illyria_ooc | ☆ ᴛᴇsᴛ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ 01 ☆

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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!

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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!

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The man poking the replicator has a look on his face. It's a very particular look. It's a combination of giddy joy and stymied frustration, which is hard to achieve.

"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.

[It's definitely irksome to be taken away from her world at such a critical time. But that's neither here nor there. Time to try to fit in.

As a robot, Athena can't eat food. But she's trying to get along with these people, maybe be a little more human. When she speaks, her accent is British.]

Chocolate lava cake, please.

[The replicator delivers just as promised, and her eyes widen in amazement. She'd like to meet the creator of this technology.

She walks along the tables, looking for an empty seat.] Excuse me, but is this seat taken?

[Perhaps she can give this stranger her dessert, too.]

Rubbing her head after the pleasant, yet curt blonde officer left her to it, the detective gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and feeling more than a bit like she was hung over. Reaching into her blazer, she removed the flask from its inner pocket and unscrewed the top, taking a long swig before replacing the cap.

"Bleeding, pissing HELL," she muttered, grumbling to herself. "A fine lot of a welcome that was." Pushing strands of hair out of her face, the redhead tucked them as neatly as she could behind her ears, and as she did, she glanced up, noticing everyone else lying about in the various cots, and in various stages of disorientation.

"Oi...," she called out softly, but firmly. "Anyone care to enlighten me as to what in God's name is going on here?" Her eyes blurred slightly as she attempted to focus; no one looked familiar, and this left her cold.

"I got a feeling 'God' ain't got much to do with this," a voice piped up from the bed beside her, where a tall, gangly redhead was seated with one knee tucked up and the other leg dangling over the side. Leaning back on his hands, he regarded the woman with a look of measured complacency, as though he wasn't really fazed at all. Maybe he wasn't, he certainly wasn't telling. He gave a soft chuckle. "I don't even believe in the guy," he said, shaking his head.

Axel may have had a flawless poker face, but the sly grin on his face belied the unease just beneath his skin. Wherever he was, it wasn't his room in the castle, which meant that somehow, sometime between when he'd fallen asleep last night with a magazine over his face and now, he'd been removed from the castle and brought to wherever this place was. That was unsettling, especially considering he'd apparently slept through the whole undertaking. Axel was lucky to sleep through a rainstorm, so how he'd managed to sleep through being kidnapped evaded him entirely. Curiouser and curiouser.

He hefted a sigh and kicked his foot back and forth languidly.

"If the blond lady with the glowy scanny gadgets is to be believed, we're apparently in space," he said, and then shrugged. "I guess it's not the weirdest place I've woken up."

She sniffed. "Yes. The 'blonde lady with the scanny gadgets' was about as much help in answering the rest of my questions as a raw steak," she drawled, clearly annoyed, before glancing back up to meet his eyes. "And, this IS the weirdest place I'VE woken up," she confirmed, still not entirely sure she wasn't dreaming it.

The redheaded detective, to be fair, had had a rather hellacious day in the field the afternoon prior, and she'd fallen asleep on the sofa in her Croydon flat, an empty tumbler of vodka and lime on the coffee table in front of her, and several file folders upon her chest. Simply put, Louise wondered if this wasn't all part of some bizarre hangover-induced hallucination. Squinting her eyes, she focused upon the outfit Axel was wearing.

"What sort of get-up is that?" she asked, half in earnest, and half good-natured chiding.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

Those were the words programmed into every single Starfleet Emergency Medical Holographic Program to say when activated... and ones the Doctor fought hard to remove the requirement when he started gaining more autonomy on Voyager.

...Yet, here they were, spilling out of his mouth as smoothly as they did when he was first activated seven years ago. He blinks, looking around. This was Sickbay... But not his Sickbay. It was clearly Starfleet... And if he had a stomach, it would be turning. This looked exactly like the Sickbay on the USS Equinox.

His hand immediately goes to his combadge. "Doctor to Voyager."

...Nothing. "Oh, well... It's not like that ever works."

"I can't recommend that," Imania said with a small smile, stepping up beside the man with her arms folded across her chest. "While I admit I'm not sure what a... 'screwdriver' is, I doubt you'll have much luck using one on this hardware."

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."

Edited 2016-06-18 22:09 (UTC)

Oh hello. Tony stood up, blinked at the beautiful woman addressing him, and a slow smile spread across his face.

"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."

"At least a raw steak can be turned into something delicious," Axel remarked wryly, frowning a bit. The doctor lady had been friendly enough, but not especially useful. He'd never much liked doctors, either way. He chuckled softly when the woman on the other bed assured him it was the strangest wake-up she'd ever had, and it was actually genuine amusement rather than sarcasm. "Sounds to me like you need to be a little more adventurous in your life, then, missy," he said, still grinning slyly.

He hadn't missed the way she'd gone for that flask, though, and wondered just what sort of life she did lead, that her first instinct was to turn to booze. When she inquired about his outfit, though, he looked almost comically indignant.

"Hey, now, I'll have you know this is a standard-issue uniform where I work!" he said, sitting up very straight and letting his other leg dangle over the ledge alongside the other now. He gestured at his torso. "Haven't you ever seen a stylish leather coat before?"

Oh, she knows that sort of smile very well, especially the part where his eyes remain a bit guarded even through it. She'd given a few smiles like that in her time, herself, but she wasn't going to comment on it. Whoever these strangers were, wherever they came from, surely they all had their secrets to keep, their crosses to bear.

"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."

"Now, that's a shame. A good artificial intelligence should be sassy on demand, keeps people on their toes."

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."

She chuckled at his retort.

"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."

He bowed (a little sarcastically) when she corrected him on her name, but didn't comment otherwise. Not while she toyed with the screwdriver, not until she was done speaking. Not until she was done dropping several stunning and delicious tidbits in his lap.

"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?"

b ) mealtime

Raven's at least used to life on a spaceship. She's not used to the machines, and she spends a lot of time poking at them until she finally decides to get a stew. The problem with soupy things though is that they're hard to keep from spilling. Especially when you have a cane to get around and a brace on your nerve-damaged leg.

Her bowl of stew sloshes onto the floor, narrowly avoiding her foot. She stares down at it with a sigh. "Damn."

c ) going up?

Just as Raven's starting to feel like she's used to this, the elevator plunges into darkness and screeches to a halt. With a stranger inside with her. "Great. What fantastic mood lighting."

She sighs and tests a button, and then starts taking things apart.

It seemed this human had enough sass to spare, in any case.

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.

She shot him a deadpan expression. "I've had too much adventure, if you ask me," she said, scrubbing a hand over her face. The flask was just a crutch; a go-to whenever things on the case became either too gruesome, or if the copper'd brought too much of its perils home with her at night. It was enough to keep the average person awake for hours, unable to sleep; Louise remembered it well.

In an effort to try and place some humanity back into the sterile environment, she managed a weary smile and folded her hands into her lap. "So, if that's your 'uniform', where is it, exactly, that you work? Or, erm...worked, if that's the correct vernacular now we're here," she backpedaled, her eyes shiftily unsure all of a sudden. "Anyway, I'm Louise. Louise Greenlee," she continued, waving a subtle, yet friendly hand as she spoke.

Axel turns when a professional sounding voice cuts through the hush of the room. The man is older, balding, with stern jowls and a displeased look on his face, and Axel snorts quietly. He looks so disgruntled it's a little funny. The man's measured irritation grows tinctured with alarm then as he reaches up to touch the little badge pinned to his chest. It appears to be similar to the one the blond hologram lady gave him after (attempting to?) explain the situation, except this man's doesn't seem to work. Or, at least it can't seem to contact who he wants it to.

"Who's Voyager?" Axel asks casually, tilting his head. "Kind of a fancy name."

Well, this is certainly weird and unnerving. She's not going to just go with this until she has some answers.

And then some guy is talking, and he's got a very shiny device. She doesn't understand who or what a Voyager is, or what he means, but he's got to know something, right? Since walking really isn't an option, Raven stays put on the medical bed.

"Hey, you."

It's not said politely, but the Doctor's used to that probably.

"Too much? Ah, come on, there's no such thing," Axel snickered. "Admit it: you'd get bored."

Sure, Axel hadn't asked for his lot in life, but at least he kept busy.

When she inquired about his line of work, his expression rapidly sobered and he narrowed his eyes a little.

"Me?" he asked, eyebrows arching dramatically. "I could tell you, but... then I'd have to kill you," he deadpanned. He maintained the straight face for just a second longer than was entirely comfortable, then cracked a wide grin and snickered. "Is what I'd like to say, anyway," he laughed, shaking his head. "I'm just a dataminer, basically," he said. "You might say I... scope out potential audiences for the brass and look for new ways to market."

Hey, it wasn't exactly a lie.

He returned the wave, jovial enough, and his grin was a little sly.

"Nice to meet'cha, Louise Greenlee," he said. "My name's Axel--got it memorized?"

He had gotten used to most people taking the question as more rhetoric than anything else, so he moved right on ahead.

"So what line of work are you in, Louise Greenlee, that apparently provides you with so much adventure?"

He'd barely known her 15 minutes, but in that first sentence, Axel had gotten her in one. For all the griping she did about being out in the field, the detective was all but lost without her work, and she knew it--not that she'd ever admit to it, so for now, she just grunted in reply, curling her upper lip ever so slightly.

And, she'd gotten the joke before he'd even let on--a keen observer, Louise didn't buy it for a minute. No way was this fast talker and overly cheery shipmate a CIA operative. Or an assassin. Or Jason Bourne. When the affluent younger man mentioned data-mining, it earned him a knowing smirk and a bit of a chuckle.

"You've certainly got the people skills to be a wheeler-dealer," she quipped glibly, smiling wryly. "Doesn't surprise me in the least, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr...erm, Axel."

At his second line of questioning, Louise folded her arms and looked at him. "I'm going to make you guess. Shouldn't be too hard, though," she replied. "I don't look like a race car driver or stay-at-home mum, do I," she stated.

The Doctor turns when he hears a new voice, regarding his new companion with a bemused air. When he speaks, his irritation is clear.

"What, not who." And it's also clear that his irritation is just general, and not directed at you, Axel. "I am the Emergency Medical Hologram from the Federation Starship USS Voyager, and it appears I've been kidnapped."

He looks around sickbay disdainfully.

"Again."

The Doctor turns and is going to give you a look, Raven.

"Oh. Glad to see that people here have manners." He replies, dryly. He might not have a name, but he's still not going to be called you. "Before we continue, it's Doctor, not you, and would you mind telling me exactly what is going on around here?"

#YOLO, really. She rolls her eyes at the first comment, but okay. Maybe she was a little rude.

"Fine. Doc. I'd think you know more than me, since you're trying to talk to someone with that thing."

She pushes her hair out of her face impatiently. "All I know is that I was on Earth, and I was waiting around for my friends to find the rest of our group. And then I was waking up here. I've gotta say, though, it makes me kind of homesick."

"Believe me, I'm as much displaced as you are." He remarks, looking around. "It appears I've been kidnapped, also."

He tuts, looking around. Again, there's the uneasy feeling in his photons as he recalls his stint on the USS Equinox.

"This looks like the Sickbay of a Nova-class Starship."

Well, Axel had been working in recon and surveillance for over ten years; he kind of prided himself on being good at reading people. This woman had a hard look to her, like she'd seen one too many awful things in too short a period of time, and the flask she kept on her person only solidified the theory for him.

He would have laughed if he knew what she was thinking. The truth was he was an assassin, though perhaps not in quite such plain terms, and while he didn't know what the CIA was, he did work for a shadowy syndicate of sorts. Of course, he wasn't about to tell her that.

"Ah, what can I say? I'm a people-pleaser," Axel said with a shrug, buffing his fingernails on the front of his coat, and then waved a hand. "Just 'Axel' is fine," he said, shaking his head. "'Mister' just makes me feel old." He grinned a little then. "Oh, a guessing game, huh? All right, let's see," he said, putting a hand on his chin. "You definitely don't look like the stay at home mom type, no, though I'll admit I've never met any racecar drivers." He squinted a little, taking in her appearance, her clothes, her posture. "You look like somebody who's been dealt a difficult hand," he said, meeting her eye, "like life's a challenge a lot of the time, but you appreciate a challenge 'cuz it keeps things interesting. So I'd say you do something that keeps you on your toes--no nine to five stuff for you. Maybe..." He tilted his head a little, then wagged a finger at her. "Some kind of security guard, or something in that vein," he settled on.

He'd been kicked out of the castle in Radiant Garden enough times as a kid to know the face of an enforcement type by now.

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☆ ᴛᴇsᴛ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ 01 ☆

Mealtime~

Athena | Tomorrowland | Open

DS Louise Greenlee (OC) || Arrivals || OTA

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The Doctor | Star Trek: Voyager | A

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Raven Reyes | The 100

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m-may i? i love the doc.

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