synodiporia_ooc | Test Drive #16

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Test Drive #16

Welcome to the Synodiporia Test Drive Meme! Below the cuts there are two new prompts, and here are the prompts from previous test-drives, which you’re still welcome to use in this post. 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! OCs are especially welcome! Please take a quick look at our Directory & familiarize yourself with the concept and setting of the game before you jump in.

Our upcoming app round runs October 25th–November 1st, but for once we’re breaking with tradition and instead of an upcoming Jaunt, we have a special, upcoming, multi-week Liminal Space event called Welcome to the World Series, which heralds the end of Phase Two and the start of Phase Three of the game of Synodiporia. Having chosen their Champions in Phase Two, the mysterious entities known as the Trumps are divvying up the rest of the Travelers--and in Phase Three they’re playing for keeps.

Prompt #43 is set in an agricultural-themed liminal space—with a bit of fabrics and crafts thrown in.

Prompt #44 is set in the dreaming realm known as Questing Country. Here, with the aid of their Animal Companions, young lucid dreamers from a variety of species (crystalline Hecatites, long-lived Elves, aquatic Vodyanoi, bone-spurred and four-armed Spartoi, scaled Gorgons with their petrifying abilities and tentacled hair, and your bog-standard humans) fight together as Champions against the monsters that arise from the collective unconscious of their species… for now, anyway. At least until they grow up, burn out, or go wrong.

Prompt #43

Right now, Liminal Space is a patchwork of farmland--a literal patchwork, as the ground under the Travelers’ feet is printed fabric, sewn together as if it were a quilt. One patch has a field of lettuce, another a printed field of corn and so on and so forth. Just about every crop is represented in quilted form, including ones that aren’t exactly… standard. Or legal.

Crocheted farm animals roam atop the fields, making needle-clicking sounds whenever they open their mouths, beaks, and snouts. Here and there lie irons, face down, luckily not at all hot. If you climb on top of one, it should be possible to ride it around like a tractor.

As for the farmhouse, barn, and silo? Travelers might be able to see the plush shape of them on the horizon, but no matter how long they travel in that direction, they’ll never get any closer.

Prompt #44

Whether Fire Mushrooms from Nuclear Winter, Men-in-Black from Conspiracy Country, Plague Vectors from the Softened Caverns, Horned Masters from the Stealing Ships, or any of the manifold Nightmares that haunt Questing Country and cause it to summon its Champions, there is one thing all these enemies have in common: they arise from the fears and worries of their world.

Some of these Nightmares are seasonal.

It’s Exam Season again on Hecate, the annual time during its longer-than-Earth year when the young people of that planet take the tests that will determine both their future careers and their very right to be regarded as adults in Hecatite society--as well as the annual practice exams to ready them for it. To be young and Hecatite during Exam Season is to be in a very stressful situation, no matter your capabilities. So much is riding on the results.

So it’s really not surprising that the twenty-foot-tall Test Proctors from the Hallowed Halls of Education positively swarm from the time that the tests begin until the day the results are posted. The Proctors work to corner any young person they can find, essaying volley after volley of exam questions at them until they fail or give up or attack the Proctor--and that’s when the Proctors get nasty.

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The hardness ebbed from his eyes. He glanced at Shaun, his hair, clothes, the way he presented himself. Twenty-first century. Western. British accent, though Altaïr was not familiar enough with the language to tell where exactly in Britain. Educated.

...In theory, preferred dying to being a slave. Interesting.

"Britain in the twenty-first century by the Christian calendar, Al-Sham in what my American friends keep calling 'the Middle Ages,' the new continent, Nippon, Italia, Terre d'Ange... the heavens," he finished with an inadequate description of the interstellar world of Liara and Riddick. "There are enough prisoners to populate a town, and we hail from many different lands. And times."

To give him credit, Shaun's still trying to figure out what trinket the First Civilization left that the Templars got a hold of to make this prison. So death would be better than being controlled by them. Give him a few moments to catch up.

He gave a curious look at 'heavens', from his companion's standpoint anything not on the ground would fit that. "Like a space station? Or a far land?" Shaun was trying not to talk down to the other man at least he hoped he didn't sound condescending. Though he was getting the point, Templars probably had NOTHING to do with this. "and here I thought Desmond portray Alice... he may have been the white rabbit." He had a feeling that quip might go over the man's head, but right now, he really felt like Alice and there was no way to turn back. "Though, maybe the yellow brick road is a more fitting analogy?" He tapped the 'road' with his foot, which was a slight yellowish color.

A little on the nose there, Shaun, particularly since a certain green-faced witch happened to be one of the prisoners here...

"If you are going to mutter about stories from your time, at least have the manners to explain them." But he was not stopping for literary anecdotes. He continued, "Space... It was a space ship. With... engines." He clearly had trouble remembering phrases that were strange modern parlance, using familiar words in unfamiliar ways to mean completely different things. "No doubt it was named for the Duché de Normandie, or someone from there." Mucking about with foreign languages was more his thing, and he latched onto the familiar tones of Old French in the midst of engines and interstellar travel.

Suddenly his head canted towards Shaun, and he fixed him with an intent stare. He asked, very seriously, though the quickness of his words might betray his interest, "Have you been in those metal birds?"

Shaun face palmed. "Right, sorry about that. They're two stories about girls that get dragged into other realities, one goes through a rabbit hole, the other is in a house that drops on a wicked witch." Well, it's the most basic start of the stories.

Hearing the term spaceship he nods. Normandy, why would anyone name a ship after a battlefield? He kept the thought to himself, catching the man's demeanor.

"Metal birds..." He had to think a second. "You mean airplane? Yes." Shaun had a feeling he'd just kicked open a floodgate, breaking the mechanism to close it again oops.

He could have just mentioned Persephone. Everyone knows that one.

Shaun was fortunate that Altaïr was already familiar with the vague sketches of twenty-first century life, or he would have asked about everything. He knew that planes existed, that there was a new continent, that people could talk to each other instantly through handheld glowing tiles, and that chocolate was about the most delicious dessert in existence.

His eyes glittered with barely-contained excitement. Ah yes, perfect, he decided he wanted to ask as many plane-riders as possible about their experience. Crowd-sourcing firsthand accounts was his preferred way of gathering travel information.

"Describe to me," he spoke slowly, eyes fixed on him, "what it feels like when it takes off..." He lifted his calloused fingers in a vague flapping gesture.

Shaun's not so sure about the chocolate thing, at least American chocolate... They put potato crisps in chocolate after all. Though American food... is imaginative at best.

And Shaun caught that look, he smiled a little at it and pushed his glasses up a little. "Take offs, well, have you ever skipped a stone across water?" He was going somewhere with this really!

Brownies, Shaun. Chocolate brownies.

"I have not."

He'd thrown knives, ridden horses, and jumped off towers, but he had never bothered learning to throw rocks at water. Climbing on things had been his main childhood pastime.

"Is it really that bumpy? Like an uneven road?"

Only if there's the special ingredient: extra chocolate!

The poor misspent youth, Shaun frowns a moment, that analogy won't work

"The take off can be that bumpy, you have to get to the right speed for there to be enough lift to get the plane off the ground. Landings are just as bad, but once you're up it's pretty smooth."

Bad was not a word he would use to describe flying, unless of course one was pushed off a tower against their will... It said something about Altaïr, and his youth, that this would be his thought.

"Alright, but—" He frowned, trying to find the right question, "How does it feel? To be flying hundreds of feet in the air? I know there are windows... What do you see when you look out of them? What do—" here he huffed a short breath of incredulous laughter, "What do the other birds think of this metal machine flying with them?"

It was his habit to pepper someone with one question after another, especially about things he cared about. Ever since he first heard of airplanes, they had captured his imagination, and he pursued the subject with a dogged single-mindedness.

And this was not the Altair that Shaun had imagined when Desmond had talked about him, to be honest, Shaun was enjoying this one more.

Thinking a moment he was trying to use simple terms just to prevent confusing the man. "Ever get stuck in a small space with about a hundred other people that don't care about your personal bubble?" And he wanted to face palm at that, since he had watched Desmond go through a crowded street like it was water after learning from Ezio through the Animus... He shook his head a moment instead. "As for birds, I think they're glad they're not sucked up into the engines. Planes are really loud. Pretty sure they scare them. Though once you're in the air high enough, you can see the tops of the clouds. It's like candy floss." He wasn't sure if he'd get that reference, but there really wasn't anything else he could think of as a comparison. Wool just wasn't soft enough. "Or spiderwebs," That had to work right?

Even feared Mentors of Assassins had to have a few strange quirks. His face fell a little when Shaun started complaining about the cramped quarters. Of course it was cramped, so was traveling on a wagon! Shaun must be spoiled. Altaïr had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. These twenty-first century people with their talking tiles, horseless carriages, and moving internet cats...

His eyes glazed as he stared dreamily into the distance, trying to imagine silken, webbed clouds. Sometimes, when the weather was right in the mountains, Masyaf could be of a height with low-hanging clouds. And the air, it must be that much cooler and clearer than anything he'd seen. Incredible.

"Of course they would feel like nothing, like fog, but they do look like bunches of cotton and silk hairs, don't they... Forgive me," he said, mind returning to the ground. "I have yet to fly on one."

You'd think he would have learned that lesson with William. Though it was a little hard to get him in a joking mood.

Shaun watched the man a moment, there were things that would get him into that childlike wonder. Most of the time it was some little tidbit of another time, one of the things that his co-workers probably would say was his most annoying trait if asked.

He shook his head amused. "It's quite alright. I'm Shaun by the way." Hey someone remembered manners!

Altaïr remembered his manners, mostly when blending in, but he did not give his name so easily here. Ever since he found out that a Traveler could gain the ability to track down another with just their name, he did not introduce himself quite as much. Privacy was a precious commodity, even if he wasn't an Assassin. Right now, though, it would be unwise not to give his name.

"Altaïr. So, Shaun, what would you like to know first? Who is running this game, where we will go, or who we will be?"

The flight of fancy ended, it was back to business for the disciplined Assassin.

If Shaun knew that he wouldn't have given his name, but hey, wouldn't be the first time he's fumbled into something he didn't understand. It's just how you deal with the situation right?

"And back to believing this is some bad drug trip." He mused, mostly under his breath. "Where would be the best place to start?" More information he had on the situation better he'd be prepared, and if Altair was anything like what Desmond had said despite the flight fascination, Shaun knew it would be better to keep on his good side.

Only because he knew he really was more of support than someone who should be on the front lines.

The best place to start, of course, was where one could get a bird's eye view. It was how he started every mission upon arriving in a city.

"At times, we are taken from this holding area called Liminal Space into other lands as pawns in a game. The objectives given to us are always different, and greatly obscured. You need not concern yourself with them unless you wish to curry the favor of our gaolers. To survive in these lands, we must pass as natives or plausible foreigners. Your, um... seeing lenses, how necessary are they?"

Shaun would agree, as long as it wasn't from the top of a building, though hacking into spy satellites usually wasn't a bad place to start. Something told him though, this place lacked that, the internet or even decent TV to use as white static. He would miss some of those late night shows he didn't really watch on the History channel.

"And yeah, this sounds worse than dealing with Templar." He ran a hand through his hair a moment, casting Altair a look when asked about his glasses.

"They're needed. I can see shapes without them, but not detail." He thought a moment. "I'm guessing glasses aren't common in most places here?" Back home there was a procedure he could have gotten to fix it, but he had spent so much of his life with glasses, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to get rid of them.

A hard look stole into his eyes at the mention of Templars, but he was quite literally sworn to secrecy about that war behind wars.

"Yes, the Knights Templar are in my land, making it even more of a mess along with all the other Crusader factions... As for the lands visited on what are called 'Jaunts,' they vary. The last world's 'glasses' would have been more antiquated than yours, if they existed. The Jaunt before that, they were common enough, but again, the designs were before your time. The Jaunt before that, my first one, was in twenty-first century Britain.

"I am sorry," his spare, no-nonsense tone gave way to a quiet empathy. "Perhaps we will return to that world someday." Homesickness hit Travelers sometimes, even tough ones like Altaïr, who was used to maintaining a stoic image.

Edited 2017-01-26 06:58 (UTC)

Shaun hadn't thought he had said that out loud, though with it just being the two of them there, he had a feeling it was somewhat safe.

"They're still around in my time." He'd leave information of the Assassins for later. Though he did pay attention to the rest of what Altair said. "If it comes to it I can put them in my pocket at least."

"About what? It's not a perhaps." Okay, there's a bit of bravado there, but he needs to get back. He needs to know that Rebecca's okay at least, he'd be fine with the rest of the world going to shit as long as she was alive. He wasn't going to lose her, not after Lucy, and Desmond.

"It could be a very long time," he amended. "There are Travelers who have been here for years."

With the way his eyes kept glancing around, it appeared as if he was worried about invisible eavesdroppers or bad spirits. He was not going to rule out that the Arcana were capable of being both. Once, they had posted photos of key moments in past Jaunts, though they had not appeared to be there at the time. And the Emperor had claimed they could appear in Liminal Space at will. That worried Altaïr more than anything else. He did not want to talk of something so close to his secrets out here in the open, but he also wanted to ask Shaun more about the Templars.

"I should show you some of our records. Travelers come and go, so they are sparse and incomplete, but I think you will find what we have of interest. There are published books as well, including some I have read back home. This library is in a collection of rooms we call the Workshop. The man who built them disappeared" —his eyes flicked down and away— "but his work remains."

Well, that didn't sound good. Shaun made a face at the news. He'd get back, he had to...

"If it gets us out of the open, sure." He had noted how Altair was glancing around. The enemy might not be what he's used to, but standing at the side of a country road, was a bit too exposed for his liking.

He also noted the slight pause there. "A good friend?" He only asked because he was curious. "Unless you don't want to talk about it."

He responded to Shaun's inquiries like he did to Assassin informants who pried too much: with silence.

Unlike the distant barn, which stayed frustratingly right where it was, the ornate, wooden door to the Workshop drew closer and closer. It stood with no apparent building or wall to be an entrance to, though Altaïr approached it as he would any other door. Someone with an eye for historical architecture might recognize the stylizations of the Renaissance. Altaïr opened it with ease; the door was not locked.

The large, open room was lit very differently than the "light" of Liminal Space, suggesting that the Tuscan rays filtering in through the windows were fake. Immediately, bookshelves greeted them, though this was more an area for projects than the library he'd mentioned, as suggested by the tables and chairs. Art was attached all over one wall, a variety made by Travelers, including some sketches in a very familiar drawing style, very lifelike and filled with curved lines that explored anatomy and gesture with a careful but enthusiastic brilliance.

He turned and entered the library, a tower with a ramp spiraling upwards. He stopped and cast a long, intent look around, though he did not seem to be searching for a book. The books were sorted by general subject, then by era, Classical Antiquity to modern times. The first level was dedicated to general humanities and a small children's section.

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Test Drive #16

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help this weirdo's cornered me about airplanes, save me

Aw it's cute though.

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im just making up how the door is positioned since i dont actually know how this setting works