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

Lalo Salamanca | Better Call Saul

[salamanca]

ARRIVAL
A cacophony of confusing sensory information enters Lalo's brain quickly but in pieces, and not in the right order. He realizes his jacket is heavy on his back before realizing that's because it's wet. He feels the sun beating down on his face before he recognizes the rough sensation of individual grains of sand clinging to his hands and cheek and the hairs of his mustache. He rubs the damp, clinging particles of sand off as he begins to sit up, his gestures slow and groggy at first.

Why is he wet?? How did he get here? Where is "here?" The thought crosses his mind that this, too, is somehow Fring's doing, but a quick glance around dispels that hazy, half-awake thought almost immediately. Something on this scale, whatever it is, seems impossible even for Fring.

Especially because he's not alone; a groan or the feeling of someone shifting their weight beside him or the sight of another person laying face down in the sand draws Lalo's attention.

He jumps to his feet with surprising speed when he spots someone else nearby. Especially surprising because Lalo is clearly injured, although none of his wounds seem serious or life-threatening. But there's a dark red scrape on the side of his cheek, and a very slight limp as he stumbles a little when he jumps up.

He can feel the weight of a handgun in the waistbands of his pants, and he draws it.

The other person will regain consciousness staring down the barrel of a gun. "Hey, hey, hey. Shhhh." He'll lower the hand that isn't holding the gun repeatedly, like he's gesturing to quiet a barking dog or a tantrum-ing toddler. "Easy, easy. No sudden movements. That's it," Lalo warns them. "Stand up slowly. Hands where I can see 'em." His voice is calm and instructive, but his eyes are dark and intent.

NETWORK
[ Call sign: DI481O. ]

¡Hola! Looks like it's a party! Sure are a lot of us, eh? Call me crazy, but I'm thinking it might be good to know how many.

If you would be so kind, please respond here, once, via text, so everyone who's reading this can count you.

[ It's not much, and he wouldn't bet money on every single person who has found themselves trapped here responding. But hey, it's a start to getting some kind of organization in place, right? It might come in handy to at least know roughly how many of them there are. ]

Arrival

[desperate_times_right]

Chloe looks like shit. She's drenched to the skin in a torn red t-shirt and jeans, there's an impressive bruise forming on the right side of her face, and she's got an empty holster for a pistol on one hip and a belt bag on the other, both looking like they’ve seen better days before hitting the ocean.

When the gun in her face swims into view, she looks more resigned than angry or afraid.

“Ugh, come on, man...”

I AM SORRY

[salamanca]

Aw, she's cute! Or she'd be cute if she didn't look like shit right now. He gives a long, low wolf-whistle at the purple-black bruise blossoming over the side of her face. "Ay, that's nasty! How'd you get that one?"

Undeterred if a little impressed, by her nonchalant resignation, Lalo almost laughs but doesn't. He does smile almost appreciatively at her unwillingness to be easily cowed. His tone, now that his senses have fully come back to him, is inappropriately cheery. He moves closer to her.

"I don't think so. You come on. Hands up! Do it now, nice and slow and easy." His tone is more instructional than threatening, but that's because you don't need to be threatening when you have a fucking gun.

[desperate_times_right]

Getting caught on the back foot twice in one day is pretty embarrassing. Chloe grunts, irritated with herself. “Ran into a door.”

Any guy on a beach pointing a gun at her knows exactly what happened. This one doesn't look familiar but Shoreline has so many disposable goons that that doesn't really mean anything.

Without her own gun, she doesn't have much of a choice. She stands slowly, trying to angle her body so he can't see the knife at her lower back. Hands up, she shoots him what she clearly thinks is a super charming smile.

“Look, whatever you think I've got, I don't have it anymore.”

[salamanca]

Ran into a door, huh? Lalo gives a small, appreciative little snort of almost-laughter at the cliche of it. He shakes his head a little, letting the grin blossom over his face. "Hey, that's cute. I like you. You're funny!"

Her smile is charming! He even smiles back. But that doesn't mean anything to him. Lots of dangerous people can be very charming when they want to be.

He would know.

"Whatever was on you, huh?" His eyebrows raise, like he's interrogating a naughty child. He steps closer to her, gun still on her. "I'll be the judge of that."

He reaches out, to start lightly patting her down with his free hand.

network | callsign: DC770K

[just_add_aptx]

Family name: Edogawa
Given name: Conan

I'm from Tokyo, Japan.

[salamanca]

[ All the way from Japan, eh? Assuming whoever this is is telling the truth, then whatever is going on can't be localized to just one place on Earth. ]

Thank you! Your cooperation is appreciated, Mr. Edogawa.

[ The great thing about this being text is that this sounds like a normal sentence and the creepy undertones that would be lurking under every syllable in real life aren't there. WHOO. ]

[just_add_aptx]

Will you be sharing the list once you have it?

[salamanca]

If I can find a way to do that? Why not!

You could probably watch the names come in and make your own list, too. Should be viewable to everybody for a little while.

arrival

[aluminumandash]

The other man's propped up against a tree trunk, head resting on his shoulder. Both legs stretched in front of him, one of them—the right—swollen and wrapped up in a makeshift splint. It looks grim but there's no blood or bone in sight, just a swath of dark purple below the knee. The sleeves of his button-down are wrinkled from having been rolled up and then down again. The pits and collar are dark with sweat.

To his right, a tidy little pile of shit stripped from his belt and emptied from his pockets: a pager, a gold badge in the shape of Louisiana, a red keychain with a couple keys too small for a house or a car, a wallet. A walkie that matches everyone else's, powered down.

Holstered at his hip, a pistol.

Rust opens his eyes. Pain and thirst hit at once, his gaze unfocused and head rolling. A groan cutting off as the gun comes into focus. “Sure thing, boss.” His voice is raspy, the words drawled. Up go the hands. He keeps his eyes on the stranger, for now.

[salamanca]

It's with distinct and very obvious, almost leering, interest that Lalo's eyes linger on Rust's broken leg. The sight of it makes a phantom pain shoot up the side of his own wounded leg, even though his own injury isn't nearly this severe. He feels it pulse with pain anyway at the sight.

More interesting is that it's in a splint. Did he arrive that way? Or did someone help him? If someone helped him, are they close? Will they be coming to his rescue any time soon?

"Good," Lalo coos when Rust raises his hands. "Very good. You're doing great."

The gun stays trained on Rust as Lalo ambles over to the pile of random shit. There's a derisive snort he makes no effort to conceal as he picks up the Louisiana badge. "Nice to meet you, Officer...?" He looks at Rust, meaningfully, prompting him for a response, before he tosses the badge aside, out into the wilderness. Not like this pig needs it here.

The pager and the keys are useless. The wallet, he picks up to leaf through for any IDs or indication as to whether or not Rust lied about his identity. But it's the pistol that Lalo is really interested in. He tosses the wallet back down on the ground when he's done with it before he goes over to Rust's side.

Gun still out. And he smiles.

"I'll take this," he says, with unnerving and inappropriate cheer as he goes to remove the pistol. Hopefully this asshole has the sense not to try to stop him.

[aluminumandash]

Rust's hands stay up. He watches the other man—how he moves and handles the gun. Dusty boots. Clean-shaven. No rips in his clothes, no stains from what Rust can see; no sign of what has him limping. The bandana coupled with the babytalk make it seem like he's playing at some jerk-off idea of a bank robber.

He leaves Rust's leg alone. Surprising.

“Detective,” Rust says in lieu of a name, blank-faced and almost innocent of sarcasm. As if he might be dumb enough to truly believe this man gives a shit about his rank. His eyes flick after the badge, return to the gun just as quickly. At least he doesn't have to worry about this motherfucker trying to pass himself off as a cop.

The wallet's thin and on the new side, as impersonal as a personal effect can get. Driver's license with Rust's name, face, birthdate. Expiring 2000. He is an organ donor. About eighty dollars cash, most of it twenties. No scraps of paper or receipts. No business cards. No smiling family.

His gaze doesn't change as the other man advances on him: intent but glassy, as if fixed on something only he can see. Rust waits for the sliver of a second before the other man hunkers down, before he's forced to either put weight on that bad leg of his or stay off-balance. In that interval Rust drops his right arm to intercept Lalo's gun hand at the wrist, fingers digging in, slam it into the tree trunk with as much force as he can manage at this fucked-up angle, with a shattered leg still stretched in front of him.

For that moment Rust flows fluidly as time—and then he's groaning, graceless. Trying to draw his own gun and shift his gigantic fucking target of a useless leg and bite down on Lalo's forearm all at once.

[salamanca]

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Detective. How rude of me." The sarcasm laces every syllable.

The expiration date on the license gives him pause, although he shows it only in the faintest knit of his forehead. Expiring 2000. Somehow, Lalo doubts that this guy is the kind to be carrying around a license that expired four years ago, so...

What the fuck?

The cash he has no use for here. He's slightly annoyed by the lack of any receipts that would tell him more about this asshole, but it's not that important. That there's no picture of a girlfriend or a family or cute little kiddos does reveal something, though.

Then they're struggling. It happens fast. Lalo is strong in his resistance to Rust's movements as his captured wrist. Slamming it into the tree trunk isn't easy. Muscles ripple under Lalo's skin as anger blossoms over his face. Not just anger. Rage. The gun falls into the sand. It's lucky for both of them that the short distance to fall and the soft substance it lands on mean it doesn't go off.

Lalo's free hand snakes out to somehow find the purplest, most sensitive part of Rust's fractured leg and squeeze, hard, right as Rust's teeth sink into his arm. Son of a bitch! This piece of shit is fast. But Lalo is fast, too. He's quick to grab the leg before it can be shifted from his reach. He'd wanted to save this for later, but some things just can't be helped.

"Dumb decision," he hisses. His eyes shine with fury as they stare directly at Rust's face. Despite his own pain, despite Rust's groaning, his grip on the fractured leg doesn't let up for a second. If anything, the harder Rust bites, the harder Lalo squeezes. Lalo Salamanca does not fear pain.

Arrival, this woman does NOT know what a gun is

[meadqueen]

Of course, this was bound to happen eventually. If Randvi herself had been preparing a kidnapping, the prime time to do so would be when the clan's jarl and all of his best warriors are chasing some magical stone across England. It's the rest of it that she struggles to understand.

It's so hot here, and she's lying in the sand, but she's not bound and nothing's been taken. Even more strangely, something's been added: she's holding an odd device the likes of which she's never seen before in her left hand. Additionally - and most pressing at the moment - there is a man standing over her, pointing a small metal object in her direction.

He speaks to her calmly, as if to a spooked horse. Is this really her captor? She stands slowly, fighting against the weight of her sodden wool clothing and keeping the unknown device in her left hand. Her right hand strays toward the pommel of the war hammer at her waist.

"What do you intend to do to me with that?"

Somehow this thing is a threat, even though he would need to get within range of her war hammer to strike her with it, but it's a bit difficult to take seriously.

Roger that!

[salamanca]

Her clothing is unusual; her demeanor is unlike the women he's used to. His brain tries to process what that could mean, while his eyes flicker over to the hammer at her waist.

And her hand, slowly slipping towards it.

"Don't," he instructs, voice still gentle but firmer now. He hesitates. He hates to waste bullets here. He doesn't have extra ammo. He needs to make what he does have last.

But it's clear she's about to do something really stupid. Wasting a bullet seems like the lesser evil, then. He fires a warning shot into the sand right in front of her. The crack, at this short distance, is ear-numbingly loud.

Now she knows what the gun can do. "Next time it won't go into the sand," he tells her. "Hands up. Come on. You can do it." He even oh-so-helpfully gestures his own free hand skyward, as if to show her.

[meadqueen]

It happens so abruptly that it takes her a moment to string together the cause and effect: the impact she can feel through the soles of her boots and the sound that leaves her entire head ringing both came from the weapon that this stranger is aiming in her direction.

Despite her galloping heart, Randvi’s expression hardens into something almost insultingly neutral. Whatever is about to happen here is something that she has very little control over, but it's still a situation that she’ll need to figure out how to manage. It's the same mask that she’d worn at her own wedding.

She raises her hands, dropping the strange device from her left hand to the sand at her feet, and tilts her head, regarding this man as if he's a scout she's expecting a report from.

[salamanca]

Oh, he likes this chick. Lalo approves of people who don't cower in the face of danger, or even certain death. If she'd screamed, or acted afraid, that would have been like dangling a ribbon in front of a cat about to pounce. It would have activated a primal sadism in him. So far, she's doing everything right.

He knows he's in control, anyway. Not her. Maybe he'd feel insulted if he thought she had any actual power in this situation. If she could actually do anything. But when he's the one in command like this, it's hard to feel anything but amusement and vague, faint approval.

"Good," he tells her. "Smart. I like that." Then he winks. His voice is merry and confident, his expression cheery in contrast with her determined stoicism. "What's your name, eh, sweetheart? Let's start there."

SH412K

[sharktrash]

Eat shit, DI481O.

[ Great start. ]

[salamanca]

[ Wow. What a charmer. Not that Lalo's one to talk. ]

Hey, hey! No need for that kind of talk. Show some respect. You kiss your mother with that mouth?

[sharktrash]

[ ♡ ]

Where do you think I learned it from?

[ Definitely not his mother. He doesn't remember ever meeting her. Probably for the best, too. ]

[salamanca]

What a shame your family has such bad manners, then. If we meet in person, I'll be happy to help teach you some. :)

[ Threatening a rando you've spoken two sentences to and know nothing about, 10/10 decision, what could go wrong? ]

callsign: HO125E

[trialbyliar]

hola ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)

[salamanca]

Hola, ¿cómo está?

[trialbyliar]

[He's not fluent, but he knows enough Spanish to understand. Unfortunately, he's an asshole regardless of the language.]

i woke up stranded on a deserted island with a bunch of weirdos, how do you think i'm doing??

[salamanca]

Hey, look on the bright side, man. The sun is shining. The trees are swaying in the breeze. It's beautiful out here!