HE TOLD ME SEVERAL TIMES THAT HE DIDN'T LIKE MY KIND

[maskormods]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping into MASK OR MENACE? Want to dip your toes into the setting and get a feel of whether your character will fit into it? Or maybe you're just cruising and want to play around? Then you've come to the right place!

Pick any of the following scenarios below or feel free to make up your own, but don't be afraid to throw yourself at someone else's thread, either!

And remember to have fun!

01. The city of Heropa is what one might expect from a small, bright and cheery place, where locals are friendly enough and local shop owners might offer a free drink to welcome you to their fair city. Some of the locals might thank you for always lending your service to the nation and others might not say anything. In fact, some people might back away from any imPort who quite obviously looks like they aren't from around the neighborhood. Once in a while there's a look of disdain on someone's face and hushed voices.

An upset, deeply masculine voice wonders aloud: "More of them, when we already know they can't protect us? That's just painting a bigger target on the city's back!"

"That's just what Ronald Chump says!" Exclaims a young woman. She raises her fist in anger at the imPort-hating individual. "We're not going to tolerate bigots here!"

02. De Chima, Virginia, is a large city with a healthy economy, and though it's quieter, there are just as many citizens awed at your presence. Science and technology are the lifeblood of this city, so you're likely to come across a good many locals taking your picture with the newest of devices. Be forewarned: since FanPort happened, imPort fandom is at a new height. Don't be surprised if people start following you just to see if you'll do anything TMZ-worthy.

The trick is to stay calm, and don't wig out if someone asks what you think about imPort shipping.

03. Maurtia Falls, Pennsylvania, is having a rainy day. The streets seem to be running with water, the sky can't seem to stop crying. You might want to check out some consumerism-inclined shelter, be that a smoky and dart-eyed bar full of grumbling locals, or a grimy and industrial coffee shop (full of grumbling locals). Watch your step, newly minted imPort, because if you let on that you're fresh meat then you're likely to attract a posse of two or three sharp knuckled no-good-dooers. This is the criminally exciting part of town, so beware.

04. Nonah, North Carolina, is the liveliest of all cities; loud, busy and there's some kind of energy in the air that gets everyone buzzing with excitement. There's a baseball game going on in one of the parks amidst all those tall buildings, and you're welcome to watch! It's not an official game in the season, it's more like a friendly skirmish between local baseball teams. Midway through the game, the umpire might take note of you new imPorts -- assuming you're standing out in the crowd. He'll welcome you to throw a pitch if you'd like! Of course, the opposing team isn't too keen on the idea. Better look for more imPorts to play ball!

Comments

oh god BRING IT.

[hollowly]

( straightforward is never quite the style of the devil, is it? there's no art to it, no finesse, and in dean's current predicament, it wouldn't have really surprised him to know that lucifer had taken a more direct route. sam has been looking for him for so long, since he'd laid his body to rest in his own bed, since he'd driven all those long hours back to the bunker just so he could put him where he'd felt most comfortable –

it's as fresh in his mind as if it had happened only moments before, and every twinge in sore and aching muscles, bruised bone is a reminder of his shortcomings in trying to find him, to bring him back where he belongs.

maybe there was more than one reason he'd found himself in the bar in the first place. in the sketchiest city that he's so far come across – with his head down, trying to force thoughts from his mind that have no business raising their heads in this moment.

at first, of course, he doesn't notice him. not outright – even if the fine hairs at the back of his neck raise before lucifer begins shedding his power. flaunting it to draw his attention. ( there is always going to be that connection between them, between his soul and that which had tortured it when it had been left down in the cage, scars and pockmarks left behind even though it's been healed as well as it could be. ) sam shivers when the temperature begins to drop, and as the patrons take their leave one by one, his attention slowly draws itself, unconsciously in lucifer's direction.

when their eyes meet, sam tries to keep the shock from seeping into his expression – something that is far more difficult than he would care to admit – and he straightens unconsciously, shoulders squaring, but he doesn't raise his voice.

what exactly does one say to the devil himself, when it's always been his worst fear to meet with him again? )

[angelfire]

[ Hello would be a nice start, Sam. But then--Sam hadn't been all that interested in talking the last time he'd seen him, right? The imaginary him, anyway.

It's unmistakeable the moment when Sam notices. His reaction is defiance and fear mixed together, and it's immensely satisfying. Lucifer regards him, not unkindly, and he gestures toward the barman, leaning up to say something into his ear. He nods, and smiles, and shoots a glance down the bar at Sam, before pouring a double shot of whiskey and taking it to him. ]

A gift from your friend over there. He says you should go sit with him.

[ Why move, when he could bring Sam to him? Lucifer folded his arms and settled back. His only interest was Sam; his only focus was the youngest Winchester, his vessel, his pet. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

He raised an eyebrow, deliberately. ]

[hollowly]

( hello would be a start, yes, but there's a small part of him that holds on to the hope that this is just a hallucination revisiting; that it isn't real, and the stress of being somewhere new has been just enough to fray the delicate ends of his mind, bring back that which had been left in the past, ignored but not forgotten.

he forces his eyes closed. counts to ten and opens them again, and when the image of lucifer is still there, leering at him without so much as a twitch of the corners of his mouth, he resigns himself to the fact that … no, this can't all be in his head. his hallucinations had always been much more vocal, much more exaggerated. this, this is far too real, far too familiar for him to think of it as anything else, and it makes his heart sink at the very same moment it picks up its beating, knocking in an arrhythmic staccato against his ribs.

the bartender pours his shot, gives his instructions, and for a fleeting moment sam thinks of disobeying. ( it's the simple matter of that line of thought, that he would be disobeying that has him catching himself, a silent reprimand that just because it is lucifer, that he's free from hell and meandering about like the known world is his sandbox and everyone is invited to play doesn't mean that he has to –

to what, exactly? abide? what other choice does he have? )

so he takes the glass, slides from his seat and carries himself over to where lucifer sits, breathing out a steadying breath as he then lowers himself slowly, carefully, looking everywhere but into the eyes of the one thing, the one person that he has never wished so badly was a figment of his imagination. )

Hallucinations don't buy drinks. ( more to himself than lucifer, but just loud enough for him to hear. ) You're really here, aren't you?

[angelfire]

[ It's interesting that obedience is the choice that Sam makes. Truly, he could probably have turned around and walked straight out the door, but if he'd done that then he'd have been denying his thriving, insistent need to know the truth, at all times, no matter what kind of danger it put him n to hunt it out. That was just what Sam was like; he couldn't let things be, no matter what. He had to know.

And let's face it, that was why the hallucination had gotten its claws into him too. He'd had to say something.

Sam could have walked out the door, but his valuable resource and all the threat that went hand in hand with it, would have taken flight, so that when he turned around and walked back in he'd have been gone. Instead, Lucifer shifted over very slightly on his stool when he was joined, turning his body very slightly toward him.

While the man doesn't look him in the eye, Lucifer does just that, hunts Sam's expression and the soul beneath it, to try and pick out just which Sam he's facing down this time. Hallucinations, yes, but is this the same one who tried to close the gates of Hell, and almost got himself killed in the process? ]

I'm really here. Some version of me has been, almost from the beginning of this place. It's tried its level best to hold onto you and your brother, too, over the years. [ Lucifer down his own shot, and taps the bar. He doesn't have to drink, but in this situation it's practically playful the way he approaches it. ]

[hollowly]

( he wouldn't think of it as obedience so much as … what, exactly?

beyond the curiosity that stirs in him, at war with both the fear and apprehension and sheer electricity thrumming through him at being so close to the other again, separated only by space as his soul had been during its time in the cage, it makes the hair stand on the back of his neck even as he finds himself stepping closer, one foot in front of the other. step by carefully measured step, as though he's being strung along at the end of a length of twine, following the path laid out for him by the devil himself. beyond that, he isn't sure what presses him forward, unless there is suddenly no self-preservation instinct left in him, because there is no way this can be anything but dangerous.

and still, here he is, closer and closer until he slides himself into a seat, fingers curled around his glass like it might somehow save him from all of this. ( it doesn't matter that he and dean have saved the world, maybe a few times over by now. it doesn't matter that he remembers the depths of hell and what he'd brought back with him, the fire and the terror and the hopelessness – because it's staring through him now, as innocent as a coming storm. )

quickly, quietly he downs his own shot, the burn of alcohol enough to hold his attention, tear it away from lucifer long enough to grasp and keep his bearings. he doesn't know what to do with this, but there's really only one way, and it's without the fear that he feels stirring in the pit of his stomach. what the other says is enough to have his brows furrowing; he and dean both have been here before?

his glass hits the bar's surface, and he swallows, clears his throat. )

'Some version.' ( he says it flatly, as neutrally as he can. ) If Dean and I have been here before, wouldn't we remember it?

( not necessarily, sammy boy. not necessarily. )

[angelfire]

[ There. Sam's not only sitting with him, he's downing his shot, and that's a good start because the archangel is beckoning toward the barmaid a moment later, and taking the bottle from her with the same hand. He refills their glasses, placing it down. If Sam is too disoriented, he'll drink, and that will be a hilarious addition to their bingo card of archangel/vessel shenanigans, won't it?

Did shots with Satan, check. ]

I was here before, [ he answered, with keen amusement. ] And I don't remember the merry hell I raised when I was here. Why should the pair of you be any more privileged?

[ He rolled his own glass on the bar, in various shapes. The paranoid among them might think that he was doing some sort of beer magic, but it really was just thoughtless doodling. ]

The last version of Dean tried to set me on fire. Can you believe that? As though I'm flammable.