obsidianooc | test drive;

Entry tags:

test drive

test drive;

The game cap is 30 players. We currently have 22 players in game.

TDM Guidelines

1. We strongly encourage you to post to the AU Workshop before posting here, just to get your concept out there. Feel free to link to your workshop post in your tag for easy lookup purposes.

2. Threads can be game canon if both players agree to it.

3. No one is late! Consider this a permanent test drive (until captcha is hit, if that happens). We'll be tracking top-levels and drawing attention to new posts.

4. You don't have to use any of the prompts below; feel free to create your own!

5. Don't worry about cell block assignments for the purpose of the TDMm if you haven't chosen one - feel free to keep it vague or retcon the threads a bit later.

Prompt 1: Common Room

The common room has books, magazines, newspapers, cards, and board games. The television has been out of commission for a while, but oh! Look! It seems like a new TV has been mounted on the wall! And this one's a 32 inch flat screen, a nice substitute for the old broken tube TV someone broke over a Monopoly dispute turned violent.

If you decide to watch the TV, the screen cuts to static a few minutes after you start watching and a strange voice starts to speak. It's a soft voice, but with the occasional distortion as if spoken by a person standing too close too a microphone.

"Hello there! You must be [CHARACTER NAME]. I think it's about time you got to know somebody a little bit better. Why don't you..."

(Choose one of the following options:)

"Tell someone something you don't want them to know. It doesn't have to be terribly juicy, as long as you'd prefer not to have told them."

"Give one of your fellow inmates a nice hard slap across the cheek."

"Be nice. Ask somebody if there's anything you can do for them. Anything at all."

"Find someone with a snack, and take it away from them."

"Go up to someone you don't know, and ask them what they did."

"If you decide to ignore me, or you tell anyone you're not acting of your own free will, the guard beside the magazine stand will send you strait to the SHU for two weeks.. Your choice."

No one else in the common room seems to hear the voice except you - although the aforementioned guard sure seems to be staring you down. The other people watching TV continue to react to the show that was playing.

Prompt 2: Lockdown

Uh-oh. Something bad must have happened, because the entire prison has been put into lockdown without bothering to herd everyone back to their proper blocks. You've been herded into a cell with someone from ANY block, and who knows when you'll be let out.

You have a set of bunk beds, a table and chair, a toilet and sink, and two shelves where the inmates who actually reside in that cell have put anything that belongs to them.

Now's a good time to get to know your new temporary cellmate. Or pray that you're on good terms, if you already know them.

Prompt 3: The Yard

It's recreation time! Your daily opportunity for a couple hours of fresh air, if you choose to take it (or if the indoor guards are sick of you and decide you're going outside whether you like it or not). The guards here are primarily concerned with preventing your escape, so if you're not lingering around the fences you'll be watched less than if you were inside.

If you're new, weak, or don't have a solid group of allies yet, that also means it's less likely that anyone will help you if someone else decides to pick a fight. Be careful.

The outdoor guards to a careful, meticulous sweep of the entire area every night, trying to keep...something out. It seems they were slacking off a bit yesterday: the tiniest sliver of obsidian rock has made its way into the yard undetected and - ow - you've brushed up against it, embedding it somewhere on your body.

The shard has imbued you with one of the following effects:

The next person who makes eye contact with you can read your thoughts, and you can read theirs. Careful, it might get hard to tell who's who after a while.

You suddenly feel frightened and timid, as if everyone in the yard is bigger, stronger, and out to hurt you.

You are overcome with the urge to dig into the ground with your bare hands, looking for more of the rocks.

The next person you see fills you with rage, and you want to attack them.

You become exceptionally suggestible, and will do whatever you're told.

You feel a strange euphoria: regardless of how you felt before, the prison now feels like the very best place to be, as if you're at the center of the universe.

Regardless of the effect, the shard will slowly start to burn hotter and hotter, compelling you to remove it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Rook eyes the other man quietly for a moment longer. His tone flattens. ] Hi.

[ He sighs, heavy. ] I'm not in here cause I wanna be, if it makes any difference, [ he mutters, quiet, before seemingly giving up hope of conversation. He hoped, at least, that the man didn't take any more issue with something out of his control. If he could just be quiet long enough to get out of here...

How long did these damn lockdowns last, anyway?

At length, his gaze lifts to the bookshelf. He seems to read each title, wordlessly admiring the collection. ]

[ Whatever the other's's done--left him alone, maybe, or just showed he blatantly new he was--it piques Quentin's interest. Enough that the book stays closed and on his lap, and he's at least looking at the guy proper. ]

I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're new?

[ His gaze slides from the bookshelf back to the stranger he'd unintentionally imposed upon.

He huffs a short, flat chuckle. ] That obvious, I guess. Yeah, I'm new.

[ Rook would turn the question to the other, but he'll tread cautiously for now. This inmate hadn't seem pleased to see him, and he's not trying to spend lockdown pissing someone off. So, he's quiet, and he waits, gaze still on Quentin. ]

What's your favourite book, Rook?

[ It's almost immediate, brows still high, looking at Rook expectantly. Some other test, it seems. Quentin's back straightens as his attention is solely focused on him. ]

[ The questions is abrupt enough that it almost elicits an equally abrupt answer: The Book of Joseph. Rook recoils visibly at the thought, intrusive in its insistence.

The answer he gives is almost forceful, as if speaking in defiance of whatever his first thought was: ] American Gods, by Neil Gaiman. [ He crosses his arms, and looks down. Far calmer, thoughtful: ] Or, maybe- mm. Yeah, American Gods. [ Frankenstein used to be one of his favorites, but something about the story settled ill with him now, brought up memories he didn't like, didn't want to think of. Black Star Rising, too, but for an entirely different reason.

He glances up through his lashes at the other man. Still quiet, but before he can really help himself: ] What about you?

[ Quiet, Quentin continues to stare at Rook for a few more minutes, eyes darting to the other's face--his jaw, and then back up to his temple, followed by finally looking him in the eye. ] American Gods. [He's twisting his body around, done scrutinizing the other, grabbing a book from the shelf. ]

Okay--so--you're into modern fantasy. Cool. There's not a lot of that here unless you behave pretty well. If you're quiet enough you'll probably get a few. This is your first time here? You're kind of awkward.

[ Just like that, he seems to have warmed up a little. Probably because Rook asked what he liked. He still hasn't answered the other with his name, but he's handing him a book called Fool on the Hill. ]

This is the one you want. It's not Fillory, but--well, nothing can be Fillory and Further, and I don't let other people borrow them. They're my favourite, to, uh, answer your question.

[ Because they're real. He's sure of it. ]

[ Something about- Rook isn't sure what - maybe the stranger's bluntness, maybe the sudden openness, but when Quentin calls him awkward, a laugh escapes. He scrubs a hand through his cropped hair, and seems to relax a little. ]

Yeah. First time.

[ He leans forward to accept the book, eyes flickering over the back, first, then the front. ]

Science fiction, too. Pohl, Asimov... oh, Matt Ruff. Lovecraft Country was good, I haven't read this one. [ His gaze returns to the other. ] I haven't heard of that title.

I guess I'm supposed to take you under my wing. Warn you about soap on a rope. [ Rook's got a close cut whereas Quentin's always been in the habit of hiding himself in his hair--it's long, roughly to the shoulders, floppy, and he tucks some of it behind his ears as he talks. ]

Honestly, there's no best policy for how you handle jail. It's fucking jail. Either way, you're screwed.

[ Hey, he's trying to be helpful. ]

So. You borrowing it?

[ Rook misses his long hair. He'd cut it for academy, and intends on growing it out again. ]

I know enough to know about that. [ The soap thing, he means. He raises his eyebrows. ] Short and sweet, I can appreciate that. [ He's not wrong, Rook assumes.

He looks down to the book. ] Oh- is that alright? I'd appreciate it. [ He'd assumed it was just for something to do while they were stuck in lockdown together, so he'd leave the other man alone. ]

[ Verbal confirmation helps when it comes to things like this--Quentin nods sharply, his face falling into a perfectly neutral position, voice devoid of too much emotion. He's not an emotive person in general unless he gets passionate about things, which is hardly ever anything but Fillory or books. ]

Great. Now you owe me.

[ Rook's brows raise, though his expression remains otherwise impassive. ]

Is this like a 'lend me a book in return' kind of owe, or a 'back me up if I get in a brawl' kind of owe?

[ He's not really looking to make any more enemies. Though, maybe that's inevitable— that said, he's not sure yet that Quentin is the sort he wants to throw in with. ]

[ Quentin shrugs, as if that simple shoulder movement reveals the secrets of the universe, rather than gives Rook absolutely nothing to go on. He's pretty good at giving noncommital answers, even if they're more vaguely threatening than someone who's an absolute dweeb should be able to do. ]

You look like you could handle yourself in a fight, though. What's the plan? Climb the ladder, or keep your head down?

[ A fight... Quentin has no idea. Rook shrugs in return. ]

What's at the top of this ladder? The same size box to sleep in, more enemies to fight for whatever scraps they think you get, and for what?

Either way, that's not an answer. I like to at least know what I'm getting myself in to.

Control. Some people here are so used to it, once they have to give it over to guards, they don't know what to do.

[ So they try to make it big. Quentin's already seen the rise and fall of a few people in his own cell block, to which he's responded by firmly keeping in his lane and going about his goddamn business. ]

Answer for what?

[ Is he playing dumb? Absolutely. he's smirking a bit, though. ]

Whatever helps them sleep at night, I guess. [ Rook's been in that situation, in a way. All control ripped from him, and the only thing to do was fight tooth and nail to take it back.

In the end, did he ever really have any control?

The corner of his lip quirks upward again despite himself. ]

Oh, you forgot already? Well, guess I don't have to worry about it then. [ Maybe he's having a little fun. ]

Guess you don't.

[ Quentin's smirk has turned into a bit of a grin, too, and he leans back.

Yeah, he's going to call that in. Until then, though, it's just the two of them in semi-awkward silence. ]

What's your normal block? Y'know, where you're stationed.

[ It's probably a bad idea, but Rook decides he's in a good enough mood after their banter to allow whatever favor Quentin decides to call in. What's the worst that'll happen if he says no, after all? ]

Oh uh, C. [ There's a momentary pause where he almost asks Quentin the same question. He almost asks 'why' then, to fill the silence, but that sounds too defensive. So, instead he's simply quiet.

Awkward, indeed. ]

Block C? Good luck.

[ But cryptic stuff aside, he does sort of feel bad for the guy. He's not a complete asshole, after all, just a little not there in the reality department. He sighs. ]

Find a hobby or something here, and you're gonna look less like fresh meat. It's kind of dripping off of you.

[ Rook gives his new companion a quizzical look. ] Okay, you can't say that and not tell me why - especially if you're trying to give me pointers on how not to get my ass beat.

— On that note, any ideas? Reading is about the only hobby I have that I can do in here.

I mean block C is certifiably insane. [ That's coming from Quentin, who fully believes a fictional children's book is real. ]

What are your other hobbies?

[ Rook makes a face, as though he's trying to pretend he's mildly annoyed but can't quite be convincing. For now, he decides to drop it. ]

Archery and hunting.

[ Quentin stares. he's not trying to be rude, but archery and hunting are so far removed from his life in New York city--he's sure it's unfair, but his mind jumps to log cabin and Rook fighting off grizzly bears around his mountain home. ]

I was hoping it would be something normal, like knitting.

It's about as normal as you can get, where I'm from.

[ Aside from the fact it was a regular old home, rather than a log cabin, Quentin is not wrong. Rook doesn't know how many bears he's dealt with, at this point - aside from the one who he hung out with, of course. ]

I never did get the hang of knitting. I can mend, though. [ If that counts. ]

There's a job sewing shit. I'd look into that. Something to keep you busy and out of trouble.

At least until you're ready to make some. [ He's not ruling out that possibility. Quentin never really rules it out--he's not the world's strongest person, nor is he the most charming. He makes his way in the prison by being very good at shutting up and avoiding trouble. ]

And, of course--you know. Read.

[ He glances over at the book he's let the other borrow. ]

[ Sewing. Not a job he thought he'd ever have, but...

Then again, a lot in his life has gone different than he expected or intended, to say the least.

He's had enough trouble for a fucking lifetime, though. Maybe two lifetimes. He holds the book slightly aloft and gives it a gentle wave. ] I think I'll start with that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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you saw nothing

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