☆ 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??

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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.

[got_it_memorized]

Axel kind of liked this woman already. She was cool under pressure and seemed the analytical type, and that was something he could always respect.

"Far as I can tell, this ship hails from a place called 'Earth'," he pointed out, tapping his chin, "so I'm not sure I'd write off this sucker having the same build as a lift from there. I'm pretty stumped in general, though," he admitted, looking a little hangdog; "I don't make a habit of using elevators, but I make even less of a habit of crawling around in tubes inside spaceships, so it seemed the more logical choice." He gave a gusty sigh. "Starting to regret it, though."

Axel offered her a genuine enough smile and extended his hand in turn, shaking hers crisply.

"Axel," he said. "Charmed, Helen Magnus." Then he chuckled. "And this is fairly normal for me, sad to say. I seem to ground all my friendships in meeting under duress of some sort."

He took her in for a moment in the flickering lights, sort of sizing her up, though certainly with no malintent. Old habits, and all; he had acquired a tendency to assess just about everyone he encountered. Funny what life as a secret agent, more or less, made you do. (No, not funny at all, really, but who was counting?) She looked lean, strong, mid-forties, he guessed, but visible age and actual age often differed, he had found. She had clear eyes that definitely looked older than her face, and he found himself wondering what sort of life she had been incised from to be brought here.

Were he alone, he might have braved a portal to get out, but if this woman was human, as she appeared to be, he couldn't risk taking her into the corridors, and leaving her here alone would have just been plain rude. Axel was many things, but he was rarely rude on purpose. Pressing his hand against the wall again, he then knocked on it, and looked up over their heads.

"These things usually have some sort of hatch in the ceiling, don't they?" he asked idly, reaching up, but even he wasn't quite tall enough to touch the ceiling. He jumped gingerly, as if to make sure the whole thing wouldn't just snap loose and send them plummeting to their deaths, and then when he was satisfied it was stable, he jumped again, knocking the ceiling with his fingers. "Hm, not that panel..."