memestertrucks | MARCH TDM

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After tumbling through shadow you find yourself in a shrouded, ruined garage. It’s full of shattered windows and broken mechanical equipment, with all sorts of sharp edges to watch out for. Between that are strange symbols scrawled into the ground. Outside is cloudy weather and the beginnings of a storm flickering and rumbling.

Beyond the rundown garage is a rundown gas station surrounded by rolling, grassy hills. Close by is a Convoy of vehicles, either parked or driving up to station.

01: SUMMONING CIRCLE

This time the summoning circle and car garage is attached to retro diner, and an old wind turbine, barely still spinning and providing fading power. There’s also a broken radio playing a message about Nirvana and imploring people to head north. In fact, there’s a large amount of broken electric equipment in here and spitting sparks.

A fan circles overhead, stirring those sparks and creating a breeze. Trails of paper are attached to the fan, spinning lazily about. If Drifters choose, they can easily retrieve those paper talismans with little more than a slight static shock. While the paper is tattered and smeared with ink and blood, the following can be made out: “Broken in two […] Nothing to lose-“ “Moon mourns, call her down, ease her pain-“ “Need […] Better vessels from afar. Stronger souls-“ “Imbue with moon sigils, Give blessings of moon, share her pain. Put the ritual right.”

Hard to say what that all means, but it seems to have something to do with the summoning circle here. And there’s lingering power crackling through the building. The sort that makes the lights flash and flicker… And line up eerily with flashes of thunder on the horizon.

02: START UP 

New arrivals will have a similar experience to before; a Convoy waiting outside for them, and a collection of vehicles, one of which feels like it belongs to them. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters 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 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.

03: STORM WARNING

There’s something odd in the sky; it shifts between a dark cloud, and a collection of birds. As the thing draws closer, it clearly becomes a mix of both. Car-sized, dark feathered birds and skeletal avians fly in a thundering flock, and turn the sky stormy in their wake. That alone is bad… But what’s worse is how the shiny chrome of the Convoy and vehicles draws the birds. As they dive towards the ground to snatch at the shiny metal, they pull the storm and bring a tornado with them. The Convoy does its best to anchor to the ground, but lighter vehicles and Drifters might not be so lucky.

The garage and diner takes it worst of all: the electric devices start spitting sparks and can even act as homing beacons for lightning strikes if a Drifter with electric abilities gets too close to them. Any remaining, intact windows shatter as the storm winds pick up, pelting Drifters with razor shards. And water starts pouring in, further shorting electric equipment and soaking anyone to the bone. There’s even a strange droning, siren like noise to warn about the storm and cut into one’s hearing. It’s difficult conditions for anyone caught up in the blow-out.

04: WEATHERING

Once the main force of the storm hits, the following happens:
Diversion: Those with Fast cars can drive away from the station and divert the birds. They’ll want a second Drifter to come along; either to snipe at the pursuing birds, or keep eyes on the terrain! Eventually the birds will tire or get culled enough that the storm disperses.
Updraft: There is the risk of getting swept up in the tornado winds. Damage, injuries… And a particular quirk this storm has. Drifters who spend more than a minute in the storm winds will find that they begin to take on traits from the Harpy monster. These traits increase in potency if the Drifter experiences hunger or violence. As the weather clears and days become calmer, the traits fade.
Downburst: If Drifters get slammed into the ground by the storm, or the dark birds flying about. They may also find themselves drenched with rain. Any injury they take mends quickly, but is replaced with scales, as the Drifters begin to resemble a Naga monster. These changes grow worse if they tell lies, but disperse with the storm.
BIRDS: The birds themselves are vicious: those afflicted with Naga traits are seen as prey, while Harpies are seen as rivals. The birds are deadly, but also clumsy if forced to the ground. The screens on the Convoy recommend crippling the wings before finishing the bird off on the ground.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, NAGA

This month, Drifters will have access to the serpentine Naga. On top of all Naga species traits being available, the following occurs:
+Cold Blooded: the rain and storms can potentially make Naga slow and sluggish, or inclined to sleep or seek out other heat sources to gain energy; this includes basking in body heat from others!
+Water Divert: With their water shaping, Naga can divert falling rain and even ground saturation to make the area or other Drifters more dry. They can also concentrate water into different areas, and can also change water into mist or ice.
+Blue shift: the scales of Naga become more vibrantly blue, or a strange mottled combination of blue and stormy gray, the more intense the rains become. These scale colors can also reflect their moods.
+Extra arms that are painful and disorienting to grow, and can result in coordination issues.
+Scale Pains: Pain and discomfort when scales grow in, as well as fangs or talons!
+Water glide: during floods from the rains, Naga find they can easily traverse deep water as though they were simply walking (or slithering) across it.
+Thermal vision, making it easy to track others in the middle of storms. Vision may also become disorienting, and eyes become slitted.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, HARPY

The storm will bring a second monster this month, in the form of Harpy. On top of all Harpy species traits being active, the following occurs:
+Storm Rider: high agility and capable of flying through the storm winds without hindrance. Even tornadoes can be mastered!
+Feather pains: itching, or full pain when growing feathers or wings. Talons may also be painful when growing from fingers or from feet.
+Wind Affinity: able to shape wind, including diverting the worst of the storm winds, or summon and focus wind into razors.
+Warbling Voice: words may waver and slip into something more songlike, or even a damaging sonic scream if emotions are heightened.
+Height Call: a need to get higher into the air, whether through perching on buildings or the convoy, or through flight. A sense of euphoria as they go higher.
+Nest Building: a compulsion to create a nest out of spare and soft objects, and feeling more safe inside that space.
+Heightened vision like a bird of prey, able to pick out details even at great distance. This may be disorienting at first, as vision becomes telescopic.

05: RAIN, SHINE, OR SALVAGE

Upon culling enough birds, the storm disperses. The monster avians dissolve as they drop into streams of energy, feeding into Drifter Sigils and providing limited healing. And handful remain intact when they hit the ground and can be harvested for meat, feathers, and possibly even talons.

There is one extra problem, in the form of falling debris. After being pulled up into the sky, wreckage (and possibly stray Drifters) are going to drop back down. It’s advised to look out for falling objects and people. It might be possible to salvage something in the form of scrap metal for any vehicle repairs, but such a task requires two.

06: STORM SHOT 

The storm can be dispersed in one of two ways. One is waiting the storm out. The second is a battered collection of machines melted into the roof of the garage and gas station. When touched they burn the hands of Drifters, but also fire a jolt of lightning into the storm. One shot lessens the effects of the storm, repeated shots completely disperses the weather.

In the aftermath of the storm, something different rains from the sky in the form of glowing, quicksilver feathers. These feathers can suppress one avian or serpentine trait for a month, and can also drain away any Naga or Harpy changes from the event completely.

Alternately, the feathers will allow Drifters to temporarily access flight for one day. Doing so completely robs the feather of its magic: only one effect can be chosen from a feather.

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.

Windy Days: Preceding the storm are gales of strong winds, enough to stagger Drifters or send them staggering into other people or other vehicles.

Diner Is Served: While the retro diner attached to the garage has only limited food stores, curiously there is a respectable amount of cooking equipment that can be plundered. Portable stoves, pots and pans, spoons, and the like are all available for the taking.

Fading Storm: In the aftermath of the storm, the garage and diner look like they’re on their last legs, barely held up by their shelving. Anyone who wants to try salvaging had better move fast and carefully, before the entire thing comes crashing down.

NAVIGATION || RESERVES || APPLICATIONS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

01, 02
Blinking and finding himself in a derelict garage inside a strange, circular burn mark on the floor is not something Steve Rogers expected today, even given that most of his days tend to go sideways into the strange and extreme. He’s mollified somewhat by the comforting feeling of the shield at his back, even if he’s in civilian clothes: boots, jeans, t-shirt, jacket.

He scouts the garage and diner, then outside it, approaching the Convoy cautiously. He’s calm but alert, wary but not threatening. Every time a new person fails to recognize him or reach for a cellphone, he starts to relax a little more, although the situation is still concerning.

“Where is this?” is the most obvious question to ask. Or you might get, “Who’s behind this?” once he’s learned a little more. And, in cases where he runs into another newcomer who clearly looks like they’ve had a similarly confusing day so far, “Are you all right?”

Outside, he wanders most directly toward an older-model motorcycle, hands reaching for the handlebars before he can really stop them. When he realizes the key in his pocket fits into the ignition… well. Weirder things have (probably) happened.

But it — and several of the vehicles here, it seems — needs a little TLC. So, it’s back to the garage; he doesn’t know much about fixing cars, but he knows motorcycles. Plus, he can offer assistance via a pair of two perfectly good hands.

Also, if your car or van or truck needs lifting to replace a tire? “Oh — let me get that,” he says, sliding his hands under the bumper. Turns out, he can still lift a car like it’s only a minor inconvenience at most, so say hello to your resident human jack.

03, 04
As the storm whips up Steve’s right there, helping to lash vehicles down and crowding people into the garage and diner as the sky grows dark. His shield stays strapped to his back — which turns out to be a good thing, as the huge, dark shapes in the sky star dive-bombing the Convoy.

Then he becomes a shield, diving to cover anyone unlucky enough for a bird to target, which sure is a way to make a first impression. “Sorry!” he shouts over the rising wind, although in truth, he’s not sorry to be crushing someone to the ground if it means avian claws or beak screeched off the shield, rather than rending into skin and bone.

Inside, stations himself by the windows, face practically pressed against them. He’ll say it’s to watch for incoming danger — there’s certainly plenty of it — but as the wind whips up, he drifts to the door. And then out of it and into the driving rain, even as the windows are exploding.

Anywhere flying glass or debris cuts through clothes and skin, dark scales seem to appear as the skin heals. He barely seems to notice, though — he’s too busy… enjoying the storm?

05, 06
The storm finally faces, and feathers start falling from the sky. Steve, still outside and blinking like he’s just woken up, reaches out on instinct and catches one of them.

It melts away the dark, snakelike scales, and he can’t pretend there isn’t some measure of relief — until some of them don’t vanish, but change. Some of the scales on his forearms, his thighs, his cheeks (though he can’t see these) shift instead, shimmering iridescent blue-green in the breaking sunlight, like fish scales.

Well, the best way to not worry about that is to find something to do. He is absolutely available to move debris or salvage anything that can be useful: “Let me help you carry that back to the Convoy.”

Steve isn't the only one by the windows, but in terms of appearance he and Joe couldn't be more different. Joe keeps to the edges of the windows, near a break in the glass, and using the wall of the diner as cover. He's also pulled his .44 magnum from his belt holster, though he's not eager to waste bullets if he can't be certain of a killshot.

"We're too open. We need to barricade some of these windows, force them to attack from one direction only."

Steve starts a little at the voice, but when he looks over, his gaze sharpens into focus. Was he daydreaming? Why was he -

It doesn't matter. The man has a good point - this isn't exactly the most defensible.

Steve glances around, thinking. "I think I saw some plywood in the garage." Old, maybe warped, but still solid. "Or if there are refrigerators back in the kitchen, we could drag them out."

Joe considers the options. The fridge would be sturdier and harder to damage, but it would take time and effort to move, even for the two of them. "We can get the plywood up faster and with less work. He peeks out the window and sees a bird diving towards someone outside. It's a clear shot, so he takes it, and what was a dive turns into a fall as the monster bird hits the ground in a crumpled heap.

"Fridge would take too long to move. We'll use the plywood." It's quick and dirty, but it'll get the job done. He disengages from the window, and steps back, keeping the revolver pointed towards it as he moves away. There's a definite sense to the way he moves that suggests, appearance aside, military training.

"Where in the garage?"

Steve could probably make the argument that he could largely wrestle the fridge out on his own, but the plywood will do, at least for now. And it'll be quicker. Best to get something up right now and shore it up later if they need to.

First, though, he can't help but notice the immaculately lined-up kill shot. His smile is tight and grim, though his voice sincere when he says, "Nice shot," even as he's tilting his head in the direction of the garage. "Against the back wall. Seemed like it had mostly stayed out of the elements. I don't know exactly how much there is - let's find out."

He leads the way into the shop, to where there are several - three or four - large pieces of plywood stacked up behind some rusted-out oil drums.

It's impossible to make out any expression underneath the rictus grin of Joe's mask, but his eyes at least don't betray any emotion at the compliment. He merely gives a small, tight nod. The compliment is sincere, but Joe knows he used to be faster than that, the difference of a few seconds and the shot could have been cleaner. He'd have been able to make a headshot once. It's a distinction that doesn't matter, but it still rankles him.

He follows Steve into the back, holstering his revolver. He can't help but focus on the shield on his back. It's an unusual piece of kit. Sturdy construction too, despite how impractical it seems.

It's been a long time since Joe worked with an American. Alliances died fast when all the old nations were scrambling for the dwindling amount of resources. By the time they were fighting over water, it was no longer even a battle of nations. Just whoever was left and didn't want to die.

"I'll take one side, you take the other." Joe decides once they reach the plywood. "We get these up as quickly as we can." Won't be the most secure job, but at least it'll buy them some time. Figure out one problem before you move onto the next.

The mask certainly tells him something about how the guy seems to want to be viewed, but Joe hasn't been anything but reasonable so far, and Steve's going to trust what a person says and does over how they look. He's curious, but that can come later - first, they need to shore up the diner.

"Got it." He grabs one side, as instructed, and waits until the other is ready to lift before taking their weight and opting to take the more awkward position of walking backwards toward the windows. At least with the shield at his back, he's the better protected of the two of them if something comes barreling through. "Never seen a storm like this, but I assume we should expect the worst - and then some."

Joe lifts up, though not with the same sort of ease that Steve does; he's clearly still in his prime, while Joe is already starting to leave that behind, though at least the armour hides that his muscles are starting to run to fat. Still, he's determined not to show weakness, not here, not in front of these strangers, when there are actual monsters clawing to get in.

"There haven't been rainstorms in decades." Joe replies, but there hasn't been green like there is outside the diner in decades either. Something is definitely not right, but Joe hasn't had time to dwell on it. "The birds may not be the only danger. Are you armed?" Steve has that shield, but a defensive weapon will only get them so far. If need be, he can loan Steve his .357, but his ammo is limited, and Joe is loath to expend resources needlessly.

Steve glances over his shoulder and leads them toward one corner, where they can set the boards down and maneuver them into place, one by one. And then possibly reinforce them. He doesn't mind taking a little more of the weight, but between the two of them, they're doing just fine.

He does frown at the idea of no rainstorms for decades. He's pretty sure that... doesn't happen, does it? Not anywhere he knows, at least.

Then again, they are clearly not in a place he knows. He's still mulling over the rainstorms comment when Joe asks about weapons, and that at least gets a wry little half-smile, one corner of his mouth ticking up. "I'm good. Got the shield." Which, admittedly, he treats as both a defensive and offensive weapon, common sense be damned. "And I'm sure I could throw something big at them, if I need to." He's still got his strength, as best he can tell. Lifting cars to help with tire changes hadn't been an issue. "I threw a motorcycle at a guy once."

He probably shouldn't sound so smug about that?

But he finally can't help but ask, "Are you from here? It doesn't normally rain?"

"Oh, no, I don't need it lifted, but-- oh. My." Steve has maybe already lifted the back end of the VW bus up a little, from where Jack had been underneath it trying to secure his new armor plating to the undercarriage, and he's left staring a little. "You are, er, very strong," he comments inanely.

"Sorry. Too much?"

Of course, the bus stays exactly as high as it had been lifted, because he's not about to just drop it back down on the guy.

He offers a smile that is approaching sheepish. "I guess I am. I was just trying to help - what are you doing under there?"

Okay, he probably can't help with anything technical, but he won't know until he finds out.

"Attaching metal plating. It's armor, to make it harder for monsters to--"

Jack slides out from under the van so he can see who is actually hefting his entire damn van, and he stops mid-sentence to gape at him.

"Steve Rogers?" he squeaks after a beat.

Well. Damn. Steve's got enough self-control that the bumper does not dent under his grip. But his fingers flex a little like he wishes he could let them dig in.

Instead, he keeps his face and voice friendly, offering a grin that's not quite sheepish, he's a little too wary, but it's bordering on it.

"That's me, yeah."

No point in denying it when he's got the guys bus in his hands.

"I think you're the first person who's recognized me."

At least the first person to say so, for sure.

"Please put my van down," Jack suggests, sitting up and holding up his hands-- one of them still with a wrench in it-- peaceably and with a charmingly crooked smile. "And if no one else has, well, maybe we're the only two people from our universe here."

Wow, Captain America. Right there, about to crush his van's bumper.

"I promise I will not be too weird about it," he adds. "I was just. Er. Surprised."

"Oh - right. Sure." Steve sets said van down, once it's clear he won't squish anyone or anything by doing so.

Of course, now that there's nothing else to focus on, he's got to focus on what the guy just said. "Right. From our universe." Because there had definitely been the equivalent of a memo, and he had received it, and this is still all very strange. "I think I'd like to stop waking up places I don't recognize, one of these days."

It really should not happen to him this often.

He shakes his head, though, because - well. "Old habits die hard. I keep expecting people to recognize me. It's almost comforting, that you actually did. Now I can stop waiting for it to happen."

He crouches down now, trying to peer under the van. "You said you're adding armor? They get under the cars, too?"

"Well, right now I am adding the bolts and bars that will keep the armor plating on without tearing off the windows and doors with its weight. It fastens under here. I think." He hopes he's doing it right. He's generally handy, but this is a bigger project than he's ever tried before, and it feels more important to be making a modification to his car.

"If it helps," he adds, "I have woken up many places I do not recognize, and this was still a bit distressing. Probably not for quite as good of a reason as you, though." He knows the story. He might, in fact, have seen the terrible musical about it once when passing through New York.

Steve hums, following said bolts and bars along the body of the van. It seems like a sound plan, at least, though his opinion is far from professional.

He huffs out a little laugh, though, shrugging one shoulder. "I mean, depending on who you're talking to, your reasons were probably better." Jack, after all, had probably planned on waking up, most of those times at least. He assumes.

Steve had been at least partly running away. And that had been the wrong, wrong move. Of course it had.

He shakes himself out of that unpleasant reverie and glances back to the van. "You guys run into a lot of things that try to take chunks out of your van, then?" He is definitely getting that idea.

Steve Rogers | MCU | Merrow | New Character

03

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Car-jacking

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cw: super-mild implied suicidal ideation

Storm-enjoying

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