+ ENTRANCEWAY TEST DRIVE MEME +

[vitaelamorte]

HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?!

You have isolated your victim to study it at length, seeking to become them. You are nearly satisfied you know your chosen subject, ready to take on its form, leaving the poor soul to rot. You crave bottomlessly to be more, more powerful, more skilled, more inspired, and being them will be so much more interesting.

They will tell you what they think, they will tell you what they feel, they will tell you what they see. Are all these shapes useful? Will they let you know them? Will they tell you more about them?

For you must see more. You have not yet seen enough. You must rise--



--to the occasion at the

♥ ENTRANCEWAY ♥
TEST DRIVE MEME

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Comments

[determinedest]

"Oh."

For a moment they can't think of anything else to say. It sounds stupid for them to have been so innately hostile when they don't like the feeling of prickling on their neck, of constantly being watched, of having to always look out for a spear that might be thrown or a bomb that might go off. It's exhausting. And they're tired of it.

They were supposed to be done with it, once they all got to the surface. Why aren't they there now? They're on a surface, certainly, but not the same one. Or...is that right? Their head's beginning to hurt, which is a sure sign that they need to readjust their values and align themselves back in the present tense.

There. Set.

"Me too." Their lips barely move to form the words and they creak out so quietly, their shape shrinking, their gaze downcast. The knife's worn handle is rough against their palm. They straighten up and look at the tall man directly, eye-to-eye. "Could've been anyone."

That is to say, they had no idea if whoever was coming would be hostile or not. They still don't.

[accioguitar]

Ron! [Wonderland listens!] I don't know, man, I feel like this whole place is messing with my rhythm. Must be how no one ever jumps in as back-up dancers when I start singing.

[fireinmyblood]

Archer feels a bit of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. It's true, he could have been anyone. Anyone with a weapon. Anyone with a hostile purpose. But the tugging at his lips doesn't produce a smile, Not completely anyways. They looked to have been through a lot. On edge, in a strange new world. A new setting. He couldn't blame them for acting in such a way. Then again, he couldn't speak for their safety if they had decided to make a move.

"Understandable." Archer nods, agreeing with their tactics. Then again, he wouldn't have chosen a gardening knife as his weapon of choice. He steps up to them, redirecting his gaze back down to the knife.

"However, I wouldn't have that kind of weapon on hand." It looks worn. It could have been used for it's appropriate purpose, then again, it could have seen it's own share of bloodshed. "Too short of a blade. Then again, you make do with what you have."

[animalize]

[ Malia's eyes widen — it's alive, or if not alive, at least interactive. Her instinct when she sees small, noisy creatures is still to chase them, but she's trying not to be the feral girl these days. Here, in Wonderland, without a soul to show her the ropes, it's too easy to slip back into her life of solitude in the woods. She has to watch herself. ]

...Okay.

[ Whoever made the thing should have taught it to say words, she thinks, but luckily, she excels at non-verbal communication. It sounds freaked out, sort of, or surprised. She realizes she's towering over the thing, so she takes a knee, kneeling down to BB-8's eye — ocular? — level to appear less threatening. ]

I'm Malia. I'm not gonna eat you or anything, so you don't have to run. [ She's more blunt than comforting when she says it. ] What are you doing?

[determinedest]

Frisk eyes him warily.

"I don't like to fight."

It's five words, simple enough. The firm grip they have on the blade should speak pretty clearly to the fact that they will fight if they absolutely have to, even if it's not their preferred course of action. It's been long, very long since they last interacted with another human. They've almost forgotten what to expect.

Speaking again is something of an exhausting prospect, but humans don't excel at nonverbal communication the way monsters do. Not the humans Frisk remembers, in any case. They have to mentally rehearse what they plan to say before they say it, slow and careful, in hopes that it doesn't sound like a challenge: "Do you?"

[fireinmyblood]

They don't like to fight, but they're more than willing to protect themselves against the unknown. That's why they drew their knife. Did they even know how to use such an ineffective weapon? Archer purses his lips into a thin line, closing his eyes as he digests their first comment. At the question, his eyes open once more.

He doesn't miss a beat, "Yes, I do fight."

Not because he liked it. That's all he knew. Fighting for one common goal in which seven others like him were after as well. Even in his former life, that's all he knew of. Being the guardian he was. Completing missions in any way necessary, which meant doing dirty the dirty work for those too scared too.

"It's what I was made for."

[determinedest]

Made for? But he's human, isn't he? Humans aren't made for anything, and neither are monsters. It's what makes them special. The ability to choose.

(The illusion of choice. To say yes or no, to accept an offer or to dismiss it. All to the same end. All to the same conclusion.)

Frisk steps back, their grip on their weapon tightening. They shake their head, short and rapid, a blunt, blatant denial of what he's already stated. What can they say? That it isn't true? That he doesn't have to? What do they know?

They're just some kid. Not even a kid some of the time, those times when they picked up the knife and their hands were speckled with a chalky powder and no no no no no

Frisk pulls in a breath. And another.

And slips the knife into their pocket.

"I wasn't." They hold their hands out. Unarmed now, see?

[fireinmyblood]

Archer notes the tension in their hands. How they grip the knife. Inner conflict of some sort. Little nuances in which he takes in. His hands lift upward, his palms visible, to show that he had no weapons on his own being. At least, not in the phyiscal realm.

"I do not intend to fight with just anyone." He tries to reassure them. They didn't pose a threat to him. They never made that choice to actually lunge out at him when they had their knife drawn. Probably a safe move for the both of them. He lowers his hands.

"I'm summoned to fight for others." Archer wasn't some blood thirsty fighter who looked around every corner to find a willing opponent. His main targets were other Servants like himself, and other Masters. Then again, there was the possibility of others looking for fights here. And Archer would rise to occasion, if that were the case.

[determinedest]

Frisk cants their head to one side. Summoned to fight? Like - a Royal Guardsman, maybe? Except no Guardsman they know of was ever called or promoted for the express purpose of fighting. For protection, maybe. The full story is lacking the necessary context.

(Constants can't be derived from an incomplete set of variables.)

"Why?"

A single word, hardly informative, nor really a grounds for full conversation. One-sided, as all of Frisk's conversations tend to be. Their cheeks burn mildly in embarrassment, but they tamp it down furiously. They're not stupid. Talking just happens to be a particular difficulty at times. That's all.

Clint Barton | MCU

[bowsniper]

Network;

[ Clint turns his video feed on in what seems to be the room he claimed for now. The phone is propped up on a table and he's leaning back in his chair across from it twirling an arrow around his fingers. ]

Well. This is weird. Not sure I totally believe this Wonderland thing, anything else gonna pop up? Singing furniture, talking animals, a princess with really long hair?[ He has a daughter, he's probably seen every princess movie Disney ever made. ]

[punful]

Honestly, it's going to be weird the more people from the Underground show up here. With the other people here, Sans has observed a certain degree of consistency. People from the same worlds tend to be from the same timelines, occasionally with variations in the actual point they're from. The Underground has none of that consistency. Anyone who shows up here could be from any timeline, at any point in those timelines.

Papyrus is from one of the bad ones. Sans is from one of the good ones, but he never actually got to see the other side of the barrier. This place snatched him up before they could leave.

He shakes his head at the question. "nah. we're stuck here till this place lets us go."

Same old, same old.

"it's not so bad, though."

[determinedest]

They nod, glumly. That makes sense. Sans wouldn't be here if there was a way out, they're pretty sure. They don't know much (remember much?) about him, but they remember that he seems to know more than he lets on. Maybe.

They could say they missed him, but the sentiment seems wrong, given that they'd been watching him and his brother wander off into the sunset on the surface not so long ago. Was that long ago? It's getting harder and harder to remember.

Frisk shoots him an inquisitive look. "It isn't?"

That is to say, is it not so bad because it's really not so bad, or is it not so bad because getting angry about the situation takes effort? They're never really able to tell with him.

LMAO I UNDERSTAND THE FEELING

[krmvgivv]

"Almost a year now." He's still 12, no matter how many times he tells people he's 13. And he'll still be 12 when he turns 14. And soon after that, people will stop believing him when he says his age. Not that the thought of that ever weighs on him.

"So there's no way out. Not that we've found anyway. Sometimes it just spits you back out, and we don't know why that happens either."

[determinedest]

No way out. Trapped forever.

Sounds familiar.

That's not the sort of thing that tends to make Frisk any less determined, but they also don't know the full story here, not yet. At least they don't have to get used to the suspension of time. Does one age when caught in a continuous loop? Those are the kinds of questions that makes their head ache at the temples, so they quickly shift the thought aside.

What else could they possibly ask without arousing some kind of suspicion? No one besides Flowey knew about the RESETs, the SAVEs. Flowey and...and others, sometimes. Could they RESET?

Best not to try that now.

Frisk scuffs at the ground with their feet and look down, sheepish. "Sorry. About the - "

The knife. But they don't want to say it.

[narcissistictendencies]

[Tony likes to keep an eye on the network while he's 'working'. It's a thing. He's nosey. But a familiar voice catches attention and all it takes is one look to be certain.]

Look who decided to join the tea party. What, did the invite get lost? I'll have to have a talk with Foster about the equations. My math's never wrong. Had to be hers.

[bowsniper]

Must have gotten lost traveling down the rabbit hole. You know how that goes, that white rabbit is terrible with directions.

[ Why is he not surprised to see Stark here. Relieved though, at least he's not stuck in crazyville alone. ]

I see they got you too then? Anyone else?

video;

[araneidal]

Cupboards that lead to Narnia.

[ Natasha's tone is casual, like she's just finishing one of his sentences, but she is studying him carefully. She owes Clint a lot, but a familiar face and voice aren't enough to go on to cash that in. ]

[shouldntve]

Purpose?

[ for a moment, hagrid's steam wavers. the purpose, he thought, had been very clear. he stutters for a moment, struggling to find words in answer to a question he hadn't expected. ]

Er-- the purpose. Right. That ... is a very good question. [ nope he's gonna need another moment, here. ] And, er, what's yer name, fella?

[shouldntve]

[ oh, now this is a reaction hagrid can get behind. he lights up a bit now, coming back to the device so that he can properly see his new student. ]

Well I haven't had much time to study him, but it's got to be some kind of transmogrification he's born with, see.

[ he wrings his hands a bit, nervousness peeking out from behind the excitement. ]

[shouldntve]

Huh?

[ it takes a moment for hagrid to register the warning, before his large body spins around toward the squonk and he gives a high shriek the likes of which you wouldn't expect out of such a man. ]

Squonky! Oh, you poor thing. It's all right! Oh, don't cry. See, it's just a machine-- [ to soos ] --I thought it would be OK, see. Nobody's really here, it's just a little screen! Nothing to fear, nothing to fear...

[lichabod]

[ the man turns at the rather foreign sound, an eyebrow raising against his the rest of his furrowed brow. it echoes through this large chamber, and so ichabod finds himself struggling to figure out just where the sound had come from. ]

Hello?

[ he starts to move toward the rolling machine, but his eyes give it no second glance once he does spot it; his eyes scan his own shoulder-height, in anticipation of a humanoid guest. his voice turns downward, warning his voyeur against starting any trouble. if this is some trick of moloch's, ichabod won't be caught off guard. ]

Make yourself known.

[fireinmyblood]

[Crying themselves to nothing? Is that really a purpose to be had? Seemed rather pitiful to the Servant. Maybe there was some deeper purpose to a creature who cried all the time. A source of food for other creatures? It certainly didn't look like it had the means to defend itself.

Archer listens to the man stumble over his words.]

Archer.

[fireinmyblood]

"I'm considered a Heroic Spirit. The Holy Grail had chosen me to fight in its War, among select others."

He doesn't mind how quiet and selective they are in their words. Coming his environment, it was refreshing. Actions spoke louder than words to the Guardian. A nice change of pace from being around someone who worried about perfection and absolution.

"We're summoned by mages, and we fight for them in order to obtain said Grail. It grants a wish to the last remaining mage." He's clear and to the point with his words. "We fight to kill." However, with this new world and surroundings,this may no longer be the case. He couldn't feel any other Servants around.

"You fight only to survive, yes?"

Re: video;

[bowsniper]

[Thats...not Nat. Oh it looks sorta like her, and it sounds sorta like her, but thats not her. His face doesn't give anything away, she wasn't the only one trained as a spy.] No shit. Talking Lions and Beavers too? You got a changeling problem around here?

[determinedest]

Those are a lot of specific words they don't entirely understand, so they don't try to. It sounds a bit like a strange sort of game: fight to obtain a goal. Once the goal is obtained, perform a RESET.

(Or is that a conclusion drawn out from the other SOUL that might be caught in their head.)

Frisk nods once, tentatively. That's not how they would put it, but it's good enough. They fight when there is simply no other option.

They take a breath before going ahead with what they want to say next. It's based in hope, not fact, and it makes them feel more than ever like the child that they are.

"You don't have to fight anymore." There's no one else around, right? That means he doesn't have to fight, right?