empatheias_ooc | TEST DRIVE: NOVEMBER

Entry tags:

!mod,
*test drive

TEST DRIVE: NOVEMBER

— TEST DRIVE: NOVEMBER —

Welcome to

empatheias' test drive meme. This test drive is to help interested players test their characters in the game's environment. We've included a few prompts that incorporate specific elements of the game, though you'll find all of them have a lot of leeway for players to get as creative as necessary. Before diving in, here are a few things we'd like to remind everyone about the game in general:

Date reminders. Reserves open Tuesday, October 25 and Applications (Canon | OC) open Tuesday, November 1st.
OC Reminder! Just a quick reminder that original characters are allowed. Those interested can also use the test drive. OCs do not need to be reserved.
Emotions are key! Empatheias' premise focuses on how anyone's emotions can affect their environment, be it big or small. While not every emotion will cause a reaction, significant ones definitely will. How much effect a character will have will ultimately be up to you, the player. Also, while we're giving a lot of leeway for the test drive, keep in mind that there will be some limits in the actual game.
Everyone has an amulet. All characters have a unique amulet that is specialized for them. It will contain all of their emotion drops and it serves as the network device. Remember, communication is telepathic. Otherwise, it works basically the same.
Assume the character is already in the game. Because "OMG WHERE AM I IS THIS REAL LIFE" threads aren't going to be very helpful in this test drive! Plus those are going to happen in-game, anyway. So to make things easier, just assume that they've been around at least a week or so. Still learning the ropes, but not a complete "first day" experience.
First or third person allowed. Your threads can be in either first or third, but we'd advise being flexible about it. Remember, these threads can also be used in your application for samples! Reminder: We only require one sample and it can be done in either format. We have also made a change to our sample requirements, so look over the Applications page!

Now with that out of the way, here are some prompts you guys can work from!

PROMPTS

• Prompt A: How about giving the emotions a try?

• Prompt B: Refer to the Task Board and choose a task your character may be interested in taking up. For this prompt, you could have your character ask for help, already be in the middle of the job, or react to it in some way. Perhaps they were an unfortunate victim or want to create a job countering an existing one. You could even have a prompt making a job request. Creating jobs for the purpose of the test drive is absolutely doable.

• Prompt C: How about giving the amulets a go? Start a telepathic conversation and see how it works. Remember, the amulets are sending out the owner's thoughts so might want to be careful about how the stream of consciousness goes...

• Prompt D: The Boreas Harvest Festival is fast approaching, and the farmers are trying hard to work through the bleak weather conditions to get their crops in before they go bad from all the apathy. All hands on deck—but there may be too many unwanted hands roaming around.

Scarecrows. The scarecrows that have been set up as a festive reminder of the time of year have unfortunately come under the influence of some errant strong emotions from the farm hands that work in the fields. Unfortunately that includes trying to ward off anyone who enters the fields with pitchforks and is one of them carrying a torch? Maybe if they can be convinced that you are trustworthy they will calm down.
Invading rabbits. There are ton of rabbits ravaging the carrot patches. They're easily frightened, but some are more tenacious than others. Beware of the white rabbit with red eyes.
Save the crops! Several batches are already starting to spoil! The only thing that can save them is dumping as much positive emotions into them. Joy of good food, hope for a bountiful meal, love of eating—whatever will work. Just be careful. Too much and those things might grow and explode…

• Prompt E: Aiada, the Arehtei of appreciation and jealousy, has sent a personal request for those who are interested. There is a small island just beneath Empatheias that she has been cultivating over the many centuries. She wishes to contribute to the Harvest Festival with some seeds and spores. However, the recent atmosphere has also reached down there, and now it's all a mess! Giant mushrooms replaced the trees and there's slime and mold everywhere. The cure? Aside from getting a lot of heavy duty cleaners and pushing it off, appreciation will go a long way to help.

Goop brigade. Grab that bucket and shovel and clear the goop out! Just be careful not to have too much get on you—jealousy might take over.
Appreciation balls. To help hasten the effort, Aiada has given several tubs filled with light, green orbs. Once channeled with enough appreciation, they can be used as mini-grenades to help explode and wash the area with more positive energy. Those caught in the blast won't be harmed. If anything, they'll just be very thankful.
Watch the ledges. Careful, it's a fairly small island and the goop and slime has made things slick. If you fall… That's not a good way to go, let's just say that.

• Prompt F: Various parties are interested in the emotion shards scattered all over Thera. But this time around, the focus is on the medical laboratory as the equipment and potential research there is also of interest. For three days those who volunteer are sent back to try and gather as much as possible—but of course this won't be easy.

Skeletal Scientists. The remains of the scientists who once worked in these rooms are still lurking, ready to protect their work. Fortunately they're relatively weak nerds, so not too difficult to dispatch. Just be careful.
Flying equipment. The various medical equipment has also taken life, scalpels and needles flying everywhere and stethoscopes ready to strangle.
Questionable liquid. Most of the easy shards have already been taken, leaving the more difficult to retrieve ones left. In particular they're found in strange, dark pink liquid. It's mostly harmless—except that upon contact intense waves of grief and suffering will course through. The longer the exposure, the worse it is. So hopefully a bucket full of it doesn't fall on you…

• Prompt G: Make your own! It could include feathers and/or confetti.

For your threads, put the Character Name and the Canon in the subject line to help readily identify them. You're also welcome to use more than one prompt for respondents to choose from. If you have any questions or want to brush up on the game information, refer to the Game Information entry. Otherwise, tag around and have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You're holding a shard that's solid emotion."

There was a lot of things that were strange here and -stepping right past a shadow with a low hiss- Reaper finally stopped just a foot or so away from McCree. Eyeing him over slowly— "Looks like you can't run from them, McCree." It wasn't that hard to put together what may have happened.

Something conjured them up after all.

"I ain't running." He's defensive. Of course he's defensive. Hasn't seen this man in years and he... Well, he certainly wasn't the man he used to know. Still, he scowls, slowly loosening his fingers around the shard. One by one, they come loose, until the tiny shard glows in the palm of his metal hand.

He slips it into one of the pockets of his belt, and for a moment the shadows wane, the ghosts distorting and lightening as he tries to focus on something else. Focus on his breathing, on his task. The Reaper is close, but he doesn't have to take his advice.

Not anymore.

He brushes past the ghost from his past, the shadows trailing behind him, heading for the next little lab to find more shards.
"'Sides, whatever conjured them up ain't exactly your business."

That got a laugh-

"Never said they were, ingrate." But he was running, had been running before McCree had bumped into him judging from how hard he'd actually hit. Would have probably knocked over a normal man as sudden as it had happened. "Longer you ignore them here? Might find yourself with more unwanted company."

Reaper wasn't going to follow, he hadn't come down here for the ungrateful bastard after all. Hadn't known he was down here, let him get in over his head if he wouldn't listen.

"You mean like you?" He snorts, fiddling with the lock on the door. Must be locked for a reason- even if a place like this was abandoned, most of the doors had been busted open. Which means whatever is inside? Has got to be worth it.

"Listen, I don't need your advice." Anymore. "You and I ain't exactly on the same side." Anymore.

Regret. Survivor's guilt. It's all there, dammed up, buried under years of wandering and travelling through the world racking up a bounty on his head. He doesn't say another word as he fiddles with the lock, smirking to himself when he hears that satisfying click.

"Been real nice talking to you, 'Reaper'." He says it in a way that makes it obvious that he's lying before opening the door and heading inside, followed by wisps of shadow and smoke.

"What's one more ghost? You seem to attract them on this little adventure." Hissed, and there was something that did have him watching to keep his distance from those shadows. Some feeling even he could sense, watching them follow the cowboy from the corner of an eye.

As well as he could with the mask on.

Silent as he simply stood and watched, head tilted to the side -still had that skill, huh?- and stepped to the side simply to give those that followed room and not McCree himself. "You rarely listened when it was good for you, I don't expect any different now.

"Wouldn't be the first time I watched you go." Had his own shadows agitated, curling along shoulders as if they were feathers that had been ruffled.

He doesn't reply as he enters into the lab. Seems to be a storage area of some sort, filled with dusty pill bottles and various lab equipment. There. Just ahead was a shelf that seemed full of beakers, each and every one of them containing that pink liquid and the shards he was supposed to be collecting.

Jackpot.

He tries to ignore the sting of Reaper's words, stepping inside the lab and trying to leave him behind.
"You know I had my reasons for getting out. Was supposed to be repenting for what I did as Deadlock."

He frowns, stepping forward to pick up one of the beakers, ignoring how the ghosts shift in agitation and regret.

Reaper was already down he, he may as well follow; truce or no truce, he wasn't attacking and that counted well enough as far as he was concerned. They'd count McCree amongst their number after all; so he followed, steps silent as he glided along with little effort.

Keeping to himself and away from the other ghostly shadows.

"Feel a need to explain yourself? Thought I didn't matter to you, ingrate." There wasn't much bite behind it, preoccupied with glancing around himself. He hadn't gone this deep himself.

"Just don't appreciate bein' called an ingrate for leavin' on my own terms." He scowls, reaching up to pick one of the beakers up. The whispy forms coming from his shadow seem to waver, irritated, stung by the accusations of his leaving.

He was supposed to be repenting from everything he'd done in Deadlock, and before he got out? That wasn't what he signed up for. That was never what he signed up for.

"You gonna be haunting me for the rest of the night, Reyes?"

"Your leaving after everything makes you an ingrate." Tilting his head as he picked up a broken clipboard from the table, weighing it in his hand for a moment. "Another name in a long list of abandonment and betrayal, really."

Talons scraped against old wood before Reaper slung the broken bit at one of those shadows, just to see if there would be any sort of reaction. Testing just what the things were, really.

The shadow has no substance, just smoke and ash and guilt made manifest. The broken clipboard flies through one, smacks straight into a beaker and breaks it open. The strange pink liquid splatters over McCree's face, and he quickly wipes it off with his left hand, trying to get some visibility back.

For a moment, his vision changes, and it's like something from a memory. Hazy candles and funeral incense, and the scent of marigolds driving stakes into his heart.

He grips tightly to the shelf, trying to get his balance back. Trying not to let the ghost see the distress on his face as his hands shake, buried emotions starting to well up to the surface like crude oil.

The shadows around him intensify, multiply, becoming more and more solid as his grief and anguish burn through his heart.
"Didn't want to leave, dammit, I didn't have a choice-!"

Huh. Tossed it a little too high—

Eyes narrowed behind the mask, metaphorical hackles raising at the shadows growing more solid. Enough that it had him drawing closer with a flexing of fingers as if ready to rip through them, ignoring the reason why the want to do so surfaced. Not out of anger, it needed to be ignored, there was no room for it.

"There is always a choice, and you made yours McCree. You left." Threw everything back into his face, not good enough. "Can the cowboy not face the truth, running as he has been?

"The figure in black fled across the desert, but the gunslinger didn't follow."

"You think I've been running all these years?!" He can't look at him, not even as he feels him approach. The shadows are restless, crowding him, and he feels like every eye in that church is on him- snap out of it. He doesn't notice the marigolds blooming in the linoleum around him, growing around his feet.

"I've been tryin' to be the person you expected me to be, Reyes-" He can't let go of the shelf, hands shaking, trying to clear all the grief out of his head, all the anguish he's bottled up ever since that funeral.

Should have stayed. Could have made a difference. Could have saved-

"Leave."

"You're running now." In more than one way, glancing over the marigolds as his shoulders tensed, a low growl building in his throat as McCree continued on. What would he know what he expected? Everything he'd ever taught the gunslinger had been thrown back in his face the moment he left-

Metal talons flashed, ripping through one of the shadows as he caught hold of Jesse's arm, because what the other was doing clearly wasn't working. There was something wrong here.

So he was pulling Jess away from that shelf, an attempt to wrench him out of those crowding shadows as he made his voice low but clear. "No. You're in no condition to be down here by yourself, ingrate."

He doesn't want to admit just how far he ran, just how long he's been running. Trying to distance himself from his grief and his guilt at throwing everything the man had done for him back in his face. Still, when those sharp talons catch at his arm, he starts, hand pulling sharply from the shelves and knocking over another beaker.

That pink liquid seeps into the cracks in his arm, sticks under the plates, adheres to the sensory wires that are supposed to give him a sense of pressure. And the scent of marigolds and cinnamon hits him like a sucker punch, and he stumbles back, away from the ghost he's been running from all these years.

Those shadows move between them, almost pitch black as Jesse finds it hard to breathe. Every eye is on him, that empty casket feels so heavy, can barely hear himself think over the shouting, hadn't even been allowed in Los Angeles National-

"Snap out of it-" He growls to himself, swallowing back remorse. The man before him isn't Reyes. He needs to remember that.

No use apologizing to ghosts.

"Jesse McCree," the name was growled but firm. A tone he might have used before meant to grab attention when it needed to be paid but wasn't. "Get out of your head and focus outside of it!"

Reaper ignore the shadows, if anything they just sparked his anger, ribbons of flame curling in the air around him as shadows curled around him. His own shadows, sharpening as he launched himself through those figures as if boosted by a beat of dark hellish wings. Seizing McCree by the arms and pulling him away from that wall, grip firm.

If the gunslinger was just going to sink into himself than why shouldn't Death reach in? "You are leaving this place now, even if I have to drag your sorry ass out myself."

The ghosts part for death, and death comes for him.

That voice, snapped in such a familiar way, like his old commander ready to chew him out has him look up, witness the dark wings that seem to curl around him, feel the sharp tug of claws digging into his shoulders. He's trying to ground himself, but now, staring death in the face- when did he catch up to him in height?- it takes every fiber of his being to hold himself together.

"Let go, Reaper." He manages to say through grit teeth, his hand curled into fists, his shoulders shaking.
"You ain't the commander anymore, he died, and I buried him, and that's all there is to it."

"You said it yourself." But he wasn't letting go, if anything Reaper's hold grew tighter as he did start to drag McCree out of that room, shoving him ahead if he had to. Get out of that spot, avoiding moving covered hands over the goo there, even it gave off some feeling he didn't want on him. "I have a truce with Overwatch.

"Consider it a favor to not leave one of theirs in over his head when he's being a stubborn fool." Jesse was firmly there with the rest of them in his mind after all. They claimed him, he knew they would, he'd been a good Blackwatch agent.

Edited (r you are not an e) 2016-10-21 07:41 (UTC)

He reaches for his pistol without thinking, the grip of the talons on his arms making him defensive. They're out of the corner, in the middle of the room, heading to the door. But McCree isn't done here, and he isn't going anywhere with the Reaper.

"I ain't Overwatch, I ain't Blackwatch, and I ain't going anywhere with you." He growls, pulling out of his grip to try and level that pistol at him.

Gabriel Reyes is dead. McCree had buried him, and the rest of Overwatch had forgotten him. And McCree had ran, far and long, trying to avoid the memory of what he'd done. What he'd failed to do. If he had stayed, if he had stayed...

"Your truce don't apply to me, Rey- Reaper." His voice is shaking as much as his hand is. Could he even bear to bury the man a second time?

"Don't pull a gun unless you plan on using it."

Fingers curled around McCree's wrist then as he crossed the bit of distance he'd put between them when he pulled away to level that pistol. Pushing it away as he stared down the gunslinger with a low growl. "You aren't fit for doing anything other than bitching right now, so you can keep on or shut your damn mouth. Either way? You aren't staying down here."

Reaper had made up his mind, using that grip he had on McCree's arm to haul him, moving so he'd lowered himself to lift him right up onto his shoulder. No matter the fuss and fight, he was still the stronger of the two, had lifted heavier. Simple enough fireman's carry. "You count as Overwatch, and to them? It applies, like it or not."

That chastisement echoes in his head like a bad memory- how many times had his commander said something like that to him, if not those exact words? Still, he's taken off guard when he's suddenly hoisted up and over the reaper's shoulder, off balance and feeling too much like that punk kid from Deadlock for him to focus properly.

The shadows waver, intensify, fade, all mirroring his regret and his anger and his surprise. They bristle as hey tries to land a kick on the phantom's chest, tries to squirm out of the hold to get back in a fighting stance.

"What the- Put me down, dammit, Reyes-! I just said I ain't goin' anywhere with you-!"

All he did was adjust and keep his own balance, strengthening his hold on legs as Reaper headed towards the transporter that would get them out of here. Paid no mind to the struggles other than what he needed to do to keep McCree from squirming himself free.

"Reaper, and you don't have a choice right now." Firmly spoken, growled as it was, kicking the door open when he got there and heading right up the hall way. McCree was definitely not any trouble for him to lift, it was just the movement giving him trouble at all.

"You need to get out of here, and if you are going to be too stubborn about it you're leaving me with no choice."

He slams his metal fist into the back of the phantom, knows it won't be enough to move him. Feels like that damn kid Reyes dragged out of Deadlock's base, indignant and trying to hold onto himself as best he could. Marigolds. Incense. They make his gut roil and it feels like his stomach has bottomed out from guilt.

His eyes must be playing tricks, staring at the ghosts that follow him. In their dead and hollow eyes, in their shifting shadows and smoke, he swears he almost sees the faces of every regret he ever had. Ana. Gabe. Others from Blackwatch that had died in the field, that he knew had gotten hurt because-

"... Buried you, dammit. Can't bury you again... Can't bury you again..."

"Grave can't hold me." Not anymore.

He endured every hit, felt it, had gotten worse during the Omnic Crisis and a few things that had followed after it was over. Ignored the trailing shadows because as far as he was concerned they wouldn't be a problem for him, long as it made the walk to the transporter that would get them from the world's surface to the floating island above it all.

Didn't even stop once there, keeping McCree secure there over his shoulders as Reaper made his way into Verens proper, taking the turns that led to the slums of the area. Easiest place to make a safehouse—

The door was locked behind him, dropping McCree off his shoulders and onto a worn couch. Growling a bit- "Stay," more order than not. Reaper moving off to collect a few things that he'd need, grabbing things up from what he'd been collecting over his time here. Funny how some things he'd just kept hold of would come in handy for this, a deep cleaning to get all of that off and out of the cybernetic arm.

It had been a long journey back to Verens. The ghosts wearing the faces of his regrets had followed him the entire way, growing, strengthening, waning with each little emotional blow. His strikes had been futile, the liquid stuck in his arm, the gunk wrapped around his sensors causing him to relive memories he didn't want to tell anyone.

He remembered seeing the news. He remembered trying to call. To find out. He remembered how angry he had been when the entire world had branded his Commander a traitor, how guilty he had felt, like if he'd stayed he would have been able to talk him out of whatever happened, or saved him and Jack both, or something.

But when he's dropped onto a couch, staring up at that barn-owl mask, he's almost exhausted. Staring flatly at the ghosts that keep following him as Reaper moves off to do god knows what.

"What, if I left, you'd probably just hunt me down again."

"If you left I'd doubt you'd get far with these attachments."

A few tools and clean cloths were dropped on the coffee table as Reaper passed, not necessarily what was proper but he'd had to come up with less during a few missions- Forcing thoughts to stop there before they went further. That life was gone and passed, and he was only doing this because by the time anyone else found the ingrate he'd need more help than he did now.

Finally, finally, Reaper sat down at the table himself and hesitated for just a moment. Talon gloves were tugged off and set aside, taking a breath as everything held together. Fingers flexed- "I'm cleaning your arm, you need to hold still. Soon as I'm done you can leave, I won't follow." Lifting a hand as he pulled off the mask, setting it aside and pulling his hood forwards to get to work.

Already cleaning the gun off the surface so he could get off pieces to get further in and do the same. Knew what he was doing well enough to do that.

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