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ABRAXAS MODS ([personal profile] abraxasmods) wrote in [community profile] abraxasooc2022-07-20 10:26 am
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TEST DRIVE MEME #8

TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to the eighth test drive meme for Abraxas! This meme is run a little bit differently than most in that you'll be asked to choose one of the three different arrival scenarios below for your character to take. If you have any questions about this mechanic or anything else related to the TDM, please take a look at the questions below or ask one of your own under the Questions header below. For general game questions please still use the FAQ.

Our Setting pages are full of information on the world of Abraxas, and an overview of the story so far can be found on our Game History page! Anything on that page - including information about the Horizon and the Singularity - can be assumed to be told to newcomers after they arrive, no matter which faction they are received in. For more information on Ambrose and the apprentice mages, Marlo, and Rowan, please see our NPCs page.

You can also find answers to questions asked on previous TDMs in their respective questions threads.

NOTED CURRENT EVENTS

◎ Rumor has it that two emissaries - a werewolf and a vampire - visited from Nocwich in early July. With them came some wares distributed to shops throughout each faction. A few sparse items may remain for purchase, such as glowing flowers or fine ales, but much of it has now been sold.

◎ New arrivals in THE FREE CITIES may hear a bit of chatter around Cadens about art, politics, and recent performances involving its sister city, Libertas. It's all standard fare - the kind of topics spoken about over a beer or in line at the market - but there's a small stir in the air.

◎ Lately, locals in SOLVUNN have begun to approach the Summoned with a sort of awe and respect. New arrivals will find themselves treated much the same way and may be asked for advice or given gifts that seem like offerings such as wine, harvest bounties, or some delicious goat cheese. Your character is free to turn these down and should they turn down enough people, they will not be bothered further as no one wishes to offend them.


Arrival

You awaken suspended in the abyss, silent darkness stretching out in all directions. If you try to yell, you'll find that the sound doesn't carry. If you try to move, you'll find it's impossible to tell whether or not you're actually getting anywhere. If you reach for an item you were carrying last time you remember being awake, your hand will only touch bare skin.

You're naked and floating helplessly through the void, and what little air you have in your lungs is running out.

There's a pinprick of light that almost looks like a faraway star but as it grows it becomes clear that it's actually quite close. Through the opening you can see a bright room, but it's hard to make out any individual objects, as if you're looking from beneath rippling water.

Scenario One: Welcome to Thorne

A hand plunges through and you realize water is just what it is. Whether you take hold of the hand or not it will grab you and yank you up through the surface, lifting you out until you're sprawled on solid ground. Once you catch your breath, you can get a better look at the surroundings: tall trees and even taller stone pillars surround the platform you're laying on. Behind you is an ornate fountain, the base of which is so deep and so dark you might be compelled to scramble away from it lest it suck you back in to that endless abyss. Ahead of you are the walls of a large castle with several tall towers reaching up towards the sky.

If you had any powers, they feel unusually weak. Attempts to use magic or enhanced strength or powers of any sort fizzle out without any effect, but they don't feel completely gone, either.

Set into an indent on a marble slab behind the fountain is a card bearing the image of one of the arcana.

An apprentice mage - the one whose hand lifted you out of the fountain - brushes the water off on their robes and runs back to join a group of three others, who all stare intently at a mage with highly decorated robes and a large, heavy book. He peers up at you for a moment and starts flipping through the book.

"One moment," he says, not bothering to look up from the tome. He looks tired. "I am Ambrose Rhett, the High Mage of the Kingdom of Thorne. We’ll explain everything in a moment, but for now, please calm down. You’re completely fine."

Regardless of your response, he keeps flipping through the pages, until he stops on one specific passage, stares at it for a moment, and then sighs with relief:

"Finally!"

Ambrose's expression brightens, relief visible across his features. He waves one of the apprentices over with a fine silk tunic, pants, and some basic sandals and with a wave of his hand they reshape to fit you perfectly.

"Oh, thank heavens," he says, closing the book and approaching you with a sort of worn-out relief. “I was beginning to believe we’d never get it exactly right.”

Now that he's not hunching over the book, he doesn't seem quite so stuffy and inapproachable. The apprentices all seem to visibly relax, and the one that handed you the tunic stops to take the tarot card down from the marble slab. If you show any curiosity about the card, they'll let you take a longer look, but won't let you touch it.

"Please, come with me," he says, motioning for you to follow him towards the castle. "As promised, my pupils will explain your current situation. And, ah - if you had any magic of your own, or other special abilities you can't access right now, fear not, they'll return within the week. The summoning takes a lot out of you."

One of the apprentices steps forward and rattles on and on about the castle, Thorne itself, the names of a bunch of royals and nobles, and of course, your reason for being here. The Kingdom and the world itself is in great peril, and tales of your exploits have reached far and wide across universes. If asked about these exploits, the apprentice will simply smile and shrug. The High Mage was happy to see you and that's good enough.

Once inside the castle you're taken to the North Wing, which has been set up as living quarters for you and your fellow newcomers. There are four people to a room, but each generously-sized bed has opaque curtains that can be drawn around it. You can meet your roommates here and discuss your shared situation (those who were previously brought in may have a great deal of information to tell you), or you can wander around and meet the others.

There's also a dining hall stocked with a rotating 24/7 buffet in celebration of the new honored guests. Somehow, your very favorite food is part of the rotation (or at least an attempted recreation of it given the limited technology available to the Thorneans). The town surrounding the castle is all abuzz as well, with most shops and services willing to give free samples of their wares to the new arrivals.

You may also notice that your sign is embroidered on your tunic: the same image you saw on the card from before with the name of the sign itself beneath it. If you ask the castle residents, they'll tell you a little bit about your sign (and will mostly stick to the positives, although some might point out the negatives).

Last (and, if you ask anyone else in the castle, least) there is a worn stone staircase leading underground to the dungeon. You can go there, if you wish, but all powers are restricted in the dungeons and most of the cells stand empty.

Scenario Two: Welcome to the Free Cities

You find yourself pulled from the water by a pair of strong hands. Dry warmth hits you at once as you're set on a warm hard floor. As your senses return you realize you're on dull ruddy stone and surrounded by strangers. Men and women in unfamiliar uniforms of brown and red leather stand in a semi-circle around a small pool of water. The very pool you were just pulled from. The water is still now, rimmed in pale gold tiles with odd symbols etched into them. Across it on the far side is a raised pedestal with a card propped on it. The card bears an arcana symbol.

You feel weak. Drained. Any abilities or magical powers you have seem far away and impossible to access. You're in what looks like a cave lit by dozens and dozens of torches set into the wall. There's no furniture or decoration to be seen besides the pool. It's almost uncomfortably warm and there's the sound of rushing wind somewhere in the distance. Flickering shadows obscure the faces of the guards. A robed woman stands off to the side, looking at you anxiously and then to the authoritative woman standing before you. She's grinning, dressed in a fancier uniform than the others. There's a sword at her hip. A guard covers you with a blanket and returns to their place in the semi-circle.

The woman with the sword gives a nod of approval and smiles warmly.

"Sorry about the circumstances."

She gives you a good hard look before standing again.

"Take a minute, catch your breath, you've had quite a shock. Take it nice and easy. I'm Prime Minister Marlo Reiner and you're in The Free Cities. That nice lady over there will explain everything to you and get you settled." A nod to the robed woman off to the side.

Marlo Reiner steps back and the robed mage approaches to help you up.

"Come with me, please." She brings you out of the cave through a corridor that angles upwards until you emerge in what looks like some kind of storage facility. Shelves of wooden boxes and cloth bags line them, unidentifiable parts of what might be machines are tucked into corners and propped against shelving units. "This is one of the Free Cities' outposts," the mage explains as she leads you. "We're honored to have you with us, I'm sure you have many questions but please save them. You need to recover!"

You'll learn you're in the Cadens Desert Outpost 003, a military outpost on the outskirts of Cadens city. You're brought to a room in the barracks that's been prepared. Each barracks room is rather sparse and utilitarian. Six simple beds set against the wall, three on each side of the room, each with a trunk at the foot of it. You're told the world is in a delicate and dangerous times and you're needed to help. You're important, you're told, and they're very grateful you're here.

You're asked to stay close for the time being, but to make yourself at home. The outpost is more a proper military base than the name implies, with full facilities. The barracks have a communal bathing room at the end of the hall, with curtains that can be pulled around the individual raised round tubs for privacy. There's a mess hall that has food available from sun up till a few hours after sundown. You're even encouraged to make use of the training grounds, if you'd like, with non-lethal training weapons available for use and obstacle courses set up. And the city of Cadens is only a couple of hours away by wagon - though you're asked initially to please be back at the outpost within a few hours of the sun going down.

For your own safety.

Scenario Three: Welcome to Solvunn

The feeling of floating is the first sense that comes to you as the edges of unconsciousness start to ebb. Sunlight filters through the rippling water as you open your eyes, making you squint. Before you have the chance to panic and inhale, firm hands grasp your arms and pull you to the surface of the water. Moments later, soft warmth is wrapped around your shoulders as you're guided on unsteady legs out of a pool of water. You're lowered to the soft grass. Men and women in simple garments with lavish embroidery stand by, waiting with bated breath, glancing seriously at an old man in an ornate robe. He holds an old leather-bound book in one hand and in the other is a card bearing an arcana symbol. His eyes move quickly over the page, and he mumbles idly to himself.

Any strength you may have possessed feels as though it has slipped through your fingers. Any abilities or magical powers you have don't come to the surface no matter how hard you try. You're in a grassy clearing in the midst of a circle of large stone slabs stacked to look like doorways. In the middle is the same glimmering pool you were just pulled from. A gentle breeze blows through, carrying the scent of flowers and herbs from an ornately decorated altar set off in front of one of the stone doorways. The mage closes his book and steps out of the water, addressing a matronly old woman. Behind her are two younger people, a rough-looking man, and a meek young girl, both of whom are also watching the mage.

“I detect no ill will from the gods, it seems we've been blessed with success.” Those that had gathered all breathe a sigh of relief and now seem pleased.

The old woman smiles and steps forward, offering to take your hands and help you stand. “Any gift the gods give us is one we will happily take. I'm certain you have many questions, and they will all be answered in time. For now, rest and know you will be taken care of.”

She pats the top of your hand and steps away with a serene smile, letting one of the others come forward with some clothes that seem to fit you perfectly. Once you're dressed, someone approaches to drape a delicate-looking charm depicting a long-horned creature with large wings on a thin chain over your neck. Ask around later, and you may find that it is a symbol of Vielehauffe, the God of the Herd.

The rough-looking man from before steps forward once you're decent and motions with his head outside of the stone circle. His speech is informal, his consonants harsh.

“Hold your horses, I can see all those questions coming about! Rowan March, at your service. I'm one of the council members of Solvunn. There's a lot to discuss, but it's best talked about over a hot meal.” He leads you to a horse-drawn carriage and helps you up into the back. He talks the entire ride to the settlement.

You find out you are in the Primary Settlement, the first of three that make up Solvunn's great territory. The settlement is situated between two lakes and is humming with life. You're brought to the center of town and escorted to an apartment above one of the establishments in town. Rowan explains that the living conditions are temporary if you'd like them to be, that local families would also be happy to host you in their home. That there are others like you who have also taken up residence within the three settlements. You're told that the world hangs upon the brink of disaster and that there are those in this world that are happy to see it fall to ruin with their meddling.

You're important. The gods have graced them with your presence. They're delighted you're here. Welcome to Solvunn.

Everything you need has been provided in this humble apartment, and if it hasn't, there are shops that line the streets and a marketplace in the center of town. Owners of some establishments or stalls are more than happy to give out samples or barter with your time for their goods. Babysitting can be a very lucrative business. You're told of the other settlements, that they'd like you to stay here for now, but if you can find a family to host you, the secondary and tertiary settlements are best to get to with an escort.

There are tales of travelers visiting the secondary settlement without invitation disappearing without a trace. The gods are as hungry as they are protective, young traveler.

You’ll find that there are more than enough activities to throw yourself into to better settle into your new life in Solvunn. Work is done in the first part of the day so that families can spend the rest of it together in leisure and work on their crafts - whatever those may be. For those children who are not of school age, they need nannies or storytellers, and there’s always a gaggle of them running about unsupervised. Families with livestock can always take a spare hand, especially since farms are so spread out, they have a tendency to wander. Whatever skills you may possess can always be of use to the community or to honor the gods.

If any of these options are no good for your lifestyle, the main roads between settlements can always use a bit of monster clean-up… just make sure you don’t go alone.




Questions


How many slots are open?
Please check the Taken page for how many player, franchise, and canon slots are available. Activity check will be processed before applications open, so the count may change between now and then. Existing players can apply for a second character without restriction.

How do I choose a scenario for my character?
Pick whichever situation appeals to you most. Which faction your character is drawn into has nothing to do with their personal morality, beliefs, or how highly they regard themselves and their own accomplishments. Anyone can be put into any one of the situations.

Can I try out more than one scenario?
You can! But please keep in mind that only the one you eventually choose can be game canon, if you decide to keep any of your TDM threads.

What happens if my character refuses to comply with the NPCs?
They will be forgiven for their moment of panic or anger if they have one, and the faction leaders will try to calm them and persuade them further. If they put up too much of a fight and/or start actively attacking anyone, they will be warned once that everyone is willing to put them back in the well where they came from (see below), and if they continue to fight they will make good on that promise.

My character intends on causing a lot of trouble (destroying parts of the cities, murdering the NPCs, etc.), what would happen to them?
Characters who make too much trouble for the mages and other NPCs would be thrown back in the well (which will mean drowning in the void, not returning home). Brawling with other PCs and causing minor damage is fine and will be greeted with a cranky attitude and intervention from various NPC guards, and there will be plenty of opportunity for destruction and murder later, but for now the Abraxans have no desire to keep huge liabilities around.

I want to wildcard a prompt or use one of the prompts from an earlier TDM that isn't on this one (eg. the library), can I do that?
Yes, in terms of the settings. As Thorne is no longer imprisoning any newcomers, that option is no longer applicable.

Is the power loss for characters permanent?
No, but it does take a week or so for their powers to be back in full, and certain powers (determined on a case-by-case basis) may require nerfs. If your character has world-breaking powers, please discuss with the mods what modifications may be necessary.

Can my character leave the bounds of the faction?
In Thorne, characters can leave the castle but not the city. In Cadens, they can take a trip from the outpost to the city. In Solvunn, they can explore the entirety of the Primary Settlement.

Can my character eventually change factions?
Yes. While the faction borders are currently closed, there will opportunities in the future for characters to relocate. For the time being, they are stuck where they are.

How much will my choice of scenario affect my character's plot later on?
This choice will determine where your character initially lives as well as the bias of the information they receive from NPCs (although other PCs can and most likely will give it to them a bit more straight). This decision - and every other major decision you make in game! - will also be used to flavor some mod surprises that will be coming down the line.

Don't get too anxious about this choice, though; this is just one choice you'll get to make in a game that has a lot of them, and every character in every scenario can work their way towards many, many individual goals and outcomes. You're not locking yourself out of anything in the future via the choice you made on the TDM. It will primarily impact the immediate future with the far-reaching effects being up to each player.

Are TDM threads mandatory for my application?
No, you may use other samples, but we encourage you to post to the TDM and get a feel for this game and its mechanics before you join. If you do not have a TDM thread you will still need to choose one of the three scenarios on your application.

What if I haven't settled on a sign yet?
You can ignore sign-related prompts if you're undecided (or try out different signs in different threads).

Can my character go to the Horizon?
First time visitors to the Horizon must be taken there by other characters, through either shared meditation or a physical journey to the Singularity, and all first-timers experience memory loss. For the purposes of the TDM, we suggest against using the Horizon.

What about making use of the network?
Much like Horizon they would need to be introduced to it by another PC, as no NPCs would be aware of the network or be able to access it. Because of this we would advise against using this mechanic for TDM top-levels.


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outwear: (7.)

[personal profile] outwear 2022-10-16 02:07 am (UTC)(link)
The tension that Jo's attempting to usher out finds its way to Sam with each passing word of explanation. His eyebrows dip lower and lower and before he knows it, his face is deeply set with a frown; Resting Sam Face™️ (RSF™️), we'll call it. He's processing this as well, slotting it in with the quiet discussions he'd overhead on his way around the barracks. It fits.

"That's somehow suspiciously specific and still incredibly vague," he notes, gently. "I was able to find out there's a government in place as well as some universities so I don't doubt the specifics are out there. I just don't understand why us."

As far as Sam's concerned, none of them seem like the type to get involved in political intrigue. War, yes. But even then, the Winchesters aren't front lines types. Harvelles just the same. They're specialists and maybe that's what they're looking for when they're bringing them here, but if that's the case then they've certainly buried the lede on that.

It's more than enough to threaten to draw Sam's attention away altogether, but he reels in the urge and says, "Tell me more about what you've been doing here. And how I can help."
righteously: (¹⁰ 3554995_900)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-16 11:32 am (UTC)(link)
He grunts out a soft sound about those usual suspects — it sounds like you're not wrong, but also... also, yeah, they're gonna wanna talk about how much of a problem the usual suspects currently are.

He asks one of the obvious questions, and Dean shoots him a meaningful look as they walk. Jo — yeah, he knows. It's nuts, it's absolutely insane. Great, but unbelievable.

"So far, my count's seven," he says grimly. "Seven from our world, from back home. Not all of 'em are here, a couple are on the other side of the continent."

Which is probably for the best, at least for now. Harder to keep a leash on them, harder to hunt them, but also harder for them to screw with Dean and Sam — or the people around them.

"The short version is they've been yanking people in from all over the multi-verse, from different points on the timeline. That rock- they told you about the Singularity, right? It's this huge magical power source, this whole place is practically in a war over what to do with it. Some of 'em think there's something apocalyptic about it. Apparently they're grabbing anybody with the slightest chance to be useful."

And considering the near-apocalypse or three that happened back home, well, maybe that's what got them targeted? Who knows.
Edited 2022-10-16 11:33 (UTC)
righteously: (easycompany-spn9x4-125)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-16 11:45 am (UTC)(link)
Dean's eyebrows slowly creep up his forehead as the whole scene unfolds. This guy cutting himself off, the way he glances around, the practically accusatory look he shoots at the guano on the seat next to him, the way he changes spots abruptly.

Hard to know for sure if that's the guy being prissy, or if he's just trying to be subtle about moving in for a potentially controversial conversation. Either way, he's met with a faintly incredulous pause for his troubles.

"Before or after we snuggle?" He asks in flat deadpan — not outright unkind, it doesn't read as particularly mean or legitimately judgmental. He's just a salty guy with a mouth and little regard for his filter. He plows on, rather than waiting for a real answer. "It's a long story, and it involves, like, six different things that are gonna make you look at me like I'm six pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. You maybe wanna- I don't know- spend a day getting acclimated before adding more to the pile?"

He's not trying to be a dick. It's coming from a place with genuine intentions — he was new here once, too. He knows how it feels. Plus, he's done this whole new arrival thing more than a handful of times by now, he's seen the sheer quantity of crap people have to process. The stress that ensues. The way it sometimes sits better when dished out in bite-sized chunks, easier to metabolize.
oversight: ([±] waitin' round)

[personal profile] oversight 2022-10-16 01:09 pm (UTC)(link)
As far as Blake's concerned there's nothing particularly prissy about not wanting to find himself jarred into bird shit, but Dean is certainly not wrong: Blake is particular. In fact, he's particular about being particular, even, often the pendant in residence (or wagon-side, at least). It works, though — a good look on him that does become (very, very slightly) more bearable over time when his clear and decent intentions become more obvious.

"If it's all the same to you," he says, "I'd rather not waste the opportunity for information exchange." Never mind that Blake's intuition has been tingling since arrival, he's eager for this opinion specifically because it's dissenting. Even if he weren't lingering on the precipice of doubt regarding the political and social landscape of Free Cities and the surrounding settlements, he would still want to know the gamut of perspectives if only to better orient himself with others along that landscape. Finding the right people early is imperative.

"I can give a little snuggle if it's gonna nudge you along," Blake adds without missing a beat. He'd initially convinced himself not to rise to the other man's exasperation, but being that he has exactly the clothes on his back to his name at the moment, he doesn't think it's so untoward to change seats and preserve that.

(Perhaps a little vanity is involved, too, but that will be much harder to pick up, all things considered. Give him days without a shave, weeks without a haircut, and he will be insufferably obvious about it.)

Alternatively, if Dean can't handle the invasion, he can regain his space by joining the bird shit across the way. So, what's the math? Is bird shit greater-than, equal-to, or less-than preferable to Robin John Blake?
righteously: (2469620_900)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-16 01:59 pm (UTC)(link)
I can give a little snuggle if it's gonna nudge you along.

It's a solid return, one that earns a snort from him — and unlocks a level in the dialogue tree. Says a lot about a guy, that he can roll with punches like that. That he's willing to toss back some attitude without any real offense wrapped up in it. It takes a certain type of person, and that type's usually better suited to receiving complicated news.

"You're not wasting anything," he says eventually, with a sigh. "When we get to the city, I'll take you to the place most of us hole up. There's an inn there, kind of the unofficial hub for the sorry bastards that get pulled into this mess. Trust me, you're gonna have more than one opportunity for an intel debrief, but with the added bonus of some discount consolation booze."

In other words: you're probably gonna need it.

But he's not shutting the whole thing down right now, he's not unwilling to do a Q&A session. Just... maybe they better cover the foundations first before they build on them, huh?

"You from Earth? America, twenty-first century?"
oversight: ([-] they're out of donuts)

[personal profile] oversight 2022-10-16 02:56 pm (UTC)(link)
He doesn't say that discounted booze is still too expensive, that he's functionally homeless and destitute. Beyond being a personally difficult thing to admit for reasons stretching back more than a dozen years, it's also nothing this man will need to be told. Blake's new. Of course he can't afford booze. Or food. Or clothes. No, if the qualifier's included, he has to expect that the invitation also comes with the impression that even this far into his tenure, Dean still needs the discount. Troubling.

"Is this... not Earth?" That question leaves all the hairs he has standing on end, eyes locked on Dean's face for any sign of amusement hidden in his features. If it's a joke, he's got a hell of a poker face and Blake returns it despite his obvious need to grapple with the concept. He had assumed, as Terrans are wont to do. He had assumed, as Americans are wont to do. The detective within him shakes a disappointed head. Stupid, kid.

"Earth, yeah. America, twenty-first— Are you telling me that—?" Okay, so maybe that composure is slipping a little and Blake swallows down the urge to groan his frustrations up into the sky. He runs his hands down his face, stops over his mouth and sucks in a deep breath before unfurling again. "Okay. Okay." Not okay. "Diff'rent world, sure—" Not sure. "–but a diff'rent time? Guess that— 20,076 number might look like it means somethin' but it really doesn't if this isn't Earth. 20,076 revolutions around another sun ain't exactly gonna line up. Might even be the same..."

Christ. Even Dean's metered approach is perhaps too much for Blake. His labored, logy mind is churning. It's chewing up anything coming in and it's hard to reform properly what he wants to express on its way back out. With the incredibly poor decision to leave the barracks without taking the time to recharge his batteries, he's left to cope with these initial brain-breaking concepts with much fewer spoons than he'd like.

(He'll take that snuggle now, thanks.)
righteously: (⁸ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ?)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-16 03:09 pm (UTC)(link)
He doesn't need discount anything, not anymore. Shockingly, hunting pays actual money here — and a damn decent amount, too. He's just always gonna be of the opinion that discounted booze is superior to overpriced booze, whether or not he can afford it. He likes a bargain, sue him.

But never mind that right now, new guy says is this not Earth? and Dean lets out a low, sad whistle. It sounds an awful lot like, wow, you poor son of a bitch. He gives Blake a moment or two to have his crisis, before muttering lowly, "Boy, they sure are skimping on the orientation these days."

Usually somebody way better at this has at least a light version of this conversation with the newly summoned well before Dean every talks to them.

Alright, intervention time, before the guy spirals out. Dean leans forward a little, resting is elbows on his knees. Back sloping, body language angled Blake's direction — some solid bedside manner, instinctively reassuring. Clearly well-practiced; might be easy to pick up on the fact that he's in the business of giving bad news to victims, to civilians.

"Alright, man. Take a breath. What's your name?"
outwear: (4.)

[personal profile] outwear 2022-10-16 03:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Seven. The number sticks in Sam's head. He tries to recount who all he means as they were provided. Jo had given him some names: Dean, Jo, Cas(s), Claire (who had been noted to be some time from their futures). And Sam. That's five. The troubling omissions set Sam on edge. Something tells him that it's not Bobby and Ellen filling out that roster. That his brother notes the others are elsewhere certainly adds another layer to this unfortunate realization. Crowley? Cain? (He doesn't dare bring Lucifer's name into things and he plum forgets about Adam.)

Ugh. He'll think more on all of that... later.

"Well, for a second I questioned why us but now it makes total sense." If they're not notorious for saving the world, preventing the apocalypse, he doesn't know who is.

"So, how do we know we're from the same universe?" Dean had said multi-verse, after all.
oversight: by: hobbitholmes (dw) ([±] notes)

[personal profile] oversight 2022-10-16 03:55 pm (UTC)(link)
What isn't obvious now is that Blake hadn't really given them a chance to run him through orientation properly. His questions had been immediate and pointed and at the end of the day they must have felt it was easier to wait and try again. They certainly hadn't expected him to bolt with no intention of coming back.

(Stupid, maybe, but he wouldn't have trusted anything they'd said, anyway.)

"It's Blake," he says, miserably. "John Blake," by habit of clarifying (in part). Saying it does little to ground him any more than the rest and he feels almost free-floating in the fog of uncertainty. It feels like a dream. A too-real dream if the sandy grit rubbing between his clenched teeth is any real indication.

"At the barracks everyone was talkin' 'bout the Singularity," Blake adds. He fishes into the nearly useless pockets of the provided attire and out comes a couple small sheets of paper he'd folded into quarters. He unfolds it all, reads what he's written aloud.

"'Source of "magic,"'"— The pencil hand signifies the parts he finds suspect with the very effective double-quotation. "'–functionally neutral, "off-limits," connects to "horizon"'– people were real interested in that but no one seemed to say much other'n what I bothered writin' down: 'Dream, hallucination, group hallucination, "magic-driven,"' and then the rest's just a few names I took down."

He's re-centering. Orienting on these notes to bring him back to something more solid under his feet. He appreciates the room to breathe Dean's allowed and will pretend he hadn't seen the blip in that generally tight façade.
righteously: (¹⁰ 2353480_900)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-16 04:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Blake. Last name first. That's a clue to something, too — going by your last name is more common in certain professions, and this guy doesn't look like a football player. He does look like a Blake.

That scrap of paper's another little hint, another bit of evidence. Note-taking, research. He's not a hunter, Dean knows that much right off — most hunters wouldn't be quite as uprooted by the concept of other worlds. None that have been in the business for any real length of time, anyway.

The singularity, magic, those are... some pretty big ones to tackle too, considering the dude's still processing not being on planet Earth anymore, so he gently puts them in reverse again. Backs up a few paces.

"Hi, Blake. I'm Dean. From Kansas- more or less. From sometime around 2014." Give him a little bit of a frame of reference, something familiar to orient himself around. "About half of us are from the same general time period. Different versions of Earth, though. Mostly the same, but a few differences. The rest of us are from... hell, I don't know. Other places, anywhere from Lord of the Rings to freakin' Star Wars, it doesn't seem to matter to the ones pulling us through."

Take a second to let it sink in — he won't mention that he's being pretty god damn literal about that Star Wars thing.

"This world's called Abraxas. One continent that we know of, three major factions, two of 'em are at war. The one we're in's called the Free Cities, and we're headed to a place called Cadens. If it makes you feel any better, yearly orbit around the sun's pretty much the same. Off-brand medieval Christmas is comin' up in a couple months, if you wanna start thinkin' about presents early. I'm a gift card guy."
Edited 2022-10-16 16:20 (UTC)
righteously: (613)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-16 04:41 pm (UTC)(link)
"Honestly?" He asks, leveling Sam with a long, assessing look. Rhetorical question, obviously, and he doesn't wait for an answer. "I don't give a crap. Seriously. I mean it. Couldn't care less. I'm me, you're you, and unless you plan on dropping the bomb that you're from planet Gleep Glorp where everybody eats Soylent Green for people meat, as far as I'm concerned? Close enough."

Which is to say, he's missed his brother way too god damn much to get hung up on it. Beyond that, there's not a single version of Sam that he wouldn't treat like Sam. Their lives are weird, and he doesn't have the slightest clue how to go about determining whether different points in time equal different universes, who's on first, what's on second, which of them is from Earth 616 and which is from Earth 616 and a half.

Screw it. Who needs the headache?
oversight: ([-] what the hell did I do?)

[personal profile] oversight 2022-10-16 04:58 pm (UTC)(link)
The shift in reality as he knows it is wild. Blake feels for a moment like the whole world is tilting and that at any second he might lose an already scrabbling grip and tumble right off the side, straight into the void. He's rarely so wrong but his expectations and the conditions of his career (read: life) are formed around the known — the well-known. The unknown is an incredibly uncomfortable place — something he (like everyone else here) hadn't bargained for, but also tease at effectively removing the fangs that make him such a dangerous detective.

He takes a very slow breath in and releases it even more slowly. And then he's twisting inward, knees knocking Dean's as he flattens the paper on seat in the space he'd made between them and begins writing with a blunt half-pencil (no eraser).

Messy shorthand notes. Dean - Kansas, Earth – 2014... He writes the ellipsis, too and his hand stills momentarily after. That's two years into his future. (Is it any more or less ridiculous than the rest he's being fed?) He keeps going but flips to s different page. It's already got a Free Cities header, a Cadens subhead. At the top, he begins in full capitals: A B R A X—

A grove in the seat catches the paper and pencil tip just so and the top snaps clean off. Dammit.

"Borrow your knife?" Never mind the acknowledgement, the nice to meet you. A disappointing tunneled vision. It overcomes Blake and his eyes ping to meet Dean's before he even realizes he's holding his hand out expectantly. He licks his lips, swallows, blinks twice. "Please."
righteously: (⁸ I sᴀɪᴅ ʜᴇʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴛʜɪs)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-16 05:16 pm (UTC)(link)
He's quiet while the guy scribbles. Could say he doesn't need to be jotting all this down, that it'll become common knowledge soon enough. He could say who gives a crap that I'm from Kansas?

But he recognizes a coping mechanism when he sees one, and it ain't like he's not used to a little detailed note-taking himself. He's got a whole stack of crap belonging to both himself and his father that are just about as detailed for things that seemed completely pointless at the time. A surprising amount of it came in handy later.

The pencil snaps.

Man, it sure isn't this poor guy's day, is it?

"Do you one better," he says, dipping over to one side to root around in the pack he's got at his feet. He pulls out a quill previously tucked in a leather-bound journal and offers it over. "It's self-inking. Pretend it's a pen."

Yep. That's right. It's a god damn enchanted quill. He clicks his teeth, shakes his head, and tacks on a pleasant, "Welcome to Hogwarts."
outwear: (23.)

[personal profile] outwear 2022-10-16 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Another sterling example of Dean's faith. Sam tries his best not to let the doubt seep into the places where his brother's now passed through, like cobwebs disturbed in a long-abandoned hall. It breezes through Sam's head like the wind in his (luxurious) hair and he feels an ache in the hollow places of him that are never filled.

"It's actually Soylent Red," he quips gently, the corner of his lips tugging into an understated smile. Dean's right (for now, he hears himself say) and despite the way that Sam's attention seems to be lingering on Dean's forearm, he doesn't make any more of a big deal about his reservations. It's never Dean's problem – his stout resolve is unshakable – but Sam knows better than to linger too deeply on the thought else he disrupt the flow of their ease here and now.

"You're right; we're us no matter what," he agrees, perhaps with the usual quiet disappointment he always feels when he thinks about who (and what) he is (and who or what he might have become).

He lifts his hands, palms up. "So, now what? How do I help?" Details will come. For now Sam feels tragically behind and the race to catch up nips hard at his heels.
oversight: ([±] feelin' bookish)

[personal profile] oversight 2022-10-16 08:12 pm (UTC)(link)
It's several hours later, as predicted, when the wagon comes rolling into the outskirts of town. The sun's sitting low on the horizon, the smooth gradient sky leading crystal clear down to the horizon, captivating at every moment. Cadens still buzzes, even on its edges, as many pass from one part of their lives to the next. People are returning from work or from the market or from elsewhere in no short supply.

The conversation had slowed to a trickle thirty, maybe forty minutes earlier – mostly Blake's exhaustion finally catching up — but in the time before, as they were taken at a snail's pace crawl across the desert landscape together, under Dean's gentle hand, Blake had managed to use the impressive magical quill to great effect. He's now got three full pages – double-sided, though small – with little tidbits of information he'd neglected to pick up when he'd breezed through the outpost much earlier in the day. Thank god for small favors (and Karen, especially, for her impeccable timing).

For a short while, Blake sleeps. Whether by the charity of Dean's companionship ensuring him safety, simply the exhaustion dogging him, or both, doesn't so much matter as much as the short-term benefits it will provide in getting him through the rest of this day. Arms tucked tight against his core, hands in his pits, he bobs gently with the movement of the wagon, head dipped in the unattractive way it does when an old(ish) guy falls asleep waiting outside the Dress Barn for his dear wife. Occasionally he shifts into Dean's space, bumps shoulder-to-shoulder, but he rights himself naturally like a man used to this sort of thing.

It's the slowdown coming into town that rouses Blake, the shift in momentum noticeable. Inhaling a deep breath, head lifting to look around, he's forgotten for a second where he is and his flare of concern is punctuated by both hands dropping to grip tight on the seat.

"Shit—" Soft, it's barely anything. He clearly hadn't meant to fall asleep.

The desert sun has reddened his cheeks, the tips of his ears, the high points of his face — taken away some of that under-base that keeps him fair. And because the desert is vast and empty, the sun dipping below the horizon means even a whiff of a breeze feels more cutting than it should with that color of the sun. He really isn't built for this sort of landscape (and it's almost as if Abraxas wants to make that very clear to him).

Releasing his iron-clad grip on the seat, he pumps his fists briefly to encourage some circulation, but he's fighting off the grogginess pretty hard here while he tries to take in the sudden bustle around them.

"What'd I miss?" And when did it get dark?
righteously: (¹⁰ 2347886_900)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-17 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Aw, adorable. Look at that, little guy's all tuckered out.

Which is to say, Dean's not a huge fan of randos getting friendly with him on day one without even buying him dinner first, but he gets it. Those hours spent catching John Blake up on the basic state of the world gave him more than enough of an opportunity to see how exhausted and overwhelmed the guy is — and that's the only thing that keeps him from giving him a little shove when he falls asleep and starts leaning. It's not a big deal. Let the man sleep.

They start rollin' into town, and Blake wakes up moments before Dean would've shaken him for their stop. He's just started shrugging on the straps to his bag when the groggy question floats up.

"Not much, just a swarm of ninjas. Must've been maybe twenty, thirty? Don't sweat it, the Kung Fu master had it handled." He swats Blake's chest absently with the back of his hand and makes to stand. "Come on, we'll get you set up with a room. I know one that's empty."

That last bit... maybe a little more grim than he meant to let slip, but the letter Claire left him's still fresh.

He barely waits for the wagon to roll to a halt before hopping off the back.
righteously: (¹⁰ Oʜ ɴᴏ)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-10-17 05:55 pm (UTC)(link)
It's actually Soylent Red - god bless you, Sam. Jo's the only other person here who gets his references, and her default response tends to be shooting him an unimpressed look or giving him shit about it. Nice to have someone who can riff back.

Less great: noticing the way Sam's eyes drop to his forearm. For a fleeting moment, it makes his jaw set — but he shrugs it off. Pushes it down immediately. It's not gonna be a thing, not right here, not right now. Not today.

We're us no matter what.

Yeah. For better or for worse.

"Now, we get you to the city. Get you a room, some clothes, get you strapped. Hope you're ready to brush up on your fencing." Because guns are rare and expensive; he's got a rifle strapped to his back, but it took him months of saving up and some serious sweet-talking a gunsmith to get it. Jo still doesn't have one. It's gonna be a sword-heavy season, brother. "Then we make friends with a bottle of whiskey, and I'll fill you in."

They make it to the stables, where he intends to saddle up and ride them back.

Except Karen takes one look at this bullshit and draws her line in the fucking sand. Really, who could blame her?
outwear: (20.)

[personal profile] outwear 2022-10-18 12:49 am (UTC)(link)
Amazing how easily Dean doesn't miss a single step. He's envious. And really, if Sam has suspicions that Dean is anything but utterly, vocally ecstatic about his appearance, it's not because of how Dean is acting. As always, Dean's enthusiasm brightens Sam in a wary way. There are times when he'll do just about anything to keep Dean from worrying. Of course, there are other times when Sam will string him along like a puppet only to cut the strings and watch him crumple, but that's not today and it's never meant to be any day, really.

"Well." Sam laughs. "Honestly, I don't blame her." Looking at the ornery horse, he feels almost as if they're eye-to-eye (probably because they are). Stepping closer, he holds out a hand and waits for Karen to give a sniff. She doesn't seem uninterested, but the flare of white in her eye signals Sam to leave her be for the moment.

He turns back to Dean, hands held together in front of him like he's patting dough. "So, now what? Hitch a ride with a caravan?"

As Sam stands there expectantly, Karen clops up slowly and nickers causing the large man to jump. Dipping briefly, he looks back over his shoulder and then tries to sidestep out of Karen's way. Karen follows, of course, so that she may test the Pert Plus formula used in Sam's hair with her floppy horse lips.

Sam is clearly not amused, but... he tolerates it. For Karen.
oversight: ([±] welp)

[personal profile] oversight 2022-10-18 01:55 am (UTC)(link)
It takes a bit longer for Blake to work his way off the back of that wagon, and as his feet touch down on something much more resembling civilization, he's rubbing the sleep from his eyes to take it all in.

Cadens looks fantastical. The walled city reminds Blake of many a book set in times and places where castles and kingdoms were the norm. Parapets, battlements, moats, tall arrow windows — it's all right there as if he'd stepped into a very elaborate movie set. Where it differs, Blake notes, comes first to him in the attire. It's richer than that what's been described in his history books (although still nothing he can imagine himself wearing).

He catches up to Dean, saying, "Listen, Carl Douglas, I'll need some work, too. There anything to be made dispatchin' ninjas in these parts?" Because as nice as it is to have a room for the night, Blake makes no bones about needing to immediately address his human needs: air, food, water, shelter, clothing, sleep, and—

"No, never mind all that. I gotta take a piss like a race horse," he admits. It was a long fucking wagon ride, okay? "So maybe if you don't wanna see me do the dance..." Point him towards a bathroom. Or tell him that his destination is immediately on the right.
thedevilwhorose: » mental (like a worm in the dirt)

[personal profile] thedevilwhorose 2022-10-20 12:37 am (UTC)(link)
[it could work

with enough practice and focus

and Lucifer not being the determined little shit that he is]


Now, Sam, that's not very nice.

Alright, how about this: ask me something about this place. If I know the answer I'll tell you--I'm not in the same place Big Brother is. Why would I lie to you?
outwear: (7.)

[personal profile] outwear 2022-10-20 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
[ Prayer hands for Sam, tbh. Although... the lure of information might be too strong to pass up. He never really has known what's good for him. ]
Where are you?
thedevilwhorose: (went down to the river)

[personal profile] thedevilwhorose 2022-10-20 12:51 am (UTC)(link)
Thorne.

We'll even call that a freebie; after all, your brother already has that information.
Edited 2022-10-20 00:52 (UTC)
outwear: (10.)

[personal profile] outwear 2022-10-20 01:00 am (UTC)(link)
Strings always attached.
thedevilwhorose: » hallucination (you're the paint can)

[personal profile] thedevilwhorose 2022-10-20 01:07 am (UTC)(link)
Maybe.

Maybe not.

But you can't tell me you aren't at least a little interested.
outwear: (17.)

[personal profile] outwear 2022-10-20 01:11 am (UTC)(link)
I don't think it matters what I tell you.
You've already made up you mind.






[ But you're not wrong. He is curious. ]