empatheias_ooc | TEST DRIVE: NOVEMBER

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!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

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.

It wasn't much to take apart his arm, but they'd improvised worse in the field. Hell, he remembers one time when Reyes used a rifle cleaning kit to help get some of the sand stuck out from between the wires. Constant improvements. Patch jobs. He doubted whoever made the arm in the first place would be too pleased.

But then Reyes takes off his mask, and McCree can't help but stare. There he was. The man who taught him to be something better, who gave him a chance to redeem himself when others were ready to throw him in a prison to rot for the rest of his life. The man who. Who he considered a father, sometimes. He feels like that reckless kid again, working together post op, talking about what went wrong and what went right. For a moment, he expects Reyes to chew him out, to haul him off to some training and teach him how to improve himself.

But Reyes was dead, and he's the Reaper. And now his face is scarred, his eyes red and black, constantly decaying and regenerating and that grief wracks him again. He sucks in breath like he's been suckerpunched. And it all comes spilling out.

"Shoulda stayed in Blackwatch, dammit." He grips tight to the edge of the couch, trying to steady himself. "Shoulda stayed, things could have been different, you could have- You could still be alive-"

Edited 2016-10-23 14:34 (UTC)

Wasn't a pretty sight under that mask, scars he had before were few and now, well. The explosion and whatever Angela had done to try and revive him left their marks; still recognizable as that dead man, but it was clear something had gone terribly wrong. The mask was better to wear than not, but he needed nothing in his way with this-

Of course Reaper was silent when McCree started, not glancing up as he carefully removed plates so he could get at wiring easier. Wiping off that pink gunk along the way, glancing up briefly as he kept his expression unreadable.

Best he could, anyway. "You left, bit late to think about that now." Voice calm and level, not so muffled with the mask set there on the table within reach, empty sockets staring at the ceiling. Still a growl to his tone, hadn't that always been there? The smoke curling from skin hadn't, or the way some twisted with his words. "Forgotten. Left to suffer. Dead.

"Just the monster of Overwatch's own creation left," and he'd have his justice.

He bristles slightly at that growl in his tone, keeping his eyes level as he tries not to have that flood of exhausting memories wash back over him. He remembered exactly where he was when he heard the news, an old diner near Route 66 with Coffee that tasted like boiled dirt. He remembered trying to call someone, tried to find out, who was hurt, who was alive, was anyone killed.

And then he heard that Gabriel Reyes was the culprit.

"Been thinking about it ever since you died." He has to lean his head back to keep from choking up, has to look away from that corpse.
"Ever since I had to bury an empty casket with your name on that headstone." His hand that isn't being worked on presses up against his mouth, trying to supress the tears starting to prick at his eyes.

"Dammit, Reyes, I didn't want to leave you. But you said you couldn't leave, too much to do, and I- I couldn't stay-"

Eyes narrowed and teeth gritted before Reaper focused once again on his work, wouldn't do to fuck up when he was doing his best to be careful with this cleaning. Would have dragged the gunslinger all this way for nothing—

"Guilt has a funny way of sticking, doesn't it?" Careful not to come into contact with the remnants of pink he was cleaning up, but the metal talons would be nothing but a hindrance for cleaning the wires honestly. Didn't bother looking back up, moving the not so clean anymore cloth carefully. So McCree had gone to his funeral, surprised there'd been one at all due to the story the news had gone with.

Who the hell blows up a building with them still in it?

Reaper did pause then, the room dropping in temperature- "Didn't want to leave me? Sure didn't have a problem leaving at all, there and gone. Doesn't sound like you had a hard time at all, ingrate."

It had been a difficult choice. It hadn't been one he'd taken lightly. But Blackwatch was asking for him to act like he was a member of Deadlock again. Riskier missions, ones that involved innocents getting in harm's way, and after the incident that had him lose his arm, the hearing in his left ear, and part of his chest?

He ran.

"You don't remember a damn thing, do you, 'bout why I left." He mutters, still trying not to look at him. The air is cold, and those ghosts keep crowding him and the Reaper alike, wearing faces too familiar to him.
"You don't remember me askin' if you'd retire, too."

Treated less like a covert operation organization and more like a group of hired thugs, things he'd never ask his people to do. Never expect them to do, line he never would have crossed before- When had he lost control? Do what needed to be done to get the mission done, but leave nobody behind.

"You left because you didn't like how things were going." That he remembered, McCree at least had enough guts to come face him with his leaving. Didn't just spirit himself away one night, but it damn well had felt like it—

The ghosts were ignored, brow furrowed as the growing anger stalled and shadows curled along Reaper's edges. Ruffling almost. "You didn't ask," that was a no.

"Of course I didn't like how things were going, Reyes-!" That anger spikes in him momentarily, and the shadows intensify, anger and anguish heavy in his chest.
"You were askin' me to be Deadlock all over again, when I was supposed to be redeeming myself for my crimes! I knew it was something you wouldn't ask, so I thought-"

In his anger, he's turned back to look at him, staring death straight in the face. He thought Reyes wouldn't have asked such things from him. He thought it must be the higher ups. He thought he wouldn't have blown the Swiss Headquarters sky high.

He thought he would have left.

"I did. And you stayed. And you know, for a long time after your death, I defended you? I didn't think you could do such a thing, but you know what?" Anger is burning inside of him now. A raw wound of guilt and anger and sorrow stirring up a storm inside of him. The ghosts behind the reaper grow restless, dark, and there's almost a low growling sound in the air.

"Maybe you were never the man I thought you were, considerin' you've up and joined the same people who killed Ana! Who ambushed us! Who I lost my goddamn arm to! Mercenary or no, you ain't got some sorta standard, pops?!"

It slips out without him thinking, face contorted in pain as he tries to temper his emotions. If he had stayed, would things had been different? Would he have managed to convince Reyes otherwise, uncover the plot to frame him, hauled him out of that blast before it was too late?

"I ran 'cause I didn't have a choice anymore. I ran 'cause I was tryin' to be the person you wanted me to be when you hauled me outta Deadlock-!"

There was a slow but audible sound of wood creaking, the temperature of the room no longer so chilled; growing higher in temperature as Reaper stared back at McCree. Silent and expression unchanging, save for a certain intensity behind the eyes. Some cold heat—

Which matched the glow of fire that flashed before remaining in ribbons around him, cracking along his own flesh as lips curled to bare sharp teeth in some strange grin. The room growing dark other than the light brought with the intense heat of fire, crackling in the air, the shape of large and just as fire cracked shadow wings just unfurled in the area behind him, leaning close as his grip on the bionic arm never grew tighter.

"You are no better than those people in Overwatch, those higher up who passed those orders and expected me to do nothing." Eyes never leaving McCree, those shadows behind him in danger of being swallowed by Reaper's own darkness that filled the room. Voice steady, cold anger there- "You left a drowning man, ingrate, and say you offered a hand to a man who was slowly having everything he built ripped from under him.

"Then throw accusation after accusation once something you don't like has been done." There was a laugh, the fire growing brighter and hotter, remaining around Reaper and never daring to go near the cowboy himself, the scent of marigolds and ash creeping in. "How little did you care to do so this easily? To act like I had a choice, that I could run from a sinking ship and leave everyone else? To save myself?"

Still he worked, cloth dropped once that last big of gunk was cleaned out. "You're welcome to run to the rest of them, Ingrate. Keep your company of corruption while I do what I've been good at.

"Someone has to play the bad guy."

The grip on his arm is almost painful, the pressure sensors indicating his strength is bringing the bionic close to it's breaking point. He doesn't look away, not even as that fire laps near him, that darkness drowns out his own ghosts. He didn't- He hadn't meant it. Still didn't believe that he would do such a thing. Had spoken out of anger and trying to place his own self blame on someone else. And it stings, to know he's hurt the man who... Who gave him a second chance.

He swallows back his pride. His anger. His grief. Leans forward slightly, shoulders slumping, letting all that fire burn out and be replaced by the waters of grief. Maybe Reyes had a reason for joining Talon. Keeping an eye on them, running interference. He'd spared McCree when they'd fought before, hadn't he?

"... I'm sorry." He needed to stop running. He needed to stop running and face all the decisions that he made. "I'm so... so damn sorry..." The tears that have been pricking at his eyes spill over, and he tries to keep his voice from shaking.
"I asked you to come with me. A-And you said you couldn't because you had too much to do. An' I shouldn't have left, I shoulda stayed and helped you and then you were dead, Gabe. You were dead and I had nothin' but an empty casket and the lessons you taught me-"

The ghosts are starting to fizzle out as he lets go of his grief, his anguish. As he lets all that guilt well up inside of him.
"Maybe you didn't have a choice, but I did, an' I made the wrong one. I shoulda stayed. Dammit, I shoulda stayed."

It's the sorry that causes the sparked anger to stop, flames flickering before fading away, lips pressed into a thin line. Grip on that arm loosening before letting go, letting out a heavy breath filled with smoke-

The dark drains out of the room slowly, slower than it had appeared, caught off guard by something as simple as an apology in the face of his own anger. Hand nearly going for his mask, something he hid behind as well as it carried a message to all of those who would look upon it; a comfort, but still it would remain there on the table.

Instead Reaper went to piecing the parts of McCree's bionic, just to have something to do with his hands. They went on much more quickly than they'd been taken off, no having to watch for something to not touch and clean off.

"I don't remember you asking." Softly, but it carried that same rasp. What would McCree staying have done?

He's hunched over double, hiding his face so Reyes can't see the red in his eyes, the trickle of water down his cheeks. His gloved hand slides back into his hair as he waits, patient, waiting for the arm to be put back together.

"Maybe not in so many words." He replies, quiet, ignoring how the ghosts are starting to fade as he lets it all out. Like wisps of fog disappearing in the light of the dawn, or shadows extinguishing with a lightbulb's incandescent.
"Might have just asked when you were retirin'. Tried to see if you'd come with me. I keep replayin' that conversation in my head but after all these years the words have changed, you know?"

A pause, and then he looks up.
"But there's one thing I know I wanted, and that was you to come with me. To leave Blackwatch before we had to cross another line we couldn't."

"Never expected to live long enough to retire." Leaning back once he was done with the arm, knocking the cloths he'd used off the table and into the nearby trash. Wasn't going to bother washing them, they'd just been one thing he'd kept around, could get more easily enough. Scraps from something else, really. "Guess I was right."

Gabriel Reyes was dead and there was only the Reaper left behind. All that was left, the ghost of a man left to suffer and die.

He stood up slowly, pointedly ignoring what was left of those shadows as the room was otherwise normal once again. The effects of his own flare of mood all but gone, even the cracks in the floor resealing themselves. "You'd have ended up dead if you had stayed, or worse." Finally deciding that.

Those shadows look more like ones tossed by candlelight, like figures through a fogged glass or the remnants of whiteboard drawings, where one could just barely see what was there before. That was good, he supposed, to be letting out all this grief that he hadn't spoken of for years.

"... Yeah. Might've." He runs his hand over his face, trying to scrub at the tears on his cheeks. He might have ended up dead. Might have ended up worse. Might have ended up like Amelie, might have ended up like... Like Reyes.

"... But maybe I could've saved you from what happened in Switzerland." There it is. All that guilt come to a head. A secret finally admitted. And with a groan like the very earth was shifting on his access, the shadows disappear. They dart out to the four corners of the room, underneath the door and through the window, vanishing as quickly as they came.

"I only survived 'cause I was a coward. I was a young punk you took in and I survived and you didn't because I ran." The confession knocks the wind out of him, and his shoulders begin to shake again.

"It should've been you, Reyes."

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