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TDM 1

AUGUST TEST DRIVE MEME

ABOARD THE MOIRA

Whether adjusting to space travel has been difficult or not, there is always something to be done. From working to leisure, the Moira offers a multitude of opportunities to get to know your crewmates a bit better. Exploration of the ship is highly encouraged, but as another planet grows closer to being docked, things start to get a little hectic. You'll notice a slight change in the artificial gravity as the Moira is pulled into the planet's gravitational field; however, more noticeable changes can be found in the overall morale as you prepare to descend.

☄ on the aft:

Offering an unobstructed view, it's quite easy to see stars that are still light years away. Like your own personal observatory, things are relatively quiet since other members are busy. While visiting, your steps may feel lighter as the ship's gravity is affected most here, but don't worry! The barrier surrounding the aft will keep you from floating away. Take note: if you happen to find yourself alone, no matter how brief, you may hear a distant echo — like a voice calling to you. For the most part, it's harmless. However, those curious enough to attempt to heed those words may find themselves suddenly jettisoned into space through a momentary lapse in the Moira's safety systems.

Hopefully you're wearing your thermals! The MID relay will alert the ship of this emergency, but who knows how long it will take for someone to retrieve you.

☄ in the mess hall:

It's breakfast time! On the buffet lining the back wall, you'll find an assortment of hurriedly prepared foods, but it's not the rations you've been accustomed to since the last port. There are stacks of green pancakes that taste like stale yet metallic bread. Are those eggs? Yes. Do they taste good? Probably not. Since supplies are scarce, there isn't much else to eat. The water might seem a bit brown, but is that really water you're drinking? After a while, depending on how much you've drank, you start to feel lightheaded... That's some strong space liquor right there.

☄ on your own:

There are plenty of other communal areas on the ship to explore! Pick a place, and see where it takes you.

PLANET EXPLORATION

Welcome to Hyacintho!

WARNINGS for possible psychological trauma, suffocation, and hallucinations.

From the outside, Hyacintho appears to be devoid of natives. Its landscape is sparse of vegetation with many slow-flowing streams tinted a murky blue. Craggy rock formations jut up randomly from the ground, hinting at abrupt development and are razor-sharp to the touch. Upon further exploration, dome-like structures can be found and appear to be abandoned settlements. Some are smaller and clustered close to the ground while others are elevated and connected by swinging bridges. Watching your MID here is critical; it monitors atmospheric composition with steady beeps that signal hazardous conditions. Staying on Hyacintho's surface for extended periods of time is ill-advised.

☄ the dormant volcanoes:

Scoping Hyacintho's peculiar topography leads to the discovery of inactive volcanoes and lava tubes. Some are easily accessible while others take more effort to reach—it's a steep climb to the vent. The ground shifts under your feet and can make walking difficult. Yet, the closer you come to a particular one, you may notice subtle changes in temperature and the air smelling faintly of sulfur. Perhaps this planet isn't as latent as you first thought.

Around midday, vibrations are unexpectedly felt and whatever light from Hyacintho's suns is blotted out by ashy clouds the same color as the ground. Small pockets of blue lava seep from those sharp rock formations, and that light sulfuric smell has now become increasingly overwhelming. Time to make a quick escape back to the Moira!

☄ the delirium:

When something terrible happens, sometimes it leaves a trace, a wound that acts as a knot between two timelines. It's like an echo repeated over and over, waiting to be heard... Like a scar or a pinch that begs for a caress to relieve it. An itch under your skin or a memory fading before your eyes.

The faint sound of your MID has grown unreasonably loud. In the back of your mind, you know what it means, but you're too lethargic to attend to its warning. Where once you believed Hyacintho to be absent of life, it is now overrun. Falling back to the safety of the ship is now much too difficult to do quickly. Your limbs are heavy, the natives' faces blurry and unrecognizable as if they're a great distance away, but you swear you can feel them breathing on your neck, dragging their hands down your arms and back. You struggle, falling over yourself and are swayed by the delusions you are rapidly succumbing to. Yet, somehow, the Moira is just ahead. Within reach. Are you at the door now? Are your friends with you to drag you inside? Are they even calling to you?

You ask yourself why you're breathing so heavily.

You aren't.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFO

FAQ | LOCATIONS | RESERVES | APPLICATIONS | NAVIGATION

For mature or graphic content, please label. Test Drive Memes are not game canon but can be used as samples in applications. For questions, please direction them to the FAQ. As always, be kind and have fun!

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The mess hall is so full of strangers it's just about impossible not to recognize a familiar face, and when Miles recognizes this one, he nearly has a heart attack. For one single, suspended moment, Miles experiences the uncomfortable tight feeling of his heart stopping. Gregor -- here? No, no, no, no -- it's bad enough that he and Ivan are stuck here, that they're probably missing with zero preamble back home, but Gregor? Miles is having flashbacks to Vervain at this point.

He forcibly regains his composure with a hard swallow and a deep breath, schools his expression into something vaguely related to nonchalance, and drops himself onto the seat next to Gregor, letting his tray rattle on the table.

"Hello, Gregor. Fancy seeing you here." Miles very carefully does not address him as sire. The last thing they need is anyone around here finding out that they've got royalty on board. Well, if he was ever worried about getting bored here... He gives Gregor a tight, bland smile and prods at the weird green pancakes on his tray, pushing one toward Gregor. "Pancake?"

"I've had one. ...well, about a quarter of one. It was all I could keep down."

Gregor pokes at his own plate again for a moment, then confides miserably.

"I put my name down as Greg, but if I promise I didn't drunkenly try to fling myself off a balcony before we woke up here will you promise to stop having a long, slow heart attack, please?"

"I wouldn't give you my word on it," Miles mutters, although a sliver of relief does show on his face at that reassurance. It's at least good to know that that particular impulse isn't at play here. He lets his shoulders relax a little, although his fingers still drum rapidly on the table. "Look, I know you didn't wind up here on purpose. I sure as hell didn't. But that doesn't mean -- Greg?" Momentarily distracted, Miles cocks his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. "You went with Greg again? Really?"

Gregor rouses himself enough to look mildly indignant at the sudden shift in tone.

"What's wrong with 'Greg'? Greg is a perfectly regular, normal name."

"Nothing, nothing," Miles says in a placating tone, though with one eyebrow still raised. Personally -- not like he's going to say it to Gregor's face -- 'Greg' is a bit bland, all on its own. "It's just that no one here knows you or Barrayar from a hole in the ground except for me and Ivan, so why not just use Gregor?"

Did he mention Ivan's here? Because Ivan's here. Miles casts a discreet look around them and drops his tone, leaning in close to Gregor. "After all, you're not Emperor of anything here. Just my foster brother, eh?"

"I wasn't sure where I was when I woke up--I figured it was safer. I didn't know you and--Ivan's here, too? Good God."

Gregor rubs a little at his face before he drops his hand, his eyes widening a little at Miles before his whole face softens helplessly.

"Yeah," he says, his voice very warm all of a sudden. "That sounds fine with me."

Under ordinary circumstances, that look on Gregor's face might be -- no, it's a little alarming regardless of the situation, actually, if only because Gregor so rarely does get that look. Miles is happy for him, really, but all things considered, he's not sure that's the entirely appropriate reaction. Any warmth he might feel toward Gregor in return -- and he does -- is nonetheless unfortunately dampened by the looming thought of what his mother and father would do to him if he and Ivan returned home without the Emperor. Miles gives him a skeptical look of vague concern but nods, rolling his eyes a little on the subject of Ivan.

"Yes, Ivan's here. Somewhere in the mess, last I saw him, but -- " He drums his fingertips on the tabletop a little more rapidly. "What say we take this conversation somewhere a little, uh, less public? Unless you're still hungry." He eyes Gregor's plate dubiously.

Gregor looks down at his plate, considering, then pushes it back with an air of solid finality.

"Let's go. Please."

"Thought so." Miles can't help a smirk as he shoves his own tray back and gets to his feet, waving Gregor toward the exit to the mess. It's fairly quiet further down the corridor, and Miles slows his pace considerably, if not coming to a halt, once the clank and chatter of the mess dies down to a distant murmur. He shoves his hands in his pockets -- still wearing the clothes he came in with, because it's not like the uniforms they gave him fit -- and looks up at Gregor in concern with a somewhat less skeptical bent.

"You sure you're all right? I mean -- if your trip was anything like mine, it was probably, uh...pretty abrupt."

"Yes. Well, at least I didn't disappear off bloody Komarr this time."

Gregor sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm all right, Miles. Promise. I'm not pleased, and I'm worried about everyone back home, not to mention about us, but I'm okay other than that."

Miles squints up at him for a second, then shakes his head in concession. "Yeah, all right. Well -- glad to hear it." He flashes a grin at Gregor then, his expression no longer drawn taut. "Hey, it beats slave labor, doesn't it? I mean -- I suppose this is only a step or two up from Aslund Station, but at least it doesn't seem dangerous. And," he adds brightly, "not a shockstick in sight so far."

"Miles," Gregor says gently. "We've been issued jobs. It is slave labor, even if we're technically getting paid in a currency we can only use here, which doesn't matter because of our complete inability to escape. But good try."

His mouth thins and he levels an accusing finger down at Miles.

"And for God's sake, don't jinx it, what's wrong with you? I expect a half-dozen of Admiral Oser's finest--by which I mean 'largest' and 'most foul-tempered'--around a corner any minute now to shove us out another airlock."

"Well, at least they're sending us home at the end of this. Which could, of course, be a big fat lie in itself." Miles lets out a glum sigh. Damn it, Gregor, now you've gone and got him all depressed. "But I don't see any reason not to go along with it, at least for the time being. I think we'll learn more that way."

He waves away Gregor's accusatory gesture, stopping to lean against the wall. "Not Oser's anymore," he comments absently, his mind obviously occupied elsewhere. "And if any Dendarii did show up, I -- " Suddenly Miles looks quite ill at the mere notion, and he shudders. Things are complicated enough with Gregor here. The last thing he needs is to have to throw Admiral Naismith into the pot. "God, no. Uh, you're right. Better not jinx it."

"We'll be all right," Gregor says, more confidently than he strictly feels. He reaches out, larger hand gripping gently at one of Miles' shoulders. "And we'll take whatever this place throws at us as it comes."

Miles blinks up at Gregor, mildly thrown by his sudden burst of confidence. "Er...right." He manages a smile that is, to his credit, only slightly sickly, and rubs at his jaw. He'll be fine as long as he doesn't wind up with Admiral Naismith and Miles Vorkosigan boxed in a ship together. Both being on a planet was hard enough, but this place...

"Yeah, we'll be all right," Miles echoes with a nod, figuring Gregor could use the assurance as much as he does. He doesn't bother trying to swing an arm around Gregor's shoulders -- the attempt would just embarrass the both of them -- but his grin grows more genuine. "As long as the three of us stick together, eh? My cousin Ivan, my foster-brother Gregor, and..." Miles fumbles, the strangeness of the situation suddenly pressing on him. Sure, he's Miles, but -- which one? Admiral Naismith would undoubtedly be more useful on a ship like this, with all his relevant experience, but with Gregor and Ivan...

"Miles," he finishes. "Uh -- just Miles, for now. We'll leave it at that."

Edited 2015-08-29 03:00 (UTC)

"Ordinarily, I might envy you being able to choose who you are this week," Gregor says, cutting his eyes at Miles, habitually perceptive. "But I think perhaps that emotion is premature, this excursion, depending on how this ends up falling out."

His face eases slightly and he watches Miles, his mouth tugging up at one corner.

"I don't think you've ever been 'just' Miles a single day in your life and I'm not entirely convinced you even know how to be 'just' anything. But I'm your foster brother whatever you choose."

Miles winces at that. It hits just a little too close to home -- or at least where his mind has been lately. "Thanks," he says sardonically, but his expression softens a little at that, and he quirks a wry grin at Gregor, shaking his head. "You say that now," he says, "but I don't know that you'd want to be a foster brother to Admiral Naismith. He's a clone, you know, and not exactly the reliable type. Tends to come and go. Not the sort of foster brother you'd need."

"On the contrary," Gregor says mildly, watching Miles' face. "I've seen him be exactly the sort of foster brother I need, in circumstances nearly identical to these. I happen to be extremely fond of Admiral Naismith, all things considered, and proud to be the brother of such an accomplished man, mercenary or not. I do read Simon's reports on the Dendarii, you know."

His eyes sharpen a little.

"I think, most recently, I'd want a more detailed explanation of how he managed to get himself stranded in a Cetagandan POW camp by himself, but that is neither here nor there."

Miles flushes slightly, glad for the relative privacy of the corridor -- both at the penetrating question and Gregor's uncannily heartfelt confession. Gregor really tends to lean toward the taciturn, and the constant pressures of the Imperium have always lent him a rather morose demeanor. Miles remembers all too well Gregor's skirting dance with suicide a few years back. But to see him now -- he's so...affectionate, at least as far as Gregor gets. He's proud of Miles -- no, to be close to Miles. It rattles him a little -- oh, all the circumstances seem similar enough, but Gregor really hadn't been like this at Vervain.

"Yes, well," Miles says, floundering, "good to know someone reads the reports besides Illyan." It's a pretty weak recovery by any standards, and he coughs at Gregor's mention of Dagoola. God, he'd really rather block most of Dagoola out of his memory.

"That was an extraction mission for Marilac," Miles protests, "and with poor intel to boot. I didn't mean to wind up in that camp -- it just seemed the most expedient solution, at the time." Granted, the man he'd been sent to extract was dead and he wound up resolving the situation in a rather...loud and colorful manner not altogether appreciated by the Cetagandans, but it wasn't as though he wanted to be a prisoner. He shudders. "And I wouldn't be eager to do it again, let me tell you."

"Oh, you found the Cetagandan POW camp unpleasant and would give it a poor overall review, how comforting."

Gregor's voice is only a little scathing, but he sighs and lets the frustration go.

"Still. Not the point. And, those reports are, if nothing else, an extremely entertaining break from the usual assassination threats and potential scandals. Not least because I know you don't end up horribly killed at the end of each one, somehow, defying all reason--Simon would tell me outright if so, I hope."

"Well, I'm glad to know I can provide you with entertainment on a dull day, sire," Miles snaps back, a little bit more scathingly, before he can catch himself -- Dagoola still haunts him in little ways, but he quickly recovers his composure, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Damn good thing they're alone out here in the corridor. "Sorry. This is all just -- getting to my nerves, I think."

He rubs at his face tiredly, stifling a sigh. "Look, I think as long as we keep our heads down and do whatever menial jobs they assign us to, we'll get home all right. This isn't going to be rehash of the Vervain episode if I've got anything to say about it."

Yes, Miles, because you've got a stellar track record of keeping your head down and doing as you're told.

Gregor's face closes like a door being shut and he draws into himself all at once, his posture guarded and still.

"I saw the footage," he says, completely ignoring Miles' reassurances, his intense hazel eyes focused on Miles' face. "I had to ask Simon twice--he gave me a cut-down version the first time." His voice chills. "I didn't find it particularly amusing."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TDM 1

hi greg

eyyyy bro

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