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
She tries it out, grabbing hard on the chains and dangling her legs down as she leans forward some, until the balance shifts and she drops forward. ...No, that can't have been it. She lets herself drop to the ground, landing on hands and toes, and stands up to sit back on the swing.
"What do you mean by "pump until it gets going"?"
She regularly hangs out with people who are professional criminals. He might look shady, but really, almost everyone that she deals with does, and those that don't are often the really dangerous ones. Sure, there are regular citizens and people that just want to survive honestly, but she typically only interacts with them briefly or from a distance.
The last question surprises her for a moment. Sure, you will get asked that in better residential or business areas, but this place doesn't actually look like a better area. She expected to not be bothered for being out alone.
"My mother is dead. I'm living with an aunt." Not a lie. She knows for a fact that Chantalle is an aunt to someone. Also a grandmother, but while "an aunt" is a reasonable way to phrase it, people expect you to speak of "my grandmother". And that would be a lie. Not that she has issues with lying, she just prefers not to. You never know where the next truth checking magic user is located.
no subject
Richter's not the shadiest guy around. Sure, he didn't shave today, but he's wearing a jean jacket, for crying out loud. At least it doesn't match his pants, which are simply generic slacks. On the other hand, if she knows what to look for, she'll be able to tell he's got a shoulder holster on.
"I'm sorry about your mother, but you should get back to your aunt. The city's not safe at night. She's probably worried sick." He's well aware that, despite years of military training and service, he's not the most dangerous thing out here, especially to a child. If vampires prevented her from getting home... well, it'd be yet another thing he'll never forgive himself for.
no subject
And she's certainly not interested in going home to an aunt that doesn't even exist in this city. So she will very firmly ignore that part of what he said.
Instead, she tries out what he did, a bit awkwardly but accurately to his description. It's not really working.
"...Do I need a running start?"
no subject
Despite this knowledge, he stays. He doesn't get to interact with kids much. Especially ones this precocious. Sure, he's dated women with kids before, but usually little ones; he's only 24, and tries to stay in his age range. Plus, dating... never works out long term. He's pretty much given up on it. He likes kids. He really does. But they're not a normal part of his life. He gets behind Kitty on the swing, not directly behind so she won't bump into him, but close enough to catch her and push if need be.
no subject
To someone who knows how it works, it will be obvious that she is doing the right movements - even at the right times - but not leaning back and forward nearly enough, because she is clinging too hard to the chains of the swing. The swing doesn't gain momentum, though it doesn't lose it as fast as it did before.
She isn't sure if she wants to ask him to give her a nudge. He seems to be okay, but Malicia, Ivokat and Simon would all disapprove if she let someone get that close to her bared back. ...But he seems to be okay. And she's wearing her coat she isn't entirely unprotected. And she wants to get higher up, most of all.
"I think you need to give me a nudge." Or two or three. Maybe she can talk him into pushing her all the way up.
no subject
Of course, this is just asking for trouble. He knows this, in his head. But sometimes, you need to take moments for the heart, too. Even adults need breaks, and Richter's not had one in a long, long time.
no subject
She grins at the push. Yes, that is the feeling that she was going for, going a bit higher ...and higher still, hopefully. At first, she only loosens her hands for a moment, feeling like she'll fall and grasping them harder almost immediately, but finding her balance is easier the next time. It's like she's upsetting her own balance just to find it again, being on this swing. A little rush of adrenaline, and she laughs, not loudly but happily. You don't yell or make loud sounds if you don't want to attract additional attention, and unplanned for attention is never good. Even the smallest child knows that back where she is from.
"Another one!"
no subject
That being said, though, he's dropped his guard, and that's never a good situation for a hunter to be in. Children are... disarming, to say the least. Hopefully not literally, though, his jacket's concealing multiple weapons.
no subject
Yes.
She finally figure it out.
Her elation stays for a while, and it takes a bit longer after for her to grow ...not bored, but not highly interested anymore, with the activity. Ten minutes, perhaps.
She could just stop swinging, but... she has seen people jump from swings, using the momentum for a nice high curve, and she definitely wants to try that. She has to get lower first because she will crash into one of the other metal constructions on the playground otherwise, but then she lets go as she's reached the highest forward point and flies, hitting the dark ground with the grace of someone with perfect balance and much practice in jumping down from higher up places.
She almost immediately bounces to her feet and swings around to walk back towards Richter, if he's still around.
no subject
Maybe it's better to live in the now, rather than in memories. Some of those memories hurt, after all. And thus, the God Machine beats on.
"That was a good landing. Do you think you've got it now?" If she does... He realizes he's completely forgotten about sending her to her aunt, and it's only getting later. "You should really get home, either way." And he should get his focus back. It's lucky that they weren't attacked already!
no subject
"I do. It's not that hard once you can do it." That's the case with most things, really, and tomorrow she most likely won't know why she ever found it hard. But she is sure that she got this now.
"...It's just dark. There is no reason to worry, I'll be fine and auntie won't be worried, either." There are clear downsides to looking human, and concerned adults are quickly shooting up her list of why being a cat is preferable. Not that he isn't nice. But she wants to go back on the swings and jump again.