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! ★
Daenerys Stormborn | GoT/ASOIAF
[ 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
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?
no subject
That would be wonderful, thank you.
[ And then, of Drogon: ]
I think he sated himself earlier. There seems to be a surfeit of game in these lands.
[ Enough for a young dragon to be able to hunt alone, without his siblings. ]
Are you a hunter?
no subject
But he'll try to rip this rabbit leg off with a little flourish and delicateness, just because. He shakes his head.]
Not quite my scene. I'm a businessman, actually, but well— [A shrug.] Campfire, wagons, horses... Somehow I've got a nagging feeling there's no room for my kind of business until we get where we need to be.
[He doesn't have any plates, so after another minute pause he holds the rabbit leg out to her as politely as one can... brandish a rabbit leg.] Dinner is served.
no subject
[ She's that obvious, and she can't help it, try as she might. In any case, even dirty and untidy - because she has no handmaiden to help her brush her hair or tidy it, provide her with clean clothes and food, groom her horse or help her when she has to wade across a river up to her knee - there is no denying it in the way she speaks.
None the less, it's pleasant to be indulged, and she accepts the rabbit leg even as she considers the question. The juices are hot, but she doesn't notice heat, hasn't since her rebirth in the flames. ]
What kind of business?
[ She's impossibly curious, and used to getting answers to the questions she asks, so she's somewhat oblivious to the fact that if he'd wanted to say, he would have probably done so already. ]
no subject
But - the business question. He looks up from his rabbit leg, eyebrows raised like he didn't anticipate more conversation. Well, the business...]
Import-export. [Smoothly, then,] Someone has to keep the metaphorical wheels turning, and back home that someone is me. My business is society's business.
But if you want to keep it short and sweet, it's cargo.
no subject
So she masks her wary expression with another polite smile, and takes on a tone that is absolutely unthreatening. ]
You must tell me more than that. Do you transport all things? Fruits and wines? Animals? ...People?
no subject
He is, at least, not offended by the suspicion; if anything, he's too surprised to take offense. Give him a moment to chew a bite of meat, first—]
Art, ma'am. Art and jewels, grains, wines... People, no. No, no—I'd sooner throw myself into the river than sell another person.
[He's probably a Bad Man, but not that bad.]
no subject
That's good to hear. I can't abide slavery.
[ She would have told him so eventually regardless of his answer, but the one he gives pleases her. None the less, Daenerys hardly hides her opinions; hardly did so even before she was strong enough to stand up for them herself. ]
I am, however, very fond of art.