entranceworks | + JULY / AUGUST TDM +

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test drive meme

+ JULY / AUGUST TDM +

JULY/AUGUST TEST DRIVE MEME
You're like an angel with no wings.

Prompt A: Serious Event

In each trip a character makes from their room, they will have one random encounter with a monster (or monsters) that will attack them. Fight, team up with others, run away if you think you can, but there are monsters. Everywhere.

Prompt B: Lighter Event

The mansion is gone and now we're all camping! Women on one side of the camp and men on the other with a large picnic area in between. It's like summer camp except there are no counselors. You are in charge of making your own food and fun. If you wander too far out in the woods, you'll just get lost and wind up at the campsite again. Make s'mores! Tell spooky stories! Have fun!
Prompt C: ediS rorriM

Peace has been restored to the mirror side with the White Queen ruling, but she does have a request: get to know one another, dear mirrors. She's hosting a 1990s dance party and you're all invited. Jam out to Spice Girls and mingle.

Prompt D: Choices

Any scenario goes! Thread out your character's arrival, have them act like a long-established resident, let our past events inspire your scene, or write up literally any Wonderland-based scenario you feel like playing with.

Rules

Test drive memes go up every other month. Please note that any threads made as part of the test drive meme don't count towards your activity check, and they can't be used as samples for any future applications. Thank you for understanding, and have fun!

NAVIGATION ♥ RESERVES ♥ APPLICATION ♥ INPUT & INQUIRIES

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Misty is quite aware when another approaches but she shows no hint of moving. Instead her hand waves, the bangles about her wrists jangling a bit as she continued to sketch with the tip of her fingers, using the stars for dot to dot ideas.

Though when he spoke, her head turns slightly so she can catch a fuller view of him form the corner of her eye. Then, curiosity gets the better of her. She shakes her head.

"Don't know what it means," she admits. "Though I've heard it before. I think. There's some out in one of the parishes used it I think. I think. My family didn't have much t'do with them though. My family was too religious for the heathen types."

She says the last with a snort, nose wrinkling and amusement lacing her tones.

"You a heathen then?"

"Loki's torch," he offers in explanation, smiling a little as she turns her head to look at him.

He tips his head to the side and lets that smile make the easy slide into a smirk at that question. "Oh, you could certainly say that's a term that qualifies." There's a beat before he adds, "Is that going to be a problem?"

She glances at the stars, considering that title for it. "Where's it guidin' him?" Murmuring it softly, more musing than asking, though if he has an answer, she'll be thankful for it.

Shifting, Misty rolled onto her side to face him, propping her head in her hand, wild curls falling about her face. "Why would that be a problem?" She smirked back at him, leaning forward a bit. "I'm a bit of a heathen myself. Depending on how you define the term. Why I like it out here," she says with a hint of a sigh. "Part of nature itself."

"It's a reference to his part in Ragnarök, actually. Earth ending in fire an' all that." That was the simplest summary, at least, and would probably suffice for the sake of this particular conversation.

"Dunno," he shrugs a little, "figured it was worth the ask." He grins again at the way the she speaks. "You're really in your element out here, aren't you?" It's a beautiful thing, seeing someone so at home and comfortable.

Her brow furrows, nose wrinkling as he mentions the end of the world. "I'm not worried about fire. Or Earth and it's end. There's a lot worse than Earth you can deal with."

Which the memories of were nearly enough to ruin her mood, except that she's not in Hell. She's free... freeish, but it's still not Hell.

If only because of moments like this.

She flops back on her back, staring up at the sky with a wide eyed look and a bright smile.

"I am. I grew up in the swamps, and I spent my life running around barefoot, learning about the plants and the frogs and ways of the water and the land. Before this place, before Wonderland, I lost it all but this place? It gives it all back," she sighs, content and happy with this place.

"That we can absolutely agree on." He nods a bit, smiling a bit.

He leans back further on his arms, tilting his head back to stare up at the sky as he listens to her. "I'm not inclined to disagree, actually... I was dead before I showed up here. It really did give back, being here."

Smiling slightly, content with company and nature and the sky above. Oh how she has missed the sky. The smile freezes though, turning her head slowly to stare at Kol. Silent for a long moment, considering him.

"What was your Hell like?" She asks it so softly, hesitant in that. "Is it wrong to ask? Never really talked to anyone about it more than having been there, you know? Not to assume you went to Hell, because I didn't go because I was judged, but because I failed."

"I didn't get much time on The Other Side before I got swept here, but... I know what it would have been. Watching a world that can't see me anymore. I think being invisible would be enough to drive a person mad." Especially someone like him, who'd already felt so much like that even alive. To only have it compounded and so much more literal? That would have certainly been a Hell in its own making.

She's quiet, listening to what he thinks his time in Hell might have been like, finally closing her eyes as she fights the emotions that well up, both from thoughts of her own time and imagining what something like that, being unseen and unnoticed, might do to a person.

Her eyes much brighter when they open, staring at him once more. "I'm glad then you didn't have to go through that, though I'm sorry you died. I was already in Hell when my death happened. Before I came here mine had repeated two thousand six hundred and forty two times before I woke up in the woods here. I just kept repeating the number to try and focus on anything but what was happening."

He sees the tears shining bright and unshed in her eyes and he wonders how much is compassion to his own plight and how much is remembering her time in her own Hell. "Me too...lot more died with me, too. My death wasn't a murder, it was bloody genocide." He tries not to think about it much, but the number of other vampires that were tied to his sire line died pointlessly for the gain of a pair of teenagers, and it's something he knows the Gilberts will never answer for. It enrages him far more than it upsets him, and that's seen easily enough by the way his fingers ball into a fist behind him in the grass.

His attention whips over toward her again, bewildered by the number she'd given him. "Bloody hell, Wonderland's a fucking paradise after that, innit?" He's curious how it happened, was it the same every time, and a number of other far too personally invasive questions that weren't necessary to have the answer to.

Sadly at this point, it's a little bit of all of the above. Wonderland is freedom that she never thought she would have again, and Misty hasn't been talking about it. Most others didn't seem to speak of having died before Wonderland though.

She winces though, because her own time in Hell was brought on by her own ego and hubris. She had done it to herself, no matter how much that hurts to face. What he talks about though, that's something else entirely.

Shifting, she moves to shit up, turning so she's facing him and curling her legs crosslegged with a quick tugging adjustment of her skirt. Leaning forward, her elbows against her thighs and gloved hands clasping before her.

"I don't even know if I have words for that. My kind have dwindled apparently, but nothin' like that. Not since Salem. Did they..." She stops, not entirely as self conscious about holding her tongue as she should be, but not sure how to ask about those that did it. If for no other reason than he may not know, being dead and all.

"It's beautiful here," she admits with a nod, lips curling between her teeth and worrying at them a moment. "It's not been all that long," she admits. "I don't think. I'm not sure. It... it isn't long, what I go through. Just horrific and playing over and over again." Not to mention she might be off on the times, likely having lost track in her own mind. Maybe it was longer.

She laughs, mirthlessly. "Not that most would find it horrible but for me it was plain awful."

"Your kind?" He echoes, mouth posed to ask what she means, but Salem says it all and his lips turn up into a grin. "You're a witch?" He seems downright delighted at the idea. His features soften a bit at the trailed off question. "Did they, what...you can ask." He's dealt with plenty worse than a hard to hear or answer question.

"Doesn't matter, really, what other people would think. You were the one going through it." he shrugs a little. "It's all perspective, innit? We're all simultaneously the heroes of our own story and the villains in someone else's."

Misty lit up with his accurate assessment and nods. "I figure it I can't be open about it here, where I can use magic in public and no one cares, where can I?"

Of course, one day she might learn how public Cordelia one day went with who and what they were, but as a girl burned at the stake for her talents, she is used to staying quiet. Until Wonderland.

"Another thing about this place I love. You can be yourself and no one cares. They even encourage it," she says with a soft sigh, head canting so that curls fall across her cheek.

"Everything that I wanted to ask is kinda dumb since you probably don't know. Did they succeed in killing off everyone they were trying to. Did anyone stop them?" She pauses then, making a face because the one answer he might have the answer for is intrusive as all get out, but she can't help herself. "Why did they kill you?"

She snorts though at his commentary on perspective. "I've been the villain a lot to people. Which I find funny, especially since I failed at being the hero."

"My sister is, as well. And I should have been," There's a very obvious hint of bitterness in that comment. "But my parents had other ideas. Their intentions were good at the beginning, I s'pose, making my siblings and I vampires to protect us, but it lost it's good points when they decided we were monsters and needed to be abolished."

That's only the tip of the iceberg of the Mikaelson family history, but it's quite the banger of a kick-off.

"It is a bit freeing, innit? I haven't always quite hidden who or what I am, but there is a certain level of discretion that comes inherent with my nature. It all disappears in a place like this."

There's a soft scoff and a shake of his head at her further questions. "Well...they certainly killed the lot they were going for. Being one of the first of my kind, every vampire made by me, or someone in my sire line, was connected to me. Magically linked to my life. So, when I died, so did countless others. Which is what they wanted... it was a complicated mess, they were seeking something and the map to find it could only be completed if the brother murdered enough vampires to do it. Instead of taking the time to do it the old fashioned way, they took the quick route and went after me, got all in one fell swoop."

He shrugs a little and picks at the grass. "I haven't talked much with my sister about what happened after. Dunno how much she knows about that time of events." Given that Freya was probably still in the middle of her last century-long nap and none of them had even known she was still alive at the time. It didn't seem like the sort of thing to go asking her for too many specifics about. Whatever the answers were, they would probably only anger him further, anyway.

"I'll tell you a secret." He leans over to whisper almost conspiratorially, "I was never any good at that part either."

"You..."

She pauses, knowing he's not done and yet caught up in those words. She hasn't encountered anyone that should have been a witch, especially not a guy. It is unheard of in her world, and yet and exciting turn of events here.

And then he goes on.

So many questions are on the tip of her tongue, many of which may show in the way she leans forward, eyes narrowing as her gaze came to focus on his mouth, staring intently and with the sort of wonder a child might show.

"Never heard of a male witch in my world. Kind of neat to meet one now," she admits, not willing to see him otherwise. "Though... you're my first vampire. They talk about them all over New Orleans, but I've never met one. Not that I knew."

Because it's New Orleans, and who knows just when she's known one and never saw a clue of it. Maybe she should be more nervous, if he is all the legends and myths speak of, and there she is alone with him in the woods, away from everyone and everything - for as much as there is everything in Wonderland. She's not though. Not with her own gifts, and because until he gives her a reason to worry, she's not getting the sort of bad vibes from him she has from others.

So much of what he tells her about though has her pausing, giving him that curious look once more that covers more than seeking the fangs she expects to see behind his lips.

"Your entire line," she repeats, eyes narrowing. "Enough... How many was enough?" Because that seems less intrusive to ask than how old he is. It's rude, right?

"Never?" He's shocked by that statement, and it's all over his face as much as it is coloring his words. "I'll admit, most of the better ones I've ever known were women, I think as a whole you're just more meticulous about the craft than most of us, but...it's certainly not an exclusively women sort of thing, where I'm from." He can't fathom it, absolutely no men with magic. How weird.

A smirk finds its way onto his lips. "New Orleans? God, I haven't been there in years. My family practically founded the city." And from the sounds of it, they found their way back.

"I don't know, hundreds might've done him well enough, I'm not sure what it would have taken to complete the map, exactly. And there's real way to calculate how many went out when I did. I'm over a thousand years old and I wasn't exactly picky about who I turned. Me, all the people I turned, all the people those people turned, so on and so on...It's easily in the hundreds of thousands, gone in a blink, up in flames...with absolutely no clue why, and no connection to anything that was happening."

He doesn't talk about it much, he doesn't think most people would even believe him if he did, but it bothers him. Not just dying, but everything that went with it. The others that were gone, like they, and their lives, meant nothing. He knows it's a completely hypocritical sort of thing for him to be angry about. He's killed an uncountable number of people through the centuries himself, and he didn't care about them. Or their lives. Or the people he'd ripped them from, who were left behind to deal with their deaths. But something about the Gilberts being hailed as the good guys. The ones who always did the right thing. It felt worse, and got under his skin. At least he didn't hide the monster he was from the world.

She almost looks sheepish at that, shrugging one shoulder. "It might be a thing at the Academy, which is where I met most of the other witches I knew. Some of the voodoo ladies had gentleman they worked with, and before the Academy I didn't know many. I was living in New Orleans but I come from on of the parishes outside the city and trust me. If you're a witch there, you don't talk about it or you... well, you're definitely going to deal with a stake and fire. Trust me."

Her tones darken as she talks about that, still remembering the feel of the fire on her skin quite acutely.

That anger though fades a bit, visibly rocking back at that admission of his age. Blinking at him, knowing that it isn't something she'll see, that she can just suddenly have a veil drop and see a thousand years in that boyish face. Even if, being honest, she's fairly certain she can see it in his eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss, and for theirs," she says, barely more than a murmur but no less heartfelt for it. "Is that... you were burned too?" It's a standard way for witches, but she's never heard of it for vampires. But then who believes the legends and myths. So many were the truth mingled lies. Some hilarious. Some terrifying, more so than the people they're made up about.

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+ JULY / AUGUST TDM +

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