worldsmeme | West World - Test Drive Meme #1

West World - Test Drive Meme #1

★ Test Drive Meme #1 ★

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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! ★

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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!)

[ 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. ]

Ariadne turned to look at the strange woman. She had kind eyes and she smelled faintly of ozone. Ariadne didn't know her name, but she remembered that hair. Alastrians were always drawn to people with pastel hair. It was only a shade or two less yellow than her Aunt Anya.

With a dip of her head, she squared off her shoulders, slipping into a second verse:

IN YOU I SEE ADVENTURE
I SEE COLOR, I SEE LIGHT
I HEAR THE MUSIC OF MAENADS
I HEAR POEMS I COULD WRITE
AND IF THE GODS COULD HEAR ME
IF MY LIFE THEY’D REARRANGE
I’D FOLLOW YOU INTO THE UNKNOWN
I’D CALL YOU MY SOMETHING STRANGE

From what she knew about the song, which wasn't much, it was meant to talk about the first time an Alastrian encountered an Elf. There was a whole legend built around it. Star-crossed lovers. The usual. But they said that it was because of this encounter that Alastrians could change their forms.

No one ever mentioned that it was also because of this encounter that Alastrians were hunted down like animals by the humanoids of the realm.

Edited 2017-02-01 00:07 (UTC)

Daenerys smiles, appreciating the fact that Ariadne looks at her before she moves into the next verse. It makes her feel almost as though the words are being sung just for her, although of course the opposite is true. Songs are sung much for the pleasure of the singer, in most cases.

She settles quietly, on one of the upturned - and now almost empty - casks of salt, raising her eyes to watch, still listening, intent upon approaching the woman once the song ended.

While before, she'd wondered about other things, now she wished to ask her which gods she served. It was the first time since arriving here that she'd heard the word used in the plural, as it was for those in the old world of her own kingdom. Perhaps they were the same gods.

Ariadne received a rousing round of applause. Blushing furiously, she took a little bow, before hopping off of her crate. She could have sung more verses, but being the center of attention was always a little unsettling for her. She'd been trained as a spy, after all. Being practically invisible was her nature.

It didn't help that she was Alastrian.

She settled down beside the light-haired woman who'd encouraged her to sing more, offering her a gentle smile on the side of her mouth. She didn't say anything, at first. She just accepted a tin cup of more of the bourbon. But as she cradled it between her hands, smelling the ozone, she grew curious.

"You're not like the other people here," she said carefully.

Daenerys passed the cup along to her, and then took a second one of her own, even though she was hesitant to drink it. It was something to wrap her hands around, however, and since people seemed determined to hand things to her - and had done for almost her entire life - it harmed no one to accept them, and then pass them on later to others.

"I'm not?" she asked, with what was probably a knowing smile back in the other woman's direction. To be fair, it wasn't the first time that someone had remarked on her unusual hair, or her regal attire. She was royalty, and had been raised to believe it, and it was hard to conceal that, even among the dust and sweat of the trail.

"What makes you say that?"

Ariadne shrugged. "I'm good at noticing things," she replied. "And I notice that there are two kinds of people here. The ones who belong and seem to know what we're doing...and the rest of us. You're the rest of us."

And there was her scent, too. But Ariadne had learned after a lifetime of fear and xenophobia not to mention things like that. It wasn't 'normal.' It marked her as Alasrian, as different.

As fair game.

She, of course, had no reason to believe the white-haired woman would mean her harm. But old habits had a way of sticking to the soul.

Dany smiled. She had an advantage, of course, in that she was more familiar with horses than some of the people here seemed to be, but that still didn't help when the creature that she had been given jumped and danced underneath her, and made it seem like she was the one with the problem

But she had more than made herself seem strange in other ways, between her curiosity and her dragon--for those who seemed to notice these things, at least.

"I truly have no idea where we are, or how I came to be here," she admitted, dropping her chin slightly and looking up through her pale eyelashes. "When I woke up in the saddle, I thought for certain that I must be dreaming, yet the dream has not ended.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

She shook her head earnestly. Of course, most of the things Ariadne did were oozing with earnest. And a childlike sort of sincerity. "Of course not," she replied. Who would she tell, anyway? And, for that matter, what right did she have to give away someone else's secrets?

Ariadne had plenty of her own.

"The same thing happened to me," she added.

Relief settled into her demeanor at the admission, and she lowered her cup down to the ground beside her. She'd been carrying this secret around with the camp with her for days now, and to actually finally speak about it...

"Then I suppose we must endure the dream together." It offered a kind of camaraderie, didn't it? And yet if Daenerys couldn't explain her own waking up in a saddle, following this strange wagon train across an unknown land, how was she supposed to explain, even to herself, the fact that she wasn't the only one who had woken up here?

"You aren't from Mereen," she said, after a moment, starting with the frame of reference that she had; her own world, with its own countries and cities. "Are you Westerosi?"

Ariadne shook her head again. This time, there was some astonishment in it. Her eyes widened to the size of coins, the whites visible all the way around. "I don't know...I've never heard of either of those places," she said. And she'd spent plenty of time studying maps of the realm. She loved to lie on her stomach, tracing the lines of the rivers and trade routes, imagining where they went. She had the names of all the countries and major cities memorized. Including the ones that the Red Dragon had sacked.

Especially the ones that the Red Dragon had sacked, really.

"I'm from Valeria," she said. She said it, as if everyone would know the name. But she supposed that couldn't be true.

Not necessarily...

"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.

Ariadne smiled with giddy relief when the boy appeared. She could detect the faintest whiff of ozone around him, but he seemed perfectly nice. And the horse liked him. For some reason, she vaguely recalled once being told that horses were excellent judges of character. Although that could have simply been Aunt Lysia trying to convince a child not to be afraid.

She had, after all, taught Ariadne the fine art of lying.

At any rate, she nodded slightly. "I think I need all the help I can get," she admitted. "I've never been on a horse's back before."

"Ah. Hmm. Then we might want to get you a smaller horse," Amos mused. And perhaps not a stallion, who was mild-mannered now but might not be when he came across a mare. Amos wrinkled his nose briefly at the thought and reached up to scratch under the horse's mane. "Jess so it'll be easier for ya, sugar."

The sweet-name was habit, as his New Orleans accent evidenced, and he meant nothing by it. His grin was friendly as he added, "I could look around for ya, if you wanted. Or not, up to you."

She wasn't used to being addressed by pet names. Other than her nickname. Especially by boys. She blinked in surprise. There was a protocol in court for that kind of thing. She'd seen it before. The ladies would bristle and puff up like cats, saying witty things while pretending to be offended.

Really, it made no sense at all. So Ariadne decided just to let it go.

At any rate, she didn't sense deception in his pulse. "Well," she said, smiling, "you haven't lied to me yet. I think I should trust your expertise. It's gotta be better than mine."

The comment about lying made him tilt his head, wondering how she knew, and whether or not she was as human as she seemed. His own world had many both human and not, and not everything that looked like a person was a person. Given the horse didn't seem too upset by her, likely she was either human with an extra talent or so (like himself), or she wasn't too dangerous. Animal instincts tended to be very excellent when it came to predators. He said nothing about it despite his curiosity being pricked, merely nodded with a little smile.

"Right. Gimme a sec."

He turned to face the rest of the wagon train, as if searching visually: instead he was searching mentally, and his expression became one of faint concentration as he stared into nothing. He was asking the horses how they felt about about a green rider. Most responded with dislike, but one or two were more inclined to kind. The search took moments, though being quicker than verbal communication, and Amos blinked, then nodded, a grin coming back onto his face. He glanced at the lady beside him. "I think I know one. I'll be right back, if you want to wait here?"

He hoped she might, because he was about to do some horse-trading and that generally involved a lot of lying.

The look at came over his face--or lack thereof--was vaguely familiar. The Elves sometimes looked that way when they were concentrating on something. But she couldn't exactly say what he was doing.

No matter.

She smiled, ducking her head. "Oh, believe me, I'm not going anywhere."

She wasn't sure there was anywhere to go.

"Alright! I'll be right back." Amos reached out and laid his hand on the black horse's neck. "Come with me please?" he asked of the horse, who snorted and followed along as he walked off.

Ten minutes of wheedling, bargaining, and outright lying later, Amos returned with a shorter horse in tow. The horse in question was a quiet older gelding with grey flecks on his muzzle and a friendly disposition. Amos was not holding the reins as the horse followed him. The horse's shoulders came to Amos's collarbones, and at five foot and five inches even, Amos was not a tall man. He grinned as he ambled up to the woman again. "Ta-dah, shorter horse. I'm told his name is Joe, and he's very sweet."

Ariadne smiled as she saw the two approach. Although she had to admit, she was a little surprised that he wasn't holding any reins. Weren't people supposed to do that? Well, maybe it was a very friendly horse.

"Hello, Joe," she said, giving him a little bow.

There was less adrenaline in his scent. That was probably a good sign.

She straightened up, shifting her braid back behind her left shoulder. Her hair was like a rope, going all the way down to her knees. She looked up at her rescuer with a smile. "I don't even know your name and you've already introduced me to a horse!"

Amos hesitated a beat: giving out his name was a potentially dangerous thing in his world. There were many beings that could enspell or enslave a person with their name. But it was more dangerous to be rude, and an indirect request was still a request.

"I'm Amos. And what's your name, pretty lady?" he asked. A trade to make it more even. And she was certainly very pretty! Though possibly younger than he was. Then again, Amos looked younger than he actually was, so it was possible the same was true for her... But it was also the way she held herself and acted.

She gave him a curtsy. It was more like a bounce. But then, everything she did was a little bit bouncy. Like gravity just barely had a hold on her. It wasn't intentional, of course. But her body just remembered what it felt like to take flight.

It always would.

"My name is Ariadne," she said politely. "But you can call me 'Airy' if you like. Everyone does."

A well-warranted nickname, to be sure. Although she didn't really have a good definition of 'everyone.' She didn't really talk to a lot of people. Those who heard learned the most.

Amos chuckled at the old-fashioned greeting and returned it with a bow, arms at his sides in the Japanese fashion. "An' it's a pleasure to meet you, miss Airy." He meant it, too: Amos loved meeting new people and having new friends.

He patted the horse's neck. "So, ready for a riding lesson?"

"I think so," she said. She turned to look at the horse. It was such a Human way to travel. "He's not going to bite me, is he? I've seen horse's teeth before. I wouldn't want to get on one's bad side."

Hesitantly, she reached out to touch Joe's flank. It was velvety soft, like a pillow in Princess Amanda's apartments. She smiled, letting her fingers splay. If Joe had any objections, he didn't voice them.

"We didn't have horses where I was growing up," she explained to Amos. "The first time I saw one I was ten and I thought it was going to eat me."

Amos chuckled despite himself, a hand rising to cover his smile at her expense. "No, they don't usually bite people. The city I grew up in, they have carriages and horses to tour the old parts of the city. I didn't actually ride a horse 'till I was much older." He patted Joe's neck. "Right, so, some basics. Let the horse know where you are, either talk to him or keep a hand on him when you move around him. They're scared of things they don't know about, and a scared horse will try to run away. Joe here is old hat at wagon trains so he'll won't be scared of much. Reins are for steering, pull one side to turn, pull back on both to stop. Tap with your feet against his sides to tell him to go forward." He paused, then added, "Ah, most people need to hang on to the reins to lead a horse, so you should do that."

He didn't, and thus was a bad example. While he could encourage an animals to stay around and do as he asked, he couldn't actually control an animal. Not holding the reins meant he was just as prone to anyone else to the horse running away in a fright. Being able to speak to them mentally meant he could convince them to come back faster, at least.

Ariadne nodded, hanging on his every word, knowing fully well that her dignity, at the very least, depended on this lesson. Again, she felt an aching longing in her back, between her shoulderblades. By the gods, she missed her wings. She knew exactly what she'd been sacrificing, of course. But on days like this, she couldn't help but regret the choice. At least a little bit.

"All right," she said, once he finished his explanation. "I think I've got it. Pull one side to turn. Back with both to stop. Tap feet to go forward."

She paused.

"How do I get up there?"

West World - Test Drive Meme #1

Ariadne | Original

It was a dark and stormy night!

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