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etcelsior2016-10-25 02:36 pm
maskormods) wrote in etcelsior2016-10-25 02:36 pm
Entry tags:
Lies a place that few have seen.
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 there's only one rule in Test Drive Meme Club: 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, while others might not say anything -- but if you have something nasty to say, better not say anything at all, right? This month has been a rocky one, and locals are beginning to eye imPorts with renewed scrutiny; if people like them can get superpowers, are imPorts really that special, after all? Some people usher their children away from anyone clearly not 'from around here,' while other natives may be brave enough to directly approach obvious imPorts and ask their thoughts on the war with Russia and what the imPort ambassadors are planning to do about it.
ImPorts are a divisive issues, even in pretty Heropa.
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 very presence. Look at you! Organic wonder! 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. The imPort craze is at an all-time high, and you may find yourself cornered by overzealous imPort fans, media wannabes and opportunists alike, shoving cameras in your face.
Their questions are likely to be fairly mundane, however; get ready for an interview about your taste in romantic partners, personal underwear choices, favourite foods, and more!
Also, as the Halloween craze is reaching a fevered pitched, more and more children are running around in costumes of their favorite imPorts! Do you recognize any of these masks? Perhaps one of these costumes mimics YOU!?
...
Isn't that kinda creepy?
03. Maurtia Falls, Pennsylvania is populated by a whole lot of people who are having awfully bad days. With the emergence of locals with superpowers, many seem to have latched onto their new supercharged identities with an incredible amount of gusto. As your character walks down the street, they may find themselves accosted by a large man in his mid-20s, dressed in an ill-fitting spandex suit of orange and yellow. As he thrusts his finger into an imPort's face, the spandex rides up, turning into more of a crop-top, which he duly tugs back down before shouting, "You're not the special ones anymore, imPorts! Feel the wrath of Heartburn!"
Stupid name aside, he does seem to have superpowers as he breathes a large plume of fire. His aim still isn't great, though; it could hit the imPort in question, or be sent in the direction of a nearby local, or even a particularly flammable building.
What will you do, Hero?
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. This fine day, pumpkin spice seems to be in style, to the point at which you happen to be crashing an open pumpkin spice festival. From drinks to sweet treats to some other things that really, really shouldn't be pumpkin spice flavoured (pumpkin spice flavoured vodka, anyone? It tastes like regret!), everyone seems to be in the mood for the upcoming season.
Taste test a few samples and take in the hustle and bustle of the city, everyone! And hey, if just gorging yourself isn't enough, why not try your hand at the pumpkin carving contest going on? The competition is fierce!
solas | dai: post trespasser dlc
YELLS A LOT
no. there's no possible way. what are the odds? first dorian and cullen, then cassandra, and now-- ]
Solas! [ he's a little embarrassed by how happy he sounds, but it's so good to see the other elf, and it's been months, and he's missed him. he hurries across the street, lifting a hand in a wave and trying not to smile too foolishly. after all, like with dorian and cullen and bull, this.. probably isn't his solas, the one he knows.
he slows as he approaches, pale eyes flickering over the semi-familiar armour, the pelt over his shoulder, head tilting faintly in interest. (at his left side, the anchor crackles in his palm once, then is silent once more.) ]
.. Your armour.. [ it's like the temple guardians', like that abelas had worn, but.. a little different, too. --that's not important at the moment, though. shaking himself mentally, his smile returns, a little wry. ] No, forget it. I'm just glad to see you, even if it's not.. ideal circumstances.
PLEASE FORGIVE THE COBWEBS and also his everything
He glances up, canting his head to the side as his eyes seek out that almost-familiar voice. Mahanon makes himself known simply by being the only presence moving toward Solas himself; what he lacks in recognition of the other man personally he makes up for the hints and feeling of what he knows intimately. It's enough to draw sharp interest, and that pause before he laughs, a low chuckle of self-directed amusement. Any regret he feels he buries; any surprise is a sharp note he lets wash over him. He doesn't have to recognise this man's face to understand what else he's sensing. He should have known. This place bridges space willingly enough. As he'd suspected, neither time nor potentials were limited from its particular grasp. What he wouldn't give to have an answer as neat as this, functioning under his own directives. It's a puzzle to mull over later. ]
Aneth ara, Inquisitor?
[ He can afford to be polite (if not formal) when making his own educated guesses. His hand falls over the communicator, the other curled around his coffee cup. Delicately put, this is a complication he hadn't been expecting. For all he allows himself something of a smile, responding to the emotion there if not any personal tie, he's more uncertain how he feels. ]
One would think there would be a limit to the strange paths we wander in our lives. [ With an acknowledging tip of his head forward, he adds: ] One would likely be mistaken, as becomes apparent yet again.
'and also his everything' is too accurate
he hesitates a moment, then settles across from the other elf with a murmured apology. he pushes his long braid back over his shoulder, fingers curling together against the edge of the table. for a few moments, mahanon is silent, glance flicking over the other man again. he hasn't survived this long, particularly as inquisitor, by being unobservant, and it's not difficult to see that solas seems.. different. a part of it, he's certain, has to do with the fact that mahanon is clearly not the inquisitor he knows.. but there's the armour, naturally, and something-- something in his expression, maybe, or his body language.. the way he holds himself.
realizing he's staring, he clears his throat, feeling his ears go a little hot at the points. the anchor aches today, and he rubs a knuckle absently into his palm as he shifts. ]
I'm sorry to say that the humans here have extremely strange notions about what elves should be. [ though solas might better fit the idea than mahanon, given his greater height and the gravity that surrounds him. ] It's not terrible, though, if we must be away from Thedas. Some of the others are here. [ his lips quirk, a little self-conscious. ] .. And there's me, of course. Is the inquisitor you know also named Mahanon?
it's the most genuine tag-line he can have
You are Fen'Harel.
It's a gentle fondness he brushes aside, lips tugged down into a neutral expression just shy of frowning. That his eyes follow Mahanon's hands is a matter of personal interest and guilt that he'd already hoped to have absolved. He didn't take pleasure in the pain of his friends, no matter what was implied otherwise. He's just too blinded by his pride in thinking he knows what he's offering others that he fails to see how he hurts them regardless of his attempts at allowing them a few "less painful" years "free" of the Qun's influence. Individuality unto death. That's like kindness; or at least, less cruel than it could be, in his eyes. ]
I almost hesitate to ask what notions they could possibly hold. If I'm to understand what I've been told correctly, 'elves' are a figment of their fictions, imPort arrivals none-withstanding.
[ Something akin to what improbabilities Varric might dream up, only taking species that simply weren't and saying they were. All this is from the handful of conversations he's had between the military and locals, most who were attempting to determine if he was using "prosthesis" for his "costume" in all these festivities.
The details of their situation are what pull his eyes away from Mahanon's hands, studying his features again as if he'd find a more familiar face there. It's surprising, in its own way, that he both can and cannot. ]
They're of Clan Lavellan, if that remains familiar.
[ He could just say what their name was. Instead, he slides right on past, keeping that much to himself for the time being. Way to neither confirm nor deny, Solas. ]
Who of the rest have found themselves here alongside you?
no subject
anyway, he doesn't want to bring more attention to it than he has to. there's no point; there's nothing that can really be done about it. he simply has to live with the hand he's been dealt, so to speak. ]
You should read the literature. [ there's a smile in his eyes again and threatening his mouth. ] Some of it would probably infuriate you. [ and it's not just literature-- mahanon can't count the number of times he's been asked something offensive, or been unintentionally insulted. the people here are just so.. well, ignorant. at least it's generally well-meaning, though, and the only way to solve ignorance is by being patient and educating people.
he notes the lack of a given name, giving the other elf a curious glance, but he doesn't pursue it. if solas wants to tell him-- ] It is, yes. First of the clan? [ he expects so. if he asks cullen and dorian, he imagines they'll say the same thing. it's.. strange to think of. does that mean that mahanon had never left his birth-clan? perhaps he'd died in the wilds, or been taken to a circle. perhaps he'd never existed at all.
the thought makes him draw a breath in through his nose. it's not a comforting thing to imagine. ]
.. Ah. [ a mild blink, and he straightens faintly. ] Cassandra's here. She's the Cassandra from-- from my timeline, but a much earlier point. Bull has a different inquisitor, and he's also from an earlier point. Cullen and Dorian are from the same timeline, with the same inquisitor, but as best I understand it, they're from a little over two years into the future from me. I.. [ he hesitates, glance flicking over solas again, brows drawing together faintly. ] .. If I had to guess, I'd say you're closer to Cullen and Dorian's point than mine.
no subject
If you don't mind, with further investigation, I may be able to find a way to help. Not a permanent solution — [ yet, since the truth of any permanent solution would be taking his arm, and it's not so unstable as to require that to save his life as far as Solas knows at this point ] — but one that might help with the ache.
[ As for the literature, he lifts his cup of coffee and stares down into it, glad for the caffeine and left undecided on the particulars of the flavour. ] I'm certain there will be enough material I should be studying to forego whatever nonsense this place has dreamed into being. [ He looks up again, setting down the cup untouched. ] Though as it is, yes, they were. Curious for any of these things to have been the same.
[ For all that he knew so very well how it'd been nothing more than chance selecting who lived in all the events of that day. What could have changed most easily for any of them were the hands that had picked up his orb. Whatever events followed... how similar were they? There were only so many years that passed over the course of the Inquisition's pursuit of Corypheus and the subsequent meeting called at the Winter Palace calling for its dissolution or reallocation. To have both Dorian and Cullen from that era... at what point had the scales tipped into his confession by the Eluvian? What if they never had? It was difficult to know. ]
It would seem likely. Corypheus's defeat is some two years in my own past.
[ Less settling is hearing that there's at least three different potentials they all come from. If Solas himself shares none of them, it's a cruel reminder of just how often, and how consistently, he's failed. There's a part of him even now that wonders if he might not be proven wrong; if he might not be able to truly see another path than the one he's elected to walk alone.
Chances are there isn't, and he's learning now of at least three whole times he's failed catastrophically. Three whole chances to try and unmake his mistakes. He wishes there hadn't been the need. It breaks his heart, only to leave him hardening it further. ]
no subject
two years. two years, and solas is.. different. there's a weight on him that's almost visible. he feels.. worn, older, and mahanon is a little afraid of what that means. (the armour, the shift in body language, the weight of his glances.) is this what his own solas will be in two years?
he doesn't want to take a breath. he knows it'll shake. ] .. Two years. [ he was right; the air trembles in his lungs for a moment, two, and he sighs it back out. ] I have a lot to catch up on. [ he's not sure he wants to know. not right now, anyway. what's the point, when they're in another world entirely? ] But then.. who knows? We've already proven that time isn't set in stone. [ it could be different, whatever happens to all of them.
(solas is still.. his friend.) ] You should come to dinner once you get settled in. I'll show you all the appliances, unless you've already sorted them out. [ he curls fingers at his nape, pale eyes sliding away briefly, glancing out toward the passersby. ] I live in Maurtia Falls here. .. It's not exactly the safest city, I suppose, but I'm left pretty much alone, and no one cares that I'm a knife-ear.
no subject
Arrogance, he supposes, but that had been part and parcel of his mistake with Corypheus in the first place. Back in a time before he'd allowed himself to envision any of the people around him as being truly real. ]
There may be consistencies... some form of consensus or another, but you have the right of it. If nothing else, we've seen how mutable the future is, to one from a different past.
[ Hadn't that also been the trouble? In being told of the Inquisitor and Dorian's time in a world that had fallen to Corypheus, and what that cost had entailed. Time was a construct; potential was something to capitalize on or seize, but nothing guaranteed. He leans back, a subtle shift as he breathes out through his nose. He does and doesn't know this man, but he has that sense of friendship almost being there; strong enough that the offer, come to dinner, strikes a painful chord in what's left of his unmasked heart. He's shaking his head with a small, small smile. Difficult to say what his position is in this place, other than that of researcher and student by necessity. He highly doubts he can be anything of a friend.
No one deserves that weight, and he doesn't deserve that liberation. Not with the decisions he's been acting on. ]
I haven't had the pleasure of sorting through whichever appliance challenges still await. I've only come through to this place in the last handful of hours.
[ Time marked by the sun's movement, nothing else. The boisterous activity all around has barely slowed. His eyes take in the ebb and flow of people, listening to Mahanon while sorting through so many of the little details he's been given so far. Not enough. He'll have to see to rectifying that lack. ]
The dividing factors here seem to fall along country lines, with those of us from elsewhere being something of an uneasy acceptance. Not so terribly unfamiliar. Not even in how unique understandings or abilities are held in creative contempt and fear until their use has been proven to the powers that be.
[ Politics don't change, no matter the world. Only here, the "gifted" aren't simply those in tune to the ebb and flow of mana. They're artificially generated, or altered, and that is both fascinating and unnerving in uneven measures. Sidestepping most of what's been said in favour of looking at the lens of the world? Intentional, yes, but not ill intentioned. ]
I'M SORRY FOR HIS EVERYTHING
[This is a cafe frequented by the Iron Bull. The one who, in his long time in this world, has created habitual places of getting food or drink. This place, he thinks, has kickass cookies. Their coffee is the usual, but the cookies... To die for.]
[That's why he's here. Barging in the front door with his usual horrible modern pants (these sweats with chili peppers riding motorcycles all over them). Calling out to the baristas with his room-filling, booming voice.]
Hey! Pass over a dozen usual, yeah? You got anything new...
[He was about to finish that request. Except his good eye falls on a face he damn well knows. A face he has heard so much about lately. And he stops talking completely.]
What the fuck do you think you're doing here?
never apologise for bull, he's beautiful
Enough so that he doesn't choose to say anything offhand, for all the question asked has a very obvious answer. More so than the literal one of what he was doing here: chosen by chance as a location, taking stock as a necessity. Integrating into a culture and lifestyle he no longer understood is a recent enough accomplishment. Repeating the process here was not anything he looked forward to embracing.
Though he does lift his cup off the surface of the table, wondering if he'd get to endure any more of its contents. He almost likes the coffee. (Bull's pants, on the other hand, are a riot of colour and motion both entirely suitable and strange in their decorations.) ]
Here in this particular establishment, or this particular world? I can assure you neither were deliberate nor intentional provocations on my behalf.
[ Not that it matters either way in the end. (Also no claims on what the Porter's decision making process may or may not be based on.) ]
THAT JOKE TAG THO BLESS
[What respect there was turned to something bitter, something angrier and harsher, in the wake of Cullen's announcement. Solas had been someone the Inquisitor trusted. Someone on the inside. And he'd been working shit behind the scenes, hadn't he? Like the Ben-Hassrath spy Bull hadn't been able to be, when everything was said and done.]
[The smart comment is irritatingly Solas. And it makes big hands clench into fists. Why here. Why not some alleyway where he could clock this asshole into next week. Here, there are bystanders. There are employees who are just trying to earn a living. Good people who don't deserve to get caught up in Bull's pissed-off tirade.]
[He moves more easily through the tables of the cafe than someone his size should. Moving to stand close enough to where he won't have to yell across the cafe.]
Don't you have a bone to chase? Or a ball? Some dog shit to do, smartass?
Get lost.
no subject
Anyway.
Today has him running a few errands in town of a few things he needs, so he's absconded with Pup to help carry his parcels back home. ( He's no pack mule, but he has his own canvas tote to help since cars are still a thing Dorian doesn't like using... ) Because the sun is shining and the weather is temperate, Dorian is unsuspecting of what vileness lies in wait at a café he frequently visits.
He's chattering away to Pup—a side effect he just pays no mind to anymore; he may not understand the dog, but knows he listens—as he carries their treats to a table ( because it wouldn't be fair to eat and not share ). Of course, he finds the perfect table and sees what's just there beside it. Dorian's stomach twists violently and Pup's hackles are raised at the same time. It takes all of Dorian's self-control not to drop the cup and plate to the floor. Fire burns in his chest and he can feel it gathering in his fingertips. He could do them all a favor right now and take this repugnant elf out, just like that. This is the man who broke the trust and spirit of his dearest living friend. That's not something he can forgive. Not to mention the whole reshaping the world in his crazy image.
Calmly he sets his things down on a nearby table. Calmly he tells Pup to stay there, don't move unless necessary. And calmly still does he stride over to Solas. Dorian places a palm flat on the table and leans in close; his voice is a nasty hiss, anger and the fire of his magic brighten his eyes. Behind him the rumbling unhappy growl sounds from Pup. ]
Come out of hiding so soon? I'm amazed to see you upright instead of crawling around on your belly.
[ It's an insult to snakes, but. He'll be forgiven. ]
no subject
... And yet he continues on his course, because he has far too much invested in a past that isn't here than finding a means to a worthwhile future in a world of people he only just started learning how to see. (Dorian may have the right of it. Save everyone from his miserable decision making processes, including himself.)
They are, fortunately or otherwise, relatively civil beings, which is why beyond the hardening of his eyes, Solas does little more than lift his cup and tip it, just irritatingly so, in Dorian's direction. The unfamiliar dog goes noted as well. He has no particular wish to engage in violence at the moment, let alone in these surroundings, but he's as prepared as he can be with the difference in how his magic responds in this place so far from the Fade. ]
Spoken with a most impressive hiss.
[ Equally calm, he sets the cup back down, untouched. If anything about this world were voluntary, Solas doubts either one of them would truly be there. Dorian has a right to his anger, of that Solas knows, but at the same time he doesn't have to particularly care. ]
I believe congratulations were in order? Magister Pavus.
[ ... Hello, Dorian, how are you doing on this nondescript day? ]
no subject
Anyway, none of that really matters right now, since she's only in Heropa to pick up a few things. The first thing: coffee, which she has stopped for. Unlike a large chunk of Heropa's population, she isn't doing the whole costume thing right now, although the jeans and t-shirt are a vast change of pace from her usual gear. That's what she's wearing when she flops down into a seat at a table next to his, one that had previously been occupied only by several dogs supposedly waiting for their owner to return. Hawke is not actually that owner, but she told them to stay put while she ordered regardless. ]
Now let's see what else he wanted... [ Talking to herself? Talking to the dogs? Does it matter? Once her coffee is settled on the tabletop, she'll pull out a mostly crumpled list, look it over, take a moment to stare at it in mild despair. ] Aaaapparently a lot of nonsense. Did he write half of these down as equations? [ Right. Great. She tosses that down on the table alongside the coffee. ] Yeah, that's not happening. Looks like we're officially done for the day, boys.
[ It's barely even out of the morning, but yep, that's right, doggos, job (of doing absolutely nothing useful) well done. This does not bother the random dogs laying around her table, who, as dogs do, just seem happy to be included. ]
no subject
Here, he was liable to be labeled a medieval fantasy fanatic. So it goes.
He recognises Hawke not for what she's wearing, nor for her vast accompaniment of dogs (though it does pique his interest why any one person was walking around with such an entourage). It's when she speaks and he shifts his attention to a casual inspection of her features that it truly clicks: the Champion of Kirkwall. Last he knew, she was assisting Varric with his responsibilities in Kirkwall, for a certain definition of assistance.
Is it worse that Solas has "Hawke doesn't die" or not, truly we don't know.He has not, however, seen any one Ferelden manage to reach quite this level of canine saturation. In his quiet observation of a woman who doesn't seem to notice, care, or recognise him, it's almost pleasant. He can sip at his coffee, listen with half an ear, and continue to prod at his "communicator" with no intention to engage. It's almost pleasant, or as close to pleasant as his irritation and frustration will allow him to be under the present circumstances, simply because it's not demanding.
Plus he actually knows who she is, and that's more than he can say for the majority situation around here. ImPorts, native peoples who've been recently inflicted with "powers," an ongoing war, the inequities on all sides... all more delays, if these were what would stop him from getting back and finding whatever resolution will become inevitable. (Be that he succeeds, or that he does not; the future changes with each moment lived in the present.)
... Ultimately the only reason he ends up talking to Hawke is incidental to the sprawling dogs between their two tables. Holding his cup in one hand, he glances over Hawke's companions, then to the woman herself. ]
Would you mind asking your friends to clear a way?
[ Who knows how well they do or don't listen, but he's taking an educated guess. Meanwhile he holds up his cup to indicate his intention, communicator turned down over the top of his nondescript file on the tabletop, partly under his plate of crumbs.
He'd like a refill on the coffee. He needs more caffeine to deal with sorting and processing all the information he's brushing up against. ]
no subject
In short, she isn't about to assume anything.
She will offer a somewhat sheepish grin, however, before waving a hand to the little pack sprawled around them. ]
I can try, but the porter failed to add "also they will listen to you" onto the end of this ordeal. [ It really depends on how the dogs feel, much to her very minor dismay. They are dogs, after all. It isn't always so bad. But speaking of dogs, she'll turn her attention back down to them and raise her eyebrows at them expectantly, as though she assumes they have any idea of what's been said already. ] Go on. Move over.
[ She'll point off to somewhere out of the way a few times, she'll repeat the command several different ways. It's a no-go. They only watch on with the same super happy doggy expressions, but either don't understand or don't actually care to move in the first place. In the end, after a long suffering shake of her head, Hawke has to resort to trickery. The Champion of Kirkwall makes an enormous act of reaching into her pocket, exaggerating every motion to grab their attention before, ]
Oh, you're all paying attention now, aren't you? Well? Who wants a treat?
[ She makes like she's pulling something out of that same pocket. Close observation will prove there's absolutely fucking nothing in her hand, but the dogs don't know any better. The whole lot of them immediately surge to their feet, bustling with excitement because someone just said the T word. ]