TEST DRIVE MEME #11

[spoofer]

Test Drive Meme #11

To men that mix and meet her from many times and lands

INTRODUCTION ⇄ FAQ ⇄ APPLICATIONS

CRASH LANDING

Exit one dimension, enter the next. It was chaos: pressure against your ears, light bending in an impossible, unimaginable way. The very molecules of your body vibrating against one another. If you have windows, the view outside makes no sense. Even if not, your hands, your face, your feet seem like an uncertain thing. It's the feel of reality itself tearing apart, reshaping, reconnecting, thread by thread.

And suddenly, there's a beach— or ocean, whichever you land in. Smoke. Fire. Salt water churning up, fizzing around, reaching toward a brilliant blue sky.


Maybe you crash, in a ship wrecking into sand. Maybe you merely stumble out of a portal, a ragged wormhole in space. Or maybe you fall off the back of an incredible steed, some creature that carried you into this place. Either way, there's pandemonium around you. Incredibly, severe injuries are far and few between— nobody's screaming about the dead. But you might have to help pull someone free of wreckage, or move quickly to salvage burning belongings from the landing craft. Maybe it's the crafts themselves, that you're trying to salvage.

Likely, you don't know them, these other strangers who arrived here^[1]. Maybe you don't trust them— you just came out of a dying world, after all. But you all have one thing in common: you're here now.

When you get a second to breathe, maybe you'll see it. The rich, green forest across the sand. Beyond that, the glint of a faraway city.

"Chance" Encounters

Your first week in Xistentia^[2], it's obvious you arrived just after a crisis. The shield above the glinting green city is flickering erratically, shifting strange shadows across the ground. You see a few hazardous waste disposal bins here or there, and clear, glassy orbs that seem to match the bin slots.

But spirits seem high. People greet you in the streets, and you bear witness to a profoundly weird, sudden uptick of public wedding proposals that can't possibly end well? Still.

That's when your daemon starts acting funny. Whether by "GPS" routing you with wrong directions to wherever you had originally intended to go, or by physically pulling you off-course, your personal assistant seems bound to drive you right into the path of another passer-by.

You don't know them yet. But whether it's coffee spilled downy our front, an armload of groceries that goes rolling, or the fact that there's a bird visibly about to take a dump on their head&mdahs; you're about to.

NETWORK

Xistentia now has its own 'friending app.' You can use it to make connections with new people! But beware, your daemon may well post without your permission, and things could get pretty embarrassing.

F.A.T.E.S. thought it was a pretty good pun: Synchr. Get it? Like sinker? Hook, line, and?
TEMPLATE Select and copy the code below, paste into your comment. Please also keep in mind that this comment code is different to the entry code should you join the game! (The font is tiny for ease of copying!)

<raw-code><center><div style="background: url('https://i.imgur.com/LMmsp9R.jpg'); margin: auto; width: 300px; height: 500px; padding: 30px; border-radius: 20px;"><div style="font-family: Arial Narrow, sans serif; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 28px; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 10px; padding-bottom: 10px; border-bottom-style: groove; border-bottom-color: #999; border-bottom-width: 1px; line-height: 16px" align="center"><i><b>synchr</b></i></div> <div style="width: 275px; height: 275px; border: 5px solid #b7d1ae; border-radius: 170px; padding: 0px; margin: 15px auto"><div style="background: url('http://i.imgur.com/i0hSO7K.gif'); background-size: cover; width: 225px; height: 225px; border-radius: 180px; padding: 25px; background-position: center;"><div style="background: url('** YOUR PROFILE PICTURE URL HERE **'); background-size: auto 220px; border-radius: 130px; width: 223px; height: 223px; padding-top: 223px; border: 1px dotted #000"></div></div></div> <div style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial Narrow, sans serif; text-transform: uppercase; margin-top: -10px; text-align: center; color: #000;"><b>NAME</b> ▐ AGE</div> <div style="height: 120px; background: url('https://i.imgur.com/m5GzmXX.png'); overflow-y: auto; margin: 5px auto; border-radius: 6px; padding: 10px"> </raw-code>** INSERT YOUR PROFILE CODE HERE ** <raw-code></div></div> <div style="clear: both"></div></div> <br /> <center><table><tr><td style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: times; font-size:40px; color:#2EB82E;">✓</span> </td><td style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: times; font-size:40px; color:#CC0000;">✕</span></div></td></tr><tr><td style="text-align: center"><big><big><big><b>YES</big></big></big></b><br /> <textarea><span style="font-family: times; font-size:40px; color:#2EB82E;">✓</span></textarea></td><td style="text-align: center"><big><big><big><b>NO</big></big></big></b><br /> <textarea><span style="font-family: times; font-size:40px; color:#CC0000;">✕</span></textarea></td></tr></table></center></center></raw-code>

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

hells yeah

Footnotes

1. Some of these can be nameless, plot-device NPCs to facilitate interactions! But even in this case, please avoid gore in describing their current state of being. Anyone dead or catastrophically injured will have disappeared by the time your characters make it to Xistentia. There are no corpses or dying here.
   
   
2. If you decide to join the game, this prompt may be patched over into the upcoming event, which involves a welcome party that comes under attack.

Comments

ainchase ishmael (richter) | elsword

[glanzenschwert]

one;

[ you all have one thing in common - you're here now.

the awareness presses into him like water. the air is tinged with the sea, a stark difference from the sheer purity of the elrian sanctum - basal, mortal, human. ordinarily, he would not have even touched such things, but these beings are implicated in his mission, so he must deal with them.

a man with blue hair flashes into existence between the burning wreckage, dressed in intricate white clothing. it's hard to see right now, but the water parts away from him when he walks, as if brushed away by some sort of force field barrier. any debris and smoke also veer away from him, stopping an inch away from his robes - too basal to ever lay a finger on someone of angelic disposition.

there's a certain pressure emanating from him, the way he holds himself - the manner of someone used to giving orders. his expression seems to be fixed in one of calm edged with a tinge of impatience, reflected in his voice as he starts giving orders regardless of whether people listen.

well, you have to give him some credit. he too works to move the ships and put out the fires. if you're lingering around, you might feel his gaze on you - sharp and cold, like ice. ]

Don't just stand there gawping. Make yourself useful.

two;

[ really, he doesn't want to deal with people.

but, it seems like he has no choice. he's here on a divine duty to restore elrios, and that means putting up with humans. humans who seem to have no idea what they're doing, who party even though there's danger, who waste so much time talking about incessant and irrelevant topics. he can't understand why his goddess loves such stupid creatures... but, maybe he doesn't need to, if he plays his cards right.

— he's lost in thought, which means he doesn't notice someone's daemon shoving them into his way. or perhaps, his daemon has decided to play a trick on him - either way, there's an odd collision, as if the other person bounced off a force field rather than an actual man.

ain frowns, a surprising amount of disapproval distilled into the expression. ]

Watch where you're going.

[ clearly, it's not his fault. ]

2!

[servomotor]

Is this one of those 'you were planning to reciprocate' things?' [Comes the splendid rejoinder. Tony Stark was perambulating along the sidewalk, right up until Ainchase's daemon steered him this way. He feels the forcefield, mostly because he knows that that wasn't fabric of a humanoid person's humanoid person that collided into his arm.]

Guessing from your face, [which he is just this side of too polite to try adjectives for,] that's going to be a 'no.'

[A beat's pause. Then that beat's pause turns into something longer, as Tony extends one hand-- gauntleted in fierce red-and-gold metal, sharply at odds with his work trousers and T-shirt, and smacks his hand inquisitively against the surface fo the forcefield. Smacksmacksmack. He looks for a flare of light, a shimmering curvature to delineate the limits of the 'bubble' around the stranger. Science, okay!]

[glanzenschwert]

[ there's a pause as he glances up at the daemon flitting above his head - a ball of light with wings - before back at tony again, who has since begun tapping on his projection field.

do humans have no manners? ]

What are you doing?

[servomotor]

Discovering. Something. Interesting, [Tony answers, amply distracted. Amply rude. Not without its necessity, as far as he's concerned. Forcefield generation is significant business in times of war, and he is himself increasingly interested in figuring out how to make the technology small. Compact.

At some point between then and now, he'll turn to nanotech.]

How do you power this thing? In the interest of winning the war, et cetera, et cetera.

[glanzenschwert]

[ the absurdity of tony's actions is enough to confuse him for a few moments, time enough for the human to offer an explanation and curb ain's urge to just walk away. winning the war is important, after all - something that's enough to get his attention. ]

Magic.

[ he folds his arms and the projection field turns fully translucent, an oval that outlines his body and carves out a good amount of personal space. it appears to be some sort of polyhedron with over a hundred faces, glittering in various translucent shades of pale blue. ]

You are looking to replicate it?

[servomotor]

[The numerous facets of the forcefield are unlike anything that Tony has yet seen. He twists his head, looking for any variation in the gradient or geometry of light, the possibility that it's being emitted from something on the man's person. Clothing? Jewelry.]

Replicate some aspect. Understand the principle. Why does it refract light in this pattern?

[Finally, he steps back. Motions over his shoulder. In the distance, his own daemon is coming up, a lumbering gait. An android woman, all grey steel.] I'm Tony Stark, [he adds.] What's your wizard name?

[glanzenschwert]

[ so, the human is impressed? that's good, at least. such magic was at least partly designed to impress. ]

The Goddess who grants this blessing wills it to take on elegant geometry.

[ SO ACTUALLY, IT HAS NO REASON. the projection field appears to be a shell, and the various faces of the polyhedron refract light at different angles. it's very beautiful (?). ]

Ainchase Ishmael. You may call me Ain. I am not a wizard, I am a priest.

[ that's a distinction he has to make. Ms. Wizard is one, he is not. His magic is granted by divinity. ]

[servomotor]

[It is beautiful. Tony finds beauty in many things, even if he's never the type to talk about it in such terms. He'd much sooner make some vaguely wise-ass compliment. Rich white boy irony. It works in his own homeworld, after all.]

Goddess, [he mutters under his breath. Another tap-tap-tap against the facet he had been messing with, and then he lets his hand fall.]

Nice to meet you, Ain. [There's a twitch of his jaw. He's resisting making some other smart-ass remark-- not a compliment.] Tony Stark. I'm a mechanic. No chance you arriving in this place has thrown you into an existential tailspin and crisis of faith, that your religious power has miraculously survived? [In other words, how much of a goddess do you really need for sparkle fractal fields? TELL US.]

erik killmonger | mcu

[scarcastically]

[ i. crash landing ]

[ a death, even a death you co-sign is still fucking painful. n'jadaka — erik feels the sand on his face and the heat on his back. the gold jaguar necklace rubs against his skin painfully as he groans, pushing himself onto his knees. sunlight burns his eyes and skin. it hurts. he's not sure which part hurts more. dying, living or feeling the sun again. if he had to guess, it would be a combination of all three. he tugs the necklace off his chest with an audible snap, leaving him with his black slacks and a scarred chest. ]

What the hell kinda afterlife is this?

[ ii. chance encounters ]

[ normalcy smells like —

it smells like cheese sandwiches, fresh coffee stains on tables. wafting cologne and perfume, pine and laundered scents, drifting in and out of the crowd. it smells like any other city or place in the world. erik has been to many like them, though it's been some time since he's had to stay. his work never afforded him much security or longevity to put down roots.

( and he could not go back to oakland, couldn't step back through that door, look at the spot where his father lay dying — )

normalcy tastes like any other place. space, time continuums aside (erik went to MIT, he knows his shit) but it tastes like dust on his tongue. when he bumps into them, he goes blank because he has no mission in his head, no burning goals beating hammers into his skull every minute, every day. he doesn't know what to do with himself and it shows.

but then he masks it with a smirk. ]

You lost?

[ wildcard your adventure ]

ii

[shadowblends]

[groceries aren't exactly what he's toting around, although a few things might qualify as edible. tucked into one of his arms are aloe plants he's intent on selling or trading for other essentials while another bag hangs rather precariously from the wrist of his free limb, like an accident waiting to happen.

when he brushes past killmonger, the barely there clip to his elbow is enough to make his grip falter. thankfully, the reaction time of his tail has always been on point and catching the flora proves an easy task.

"you lost?" he averts his attention from the rescued pot, iridescent eyes blinking thoughtfully. then, kurt's brow furrows as he spares a quick glance to his surroundings before focusing on is daemon.]

So it would seem. [it's abnormal for his partner to lead him in the wrong direction, but--] The fault is mine, then. I'm sorry. [the ocelot nudges against nightcrawler's legs for reassurance (but also in its own apologetic way), plopping down next to him and focusing on erik now.]

I don't think I've seen you around before.

[scarcastically]

[ erik takes in kurt's appearance with nothing more than a flicker, well disguised. his smirk hides his fangs. ]

Guess I'm what they call fresh meat.

[shadowblends]

Ah, yes. [his own grin is entirely the opposite, all fangs and total charm.]

Everyone has surely that title at some point here on Xistentia.

[scarcastically]

Yeah?

[ erik casually gestures at kurt. ]

So what's yours right now?

[shadowblends]

My title?

[he glances at the items in his arms, down to shebad then back at erik.] 'Vendor' would be appropriate, I believe.

[scarcastically]

[ hmm, not an avenger or an alien then? erik methodically files it away, still keeping his body language casual. ]

Got somethin' big planned?

[shadowblends]

[a faint shrug, although his grin widens ever so slightly.]

If bartering plants for other goods is considered a 'big' plan, then absolutely.

i

[magnetizing]

If it is, you got screwed. ( Lorna's not one to completely define herself as a scavenger, but a few years of running an underground for mutants and living off the grid does teach one the ways of scavenging. Though it's a different kind of scavenging these days.

Not ever newcomer comes in with scraps, but every now and again there's a decent wreckage. Sometimes there's just enough spare pieces floating about that matter. She's not looking for large pieces of metal, after all. Just bits that she picks up, dusts off, and shoves in her back. Wreckage from a different newcomer. )

You're alive, for better or worst. Welcome to Xistentia. ( She brushes green hair she no longer hides away from her eyes as the wind off the ocean whips it in an inconvenient direction for her line of sight. )

[scarcastically]

[ xistentia. someone sure liked their puns. erik snorts lightly. anger burns through him but it passes for now. ]

Worse, I would think. If this is what it looks like.

ii

[pillz]

[kavinsky had been kavinskying. on his way out of the blood bar, his shirt askew from a fight or a fuck, it's hard to say which. the gelled spikes of his hair remain erect, however, which could be a gauge for how he still has the resources despite his glazed-eye cheer, to observe certain qualities in the tall black man he bumps into and

hello sailor.

there was a universe in which kavinsky was fractionally more subtle when he was interested in a guy. at least, he'd cover it up in homophobic bullshit, insults, some good old-fashioned (truly old-fashioned) harassment. but these days, he lets his eyes venture down, and then back up. his eyes are hooded, his gaunt face pleasantly blank.] I could be. How long you want to be lost for?

[scarcastically]

[ erik's chuckle is low and throaty. he does appreciate transparency. makes his life easier. ]

Dunno. Haven't set myself a time limit of any kind.

tw homophobic language

[pillz]

[few things are as transparent as kavinsky. at least-- about some things in life. other things, you need a blowtorch, a diamond-edged shovel, and a few pounds of c4 to get into that.

but appreciating one fine-looking man. that's not hard. pun intended.]

Yeah? Welcome to Xistentia. We real faggot friendly here. [his face is sly as a fox. he steps closer, his vulpine chin lifting, studying the older man's face. he wonders if he's human enough to eat.] What's your name, shithead? [but also: kavinsky is rull bad at getting along. never forget.]

[scarcastically]

[ impressively bad. erik's smile doesn't drop an inch. ]

Erik Stevens. It ain't the name of someone famous.

[pillz]

You could get famous. You ever thought about modeling? That ain't a pickup line.

[it's totally a pickup line. kavinsky's smile has a gallon of grease dripping off it.]

Kavinsky. Could show you around. You're new, right? You got that look.

[erik does not have 'that' look. he has the 'i could kill you faster than you could blink and have been through the actual hell that is war' look. kavinsky just has an inaccurate vocabulary.]

[scarcastically]

[ erik's laugh is short and abrupt, but still amused. ]

I don't think I've got what it takes.

[ he's proud of his scars, but he's not anyone's display. ]

You sure? I gotta fix it up then.

[pillz]

[kavinsky lets his eyes drop. venture down the brown slope of erik's chest, where it emerges from his collarbones, the top of-- whatever clothing he's wearing.]

We could start a niche. Everybody likes a guy who's seen some shit. And you have, right?

[he raises a hand, a skinny, tattooed finger extruded. reaches out. doesn't quite touch.] Is it supposed to be like fucking dragon scales? [he likes dragons.] Or was you counting something?