vivalaooc | Test Drive Meme #1

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Test Drive Meme #1

TEST DRIVE #1

The day begins as any other, you’re going about your day, living your life, when, without warning, you feel the world around you shift on its axis. You feel a great tear, welling from the depths of your soul as you are ripped from all you have known. If you’re lucky, you arrive in the wilderness of an unfamiliar world, where the language is foreign and the people are hostile. To make your escape, you must learn some language, flee, and occasionally fight, all to find your way off the floating isles you find yourself on and to the great ocean below, where rebel forces will welcome you.

If you’re unlucky, you materialize within a room full of armed guards and are quickly subdued with charged nets, stripped of your belongings, fitted with strange devices that suppress your powers and pressed into servitude. Your days are unimaginable pain and toil.

Fortunately, even in this world, there is still hope. For the denizens of this world have not given up. And it is for that dream of salvation that the Crimson Corsairs raise their flags and sail - for liberation. Perhaps you are one who has lived their entire life under the oppressive yoke of the Empire. Perhaps you have seen first hand your family and friends cut down by nobles hunting men for sport, or perhaps you have run afoul with the church and barely escaped with your life. No matter your origin, the Corsairs sail for you, for your freedom, for your life. And today, a taste of freedom will be won for all.

ARRIVAL/LIBERATION
This month, the Crimson Corsairs raided a Larendt labor camp in order to obtain much-needed parts and textiles as well as liberate another batch of servants for the cause. The raid was executed under the cover of night, with one team sweeping the dormitories and gathering as many servants as they could while the other team hit factories as they could, focusing on taking important items like ship parts and clothing, loading them into prepared trams and fleeing before the guard could mobilize. The operation, thankfully, went off without a hitch, and the Corsairs were able to usher a number of servants into their waiting ships.

As dawn breaks, the raiding fleet docks at Flotsam as the city-fleet begins the long journey away from the continent before a retaliation fleet can be mobilized. The former servants are finally let above deck. The sun is beating down hard on them, its brilliance marking their first step into freedom.

Corsairs on the fleet will have a lot to do - the new arrivals will need to be sorted, clothed, and fed. Many are emaciated from the conditions in the labor camp, and the former servants will be immediately ushered to a mess hall for their first meal as free folk. Corsairs will be needed to organize the movement, prepare and serve the food, and also just sit with them and talk to them, helping them adjust and filling them in on the situation.

Former servants will have found the entire process exhausting to say the least. They were awoken in the dead of night by heavily armed people quickly moving through, shattering their chains and ushering them into ships. The entire night was spent sailing, and while the hull is dark it is crowded and difficult to sleep in. Finally, upon arrival they are ushered into a meal hall and served a humble meal - but a meal that far exceeds anything that was ever served at the servant’s table. What is known is that they are now free.

MEANWHILE IN THE WATERLOGGED ROW…

With another successful mission under their belt and their duties more or less complete, the triumphant Corsairs observe a time-honored tradition: heading to the Waterlogged Row and getting absolutely shitfaced on awful grog.

The mood is jubilant and self-congratulatory, with drinking songs ringing out across Flotsam. In consideration to other residents, the Row is currently moored a good distance from the residential areas to keep the celebrations from disturbing what little peace there is in the chaotic town that is Flotsam. But for those who participated in the mission, tonight is about celebration. Singing, storytelling, socializing, this is the glue that holds the operations team together. And as the Crimson Corsairs do not officially recognize a drinking age, everyone is welcome! Even if they probably shouldn’t be!

New arrivals are, of course, not at all restricted so those who finish their meal and go exploring will quickly find the Row, as well as many Corsairs eager to buy them a pint to toast their newfound freedom.

MAKING THE GOOD STUFF

Elysium often serves as the crux of Corsair operations, and the next operation is no different. While the operations team is carousing and toasting their success, the planning team is hard at work preparing for the next mission.

The order of the day is gathering, which has brought the team to the forests outside of Elysium. In the coming month, Elysium will host a lavish party for the guards of a certain continent, and it is the duty of the gatherers to ensure that any drink served is “enhanced”, with such potency that they won’t be in any position to do their duty when the raiders strike.

Any herbology specialists will be absolutely vital for this operation. While the Corsairs have some documents and know, generally, what they’re looking for, there are a wide variety of things that grow within the forest, many of which can be quite dangerous.

Those new to gathering will really need to watch their step. Elysium is rich in hallucinogens, and a whiff of the wrong flower or mushroom could leave them contemplating their navel for the next hour. Tasting is out of the question, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them right? After all, the Elysium workers spend a lot of time eradicating poisoned growths to keep wandering nobles safe so anything they find can’t be THAT bad. Right?

And of course, for experienced foragers, they will find an entirely new duty thrust upon them - keeping the newbies in line. Really, how can they expect anything productive to be done when they send a bunch of green recruits into a forest full of hallucinogens?

EDUCATION AS THE BOMBS FALL

New Corsairs almost always find themselves in the Vault. Nestled in the earth and subject to the constant pounding of munitions overhead, the Vault is the repository of knowledge for the Crimson Corsairs and the place where new inductees are educated. Language instruction, education on the world and its people, writing, reading, arithmetic, just about any kind of learning can be done in the Vault’s halls.

Notable about the Vault’s education is how deeply tied it is to the Crimson Corsair’s broader philosophy - everyone’s unique talents and insight have value. As such, Corsairs are often called to the Vault to share their specialized expertise. While many Corsairs do choose to become full-time teachers, any Corsair can come and teach a class.

For the new Corsairs, now is a time to learn and train, acclimate themselves to their situation and figure out where they want to go from here. For established Corsairs, this is an opportunity to meet the new recruits and help train them so they can help with the cause. Those who might be students today will be comrades standing at your side tomorrow, so teach them well.

DANGER AT SEA

As the most mobile of the Corsair’s settlements and the only obvious Imperial target, Flotsam is well equipped to deal with any number of dangers. One such danger is the enormous sea monsters who dwell within the Eternal Ocean. While many are not too keen to tangle with such a large fleet, occasionally a monster will become angry or territorial enough to try to attack the fleet.

And it is for that reason that the Corsairs now find themselves battling a massive sea serpent that has stretched itself across the western edge of the fleet. New Corsairs aren’t expected to assist in this battle, but as the sinking of Flotsam would be VERY BAD for those who are currently trying to live on it, many will jump in anyway, especially as they should have been issued weapons. As to established Corsairs, well, you know the drill by now. Monster bad, try to sink ship, let’s convince it that there are easier marks than the pride of the Corsair fleet.

Some Corsairs will need to man the cannons to blow it away, but many will get up close and personal, jumping into melee range to drive it away from the ships and mitigate as much damage as they can. Others still will provide support from the back with magic or ranged weaponry, and still others will need to weave their way in between the battle to carry out wounded Corsairs for medical attention. Whatever your specialty, your city needs you. Best get to work.

WILDCARD

Have an idea for your own prompt? Feel free to make any prompt that you think would fit!

OOC
Welcome to the first Test-Drive Meme for Viva La! All threads here may be considered canon once characters have entered the game. Threads here are eligible for use as a roleplay sample for applications, which will open on the 15th of June at midnight.

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Ask any questions here!

[[OOC: Don't sweat trying to figure out Preme's pronouns; any set is fine.]]

- Liberation -

[ For Preme, imperial slavery was a unique experience. It was the first time it had ever experienced weakness.

While its first reaction was anger and hatred against this 'Empire', but it pushed back against that reflex. Those girls were fragile and weak before; was that somehow the key to their power? If nothing else, this could be a chance to test a few theories. For now, it just had to survive.

After three weeks of brutal toil, Preme had a pretty solid grasp of the local language. Weakness and suffering had so far failed to provide any useful insights, other than that she wanted to become powerful again as soon as possible. Learning from the foundation was a solid concept, but there had to be a better foundation than this work camp. Was there any way she could escape? In this wretched state, she couldn't even break metal chains. The overpowering weakness of unmodified humans surpassed all expectations.

Then, suddenly, a new faction arrived, breaking their chains and ushering them away to a new place. The piercing brightness of an unfamiliar sun. Apparently they were 'free' now.

Preme stares down at the bread on their plate. What was it that one of those humans had said? It had sounded asinine at the time, but eating real food after weeks of being half-starved, they felt... something. It wasn't a smile, but the same experience of eating ordinary food seemed to carry a different meaning now. ]

What was it? "Food is happiness"...?

[ They mutter softly between bites, as if unconvinced of their own words. ]

- Waterlogged Row -

[ Wandering the area at random after being liberated, Preme has come across the apparently-infamous Waterlogged Row. The spirit of good cheer sets of unpleasant memories, but before she thinks to leave, someone's shoved a drink into her hands, and the next thing she knows, she's surrounded by jubilant chaos. Maybe this is something else that she needs to understand.

So, near the edge of the revelries is a... girl? Honestly it's hard to pin their gender down at a glance, but they couldn't be more than 16. They don't look like they belong at all, staring blankly into the happy crowd as if it's full of aliens. Which, in a sense, it is.

Should he catch anyone looking his way, he raises the mug of grog and asks, ]

What is this?

- Education -

[ This one actually draws Preme's attention. Education? That's exactly what he was looking for. He needs information, and if anyone's going to provide anything useful, it'll be here.

However, they don't get far into the first lecture - one about the Crimson Corsair philosophy of cherishing all talents and insights - before speaking up. This seems like an important idea, and it's worth properly understanding it. ]

That can't be true, can it? If there are multiple people providing the same function, one of them must be superior to the others. What value is there from learning from inferior talents?

Liberation

The big man has been quietly and efficiently working since he arrived at the camp a few weeks previous. He doesn't talk much, but he watches. Watches the guards, watches the other prisoners. When the Corsairs come to the camp, he's not asleep. Fortunately, one one would-be liberator gets picked up by the neck one-handed and tossed against the wall before the others manage to tell him they're here to rescue him and the others. He lets himself be led with no complaint after that.

(A few cracked ribs for the Corsair, but nothing too serious.)

In the hold, he tries to make as much room as he can, and he watches. He doesn't make conversation unless approached.

It's not until they're all back at Flotsom and a meal is kindly, if unnecessarily, being put in front of him, that he says anything of his own volition, in only slightly-accented Imperial.

"This is unnecessary. I do not require sustenance to function."

Danger At Sea

The T-800 understands how it came to be here, and what it needs to do to return home to its original mission. It has decided that working with this resistance is the most efficient way of doing this, so for now it counts itself as a member of the Crimson Corsairs. Which means when the sea monster attacks, it leaps into the fray.

Its directive to not take any human life does not apply to this creature, but lacking weapons, it makes do with its own strength, leaping into the fray to attack the parts of it attacking the ships directly.

It may also find someone wounded, or in need of rescue. Though this is not part of its mission directives, it has extrapolated that the protection of human life would fall under the parameters set by John in 1997, and reacts accordingly, offering a hand to help you up, and a single reassurance.

"Come with me if you want to live."

Patrol

Since it requires no sleep, and since the danger of attack, from the Empire or elsewhere has been proven, when night falls, the T-800 patrols the decks of Flotsom, scanning the horizon for potential dangers. It does not ask for company, but does not object to anyone joining it if they so choose. However, it does feel the need to give a reminder.

"I will be patrolling until dawn. Sleep is a human necessity, and it would be tactically-unsound for you to ignore it. Get some when it becomes necessary." A beat. "Please."

It is, in fact, learning already.

-1: The Good Stuff-

Ziel, lost in a world that wasn't his own, sat down and stared at a fern.

Had he ever really considered a fern before? It was a fern more than anything else could possibly be a fern. It existed in a whole world of being a fern that he could never imagine. There was an infinite amount of subtleties and texture to being a fern that he had never considered before this moment. What must it be like, he wondered, to be a fern? To think fern-y thoughts and see the world from a fern's viewpoint? Ziel was suddenly struck by an incomprehensible feeling of the vastness of difference between his own perception of the universe and that of the fern's.

Ziel explored an infinite world of alien viewpoints in an internal world he could scarcely comprehend, while in the real world he sat on the ground and stared at a fern for twenty minutes without moving. Those spores had REALLY done a number to him.

-2: Waterlogged Row-

Ziel had hoped for a quiet drink and instead found a tavern full of drunken hooligans. He settled for a quiet corner that he hoped no one would bother him in while he slowly dissolved his brain in alcohol.

Unfortunately, nature called before he got more than mildly buzzed. As he returned from the facilities to his seat, Ziel bumped into someone. He muttered "Sorry."

Bumping into Ziel is like bumping into a cargo ship. He has a sense of inevitability and mass about him that's hard to overcome. He's a big guy, but even beyond that you're as likely to knock him over as you are to knock over an iron post set in cement. More likely (especially if you've been drinking a bit) he just sent you tumbling onto your ass.

-3: Danger at Sea-

Ziel sat, staring at the horizon and trying not to feel sick to his stomach. He felt the best when his feet were on solid ground, not on the pitching deck of a ship. Pitching more than usual, perhaps...

When the sea serpent appeared, Ziel sunk deeper into his spot and thought that explains all the rocking. He was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of hurting. Tired of being tired. Someone else could deal with this. There were plenty of other fighters in Flotsam and they didn't need that and why was he suddenly feeling so wet?

Ziel realized, after the fact, that he had just instinctively leapt to his feet to bring his massive warhammer around in a brutal swing that had stopped a loop of sea serpent from knocking someone off the deck of the ship while also sending a spray of blood from ruptured scales in a circle around the point of impact.

Immediately, his muscles screamed in agony. Ether flowed through him to reinforce his body, but that also caused flows of agony, like his blood had been replaced with a sea of glass splinters. Despite the agony, Ziel felt good about it, for a moment.

Huh.

Apparently he wasn't QUITE ready to just roll over and let someone else die quite yet.

"Are you alright?"

-999: Wildcard-

Or make up your own prompt for a depressed, disabled monster hunter!

Edited 2024-06-01 04:57 (UTC)

Not Partying
[The only reason he's in Flotsam was because it was a convenient travel point to get a few things that he can't forage or make himself. There's clearly some kind of celebration... and he hates it, too loud, too crowded, hard to listen to anything. After finishing his drink at the bar, he pushes his way out - a distinctive small, green blob among a mess of tall-folks]

Ah... That was a little too much people for one night.

[Snufkin wandered towards the shore, picking up a score when jumping over some driftwood, and a few notes from the ever-present seabirds, and the crashing of the waves against the sand, there's the tempo he needed. With that, he removes a harmonica, playing something quietly moody with a thread of cautious hope for something exciting around the corner.]

Mushroom Hunting

[Snufkin sighs as he can see they're roping in the new people in foraging. Well, someone has to make sure things do not go too badly for them. As he meanders in the green, having slipped away before he officially got roped into helping, but he couldn't quite ignore things]

Careful with those, they'll be useful for what the Corsairs want, but you must not get them wet.

Sea Monsters ate my bait :(

[There's people battling bravely against monsters, there are those who are sheltering in place, and then there are those running around in a sheer panic.

Then there's this guy, strolling to one of the calmer spots in the water as far as one can feasibly get, and starts to bait the hook of a fishing pole... surely he isn't fishing now of all times, is he?]

Wildcard
[Anything else, Snufkin can be found essentially roaming anywhere. hit me up at

RShini]

Edited 2024-06-01 04:44 (UTC)

Waterlogged
Donnie knows better than to join in on the heavy imbibing. He'd made the mistake of trying a drink once and it had not agreed with him in the least. He's been here long enough that he knows how it all goes, and while he's not particularly one for this sort of celebrating, or at least being in the middle of it, the turtle beastkin is fine with hanging about at its fringes or just outside of where the drunken revelry occurs.

Come bother him if you dare! He likes listening to the singing and the stories, the scattered bits of conversation, but he shies away from people when they get chummy, and he's learned that they get especially so when they're a few mugs of grog in. Togetherness, bleecch. That on top of grog-breath? Double blech!

The Good Stuff
This might not seem like a mission one would find the young engineer but when there are plants involved, Donnie is sure to take an interest. He's however a mixed bag of emotions as they set out, though he keeps most of it buried deep, surfacing only in the anxious tap of his feet or his fingers. He's always like this when they venture out to Innistis. It's a place he'd called home once.

The forests of Elysium are somewhat familiar territory for him. He remembers simpler days when he'd roam about exploring, collecting new and interesting plants to study. It's always been a hobby of his, outside of tinkering with machinery. He comes well-prepared too, especially given the specifics of the sorts of plants they're seeking. Maybe if you ask nicely, he might have a spare filtration mask for you.

"Ask before you touch anything," he'll warn whoever ends up stuck with him. Maybe he'll be a little more lenient if he thinks you're competent enough to know your way around the deceptive flora of the area. If not, don't be surprised if you find your way abruptly barred by the sudden flick and extension of his collapsible staff. He's not above smacking someone with it either so don't tempt him.

Edumacation
School may not be for everyone, but here's one teenager who absolutely loves it. In his opinion, it's by far the best thing about joining the Corsairs, and Donnie attends all his lessons with equal eagerness. He excels at arithmetic, and it's probably no surprise that he's picked up anything math and number-related faster than other subjects.

Reading and writing is what he works hardest to master. With free access to so many books and no one prepared to punish him for poking his nose where it doesn't belong, the only thing that frustrates him is that there are so many things to learn. Speaking a language is one thing, but understanding shapes made into those words and the sounds that go with them, how they change- there are so many little things! And that isn't even covering sentence structure and tenses! It also doesn't help that everything he'd like to read is very science-oriented.

One might come across him as he's picking his way through writing exercises or frowning over a history book, but he might welcome a distraction.

((OOC: Will match tag format/prefs!))

Edited 2024-06-01 04:50 (UTC)

The words 'do not require substance' catches his ears, causing the pirate to look up from his carefully picked at meal. A Machine man? Here? Harlock's good eye wanders to the conversation, and the rather flustered corsair trying to insist on giving the rather built stranger food.

"I don't think... he's trying to be..." Harlock pauses, fishing for the right word in the language. "Considerate. There are people in other... worlds that don't need to eat regular food." The man added, more as to reassure the corsair they don't need to waste their time insisting on the matter.

_{[ A woman dressed in the familiar togs of a fellow freed captive takes a seat across from them. Her airs are rather relaxed for the circumstance; a firm-set smile, dozey eyes and... ]}

Pardon me... Didn't that one go, "food is love, food is life?"

_{[ ...a soft, warm voice. ]}

...but I could be wrong. I haven't heard very many local proverbs.

The man(?) glances towards Harlock for a moment, then back to the Corsair. "Yes. My existing power cell will last for another one hundred and twenty years." It picks up the plate and hands it back to the Corsair. "Chill out." It assures them, using the slang John taught it for just this sort of occasion. "Please give this to someone else who requires it." It adds, before turning back to Harlock.

"Your assistance is appreciated. Human interactions are still somewhat new to me." Its job does not ordinarily require it to be social, beyond the very bare minimum.

[ MAKING THE GOOD STUFF P.1 ]

Seeing somebody about to do something stupid in the distance, Maomao shouted. "Hey, you! Don't even think about touching that unless you want your skin to turn purple for a week! It's not even close to what we're looking for!"

Gods, how did she wind up looking after other people? This was the worst! Some sort of devious torture, perhaps? All she wanted was to be left alone with her plants and her herbs, making powders and medicines and occasional poisons in peace. (Well, really, all medicines were poisons, in the wrong instance or with the wrong dosage.)

"And don't even think about gathering anything not on the list! Not unless I tell you to!"

[ MAKING THE GOOD STUFF P.2 ]

She grumbled a bit more to herself as she made her way over to a dead tree. Then she quickly glanced around, a maniacal glint in her eye and deranged grin on her face, before she leaned in, pulling back a piece of broken tree to reveal a plethora of mushrooms growing in a hollowed interior. "Ahuehueh... yes, these are growing nicely!" She quickly began gathering a number of the larger ones, shoving them into her own shirt instead of the gathering baskets everybody was using.

...She stopped only when she noticed she was being observed. She slowly shoved the wood piece back in place, disguising the opening and hiding her trove of mushrooms from view. "H-Hey, don't go getting any ideas," she said. "This is all for... the cause..."

[ EDUCATION AS THE BOMBS FALL ]

Why was Maomao doing this?

Oh, right, she was being forced to.

She let out a sigh as she got into the classroom. What was she teaching today - sex positions, poisons, or medicine? Well, she saw some guys in the class, so probably not the first one. Medicines and poisons, then. Or just one of them. Eh, she'd make do. She knew enough, she could wing it to work for both.

"Let's start with an easy opener today," she said, a bored tone in her voice. "Not all poisons, once ingested, can be treated with vomiting. Can anybody give a possible example of why?"

[ FLOWERING BEAUTY? ]

Maomao was delivering another batch of medicines to the brothel, The Vale of Flowers - contraceptives, mostly, but also a number of other useful medicines and a smattering of the general medicine that any place would need. Almost all of the girls inside knew her, giving her hugs if they knew her long enough or otherwise exchanging pleasantries.

The problem came upon leaving. She'd assumed, now being empty-handed and obviously leaving, that there'd be even less reason for people to pay her any attention. Unfortunately, she didn't account for Big And Drunk Guy.

It started innocently enough - for a brothel. Asking how much a night with her would cost. However, the issue was that he wouldn't, couldn't, or was too drunk to accept that she didn't work as a courtesan inside. And he was only becoming louder and more belligerent as Maomao kept turning him down.

She needs a rescue, please.

[ WILDCARD ]

Maomao is a 17-year-old apothecary in Elysium's red light district, as well a poison taster for a noble girl who is staying in the area.

She works as a provider with the Crimson Corsairs, providing both medicines and (mostly non-lethal) poisons. She also sometimes doubles as an infiltrator, since she is attached to a noble girl (who is also an infiltrator for the Crimson Corsairs.)

Once in a while, she hits up the Vault to teach other people about what she knows or, even more occasionally, to learn something new herself. She generally never visits Flotsam.

Hit her up wherever you may find her.

Edited 2024-06-01 05:12 (UTC)

So not human-born, some other species that converted? The question came through his mind, not quite hitting on the truth just yet due to his particular frame of references. Chill out, he understood as slang, but not one he is at all familiar with, though no surprise given everything that has happened to him plate.

"Humans can be confusing," The pirate mused before taking a few bites from his plate, chewing thoughtfully as he considers his options, as right now he can't afford to make more enemies, but he hardly had the best experience with mechanical lifeforms. "We don't always get along... but we are social by nature, for the most part."

[Well, thankfully he was already masked up when he saw the obvious situation of a man three sheets to the wind being too belligerent to accept the no. On the other hand, he has some rather uncomfortable shooting pains in his arm.

What wonderful timing. But he supposes given the man's state, he didn't need to be at his best, just quicker. From the shadows, the drunk would feel something sharp poking right at his back]

I believe the Lady told you to leave her alone, and I suggest you listen.

-1: Arrival/Liberation-

If she was going to help the Corsairs, healing the injured after a battle seemed like a pretty straight fowards way to do so. She wasn't a professional healer, but she knew a bit of healing magic and figured people would prefer a half trained medic to bleeding to death.

That was the theory, anyway.

In reality, as Marcille moved from patient to patient she found that people were starting to recoil from her offers of aid. Maybe it was because the people she HAD healed were now writhing on the ground in agony while groaning and shrieking about the pain. She figured it might be wise to reassure he next ~~victim~~ patient. Who happened to be you.

"Oh don't worry about them, it's just a bit of backlash to healing magic. It's natural for forcing the body back into it's natural shape to hurt a bit, just as it hurt to break it out of it's natural shape."

She held her hands out, an aura of friendly and entirely unintentional menace radiating outwards. "Anyway, where are you hurt? I'm not a healing specialist, but I know enough to get you back on your feet, at least! You still have both your feet, right?"

-2: Watterlogged Row-

Marcille was all about celebrating a victory with a good meal and maybe a glass of wine if she was feeling fancy.

Acknowledging that her current lodgings couldn't be expected to live up to her lodgings from when she lived in the empire, she was willing to put up with ale instead of wine, but she drew the line at seafood.

She poked at the lobster broiled in butter and garlic with a horrified look on her face. "There is NO way I'm eating this! Don't we have any real food?"

-3: Magic 101-

"Now, I don't know how magic worked where you came from, but you won't make much progress without understanding the fundamental principles of how it works here on Esthere. Don't worry, it's not too complicated..."

Some time later, Marcille stood in front of a blackboard that was covered in intricate formulae that used at least three different alphabets. She had spent the duration of her class blasting information like a firehose aimed at a teacup with little concern about if anyone was keeping up with her. She kept on assuring that everything would be clear in a moment.

Are you a genius at magical theory? If not, it probably is not clear. That didn't stop Marcille from underlining a particularly complex looking formula before turning to her class and beaming.

"-which is why as long as you keep Abenthy's theorem of sympathetic connection, all magical theory should be simple to work out with nothing but a bit of time and scratch paper! Any questions?"

-999: Wildcard!-

Or just make your own up! I'll roll with it!

Edited 2024-06-01 05:25 (UTC)

A. Liberation
[The Crimson Corsairs have yet another new face on board their ship; in Shionne’s defense she was halfway through her own breakout from the Empire’s labs. She was just also determined to augment her wardrobe with better outfits. Meaning she was in the exact right (or wrong) place as the raid happened.

And it also means that now she’s aboard the vessel in a plain white dress, doing her best to keep her distance from everyone else and with plenty of scowls to spare if anyone gets too close. That scowl doesn’t last if she sees someone genuinely injured or looking like they’re about to keel over, though. Then she’ll cautiously approach the injured or starving person with either a bowl of porridge ready, or with a healing spell glowing on the tips of her fingers.]

“Let me take a look at that. You’ll waste the rescue effort if you keel over.”

B. Fashion Row
[Shionne has her own way of celebrating. And that isn’t drinking, but rather staking her claim on some raid supplies, and finally upgrading her clothing into something more suitable. Maybe a bit the edges, but still of finer style and material. And anything is better than that sterile clothing from before.

As for any calls for drinks? She has her own way of declining them:]

“I don’t want any grog. Or booze, or whatever you call it. Not interested in that for a celebration. I just want copies of this outfit in red and… What other colors would you choose?”

C. Class Time
“Curative magics, fire… And shooting things.”

[During her trip to the Vault, Shionne mostly seems to be there to record her skills. Though she is also more than ready to demonstrate those same skills as needed; she can be found at whatever passes for a training range, lining up shots and showing how to keep one’s aim steady.

Alternately, she’s also ready to fill out some records on how magical healing works for her.

The one thing she’s adamant about however, is that NO ONE touches her. That’s one thing she wants to avoid studying, and any suggestions about contact make her tense.

In fact, towards the end of her stay, she’s looking more and more jumpy and liable to flinch away from people. Seems like she doesn’t always mix with research.]

D. Danger At Sea
[Fire and sea serpents don’t mix, as it turns out. Whether that is conjured magical fire, or magitek gunfire. Shionne is busy dealing out both, and giving the sea monster plenty of grief for intruding. She tries to stay at range as much as she can, and well away from other people.

But if she sees anyone taking on injuries, she’s also ready to trade out her attacks for healing.

And… Then there’s also the fact that her gunshots might skirt by people a little too close for comfort.]

“Head down!”

[Is the best warning she can give, before another shot just skims past combatants and thuds into the serpent’s side. Shionne risks a step to whoever she had to shoot past.]

“Not bleeding? Looks like my aim is still working fine.”

((ooc: will match tagging styles, also game for any wild card shenanigans!))

Would it be alright to make a couple prompts before and during the Crimson Corsairs raid on the labor camp, instead of after?

Are there any labor camps close to Elysium, and could a servant be trusted to run small errands outside of the labor camp? I want to keep Sirius as a servant for awhile so my thought is that he can secretly meet up with the corsairs gathering in the forest. Could that work?

The Terminator hears the call out, and quickly steps to one side as Shionne's shot goes by, embedding itself into the serpent. It turns back as she steps towards it. It does not react to how close the bullet was to where it was standing before it moved away.

"I have taken no damage." It replies, looking at Shionne, then at her weapon. "But I am not armed. Do you have a sidearm?" A gun would complement its abilities, if she has one to spare.

"I have observed human behaviour. Much of it does not follow a logical pattern." The T-800 admits. "It seems to be in your nature to destroy yourselves." That might normally sound cold or judgmental, but there's no trace of either emotion in its voice. No trace of any emotion, really.

"The conflict on this world would seem to reinforce that perception."

I. Liberation

Stone is the transportation today. Or, well, one of the transportations. The great black winged creature alights on the slavers' den and drops two or three people from his back and arms to start rushing through the cells breaking people out. He stays up top, flaring his wings and making as big a target of himself as possible, taking full advantage of the psychic disturbance of his great age that makes him difficult to look at directly and even more difficult to hit at range.

He happily swats guards with his tail, swipes them with his claws, and stomps them if they get too close. He's been in this world long enough that he's perhaps half his usual size, almost fifteen feet tall at his shoulder when he's crouched on all fours, so he's a lot of monster to deal with.

Hopefully the rescuers warned the newly liberated slaves what is waiting for them outside, however, because as soon as they start fleeing outside, he snatches them up and launches into the air, two at a time. He can't speak in this form, so good luck getting an explanation if nobody said anything about him first.

II. Waterlogged Row

Stone sits outside one of the rowdy houses, hissing to himself as he tends various scratches he sustained while on the raid. Alcohol does nothing for him, and the crowded ale houses just tempt his prey reflexes, so he avoids going in, but he's listening for potential trouble he might need to break up anyway from the outside.

Besides, he does have a lot of cuts to dab ointment on and cover in plasters, both from enemy guards and from some friendly fire startled by being scooped up and flown away by what most people would call a dragon. Back in his groundling form, looking mostly human except for his sharp teeth, hard semi-clawed feet, and completely gray skin, the damage to wings, arms, and legs have translated to many smaller rents in his skin.

"I wouldn't go in there," he warns a newcomer, or even a potential friend. "They're going to wind up starting a bar fight in a few minutes, I'm thinking."

III. Making The Good Stuff

Stone is not a herbologist. However, he does have an incredibly keen sense of smell, and once he's got the scent of the things he needs to find, he can track them unerringly. Even better, he's immune to most drugs, so he's not in as much danger as everyone else. A couple plants can affect him, but they just knock him out and make him unable to shift, so he's been good at learning where to spot them and avoid them.

Anyone who got a lift with him to the forest will find him impatient with lollygagging and quick to swat the back of his charge's heads, though gently. "Keep your eyes in your head, fledgling," he warns. "And your nose, too. That flower you almost walked right up to would have you seeing monsters in every shadow."

IV. Danger At Sea

Oh, this is fun. Stone circles above the sea serpent, waiting for pauses in the magical and cannonball barrages to dive down and rake his claws and sharply spaded tail along the creature's head and fins. He's trying to blind the thing, and also intimidate it. It's bigger than he is, but it probably also didn't expect flying resistance, and unlike the giant sea monsters in his own world, this one doesn't have grasping arms.

He also readily plucks people out of the water if they fall in, setting them safely on floating platforms and boats.

He figures it's just as well he's helping out, because he's half-sure the scent of another predator is what brought the sea serpent here to begin with. Most predators avoid him, but some seem to think he's a challenge to their territory... oops?

Edited 2024-06-01 06:16 (UTC)

_{[ Seven months, five days, thirteen hours into her captivity at the hands of the empire.
It's highly likely DEFY has been provided with a fresh mainframe to house whenever had been the most recent backup of her neural cloud by now. If she could leave, stand up and toss aside all obstacles between her and "home" like garbage,
she will just be a redundant, out of date copy, a reminder to both standing iterations how cheap her existence is.

So,
There's no point in seeking home. Functionally, the same things will happen to her there, whether 'she' is there or not. At first RPK is unbothered. The bars of this cage are not bars; they are merely vertical bits of scrap she can step through at any time, like the waving blades of grass. She makes no motions toward escape in that early stage; it's much easier to weather endless indignities and take her time puzzling through the unfamiliar language and concepts. It is not unlike when she was first activated and cleared for duty. There is still death, and there is still pain.

Until comes the day she does try to leave, and fails. The long sawing blades of grass are a cage after all. A vital spark in her demeanor banks down into a hidden coal.

A self-annihilating routine of servitude settles over her like a shroud, and except when alone, she often habitually takes to turning off her emotion module. The purpose of the emotion module is to make the bitter pill of a highly humanoid robot easier to swallow, after all. Denying that convenience is an insipid act of defiance that helps keep her functional, as her programming struggles to adapt to being cut and paste somewhere she was never meant to be. Days to weeks to months pile up. How does one defy a world they barely understand? Are humans of a different world accepted as 'humans,' for the purposes of her programming, or should they be regarded as a whole other beast...? In a world without Paradeus, but with Ether, would it ever be possible to achieve her most heartfelt goal? RPK mulls every day on this curling, flowering vine of questions, relives crisp visions of each member of DEFY's faces whenever she enters sleep mode, toils, and endures.

...When the Corsairs come, one servant stands curiously still, making no move to escape, nor to avoid the chaos and bustle of the rescue operation. It is as if she has no feeling of connection at all to the events around her,
until someone happens to say to her directly, perhaps not in so many words, but in the spirit of it, surely,
hey, you're free! You don't have to stay here anymore!
It was like a spell broke, and she joined the evacuation. One more desperate salmon swimming upriver amid the throng.

...
Did you say those words to her? Did you see the one who did? Either way, the chaos has settled down, the after-party's started, and a clearly recently-freed woman with a disarmingly friendly smile and a preternatural stillness to her is asking around. As for the why... ]}

...Ah, I just wanted to tell them thank you, personally! It may sound silly, but I would have had a lot of difficulty if they hadn't happened to tell me those words...

Edited 2024-06-01 06:49 (UTC)

"Wasn't thinking about it," the young turtlekin replies, even as he casts an uncertain look towards the noise. He's never really been fond of that much noise to begin with, it's why he's always got his earmuffs handy, built into the goggles he seems never to be without.

His attention shifts back towards the dragon man, much more approachable in this form, and therefore more of a curiosity than something scary. "Need help there?" he asks, head tilting as he takes in what Stone is doing, and he drifts a little closer, a hand already digging into one of his belt pouches for a roll of bandaging. He's never gone on any of the liberation missions so far. "Was there a lot of opposition?"

[ RPK holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender - or, rather, a gesture of "I'm harmless, I'm not gonna tell on you!" Her gathering basket, conspicuously empty, swings where it hangs from the crook of her elbow. ]

I'll take your word for it! But young miss... could it be you need an extra basket...?

The dwarven man offering Marcelle a plate shrugs and shakes his head. “Nothing fresh, or that isn’t intended for emergencies. I doubt you’d prefer hardtack and dried suet soup.”

“I recommend squeezing out the lime over it -“ he demonstrates with his own lobster tail - “putting it on the roll and pouring the butter sauce over.”

Senshi grunts agreement. It’s quite loud in there, overwhelmingly so. He’ll just appreciate the music.

Still, he does wordlessly offer Snufkin a mug of something and a whole lemon. Glass harping is thirsty work, and the scorby will pounce on anyone.

"A handful of guards got some lucky hits," Stone grunts. "And one of the kids I carried off tried to stab me a few times. There's one on my back that I didn't go a great job of patching if you want to get that one."

There is a shirt in the way, and it's not bloody so he clearly managed to patch it a little, but not in a way that will hold for very long. He's old. He's not as flexible as he used to be.

[ (you dont have to use the prompt formatting this is just a me thing) ]

1. !!__LIBERATION__!!

[ Akizet wanders among the new arrivals, making sure nobody is left out or left behind in the rush of bodies. She carries a bundle of cloaks and blankets in her arms. When she finds people who seem isolated or separated from the crowd, she stops and offers them a covering. ]

Here, bright cousin. Take this, for warmth. [ For the obesk, in their strange isolated tunnels and isles, humans and all their kindred are bright cousins. Perhaps those who have the features of 'animals' are even closer - they are akin to the receptors of the obesk. ] Do you need food? Or drink? I will fetch it.

[ Akizet, despite her friendly manner, is still an odd sight; she is clad in robes that still do not conceal her conspicuous lack of a neck, or the smoothness of her face where a mouth would normally be on a human's face. And there are the obvious receptors, of course, curled tightly against the sides of her head like horns...but, well, her hair seems to behave normally, at least.

Naturally, she sees nothing odd about her own appearance and so does not see fit to offer any explanation for this. ]

2. !!__VAULT__!!

[ Here, Akizet is in her element: explaining things. Well, explaining certain things, anyway. She chatters amiably about advances in intercepting and decoding the Empire's signals, sending their own messages without being compromised, the virtues of citrus fruit (for some reason), and very rarely about her own kind, the obesk. Of what she is now doing here, given that the obesk are a reclusive sort who went into hiding after the Empire's attempts to destroy them, she says nothing at all. ]

3. !!__AT SEA__!!

[ Akizet is no stranger to violence; her days as a scout and runner serve her well in this regard, even in a body that responds to her in ways she is not entirely used to yet.

Still, hesitation won't get any of them far. The serpent thrashes wildly, its movements knocking people off their feet or off the decks of the ships; she refuses to man the cannons and dives into the fray fearlessly. She wields her shifting fingers as weapons, using them to cling stubbornly to the monster's flesh or to inflict deep wounds on it. Several times, she's sent flying from her efforts - but each time, she charges back in again with a frustrated cry. ]

v4HyE@L$$!

[ If you're unlucky enough to be knocked into the water, Akizet will dive fearlessly after you and pull you back up to safety. She moves through the water with more power than grace, making for a slightly rocky ascension as she pulls you with her up to the surface and air. ]

Do not fear! [ Her voice is clear and reassuring, despite the lack of a mouth. ] I have you! It will not eat you.

4. !!__WILDCARD__!!

[ Anything else! ]

Edited 2024-06-01 07:22 (UTC)

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Page 1 of 60

Test Drive Meme #1

QUESTIONS

Preme | Precure All Stars F | OU

The T-800 | Terminator 2: Judgment Day (OU)

Ziel of the Wastelands | Cradle | AU

Snufkin | Moomins | AU

Donnie | Rise of the TMNT | AU

Liberation

Liberation

no subject

Maomao | Apothecary Diaries | AU

no subject

Flowering

Marcille Donato | Dungeon Meshi | AU

Shionne Imeris | Tales of Arise | AU

no subject

Danger At Sea

no subject

Stone of Indigo Cloud | Books of the Raksura | OU but been here a while

RPK-16 | Girls Frontline | OU

II

making the good stuff p2

2, these are real emergency rations

Not Partying

no subject

Akizetesche | Corru Observer | AU