raiamemes | TDM 001

Entry tags:

!test drive

TDM 001

TEST DRIVE MEME 001 ❀

CONTENT WARNINGS: potential character nudity, violence, trypophobia (images) as well as light mentions of gore.

Please note: FOR THE FIRST 24 HOURS AFTER 'HATCHING', CHARACTERS WILL FEEL WEAK AND ANY POWERS THEY HAVE WILL NOT WORK.

Test drive meme threads can be considered game canon for players who are later accepted and wish to keep their CR. The rescue mission prompt will be a TDM-exclusive, but the other prompts that you see here will also appear on our first game log. There will, of course, be more going on that week.

Please reserve questions about consequences for altering or meaningfully investigating the setting for the first log of the game, where we will have a Mod Questions thread at the top of the log. On this test drive meme, please reserve this thread for clarification and setting questions.

On the first day of reserves (May 10th), only players who participate in the TDM will be allowed to reserve. You must link an AC-length thread from the TDM for early access. Starting on the 11th, any prospective player may submit a reserve. Our hope is that this will avoid overwhelming our reserves.

❀ HATCHING

Congrats, you've woken up in an egg. I'm sure this is exactly how you wanted to spend your Saturday, right? There's no time to get curious and check out the other egg sacs. By the time you've fought your way out of the membranous sac, spilled electric blue goop everywhere, wiped it out of your eyes and sundry other orifices to get your bearings, you have a spear (or a gun) leveled at your face, throat, or other vital organs. Even if you might be inclined to fight, you can barely lift your arms to protest being grabbed and dragged off. Before you can even get a word in edgewise, you've been thrown into a holding cell.

Characters will not have a chance to retrieve their items at the time of the first hatching, and may not even know there is anything left in the remaining eggs.

The holding cell stinks of something sour and acidic, like rotted citrus, but you are not alone. Several other detainees sit in similar squalid confusion, dressed strangely and equally gooey. Time to make nice, ask questions... figure out what the hell is going on, and maybe do something about all that slime?

Over the next few days, a few things become clear. Despite the alien greeting, your captors speak a language that you understand, and the unpleasant circumstances are revealed to be a matter of necessity, not choice. Supplies are low, but they ensure that the new arrivals' time imprisoned is as painless as can be — they offer hot communal showers of less than three minutes, some strange starchy meal-replacement, and medical treatment to those in need. You might strike up a conversation with your new best friend in the shower over a low soap dispenser or when you realize you might need to share towels.

The cost of these luxuries comes in the form of touch-and-go interrogation by the security officers keeping tabs on the cells and supervising the shower time.

A few notes:

☆ Your character may get pulled away for interrogation at some point. No torture, no drugs; just questioning.

☆ Locals will be stopping by outside the freestanding holding cells to ogle or ask questions. Are you really going to be mean to that little kid staring at you with wide eyes?

☆ Characters will be let out for bio breaks. No one has to pee in a bucket, that's just inhumane!

☆ Attempts to escape will probably get you tasered. The mods will not facilitate escape-plots/etc on test drive memes. However: if you app and are accepted you are more than welcome to chat with us about the possibility of having escaped or attempted it.

❀ EXPLORE THE BASECAMP

On the heels of a little benign interrogation, a medical inspection, and a stern talking to by Captain Childe, the survivors at Basecamp Leviathan determine one thing: you don't appear to be an active threat.

Released from the detention center after three days, you are given the run-down by the locals — you're on a planet called Ethyraia, and the people around you are survivors of the catastrophic crash of the UCSS Adamant several years prior. You, in fact, showed up on the third anniversary of the crash. Weird coincidence, huh?

You're being allowed to mingle with the others. The first order of the day is having a proper meal at the mess hall — some of the Adamant's survivors will be friendlier than others. They've been stranded here for years, remember? Some of them will be so desperate to talk to someone who has news of other places, and some will be giving you the cold shoulder.

You'll be fed the same as the rest of them. A plastic plate of crumbled protein of unidentifiable origin and gravy over rice with a single wilted stalk of broccoli and a cup of the worst coffee you've ever had. Maybe somebody bumps into you and spills said coffee, maybe you make it all the way to one of the long tables set out for communal eating.

Time to strike up a chat with your neighbor — maybe ask them to pass the salt?

(What do you mean, there's no salt!?)

After a meal — it's hard to say which one you'd call it, since the whole crew is on rotating schedules — you may decide to wander the basecamp. Folks in every department could use a hand. Those willing to help out may get friendlier reception than those who play the tourist. For more info on what else you might find, check out the LOCATIONS page.

During this time, characters will be able to return to the Central Chrysalis where they hatched. While there are no clues as to how they got there, they might find items — their own, or someone else's. Everyone is strapped for supplies, but try not to snatch up anything that isn't yours. The security officers don't look kindly on people chasing one other down the hall, trying to get back their dirty magazines.

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to help out anywhere. Every little bit of assistance you offer to the locals will raise their estimation of you. You could easily help clean dishes after the meal, help fix leaky piping or repair hammocks. You could stop by the aid station and assist with the wounded. You'll be watched closely and some of the survivors will be warier than others, but most will appreciate the opportunity to have a 'break'.

☆ If your character leaves the basecamp and wanders outside the Leviathan, they may begin to notice that what they perhaps took as a giant cave is actually an enormous dragon. Everything they see that seems 'human made' will look varying levels of worn down, patched, repaired and patched again. This is not a place of prosperity and happiness. Many people are recently injured, or have new scars or missing limbs.

☆ PCs will be warned about going beyond the shade of the dragon's wings. For the sake of the test drive mods will not be facilitating plots that deal with characters going further; we ask that players with an interest in exploring this wait until the game is fully open.

❀ RESCUE MISSION

"There's no time to waste," the woman says breathlessly as she grabs your arm. She pulls you to an augmented reality sand table and you will find yourself standing alongside some of the others you may recognize as having 'hatched' with you. There are murmurs by the Adamant's survivors as they pour over data. Maybe you remember Captain Childe from the stern interrogation she gave you a few days ago, but in any case but she's standing at the edge of the sand table looking at the distance scaled between the enormous huddle of HUD badges — the Adamant's survivors — and a tiny pocket of pulsing green some fifteen kilometers away.

"They knew better," Captain Childe says, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "They should have been back hours ago."

"Fucking scientists," says a man with a faintly French accent. He is scarred and battle-worn, and looks properly pissed off. He's also sporting several fresh injuries, one of which seems to have warranted the use of a crutch. "They'd lose their heads if they weren't attached. Let them wait out the storm."

"No," the captain says. "They're too close to the Rat Nest. We don't need a repeat of —" she trails off, as if seeing you for the first time. She looks you up and down, and then: "You've been told by now that everyone here has to pitch in. If you know how to fight, be ready in ten minutes. You're our rescue squad." She turns and walks out, and there's an awkward moment where everyone present is looking at you to make a choice.

Ten minutes really isn't a lot of time to get ready to walk into danger. Or maybe you aren't a fighter. Maybe you just don't care. But either way, there are people looking to you. To see how you'll react. To see what you'll do. To see if you belong.

What'll it be, hatchling? Fight or flight? Maybe you ought to start coming up with a plan.

FIELD WORK

There's a cadre of scientists cut off by acid rain. From their last transmission, they were driven into the Rat Warrens — and you've been tasked with rescuing them. Too many members of the Security Team are themselves injured, and none of the remaining ones have experience leading a fire team. Let's hope you do — or at least that you can fake it.

Maybe you've hand-picked your team. Maybe you're just stuck with whoever else was closest. Either way, your companions are some of the people you might recognize as fellow 'hatchlings'. If you know them already — good, you've got a head start on what they might be capable of out in the field, and you can chat about the little things. You know, like the weather. Acid rain, gotta love it.

Either way. You're given few small slabs of surprisingly lightweight alloy that has a sheet of — is that hide from the Leviathan? — stretched across them, to divide up amongst your team. "Helps with the rain," Ensign Porter says, trying to sound cheerful despite the grim set to his jaw. "Just come back in one piece. I kinda feel responsible for you guys, you know?"

Before you know it, you're outfitted for the trip. Weapons (if you didn't have your own) and maybe some medical supplies, handed over with a grimace by Doc Sunya.

So then it's just you, your tiny team and a fifteen kilometer hike. Oh, and the acid rain. Luckily, the shields seem to be keeping it off, but it's hard to hear anything over the impact of the drops. Anyone want to play I never?

Or maybe you think you should make a break for it. This is your first time being outside the Leviathan unsupervised. You've got supplies, and other people with as little to lose here as you do. Maybe you should talk.

THE RAT WARREN

You've made it to the last transmitted location of the scientists. What you find doesn't bode well — one of them seemed to have an arm torn off — at least, you think it's an arm — the way it's been disintegrated by the rain makes it hard to tell.

One thing's certain, though. There are bloodstains leading into the nearby maw of a hole in the ground. There's a putrid odor wafting from it, and the sound of frantic scrabbling.

You have an idea of what might be down there. 'Giant rats with tentacles', Porter had said. Don't let the tentacles grab you, they leave chemical burns that usually result in amputation if they can't be treated immediately. But there's a chance the scientists are still alive, and you need to make your choice.

If you and your small team venture down into the darkness, what happens next is up to you. You'll be encountering hoards of these monsters. The scientists are still alive, but will they stay that way? And more importantly, can you get them back to the Leviathan in one piece?

PCs versus the local fauna, round one, FIGHT!

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to put player characters 'in charge' of the planning/logistics phase. If another PC tags into your thread, you and that player can decide which PC will be 'leading the charge'.

☆ Your character will have: a mini-railgun, a spear (if they don't have their items/weapons from home), a first-aid kit, the acid rain shields, ration bars (that are essentially condensed protein bars — they do not taste good) and one of the smartwatches, which will have a mini holographic HUD displayable on its interface. If your character is the sort to request other things, feel free to assume they received them (within reason — please remember that resource scarcity is the name of the game — feel free to be creative here!).

☆ There are fifteen kilometers to cover. If your character has an ability like superspeed/etc, please keep in mind it will work, but you also have your allies to consider. Normal walking time over this distance, given the difficulty of the environment (steep hills, acid rain, unknown territory, etc) would translate to several hours to an average person.

☆ Feel free to use the NPC scientists however you'd like. If you want your character to find some dead, you can. If you'd prefer they be rescued, that is also acceptable. These are essentially 'your' NPCs that you are using to facilitate the story at this point — the sky is the metaphoric limit!

❀ BOOZE

A week. You've been here for a week.

By now, you might have tried to venture out of Basecamp Leviathan and experienced firsthand the acid rains that the security officers warned you about. Or you might be teaching the kids at the schoolyard how to gamble. In any event, Thorkil seems to take pity on his disoriented new friends and taps his distillery for a little help.

Invitation passes by word of mouth to meet at the memorial wall. Moonshine of questionable quality is passed around in tin cups — hope no one's afraid of germs — as Thorkil explains the great relief it is to be gaining people instead of losing them. This settlement isn't big, and they aren't overburdened with hope or supplies, but there's been a lot of loss in the past three years. Some people might be willing to look at the arrival of these newcomers as a sign that things are turning around.

Bottoms up, hatchlings, and ... Happy Birthday?

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to turn this into an impromptu party. Maybe you're celebrating getting all the scientists back alive! Maybe it's something like a wake to remember them in the sad event of their passing. Either way, many of the engineers and other NPCs may join you in this moonlight drinking session, as well as whatever PCs you tag out to or are tagged by.)

❀ OBLIGATORY NETWORK

Welcome people of all kinds to Basecamp Leviathan! I'd give you a hand moving in except...

I have no hands.
Because I'm an AI.
Get it?
It's a joke.

My name is Cartagena. But anyway, this isn't about me or the Adamant for once. This is about all of you. So if you would kindly fill out the following questionnaire to get to know each other; it would also be very helpful for my systems.

NOTE: Participation is MANDATORY.

That was another joke. It's all voluntary. You people and your free will.

1. What is your name?
2. Where are you from?
3. What's your favorite smell? Please describe it as you would to a person without a nose. Because I do not have a nose.
4. If you could be any animal in any world, what would you be?
5. How old are you?
6. Did you enjoy this questionnaire?

Thank you for your participation! Please enjoy the rest of your stay here at Basecamp Leviathan.

NAVIGATION ❀

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Lance follows his gaze briefly, putting a few clues together, but he's not confident enough in them to call Ian out directly. Instead--]

Yeah, I guess so. I think I'm a little um, desensitized? Hadriel wasn't on Earth, and we even went to a few different planets toward the end, so that doesn't bother me too much.

[And he doesn't have Ian's history, so.]

But it's not that different from being in New Amsterdam; Earth or not, we had to relearn everything about the world, culture, history, all of it. It's the same thing here, and we've done it before, so we can do it again.

( He's accepted that going through the end of the world is somehow the least remarkable thing among his peers, but he still can't help shaking his head a little at the concept. Yanked through to the future was mind-blowing, an entire plane shift...

Some of that momentarily spiked energy slips back down under the surface into chill again. Tilts a little more deliberately toward wry. )

How much optimism do you have going on under there really, compared to how reassuring you're being for me right now? I can't actually tell.

[He feels that shift as much as he sees it, narrowing his eyes just slightly at being called out; while he genuinely appreciates that Ian cares, this means Lance has to quickly decide if he's going to lie, deflect, or allow some level of the truth through.

The first two options might work, but Lance is also aware Ian will probably see through them, which is the good and bad thing about letting people actually get to know you. Ugh. So, after a clear moment of debate, he offers a small shrug.]

I mean, the optimism is real. I'm just also ignoring like, literally everything else.

[So it's not fake optimism for the purpose of being reassuring, it's just fake that he's not also very stressed out alongside it.]

Your turn: how much do you need the reassurance, compared to how much you're pretending you don't by deflecting?

( Lance earns a little twitch of his lips for the honesty; the wryness around it is real, but it's coming from a place of dark gallows humor. It quickly transitions into a visible, telegraphed grimace. )

I respect your move right there, but I also kind of want to punch you a little.

( Except the last fight he got into was in like eighth grade, so. Probably wouldn't accomplish much.

But he knows better than to leave it at that, it's stalling, which is kind of like playing chopsticks for Beethoven. )

Numerically? Probably five and a half out of ten.

( He's going for realistic while still getting away with lowballing it a little -- to Lance and to himself. )

[He raises his eyebrows slightly, a faint hint of a purposefully annoying smirk crossing his feature in response to Ian's first comment, and the only reason he doesn't make some morbid comment about how rude it is to punch the dead is because there's people around. Sure, the people are mostly ignoring them, but still.

And he so doesn't buy that number.]

So like an eight, got it.

[And before Ian can respond to that--]

Finding yourself in a place like this is a lot to deal with, even when it's a circumstance like in New Amsterdam, where there was... Kind of something close to 'normal', I guess. So it's understandable to be freaked out, even without, you know. Extenuating circumstances.

[Like a particular aversion to aliens.]

( So like an eight; he huffs. At least give him a seven and let him keep his dignity, man.

The press of his lips into a line is a little less wry over those extenuating circumstances. He's got plenty of deflecting to do when he opens his mouth, but somebody with authority from the front of the group calls, "Alright, folks! We're rolling out!"

The herd shuffles into movement, and Ian shuffles along with them falling into step beside Lance. )

Hey, can you still--

( You know. His chest glows faintly under the layers, and Lance's shirt is temporarily a v-neck before he puts it right again.

His powers are the only reason he's going -- most of these people seem normal. Something like what he's got could help save lives. )

[Right, they're supposed to be the expendable canon fodder--sorry, rescue mission, and Lance frowns a little as he joins the motions of the group but then quickly hides the expression. Instead he offers Ian the flattest of looks for that little trick, considers making a quip about leaving the v-necks to Nate, but then decides to focus on answering the actually important question.]

I haven't tried.

[Both his powers are somewhat attention-grabbing, and he hasn't attempted them at all; the fact that Ian can still do it means he probably can too though, right? But then again, he didn't feel the empathy bond activate earlier, and so he's suddenly a little worried.]

I have my gun, though, so unless these things are immune to bullets I should be fine.

[Hopefully. Not that his powers are super useful in a fight anyway for anything other than surprise, so the gun probably is much more effective, but still.]

( Realistically speaking, Ian isn't even in the list of the top twenty candidates for a field mission. He's not a fighter really, he's not a soldier, he doesn't have a metal arm. What he does have is the closest thing to a rifle strapped to his back, because — believe it or not, he has experience doing this. Making shady, precarious runs into potentially alien infested territory was a way of life for a year. His time in New Amsterdam may have made him rusty, but it hasn't erased the muscle memory entirely.

He didn't have the ability to throw up fucking walls back then, either. So. Nate would probably look at him sideways if Ian mentioned he was going, but he's more suited for this than you'd think at first.

He's less sure about Lance. )

You do stuff like this in Hadriel?

( He's not being skeptical really, not doubting Lance's ability to shoot stuff that isn't immune to bullets, but he did see the guy die in a Quarry. Hard to block that memory out. )

[Lance, for as much as it vaguely annoys him when people think he needs protecting, also very purposefully cultivates that perception of himself to an extent. Because he disengages from any sort of violent conflict at first opportunity, he rarely has to show any skill he does have in the area, and that tends to give him the element of surprise when he does end up in a fight.

So that Ian might be a little unsure isn't exactly a surprise and doesn't really bother him, and Lance gives what he intends to be a small but reassuring smile as he tries to project some false confidence.]

I may been involved in a few fights with alien cyborgs.

[Which sounds utterly ridiculous, but you know. That's how it goes.]

I wasn't usually on the like, purposeful missions, but they attacked the city a few times and we were all caught up in it. Though when that happened I had--

[He stops, something dawning on him.]

I had magic.

[And he wonders, suddenly, if he might have it again.]

( It's weird, the face Ian makes about alien cyborgs. It's somehow a split mix of disbelief and trust -- are you fucking kidding me, but the full understanding of just how fucking weird their lives are. He lived an entire alternate life, and he has super powers now. Nothing's really off the table.

Still. What the fuck.

Equally as surprising is I had magic. )

What, like Kyna?

( Regrets saying it as soon as it's out of his mouth, because there's a sharp tug somewhere in his chest he's having a hard time stifling.

He hasn't let himself accept the possibility that she's not here somewhere. After all, he's run into Nate and then Lance. If they're here, she's bound to be.

And if she's not, he'll deal with it later. )

[It's totally a warranted face; if Lance slows down and thinks about the fact that talking about fighting alien cyborgs is a real thing that actually happened, it still sounds utterly crazy to him.

He's expecting a question about the magic, but he isn't expecting that question, and although Lance is doing a good job repressing everything that goes into dealing with finding himself in another world he can't help but feel that same tug. But it's dull, in a way, because it's familiar.

He considers, for just a moment, telling Ian the truth; that yes, it's like Kyna's magic, and that there's a reason for that. That he'd known a different version of her in Hadriel, and he misses that Kyna so much, and had to get used to losing her and then meeting this different version of her but now she's probably gone too.

But he doesn't. Instead he just nods, expression carefully blank and gaze flickering away as he finds a distraction that can also serve as a demonstration, pulling his necklace from under his shirt; it's simple, just a cord with a silver ring on it, but the ring is engraved with the phrase Sic Parvis Magna. He wonders briefly if Ian might know what the ring is, but doesn't wait to find out before touching the silver and, with a brief glance to make sure no one's paying them any special attention, concentrates.

The ring lights up with a soft golden glow, almost like a lantern, and despite everything else Lance manages another small smile.]

Hey. I guess it does work.

( Didn't think before he spoke there, and that's his bad. They might have had a rocky patch, but Lance and Kyna were still friends. They lived together. Hell, he met Lance while making pancakes in her kitchen. Lance's expression going blank is a clear enough sign that a string has been painfully plucked, and Ian feels guilty almost instantly.

But now's not the time or the place. If they can find something to drink and some kind of privacy somewhere soon, maybe. That kind of doesn't line up with his "work constantly so you can't think about anything else and then eventually those repressed feelings will be a year old and super far away so you don't actually have to feel them."

And then Lance lights up a fucking ring, and... )

Wow, what? That's awesome, man.

( A magic flashlight could actually come in handy, it's super useful.

Kyna gave him shit about trying to associate magic to science, but... )

How long can you do that for? Is it permanent? Can you do it, like, any time? Do you have control over how much light it puts off?

( Hello new project? )

[This is a much safer topic and he allows the questions without any protest; sure, they're mutually deflecting again, but they deserve that at this point. Right? Right.

He smiles a bit more genuinely at the compliment, and as he answers he also practices, shifting the light's color smoothly from gold to white and then to blue.]

I can maintain it for awhile; I haven't actually tested how long it works. Yeah, I can do it whenever, and I can change colors, but I can't vary the intensity too much. I think I could make it a little brighter, but I don't want to risk it.

[Since, you know, this is already pretty brazen. But he's so glad he can do even this much; he's missed his magic, of course, but he'd gotten used to the idea of being without it. This is unexpected, and in a good way for once.]

I've got um, a bunch of other things I can do, but they're more showoff-y. I can teleport.

[Not very well or very far, but you know, he's still gonna brag about it.]

( He concurs. The judges have spoken, they're in agreement that mutual deflection is the best course of action here. Glad they worked this out. )

You can-- you can what?

( Started just a little too audibly, and then immediately course-corrected down a few decibels. Not that very many of the grim-faced marching soldiers are paying these two nerds much attention, but it's the point. )

Are you shitting me? How far?

( All things must have Number. )

[He can't help but be a little pleased by that shocked reaction.]

Yeah, I mean, assuming that works too.

[He lets the light fade out, tucking his necklace back under his shirt; there's no reason that spell should work and the teleportation one not, but still.]

Um, I'm not sure; it has to be within sight, and I lived on the fifth floor in one of the buildings in Hadriel, so I mostly used it to teleport up a bunch of flights of stairs. I couldn't use it to get all the way to my door, though, so I guess maybe thirty feet?

[He's never actually tested that, either. He's realizing suddenly there's a lot he never really bothered with figuring out the limits of.]

( Teleporting thirty feet could be extremely fucking useful -- even if that was all Lance had in his bag of tricks, it would be enough to ease Ian's mind about him coming along. Being able to get himself out of trouble is pretty clutch, he can do it even more effectively than Ian 'wall up your problems it's probably not a metaphor' Fowler. )

Hey, man, I know this is--

( He huffs, shakes his head. Kind of gestures vaguely around them. )

Obviously, you know, priority number one, but... once we get our bearings, if you get some free time I'd love to do some testing. I just have five or six... hundred questions.

[Of course Lance could think to mention the much more powerful and dangerous spells he picked up in Hadriel, but he doesn't; it isn't a purposeful omission, just not quite as cool as things like teleporting.

He follows the gesture, glancing briefly around as the group prepares to go out in to the acid rain--they need to get under one of those shields--but then nods immediately. This sounds like a great distraction, and something to focus on; it's some sort of goal, no matter how frivolous, waiting for them after they come back from this awful rescue mission.]

Yeah, of course. I was like, mostly learning everything as fast as possible in Hadriel since it was so dangerous there, and magic came to me pretty naturally, so I really haven't analyzed any of it much. I'd like to, though; the more I know about it the better.

( Making an itemized list of what Lance can do is definitely one of those five hundred questions, so it'll come up later, at least.

He nabs a shield as they pass, and the blue glow to his chest is only discernible if you squint. It thins. Lengthens a little. Curves in places to better compensate for wind shifting the direction of the rain around. To be honest, he's see people doing far more obvious shit than his, so he's not all that worried about getting spotted. )

Definitely. It'll be a lot easier to problem-solve later if we can get specifics. I used to go out on these runs back home, not because I'm like... a great shot or anything like Nate, but pattern recognition. The way they moved was predictable. Math'll save your life sometimes.

( Knowing if Lance can teleport twenty-five feet or thirty can make the difference in advice toward decision making in precarious situations. It might not seem like a lot, but when you're doing Quick Maths in the field and you can get as precise as Ian can, it's big.

He made a wrong decision before he woke up in New Amsterdam. He doesn't want to do that again.

As an aside: )

You want me to--

( A nod at the shield they're passing off to Lance. He could do his thing, make a few improvements. Quality of life, you know? )

[Lance grabs his shield, eyeing it very dubiously, but at Ian's comment about math saving your life he can't help but look up and offer immediately--]

I'm terrible at math. Maybe that's why I've died twice.

[It's an exceptionally morbid joke, and Lance looks far too pleased with himself for it, though he moves on immediately and holds his shield out to Ian.]

Yeah, thanks, whatever you can do to prevent me from adding 'burned by acid rain' so my list of experiences, the better.

Mmm, maybe.

( Noncommittal. He's pretty sure it's a faux pas to make commentary on somebody else's cause of death to their face, so his mouth is staying firmly shut on the subject.

He focuses instead on eyeballing Lance's shield-brella. A little better weight distribution, a wind guard. Floats in the back of his mind that he should come up with a better solution for this, but that's... anticipating sticking around here far longer than he wants to think about right now.

The rain starts coming down harder and louder, sunlight gone grey through the clouds. No lightning, but maybe it's because they're about to max out bad wherever the hell it is they're going. )

Hey, let's not make it a third time, right?

( He speaks up over the rain, but his eyes are straight forward. Specifically, they're on a dismembered arm with muscle slowly being burned away from flesh thanks to the downpour. )

No promises.

[He says it dryly, but he absolutely intends not to make it a third time. Once they're actually out in the wilds he's all business, carefully paying attention to their surroundings as they walk, making sure to keep the shield angled correctly, and ready to deal with whatever might come at them.

But then they find an arm--he thinks it's an arm, anyway--and he steps a little closer to it, scrunching his nose slightly even as he carefully moves in for a closer look.]

I can't tell if it was ripped off or burned off, but either way it's super gross.

[But more than that, it's a clear sign that if they want any hope of finding anyone alive, they need to get going. The ominous hole in the ground is clearly where they have to go, but to say that he'd prefer not to is absolutely not a strong enough way of putting it.

He glances back at Ian, frowning.]

What do you think?

[About the arm, but also the situation.]

( It feels like a million years ago when monsters ran through the streets of New Amsterdam. Nathan — not Nate, but the older guy who sat beside him during one of his lower, drunker moments at the beginning — had been with him when it hit. They'd watched an arm fall from the sky back then too, and a similar cold feeling runs through him now. It's like part of him steps back, goes quiet, concedes to being shoved to the back of his mind by a coping mechanism that clearly lifts weights in its spare time. Strong as fuck.

Which is to say, he goes a little detached as he squats down for a better look. )

Burns are way more severe near the severed end. They're heading toward the wrist, but the way this thing is propped up, the rain's running toward the elbow.

( A beat. )

Then again, I didn't go to medical school and we're on an alien fucking planet, so what do I know?

( He stands up again, arm dismissed in favor of what's clearly an entrance. )

I can move the walls out a little so we're not getting cramped, but... I don't know. It's... a really bad idea to be in close quarters with something caustic enough to burn off a limb, but it's probably not up to code. Mess around too much and the ceiling might collapse.

[While Ian inspects the arm, Lance keeps his attention on the hole in the ground; that's clearly where the rat monsters are, and where they could come from. The last thing he and Ian need is to be surprised.

He nods at the assessment of the arm--right, that makes sense, no medical school and alien planet aside--and chews on his lip a moment as Ian talks about the risks of going into the passage. He's totally right, after all, but--]

If someone could be alive, we have to go after them.

[Or, at least, he does. He's silent just a moment more, running through a bunch of potential scenarios and options in his head, before coming up with what he thinks is the best one.]

How good of a shot are you?

( No argument about whether or not they're going in — in dilemmas split between self-preservation and humanitarianism, Ian's choice is always firmly the latter. It's largely the reason for the intense rivalry he has with Takoda back home.

(That, and the fact that Takoda sucks.)

The question, really, is just how they're gonna go about it. )

Good enough.

( It's a grim answer, and it's honest. He's nothing to write home about, but he can generally hit a target. He's had it pressure tested in a live environment, too, not just glass bottles in a backyard. It wasn't a human then, but it also wasn't a giant rat. )

Why?

Because my shoes light up.

[Said as if that explains everything, because it makes perfect sense to Lance, but then he realizes it probably doesn't make even a little sense to Ian and so he clarifies.]

I'm going to attract attention. So it's best for me to just go first, kind of lure anything toward me, and then if I can't shoot it myself hopefully you can like, shoot around me. Not through me. That sucks.

[Thanks, Olivia, for that experience.]

And um, speaking of things that suck, shooting a gun in an enclosed space is one of those things so... Be prepared.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject