legionclubhouse | TEST DRIVE MEME

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test drive

TEST DRIVE MEME

Pick a scenario!

Scenario A: The Legion has been invited to a fancy reception with the United Planets Council because various public officials and dignitaries want to meet with the new Legionnaires. Even the older Legionnaires don't want to go, but they've been told that if they bring the rookies they'll get some funding and resources to work on their project of getting the newbies home.

So everyone's put on their best color-changing dresses and self-tying ties and are getting to work rubbing elbows and trying to pretend they actually want to be there.

Naturally, while some of the dignitaries are polite and genuinely interested in the plight of the interdimensional refugees, many of the dignitaries are downright rude in various ways, either by making the rookies feel as if they'll never measure up to the old Legion (as if being brought into this world is some fault of theirs) or by being condescending when hearing about their comparatively "primitive" worlds. ("Oh, you still use fossil fuels there? How quaint!") Some like the green-skinned Coluans are outright hostile, telling the rookies that by helping the Legion, they're betraying organic life because of the Legion's support of Robotica.

A fun time is being had by all, naturally.

Okay, that's a lie, but at least the rookies have each other to talk to, right? And there's no dearth of weird future fashion to quietly make fun off.

Scenario B: The reception is under attack! A Xanthan terrorist group has busted in and plans on taking some of the dignitaries hostage in exchange for some of their number being released from prison.

"Nobody move and no one has to get hurt!" the leader cries out, his gun pointed at Madame President.

Unfortunately for them, the Legion got a last-minute invite to this little shindig. Time to team up with one of your teammates to kick some butt and practice those quips!

REMINDER:

There are only 30 player slots in the game. We do want to remind players of that at each step towards game opening, just so they're aware during the reserve/app process that these slots might fill fast. We've also moved the opening of reserves a day to make it more convenient for the mods. Here are the current dates for upcoming events:

RESERVES WILL OPEN ON: 12/20/15 @ 5PM EST/2PM PST/10PM GMT
APPS WILL OPEN ON: 12/26/15 @ 5PM EST/2PM PST/10PM GMT
GAME STARTS ON: 1/01/16

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Hiccup, by virtue of being from a society that hadn't entirely worked out how to make steel yet, was getting more than his fair share of the "primitive" treatment. It was taking a considerable amount of will not to point out that he at least had some grasp of basic social skills, unlike certain people here.

But, for anyone paying the slightest bit of attention, it was fairly obvious his temper was getting frayed. Someone would have to head him off before he snapped and chewed one of the diplomats out.

Antonio ducks behind the buffet table as soon as the terrorist fires his blaster into the air, the young man's eyes wide as he is momentarily caught off guard. His expression quickly changes to one of resolve, however, and he looks around a bit before spotting another Legionnaire recruit.

"You there!", he calls out in a loud whisper as he crawls over on his elbows and knees. "You are with the Legion too, yes?"

Edited 2015-12-06 06:28 (UTC)

The setting is already enough to make Donatello feel horribly out of place - fancy anything is pretty far down the list of things he has experience or interest in, and getting ready for the evening was a nightmare in figuring out appropriate formalwear that would fit over his shell without feeling ridiculously restricting. And unlike that time crashing the Science Expo, these are the kinds of people who'll lord up their more advanced technology without actually showing any appreciation for what got it for them in the first place.

You don't just tell a scientist that everything his world's been working on is quaint.

But flipping out and losing his temper over something minor would be so...so Raph, really. He can do better than that.

Logic.

"Well, sure, we've got a long way to go," he says, striving to keep his tone as light and conversational and free of the intense annoyance this guy's existence is causing him as possible. "But there's still a lot of hard work and innovation that went into just the level of technology there now. Seeing what you all have here, and knowing that's still ahead if we keep moving forward - knowing I could be part of getting us there...I mean, with so much room for improvement and so many possibilities still ahead...doesn't that make knowing how many people are going to keep innovating and improving to get here even more exciting?"

Crickets chirp.

"...no?"

Tough crowd, huh.

Maybe now's a good time to go scope out the refreshments for the ninth time tonight.

Edited 2015-12-06 06:56 (UTC)

Why is Sans here when he isn't actually a sworn in member of the Legion? Why is he wearing a blue jacket lined with fluff ("Nah, 's not real fur, I know some folks who'd get hopping mad") and a self-tying tie together? How has he managed to make that self-tying tie look sloppily put together? All good questions with unimportant answers! He can't be trying to make a good impression. Maybe he wants the free food. Not that he's impolite, really--he weathers the barrage of dignitaries with a mountain of bad jokes and an untouchable air of nonchalance. Or maybe that's just because, as a skeleton, it's pretty difficult for him to make facial expressions.

It's easy to tell some of the others really aren't handling it well, though, so Sans finds his way over to them with the strangest-looking food the menu has to offer and a casual wink.

"Hey, wanna try whatever this is and see if it's food or something that fell off someone's outfit?"

Vance was doing his level best to keep a smile on his face and make a good impression. After all, this was important and the Legion could use the funding to help them get home.

It was far more difficult to do when it came to some of the species than others, of course, but Vance had some training.

Finally, he found a corner to catch a breath and close his eyes. "Before we go home," he said to the nearest 'recruit', "remind me that I need to thank Tony Stark and Cap for making me attend Avengers functions."

It's funny how many worlds still have some form of a political system established. She's seen a vast range of different ways those systems could be established, but there was a large percentage of worlds that always had someone bowing to someone else. It was just the way certain things had to be done, and she had yet to encounter a world that had figured out a better system.

A childhood as a princess and so much more trained her how to keep her head in places like these. But training under Geralt and her own natural tendencies made her chafe under the watchful eyes of the dignitaries that decorated the room.

She rolled her eyes at the comments of never measuring up. She walked away from those who called her world primitive. And she just stared perplexed at the green-skinned people who seemed hell-bent on engaging her about "Robotica"?

It was easy to lose her head. Too easy. Instead she strode off, snapping a quick retort about not knowing what Robotica was, but hoping whatever it was they at least had more manners than the Coluans.

She makes her way to the edge of the room, taking a deep breath. She doesn't want to be in a place like this. She can be, but she doesn't want to be. And the weight of the second sword on her back is a reminder of how far she's come only to be... here. Now.

She rolls her eyes again and folds her arms as she leans against the wall. "What is Robotica anyway?" she wonders aloud to herself in annoyance more than anything, but she's willing to hear it from other ends as well.

"All right," Ciri speaks up, her voice loud and clear.

She raises her hands slightly, leveling them at her shoulders. Her palms her up, facing out at the man with the gun. A clear sign of surrender. She takes a slow step to the side, stepping away from the dignitaries nearest her. She moves carefully, so as not to disturb the man too much.

"You certainly have our attention. No one has to get hurt," she shakes her head.

While she's talking, though, she casts a glance at the nearest Legionnaire she can sight. She doesn't know her teammates yet, but she's trusting that if they're a part of the team it's for good reason. She locks eyes with whoever, then drags them back to the shooter at the front. The clear leader based on the demands he's taken.

"Just tell us what it is your after. We're all listening." Don't make her glance again. There's only so many ways to keep a man distracted so others can move in to take him down.

It's not easy to ignore the condescending tone of voice, but he'd manage to dodge plenty of scrutiny coming his way by being amicable, but also being vague enough about the technology level of his world to coast on by. After all, space colonies were a known occurrence in this galaxy, whose to say his world's tech level wasn't similar to this one?

Until someone called his bluff.

"So what's the deal here? Drag us all here to take your frustrations out on us? What a joke."

Oikawa Tooru might have come from a 'primitive time' he sure can fake it. He contributes this to all the science fiction movies, manga, and novels that he read. He's also able to flatter and bluff his way into making people treat him nicely. Act humble but excited to be part of the legion, give out genuine compliments, smile that smile that girls to fawn over him and come watch him play volleyball even if he didn't play for school's team.

Because of this, he's probably have a better time than most of his new Legion comrades. There are the few beings that due try to be rude at him and his new Legion Teammates, but he's able to cut them down with his sugar coated, razor tongue. He's not a nice person, but if you're his he'll have your back no questions asked.

"Perhaps you should join," he tells to one such rude guest who is currently questioning his intelligence because he's from the past. His tone is respectful, his eyes locked with the rude guest. "Show us how to fight against Sun Eaters in the like. We would surely benefit from your expertise."

It's obvious the guest in question has never fought in their life.

Parties are the worst. Especially parties where Parker has to make nice with people and not steal anything, even things that are all but begging to be stolen. It's all the annoying parts of grifting with none of the fun parts, and Hardison and Eliot aren't here to make it better.

"Excuse me," she says, having finally hit her limit on listening to the alien (aliens were apparently way more disappointing than science fiction had promised her) who had been talking at her, and vanished into the crowd, seizing the elbow of the first other person she recognized as a Legionnaire.

"How badly would it set us back if I stabbed someone with a fork?"

"I still can't believe you guys don't even have bacon," Grif says, despite the clearly appalled expression of the aliens he's talking to.

"What is all this? Tofu?" he continues, gesturing to the table with open contempt. "I don't think a single animal died to make all this. It's a tragedy."

"Well I never," murmurs a well-coifed lady behind her hand, quiet enough to be under the pretense of secrecy but clearly meant for him to hear.

"You never what? Never ate anything good?"

He doesn't seem to realize that he's getting attention, but then again maybe he's just enjoying it.

Was he supposed to be comfortable with these fancy things now that he was out? Bobby Drake wasn't sure. He pulled uncomfortably at the self-tying tie that he wore around his neck, only to have it snap back and tighten uncomfortably around his finger. He struggled with it for a moment before he got his finger free and then grimaced as a particularly snooty Coluan smirked down at him.

You'd think that Bobby would have gotten used to being pulled away from his place in time and space, but no. This was the second time in a year that he'd been pulled away, but at least the first time, things had seemed somewhat familiar.

This was just different. And maddening. Sure, back home, he'd gotten compared to the older, future version of himself. Here, though, he'd had no less than three people tell him how he was a terrible Polar Boy knock-off, and wasn't that sad, because Polar Boy hadn't even been a true Legionnaire himself.

"Who calls themself Polar Boy anyway?" Bobby grumbled to himself. "Polar could be magnetic pole thingies too."

The Chief isn't happy to be here, but he isn't happy about most things anyway. It feels wrong to be whiling away these hours talking and posturing, even though he understands the funding is important. He's always hated functions like these, and years haven't made him enjoy them more. They've just made him better at putting up a front.

The best he can do is treat it like any mission: take care of the team to ensure they meet the objective. Most of the other new Legionnaires are younger than he is, and many have less experience pretending to belong in a mess like this. The least he can do is help them out.

(Feel free to approach the Chief. Or, if your character's stuck in an awkward conversation and looking desperate, he's got your back. The bright side of being a huge super soldier is you're hard to brush off.)

A

Ah yes, high society, the upper crust, royalty. This is where Azula belonged.

So why did she feel so miserably out of place?

She looks the part at least, dressed in an elegant dress of red and gold that compliments her skin making her eyes pop brightly and her skin taking on a warm hue rather then the sometimes washed out pale she has on her bad days.

Even her hair, which is a constant battle to do on her own is looking put together and shiny thanks to her steeling her courage and allowing someone to help her.

To any who didn't know better, they might think she was comfortable and happy here. But inside she wanted to set fire to at least half the people she was meeting here. Between conversations her teeth were clenched, thank the spirits she'd managed to force herself to drink some of the punch after seeing everyone else drinking it. Having something to do with her hand namely: Holding a cup was better then the constant urge punish these simpering fools for talking down to her.

Someday they would regret this party. Maybe not someday soon but some day she would ensure each and every one of them learned their place.

But for now she was taking a moment to breathe, her back to a wall so she didn't have to worry about anyone sneaking up on her.

Was it so wrong for her to wish there was some kind of horrible disaster?

****************************************************
B

There is a phrase, be careful what you wish for. Even in her world that is well known thanks to all manner children's stories.

Azula had been hoping for something to test her skills on and as luck would have it, trouble found her.

Her eyes were sharp and took in every detail as she scanned the area for who and what she had to work with to stop this situation from getting out of hand.

[ooc: His information can be found here]

A

It wasn't that Adrien didn't know how to behave. He'd spent more than his fair share of his formative years attending parties like this, being put on display to help his father secure trade partners. He'd been thoroughly schooled in the right things to say, the right body posture, the right .. blah, blah, blah.

However, he hadn't given much of a damn back then and he gave even less of a damn now.

For the most part, he tried to keep to himself. Staying along the walls and fixing his eyes down on his plate of (whatthefuckweretheseanyway?) and otherwise giving off the universal signals of 'leave me alone'. The more sympathetic dignitaries seemed to take the hint and stayed away from him, unfortunately it was the less tolerant sort that zeroed in on him.

The doctor had been making his way across the floor in hopes of an escape when he path was quite deliberately blocked by a species that naturally had a loud and booming voice. This individual happened to be one of the dignitaries who were wasting no time in being condescending to the rookies and their loud voice challenged Adrien on his world's backwards approach to intersteller technology and feeding itself.

The charge hung in the air, a pregnant sort of pause that quite possibly affected conversations near by as Adrien blinked up at the dignitary. His habitual scowl morphed into something like a pensive frown as he poked at a shrimp like substance on his plate before asking.

"While I would be more than happy to engage you on these topics, Councilor I believe you would find my humble offerings as a mere medical professional to be quaint indeed."

Adrien's tone was polite, touched with a hint of apology as he spoke. If anyone knew him well, they probably would have interrupted before he got much further with this conversation.

"However, I think we could have a much more lively discussion over the fact that the medical advances in cosmetic surgery have come so far over the past decade, that there truly is no reason for your face to continue to suffer from ... "

Someone might (please, please, OH please!) consider a timely interruption.

B

Every so often being a wall flower worked in one's favor.

When the Xanthan group burst into the reception, Adrien was able to drop back into a shadowed alcove under the cover of distraction as the group sought to secure their primary targets. Hunkered down, he listened to the rather trite commentary from the leader (really 'nobody move' cliche?) with half an ear as he began to identify the exits.

It would appear that the doctor wasn't the only one who had taken to the cover of out of the way shadow/spaces. Spying a vaguely familiar face, he gave a quick, soft whistle in an effort to catch the other Legionnaires' attention.

"Did you get a count of how many we're dealing with?"

Peter Quill had learned to control his temper over the years, which would shock most people who had only recently met him (it just went to show how bad his rage could be back in the day). Earth had its problems, but it wasn't the absolute worst rock in the space-time continuum, and to top it all off: he actually knew how to use some of the kinds of technology in this universe and time period. "Primitive," his flarkin' ass.

He tried to behave. He really did. When someone let something slip, he politely tried to steer the conversation somewhere else, despite the twitching of his eyebrow. He tried to bite his tongue and drown his words with sips of his drink, but finally the words had worn him thin.

A rather bratty young Coluan man ended up with a glassful of chilled blue liquor thrown right in his face. The immediate area around him went silent. Peter shut his eyes and then quietly walked off. Better to let it end there than start throwing fists, as much as his were shaking at his sides.

Considering Peter's previous "explosion," this was rather poor timing for the Xanthans. Their sudden barking of demands as they tried to take someone hostage set Peter's brain to ticking away the steps between himself and them, on the floor, unconscious at best. He glanced around 180 degrees, taking in where the terrorists were setting their sights. Peter took every glance away from him to back up behind a decorative pillar.

He had a scowl on his face, and he quietly removed one of his guns from its holster. He gave it a quick look over to make sure it was functioning properly and set on an ammo that would be non-lethal.

"Well, time to lock and load, sirs." Peter looked around the pillar to see where his next opening to drawn in close would be.

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