seeingyou: (glyph.)
eyeminders. ([personal profile] seeingyou) wrote in [community profile] eyemindooc2020-08-10 11:05 pm
Entry tags:

test drive meme #1.

Hello, passengers and potential passengers!! Welcome to the first-ever [community profile] eyemind Test Drive Meme. Here you have a chance to play around in the game's setting before deciding to app, test out new characters, or just roll around and have some fun. Enjoy!

No invite is necessary to play in the test drive, but please remember that [community profile] eyemind is a (semi)private game and you must request an invitation before submitting an application. Request an invitation here!

Please note: Threads from the test drive meme DO NOT count toward AC and ARE NOT considered game canon, but you are welcome to use them for your app samples.

SCENARIO ONE: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT




The ship has stopped on Arion, near the settlement of Taunican, at the height of harvest season, and since the planet is largely agricultural, that means there is a big harvest festival a-happening.

What's neat about this festival is that it's not just a celebration of the harvest - it's a celebration of the community, and of the planet as a whole. The dominant local religion (for lack of a better term) isn't exactly experienced in term of worship but of honoring the planet itself - the seasons, the landscapes, the crops. Natives talk of Arion as if it is a living, breathing entity, because for them? Arion is.

Every evening while the ship is docked, there is a bonfire in the fields outside the town square, starting at dusk. There's a giant potluck feast, with everyone in attendance encouraged to bring dishes to share, but no one will be turned away if they arrive empty-handed. Fiddles and flutes and drums provide the soundtrack for the folk songs about Arion the locals sing around the fire; dancing and games and laughter are everywhere. This is a peaceful, joyous celebration, and you're invited!

SCENARIO TWO: WE NEED TO GO DEEPER




You're asleep, but maybe you don't know that - in the middle of a dream, it's not always easy to tell the difference between reality and the scenes your subconscious creates. You find yourself somewhere that may or may not be familiar, doing something that may be mundane or fantastical, but you're not alone. This is a dream you're sharing with your shipmates. What secrets and truths will you learn about each other?

SCENARIO THREE: STOP HITTING YOURSELF




Ope, looks like Navi’s wandered a little too close to an interdimensional rift in space-time, and now things are getting a little weird. If you happen to have superpowers, you may find that you don’t have quite as good of a hold on them as you do normally, or maybe now there are unintended side effects that occur when your powers are used. Maybe your character usually possesses enhanced strength or speed, and now they suddenly find themselves too swol to handle ordinary objects without crushing them, or they may have uncontrollable zooms and be physically unable to slow their roll.

No superpowers? No problem! Non-powered characters may find themselves deprived of one or more of their natural senses, i.e., sight, hearing, smell, taste, etc. Have fun being suddenly and temporarily blind! Walk into walls, eat trash, be free.
nondeviant: (what even are keywords)

sorry i was so excited i forgot to yell back. if only we had vanilla connor to finish the sandwich.

[personal profile] nondeviant 2020-08-14 04:41 am (UTC)(link)
"#313 248 317 - 87," the updated model reports dryly, the pale, artificial blue of his gaze giving the old RK800 a last dismissive once-over that plainly finds the outdated technology a novelty at best, some unfortunate redundancy. It's been some time since he last saw an RK800, right as they were shutting down the line of them, and he knows the one he did see wasn't this unit.

"Something the matter?" he goes on mildly, his own LED a calm and steady blue. "Connor?"
Edited 2020-08-14 04:42 (UTC)
313_248_317_60: (Machine)

yesss please condescending murder triplets

[personal profile] 313_248_317_60 2020-08-14 05:54 am (UTC)(link)
A serial number. No name. His serial number, except the iterative suffix. But—an entirely different model. Something in Connor's throat prickles, sharp and caustic, as its gaze slides past in clear disinterest.

"No."

Connor is fine. Functional, more than, and the word grinds out with curt finality. He blanks his expression. Meets his successor's stare. (The dream around them goes entirely forgotten, but his LED still swirls: yellow, yellow.)

"Are you a prototype?"
nondeviant: (im you but a top)

[personal profile] nondeviant 2020-08-15 03:54 am (UTC)(link)
"The RK900 line is in full production. I'm a phase one release, but I am manufactured to all current standard specifications," the RK900 reported dryly, speaking with a deliberate slowness as though speaking to a relic of the past. And is that not what the RK800s were at this point? A stepping stone to greatness, their once cutting edge features now standard at best and outdated at worst. The RK800 line had a legacy cemented in bells and whistles now deemed misplaced and gimmicky, their programming so addled with bugs that it resulted in commonly fatal errors in judgement and a high instance of software instability.

"I'm aware of the... issues the RK800s suffered from, but I must say," he went on, voice still light and no small amount of condescending, shrewd gaze fixed on that yellow LED, "I truly underestimated the scope of their shortcomings, for a simple meeting with a later model to cause such prolonged strain."
313_248_317_60: (Headtilt)

[personal profile] 313_248_317_60 2020-08-15 03:27 pm (UTC)(link)
The direction of its stare is unmistakable, and it takes everything Connor has not to bristle. (Not to flinch—here, in the garden, pinned under an admonishing regard.) His predecessor's shortcomings were a blatant, ruinous stain, but—Connor was better. He had to be, (even if Amanda leveled the same [DISTRUST]—)

—this isn't Amanda. And certainly, the product of his efforts doesn't get to judge Connor the same way.

Lips curve, a brittle polite arc, as Connor tilts his head. He makes no effort to hide the yellow LED, but his own eyes narrow, inspecting his copy in return. "...So you haven't been sent out yet."

It's a guess, but a fairly likely one, Connor thinks. Phase one, and it isn't citing its track record.

"I suspect you're underestimating a great deal."