agentleooc | test drive 01

Entry tags:

!modpost,
!tdm

test drive 01

'Cause I have these new fears I carry with me
So you can feel stronger, you can know peace

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GOOD MORNING, DRAEGA
The psychic summons comes with the first light of dawn, waking you from a dream of home. It takes you a minute to remember where you are (a warm, comfortable room in Queen Fayura's residence) and then a moment longer to parse the words.

*Your presence is requested in the training field behind the Queen's Residence. You have ten minutes to get your ass out of bed on your own, or ten minutes to decide you want to be up to your neck in ice-cold mountain water. Your choice.* Gray power flavors the voice. Ah, you recognize that psychic touch. Allairavar, the Master of the Guard.

You remember, too, that he warned the household at last night's supper: if you live in the Queen's Residence, you practice with the Queen's court. You…

i. Drag yourself out of bed with an aching groan, dress with the bleary-eyed confusion of one too suddenly forced awake, and amble onto the training field to avoid the promise of a much more shocking wake up call. Or maybe you make your way quickly with a skip in your step and a twinkle in your eye. You haven't realized yet that Allairavar does not like morning people. Even so, you don't want to get dunked in ice water in the middle of winter.

ii. Roll over and go back to sleep. The Master of the Guard isn't really going to carry through with his threat. In your defense, he doesn't. But one of the First Circle does. You're not sure how you got from your room to a large barrel full of water that could freeze open flame, but here you are, soaked and shivering and very much awake.

Regardless of how you get to the training field, Allairavar pairs you with another Stranger and puts you through your paces. It's barely above freezing, but you're going to need a shower when you're done.

BUILD BETTER BOMBS
There are three rows of four tables set up in the Tinker Guild Hall's auditorium, all heavy laden with materials. Bits of wires, buttons both small and large, ticking clocks. A tank full of goldfish. Sand, canisters of gasses, a strange viscous liquid in a bowl of lead.

"Handle that with gloves," Master Tinker Mari warns you with a wink and a grin. "The bowl, I mean. Don't handle the liquid or you'll lose your hand." She waves her hands at you.

This is supposed to be a crash course in bomb making, and in a way it is. Master Tinker Mari crashes into person after person, pushing them into pairs. She shoves someone up to you. "Blow my mind!" she whispers dramatically, and then she vaults the table, making something in a vial smoke, bubble, and pop.

Around the edge of the auditorium are four chalkboards, each with several diagrams on them. Presumably, these are schematics for you to follow. Smoke bombs, flour bombs. Fireworks and sparklers. Water bombs—maybe she means water balloons? One schematic requires a hamster wheel.

You might as well give it a go.

Note: Master Tinker Mari won't let anyone blow themselves up (or blow up the building). In the event Strangers make something truly dangerous and not just inconvenient, she will hurry over with a much more serious demeanor and disarm the bomb they've created with a suggestion that they take her advanced course.

CHARITY IS AS CHARITY DOES
You were sent here to help, so help you have: by letting the Ebon Council auction off three hours of your time and the power in your Jewels to help with local troubles. Maybe someone's cold box has lost its cooling spell—that's basic Craft and you can help with that—or maybe someone needs you to fetch their cat down from a tree. Whatever it is, you're here to take care of it.

The stage you stand on creaks beneath your feet as a polite older witch bids on you and your partner (the Ebon Council would never let you work alone, no, the landens are too dangerous for you to be out on your own!) with three jars of pear preserves. No money exchanges hands here, just items like non-perishable foods and handmade clothing or blankets.

You'll help the little old witch who needs some rocks moved from the fields just outside Draega's walls, but it occurs to you that only the Blood were at this auction, and only they will reap the rewards. That's hardly charity… but that's also not your problem, is it? Maybe it is. You could always ask that landen couple hovering just to the side of the stage what they need (their roof is leaking, and the man's right hand is crippled, twisted into a rigid claw). Or maybe you won't. They don't have anything to offer, and everything has a price, even your time.

HIT AND RUN
Chill winter air doesn't keep anyone inside in Draega. Stalls line the streets of the Old Town Bazaar, and vendors hawk their curious wares. Blood and landen mingle here, each a little wary of the other but with the affect of those who have accepted they must live alongside their enemy. Expressions are shuttered, but marks are marks no matter who hands them over. No shopkeeper denies a customer just because the money comes from someone they don't like, not in times like these.

As you make your way through the Bazaar, perhaps in search of something or someone or a place to eat (the scent of meat pies is thick in the air), you hear a shout and a cry of pain. People peel back as one, revealing a group of young landen men carrying clubs and wearing cruel sneers. At their feet, a young boy sprawls across a puppy in the muddy slush that covers the road.

You catch the flavor of his psychic scent: he's half-Blood, one of those pitiable creatures accepted by neither the Blood or the landens.

"Y-you can't hurt him!" the little boy cries, curling around the puppy. "P-Prince Verim will stop you!"

The young men laugh. "Prince Verim isn't here," one spits, raising his club.

You could step back. After all, this isn't your problem. You could just alert the First Circle and call it done; they patrol the area, one of those males will surely be here soon. Or you could step in. Everything has a price, and the price of attacking a helpless child and a puppy is a tussle with you.

WALKIE-TALKIE
Catch up with a new acquaintance you met at the Queen's Residence or simply pause to listen to the news playing in a store you're passing through. Far-casters come in all shapes and sizes, from the held-held device that's a bit clunky to the radios that stand at a man's height in some restaurants. If you're spinning the dial and listening to some radio programs, you'll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren.
[A woman's voice leads. It's a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] …just as well. Since you don't want to die for offending a Warlord Prince's lady, what do you do, Lord Aren?

[A man's voice, chipper and bright. He sounds more like an eager boy than the full-grown man he is.] Apologize immediately to her, but meet his gaze so he knows the apology is for him as well. Remember, dear listeners: a Warlord Prince's lady may be all that stands between you and a violent end. Make sure she likes you!

[The woman laughs.] Or at least doesn't think killing you is worth the trouble. If we all learn a little more about each other, we can learn to live together. As always, I'm Evandra.

[With great gusto, Lord Aren says:] I'm Aren, and you've been listening to…

[Together:] Etiquette with Evandra and Aren! [Jaunty outro music plays, a complete tonal dissonance with the fact that the two were just educating landens on how to avoid murder.]

the weather
[A soft-spoken man's voice rumbles out of the Far-caster. He's pleasant to listen to, with a soothing cadence to his voice.] …rain tomorrow with overcast skies through the morning and afternoon. Landen weather devices indicate a decrease in sky-pressure, so those of you who suffer from migraines may want to talk to your Healers or Medicos now.

There's possibility of snow later in the week from the northwest. Questions about snow removal? Reach out to your local Transport Guild rep or your Ebon Council chairperson.

the news
…Blood family of four found murdered in their homes. The Queen's Court assures Draega that no payment for the murders is being asked for at this time. [The man speaks at a brisk pace, hurried and harried as though he has too much to say and not enough time to say it.]

That's right, Garret. [Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn't sound rushed so much as put upon.] Preliminary investigations do indicate the Hunter Guild may be responsible for the deaths.

[Garret:] Indeed they do, Wilt. Evidence at the scene supports the use of Breakers on the family. Turning now from the grisly murder to the surprising way the Queen's Winsol gift to the city is being used to benefit both Blood and landens.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I. Better Bombs

This is Rocket's element. Take a bunch of random shit and make something cool out of it. Something dangerous. The only problem is a lack of tools, though thankfully he did bring some of his tools with him for this shit-show.

So even before he's partnered up, he's happily sitting on the floor surrounded by bits and pieces of things, humming to himself as he welds things together with a tiny, portable welder from his tool belt.

II. Walkie-Talkie

"How does this thing even work?" Rocket is prodding at the hand-held radio he's gotten-- fliched, probably, to be honest-- like he wants to take it apart, while the news drones on and he mostly ignores it. "Where's the power source? This place is pretty backward, but it's not that backward, is it?"

( She doesn't know how any of it works.

But that frankly is quite alright because the spirit she is working with, certainly does. It is not her spirit, but she would be respectful, trusting in its wisdom. Was there a proper form of address? She didn't know, but she was slavishly devoted to each and every request that was made of her. Taking the time to bow whenever he asked for what it was with a incline of her head. He seem absorbed in it, so that was for the best.

But her curiosity, whether it was proper or not to speak, gets the better of her as he builds and builds and builds. He was truly a great spirit then. Look how he bestowed gifts and no one around them even appreciated it. )

What is it?

It's a casing, right now. Gonna be a bomb in the end, though. Hand me that bowl. The one with the metal liquid stuff in it.

[He beckons for it with one tiny, clawed hand.]

Oh - ( is the little chirp before she scurries to do as he asked. Carefully taking up the bowl in both hands and walking back to him, her skirts trailing after her. ) Are bombs for... For hurting people?

Or for hurting stuff, yeah.

[He starts carefully pouring some of the mixture into the casing he's just made.]

It's better for stuff than people usually. It's not exactly something you can direct. If you wanna hurt people, you use a gun.

[Why is he so casual about this? Oh, right, he's a thief and a bounty hunter.]

[ To say she looks pale wouldn't mean much, it's a miracle she even truly appears to have eyebrows when they twist her expression something aghast. Her hands clapping to her mouth. ]

Is everything here a weapon?

[ Is the frustrated little noise. ]

There's an animal playing with a radio and speaking to him. It's strange enough that Jonathan actually finds himself sitting quite calmly and watching it, trying to figure out when life - or unlife - became so confusing. He's fairly certain it's a raccoon as well, although he's never seen one in person. He's fairly certain journals would have noted in the Americas had talking animals, however.

It also raises some concerning ideas about animals in this place and if it's common for them to be sentient and how that might impact his rather unique diet, but for now he's slightly more intrigued by the creature's words.

"Two way radios? No, they're quite new you'll find; they were of much use during the Great War."

Rocket gives Jonathan a disgusted look. "I live on a spaceship, buddy. I make techno-gizmos that explode things in my spare time. This is very old-fashioned." He looks back down at the radio with a frown. "I mean, maybe it's advanced for this world, but this is a freakin' backwards world."

Many of the words spoken make little sense to him; ships that fare through space itself seem a fantasy only dreamed by minds far greater than his. But he understands enough to realise that the raccoon creature speaks of bombs and explosives and sighs.

"Even when there's talking animals, there's talk of war," he murmurs tiredly. "Perhaps it's too much to hope that after returning from France and dealing with the epidemic there'd be no fighting for some time.

"Do they fight where you're from too?"

"Well, yeah. Is there anywhere where people don't fight?" Rocket asks, mostly rhetorically. "I think it's just the way people are. They wanna fight. Sometimes it's even fun."

You're talking to the wrong guy if you want compassion and sympathy for your war, Jonathan. Rocket is basically a mercenary, and misanthrope to boot.

"Fighting is one thing," Jonathan murmurs, but doesn't press the issue. In one way it's comforting to think that the little creature doesn't know anything of wars and speaks instead of small and petty fights. He hopes that remains the case for him.

[the tech sucks. straight up. no comms, no holograms, nothing like anything they're used to. it's like an old movie that doesn't actually end, and, he thinks, this is gonna get old pretty quickly.

but the worst part of the whole thing? his zune is dead, practically just a solid brick, and there's no way of changing that for the foreseeable future.

that doesn't stop him from trying obsessively, though. doesn't stop him from turning the zune in his hands, over and over, willing something to change — and sometimes shaking it, for good measure. not that that's going to do any good, but desperate times call for desperate measures, okay? much more desperate than trying to figure out some stupid radio.]

Think it is that backward, [he mutters, still not looking up from the zune like he hasn't for, like, at least the past hour.

rocket can do whatever the hell he wants, but he knows what his priorities are.]

Says the Terran.

[Everybody knows Quill's planet is pretty backwards, too. He looks from the radio to the zune thoughtfully.]

Y'know, I'm gonna have to power some of my stuff eventually, too. Maybe I can figure out their power sources here and rig somethin' up.

[He isn't even considering using the jewels yet. Magic isn't something he's particularly comfortable with at this point; he'd rather work out the tech.]

[his feelings about his home planet are — well, they're complicated, to say the least, and on any given day, he's caught somewhere smack between nostalgic fondness and like he isn't part of it at all. right now, he leans more toward the former as his face twists into about half a scowl.

but he doesn't actually (for once, maybe) rise to the bait of rocket's jibe. call it personal growth.

or call it that he's intrigued, to the point that he actually sets the zune down in his lap and looks up, squints. that he actually, seriously thinks about it for a minute. it'd be great, it'd be really great, and if anyone could figure it out, it'd be rocket, who's the actual bona fide expert here and can do all kinds of crazy shit with very little. and he doesn't doubt that, and he's not saying he's doubting this, but:]

With that? That thing looks, like, at least a hundred years old or somethin'. [.... he's also kinda saying he's doubting it. kinda. more than kinda.] No idea what you're actually gonna get out of it.

[Rocket shoots him a glare. He can tell what you're not saying, there, Quill, and now his professional pride is being called into question.]

Well, now I gotta do it, just to prove you wrong, [he complains, and sits down right there on the cobbles to start taking the radio apart to see where its power source is. There has to be one, after all.]

"They have a feudal system and a formally acknowledged underclass," Sara replies, looking towards the voice - and then adjusting her gaze downward by about two feet, because apparently the guy complaining about the local tech is an oversized talking raccoon. Right. Not quite the strangest thing she's ever seen, but it definitely makes the top 100, which is impressive on its own.

"That's two big ol' marks in favour of 'yeah, actually that backward'."

"You haven't been to a lot of planets, have you," Rocket snorts, shaking the radio in her general direction. She looks like your pretty standard humanoid, not even a funny color. Seems to have more in common with Quill than even a standard Xandarian. Interesting.

"Lots of places with better tech than this have fuedal systems and underclasses," he continues. "You don't have to be backward to be prejudiced and stupid."

"Most places with advanced tech that I've seen skip feudal and go straight to fascist," she replies with an easy shrug, carefully omitting the fact that said places are more accurately points in a timeline. "Police states love their energy weapons. But no, not that many planets."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

test drive 01

Rocket | MCU: Guardians of the Galaxy | OTA

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! also - ii.

hey there buddy!

👋

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