she pops her knuckles, shifts her centre of gravity from one foot to the next as though remaining motionless for any length of time is a foreign concept to her.]

Who's feet? Still attached to tibia and fibula, or are we talking everything below the subtalar joint?

[She's joking. Probably. There's nothing about her cool, dry voice to clearly indicate either way. Though considering the other requests, it doesn't seem as though she's ended up in the kind of place where disembodied feet are the norm.]

dives back in, please feel free to drop if feels too late!

[maserannas]

( Ellana lifts one largely bare foot, stretching her toes as if to admire the fact she has them all nicely intact, and having not decided on squelchy mud runs yet today, neat and clean. )

Also the whole feet bit alone. Barefoot? There's no mention of shoes. Luckily enough, I only bother with shoes in freezing snow or cumbersome formality, so that condition can be easily met. If we need to start pulling up trousers, I'm going to start thinking this is a very different sort of portrait their aiming for.

( Which is likely also a jest, but given some of the oddities in human cultures she's run into, there likely is one about baring lower portions of legs. Very appealing, or apple-ing, given the general location. )