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!

☆ 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!

Threaded | Flat

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.

"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."

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.

[There's an alien experiment on the replicator getting food. Yes I mean on the replicator, careful not to touch anything that would affect how he's getting his food. He was slow about it at first, yelping as his ears pushed back against his head, head tilted to the side as he sees a cup of hot chocolate appear.

He moved to take the cup, pausing only when he almost lost his balance, and placed it back carefully before letting his third and fourth arms come out to help stabilize himself as he moved to try the hot chocolate, making a face and grumbling at the initial taste.]

Blech.

[So he let it drop, not caring since this wasn't his home, and went back to experimenting with it, going through about three more cups before figuring out how to perfect the hot chocolate. He kept the four cups all together for himself as he dropped to the ground, looking between the cups.

So if you're lucky and didn't catch him while he was playing around with it, there's a small blue alien at your feet looking up to you]

Excuse me!

(Arrival, canon point is "Broken Arrow" when she was stabbed by Ra's Al Ghul and pre pit.)

Thea had come to after what she knew was a sword basically slicing her open. She also wanted to basically throw up but somehow forced herself to speak, scanning the room that screamed movie for her brother and her emotional family within Team Arrow. She also was sure Ra's Al Ghul had followed her as she reached for what she was hoping was her bow and arrows but could not reach them (abet not knowing they were safely tucked away). The panic in her eyes spoke more than words could were she realized she was basically alone...

A

There was quite a commotion coming from the man occupying the furthest bed from the door. When he woke up, there was struggling, swearing, and an escape attempt. One young ensign got bashed off a bulkhead and knocked out in the ensuing struggle to get the man under control. The Medical team administered a sedative to knock him out, and now he was secured to his bed.

Glaring at the wall. Silently. He doesn't look as though he'd be happy if he's disturbed.

B

Anyone walking into the mess hall this afternoon will be greeted by a man at the Replicator. Whilst this, in itself, is not an odd occurrence, what he's doing is.

If you care to pay attention to him, he's giving clear orders to the machine... in fluent Italian. He's not even pausing to give the machine a chance to translate, if it needed to.

The end result? Risotto ai frutti di mare, with some very specific cooking instructions for each type of seafood present in the dish. Seeming satisfied, he moves off to a table, not caring where, sitting to start eating.

The reason behind the complicated instructions to the replicator? Well... You'll just have to ask him yourself.

This ship is definitely a mess, but really, Voyager hadn't been any different when it'd been flung to the Delta Quadrant. And now she's found herself in a similar situation, on a different ship, with hardly anyone she knows.

This half human, half Klingon, woman isn't very happy about it.

So instead of throwing a tantrum or getting into the Captain's face, for now, she's put herself to work. Having grabbed an engineering tricorder and a toolbox, she's put herself to work without even asking.

She can be found at various points of the ship, doing repairs. Feel free to stumble across her almost anywhere.

Edited 2016-06-24 00:00 (UTC)

B
Lafiel had spent the day trying to get her bearings and now mostly wanted to eat something and then find somewhere on the ship where there aren't people: she's still adapting to the fact that she's... passenger? refugee? prisoner? and the ship is foreign, given she's been a captain for a few years.

(Never mind that Lafiel, like most of her people, still looks like an Academy cadet or new ensign; Abh don't quite age the away unmodified humans do.)

Unfortunately, the mess hall was full and she couldn't grab a table on her own. So she's just going to wordlessly pick a table and set her dinner and a cup of tea down. Without asking. I hope you like having an improptu dinner guest.

C
"Stupid thing!" Lafiel's first thought was that they were under attack: she'd not gotten used to being transported to a galaxy without large-scale conflicts and ships that weren't warships. But given the state of the ship, she reasoned, it could be a technical malfunction.

She put a hand on the wall, feeling for an emergency access. First step was finding out what was going on; a battle might mean hull breaches, in which case, opening hatches was a stupid idea. "While I'm doing this, see if you can call engineering."

B:

This place was nothing like the Exodar; then again, it was a fully operational vessel, not wrecked like her people's ship had been. It was...sort of nice. It was definitely something that had the Draenei poking around here and there. Finding something that actually responded to her was nice.

Although it simply refused to give her mushrooms, and her brow furrowed as she requested the dish again. It wasn't anything esoteric--nothing from Draenor, just oyster mushrooms sauteed in butter.

The machine buzzed again, and the Draenei's face fell. She'd be terribly grateful for some help...

C:

Alastirra's face fell as the sound of grinding metal sounded. It wasn't as bad as it could be, likely--even with the lift dark, they had the faintly glowing eyes of the Farseer to light the way. Not that she intended that. Nor did she really intend to startle anyone with it...

"I do not mind trying to crawl and get help, if we can find an access tube," she volunteered. Although with her six-foot-plus height and curving horns, she might not be the best candidate...

Just the most willing, as it were.

Okay, Agatha had been trying to figure out how it was she was trapped on another airship. again. No Wulfenbach sigils on this one, so she didn't think this was Gil's doing. And the Baron was still trapped somewhere under the mess of time energy in Mechanicsburg. She had been in Paris, then she was here, and she was going to do whatever she could here to find answers. They had sent her up on a lift, and she wasn't concerned about who was with her, lost in thought... until it stopped suddenly. Broken, apparently.

She had been followed into the lift by two small clanks, one rotund, and one boxy and squarish, both with small limbs, both on unusually good behavior. For the moment. Another clank, looking like a pocket watch with arms and legs rode on her shoulder, holding onto her hair. When the lift shuddered and stopped, the one on her shoulder leaned towards the wall, and a small orange furry head with sharp teeth peered out from under the hem of her skirt.

Agatha looked almost pleased that they were stuck, and began humming to herself as she pulled a small tool from her pocket, and started pulling one of the panels off so that she could look at the inner workings....

Matt was exhausted and beaten within an inch of his life, because life is never easy and life really hated him. So when he hit the floor he chalked up his fucked up senses. He tore off the helmet and tossed it aside with a groan as he tried to gather the sensory information he needed to figure out what was going on.

"Dammit," he muttered, "what just happened?"

The standard assumption had always been that seven years with a galley producing most of the ship's food was a trial. Replicator use had to be rationed on Voyager, after all, and Neelix had been glad to feel useful as chef. Tuvok had always been critical of the Talaxian's hysterics and cooking experiments. It was something a person could get used to and even miss -- but, well, what Vulcan would admit having feelings about any of that?

Still, when Tuvok puts a spoonful of plomeek soup in his mouth, he promptly puts the spoon back down, a quirk of his eyebrow the most obvious giveaway that Vulcans do have more feelings about things than they'll admit.

The soup is bland. Just like what he would have asked a cook to make it. But that's entirely irrational, so when he notices the person sitting across the table, he instead says, "It may be prudent to phase out replicator use. It would be useful in extending the ship's capacity to complete its journey."

All right, so everything here is somehow messed up. That's comforting, but at least it gives Harry something to do. If he hadn't found a way to occupy himself, he'd probably find a way to worry himself to an early grave. He's good at something, at least.

He's found an access panel in the corridor, of all places, and he's seated on the floor pretty much in the middle of traffic with pieces of... well. everything. strewn about. He had a tricorder in hand and, occasionally, he reaches into the panel for a better view, or to remove or adjust something.

He's muttering to himself the whole time.

[ooc; I'm actually heading out of town on vacation, so I'll have limited internet access for the next few days BUT I was invited to post and I'm so very interested. If you don't mind a bit slow for the next week, feel free to tag!]

Waking up in the medical bay had been a shock. Her fist going through the doctor had been another one, one that startled her enough that she hadn't realized that she was disarmed until she left. It didn't matter. She knew enough about barehanded fighting to get by. More than she had when she used to do cage fights on Thandra to pick up some extra money.

But missing the small knives didn't hurt as much as what else was missing. It had been hardly more than a week that she had to get used to that gait that was a soft scuff of shoe, then a tap, then cycling around again and again. Such a new sound, but she kept straining to hear it, listening for it, as she sat in the odd commissary. She kept listening for other sounds too, the taptaptaptap of four footed mine drones. Dimwit, Cusser, Whirlygig, Clank, Clunk, Zippy, and Ticktock. She closed her eyes, hands curling around a mug of something that tasted nothing like the coffee she was used to, and reminded herself that she did not cry in public. Would not cry in public.

Dane no longer counted as public. But Dane wasn't here, and that ache hurt worse than the worst bruised ribs she had ever had. There was no dermal regenerator that could take that sort of pain.

She would not cry, but that didn't mean that the pretty young woman with the fair skin, white braided hair, and blue eyes didn't look like she could use someone to talk to. Or a problem to puzzle out, or a computer to stitch.

"No. It's still wrong."

The blond haired man is leaning close to the replicator, one arm resting above it. Beside him is a stack of chocolate bars, all of which have a small bite taken out of them. When the computer asks for specifics again, he lists off a very exact and precise amount of ingredients and the replicator responds by producing another that looks identical to the ones already made.

Mello picks it up delicately and takes a bite. He lets it sit on his tongue for a few moments before his brows furrow and he bangs the top of the device with his fist. "Something's off. Do you even use real cocoa beans?"

Edited 2016-06-26 20:36 (UTC)

[ooc: I haven't read GWP yet, but a canon review/catch-up is in progress, so if you are canon familiar, pardon the rustiness.]

A. Arrival

[Sitting quietly in Sickbay is a perfectly ordinary looking teenage girl, about fifteen, in jeans and a hoodie, dangling her sneaker-clad feet over the side of the bed and looking around the room with intense interest.

Interest, but not fear. Although she may look perfectly ordinary, the fact is, Nita has been in far worse scrapes than this. Things are looking bad, but not nearly bad enough to have her panicking. Actually, she was rather intrigued by all the unfamiliar alien species around her. She must have traveled pretty far not to recognize any of the non-human life forms. And the technology! It wasn't her specialty, but even she could appreciate it. She could only imagine what Kit's reaction would be.

She smiles a little and gives some of the medical machinery a fond pat, addressing it in The Speech.] Boy, do I have a friend who would love to meet you.

B. Mealtime

[And... suddenly Nita is reminded of high school- standing there with a tray in her hand, trying to figure out where she should sit. She makes a face. Does this ever get easier?

But she was a wizard now, and she didn't back down from a little challenge. She took a deep breath, approached a promising looking group, and offered her friendliest smile.]

Is this seat taken?

Takeru could have floated around through the walls and floors, but he took the turbolift instead. It was the little things like that that helped him forget about the looming deadline awaiting him. If he didn't have to use his ghost powers, doing normal things like opening doors and using elevators made him feel alive.

So he got on board the turbolift and waited for it to take him where he was going. When he saw someone else running for the doors, he shouted and stuck his arm out to keep them from closing.

A
Alain woke up with a start, and immediately flailed his way off the bed. He looked around himself like a startled deer, and took things in around him. This was not where he was supposed to wake up. He needed to protect these humans trapped in Dreamland. But where on Earth was he now? "What are you talking about? What about Takeru and Makoto?" They had just been with him, right?

Pay no mind to the marker on his face. He honestly has no idea it's there.

B
"Fumi-baa's takoyaki," he demanded of the absurd machine in the wall. For the fifth time.

"Unable to comply. 'Fumi-baa' not found in the database of dishes known as 'takoyaki'. Pleas make another selection," the computer responded.

Alain looked affronted. He had a couple other packs of takoyaki on a table nearby, with one or two missing out of them, but now they lay ignored in favor of manhandling the replicator. "What is it that I said that you do not understand, woman?!" he grabbed it by the face of the console and tugged on it like he was going to crack the thing open and give the theoretical person inside a piece of his mind.

There's a man stood in front of the replicator. He's looking at it, chin resting in his hand as he contemplates what to order.

"What kind of doughnuts do you offer?" He asks, curiously. The computer begins rattling off a list of the many, many different types of doughnut, before Haruto stops it.

"Plain sugar, please. A dozen."

An acknowledging beep and the food simply materialises in front of him.

"Amazing!" Haruto mumbles, wide-eyed, as he takes the plate out. "They're still warm."

The usual beds were definitely not built for an Andalite, but apparently they were equipped for other life forms, as they'd made do. He was confused and uncertain when he'd woke up, and it had put him on instant alert. He was definitely on a spacecraft of some kind, but it wasn't one he was familiar with.

The presence of humans on the beds in the room made him uneasy. So did the human female speaking to him. However, she did not display the usual revulsion and anger that a controller could never avoid upon seeing an Andalite. But if she was not a controller, than who or what was she? Humans did not travel the stars. They barely traveled into orbit around their own planet.

He looked around at the occupants of the other beds again, his stalk eyes swiveling as he climbed to his four hooved feet. Some were humans, but he realized now that some were other species as well.

< I do not understand this.> he said, his thought-speech in use since he had no mouth in his Andalite body. < Are you human? Humans do not travel the stars to my knowledge. And you do not know how I arrived here...but I am trapped? >

He also projected private thought speech, calling out for any of the others. < Prince Jake? Tobias? Rachel? Marco? Cassie? Are any of you here? Ellimist...Crayak...if you are responsible for this, I am not pleased. You said you would return us to Earth after the battle. > No reply came, however.

Mealtime:

Ax couldn't graze here, and did not eat like a normal human, but he did appreciate that the food dispenser was a replicator. He could order it to replicate grass, and it would do so. It still was not like galloping across the plains of home or the forest of Earth, but at least it was suitable. He could not sit like the other beings, but stood near one of the tables, his front hoof grinding and absorbing the grass in the bowl. The hard part was preventing the bowl from tipping and spilling its contents, especially since the floor was slippery and difficult for his Andalite hooves to get traction on at times.

He did intend to enter here in morph at a point in the near future, as he was unable to resist the thought of sampling the replicator's creations of human food. He could get as many delicious cinnamon buns as he could eat, he realized. And also a lot of other wonderful greasy, salty, flavorful food, the stuff his human friends called 'junk food'. Pizza, popcorn, Oreos, burgers.

If he had to be trapped here, at least he could appreciate this feature of the ship.

Another mealtime:

This time, Ax is in his human morph, a young teenaged human, dark haired and attractive by human standards. It was a mixture of DNA from Cassie, Jake, Rachel and Marco, a way of avoiding the need to morph a human on Earth. His plate is piled high with cinnamon buns and he's shoveling them in a little too fast. It's unavoidable. His human form's mouth is overwhelmed by the sensations he feels, since he has no mouth naturally.

"Buns! Bun-zuh!"

He doesn't seem to realize he's going to get some strange looks and questions from it, and the humans aren't here to control him...not good.

Edited 2016-07-24 20:14 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

Mealtime~

Athena | Tomorrowland | Open

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

The Doctor | Star Trek: Voyager | A

Raven Reyes | The 100

Mealtime!

Thea Queen l Arrow

Mack Gerhardt | The Unit

B'Elanna Torres | Star Trek: Voyager

Lafiel Abriel | Crest of the Stars

Farseer Alastirra | World of Warcraft OC

Agatha Heterodyne | Girl Genius | Broken lift