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memestertrucks2025-01-01 12:01 am
monstertruckers) wrote in memestertrucks2025-01-01 12:01 am
Entry tags:
JANUARY TDM
After tumbling through shadow you find yourself in a shrouded, ruined garage. It’s full of shattered windows and broken mechanical equipment; watch out for shards on the floor, in between the strange symbols scrawled into the ground. Outside the daylight is fading; night is rolling in, and there’s just a few dying lights flickering on and off. It’s going to be hard to see in here and avoid bumping into things and people, if you don’t get outside soon.
Beyond the rundown garage is an overgrown gas station surrounded by thick, wetland forest. Starlight is streaming through the trees, along with light from a broken moon. The one thing that isn’t overgrown with plants is a large Convoy of vehicles, parked right underneath the station canopy.
01: START UP
The Convoy looks like a cross between a semi truck and a train; there’s no one at the front, but there’s still power humming through the entire Convoy. It’s also the most hospitable thing in sight. Why not make yourself at home a little? You just have to chase that eerie, empty feeling since there’s no one else present.
Alternately, there are the cars scattered around the Convoy; all of them in better shape than the gas station. And some of them looking and feeling almost like they might belong to you. That feeling is only increased, when you see there’s a key to the car nearby. Perhaps the key is already in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on your person, ever since you woke up in that garage. Either way, you have the keys to the vehicle now.
…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.
Alternately, there are the cars scattered around the Convoy; all of them in better shape than the gas station. And some of them looking and feeling almost like they might belong to you. That feeling is only increased, when you see there’s a key to the car nearby. Perhaps the key is already in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on your person, ever since you woke up in that garage. Either way, you have the keys to the vehicle now.
…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.
02: RUIN EXPLORATION
The ruined gas station and garage are the only man-made structures around, and have seen better days. The store still holds packaged food, and tepid drinks of all sorts. The garage has old mechanical equipment for working on cars, along with that strange summoning circle.
There's also a giant tree bursting through the gas station roof. And clinging to its branches, half melted into the surface, are metallic bodies. Graffiti is spray painted onto the tree, reading ‘avoid the Husks.’
Those who ignore the warning and get closer hear a faint hum coming off those bodies. It’s almost like whispers, though it’s impossible to make out any clear words. Some Husks are clutching supplies in metal fists. For a few unlucky new arrivals, those Husks might even be holding the keys to their vehicles.
Making direct contact with the Husks intensifies the hum, and the whispers begin to form into pained cries, and give the impression of something rummaging through their thoughts; trying to pry out things that hurt Drifters, and reflecting those hurtful things on the bodies of the Husks for anyone to see.
There's also a giant tree bursting through the gas station roof. And clinging to its branches, half melted into the surface, are metallic bodies. Graffiti is spray painted onto the tree, reading ‘avoid the Husks.’
Those who ignore the warning and get closer hear a faint hum coming off those bodies. It’s almost like whispers, though it’s impossible to make out any clear words. Some Husks are clutching supplies in metal fists. For a few unlucky new arrivals, those Husks might even be holding the keys to their vehicles.
Making direct contact with the Husks intensifies the hum, and the whispers begin to form into pained cries, and give the impression of something rummaging through their thoughts; trying to pry out things that hurt Drifters, and reflecting those hurtful things on the bodies of the Husks for anyone to see.
03: MONSTER ATTACK
The night grows darker, and the shadows grow deeper. And from those shadows comes the glint of something moving across the Husks, rippling over the metal… And breaking it apart in a flurry of too sharp claws and teeth. That’s when the radio chooses to come on in another mess of static.
Be careful- Keep your fear and rage in check- Calls the monsters- We need the shield up-
The warning comes too late as monsters arrive. Some human-like but with razor teeth mouths that stretch from face to groin; others resembling alligators with bloated proportions and jaws that spit lightning; and still others where the vegetation has come to life, sporting thorn covered appendages.
The Pisaca monsters act as shock troopers, wearing the Convoy down with venomous bites and debilitating howls, before the heavy and brutish alligators bull in, using their bulk and electric attacks to obliterate what’s left. The capparwires scurry in the periphery, taking cheap shots with thorny vines and sparking electricity where they can. It’s a task to keep the monsters at bay until the generator fires up. Especially when one last enemy makes an appearance…
Be careful- Keep your fear and rage in check- Calls the monsters- We need the shield up-
The warning comes too late as monsters arrive. Some human-like but with razor teeth mouths that stretch from face to groin; others resembling alligators with bloated proportions and jaws that spit lightning; and still others where the vegetation has come to life, sporting thorn covered appendages.
The Pisaca monsters act as shock troopers, wearing the Convoy down with venomous bites and debilitating howls, before the heavy and brutish alligators bull in, using their bulk and electric attacks to obliterate what’s left. The capparwires scurry in the periphery, taking cheap shots with thorny vines and sparking electricity where they can. It’s a task to keep the monsters at bay until the generator fires up. Especially when one last enemy makes an appearance…
03-A: MIRRORMIC
There's as a metallic shiver along one of the remaining Husks, and a strange ringing whisper in the ears. The next moment, the Husk breaks open in a gleaming pool of quicksilver. That quicksilver catches reflections, and molds itself into a darker copy of a Drifter.
The mirror monster whispers faults and secrets at the reflected Drifter, and anyone close by. It tries to goad Drifters into an attack. And when struck, the mirror monster plays its second trick; whatever damage it takes is reflected back onto the Drifter as a transformation. An injury to the arm transforms the Drifter's arm, and so on.
It's possible to banish this monster through direct lights shone on it from a car, flashlight, or magic… But such action needs to be swift, before the Mirrormic completely changes its Drifter.
03-B: BOMBADGY BOMBARDMENT
Before, during and even a little after the monster attack, there’s an extra presence scurrying around the vehicles, snuffling and barking when startled. A band of chunky, raccoon-esque monsters known as the bombadgy are raiding anything that looks like it could be food storage… And this includes vehicles!
The bombadgy’s claws are deft and sharp with tearing through windows and door seams. These creatures are a touch skittish and won’t attack unless provoked. They also can expel a flammable gas… And this means they can explode if sufficiently spooked or stressed. This also means that they can be treated as living bombs, and be lobbed at other threats if needed.
04: WIND DOWN
During the monster attack, there’s changes gripping the Convoy, and especially the people in it. It might feel like your control is getting worn away by the second… At least until something in the trucks starts to whirr to life. It’s a soft enough noise, little more than a hum as something blooms out of the engines. It fast turns into a shield that envelops the Convoy in a shimmering, glowing dome.
And while it might not be enough to reverse those changes, it can at least stop them from growing any worse. Give you a moment of breathing space to adjust to everything that’s happened, and give you some measure of clarity and control. There’s time to breathe and mend now. Take stock of one’s injuries and changes.
But there’s a few strange surprises still waiting, it seems. Because the corpses of the monsters begin to disintegrate, like they are bleeding out motes of sickly light. Light that you quickly absorb; it has the side effect of lessening pain, even mending wounds… Though it might make you feel a bit off. Maybe a little more excitable, maybe a little more irritable, or maybe expressing a certain odd psychological quirk. Still, that sudden surge should pass in about an hour or so; just need to keep it together until then. Perhaps with a little company.
And while it might not be enough to reverse those changes, it can at least stop them from growing any worse. Give you a moment of breathing space to adjust to everything that’s happened, and give you some measure of clarity and control. There’s time to breathe and mend now. Take stock of one’s injuries and changes.
But there’s a few strange surprises still waiting, it seems. Because the corpses of the monsters begin to disintegrate, like they are bleeding out motes of sickly light. Light that you quickly absorb; it has the side effect of lessening pain, even mending wounds… Though it might make you feel a bit off. Maybe a little more excitable, maybe a little more irritable, or maybe expressing a certain odd psychological quirk. Still, that sudden surge should pass in about an hour or so; just need to keep it together until then. Perhaps with a little company.
05: CAMP
A screen in the Convoy flickers to life. The image isn't visible through a snowfield of static. Same with the audio:
“Still… Alive? Good. Connection- Can’t hear you. Can't talk. Convoy will- take you closer to Nirvana.”
After that, the connection is dropped, leaving a collection of text:
I’m sorry. I have no answers for you. But you’re still alive. You’re not as broken as the rest of the world. When the sun rises, this Convoy and all the cars around it will start moving North towards Nirvana. If you want answers, and to stay as close to human as you can… I suggest you stay with the Convoy. Good luck.
A last alert flashes across the screen: “TESTING LOCAL NETWORK CONNECTION.” And then… Music starts to play on the speakers. Mellow guitar and brass music that’s at odds with all the weird that’s happened recently, but perhaps just the thing to relax to.
“Still… Alive? Good. Connection- Can’t hear you. Can't talk. Convoy will- take you closer to Nirvana.”
After that, the connection is dropped, leaving a collection of text:
I’m sorry. I have no answers for you. But you’re still alive. You’re not as broken as the rest of the world. When the sun rises, this Convoy and all the cars around it will start moving North towards Nirvana. If you want answers, and to stay as close to human as you can… I suggest you stay with the Convoy. Good luck.
A last alert flashes across the screen: “TESTING LOCAL NETWORK CONNECTION.” And then… Music starts to play on the speakers. Mellow guitar and brass music that’s at odds with all the weird that’s happened recently, but perhaps just the thing to relax to.
MICRO ENCOUNTERS:
PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.
Race Track: There’s a race track that winds around the gas station! It’s a bit threadbare in places and little more than a mossy and muddy trail. But it’s still a race track that weaves under and over trees, and seems like a good place to test new wheels.
Gone Fishing: The gas station area eventually turns into the start of a swamp; that explains where the alligators came from. It may be possible to do a little bit of fishing, though the fish are just as weird as everything else. Still edible though. Swimming in the swamp is not advised. The alligator monsters and fish tend to bite back.
Spray Paint Messages: The paint on the trees and gas station is starting to fade and wash out, but can still be legible; most of it contains messages warning about the end of the world, prayers to the heavens for mercy, and dire warnings about husks and something called “moon warps.”
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[Heh. Talons, though... He'd have to look underneath the gloves to know for sure...]
Then again, I suppose talons aren't unfitting for someone like me. Still, if I am to change further, let's hope I obtain something with a bit more range.
[Those alligators' jaws are rather long, after all. Getting close enough to slash would present its own risk.]
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[And only then, it occurs to her that he'd just said something alarming.]
Wait, what do you mean 'person to person?' Is this shit contagious?
[Don't mind her, she's been in the land of endless tooth-mouths, she hasn't seen anybody changing into monsters yet.]
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[Neither of which are especially accessible, to his infinite chagrin, but...
Okay. Her reaction prompts a wry snicker.]
And no, I wouldn't say it's contagious per se, although I did notice those mimics had an irritating knack for causing partial-transformations on contact.
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[Oh, she'd actually heard something about that. She'd been fortunate enough to avoid them, and she was fine with that. She wasn't looking to have a chat with her inner demons just yet.
And she hadn't seen anybody with effects this obvious yet.]
I'm assuming you killed it, at least?
[Because she does not want to run into a pissed off survivor and run up with her own creature features. She takes another quick puff at the cigarette, mostly to hide the anxiety in the question. And maybe the anxiety from some other stuff.]
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[It's one thing he certainly misses from Robin Hood's arsenal. Even if Robin Hood doesn't truly embody the person he is now, dual elements made fighting a much simpler experience.
But it is what it is, and he speaks with a calm, if disappointed tone.]
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[Who talks like that? But hey, now she knows. Light is good against mimics. She tends to remember stuff like that better when she actually kills something with it, but she'll do her best.]
So what about you, do you have 'elemental prowess?' Gotta say, you don't look like you get in a lot of fights. Uh, no offense.
[Not that she's one to talk, since she's visibly just a five-four gal with no distinguishing physical features.]
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Looks can be deceiving. A pretty face can all too easily mask a ruthless disposition.
[He won't go into the specifics, of course. He can't just unveil his history to a stranger.]
But yes, I have some "magical" abilities. They're more limited here, but still suitable enough to fending off monsters.
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[She raises her hands in a show of surrender and apology.]
Scariest witch I know was a mousy little nerd when I met her, I ain't judgin'.
[Granted, she and Willow had gotten along even worse than her and Buffy, which already wasn't great. She doesn't think it's a good idea to bring that up. Instead she returns to her cigarette. Inhale, exhale, give it a moment to clear the air.]
Don't think I caught a name, Manicure.
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[Then again, maybe everyone from her world who uses magic is a witch. He doesn't know nearly enough to say, but... Manicure?
His face crinkles up for a moment at the nickname.]
Anyway, I'm Goro Akechi. Akechi will suffice.
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[She's not good at pronouncing the Japanese name, but the attempt is... admirable. Let's go with admirable. She gives a nod of acknowledgement.]
Faith.
[And, with another drag from her cigarette, she adds-]
My experience, guns never help.
no subject
[But perhaps that's not what she means. He takes a slow, quiet breath, then lets it out.]
Though, in the grand scheme of things, it would have been far better, had I never been given a gun in the first place.
no subject
It doesn't sound outlandish so much as it doesn't sound like anything. But she's down to suspend disbelief- she lives the kind of life where getting abducted to a spooky gas station full of magic symbols in an abandoned wasteland is actually pretty boring, and even the monster attacks and the sprouting of claws are par for the course.
Monsters weak to guns, sure. She'll believe him. But that just means the next thing he says makes no sense.]
Aight, why's that? Not up for the fighting?
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[Despite the words and the slight tinge of remorse in his voice, he remains startlingly calm. It is a fact of his life, and while he's not exactly jumping at the chance to elaborate further, there's little sense in denying it either.]
Well now he's gone and done it. CW for a potentially graphic memory of mur-diddly-urdler.
[Her voice sounds cavalier as she takes another puff of her cigarette,
-she pulls the attacker off of Buffy and throws him against the far wall of the alley, stake already in hand. Buffy's desperate warning doesn't even register in her ears until after she feels the all-too-warm human flesh yielding to her weapon. He doesn't turn to dust, he just stares at her, silently gasping as he clutches his chest, now rapidly darkening and damp-
After entirely too long staring into space, she blinks and averts her eyes. Her free hand rises to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear a little too quickly, too awkwardly. When she speaks again, her voice is weaker.]
Well, shit happens, right? I mean, you don't know how things woulda gone if you hadn't.
no subject
[But he did pick up on that spaciness. The brief look away. Small signs of distress and discomfort...
But he won't press it. It's not his business, after all.]
no subject
She finally smothers the butt of her cigarette against the bottom of her boot and flicks it off into the distance off-handedly, still not quite meeting his eyes.]
Not sure what you did back home, but it involved guns and enemies. Means it was war. People die in a war.
[She shrugs, finally forcing herself to look him in the eye, trying to keep the grimace off her face.]
Guessin' that happens with or without you.
no subject
[Akechi blows a small sigh, those taloned hands of his curling into fists.]
But it is what it is. I've read enough time travel stories to know that chasing regrets is a fool's errand.
no subject
[Something about regret and fools, and that much she can vibe with.]
Sorry, I'm not much for the pithy quotes.
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[He shrugs.]
At least you're willing to admit it with some grace.
[Someone like Ryuji would certainly be more ridiculous about it.]
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Yeah, well, I was never good at pretending to be something I'm not.
[Kinda bitter. Whoops.]
no subject
[A small, strained grunt of laughter slips out of him.]
A life comprised of masks is a rather hollow one, in my experience.
no subject
[Sorry, you're talking over her head a little bit again.]
Point is, I've never been a straight-A student or whatever- [in fact she barely qualified as a student at all, given her attendance record-] but I do know a little about 'chasing regrets.'
no subject
[It's comforting, in a roundabout way, yet the severity of one's regrets differ greatly.]
I wonder how yours compare.
no subject
Then she sighs and looks out toward the forest.]
Murdered three people.
[She tries to play it off as casual, but there's a hitch in the voice, audible pangs of regret.]
One on accident. Two... helping the biggest bad in town be even bigger and badder.
[Her hand absently goes to the cigarette pack visible through the fabric of her pocket. Not extracting it, just visibly resting her hand against it, thumb tapping anxiously just above the lid.]
And I hurt people. People who wanted to help me. People who hurt me without meaning to. People that-
[She clears her throat and glances back at him, trying to make the detached smirk happen, failing entirely.]
Sorry. Trying out an honesty kick for size. Part of my twelve steps, I guess.
no subject
Well, in all fairness, your circumstances aren't entirely dissimilar from my own.
[They've only just met. Normally he wouldn't share something so close to the chest, but...]
My father molded me into his personal assassin, though eventually he passed my 'services' to others in his circle.
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