» TEST DRIVE #001

[reveriemod]

TEST DRIVE #001

( 0 0 1 ) » WAKE UP

Were you asleep or were you unconscious? It doesn't matter: when you come to, there's an odd taste in your mouth and there's a low-level mechanical hum in the air. Your head hurts and you feel nauseous. You aren't anywhere you know: everything around you is metal, from the floor you lie on all the way to the ceiling. You are dressed in a jumpsuit you definitely weren't wearing before.

"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."

The message repeats on a loop. If you look for its source, you find a comms device on the floor next to you. The logo on its wallpaper says REVERIE TERMINAL. Upon closer inspection, you find the same logo on your jumpsuit.

Welcome to your new home. What choice do you have but to explore your surroundings?

( 0 0 1 . 1 ) » WAKE UP WHERE?

When you wake up, you find that you're not alone. But more importantly, you find that you're in a closet. An empty closet, bar you and your new companion. It's small, cramped, and there is no door that you can see. The ceiling is low, there is barely any lights, only some coming from the tiny flashlight clipped to your suit's shoulder. You cannot be sure that there is any air coming in to the room.

Are these grooves in the wall supposed to mean something?

( 0 0 2 ) » OBSERVATION DECK

There were no windows in the corridor you woke up in and no windows in any of the crew quarters you might have checked for occupants — but there are plenty of windows on the uppermost level of the station, deck 1. In fact, there are windows from floor to ceiling all along the circumference of the station's circular deck, and it's possible to walk along it all. What it shows is a strange solar system you've never seen before and a planet that might resemble one you know, but certainly isn't the same.

You're in space. You don't know where you are. Neither does anyone else.

( 0 0 3 ) » BAR

On deck 3, you find the bar. Tucked away from the crew quarters, it's dimly lit, there are bar stools thrown down on the floor and what looks like some very old drink spills, crusty and dark against the bar top. But there is alcohol here, or at least, what you think is alcohol, in bottles with faded labels, most of them indecipherable. Take a drink, get drunk, start a fight, or start a party? You're stuck on this station, might as well make the most of it, right?

( 0 0 3 . 1 ) » VIRTUAL

But the alcohol isn't even the most interesting part of your discovery (depending on who you are, of course). No, what catches your interest is a second, smaller room off from the main bar room, which looks to be some kind of arcade. There are a few VR sets lined up against one of the walls, and surely, they can't be working, right? Nothing is on this rust bucket. And yet, if you put it on, the display comes to life.

It's a pretty simple HUD, and when you move around in reality, you move around in the virtual world you've just entered. It's a luxurious world, full of brightly, saturated colors, making it just a little obvious that it isn't real. Ahead, there is a jungle, a temple, and a city. You can play around, slay some monsters, have some fun, but you can feel yourself growing hot, like the VR helmet is burning your forehead.

And when you try to take it off, you find that you can't. The HUD glitches, the sound cuts off to a blaring alarm, and an error message appears, in glowing, blinking red letters: FINISH THE MISSION. Will you, despite not knowing what the mission even is, or will you fight to get the helmet off?

( 0 0 4 ) » MALFUNCTIONS

(cw: body horror, bodily functions, gore, blood, death)

The fabricators function well enough, until they don't. One day, one moment, everything's all right — the food doesn't generally taste amazing and sometimes downright awful, but it's nourishing and filling no matter what your dietary needs — and the next, things go a little haywire.

In short, the fabricators are malfunctioning.

Oh, they're still producing food that looks and tastes much the same as before, but now there are some unexpected side effects.

NB: Characters may experience any of the following side effects: nausea ranging from slight to debilitating, the sensation of being happily and affectionately — but not overwhelmingly — drunk, bone-deep exhaustion and weariness that makes it hard to move, or repeated hallucinations of loved ones screaming for help, reaching out to characters and leading them down abandoned corridors or being killed by unseen forces.

The extent to which characters are affected is up to players, as is whether you'd prefer to play this more lightheartedly or tackling more serious themes. If the latter, please provide warnings in subject lines where necessary.

( 0 0 5 ) » NETWORK

The comms device you found next to you when waking up connects to a station-wide network, REVERIE NET. You have the option to post video, voice or text messages.

What will you share?

( 0 0 5 . 1 ) » NETWORK USERNAME

When you first turn on your communication device, it requests for you to pick a username to identify you on the network. It can be anything you want. However, as you try to input a username in your wristband to access the network, you get the following message, along with a small, but irritating, warming sound:

this username is already in use.

What does this mean? Is there other people around? Were there other people around?

( 0 0 6 ) » WILDCARD

The station features a variety of locations, from sleeping quarters free for the claiming to a dirty swimming pool and a bar that still holds alcohol (though some of the bottles seem to have been opened a while ago).

Go wild, but don't wreck the place. It's your home for the foreseeable future, after all.

Comments

frank castle | the punisher

[oorah]

waking up »

[ he's looking around for the threat, his eyes darting back and forth as though he's under attack. but of course he isn't, and he slowly processes the recording around the fifth way through hearing it. frank looks down at his chest, plucking the fabric away from his skin so he can read the insignia on the uniform he's been stuffed into, but it doesn't help anything make any more sense. ]

Good for you assholes. And let me guess, now you're all dead. [ what? he's seen enough sci fi to know. the voices grate on his pounding head and he grabs for whatever is making the noise to shut it off. the device just gets a further confused frown, but he clicks through the menu until the recording stops and then stuffs it into the pocket of his jumpsuit. he can figure that shit out later.

a shitbrickhouse of a man stands paralyzed in the middle of the corridor, his face shadowed in healing bruises as he scans the area for any other bodies. for some reason, he feels like he's not alone. ]

observation deck »

[ he stops short when he reaches the observation deck, breathing the stale air shallowly even as he's beginning to grow accustomed to it. he steps closer to the floor-to-ceiling window as though he could slip right through the damn thing, shuffling towards it cautiously and mouth going slack at what he sees. that's not earth, and this isn't a fucked up dream. though it is fucked up alright.

before he feels like he had plausible deniability as to what was going on. and now... as the moments tick by he moves closer and closer to the glass, until he has his face practically pressed against it like a kid peeking into a candy store. he doesn't want to believe it, and yet a part of him can't help but take it all in. space, the final frontier. it's as amazing as it is seriously inconvenient.

then again, maybe it's a blessing in disguise. there's nothing left for him in new york anyway. he exacted his war and technically, he won. that already left him rudderless. what was he going to do? work dead-end construction jobs until his body gave out on him? still, waking up in space wasn't exactly on his radar either. it doesn't help that he keeps coming up empty for how the fuck that's even possible. ]

If this is some elaborate prank -- don't think I can even be mad. [ he murmurs it to himself but once again glances around to see if anyone is there/listening. this whole set-up is impressive, and a very big part of him keeps expecting to wake up. ]

bar »

[ frank heaves a low sigh when he sees the bar, beelining for it even though he doesn't look all that pleased to see the state of it. he picks up a barstool and sets it on the far end before going behind the bar to find something resembling whiskey or bourbon. he finds a rag too to wipe down his small section of the bartop before sitting behind it and opening the bottle. he swigs right from it and shudders as it burns going down. usually alcohol gets better with age, but it tastes like everything else here: stale and a little off. that won't stop him from drinking until he can't see straight though, only seeming to grow more and more sedate as he goes. this, ladies and germs, is not a fun drunk. he seems content to remain alone, but if approached he'll make an effort to acknowledge the other party. his gaze might be slightly cross-eyed by the time he's interrupted, and he seems reluctant to cut his brooding session short. ]

Want some? Tastes like gasoline.

bunking down »

[ it's late by the time frank goes searching for a room. he wasn't exactly thinking about actually staying the night, let alone indefinitely. without shitty books written by old shitty white men, he isn't sure how he'll sleep anyway, and he'll probably just wake the people in the quarters nearest him when the nightmares eventually stake their claim. with that at the forefront of his mind, he's distracted, stumbling into a room away from others that seem occupied. except this one isn't as empty as it seemed from the outside and now he's hovering in the doorway with panic cast over his mottled face. ]

Sorry, I-- sorry. Jesus Christ. [ he's just going to back out of the room slowly and hope that he didn't catch anyone in the middle of something super awkward. ]

wildcard »

[ want something else? hmu on hotdoge & i can write you a custom starter or tag me with whatever and i'll roll with it! ]

bunking down

[magneticfields]

[ Erik doesn't sleep much. He never has. Whether his mind is working too fast or his memories come to haunt him in the quiet hours, sleep is as elusive as peace most nights. Usually, this is not so much of a problem. At home, he has any number of projects to work on or topics to study or plans to make.

That is not the case here. The others who have arrived all find places to rest once they are too exhausted to continue. Erik knows that it will be some time, maybe even days (whatever value "day" has here), before he finally is able to sleep. So he takes a room far away from the others and finds some kind of small electronic device he can fiddle with. He doesn't even know what the thing does or what it's supposed to look like. So he takes it apart, using his powers to make small hand tools as he goes, and starts with just cleaning the years of dust and corrosion off of it.

He is very surprised when somebody else wanders in. He looks up and regards the solidly-built, bruised man hovering in the doorway. ]

I can go somewhere else if the noise is bothering you. I had thought I was far enough away that it wouldn't carry.

[oorah]

[ his eyes dart from what erik is doing to the man's face, not comprehending it any better than the rest of this bullshit situation he finds himself in. he frowns, shaking his head. not bothering him, but also... he takes a halting step forward, trying to get a better look at what the other man is doing. ]

I didn't mean to interrupt the... whatever that is.

bunking

[subplot]

[All things considered, Karen thinks she's doing pretty well. She isn't thinking about staying long term either, but she recognizes that she's overwhelmed and needs to rest. After spending half the day thinking this wasn't real and then spending the other half exploring and finding out as much as possible, she's exhausted. Whatever else she may be feeling, she's incredibly grateful the quarters are private. She's taken one far from most of the others, feeling that a little distance may mean safety.

Of course that means that someone actually tries coming into her room without warning. She's on the edge of the bed, trying to will away the headache that's crept up on her. When the door opens, she snaps her head over toward the doorway. The sight of a painfully familiar face there makes her look almost comically surprised. Then that surprise turns to worry, because the idea of Frank Castle trapped in space is a lot to handle.]

Frank?

[Promptly, she moves to her feet and heads in toward him. He's about to get himself a hug.]

Don't be sorry. You're the only familiar face I've seen here.

[oorah]

[ it isn't until he's starting to backpedal that he recognizes her. it's the voice that does it even before he catches a glint of yellow hair in the dim light. frank lets out a shuddering breath and plants his feet, allowing her to come to him though every instinct is screaming to run. ]

Karen? [ up until now, he'd been mostly complacent to go along with the new reality of his situation. but karen page being here changes everything. this has to be a caffeine-soaked dream of the highest and most fucked up accord. she hugs him and he doesn't move, akin to wrapping your arms around a tall, solid but entirely limp noodle. ]

What are you doing here? [ it doesn't come out the way he means it, but that's par for their course. after an entire moment, he lifts one broad palm to lay flat against her back and subtly tucks his head against her throat. she feels real -- she even smells the way karen page should. but that doesn't rule out it being a dream either. he's more likely to dream her up in perfect accuracy than any of this space shit. not like he'd know the difference, though, right? ] ...Is this real? [ ms. super reporter lois lane impersonista extraordinaire should know better than some blockhead marine, that's his excuse for asking her questions she can't answer anyway. expectantly too, like she's withholding from him somehow. ]

bar »

[foes]

[ the newcomer joining him two stools down looks the part of a grease-happy, new-age-worshipping, bohemian nightmare — long, unkempt hair falling about to his shoulders and obscuring his eyes, unshaven, the jumpsuit not doing him any favors — but his teeth are white when he replies, and his left arm where it's exposed past his sleeve as it slides onto the bar is completely plated in responsive, liquid-smooth metal. ]

You implying I need fuel?

[ the joke is obviously about the machinery that is his arm, and while bucky doesn't look like someone you'd want to insult, there's no menace in his eyes to indicate he's serious.

mission: awkward dad jokes in space. ]

[oorah]

[ just in case you ever doubted frank would accept that mission: don't. he looks from the man's metal wrist up to his face with an easy smile, passing the bottle over with an almost lazy slide. this man doesn't look like any hippie he's ever seen, not by a longshot. but he does look like some of the men he sees in group therapy at the va. lost, afraid; not so different from himself maybe. ]

I left my oil can in my other pants. [ frank shrugs a shoulder, clasping his hands together on the bar and looking straight ahead like there's something to see. if bucky is expecting gawking or any further reaction, it's not coming. bro's in space, he can drink with a fellow veteran, metal arm notwithstanding. ]

observation deck »

[solarcharged]

[ Apollo slips in to the observation deck not long after Frank does. He should say hi, hello, anything, but hesitates before speaking up, not wanting to break the other man’s absorbed silence. It feels wrong to intrude on this but Apollo needs to be here. The observation deck is already the most important place in the whole station...

In the distance, beyond the reinforced glass and the glittering planet below, a yellow sun burns. It floods the observation deck with golden light, the kind of light that Apollo desperately needs. As soon as he steps in to the room he can feel the photons in the air, humming and potent, and he gratefully slides in to a pool of yellow light. Standing in sunlight is as satisfying as a three course meal as far as Apollo’s concerned.

He’d intended to do it quietly, to keep himself to himself and leave the other man to his silent rapture. But when he’s addressed Apollo offers him a rueful smile. ]

Oh, don’t worry. I think there are plenty of people who are more than willing to be mad on your behalf.

[ He edges closer, scrutinising that look of wonder on the other man’s face. ]

So I’m guessing this is your first time in space?

[oorah]

[ it isn't until apollo speaks that he registers that he'd been staring at him, frozen in place as the other man soaks up sweet sun rays. well, that's not something you see every fucking day, is it? but neither is anything else here so what the hell. he can't remember a time in his life where he ever wasn't angry. not even before his family died. he'd always thrived on it, fed on it the way this guy feeds on vitamin d or whatever the fuck. ]

That's one way to get a tan. [ he jokes lamely, shrugging at the question and glancing back out the windows. first time in space. like it's the fucking carnival. ] That obvious, huh.

observation deck

[tumang]

[ To Amos, the view is familiar. Not this particular one, but. Space. It's comforting, to him. Behind the inches of silicate and silica, there's death. The empty vacuum of space. Home, when someone doesn't have one anymore.

The guy looking out the bay is definitely not a rock-hopper. Despite his size, he looks... wobbly. ]

Doesn't look like a prank to me.

[ His magboots click as he settles by the bay, crossing his arms over his chest. ]

First time in space, huh?

[oorah]

[ he turns to look as the man's boots telegraph his approach, not bothering to bar the helplessness from his expression. ]

You're the second person to ask me that, so I'm guessin' you already know the answer. [ frank hangs there awkwardly despite his size, but he doesn't seem threatened by how at ease amos seems. the people he'd met seemed split about 50/50 when it came to space travel. but none of them had any better clue what brought them to this decrepit space station, so as far as he's concerned they're (quite literally) in the same boat. ] And it's not your first lap around on this pony. [ see, he can glean things too. ]

observation deck.

[gaits]

[ he's slow to wake, and the fact that nothing's come out at him yet for taking his time is both a good and bad thing -- there's no immediate threat here or he's alone, or maybe even some combination of both. either way, he takes more than a few moments to adjust to the light, the stagnant air and cold metal beneath his cheek, finally pulling himself up when five minutes of staring at nothing doesn't magically take him back to frank's truck. the jumpsuit is scratchy, loosely hanging off his bony frame enough that he can simply look down and see the logo. reverie terminal. reverie, lost in dreams. dreaming about the shitty warehouse he lived it would have been nicer than this.

it's some time later after shuffling around and fiddling with his device when he runs into frank. and maybe he should be more surprised, but he only feels the sense of something finally slotting back into place, his perspective re-calibrating accordingly now that he has something familiar, a point of reference to operate from. ]

Don't think there's a chance for them to beam us back, huh. [ david taps on the window with his knuckle after sliding in next to frank, small enough to fit in the window's frame alongside him. ] The view's nice at least. They didn't skimp on that.

[ for it being a rust bucket, at least. ]

[oorah]

[ he startles more for the identity of the company than company itself. he's gotten used to milling around with all of these different people and come to the conclusion that it doesn't bother him. what difference would it make if he decided to let his delicate sensibilities become upset anyway? none. being packed in an unfamiliar place with people from all walks is the familiar part, it's everything else he can't adjust to. and seeing david lieberman here? now? it's like a shot through the heart all over again.

he and david are partners for all of their protests once upon a time. and even in the present, with the way frank tries to avoid making the man a part of his exceedingly lame life. it seems other forces at work are determined to keep throwing them together. that has to be for a reason as much as he usually hates putting stock into these things. he can't look over at micro without losing it, so he keeps his focus ahead on the 'view.' it really is something, though it twists his head up every time he tries to really process what he's seeing. a heavy hand presses down on david's shoulder after a moment, in greeting and solidarity both. a promise to stick together, wherever they stand back home. ]

It doesn't suck. [ that's literally everything else. ]

waking up;

[blacksky]

[Frank would be right about that. He's definitely not alone. While he at least looks intimidating, the person with him is quite the opposite. She's slim, pretty, and as non-threatening as it gets until she smiles at him. That's not the kind of smile anyone can trust, but she's in a decent enough mood for a dead woman so he's in zero danger.

She sees no reason to lash out at a remarkably familiar looking man even if this whole situation is annoying. Give her a minute to figure it out.] Most likely. That's what doing good gets you.

[She's not mad about it. These are simply the facts to her.]

[oorah]

[ there's something about her that's familiar too, but through the headache and disorientation he's not getting there himself yet. her smile pricks up the short hairs on the back of his neck though, and he easily smiles back, slipping into a role the same as she. he even laughs at her commentary, though it's more of an affected snort than a true laugh. ]

That's what they get for trying to play god, right? [ not like he's any better. he takes his comm back out and fiddles with it idly as he begins to follow her wherever she's going. apparently they're sticking together for the next little while. ]

waking up »

[spinals]

[ she's been awake for maybe an hour now and she hasn't gotten any closer to getting answers or figuring out what is going on, but she's at least figured out that there are several levels to this place (she's counted three so far) and that there are other people here who also have no idea what's going on.

so that's great, right? at least she's not alone, though. at least everyone else isn't alone, either. so when kat rounds a corner and sees a man built like a brick house standing there, looking around, she slows her steps but doesn't quite stop until she's a few metres in front of him. ]

Hi.

[ a beat. ] Did you just wake up?

[oorah]

[ she looks so young and it takes him a moment to process that she's really there. slowly, he nods his head. at least, he feels like he just woke up, even if he can't remember falling asleep or being drugged or anything like that. ]

You too? [ it's gentle, like he's afraid of his voice carrying. a voice that's coarse by nature but he clearly makes an effort to smooth it over just for her. ]

» the bar

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ The second she steps inside, Rogue decides the bar might just be her favorite place on the whole station. It's as grimy as everywhere else and just as abandoned, but whoever was here before left some bottles and she is more than willing to help dispose of them. Judging by the guy at the far end, she's not the only one ready to make that sacrifice. ]

So long as it's alcoholic gasoline, it sounds pretty darn good right now. [ Approaching the bar, she reaches over the counter for a glass and wipes it down as best she can before plopping it down beside her new companion. Please and thank you. ]

[oorah]

[ he smiles though it's gritty and a little unsteady. it doesn't last long either, but something about her accent is comforting. he doesn't think she's going to be one of the people who laughs at him for not being space-savvy. frank sets the cap to the bottle aside and pours her a few fingers and holds up the bottle to clink against her glass when she picks it up. ]

It's not bad.

the bar!!

[retund]

[ ripley walks in, standard-issue mug in hand. it's filled with her own comfort of choice: coffee. or the shit-for-beans excuse for coffee that the janky fabricators on the ship keep churning out. still, this is her third hellhole in what feels like months, so she'll take the garbage on tap, and the semi-decent, mostly layman company.

she gives frank a curt nod as she ventures closer. ]

Thanks, but I've got a cup of rust to finish. [ she rounds the bar and sets her mug (with it's grey-green liquid) on the countertop with a light clack. one corner of her mouth tugs, nearly amused by the exchange. his description of the booze merits a sharp-eyed, if brief, assessment of the label. ] Would have thought the imports were decent, even if the fabricators on this bucket are on the fritz.

[ maybe the whole operation's low budget and off-brand. ]

[oorah]

[ that's the second mention of fabricators malfunctioning and he frowns, tipping the bottle back and forth between his hands in a fidget. ]

Is that supposed to be coffee? [ god he misses coffee. but not even he could get that down. ] You're one tough lady.

[ frank shakes his head and takes another swig. he wants coffee and food now more than he wants this terrible whiskey, but there doesn't seem to be a choice. not for the immediate future anyway. ]

an anarchist and a pacifist walk into a bar

[swill]

G- gas? Gas'line? No, it doesn't. [Like he's the resident expert on the matter. He oughta be.

He's fighting a battle to not drop to the floor, hunkered over the bar counter like it's the only floatie in the lake that's keeping him from sinking like a rock. To the bottom. Rock bottom. (Stupidly, a little voice in his head exclaims in wonder oh so that's why it's called what it is. It only took him 32 years.) Anyway. He's standing. Because sitting on those bar stools is for chumps and for the people who have any remnant of self respect.

Sitting at the bar means enjoying a bottle or two or five of whatever booty has been found and staked as theirs and, uh, not moving around to actively scavenge for more. Hawkeye Pierce has (had?) decided, an hour or two or five ago (who's counting?) that he wouldn't be true to him if he wasn't... actively scavenging for more booze of the-- whatever variety. He's sloshed. He's soused. The very word of 'gasoline' has him half-wince and pray he doesn't spontaneously combust but more importantly

he's taking Frank's bottle by the neck (which would be a wonderfully dirty double entendre literally any other time but this) and he does want some, thanks for offering, and he takes a healthy swig and] It's more... motor oil. Goes in the same thing but it doesn't... [He moves his hands to... fill in what he was going to say, words failing him not for the first or last time.

Hey there, shit brickhouse.] Come here often?

bunking down

[monomachy]

[Far from awkward, Diana had been sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at a photograph held delicately between her fingers. It's the only bit of home she has, and though it's only been what she can assume is a few hours since she left Earth, she already misses it dearly. She'd thought her homesickness for Themyscira was bad, but it's nothing compared to not even being on the same planet anymore.

She starts when the door opens, immediately rising to her feet, every muscle coiled and ready for anything. But it's just a man, and her shoulders slump as she sees him, hears his apology. The Amazon shakes her head, starting forward and raising the hand with the photo and waving it slightly.]

No, it's alright. I didn't realize the door wasn't locked.

[Locks are relatively new to her still. On Themyscira, there had simply been no need for them. She'd never met a sister she couldn't trust with her life. Strange as it may seem, that had been her first glimpse into how deeply Ares' corruption had wormed its way into the hearts of men.

She takes in his appearance finally, bruised and battered. Her brows draw in concern, and she lowers her hand.]

You look like you've been through the wringer.

[A phrase she remembers from her time on the Front. For some reason, it had stuck. Maybe because it reminds her of Steve. She feels a pang in her chest at just the thought of his name, but does a good job of not letting it show.]

hellooo there another bunking down, hope u don't mind friendo

[heisenbitch]

[ Curled up on his side, in a tight foetal position the way he would fitfully sleep on that filthy mattress in that piss-stenched cement hole he was kept prisoner in, the sudden sound of movement jolts Jesse awake. He bolts upright into a sitting position, eyes wide and fearfully alert, and stares at the intruder, frozen. Jesse is a mess to look at: Straggly, unkempt hair, an equally straggly beard that makes him look like a hobo, scars on his thin, underfed face.

He says nothing in response to the guy's apologetic panic. Just stares at him. It's hard to tell if Jesse wants to shrink back, huddle against the wall in habitual search of safety, or lunge for the nearest thing he could use as a weapon. Jesse has "caged animal" written all over him. ]

bar

[catastrophics]

[ wanda hasn't been handling space very well thus far, and after the incidents with the fabricators she's not too eager to head back to the mess just yet. exploring has lead her to the bar, finally, and while she's not really looking for company (and neither, it seems, is the man already seated at the bar), she's not about to run off because it's there. nothing says they have to talk to each other.

she's looking for a glass and whatever is the closest to resembling vodka when he offers some of the very well advertised liquor he's found. raising an eyebrow, she gives him a subtle once-over, trying to determine whether or not he's drunk. ]

Maybe. You're only seeing me, right?