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etcelsior2017-05-25 08:16 pm
maskormods) wrote in etcelsior2017-05-25 08:16 pm
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WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE
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?
Today it's not just imPorts that are making a scene. Given the relatively high approval rating imPorts still pull in here, maybe it shouldn't shock locals and imPorted arrivals alike that new native metahumans are using the city to debute their new spandex and catch phrases while they try and take their own bite out of crime. You know what they say about those darn kids these days though, too much time watching TV instead of say, oh, learning about martial arts or surveillance techniques. Or that the world doesn't actually pause when they start their dramatic entrances like it does on the small screen. There are five teenagers today, each one dressed in elaborate costumes modeled after different birds of paradise (click one of these if you really need examples). And you better believe each one has a dramatic entrance speech concerning truth, Justice, and the American Way, a dramatic pose, and a polysyllabic name to go through before they all strike a team pose and shout 'Birds Of Prey, Uncaged!'
During this time the lone criminal they had swooped down to stop has long since stared running away. Early in the morning, they did this whole production to stop a litterer. Mid-afternoon, a jay walker. Finally, in the evening, they actually try stopping a mugging. Of course the thief and the stolen goods are busy getting away during their intros, a fact the robbed citizen keeps shouting at them through the whole two minute long affair.
It's up to you, dear imPort, to catch these escaping misdemeanors or thief and bring them to actual justice (or, if you're really kind, hand them over to the birds), to stop and tell these kids to get off your darn lawn, to give them hero-ing tips or a real villain to fight against, or to just keep walking and pretend this whole mess never happened. The choice is yours.
02. De Chima, Virginia, is a large city with a healthy economy, and though it's quieter than Heropa, there are still large numbers of citizens to be 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 remains high here, 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, favorite foods, and more!
These questions are better asked inside, however, as a tornado warning has been released for the county. No, they haven't had one here since the 90s, but you can never be too careful! With the torrential downpour currently hammering the city, some enterprising business people have taken to offering storm themed sales of food, drinks, and appliances. Is there any better way to send the rainy day than on nickle shot night at the local bar, where you cannot only get dangerously intoxicated but also ride the newest in fun and games, the Freudian Mechanical Bull? Come one come all and see how long you can stay clinging on as the bull bucks you physically and emotionally, spitting out catchy psychological phrases like 'do you think this will make your father love you?' or 'riding me for five minutes will never fix what you've done.' The bull will detect which sentences seem to get the best effect and keep barring down on that path. Sensitive about your mother? Better believe the whole bar is about to hear a lot about it.
Or if you're not up for that much fun, you can aid worried citizens in securing their homes and businesses against the possible storms. Help them board up holes in roofs, cast wards on their windows, or just point them towards the nearest insurance agent. Surely you wouldn't take advantage of them and sell them devices they don't need or learn where they keep their valuables and how to reach them at a time like this would you?...would you?
03. Maurtia Falls, Pennsylvania has had its ups and downs since imPorts started reappearing. Several imPort heroes have put focused efforts into cleaning up the streets of this somewhat infamous city, while others have swooped in to help the criminal industry thrive. More so here than the streets of any other imPort city, the battle between good and evil looks more like a war of escalation than a heroic tale. That might make the less than warm welcome imPorts are given in the city a little more understandable. The emergence of locals with superpowers is hardly helping. While some of these individuals have turned to crime, many locals seem more inclined to defend their native powered drug dealer than help the non-native hero bring them to justice. Who are you to tell them how to live?
Today is the semi-annual (that no one can quite seem to remember ever happening before) balloon festival. From dawn until well past midnight imPorts and natives alive can pay a small fee to ride in a beautifully colorful hot air balloon solo or in pairs. There is also wonder fried food and face-painting for the whole family. If this seems all a little too innocent and family friendly, don't worry. This being the Falls, there's always a chance for the morally flexible (or horribly naive) to make a little extra money. Some balloons are offering special, 100% totally free in no way catch-possessing deluxe rides to certain 'winners.' Strangely, it appears to 'win' all one has to do is agree to ride the hot air balloon over to another city, drop off one of the 'sand bags' attached to the side at a designated place, pick up a few new 'sand bags' and fly back! Those that can pilot their own balloon rather than needing a guide will be paid extra- they mean, win an extra special prize.
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. To be American is to be part of a melting pot, and that there's more money to be made by the thriving local industries hardly hurts. Natives may gather around new arrivals and ask both personal and broad questions about life as an imPort, what they are looking forward to, what their favorite article of underwear is. A few night clubs offer free entrance - just this once!
But you'll have to excuse the mess. See, a little while ago the city was a real zoo. Animals running everywhere, smashing store windows, eating aquariums, you know how these things can go. In fact, there are still a few stay old world monkeys jumping around, and maybe a baby gator or two in the sewer or prairie dogs in the parks. A small reward is still being offered for their rounding up.
Myrcella Baratheon • Game of Thrones
( There's a sensory overload in merely existing in this place. The colours, the noise, the metal monsters careening down roads rather than carriages—and to compensate, she forces herself to close her eyes, count to ten and indulge in being heartily annoyed at how frizzy this humidity has rendered her hair. When Myrcella's green eyes open again to take in the sights again, it's just slightly less overwhelming before. Primarily because she is mentally stamping out the hysteria attempting to well in her.
It smells unpleasant here, differently from when the wind blew in off Blackwater Bay. But nevertheless disgusting.
She takes a walk, trying to find quieter pockets of town, and even gets to admire clothing in one of the shops she passes by. Only for that one, lone scrap of peace to be snatched away from her by the sound of shouting. Common sense would dictate she not investigate, but she cannot ignore the possibility that someone may be in distress. Though the manner of distress is entirely flabbergasting when she rounds a corner to see a woman yelling at several brightly-clad individuals.
The thief is long gone, and still the trio spouts nonsense about who they are and what they intend. Myrcella moves to stand behind them, effecting as stern and fierce a look as she might. )
Are you certain you are not mummers? You should be ashamed of yourselves! Either assist this lady at once, or I shall report you to the city guard.
II. DE CHIMA
( This city dwarfs the other in size by far, and the humidity is still an ever-present annoyance. However, it is cooler here than it had been in Heropa, and rainier besides. By the time Myrcella finds her way into the bar, she is drenched from head to toe. She wrings the water from her hair, and moves to take a seat. However when she asks for a cup of mead, she is stunned by the bartender's reply that she is underage. )
Pardon me, but what else would there be to drink, then? Wine? Surely not the water! Mead has never harmed me since childhood, sir.
( The bartender rolls his eyes and curtly informs her again that she's too young to drink. The seems to elate a woman beside her, who turns to pepper her with questions. Pink is her favourite colour, she favours the open water and sailing, and her smallclothes are nobody's business, thank-you-very-much.
Should someone come to rescue her from this interview/interrogation, she will shoot them a grateful look. )
My thanks. Do you know what might be appropriate for someone nineteen summers old to drink here?
IV. NONAH
( Put off straight-away by the noise of the nightclubs and scandalous attire of their patrons, Myrcella prefers to explore a little. She has a healthy snack of yogurt and granola she's tried and found herself delighted by, and she enjoys little bites of it as she strolls through the city. The clatter of the metal monster which runs through the middle of the city is deafening, but that does not seem to bother the local wildlife.
In a bit of greenspace she finds that she is not the only one to cherish the distance from the hubbub and the sight of growing things. Little creatures which are larger than mice but more charming than rats scamper about. And one stands not far from her, sniffing the air delicately as it stands on its hind legs.
The sight is enough for her to let out a bubbly little laugh, and she plucks a handful of granola from her container and holds out the palm of her hand. )
Are you hungry, too, little one?
quietly screaming in heropa
It is also business that does not involve any of the parties causing the commotion. The noise is loud enough that as he approaches from the east, Jaime is already considering diverting his course, lest he find himself somehow involved. When he is yet a good two blocks away, he finds himself involved anyways: the thief, fleeing with his head bent low, runs straight into Jaime.
It is instinct that makes Jaime grab hold of the man before he can flee. Their own brief argument does not last very long, nor does their scuffle. The thief drops the bag that he carries when Jaime twists his arm--his one good hand is strong enough that the thief yells in pain--and he's running off again just a few moments later, leaving Jaime to collect the abandoned bag.
Now that he has it, he might as well deliver it to the wronged party. It does him no good to keep it. All the same, Jaime is grimacing slightly as he comes around the corner of the alley, an expression which first deepens when he sees the costumed heroes--and then clears, as he sees Myrcella.
If Jaime were to confess that Myrcella is the last person in Westeros that he would expect to find here, it would not be entirely true. Certainly the Seven Kingdoms are full of girls both highborn and common that Jaime would never expect to see. The fact that his own blood is on that list speaks perhaps more of him than it does of Myrcella. He was never much interested in any child. A convenient disinterest, given how very Lannister all of Cersei's children look.
All the same, seeing Myrcella standing in this dim alleyway feels a little like being punched in the chest, and Jaime finds himself--as he so rarely is--at a loss for words. To his fortune, he is still holding the bag in his hand, and the woman soon spots him.
That's mine! she declares, with satisfaction, and shoulders past the costumed heroes to reclaim it. Her clear path will also make Jaime plain to Myrcella. She may not even recognize me. When did he last see her? Quite long ago, before he rode from King's Landing. When I had two hands, and was not wearing the strange garb of this country.]
Myrcella.
[--is about all he can manage, witless fool that he is. Give him a moment and he will surely recover, come up with something better.]
no subject
—and she is struck dumb, green eyes wide as both the woman the the heroes wander off in opposite directions. She'd seen him much more recently in her memory than before he'd ridden off to fight the Starks. Only it hadn't ended well, and everything she's been forcing herself to ignore simply to hold herself together in public comes rushing back. The stolen necklace, Tristayne, the Sand Snakes. The daring rescue he'd so valiantly mounted for her only for it to come to naught.
I'm glad that you're my father. Her last words. Because she'd died, and it is eerie how much detail of how it had felt as the spark of life had left her.
If he remembers, he gives no outward sign, either. She does not cry, nor rush forward to embrace him as she so badly wishes to. Instead, her features brighten, warmth reaching her eyes as she moves forward to take his good hand between her own. of course she recognizes him. She would know his face anywhere. )
Father.
( Her voice is pitched low, gentle now in the relative silence the mummers have left for them. To live again is overwhelming unto itself, but as before, she feels safe with him. Enough so to verbally confirm that she knows. The grip of her hands is still gentle, but they squeeze his just a little. )
no subject
What does he know of Myrcella? Beautiful, golden. Her kindness comes from someone else. The Maiden, maybe, a godsgift given to the gently born. She likes cats--no, that's Tommen. But surely Myrcella likes cats as well? Girls usually do. Not Cersei. Cersei liked only lions when she was a girl. And Myrcella is nearly grown, he can see it in her face--not that he knows her face so very well, but he can see it all the same. That same kindness lives in her face, makes her look so very little like Cersei as much as she resembles Cersei.
Father. Jaime nearly looks around to see who is watching this scene unfold. It is only the two of them in this alleyway. No little birds to witness. Her hand is soft. He does not pull free of it, though his arm bunches tight. No is on his lips, a flat denial. Instead, dumbly--]
You know.
[--and curses himself for a fool a moment later. She said it. She knows. How she would come to know, Jaime could not say--it's the damnably slippery seasons; there could be three summers between his memory and hers. Perhaps I wed Cersei after all. Perhaps they all know. Perhaps the Seven Kingdoms fall down around our ears.]
How do you know?
no subject
And if that holds, then how is she here? Something to think of when everything isn't threatening to overwhelm her all at once. Not so long ago as all that, she had looked into this man's eyes and claimed he knew her not. Those were honest words. Though she has no right idea how much insight he'd been allowed to have into her life, knowing the truth as she does now. Whether he'd wanted to be involved or not, she remembers his one attempt to try.
It's softened her, and she inclines her head just so in response. )
I think part of me always has. I remember telling you this once before. Have you forgotten, or is this a dream?
( This time when she looks into his eyes, there is nothing more than a gentle sort of patience in her countenance. Maybe he has forgotten after all. )
The way you looked at mother; as though all the gold in the Iron Bank wouldn't tempt you to leave her side. When the King looked at her, it was colder.
( No one thinks that children notice these things. She is more perceptive than Tommen, and had. Even if it had taken her years to fully grasp and understand what it all meant. )
no subject
Myrcella knows. What else comes to pass? Does he dare to ask? Does he want to know what she might say?
It is selfishness to think again of Cersei. What else can Jaime do? He has not seen his sister in so long. Thought of her, dreamed of her, wanted her, wished for her, in every moment--hardly any different than usual, save the keen pain that distance visits upon that wanting. He surely has given himself away, as Myrcella says he has, in looks and in devotion.]
It is no dream. And I have not forgotten. I would not forget something like--
[Gods Above, it is strange to have this secret laid out so openly. Even Tyrion never put it so plainly, though of course he knew. We fooled ourselves thinking it was secret. And then, more boldly, he thinks, not for the first time, that it should not be a secret. If it is so well known, what's the difference?
A thought for another time, and not to be shared with Myrcella. Especially not now, with her so new to this place.]
Time in this country, it is-- strange. You are likely well beyond me in its current. What you think I must know, I may not yet know. By my memory, we would have last met in the Red Keep, before I rode south to do battle with Robb Stark's army. [Half a lifetime ago, even for Jaime. How long for her?] The others of Westeros that you might meet here, they may have knowledge you do not, whole seasons that they have lived beyond you, or fewer than you have lived. You must remember that.
[Father. Now her hands have a particular heaviness to it, a weight on his good hand. Jaime does not know what to do with the word, especially not with Myrcella now stood before him. Has he ever thought of her as any part of him? Not precisely. She was Cersei's. I swore an oath. Another one broken.]
And you must keep our secret, even in this place.
no subject
Only the familiar, earnest countenance of a father who has no idea how to approach that role whatsoever. Myrcella finds further comfort in that, too, endeared by his honesty. Exhaling softly, she steps forward and squeezes his hand with hers. )
I've said this once, but I'll say it again: I'm glad of it. And I'd like to know you better, if you aren't unopposed to it.
( Carefully, she presents that choice; she is nearly grown, old enough for a surety to be married. In her heart, she thinks she knows the answer already. The hope she'd seen in his eyes just before the end has stayed with her. As much as has Tristayne's kindness. It is a truth that nearly everyone at least suspects back in the capital, if they do not know outright already.
But if this be the only time she is allowed to call him father in this strange country, she is glad to have had the opportunity to savour it. )
Gods be good, it has been much longer than that. I had wondered, and I do not claim to understand how this is possible. ( Unless the Red Woman said to travel with Stannis has wrought some manner of magic, or something equally beyond her ken at the moment. Her brows furrow together as she tries to piece it together in any case. ) I'd been in Dorne for some years. Uncle Tyrion brokered an alliance, and I was to wed Prince Tristayne. Is he here, among those you speak of?
( She inclines her head, smile dimming a little. ) I shall not forget.
( She has not seen her mother in years. Though she'd been vexed by her seemingly baseless paranoia when her father had arrived in Dorne, it had quickly proven to be correct. And she worries, about how her lady mother is doing. Is she well? Surely not. Is she safe—who knows?
Her death has taught her a little of the world her mother had fought so hard to shelter her from. They have enemies everywhere. Does that include here, as well? Gripping his hand more tightly, she nods, a little of her earlier fire there in her eyes now. )
Of course, father. To all others, you are my uncle. I would help you keep us safe.
( No one will threaten them nor tear them apart. Not again. Impulsively, she releases his hand and closes the remaining distance between them to embrace him properly. His heart beats strongly, reminding her that so too does her own. )
no subject
It discomforts him to think of Tyrion and Cersei so opposed. He is no fool: there has never been love between them. But they have at least held a sort of peace, kept secrets, kept strong their House. Tyrion must have acted out of wisdom, Jaime tells himself. And had he been in King's Landing at the time, would he have contested the arrangement? He might have fathered Cersei's children, but he was no father to them. Nor was Robert. Is it really so different? And it is in Jaime to refuse Myrcella's hope--but she says it so plainly, with simple honesty, that he finds he does not know what to say.]
Perhaps, yes. [A poor answer. As soon as he has said it, he knows, and he frowns, casts his eyes down to their hands once more. Better:] I am not opposed. And I will keep you safe, Myrcella.
[Another man would offer an oath. Jaime knows how cheap such words are. He tries to put plain truth into his tone instead, and when she steps in to embrace him, he allows it. After an awkward pause, he raises his arms and closes them around her. She is much taller now, nearly a woman grown if not a woman already. Betrothed, awaiting marriage in Dorne--and now here, with him. Their embrace puts his missing hand in his line of sight, a brutal thing against the gold of her hair. Can he give her what she asks for? A father?
He need not answer now. Instead, he answers the rest of what she asks, as he draws away to look at her once more.]
There are no princes of Dorne here. Your Uncle Tyrion was here, but he has been gone now for some time. Whatever power that brings people to this country can send them away again. We have plenty of Starks, more than I can keep count of--their Greyjoy ward, Lord Baelish--and Targaryens. There is a sort of accord at the moment, thanks to Lord Baelish. ['Thanks'. Jaime is a measure sarcastic about that word. He is grateful, to be sure, and Littlefinger makes for a decent enough ally. Just not one that Jaime would have selected if not for necessity.] You must tell me all that you know, but keep much of it from all of them. There is a certain power in foreknowledge.
And there are threats besides those our countrymen would pose to us. But I will see you safe.
[For Cersei's sake, as much as anything else. And for my own, too. What capabilities he has to fulfill Myrcella's request remain to be seen. Tentatively, Jaime smiles at her.]
The powers gifted to us by the gods of this country will allow me that, at least.
sorry for the delay! finished her app and coded her journal.
Myrcella had never understood why her mother and uncle hated one-another so. Both of them had been dear to her, and she can tell that Tyrion had tried his best to keep her safe. In Dorne, she had been, until Oberyn Martell's death. Like Doran, Tyrion had tried his best to shield her from the army brought to the gates of the capital by Stannis. Something her mother had not thought of, and her mother had not written her once she'd left. Whether she'd been angry or the letters had been intercepted—she has no idea.
The gift of the ship had hurt more than delighted. Now, she is much further away than the capital, and she thinks, at last, this man who has never had the opportunity to be a father to his children should have precisely that. It is more than simply an unwillingness to be alone. She remembers well the look in his eyes then, and the answer becomes simple. Brightening, she regards him warmly. )
I'm glad for it. ( There is a subtle shift in her expression, as she inclines her head. ) Thank you.
( Though she has no shortage of faith in him, she is uncertain as to how safe anyone truly ever is. In Dorne, she had thought herself completely safe, that none who wished her family harm could reach her. And instead, it had been the mother of the girls she had grown to think of as friends who had betrayed her. Best not think of that. Forcing herself to abandon that train of thought, Myrcella holds fast to him, uncaring of his missing hand. In this one moment, he has already given her more than Robert Baratheon did in all the years of her life.
For which she is grateful to him, too. She steps back a pace to look up into his eyes, her expression very nearly falling to hear that Trystane isn't here, and that Uncle Tyrion has been and gone. But she goes very still to hear the names Stark, Greyjoy and Targaryen. Her face pales, even as she raises her chin as if to silently show she is undaunted. )
Thank the gods for that accord, then. ( She cannot imagine any Stark would willingly abide a Lannister nor Targaryen alive in this realm without it in place. ) How long has that been in place for?
As to what I know, it is admittedly little. I was sent away to Dorne before Stannis arrived in King's Landing. Thereafter, Prince Doran kept much from me, I assume. I did hear of Joffrey's murder, Tommen's ascension and the death of Prince Oberyn. His lover bore our family ill-will afterward.
But you arrived with Ser Bronn not too long ago after a threat to my life had been made. You were quite the daring rescuer, father. But I am sorry I can't be of more help. You're right. ( She wishes now that she hadn't been so overly protected from the reality of the world. ) Do you have foreknowledge I don't?
I— ( There he goes again, making that promise. Tears sting her eyes, but she does not weep. Smiling instead, she makes it seem as though she is simply overjoyed. ) I would see us both safe. Someone should have a care for you, too.
( Her expression softens, allowing her to maintain her own smile. )
Perhaps, but you never needed anything like that for me to feel safe with you.
oh my goD such good news that even if i minded the delay i would no longer mind
Especially not with Prince Oberyn dead. This, too, is news to Jaime, but Myrcella says it all with such a matter of fact air that he knows it becomes truth. How dangerous her position must have been then. Did Cersei send me to her? She must have.]
I have the opposite, I'm afraid. A great lack of knowledge. [Who in Seven Hells is Ser Bronn? No House or name that Jaime knows. Some minor son or hedge knight, trusted to see Princess Myrcella safe?] I was a captive of the Starks, as you no doubt know. Then I was freed, and captured again--and had a very trying journey all the way south again, with very poor company. Between that and the summer months that stretch between you and I, I think you know a great deal more than I do.
[Father. She says it again. Jaime thinks of the clothes given to him in Harrenhal, how poorly they had fit him. That is what the word feels like. He should correct her, reminder her of what she must say: uncle, always uncle. Does it matter? Does he care?]
As to the accord we have here, it is very new, not in anything but word and a very general sort of agreement, and I hardly know how faithfully anyone will abide by that. Targaryens are especially capricious, as is the way of their House, but Lord Baelish seems to believe that the expectations placed upon us will prevent them from behaving too rashly.
[She looks nothing like Cersei when she smiles. Again, Jaime thinks that, and feels a twinge of some unnamed feeling deep in his chest, something he tries gamely to set aside. Myrcella's expectations are likely to be frustrated by Jaime's inadequacies. Haven't you heard, princess? I'm a oathbreaker. But for his House, he has always done what he was told. Myrcella is a Lannister, every part of her.]
Sweet words, but my safety should hardly be a concern of yours. [He tries a smile back at her. Somewhat successful, even if his uncertainty bleeds a little charm from him.] Unless you've come armed with a fearsome power of your own. Is this the city where they have assigned you to live?
De Chima
This time, in visiting the tavern, he said nothing and received his beer a lot sooner. Without the conversation, he was able to hear the usual questions the residents asked when there was a new arrival or someone that didn't know how to navigate the city.
He turned, catching sight of the young woman. He had seen her once before in Winterfell before he had traveled to the Wall to join the Night's Watch. A Lannister wasn't hard to mistake, no matter how long it had been.
Putting himself between Myrcella and the woman, he slipped onto the bar stool next to the young princess.]
They have something called "soda". It's sweet, but you might like it.
no subject
The both of them had been perceptive children, once upon a time. Blinking owlishly for a long moment, she considers both his reply and lack of spoken recognition for the moment. )
Sweet? ( Her nose wrinkles, scrunching almost comically. ) No, I don't think I would. What's the matter with these people?
( And now at last, she raises an eyebrow and offers forth a dainty hand. )
It has been an age, Jon Snow. Or so it feels! Have you been well?