Test Drive #2

[powersthatbe]

Welcome to the Synodiporia Test Drive Meme! Below the cut there are twofour new prompts, here and here are the prompts from previous testdrives, which you’re still welcome to use here. When you comment, be sure you specify what prompt you want to play with, and please put up your own threadstarter - it makes for a much more friendly environment that a forest of bare toplevels!

Prompt #9 gives a look at what it's like for everyone to be stuck in Liminal Space, & Prompt #10 is a chance to try your hand at being an infiltrator in our upcoming Noir plot.

Before you start, we’d like you to please take a quick look at the game’s Concept, its Rules, and the Liminal Space, Previous Universes, & Noir Plot pages, just to give you the background info you’ll need for some of these prompts. And if you’re looking for more information, the Directory is here and the Application page is here.

Prompts:



Prompt #9: Liminal Space

Today, if it's a day, Liminal Space has shifted again. It's twilight, and a moldering New Orleans graveyard, full of ornate gothic sepulchers, stretches in every direction, gray stone and wrought iron barriers sectioning it into smaller plots. Some of these mausoleums have been opened, and their insides don't match their outsides. Inside are well-appointed train compartments, dinner cars and sleeper cars and such, richly appointed and well lit, as if they come straight from the Orient Express. Out the windows, you can see the landspace whizzing by, although it's not the same landscape from one window to the next. You can feel the vibration of the train, the acceleration - but step out of the car and you're in a graveyard again, and inside the cars you can hear crickets and nightbirds singing and smell the rich aroma of flowering trees.

Also in the graveyard are a few scattered train-cars, but nobody's going into those - inside they're all dank spaces packed with decomposing bodies. There are small animals here and there outside - rabbits, birds, that kind of thing -- all of them dead, but none of them letting it keep them from their nightly routines. The crickets and nightjars are making train noises. Bemused travelers are finding comfortable spaces wherever they can.




Prompt #10: The Midnight Rose

It's half past nine and the joint is jumping. The shutters on the front window are down, the front door is locked, but there's a big mook with a shrewd look in his eye letting anybody with a black enameled rose pin on their lapel in through the delivery entrance, and the back room they're shown into doesn't look anything like a candy store. There's a small, dark bar in one corner, and in another corner six guys with strings and brass are making like they're the Duke Ellington orchestra. The floors are tiled parquet and a few couples are dancing, but most of the action's at the smoke-shrouded card tables where a dozen little private meetings are happening, gents and dames in pinstripes and fancy hats or beaded dresses and heels, but rarely both. There are card games and conversations going on, and who can say what's more high stakes? Tonight, this is the place to be, Bensonhurst outfit or Gravesend mob or anybody else who can pay the cover charge.

Comments

[conjecture_this]

A metaphor? Nagi's on the verge of saying something about it being a rather cruel metaphor then when the question about Persona-users catches her attention.

"... You can see her?"

The question comes out carefully, as if the teenager isn't sure she ought to mention it. Some of her shock is now quelled by the curiosity that rises. He doesn't precisely feel like a summoner but then nothing quite feels right here either.

She shakes her head carefully, "I'm am not acquainted with the idea of Persona."

Re: (9)

[mindoirsurvivor]

For a big man, Shepard moves quietly, the dark ceramic of his armor and his own natural caution at corners and intersections generally keeping him undetected as he sweeps through the area. In a darker space, the orange glow of his implants leaking through half-switched scars and thinned skin grafts might give him away, but in the eternal dusk outside. the illumination doesn't go far. He's conscious of it as he explores, the way he's been conscious of his body to an alarming degree since it was pieced back together. He imagines a cow would feel similarly if it knew it was made of beef jerky.

The flying silverware slows his exploration down, that's for sure. Shepard pauses by the spoons, debating for a moment - is this a natural phenomenon here, or is someone - yeah, okay, he sees him, and calls in without attempting the sterling obstacle course.

"Having a dinner party?"

[troublemancy]

Kell's no stranger to a body beyond human recognition, nor scars; his eyes flick over the differences he can see through the window, burning tin. He's silent, slowing down the pushes and pulls, but it takes only a few seconds for him to grin, widely. 'Looking to join in?'

[detectivewonder]

His eyes stay fixed on Pixie for a moment, hesitantly almost-smiling.

"Pixie, right?" He glances back at Nagi. "So... she's not a Persona, and she's usually invisible. I can think of at least two reasons I might be an exception to the rule, but it's... a long story."

10...ish?

[evolv]

So how's a fella supposed to get to a speakeasy like the Midnight Rose? In a cab, that's how. And the cab driver you've got this evening is one good looking guy named Armando.

So hop in, tell him where you're headed, and don't forget to tip.

Prompt #9

[pathofwisdom]

The mausoleums were devoid of bodies, instead, they were portals to the inside of some strange vehicle. The bodies that should have been in them were inside odd metal and glass containers. Malthael was more interested in those, and the animals, dead, but still behaving as they did in life. Angel, Demon, and Mortal, all had the power to make the dead rise, but none of them in a manner such as this.

The magic that animated them was not his, nor was it demonic or mortal. Quite interesting. The other travelers were left to their own devices. They were of far less interest to him than the dead that lingered in this place.

[eldruin]

Although he was no stranger to the dead and dying nor the magically compelled movements of corpses (both fresh and those long since buried), Tyrael still found his tongue curling with obvious distaste at the sight of the animated animals, the sickly-sweet scent of decomposition that filled the air around them just as repugnant as their (somewhat) skeletal appearance. His expression was one of thinly veiled disgust – his stomach rolling unpleasantly the closer he came to the peculiar contraptions that littered the graveyard. He gagged more than once, his mortal senses overwhelmed by the stink of rotting flesh, but curiosity drove him further into the graveyard – he'd seen Malthael disappear into it sometime earlier and the strange noises from various animals were unlike anything he'd ever heard.

Not to mention any time the dead started walking (never mind skittering around as though they were still alive) it generally meant trouble.

With a barely suppressed cough heralding his arrival, Tyrael stopped some distance behind Malthael, the angel's form difficult to pick out amidst the growing shadows. It'd taken some time to find him, the graveyard far larger than he had expected (and nausea forcing him to pause a number of times until his senses calmed).

"Malthael," he called unnecessarily (for undoubtedly his brother was well aware of his arrival already). The obvious question of 'What are you doing here?' was left unstated, the former archangel instead asked, "Have you found the source of this?" He gestured towards the grisly wildlife.

[pathofwisdom]

"Tyrael." Malthael said, moving over to examine another set of corpses. Their souls did not longer, so there was nothing for him to learn that way. He had no interest in lingering longer than necessary. What was more interesting than anything else was the general lack of malevolence in the movement of the undead. They did not attack, or guard a spot, or wait for the command of a necromancer. They went on as though they were alive.

"Not yet." He spent a moment examining the corpses; their advanced state of decay did not affect him as it did his mortal brother.

"It is... odd."

[eldruin]

Although the magic woven into the very fabric of this bizarre reality (or illusion of reality, whatever the case may be) was unlike anything he had ever encountered, Tyrael's eyebrows still shot up at the answer even if it had been one he'd more or less expected. Angels, for all their age and knowledge, were not omnificent – even Wisdom would not always hold the answers (even if this one had currently embraced Death and would likely have a better understanding of the magics at work here).

"Very," he remarked. "Everything is strange here."

Almost as if to punctuate the sentence, a harsh whistle echoed throughout the graveyard as a cricket rubbed its wings together a short distance from where Tyrael stood. Had it not been for the persistent whistles and nigh deafening horns echoing throughout the evening air, the angel might have jumped out of his skin. As it were, he grimaced at the noise and hid his flinch by crossing and uncrossing his arms over his chest, the creak of his armor barely audible over the cacophony of the birds and insects.

"Have you looked inside the coffins yet?"

[sklent]

The tip gets paid before the meter even has a chance to run, the redheaded woman in the back raising her eyebrows at him slightly, ignoring the $20 she just put down on the front passenger's seat.

"I'm looking for the Midnight Rose. Do you know it?"

liminal space; prose or spam welcome

[sklent]

No one is investigating the trains full of bodies so of course that is what Natasha does first, a sweep to ensure that there's no one alive suffocating under all of that, and then a slower, closer examination of the bodies to sort out just how they died.

The animals making train noises are just as strange, but strange seems to be the way things are done here. Natasha moves a body aside just to find that same corpse has wiggled it's way further into the pile. Without any literal wiggling that Natasha notices. At this point that might be preferable over what seems to be going on; the bodies were moved to make room for the train cars in the mausoleums, and while there is nothing directly pointing to anything more than poor judgement and other bizarre circumstances, Natasha keeps on edge.

Even when she finally chooses a train compartment to settle herself into, feet on the cushioned seat across from her. Natasha alternates between watching the various scenes roll by in the windows and glancing at the doorway in the direction of whomever you are, yes, you may as well come in.

[gitanes]

[Lila would prefer to stay in the graveyard. Even she can't say why; it's foul and macabre and frankly tasteless, but in its way death is a comfort to her. She watches the panorama with a dispassionate eye, wondering who this place belongs to and why they've decorated it the way they did.]

[Eventually she steps into the mausoleum nearest her and seems utterly unsurprised to end up in a train car, her eyes darting back and forth once or twice before she acquiesces to the strange glamour of it all. She pushes her way into the train car and settles next to Natasha's feet on the opposite seat, giving her a steady, almost challenging look.]

[sklent]

[ Natasha doesn't move her legs, choosing instead to stare at this newcomer for a long moment before giving a simple shrug. ]

They moved all the bodies out, just for us it would seem. Convenient.

Is this always here?

[gitanes]

I've never seen it before.

[She gives Natasha a level look, then looks out the window at the moving lights.]

Maybe it's always here. Do you know where here is? [A challenge, but a real question too. She doesn't know.]

[sklent]

Mm. [ A frown that is less frowning and more her features going still as her eyes narrow back out at the landscapes. ]

I don't think it's real. The bodies repeated themselves and wouldn't stay put.

[gitanes]

A limited loop?

[She supposes it's possible. In liminal space, anything is possible. But she still feels all these places come from somewhere else. They're not random. They just seem random on the surface.]

It's an interesting theory, from a Fool. [Another little challenge. Not that Lila is a veteran, but she's more of one than Natasha is.]

[sklent]

Only so much information from wherever all this comes in. [ She gestures at the window. ] May all be the same realities from different points, or different realities from the same point, it's hard to tell.

[ Calling her a Fool gets an eyebrow raise from Natasha. ] Is that what we're calling rookies these days? I prefer Natasha.

[gitanes]

[That's an interesting thought - a selection of different time points in the same world, arrayed before them like a gallery. Something to consider.]

[There is music playing out the window. She tilts her head to listen to it, though she never quite looks away from the woman in here with her.]

That's what the veterans call us. And themselves, actually. Very self-deprecating. Natasha? [There is a touch of familiarity in the way she speaks the name. She is third generation, but her family knows its roots better than most.]

Lila. Zacharov. [Natasha won't know her family, but Lila still wields their name like a snake wields its fangs.]

[sklent]

[ The talk of veterans gets a headtilt. ] Either self-deprecating or brutally honest. Perhaps I'll pin my hopes on the former. [ She says with all the tone of someone who has no plans on doing anything as foolish as pinning hopes on anything. ]

Romanoff. [ She nods at Lila's name, eyes closing for a moment. ] Any relation to Matvei Zakharov? You seem a little too young and a little too pretty for that. Do you still speak the language?

[gitanes]

[Lila snorts. Hope. What the hell's the use of hope? She suspects Natasha doesn't have any more idea than she does.]

Ivan. My father. And [the hint of a sneer] the lately departed Anton, although he never really made much of a mark.

[Because Lila didn't let him. The compliment she takes as her due; the question she answers with a pause and then rapid-fire, American-tinged Russian. She'd never be taken for a native, but she's not terrible, either.]

Enough to get by. Not enough to be as good as my grandfather.

[sklent]

[ Natasha gives Lila an arch sort of smile. She can hear the near threat in the girl's tone at the mention of Anton, brother, cousin, uncle, whatever. Dead is more the point and this one likely had a hand in it.

She likes her already. ]

But you have such a charming accent. [ Natasha finally pulls her legs down, allowing Lila more room. ] And it's good to know who speaks the language. You never know when English is less than desireable in a fight.

[pathofwisdom]

"Undeath for the sake of it. Not as a tool to fight for or against demons," Malthael paused only minutely to turn his hooded head in his brother's direction, "Or by accident."

It was as though death and life had collided in this place and now existed as a twisted mockery that was neither. Tyrael was more animated than usual (even with Malthael's recent frame of reference for Tyrael as a mortal), but his reactions were a side note in the study of something much more relevant.

"There are no bodies in them." Which wasn't directly an answer, and he had, in fact, not looked to see what was in them.

[gitanes]

[Smiling faintly and tucking her legs up when Natasha gives her space, Lila nods, satisfied. It's a small thing, but small things add up. She's not sure what she's competing for other than attention and good conversation, but she's one step closer to it, whatever it is.]

English is tactically undesirable in a lot of situations. Do you think it makes a difference here, among the dead?

[sklent]

There is a chance it does. So, we are cautious. [Natasha turns her attention towards one of the panoramas on display for them, crossing one leg over the other and resting her hands at her knee.

Tell me, Lila: what makes you dangerous?

[gitanes]

Dangerous?

[She repeats the word not because she's uncertain of its meaning or its place in the conversation, but because there are so many ways she's dangerous, it's hard to think of one to start with. She is strong, not physically but psychologically; she has weapons at her disposal. In one place, she has the weight of numbers behind her, and wherever she goes, she can bend men to her will.]

[She wants to say everything. In the end, what she says is:] My mind.