interstellar404 | TEST DRIVE MEME: THE SELF TITLED ALBUM

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TEST DRIVE MEME: THE SELF TITLED ALBUM

☆WELCOME TO INTERSTELLAR
And welcome to our first TDM! We've got two types of prompts to use this time around: the first takes place while your character is in the process of being captured, and the second is during their first brainwashed rockstar tour. The former is designed to be considered 100% game canon if you make it in officially, while the later is more speculative and will only work if you get lucky during label and band selection.

☆THE TALENT SEARCH
These prompts are design to be kept as game canon after acceptance, and can be used as the official story of how your character was captured. Importantly, the kidnappers entering your timeline causes massive time distortions, which means that the outcome of this scenario will stagger and replay itself multiple times before settling on an outcome. This means that after the fact, you character may remember being captured multiple ways, or going in more than one direction, before the timeline settled on a final path. Or at least, they'll remember this until their memories are wiped shortly afterwards, but that's okay! That's what memory regains are for. Read this page for more specifics on this situation. Any powers the characters have will be weakened and prone to malfunction to the point of uselessness.

►A1) THE SEARCH: It always starts out this way, doesn't it? At some point in your life, you were just doing your thing, wherever you call home. Then, all at once, it's like you've been torn from your dimension by the roots. Time and space displace, and it's like you've been shifted one layer of reality to the left - like some kind of subspace where you can see your reality through it, like a rainbow surrealist image of your home. Even if you can see this ghost image of where you were, you can't interact with it meaningfully. Any friends or family are somewhere else. As you begin to wander, without any other options, you'll find that the scenery gradually shifts to ghost images of other places, other worlds. If you wander long enough, you'll even find other people, lost just like you are. But you probably won't have much time - you've been brought here for a reason, after all.

►A2) THE HUNT: It could happen almost immediately, or it could happen hours later - but, at some point, your dimensional kidnappers start to do their sweep. Space Men in black body suits and gas masks pursue you on foot and in small spaceships, trying to sweep you and the other displaced up like fish in a net. Their guns contain a weird pink gas that will knock out most with only a single breath - and for those more enduring, they have the heavy artillery, like electrical nets and guns. The fallen will be sealed up into stasis pods for transport and loaded onto the ships, which seem like the only way to get out of this place by choice. This is where it ends, but are you going to put up a fight?

☆THE MAGIC TOUR BUS
By default, these prompt aren't considered canon, but if after you are accepted and sorted they can be tweaked into working for you, it'll be totally okay to keep them as a part of your rockstar's personal history. They take place after being kidnapped and brainwashed, on your character's first tour under their new label. As it turns out, it seems like brainwashing aliens isn't the only thing the abductees have to worry about.

►B1) PLAY IT STRAIGHT: It's just another day on the tour bus, in between long stretches of highway. How do you fill your time? Do you practice your instrument, or do you take full advantage of the open bar? Do you sulk and try go to bed early? Do you yell at your bandmates for ruining the toilet? Do you troll people on Twitter? Tours being what they are, everyone is probably at least a little bit tired or cranky. Just don't do anything that will get the Manager on your ass, because that's always more trouble than it's worth.

►B2) THAT'S NORMAL: The Managers aren't here, as far as you can tell, leaving you in a moment of relative relaxation. Something about those guys just make you uneasy, and they're always shoving you around and making you do things you don't really want to. However, these moments of peace don't last long, because it stars to become increasingly apparent that your tour bus might be...haunted? Whether its the bus turning on without a driver and without a key, wine glasses falling off tables, or guitar static sounding like frantic whispering, things are starting to get weird. Yet, at the same time, something in your subconscious is strongly suggesting that you should ignore it, and that everything is normal and fine...

►B3) THEN WHO WAS GUITAR?: These weird experiences eventually culminate in a kind of phantom music bleeding in from the air around you. The source is impossible to discern but it's somehow...familiar? Like something that played at an important moment in your life, even if the event itself just won't come to mind. What's weirder, is that everyone seems to hear something different. It gets to you in a way that your programming doesn't like - but how do you react? Reluctantly take it in, or throw a fit until it stops?

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A2

Alec was stumbling up the stairs to Richard's rooms - their rooms. It still doesn't flow properly in his mind, that any part of this is his. His books, those are his. The ruby ring - he's earned that one.

And Richard, Richard is his. The thought pops into his drunken mind uninvited, and Alec trips on the last step, nearly toppling backwards. Long arms windmill frantically and he ends up falling through the doorway.

Laughter. He's laughing now, at the thought. As if saving someone's life can make them yours, nothing makes anyone yours forever.

Laughing harder, because he can hear himself falling down the stairs. Alec hasn't even gotten up off the floor yet; that's what makes it so... funny...

"Richard?" he drawls the question out lazily, as if the answers make no difference to him. There's something slushy about the -ch-, too much cheap wine. "Did you go out tonight without me?"

The nonanswer doesn't bother him. The heavy footsteps on the stairs do, and he doesn't realize why until the black-clad head appears. The scabbard was missing, and Alec hadn't heard it slapping Richard's thigh.

Because it wasn't Richard. It wasn't - it wasn't like anyone he's ever seen before, and everything laughing and drunk shrivels inside him. He's never seen a weapon like that before, but he's seen enough swordsmen to know how an armed man carries himself. That thing, that cylinder pointing at him, is a weapon.

Alec refuses to run from death. Too proud, too reckless, and too curious about what follows. He pulls himself out of his perpetual slouch to face it with some dignity.

[OOC: Or someone else's choice! Prose or actionspam is fine]

Edited 2015-09-19 02:54 (UTC)

"I did not, of course--" Richard is coming out of the bedroom with a sword, to practice for a little bit with a slightly different weight, when Alec spills into the door, laughing.

Laughing is good, usually. Richard is grinning, up until he ears the steps, too, and then he runs to Alec's side, pulling him fully inside the room as he takes a good look at the black-clad figure.

The clothes are so strange that it takes him a moment before he acts, and the pink substance is in the air when he moves. "Hold your breath, Alec."

... and he kicks the man down the stairs. Slams the door as he comes inside, pulling the chaise against it, then kneels to pull Alec up to his feet.

"We'll need to run. Can you do that, for a little while? We will lose them, they are not from here."

The moment his hand touches Alec, it seems like the room around him blurs a little. Which is ridiculous.

Oh, Richard is here after all. That changes everything. He's no longer expecting his own demise with detachment. Alec is now anticipating the brutal and quick death of the stranger, heart beating faster as he thinks about the risk and the blood of all of Richard's recent challengers.

He wonders if it will be quick or if Richard will deny him that mercy, due to the invasion of their home.

The pink mist distracts him. He hears the order to hold his breath and does. But it isn't because Richard told him to, it's because he doesn't want the pink fog to dissipate. It's beautiful, and Alec wants to touch it.

His hand freezes halfway to the pink substance when the noise of the intruder actually falling down the stairs startles him out of his focus, and he barks out a laugh to try and cover how unnerved he is. Richard, who settles everything with his sword, every slight that he sees and Alec points out, even the ones that Alec doesn't explain, didn't use it against the armed man who had followed Alec into their space.

Something is very wrong. He'd know it no matter how much drink he'd had. "Run," he snorts. Running does not suit him. He does it awkwardly; his limbs are too long. It is beneath him, anyway. It's been beneath him no matter who he was...

But Richard never runs either. Something is wrong. "Yes," he concurs sullenly. Then, Alec brightens as he gets to point out that someone did something stupid. Ordinarily, he doesn't want to call Richard stupid, but he's making do. "Only you've blocked off our only door, and you left alive outside of it. I am not going to run circles around the bedroom."

Edited 2015-09-19 12:48 (UTC)

"There are three more like him behind him, Alec. I can hold them back, but here, I can't keep you safe at the same time. That pink thing is a weapon."

He doesn't know about poison gases, or anything like that. But he can read a fighter's body, and so he recognizes that, without the shadow of a doubt.

"We are going out of the window, Alec."

It's not a question. He even has a plan for it to make sure Alec doesn't get hurt.

Alec's green eyes narrow sharply. Yes, he knew it was a weapon. He isn't a complete moron, but he's never seen anything like it before. He wants, almost needs to know about it, and how do you know about anything if you don't experience it?

And that's another thing. "I don't remember asking you to keep me safe." In fact, Alec asked Richard to do the exact opposite and had to settle for a promise of someday. He isn't terribly disappointed, however, because being kept safe usually involved excitement.

This is a very boring safety, despite the danger of dropping out of a non-first floor window. "That's dramatic for you, isn't it? Sometimes, I don't think you can resist. What a pity you're climbing out of windows here instead of on the Hill. You could double your fees once the salacious rumors hit the ears of the nobles."

"You didn't." Oh, Richard probably can manhandle Alec, but that'll make everything slower and more complicated. So he speaks blithely, his ear careful towards the stairs. They're not trying to break down the door yet, but he can hear them. "I'm doing it for myself.

"And I did climb out of Lord Horn's window. Well, first in, and then out. I think I'm all set for now, as far as the Hill is concerned. But I can fit in your suggestions next month."

Of course, if they're both here for Alec to make them.

"Come. Be dramatic with me."

He may be taller, but Alec would lose every time in a physical contest, including if Richard promised to not use any blades and to tie one hand behind his back. He's too thin, and that skinniness is unaccompanied by any sort of wiry strength or knowledge of how to fight.

In short, yes, Richard could easily manhandle Alec through the window. The hardest part would be getting all of his gangling limbs past the frame without catching. The longer interpretation is that, if his shorter friend was capable of forcing him along, he certainly wasn't going to be any help with or challenge to the four men on the other side of the door.

Alec doesn't have to think about the longer interpretation. He simply knows, subconsciously. In his sharper hours, he would have recognized that the offer to be dramatic is another way of manhandling him. But, the wine. His only plan tonight had been to pour himself into bed and let the night do what it wanted.

If he goes with Richard, there's a chance the strangers will catch up to them in ones and twos, and he'll get to see a fight. The evening had been dull, and no one would dice with him. "Fine," he concedes, although he doesn't tend to be happy about it. "Maybe we'll both land headfirst. Maybe you'll fall into Marie's well, she won't like that."

"No, she won't like that. So I'll try to avoid that."

Richard does, in fact, dislike manipulating Alec even that much. But Alec is drunk, and Richard is at the very least disturbed. (Fear is an enemy, so he does not let himself be afraid, but he is disturbed.)

"Come here and sit on the window ledge. Legs hanging out. And give me your hands."

When Alec does that, Richard will grip him tightly, but not painfully, by the wrists. With how tall Alec is, Richard leaning over the window with Alec hanging from his hands will leave only a small drop for Alec. That should be safe enough.

He hopes.

Alec's body feels leagues long as it stretches out the window. His ankles and knees are loosened in his inebriated state, and he thinks it takes forever for his body to fold up against the smooth stones of the courtyard.

He must look like a ringlet that's been pulled too far and then let go. He shouldn't laugh, right now. He feels queasy from the drop, and any extra air might make him sick. "Richard?"

Looking up at the window to see what's taking him so long, it occurs to him that he might be in the way, still crouched directly under the window. Unfolding and standing up requires a few perilous, staggering steps to the side.

It occurs to him that Richard might have done this on purpose - dropped Alec out the window first - because now Alec is in the clear, with the men on the stairs, thinking they are upstairs.

Richard is a bastard.

"Get down here and fight them outside," he hissed, scowling up at the window. If he's going to fight the men who obviously followed Alec home, then he should have the good grace to do it in public. They might win some money, if Alec shouts up a crowd.

Richard really hasn't taken that long. Only enough to sheathe the sword and grab his brown cloak, shrugging it on.

But, since Alec was still under the window at that point, Richard didn't jump. Instead, he started climbing down the wall, which, yes, does take him a few moments longer than jumping. Then Alec is stumbling, and Richard is on the ground, and he reaches out an arm to wrap around Alec's waist, smiling up at him.

"Hey, I'm here. You want to see a fight, right? Let's go choose our ground, then. Ready?"

He would not have dared even this partial embrace if it wasn't this dark, and this empty, around them.

And if he wasn't as worried as he is.

The wall was giving like wet clay, under his fingers. And everything is glowing, a little

Alec is only a selectively patient man. He enjoys drawing out debates, arguments, sitting back and watching another moron hang himself with his words. Something that interferes with how he prefers the world? No, that he wants corrected immediately.

So, yes, Richard was to hurry up.

He only forgets to tell him that when the warm arm steadies him, makes the haze of the wine so much thicker.. That was another thing the drink had promised him that their unexpected guests have delayed. "Your eyes are bright."

Brighter than normal in the moonlight, because the moon is burning like the sun. It should alarm him. It doesn't - the sudden crash from the window above them does.

"She's going to raise the rent to cover that door," Alec sighs, but he starts in the direction of the arch out of the courtyard. Richard said to choose their ground, and they both know not to begin cornered.

Alec hits the street at the same moment as the front door to their building creaks open.

Richard is a little wistful, with the way Alec's body moves against his, for that brief moment. But, out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Marie's window. The figures he sees there are insubstantial. Added to Alec's comment about his own bright eyes...

He'd think he is on some sort of a drug, even if he knows of nothing like that, but he knows what crosses his lips. And nostrils. And nothing is even remotely suspicious.

Instead of thinking too hard about that, he lets himself smirk, at the way Alec thinks and moves. When he has reasons to ignore the fact that he wants to die, he's very brilliant, even for fighting situations.

Then he hurries, to catch up with him. Grabs his hand, making sure it's still real. It'll stay real. And flashes a small smile up.

"Run."

And they do.

There are actually more than four people with those strange helmets. They are the only ones that still seem real, besides the two of them. Richard tries to keep away from them as long as he can, never letting go of Alec's hand.

Someone grabs his hand, and Alec tries to pull it away, even after he knows that it's Richard. He's had enough touch.

But then run and Alec can see people coming out of their building. He runs and quicker than that, he's grateful for the hand on his. It's not harder to run faster than Alec - the most exercise he gets is a brisk walk on a cold day, but the hand forces him to keep up or risk being towed behind.

Richard, Alec thinks, would drag him along the street if he had to.

The first street Alec tries to turn them onto has helmets in the distance, almost too far away to see as the narrow street narrows in the distance and dark.

The second street, they're closer.

The third, closer still, but their backs are turned. Alec skids to a halt, tugging at Richard's hand and jerking his thumb to the tiny alley that lies only ten feet down this road. It smells like piss on a good day and is where the "merchants" selling Delight and other concoctions like to set up shop.

They're still being pursued. If Richard hesitates, they lose any chance at hiding in the alley.

Richard doesn't hesitate. Of course Richard doesn't hesitate, even if he knows this may very well be cornering themselves. But the strangers - the strange hunters - have their backs to them, and there are only three.

He nods at Alec, and moves towards the alley - after his... friend.

Once inside the alley, he presses against the wall, so he can see a little with as little chance to be seen as possible. His hand reaches up, touching, barely, Alec's lips. Quiet.

The other hand was on the sword's hilt.

The alley has two exits. It's not a dead end. Alec isn't completely stupid. In fact, he's actually being rather smart about this, because he can use the opportunity to catch his breath.

Which is why he glares at Richard so, when Richard's fingers shush him. He isn't talking. He's breathing hard, and it isn't his fault.

He also doesn't like being shushed at all, not by anyone, and it's only the fact that Richard is taking this breach of their peace so very seriously that holds his tongue for a few seconds.

Alec leans against the wall beside Richard. If he wasn't taller, he'd be completely hidden right now. He can't stand being silent; it's choking him. Alec leans over and breathes the words near Richard's ear. "Did you see their eyes?"

The strange eyes that glowed red in the darkness. Alec considered himself too enlightened to call them demons, yet… he's never seen eyes like that before.

Edited 2015-09-20 02:39 (UTC)

Alec is really being smart about this. Richard appreciates it, as well as the so, so quiet question.

He looks up over his shoulder, and his smile. His smile is really the kind that Alec ought to recognize, by now. Alec has given him a target, and Richard is not going to miss.

The eyes. They are not usually something he goes for, but these are hardly usual opponents. These are enemies, and Richard is going to treat them as such.

His eyes are still up on Alec's face when the first black-clad figure steps into the alley. And, a moment later, stumbles back, the tip of Richard's sword marking the dark fabric of his shirt.

With the next one, Richard goes for those glowing red eyes. The resistance is, as he sort of suspected, that of a protective helmet, but the figure, the hunter, still falls back, fumbling with the now darkened 'eye' that sparks, but is clearly not bleeding, and Richard gets to stab the third one in the arm before the pink cloud is expelled from his device, again.

He barely squeezes Alec's arm, this time, and only takes an instant before nodding in the other direction. More running.

Edited 2015-09-20 18:05 (UTC)

That went well. He had been expecting to be admonished for the question and preparing to both roll his eyes and ignore Richard. The smile disarms him, though. Richard is enjoying this.

But, then again, so is Alec. He likes this flirtation with death, despite its interference with his life. It makes him feel alive, when his breath becomes ragged and his body stiffens with nerves. When someone else bleeds. That release from seeing someone else still forever and the knowledge that he lives on.

They aren't dead, though, nor are they bleeding. It's very disappointing, but it's not Richard's fault. Normal men would be bleeding and dead. Of course, normal men would have swords. This doesn't make sense.

Alec registers the hand on his arm, but lingers a few more seconds, staring at the blackness that was a red eye in a covered face with no human features to be seen. When he does turn to flee, he takes but a few steps before more silhouettes stride into the other end of the alley.

Now, they're trapped. "... Richard."

Alec likes the flirtation with death, while Richard, Richard likes the challenge. And this is completely unknown, and he, he wants to win. (He also has no idea just how hopelessly he is outmatched, or he might have been smarter. But these things, these people. They are inconceivable.)

He's not very far ahead of Alec, because he waits for him; Alec is always, always his priority, anymore.

So when the figures appear in front of him - one of them drops from the rooftop, somehow! - he stops, backing up a step but not quite into his friend.

"Stay close to the wall, Alec. If the pink stuff appears, try not to breathe in."

And he charges. Of course he charges. The best defense is a good offense, and his... his is the best.

Richard is the best. Watching him work is better than any play; the man is an artist with a blade. Alec can't remember being worried when watching the man fight, even if he was the one who picked the fight. The worry comes after, when he thinks about how, someday, someone will best his friend, and then Alec will be alone.

He's been alone, for three whole days. He hates it more than living. It's duller than a garden party.

But this is wrong, this fight and the way it makes him feel... Richard shouldn't be charging. He should hang back, he always hangs back and waits for the other swordsman to make a mistake. There's something wrong, he wants to scream, but he doesn't dare distract the fighters.

Alec can't take his eyes off the charge. If he had, he might have noticed the men creeping up behind him and leveling their weapons. The hiss of gas is lost in the hiss of his breathing. He tastes it, that's how he first notices the pink substance. The taste of the air in his nostrils, mouth, lungs changes, and then the pink fog finishes encircling his head. He can feel - he can almost see the involuntary flare of his nostrils as they intake out of shock reflex.

"Too l-..." The world is already streaking out into a riot of color and starbursts of light, and Alec's eyes flicker to Richard. He wants to tell him how strong it is, that it's better than any drug Alec has tried, but his mouth won't work. His eyes roll back, and he can't quite finish the warning or the mental admonishment of no, want to look at Richard before his head cracks against the cobblestones.

"Alec!" Richard is ducking a thing pointed at him when he hears Alec's voice cutting off, and, a moment later, the crunch of head on pavement.

Richard's sword is not merciful, when it strikes again. He stabs somebody in the groin, a wound that he knows will bleed much and, even if it's stopped, will likely fester. His upstroke is perfect--

When something hits him in the back, making air whoosh out of his lungs and his balance falter for a fraction of a second. He takes a breath back in before his eyes register the unnatural color around him and he tries to stop it, but it's too late.

Richard yells, a half-growl that's more than part animal, with his rage and frustration, and he tries, tries, to catch one last look of Alec, to throw himself on top of him and protect him, even now.

Darkness overtakes him far too soon, the sword cluttering on the cobbles from him suddenly loose fingers.

The last few years had tried to teach Steve that almost anything was possible, far more than the strangeness of the war and world he had left behind - but these things took the cake. It had been more than a few hours since he had begun running and exploring through this half-warped reality where pieces of his life tore through the air like jagged wounds he could look into but do nothing about. Soon enough, the scenes started changing and he was wandering through strange terrain, too unsure of the scattered buildings until he saw someone stumbling into a tavern. And then a soldier-like figure clad in back.

Attention grabbed, he followed after to find a group of people laughing and wandering around lazily as if they were- Drugged? Steve only now noticed the strange scent on the air, that sickly, almost metallic scent that alerted him to danger. Thankfully, his metabolism ran harder and hotter than most - if it were going to act on him, it would take longer; he had to be quick and figure out what was going on here.

And get whoever had run in here out before it was too late.

He followed the soldier in black to the stairs and rushed them. There was no room here for using his shield, so he had to make do with a tackle and a rabbit punch; it was ruthless, but considering all the variables, known and unknown - better on the side of safety. He peered up over the stairs at the redhead sitting on the floor at the top of the stairs.

"You alright?"

In the world that Alec knows, the only person who will lift a finger to save his life is Richard St. Veir, and that was who he expected. He lived here as well, so it was a likely choice.

He has no idea who this blond man is. His first thought was that the man in black owed the second arrival money... although that didn't explain why the other one had been following him... Alec's head hurt trying to think about it.

"No, I'm not all right," he said in a clipped, petulant tone. He sat up and pushed his hair out of his face. If it was longer, it wouldn't be so much trouble all the time. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

The appropriate reaction was 'thank you.' It won't forthcoming. "These rooms are taken."

Except... now that he was waving his hand at them and looking around, he wasn't sure they're quite... the right ones. Confused, he scowled at the nearby chaise, as if it had done something wrong.

Thankfully, Steve's not a member of Alec's world as he knew it, because what kind of a world is it where no one will lift a finger to help another person out? He can read some of the pain and confusion in the other's voice and expression, imagining it's mostly due to whatever drug is getting pumped through here. There's already a dull pain humming at the base of Steve's skull as he rises to his feet.

"The name's Steve Rogers and I'm not interested in the rooms. This guy was following you." He grabbed the unconscious figure by his uniform and lifted him up just to show how dangerous he might have been. The outfit promised no good intentions. He dropped the soldier almost immediately; he was still breathing, which gave Steve some small relief.

"There's something in the air that's making people sick. We need to get out." Steve offered a hand to the redhead, hoping he could reach through whatever haze the gas was causing.

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TEST DRIVE MEME: THE SELF TITLED ALBUM

Alec Campion | Swordspoint

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