test drive!

[lilypadmin]

Code

arrival.

We don't have a brilliant arrival prompt as of yet, but you're welcome to take a look at the arrival page and post your character's arrival if you desire! You may count this test drive as a canonical arrival if you decide to keep the character in game. Many of the below prompts are in possible arrival locations, but do not need to be arrivals.

Shopping, or something like it.

Maybe you want a toothbrush. A swimsuit. Enough sun protection to ease the transition for a vampire who'd lived their entire life safely tucked away on a space station far, far away from anything remotely sun-like. Maybe you just want to put yourself someplace everyone else is bound to go, sooner or later. Maybe you're just someone who will always default to "let's go hang out at the mall", for that matter.

Maybe you're used to shoplifting, and won't notice anything about the mall's security levels, at least at first. Maybe you're a scrupulous goody-two-shoes, and you're going to have a problem when you realize that not only is nobody asking you to pay, but there is literally no way to pay for anything you wanted to purchase.

Maybe you're just going to have to throw a temper tantrum when you realize that the Orange Julius-like storefront is also completely unstaffed, and no more automated than any other Orange Julius you've ever seen, and so you don't have any way of getting the perfect smoothie.

(Unless, maybe, you can find someone else who's got more experience with a blender than you have.)

On the shoreline.

Look. You've been to the beach before, haven't you? You know what to expect when you get there: salty water, some sand, the general sinking dread that the overpowering chemical reek of artificial-coconut-scented sunscreen is coming to get you; the usual, right?

This is maybe not your usual beach. Possibly because it's a little more like a coral reef or atoll; possibly because it's a little more like someone got carried away with programming fractals into a really big 3D printer; possibly because it isn't all that much at all like the beach you were just at, if you were maybe at a beach just before you came here anyway. No toddler temper-tantrums in earshot, no seagull con artists waiting for you to be the slightest bit distracted so they can steal your food right out of your hands, no overpowering chemical reek of artificial coconut...

Don't worry too much, though. There is sunscreen, over at the little vending machine over that-a-way, along with coverups and hats and sunglasses (oh my) — pity you can't tell what they're going to look like before the machine has spat them out at you, though.

(The water does, at least, feel like water, and taste like salt, even if the sand is disconcertingly perfectly-just-off-white, and only a few inches deep above the hull.)

By the way—if you came here in a boat, this is going to be home, at least for your boat. These are the only berths you're going to find; you can claim a berth, and if it was empty when you did, you can—presumably—keep it. Some berths are already filled with other boats. Some of these boats were clearly meant for public use, and others seem as if they used to have people living in them, or at least had private owners. Nobody's living in them right now, though. Strange.

Enjoy the spa.

Or else, you can try to enjoy the spa, if you’re motivated or don’t require any staff.

Because there isn’t any. Much like the shoreline, like the mall, like the apartments, there is a whole lot of absolutely nothing unless you can figure out how to wake up the AI—and even if you do, the AI doesn’t have a clue about how to do a massage or a stretch or a chemical peel.

But you can still enjoy the saltwater pools. Or the salt room.

Or the really nice lounge.

Or the lotus pond grid.

You can also get some good skin care supplies, or put up a note on the digital bulletin board stating what you’re looking to get done. There might be another new arrival who can give you the stretch or facial you’re looking for. If you’re someone with those skills? Better stick around. Someone might be in need.

Wildcard.

If none of these inspire you—or if all of them do and you just want to add another thing to respond to, it's up to you whether you want to put one response or several in a top level comment, we're good with anything you like—you've got a whole chunk of an empty solarpunk island to do something with. The further you stray from that shoreline the harder you will be to locate by others, but we encourage you to have fun!

Anything that the setting page inspires is probably fair game! Feel free to ask before posting if you've got any questions that reading through the mod journal doesn't yet clarify; consider this a sort of beta run. ♥

Comments

[armeyets]

There's a certain persnickety delicacy to the other man: his pretty face, his graceful body language. (For a fleeting moment, Bucky is reminded of the baron: Zemo's fine tastes, lavish liquor, silken house robes.) Research labs and scientists leave a bitter taste in the back of his throat, too, but there's also a certain pragmatic sense to what Kujen is proposing. Bucky is still looking thoughtfully over the scientist's shoulder, scrutinising those empty buildings. He'd wandered them for so long all day. This place was like a ghost town.

Trust comes horrifically difficult to him, and he's been used as a human weapon so many times. But sometimes there just isn't any other option.

"I'm good at fighting," he finally says, plainly. "It's pretty much the only thing I'm good at. So I'd be— willing to team up, at least until we have a better idea of what's going on here. You got any idea of what's happening? I woke up out on the water and have no goddamn idea how I got here."

A beat. A consideration, before the man grudgingly adds, "I'm James."

[kujen]

Kujen notes the other man's hesitation. Well, fair enough. He wouldn't trust a complete stranger either, if he had choices. "I was in my lab proofreading a math paper," he says, frowning as he thinks back to his arrival, "and I had gone to check on some of the supplies in the closet, but the closet opened to - here. There's some preliminary research on dimensional gates, where I come from. I just hadn't expected a personal demonstration, and unless my research assistant's moldy sandwich in the fridge achieved sentience in a very surprising manner, I don't think I can attribute it to anything we were working on. The common factor so far is this place, so if I had to, I would assume that it's some property of the location." Kujen makes a moue. "A fun topic for a research dissertation, if only I liked being one of the lab rats."

He tenses a little as he watches James think. Is he going to--? But it's too early to tell, and anyway, Kujen is committed now. He can only give trust and hope it's returned with honorable behavior. And good at fighting is useful in any reality, as far as he's concerned; a skill he wishes he'd picked up, except the people who owned him, once upon a time, made it clear that they had better uses for him. "I'm Kujen."

SRY FOR THE DELAY, my life blew up

[armeyets]

Bucky listens to the other man thinking out loud, as Kujen works through the ideas, theories, hypotheses. It's already a sign of how their differing skillsets might come in handy, because Bucky's speculations on the situation hadn't had a chance to get any further yet than what the fuck is going on. He's not accustomed to having to think through the metaphysical weirdnesses of a situation; the man is a loaded gun, so typically just point him and shoot.

But he snorts a little in dry amusement at that speech. "I knew some people who could make inter-dimensional portals—" The Masters of the Mystic Arts, with those spinning yellow rings of theirs, "but I didn't think they could make them this far. 'Cause this really doesn't look like Earth. Where you from, Kujen?"

He's waiting to hear the name of a country or even planet he recognises, at the very least. He's about to be very surprised.

Re: SRY FOR THE DELAY, my life blew up

[kujen]

[It's fine, my life blew up too! *fist-bump of commiseration*]

"Inter-dimensional portals? At will?" Kujen hears his own voice, quietly excited, and reminds himself not to pounce on Bucky. "Especially if they can control the destination - which begs the question of how mapping dimensions is possible, if at all."

It stands to reason that Bucky doesn't come from the Heptarchate, if he speaks so casually about dimensional travel. And there are a lot of worlds in the Heptarchate but Kujen is sure Urth isn't one of them. "Urth," Kujen says carefully. "I've never heard of it. I'm from an empire called the Heptarchate, for its seven ruling heptarchs. Specifically, I was on an orbital research station around Star 772-13. Is Urth an empire, or a planet, or a city, or...?"

If there are other people, where do they come from? How many different worlds open up into this strange place?

[armeyets]

If it hadn't been for Rocket Raccoon, honestly, Bucky's brain might've ground to a stunned halt so much faster.

But he's seen some weird shit already, and so he takes a deep breath and tries to let Heptarchate and Star 772-13 roll off him like water, nodding politely like he'd just heard the guy was from Poland. Maybe he should've jumped on the opportunity to travel with the Guardians of the Galaxy, so that this sort of thing would've become actual second hat for him.

As it stands, it feels surreal, like he's standing outside himself watching himself have this conversation.

"Earth," he hears the faint stiltedness in Kujen's pronunciation but not noticeably enough to correct it, "is a planet. We're not really spacefaring yet. Only got the one station in orbit around our planet, although we've had— uh— visitors. So I know it's a wide universe out there. Have you heard of Chitauri? Kree? Or Asgardians?"

He's grasping, trying to find some common ground, something recognisable to hang onto.

[kujen]

[HI, guess who had a book deadline and completely lost track of time, it's been three months I AM SO SORRY.]

"A planet," Kujen repeats, stifling his excitement all over again. "You've had visitors, and they haven't claimed you? Or have they opened diplomatic relations? I have not heard of"--he repeats the pronunciations as carefully as he is able"--Chitauri, Kree, Asgardians, none of them. Have you heard of Hafn, or the Gwa, or the Taurags?"

He kneels and draws a map in the sand with his finger, a star map of the galaxy as he knows it, pointing out the Heptarchate, the Hafn, the Gwa, the Taurags. "Beyond that," he says, "I don't know. Perhaps we don't come from the same galaxy at all, which begs the question of how we're able to communicate."