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Entry tags:
December 2023 & January 2024 Test Drive Meme
December 2023 - January 2024 TDM
Introduction
Overflow TDM post found here
[ 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 and work like "mini-events". For new players and characters, you can choose to have your TDM thread be your introduction thread upon acceptance or start fresh. Current players are also allowed to have in-game characters post to the TDM so long as they mark their top levels ‘Current Character.’
TDM threads can be used for spoon spending at any time by characters accepted into the game.
Playing and interacting with the 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.
🦊 New Star Children meet the Fox still in their worlds, and she brings them into the new realm of Folkmore. As you follow her, your body begins to change and new characteristics emerge. These may stay for a while, or perhaps they will hide away after. And during all of this, the Fox explains to you where you will be going: to Folkmore.
and then... you fall like a shooting star, falling to the land in a burst of starlight.
🦊 Experienced Star Children are already familiar with this time of the month. There are shooting stars all across the sky, and some fall to the land, which means the Fox has brought new arrivals. These newly arrived Star Children will face some tests, but Thirteen wants the more seasoned residents to participate as well.
Perhaps you follow the falling stars on your own, or perhaps the Fox simply teleports you there, but it appears you too will be part of this.
Content Warnings: School Detention, Time Not Passing, Forced Reflection/Confession, Potential Violence
Welcome to detention. Star Children, whether they're new arrivals to Folkmore or old hands, find themselves sitting at two person desks in a library. Perhaps there's only two Star Children, perhaps up to four or five. Regardless, each Star Child has a slip of paper in their hands which spells out why they are in detention, a secret detention slip no one else can read. Which, whew, because the reason any Star Child is in detention is for something they've never been punished for, something they might reasonably have thought they got away with, something they know was wrong.
The door to the library opens, and Kuma Lisa enters. She explains that Star Children will be in detention for four hours, and by the end of detention, they will need to reflect on what they did and express contrition. The headmistress gives no further guidance before leaving and closing the doors behind her.
Four hours is a notable chunk of time, but it's not so long, is it? Surely it's possible to wait it out without making good on the assignment… Or perhaps it's enough to write about it in one of the notebooks on the table in front of each student, without explaining it to another soul. Star Children are welcome to try whatever they want. However, they may notice an oddity with the clock. Namely, no matter how many times the second hand ticks around a circle to mark a whole minute, the minute and hour hands don't progress. It's the same minute over and over and over—
Detention is four hours, but how long four hours takes is entirely up to the Star Children in detention. Read every book in the library. Throw a dance party. Get high. Pull weapons out of the books. All matter of non-magical weapons. Nothing immediately happens upon pulling those weapons—no monsters to make detention less boring. Unless people make progress reflecting on their transgression, communicating about it with another Star Child, and showing penitence for it, time won't pass. Reality warps to stay in the same minute, minute after minute, hour after hour.
What's it going to be? Never ending detention or personal accountability?
However long it takes, it only takes four hours in the realm of Folkmore.
A word of warning to those who grabbed weapons, they will be attacked on their way home after detention. They will be attacked by creatures out of storybooks. Star Children will need to know the literary weaknesses of these creatures, good luck, or the help of someone else coming along who does know their weaknesses. At least there's some excitement in the day after four long long hours.
Welcome to detention. Star Children, whether they're new arrivals to Folkmore or old hands, find themselves sitting at two person desks in a library. Perhaps there's only two Star Children, perhaps up to four or five. Regardless, each Star Child has a slip of paper in their hands which spells out why they are in detention, a secret detention slip no one else can read. Which, whew, because the reason any Star Child is in detention is for something they've never been punished for, something they might reasonably have thought they got away with, something they know was wrong.
The door to the library opens, and Kuma Lisa enters. She explains that Star Children will be in detention for four hours, and by the end of detention, they will need to reflect on what they did and express contrition. The headmistress gives no further guidance before leaving and closing the doors behind her.
Four hours is a notable chunk of time, but it's not so long, is it? Surely it's possible to wait it out without making good on the assignment… Or perhaps it's enough to write about it in one of the notebooks on the table in front of each student, without explaining it to another soul. Star Children are welcome to try whatever they want. However, they may notice an oddity with the clock. Namely, no matter how many times the second hand ticks around a circle to mark a whole minute, the minute and hour hands don't progress. It's the same minute over and over and over—
Detention is four hours, but how long four hours takes is entirely up to the Star Children in detention. Read every book in the library. Throw a dance party. Get high. Pull weapons out of the books. All matter of non-magical weapons. Nothing immediately happens upon pulling those weapons—no monsters to make detention less boring. Unless people make progress reflecting on their transgression, communicating about it with another Star Child, and showing penitence for it, time won't pass. Reality warps to stay in the same minute, minute after minute, hour after hour.
What's it going to be? Never ending detention or personal accountability?
However long it takes, it only takes four hours in the realm of Folkmore.
A word of warning to those who grabbed weapons, they will be attacked on their way home after detention. They will be attacked by creatures out of storybooks. Star Children will need to know the literary weaknesses of these creatures, good luck, or the help of someone else coming along who does know their weaknesses. At least there's some excitement in the day after four long long hours.
🦊 Star Children, new and old, in groups of 2-5 are in detention for something they did wrong & haven't been punished for.
🦊 Kuma Lisa explains detention lasts four hours, and people have to express regret for what they did by the end.
🦊 Time doesn't pass unless Star Children make progress toward that assignment.
🦊 It always takes four hours in Folkmore time.
🦊 Star Children who draw weapons from books during detention will be attacked on their way home.
🦊 Kuma Lisa explains detention lasts four hours, and people have to express regret for what they did by the end.
🦊 Time doesn't pass unless Star Children make progress toward that assignment.
🦊 It always takes four hours in Folkmore time.
🦊 Star Children who draw weapons from books during detention will be attacked on their way home.
Content Warnings: Theft, Glitter Bombs, Minor Power Nerfing
There's a problem with the nonexistent mail delivery system in Folkmore. Gifts are being delivered to residents' addresses—their correct addresses, even if they live in the woods—but those recipients, written on a fat cream label, cannot pick them up, teleport them, or otherwise move them under their own power. These gifts sit in garish and contrasting colors that make certain to draw attention to themselves. Hello, here they are.
Anyone else can pick these packages up, from the person next door to a stranger walking by. There's so many gifts around it's easy to pick one up, remove the label, and go on one's way. Few people are home all the time, and even if they are, what are they going to do? Pick it up themselves? Ha! It's freereal estate. Star Children with abilities to see inside the packages can see something they want badly within as extra motivation to go for it.
When Star Children open their ill gotten gains, these packages explode in a glitter bomb that coats everyone within a ten foot radius. This glitter is impossible to wash out, magic away, or otherwise remove for twenty-four hours. Walk, swim, fly, or otherwise go about with glittery evidence of the crime committed.
Almost always. If it were guaranteed, where would the fun be in that?
The rare fortunate criminal or the original recipient, helped by another Star Child, will receive an item from home. This may even be a weapon or magical item. Those who receive an item will stop receiving gifts on their doorstep, whether they stole the gift or received it from a package addressed to them. They can keep stealing other people's gifts, but they will only receive a glitter bomb from then on.
Mischievous Star Children can even prank each other by changing the label and redelivering packages to someone else. Should that person get help to bring the gift inside, it still isn't their gift, not really, so it too will explode in glitter.
There's a problem with the nonexistent mail delivery system in Folkmore. Gifts are being delivered to residents' addresses—their correct addresses, even if they live in the woods—but those recipients, written on a fat cream label, cannot pick them up, teleport them, or otherwise move them under their own power. These gifts sit in garish and contrasting colors that make certain to draw attention to themselves. Hello, here they are.
Anyone else can pick these packages up, from the person next door to a stranger walking by. There's so many gifts around it's easy to pick one up, remove the label, and go on one's way. Few people are home all the time, and even if they are, what are they going to do? Pick it up themselves? Ha! It's free
When Star Children open their ill gotten gains, these packages explode in a glitter bomb that coats everyone within a ten foot radius. This glitter is impossible to wash out, magic away, or otherwise remove for twenty-four hours. Walk, swim, fly, or otherwise go about with glittery evidence of the crime committed.
Almost always. If it were guaranteed, where would the fun be in that?
The rare fortunate criminal or the original recipient, helped by another Star Child, will receive an item from home. This may even be a weapon or magical item. Those who receive an item will stop receiving gifts on their doorstep, whether they stole the gift or received it from a package addressed to them. They can keep stealing other people's gifts, but they will only receive a glitter bomb from then on.
Mischievous Star Children can even prank each other by changing the label and redelivering packages to someone else. Should that person get help to bring the gift inside, it still isn't their gift, not really, so it too will explode in glitter.
🦊 Gifts appear outside Star Children's residences, even those without residences.
🦊 Recipients cannot pick up the gift but any other Star Child can.
🦊 Almost all stolen gifts explode in a glitter bomb that leaves glitter for 24 hours.
🦊 Star Children can receive an item from home, even a weapon or magical item.
🦊 Star Children can prank each other by changing the labels/moving the packages.
🦊 Recipients cannot pick up the gift but any other Star Child can.
🦊 Almost all stolen gifts explode in a glitter bomb that leaves glitter for 24 hours.
🦊 Star Children can receive an item from home, even a weapon or magical item.
🦊 Star Children can prank each other by changing the labels/moving the packages.
cw: choking
Rayman is choking into a deaf man's ears.
Ever since Dolph was an underfed child looking up at a sprawling mural of Eden's most beloved from the lowest levels of Megacity 3, Rayman has literally been larger than life. Decades have passed, and while that same mural had to be redone several times until the building itself was demolished, the man on TV still looked the same. He's not a person. He's a presence. Once inspiring, and then inescapable once it became clear that running was Dolph's only way out.
And if Rayman wanted to speak, he would use his golden gift of gab already and do what he's good for. He has more power than any of them! He can get away with murder while millions watch! ]
I know who you are. Stop playing dumb! [ Pity isn't what earns Rayman a breath, it's how much having his arm touched pisses Dolph off. The cyborg walks forward with his victim until he reaches the far wall, slams him into it. Twice.
And then releases him at last, letting physics take over. ]
Don't you have a single damn thing to say for yourself!?
blood
Oh no, we're going for a trip. Ramon never looked behind him. He has no idea what to expect. He continues to scramble, with a little bit more adrenaline this time because he can't get the full lung of air he needs t--
Ow.
OW!
He's knocked too silly to try to save himself from collapsing in anything other than an ungraceful heap on the floor in front of Dolph's boots. It takes a second -- several seconds -- to give any indication that he's still alive. A twitch of his fingers. A furrow in his brow, right before his eyes open.
Damn it, just say it. Just say the unhinged shit. Maybe it's the only thing that can get him out of being literally beat to death.]
I havbp--
[Fresh blood pours out of his mouth as soon as he opens it, joining a deluge coming from a nostril. Shit. Did he lose a tooth? No, just bit the inside of his cheek on impact. Thank God.
He spits out the rest of what's in his mouth. Not on Dolph, of course, just where his head is trying (and failing) to float. Somehow, after everything, he still doesn't have a deathwish.]
I haven't been...
[The part of his brain that controls his extremities comes back to him. He pushes his upper half up, with some strain.]
...in front of a camera...
[Fuck, he's not ready to support his own weight yet. After a beat, he wobbles, and eventually concedes to simply flopping back against the wall, in the world's least comfortable sitting position for anyone who has knees.]
...since the kaiju came.
[He rolls his head to the side and spits out a combination of blood and saliva.
Okay, it's not necessarily true. He was still on air for however long it took for Red to expose his whole specist ass on national live television. But it took too much effort just to string together a functioning sentence in the first place, he's gotta cut some corners.]
no subject
Except, then, the guy coughs up a bunch of blood and a line that forces Dolph to think of why he'd choose those words when he should be begging for his life. Confusing the hell out of him, maybe that'll be the saving grace.
"I haven't been in front of a camera since the kaiju came."
Well, someone was.
There's no limit to what Eden can fake. It doesn't stop at news. It doesn't even stop at people. Dolph knows that better than anyone. He can steal a CEO's face and walk through a top of the line security system without setting off any alarms. It takes less than five seconds for his scanner to trace someone's features from forehead to jawline, as long as he can get close. It should be even easier for Eden to replicate a stand-in for their favorite pet from the tens of thousands of hours of film he's been immortalized in.
But so what?
For all Dolph knows, that's a service they provide him when he'd rather take a trip to the spa than host the 6 o'clock news. ]
And that makes you innocent?
[ Fast clicking punctuates the phrase, well-oiled metal parts on the move, and then the lighting in the vicinity undergoes rapid change. Surfaces that were in shadow are bathed in greens of increasing intensity. The source is Dolph's arm, which has given up that functionality to become a cylindrical cannon.
We all know where it's pointing. ]
Really!?
no subject
He has the gall to pull his eyes away from the face of the man who is going to kill him in favor of watching his mechanical arm twist and morph under the forces of servos and switches to turn into the weapon that will kill him.
His heart beats hard enough that it physically aches. He feels a rage bubble up inside of him, responding to the internal cry for an encore. The green glow from Dolph's arm is mirrored by the bright emerald that settles into Ramon's eyes.]
Innocent?
[He snarls, the sourest punchline he's ever heard.
His face scrunches into something completely distasteful: his brow pinched between too-big eyes, pupils now pinpricks, the flesh of his nose bunching up at the bridge as he bears his massive teeth -- no longer a mascot, but a scorned alien monster, in all of his betrayed wrathful glory.]
Aren't you going to ask me what I was doing instead?
[He braces his hands against the floor and leans forward into the threat, pressing his forehead into the end of Dolph's cannon. Whether or not Dolph can actually feel any tactile feedback in this arm is a moot point: his elbow will buckle, even if just a little, from the force that Ramon is pushing back on it with.
Deathwish? Still no. But if he has no choice in the matter, let his final words at least represent the better world that he always wanted, even when he was used to prolong the suffering of the very people he was trying to fight for.]
The Board of Directors are dead.
You're welcome.
no subject
He's going to take the shot.
Then Dolph sees it, a split second before Rayman butts into his cannon hard enough to jostle it and jostle him out of his bloodthirst, that look. Dolph hears what he's saying, but he's stuck on that look. Quickly, he diverts his arm to the side, and the building plasma streaks past Rayman's cheek, burning a hole in the flooring instead of Rayman's forehead. The cyborg peers into his eyes without raising his weapon, confirming what he thought he saw before. He was convinced that smiling for a camera was the only thing Rayman was capable of. The picture of seething that stares back at him now is proving him wrong.
Something about it causes Dolph's sureness in any of it, in himself, to scatter.
He's left to hastily try to figure the next step forward before he can finish this. There's half an urge to make another threat to test whether the actor is acting. There's an uncanny feeling making it hard to move at all. There's a prickle at the tip of his tongue prepared to spit what's it even matter to him if the Board is dead? He's dead, too. Kaboom! Sarah's fancy little bomb blew his fucking head off.
But then it hits him, the real significance. ]
Bullfrog.
near-death euphoria, planet death/annihilation, blood, emeto
They're not gone.
They still exist, only in figments of memories, contained in a brain trapped in a single gravity-defying head. Dolph Laserhawk will burn a hole into the last living remnants of a ravaged and forgotten planet.
Those memories usually come to him in tidal waves of sorrow, but in this moment, he reaches out to them to join them in oblivion.
Holy shit.
Holy shit, that actually worked? Gee whiz!
Honesty is a powerful tool.
Ramon turns his head to look at the singe mark on the floor. He can feel his body again, which is honestly entirely unwanted, on account of just how much throbbing pain comes back to him at once. That gun isn't pointed at him any longer -- and more importantly, it hasn't re-trained back on him. He feels a wash of something identical to relief -- but his body won't entirely believe he's in the clear until he can get away from Dolph. He's been spared this time, but would he be able to survive another outburst? He doesn't want to take his chances.
Dolph wants to know about Bullfrog.
Ramon leans back against the wall again, resting the back of his head against it, and closes his eyes.]
Yeah.
[He swallows. Terrible idea. It's mostly blood. That's gonna come back up again. Fuck, it might right now, his body can barely keep up with how much it needs to process in this moment.]
I met up with him right before they took him on set...told me everything.
[Ramon makes for a dry, weak laugh. It triggers the nausea. He turns his head to the side and only dry-heaves. Shit, that's even worse. He spits up the saliva he made in the attempt to hurl. He turns back up to Dolph.]
I guess -- it would be more accurate to say he showed me. I take it you know about the, uh...bubble thing.
[He pauses for a moment and his eyes -- which have regained their color into a cool-toned gray -- go unfocused for a moment.]
Turns out that...all it takes to cancel a show's programming is a couple of ounces of hot lead.
no subject
If Rayman's sat down for a demonstration, too, he would have had to have done so off-script. Between camera close-ups, one of those things rolling up Frog's throat is not something Dolph would have easily missed, even if at the time his head was spinning around so fast he couldn't stand. His eyes had been glued to that feed. Fisher's virus be damned, he was going to listen to what might be a man's last words. A friend's last words.
Je désolé, mon ami.
They're etched into his memory now. That's no joke; Dolph can recall everything that's ever been said to him, even from the too-often times in which he wasn't really listening. The record is always there to review, or torment himself with.
Frog tried to tell him he had tunnel vision. Dolph spent their last mission taking his anger out on Alex while the other Ghosts fought for their lives in the street below. Frog wanted him to live. Dolph took a detour to expedite his own death. He couldn't even do Frog the favor of making it halfway to saving him beforehand. How in the world did that silly assassin get it in his head to call him a comrade?
What Rayman's claiming, could he... does he really have him beat?
Dolph takes a jerky step back, bulging eye darting between Rayman's slowly swelling face and the bloody fluids he's spit up everywhere. His own guts contort as if they might add to the mess. Because of himself, he's sick, though he doesn't realize it yet.
He wants to run before the sensation gets any stronger, but he also wants to know. ]
But were you fast enough?
no subject
The most powerful thing he's ever done is speak from the chest. Twice. The first one ruined his life. The second one saved it.]
Of course.
[He speaks with confidence, and not the kind from television. That was manufactured, rehearsed. This one comes from deep within him, the same kind of deep-seated conviction that was willing to throw his life of luxury away in the name of what he really believed in.]
I made sure that they called it off...before I killed the rest of them.
[A small, slightly unhinged satisfaction creeps through those words. He knows he shouldn't, but there's something that feels so dementedly glorious about wearing the blood of his former masters.]
I can guarantee he's fine, even as we speak. What the Board says, goes. And the last thing they got to say was to call it off. No rescheduling, no cutting to commercial to censor it, nothing. Bet you dollars to donuts that even Thrift-Store Stunt-Double will just stand there until they tell him otherwise.
[Okay, so he can't technically guarantee anything. He thought his job security was guaranteed. But he knows the dynamic between the studio -- not just Rayman, but the entire production -- and the Board.]
Unfortunately for him...
[Ramon holds a hand up to the side of his head, pinky finger and thumb outstretched, as he makes an approximate simulation of the "call disconnected" noise:]
Dee-dee-deet!
no subject
His emotions don't go together. He might be being lied to again. He might be hearing the best possible truth, and he might have to accept that the man who made it reality has a face he's come to hate so, so very much, ever since he realized what loving it really meant. The theatrics are the worst part. Of all things, the stupid phone noise grates Dolph's ears, because for all he knows and all he feels, it's almost like Rayman is gloating.
But Bullfrog wouldn't want him to do anything about it. Frog wouldn't want him to do anything about it, even if there was never any doppelganger and it was the man in front of him on that set.
Dolph's cannon folds back into five functioning fingers, which immediately clamp into a fist. They make a dull sound against his palm. ]
If I find out one fucking word of this was a lie, I'm picking up where I left off.
[ Dolph retreats, swiftly, before Rayman can retort, before he's made to do anything that would dishonor his comrade's memory. ]
no subject
If it turns out to be a lie, Dolph might as well.
He stake everything on it. His security and livelihood were collateral damage in the name of saving that "terrorist", the only one who allowed him to hear the silenced voices of Eden. None of it is a lie, but is it true? Did he really succeed...or was Ramon's fate to walk on bodies, even when he never intended to?
He might as well.
Ramon has no retort, no quip, no sign-off. His eyes carefully track Dolph as the distance between them yawns. Whatever small victory this is doesn't change the fact that not only does he know he's still firmly on the top of Dolph's shitlist, but also he's stuck in this library, held hostage by anyone's refusal to admit they've done anything wrong -- while Ramon would willingly paint the walls with his own blood if it made up for even a fraction of his mistakes. It's really a question of who will snap and do it first: himself or Laserhawk?
Ramon's head lightly bounces against the wall when he kicks it back to let out an uneasy sigh, closing his eyes and sitting with the throbbing ache of his body.
It's going to be a long detention.]