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illyria_ooc2016-08-14 06:36 pm
statusreport) wrote in illyria_ooc2016-08-14 06:36 pm
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☆ ᴛᴇsᴛ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ 02 ☆
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??
no subject
So, excuse him as he stands up and kicks a liberated toolkit from under his chair, walking over. A few well-placed commands reverses the replication of the gagh, allowing Peter to start messing with the console.
"You'll, uh, have to give me a bit. The programming is pretty different from the environmental controls."
no subject
((replying from email; do excuse default icon string... and whatever else may happen because email, lol))
Right, then. If this guy is just waiting around with a toolkit, then McCoy doesn't feel so bad about ordering him to fix the replicator. He can't quite suppress a shudder when the gagh disappears because, ugh, who would even try to eat that? (Besides Klingons. Klingons are just weird.)
He waves a hand. "I'm a doctor. You're already past my expertise." Go forth. Do. Fix things. Have fun.
No prob!
Re: No prob!
"Yeah?" As Chief Medical Officer, McCoy's job sometimes run the gamut from medical examiner to diagnostician and everything in between. (Sometimes veterinarian, even.)
He's tired of looming over here, though, and the floor's as good a place as any to have a conversation. Probably just as comfortable as any chair in the room. He sits, leans back against the wall. "I'm a pathologist by training, with some specialization in forensic pathology." He shrugs; he's damn good at it, too. "I prefer living patients."
no subject
This is admitted as he pulls the bulkhead off, crouching to set it down and kick open the toolkit he pilfered from Engineering. He starts sorting through the tools.
"And, don't get me wrong, I prefer people alive, too. Just in my work, there's a chance they're not."