memepad | test drive!

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test drive!

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. ♥

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Cristabel beams, which thankfully doesn't result in an actual glow: that probably would just given Gideon a headache.

"I would definitely invite you back to my place," she says chipperly, offering an arm to lead the way to the mall, "But it's a bit of a mess, very sacrilegious of me. We're going to the store though, so you can get much better sunglasses! And I can get new ones, too, I keep not doing that. I'm Cristabel by the way! Glad you're not a vampire, on account of how you'd probably starve to death out here. I've never seen one either, but this place," she shrugs. "Maybe someday."

Edited 2021-07-14 02:07 (UTC)

"Is mess sacrilegious now?" Gideon snorts. "In that case, I'm a heretic." The only reason her rooms have never been messier is because she's lacked the tangible amount of stuff required to do so. It's nice to imagine such a petty way to give a certain someone the middle finger.

The cheer breaks through Gideon's memory with the name. Namely, the absolutely un-joyful Saint of Joy. "Cristabel... named after Cristabel Oct?" Gideon asks. She cannot imagine an Eighth House person this friendly. Admittedly, the only known record she has is for a myriad ago. The sheer masses of generations since then could mean there is one more out wherever this is.

There's a sudden look of surprise from Cristabel to Gideon; that wasn't something she was expecting at all.

"It is for me, considering I am Cristabel Oct," comes out in a tone that's half bubbly-excited and half wary. If anyone can manage that, it's Cristabel. "And my House does like things neat. Unless there are people named after me, which, I don't know, maybe there are! I think I'm the only Cristabel Oct. Do you know someone who knew me?"

This makes no sense. People don't try to murder someone (with the side effect of near complete genocide) for someone who is having some kind of sunglasses breaking vacation/vocation/whatever this is. "Sort of, briefly," Gideon says. "She and everyone else so far as I know were under the impression you were dead. Are you dead? Am I dead? Are we both dead together and that's how this meeting is happening?" Perhaps cavaliers all went to the same afterlife. Special soul battery purgatory? It would explain the lack of people.

"Mostly dead," Cristabel says, as she keeps on walking vaguely mall-wards, "More like perpetually dying? But then I ended up here. I think—I think I don't want to know what to think about how that happened."

She knows it's because Mercymorn's died or been otherwise permanently cut off from her.

She refuses to accept it.

"Who ... she? Who did you know who knew me?"

"Relatable," Gideon says. She's not sure anyone's been in her exact position before. Maybe Pyrrha is in the same one at the same time. Gideon will keep an eye out for her. "There's really only shitty answers when you've a cav, huh." More of a statement.

Gideon has no good feelings about the person she's about to namedrop. She's pretty sure it was a bad day when they met. A bad decade. A bad century. A bad millennium. Whatever, she tried to kill Harrow and then some. Gideon does like Cristabel and her life saving sunglasses already. That's the larger hesitation.

"Mercymorn the First, also known as the Saint of Joy," Gideon says. There was an ironic name if ever she's heard one. "Your uh... necromancer?" She wants to be corrected so hard.

"Oh, and I don't recognize you at all," Cristabel exclaims, sounding guilty, "It must really be an awfully long time since I've been able to pay attention! I used to notice people when we met them, I used to try to hang on, it's just not that easy when most of your soul's busy doing other things."

She is a little bit hangdog about that; she looks a little sad and her enthusiastic pace slows slightly, but it's not completely gone. Joy is certainly a good name for the cavalier half. "I was the very first one, the very first cavalier, that is, not—the first Lyctor, but I'm sure you already know that." That was a sore point. Mercymorn should have been first, but the normally so patient and steady Alfred had been even more enthusiastic. And that was Cristabel's own fault, wasn't it? "So I hate to think the job has turned into only shitty answers, but I suppose in our case it's possible you're right. Except that this place isn't bad, only very quiet and I'm not that big on quiet."

(As was obvious because she kept talking.)

Edited 2021-07-15 00:59 (UTC)

It's too bright to look around and to determine how old this place is. Perhaps Cristabel Oct has spent the last myriad here. In which case, things could have gone a lot less shitty if the necromancers had known that. "You've been here... the whole time?" Gideon asks. "Since, uh, however you guys did it. Getting eaten." She's never gone out of her way to learn more about this stuff. Not that she's sure the answers were available.

"Mine didn't want to eat me," Gideon says. "So... it's been weird." She glances over at the older cavalier. Is this really how it is? Is it bad that Gideon's, well, paying attention?

"Hmm, no, no, I've been in the River most of the time. Sometimes I could look back and—see things, when Mercy had my eyes. Sometimes I could feel things, the fighting. When she needed me the most." Cris takes a deep breath to stop herself from tearing up, because those memories hurt, even if she still stands behind her 'dying for her necromancer' decision.

"I've only been here about, oh, a month I think? If you count thirty days as a month, anyway. Augustine didn't want to do it either, but he must've gotten used to the idea. Also blamed me, I'm sure. Very healthy of him. Very healthy man, Augustine."

Hopefully the sarcasm was obvious.

"Did something go wrong, with you?" Maybe she can help, maybe she can just be supportive. She's happy for either. She's happy for conversation.

Gideon groans. "A myriad in the River? Gross. No one shared that fine print," she says. No one told any of them anything at Canaan House. It was very reinvent the wheel since heirs are so smart. Not that she wants to go back and change her decision. She thinks. She's pretty sure.

Augustine after ten thousand years is probably (was probably) not the same man than he was back at the start. Nothing and no one seems healthy after that long. Not even ~god~. "As healthy as anyone who tries to kill John Gaius can be," Gideon sasses back. That's three of the final four lyctors so far as she can count. Which is basically half of them. Wow, they sure fell like flies at the end.

Gideon sighs, "Well I didn't get eaten. The River basically somehow tore me right out of my necromancer and plopped me in my well-preserved hot bod. Whatever that means." She doesn't know. She doubts anyone really does.

"He did what."

They're most of the way down the path to the shopping mall but that doesn't stop Cristabel. Her plan for getting Gideon dry clothing and sunglasses that aren't broken is getting interrupted by her brain jamming on a point and she has to stop walking and stare.

"Oh, Augustine, what happened." A sigh. "Not that he was a fan of mine but that's just because he made the assumptions he wanted to! Doesn't mean I don't feel a little bad. I'm glad it didn't work anyway," it can't have worked, right, "And I'm not—sure about your situation. I can't claim expertise just from my single experience. The River does what it wants, though I suppose it should be what they do; the River is a collective noun in a way. This is getting way too academic for cavs, right?"

"I'll stick to the poor metaphors and leave the rest of it to the nerds," Gideon agrees. Harrow's far better for understanding complex necromancy shit. Even if it is about spirits. Did bones even exist in the River? Or better yet, swords? She didn't know if swords could do anything to spirits, but she was always better with one than without. Another problem.

Gideon switches to giving Cristabel an arm. Augustine was supposed to be the easier option. Easiest. Four out of four lyctors who were alive when she showed up at Canaan House are dead. Ianthe certainly isn't going to be a comfort to anyone. "No, Augustine did not succeed in shoving John into the mouth where lyctors hide resurrection beasts under the River," Gideon assures the other cavalier. "Last I saw he was making it."

"Good. That's good," Cristabel nods, her pace picking up again. She's satisfied with that; anything that ended with Emperor John Gaius dead would definitely be really bad, for all that she pulled a little bit of a face at the middle part of that statement.

"The making it part, anyway. I wouldn't want to think of what would happen to the Nine Houses if he didn't, and I really don't want to wonder what's gotten into Augustine Quinque, because then I would be thinking too much about his brother, and instead maybe we should be talking about you." She's new and is from somewhere Cristabel has been. She can tell her things about people she loves, but can also just ... well, tell her things. She's a new cavalier. "Did I get your name? I don't think I did."

Gideon sighs. "That's why he's supposed to be locked up all on his onesies when battle time comes," she rolls her eyes a little. Because it's ridiculous that the most powerful person cannot be involved with cleaning up his own shit. That's what resurrection beasts are at the core of it. Consequences for his actions. "Uh," she is glad Cristabel turns away from the why it happened. What with the answer being "you didn't have to be 99% dead." Or something like it. Gideon was overhearing the adults table, lacking a whole ten thousands years of context.

"Gideon," she says, "Gideon the Ninth if you want to be like Teacher. Gideon the First is already taken after all. You know, you all really didn't plan for that. What if there were two Augustines? Or Mercymorns? Was it like oh, sorry pal, we already have a Saint Augustine?" She looks over. "Flip side, any idea why they stopped at one per House? The Emperor's anatomy long stopped being accurate unless he's hiding a lot of extra hands somewhere."

"Is he? John? That's odd." Cristabel isn't judging, exactly, but evidently things have changed a lot since she last saw home; Augustine is entirely off his gourd and John isn't a fighter.

She's missing a lot.

She's also the type of person who can mentally shrug it off and move forward: "Other way around, actually. We made the Houses. The original—I suppose disciples is the best way to put it. There happened to be a perfect even set of necromancers and cavaliers among us; it made sense for the original necromancer disciples to also become the Lyctors. We–they—were already trusted and each pair got a House to found, so it's more like there'd been one House to each Lyctor than one Lyctor per House. I'm assuming the remaining three that didn't have a disciple managed to gain them with a question like that—Third, Fourth, Seventh?"

Edited 2021-08-01 17:42 (UTC)

"I absolutely give no fucks what the actual answer is or whether it makes any sense," Gideon forewarns for the next dumb ass comments to come. "If it's a House per lyctor, why the fuck aren't they in order? Augustine founding the Fifth and Mercymorn the Eighth when you think that'd be the Second and Third." Though the Houses belonging to the lyctors explain why the Eighth is a bunch of put upon assholes. It's the shoe that fits up Mercy's ass.

She squints, bothering to remember what she knows of religious history. Gideon's never paid attention to those lessons. "Not sorry, Harrow," she tells the River, so it might travel wherever Harrow is. "The Ninth never had a lyctor until us. A touch late to the party."

And, somehow, the effervescent and sweet Cristabel is the other half of that founding pair. They probably used to be nicer.

(Before she died.)

(That's a lot of it, actually.)

(Too bad Mercymorn's utter adoration of her cavalier didn't carry down in Eighth tradition. Cristabel has never been an accessory or a valet.)

"It's orbital order. Distance from Dominicus. I would ask why there even are new Lyctors, since that's the answer to your other question, that there weren't meant to be and so people's names weren't really an issue, but I think I don't ... really want the answer any more than I want to know why Anastasia didn't become one, so let's spare me thinking about that."

There is a fuckton of batshit bad shit this old cav doesn't know. All the books Palamedes ever read-worth. Gideon doesn't even know enough to fully truly horrify Cristabel down to her bone marrow. She waves off the explanation. It doesn't make sense, and she has lost far more fucks than she has to give this matter. There are none to spare, and she has never cared.

"You're going to need one killer distraction," Gideon comments. She considers it. "Why the fuck the net? In your off hand." That's a pointless question she missed asking Pyrrha. How is a spear an off hand weapon? Were you all competing for most extra weapon choice? "I want to know that one."

"Oh! That one's easy." Cristabel is back to grinning, so she's managed to at least be somewhat distracted; she's really just Not Letting Herself Think About those other bad things. Avoiding thinking about bad things is frequently a priority in her semi-afterlife. "The net is a fantastic far-range weapon, if you've got quick reflexes, a good eye and a solid off arm that's good at at least a few motions. Just flicking my wrist and managing to completely capture my opponent and then pull them to my feet all wrapped up in a net? It's ridiculously fun, you should try it."

She'd even let herself be the one caught, if the baby Ninth cav could catch her. Because it is fun, and she knows how to take it without being hurt.

"It's also possible to use it to trip people while it's folded down and all, but throwing it open and going for a catch is much more effective long term, though that's not to say that tripping someone and then leaping above them and holding your rapier to their nose isn't immensely satisfying. And also fun. I just think the net has a lot of character and value. Plus in a pre-Resurrection gladiatorial ring it was, apparently," Cristabel doesn't actually know this, from personal experience or even personal study, but John showed her books! "A popular and winning choice."

Gideon has the best conversation in a long ass time, possibly ever, about weapons. So far as only using one handed weapons go, Cristabel makes an amazing case for the net. They talk about other weapons as well, those Gideon's seen other people use and those she's only read about. There's enough ground to cover that it would take a decade or nine volumes of Ortus's poetry (that's a coin toss for which is longer) or more.

Far before that, they reach the shops Cristabel mentioned earlier and Gideon gets her choice of glasses. Her hands run over the various frames. She doesn't get the point of the little ones that block only a fragment of the light, permitting more to strike around the pitiful shield of glass. The ones she chooses, after trying on several similar large ones, are a rich black, so black they seem to swallow light. Gideon sees well through them, and her face relaxes, like it was tense and expecting a sword or dagger out of nowhere all of the time. It basically was. She also takes a second pair, as backup. "What do you do with your time?" Gideon asks. "Are there any weapons' stores?"

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test drive!

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