☆ ᴛᴇsᴛ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ 02 ☆

[statusreport]

Welcome, cadets! Wanna dip your toes in the pool? Have a new character you wanna try out? Interested in the setting but not sure if your character's a good fit? Welcome to the second official Test Drive Meme for Illyria, for all your test drive needs! There are a few prompts for you to choose from below, or you can make up your own starter if none of the choices tickle your fancy. Threads from this meme can be counted as game canon if you like, if you apply and are accepted, so you don't have to meet someone again for the first time. Reserves are open at this time, and applications will be open September 8th thru 12th. Have fun!

☆ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs ☆
A. Arrival: You wake up disoriented, finding yourself on what appears to be a medical bed. As you try and sit up, a young woman with blond hair pulled up in a tight bun stops you, urging you to take it easy. You were found in the cargo bay unconscious with a few other people, and while she's not sure where you came from or how you got here, you're here for the long haul, now. As you look around, you see a few other people in beds like the one you're lying on--do you recognize anyone from home? Or are these people complete strangers? Do any of them know what's going on, or how you got here? The only way to find out is to ask them!

B. Mealtime: While the Illyria has been mostly repaired, there are still some systems that aren't quite back at 100%. Unfortunately, one of these systems runs the replicators in the mess hall. Every order, no matter what you have requested, will result in a nice squirmy plate of Bithool gagh. Hope you're hungry!

C. Going up? You're not sure about these turbolift things, but it beats climbing ladders and crawling through tubes to get to the other decks. Besides, the ship is all fixed now, right? Surely you won't get stuck in it again. As you step into the lift, maybe there's someone already in there--or maybe someone steps in after you, but either way, you're not alone as the lift begins to ascend. Things seem to be going well for a moment, and then there's a loud screeching sound and the lights go dark as the lift stops dead in its shaft. Well, shit. Looks like this lift still needs a bit of work. Do you and your company try and fix the lift? Do you call for help? Do you crawl up into the shaft and try and make your way to another deck through the Jefferies tubes, possibly while humming the theme from Mission: Impossible? Who knows what peril may lie in the corridors between decks--do you take the risk, or wait to be rescued? Time to see if you're Starfleet material or not!

D. Excusez-moi? Maybe you dropped your communicator, or maybe you found the switch that makes it speak nothing but Spanish like Buzz Lightyear, but for some reason or another, your Universal Translator just isn't cutting the mustard. Be it Spanish, French, Klingon, or Vulcan, you just have no idea what this person in front of you is saying. Well, just walking away would be awfully rude, but how do you communicate with someone you can't understand??

Comments

Mealtime~

[ajrimmerssc]

Look. There's a smeghead poking his forefinger into the replicator in the meal hall.

"Give me mashed potatoes, a steak, and brussels sprouts, you menace of a computer!"

Arnold? Being rude to an AI? ....Yup, that's accurate.

Re: Mealtime~

[so_vain]

And it's the least helpful person on the ship who's come over to laugh. Literally. Cat isn't happy about what the replicators are giving him either, but if they're also annoying Rimmer, he doesn't mind so much.

"That won't work." Cat grins, showing his teeth.

WHAAAAAAAT

[ajrimmerssc]

"Oh? And what would you know about it, you stupid moggie?"

Rimmer snapped that thoughtlessly, before pausing, blinking, and doing a slow double-take.

"Cat? Smegging hell, when did you get here?"

Leonard McCoy | ST:Beyond

[notanoptimist]

[[ooc;; remaining spoiler-free in the tdm despite the recent canon-point]]

"No."

The word rings out a little too loudly in the mess hall, perhaps, but one Leonard H. McCoy really does not care. Not in the least. He's standing in front of the replicator, arms crossed tightly over his chest and definitely giving what's sitting there the most disgusted look he can manage.

He's pretty expressive. It's an impressive disgusted look.

"Bad enough I wake up on the wrong damn ship in the wrong damn time, you're gonna try to feed me something that's still wriggling." His voice just gets louder and louder until finally he turns away from the gagh. "I always knew I was gonna die out here. Starvation's gonna get me. I am not eating that."

He addresses the room at large then, drawing himself up and using his best "you're gonna damn well listen to me" voice because he's not only the Chief Medical Officer on the Enterprise but he is also a Lieutenant Commander and, by God, someone is going to hear him on this. "Someone get over and fix this damn thing!"

[aes_thetic]

"Good luck. I tried fixing things and got chewed out for it."

Tony is raising a glass to the good doctor. Said glass is full of an amber liquid. Judge for yourself if it's alcoholic or not, Bones.

[notanoptimist]

His gaze goes straight to the man who spoke... and then lands right on that glass. That's a far sight better than anything he's seen on this ship so far. "Tell me you have more of that."

He leaves the gagh right where it is, for the next poor soul who tries to feed themselves. "I'm not an engineer. I'm not even going to try."

[overqualify]

"You should try it if you have not yet, sir," Data pipes up, revoltingly calm and pleasant in the face of McCoy's legendary disgusted look. He looks down at the offending plate of wiggly things—food only in the most Klingon sense of the word—and then back up to the good doctor, a smile twitching strangely at the corners of his mouth like he was told once that it's encouraged to smile at people when trying to engage with them socially.

Which he has. It's working, right? McCoy is totally feeling the urge to befriend strange robots wandering the halls and giving out bad gastronomy advice, yes?

"I have known many humans to develop a..." a pause, as he ponders that tolerance is probably not the right word to use if he's going to be any measure of persuasive, "taste for them." Almost purely out of spite, is the part he doesn't add. He still hasn't fully grasped the very human notion or how it might apply to Klingon delicacies.

And sure, he might actually be able to fix the problem while he's here, but he'll get to that in a minute. This mid-supper shouting is much more interesting than replicator mechanics.

[notanoptimist]

There's a large part of him that wants to take this bowl of worms, shove it in this overly pleasant guy's nose, and demand to know why the hell he thinks anyone could ever develop a taste for this. In fact, it's a near overwhelming urge, and it's closely followed by another to find some way to wipe that creepy not-smile thing he's doing right off his face.

Uncharitable thoughts for a doctor, perhaps, but McCoy's had an awfully trying day and somewhere between what's going on here and what happened back home, he's about this close to an adrenaline crash that'll leave him with a disgusting case of sleepy, sore insomnia.

He has his hand on the bowl (and, ugh, it's wriggling at the tip of his fingers) to do just that when what the guy says -- and how he's approximating behaviors but not quite getting there -- clicks. McCoy just looks at him for a second, head tilted and hand still on the bowl before speaking. "You're not human."

He's not xenophobic, not by any means. He wouldn't have joined Starfleet... Okay, no, that's a lie. Considering the circumstances in which he had joined Starfleet, it was pretty much running away as far as he could get without thought to much else. But the point stands: not xenophobic but really, really annoyed, frustrated, and tired and that's about all he can come up with. Actual curiosity is buried somewhere in that phrase.

It's not like he's ever tactful anyway.

[consultingbishop]

Peter blinks as Bones' eyes lock straight onto him.

"Hey, woah, don't look at me. I'm not qualified to fix that."

Of course, he didn't say he couldn't.

"Besides, do you see a uniform on me? I don't wanna get in trouble."

But if someone, say, were to give him permission? Like a certain Lieutenant Commander...?

[notanoptimist]

McCoy may have actually growled at the response. He's tired -- beyond tired straight into exhausted, could fall asleep in this abomination trying to pass for food -- and moody and disoriented, which is all working together to create one hell of a Bad Mood. (Not that that's entirely new for Dr. McCoy, whose bedside manner is something of a legend among Enterprise crew.)

"Can you or can't you?" He waves a hand at the replicator, looking for all the world like he'd rather punch it. "I haven't eaten in I don't know how long. I need food and I need sleep, in that order, and this," pointing at the gagh and again, preferring to flip the bowl rather than point, "is not helping."

Harry Kim | ST: Voyager

[neverpromoted]

It's not the first time Harry's found himself flung across the far reaches of the galaxy, but it is a little disorienting to not even be on one's own ship anymore. That, by all accounts, is weird.

But this is Starfleet and weird is what they've signed up for, so when the turbolift he's in suddenly just stops without warning, he simply glances upward and waits a long, tense moment, just to make sure they aren't about to go plummeting to their doom. He glances at his companion and allows one side of his mouth to quirk upward in a weary little smile. "Wouldn't happen to have a toolkit on you, would you?"

[ganbarimashu]

Stepping nervously into the... what was it called? Turbo-lift? Why couldn't they just call it an elevator? That was what it was, wasn't it? Ruby fidgets for a moment, waiting for the door to close, and then her big green eyes open wide as sand dollars when someone hustles to get on board before it can. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, it's a boy. It's a... well, a man! He's a totally 100% grown-up adult man person!! Ruby doesn't know how to talk to boys at all, how is she going to survive this?? What if he asks her a question and she say something stupid? What if she can't even talk at all??

Okay, okay, get a grip, Ruby, you can do this. Maybe he won't want to talk! Maybe they can just make this trip in complete and total silence! That was normal, right? Nobody really talked in elevators back home, so... surely that would be the case here, too. Right?

Right?

Trying desperately not to hyperventilate, Ruby chews on her lower lip and shifts her weight back and forth from foot to foot. When the turbolift screeches to a sudden stop, though, Ruby finds herself failing at that whole not-hyperventilating thing. She presses herself against the wall as the lights flicker, and makes a startled, high-pitched noise when the man addresses her.

"No!" she gasps, and then claps both hands over her mouth. "I mean! No. Sir. I... I don't! I'm sorry!!"

She isn't sure why she would have a toolkit on her anyway, but she kind of wishes she did, because now she inexplicably feels like she has let this adult man person down. Her hands fisted by her face, Ruby looks pitifully up at him, though she maintains her distance. She's not exactly afraid of him--he has a nice face!--but everything about this situation, from the ship to the fact that she doesn't know anyone here, has her two hairs away from having a mental meltdown as it is.

[neverpromoted]

Cute kid. Harry can't really help the observation as he notes the girl in the turbolift with him. She looks young -- but that might be more in her demeanor rather than her look. She's obviously nervous for some reason -- maybe, like him, she's just appeared here without warning. He knows how disorienting and, frankly, awful that can be. He's just about to say something, to try to set her at ease a bit, when the turbolift does its thing.

Just as well. He probably would have made it worse had he managed anything before wryly asking for a toolkit.

He takes a step back as she exuberantly apologizes and lifts a hand, waving away the apology. "It's fine, it's fine. It was a joke, promise. It's okay." Harry puts a hand against the side of the turbolift, frown lines easing when he doesn't feel any overt vibrations. That's good, at least. Any shaking and he'd be the first to find a way out. "It's okay," he says again, actually smiling in her direction. "I think we're okay for now. There's safety protocols upon safety protocols on these things."

He drops his hand, smile still in place. "I'm Harry Kim, uh. Ensign on the USS Voyager... which is not this ship, but close enough."

Helen Magnus | Sanctuary

[shallwebegin]

lift
Prim and proper, she only shoots a smile at her companion as she steps inside.

Figuring she'll get to her destination soon enough, Helen simply keeps her eyes on the numbers as they--oh, well, that's not good. Quickly bracing her hands against the sides of the lift, she mutters a soft bloody hell as she grimaces.

"Not quite as safe to operate as advertised, I'd suggest," she says with a sigh, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she steps forwards, sliding a hand against the closed doors. It doesn't seem as if they'll budge, but maybe... her eyes dart upwards, to where she expects there may be some sort of panels.

Looking over at her companion, her smile turns a little tighter. "Just how much of a hurry are you in, to arrive at your destination?"

mealtime
She's staring at the plate, looking briefly contemplative.

"I do wonder what sort of delicacy this could be considered," she spoke, mostly to herself. "If truly eaten live like this, either nutritional value, thrill, or texture is the integral part of the meal."

Her eyes dart up, and she quirks an eyebrow at the person across from her. "Don't suppose you might've tasted it in your time here? I would normally act as the Roman in Rome, but..." she looked back down at her plate. "... I must admit, this is a part of Rome I would rather not visit."

lift

[got_it_memorized]

Moments like these were really starting to make Axel resent his portals. He wasn't sure why they weren't working properly, but he wished they could get their act together. After accidentally barging in on Disache, he had tried a few more times, and it seemed that there was about a 40% random failure rate. Why, he couldn't say, but he couldn't be sure he wouldn't wind up portaling out into the vacuum of space, so until he could figure out what the hell the problem was, he guessed he was sticking to conventional transportation for a while.

A woman followed him into the lift, and he nodded politely at her, then said, "Deck Four," very clearly. He was still not quite sure he was comfortable with this whole talking computer that could understand human speech gig, but so long as it did what it was told, he guessed he could handle it. Things seemed to go fine for about eight seconds, but when the lift screeched loudly and the lights flickered, Axel gabbed for the wall and made a comically alarmed face. Great, this was exactly what he needed today.

His eyes moved back to the woman in the lift with him, who seemed to be facing this conundrum with the same measured alarm. Heart beating in his throat (hah! Heart.), Axel pushed aside the visions of plummeting to their deaths and exhaled softly.

"Y-yeah," he said, and gave a nervous laugh. "Don't try this at home, kids, we're trained professionals."

Right. Professional Elevator Hostages.

Far be it from Axel to let his concern really show, though. He rubbed the back of his neck, pressing his lips together in consideration.

"Ah, I try my best to never be in a hurry," he said. "Haste makes waste, as they say. I prefer to take it easy." He pressed his hand against the wall of the lift and frowned a little. "Not sure I wanted to go the siesta in an elevator route, but it looks like we don't get a say."

[shallwebegin]

"I'd hardly say that. Not if there's some sort of service or... escape hatch," she noted, tilting her head slightly to the side with a grimace as she squinted up towards the ceiling. "I sincerely doubt that this sort of tech that they'll have the same build as Earth lifts, but I hardly am going to assume anything at this point."

You didn't get to be doctor or a scientist by assuming.

She shook her head idly, extending her hand. "Helen Magnus. A pleasure to meet you, would it have been under less frightening circumstances. You are...?"

Young, she noted. When she'd stepped in, it was obvious he was around his mid-twenties, and that bright red hair had made her think, hm, maybe early twenties with an older face. Dear god, he needed a meal, or maybe two--skinnier than Henry when ill.

She hoped her new friend wasn't too startled by this predicament.

Mineva Zabi | Gundam Unicorn | OTA

[searchforpeace]

Mealtime;
There are a few aspects of space travel within this particular universe she's found herself in that Mineva is still adjusting to. One of those would be the notion of the replicators. It takes her a moment to speak to the replicator itself and the request she makes of it is simple - tea, that's all.

Instead she ends up with a plate of... well. Mineva can't quite bring herself to actually pick it up out of the replicator thanks to it's wriggling about. The look she shoots to person behind her who may or may not be waiting to use the replicator is one of unconcealed surprise.

"I... think something is wrong..."

Turbolift;
Mineva still knows very little about the lay out of this sort of spaceship. The turbolifts themselves are at least very familiar to her and she seems like a rather prim and proper girl as she stands on her side of said lift, hands folded together.

At least until the lift jerks to a loud and screeching stop. She braces herself against the nearest wall and stays there for a moment or so even after everything comes to a stop, waiting to see if anything else happens. When nothing does she lets go of the breath she had been holding before she reaches up to brush back hair that had shifted in the rush of movement. Then she direct her attention to her companion.

"Are you alright?"

I'm so sorry you never got tagged! I'm happy to thread with you if you're still interested!

[captains_log]

Imania always seems to have three too many things to do than she has time for. Afternoon briefings, engineering checks, logs, reports, a meeting with stellar cartography to try and figure out where in all hell they even might possibly be... She's headed to Engineering when she spies an open turbolift, and she quickly slides in before the doors close. Excellent, shaved a few seconds off waiting for the next one.

She gives a polite nod to the blond woman in the lift with her--another displaced person from who only knew where. She's glad, in a way, that these folks are coming to her ship, instead of, say, a Romulan Warbird, or a Cardassian Freighter or something--at least here they'll be safe and taken care of. And who knows? They might turn out to be most useful guests after all--some of them have amazing skillsets.

Imania gasps sharply when the turbolift jolts and then screeches to a sudden stop. She's absolutely still for just a moment, and when the lift makes no sign of resuming its course, she gives a grating sigh. She grumbles a horrid curse in Klingon (since Bajoran swear words were far too mild for the situation), and then looks up when the blond woman asks if she's all right. She checks her irritation and straightens, giving the woman a bit of a smile.

"Yes, thank you," she says, "and you?" She doesn't appear to be injured, at least. "Ugh, this is exactly what I need today. I had thought the lifts had been repaired, but I guess this one snuck by on good behavior."

mr. robot | star trek

[overqualify]

MEALTIME

What's an android doing in the mess hall, one might ask? Well, aside from it being a prime area for interesting social interaction (which is usually why he can be found there, watching over the proceedings with an intensity which lays bare the fact that no one has quite had the heart to tell him it's creepy yet), it just so happens that one Lieutenant Commander Data had gotten it in his head that today would be a good day to take in some of his usual semi-organic nutrient suspension (in a silicon-based liquid medium, of course) to assist in lubricating his bio-functions, as it has been awhile.

Only this time, he finds himself with a plateful of what appears to be wiggling worms.

"Most unusual," he says contemplatively, to the gagh. Whether or not they understand his attempt at conversation is unclear. "Computer," he continues, "I did not order this." The computer unhelpfully doesn't respond, so he turns to whoever so happens to be nearby. "Sir, by any chance are you interested in Klingon cuisine?" Because waste not, right? And he'll need his hands free if he's going to open up the replicator to see what's wrong with it.

GOING UP?

When the lift stops, Data makes the flurry of standard protocol contacts, starting with the bridge and ending with engineering so someone can begin working on identifying what caused the malfunction and then fixing the problem, which a cursory glance at the inside of the control panel reveals is more likely than not something out of his own reach to assist with at the moment.

Once done, he finally turns to his companion in the lift, quirking a small, awkward smile that looks more like an attempt to recreate some observed expression than one he's making himself.

Beware, new friend. He figures now is as good a time as any to reopen and resume his endless quest to fine-tune his small-talk subroutines, now that he has a captive audience. For some reason, most people make thinly veiled efforts to escape immediately after he begins, in his experience... (A long, sweaty climb through those Jefferies tubes is about to start looking mighty appealing, honestly.)

"Hello." He pauses for effect. "A fine mess we find ourselves in today, is it not?"

Mealtime

[tript]

"Ugh." Trip made a face and put a hand out, to make his point. "No wonder Klingons are always so bad tempered if that's the sort of thing they eat."

This man didn't look Klingon, though, and Trip hadn't heard him complain to the computer about the meal. "Why did you order it?" Morbid curiosity, he wondered, although he wasn't morbidly curious enough to try it himself.

[overqualify]

"It was not my intention to order gagh, sir," Data replies, with the air of a man who is not actually disappointed at receiving it anyway, which just ain't right. "To my knowledge it is an acquired taste, though I have known several humans to develop it." Several is an optimistic way to put it.

Still, Data gives the man what he is almost certain is an encouraging smile (it's not), trying to offer up the plate again. One of the worm-like creatures manages to wiggle up over his thumb and he has to flick it sternly back into the center of the dish. Don't knock it until you try it, Trip! "The replicator appears to be malfunctioning."

Going Uuuuup!

[consultingbishop]

The shuddering of the Turbolift and the flickering of the interior lights causes Peter to roll his eyes.

Even in the distant future, they couldn't make these things work properly. Still, he watches his companion in the gold make a few calls on his communicator. He seems perfectly versed in getting the relevant people engaged to come rescue them, so Peter is content to leave him to it.

And, then the guy addresses him.

"Yeah, but I've been in worse than a broken-down elevator." He offers Data a friendly smile, before holding out his hand. "Guess I should introduce myself. Peter Bishop."

Steve Rogers | MCU

[neversurrender]

b; mealtime

This is quite possibly the worst food service he's ever had. Scratch that, it is definitely the worst he's ever had. Not much can be said for the fast food industry back home that occasionally forgets to put your fries in the bag or sometimes gives you the wrong burger, but at least they never gave him a plate of wiggling worms to eat.

Making a face at the said plate of worms he pushes it across the table.

"Just goes to show we can't rely on technology for everything. You would think they would have a cook on board just in case of situations like this."

c; going up

Steve steps into the turbolift, giving its occupant a nod in acknowledgement as he comes to stand near its center, with his hands folded in front of him. For the past couple of weeks he's found it easier to use the tubes instead, less chance of getting stuck. But today he has some extra time before his shift and decides to give the lifts another chance.

Big mistake. He knows what' going to happen as soon as the screeching starts and he sighs. Even in the dark of the lifts he knows where the latch is above to open the lift from the top from previous experience. He lacks the ability to fix the lift and he knows that calling for help could take some time. He's not a very patient guy when he can be doing something instead.

Turning to the lifts other occupant he points upwards. "We can get out into the shaft from above. But I'll need some help getting up there to open it. You in?"

[captains_log]

The captain has found that the mess hall is a good place to observe the new arrivals, to try and get an idea of their demeanor, to see who is likely to be a troublemaker. The best part is, most of them have no idea she's the captain, so she can get a more natural read on them--even troublemakers tend to be on their best behavior when an obvious authority figure is around, especially when you're stuck in a giant metal can in the vacuum of space.

She watches a broad-shouldered man with sandy blond hair examining his plate of gagh with a degree of morbid fascination, and when he pushes it away with an arbitrary comment intended for anyone who's listening, Imania smiles a little.

"Actually, Lieutenant Oronar is a fairly good cook," she says, pulling up the chair across from the newcomer and peering down at the plate of squirming food. "If the replicators continue to misbehave, we may have to request his services. They tell me gagh is an acquired taste, but... it's one I never managed to acquire, myself."

Peter Bishop | Fringe

[consultingbishop]

Arrival

Peter Bishop jolts uncomfortably into consciousness.

He instantly tries to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the EMH as she bustles over. He blinks around, confusedly, a familiar sinking sensation in his stomach as realisation sets in, coupled with the woman's confirmation.

He's not where he was five minutes ago.

What now? Another Observer trick? Had they somehow managed to take control of the gateway again? But... none of this looked like Observer tech. Even the people around looked a lot more human-like than the uniform appearance of the Observers.

He takes in what's being said about being zapped to the future, but he's not that interested. There are priorities.

"Please." He interrupts. "I'm fine with the temporal bullshit explanation. I need to know... My dad. Walter Bishop, older guy, crazy hair, crazier personality... Then my wife... Olivia. Tall, blonde... Damn... and the boy... Michael. Small... Bald. Doesn't speak." He pauses, managing to calm himself down after a moment. "I... I need to know if they're here or not."

Mealtime

Peter stares down at the plate, frowning slightly. This is what they were serving in the future? To be honest, he was expecting pills or something.

He'd prefer pills.

"Well... When in Rome." He mutters, stabbing a fork into the plate, scooping some up and into his mouth. He grimaces slightly at the taste.

Repairman Wildcard!

So, if Peter Bishop was anything, he'd call himself resourceful.

He'd taught himself how to use the LCARS system in about a day, and from then it was just a case of inducting himself around the various systems on-board... Without getting caught. Easier said than done.

Of course, with the ship's systems in such dissary, it's quite easy to bypass what little Security protocols remain. Thus, Mr. Bishop will be found in many areas at various times, working away on the LCARS displays that still worked, hell, even getting down and working on the isolinear systems below the panels to try and get things working.

This ship was his only ticket home. He needed to get it working again.