checkyourself | THE TEST DRIVE MEME: MARCH

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( admin ) test drive meme

THE TEST DRIVE MEME: MARCH - APRIL

THE TEST DRIVE MEME

SO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE CREEPY HOTEL BRIGADE.

Well, welcome potential apper! Here we have the handy dandy test drive meme so you can get a feel for how your character might react to the game setting. This post can also be used to cultivate some of those required sample threads for the application.

Feel free to play any scenario you so please. However please note that TDM threads cannot be used for Activity Checks (for existing players) and will not be considered game canon unless transposed comment for comment into logs in checkingout. We also recommend avoiding playing the initial arrival, so that the intro log doesn't become repetitive and boring for you. Other than that, go wild.

Here's a few additional useful links:

PREMISE | THE HOTEL
TAKEN | RESERVES | APPLICATION

BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS.

No time for losers, because we — have waffles and pancakes and crepes and delicate bowls of ripe bananas and juicy oranges. We have bacon and oatmeal and cereal and milk; we have coffee (that's really hot and will burn you quite spectacularly) and tea (that, on the other hand, is miserably cold and bland). And we have orange juice (that might just kill you)!

Basically, every component one needs to start the day off right. Which is good, because this is the only meal ever served in the hotel. So come one, come all — get it while it's hot and try to pick among seats amidst the crowded circular tables, or stand along the wall. Bemoan the lack of hashbrowns or fight over the last fork. Mix, mingle. Have "fun".

DON'T YOU LOVE MY TASTE IN MUSIC.

What starts as soft, subtle musical notes wafting out of unseen speakers?

Yeah, that quickly manifests into blaring, loud, aggressively high pitched notes — so distorted, and reverberating so magnificently in the main lobby that even those impenetrable windows rattle in their frames.

And what's more, there doesn't seem to be an off switch anywhere in sight. Good luck finding one.

GOING DOWN.

Right by the stairwell in the lobby is an old timey elevator, the sort that really ought to be manned by staff to insure that it's in decent working condition and won't kill you. But it's usually not. And usually doesn't run.

But today, your ears are treated to an oh-so pleasant ding, and the doors will slide open, offering a ride to the floor of your choosing. Finally, no more calf workouts on the stairs, right?

...well, you probably should have taken the stairs, because three seconds in the entire carriage shudders, screeches to a halt, and refuses to move.

Then the lights begin to flicker.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE.

Don't see a scenario that appeals to you here? Make up your own. Get crazy with it! Good luck getting outside.

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[ It's not been quite as long for Clint as it has for Phil, but he's pleased to see him alive; he doesn't plan on questioning it. ]

If it ain't broke. [ He shrugs, turning enough to throw up his legs onto the seat beside him. ] A few weeks. Long enough to get the gist of the place, but still no sign of a way out. Not ready to give up yet, though.

Edited 2015-03-30 00:12 (UTC)

[Do. Not. Engage.]

[Damn it. When he said her code name she tensed, hand tightening at her hip. It was time to go. To turn and go for the stairs now. She hadn't tried to kill him, yet, but she wasn't happy with him either.]

[her eyes sharpened as she stared at him, then drew back, gruffly saying]

that person is dead.

[and turned to move for the stairs instead of the elevator. If he followed, she would deal, if not she was going to Wards room to growl.]

Harry tsks lightly at the voice of a man who no longer does much in the way of field work. While he is, of course, fairly discerning about the food he eats when he has the choice? When he hasn't, he's perfectly happy - hence uncomplaining - so long as there's enough on offer to keep him alive.

"If they did that, Merlin, whatever would you have to complain about?"

The list stretches on unto infinity, of course.

"I can find plenty of things to complain about when it's regarding this hotel." Even Merlin has a smile on his face. It isn't a secret that he will make his opinion known if there is a time and place for it. Just so happens breakfast is the pinnacle of everything that is wrong in the hotel. Merlin can't complain about the actual room he was given too much; he's seen - and slept in - much worse.

There's a few seconds of comfortable silence before Merlin peers over at Harry with an eyebrow raised. What comes next is a barely even a question and almost an accusation.

"You actually believe the talk of magic?"

[Coulson takes pause, thinking about his next words]

Did your brother's death help?

[He keeps his tone cool and aloof. He knows Ward is the one who did it but he's purposefully avoiding accusatory words]

[He frowns and it takes a second before he moves after her. He'll retreat if it seems they're heading down somewhere without clear exit points. He speaks after she hits the top of the first flight of stairs]

So who are you now?

[well that's not good news. He has a few questions but he'll go at them one at a time]

What about the staff? Are they saying anything useful?

Not even through the windows?

[Admittedly, Coulson has already tried to break the one in his room to see if that's a viable option]

Any luck figuring out who's behind all this?

Great. A kidnapping that comes with poisoning.

[Coulson's going to have to see if there's a way to ask Fitz to test the drink for poison. That said, his response is mostly automatic and distracted. He's trying to think of a good way to bring up all the questions he has in his head. In the end, he opts for the direct route.]

Everything's fine. I just... are you Peggy Carter?

[Inhale, exhale. He doesn't smile but he does look relaxed. Then he looks annoyed.]

Somebody doesn't talk to you for 3 weeks, trying to sort out where they're coming from and you sell them to another person for what? The right to play outside and keep all your toys?

[He shakes his head. His beef isn't really with you Coulson, or with Skye he gets why you did it but hey why not just see about jabbing his finger into what might be potentially sensitive places? Especially with Skye becoming what she is? She doesn't look like what most gifted look like after SHIELD gets through with them.]

Bad form. "every man's worth saving except for the people I personally don't like?" bad form.

[She could hear him following her but she didn’t look back, at least not at first. When he spoke she stopped abruptly, glaring at the ground. She should have been ready for this.]

Why does it matter?

Not really. For the first two months, no one even saw the staff. People were starting to theorize they might be ghosts too, but ... [ She gestures to the man standing at the lobby desk. ] Now, I'm thinking robots is closer to the right track. I mean, seriously. [ She cuts through the air with one hand. ] Stone cold.

If poisoning is all we need to worry about the situation is better than I thought.

[Although, she isn't quite certain of that. Things seem too polite for the usual kidnapping, not that she'll complain about the lack of violence so far.

Of all the reasons she expected him to stare at her, recognizing her wasn't one that Peggy had considered. She wasn't the one who had been in the newsreels or been praised by the President.]

I am but you you seem to have the advantage since you know my name and I don't know yours.

Breakfast of Champions

This was a low-grade version of some of the security details he had taken on when he was younger and wasn't subjected to mission meals coming out of shiny vacuum sealed paper or a can with questionable contents. Why, he could actually identify the food that was on display, though he walked the room first subtly as if checking out the windows and the decor before he ever moved close to gather food for himself.

And he did once he saw other people eating the items that he wanted in particular and giving them time to either get sick or keel right over. Apparently it was safe enough, not that he particularly expected a weird bugged out place like this to want to poison anyone. He hadn't yet determined if this was some kind of Soviet social experiment.

Rumlow got a heaping amount of food, everything neatly ordered on his plate and then carried it off with two of each utensil (only planning on returning one or two as well) and found the most defensible chair in the room, on the corner of a table, his back to a wall and where he was able to survey everyone coming and going from the room.

He ate quietly and quickly, years of pushing food down and having to run to a mission ingrained in him. He also pretended to be occasionally looking at his table while he slipped a knife and fork into his pocket to take with him with an expert sleight-of-hand.

Going Down

Elevators, especially old rickety ones, were a danger and a waste of time. He tended towards the stairs out of habit and a need for exercise because this place was shit for getting him what he needed to keep his build. Running around the hallways and bench pressing tables was not particularly his cup of tea (and that stuff was nasty too). Plus, that elevator looked dangerous to his health, like it would just release on its cables at any moment or any amount of weight.

It was probably why he entered it one time to measure the risks for himself. And of course it stopped. And of course they were stuck.

He grunted and stared at the panel and decided that it actually wasn't worth the bother to rip it out and see if he could manually start it up again or electrocute someone else. This rickety old thing probably didn't even produce enough electricity to make the Soldier giggle or twitch. Stupid piece of shit elevator.

Rumlow instead looked up for the maintenance panel in the roof. He braced on the narrow railing and went for it, shoving it up and out of the way. Who had scaled elevators before? Yeah, this guy right here, and he'd even brought his gloves so he wouldn't tear his hands open on the cables.

Wildcard of New Regrets

The knife whistled down the hallway and embedded into the wall at the far end, another following rapidly. Brock Rumlow chuckled at his good aim and padded down the hallway to retrieve the dinner knives that he had sharpened wickedly and jerked the pair from the wall. He reached up and smoothed a bit of the damage and then reached down to rehang the picture that he had removed for his target practice on the wall.

He would have preferred darts or a game of pool, but alas, he was stuck making certain that he was still in good position to kill anyone that came his way. And there were many who might consider it. The joys of communal living.

(ooc: will match prose or action to any replies and wildcard can be anything at all.)

Edited 2015-03-30 22:30 (UTC)

[ His lips quirk a bit, not quite a smile, not really, but definitely something that's amused. The joke isn't lost on him; he's an Eagles fan. ]

Such a lovely place. [ His voice is a slow drawl, holding the same faint touches of amusement that his expression does.

The humor in his face fades a little with an arch of brows and a quiet sigh. ] Yeah, no shit. [ The words themselves should be insulting, but his tone doesn't let them sound that way; it's more of an agreement than anything else. ] I think it's safe to say this place don't make a damn bit of sense.

SHIELD has a habit of saying many things, Coulson, and not actually sticking to them.

[He doesn't trust you in the least, Phil. It's not going to do any good. In his head, you've kept Skye captive.

His hands clench tighter at his sides.]

We both know you agents don't have lives anymore.

Coulson.

[The name is practically spat out, Calvin's jaw clenching a bit as he fights to keep his composure. God does he hate even thinking about that man.

Which is why he latches onto her next words, watching her move about with a twisted sort of amusement in his expression.]

A guess, is all. And maybe it's more..you've been taking care of each other.

[He didn't know everything but he knew enough to make a guess and her reaction gave him some more clues.]

"Collecting silverware? That seems like a rather pathetic sort of hobby."

There was something quite curious about the man Calvin approached, the doctor having been watching Brock since he entered the room. He'd made it a habit to be at breakfast every morning, if only to get a better idea of who was occupying the hotel, keeping an eye out for those that might be useful to him if the time ever came.

And this man? This man seemed to fit that bill.

"And they really only get you so far as weapons," Calvin drawled, hands in his pockets as he stood on the opposite side of the table from Brock.

[He would be lying if he said that her anger, her display of power, wasn't enthralling. The man loved seeing it, loved seeing his daughter utilizing her gifts and finally coming into her own.

The doctor managed not to laugh in delight and pride, instead just smiling at her in a warm fatherly fashion.]

I didn't decide anything, Daisy. No, it was decided long before I even knew what was going to happen. I only helped guide you where you needed to be.

[Calvin watched her, inching closer now that her eyes were closed.]

Fate would have caught up to you either way, Daisy.

Rumlow looked up from his tablet to regard the older man who was apparently talking to him and had apparently caught him slipping silverware away. That kind of perception skill he could admit being impressed with given his location, which made this man a very, very interesting person to him.

He turned the tablet over and set his elbows on the table, hands folded together and resting his chin on top. His eyes flicked over the details before the corner of his lip curled into a faint smirk.

"Better than what I came with for the moment. They'll do in a pinch," he drawled lazily. "Know where I can find something better, Mr...?"

The doctor grinned, the expression sharp and maybe a touch on the knowing side.

"Perhaps," he drawled but if he did have that information, he wasn't about to share it with someone he didn't know just yet. For all he knew, this could very well be one of those hired hands that SHIELD had been employing as of late.

And that just wouldn't do.

"Calvin Zabo. And I'd prefer doctor," the man mused, not even bothering to ask as a hand came free of his pocket and he pulled out one of the empty chairs to take a seat. "And you are?"

Friend or foe?

If this guy was apparently a doctor, why was he getting the creeps from him? There was something in that knowing expression that set his guard up, but he was willing to play the game and see where this went. He certainly wasn't going to ostracize someone who could potentially give him information, creeper feeling or not.

He didn't recognize the name, but he filed it away all the same to ask around. He said nothing until the good doctor had been comfortably seated. "Brock Rumlow, but I only answer to Rumlow," he said, eyeing the doctor and offering no more to his title.

"May I inquire as to what you're a doctor in?"

[Breakfast is one of those things that Tony doesn't really eat. Lunch? Dinner? Sure. But breakfast is something that's handed to him by Dum-E because he's forgotten to eat (and sleep) for a couple of hours. It usually comes in the form of doughnuts or gluten-free waffles (why gluten free? Note: Tell JARVIS to order some Eggos as soon as he finds a way home). It wasn't like breakfast was a completely foreign concept for him-come on, who didn't appreciate the occasional red white and blue pancakes when they tasted like freedom? But breakfast wasn't one of those things that he ate.

But still, he's here because the last time he remembered to eat something was a few hours ago.

The food's not great, but it's passable. There's no way to screw fruit up, and waffles are so laughably easy, even he can make them (and he's almost positive these aren't gluten-free). For breakfast here in the equivalent of the Winchester Mystery House, it's not too bad. Sure, he wishes there was a little more variety, but he also wishes that he can leave and that's not happening any time soon. So yeah, he can't complain.

Well, he can complain about the coffee. Oh, there's nothing wrong with the taste. At least he doesn't think there is. The problem with it is that it's too hot to actually taste. Unfortunately he finds that out as soon as he takes a large gulp and nearly spits it out.]

Edited 2015-03-31 04:27 (UTC)

God, stop calling me that! [ Raising a hand, Skye cuts quickly through the air like she's ready to just nip this 'Daisy' shit in the bud. It's not her name. She won't just turn around and be what he wants her to be just because he forced this on her. She won't. ] This wasn't fate!

[ Incredulous, disgusted, and more than a little furious at the way he divorces responsibility like that, Skye can't help but raise her voice. ]

It was aliens, and HYDRA, and crazy people. You—You are insane if you think anyone is meant to be like this. If you think I wanted to be like this.

[Ward ducks the knife and when he sees who's coming he's torn between absolute burning disgust - and something like amusement. With Coulson and his team here (almost in their entirety and what the heck was that about?) Of course it wouldn't be too long before this guy showed up.

At least it's not Pierce.]

...Hail Hydra.

[33 can't know this man is here. He can't know anything about it.]

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Page 24 of 33

THE TEST DRIVE MEME: MARCH - APRIL

Agent Coulson :3

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Brock "Crossbones" Rumlow | MCU

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Breakfast

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Tony Stark // MCU

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WHATS UP HYDRA BRO.