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illyria_ooc2016-06-17 01:20 am
statusreport) wrote in illyria_ooc2016-06-17 01:20 am
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☆ ᴛᴇsᴛ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ 01 ☆
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 first 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. 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: The Illyria isn't a big ship, so the mess hall isn't very large, but there's room for a few tables with chairs, and there's a bank of replicators along one of the walls. You can ask for anything you want, from a simple cup of coffee to turducken to some nice fresh gagh. Looks like some other new arrival is having some trouble with their machine, though. Gonna give them a hand? Or maybe you've gotten your plate of food, but the only open seat is at an occupied table--perhaps introductions are in order. Mingle! These are going to be your crewmates for a long time, it seems.
C. Going up? Man, this ship is a mess! That trip across all those galaxies sure did a good job wrecking things. You're not sure about these turbolift things, but it beats climbing ladders and crawling through tubes to get to the other decks. 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, now what? Do you and your company try and fix the lift? Do you try and call for help? Do you crawl up into the shaft and try and make your way to another deck through the Jefferies tubes? 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!
Mealtime~
"Computer, how does this work?" He's angling his head up into the aperture, trying to see its insides and failing.
Simply state your preferred food and temperature.
"No, no. I know how it works. But how does it work?!"
Please restate query.
"Yeah, I'll restate it with a screwdriver when I take it apart," he mutters, just quietly enough to not be understood by the ship's computer.
no subject
Now that the immediate threat of whatever had just happened to them had been taken care of, at least for the moment, the captain had excused herself from the bridge to check in with their new arrivals. She wasn't entirely certain what to think of these strangers who had mysteriously appeared on board her ship, it seemed they were stuck with one another for now. She didn't want to make anyone feel unwelcome, but she wasn't ready to just trust these people. Especially if they were threatening to have at her ship with a 'screwdriver'.
As far as she could tell, the man was human, but she had learned that appearances were often deceiving. After all, she herself looked mostly human, but for the small creases that adorned the bridge of her nose, telltale of her mother's Bajoran heritage.
"If you're interested in learning more about how the technology works," she said, still smiling that small, sly smile, "you could as someone who knows."
no subject
"I could do that, but. Then I wouldn't have as much fun harassing this lovely computer, hi, Tony Stark."
He held out his hand to shake, all warmth and charm. But there was a part of his eyes that the smile didn't quite reach, somewhere behind some pretty hefty emotional armor. He could turn it on, though, that was for damn sure.
"And although I have a feeling that I'm going to really gonna regret asking this, but...how the hell do you not know what a screwdriver is? I am having a hard time believing that even in the year twenty-exty-six or whatever it is, one of the most basic human tools wouldn't survive in some form or another."
no subject
"Sadly the computer isn't really programmed to bicker," Imania said, shaking her head, "but I suppose if you've really got your heart set on harassing it, don't let me stand in your way, Mr. Stark." She took his hand, shaking it crisply. "Pleasure to meet you. Palu Imania, captain of this vessel; allow me to personally welcome you aboard."
As he spoke again, she looked contemplative. She wasn't really familiar with ancient technology, but she could at least give this a go.
"Well, it seems to me that a 'screwdriver' would be a... device used to... drive a screw," she reasoned, a hand on her chin. "I can't say I've ever had a need to drive a screw, though," she said. "I'm not even certain I know what one is. I'm guessing that it isn't a vehicle you drive, if this thing is a basic tool where you come from." She chuckled gently. "My favorite basic tool is a tricorder, or maybe a PADD."
no subject
Her crisp handshake was duly noted. A woman of business, then, in charge in some capacity. Of course, when she confirmed she was the captain, that clinched it, and one of his eyebrows cocked up. In recognition, or maybe as a challenge. Right now his track record with people who called themselves 'Captain' wasn't so stellar.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Imania. Should I salute? Or do civilians like me just wave a bit as you walk by? As for a screwdriver...huh."
He turned back to the replicator, inspired and curious.
"Hey, computer. Replicate a screwdriver as known on Earth circa 2016. Phillips head."
A slight twinkling later, and hey, at least the computer knew what he was talking about. He picked it up; it was weighty in his hands, with a plastic grip and everything. And now he really wanted to know how this damn thing worked.
"Tah dah. A screwdriver, Captain."
no subject
"I'll let my engineers know they need to install a sass program," she said.
His handshake was as firm as she'd suspected it to be; he looked like a man of grand aspirations, somehow.
"Captain Palu, actually," she corrected gently, and then gestured to the little creases on her nose. "My mother is Bajoran, and in Bajoran culture, we give our family name first. Just 'Captain' will do, though, if you prefer." And then she waved a hand. "Saluting isn't necessary, but I appreciate the sentiment. I suppose a wave would do, if you like."
Imania had been a captain for several years now, and while she'd been quite rigid and by the book during her first command, she had learned quite quickly that it was much easier to earn the respect and loyalty of a crew she was open and friendly with. She wasn't one to sacrifice function for familiarity, of course, but if these newcomers were going to be here for the forseeable future, she supposed it would be conducive to have a good rapport with them as well. She watched as Tony turned back to the replicator and made his request. The machine produced a simple-looking hand tool, and she reached for it curiously.
"So you're a Terran, then," she deduced, turning the screwdriver in her hand. "2016?" she asked then, looking surprised. That seemed so... ancient! "My father was a Terran," she went on, examining the ridged head of the tool and pressing the pad of her finger against it experimentally. "I was actually raised on Earth, but by my Bajoran mother, so my understanding of Terran culture is a little... mixed." She scrutinized the screwdriver a moment, then stepped up to the replicator. "Computer, a.. 'screw'," she requested, "parameters: Earth, circa 2016."
The machine hesitated a moment as it searched through the database, digging into ancient records rarely accessed, and then there was a shimmer of light, and it produced a small, metal object. Imania reached out and picked it up between two fingers, frowning a little as she examined it. There was peculiar spiraling down the length of it, which she supposed was to help it burrow into something, and after a moment, she placed the head of it against the tip of the screwdriver, making a 'huh' sound as they fit together neatly.
"Intriguing," she said. "So you use this screwdriver to... twist the screw into..." She hesitated. "Forgive me, but this appears to be nothing but... carbon steel," she said, furrowing her brow. "This would never go through duranium, or even polyduranide."
no subject
"A few things..." he finally said, that charming twinkle back in his eye.
"One. What's a Bajoran? Two, what's duranium? Three, ditto polyduranide, which I'm assuming is some sort of polymer woven out of the aforementioned duranium."
He leaned up against the wall, giving her his third best flirtatious look, wondering if she'd take the bait.
"Four, how do I take you up on that earlier offer of you telling me how everything works? And finally, five...can I replicate you a drink?"
no subject
She regarded him coolly as he rattled off his series of questions. He was obviously being a flirt, but Imania couldn't really fault him for a little harmless banter. Besides, it had been a while since she'd gotten that look from anyone--it was a bit flattering. Once he was through with his inquiries, she paused for just a moment, then held up one hand, lifting a finger with each answer.
"One, a race of people from the planet Bajor. Two, an extremely strong metal used in starship hull construction. Three, another metallic substance, used for lighter-grade construction. Four, you ask nicely, and finally, five..." She hesitated briefly, then chuckled. "You could take a wild guess how I like my coffee, if you're feeling lucky."
She was, of course, happy to discuss Bajor and duranium and even how the replicators worked--she had always been pleased by a curious mind unafraid to ask questions--but if he was going to be blatantly forward, she was at least going to make him follow through.
wow okay never got this notif so sorry
"Computer? Please prepare Captain Palu's usual coffee order."
And sure enough, a second later the light coalesced and swirled into her preferred brew, at exactly the right temperature. And the score so far: Tony fifteen, Imania love, ball's back in your court.
"And I'll have a vodka tonic."
Another swish and slight singing noise (seriously, how did this thing work?!) and a cool, fizzy drink appeared next. Well, at least Tony had his wits about him in this glorious future.
"Now. Will you please explain the engineering behind all of this?" he said, gesturing at the entire ship with one hand.
Not a problem!
She accepted the mug from him, chuckling lightly and shaking her head.
"You know, you're the first person who's actually been sharp enough to try that," she said, giving him an appraising look. "Well done, Mister Stark." She took a sip of the coffee and savored it for just a moment, then regarded Tony coolly. "To explain the engineering behind all of it would take far longer than I can spare at the moment. Besides, one of my engineering staff could probably explain it better, anyway. The replicators, however, are fairly simple. They utilize transporter technology to deconstruct and reconstruct matter. It pulls from a bulk matter reservoir, deconstructs the matter on a molecular level, and then reconstructs it as whatever you've asked for." She held up the coffee in demonstration, then took another sip before continuing. "It can also work in reverse, deconstructing leftovers and dishes to add back to the bulk reserve."
She smiled a bit slyly then. If he was from the 21st century, then he wouldn't know...
"How does that vodka tonic taste?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows. Most people couldn't tell the difference between synthehol and real alcohol--she certainly couldn't--but perhaps the 21st century palate was more discerning.
no subject
Frowned.
Listened to her explanations closely, of course. Figured that he'd be better off chatting with a fellow engineering egghead rather than the captain of the ship. Wanted to clarify what the hell transporter technology was, because that sounded equally fascinating, frankly.
But he was distracted.
"It's not a vodka tonic," he said, holding the glass out, arms-length, turning it to catch the light. "There's no vodka in it. Oh, god. Don't tell me you've done away with alcohol in the future, I'll cry."
Sorry to keep you waiting, work has been hell
"Done away with? Hardly," she said, chuckling. "There probably would have been a universal revolt if Starfleet had tried that." She sipped her coffee and smiled gently. "It's called synthehol," she said. "Invented by the Ferengi, it looks and tastes like real alcohol--or so most people pledge, anyway--but the human body can metabolize the enzymes in synthehol without the intoxicating effects of regular alcohol."
She paused a moment, for dramatic effect, and then arched one eyebrow with a thin grin.
"Kind of takes the fun out of it, if you ask me," she said. "Obviously alcohol still exists, but the replicators can't make the real stuff. It's considered a toxic substance, and they won't produce anything known to be harmful to any species on board." She shrugged one shoulder. "Safety regulations, you understand. I'd hate to see a grown man cry, though," she said, "so I'll let you in on a little secret: we have two Ferengi crew members, and they always seem to have some of the real deal in stock somehow." She sipped at her coffee again. "I hope you're a skilled negotiator, though."
PFFT me too, girl. Esp, summer time, I work in a theme park
Because Tony had exactly two experiences with alien races. Thor and Loki as Asgardians....and the Chitauri. So. He wasn't prejudiced. He wasn't. Except for the fact that two out of three above wanted to conquer his planet and kill and enslave all of humanity. So.
"As for skill in negotiations...well. I don't want to toot my own horn, but I'm worth a couple hundred billion back where I'm from. Dollars, I mean. Don't tell me, money is an archaic concept and American dollars are worth approximately nothing at all. Dollars, vodka...everything's watered down, huh? A post-scarcity society? Especially since I can get any food I want from a replicator?"
goodness, talk about a high-impact job!!
She blinked at him then, and made a sound of understanding.
"Ah, a... 'billionaire'," she said, looking a bit pleased she knew the right term. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid you're at least half right: in the 24th century, money as you understand it does still exist, but the accumulation of wealth and material possessions are no longer a driving force in society. Today we measure richness in how much we have aided others and contributed to the betterment of the Federation and peace."
She blew out a sigh and rubbed at the back of her neck uncomfortably.
"That being said, we're nowhere near Federation space, wherever we are," she said, "so I'm sure this won't be the case on any planets or space stations we may come across. We're likely going to have to figure out some means of bartering with natives if we stand a chance of resupplying or repairing the ship. That, however, is a bridge to be crossed when reached. In the meantime, your lodging, food, and clothing will all be provided for you here on board the ship," she said. "You'll have no need for money for necessities here."
Want a mad girl?
Her dingbot rode on her shoulder, looking like a pocketwatch with limbs and a huge eye where the face should be. It held the requested screwdriver out to her, but she ignored it. Trailing behind her were two small machines, each small enough to fit in her hand. One was squarish with an eye in the center and what looked like musical pipes coming from its head. The other was round with a single smoke stack coming from the top of its head.
They were odd enough looking, though Agatha didn't seem to think they were. But the weasel curled up on top of her head might have taken the cake, given that it had very sharp teeth - way too many of them - metal bolts in its neck, and six legs. She also, in case his equipment could tell, had an impressive weapon strapped to her leg, hidden under her equally impressive victorian skirt.
"Do you need some help?" she asked. "I'm kind of used to difficult clanks recently."
"Did she just call us difficult?" the round one asked, furiously. "I am not difficult! I only wish to do what I was built to do! Devour the world!"
"Are you certain you do not wish just one death, my lady?" the square one asked. "Even with my limited systems, it wouldn't be too difficult to squash him like the metal insect he is."
Agatha ignored both clanks the way a tired mother might ignore bickering children.
lol sure
"Excuse me, miss? Are you aware that you have a talking robotic ferret on your head?"
Because that seemed like something a lady should be made aware of as promptly as possible.
no subject
Tony's opinions are not my own SORRY
"No no. Unless you know how to take this thing apart to reveal its delicious nougat center."
He had a feeling she didn't; she was dressed even more anachronistically than he was, with his jeans and t-shirt. He doubted she was native to this ship. Or maybe she was, maybe she was from an alien race that liked to dress like an SCA steampunk reject.
Nothing to apologize for, it's Tony.