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( MEMES ) TEST DRIVE >> 6
Like it or not, you've been dragged from your world into the sanctum. It's a pretty nice city, all things considered--sci-fi, high-tech, glamourous.... Except, of course, for the giant dome encircling it, and the threat of glitching, contaminated zombies at your door. Looks like humanity's built itself a fortress that looks suspiciously like a cage, too. Toss in the odd memory blanks and the everpresent logo of Bifrons incorporated and it's enough to make someone paranoid.
The object of this meme is to get people familiar with the world of the Sanctum, and to try to see if their characters would fit in a sci-fi utopia such as this. Here are your options:
1. Intro: Waking Up. Make your intro post, folks. You wake up in a strange place, and get a strange transmission to go with it. There's a pair of glasses connected to some sort of communications network, but otherwise not much else in the room with you. What are you going to do?
2. Environmental Glitching. You know the story of Noah? No? Now you're living it. Sealed portions of the districts are overfilling with water, flooding streets, fields, and select city blocks. Do you climb up to get to safety, shut off the water, or find a way to break down the barrier to the next sector over?
3. Genetic Altering. What it says on the tin. Except...it's not quite gone right, has it? Are you supposed to spit acid when you hiccup? Are your insides acid resistant? No? Oh dear. Warped experiments gone wrong, your augmentation has twisted around on you for horrific or hilarious results.
4. Memory Glitch. No one knows your face. You don't exist on the network. In fact...you're not all that certain you are who you think you are anyway. Haven't you always lived here?
5. Military Training. Everyone's got to start somewhere. You're training the green folks, maybe you're one of the newcomers yourself. Maybe you haven't even touched a gun before in your life. Either way, you'd better start now.
6. Outside the Dome You're out and about without an armed escort, suited up against the atmosphere and dysthropes. It's supposed to be a green sector in this run down shell of what used to be a suburb, right? Nothing could possibly go wrong
7. Wildcard. Choose your own adventure or create a cocktail from the presented options! The choice is YOURS.
no subject
But even he can see that respect is not something someone like her just hands out. I'm not your kindergarten teacher, her own neat line of shots down her target, and he wonders if it would be helpful or hurtful to that end goal to expose himself now.
Sometimes, the most disarming thing to do when caught out in a lie is begin to tell the truth; but Alec hasn't been caught out yet, and he doesn't intend to be. He nods.]
I can work with that.
[At which point he walks down to his target, shoots the bullseye pointblank with the handgun, and tears it down off the post to bring back to her.]
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[The unfortunate fact is he gets a little bit of it anyway when he brings over the target. She doesn't smile at him, but it's a different kind of not smiling from before. The measured look she gives him indicates some level of taking him seriously. Brand new. A little worrying.]
You're a cheater.
[Cheating she respects probably more than anything else.]
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[He meets her unsmiling face with a casual but blinding smile anyway, completely satisfied with himself but with eyes somehow bright, young, eager. He holds the target out between them, unwavering despite the less than warm reception he's earned himself so far.
Of course he's a cheater. Everyone is. Anyone who says differently is also a liar - which is also something that everyone is, himself among the best.]
What, did you think I was going to somehow miraculously improve, like I've been faking it this whole time or something?
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Yes.
[Totally serious here. Yes, she mostly did think he was going to suddenly miraculously improve, like a big fake faker. She still doesn't know what she believes about him. She thinks she's going to keep this, though.]
At least you're not as coarse as you look.
no subject
He is a big fake faker. He's pleased to know she's noticed, but nt enough to call him out. Yet. This is points on both sides of the scoreboard as far as he's concerned.]
Well you do know how to build a guy up. Do I get to know a name, or does being anonymous help keep this entire thing clandestine?
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Clandestine? We've just been shooting really loud bullets repeatedly in the open. There's nothing clandestine about this interaction.
[Which is a total lie, but just because she knows and he knows and they each know that the other knows that they've got lies in common doesn't mean she has to voice them out loud. Lying about how clandestine things are keeps them clandestine. Perfectly simple.]
It's Lila. And you're . . . Brock or Sam or something.
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Everyone is shooting really loud bullets repeatedly in the open. The only way to be clandestine is to do it too.
[It's confidence logic, sensible on the surface, nonsense just below but he doesn't leave enough space for that to be discovered, repeats her name instead with approval -] Lila. [- and doesn't react to the dismissal of his own name being forgettable.
Instead, unruffled:] Alec.
I'm Alec, and you should let me buy you a victory drink.
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Here's the caveat about a victory drink, Alec. I love victory. And I love drinks. And generally I have nothing very strongly against boys who look like their name is Brock or Sam or Alec or something who get me a target with a hole through the middle.
But if you buy me a victory drink, what you're actually going to be buying are two very expensive victory drinks. Get it?
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Well. He's worked to get this far, he may as well do whatever it takes to close the deal. He holds out a hand, palm up, fingers bent.]
Lemme see that target.
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It's mine now. What are you gonna do?
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[His hand is still outstretched, expectant, both eyebrows raised, the corners of his mouth perpetually curled.]
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Okay, what?
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He snatches at it with his free hand, though, touch and go for a moment before his fingers close on it securely and he's grinning again.
The target goes back onto the post - the nearest one this time, not where it originally start - and the safety comes off his gun so he can fire more bullets into it, still operating close enough that the muzzle flash of the gun leaves the paper scorched.
When he hands it back, it says "Y".]
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What are you, in third grade? [she yells over the last shot, and then, when he can hear again:] Seriously. You ruined my target.
[No, he made it better. She hates that so much she cannot even describe.]
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Figured I'd better do something to deserve having to buy two drinks. That about do it?
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[Instead, she cocks her head and snatches the target back.]
It's fine, I guess. [She guesses.]
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I'm sure you already have some ridiculously expensive dive picked out, so I'll just fall into line.
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Wouldn't it just make you crazy if I bucked your expectations one of these minutes?
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[This is the only possible response to the question, of course, utilizing that skill she'd anticipated only a few minutes ago; it isn't a double entendre, but he speaks flirt like it's his native language.
There's a thin thread of something else there, too, something else she'll probably recognize because he definitely recognizes it in her: he isn't accustomed to being wrong, isn't entirely comfortable with it, and doesn't often allow himself to be. Not for nothing is he courting her, even if it's just for an afternoon of her time.
They both like a challenge. They both like winning.]
Here's a secret for you - [And he leans a little closer, lowers his voice just a little, still playful but as though it really is a secret.] - I'm not stupid enough to have expectations for you. Not really.
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[She doesn't bother worrying about it now. It might not happen. It probably won't get that far.]
[She doesn't lean away, cants her head sideways so they are looking directly at each other as they walk. A smirk, a shrug. As if it doesn't really matter.]
Now why would that make you stupid?
[This is an easy one. She wants to be praised.]