Test Drive Meme #2

[changelinged]

TDM #2 - March/April 2025

🦋 Introduction

Welcome to the Pixie Led Test Drive Meme!

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🦋 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

Comments

wildcard because I do what I want.

[valle]

( It's late now; the dances have been danced, the flowers have been trampled beneath the feet of resentful memory-watchers, the food has been eaten, the lawspeaker has lawspoken. The candles have become the greatest source of light in the immediate area, and most of the seasoned Adopted have already filtered out.

But not her.

She likes to watch. She observes people quietly, unobtrusively, distantly. She'd seen this man grab something to throw at the person who stole them, saw it fly with perfect accuracy, saw that it was absolutely going to shatter a lethal blow against her — and saw it explode mid-air, by magic. She'd been disappointed, quietly, from her little perch at one of the distant tables. It had been a good shot. It should have landed, but the fae don't play fair.

So maybe neither should they.

She holds her backpack in her arms as she approaches him, dark hair framing her face, expression solemn, breaking through the normal silence she tends to give strangers for a rare greeting: )

Hola.

( She's here on business. Staring him into initiating the conversation will not do. )

[brandingproblem]

[So. Long day. Exhausting day. Really awful and generally supremely fucked up day. He is ready to figure out what the fuck to do from here, figure out how to go--how to go, but also he's ready to see if falling asleep means waking up from this fairytale bullshit nightmare.

And then there's a girl standing in front of him.

And yeah. Okay. He's been learning not to underestimate little unassuming girls. This one looks so serious, and he wonders for a moment if this is another ploy, another magical fae prank to play.

But. Sure. Play ball.] Hi. [He himself looks rather unassuming, all things considered, especially if they didn't catch him trying to take out the Lawspeaker. His hands slide into his pockets, casual if a little wary. The last girl at least was very helpful.] Can I help you?

[valle]

( This little girl intends to be helpful too, but in a different way. She isn't like Eleven; she can't coax people's minds, she can't do that sort of magic. No telepathy, no levitating metal. Laura's body is the weapon, she is the weapon, whether or not she's supposed to say that out loud. Laura is a knife; Laura is a killer.

But she isn't equipped to do that here, her skill set is not quite right. She cannot get close enough, and even if she could, her claws won't be enough.

She eyes him warily, and returns his question with another question: )

Were you going to kill her?

( Her English is fluent, but her accent is thick — it's her second language, clearly. Lilting and rolling syllables, that first hola, it doesn't take a genius.

What's maybe more unsettling is how impassive she looks about the whole thing. Expression stoic, eyes solemn, utterly unafraid and unperturbed by the concept. She stares at him expectantly, evidently awaiting an honest answer to a question far too blunt. )

[brandingproblem]

[Her. The Lawspeaker. Funny question for a kid to ask, but clearly there's something else she has in mind. And this is something he has no intention to lie about. No inclination to be coy.]

Yeah.

[His Spanish isn't great, which, yeah, okay, maybe that seems like an oversight, but he's got plenty of other languages under his belt. A little accent never hurt no one.]

Was the intent.

[valle]

( She nods her head once, as if to say I thought so, good. She's glad that he doesn't lie. Her hands shift the backpack she's holding, the hefty weight of it awkward and unbalanced, the kind of weight that can't be books.

Just one more question, and then she'll give him what she came here to give him: )

Are you going to try to kill her again? Will you do better?

[brandingproblem]

[Ah. Hm. Something in the bag that she's protecting but also possibly about to offer. Something that shouldn't be seen until she's sure about something. Why are all these kids putting their trust in him, damn it?]

I'm going to watch and wait. Need more information. Need to figure out how to do better before I try anything else. [Need to figure out who to kill. Need to figure out if killing is even on the table. Too many variables.]

[valle]

( For what it's worth, she doesn't trust him. She doesn't know him. Her trust is more difficult to earn than one conversation or one observation, and doubly so with the kind of people who are capable of the same things she is capable of — but what she does trust is the way he tried to kill the person who stole her. Who is trapping them, and using them as weapons. Tricking them, controlling them. She trusts that he wants her to die.

And that's good enough; she reaches into her bag, and she pulls out a fucking revolver. She checks the magazine; all five rounds she started with are still there. Checks that the safety's on. Then flips it in her hand and offers it over handle-out. )

[brandingproblem]

[...So. Not what he was expecting a little girl to just whip out and handle in a way she should absolutely not know how to handle. His eyebrows skyrocket.

And he does not initially take it. Because he has so many questions. But in the land of the fae, where it seems like bargaining is the way things work around here, the most prominent at the moment is:]

What do you want for it?

[valle]

( She's learned a few lessons about the fae in her time here, too — namely, that they do not like stealing at all. They're much less happy about it than the people at gas stations and convenience stores, she's learned, and so she does not do that anymore. She barters with what she can just like everybody else. Usually, it's sea glass harvested from the beach, or pretty shells, or smoothed out stones from the river. Things she can collect, things that are pretty but that ultimately should not hold nearly as much value as they seem to.

She knows people deal in trades here. He's smart, she thinks, for picking up on that already even though it is only his first day. She purses her lips, thinking hard. Squinting at him. There is nothing on his person that she can see that she especially wants, and she doesn't know what favors he's capable of giving her other than to try and kill the fae — not a promise he can make. Not honestly.

After several long seconds, she decides: )

A story. Something true. That will make us even.

[brandingproblem]

[Ah, the abstract kind of bargain. Not a promise to kill someone in the future, not an IOU to come to her rescue or do a chore or help her if she gets in a scrape. Nothing...useful. Just a story. Yeah, that's the kind of thing he's not going to like about these fairy types.]

You're sure you don't just want taught how to shoot? [She looks like she'd get knocked over by the kickback, but still.] Unless you already do. [Given how she handles it.

But. If that's what she wants, in exchange for a weapon--and five shots. He doubts bullets are a dime a dozen here.

Which means this is serious. He still doesn't reach for it, because he needs to be sure for her sake.] Two more questions. Why are you willing to hand this off to a stranger you've never met, whose name you don't even know?

And what kind of story would you like to hear? [Something true. Something happy? Sad? Long? Short? Funny? Worded like a fairytale itself, or blunt and real?]

[valle]

( That first question, that offer, puts a frustrated, defensive little furrow into her brow. She doesn't have to say it; it reads I know how to shoot. She did, after all, put one of the six bullets that gun holds into the head of a man that wasn't her father. An adamantium bullet, specifically, into the soulless husk of a clone that would ultimately kill him. But she did it from only ten feet away. This is different than the distance he spun his plate.

The furrow only grows deeper at his questions — this was supposed to be simple. A gun, for free, so that the kidnapper will die. Why do adults make things so much more complicated than they have to be? )

Because you had good aim. You can do it from further away. This is smarter. And because you are the only one to try since the very first party.

( If she could get within ten feet of the lawspeaker with her weapons out, she would not need a gun at all. She could do far better and far more thorough a job with the claws. Those are her specialty. Guns are too unwieldy, and yes, sometimes the bigger ones have too much kick-back. She's not so smooth with them.

She could give it to Erik, but Erik doesn't need it. He could shoot the bullets with his mind. Anything could be a bullet. John, she thinks, is probably not trained in how to use a gun. And he would rather use fire anyway. If anyone else has attacked the Lawspeaker, she did not see them; Clint's the first to make the move, so Clint is offered the gun.

As for the second question... )

Do you know any true stories that are happy?

( Because she's begun to think there's no such thing. )

[brandingproblem]

[Fair enough. A good shot and one of the only people brave/stupid enough to even give it a go. He could think of worse reasons.]

I can tell you a true story that's happy. [He'll have to quickly sort through said stories to find one that works just fine, so in order to buy himself a little time on that front, he motions to one of the remaining, mostly abandoned tables. Sits on one side for her to take the other. The gun can be laid there. Might even bring it closer to him, but not actually take it or tuck it.

He figures if it came with a holster, that would've been offered up, too.]

I'm Clint, by the way. [Because somehow he keeps getting into intense shit with complete strangers who don't bother with names unless prompted. It's great! It's great. Please teach manners.]

And my story is about a girl in New York. Who only ever wanted to do right by the people around her, wanted to be a hero. Now, she stumbled on a bad scene, bunch of people with too much money and time on their hands auctioning off things that didn't belong to them. She ended up taking an outfit from them, some armor that would've fetched a real high price, scare them off, save the day. Problem was, that armor belonged to someone who made a lot of powerful enemies. There were news stories about that guy, old wounds about him. But if she takes it off where people will see, then they think she's the guy.

So she's running around in downtown Manhattan at night, in armor that shouldn't fit her, running from a bunch of this guy's enemies. And in the middle of this chaos, there's a dog. Stray dog, no collar, no leash, missing an eye. Helps her out in a pinch, and then runs off, ending up right in the middle of traffic. If she doesn't get somewhere safe and away soon, she's gonna get caught, and she'll be in a lot of trouble. If she doesn't do something for this dog, he's gonna get hit or worse.

But she's always wanted to be a hero, and she grabs the dog to get him out of traffic. And they run. [It's okay to simplify and embellish a little. Because the crux of the story is still true.] Bad guys lose track of her across the street in the traffic, and she and the luckiest dog alive end up being a great duo. He gets to eat pizza.

[valle]

( No holster is forthcoming; surprising absolutely no one, this was not her gun. It's one she scavenged from the ground during the battle, picked up in the heat of the moment out of desperation, because her claws were doing absolutely nothing to the empty husk of dense muscle and feral rage unleashed upon them. He's lucky it even comes with bullets, considering she haphazardly tossed one out to make room for the adamantium round.

A girl in New York who wanted to do the right thing. She's skeptical that this could possibly be a happy story — nobody who wants to do the right thing has a happy ending, but she settles in across the table from him anyway, flickering her eyes between him and the gun as if she expects him to try and swipe it off the table. Silly, because she'd planned on giving it to him for free — but now that she's been promised a story, she's invested.

They didn't have those where she comes from. No books, no movies, no bedtime stories, no media. No literature, or poems, or songs. No history, because you don't teach history to weapons you want to control, to oppress. This is why she likes true stories — she likes to learn, she wants to know things that are real.

Unfortunately, everything she's learned this way has been troubling.

Armor and enemies doesn't seem happy, and that wariness only grows — until he says the magic word that is dog, and her eyes light up. She straightens, newly invested in this girl, but most importantly, in this girl and her dog.

This might be a happy story.

But she is not so sure it's true, and so she narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. )

What were their names?

( Could he easily make those things up too? Yes. However. She wants to believe she would be able to tell.

She wouldn't, but she wants to believe it anyway. )

[brandingproblem]

[He grins. And he's a talented enough liar that sure, he could be making it all up. And sure, he could make up the smile, too. But it's genuine. And a lot of people can pick up on genuine whether they realize it or not.] Her name is Kate. I met her about a week ago. She named the dog Lucky. Lucky the Pizza Dog.

She feeds him more than just pizza, I promise. You don't want to smell a dog that's had too much of that in him.

[valle]

( She has not been so sure yet whether or not she likes this man — until he smiles. For all that she's independent, and too old for her age, and willing to act harshly, she's just as susceptible to some things as any other twelve year old girl would be. Namely, a disarming and genuine smile — or one that seems as such — is enough to lower her guard. It gives the impression that he's nice, and really, that's all it takes to make her like a person. She hasn't met very many nice people in her life; the novelty has not yet worn off.

Kate. Lucky the Pizza Dog.

She chews her cheek, considers, and then nods. )

This is a good dog name.

( After all, there is a corgi in the stables named Hamburger. He is estupido, the dumbest dog in the whole pack, and she adores him. If a dog can be Hamburger, a dog can be Lucky the Pizza Dog.

And since he gave her his name at the start of the story, she concedes: )

Mi nombre es Laura. ( She reaches forward, and very gently nudges the gun a few inches further his direction. ) You told the story. I believe you. You can have it now.

[brandingproblem]

Thank you, Laura.

[Pays to be polite. She has enjoyed the story, yes, but it's also clear she's taking this exchange very seriously. Which is good, because you don't want to be casual and light when it comes to handing loaded guns to people. He takes the gun, and yes, he watched her check it, but he does it himself anyway. Helps him get the feel of it, the weight, the balance. It's clear he's definitely handled guns before, not just dinner plates.

He's quickly satisfied and makes to tuck it back in the band of his pants. Under a couple layers of jacket and shirt and more. Near the small compact handle of his sword.]

I'll try not the waste it. Are you okay here? [As okay as anyone whisked away to this weird place can be.]

[valle]

De nada.

( It's an automatic reply to the thanks; you're welcome, it's nothing. It truly is; there is little she could do with that gun that someone with more ranged experience couldn't do better. She will always be an up-close fighter. At least this way it's going to someone potentially useful. When he checks the gun with familiarity, she knows she's at least somewhat correct.

The follow-up question is a little puzzling, though, and her brow furrows up again in confusion. Why wouldn't she be? She's strong, and she heals — though he doesn't know that — and she can survive. She can make friends, and they can help each other survive.

But after a moment of consideration, her answer is a quiet: )

Nobody is okay here. They want to use us as weapons. But I won't let them. Maybe if we stop letting them trick us, if we kill them, then we will be okay here.