revivalprojectooc | Test Drive Meme!

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Test Drive Meme!

TEST DRIVE
Application FAQ | Taken Characters | Reserves | Application

Welcome to the Current Test Drive for The Revival Project!

This game is a spin-off from the closed The Drift Fleet game. For more information about the game, including more details on the setting, please check out the FAQ here or the premise here.

A thread on the TDM will be required for all applications. Please view the FAQ for information about how this works. Any questions about the game please direct to the comment section of the FAQ as well.

If you are a Drift Fleet alumni bringing your character from the game, please label your character as 'DFAU' on your top level. Also, keep in mind you have complete flexibility on how your character comes here. They could be taken before endgame, after endgame, two years after, one year before, etc. It's up to you! If you want to completely restart your character, they're not considered DFAU anymore and won't need the label.

So go! Explore Agra 10! And, as always, HAVE FUN!

Thread ideas:

- Explore the city! There's a map here and a bit more description of some of the buildings here. Most of the buildings are run down and have clearly been abandoned for years; fortunately, the water treatment center appears to be working, but power is intermittent and unreliable. The hotel seems to be the most crowded, but you might want into what appears to be an abandoned storefront and find someone else scavenging or even sleeping.

- There are spaceships! That's right, there are currently several small spaceships grounded in the hangar. They appear to have power, but only one ship will let you enter. (For test drive purposes, the ship that will let you enter is up to you, so just pick whichever name appeals, and go for it!) The other ships won't open for you, but it might be worth poking around the one that will...

- Is that a chill in the air? It seems to be getting just a little colder, day by day... or maybe it's your imagination? But just in case it's not, you might want to thinking about prepping for what could be winter. Does that mean gathering plants to dry for food? Stockpiling water, or trying to get the power to stay steady in the buildings so you won't freeze (does it even get down to freezing, here - who knows!)? It's up to you!

- Can you hear me now? Upon arrival, your character will have on their person a small, handheld communications device. Maybe they know exactly how to use a computer, smartphone, or tablet, and immediately blast out a text or video trying to figure out what's going on. Or maybe they're not so tech-savvy after all, and everyone is about to get a lovely shot right up your character's left nostril.

- Wildcard! You're welcome to use any previous test drive scenarios or previous game events as a basis for a thread/situation, or simply make up your own! Keep in mind that you're currently stranded on a planet with only basic necessities, but there is enough food and fresh water. Creature comforts, however, seem to be distinctly lacking...

code bases by tricklet

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"I see. I am glad you're not disconnected from them entirely."

Altair saw through the Force, was connected to the world around him through the Force. Had he been disconnected from it entirely, he couldn't even begin to imagine the loneliness he'd have felt. So he was glad that Vector was still connected to the Killiks, however faint.

As for him..., "I am."

Admittedly, some of his abilities had been weakened, though he was far from defenseless. And far more powerful than an average Sith, still. Altair's abilities had never quite been dependent on the strength of his combat abilities alone, and the parts that weren't connected to brute force were still as strong as they had been.

"I won't lie and say that they are the same as they were, but it would seem the Force flows through even the strangest of places."

"That is good. Being cut off from the Force would be like us being cut off from our connection to the hive."

It was easy to surmise that Altair used the Force in lieu of his eyes. To be cut off from the Force would render him truly blind. In a way, he was like the Miraluka, whom Vector had read about and even had the fortune to meet once or twice. Were he not blue, Vector would have guessed he was one of them.

"Your aura is quite unique. There is a subtle familiarity to it, but the color is one we can only describe as belonging to you."

"I imagine so. That is why I am glad you're not cut off. I imagine you would have felt quite lonely if you were."

They were both connected to something other than themselves, and though Altair could not understand what it was to be a Joiner, connection he could at least understand. He knew that many were uneasy around Joiners, but he had never been that way. Nor had he disliked the Killiks during his time on Alderaan- he'd found them quite fascinating, in fact.

He tilted his head at the mention of his aura being unique, "Is it? I shall hope then that it is not unpleasant in its uniqueness- though I find it hard to imagine a Sith's aura being pleasant, I suppose."

Though perhaps his wasn't quite the worst. He'd never let himself fall so far into the dark that he'd stopped being a proper person, after all.

"It is not. We have met very few Sith, but they have similar aura's. Your's is..." Vector searched for how to describe it. "Lighter. Not as harsh."

Of the few Sith he'd met, their auras had been dark, an almost angry shade of red, seeping with darkness. But Altair's aura, it was softer, with a hint of lightness to it. More of a purple color. It was difficult to describe to one who wasn't a Joiner.

That is... yeah. A wolf. An Earth wolf, as far as Bucky can tell, which is - weird. Because of all the animals he's seen so far on this planet, none of them have looked exactly like he's expected, but this one does.

And that's actually more disturbing than anything.

Slightly less disturbing, but still up there, is the way it's sitting near a fire - an abandoned fire, as far as Bucky can tell - as he approaches. He's got a big, round red-white-and-blue shield on his (flesh) left arm, and a wary look on his face as he tries to keep quiet and avoid attracting the wolf's attention (possibly unsuccessfully?), looking for whoever might have built this fire.

Bucky often sticks to the ships, simply because they're the best kind of shelter a guy can really get here. The beds aren't great, but they're better than sleeping on the ground, and the shower even has hot water - sometimes.

But he's never seen a plain old cat on board - until now.

And this cat? Seems to be causing problems.

"Hey, hey, hey, pal - what're you doing in here?" he says, making his way into the cockpit as best he can with the thrusters firing and the ship tilting unexpectedly. "Get away from there."

As humans go, Bucky is exceptionally stealthy. He has quiet footfalls, an excellent understanding of the value of shadows, and a good sense of his surroundings. He also carries a strong scent, and the wolf has positioned himself so that the only way to approach him from behind, is also the direction from which the breeze is blowing. One ear flips back, listening, and then forward again. But the man doesn't leave and so, as he approaches nearer, the wolf turns, and looks at him.

Dead-on, eyes meeting eyes, and the wolf's are strange, blue and wide, seem to regard him with an almost human intelligence. For a minute, the wolf does nothing more, only looks, and waits as if thinking. Then the tail wags, thumping once, and then the wolf stands, stretching like a dog.

"Wuff," it says, and bends oddly to pick something up from near the fire. A stick? A stick with something skewered on it. And then it's trotting towards him, easy pace, untroubled by the thought of danger.

She whirls to face him, fur standing on end, eyes wide and crazed, hitting another half-dozen buttons with all four firmly-planted feet. One of the pilot's seats abruptly rockets from its place, crashes into the ceiling, and then collapses in a sideways heap on the floor, hissing like a slowly-deflating tire.

"What is happening?!" Yowls the cat, words only half-audible under the sudden blare of more alarms as she dances away from the sudden seat-impact. Her ears are laid back, tail puffed like an oversized bottle-brush; you never saw such a demon, "What was that? Why?! Wh— what the—"

The chair, for its part in the conversation, ticks twice, and then ejects a packet of fabric onto the floor above itself with a bang. The resultant heap of crumpled parachute is sad, and has no answers. The fire-suppression system abruptly unfolds itself from the ceiling, and sprays once only, before an unhappy yowl and a leap-back from the cat somehow deactivates it, though not before it's thoroughly spritzed them both.

This - this, right here, is why Bucky is not really an animal person. Not a dog person or a cat person. Hell, not even a rabbit person or a bird person.

Except... not exactly, because even with all the animals he's encountered - none of them talk.

So, there's that.

Also, he's wet, dripping with what he can only assume is liquidy fire-retardant foam. So is the cat. The cat that talks. Who caused all of this, which is why Bucky ends up blinking at the thing with wide eyes, frozen like he's not quite sure whether he wants to dart in and grab the cat and get it out of the cockpit or whether he wants to back away as slowly as a guy covered in space foam can.

"You talk?"

And then, "You also made a mess."

Call him Captain Obvious. But, really, what else do you do in this situation? Except maybe suggest, "If I ask you to get outta here... will you?"

"How did you get the door to open?!"

It's not a very polite answer, but she's wet and her vision is obscured and the world has gone insane. One must be forgiven for these small breaches in protocol; Quintet feels she's doing very well indeed, not to simply deck him. Certainly, she'd not been able to trigger the door to open again after it'd trapped her inside here, and look where trying to fix that the quiet way had gotten her!

"I didn't do anything, I just got here and everything went crazy!" She's backed up all the way against the viewport, smearing flame-retardant foam across the view, and looking every bit as distressed as she feels, "Just make it stop!"

Huh. So... not entirely like an Earth wolf, it turns out - not that Bucky's met any up close, but he doesn't think they look intelligent like that.

Once Bucky realizes he's caught out, he freezes, going completely still - but that doesn't mean he isn't tensed to turn and run or climb a tree or fight back or something, depending on what the creature does. Still, he's gotta say, he was not expecting it to... bring him something to eat?

Bucky stays tensed for a long, long moment. His eyes search the wolf's face, almost like he's looking for that intelligence, trying to read it, trying to make sure that if he reaches his hand out to take that stick, it's not gonna get bitten off. He's not like his counterpart, after all - both of his hands are definitely flesh and bone.

But the wolf is still holding out the stick. And Bucky, very carefully, very slowly, reaches out, wrapping his fingers around it.

"Thanks?" he says, quietly, like he doesn't want to startle the thing into biting him.

Bucky frowns. "Handle," he says, but then - it's obvious to him. He's got, y'know, hands. Maybe she hadn't thought to look for one? Or maybe it doesn't work if you have paws.

Because she's a cat.

But - obviously an intelligent, talking cat. Who might be a little bit of a disaster. Or a lot of a disaster. It's... okay. Bucky's best friend is a disaster, too. And he's not even cat-shaped.

"You kinda were doing something," he points out, but not so much like he needs to be right or argumentative; almost with a bone-dry humor, if anything. "And now we're both covered in this stuff, and you probably don't like it any better than I do."

Then, a pause. "Can I pick you up? I know where the shower is."

I will end you, is her first response, or maybe something simpler, like fuck off, but the number and severity of invectives Quintet wants to say all crowd around the exit like unruly children, and jam in her mouth. Instead she says nothing, just looks at him with all the rage that is possible within the bounds of her physical form.

And then deflates. No, there's nothing for it. Certainly there's no such thing as dignity; he knows what parts of the floor don't cause chaos, apparently.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," She admits defeat, and as if it can hear her, the sirens begin to go silent, either running down their time one-by-one, or resolving their contingent emergencies in other ways. Quintet regards this change with cautious optimism, and laid-back ears, "What does rain have to do with it?"

It's a skewer. More accurately, it's a green twig, relatively straight, with the bark peeled off. It's been sharpened and poked through a fish, such as that the fish could be propped by the fire and left to roast. It isn't a large catch, but it's well-toasted and crispy on the outsides, smelling delicious. The wolf huffs again and turns away, back to the fire, stopping to turn back only once as if to check if Bucky were following.

Well? You are expected, sir.

Bucky is genuinely not sure how a cat can remind him so damn much of Steve Rogers. And yet, she kind of does.

At least he mostly knows how to handle that kind of thing. He has had a lot of practice.

"Okay," he agrees, approaching her slowly - with intent, not shy or scared, but still telegraphing his motions as he reaches out and... well, he doesn't really know how to pick up a cat, but he's seen other people do it and he figures she'll adjust if he's doing it wrong, so he tries to slide one hand under her chest and scoop up her back legs with the other. There's no point in doing anything but holding her close - he trusts that she won't squirm away, and they're both covered in fire retardant anyway, so it's not like she can get more on him.

And speaking of, "This goop," he points out. "I figure it's probably not... really a good idea to just walk around covered in it, you know? We should wash it off. The water should be hot if we're quick about it."

He starts making his way - carefully, so he doesn't slip, but fortunately his super soldier reflexes are good, even in a foam-covered cockpit - toward the door, aiming to pick his way down the hallway to the single crew bathroom. "Besides, this way only one of us leaves gross footprints to clean up later."

And then, "What's your name? I'm Bucky."

The door whooshes open at his approach, simple as that, and that miracle stops her from giving an opinion on his holding technique. He's not even got her as graceless as someone scruffing a kitten; but with a little suggestion, he might improve. For now she'll permit the man-handling.

She focuses instead on his name, parsing rapidly through a range of meanings. Buck, bucking? Bucks and does? Deerlike? He certainly smelled male, though how masculine someone had to be to be named for the concept made the assessment dubious at best. Maybe he was an exceptionally good kicker?

"Quintet," she tells him, instead, "I'm..."

She almost says from the rationale, and then thinks better of the reputation of that storied establishment. Nobody needs to know how badly the new cop can embarrass herself.

"...A recent graduate of the College. Water's fine, I did my field study at green tidals south," Which was true, although it had been seasons and seasons since then, "I can take a little wet without melting."

Bucky is, admittedly, relieved when the cat - Quintet - doesn't try to struggle out of his grip. He is also, admittedly, relieved when she says water is fine. (Something in the back of his mind had been saying cats didn't like water, and he'd maybe been kind of gearing up for what was likely to be an unpleasant experience.)

"A College graduate?" he asks, glancing down at her curiously - but not like he doesn't believe her. Hell, he's taking everything she says at face value; his life really is just that freaking weird. "That's - I mean, congratulations?" It's not like he ever went to college. That's kind of a big deal, right?

"Sorry you had to end up here, then," he adds. "Getting trapped in the cockpit ain't exactly the best kinda welcome, either." And someone's gonna have to clean all that shit up, but he'll worry about that later, after the two of them are clean. "I'm guessin' you didn't find the Pilot Data Point."

The fish does smell goddamn delicious... and Bucky studies the skewer, because it doesn't really seem like something a wolf could have made, which maybe means... it's a tame wolf? Maybe it's got an owner around here somewhere?

Bucky isn't exactly sure said owner would appreciate a stranger eating his food, so he holds off just for a second (even though the thing smells good, and he's pretty much always hungry - that horrible protein gel sure doesn't satisfy the same way real food does) and follows the wolf back toward the fire. Because it's clear that's what the wolf wants him to do.

"We waitin' for somebody?" he finds himself asking, like the thing can answer him.

"I don't even know what you're talking about, guy," She says, "I got here, started looking around, ended up in that mess."

Of course, she's starting to have a sneaking suspicion that she does know what he's on about. Data Point sparks something, some sublimated form of information, absorbed and integrated; but then a little foam slides chillingly down one of her ears, and Quintet gives her head a reflexive shake to clear it, forgetting the doubt in the motion.

"It's not that big a deal. Turns out, graduating is easy compared to the rest of the world," she laughs at that, and for the first time turns and really looks at him, as more than just a lump of person or a potential solution to the problem, "Talk about a kick in the head, right? All that worrying about my stupid thesis presentation and does it actually help, in the end?"

It's a good cookfire, banked low and surrounded by stones, but with enough fuel to last for some hours. When Bucky joins him, the wolf looks up and back, waiting until Bucky returns the look. Then, very clearly communicating an intent, he sits, every bit as much to say, and now, you sit too.

Wag, wag, wag, and thump, thump, thump, goes the tail. Come on, pal. Make yourself comfortable. You know you want to. The Wolf whines, the only answer it can give to his question. Is that a yes? Maybe. Is that a no? Also maybe.

"It's okay," Bucky says - and it is. "I can explain once we're clean."

There's not too much she'll need to know, but he's been here for months, now, and he figures anything there is to know, he can probably pass on. When they're clean. And he's maybe got some fresh clothes.

Bucky does grin a little, because, "I guess maybe it is," he agrees - not that he knows for sure, but he can surmise. Still, "Sometimes school is about learning facts and shit. But sometimes it's about learning how to figure out a tough problem, right? That's useful. Especially here."

He's about to ask what her thesis was on - what does a cat write a thesis on, and are there even people in her world? - but they're approaching the bathroom. It's just a few feet away; but then she flicks her head and Bucky reaches up absently, trying to clear the foam away from her ear - and only realizes after the fact that might be rude. "Oh - shit, sorry."

Bucky's no great outdoorsman, but he did spend most of the war outside, and he's learned a thing or two about what a good fire should look like. And this is it. His brows rise a little - and damn, that smell from the cooked fish wafts up again, and it smells so good - and his gaze follows the wolf as he sits down... and appears to invite Bucky to sit, too.

He stands there for a moment, but - well. What the hell. He's probably seen and done weirder.

So he sits next to the campfire, though he admittedly gives the wolf a bit of space. Just in case. He brings the fish up, takes another inhale, and... well. What the hell again, right? He's hungry, and the wolf brought it to him. If he's gotta explain to this guy's owner, he'll try. It might be damning him to getting off on the wrong foot with somebody, but he'll do his best to make it right.

And in the meantime, he takes a bite - a perfect bite, all crunchy and smoky and, "Did you cook this yourself?" he jokes softly to the wolf, chewing. "You've got some skill, pal."

"Uuuhh..." This is awkward. The grip is too uncomfortable to lean back far enough, but Quintet does her best. Geez, guy, what the hell? "Look, I'm grateful for your help, but I'm really not looking for a boyfriend right now. I'm sure you're a nice..."

Whatever he is. She's certainly never seen anything like it. Heck, maybe this was why he had that kind of a name? Just her luck.

"...person. But let's just keep this professional, huh?"

The wolf only smiles a doggy smile for him, and offers another wag of encouragement. He waits until Bucky is several bites into his meal before leaving. It's as simple as that; trotting off into the night, without preamble nor alarum. And that, for at least a long few minutes, seems to be that.

It's not too windy a night, just a light breeze, but still it's fair bid to be chilly. Nothing to wolf fur, of course, but...

...Someone's coming.

Whoever they are, they're quiet enough, but making no effort at sneaking. How one would sneak while wearing chainmail under his tunic is another question left unanswered, but between the boots, the weight of his pack, and the jingle of metal, Link is no soft-footed wolf. Not at the moment.

He comes into the light, regards Bucky with unsurprised eyes, and then takes his own seat across the fire from him. Hope you don't mind the elf ears or the sword, because neither are coming off.

Yeah, okay - definitely awkward. "Yeah, I've got one of those already," Bucky puts in absently, grimacing a little, hoping she can see the apology on his face.

And then, at least, they're at the bathroom, and he pushes open the door and, "So, there's only one shower. I mean - two showerheads, but there's no privacy. You can just have it first if you want, or I'll leave my clothes on."

He definitely has no idea of bathing etiquette around cats, and he is not going to risk stepping in it again.

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