voidtreckerooc | Test Drive 032

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!tdm

Test Drive 032

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!

Culinary Containment

Every month, the train's stores are filled with crates of ingredients for use by its passengers. And every month, one ingredient is the focal point of all recipes. Potatoes, cinnamon, seaweed… but as the train pulls away from the station this month, there seems to have been a blip in the system when it comes to deciding on a biologically-appropriate foodstuff.

Spilling out from the storage carriage and into the kitchen are hundreds of live frogs. They're in the sinks, they're in the ovens, they're hopping alarmingly close to the transgates that link the area up to the sleepers...

Vote-Rigging

At the behest of its passengers, the train has instituted a voting system to allow for more carriage options and upgrades. Passengers are able to submit new ideas, or crowdfund those already suggested...

It's the night before platform, and all through the train, no one was stirring... Apart from your group, with your stockpile of a thousand points and the luminous voting panel you're all currently pouring them into. Bouncy castle carriage? Funded! Fishing carriage? Funded! Clocks? Eh... You have the points. Funded!

Then it's simply a matter of waiting for the morning, and seeing the chaos you've caused to the layout of the Voidtrecker Express. What new delights have you discovered?

Repo Train

The Void Ministry have another task for the Express: locating and repossessing the contents of a number of minor storage craft in an old mercantile zone. The coordinates are given, a small fleet of space-worthy craft and sufficient hazmat gear has been deposited at the meeting site for Voidtrecker use.

The main area is cushy enough, a round communal area surrounded by living pods renovated for basic Voidtrecker requirements. The hangar above allows for groups to head to the next assigned storage location, or to return with their piles of lawfully impounded gains.
Team One

High-risk storage locations are this team's priority. Potentially explosive material, artifacts or experiments without the requisite paperwork explaining how or why they were made, sometimes living creatures, the kind that shouldn't have been left in a large metal crate habitat for a decade. Opening these areas is a study in initiative and dealing with unpleasant surprises!

Team Two
This team are the back-up for the first group - once the artifacts, creatures or hazardous material has been made safe and brought back, they have to be recorded. Scanned. Studied, and compared to the extensive lists of potential contraband or lost goods. Sometimes, they're not quite as safe as you'd like.

Team Three
Some locations, rather than being used for the storage for which they were intended, have been repurposed by sapients who have developed within the system since the depot was created. Short, furred people with clever, webbed hands and high voices, they've turned crates and ships into cramped, partially-submerged warrens. This team is cleared to assess the damage done, and, if the current official owners of the stores will agree, process the change in ownership to the Su Samuru. Not all owners are happy with their squatters, however...

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Repo Train -- Team Two

Well, he hadn't any need for the provided space-wears. His own garments suited just fine and if anything the rather tall creature faired a lot better here in the darkness of space where the few poisons was the obnoxious artificial oxygen. He didn't seem to keen on buddying up when items came to them for sorting and documenting. Instead, the Svartalfer stayed off to the side on his own documenting his findings in a language that may require later translating to most.

Biding his time, as it were, for opportunity to present itself.

Knowledge, as many know, a powerful tool. Most seem average level of craftmanship. He tinkered with a few that looked a bit worse for wear -- too long stored, or broken in various shuffles. Some more complex, others simply... useful monitoring units. One, in particular, catching his eye. Energy harvester? Don't mind if he does.

WILDCARD --
For anyone that wants to run into a six-foot-seven elf somewhere on the train or what have you.

Edited (MORE AWAKE NOW) 2022-01-18 04:02 (UTC)

Saint is a tall man, but even then his full 6'4'' seems humble as he strides over to where Malekith is.

He's also not wearing provided protection. His own armor is an equally persistent presence, rarely changed out of but that was out of lack of need or want rather than necessity. The only time he truly needed it was during a fight. Its shining silver and vibrant purples their own contradiction.

He's affable and friendly often, not intending to be overly so, but some people aren't welcome to such associations. Still! Saint joins Malekith's side and gestures at his assortment of boxes. "Which ones of these are you finished with?" If Malekith taking something left and impression, it isn't voiced. He knows far too many slippery hunters to call a man on such a thing.

"This feels like a waste of energy. Only money to be gained in all of this." No growth, no glory, nothing that's of interest to him. Though maybe to some of the scientists aboard the train.

Well, Malekith is cautious by nature not from fear but from a strong distrust against people who aren't his own and there's a bit of superiority to that as well. Though he's not entirely disagreeable but he'd long become a more silent King for reasons varying. There's a tilt of his head, just barely, identifying the man approaching had been heard before he reached the Svartalfer's side.

Make no mistake that he doesn't even bother to hide his tinkering and slippery fingers so to speak. Not that many were even paying attention. Some too invested in their own worlds as was the common wont. Though he speaks not at first a noise bubbles up from his chest.

"Useless invention," it comes slowly -- a strange sort of echo held deep in the elf's voice. He turns over the device in his palm a few more times, not yet looking toward the other man.

"Money, first conceived by man I believe." Certainly no other realms cared prior and most still don't. Gloved fingers turned toward a labeled box, again, in what may well be unreadable to most. Not that he couldn't use and didn't know a more common tongue, oh he did, he knew many languages. He just didn't care to use them.

"Defected and broken." The items within, that was, though the concept of money also fit the bill.

"It is the root of such corruption. Squandering and wastefulness." His accent rests hard on every 'r' spoken, like it needs special interference. "Even when the life here can make more use of it, and those that are taking will promptly forget their secondhand wares."

He tuts offensively. He refused to displace the other creatures from their homes. It didn't feel right.

Saint is an Exo, so all of his movements are as naturalistic as any human. Beneath the armor just lies a face that is recognizably less so. His voice, however, rings hollow and mechanical in his chest. Full of genuine emotion but also something ran through some kind of speaker, betraying him as a fashion of mechanical. His opinions are lively enough, though.

"Defective and broken can still be fixed. If not by them, maybe by us. It is worth appraisal by others for parts, yes?" He hefts up one of the boxes filled with scrap items to haul over to a disposal pile. Though he's fully planning to alert crew to scavenging through it.

His chin tilts, face just barely moving to the side. Ethereal eyes glance over the man from the corners of them in silent observation. Such armor held vague similarity to entities he knew outside the nine realms but so long ago it was. Malekith could barely remember. Celestials (though nowhere near the appropriate height or stature), and he's not quite sure whom his dislike weighs heavier toward: them or Asgardians. So far this being holds no such nuisance, at least.

Malekith returns their attention back to the tasks at hand. "Indeed," it comes belatedly. If you're a healer then heal. Exchange your time for the time of others. Necessity for necessity. Such materialism seems so... pointless. Perhaps his age, or that those who adopt a physical currency live too short to understand the uselessness of their choices. He does recall, though, there was a time on Midgard where no such thing existed. How or why it does now, Malekith doesn't find himself particularly interested in learning.

"And what are you, then? You're no such mortal." He waves off the suggestion of salvaging for parts. Let others take what he himself hadn't already.

"I am a Guardian. And it is true. I am not mortal. I have died more times than I can count," though twice he stayed dead for many years. "And I will die again as necessary."

But Guardians are only Guardians. Exos are a little different from the human or awoken kind. The exos can dig up some of their older memories, but mostly exist as a reset of their first self. Humans and awoken forget everything, but exos remember snippets here and there.

This basically means nothing more than Saint-14 counts his first life, before he was resurrected, as part of his life. And he laid dead for many years before he was found and revived.

"And you? You wear armor unlike much I see here."

Guardian. Returns from death. A creature of pride and honor, too. These types were so easy. Malekith wrestles out some parts from a defective item and starts a new box, taking one moment to record findings. He'd trusted an outsider once before. It ended the same as it would have if they didn't try to deceive him, but this wouldn't be trust.

"We are Svartalfer," the Dark Elf chooses to speak, powering on an item that looked to measure energy fields. A step back, and one more. This was different than his universe. Clearly, he wasn't on any particular world anymore, and Malekith was desperately curious what this so-called void was made of. He knew there laid worlds well beyond what realms resided within Yggdrasil, but this was interesting.

Finally, the Dark Elf looks toward this other creature. "This is no armor. Your universe is poison to us."

"That is unfortunate..." He says, and while the words themselves seem like an understatement the tragedy in the tone he uses is undeniable. "Perhaps then it is that there are universes that will be poisonous to us that you are needed for. It is unfair to take you somewhere to such discomfort, no? What makes it such poison for you?"

He shakes his head, the movement exaggerated by that massive crested helmet of his. He carries a load of the 'acceptable' items to place elsewhere, the ones approved for salvage. Such better ways to use this technology than just for resale.

"But you are well met. I am Saint-14, camrade."

Still, to reside here or in a universe elsewhere with only himself bears no weight or purpose. He'll need to come to understand this tethering system, too. More than just theoretically, that is. Malekith understands the theory behind it just fine. But his chin tips up to observe this man and his question -- gives it space and time to breathe. That, and understand the readings he's getting from this piece of equipment.

"A crown is hollow when it lives only for itself." He watches as the figure takes a box away for another team or person to do their share, head turning just slightly over his shoulder. "This is not about a singular I, Saint-14. It is about a we. Who lived before the light."

"Before the light?"

No, of course he couldn't mean before the Traveller. The 'Light' had become synonymous with the godlike bastion of creation. And while, now that he looks at it, the man could very much match the style of a creature of Darkness, he has learned thoroughly that judgment is something that he should not pass.

Too many have suffered thanks to his judgment. So he will not pass it now. Many Guardians make use of the Darkness as well as they do the light.

"In my world, that has one meaning. Therefore in yours I suppose it means another."

He is indeed a creature of darkness which has somehow become synonymous with 'evil' to those from the light that did nothing short of invade what was once peaceful, and he could speak to it were he inclined to do so but Malekith had long come to find those with false righteousness had no desire to listen. Why waste his words on a kingdom of gold whose very bloodshed was enough to make worlds from it? That aside, frankly, he'd lost any desire to reason with people such as those should he have had any in the first place. A blade did just as well.

"Have you thoughts on that, then -- " His head tilts up, "Guardian?" Malekith watches a few more moments, weighing whether explaining was worth his effort. Here there were no allies, his people so far away he cannot feel them and -- begrudged as he is to admit it -- he's too weak to carry on alone. Pride would have him try, regardless. But perhaps there's some corraling to be done along the way or at least to propose his stand on things.

Edited (Woop, wanna see the reaction first sorry haha) 2022-01-24 15:45 (UTC)

"'The Light' is our power. A gift, given to necessary protectors of something we call 'The Traveller'." He does have thoughts though he doesn't want those thoughts to become presumptions. Valuable lessons had been taken to heart when the leader of the race he'd wished to exterminate had fought by his side and proved himself an ally and Saint a fool.

(He does not resent this, he prefers the life with realization as it has considerably less bitterness.)

"The Darkness that follows the Traveller gave its own gift. 'Stasis'." One that Saint has not yet partaken in, but the Young Wolf had absolutely taken their time to master.

"To me, 'Before the Light' would be before the Traveller."

The various containers held a myriad of curious items that caught Lioriley's eye. And it was clear in the way she diligently documented each and every one she got her hands on, that she was in her element. Did she have to take such detailed notes — both for the mission and for herself? — no, of course not. But she did just that, with carefully written script in one of the journals that had come along with her, the page dotted with small sketches and arrows and question marks.

It was not only the artifacts and strange creatures and what not that had caught her eye during her time in the area. No. A certain tall man with pointed ears and a familiarity that struck somewhere deep in her core. No Lunari, that one, but similar perhaps in a way she could not quite place. Curious enough to find out what — or if she was simply losing her mind after all that had happened — she approached.

Lioriley was...small. Especially in comparison to the Svartálfar. Standing under five feet and looking like she weighed next to nothing, she glided across the floor with nearly soundless footsteps, practiced and poised, approaching with a polite bow of her head when she was within his line of sight and a smile that made the lines curved over her cheeks brighten.

"Hello. Do forgive my intrusion. My name is Lioriley." a more pointed dip of her head this time. "I was curious as to what language you were writing in? I have not seen it before."

She had caught his curious eye as well but had not acted upon it; the familiar figure seemed deep in her work and he'd not interrupt such a thing whether out of consideration or potential usefulness was for later revealing.

Yet it was a detailed sharpness and curiosity that marked them all as who they were. He could not speak of her explicit kind just yet but Malekith found it hard to imagine any that came after them would be all too different. This world, another, another universe entirely. And it had made him wonder, but those wonderings were not yet fully developed.

His chin tips, light catching on the sharp of his masked cheek as she approaches with an elegance and grace he once knew. So small, was she young or their kind normally as this? Curious markings over skin that belongs to the night. For a moment, and only a moment, it brought an ache. Some familiar but old pain. It takes one purposed step to have him face her. The bow observed, and in such a way with such a manner he holds himself it may soon reveal itself to Lioriley that this particular elf comes from Nobility.

"Then allow me to satiate it," her question well met with a voice that sounded as if darkness itself was speaking. Gloved fingers pull the booklet over toward her, "This is Shiväisith, its written system is known as Todjydheenil." Observing reactions, a hand unfolding as if to permit her study of it. "I am Malekith, and we are Svartalfer." The royal we, as it were.

She noted the posture, the voice, the distinct air of nobility she was all too familiar with at this point, and continued to smile up at him pleasantly. The neon blue lines that coiled around her dark skin pulsed upon closer inspection: rhythmic and timed the beat of her heart, glowing brighter when he pushed the booklet toward her; intrigued.

"'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Malekith." She replied, composure miraculously contained even as she slid the book closer still to properly observe the contents, slender fingers ghosting delicately over the unfamiliar lettering. "I am a Lunari." He didn't ask, and maybe he didn't care, but she was proud of what she was and saw no reason not to say as much after such a generous offer. "Though I take it you are not familiar - much as I am, unfortunately, not familiar with Svartalfer." The lilt in her voice suggested a very obvious interest in learning, however.

Lunari, not of the realms but there were many worlds beyond those nine. It is a curious glow that sparks upon her cheeks. A rhythm; a heartbeat? A sign of mood as well, perhaps? He noted the intensity grow. Malekith did not mind her further introduction. Such knowledge would be foolish to not welcome and, like her, he too was proud of who he was, of what they were. Most importantly, of what they have survived.

"I should like to be knowledgeable of your kind," was enough of an invite for her to speak. "We come from a time before this known universe when things were small and dark; we were peaceful, then. Scholars, mostly. Creating magicks and technologies now so commonly known." And some uncommon but that's not necessary to tell. "But we were more than our minds; we were graceful things so long ago."

Long enough, now, he barely remembers. What it was like to breathe freely. To look upon his people and feel nothing but pride; to feel the skin of his wife; to hold his children; to smile without the edge of a dagger laying upon it. When Algrim was a confidant of the court not a second in command. When all these people were alive. But this light, this wretched light, it showed them no mercy. He responded in kind and holds no apology for it.

"Similar, it would seem, to my own people now. Save for a few details." She replied once certain he was finished speaking, having tilted her head up again to look at him. The way he spoke could have easily suggested that his people were no longer that way - or, at the very least, something had changed to make them less of what they once were. A thought that sat like a heavy weight in her chest. "We are also scholars and practitioners of magic. Born of it." She raised a hand up for emphasis, slender fingers swirling around once as wisps of pale blue trailed from the leylines curled around them; crackling with magical energy.

"'Tis the newer technologies we have not familiarized ourselves with." They probably could have, she thought, but the world was cruel and the Lunari already had enough to deal with. Besides. Their magical advancements were unparalleled and powerful enough. "I am curious about many things here, however. And more than willing to learn."

From the magic he created came his people; from the magic they created came their technology -- a combination of elements and magic. At one time, in the earlier years of the light as well, they were even more advanced than the Asguardians. Such he would say was the reason the first war waged on for so long. But as the Asguardians grew stronger the Svartalfer grew weaker. The light slowly stealing their life right from under them.

Still, it pleases him to see somewhere there were a people like his; a people still carrying their magic with pride and strength. He watched, intrigued if there was a type of magic that created their being. "And of what world do your people reside? I think, not of the realms upon Ygdrasils branches."

Ah, yes, but worlds were indeed cruel. And was it any surprise that some become cruel with it just to survive? An almost amused sound echoed up through hidden lips as Malekith took a device into his hands. "Not entirely advanced. Some still useful," he passes it to her, "consider it, and I shall inform your analysis."

Edited 2022-01-23 16:27 (UTC)

"The world itself is called Valsheria. My people specifically reside in a city called Moon's Refuge, under the northern mountains of the main continent." She tilted her head quizzically. "Likely not. I am as unfamiliar with Yggdrasil, unfortunately." 'branches' implied a tree which was, along with nearly everything he said, just as intriguing. She did not regret coming over to speak with him now.

The device he offered was small, with a (currently) black screen and a series of buttons below it. A few bulbs on the top portion and a few small openings along the side. A scanner of some design, though she had never seen anything quite like it before now.

Still. She meticulously turned it over in her hands, slender fingers passing over the buttons and sides until she found a switch to turn the device on. When she did she flinched - both from the bright lights of the flickering screen, and the sharp beeping sound it made. "Goodness..." Murmured, her cheeks flushed violet; embarrassed, though only for a moment once she managed to compose herself.

She took a moment to continue looking at over, watching the screen as lines of text formed. "A resource locator?" She posed, glancing up to Malekith with a quirked brow.

"And your world, is it young?" Malekith commits these details to memory and observes her curiosity over the sliver of history he's revealed. It was not often he could speak of such matters. There hasn't been new life brought amongst the Svartalfer in some time. No people to pass on their knowledge to; their history. The truth, not twisted by the light of those who claimed their own righteousness.

The sharp beeping stops after it's been powered on but a low hum continues quietly while it runs. His mask hides the upward curve on the dark elf's lips; just a slight marking of amusement when she jumped and murmured just to regain her foot. Head tipping upward, he watched her investigate before proposing her findings.

"You are close," a hand unfolded for the object to be returned. His thumb moved over the screen before pressing against a button, language, language, here are measurements he recognizes. "It helps in measuring electric fields." He mentions, in case its necessary, a few examples where such a tool may be useful.

"Compared to many I have heard of since my arrival here, I would believe so. No one knows for certain, but we scholars suspect it is somewhere in the realm of three thousand years since its creation. Twelve hundred since Dwyn, our chancellor and first among our kind, created Moon's Refuge." She explained, "Valsheria is plagued with conflict and chaos that we desperately try to remain dependant of. Well. Most of us - I have made it a point to explore the land to learn more of those outside of my home."

She handed him the device and side stepped to get a good look at the screen while he worked it, fingers twitching as she resisted the urge to grab her notebook again and start taking more notes. Time for that later. "Electric--ah. Fascinating." Clearly awed, she watched the screen for a few seconds longer, nodding as he offered examples. "What a shame such useful tools have seemingly been discarded here to collect dust."

"Young," he can barely remember those years for himself. "The youngest of us are older than your world." Malekith recalls the creation of Yggdrasil; of Svartalfheim and what it had become. The times before were fading. Holding on, desperately. Fighting desperately to return to those years; return to the universe that was theirs. To hear there is conflict in her world as well he can't say he finds himself surprised.

The device is turned back over to her once more, a hand motioning back toward her book with silent suggeston: for your records. More items had come in the meantime but he chooses to pursue this conversation for now. What could possibly urge her from her home? Conflict was, well. He'd long grown accustomed to it; perhaps in some small way he enjoyed it, but Malekith wasn't one to fight for sake of fighting. Those were the Asgardians (and perhaps Midgardians but he'd been asleep since the beginning of their lives and knew quite little of them).

Although there was a spark of pleasure that came with the destruction of those who had done him wrong. He finds no need to lie of it were he asked. However, back to her world: "Tell me of this conflict."

"You must have many tales to tell, then." With age came wisdom and plenty of stories. Plenty of tragedies too, but Malekith seemed a quiet man from what she had ascertained so far during their meeting. He did not have to divulge anything he did not wish to, and she would not pry. Young she might have been in comparison - but she knew speaking of ones history was sometimes more painful than it should be.

Speaking of. His question was met with a frown - the first she had offered since she came to speak with him. Her leylines dimmed faintly, fingers toying with the device in her hands until she managed to turn it off and set it down. Her notebook pulled closer to find a blank page to write in; a momentary distraction as she considered her response.

"Which one?" She scoffed lightly, "in the centuries since I left my home I have seen many - pointless and unnecessary as they are each and every time. The most recent though was between the humans and, well. Themselves." She wrote a few more lines of notes in that looping, elegant script of hers and waved her free hand as she spoke. "Squabbles over power whilst the king was dethroned and no heir in sight. I had helped them initially during their fight with outside forces called Orcs - are you familiar?"

Plenty of tragedies. Those memories that came before drove his cruel hand; was the only thing he clung to some days. Gave him the purpose to reclaim all he'd lost or at least give their death's some form of meaning. They had not been a violent race until they were forced into it and he could be so violent. In ways that a knife's edge never could. An eye for an eye. To call him tyrannical and ruthless from the throne of Asgard was really quite an artform of hypocrisy. One does as one must and that is that.

Ah -- Malekith's head cants to the side, just slight, watching the way her energy all but drains in the remembrance of such a topic. Hidden lips tug back as she shoots him a 'which one'. A visceral reaction, that. Eyes move from observing her to her writing and back. A scoff, deep and quick, bubbled up from him. "We were asleep when they came into being, these humans, but I understand it a talent of theirs. No doubt inherited from their creators."

He doesn't carry many opinions on them, though, having little interaction or interest in interaction with the human race thus far. As far as he'd been able to discern, they were born into life from the Asgardians which may indeed answer a few questions. At least, his were.

"I am not familiar of Orcs," a hand unfolds, "but I should like to be." So by all means, educate him.

She sighed. "I should not speak so ill of them. They are younger still than even my people, but their short lifespans lead them down dangerous paths on their quests for power." And she was sympathetic - perhaps too much so - to many of them and their intentions when they were more pure. But the drive for power and to become the strongest as fast as possible was dangerous to not only themselves, but to everyone around them. Including those that did not care to be involved in their pointless conflicts.

Lioriley shifted to sit on one of the counters, legs crossed so she could set her notebook atop her thigh. Quickly, she flipped to a blank page and sketched out a drawing of a humanoid figure - bulky and tall with tusks protruding from their lower jaw, eyes set just a little too far apart. "The orcs are large, brawny creatures of moderate intelligence. They live in tribes - some are hunters, others mages, and others still warriors who use their rage to gain strength unmatched by any other race."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Test Drive 032

Culinary Containment

Vote-Rigging

Repo Train

Team One

Team Two

Team Three

Malekith | Marvel Cinematic Universe

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My bullshit levels are over 9000

mood tbh

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