outofshadows | Test Drive Meme

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Test Drive Meme

Throne of Shadows
TEST DRIVE MEME!!!

New to Throne of Shadows? Long time player thinking of apping a new character? Welcome to our test drive meme! Experiment with active and potential muses! Here is a place where you can test out characters for the setting and accrue samples for your applications! Roll on the scenarios provided below, or come up with your own!

Scenario Builder

You are...

1. Lost in the temple
2. Trapped in a cloak room
3. Stargazing on a balcony
4. In the bathroom
5. In a bedroom
6. Swimming in a courtyard pool

You’re feeling...

1. Inexplicably happy
2. Like you could fall asleep at any moment
3. Angry enough to punch someone
4. Nostalgic or sentimental
5. Like someone stabbed you—oh, hey, they did, fancy that
6. Seriously horny. Must be something in the water.

Somewhat unusually...

1. You can only speak in rhyme
2. You are naked
3. You suddenly cannot verbally communicate
4. There’s a lot of alcohol/drugs here!
5. You are gender swapped
6. You have amnesia

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I don't have time to waste for idiots and fools, so yes, I am."

Honestly Joan rarely had time to waste for agents that weren't idiots or fools. Time was always a limited quantity and sinister plots seemed more never ending, especially of late.

She returned to the door and slipped the blade into the crack, sliding it up toward the corner. Before she could get quite to the top the blade stopped. It was what she'd been hoping to find, the location of what was causing the door to refuse to open.

"Hm."

"Ouch. How you wound me." But Izumo chuckled immediately after, robbing the plaintive tone of any truth. "I get the feeling you're not really a very happy person, are you, Joan?"

Speculation, but based on words, turn of phrase, the way she moved. Part of Izumo's job had always been intelligence, spying and blackmail. He learned people, and he listened to them, and he took them apart to find out what made them tick and what would be the best leverage. It wasn't malicious; by now it was just what he did, so used to working he never really stopped.

Joan cast Izumo a small smile over her shoulder. On the surface that's all it was, but hidden not very far down was a hint of threat. Anyone with good instincts would recognize it for what it was.

"I have my moments."

She waved a hand toward the door.

"Now come over her and see what you think."

"I think the door is damn stuck and nothing we do is going to help," Izumo answered, before he pushed away from the wall and slipped up into her personal space as if he belonged there, tapping on the door with a knuckle. He tipped his head to look up at her, smiling pleasantly.

"It feels like there is a very large piece of furniture up against the door and while I have many many talents, Joan, moving that is not one of them."

Joan ignored the intrusion and focused on the point where her confiscated pocket knife had been stopped.

"There's also something wedged in the top here. We a trapped in a closet. Closet doors open inward. And, if for some reason this one didn't follow conventional building rules, a piece of furniture would not be in front of a closet door unless it was placed their purposefully to keep someone in or if the closet wasn't used."

Both things would punch a bit of a hole in Izumo's plan of waiting out a rescue. Joan still believed it was safer to assume they were on their own.

"This door does not open inward - the hinges are on the outside, and it's on the wrong side of the jamb to swing in," Izumo pointed out, patiently. "It opens out. Position of furniture could mean we're deliberately trapped, or it could mean someone decided to rearrange furniture, or that someone went crazy and decided to make sure the boogeyman stayed in the closet tonight. I'm figuring on the second, as this is a recently-used coat closet and none of the coats are the same. There are no shoes, which leads me to believe this is a public building of some sort, and all these coats are very fine, which reinforces that idea. Eventually, someone is going to want their coat back on their way home, and then we will be released."

He took a deep breath, and blew out a stream of smoke with it. "Does that logic satisfy you, Joan?" He brushed a knuckle against the top of her shoulder, close enough to kiss as he tipped his head to face her.

Joan very gently picked his finger up with two of hers like it was something disgusting she didn't want to touch and dropped his hand off her shoulder. She was willing to tolerate his closeness, but she was not going to tolerate his hand on her bare skin. When she looked at him again her eyes were narrowed dangerously.

"What are you talking about? The hinges are right there."

She turned to point toward the right side of the door and froze. There were no hinges like there had been only a moment ago. As a matter of fact, the entire door was different. This one was a different color, still not fully identifiable in the dull light but darker than it had been, and had engravings etched across the surface. Joan was pretty sure it wasn't made of wood like the other had been either.

"That's... not the same door."

What the hell was going on? Had she been drugged somehow? Had the entire room been drugged with some kind of air based hallucinogenic and she hadn't noticed?

Izumo stared at the door. He pulled his cigarette from his lips and and began to curse, with great variety and creativity. That was just fucking with them and he did not appreciate that.

Still holding his cigarette beteen first and middle finger, he clasped his hands together and pulsed his chakra.

"Kai!"

Nothing changed. So it wasn't an illusion, then. Just to be sure, as he raised his cigarette back to his lips, Izumo bit himself to the blood on the inside of his cheek The pain was sharp, real, and still nothing changed. .

"Gods damn this all to fuckin' hell," he spat, and kicked the door hard, with chakra behind it: a normal door might have bowed out or even broken under the assault. This one did nothing and Izumo growled wordlessly at it.

Joan simply eyed him at the sudden burst of expletives. She'd heard them all before, and worse, but wasn't one to express herself that way very often. It required a very special situation, and this, as weird as it was, didn't qualify. Instead she crossed her arms lightly over her chest and watched him.

"Are you done with your temper tantrum now?"

At the continued swearing and sudden kick at the door she figured he wasn't. She shook her head in exasperation, but then froze. What had that click been?

"Izumo." Sharp, solid, and enough to get his attention and tell him she's serious. "Did you hear a click?"

"I heard it," Izumo answered, warily. He'd heard it and now he slunk back from the door, tense and with his weight balanced low, ready to fight or flee...whatever was called for in a moment's notice.

The sudden sound of air rushing in, like gas from an exposed pipe, caused Joan to tense. Immediately panic set it, though she held it at bay. The possible gases were endless, and while not all were harmful she had to work under the assumption that this one was.

Or at least she did until she realized it wasn't gas.

Joan was suddenly covered in a fluffy white substance that seemed to nearly liquefy under her touch. It was absolutely everywhere, and all she could do was stare down at herself in shock as the whipped cream dripped down her face.

Izumo held his breath...then let it out in an explosive round of cursing once he figured out what the white stuff was. He wound down and stared at it, then looked at Joan. She was covered in it too. He snorted, then leaned over and swiped a drip off her face with a finger. He stuck that in his mouth with a suggestive and very corny waggle of eyebrows...then grimaced.

"Fuck, too sweet."

He stuck his tongue out, and his tongue-stud glittered in the light. He tipped his head back and stared up at the sudden lone lightbulb that was illuminating the closet, which had fewer coats as well. "Damn, I've been fucked and I didn't even get to enjoy it. Sucks to be us, Joan, sucks balls."

He eyed her, then grinned and added, "Though it's polite to let a lady know before you blow a load in her face, huh?"

Edited 2013-09-11 15:46 (UTC)

Joan sighed and rubbed her hand over her face in an attempt to get the whipped cream off. All the attempt really did was smear it around, but she was at least able to flick some of it off. Not that there was really a way to feel clean until she had a full on shower. Maybe she could at least find a semi-clean coat somewhere to help a bit.

"I'm not going to touch any of those statements."

They weren't necessary in the first place, and she definitely wasn't going to comment further on them. She was used to sexual references and talk of the deed coming out in the office and her marriage counseling, but never it such a rough way.

Izumo leaned over again and swiped a bit of whipped cream off the very end of her nose. "You could take your dress off and use that," he chirped, helpfully. "I wouldn't mind."

Certainly not, and he'd definitely appreciate the view.

Edited 2013-09-18 02:36 (UTC)

"If my dress weren't covered in whipped cream as well I might consider it."

There really wasn't any time to be too concerned about modesty when you were a spy. Knowing how to use your body to your advantage provided just as much, if not more, information than just using your head.

Izumo pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He bowed with a playful flourish and offered it to her, glancing up with a smirk. See, he had exactly the thing wanted, wasn't he clever and charming? It was the gesture that counted, no matter that he was equally covered in whipped cream and looked ridiculous. The handkerchief was clean, though.

He had an idea of how to get the goop off himself, but he'd have to try it when she wasn't looking. He had no idea if there was enough water in whipped cream to make it work, but it was worth a shot.

Joan lifted an eyebrow at him and smiled in amusement. She could play along with his apparent chivalry. The handkerchief wouldn't do much to help with the mess, but at least she could clean off her face. She plucked the handkerchief from his fingers and wiped her face off.

When she was done she sauntered a step closer to him. Keeping her eyes locked on his she flashed him a small seductive smile while she pushed the handkerchief back into his pocket. She slowly turned away, her eyes still dancing at him.

Izumo grinned back, amusement bright in his eyes. Ah ha! So she would play the game, and with such a razor edge, too. Like a kunoichi, all bite and glitter of a blade; no missteps for him or he'd regret it. He chuckled, bright and delighted, and extracted the ruined handkerchief. He waited until her back was turned before he twisted his hands through signs, chakra humming to life. He poked a patch on the handkerchief. Whoops, no, that just pulled the water out of it.

Ah, like working with very watery mud, then. Izumo could do that, if just barely. He was a strong water-type, but his chakra wasn't well inclined to much else. Another few handseals, and few quick wiping motions, and he was clean and astonishingly dry, with most of the whipped cream gooped up onto a ball in his hands. He bent and set that on the floor, then pulled his hands away and let the jutsu disperse. The ball melted with an unpleasant-looking ooze, and Izumo grimaced. Yuck.

Joan had pulled a coat off a hanger and was busy using it to try and get more of the gross topping off of her. It was more smearing it into her dress than anything else, but at least she wouldn't be visibly covered. Still sticky, yes, but there wasn't anything she could do about that.

When she was done she dropped the coat on the ground and turned back toward Izumo. She was far enough away that at first she didn't notice that he was no longer covered in whipped cream. Something simply seemed off. After she got a bit closer she realized what it was and her eyes widened in shock.

"What...?"

Izumo's smirk was smug. "Magic. I have a great many talents." He tipped his head, grinning. "If you like I could try to do it for you."

'Try,' now that he'd figured it out he could do it just the same for her. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but he could do it. "You'd be less sticky, at least." She's managed to wipe off a good deal, but Izumo could still get better than that; down into the fabric of her dress and all across her skin. Chakra, Izumo mused, was a wonderful thing.

"Won't hurt. Might tingle a little."

Joan had focused more on the "try" than anything else. It seemed to be a rather important detail in Izumo's offer.

"And if your attempt fails? What then?"

She didn't particularly want to take a risk on something that she wouldn't have believed existed prior to her sudden entrapment in a coat closet.

"Then you're sticky and my ego takes a damn hard blow," Izumo answered, cheerfully. "But up to you, sugar."

He waggled his fingers at her, hands upheld and spread with palms to her. He smiled.

Joan wanted to believe him, but she wasn't a trusting person by nature. It was asking a lot for her to believe that Izumo's explanation of what would happen if he failed. To go beyond that and trust him to try something on her that she didn't understand? That was almost beyond impossible. It was all going to come down to how badly she wanted to get rid of the stickiness.

"If you are sure that is all that will happen even if everything possible went wrong."

"Yup." Izumo nodded. Lie; if everything possible to go wrong went wrong, he'd end up with the whole-body equivilent of a migraine. But that was highly unlikely.

He folded his hands through signs: compared to the rest of his stocky build, his hands were slender and fine-boned, an artist's hands. They were calloused, with a light scattering of scars. They moved smoothly, gracefully, twisting easily through the seals. He then held out his hands to her. He could sense the chakra humming across his skin, waiting for release, but unless she had supernatural senses, she wouldn't notice a difference.

Joan watched his motions closely and a little uneasily. She had no idea what any of the signs meant. When he finally stopped and held his hands out to her Joan wasn't sure what to make of it. She didn't know what she was supposed to do either. A small lift of an eyebrow asked the question. Was she supposed to come closer? Touch his hands? She didn't know.

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