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Test Drive Meme: The Overflow, Part Deux!
 THE OVERFLOW, PART DEUX! Since the last post is again fast approaching 3k comments and getting laggy for some of our players, we have decided to go ahead and stick up the overflow post, even though there's just a little over a week to game start. Please continue your threads or start new ones here if you'd like. To make this easier on those continuing threads from the last meme, here's a handy form: Please remember to let your thread partners know you've bumped your threads over here as well! We started the meme early to give you plenty of room to do just that. With the City of Ariel grand opening only a month away, we are holding our first ever test drive meme. Tag in and see how your character would settle in the game. You're a fresh face in the city, newly processed, and arriving at a bustling time. The city is expanding and you are greeted first in the re-education center by your helpful counselors and then directed out of the building to a large festival. Be puzzled, make friends, have sex, or whatever you want! There are no restrictions on thread types played out here. Your first awareness that something has gone wrong comes during a groggy moment of semi-lucidity when you look around yourself and find that -- instead of wherever you remember being last -- you're in a chair, in a room with a man you don't recognize. He's sitting behind a desk whistling to himself and sorting paperwork. The whole atmosphere might remind you of a high school guidance counselor's office, only with far more comfortable chairs. You were brought to Ariel during a very special time! There's a large festival going on celebrating the new expansions to the city and everything is decked out for it. Everything is bustling and vibrant in the city today because of the celebrations. There are decorations up, food vendors set up all along the streets, kissing booths, games, and just about anything else you can imagine an event like this would have! The people of Ariel are out and about as well, some are in vibrant costumes and others are just checking out the sights. Some of the more exhibitionist types are even having a little more fun out in public than you may be used to seeing back home. As soon as the grogginess from your arrival passes, you are allowed to leave the re-education center and see it all for yourself. Upon exiting, you are even handed beads of various colors, several of each so you don't worry about running out. Each color has a special meaning listed below: pink - toys These are to aid you in making a connection with others. Show your interest in others and tell them exactly what you would like to do with them by sharing the beads. If you would rather take a different approach, feel free to walk around the festival and see what (or who) catches your eye. The point is to relax and get settled in your new home. | |
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Please note that all CR in this meme can be carried over when the game starts between characters that are accepted into the game.
Threads can also count towards third and first person samples on the application, just provide links.
Take a look at our OOC Meet and Greet post! Meet. Greet. Make friends. Have fun!
thrawn / star wars / ota
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His passion. What an interesting question. He has found that his passion is a deep, slow-burning thing, ponderous, inexorable, sometimes inexplicable.
"Perhaps," and he raises his glass to her, "I haven't found it yet."
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"No time like the present. Broadly speaking. Don't you think?"
The innuendo is there, but it isn't predominant; she's arrogant but she isn't that arrogant, and the truth is that she'd rather talk philosophy than flirt. Of course, if she can manage both at once, all the better.
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He tilts his head. "What race are you, Mindfang?" The blue pigment has him intrigued.
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She leans back, sipping her drink. "Which doesn't mean I'm not enjoying our conversation. I am voracious, I want all manner of overlapping and contradictory things. And as to your question, my kind are called trolls."
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"My apologies," he says. "You seem more the type for engaging conversation."
Pail?
Her description is accurate, at least. Not particularly insightful, but accurate.
"I'm afraid for the time being I'm not interested in... yielding myself to another." Another yielding to him is a completely different story. And that's what he's sticking with, until he understands the environment of this city.
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"So if you aren't enthused, we can certainly carry on as we are. But if your lack of interest pertains solely to your own capitulation - well. Please don't. If I wanted someone to yield right now I'd grab one of the dirtscrapers out there." She waves a dismissive hand, the slur light and easy in her mouth. She may not have fins, but she is still a creature of the sea.
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"Dirtscrapers?" He asks part of of curiosity, part because he's actually considering her offer, and he wants a moment or two to think about it.
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She gazes out at the crowds she so peremptorily dismissed, metal fingers idly tracing patterns on the surface of the table. "They're just...they're all so squishy. And drably colored. And the whole place is a one-track-mind writ large. It's boring, no matter that I'm weaker than I should be and eager as any of them."
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He leans forward. "Do you enjoy art?"
This, perhaps, is the question most key to deciding whether or not he would share a bed with her.
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Her expression is sober, a little melancholy; in the constant churning dogfight of survival on Alternia, there was precious little space for art.
"It depends upon whose art, I suppose. The blood-spatter collages of the Empress's enforcers are tantrum and propaganda as much as anything else. They dominate the visual medium in our culture, and I have never been enamored with them. But I've loved poetry and drama since before I lost my grublegs. And I wouldn't be a pirate if I didn't crave beautiful things."
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Ah, but he would be very interested to see them.
“Do you recall a favorite of yours? A poem.” Still making up his mind.
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It was that, more than anything else, that had Dean wandering behind and then to fall into step beside him. His natural hedonist tendencies were ramped up to the max here and where he once had been concerned about the whole red eyes, blue skin thing... all he could think now was, if he could do that, what else has he got up his sleeve?
"That was impressive," he offered with a polite and unquestionably interested smile. "Mind if I ask where you're from?"
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Very few outsiders know anything of Chiss space. Even fewer know the name of the homeworld, or its location. Fewer still have even seen a Chiss not of military or diplomatic families. Chiss are very good at controlled information.
He toys with the new white bead, briefly, before dropping it onto its string, and slipping it back into a pocket.
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"Did you enjoy your performance back there?"
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This is not a sort of admiration Thrawn has ever experienced.
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"I was curious to find out what else you're good at."
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Thrawn holds out a hand. "A bead," he says. "Or your request. And tell me your rules." This city greatly values consent, and while Thrawn is extremely experienced in all sorts of ... persuasion, he thinks in this case it may serve him more to adapt to others' desires.
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With his free hand, he toys with the two beads.
"And the thought of a crowd?" he asks. "Does that excite you?"
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"Yeah, it does..." He's a little surprised to find himself saying that. True as it is, it's still not something he tends to blurt out to strangers. "I don't mind being watched."
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"Could I make use of your demonstration area?" he asks.
No more than a minute of perusing the items on offer, and Thrawn selects three things. There are others where his eyes linger, but first thing's first.
He selects a collar, a slim and plain one, and buckles it on Dean's throat himself. "Your shirt, off." Then a carabiner through the ring at the front, and a chain, attached to it, wrapped around Thrawn's hand.
He gives a yank on the chain, transforming from mild preparation to authority in the blink of an eye. "On the bench," he commands, maneuvering Dean to lie back on a leather bench with places to cuff hand and foot. He doesn't bind him, yet.
Once Dean is down, he wraps a blindfold around his eyes. Let him be watched; let him be aware that eyes are on him, and he cannot look in return. After all, the act of seeing is power itself, and Thrawn can see this play is devoted to power first, and then pleasure.
His fingers press on the underside of Dean's chin, tilting his head back, exposing his neck. And then his touch trails down, pausing at his breastbone.
"If you tell me to stop, I will," says Thrawn. "There will be no safeword beyond that. Do you understand?"
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He doesn't even hesitate when he's commanded to lose his shirt. It's pulled off and tossed aside in short order. When Thrawn yanks on the chain he stumbles obediently into place, another shiver running through him. The part of him that tries to keep him alive in spite of himself is desperately trying to convince him to call it off, but it's rapidly being drowned out by arousal that can't entirely be blamed on this place.
Dean lays back on the bench when he's told and his breath catches as his sight's taken by the blindfold. There's something very vulnerable about being watched without being permitted to see. He tips his head back and bares his throat without question, staying where he's left until he's told to do otherwise. The only undirected movement he makes is his hands gripping the edges of the bench just to have something to hold onto.
"I understand," he answers, voice low and thick with anticipation.
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He steps away from Dean a moment, and then returns. The pad of his thumb brushes against Dean's nipple, worries at it until it's hard -- and then, with no warning, he takes it and twists it and sets a clamp on it, to keep it that way.
He works on the other next.
"When you saw me," he asks, conversationally, "did you imagine that I would do the same to you that I did to her? My hands alone, to drive you to distraction."
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His hands stay where they were put, but he can't stay still when he feels that twist and the clamps clipped into place. A short breath passes his lips, but no other sound. It hurts, but it's not a bad hurt and god knows he's had much, much worse.
It's a struggle to focus on Thrawn's words when his other nipple's being similarly tormented, but he manages. He gives a slight shake of his head. "Not really. You don't seem like the type to be content with repeating yourself."
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