West World - Test Drive Meme #1

[worldtech]

★ Test Drive Meme #1 ★

Reserves are OPEN, and Apps open on February 18th!
Game opens March 1st!

 

Your body is gently rocked awake. No, not to the dulcet tones of an Aerosmith ballad, but the rumble of wheels, the creak of wood, the thunder of dozens of horses beating the ground with their hooves. Perhaps you're asleep in the saddle, perhaps awkwardly jammed between strangers in the back of a canvas covered wagon. It's a peaceful prairie afternoon, the sun is shining and the birds are singing, a herd of bison are baying down by the river, but this is the wild frontier, and the tranquility won't last forever.

But first, there's you. What do you remember? Perhaps it's a fabricated history on the East Coast: a huge family of which you are the youngest; a toppled business empire; a brush with the law. Whatever it is, it's why you've hit the trail, a past that you can't return to, your hopes staked on a future in the town of Horseshoe.

Perhaps. Or perhaps those hazy memories are quickly slipping away. Perhaps you know exactly who you are, and you have no idea - none at all - how you got here in the first place. One second you were fighting a space battle in a galaxy far, far away, and now you're eating dust, blinded by the hot summer sun, your ass being beaten sore by the road beneath your feet.

The question is: now you're here, what will you do? The road is hard ahead, but it's dangerous to go it alone.

 

★ It's Only Horse Play

The thing about horses - and mules, for that matter - is that they're not cars. They have minds of their own, and you can't fix them by swearing at them until they start, although I guess you could try. They have limited energy, so they might stop dead in the middle of the road, holding up traffic. They might throw a shoe--no, it's nothing like changing a tire. Irritated by flies or the whip, or surprised by a snake in the road, they might bolt at random. If the worst should happen, that wicked cool stallion you're riding might just have his eyes on a mare in harness. Be careful he doesn't break his leg trying to climb over the wagon's shaft.

All in all, four feet and a mean set of teeth make for a fun ride. These horses, too, have come an awful long way, and they're getting as miserable, tired and grouchy as their owners. Harnesses are one size doesn't fit all, wagons are heavily loaded, and the horses are bruised and sore, their legs and feet aching from the slog, their necks arched painfully forward to take the strain. To spare your horse, its good to get out of the saddle now and again, but on the trail, that's not always possible. Don't be surprised if, hitching up, a horse resists the harness--and be careful! Remember, that animal is your lifeline. Without it, you and all your worldly goods are stranded out here.

★ Old Man River

A river crossing. Awesome. You remember this part in Oregon Trail, right? All you have to do is cross the river. But it's not that simple. One wagon might cross easily, but another, more heavily laden, might sink too deep a few feet in. A weaker, more exhausted horse may struggle, or lose its footing in the swell of the current, or worse, one of the wagon's wheels may break halfway across. A horse might even panic, as the water wraps around his feet, jump sidewards and take the wagon with it.

Perhaps you make it, but if not you're going to need help. Brute strength or supernatural powers might come in handy helping you to wrestle across the haphazard ford. Maybe that help is friendly, and maybe it comes with a price.

Rivers are dangerous. One missed step, one misjudgement, and it's the end of the road. Whatever you do, be careful. Make a plan. But whether you like it or not, you have to cross. The road to Horseshoe is on the other side, and you're so close now you can taste it.

★ It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

It was a dark and stormy night, and the travellers had pulled their wagons into a circle. Firelight glowed from the campfires that struggled despite the makeshift windbreaks, damp wood keeping their glow muted. You're close, one more day's drive away from the town, the scout says. One last night of misery. One night in gloomy, damp wagons, wearing wet clothes. One more night of dried meat scraps and corn meal. If you've remembered who you are already then it's all okay for you, but for some of the group this is it, the end of their long road, their turmoil; their hopes and dreams on the line. There's an air of celebration despite the weather.

If someone still has some bourbon to hand, then now is the night to pass it around. Stories will be told, songs will be sung. The constant sound of a fiddle or a banjo cuts through the night, keeping all but the heaviest sleepers awake. Tired horses doze standing up around the edge of the circle, one hind foot cocked as though to catch them if they fall. Now is your last chance to really get to know your fellow man, in the cameraderie of the trail, before the town swallows you up. Tell your stories, struggle with reality, teach someone the words to Yellow Submarine. Sleep when you're dead.

★ Wildcard

You're on the trail, so why not let your mind wander where it pleases as well? Perhaps your character is riding out to scout the trail ahead. Maybe they're law enforcement or ex-army? Maybe the wheel comes off your wagon, or your horse drops dead and you have to beg for a stranger's help. Maybe you're Superman, and you want to frighten the natives by flying off ahead, or you're a faith healer, who can revive a broken down horse with a touch. Start a gunfight, or go shooting rabbits, or soothe a stranger's teething infant with an alien lullaby. It's your adventure, so make it up as you go along.

(p.s. if your character absolutely must fly off ahead to get the lay of the land, they won't be able to find the town. That would spoil the fun of getting there, wouldn't it?)

★ Mods notes: A quick reminder that characters can have either no memory loss, OR a partial memory loss which allows them to recollect their past at a player's chosen speed. Characters are also allowed to have NPC family members (who may or may not be on the wagon train with them), for instance an NPC wife or kids who might give them a hard time about not remembering who they are. NPC family members are not mandatory, we just thought they were a fun thing that you could play with if you wanted! We also accept OCs and game-based OCs,as well as canon characters! If you have any questions about gameplay, please check out the FAQ! ★

Comments

Sam Winchester | Supernatural

[guzzles]

1. Rise and Shine

[ If Sam had one thing going for him, it was that he was used to waking up in strange places, different decades, even different centuries. His immediate instinct was to get a good feeling for his new surroundings, such as they were. You can imagine how thrilled he was to be surrounded by the smell of horses and leather, wobbling uncertainly to his feet and climbing over the sleeping strangers in the wagon around him.

All was going well. Just fine, in fact, until something went wrong with the horses pulling the wagon. It lurched to one side, just as he was ducking down to climb out the back of the canvas wagon, and next thing Sam knew he was sprawled on the trail in front of the approaching wagon train, his knee buried in something warm and wet and his hands bruised from the impact.

Classy, Sam. Right into the horse shit.

Unfortunately, the next wagon didn't exactly stop, and Sam had seconds to roll out of the way, hooves flashing at his temple, his life flashing in front of his eyes. Somewhere out there, something - probably an angel, knowing his luck - was having a nice long chuckle at his bad luck.

And then something wet licked his ear, his nose, his face, and Sam shoved his hands up, surprised to find them buried in long, familiar, mottled blue fur. ]

Riot? What are you doing here, boy?

[ Help a guy up? ]


2. Horse Play

[ Horses were all well and good from a distance. Close up, on the other hand, they were something of a mystery, an object of contention. Sam had looked at the guy in period dress like he was crazy when he'd told him that his horse needed to be watered, but the stranger had thrust the reins into his hand and wandered off, shaking his head at him, and Sam had been left trying to work out what to do next.

The wagon train was moving on - as fast as a wagon train could ever move - and Sam stood with the reins in one hand, staring at the horse - which stared right back at him - gesturing toward the water, which the horse was not drinking. Finally, it flicked its ears at him and lowered its head to the surface of the water, snorted at it, and then went right back to pretending it didn't exist.

Riot, as though to attempt to prove that the water was just fine, was chest deep in it, drinking his fill. He looked up at Sam as he bickered with the horse. ]

Oh, come on. Is it because I thought you were a boy horse? I'm still sorry about that, really I am. But who knows how far it is until we reach water. It's like gas, you've got to fill up when you've got the chance.


3. Old Man River

[ When the wheel came off the wagon right in the middle of the river, it was all hands on deck. Sure, the water wasn't very deep, but the horses started to panic as soon as they realized that they were stuck, stranded in the middle of the current.

Sam handed the reins of his horse to a child standing next to one of the wagons waiting on the bank, then, grimacing as water filled his boots, he strode out into the river. The wet boots were going to suck later, but if anyone could help get the wagon moving on to the next bank, it was probably him. There was already someone else lifting the corner, and Sam smiled softly as he stepped up beside them. ]

Hey. Need a hand?


4. It was a dark and stormy night

[ Sam wasn't thrilled that they'd almost made it to town. He remembered what that meant: straw beds, streets full of horse crap, and booze that made drinking paint stripper look like fun. But the trail wasn't much better. Sam was still wet from wading into the river, which made him unwelcome in the wagon he'd crawled out of. His ass was sore from sitting in the saddle: who rode horses for fun? And he was sitting as close to the fire as he could get just to dry off.

Riot sat beside him, contently eating the odd scrap of salted meat that Sam passed from his nearly uneatable bacon roll. Fortunately there was coffee as well, brewing in a big pot over the fire, and Sam had inherited the use of the ladle, so he could fill tin cups and hand them to strangers tempted in by the smell.

He blinked upward as a shadow moved over him, and offered a cup automatically. ]

Coffee?


Wildcard

Or something else!

4.

[superposition]

You really need to ask?

[The man who accepts the coffee is clean-shaven and well-dressed, though it might seem a little odd that every piece of his suit is green, even the long overcoat. Not green are the stylish top hat and pince-nez glasses (that he doesn't actually need). But even he hasn't escaped the wear and tear of the trail.

It may be worth noting that he is still fully immersed in his fabricated backstory. But coffee, that transcends time and space. He drinks a good third of it in one go.]

Mm. Thank you, friend. [Sigh.] Almost there. ... Hard to believe, isn't it? Just think, less than a day and we'll be back to sleeping under proper roofs again. I won't miss waking up in an inch of water every few days, that's for damned sure.

[guzzles]

[ There's plenty where that came from. Maybe it's just a sign of how much the pioneers love their coffee, or maybe it's just that with light at the end of the tunnel it's less necessary to scrimp on the grounds, but the coffee actually isn't that bad, or anywhere near as watered down as it had been even a few days before. Sam can appreciate it, anyway, but then he'd grown up getting his coffee out of a motel vending machine; any kind of coffee flavored water was better than that.

He looked the guy over, then moved a little to one side to make room, disturbing Riot, who was trying hard to ignore the laughing and dancing so he could get some sleep. There were blankets rolled up on the ground beside the fire, which made it a little more comfortable to sit down there than in the dirt, and the stranger looked like he was taking care not to get his suit scuffed. It was a nice suit, even for the over the top color. Way nicer than anything Sam had ever owned, anyway.

He chose to keep his feelings about hay mattresses and horsehair pillows to himself. ]

Yeah. I've honestly never been so wet in my life. I think it's gone down to the bone.

I'm not going to miss the saddle sores much, either. You?

2

[amos_moses]

He's right, you know. You might not be thirsty now, but you should probably have a drink.

[Amos ambled up beside them, speaking in his snappy New Orleans accent. His own horse, a leggy sorrel mare, followed him with her reins looped over her neck. Amos, being able to talk to animals telepathically, had convinced her he was a good herd-mate to have, and she wasn't very keen on running away. She waded out into the river, with a look askance at the dog, and began to paw, splashing water everywhere in great gouts and wetting her chest and belly.]

[Amos laughed and moved up beside Sam's buckskin.] So go on, have a drink, girl.

[Only then did he look at Sam.] Hi! Need a little help? I'm good with animals.

4

[runningapp]

[Willa hadn't been heading to the fire for the coffee, just the heat. But the coffee certainly made her move a little faster, although she was walking stiffly. It had been literal years since she'd been on a horse. Uncle Shad wasn't really the horse-n-buggy type.]

Oh my God, yes. [She took the tin cup from him and smelled it.] No cream, no sugar. No Starbucks. But caffeine. [She took a drink - well, more of a swig, really - and grimaced.] How did old-timey people drink this?

Madmartigan | Willow

[notawoman]

I - Horse Play
[Madmartigan was used to being in the saddle. He'd been riding as soon as he'd been able to walk, and he'd continued to ride for the rest of his life. Being a swordsman and mercenary soldier was all well and good, but horses were part of what drove armies; both in carrying them to where they needed to go, and oftentimes feeding them during long sieges or bare times. They kept you warm on cold nights and provided a body to talk to when one was on the road alone for long stretches. Horses were as good as gold in his book. Not as good as a sword, of course, or a woman -- well. Maybe if one could combine women and horses in such a way as to make the better attributes shine through...

It was the unsettling image that thought flashed in his mind that jerked him awake, or maybe it was the jostle of another horse nudging the one he rode. Either way, Madmartigan woke in the saddle, taking a moment to look around, tongue running over his mouth to work up saliva to wet his lips. The horse he rode huffed, as if offended at the nudge, and Madmartigan looked over to the other rider, scowling slightly.]

Stay in your lane. I'd rather not be dumped on my ass because you've gone and soured my horse.

[With that, he looked back down at his horse with a smug look as if to say 'See? I stood up for you.' The horse looked less than impressed, but kept slogging along, following the dusty trail that seemed to stretch out endlessly ahead of them.]

II - Dark and Stormy Night
[Dark was falling, and while Madmartigan was used to riding through the night on more than one occasion when there was a need to, the incoming clouds that had been threatening to crest over them late in the evening made the collective group's mind up in stopping and bearing down for whatever it decided to unleash. Smart choice. It was one thing to ride through a storm when you knew the lay of the land, but this was all new to him. Too much was.

He'd woken in clothes that weren't his on a horse that wasn't his surrounded by people that he didn't know. Quietly, he'd assessed the rest of his situation. He wasn't in a crow cage. No chains were laid on him. He had his sword. He had his sword. That alone had kept him steady, given him hope that he could manage whatever was thrown his way. Anyone with an eye who'd let it wander his way might have seen him occasionally with his hand on the hilt, just holding it as if to assure himself it was still there.

The coaches were ringed, fires set with windbreaks, people bustling in the way that people moved when working in groups, but with that oddness that made them stand out to him. Just in the little things; the way they lit the fire, the workmanship of the coaches, the attire of all those gathered... It was just that little bit of 'off' that kept him on edge, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he found a quiet niche to lean in, chewing methodically on a strip of dried meat as he watched. Celebrating. It was piss poor weather to celebrate in, but they'd said they were close. Close to... what, exactly? He still had no notion of where they were or how he'd gotten here. Where had the Peck... what was it's name? There'd been a baby... red hair. So much red hair.

His hand lifted to his head, rubbing at the front as if he could massage the memories to the surface. He must have taken a hit at some point. Addled his thoughts. Maybe he needed to see a healer. Or maybe he just needed a drink. His eyes lit on a dark bottle being passed from hand to hand, debating on if he wanted to delve into the mass of bodies to try to pry one free.]

III - Wildcard
[Not interested in the other prompts? Feel free to add something. Maybe you see him relieving himself off by the side of the road. Perhaps he's come up during meal time and has just taken 'his share' and stalked off. Or maybe he's eyeing someone pretty with long hair and who may or may not be taken already... Feel free to come up with something that suits you.]

I

[dragonian]

[ To say that Dany was having trouble with her horse was to say that water was wet. From the very first moment that Queen and Horse had met each other, Daenerys had been struggling with her fresh, green new steed. He was jumpy, poorly trained, and uncut. These were issues that would have been quickly worked out among a dothraki horde (or else the horse would have become dinner), and so for Dany to ride an unruly animal at all was simply unthinkable. She had considered herself a capable rider, of course, but nothing prepared her for a horse who went backward when she spurred it forward; a horse that shied and reared when it approached water; a horse with two gears: stop, and really go.

That was what had happened when the pale stallion sidestepped, swiveled, and backed into the horse beside her. She'd pulled on the reins in a perfectly sensible way, and the horse had responded contrary to sense, and now she'd offended...

A very handsome stranger. A knight, by the looks of him. A knight with a potty mouth.

Arching an eyebrow, she held onto the reins, and eventually the horse stopped going backward and responded to the forward cue, allowing her to catch back up with the knight. ]

Perhaps it is you who ought to pay closer attention to your fellow riders.

Daenerys Stormborn | GoT/ASOIAF

[dragonian]

(#1 Horse Play)

[ Daenerys remembered days like this well, waking in the saddle, the sway of the horse underneath her. For a moment, she was riding with her Khalasar again, striding out into the Red Waste with no idea whether her path would lead to salvation or ultimate death. Her hand was knotted tight around a rope rein, which in turn bound it to the horn of the saddle, holding her upright despite the movement of the animal beneath her, and as she raised her head, she became aware of the stir of dust around her, the presence of others moving across wide grasslands.

There were mountains in the distance, she observed at once, mountains such as she had never seen before, towering almost into the sky itself. Adrenaline woke her the rest of the way, and yet...she felt comfortable here, as though she belonged, as though joining this shambling column were a choice which she had made for herself.

As though she had tied the rope with her own hand, Daenerys loosened the knot, freeing herself, and slid neatly out of the unfamiliar saddle. It was well made, there was no doubt about that, although as her fingers ran over the leather and studs, Dany wasn't truly paying attention to it, but to the other riders, the walkers, the lurching wagons with their unfamiliar shafts and shape.

That horse shifted underneath her touch, twitched and snorted, and then suddenly the animal was rearing. Rearing! Dany had been privileged, a Queen; she'd never had to deal with anything like this, and as the horse squealed and leaped away from her, she found herself knocked down onto the ground, watching stunned as the horse pranced away from whatever had frightened it. ]

Someone catch that horse!


(#2 Old Man River)

[ What had frightened the horse, it turned out, was Drogon. The dragon, younger and smaller than Dany remembered him, almost a yearling again, had clambered out of the back of the wagon, sensing that his mistress was drawing further away from him. Dany had only found out later, as the dragon had taken flight, heading off to explore what were, to him, also brand new surroundings. Oh, how Daenerys envied him that! If she could just hop on his back and fly ahead... He was far too small for that, now, a mystery that was perplexing to her as the other elements of her arrival here.

To be fair, she wasn't the only one who looked and felt out of place. Some of the strangers wore odd clothes, others carried strange weapons, or had odd animal companions. Though, come to think of it, a dragon was quite an odd animal companion, wasn't it?

Dany wasn't worried about the river. Perhaps she should have been, given that her horse was skittish and badly trained. It jumped every time the pressure changed beneath its feet, and the only thing that kept Dany in the saddle as the horse span around three, four times in quick succession, were her many, many years of practice. Still, she ended up pointed the wrong way, bending forward across the horse's neck to try and reassure him, but quite unable to pull his head back around to face the opposite bank.

When she swore, it was in High Valyrian. ]


(#3 It was a dark and stormy night)

[ Drogon returned as the wagons were circled, and to Dany's surprise, he didn't seem to unsettle most of the strangers. One of them even complimented her: "What a fine hound you have there, ma'am", and tipped his hat, and that baffled Dany more than enough that she was able to settle down beside one of the fires without thinking too hard about it. She was unsettled by the nonchalance of the strangers. No matter where she had gone, her dragons had always made people uncomfortable, awed, or both.

Some people were looking, of course. Some people seemed to know that Drogon was not some strange kind of winged dog, even as the dragon curled up close beside Dany and put his head in her lap, his scales glistening like polished ebony in the flickering light from the fire. She touched her hand to his head, even as he began to doze - and then startled the dragon back awake when her stomach gave an angry growl.

The scent of something sizzling was wafting over from one of the nearby fires. She was hungry. She hadn't eaten all day, in fact. Someone would have brought her food by now, were she back at home. Yet now that Drogon was dozing, she couldn't bring herself to disturb him. All she could do was ask. ]

Excuse me, could you spare some of that food?


(#4 Wildcard)

[ Or write your own prompt! Dany will be following along with the rest of the train, but she may ride ahead at one point to try and get the lay of the land, and she will head up and down the wagon train looking for familiar faces too. ]

3

[trainspotter]

[Ned knows his way around campfire food well enough to get by, fortunately. He hasn't had to cook scraps over a fire in years, but it's something that sticks with you, and at least now it's come in handy. The rabbit over his fire came from someone else in the caravan, but it's his turn to turn the stick a few times all the same, which means this is definitely his rabbit to give away if he wants.

And the lady with the—the definitely-not-a-hound? Ned's noticed. He'd have wandered over to ask about the creature himself, if not for the rabbit. So now-]

That I can! There's plenty. [ah. eager.] I daresay there's even enough for your... [A gesture and a nod, indicating the dragon. Him?? Anyway—] Hmm.

What's your pleasure? Maybe a leg?

Amy Pond | Supernatural

[notthatpond]

(#2)
[Amy stood next to the horse, holding the reins loosely. Alternating between looking at the horse and looking at the river in front of her. Riding had been an experience, so she was happy to give the horse a rest and walk next to it. Him. She corrected himself. This was going to be interesting. Not the fun kind of interesting. She braced herself, it was going to be cold but better on foot than on horseback this time.]

We can do this.

[She may have been looking at the horse as she said it she was talking to herself.

While the water was cold, they'd nearly made it. Only a couple of slips in the shallow water of the crossing. It was then the horse reared as something brushed past it's legs in the water. Amy could tell what was going to happen next and there was no way to stop it. All she could do was brace for the water being cold.

She landed in a deeper pool of water while her horse ran to the bank and back to the others that ha already made the crossing.]

(#3)
[Amy had made a lot of questionable decisions in her life. More than she would admit to. They had led her along an interesting path. But this one was new even for her. Something that she didn't think she'd actually chosen. Horses hadn't ever featured in her life. Sleeping in odd places and being outside under the stars. Now that was much more familiar.

Sitting on the edges was better, a little colder maybe not being close a big fire, but she felt safer and quieter. An easy escape route made Amy a fraction more relaxed. It also meant that she could keep a lookout for the eyes in the darkness. Half her attention on the fire and those around it, watching them with as much distrust as the darkness that surrounded them. The noises from the horses occasionally taking all her attention. Making it easy to think she was more unsettled and flighty than she actually was. Her attention turned to them until they seemed settled again. Footsteps were the other focus for Amy, anyone approaching would be watched.]

(#4)
[Wildcard!]

#3!

[guzzles]

[ Maybe it was just their bad luck. Maybe it was just that "God" had dated a girl called Amy one time, and decided that all the heroes of his story had to date one, or two, or three of their own. Sam didn't know. He didn't think too hard about it. None the less, it was a shepherd dog that he had shared with a girl called Amelia who stumbled upon Amy before he did.

Perhaps Riot was drawn in by the fact that she was sitting away from the fire, alone. Maybe it was something about her scent, but the dog got to her before Sam did, and when he stumbled in to apologize for him a moment later, he just about tripped over his tongue in the process.

How? Why? She couldn't be Amy, right? Maybe some long lost relative--after all Sam was still pretty sure he was stuck in the past. Maybe he shouldn't rush to the name stage and freak her out, just in case. ]

Uh.

[ Of course he could just be completely incapable of finding any words, instead. That worked. ]

2!

[amos_moses]

Hey! You okay, ma'am?

[Amos's quick New Orleans accent rang out as he turned his horse and urged her into the water. The sorrel mare went readily, assured by Amos's ability to speak telepathically with animals, and Amos bent down from the saddle to offer Amy a hand.]

[He wasn't actually going to get into the water if he could help it. he did not like the cold.]

Kat | Original Character

[peopleater]

1. Horseplay
[Most animals hated Kat. It meant for traveling by horseback Kat ignored ninety percent of what made a horse a decent ride and went with the horse that didn't a) try to kill him on sight or b) wasn't terrified of him. This time around it had landed Kat a horse just as ill tempered and bad mannered as Kat himself.

Said horse also had either aspirations of flight or just enjoyed watching Kat pick himself up off the ground. However, by now Kat had a decent grip and had learned whenever said demon horse started acting up he shouldn't let her stay near the other horses.

Kat felt immensely smug as he had stayed in the saddle for the normal gyrations and plunging and honestly thought he was going to win this round. Then he came forward as the demon horse threw her head back and Kat saw the crunch of his nose as bright lights instead of feeling it. The shock was enough to loosen his grip as the demon horse spun to the side and kicked up her heels again, Kat hit the ground hard.

Kat slowly rolled over onto his back. Demon horse had won that round. Maybe if he stayed here long enough, someone would come put him out of his misery by running him over the a wagon.]

2. Dark and Stormy Night

[Kat had given up on the hope of ever being dry again. That didn't mean he wasn't sitting as close to the fire as humanly possible, or that he wasn't trying to get his socks dry before his toes rotted off in his boots. Mostly his socked were steaming gently and smelling like wet wool.]

Gang shoot outs are better than this.

[It had been a long day. Kat was allowed to mutter to himself, and when he did mutter to himself, people tended to avoid him.]

2

[guzzles]

[ Sam knew all about feeling uncomfortable. His boots were full to the brim with river water, he smelled like wet horse and wet dog--in fact, the only part of him that wasn't soaking wet was his hair, and that was thanks only to the damn good hat he'd found tied to his horse's saddle.

The guy looked sore, and steamed, so when Sam stepped up to him - in his squelchy ass boots - it was to offer the guy a tin cup full of hot coffee. ]

That's a sentiment I think we can all get behind. Here. It's good, I swear.

2

[trainspotter]

You can say that again.

[Avoiding people is all well and good, but there's only so far one can go when the fire is here. Ned doesn't mean to eavesdrop, necessarily - he's just sitting down himself, to take off his hat and drop it in his lap as he holds his hands out toward the fire. He might be in period dress himself - you know, relatively, to other people - but it's still cold and wet and miserable just wearing a coat and vest.

Still, he's somehow in good enough spirits to punctuate his arrival with a dry chuckle and a glance at his new fireside buddy. Cheerfully.]

If you want a tip, [unsolicited, there isn't really an "if"] it helps to squeeze them out every now and then. The socks.

1!

[amos_moses]

Amos grimaced as he rode back to where Kat lay on the ground. His own sorrel mare stopped several feet away, unwilling to approach Kat's demonic aura that clearly said predator to her prey animal senses. Amos dismounted and patted her reassuringly on the neck before walking off (leaving the reins looped over her neck) and up to Kat. The mare stood as if tied, watching with pricked ears.

"Are you broke anywhere?" Amos asked, leaning down over Kat.

He glanced after Kat's horse, who was expending her ill-temper in another series of leaping bucks. A true bronc, he mused, and not a wonder she was certain she could take Kat if he decided to eat her.

Ariadne | Original

[demonicbeauty]

It's Only Horse Play

Horses were magnificent beasts. Ariadne had always known that. What was more troubling was the fact that they were exceptionally large beasts as well. Including the particular specimen in front of her right now. The stallion was blue-black, more than twenty hands high. On her tip-toes, Ariadne could just barely see over its enormous back.

And she was expected to mount this thing?

She frowned slightly, her shoulderblades twitching. Not for the first time, she wished she still had her wings. She could just fly up to sit on the horse. Or better yet, just skip the horse completely and fly...where ever it was she was going to go.

Airy wasn't too clear on that part yet.

Absently, she shifted from one foot to the other, trying to come up with some kind of plan. As if sensing her uncertainty, the horse gave her a nasty, little snort.

"Now that's just rude," she scolded it.

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

Even if she didn't understand why there was a celebration taking place, Ariadne was enjoying herself. She tried to think of the last time there had been anything to celebrate. The closest she could come up with was Princess Amanda's New Years Ball, the last one she'd held, about three years ago.

This was different.

There wasn't as much formality, for one thing. Everyone seemed to be on good terms with one another. Some of them uncomfortably so. There weren't planned activities or rigid line dances. It was more like they were all just making it up as they went along.

Ariadne had more than a few swallows of bourbon--she didn't understand the whole art of 'poisoning yourself for fun' since it didn't hit her physiology, but she figured...why not? Even stone sober, she still managed to find herself laughing and twirling in the dances. And when someone called for a song, she found a strange little burst of courage inside of her tiny, five foot two frame. Without expecting it, she stood up on a wooden crate and began to belt one of her father's old songs:

IT ISN’T EVERY DAY
THAT I GET TO WALK ABOUT
WHILE OTHERS GO ABOUT THEIR DAILY LIVES
I’M ON THE INSIDE LOOKING OUT
EVERY DAY JUST LIKE THE LAST
EVERY MOMENT PREARRANGED
BUT MY HEART IS CRYING OUT
DYING FOR SOMETHING NEW AND STRANGE

What would he think of her, sharing their people's songs to a group of total strangers? Ariadne couldn't say. But then, if she spent her whole life living only to wonder what he would have thought...that wouldn't really be living at all. Would it?

Wildcard

(Come meet the world's nicest demon!)

It was a dark and stormy night!

[dragonian]

[ Daenerys was enjoying herself. When she'd awoken here, she hadn't expected that she'd find herself so...well, so anonymous. It was freeing, in a way, and even though she had worried sincerely about Drogon, concerned that the dragon would only cause problems among these strangers, she really needn't have worried.

Now that the dragon was fell fed, sleeping under one of the wagons, Dany stepped out to enjoy the festivities. She drank a little of the liquor, though stopped when it seared the back of her throat, and she allowed herself to clap along to some of the songs, and dance to others. The dances were strange, but unlike Dothraki celebrations, no throats were slit, and no women were stolen. It was all good natured, jovial, and it made her feel young in a way that she had never been, all of the weight and responsibility, fear and suffering, lifted from her shoulders.

Viserys was briefly forgotten. Mereen, Westeros, even for a moment Rhaego, her unborn son. She listened to the new singer, and drew closer. The lyrics were oddly melancholy; they told a story not unlike the one she knew herself; a song of rebellion and unseen desires. ]

More! [ She called, over the voices of the others, and then offered what was to her an encouraging smile, trying to imply eagerness, trying to be more polite than the shout allowed. She was listening. ]

1

[amos_moses]

"Actually, that's a sneeze," Amos informed her, walking up to the pair. The horse pricked its ears as Amos mentally greeted it, and offered a hand. The horse sniffed his palm. "Hello, sir," he told the black, cheerfully but respectfully because stallions were strong-willed and full of themselves, then looked at the woman beside him.

"Hi. I'm Amos. Need a hand getting up? Or should we find you a shorter horse?" Amos was pretty sure there was one in the group, and no doubt a trade could be made.

Amos M Kamiya | OC

[amos_moses]

A: River Crossing: The advantageous thing about having Amos on a trail drive - or any other herding adventure with animals - was his ability to mentally communicate with animals. He had not, exactly, let on about his talent to anyone he was travelling with, but they had all commented on his 'way with animals'. Amos eyed the river and then reached out to the horses and cattle and chickens in the group, speaking with them in their various ways and explaining about the river crossing. The horses, prey animals that they were and leery of hidden predators, were not so keen on the idea. The cows, however, knew the river was a great way to get rid of flies, and were delighted. The chickens in their cages clucked nervously and hunkered down to have steadier footing.

Amos turned to his own horse. "Well, my lady, let's go get wet!" His New Orleans 'Yat' accent was heavy in his happiness, quick and snappy. The sorrel mare flicked her ears at him and snorted the trail dust from her nose, and followed him readily down to the riverbank, her reins tied up on her neck by a knot in her mane. Amos preferred to give even captive beasts a choice about how close they might follow him - which, for the record, was sometimes close enough her hooves clipped the heels of his boots.

B: Dark and Story Night: Amos was sitting at the main campfire, under a slicker someone had loaned him: his hat was also borrowed, but this was the way of things. Amos was so friendly and cheerful people tended to give him things on good faith. He was singing happily along to the hymn the man with the guitar was playing. Some things stayed constant despite the era, and having grown up Catholic Amos knew many hymns.

The song finished and Amos glanced over at the person next to him with a bright friendly grin. "What should we sing next?" he asked in his snappy New Orleans accent, quicker than your typical Southern drawl. His dark sloe eyes were bright, and the firelight glinted off the Monroe piercing in his left cheek, his multiple earrings.

ned wynert | assassin's creed syndicate

[trainspotter]

horses
[Ned wouldn't exactly say he knows his way around horse handling. Sure, he's driven a cart before, but there's driving a cart around London and then there's dragging one of these angry, tired horses down this dusty trail, lugging one of these awful wagons. This is well beyond his pay grade, pretty much.

That and the other thing: he's short. There's nothing quite like a tiny man in a nice suit trying to reason with a horse refusing to come down here and look him in the eye. The horse is resisting just enough to be aggravating; pulling against its harness, turning its head away every time Ned tries to adjust anything, and the best one just now: knocking his hat off.

As he stoops to pick it up out of the dirt and smack the dust off, he shakes his head at the animal.] I knew you'd be trouble. Somebody made a big mistake when they gave you that attitude.

[it's a horse....]


etc
[Business is business is business, and Ned can't go more than a day without making some kind of deal. It's bartering out here on the trail, unfortunately, but he's not above swapping boots for lighters or booze or whatever else.

Not his own, of course. Lord, no. Business is business, though. It's dusk now; the wagons are circled, the fires are starting, the people with the skills to hunt for rabbits or birds are off to do that, and Ned is wandering from cart to cart, making friendly conversation and maybe trying to trade a few things up from what he has.

So, you? You have something, and Ned's decided he needs it. He does seem to turn up out of nowhere suddenly, before he just starts talking-] Beautiful campsite you've got here. Love the rocks. Question for you—can I interest you in a trade?

[A pause. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder.] I'm Ned. From over there.


wildcard
[anything else!!!!]

it's a horse ned

[queensberry]

Some might say the same about you, Mr. Wynert. [Under the thin guise of formality does Jacob sneak his way to Ned. Sneak, he thinks. As if there were any way to on the trail with very few other wagons around. He seemed to hop off the last one passing Ned and his poor horse after hearing his... ridiculousness.

It is his unmistakable grin that identifies him, if it weren't already painfully obvious. And if that weren't about, he clasps his hand around Ned's shoulder with no regard for his space. That sure is Frye.] What do they say here... Howdy, partner?

etc

[runningapp]

[Willa offers him a hesitant look. She's just a poor, lost waif. Really. Or that's the impression she wants to give off, and she's fairly good at acting when it comes to business. After all, a man in a nice suit means money, and she needs to quickly size up how easy of a mark he is.]

I'm Willa. I'm... not really sure what I can offer. [She smiles, again in a lost waif sort of way.] I'm afraid I'm sorta out of my element here.

Anna Milton | Supernatural

[still_me]

Old Man River

[When Anna first woke up, she was confused and worried, but not panicked. The last thing she remembered, she was being dragged back to Heaven by some very unhappy angels, and was expecting execution (if she was lucky) or torture and brainwashing (if she wasn't). As such, she's interested in figuring out exactly what has happened to her, but is less inclined to try finding a way back "home."

She doesn't exactly want to advertise her inhuman powers, aware that if the other angels are still looking for her, any display of Grace could tip them off. On the other hand, if she sees someone in real danger at the river crossing, she won't be able to leave them to suffer in the interest of her own safety. It's a real flaw of hers.]

A Dark and Stormy Night

[You might find Anna sidling up beside you, cautiously feeling you out to see if you, too, remember a life from somewhere, somewhen else - something that doesn't gel with what the majority of the wagon train is telling you. Or, you might overhear her as she fishes for answers from a stranger - feel free to come introduce yourself if you do! She's maintaining a cover, keeping as close to the truth as she can - that she's a reverend's daughter who recently lost her family and is trying to start over. It's not a lie, really, but there's something about the way she holds herself, the way she takes in her surroundings and keeps her distance that might suggest to someone observant that she's not quite what she seems.]

[guzzles]

[ It's been such a long time since Sam last saw Anna that, at first, he isn't sure he's seeing what's right in front of his eyes. He stares, watching her speaking to a man all in black with a curly grey beard who seems to be tending to a very tame pet sheep. But while the recognition isn't instantaneous, it's close, and Sam's hackles go up the moment he realizes who she is.

Anna.

More time travel? Isn't it too late, and isn't she too dead, to be playing this particular trick?

Sam only has Ruby's knife on him; it's no use against angels, which means that short of banishing her he's practically toothless. If she's here to kill him, as before - and he supposes he will find out one way or another soon enough - then there's not much he can do about it. But he'll take it on his own terms, thanks so much, looking her right in the eyes.

He waits until she moves away from the man with the sheep - it's not a sheep, it turns out, but a very wooly dog - and then moves to intercept her in the darkness between campfires. ]

Anna?