[Special Test Drive] Villain's Lounge

[pumpkinhollow]

code

You find yourself in a lounge.

You're not sure how you got here, or when you got here. The phrase "pulled from the mouth of Hell" springs to mind, unbidden. Assuming you have hands, there's a drink in one of them. A drink you like. If not, then perhaps something else will strike your fancy. Some lavish treat that is to your tastes. Someone has spared no expense making you comfortable.

"I'm so glad you all could make it," croons the Deer-Headed Man. He wears a business suit and carries a cane. You know him. He offered you something, shook your hand (or whatever you have) and promised you exactly what you wanted. All you had to do was "what you do best..."

"The casino will be open to the public before too long, and we'll begin assigning you prey," the Deer-Headed Man continues. "But for now, please enjoy this VIP lounge. I'd love it if you all took the chance to mingle, get to know each other. The bar is open, as is the kitchen. Anything you want is on my tab. I've got a lot to do, but I'll try to swing by later to answer any questions."

He disappears, leaving you and a strange collection of... colleagues, ostensibly, alone in the lounge. Deep blue plush furniture. Wood stained a deep black and polished expertly. Gold trim tastefully slipped in where appropriate. This place is classy. And you have the run of it.

What will you do?

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[ The Villain's Lounge is a special test drive meme for guest villains for our Halloween Special. You do not have to apply officially to test drive, but you must apply officially in order to participate in the Special. Applications are due October 1st and can be done here. This is just an opportunity to test and practice! Have fun, and stay spooky! ]

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QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/CONCERNS

[pumpkinhollow]

The Worlds' Worst Bottom, or: Itazura Unmei, || 23 || Final Fantasy XIV

[bloodyscalesemptyheart]

Itazura doesn't miss a beat. His glass has a drink he's not had since he was kicked out of the clan, sprinkled with a few drops of blood... Perfect. He takes a sip, making sure it stains his lips just so, and checks in his reflection. He's as he is, nothing changed or missing, and his blood still flows... Still seeps out under his scales.

He seeks out and claims the comfiest couch he can find without hesitation, lounging on it dramatically, stretched out, all but on display. Fortunate that he's not wearing the healer's robes, here, but a nicer outfit, one which lets him show off. If everyone here is something similar to him, or worse, then he needs to be at his best.

If one approaches, they'll get a wink, a little welcoming wave of his tail. The worlds most awful healer is in town, getting his blood all over the nice furniture, and though he'll be given his own designated victim soon enough, that doesn't mean he won't seek out his own entertainment.

Re: The Worlds' Worst Bottom, or: Itazura Unmei, || 23 || Final Fantasy XIV

[emperorcard]

Well, pretty boy over here's bleedin all over the damn couch. Hol's not really sure if he should point that out or not but he knows how someone reacts when they're bleeding like a damn tomato and they sure as hell ain't relaxed about it. Gotta be something up with that, some sorta magic or whatever. He ain't sure if it's a Stand or not but a goddamn Demon brought him here so anything's on the table at this point. Well, can't hurt to talk with him, he seems friendly enough.

So Hol approaches, and then gives a simple wave. "How's it goin, the name's Hol Horse. Ya' might be askin if that's my real name. Heh, may as well be!"

"So what's ya story. Figure I'll give mine, it's pretty short after all. I ain't much really, just a wandering vagrant, sometimes a hitman for hire. Some crazy vampire stuck an arrow in me and I developed a power to summon an invisible gun. Guy was my last employer, real creepy fella but offered a lotta money."

Hol Horse || JoJo's Bizarre Adventure | Mid 30's

[emperorcard]

Pulled from the mouth of hell? You serious? Well, guess you were enough of a bastard to get sent there in the end. Real damn annoying he got put into a casino, places never got a clock in them. Can't even tell if your watches are off in there. They sure as hell are, but not like he could tell what the right time is.

And all this talk of prey? Guy's already sounding like that damn vampire already. Way too damn nice sounding for how creepy he looks, never can trust those folks. DIO worked the same charms on his lackeys. Dammit, you still expect the guy to show up in the corner of your eye at any moment by now.

Well, look on the bright side Hol. You got a few cigs and a bottle of whiskey in your hand, place is also real damn nice too and it couldn't hurt to lay down on this couch for a bit longer. Don't gotta sweat it when things are goin' good. May as well see who else is round here....

Man, these people give him the creeps, real scary lookin fellows! C'mon Hol! You've been in weirder crowds than this, may as well chat em up a bit, get to know your partner in crime! After all, "what you do best" is being Number Two no matter what! Gotta figure out who your workin' with here! At the very least, there any smokin' babes round here? That'd be real damn nice. After taking a drag, Hol goes up and introduces himself to one of the people he'd spotted nearby. "Name's Hol Horse, yours?"

David Xanatos | Gargoyles (Disney) | Mid-Late 30s

[still_got_the_edge]

The drink in his hand is an ambiguously amber-tinted liquid in a chunky crystal tumbler, and he's barely sipped at it since arriving. He's seated in one of the plush armchairs with one leg casually crossed over the other, a man with dark brown hair in a neat ponytail and a squared-off beard, dressed in a crisp charcoal-colored suit and a black dress shirt, studying the room and the people in it.

(Anyone with an eye for this sort of thing will spot that he's comfortable in this high-class environment, as though born to it.)

Eventually, he will get up and mingle -- but to begin with, he's interested to see who comes to him. Or who goes to talk to others and doesn't come to him.

Re: David Xanatos | Gargoyles (Disney) | Mid-Late 30s

[emperorcard]

Walking around the lounge, Hol realizes that someone's looking his way, sizing him up, no doubt about it. Well, can't fuck up your first impression now can ya? Gotta keep your poker face on round here, even if the casino's closed! Hol puts out his cigarette, then approaches the man, putting on the best smile he can, gotta look confident y'know!

"Name's Hol Horse, figure I'd introduce myself. Deer-Face over there's gonna have us be huntin' so-called 'prey' and I got a feeling it ain't no animal like him. See, I still got a bit of a problem with that now. Ain't nothin' related to killing, but somethin' else, ya listenin' Mr... erm?"

Max Jagerman, 18

[whowillprayforyou]

There is a young man not too far away, holding a cheap beer and leering with suspicion. This dude is so fancy, and like... vintage. But also off-putting.

"Are you like a Dracula or something?"

Truly, he is a poet.

[helltopave]

There's an extremely serious-looking woman in a navy blue uniform standing with her back to the wall, very pointedly not drinking or eating anything, and staring down everybody in the room with a hawklike intensity. She doesn't move from her spot for a good long while, but as the - day? night? whatever time it is - wears on, she does finally tire of standing at attention, and spares a slightly more casual glance at the man in the suit.

"You seem awfully comfortable with all of this," she says, though she's pretty sure he's been watching the others with as much interest and intent as she has, if not more. He's just bothering to be more subtle about it, which says something in and of itself. Immediately she doesn't trust him.

Max Jagerman | Nerdy Prudes Must Die (Starkid Productions) | 18

[whowillprayforyou]

As the world around him solidifies and Max becomes aware of the table beneath his arms and the drink in his hand, Max raises his free hand to his forehead to rub it firmly, his nose wrinkling a little bit. Agreeing to come here and actually arriving all feel like a blur, but he does remember wanting to be here. Power, an outlet, freedom from the Lords in Black... And all he has to do is kill some dweebs for a betting ring? Whether he remembers it clearly or not, Max can't bring himself to regret it.

He looks in his hand to find a nice cold beer. "Oh shit. Sweet. Didn't need to show a fake ID or anything." He sits back in the plush navy seat, taking the place in. "A guy could get used to a place like this," he says to whoever's nearest. "Better'n where I was before!"

[howiruletheworld]

Jack doesn't remember exactly how he got here, but he's very into this completely excessive milkshake he's been given. And, y'know, world domination. The real reason he's here, of course!

He's sat across the table from the new guy, who looks-- pretty spooky, not gonna lie, but also a lot like a stereotypical jock bully. Jack never went to public school, so tv shows and movies are his only touchstone for things like that. "Oh yeah, the guy with the deer head sure knows how to treat an evil-doer!" He takes an obnoxiously loud suck of the milkshake, then leans his chair back to kick his big goth boots up onto the table, legs crossing at the ankle.

[helltopave]

Oh, good. Assuming this boy is here for roughly the same reasons she is, Augustine's got another rowdy, potentially murderous teenager on her hands. Her favorite.

"Do you often express surprise out loud when you get away with something you shouldn't?" she asks, arms folded and glancing at him sidelong so as to keep the rest of the room in her sights from the corner where she's standing. She doesn't trust a single one of these people, and as much as they're playing at being civil now that could change at any minute.

Jack Spicer | Xiaolin Showdown | 18

[howiruletheworld]

Jack is making a production out of how unimpressed he is by the classiness of the decor, kicking his chunky boots up onto the table, lounging sideways in the chairs, and generally being an obnoxious presence in the room with an equally obnoxious drink.

He's talking to no one, and yet he is talking. "Yeah, it makes total sense that he'd want me here. I mean, I'm kinda a big deal. Jack Spicer, Evil Genius! Who wouldn't wanna get in on the ground floor of my plans?"

[still_got_the_edge]

"Genius, you say?" The man speaking -- not quite old enough to be Jack's father, but decidedly of an older generation -- raises his eyebrows and also his glass in Jack's direction. "Excellent. What's your field, if I might ask?"

Julia Montauk | TMA, 36ish

[tapetumlucidum]

The woman that hangs at the edges of the luxurious lounge is on the taller side, with close-cropped hair and a large scar over her right eye—an eye that, itself, is an odd yellow shade with a slitted pupil, a matching set with her other. Everything about her screams predator, which is almost enough to mask how much a high-class environment like this is very much out of her comfort zone.

Everything about arriving here is fuzzy, but that's alright—Julia's needs aren't exactly complicated. The promise of survival, of seeing Trevor again, and all she has to do is Hunt some prey? That's perfect. That it's almost too perfect... she's choosing not to think about.

All she has in her hand is a simple beer that she drinks from, occasionally, as she scans the room. Trying to get a read on people, on the hierarchy—though she's not half so good at that as she thinks. She'll engage in conversation, if you approach her, and nod or raise her glass your way if you look at her too long.

Occasionally, she strays away from the edges to approach someone, casually sitting or leaning against something nearby. Her accent is something estuary English. "This is a real fancy place to put up a bunch of killers, isn't it?"

Max Jagerman, 18

[whowillprayforyou]

The guy in the tattered letterman's jacket that she speaks to is, consequently, also content with beer. Her vibe is cool. She seems... similar to what he is, which he couldn't rightly name himself. But she's way, way more practiced. He adjusts his posture, trying to come off as a peer.

"You're tellin' me. It's like a dickhead country club. Won't complain about free beer, though."

[still_got_the_edge]

Oh now, those eyes are interesting. And the longer he looks at her, the clearer that predator impression gets. Familiar, in its way.

He'll give her a nod and a smile, when their gazes cross.

Brooke Augustine | I lied she's probably more like late 30s

[helltopave]

Augustine's been standing with her back to the wall, watching the rest of the group carefully pretty much since she arrived. Her own drink - a glass of whiskey - sits neglected on a nearby table. As far as she's concerned, this is no time to be relaxing.

There's a pause before she responds to the other woman, sparing a brief glance to size her up before saying anything. She certainly carries herself like someone with power, and more importantly, the experience and ability to use it. Not unexpected, given what they're all here to do.

"Usually they save places like this for the ones holding our leashes," she agrees, nodding. "Not the ones who actually get their hands dirty."

Brooke Augustine | InFamous: Second Son, late 40's

[helltopave]

Augustine eyes the refreshments on offer with the kind of disdain reserved for someone who really does not think there's any reason to be festive, celebratory, or even mildly relaxed at the moment. There's work to be done. There's always work to be done, but especially now of all times.

(The irony does strike her that she's told people multiple times that she'd rest when she was dead, but, well. What's the other old saying? No rest for the wicked.)

Jaw set in an unamused scowl, she scans the motley crew occupying the lounge with her, leaning against the wall with her arms folded.

"And here I was thinking I was used to dealing with real eccentrics," she says, flatly. "Hmph."

Puck/Robin Goodfellow | Folklore | ageless [adult]

[tailorcries]

There is a perfectly ordinary stool at the bar, right next to all the other stools. You want to sit on it so bad.

[still_got_the_edge]

This armchair's pretty comfortable, thanks!

... And yet, maybe a change might do him good? Perhaps now, while he's making for the bar to get a refill on his drink?

King Oberon | Folklore | ageless (adult)

[oberlord]

There's a tree in here.

Except it's only just a tree when it's in your periphery. Every time you look at it head on and focus, suddenly the whole world is cold and dark with mist and twisting trunks, thick with foliage and teeming with life that has never cared for you. And the tree is--

--... it suggests the idea of a person, tall and dark with a crown of spiraling branch-antlers, moss and undergrowth spilling from its shoulders. The black bark splits and curls into something like muscle, if muscle hated you personally.

The tree is at the bar.

[tailorcries]

There's a flitting of some small insect, and then a husky young man appears sitting in one of the higher branches, dangling his feet. His eyes are insectoid and leering, and he bears the fangs of a water deer slipping out from between his thin lips.

"Mark the merriment- beverage consumption. These mortals have a manner of internal tube down whence their meals travel, t'wards their vile gullets. That the lord of all animals ought to live as the beasts of burden and the gander speaketh to the good humour of their maker, does it not, my lord?"

[still_got_the_edge]

Oh, this is not what he came here for.

Xanatos eyes the tree at the bar with an abrupt lack of expression, straightening a little in his seat. The alienness of this being is unnerving; its subtle familiarity is, if anything, more so.

FUTURE | SAYER | Unknown age

[for_humanitys_future]

Resting on the bartop is what those from hi-tech home worlds might recognize as some kind of tablet or large smartphone, emblazoned with a stylized letter "A" logo over the name "Aerolith Dynamics." The screen is flashing, displaying a notice for an incoming call.

A dripping, hissing snarl greets you if you deign to answer it.

"Helloooooooo. Play a game with me while we wait."

[dancetheworldnew]

A tall, gangly figure with a shambling gait, dressed in a ringleader's costume, perches herself on the barstool in front of the tablet. It's unclear what her interest in the thing is, but despite the fact that her face doesn't seem to move quite right, a keen eye can detect a look of amusement about her off-kilter visage.

She taps the screen to answer it, but it doesn't respond to the touch of her ball-jointed finger, which clacks against the glass. She tuts and pulls out a very suspicious-looking glove from her coat, pulling it on with a snap of "material" at the wrist, then attempts the swipe again. This time it works.

"A game!" Her musical voice, with its English accent and airy quality, seems to give off a fake and stilted joy. "I love games. What are we playing?"