VoidTrecker Express Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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voidtreckerooc2021-04-16 06:00 am
voidtreckermods) wrote in voidtreckerooc2021-04-16 06:00 am
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Test Drive Meme 023
Welcome to the Test Drive Meme! Here is the place to see how your character might fit the setting, grab samples and have fun!
1. Post with your character, including their name and series in the subject. We’ve written out some prompts but feel free to make up your own, you have a whole train to play with!
2. Assume they've been around long enough for threads to jump right into the action.
3. Have lots of fun.
Happy testing!
Dio's Legacy
In an alternate almost exactly like the one inhabited by the Voidtrecker Express, fate went another direction. Instead of the first addition to the train's structure being the games carriage, this train's passengers voted differently.
What makes them happy?
Crocodiles.
The Crocodile carriage isn't a misnomer. It's teeming with reptiles of various sizes, basking under sunlamps or floating lazily in the raised tank built across half of the available space. To be even better for morale, they're all perfectly tame, and unnervingly friendly; it's rare that a passenger is able to cross the carriage without being accosted by some crocodile or gharial looking for attention.
Harvest Void
The greenhouse is a surprisingly bright room, its vaulted ceiling made of a transparent, incredibly tough material that shows the light of the Void along the entire length of the room. The single metal support beam is bedecked in roses. The aisle of grass running through the centre of the carriage is riotous with strange plants and flowers, small stone paths leading off to this patch or that of vegetables or closely clustered fruit trees.
And all of them are laden with produce. Whether a stray spell or a particularly good mood from one of the resident forces of nature, every plant in the carriage has matured at once. Shrubs overflow with berries, rows of stalks groan under beans and tomatoes, apples threaten to fall from overhead branches at any moment.
You may not normally be a gardener, but today it's all hands on deck!
Cold Iron, Warm Hearts
The duchy of Yipre is one of several close-knit factions on one continent, known for both her expansive clockworks and strong links to the Fey. Central to the capital is the Clocktower, the palace home to both the Duchess Stomen and her court of scholars, diplomats and engineers. Home also to a key point in the Ley, where the mundane world and the Fey intersect just enough that one may cross from one to the other.
But the Clocktower is sundered, entire sections of iron and brass sheared away in a great earthquake, and neither world is faring well in the aftermath.Team One
The gear sprites of the Clocktower are missing, running amok in the streets and squares of the duchy. They're tiny things, fluff, metal filings and dust made quicksilver-fast, with small, glowing eyes and bell-like voices. While normally they keep the machinery of their home running, they aren't nearly as talented with anything else, and are causing general chaos with all devices and machinery they run across. Find them, and herd them back to the Tower. Maybe get them out of the typewriter first.Team Two
The gateway to the Fey realm is torn, and dreaming magic is spilling out from the Clocktower. Finding the Voidtreckers' minds fertile grounds for its taking, imagined creatures and realms are conjured forth from all kinds of worlds and all kinds of lives. There are many ways to combat these - play them through until the magic is satisfied, for example, or find the Voidtrecker whose mind is the source, and stop them dreaming. It's up to the Voidtreckers on this team to decide.Team Three
The Clocktower isn't quite in ruins, but large sections are crumpled like tin foil. In other places, steam and magic spill out into the air in a chaotic mix, burning and twisting the air into glittering leaves or long ropes of thorn. And through this, those that called the palace home fight to free themselves from the wreckage. Courtiers, servants, engineers… and, somewhere, the Duchess herself. Help who you can, but find her.
Alex Price | InCryptid | OTA
"Well. Huh."
Pleasant surprise isn't quite the right way to describe Alex's tone. Tt's probably something closer to pleasant confusion with a healthy dollop of curiosity slathered over it. Or maybe unhealthy, since he ventures into the car only a few moments after opening the door.
"They're definitely crocodiles- I'd need a textbook to be sure about the species, but that one's almost definitely a saltwater, that one's a nile, American..." he trails off, trying to start to get a headcount, but wow do the babies move around a lot- though at least their sci fi ray-gun vocalizations keep them from getting too easily underfoot.
"All abnormally docile. Really abnormally."
As much as he wants to settle in and let the baby caimans swarm him, he's not trusting this situation.
They really are so cute though.
Harvest Void
There aren't many things that get Aislin mice as excited as food. And, as much as their "god" has tried to contain the exaltations of his two very tiny congregants, high-pitched cheers echo around the walls of the greenhouse every time Alex fills a bucket with more fresh blackberries. He'd volunteered for the thorn-laden duty, having had a lot of experience with the ever-encroaching bushes around his parents woodland property in Oregon.
"Hail the Filling of the Fifth Bucket!" proclaim the mice from where they're perched on a nearby apple tree branch. "Hail the Suspiciously Well Grown Bounty!"
"I'm not sure everyone here right now needs a bucket-to-bucket update on my progress," he tells the mice. His tone is conversational and a little weary. This is the kind of conversation he has with these creatures a lot, apparently.
Dio's legacy (is the BEST)
Now she's done thinking. The adult crocs glide away as she surfaces, a blunt-snouted head breaking the water with barely a ripple. She rises, a snake-like neck leading into broad shoulders, and wades through the pool. Grasping the barrier with long-fingered, claw-tipped hands, she vaults up and over the edge of the pool, sloshing a fair amount of water out with her.
What has just landed on the carriage floor is nothing less than an bipedal, human-sized crocodile monitor, wearing nothing but a leather shoulder harness with a badge affixed. Her tail is so long that the end of it is still in the pool. She blinks at the human she may or may not have just deluged, scents once with a long tongue, and says blandly, "Pardon me."
no subject
"No, sorry to intrude. I uh- I can leave if this is a 'no mammals allowed' zone, if you want?"
He smells more or less like a normal human- with some traces hinting at being in contact with a varied mix of animals. That might explain why there's no other layer of synthetic perfumes or other things that would bother sensitive noses (or beaks... or Jacobson's organs).
Harvest Void
So the cheers are enough of a surprise that she pauses where she's been divesting an overladen peach tree of its bounty nearby, glancing towards the source of the sound. Even with their decorations, it takes her a moment to spot the mice. Mice that can apparently talk.
This isn't the strangest thing she's ever seen. It's still pretty strange.
"I dunno, it could be good for morale, put everyone in the mood for competition." Her tone is casual, as is her posture as she momentarily abandons her post to saunter closer. It's entirely feigned. She's nowhere near jaded enough to make talking mice anything other than fascinating.
no subject
Remembering that he should probably employ some manners as well as realizing there are just some berries he's not going to reach without bleeding for them, he man the mice are cheering for emerges from the overgrowth. His fingertips are stained purple and berry juice has basically dyed his shirt in messy blotches.
There's a moment where he looks between Beau and the mice with the wary caution of someone protecting something very fragile. Deciding she's not a threat at the moment takes a fraction of a second, informed less by her body language than the way the mice are reacting- which is with equal curiosity.
"Hail the emergence of the God of Scales and Silence from the Vines of Sharp Thorns and Sweet Rewards!" cheer the mice once Alex has brushed the last of the leaves and twigs from his hair.
Deciding that giving the mice something to do besides cheer might be a nice change of pace for everyone in earshot, he takes several berries from a nearby vine that are too ripe to store, and sets them down on a thick treebranch for them to feast on.
no subject
She glances sidelong in his direction at the telltale rustle of human emerging from a thicket of thorns, but her attention only really catches at the mice's...unique greeting. Her eyes narrow slightly, and she studies him with something that isn't precisely hostile, but definitely skews towards suspicion.
"So, are you actually a god, or is this kind of a 'people used to worship storm giants' thing?"
no subject
It's as good of a explaination as any. "We think their religious inclinations are to ensure group survival, so we just kind of make do with the occasional religious festival in the living room and make sure the cheese supply never runs low."
There is cheering for the cheese supply, even if it's in another dimension. Still an act and pantry to be HAIL'ed.