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blowingsteam2013-07-25 12:13 am
henleinmods) wrote in blowingsteam2013-07-25 12:13 am
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TEST DRIVE
Feel free to give anyone you'd like to bring in a whirl. Threads here are also welcomed when giving samples in your applications.
Before we get to the prompts, here are a few important reminders:
- Your character doesn't know their name or the name of anyone in their canon. On their wrist is a prison id number that is formatted as follows: The letter of their crime (M-murder, A-arson, TH-theft, TR-treason, B-battery, D-destruction), the number of their cell (01-09, 10-32), and then three random numbers. So an id that reads M23-879 lets you know this is a murderer who lives in cell 23. Even though names are impossible to recall, they can recall the faces and voices of castmates if a mun chooses.
- They don't remember doing the crime that sent them here, or how they arrived here at all. The presence of other memories is up to the mun, as long as characterization isn't sacrificed.
- There's a new shallow metal slot in the back of their head.
- This is a prose game, so please keep the formatting traditional. "Dialog goes in quotations." Actions happen outside.
The Prison
Welcome to Henlein, prisoner. Feel free to explore the prison. The circular hallway stretches on past 32 cells and comes to an end at the lobby. A glass wall welcomes you inside, showing a magnificent view of The Turner, a giant clock in the center of the prison. Over its face stretches a large and thick layer of glass. A section of the lobby's glass wall opens, allowing entry but there's nothing to gain other than a closer look at the cogs underfoot.
Besides cells, the hallway also passes a men's and a women's shower, a old dim cafeteria, and two store rooms. In the cafeteria is an Eye machine. Hold up your bracelet under its lamp and it will dispense one ration pack. In the store rooms are jump suits in all crime colors and sizes as well as shoes and very little else. To the south, by the lobby are also rooms 101 through 104. Each of these strangely ornate doors are locked. Too bad.
Besides cells, the hallway also passes a men's and a women's shower, a old dim cafeteria, and two store rooms. In the cafeteria is an Eye machine. Hold up your bracelet under its lamp and it will dispense one ration pack. In the store rooms are jump suits in all crime colors and sizes as well as shoes and very little else. To the south, by the lobby are also rooms 101 through 104. Each of these strangely ornate doors are locked. Too bad.
The Labyrinth
If you venture past the lobby's exiting hallway, you'll enter into the labyrinth. The walls are warm and still pulse with The Turner's beat. We hope you don't get too lost as you travel its curving pathways. If you're lucky, you might find a ration pack at the end of some sorry dead end.
If you're unlucky, you may find a needlepoint spider instead. These small clockwork pests hold a mild sedative in their fangs. It helps slow you down so that by time the swarm comes, you won't get away. While they don't eat you, they are very territorial and will kill to protect their areas. Also lurking these dim halls are metal scorpions. Though they travel alone, they're just as poisonous as their organic counterparts. If you see a flash of light speed past an entrance, run. Run and don't look back. Lava hounds like to play hunt through the labyrinth, but if they see you they will attack you. These beasts usually travel in small groups of three, so be prepared for a fight. Removing their magma heads from their bodies or cutting out their obsidian hearts are the key to finishing these puppies off.
If you're unlucky, you may find a needlepoint spider instead. These small clockwork pests hold a mild sedative in their fangs. It helps slow you down so that by time the swarm comes, you won't get away. While they don't eat you, they are very territorial and will kill to protect their areas. Also lurking these dim halls are metal scorpions. Though they travel alone, they're just as poisonous as their organic counterparts. If you see a flash of light speed past an entrance, run. Run and don't look back. Lava hounds like to play hunt through the labyrinth, but if they see you they will attack you. These beasts usually travel in small groups of three, so be prepared for a fight. Removing their magma heads from their bodies or cutting out their obsidian hearts are the key to finishing these puppies off.
The Streets
It's bright out here, hot and glowing. The city exhales steam from a nearby vent in the bronze street by the labyrinth's exit. The avenues stretch before you, radiating from the curved line that cuts through metal street and solid sidewalk. You're free to wander down any you'd like.
If you travel north, you'll have the pleasure of seeing Exhalo stretch above the city's skyline. The volcano is especially beautiful tonight, ablaze with fresh magma. All you'd have to do is climb a forgotten fire escape to catch a glimpse of the lava fields just past the city's massive wall.
A breeze welcomes you if you travel south, making the hot and bitter air all the more humid. The steam that bellows up from the ocean passes just past the tops of the buildings and obscures the night sky. However, the pipes that snake overhead here drip with welcomed condensation and leave puddles in the streets below.
To the east are stores, though almost all of them are empty and dark inside. A cafe shines with a soft light and beckons with soft music playing over the ambient ticking of Henlein. If you venture inside, there are a few special treats inside. Come and enjoy fresh coffee and stale cakes and breads. As for attendants, there are none. Take what you like; you're already a criminal.
To the west the lights are fewer and far between. In the darkness, the ticking fades away, leaving rare silence in the shadows. If you venture this way, you'll find a warehouse. Inside isn't much, but there are a few good mattresses, far better than those what were in the prison. You might even find a few useful tools out here, a wrench, a crowbar, a roll of medical bandages. It's almost as if someone else was living here and happened to step out. Will you take what's not yours? Perhaps you'll claim this bed as your own. Whatever you do, just know you may not be alone for long.
If you travel north, you'll have the pleasure of seeing Exhalo stretch above the city's skyline. The volcano is especially beautiful tonight, ablaze with fresh magma. All you'd have to do is climb a forgotten fire escape to catch a glimpse of the lava fields just past the city's massive wall.
A breeze welcomes you if you travel south, making the hot and bitter air all the more humid. The steam that bellows up from the ocean passes just past the tops of the buildings and obscures the night sky. However, the pipes that snake overhead here drip with welcomed condensation and leave puddles in the streets below.
To the east are stores, though almost all of them are empty and dark inside. A cafe shines with a soft light and beckons with soft music playing over the ambient ticking of Henlein. If you venture inside, there are a few special treats inside. Come and enjoy fresh coffee and stale cakes and breads. As for attendants, there are none. Take what you like; you're already a criminal.
To the west the lights are fewer and far between. In the darkness, the ticking fades away, leaving rare silence in the shadows. If you venture this way, you'll find a warehouse. Inside isn't much, but there are a few good mattresses, far better than those what were in the prison. You might even find a few useful tools out here, a wrench, a crowbar, a roll of medical bandages. It's almost as if someone else was living here and happened to step out. Will you take what's not yours? Perhaps you'll claim this bed as your own. Whatever you do, just know you may not be alone for long.
Feel free to make up your own as well. Want to play out your character's first prosthetic? Go for it. Want to share a memory or experience the first memory cog insertion? Please do! For more information on any of these things, please stop by our FAQ
The Tenth Doctor | Doctor Who | OTA
On the inside, however, he is not quite as cheerful. He can't remember his names, either of them. Did he have more than one? Maybe he made one up when he went on the run after committing...whatever crime it was he committed. His bracelet has an M on it. Probably murder, then. Or mutiny? Money-laundering? No, that's just silly. Definitely murder. He is fairly sure he's a murder, even if he can't remember committing the crime.
The fact that deep down, despite not remembering much of his life, he somehow knows he's guilty of so much is rather worrying. What kind of a monster is he?
And yet, he has friends. No, had friends. Warped his friends. Led his friends to their deaths, or worse.
Oh.
The cheerful exterior fades, as does his appetite. He idly tucks the remainder of the ration pack in his crisp, new red jumpsuit and begins to pace back and forth in front of the glass like a big cat in the zoo. Something about the clock just keeps calling to him.
no subject
That's the color of this dumbass jumpsuit they put him in. They; some unknown thinks they can just stick him here and he'll stay quiet? Fat chance of that, he thinks with disgust. Perhaps there's no profit in making trouble when he can't even remember his gorram name, but there sure as hell ain't no profit in sitting still neither.
But the red. There's something about that color that feels like a tickle in the back of his throat, like a sneeze that's just sitting there, meant to torment and aggravate. What is it? And why does he think he can recall that, when he's forgotten so much?
Yes, he can tell there are gaps, missing parts like holes in mouths where teeth should be. He was somewhere else, somewhere cold but with the sense of...belonging. And then...then the gaps. His name...faces, but no names for them either; a junk heap of metal and wires dares call itself a ship...but her name is gone too. There are flashes, memories that come and go like a fresh breeze in a stale land.
He stares down at the band around his wrist, M and a string of meaningless digits. And then he remembers.
A young girl's face, blank and bloodied, the deep red drops trailing down her chin. "He looks better in red"; she states it as a fact.
Well, she's got her wish. He's covered from head to toe in the damn color now. Would it make her happy? Would he care? Those are things he cannot yet recall though.
Wandering through the prison, he comes across another man in red, pacing back and forth before a giant clock. Walk, stop, turn, walk, stop, turn; he swings consistently like a human pendulum.
He can only watch for a few minutes before it drives him up a wall. "Can you give it a rest with the gorram pacing, you're gonna make me sick!"
no subject
He's not quite sure why he expected to be alone in a giant complex, but here he is, surprised to hear another person's voice. Good! Is that good? He seems to recall something about wanting to be alone, but desperately needing not to be alone. Unfortunately, the context is lost amid the haze of his memories.
"Oh! Sorry," he says, coming to a swift halt with a small bounce on the balls of his feet. He puts on a smiling mask of cheerfulness as easily as a second skin and greets the newcomer.
"Hello! I'm...whoever I am. Something interesting, I hope. I seem to recall a lot of fuss about my name, so it must be very interesting -- and I'm rambling."
The tall fellow snaps his mouth shut with a click of teeth and approaches the more surly-looking man and looks him over. "Red. Well, I suppose it's good to not be the only murderer around. Or very bad, depending."
no subject
And yet he'd be a gorram fool to stand around waxing nostalgic over a bunch of see-through memories when faced with another self-proclaimed killer. He gives the other man a quick once over, sure that he could easily break him.
"Yeah, well just don't piss me off and we'll see how things go," he threatens.
"So you ain't got a name either? That's rich. What the hell're we supposed to do, go by a buncha numbers for the rest of our lives?" He spits contemptuously on the floor. "Screw that. You got something you wanna be called or should I just call you 'Rambling'?"
no subject
Or maybe he's psychotic and just thinks it was a good reason.
"Well, I don't really plan on it, but I seem to be the type to do that anyway," he replies, "I remember a lot of running away from people who want to kill me."
He ponders the name situation, rubbing the back of his head briefly until his fingers brush against the metal slot there and he pulls his hand away with a distinctly queasy feeling. Who digs holes in people's heads?
"Rambling..." the man rolls it around his mouth like a new flavor, "Rrrambling. Yes! I think I like it. So what do we call you? Grumpy?"
Even with his lost memories, he's still himself: distinctly lacking in self-preservation instincts.
no subject
...wait, now why would he think that? The man frowns to himself, irritated by the random bouts of almost-knowing, almost-recalling important things. Girl's names, girl's names... Why the hell would that be important to him?
Doing a quick mental check, he assures himself he's beyond a shadow of a doubt all man. At least he's seemed to retain that sorta knowledge. Be in a real awkward position if he forgot basic things like that. So it ain't all been wiped clean, just things that make him...him, not just some random thing.
"Nah, I don't think so. If I gotta pick a new name, it should be a good one. How 'bout you call me..." But what did he have to go on? A million names in the whole wide 'verse, and what was the best one for him? Well, Grumpy was a place to start (and lucky for Rambling it'd been a few since things like Disney and certain short bearded miners, or he might be getting a chance to break in his new running shoes); Grump-Grunt-Gun-
"I know! Call me Gunner." That was a strong sounding name. Tough.
Right.
no subject
Don't laugh. Don't laugh, Rambling tells himself over and over again in his head while his face tries really hard to look like he's liking the idea. In fact, he nods a few times just to make it look authentic. It's not a bad name, per se. It's just so ridiculously macho.
Then again, the fellow in front of him is ridiculously macho.
"Alright, Gunner it is. So tell me, Gunner, how much do you know about this place?"
no subject
"Me? I dunno, I just got here." He shrugs, unapologetic. "At least as far as I can tell, but who knows with all the," he gestures at his head, "empty...thing."
It's the best way to describe it. Like the few things he does recall is rattling about in his head from all the space. It's unsettling, to say the least.
"Thought I'd take a look around, see what's up with this place." He gives Rambling a considering glance. He's skinny, but he don't seem too dumb...yet. "I ain't really a group kinda guy, I don't think, but I won't say no if you wanna come along."
no subject
It's probably for the best.
So, when he catches the lanky man in red, contrasting his own green jump suit, he puts on a smile and decides to see what he can learn.
"I wonder if it's like an egg timer. Maybe it's so hot in here because they intend to cook us."
no subject
He turns around in a small circle to take in their surroundings, his mouth quirking to the side as he mentally calculates the likelihood of that even being possible. "No, I don't think so. The space is too large to build up enough heat to actually cook us all. They would need a lot more power than they seem to be putting out."
"Of course," he adds with a frown, his dark eyes narrowing just a bit to add to his ominous tone, "It doesn't stop them from trying."
And then, like it was nothing, his demeanor flips and he holds out a hand for shaking. "Hello, by the way! I'd tell you my name, but I have no idea what it is. Green, eh? What's that for?"
no subject
Listening to the tall man's explanation of things, though, he has to wonder. Maybe excess power isn't an issue. To the teenager in green, it's a matter of desire, not a matter of common sense.
"You forgot your name too? I wonder if it's a side effect of whatever they inserted into the back of our heads?" Aaron found the metal plate with the slot in it. He isn't sure what that means and is not entirely sure he'll be happy with the answer.
"And I think it means I am a traitor. I am pretty sure I'm one of the good guys though. Well, for certain definitions..."