oasismods | JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME

JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME

"-̭̫̜̩̪̑̈́̓̌̐-̞͓̘̩͖̿́͒͑͘░͙͈̥̦̼̌̊̒̾̅░̨̢̠͙̖̉͊̽͌͝░̫͔͎̤̘̀̑͋͛̾ȩ̨̬̙͛̐̋̀̕͜m̻̬͈̠͒̌͌̍͌͜ ̡̲͈̙̼̽̾͆̊̃f̖̟͉̲̪̈́̾̀̂̀ą̢̯̘̙́̇͑̈̋i̪̱̙̘̟͌́̄̊͘ļ̢̛̲͕̣͐̎̿͛u͕̣̥̘̳̓̃͗͠͝r͉̠̗͖̰̉̅͗̚͘ę̛̺̥̝̘̄͑̌̈́.̣̫͕̰̭̓͂̈́̓͊ ̟̗͔̟͋̿̒̚̚ͅA̠̫̬̼̣̒̇͛́̊l̫̬͎̤͈͑̀͂̐̆ë̡̧̝̺͖́̍̂͂͝r͙͍̱̫͕̆͊̾͐̕ţ͙̻̣̝͒́̄̈́͆!͕̫͓͉̹̌̍̽̂̓ ̧̛̲͎͖̳̌̆̾̏░͖̲̞̼̹̇̄̌̈́̊░̡͍͎͍̘̇̈́̕͝░̪͚̼̦̃̋͊̆͜͠è̛̞̬͙̠̖̊͌̂m͖̝̟̗̣̽̄̐̚͠ ̛̹̯͈̮̼̈́͊͌͠f̧̰̖͋̊̈̊̑͜͜ą̨͚͎̹̀̎̑͋́i̞̬͓̭̳̎́̓͘͠l̢͈̲͇͕̈́̆̐̌̈́ư̰̞͚̻̺̔͑̓̑ṛ͎̯͚̇̔̾̔̏͜ę̛̻̼̭͊͆̕͜͝.̯̖̫̣͔̔̋̔̽͠ ̺̼̟̲͌́͒̔̅ͅĄ̹̝̖̺̂̇̽̒͊ĺ̛̺̰̰̤͎̾͗͝e̛̗̭̻͕̹̓̔͆̆r̢̛͙͖̘̻̈̚̚͘t̰̲̠̖̻̉͂̆̓̇!̬̞̟͉̺̂͆̊͑͐"

You awaken to godawful static overlaying a female voice that's too monotone to be anything but a recording. The static makes it difficult to understand the warning, but it's clearly a warning if your surroundings tell you anything...

You're buckled into a sturdy seat bolted to the wall behind you. Around you, there are dozens of others like you, some awake and others still unconscious, but it seems most of the seats lining the walls are occupied. The lights are dim, likely auxiliary lighting, leaving you mostly in the dark. You smell smoke and hear the sizzling crackle of electrical systems popping and shorting out. Some of the seats were jarred off the wall, leaving the occupants either wounded or dead. Count yourself lucky all you have is a headache and various aches accounted to whiplash.

You appear to be in a drop ship or an escape vessel of some form but the pilot is dead and the hull bears a massive gash where it buckled under the impact and sheered off. Through the door-sized opening, you can see vegetation. The air that wafts in is heavy with a humid heat, but it's obviously breathable.

Once you make your way outside, you'll see greenery: Trees, grass, and shrubs tangled with vines that grow wildly and suffocate the trees they climb. In the distance, behind the ship, you can make out a sandy desert that seems to stretch on endlessly. Forward through the trees, however, you may see a crumbling wall, but more importantly, you'll see signs of civilisation. Buildings and other structures seem contained within those decrepit walls. Maybe the natives can fill you in on what's going on, because the last thing you remember isn't being in an escape shuttle. As a matter of fact, you don't remember much about your arrival or where you are. But it's going to be a bit of a hike, better get moving. Though you might want to grab the backpack of supplies under your seat before you go.

"W̞͓̝͓̓̀̍̒͘͜ȃ̢̗̪̤͇̔̃̚͝░̟͙̯̳̱̈͂̈́̈́͠n̬̘̬̤̠͛̅̈́͋͝i͓̟͈͎͙̐̆̈́̔̓n̡̟̤̟̤̑͐͋͐̚g̩̱͖͉̻͌͛̈͆̈́!̧̪̰͇̦̓̂̆̌͝ ̢͔̣̠̗̾̉́̌̒C̢̥̟͍͊͊͑̀̚ͅr̛͙̪̙̟͐̽̓̅͜i̫͖̻̣̘̽̑͂̾̎t̩͇̦̬̞͊̌̑̈́͝i̡̳̠̞̐̿̍̎̀͜c̡͕͙͕͕̓̊̌̾͘å̼̯͍̙̲̍̏̚͝l̢̥͉̮̙̋̆͐̆́ ̢̰̞͕̯̋̈́̈́̋͌f͇͔̟̻̈̽͌̒̉ͅa̳̰̠͉͔͒̑̈̈͘i̟̭̦̺͎̍̾̽̈́̐░͕̣̥̭͛̿̓̽̐ͅ░̰̪̠͇͍̆͛̀͝͝░̘̱̩̳̘͆̈́̆̀̚e̛̻͈̳̳̺̊̔̚̕.͙̟̳̼̾̀̅͊͊ͅ"

With that, the power dies, leaving the drop ship in the dark, crackling and groaning as the hull cools from its catastrophic re-entry.

[MOD NOTES: TDM threads may be used as game canon.]

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That actually gets a huff of a laugh from the blond. "Guess you're a knife man?" the woman comments as she hands over the weapon. She's more of a brawler herself. Fist and, occasionally, fangs. Hopefully no one here would ever have the chance to find that out though.

Though if what he said was true about these... undead biting and scratching her way of defense probably wouldn't be the most effective. She might have to brush up on her own knife skills after all.

"Not my favorite," he answered, cocking his head to the side as he casually slid it into one of the sheaths still attached to his belt. One that was hidden under the edge of his loose shirt and the coat and vest over both. The length of metal was still perfectly usable and he'd need to find a place to stow it before he used the knife on anything else. Re-organize his own finds, maybe.

"But I know what I'm doing," Daryl continued, tone noticeably less annoyed than it had been. The safety the promise of a knife at his fingertips provided should an attack come did a lot for his mood. "You should learn. Not today. Not enough time 'fore night hits. But soon."

[ One should never say never! At least that's what he thinks, but he's suppressing his own negative feelings excellently. ]

Any kind! [ He's really not picky. A show can be people fighting, just as much as someone, say, dancing would be. ] But such a shame, I'm sure you could perform the most classy and wonderful shows.

[ Robin's felt whiplash before, but jesus. Not this bad.

He comes to with an awful ache in his head that shoots all the way down his neck. He lets out something between a sigh and a groan; probably got caught on the wrong end during a fight, or something. He's not exactly sure who he was fighting, though. Or if he had been with his friends at all. His memory's awfully foggy.

When he opens his eyes, they grow wide behind the domino mask. This isn't home, or the Tower. It's not even Jump City.

There's bodies. Everywhere. They're lifeless, silent. Or, at least, a few are. Some are coming to, others are a little slower coming 'round. Every single person he's unfamiliar with, others looking like they came from a different planet entirely. His brow furrows and his aching brain tries to process everything together. What in the hell has happened?

A gloved hand rubs at his neck, grimacing at the dull ache. Robin really, really wants to get an idea of where they are, but everybody else's condition is a lot more important right now. Something about you catches his attention, and he approaches with a nod. ] You okay?

[Perhaps that is true. Out of his group of companions, he isn't the doctor, but he thinks he might have heard that before. And after the number of battles they have found themselves in, he's found it to be true as well. Nevertheless, it's disconcerting to take note of, particularly on that of a young woman.]

Are you sure...?

[It is no trouble to help. He thinks he's decent at wrapping things, considering he does so for his claw.]

I will admit that I am at a loss at the moment, and it is all I have to offer. I am not sure exactly where this place is, or what manner of object it is that we have escaped from.

[He doesn't give up at least.]

But what do you plan to do with it? I have not seen an object like this before. Would it not be better to fix whatever it is? [Then again, do they wish to fix whatever might have been used for their abductions?]

[ A woman.. He's not really good at interacting with women but he can focus on the question, at least. ]

..No. Not yet.

[ He would do that later. Making a fire isn't hard, as long as you had some dry wood. ]

[ It is a lizard though. A dragon is a lizard. ]

Hakuryuu? [ He's still not convinced. The title or name doesn't sound Chinese, so perhaps it's a foreign xian. They do have white hair and partial odd appearances. ]

I can handle it on my own once I am done with this.

[Buck's been in and out of the ship, he's been helping Daryl and Steve, and he's been watching everyone else carefully. Most of all, he's been helping gather supplies and scouting the immediate area for danger seeing as they have a rather large number of injured milling about at the moment. He's been doing all of this with grace and the sharp accuracy of the assassin he's been turned into until... well, his encounter with the young teen that is now addressing him.

He was fussing with a damaged compartment when he jimmied it a little too strongly and pulled the whole thing down on him, straight out of the wall. He hissed at the bump on his head and for a moment, forgot which language was even the proper one in which to answer.]

Da--yeah.

[He brushes debris from his shoulders and gingerly touches a spot above his left eyebrow that was now dotted with blood. It would heal.]

What about you, kid?

[It's Steve's turn to look away bashfuly. He's not sure where this is coming from, saving Bucky had been instinct- there was no thanks necessary. There never had been.] Jerk. You're welcome than.

[He might be trying to pull away but Steve isn't letting him. He meets Bucky's gaze- which is clear and pierces through him like the Bucky he remembers and he's pulling him forward into another hug. The guilt and the grief he'd been feeling since 1943 finally start to lessen because Bucky is here, standing in front of him and he knows him and he's not going anywhere. It's too much, and Steve doesn't say anything- can't say anything just holds him tighter.

Finally he pulls back, listening to what Bucky says about Clint.]

He'll get over it once he realizes you aren't HYDRA anymore. They all will. What HYDRA made you do- that wasn't you Buck.

[ He raises an eyebrow. Da. So was he in Russia, or...?

Robin eyes the injury above the guy's head. He's not a doctor or anything by any means, but it didn't look too terribly bad. Maybe that's because it wasn't gushing everywhere. He was moving, he was talking, and for now that seemed to be good enough. At least until people could get a sense of where they were, or what was going on. ]

Been better, I guess. [ The same hand comes up to rub at his neck, rolling his head around a few times. ] I'm not sure what happened here, but it's not pretty, whatever it is.

[ That was putting it nicely. ]

I...don't remember what happened. [ Everything up until the last few minutes is blank. That's not a good sign, considering memory loss after unconsciousness could possibly hint at a concussion. And his head hurt enough to the point where he could believe that. ] ...Do you?

Yes. But you can call me Kija.

[If that makes it easier. Still, he frowns. If he says he is all right, then there's really no choice but to believe him. He glances up toward everything, his head tilted to the side in question.]

What are you trying to do?

You're a real pal, Shuckface.

[ to be fair, if squirrel was all there was to eat, he'd eat squirrel. hell, if griever was all there was to eat, he'd eat it, even with all the nasty slime and jelly flesh. he might gag, but it's better than being dead.

but that's still rude, bro.

however, that part of the conversation is near on ignored for how much more he's worried about the latter part. ]

I'm not saying we should invite them over for dinner kind of people. I'm saying they think. I'm saying some tents and staying real quiet isn't going to matter, if they're around here. [ sometime, now, he'll figure out they aren't actually talking about the same thing. but we're not quite there yet. further than that, thomas's eyes snap back to daryl from where he'd been scanning the trees, narrowing a moment, as brows furrow, trying to piece together how out of the world this guy is. ] I'm immune. About, what, less than 1% of who was left after the Flare got out was. Less, thanks to WICKED, but that doesn't mean they're all dead already.

Much as people have been rounding 'em up and selling 'em off.

They don't think. They react. They hunger. They walk and they hear and they see, but they don't think. It's all in the brainstem. Pilot light's on, but the heater ain't going.

[Daryl didn't know what 'wicked' was meant to be, but the way he said it sounded like an organization. And 'the Flare' what this kid was calling the virus.]

And they are dead. They rot. Moving doesn't make it happen any slower. And even if you think you're immune, you ain't. As soon as you die, you're body'll get up and come after your friends.

Yeah? [ There's an edge in his voice, something angry. More than just for the argument, or frustration. It's something more personal, and Thomas starts shrugging his jacket off in jerked movements, tshirt under it it still blood stained and carbon smudged. stepping closer to daryl, he shoves out his arms, showing him scabs and scars from where human nails had scraped along his arms, new and old. ] Then how come I've had them bite me, claw me, bleed, breathe and drool on me, slam my shuck head against walls and I'm still the same as I ever was?

[ 'why the hell am I still alive and healthy when better people aren't' is what echos in his mind, still too acutely aware of Newt here, and everything Newt doesn't know yet about his future. ]

Have you ever even seen a Crank, man? They talk, even the shanks way past the Gone. How the hell do you think they form words if they can't think? If they were dead, they wouldn't be moving. At all. [ he thinks about newt, how he'd begged thomas to shoot him. how heavy his body had been when he collapsed, lifeless. the Cranks that broke the dorm windows, and how they'd been screaming 'kill me' through the bars, hair all ripped out, faces covered in festering sores. ]

Death's a mercy for them.

Ain't the bite that does it. You can survive a bite.

[Usually because you could cut a limb off, but still... it was survival.

The kid came over and Daryl grabbed his arm, shoved his shirt up. Studied the cuts. He was taking the evidence seriously. Despite the firm grip on Tommy's arm, his other hand ghosted over the wounds in a light, careful, and decidedly gentle touch.

Daryl's eyes flicked warily from the arm and to Tommy's eyes at the question. He was starting to think they were talking about very different things. With a growl and a sneer, Daryl let go and pushed the kid back. Not hard, but whatever gentleness he'd had was gone.]

If your 'cranks' talk, then they ain't walkers. But walkers are dead. They kill and all it does is make more. Mercy is a bullet through the brain of those about to join 'em.

[ There's the urge to squirm, move away from the hand on his arms, but Thomas keeps himself still enough for Daryl to look over the proof of what he'd said. As rough as this guy seems, it acts more smart than anything else. Reminds Thomas a lot of Alby, how abrasive and harsh he was, but there wasn't a doubt that Alby knew what was going on around them best. And how to keep the others safe from it.

It's surprising, though, that there's that trace of gentleness in it. That's not something he's terribly used to, with the kneejerk response always being to distrust it these days. But Daryl's in the same boat as he is, here. ] Don't even need a bite. The Flare's airborne.

[ He mutters, stepping back, as his mind's already jumping to the same page Daryl's on. If he's certain what they're talking about is dead, and something as severe as a bite doesn't pass it, when the Flare only takes being breathed in, that can't be the same thing. 'Cranks' is a term everyone in his world knows, and then there's the case of Newt... How he should be dead, how he remembers things differently. All of it's just... different. ]

Yeah... I dunno. How'd it start? The Walkers? [ Cogs are turning, Thomas's natural want to solve the problem sinking in. ] For us, solar flares hit. Everything around the equator, between the tropics, was fried. They call it the Scorch. A containment facility was destroyed, and the virus got out. It deteriorates the brain, and over a few weeks, you go whacker. They're still alive, they just... don't look like it anymore.

How's it happen with yours?

A doctor called it Wildfire 'cause of how fast it spread. It's in everyone. The water, probably, as much as the air.

[Daryl leaned back, put his weight on one foot as he went back to studying the kid. The cogs in his own head turning just as hard. One hand came up so he could bite at his thumb while his head dropped and he had to look up from under the heavy layer of bangs to see anything. The uncertainty and wariness in him obvious.]

Jenner never said how it got started, just that it did. And that once it went global, it didn't take more'n a few weeks 'fore everything went to shit.

The world felt like it was spinning; not a good sensation. The last thing he remembered? Nicholas. The very pointed want for revenge washing through his senses; the tug at his soul, put a bullet in him and end it. Just like he wanted to do to you, because you know him. You see through him, and you are looking at some semblance of yourself... Do it. The struggle had been brutal, but in the end? In the end, he'd been unable to. Was it pity? Was it that understanding that owned him in the second? That sense of seeing a possibility of self in the mirror-being of a coward? That isn't me. I'm not him, and I never would have been... Maybe it was just empathy then, if not that reflection? He wasn't sure. All Glenn knew was that he'd not pulled the trigger.

And then, he was here. Wherever here was. Not the world he knew; or at least, if it was in the world he knew. It was a far cry from the woods of Alexandria. For starters, he was in a seat, and there was so much technology that a part of his soul did a back-flip for joy - until he recognized the fact that he was in dire circumstances. Surprise, Glenn. First thing was first; get out of the straps, see if anything could be salvaged, and then see if anyone else needed help. There were empty seats around him, though some were filled with the obviously dead... And the unconscious.

And if he was here, and there were other people were here? Was Maggie here?

"Maggie?!" He got himself out of the straps, was shuffling under the seats for the backpack he felt against his leg - and looking around frantically as soon as he could move more freely. Glenn called for his wife again; the panic in his voice something he couldn't help. He didn't see her. Was she outside? Was she alive? Was she here?

Edited 2016-02-05 05:35 (UTC)

Maggie?

Daryl's head snapped up and the backpack he'd dragged out of the tangled mess of the crashed ship dropped from his fingers. He knew that voice. He knew the panic in it. The fear. It was the same emotions that thrummed through his own bones, the ones he didn't want to telegraph.

Daryl had checked most of the ship by that point, but he hadn't finished his check. Too many broken struts were in the way for him to do it all in one go. But he had a reason to push on through now. A reason to go faster and ignore what caution he'd been taking. He had people to get to.

"Glenn!" he barked as he climbed in the carrier at the other end from his friend, body silhouetted by the sunlight beating down on the crash site.

He was still looking; over faces, hope running high in his heart. He'd lost her once, and found her - why wouldn't he find her again? His mind ran over the past, seeing it all in flashes which were fully understood if only half-seen by his mind's eye. Things he'd remember forever. Still, she wasn't there. That he could see. A whisper of her name fell from his lips, and he went to turn away from those he didn't recognize - before compassion stopped him and he went to try to free one of the unconscious people from where they were strapped in.

And then, he was startled to hear his name. Daryl. He'd know that voice anywhere. Glenn's heart raised in joy from the pit of his stomach, tears coming to his eyes because he wasn't alone, and one of the people he loved most in the world - had been with the longest, even longer than Maggie - was there with him. He didn't shed those tears, of course; he wiped them away with the back of his hand and sniffled in the emotions before answering.

"Daryl!" He called back to his friend. Heart steadied; he managed to keep the depth of it all under wraps; even if there was a small shake in his voice. "I'm over here!" Glenn was then centering his attention on the man he'd unstrapped, wondering if he should pour some water on the guy's face or just... He didn't want to leave him. That wouldn't be right, not after already taking the first steps of helping him free.

With no cure, no one immune?

[ No hope. Even the survivors won't have a world left, couldn't possibly survive once the virus infects everything. Unless they move up to Antarctica and live on polar bears, but even then, if the virus is still inside them, trying to reproduce and rebuild would be pointless.

The sorrow isn't masked on Thomas's face, never having been that talented, or concerned, about concealing emotion. Not for something like this. It's sad, in that kind of hollow, empty way, but there's a respect he holds for Daryl, in that he's still struggling so hard to survive regardless. Most probably aren't the same in his world. ]

How many are still left?

No one. Cain't hope for that no more. Just gotta live it.

[He offered a small, one shouldered shrug. They got by well enough. Walkers weren't ever going to stop being a danger, sure, but it was the other living left in the world that had proven to be the ones you really needed to watch out for. Not all of the living were still people in Daryl's book. But they were living.]

Don't know. Ain't no way to be sure.

Daryl moved through the space to the darkened set of seats Glenn had been hidden in. He had to duck a bar and some sparking wires he'd been avoiding taking. But then he was there and it was Glenn. Whole, alive, a bit worse for wear, but Glenn all the same.

Daryl grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in for a psudo-hug where Glenn's shoulder ended up somewhere in the middle of his chest and Daryl's forehead ended up knocking into the side of Glenn's head. He released his friend quick, but let his hand settle and linger on that same shoulder for another moment while he spoke.

"Leave him," he ordered, voice raw, but relieved. "He's safe enough in here for now and it's gonna be hell getting past that strut. We can check on him later, see if he's come around."

You did see the giant hole in the hull, right? This is all scrap.

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Page 22 of 27

JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME

daryl just looking stoic but internally like 'best day ever' with a belt full of knives

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no no, no problem. sorry for the delay

Robin | Teen Titans LATE TO THE PARTY

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b

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Fortunately we don't dock points for tardiness ;D

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THANK GOD please don't fail me. the dog ate my post...

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Glenn Rhee - The Walking Dead // Better Late Than Never?

/tackle hugs

/squeals and snuggles

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