haibanememe | Test Drive #1

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test drive

Test Drive #1


Test Drive Meme #1
Prompts Waking up: You wake up in a bed that is not your own, in a room that is not your own. But the more you think about it, you can't remember what your room looked like. In fact, you can't remember anything at all! But hey, at least you're not the only person around. Reach out, find someone, and get some answers. The Dream: Haibane enter this world without most memories, but they do remember one thing: their cocoon dream. But it's not so easy to understand, is it? Maybe talking through it with someone else will help you figure out just what your dream means. Wings aren't easy to use: So, you're a Haibane. Awesome. But you know what's not awesome? Getting used to these darn wings, that's what. Suddenly having two extra limbs that you're not sure how to control isn't easy, and they're liable to bump into things and just plain get in the way. Actually, you might want to apologize for unintentionally hitting that person in the face, or help clean up that lamp you knocked over. On the town: Glie is a beautiful city, and there are a lot of places to explore! So why not check some of them out? Everyone seems friendly enough, and the townspeople are more than willing to help anyone who gets lost. Check out the setting page, pick a spot, and go check it out! Wintertime: It's wintertime in Glie, which means snow, snow, snow! And even though it's cold, the sun is shining, so the cold is bearable today. What are you going to do? Go sledding? Have a snowball fight? Make snow angels? Well, that last one should be a lot easier to do now. Player choice: Don't like these prompts? Come up with your own! The city of Glie is quite large, and there is a lot to do.

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Side A - Waking Up + The Dream

[ Maybe being tired was a normal feeling for most people when they woke up. Maybe feeling like your energy levels are at an all-time low is normal, too, as he sits with his back against the wall his bed--'his?' bed--was leaned up against, looking out into the room with a dazed expression on his face. His mind is a fog, and there's a niggling feeling crawling up the back of his neck that made him feel one thing: that he should understand his surroundings, and the cloud of thoughts in his head.

He didn't. He doesn't. There's no recognition in any of his surroundings, and he feels like he's still dreaming. Even if the faces in the room were far clearer than the faces in his dream, and even if the room wasn't as tense as his memories tell him they were.

His fingers grope at his side, feeling for a knife that had been concealed there, under his shirt, in the dream. It's not there, and that feeling is almost as uncomfortable as being naked might feel.

His lips curve down as he leans forward, giving his head a shake to try to wake up. ]

...What in the name of seven hells is going on here.

Side B - Wings! + Town Shenanigans

[ There might not be much he remembers about himself, his home world, the people he knows or the things he's experienced, but if there's one thing he can remember enough, it's the fact that where he comes from? Wings aren't just for decoration. Pegasi and Wyvern had wings, and they could use them to fly just fine, couldn't they.

Yeah.

Knights rode around on winged horses, and...

Well, he could MOVE the damn things, see. So it should beg to reason that they'd be able to be used just as well as any other creature with wings, right.

Don't stand too close to the weird ginger muttering what sound like archaic curses to himself, you might get a face full of feathers as he attempts, once again, to stretch the dust-coloured wings out in his childish attempts to see if they're really anything more than just an irritating decoration.]

[he thinks about his dream, of infinitely filling earth and a fire making the air as hot as Shoot's fever had been, humidity coagulating in his own lungs... it contrasts the cold shower and the stern gaze of the younger Haibane too starkly, and his gaze drops under the dark, matted hair clinging to his forehead]

...Cedar. I remember... cedar trees. [it isn't the most prevalent part of his dream, it isn't his blood or sweat or graves, it isn't his leaking blisters or the shine of a working shovel or his muscles pumping acid as strains himself, and it isn't the embers floating in the air]

[but it does feel like the most comfortable part of that dream -- the fuel, the tinder and kindle, the consumables for the sake of destruction: this is his new name]

[sensing the worst has passed, a broad back checks into the tile wall of the stall, face barely being misted, teeth still a-chatter but they're stilling rapidly; what takes its place is a slightly accelerated breathing and pulse ]

Tch... there's got to be somewhere more comfortable we can get you. Can you walk back the way you came? [he doesn't particularly want to carry him, but he will if he has to]

[the face that greets him is a handsome but seemingly young one, if it weren't for those too-alert bright green eyes and the scowl that seems permanently etched into the hard granite of his expression, attesting to years of distrust and sternness he has no recollection of, just like every other Haibane here -- just like this neophyte still sleeping away in a borrowed mattress]

[the samurai's own wings are already sprouting proudly from the juts of bone in his back, each scapula a nest for ashen downs, and his halo hangs at a ridiculous crook above his head that slants heavily towards his left eye and threatens his vision with each bounce of footfalls]

[a path that takes him to the bedside, gaze drifting to where fingers search his own person]

[(a weapon, he knows -- why does he know that?)]

You won't believe me if I tell you.

[it's less of a snap-judgment and more about pure experience; who the hell would? "congratulations, you're dead but you're not gone"? is that comfort or just torture? even he hasn't decided]

[there's a length of dirty, sturdy rope in a clenched fist, and its presence seems almost as ominous as his words:]

You'll just have to experience it.

[ He takes a moment, raising his head a little to look at the man who had responded to him. His appearance and the way he held himself is something he feels like he recognises, a buzzing in his head that he's met someone like this before. (But where? The name just wasn't coming to him, just an expression with a scowl, speaking in a language he barely understood.)

His lips curl a little in a bit of a smirk, teeth clicking together as he takes in the image of a halo and wings adorning the man's appearance. Angels weren't real, and yet, what the hell was standing in front of him.]

Not so sure about that. I've heard some pretty crazy things in my life. [He felt the words tumble out of his mouth before he really thought about them. Crazy things, sure, but where. He wasn't even sure himself.

Either way, he's taking a moment to stare at what this guy was holding, and the way he's standing. It's not exactly angelic.]

So who are you? Some sort of holy choir?

Cedar. [He repeats, tying the name to the tall figure of the boy he'd quickly describe as imposing under any other circumstance. It sounded strong, he thought with a hint of admiration.

But the concern isn't appreciated, not now.] ... never mind that. You don't sound too good yourself.

[Enough of this cold water. He quickly reaches to turn the knob, fiddling with it a bit, not knowing which way's which, before deciding to climb out. He's unsteady on his feet, but only from weakness. Blood loss. Not sickness, not fever, not anymore. His mind is sharp, any exhaustion is easily kept at bay by the pressing need to help the one who helped him.

Well, maybe not need. Want? He felt bound to help this one, call it honor, perhaps. It didn't matter to him, really, how it was decided, he just knew it was something he had to do now.

He looked back over his shoulder.] Take that thing off, leave it in the shower. Doubt they'll care. [Just... look at the place. It's a dump. One soaked robe isn't going to make much of a difference.]

The room I was in before had clean clothes and a bed too. [He turns to get him a change of clothes, but he's prepared to stop if there's something else Cedar has to say before he does.]

It's best you leave that behind you. [vague, and the sudden movements he make leave no room for it to be questioned, a knee sinking into the mattress and winding those ropes around and through stable columns that make up the headboard]

[a 'holy choir'... he's biting and sarcastic now, but the more developed haibane wonders just how long it'll last, knowing what's his body is about to go through]

They call me Cedar so you will too. You'll get your own title eventually, but I'm not giving it to you. I don't want to know about your dream.

[boy, he's friendly]

[hands pull away and leave the ends of those ropes slack, finally looming over him to look down with some measure of urgency]

...you've been asleep all day. How do you feel? [the fatigue, the fever, the aching cramps in his shoulders?]

[A flash of unhidden irritation passes over his own emerald-green eyes as he stares up at this lousy excuse for an angel, his fingers clenching a little against the blanket he'd woken up underneath. 'leave that behind you', what the hell was that supposed to mean.

Cedar, an easy enough name. Like the tree, he thinks, and it sounds familiar enough to be from his own world. That's enough to make him chill out, just a little, but his shoulders do rise a little in defiance as he prepares himself for a reply.

The motion was a bad idea, it seemed, as a sharp pain rockets down his spine for moving in that way. His teeth clench in his attempt to hide it, but given the other had asked...]

...Like absolute shit. Head's swimming and it feels like someone did a tango on my back.

[A pause hits him, and the thoughts start bubbling up in his head. His dream, the weapons, the smell of blood, the feeling of adrenaline in his veins--]

I didn't go and get myself killed, did I. [That biting tone hasn't gone, but it seems to be starting to fade. The aching in his back wasn't getting better, either.]

It's likely. You look like a walking target. [gestures to him without reserve, that electric shock of range hair and pale skin smattered with freckles. and who could not want to punch that mug? already, thinking about that smirk and that attitude makes him want to sink knuckles into the open arteries of nose]

[his back, huh... he's experienced it twice now, helped another boy through his and faced his own; is the third time the charm? he's a little more practiced at it now, knows what to expect, and if he's been assigned to this duty -- at least for now until he gains his ledger and a "real" occupation -- then he's going to do it his way]

That's what hurts? Turn over, I'll take a look at it. [with all the grace and sympathy of a war doctor; those natural demands are entirely made of deception. he knows what's there, all he needs is a little leeway to get him on his stomach before ropes can snap tight around his wrists and pin them to the headboard]

[what good is it going to be if he does something stupid and accidentally (or intentionally) hurts himself]

...they're coming. How's your pain tolerance?

[...I don't?]

[maybe he can't hear himself anymore. he thought his voice was steadying, that his body was acclimating to the cold -- the blurry vision and sweat further dampening his bangs shouldn't have any reflection on that (and he refuses, refuses to even mentally acknowledge the muscle cramps behind him, trapezius full-on seizing and shuddering readily)... he's fine]

[he's fine. right?]

Mmn. [the response is a grunt, distantly recognizing the fact that the water's been turned off, head falling back against the tile and eyes closing. he hears his words and tries to respond in an obvious way, fingers reaching up and digging at the front of his cocoon-issued white robe]

[he pulls, hard, strength unchecked despite sickness (or maybe because of it), stitches popping at the seams]

[the sweet, black edge of his consciousness beckons, fighting pathetically against his own clothing, and it's a long moment before he calls out;]

Oi... don't -- go too far. [for whose sake is an order like that?]

[The day that Rakka was called fashionable was the day her hair stopped sticking up. Then again, she always did like the clothes they got from the thrift store, those and her wing-covers.

As the boy decides to investigate the contents of a box, Rakka was busy trying to pick herself up... with as much success as you'd think. She slips, at least twice.]

...O-oh, uh, yes. Thank you.

[She reaches up to accept that hand.

...Hmm. That jacket... she notices it shift irregularly. Wings? Oh, maybe he didn't have anything to keep then warm.]

...Criminy. Talk about adding insult to injury, you don't pull punches at all, do you. [He casts a grumpy glance up at Cedar, a frown balancing itself over his face as he watches the other. 'A walking target', how dare he. Just because his hair was red didn't mean anything. For all both of them knew, he was a saint in... whatever life he led before this.

He was having difficulty remembering exactly what it was he did. All he knew is that it had to have involved weapons, in some way.

He opened his mouth to say it was his shoulders that hurt--but honestly, he had little to no time to react before this strange, green-eyed man was attempting to grab and bind him.

What the hell? Every instinct in his brain flared up, his eyes widening as he attempts to struggle. Waking up with a foggy mind, no clear idea to who he is or where he is? Last thing he's going to do is to let some guy tie him up.

Angel or not.]

The hell do you mean 'they're coming?' Let go'a me, or we'll have a test of your pain tolerance, you craven.

... I won't. [He says it calmly, but there's a cold pit in his stomach when he hears that request. He steps out, but as soon as he does, he starts running, stumbling a bit, wings flapping uselessly and scattering half-stained feathers.

He's scared. He's really scared. That something might happen to this person, this haibane, he just found.

When he reaches the room, he seems to startle the older haibane there who was probably expecting him to be in bed with a fever still, not running around with unfurled wings. The older haibane had set things up for him, had a strange, fine little brush and other things to tend to wings.

Maybe he was supposed to lie down? No, probably expected to, he's worried he might be stopped, so he quickly tears away to grab clean clothes and leave. There was another cocoon. He didn't know why he didn't say it outloud. You missed the other haibane who hatched today.

Was it selfishness? Did he want to be the only one to take care of the other haibane, the one he found on his own? Whatever the case, he would run back with a change, grab the brush himself (you can't clean your own wings...?), and race back to him!]

[Rakka's dress was light and airy and the sailor-style collar was cute. Everyone at the factory looked like dreary delinquents by comparison, but maybe nice clothes like that would get ruined very quickly in a place like that.

It's fine. Be more careful, okay? Ice is slippery. That's basic.

[Kind of a condescending little brat, isn't he? As soon as she's back on her feet, he tucks his hands back intonhis pockets, leaning back. He glances back at the box.]
I thought haibane were only allowed hand-me-downs.

["Haibane," as if he has nothing to do with them. Still, he's very curious about them...]

I mean just that. [smartly, voice pinched as his company puts up a fight... well, there's that at least. the struggle satisfies some inner part of him, a growl in his head or a desire for roughness that this place has delivered, but... in a language he can't understand (can't remember?)]

[a knee sinks into the middle of that pained back, pining a smaller chest to the mattress like the squirming little patient he is -- and Cedar has lost all of his own patience]

Mine's already been tested and I proved myself worthy. So how about it?

[those ropes snap, slide, and secure around wrists, and now that his own hands are free, he wastes no time in seizing up the 'younger' haibane's robes and ripping them from the neck down, exposing nasty discoloration and tumors that shift, squirm, threaten to rip skin right open]

Ever wanted to be an angel?

[There's some part of him that knows, somehow, were he to have seen the assault coming, he may have been able to avoid it. Been able to escape the bigger male's brute strength that was overpowering him, that knee in his back that made it that much harder to struggle.

That made another stab of pain shoot up his back like a hot iron, causing him to cry out roughly this time. Fingers clenching into balled fists, his back arches in one last attempt to throw his 'guardian angel' off of him, to no real success. He could feel his shoulders burning, now, and as the other speaks. 'How about it?'

He begins to breathe the stale air of this... ethereal afterlife, and the gnashing of his teeth turn to a small, shocked breaths of air. His thoughts mute, and then turn to white noise, his head turning to stare emerald green up at his captor. Something moves beneath the his skin.

'Ever wanted to be an angel?'

No, something fights beneath his skin.

Any words he'd been planning to use have slipped from him, and are replaced instead with a low howl of pain.]

[Did you really mean to single this one out, brat?

Did you really

Perhaps he was harder to recognize in a drab, hand-me-down, brown winter coat and not one of his black, classier trench coat. Far from gentle, the man immediately responded to the reaching child with a rough shake of his leg to jostle him loose, all but kicking him to the ground. It would appear to be an accident to onlookers.]

[Not the dress today! Today was the red dress and jacket combo, with those boots that should have helped her on the winter terrain, but clearly everything slips up at one point or another. Like Rakka.]

Umm, yeah, I'll keep that in mind.

[He is a bit of a brat, but Rakka was amicable towards even jerks at times. She could roll with it.

Now that she was up, Rakka could get to gathering up all of the boxes again.]

They are! These are all from a thrift store we usually go to! The Haibane always need new clothes when winter comes around.

[This much, he understood! He should help her pick them up, right?

Mm, but he'd have to bend down, and he didn't care much for getting closer to the ground, maybe if he kneeled, but kept his head up and back strai— oh, she's got all the boxes before he could do anything.

He'll just. Stay down there, for a bit. Act like he didn't just crouch down for nothing. Suddenly develop a very deep interest in the ice and frost.

A terribly awkward brat, at that.]

... really? I didn't know.

Are you in charge of handing them out, then? [He really doesn't know how things are done around here, not in-depth, at least.]

And, um... are there still more in the store? You know, if someone were to go look for them, would they find any?

[the sound of a heavy metal door slamming behind the younger boy is the last thing he hears before his consciousness slips off of that fringe, and he keeps hearing that sound over and over]

[dull at first, closer and "real", and then sharper: a clang. a clang. a clamor. this factory is winter-echo silent but he hears screams, he hears chaos, he hears catastrophe]

[fever races down his body from tip to toe, taking patchy red down his neck, shoulders, and chest, and his mouth hangs open for heavy gulps of frozen air to shock his lungs, attempting to raise him from what looks like a wet grave to no avail]

[it's only when that second heavy thud of Shoot's re-entry reaches him that hazy, unfocused eyes open again... the aches are so much more significant now and his face contorts with them, wincing and jerking his head down to try to curl up and away from it all -- but his tight throat keeps that groan of pain down, and that's how it'll stay]

...hey, kid. [calls out to him breathlessly, a wry smirk stretching across his face, almost maddeningly frenzied in its throes]

[sweat trickles down his cheek and along his jawline as he steps back, watching the shift and squirm of the seizing patient he's anchored to the bed (as if they only deserved coffins after they've been reborn, and what a sweet one it is)]

[the piping-hot bowl of water he'd sat aside while the newcomer had been sleeping has cooled off enough to be usable, first pouring cups worth of warmth along the skin -- softening it, making it easier to piece through -- and then dragging a rag from the spine-notches in his neck to his tailbone; he is pitiless but not wholly unhelpful]

[for a second bit of "good nature", his hands grabs up the redhead's jaw when he screams and a swath of leather finds itself into his mouth -- is this meant to be a bit or a gag?]

Be quiet. [well.]

[his eyes can't help but be drawn to the cross on his extended, strained arm, the only splotch of darkness in all this white fabric and pale skin -- ]

[at least, until they drop downward to watch wings begin to rupture... will this ever get old?]

[The boy's soul is so ill-prepared for this. His knees give out walking to him, he crashes, but hits the bathroom floor knee-first, keeping his hands up, clothes off the floor, acting against instinct. His eyes are widely staring, transfixed with horror, but that voice, that smirk, something locks into place in his mind and his gaze steels over from the watery, fearful blue from seconds before. The quickened pace of his chest's rise and fall, the shallow, frightened breathing also quells into a strange calm, but his heart hammers in his ears still.]

You'll drown like that. [He doesn't expect his voice to sound so clear, so calm. It isn't at all how he felt just a moment ago. He isn't even sure what changed, but he wastes no more time questioning it, shifting everything he brought to tuck under one arm, he tried to grip the older boy's arms to pull him up. Was there any time left to move him or would he have to do this here? He doesn't have the physical strength to carry him on his own, so...

If this is where he'll stay, so be it.

He tears his own sleeve. The fabric doesn't give way as easily as it did for Takasugi, there was, what seemed to him, an embarassingly lengthy series of unsuccessful pulls before it tore off (messily, taking a third of the fabric off his chest as well), he quickly twists it, brings it to the older haibane's mouth. A gag offered to the one who silently granted him dignity when his pride demanded it even in sickness. He's bit down the screams on his own long enough, it won't be so easy later on; a wordless warning.]

[ He's got some time off, and is socialising in the town; he feels like he should be doing it, even though he's not entirely comfortable with it.

He spots someone in the street, attempting to test their wings, and raises his eyebrows. A new Haibane, isn't it? ]

Don't strain yourself, or they'll be sore in the morning. Decidedly not a good way to wake up.

[His struggles are in vain, the ropes tied around his wrists are tight and well-placed. That doesn't keep him from trying, however, in this room that wasn't his own, against a person he didn't know. He shrouds himself in an aura of hostility, turning his head to shoot a glare up at the other despite the soft treatment. The pain was unbearable now, so his lashing out was purely reactionary.

Reactionary, as if the pain was screaming danger in his ears. Were it not for the strap of leather forced between his teeth, he may have said something unsavory. Lucky for that, perhaps, as instead, he bites down hard against the poor-tasting thing, his eyes squeezing shut.

The thief’s pale form does shifts, allowing his bones to shift beneath the skin. The strange, bulging formations on his back push outward again, blood starting to seep from the highestmost point, and he could feel it trickling down his back. Along the same wet trails left behind by Cedar's warm cloth, there was only another moment or two spared before he felt something erupting from his back, pushing up and stretching out as if they'd been straining to be free for hours now. ...Which may not be too far from the truth.

His breath comes out as a low shudder as he breathes around the leather strap in his mouth, his body stilling from its struggles to instead shiver with the pain that now raked across his shoulders. It was a lot less intense, but it didn't feel like it was going away anywhere soon. His head turns, eyes opening from where they'd been screwed shut. Staring up at the pair of now freed, dripping red wings that spread out over his back.

...This couldn't be real.]

[Unfortunately new, and unfortunately stubborn, this new Heibane seems. He turns to face the man talking, taking a moment to give him an up-down stare before letting those wings on his back go still. They already ached a little at the root, but that hadn't stopped him.

He huffs out a low sigh, a hand on his hip as he waves the other in the air a little irritably.]

...A little nonsensical, isn't it. To be born with a pair of sodding wings on your back, and not even able to use them for anything of real measure.

Mm, you raise a good point! Though I don't bother with it, myself. [ He's never had much interest in flight. He prefers his feet to stay on the ground, where they belong, and so the wings on his back are more of an occasional amusement than an irritant.

His wings are a fluffy blue-grey, reminiscent of fur rather than feathers in some ways. They flutter, briefly; having something like this that moves in a different way feels...strangely familiar, somehow. ] You'll become used to them. The only thing you need to worry about is cutting holes in all your clothing, more or less. And covering them for winter.

[ He has some neatly stitched wing covers, but he hasn't put them on today. Sometimes he just likes to air them, even in the cold. ] My name is Mondlicht. Who might you be?

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Page 8 of 9

Test Drive #1

Gaius | Fire Emblem: Awakening

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It's perfectly fine!! Sorry for being late...

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I don't mind at all, thanks for replying!

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boo

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[... thaaat was quite the oversight, sorry! Reading comprehension failure.. and the formatting! ^^;]

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