riverview: test drive meme

[riverviewmod]

riverview test drive meme

Welcome to Riverview's first test drive meme! Feel free to dip your toes in on the test drive meme to try out your character in the setting, play out a mission, and get samples for your application at the same time!

● Reserves are currently OPEN.
● Applications open on March 1st.
● All threads on the test drive meme can count as game canon once the game is up and running.
● TDM threads do not count for Activity Check, but they do count for Activity Bonus Points.

Feel free to use the prompts below or create your own scenario. The setting is built to be flexible, so feel free to make things up as you go.

information resources
premise ● arrival ● setting ● ask a question ● navigation

prompt i: batten down the hatches

If the sky has seemed a little more yellow-green than usual for the past couple of days, there's a reason for that. Meteorologists have been warning of a particularly nasty storm blowing in from the direction of the Delta in the Southwestern part of the Abandoned City.

The Quarantine is about to be hit by a nasty typhoon, and there's a lot to be done. Whether you're helping sandbag the banks of the river, which is bound to be swollen by the storm and flooding, weatherproofing your building, or just huddling indoors for warmth and helping reassure your friends, family, or partner that everything will be okay, it's time to take action!

prompt ii: monster madness

There's been a lot of talk around the Quarantine about the various predators and monsters outside the fence, and how they've been getting steadily more active, crowding the fences, trying to leap over them, seemingly driven by some kind of mania. There have even been increasing instances of predators that normally mind their own business attacking the fences wholesale, slamming into it over and over as if they're trying to find a weakness.

The good news? The fences have been holding. So far.

The bad news? They won't be holding for much longer.

The Perimeter Guard is in a bad way, and it's all hands on deck. They've also sent out a few of the Perimeter Guard Cadets to post up flyers around the city asking for temporary help in fighting off the beasts. So pick up whatever weapon you're best with, hop onto a truck transport, and head on over to the fences to help drive off the monsters and keep the Quarantine safe.

prompt iii: hold your lover close

With a storm rolling in that's going to keep everyone indoors, that might cause power outages, and is just frankly pretty scary, a lot of the clubs, restaurants, and hotels are doing special events to keep everyone's brains occupied and flooded with endorphins.

There are flyers around the city advertising various couples activities: speed dating, dance classes, overnight pool parties, and all-expenses-paid lovers' nights in.

The catch? The great deals only count if you're a twosome. So if you don't have someone to love, hit up speed dating in the indoor courtyard of Riverview's largest mall, or grab the first person you see and take the opportunity.

prompt iv: solution

After a day or two of storm activity, things are definitely not getting better: the rain is torrential, the monsters are attacking with increased energy and decreased rest times, and the distractions are starting to wear thin. Power outages happen off and on, a very rare situation in Riverview Quarantine.

The government has put out an all-points-bulletin imploring anyone with an exploratory spirit to help.

From what government science techs can tell, the storm isn't natural - after all, even the meteorologists were saying that the pressure systems seemed extremely strange. They've managed to narrow the cause to an area in the delta where the storm seems to be originating from, and are broadcasting the general location so anyone with the guts can head out into the storm and try to find the source of it.

Any characters who decide to penetrate the jungle in search of the source will find a device in the shape of a pyramid, with glowing blue edges about a day's walk into the Abandoned City. The pyramid is a malfunctioning weather control device that is causing wild pressure fluctuations and causing the storm as well as making the animals in the jungle aggressive and erratic. Characters can destroy or deactivate the device to end the storm.

This mission can be threaded out however you would like, in groups however large you would like, and more than one team can accomplish the goal.

prompt v: wildcard/network

Whether you're looking for help with a mission or just want to get to know your fellow new arrivals, your character can make a post to the network.

Or you can choose your own adventure and do something else in the setting!

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Comments

Yuri Plisetsky | Yuri!!! On Ice

[bespredel]

ii: monster madness

[ This was insanity. Everything- from his first arrival, to this moment- this ridiculous decision- insane.

He was a skater, a dancer; not a fighter. He fought with words, and occasionally a well placed kick, or on the ice, surrounded by music and lead by a burning desire for perfection. His greatest weapon there had always been his grace and unfailing determination- nothing like this. It was almost comical, when they had asked him if he would like a weapon- the blank stare he had fixed them in return as he tried to fathom what to put in his hand. What in this world, or any other might help.

'Do you have any knife boots?' he'd asked, joking, because the suggestion was just as absurd as the situation itself. They'd given him confused, quizzical looks back, exchanging unsure glances, before Yuri had scoffed- and picked up a spear taller than he was. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if he really knew how to use one.

He supposed he would figure it out. Or die.

Death was probably a possibility.

Yuri probably should have been more worried about it than he was; but everything was still coloured with a sense of surreality that had him feeling rather... removed from the idea. So there he was. Fifteen, skinny as a rail, gripping a spear tightly in hand, staring at the fences as though he dared any of those monsters to make it across.

He refused to be afraid.

It had once been said he had the eyes of a soldier. A skater, a dancer, and now-

Yuri Plisetsky would prove just what kind of soldier at heart he was.

iii: hold your lover close gross

[ Whoever's idea this sick joke had been was going to meet the bottom of Yuri's boot. It was, apparently, too damn much to ask to get into a dance studio to unwind. To practice. To do anything else that didn't include fighting monsters, dealing with more god damn strangers. Yuri didn't like people enough to put up with this sort of shit on a good day.

Tearing down one of the advertisement pamphlets, Yuri furiously tore it into smaller and smaller pieces, gritting his teeth before throwing the litter to the ground, stomping on it, and grinding it underneath his foot. ]

What asshole came up with such a stupid idea! [ He shouted to no one, still grinding the paper into the ground, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, and whipping around. ] What the hell are you looking at, asshole?!

v: wildcard

[ want something different? let me know and we can figure out a different starter! c: ]

ii

[anotheroldsoldier]

[Bucky would rather fight than stay behind. It eases the restless itch that niggles at the back of his mind; he's a man of action, rest is never easy for an old soldier. There are monsters gathering at the fences, and so of course that's where he wants to be. Fighting he knows, at least.

Luckily, he was brought here armed, though he's left the stars and stripes back in his trunk for today. It seemed too bright, too conspicuous. He hops off the transport truck with shield on his back and gun and knife at his belt, boots thudding in the dirt, and that's about when he sees a weedy kid clutching a spear taller than he is. There's a brief flash of disdain on his face - not for the kid, but for the person who recruited him, but it's gone as quickly as it appears.

He schools his features into something calm, if skeptical, as he makes his way over.]

You know how to use that thing? [It's not out of the question. God knows he's known plenty of teenagers who can fight. Hell, he's been a teenage soldier.]

[bespredel]

[ It almost seemed as though he hadn't heard the other- but no, he was purposefully ignoring the question. His jaw clenched and unclenched, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he continued to stare at the wall before him. Listening to the noises coming just beyond.

Curling his lip, he finally turned his attention to Bucky, snarling back with a thick, Russian accent, ]

What's it to you, GI Joe? [ Bucky doesn't need to be wearing a uniform for Yuri to know. He just gives off that air of a military man. Either that, or it's the fact he's built like a tank. Broad shouldered and with a walk that speaks to belonging on a battlefield.

Next to him, Yuri hasn't ever really felt more out of place in his leopard print studded leather jacket, his black jeans and dark red leopard print sneakers. ]

What's with the hand? [ He gestures using the end of his spear, knocking towards it, before planting the end back in the dirt again, scowling from underneath his hood. ]

[anotheroldsoldier]

[Well, there's a sight he only sort of remembers - because he had been an angry teenager once himself. He kind of wonders how anyone put up with him. The Major had had the patience of a saint. That accent, though... Moscow, maybe. It's been a while.

When he replies, it's in fluent Russian, the slant to his words speaking more to Moscow than America, though his English had been similarly unaccented. It's hard to tell at a first listen which is his first language.]

Just wondering. I don't see a lot of spears in combat these days. [The corners of his lips quirk up in a brief smile. He holds up the left hand in question, wiggling the fingers.] It's a prosthetic.

[bespredel]

[ Surprise flickered briefly across his features at the other speaking in his mother tongue, his fingers clenching around the shaft of the spear. His eyes narrowed again quickly, though, his hair falling to shadow one as he watched the other's metal fingers flex. ]

No shit it's a prosthetic. Never seen anything like it. [ Yuri doesn't smile, doesn't look anything but wary, really. Somehow, having the other speak to him in Russian only served to put him even more on edge, not less. ]

I've never handled a gun before. [ He admitted it, scowling, looking defensive about his choice, his spear. ] Didn't want to be that moron who shoots themselves in the foot because they don't know what they're doing with a damned gun.

[anotheroldsoldier]

[He doesn't seem bothered either way as the kid tenses. If Yuri switches back to English, so will he.] It's not exactly on the mass market. [Boy, isn't that an understatement?

But he looks the kid over with an appraising eye when he admits that he's never handled a gun before, maybe with something like approval.]

Smart. See me later if you want a crash course. [Bucky Barnes is a big believer that most people should know at least something about firearms.] Not sure what you're going to do with that thing, but I look forward to seeing it.

[bespredel]

[ If nothing else, Yuri was learning that whoever the hell this person was, they were really good at answering questions, without answering them at all. It was irritating as fuck. ]

And who the hell do I ask for? The guy with the metal arm? [ Which, when Yuri really thought about it, would probably be more than effective enough. He doubted that there were many others around here with an arm quite like what the other sported. ] Or maybe I should just ask for GI Joe?

[ For a brief moment, he paused, before huffing out a breath, knocking the butt of his spear against the ground, as if impatient. ] I'm going to do with a spear what people have always done with spears: Stab shit.

[anotheroldsoldier]

[To be fair, they're all standing around tense, waiting on something to try and breech the fence. There isn't exactly time for a detailed explanation of Tony Stark the tech genius and SHIELD the super spy agency, or of how he came to have an arm like this in the first place.]

If you want. "James Barnes" would get you farther. [He'll just... give him that name instead of "Bucky", considering there's another version of him running around.] What's your name, kid?

[Bucky looks at him for a moment, and the corners of his mouth quirk up into a very small grin. It's an honest kind of expression, free of mocking. He's unholstering his handgun, switching off the safety and checking it's loaded.] Be careful and stick close. I'll have your six.

[bespredel]

[ Yuri snorts at the name, because somehow it is its own special kind of irony; that he can't escape some form of Yakov no matter where he goes. This James is particularly overbearing, and irritating. ]

Yuri. Yuri Plisetsky; the Ice Tiger of Russia. [ Because it sounds way more impressive than 'the Russian Faerie' and not as childish as 'the Russian Punk'. In truth, he doesn't even know why he says it. It's not like this guy had done anything but forward a name, hadn't needed anything else. Deep down, maybe Yuri just wanted to impress him, a little. ]

I don't need you to watch my back. What are you, like sixty? We'll see if your creaking bones can even keep up.

v: wildcard

[advanced]

[Let me know if this isn't okay.]

[Bucky has never stayed in the communal housing he was assigned, it's far too dangerous and exposed. But living like a ghost, mostly sleeping rough and not having a job, does not really allow for adequate food.

Which is why he's broken into one of the little apartments today. He thinks the owners are out, so he should be safe raiding their fridge like a massive thief.]

[bespredel]

[ While Yuri didn't have any particular qualms about the housing, aside from the fact that for some reason they had assigned him an awful roommate. He was used to living in all sorts of places, out of suitcases and backpacks as he travelled around the world for competitions, but usually on his own. To know that he had to actually live with someone for an extended period of time was- less than ideal, to say the least. But still, beggars couldn't be choosers... and it was better than being a beggar.

Which wasn't the opinion some shared, apparently.

He wasn't inclined to go to high school, like he'd been told he ought to. He'd spat at the idea, and instead had found himself back in the gym, back on the ice. There were no olympics to train for here, no world competitions- and yet... He couldn't allow himself to slip. Wouldn't allow a lifelong devotion to his training and hard work go to waste.

So at one in the afternoon, when the apartment should have been empty, Yuri was just coming home.

The sound of the door unlocking would be audible to Bucky where he was snooping around their kitchen, Yuri opening it, toeing off his shoes as he came in. He didn't notice Bucky right away, but there wouldn't be a clean exit for the assassin now. There was no way he could pass through the living room, out the balcony again without being seen. And post workout, the first place Yuri was heading? The kitchen, for a tall glass of water, and a snack.

When Bucky came into view, Yuri froze. But only for half a heart beat. ]

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY KITCHEN?!

[advanced]

[Shit. Shit. Shit.

He hears the door unlock and he is immediately clocking the different exit routes, but there's no clear way out without being seen and perhaps intercepted. Which is why he's taken up a ready stance for when the owner gets into view, fully prepared to fight his way out.

Until he sees that the resident is a scrawny teenager.

He doesn't even look guilty, just blank faced as he watches for an opening to escape. It's probably obvious what he's doing, though, as there are various foodstuffs on the counter and stuffed into his pockets.]

Leaving.

[That's what he's doing.]

[bespredel]

Not with my food you're not!! [ Yuri bristles like an angry cat, all five foot four of him. His shoulders draw up, his lip curls back, and he sneers at the other, furious. His green eyes narrow, and although his hands don't come out from the pockets of his hoodie, he steps into the other's way, not about to let him leave so easily. ]

Who the hell do you think you are?

[advanced]

[His entire posture changes to become much more aggressive without seeming to alter much at all, practically radiating suppressed violence.]

Just someone hungry. Now step aside, you don't want to get in my way.

[bespredel]

I think it is you who shouldn't have gotten in my way,

mudila yobanny!

[ The Russian rolls easily from his tongue as he reaches and grasps the nearest object as a weapon. It's a table lamp, but it's better than nothing as the other's own posture becomes more threatening. ]

How fucked are you that they aren't even giving you some kind of allowance? Get your own food! I paid for that, it's mine! [ He snarled, not backing down an inch, despite knowing it was probably in his best interests to do so. ]

[advanced]

[His eyes narrow slightly, more at the language than the weapon, and he too shifts into Russian. It has the accent of a native, definitely near Siberia, but it's not a strong accent.]

Then if you're getting an allowance, you can afford to buy more. Put down the lamp and move aside.

[bespredel]

[ For a brief moment he can't help but wonder at all of the fluent Russian speakers he seems to keep running into- but the fact of the matter comes back to him again, that he is being stolen from.

He keeps to the Russian, then. Fast, and angry, since the other speaks it well enough to understand. ]

Ever heard of a budget, moron?! That's my shit for the week, I buy more, I forego something else. So put. It. BACK! [ He roars the last word, squaring his stance and snarling, not putting down the lamp. Doing the exact opposite, in fact- squaring himself for a fight he knows he can't win. ]

wildcard! colonel mustard in the library with a marlinspike

[diagenesis]

[He is sitting at a desk that he has, for all intents and purposes, taken over. Books are scattered across it, sheafs of paper weighted down with whatever he had on hand with which to do so. He is reading a book - or more specifically, he is studying a book. Every now and then he'll jot down something on a piece of paper set beneath his right hand, in almost immaculate Cyrillic. He keeps this up for a while until, sufficiently stumped by a word, he gets up from his desk to go find a proper dictionary.

James moves with the sort of grace you can only acquire from years on a rolling shipdeck, but it's not infallible. He certainly doesn't expect to round a corner and nearly collide with a lad of maybe fourteen summers if he's a damn day.

He frowns slightly.]

Apologies.

[He considers that to be the End of It, and reaches above the lad's head for the dictionary in question.]

[bespredel]

[ It hadn't been the best day ever for Yuri Plisetsky. He'd had some ass knocking on his door talking about how he ought to go to high school, how they'd be happy to place him, to give him an altitude test. Yuri couldn't remember being in public school. He knew he had been, when he was younger- but he had been so devoted to his sport that having a private tutor had become the norm. He'd never had to face high school. He wasn't sure he wanted to start.

The local skating rink was currently open to the public, and Yuri hadn't felt like fighting through any crowds to practice. He was already feeling awful enough.

So it wasn't helping his mood improve when he was smashed into by some gaudy asshole missing his parrot. (Not that he knew it yet, but hey.) ]

Why don't you learn to look where you're going? What are you, blind and stupid? [ Yuri snarled at the other, drawing back and bristling. His English was impeccable, if rude, but his accent was thick, and certainly familiar to what Flint was searching for. ]

[diagenesis]

[His hand closes on the spine of the book. His fingers spasm a little, not in anger or shock but in an amusement so strong he almost laughs outright. He honestly can't remember the last time anyone even tried to speak to him like that. Certainly, before he stepped into the skin of James Flint. But even McGraw was formidable, on those rough London streets. There has always been something animal, unknowable in him. In his Navy days, it only ever came to light in a fight, but as Flint it subsumed him.

Yet. Here he is getting spoken to like a syphilitic halfwit by a slip of a boy over absolutely nothing, completely without fear.

Flint could not, by dint of his reputation, allow such a thing to stand. Hell, in Nassau it'd be all but expected that - rather than suffer that insult - he'd just kill the boy in the street and leave his body in the gutters as a reminder to anyone else who might cross him. James has rather more freedom than that, though, and he merely takes the book into his hands. It's a novelty not to have to leave someone dead for the sake of his reputation.]

I believe the words you were looking for were 'I accept your apology'.

[He says it with nothing more than mild amusement.]

[bespredel]

[ He didn't look at all perturbed, or impressed by the other's manners, or his mannerisms, for that matter. Whatever air of danger and strength that the other exuded; the calm, understated presence of something that could have possibly been more sinister rolled off of Yuri's back like water. Disregarded as quickly as it was perhaps observed, if the teen noticed it at all. He cocked his head back, nostrils flaring a bit as the eye shadowed by his hair came into view through strands of flaxen blond, his lip curling back a little in disdain. ]

Suck on your apology old man. [ He spits it back, his hands in his pockets as he continues to glower at the other, before glancing at the book in the other's hands, and pursing his lips. ]

Do you speak it? [ The Russian rolls from his lips, curious despite himself as his eyes narrow in a condescending glare. He has his doubts, but he can't help but ask it all the same. ]

[diagenesis]

[God help him, he's half-endeared. There are two reasons why young men will run their mouth like this: bravado stemming from insecurity or a complete removal of consequence from the course of their lives.

Instinct would have him intuit the former over the latter, here. This boy doesn't hold himself like old money. Flint has known too many foul-mouthed cabin and powder boys to really hold it against him. If you don't act tough in the face of adversity, it swallows you.

James turns the book over in his hands so that the cover is facing upwards, and he rubs a thumb across the engraved Cyrillic. His mouth is turned up at one edge when he speaks,]

Some. [Enough that he understands what's asked of him, at least, though he continues in English.] Though what I do know is out of date by several centuries.

[Ѧ was replaced by Я, for but one example. Apparently he has Peter the Great to thank for the reform that's rendered so much of his knowledge obsolete. By the time he was changing the alphabet, James McGraw had already left London, and the alterations were slow to crawl across the globe.]

[bespredel]

[ Yuri would have fallen into something between the two, he would have argued. But of course he was looking at the manner from a highly skewed perspective. There were plenty of reasons that he wanted to be tough, that he wanted to come across as such. He keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, watching as the other moves subtly, brushing the front cover of the book. Huffing out a breath, he returns to speaking English. ]

Centuries? How does that work? [ The demand in his tone is clear, albeit from James' point of view probably more than a little ridiculous. Yuri didn't seem to have any sense of concern in regards to how he spoke to the other even now. Despite that he had insulted him, yelled at him in a library. It was a wonder the librarian hadn't come over to hush him, really.

More importantly though, the other's words nagged at him. Centuries? Could that really have been possible? Thus far, everyone he'd met had been from- as far as he knew- weird, but at least somewhat modern times and places. ]

[diagenesis]

[He turns, and takes the book back to the table to deposit it carefully beside his research notes. The table is cluttered but not strictly messy, and Master and Margarita is open to the page on which the editor Berlioz is decapitated by a tram. On the notes beside the book he's written and circled the word, электробытовой, and the dictionary was fetched to divine its meaning.]

Quarantine seems to lack discernment as far as bringing people from any one singular time or place goes. I myself am from New Providence Island, late of the Bahamas, in 1717.

[bespredel]

[ He trails after the other slowly, simply because he has nothing better to do- or at least that's what he chooses to tell himself. His face remains in that half-scrunched up, judgemental way, assessing the other's table with a silent, yet critical eye. He makes no secret of the way he absorbs the other's scratching, leaning over to get a better look, his lips pursed thin. ]

"Electrical." The shit that powers the lights. [ He barks it out, tapping the circled word, before moving to sit across from the other, hauling out a chair and flopping down into it like the Russian punk he claims to be, one foot coming down on the chair beside it, legs open in as his back bent into what probably looked like an uncomfortable position, but wasn't for Yuri. He stared across the table at the other, frowning. ] Moscow, Russia. 2017.