The Technician (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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worldsmeme2017-01-28 04:23 pm
worldtech) wrote in worldsmeme2017-01-28 04:23 pm
West World - Test Drive Meme #1
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! ★
Madmartigan | Willow
[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
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.
Yessssssssssssss
Then again, looking sideways at the body riding the horse who'd bumped into his, Madmartigan had a feeling this one hadn't seen many pits or camps. To bright and shiny, this one. Clean, too. Not like the bodies he'd tumbled into bed with. He could practically smell the floral scent from here. Damn tempting, is what it was.
Still, once realizing who he'd spoken to, and that she'd taken offense, he straightened in the saddle, shooting her a sideways grin as he watched her try to settle what was clearly a barely broken stud.]
Sleep's the only thing that would have kept me from noticing you arriving. Course, if you want to cast blame, we could start with whoever gave you that thing to ride. Lady deserves a proper horse.
[Not to mention the safety issue. Whoever was daft enough to give a green horse to a rider who wasn't suited to it should be run through. It'd be a waste of time, resources, and potentially lives if it skittered off with her on it, or threw her out of a sense of panic.]
>3
Like this one. She couldn't have failed to notice the once over that he gave her. ]
We could start with that, of course. It is always easier to cast blame on the person who is least present.
[ She scratched the tips of her fingers in under the horse's mane, trying to settle him a little more. ]
Of course, if you're offering to trade...
[ Always a good measure of chivalry, even if Dany had no intention of going through with it. She had something to prove, now, with this horse. He would obey her, or else what kind of Khaleesi was she? It was that simple. ]
no subject
Then the image faded and he was left with the silver-haired, daintier version sitting beside him, but that image told him what her tone meant. Women who didn't like being judged by men. Right.]
I would, if I thought you'd take me up on it. Consider it an open invitation, in case that one bruises your delicate rear end too much.
[Madmartigan; so suave with the ladies. Well, to be fair, it worked on the lowly types. There was nary a wench he couldn't wink at and convince to part ways with a couple hours back home. Problem was, even he knew this wasn't home.]
no subject
All she has is this horse. Good company, even a sword that might come to her aid, can't be turned down wholesale. Better to make friends while she has the chance. ]
I will keep it in mind.
[ She smiles into her chest, and loosens her grip on the reins ever so slightly. Finally the stallion lowered his head, relaxing into a steadier walk, and she exhaled her relief. ]
What is your name, sir?
no subject
Madmartigan, at your service, m'lady. Not that I'm entirely sure what sort of service you'd need, but I'm a man of many talents.
[Yup. He'd just hit on her.]
no subject
Of course, Daenerys is a little older too, a little wiser to enjoying the pleasure of other people's company, men and women alike. She still has to be careful, of course, but it doesn't stop her from giving him one more considerate glance. ]
Madmartigan. One word? Or "Mad" Martigan?
[ Asked with such soft, delightful charm that it couldn't possibly be considered to be an insult, right? A little swivel of her head, the slightest hint of a smile... "You know why they call him Mad Martigan, don't you?" ]
no subject
[He gave her a slightly uncertain look, wondering what sort of person made fun of another person's name...
Conveniently foggy memory]Do you have a lot of mad people where you're from?
[Maybe she was used to names like Mad Henry or Evil Erik. Heh. Evil Erik. He'd have to remember that one.]
no subject
Her expression tightened, minutely. ]
Only my father, supposedly. They called him "The Mad King".
[ Exposing herself as royalty isn't the only thing she admitted, with that comment. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew about Aerys, knew about his two surviving children, and that Daenerys intended to retake the throne. The most she has to protect herself here is a small, partially trained dragon, and Drogon could be leagues away by now. No knights, no Blood Riders, no army.
She kept her hands a little tighter on the reins. If he turned out to be hostile, given the introduction, she could have made a run for it. But Daenerys bristled at the idea of running. She hadn't run from a single conflict in her life, and she wouldn't run now. ]