Hᴇx - ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴅ ᴍᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
modmachine) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
worldofmemeness2016-09-30 05:31 pm
modmachine) wrote in worldofmemeness2016-09-30 05:31 pm
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE 01
Don't feel limited to the scenarios presented - make up your own prompts as much as you want! Reserves will open on the 7th and Applications on the 15th. In a grassy square in the Central District, wedged in between dorm halls, there is a tree. Far wider than it is tall, its leaves are just beginning to turn from yellow to orange, with a few green stragglers near the top and a growing carpet on the grass beneath it. At one end of the tree's reach, there is a picnic table, the sort with benches built in to either side. Anywhere under the boughs, a distinct ticking, like the sound of a clock, can be heard. Moving about makes it clear that the sound is loudest nearest the trunk. Numerous small gears stick out of twists between branches, though they do not appear to move to the naked eye. Someone has hung a string of orange lights in the branches for Halloween, along with some cotton spiderweb. No matter how closely you look, there doesn't seem to be an end where the lights plug in to anything. Otherwise, there is nothing unusual about the decorations. In the center of the table, half-covered by leaves, there is an iron plaque that has not been particularly well-treated for rust. Some of the writing on it is almost legible. It is chill to the touch. Someone's carved their initials and a date into the end of one bench - Abandoned vehicles are by no means an unusual sight in the Sixth District. Abandoned buses are slightly more unusual. This particular bus has boarded up windows, a black light string hanging over the windshield, and the words HAUNTED HOUSE written along the side, where the old inoffensive public-transit advertisements have been painted over. The front door serves as the entrance; the back leads into the wrecking yard and the haunted "house" proper. A girl in her late teens in slightly unsettling gothic lolita sits in a cheap folding chair around the front of the bus. She doesn't charge admission, though there is a candy bowl labeled for Donations on the card table next to her with a few bills and some change in it, in the center of a group of candles that burn in skull holders. She reminds everyone who passes her to please not touch the actors or props inside. Occasionally, mist from a smoke machine on the other side of the wooden fence billows around her ankles, almost seeming to form caressing fingers running down her legs. Across the street from her, two men sit in a beaten up old pickup truck, the much taller man smoking cigarettes with the windows open. The shorter man fidgets almost uncontrollably, constantly glancing in the direction of the girl and her bus. Their voices aren't loud enough to hear distinctly from the haunted house side of the street, but the woman at the bus entrance shoots them occasional looks none-the-less, alternating between pleased smiles and blank stares. Painted along the sides of the truckbed, in much dirtier letters than those of the haunted house, is the phrase NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH. In a bar downtown, it's not much different from any other night of clubbing, except that everyone is wearing masks. Ranging from the elegant custom work of a nearby boutique (conveniently open even after sundown tonight, if you need to pick one up) to cheap colored paper held on with elastic handed out at the door of the bar, masks are the must-have accessory tonight. Indeed, many of the parties won't let you in if you don't have one. Those paying careful attention might notice little dots of red on the necks of some of the partiers, especially those who seem a bit pale and have called off drinking for the night. Aside from that, though, it doesn't seem like anyone's really getting hurt; it's just a fun time for everyone. Except for the poor guy who made the mistake of wearing an owl mask and yellow contacts, anyway. Just within hearing range of the beating bass of the clubs, a young woman in a red jacket holds a mask in her hands, turning it over and sometimes holding it to her face to look at in a window reflection. The long face of it calls to mind some kind of black dog, perhaps a Doberman or German Shepherd. She isn't dressed at all for an evening at the clubs, and has a canvas bag slung over her shoulder with the shape of heavy books straining the fabric at the bottom. Not everyone seems to be getting into the spirit. A playground near the center of the city has precious few decorations - save for a spiderweb on one of the swingsets that seems to be natural, not man-made. A pumpkin or two have been left near the edges, but they're all smashed, the orange guts running along in a streak that seems to blend into a thin line surrounding the entire perimeter. The see-saw looks like the board's been freshly painted, but otherwise all of the equipment looks almost lonely and old. The rust on the metal stains everything an orange-red, and the slide in particular seems the worst hit. Still, everything is at least standing, and those who attempt to play on it will find it sturdy and warm in the cool night. ... Except for the merry go round. That one seems to be bent, as if someone very heavy sat on the edge. It still turns, but it wobbles dramatically, with horrible squeaking noises. Still, it's usable, for anyone who would like to play. | |
no subject
So he gave a rueful little chuckle, opening up his pack and replacing the cig. "It's all right, nothing you gotta apologize for. As long as you don't try anything stupid with the mechanical man anyway." With that, the detective took a good look at Ky, trying to gauge who he was and if he was in any danger.
no subject
He forced himself to push it aside for now. He was in no position to make judgments just yet. Not when he, himself, was barely managing to adjust to his surroundings. He had clothing and shelter, thankfully, which helped him blend in better than when he was still wearing his uniform. But it didn't hide enough. Despite the proud and military-like way he carried himself, there was a look of uncertainty in his eyes.
"I wouldn't do such a thing without reason," he said in reassurance. After a moment of hesitation, he asked, "Are you truly mechanical?"
no subject
"Yep," he raised his bad hand up, which was skeletal in nature but obviously metallic, "I'm an early prototype synth, a synthetic man." After all, there was nothing he could do to hide it, what with his metallic and wire structure peeking out the holes in his neck, his glowing eyes, his beaten skin. It was bizarre when he passed for human here. This sort of conversation actually made him more comfortable.
"The name's Nick Valentine."
no subject
At least this one — Nick Valentine — was courteous enough to introduce himself. It put Ky at ease somewhat, as he was certainly someone who appreciated even the smallest polite gestures. Especially now.
"I am Ky Kiske. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Valentine." Ky extended a hand to shake, proper as a politician. "You certainly don't strike me as a prototype of any sort."
no subject
"As for being a prototype, where I come from, they've upgraded to bio mechanical synths. Can't tell the difference between them and you," he says. They're unlike him, with his not quite the right texture skin and eyes. Of course most of them aren't being used for good reasons either, but he doesn't need to get into that.
no subject
"With all due respect for you and your kind, I think I would prefer seeing mechanical ones like you. It is rather difficult for me to imagine anything else." Bio-mechanical was a term he wasn't very familiar or comfortable with. Metal was something he understood a bit better. Even if it still didn't look right.
"However — if I may — you said 'where' you come from, correct?" A hint of hope slips into his voice. "Do you mean to say this city is also foreign to you?"
no subject
Talk about a good mystery.
"Yeah," the detective admits, "I've been here for a couple weeks, but it's not exactly what I'd call a 'cozy home.' You wake up here too?" This really interests him, if he's honest with himself. This is the sort of thing he'd been working on, but hadn't had any leads, at least, not with the resources he had. But maybe if he could establish a pattern....
no subject
"I don't how it happened, but I found myself here without any reason behind it." He frowns, brow furrowing as he recalls the moment he realized this wasn't his kingdom. "I have also never been here, nor have I heard of this city before. I'm still unsure where on Earth we are."