pixieledmemes | Test Drive Meme #2

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Test Drive Meme #2

TDM #2 - March/April 2025

🦋 Introduction

Welcome to the Pixie Led Test Drive Meme!

The prompts will always be game canon, provided both characters who participate in a thread are either already in the game, or get accepted in the next application round.

You do not need an invitation to join the Test Drive Meme, it's open for anyone!

Please indicate character name and canon in the subject line of your top-level. For current characters, you may also indicate your character's court.

For prospective players, Invites open on the 18th, Reserves on the 20th, and Applications on the 22nd. Thanks for checking us out and we hope you'll join us!

🦋 The Party

You wake up at a party.

You're not sure how, exactly, you got here. You may have just been walking in the woods or at a meeting for work or doing any other normal activity for you. But you know you weren't supposed to be at this party, you're fairly certain.

Anyone you ask about it will say the party is for you. You and the others also waking up and looking confused. Further questions will lead to the partygoers insisting you have something to eat. You're starving and others are eating the food without repercussion, so you figure there's no harm in a bite. You finish your portion.

It's a garden party at the crack of dawn, with the sun still in its early stages of climbing through the yonder, casting a good mix of pastel hues of blue, pink, and beige on everything. Heralding the first day of spring, the Ruler of the Spring Court has found it fitting to arrange this gathering where guests can feel the blades of grass touching their ankles, as well as the rich soil beneath their feet. Flowers of all kinds surround the party as if they were carefully curated. With spring as the "dawn of seasons," which marks a transition from winter's latency to the resurgence of life everywhere, the Ruler of the Dawn Court has also seen it fit to host aspects of this party during the one time of the year that dawn occurs the whole day. Tall candles and torches grace the outskirts of the garden party, providing warmth and an orange glow everywhere. Not one flame goes out even with the occasional wind, the Duchess always makes sure of this.

There are also freshly picked blossoms and branches with leaves on every table accenting the festive spread of food and drinks. This time, a lot of the food prepared for the Adopted guests are familiar to them with a little bit of a twist. Burgers might come in small packages and in toothpicks, while hotdogs in buns are also diminutive. Cookies look delectable but they have a flowery flavor to them, as if eating freshly picked daisies or daffodils. Fruits that may have been present in an Adopted's home, such as pineapples and watermelons, have seeds in odd places. Picking this selection of food is an attempt to be more welcoming and to appease the lovely guests the fae have invited.

As the party winds down and everyone's eaten, a tall, stately woman stands up and speaks. You feel her voice more than hear it.

I am the Lawspeaker of the Fae, elected by Seelie and Unseelie alike, and you are all, now, subjects of Faerie. You cannot leave this realm once you have eaten our food, and even if you could, there is no saying how much time has passed back where you're from. Your loved ones are likely dead, your problems have likely played out. We require assistance in various matters, and each of you has been chosen for your talent and skill. You will be adopted by one of the Seelie or Unseelie Courts based on your strengths and personality. Your Court will decide what to do with you from there.

As suddenly as she stood, she sits back down.

🦋 Chance at a Dance

A party is not complete without dancing, of course, and while during the last gathering held for the Adopted, different fae danced to music exclusively for them around a glowing tree, this time they are insisting their guests to join in.

This is a party for you, after all.

If the prodding of the different fae hosts won't convince you, perhaps the music will. They play easily recognizable tunes that their wonderful guests must have heard before. These melodies have certain unique effects to their mortal attendees, which are as follows:

Upbeat Music: You will believe that you and your dance partner have been friends forever and have known each other a long time.
Romantic Music: You will become amorous and flirtatious towards your dance partner.
Slow Music: You will develop some tension with your dance partner. It may be negative or sexual; completely up to you.
Quiet Music: You will assume your dance partner is a threat and try to fight them.

🦋 Flower Power

At the Spring King's behest, every Adopted should wear a flower corsage or boutonnière to the gathering. After all, this is to celebrate the coming of spring and what better way to do that than to honor everything in bloom.

The thing is, though, the King of Spring, while amorous and friendly, also has a penchant for playing with mortals' memories, if not also affect their desires and despairs.

So, mischievous as he is, he made sure to enchant the different flowers present in every corsage and boutonnière for the party with the effects below:

Rose: You will recall a horrific trauma
Carnation: You will see a vision of your future, whether it's good or bad
Orchid: You will remember a time you lost someone
Chrysanthemum: You will believe someone among the Adopted is your soulmate
Dahlia: You will believe you betrayed someone important to you, whether you actually did or not

It is perhaps a good thing that no one but the Adopted are allowed to see these visions and memories, but everyone who wears a corsage or boutonnière will be able to see each other's memories and visions when in close enough physical proximity to the vision-haver, for better or for worse.

🦋 GEIS

You feel a vibration in your pocket sometime after the Lawspeaker addresses everyone. When you search for the source, you will pull out your Leaf, the device the Fae use to stay in touch with each other. Anyone who's used a smart phone will easily recognize how it works.

Greetings, Adopted. This is your Lawspeaker.

Tell us all of a time you gave someone a gift. Perhaps a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates. Was it appreciated or not? A reward might await the most meaningful gift given.

🦋 Link to Overflow Post

ｎａｖｉｇａｔｉｏｎ

code

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

That's.... Pretty boring, actually. I was expecting some files on all our personalities and backgrounds.

Anyway, back to the DPS thing... Let me know when you need me. I have nothing better to do, and I'm kind of itching for a good fight.

A small hand slips into Hoppers', fingers curling around his. She's still unsteady on her legs, tapped out as it were. When he turns to look, he will see Eleven just like he last saw her - the grungy clothing, the smudged eyeshadow, the slicked back hair. She looks exhausted, and her hand is slightly sticky with the residue of food she crammed into her mouth earlier, hungry after emptying out her inner reserves to close that Gate.

She takes a small, shuddering breath.

"Don't eat."

Maybe he hasn't yet. She hopes he was smarter than her - a hope for nothing, of course. They're all already lost.

[ Charles really does try not to listen in when people have loud thoughts, but sometimes, it's like putting a megaphone and screaming right into his ear. Impossible to ignore. Other times, it's like white noise -- no, he doesn't care about your grocery list, or your relationship problems, or your appearance troubles -- but in times of emotional upheaval, thoughts and feelings are broadcast far louder and far more clearly.

He can't not catch glimpses of what she's thinking, the memories playing so vividly in the girl's mind. There's Logan, of all people, older and ragged. The sight of bone claws coming out from between her own knuckles. Another man, older still, sick, and--

God. That's him.

Charles hurriedly draws back as much as he can, putting a muffler between them. Still, her directed thoughts come through loud and clear, and as shocked as he is, Charles still smiles at it. Not many are comfortable speaking to him like that; it's always a pleasant surprise when he gets to indulge. It feels more real to him, words wrapped up in textures and sensations and memories, so much more layered than verbal speech. ]

No, I'm afraid that from what I've read about Fae mythology, it's all about trickery. [ He bites back a sigh, smile turning rueful. ] I'm not surprised that a lot of people fall for it, despite your warnings. It's good that you still try, though.

[ He takes a sip of tea, thoughtful. ]

You've been here for months? [ He's mildly appalled by that, and obviously worried. ] Do you have a guardian, or someone that's looking out for you?

[Oh, so he does. Tsukasa's gotten used to people saying his name a certain way, and has gotten used to names he himself isn't that familiar with pronouncing, so it's always a bit of fresh air to hear something so familiar.]

Nice to meet you too, Hiro!

[He just props his hands on his hips, steering the conversation to hopefully safer territory than mutated humans.]

So! How long have you been a superhero?

[Ow! Yikes! Right in his ear! Ryuji jumps at the realization that a strange boy is all the way up in his business, making warm noodle soup splash all over his hands. That's. That's like half the bowl gone.]

I dunno, I mean– Ramen for babies, maybe. Look how friggin' small this thing is!

[He shoves what's practically a thimble of broth in Tsukasa's, insisting he commiserate.] I've never seen ramen this tiny.

[It's complicated, but having done some of his own time traveling, not as complicated as it would've been a few years ago. If he can push Nat's face as she fell aside and focus on what Loki's saying--]

You took the Tesseract. Kinda derailed the plan. They put it back on track. [And as Loki said. That timeline doesn't exist anymore. None of the alternate, branching timelines they made for taking the stones do anymore. (Except Vormir. Except the Soul Stone. Except Natasha. That wasn't a branch. That doesn't get erased. It happened and it happened and it stays happened.)

What does he want to do with this Loki who both is and isn't at fault? What does he want to do with all this grief and guilt and unfinished business and exhaustion?

What he would like to do is go home.]

You still did it. What you did didn't change. Things changed when you escaped with the stone. You were that Loki. [He doesn't like to hold grudges, and he never saw Loki again after New York. It left a hell of a scar that took a damn long time to heal, though.] Who are you now?

Spike is a curious sort, and a traveling merchant is always exciting. So he stalks over to examine the set-up and the wares. Even seems like he might recognize an item or two that resembles things he knows. Huh.

"So what's your story?"

Edited 2025-03-16 01:20 (UTC)

[Frostbloom watches them with keen eyes hidden under the shadow of their oversized hat, but Frostbloom themself moves so their body is in the way of their Big Item Box behind them.]

Favors 'er fickle. [You pets keep coming and going and they can't rely on that.] Cost depends on da item and who it's for. You interested?

[ There's little reaction from Emmrich as that vision passed through his mind. Emmrich has never been a clairvoyant, and he balked at the notion, typically, the majority of them theatrical and untrustworthy in his limited experience, but he was familar—one might say, comfortable—with death. And what a dramatic and heart-wrenching death it was; the maw of a great beast, the gentle lull of the waves, the dim light of the sun on bleached bones. It was almost as if it were a tableau, lovingly crafted.

Oh, he was a scholar of history, but the sword, alas, was unfamiliar. Still, he offered his best. ] The guard was carved to look like wings, [ he mused, index finger pressed against his lower lip as he tried to recall the finer details. ] Dark steel of some kind, perhaps? Gilded at the ends. And the pommel appeared to be an egg.

[ Ah, he recognised one thing for certain: the sapphire in the corpse's eye and the presence of an eye patch. ] Does that help?

Edited 2025-03-16 01:23 (UTC)

The parts spark and crackle at being touched, and Astronema's eyes roll back as whatever is happening to her neurons intensifies, looking very much like she's being electrocuted from the inside out.

It stops, all at once. All at once, she's back.

All at once, her hand is darting right for his throat to latch on, her teeth bared in a grimace of unspeakable rage and pain.

"Truth be told, it takes about three standard bottles of whiskey for me to get there." And not because he's a life-long alcoholic either. He's got this cool new version of his extremis virus keeping his metabolism trucking along at higher than normal rates. "It just looks tacky to walk around carrying the whole bottle."

"Food fight, huh?" He shakes his head a bit. "The guy who lived through the Great Depression is on board with food waste? Interesting take, but, give it a shot, see what happens."

Uh -

[ Shoot, should he be keeping this under wraps? He's frankly not fully convinced it's real. If it is real, he's a real long way away from San Fransokyo, so maybe he should talk? And if it's a dream, then who cares right?

Right. Whatever. He'll deal with it if this is a bad idea. Later. ]

Like a year and a half? It was summer of '32 when I started, and now I'm halfway through fall semester again.

With one smooth, definitive motion, Frostbloom's hand lays flat on the pages of the book before drawing it back away from Clint towards themself. Just as well - the script is in an unintelligible scribble.

"Wouldn't know. 'm only here a couple times a year." The accent feels out of place in this fae fantasy world, something Clint would probably more easily recognize on a street with bagels and pizza and business deals in tall looming buildings all around. "Not really my style, but. Gotta make a round every now an' then, y'know?"

Father.

The word hits him like a ton of bricks and very briefly, he is taken back to the night he lost his own parents. The desperation, the feeling of loneliness, the dread at knowing he would never see them smile or laugh again. Even though she has put them through hell, he finds himself taking a step forward the second she begins to teeter on her feet. No one deserves to suffer through something like that.

Not alone. Not ever.

He knows how it feels to get zapped by her, while standing in water no less, so he approaches her with caution. Well, he can't very well leave her on the floor like this, people are going to step on her, so he crouches down and carefully scoops her up. Careful not the jostle her (awake), he makes a beeline for the nearest unoccupied chair and deposits her in it. Then? After propping her staff up next to her, he retreats a safe distance away to watch over her.

There is no way he is going to get zapped twice, no way, but this is Andros' sister. He intends to stick around until she wakes up to make sure no one messes with her. Not that it's necessary, she is more than capable of handling herself, it's just not in him to walk away while she's incapacitated.

At least he isn't cooking for her this time.

"I think we can waste the food that trapped us here," Steve says with a shrug. He wouldn't suggest it if it was normal food. That would be wasteful. This stuff is a trap.

"I'm also curious to see how this Lawspeaker reacts if we make trouble." He gives him a once over. "You wouldn't happen to have an answer to that, would you?"

Because he looks like the kind of guy who would make trouble.

[The vial Bruce picks up is a small glass tincture that tapers down to a smooth point on the bottom of clear glass and an almost mercurial liquid inside. When the light hits it, the liquid shines in a bright fluorescent fuchsia.]

Hm. Might make ya forget somethin'. Or might let ya fly. Hard ta say. Forgot dat one.

[ooc: Drinking this potion causes the user to be unable to speak verbally while the potion is active. They may still communicate using pen and paper, sign language, etc. Per OOC preference, small nonverbal noises may still be possible.]

Edited (missed so many letters in potion wtf) 2025-03-16 07:55 (UTC)

[Horse wasn't dancing - well, not true. She was swaying to the beat a little. She can't help it! It's catchy! And then she sees a person throwing up fingers at her and she points her hoof at herself.]

Are you - are you talking to me?

[Most of the items on the table are things Frostbloom is actively using, or their own things like their umbrella and their lunch.]

Potions of any variety ya can think of. And rare items I've found on my travels around. Weird stuff. Useful stuff. You interested?

Edited (fucked up my /small tag) 2025-03-16 03:59 (UTC)

( She's begun to suspect that they must know she tries to catch people before they eat. She's had very bad luck finding anyone in time, even though she always looks. But maybe the fae are like Charles, and can read her mind. Maybe they know her intentions, and they find ways to steer her away from people before she can get to them. She doesn't plan to give up, still. She's stubborn. They can waste their time and energy every single party and it will serve them right.

It's a little funny, honestly, to be asked this question by somebody who fell into that role themselves only months ago. Never nearly as much as Logan, seeing as Logan had been caring for the both of them — insomuch as Logan ever really cares for anything: begrudgingly, with great and vocal disdain. Still, she learned more from Charles than from her father in those short days.

But she doesn't need a guardian, because she's a weapon, not a child. She won't say this out loud. Erik asked her not to, and she's been keeping that promise, even if it hasn't extended to changing the way she thinks of herself quite yet.

Someone has been looking out for her, though, and the faintest smile flits across her features. Wry, almost.

Si.

There's a memory, a flash of an image of hands — fingers curling tightly another larger set that might ring familiar to Charles. Erik's hand swallows hers when he holds it back.

Your friend. )

[Oh boy they are WARY about this fellow.]

Let me ask you first, before I commit to anything... You wouldn't happen to have a deed to a house would you? Maybe a cottage or something away from the castle?

No, nothing I did has ever been undone. I invaded New York, too.

[ he's quiet as barton seems to process, still looking far too pale and on the verge of a breakdown. he doesn't know what happened before he ran into him, what someone else had done, or said, or.. showed him, perhaps. maybe it was one of the flowers-- he's seen those, the memories they project. he's drifted through several of them, and barton has more than a few reasons to be shaky after being forced to live through certain memories.

the question earns a small, wry smile. ] Now that is a rather long story. The short of it is that I'm trying to be.. good. A good person. Better, at least. The long of it is far too long for the middle of a crowded party while you look a breath away from screaming.

[ he hesitates, still telegraphing his movements as he reaches down to touch fingertips very lightly to the hand still gripping his lapel. he's not even sure if barton's aware he's still doing it. ] May I have my coat back? I do feel as if it might be best to sit. Both of us, perhaps, if you'd prefer to keep an eye on me.

the party

[ erwin really isn't sure how he got to this party. the thing is, he remembers the process of dying. to an extent, insomuch as someone who was at some point dying normally remembers anything about that whole experience. this is to say he remembers getting the injury that should have killed him, and then some fuzzy, awful snippets afterward. he remembers his thoughts screaming in his head, telling him things he'd kept in quiet corners until there was nothing to keep them at bay anymore.

but here, he's uninjured. here, his clothing is clean and untorn. here, there's no gaping, horrible wound in his side. here, those thoughts have been relegated back into their prison at the fringes of his consciousness.

so, naturally, being at a garden party instead of dead on a roof, he has questions. he has many questions, none of which are answered to his satisfaction, but at the same time there isn't much he can do about it except ask more questions.

at length, he realizes his only real method of getting information is going to be to try and fit in and to listen to everything when people don't realize his ear is to the metaphorical ground.

he meanders, he socializes. he, at length, despite his trepidation about it, eats and drinks. no one has died, the food is plentiful, and a horrible, gnawing hunger than even at the worst famine to his memory doesn't hold a candle to.

it's only after that speech, after that cheeky little commentary on how it doesn't and never will matter that they want to get home, that erwin bites the inside of his cheek hard enough that it bleeds. he swallows down the iron like a bitter medicine and, once the bleeding slows to nothing, he turns to the person nearest him. ]

It's remarkable how no one mentioned those unimportant details before any of this, don't you think?

[ sarcasm at its root, though his tone doesn't indicate such. he's angry, but he can't let himself make mistakes.

because, frankly, he doesn't believe it. he doesn't believe it and he has things to do at home. if he's whole and alive, he can do something about it. he stays sitting afterward, observing, one leg crossed over the other at the knee and the fingers of his single hand drumming quietly atop it as he considers. ]

chance at a dance

[ eventually, he decides that continuing to pretend is still his best bet. he'll wiggle under the radar, find others who desire their freedom, and put together a plan.

and one way, one of the best ways maybe, of getting to talk to people undetected, is to talk to them in close quarters in situations people are unlikely to interrupt. like dancing, perhaps.

he feels a tug to do it either way, but tells himself it's practical as well.

for upbeat music, he'll pop up with a smile and a bow and offer his hand. ]

Care to dance? It feels like we haven't seen each other in far too long.

[ because of course he's known them for years. they've been brought here together, after all.

and for quiet music, his gaze is sharper. his head tilts, a predator bird, and he looks down his nose, more aggressive than is normal for him in any capacity. ]

I don't think fighting each other is our best plan, but if you insist.

flower power

[ the flower erwin wears is a dahlia pinned to his chest. the strange thing is, despite the thoughts and visions screaming in his head, the memories so real he can taste them, for the most part he seems outwardly unruffled. it makes a strange disconnect to be close to him, calm and smiling while his internal balance is a maelstrom of ache and guilt.

who has he betrayed? his people, his city, his squad, his—

—well. there's a quiet vision replaying of the look on the face of his second-in-command while he did it in the recesses of his mind, is all. ]

geis

The nature of gifts is that their contents matter less than the sentiment behind them but at the same time I feel like it's important to take practicality into account. Something may look nice but if the person it's for can never use it or never would, it's much worse than something thoughtful and useful. "Boring" doesn't factor into gift-giving when what you're giving is something vital.

Maybe that sounds pretentious. I'm not trying to say I've ever done anything so amazing as giving someone something as vital as to be that important, but I'm curious what other people think about it.

What I've given people doesn't matter, in fact. The most meaningful gift I've ever received, though, is a purpose.

notes

[ i'm happy to roll with other options!!! feel free to pm me if you have any particular desires or thoughts. ]

[ Maurice had thought nothing of hollering jovially at a random horse that happened to be at the party (and really, what is a party without a random horse), but when she speaks back to him, he stops thrashing long enough for his eyes to catch up with his head. ]

[ He stares at her, stupefied, for a hot second. Then his smile is back and he lets out a delighted little drunken yell. He has no idea what's going on! ]

Aaaaaaaaaaa! Oh shit! Hahahaha! Yeah, man! You wanna dance, horsie?

Horse was looking to get away from the party. It was a bit too loud and she needs a breather from it all. So out here felt a little more quiet, when she notices a... well, not a human. She's not really sure what they are.

"Loud party, isn't it? I had to get out of there too."

What? You–

[He'd seen it. Every miserable second. This is officially the worst party ever.

Ryuji frowns as Akechi recounts the details of Kamoshida's confession, how he'd freely admitted to the abuse of the volleyball team, apparently only implying that his reign of terror had started elsewhere. Well, Akechi just got a front row seat to the sordid truth. The track team that was doomed from the very moment the Shujin alumnus step foot back on campus, wealthy with prestige and gold medals and seething jealousy of young talent. If the volleyball team were to shine, the track team and its star runner had to go.]

… It wasn't that simple. [Like they could even afford to press charges. Like his mom would have been able to shoulder that kind of shame. Like he could stomach being even more of a burden to her.] Nobody believed me when I tried tellin'em. What's the word of a violent punk against an Olympic medalist? [Ryuji scuffs his shoe against the ground.]

Cops never do shit.

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Page 29 of 218

Test Drive Meme #2

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we'll call it a mix between i and wildcard

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TSUKASA TENMA MY BELOVED

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(Pre-Vision) Items wheel - 44

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flower power ~

ANDROS PLZ

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cw: death (for now)

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Dancing - Upbeat

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erwin smith. attack on titan. cw mentions of death, blood, violence.

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Flowers

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