Test Drive 2

[concierge]

Welcome to All Inclusive's test drive! Anyone is welcome!

Guidelines

• Please make sure you are familiar with how we play and what characters are allowed before participating.


• Writing should be in para/prose just like in the main game. That means no brackets, no asterisks, etc. No network posts, please.


• No anonymous comments.


• We very strongly suggest NOT writing your character's first time at the Nexus, but rather a random scenario once they've gotten more used to the idea of the place. The shock and surprise of new arrivals and subsequent info dump by whomever meets them tends to be one note.


• Entries to the test drive may be of any length. However, if your intro (top-level) comment is of normal post length and you are proud of the quality, you may use it as an example on your application.


• Feel free to tag around the meme with any character you already play or are considering, even if they don't have their own intro comment.


• If your character is accepted into the game and you have permission from the other involved players, you may consider test drive threads as game canon. You may also linkdrop them to the main community if you choose.


• Please use the header below for your intro/top-level comment.

Header

<b>Name:</b> <b>Canon:</b> <b>Location:</b>

Name: The character's name
Canon: The character's canon
Location: Choose: Somewhere in the hotel or grounds or through a door

Comments

[stealtheneedle]

Name: Locke Lamora
Canon: the Gentleman Bastard sequence by Scott Lynch
Location: the Smoking Room

Locke Lamora was nothing if not adaptable. It was one of his specialties— like a cat, you could drop him anywhere and he'd land on his feet. Maybe not without a bit of yowling and scratching on the way, but still— here he was, in a totally unfamiliar place with no idea how he'd got there, no Jean, no money, and no idea how to get back home.

But one thing was certain: a tavern was a tavern the world over, no matter what world you were in, and Locke had no trouble picking out a rowdy table who was all too willing to invite him to share their liquid bounty. A few drinks in, and he thought he might almost be starting to like this place.

Then someone brought out a deck of cards. "Now we're in business," he murmured to himself, with a smile that would have made anyone who knew him very, very nervous.

Take 2 with the same starter, since the last test drive fell into the time-suck of the holidays...

[armedagainstlove]

"I wouldn't," Athos remarks from where he's been standing guard at the door's frame, giving the new man an entreating and long look. "I believe one of them is cheating," he notes with a nod. "King up his sleeve," he says with a sip of his brandy. Whether the man decides to play after such a warning is his own business, but let it not be said that he hadn't been warned.

[stealtheneedle]

Locke's smile deepened, self-indulgent, for a brief moment before sketching a bow in the other man's direction. "For trying to save me from myself, you have my thanks," he said. "And since thanks are worth as much as mouse farts in a thunderstorm, you will also have a drink, on me, once I've won the cheater's money from him."

[armedagainstlove]

Athos raises his brow at the colourful decorations of language the other man seems to wield, privately amused by them though it hardly shows in anything other than the quirk of the corner of his lips slowly upwards. "And how do you intend to do that?" he wonders, for he's watched cheaters win many a time and it's often with the greatness of skill and cards tucked in erstwhile places.

[stealtheneedle]

His own eyebrow arched in response, the curve of his mouth turning downright coy. "With skill and a bit of luck," he said. "I don't tend to lose— maybe I've got a guardian angel." He could practically hear Jean's eyes rolling from— well, from however far away Karthain was from this fucking place. A guardian angel in the form of the lightest fingers this side of Shades' Hill, his friend's phantom voice chided him.

It dampened his mood slightly, thinking of Jean. But whatever had happened to Locke— and he wasn't certain, still, that this wasn't a wine-soaked dream he'd wake from as soon as it got interesting— he made as seldom a habit of being daunted by circumstance as he did of losing at cards.

Besides, he'd just made a new friend— it'd be rude to get all maudlin on him before they'd gotten properly soused off of other people's money. "Come watch the magic happen," he intoned, clapping his new companion on the shoulder. "And tell me your name, while we're at it. I'm Lucano."

[armedagainstlove]

"Athos," he replies, evenly said while he steps away from that bracing grasp of his shoulder. Porthos barely manages to get away with that and they have known each other for many years, now. He feels somewhat awkward at it, though he's curious enough to want to drift and remain to see what this 'magic' is that he's speaking about. "Pleasure," he notes dryly, arching a brow as he awaits whatever show he is about to see.

That, or he is awaiting acting as the sane voice in the madness that is about to ensue. He never knows which it will be.

[stealtheneedle]

Locke had no trouble convincing the card players to let him join them— an old trick that came as easy as breathing, a show of stumbling feet and gentle swaying, tossing a pilfered wad of paper bills on the table like he had ten times the amount to lose. They took him for a drunken rube, and for two hands he let them.

Then he took them, hand by hand, for everything they had.

Less than twenty minutes after he'd sat down, he stood with a hand on the back of his new friend's chair and an expression of solicitous humility on his face. "Thank you gentlemen," he said, still with the slight slur that had made his marks think him too intoxicated to be good at cards. They were furious, that much was plain— but lucky for Locke, this wasn't the sort of place where men got stabbed for winning.

They decamped to the bar, where Locke slapped a handful of assorted currency down on the polished wood and called for a bottle of wine— then, looking at Athos, "Make that two, there's a love." He had no idea if the sum he shoved at the girl was a little or a lot, but grinned at Athos like he had nothing to worry about. "Well, that was entertaining," he said. "What else is there to do for fun around here?"

[armedagainstlove]

Athos raises his brow, not sure whether he's admired or is horrified by this little show. He settles on the side of admiration, given that his new friend seems keen to purchase him a drink with his winnings. Besides which, he has seen Porthos run enough ruses to win money at cards that he is used to hustling people for their coins with small tricks. However, he does wonder where the trick had been, curious as he hadn't been able to see it with the naked eye.

"I'm afraid I'm a poor expert on the subject, as we are currently in the midst of my favourite activity," Athos remarks, lifting his glass. "How did you do it?" he asks. "Cards up your sleeve? Perhaps a marked deck?" he queries.

[lie_detector]

Name: Steve Jinks
Canon: Warehouse 13
Location: Art Gallery

Jinks still hadn't figured out how he had been whammied. He had to have been whammied, there was no other reasonable explanation for this.. unreasonableness. He had come in contact with some artifact at the real Biltmore, imbued with magic from its original owner and unnoticed over the decades, and gotten whisked away into this weird pseudo-Biltmore in the space. It was easily the weirdest artifact that Jinks had ever encountered, but that wasn't saying much. Things got weirder and weirder around the Warehouse every week, if they didn't get deadlier and more dangerous.

His Farnsworth still hadn't buzzed and that really bothered him. The hotel staff had given him a phone when he checked in, but it was seriously limited. The Farnsworths were supposed to work anywhere and everywhere, and if Claudia hadn't called to at least check up on him in the last 72 hours, something was seriously wrong.

The art gallery had seemed the best bet: plenty of things with special meaning to pick up energy. So he was there now, picking up statuettes and models in purple-gloved hands and carefully dropping them into a foil bag, each time with an expectant wince. Some hotel employee was probably watching him like a hawk, waiting to swoop in when he broke something. But no sparks came. Nothing was kicking him out of this universe bubble.

"Chotsky number sixteen, you're up," Steve said as he grabbed a porcelain figurine of a clown. He grimaced at the face. "You've got to have some bad juju in you."

[NB for those unfamiliar with canon - Jinks has the ability to tell when someone is lying. It's not perfect. General shadiness you can get away with. But he will call you out on a baldfaced lie, unless your character has something to negate that.]

[roartonrisen]

It's not that Kieren thinks he's normal or anything (he's really not), but catching a bloke talking to a porcelain clown is sort of the thing he'd expect of Amy Dyer, not really a strange and random person in the art gallery. It's enough that he stands there warily, just on the cusp of the room, peering inside and keeping an eye on that clown as if he expects it to come to life or do something, only it just keeps sitting there, a bit concerned about the look on its face.

"Is that really the sort of thing that should be in public?" Kieren wonders, feeling a bit mad saying that when he himself isn't much to look at. "I think it might frighten the children."

[lie_detector]

"Oh!" Jumpier than usual, owing to the unexplained circumstances, Steve fumbled with the statuette, almost dropping it. He hadn't thought that anyone would come into the gallery while he was rummaging around, and he hadn't thought up an excuse for his investigations.

Recovering the clown with both hands, Steve turned toward the voice and nearly dropped it again. "Wha-at is wrong with your eyes?" he blurted out. To his credit, there was much more concern than horror in his tone. The guy looked whammied. Bad.

[roartonrisen]

Kieren shrugs, a bit of wariness about him. It's not that he feels threatened at the moment, but there's always a touch of hesitation when he has to explain what he is to people, given all the prejudice and hate against the Risen. "Sort of been like this for a while, now," he says. "I don't wear my contacts anymore." Because he shouldn't have to, just like he shouldn't have to put on his cover-up, but pale is something that can still be human.

His eyes? Are not.

"It's fine," he promises. "Really. That's just how they are."

[matt_murdock]

Name: Matt Murdock
Canon: Daredevil (TV)
Location: The Smoking Room

As he sidles up to the long, polished length of the Smoking Room's bar, Matt is distinctly aware of not being remotely good enough for this particular drinking establishment. Not good in the moral sense—Although that's certainly questionable—but in terms of wealth and entitlement. The floor is marble and the chandeliers have real crystal in them. He's a long, long way from Josie's comforting stench and pock-marked tabletops.

"Scotch and water," he orders as he settles onto a stool, white cane propped against the bar beside him. He sips, wondering how much this is going to cost him, and draws in a slow breath as he listens.

Lavish as this place may be, just like the hotel around it there is more diversity within its walls than most streets in Manhattan. Some patrons lounge with privilege, but just as many are roughly raucous or scented with cheap shampoo. A few lift their glasses with calloused fingers and drink with the deep resignation of the working class. Some, he thinks, may not even be human.

[morethanhuman]

The bar was packed that evening, with no indication of a reason behind it. It was simply busy, enough of the hotel's residents vying for the bartender's attention that Erik's only chance at getting his order in was to squeeze between two chairs with little care for their occupants.

That backfired as his foot tangled with something tucked neatly under the bar, a long cane which toppled toward the ground— but thankfully there was a metal core beneath the polymer, and he froze it midair, pulling it into his palm and setting it back where it belonged as its owner turned toward him.

"That was clumsy of me," he said, before the man could say it for him.

[matt_murdock]

Some trick, Matt thinks, his expression still blithely ignorant as he turns a hapless smile the man's way.

"I shouldn't have left it there," he says, and reaches a hand out for the cane, fingers tentative until they reach their mark. He folds it swiftly, neatly and sets it aside on the top of the bar. "I know better, but you know how habits are."

That instinctive lift of the cane from the ground, it could have been telekinesis but wasn't, at least not as far as Matt could tell, and that was what made it really interesting. Not that he was hanging out with the telekinetic all the time, but the undulations of the magnetic fields around them had drawn his attention like a compass needle. It was more than simply impressive or useful... it was cool.

[morethanhuman]

Erik huffed a quiet chuckle, sliding onto the stool beside him as its occupant vacated it. "I do, actually," he said. To wit: his presence in the Smoking Room, though Jordan had declined to join him. He wasn't sure he knew how to spend the early evening anywhere else anymore. The mundanity of it ought to have bothered him more than it did.

Max returned with the stranger's drink, and greeted Erik with a nod and a murmured, "Mr. Lehnsherr—" rather eloquently proving his point about bad habits, if he thought about it. He nodded at the rocks glass in the blind man's hand. "One of the same, please." It looked like scotch. No reason to start slow; the way people were pouring in, he'd be lucky to get a refill before the hour was up.

While he waited, he glanced at his neighbor again. "I'd ask if this is your first time here, but I think I already know the answer."

[matt_murdock]

"Am I that obvious?" Matt asks with a light laugh, fingertips instinctively tracing the patterns cut into the side of his glass. When he lifts it for a sip, the crystal is heavy and the scotch impeccable; yeah, he's definitely out of his league.

"What gave me away?"

[morethanhuman]

"Not as obvious as some," said Erik honestly, thinking of the nameless woman in her Renaissance gown. "But I've been here long enough that new faces tend to stand out."

He grinned and added, "And you'd hardly be the first to get the ten-cent tour and decide you needed a drink to help you process." At last, Max returned with his drink, and he lifted it in his companion's direction before belatedly remembering it was a futile gesture. "Cheers," he said instead, "and welcome to the Nexus."

[matt_murdock]

"Thanks," Matt replies with a slight inclination of his head and vague upward hoist of his glass, and takes a small sip. He intends to make this last, if he's to pay what he expects he will.

"Matt Murdock," he offers, hand held out just a little left of where it ought to be, hovering with that blind awkwardness he's had to force himself to become used to. "How long has it been for you?"

[morethanhuman]

"Erik Lehnsherr." Murdock's grip was firm, and Erik could feel the calluses on his palm. "I've been here nearly eighteen months."

The slight stress on the word here hadn't been intentional, but it didn't go unnoticed; Murdock's eyebrow ticked upward, and Erik relented, adding, "And another year before that in a similar situation— elsewhere." Abrupt, but he didn't think it important, nor did he particularly feel like explaining the station to a stranger.

"Suffice to say it's been some time since I've been home," he summed up, his mouth twisting ruefully as he lifted his glass for another sip.