TDM #1

[glencolans]

TEST DRIVE MEME #1

Welcome to Glencola Reef's first Test Drive Meme! This is a place where anyone interested in applying a character - or just curious to see how their characters might interact with the setting and others in the game - can mingle with one another. General prompts are provided below for inspiration.

TDM GUIDELINES

• Please read the rules before posting to the TDM. These still apply here and will be enforced, up to and including deleting tags/toplevels and prebanning.
• Posts from a TDM are required to apply. At least three tags across any number of threads within a TDM, posted within the last 6 months, must be provided in every application.
• TDM threads can be used for AC. Note that new characters only need to check in for their first AC cycle, but established characters can use TDM tags for their AC.
• TDMs are not considered game canon by default. This is mostly for logistics reasons - due to how characters travel on the map, it's unlikely that non-network threads that take place here will actually happen in-game. However, I won't stop anyone from working out how to make parts of threads game canon if they really want to.
• New TDMs will be posted every three months. Keep checking back into the current TDM for new toplevels!

I. ARRIVAL

You awaken on a tropical island beach, soaking wet, powerless, and without any idea how you got here. Were you carrying something important, or wearing powerful armor? How unfortunate - it looks like only the most basic clothes, items in your pockets, and simple weapons managed to make the trip with you. Are you even physically the same as you remember? If you had superhuman abilities tied to your physiology, you might be stuck in a completely different body that lacks your usual senses. You might've been whisked away from a tense battle or a near-death experience and wake up delirious, or even injured.

Thankfully, against overwhelming odds, you're not the only one to wake up on this particular stretch of beach. You and your companion have a lot of puzzling out to do.

II. NETWORK

Even if you weren't lucky enough to wake up near someone else, at least you've arrived with a military-grade radio transceiver gripped tightly in your hand (or mouth, or other vaguely opposable appendage of choice). The clunky walkie-talkie will start buzzing and crackling for every public message that starts coming your way. Answering them back is as easy as pressing the "talk" button on the side of the device and either speaking into the receiver, or using the keypad to type into the message box that appears on the screen, then pressing the button again to send. A list of ongoing conversations with responses that are less than 24 hours old can be found by scrolling through the menu, identified by the callsigns that are participating in them. It seems that you've been assigned a callsign, too - it shows up in the top right side of the screen, format AB123C. The letters and numbers picked are...probably random.

This is your easiest avenue to communicating, or coordinating with, or complaining at the other people stuck on this island; how you decide to use this tool is up to you.

III. EXPLORING

For a place that appears, by all signs, to be an equatorial island in the middle of a tropical ocean, the local environments are surprisingly diverse. Beaches range from idyllic white sand to storm-swept pebble crags to cliffs with waterfalls cascading off the edges; the interior forests can be thinned from sandy soil or dense jungles full of prickly underbrush and with towering canopies; and the central mountain peaks, perilous enough to climb on their own, terminate in ravines and sinkholes that are hidden by thick foliage until you already have one foot over the edge.

The animals that make their homes here are equally as varied, and sometimes just as dangerous. The standard Earth fare of tropical fish swim right up to most shores, especially where reefs have grown, and a multitude of seafaring and jungle birds make their homes in ocean-facing cliffs and trees. Any one of these creatures would make for an easy snack. But you're not the only opportunistic hunters here; sharks prowl the waters, big cats stalk the jungles, and feral boars raid any camps that smell enticing. And that's just the stuff that looks like it came from modern Earth. Your improvised fishing rod might have captured a trilobite, or maybe that deer you were stalking has rounded on you with a set of alien mandibles full of sharp teeth. Or maybe, among the plants and animals completely foreign to you, you've stumbled across one that's strangely familiar to your home and no one else's.

There's a lot to figure out about this place. At least, in this instance, you aren't doing it alone.

NAVIGATION

Comments

Martin Blackwood | The Magnus Archives

[lonelynotforsaken]

Arrival
Martin can't recall the last time he was in the ocean. He's fairly certain he's never been in a tropical ocean. Or the tropics, in general. The crashing of the waves is what clues him into the ocean part. The balmy air against his salt-encrusted skin points to the latter. He opens his eyes and finds his glasses have come off at some point, which means the world around is a smear of colors. He sees someone nearby and forgets about the glasses entirely.

"Jon? Hey, hey, are you okay?" He's assuming this is his boyfriend. He really hopes it's Jon.

Network
"Um. H-hello? This is- My name's Martin. I'm-I'm on a beach? God, that's not helpful. Sorry. I just- I-I'm alone. Is there anyone out there who knows what's going on?" A long pause. "Uh- Oh! Over! Over."

Arrival

[cactusy]

"Uh, nope," says Shaw, reminding herself sternly that John is a very common name, and the odds are low that this guy is looking for the one that she'd very much like to find. "Wrong person."

The way he's squinting makes it pretty easy to figure out what's going on, though, and she immediately drops her gaze to watch where she's stepping, not wanting to inadvertently crunch the guy's glasses.

"You haven't been moving around a lot, have you?"

[lonelynotforsaken]

That's definitely a woman's voice. Martin's heart takes a tumble. Where is Jon? They were supposed to be dragged... wherever this is together. Did they just get flung into the ocean? Is he still out there? Before panic can set in, he realizes there are more immediate concerns that he can actually do something about.

"N-no. My glasses. I'm so sorry, but-but can you see them? Or... anyone else on the beach? I'm Martin." As he sits up properly, it may become apparent that he looks like he's already survived a shipwreck... and maybe murdered someone? He's sporting a scruffy beard and mustache, his hair is a bit wild with some gray shot through it in spite of a relatively youthful face. The front of his flannel shirt is stained dark with blood across the chest and stomach, down to his jeans. At least the sea water seems to have done a bit for the blood, but the remnants of that are still there.

[cactusy]

"Are you injured?" she asks, as she paces (still carefully!) closer, getting a better look at those bloodstains now. Introductions and niceties can wait; if he's in physical danger, that's more important than even the glasses.

[lonelynotforsaken]

Martin's a little concerned about getting up and stepping on his glasses, so he stays where he is, squinting at the figure as she approaches. "I don't... think so?" Which, considering the circumstances, that's somewhat alarming. Apart from some bruising and a few scrapes that aren't from here, he feels... fine. Confused. Worried about Jon.

"Sorry, but are you from here?" Wherever this is.

Network

[metalicarus]

There's a moment of pause from the other end as Jet starts for the sudden voice from the speaker of his transceiver. That's promising.

An faded Bronx accented man's voice comes over Martin's device, exceedingly calm despite his own internal storm of confusion. "Hey, Martin. Never used one of these before have you? Keep calm and looks around. See any rock formations out of the water or distinct trees nearby?"

[lonelynotforsaken]

Martin takes a long moment to scan the area around him. "There's a big rock out in the ocean that's sort of like... Have you seen, um..." The next few words are mumbled more quietly. "'The Little Mermaid' movie? It's like-it's like Ariel's rock. The one where they do the big splash at the end of 'Part of Your World.'"

[metalicarus]

There's a huff of laughter and Jet nods to himself. "Yeah, I've seen it." In theatres, he does not add. Jet looks around as he walks.

"Alright, I don't see it yet, but I'll keep walking. Can you tell me anything about what you remember?"

[lonelynotforsaken]

That... is a dangerous question. "Not much, really. I was in London one second and the next I was waking up here. What about you, sir?" Deflect, turn it around. Better to get this man talking about himself. "S-sorry. I didn't catch your name?"

Network

[desperate_times_right]

"Wow," a voice crackles back out of the radio at him, "you guys are really hiring bottom of the barrel now, huh?"

[lonelynotforsaken]

Well, that's just mean. "I'm sorry? Who are you, exactly?"

[desperate_times_right]

"Definitely not the woman you lot have been chasing for the past week." Probably she shouldn't poke the bear but oh well. What's he going to do, throw her off another cliff?

[lonelynotforsaken]

What on Earth?

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but I'm pretty sure I haven't been chasing anyone the past week. I'm sure you're very important, but I've sort of been busy with other things. Washing up on a deserted island, most recently."

Arrival

[silberfuchs]

The man who sits up is broad and fair, so fair he seems to blend into the surrounding beach a little, at least where his skin is showing. The rest of the figure is covered in a drenched black motorcycle jacket and moves with great effort, as if his body is too heavy for him to get up any faster. He brings one hand to his face briefly, then away again as he turns his head, hearing someone call out a name. Not his, but a name.

He gets nothing from his heads up display; odd, considering he can still see. Usually if the HUD is out his vision goes with it, but the portly fellow who called to whoever Jon is is right there, plain as day. He feels heavy too, his hydraulics working but he can tell they're working, something that after his upgrade in the late 80's he'd ceased to notice. He moved without pain for the first time in years after that, but now there's the general buzz of soreness already creeping at the edges of his prosthetics even just sitting here. He frowns, disconcerted, and attempts experimentally to flick his knife from his arm with the mental reflex he's always used to deploy it. Nothing happens.

Scheiße.

He grunts and looks up at the sky as if the sun could offer answers. Wrong move, and him without his sunglasses too. He gropes around for them and finds the walkie-talkie instead. It seems to be an older model, but he likes those better. Physical buttons respond to his fingers far easier than the touch-screens they've started putting out do. He doesn't need special gloves to operate them, for one. But where did it come from? And does it have GPS?

He brings it up to fiddle with, then it dawns on him that there is literally no one else around besides the man - English, by the accent - that had called for 'Jon' down the beach. So when he'd called out, it had been towards him.

"Sorry to disappoint." He offers in a wry tone, rimed in the accent of his native German but in serviceable English. He grunts again as he gets to his feet, shaking the sand from his khakis and patting it off his jacket with gloved hands. "Albert, not Jon."

[lonelynotforsaken]

Martin squints hard at Albert. "Oh. Ah... sorry." His hands search the nearby ground and he finds his glasses so he can actually see who the stranger is. Tall, light, big, but in a muscular way, not like himself. Martin blinks pale gray eyes up at the man, his hand hitting something else. A... radio? A very retro-looking radio.

"Is this y- No." No, because he seems to be holding one for himself. The radio gets a frown. Is this the Web's new version of tape recorders?

As Albert approaches, the smear of bloodstains down Martin's front will likely become apparent. Although, everything is crusted over with sand and salt as he moves to pick himself up, as well. "Okay. S-sorry. I don't know what's going on. I'm Martin. Um... d'you know how we got here?" If this is someone else from their world who was somehow pulled through, he doesn't want to say too much just yet, so he settles on confused and apologetic. Luckily, he's actually feeling those along with everything else.

[silberfuchs]

"I don't, but there is one thing to address first." He tilts his head sideways, regarding the portly Englishman with a squint, though its more for the sun in his pupilless grey eyes than anything else. He motions to the red staining the other man's front as if he'd spilled grape juice, not appeared to have stepped out of a shift at a butcher's.

"Do you need medical attention?"

He doesn't think so, based on the lower level of panic than one would expect for the amount of blood on him. Either that or Martin is a stone-cold killer. You never know.

The 'K' in Martin K Blackwood actually stands for 'Knife'

[lonelynotforsaken]

"What?" Martin looks down at himself before grimacing. "Uh... N-no! No, that's not mine. Sorry, I-I was sort of... someone got really hurt just before I woke up here." A few someones. He's not going to mention who. "I was holding them. I thought..." He trails off, looking away. As he does, he spots the glint of the knife, as well. It seems to have been scoured of all traces of Jon and Elias' blood, though, as he bends down to look at it.

"Do you need any medical attention? I took a First-Aid class." A pause. "Um... three years ago. Maybe four... or five." A longer pause. "I can do CPR?"

Arrival (if you're still accepting tag-ins!)

[obeir]

Sprawled face down in the wet sand, K begins to stir at the sound of a man's voice from somewhere nearby. He feels... strange, as though his body is unusually heavy. This is hardly the first time he's found himself in an unknown world, but under normal circumstances he's had a choice in the matter. Zephyr's always been conscientious about consent. But surely this couldn't be the god's doing — the last thing he remembers is being in Gotham with Harley, they'd been updating their travel itinerary. The beach trip wasn't supposed to be until next week.

He pushes himself up into a seated position and brushes sand from his hair and face, straightens the collar of his long coat as he takes in his surroundings. This definitely isn't the New Jersey of Harley's homeworld. His eyes find the man who'd addressed him, the only other person he can see on this long stretch of beach.

"Who's Jon?" he wonders, taken aback by the hoarseness of his own voice. A pause. Then, with growing confusion: "And who are you?"

Yes!

[lonelynotforsaken]

That's definitely not Jon's voice. Martin stills for a moment, uncertainty coursing through him. It's not any sort of familiar voice at all. Someone else who'd got yanked through with them somehow? The hesitation lasts a beat longer before Martin squints and starts feeling around in the sand for his glasses.

"S-sorry. Sorry, I'm Martin. I thought- Um. It's- Jon's my boyfriend. We were just together." As he sits up properly, the ruddy smear of bloodstains down his shirt may be visible; though, the ocean has done something to rinse them at least a little bit. "Who're you?"

\o/

[obeir]

That Martin is a human registers with a familiar tug of wariness, but for the moment it's set aside in favour of getting his bearings and trying to figure out what's going on. This might be his only ally here, so he'll just have to accept the risk of Martin being a potential robophobe and help him anyway. And why is he apologising?

"I'm K," he replies while observing Martin's actions, taking particular note of those bloodstains, then he quickly scans the surrounding beach for what he's assuming will be a pair of glasses. Ah, there— ugh. Moving to retrieve them makes him aware of all the sand trapped beneath the damp layers of his clothing.

"Are you injured?" he asks as he cautiously closes the short distance between them, holding out the sandy glasses to Martin. Luckily they're still intact.

[lonelynotforsaken]

Martin takes his glasses, starts to move the lenses towards his shirt to wipe off, then thinks better of it. He shakes them off as best he can and shoves them on, blinking at the stranger. K. Kay? It's something to call him. "No. I'm- no, I'm all right." He glances down at himself to actually confirm that and spots the knife and something else on the other side of his body. The knife is left for a moment, but Martin picks up the radio.

"Um... is this yours?" He holds it out to the other man.

[lestercraft]

Well, it's certainly an English accent that replies, the dark smear of hair jerking towards Martin's voice automatically, even as the rest of his yellow pile of a body jolts away from Martin.

"Wha-- how- w-who the fuck are you?" There's an edge of fury to it, but Martin probably recognises the tone as someone trying very hard not to be scared instead.

[lonelynotforsaken]

English, perhaps, but certainly not Jonathan Sims. Martin startles away from the stranger on instinct when he catches the sudden movement. "Sorry! I'm sorry. I- Martin. I'm Martin. Sorry!"

He's going to just grope around in the sand for a moment, trying to find his glasses.

His hand comes up with a large knife, instead.

[lestercraft]

Arthur doesn't react to the knife. Can't, really - Martin can't see past the end of his own nose but Arthur can't see, period.

He swallows, nervously, but at least Martin sounds at least as panicked as he does, and that does- well, something to help quell the tremble in his own voice. "A-Arthur. Arthur Lester. Can you--" He manages to get his own feet under him, and moves to stand, warily like he's expecting something to crown him when he does. "D-do you-- w-w-where are we?"

[lonelynotforsaken]

The knife is set down quickly, in any case. Martin finds his glasses and shoves those on to see... yes. That is certainly a complete stranger. Although, he has the sort of anxious look about him that Martin might expect from someone just tipped out of the fearpocalypse.

Or maybe it was just the random island stranding? He's really not sure.

"I'm not sure. I'm really sorry. I-I just woke up. Um..." Martin looks around and spots a radio along with the knife. And... another radio? Walkie-talkie? "I was in London..." Sort of. Technically, the Panopticon had been in London. That's... close enough."