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test drive meme

Test Drive Meme The Pan Pacific Defense Corps was usually offered any of a variety of local buildings to set up their testing centers. For reasons of access and availability, most testing clinics were set up in central areas for any given community. Those of the PPDC staff on hand vary in their personal intensity. Some of the men and women wearing Strike Group insignia seemed overly serious, to the point of frowning with intensity at some of the youngest checking in for this testing round. Those from the K-Science division are tight with nervous energy as they direct prospective cadets through various activities. Everything was meant to measure potential, looking for that spark that meant they had somebody who was Drift Compatible. The majority of people were turned away after the first series of seemingly random tests, officials looking in eyes, placing odd looking contraptions over heads, asking for people to play a series of short games, one even in a virtual reality set-up.

	( SCENARIO ONE ) If you are still here now, you've made it past the first cut. You'll be sat down in a room with the rest who have made it this far, then systematically led into smaller interview rooms as pairs. If you came with a partner, they're your first interview candidate. If you came on your own, all your interviews are random assignment. All who have been asked to stay are required to sit through and conduct a series of short peer to peer interviews. The questions are straightforward. What is your least favorite color? Which tool in a standard toolbox is most useful to you? What time of day do you accomplish the most? Do you have children? What do you believe the Drift is like? Peer to peer interviews last for half an hour to an hour, and each person is asked to participate in at least three peer-to-peer interviews. There is no punishment for going off script. There is a one-way mirror looking into each interview area, and one door leading into the room with a small panel of glass located on the door. There is a clock on the wall in each room. The time they report is odd, when examined. These are not digital clocks, but timers, counting up time since the last Kaiju attack.

	( SCENARIO TWO ) Congratulations! You have been judged Drift Compatible, and sent home to pack after giving a definite yes to the Pan Pacific Defense Corps. The next thing you face down is the flight into Santiago, Chile, and the subsequent drive in to Valparaíso's Shatterdome. You and the rest of the crowd of soon to be PPDC Ranger Cadets have been gathered together to wait for the old bus scheduled to take you to the Shatterdome. While waiting in the open air, those from any Northern Hemisphere countries may find the summer weather strange. Today's high is going to be in the upper 80's, and there's not a cloud to be seen that's not clinging to the distant mountains. Welcome to Chile. When the bus arrives, it's another hour ride out toward the coastline to get to the Shatterdome. Even better? The bus Air Conditioner is broken. Safe travels, Cadets!

Please set up your own scenarios as you like. The above two scenarios are suggestions. Anything goes!

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"You're the one who's jumping to conclusions," he points out, argumentative but not entirely unreasonable. Sure, he tends toward extremes, but he's not the only one jumping to them right now. Because yeah he's excited about finally getting to work, but it's some leap in logic for this guy to assume that automatically makes him "happily violent," or whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. This isn't even a fight. They're not suiting up to charge into battle. They're sitting on a fucking bus.

"What am I supposed to do, pretend I don't want to be here?" he asks, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. His back has gone stiff. From the moment he'd fled the disaster area that had been his home, he's wanted a way to strike back. He's close enough to taste it, now. "There's no point. I've been waiting for this chance for a long time. Lots of us have."

"I'd say I know the feeling, but I really don't," he grinned. "And close. More like 'I have no idea.' I've had a couple protection failures in my lifetime, but I've never been asked for child support, so I really don't know. And as for favourite colour, I waffle between maroon and grey. Depends on what shirt smells better."

Honesty, right? He was here to get the position, here to get in a jaeger, and being honest in these interviews was the way to get in. And honestly, none of these questions probed into anything he'd be interested in lying about. If anything, he wondered what these questions were supposed to measure.

Mike let his arms rest on his thighs, comfortable enough despite the creeping feeling that a drill sergeant was around the corner.

Mike shook his head. "I never said not to pretend you don't want to be here. If you didn't want to be here, you wouldn't have put yourself through the academy; at this point, nobody's doubting you want to be here. But I dunno."

He leaned back into the seat, peering ahead through what he could see of the bus windshield from where he sat. It'd be great if there were some kind of moving air in here, but he'd rather sweat than freeze, any day.

"Maybe it's just weird for me to think of anyone being enthusiastic in the face of the end of the world."

Likewise, there would never be another he'd come to trust more than Eren, but if drifting at its core is a pure, unadulterated mental compatibility, it would take a lot more than trust for them to see eye to eye in one another's heads. It'd be an uphill struggle for anyone, really. And even if their thought processes are completely perpendicular, the one thing Armin has over anyone else is understanding.

Eren's response being a textbook case in point. Of course he's frustrated with the questions at face value. They're simple and pointless, easy to brush off and think too hard on simultaneously, and for the most part, totally unrelated to the reason they're sitting here.

"I'd say it's less about us feeling the same about colors and more about how we answer the question. I don't know the criteria, but presumably similar thought processes are a sign of drift compatibility. Simple things are often the most telling."

That said, there's a beat while he considers the question for himself.

"I'm not too fond of red, myself."

( Leila also took her lunch a bit too quickly, mostly to find a place to read in peace. Normally she'd retire back to her room and hole herself up there but she decided to find a different spot this time. The weather's still too warm for her taste but it's a nice day out and a nice day out was always something to look forward to, coming from a place that has an unpredictable weather system.

She remembered passing by a secluded area during one of her walks around the Shatterdome and thought that might be a perfect spot to read (also, to get caught and be given a reprimand for loitering). She didn't notice the place being occupied however, only realizing it after she'd gone around the corner.

For a brief moment, she stopped in her tracks, blinking then mildly lifting an eyebrow at him. Already, her mind's listing down violations one by one. It's only after a headshake that her mouth started talking. )

Oh — I didn't think anyone else would be ... here.

( She didn't expect anyone else to be there. After all, it was lunch time and it wasn't as if there were any places to go to other than the Mess Hall. )

Impatient or not, Eren watches Armin closely as he guesses at the purpose of the exercise. Armin's mind is an analytical thing, something hot-blooded Eren has trouble understanding, but something he's honestly admired since they were kids. That's why he needs Armin around sometimes. To make up for the places in which he falls short.

There's a look of distant thought on his face as he turns the concept over in his mind—thought processes and drift compatibility. He wouldn't mind Armin as a partner, they've been inseparable since they were kids but there's some part of him that worries that Armin isn't cut out for this sort of thing—until Armin once again refocuses on the task at hand.

"Why not?" As if this is suddenly important. He's changed gears within seconds, from skeptical to cooperative on the subject of the questioning, a rapid three-sixty turn facilitated largely by Armin's patient explanations. Years of friendship or no, Armin's answer surprises him. Not that he'd ever thought too hard on the matter, but it wouldn't have been his first guess. (Maybe because the first red thing that springs to mind is sentimental. Mikasa and the scarf he'd given her, years and years ago. He doesn't voice it.)

She keeps her expression nonchalant, her own posture reading as relaxed and comfortable. Luke is so clearly on edge, she doesn't want to further agitate him.

Andrea speaks in a reasonable, affable tone of voice when she replies. "This is all a test, Luke. That's why you're here. As for me?" Here she gestures toward her chest, an unaffected motion. She shakes her head. "How do you feel about me being here?"

She watches his face and upper body, keeping track of his tension levels. "If you'd like, I can ask one of the K-science guys to come sit in with you."

You can deal with the stress, Luke. Communicate why it's a problem, or when you have a concern.

He's been bracing his hand against the back on the bus seat in front of him. Now, it draws itself into a fist. His answer is immediate, staccato against the humming of the bus.

"It's not the end," he says, as if it should be obvious, and he knocks his fist into the bus seat to punctuate his point. (There are a few muffled complaints from the occupant, drowned out by the noise of the bus and by the focus of his declaration. He ignores them.) He says it with conviction, like he believes every word of it.

And now—now there's something creeping into his eyes that's worthy of being called violent. Sharp and hard like the edge of a blade, and edging toward mad with determination. But that's just what it is. Mad. Angry. There's nothing happy about it.

"We're not finished yet. We'll put a stop to all this. We'll wipe out the kaiju for what they've done."

And then they'll live. Free and without fear. That's why they're fighting.

Luke starts a bit, looking over to the glass where he knew they were being watched. He knew but having her talk about it so casually made it sound so much more real, maybe she was running the test? Or at least working with them. Yeah, that would make sense, obviously.

"Um." His eyes wander back toward her, not afraid or alarmed but obviously uncertain. "It's fine? Unless you think one of them should come in here..." What was the right answer? Maybe she didn't want to be alone with him? Seemed perfectly reasonable. Maybe he could fix this.

"Sorry. I'm just surprised, I guess... I didn't mean to be weird. I was just expecting I'd only be talking to..." He makes a nonspecific, half handwave, "you know, other people like me. Just trying to get in."

"Not on the more visible sweat stains?" Her fingers tapped on the clipboard, amused smile still in place. "I'm more partial to purples and reds, myself. Can't stand pea green on the other hand."

Bad half-memories of ill-sitting dinners as a child haunted the back of her mind. She counted her own blessings, outside of split pea soup. She'd never had to worry about protection failures leading to unexpected family expansion. It had to count for something.

"Are you much of a morning person?"

That question again. He shrugged. "Not voluntarily. I like nights. Everything seems easier at night." People got happier, weather got milder - at least in the desert - and it all seemed easier to smile at once the sun went down. "And I answered that other question backward, didn't I? Easier to talk about favourites. Least favourite is that weird shade that's somewhere between yellow and green and just looks ill. There's probably an exact name for it, but I haven't looked at enough paint chips to know it.

"And I guess it's my turn to ask you. When you reach for your all-purpose tool, which one is it?"

He glanced over at the guy, at the temper he'd unwittingly stirred up, and refrained from shaking his head. He didn't intend to exacerbate that particular problem, but he would say one more thing. "No matter how you look at it, man, the world already ended," he answered, his voice quiet in comparison. "We're fighting for the right to build a new one."

There was no tension in his posture. No anger. It was too nice and warm - even if it was getting stickier - to get angry. A part of him wondered how often he was going to be able to go out and enjoy the weather once they got to the Dome. He could stand a life without windows if he got to go out and see the sky now and then.

Perhaps you've already heard the rumors about Tamaki Suoh, the French-Japanese cadet who is supposedly so ludicrously wealthy that his family actually built him his own Jaeger to pilot around with his friends. Of course, it naturally followed that he must have bought his way into the academy as well. They say he's quite the playboy as well...

If you have heard these rumors, you probably won't be surprised by his mannerisms. He's well-groomed and smiles as if he hasn't a care in the world, confident to the point of smug. He has glanced at himself in the one-way mirror no less than three times before so much as sitting down, and the countdown clock only once.

"Shall we begin?"

"Kind of a surprise, I can imagine." She smiles, the first big flash of teeth and laughter that comes from a gut level. Short lived as it is, she seems to be in an honest to goodness good mood. "You're fine, Luke! There's no right or wrong answer when you're in here."

Gesturing to her clipboard, she continues to relax in her chair. "It's relatively painless, even if the questions seem ridiculous. DO you feel like going first, or would you prefer for me to?"

"Orange," Tamaki replies, leaning forward in his seat. His posture would seem to convey that he thinks this is a date rather than an interview. He, too, wears tailored clothes, and while his hair is not dyed, it is tousled in a way that conveys devil-may-care rougish handsomeness, as designed by an exorbitantly expensive salon. "After all, it has the audacity to try and clash with you."

"Allen wrench," she said without hesitation. "Though I'm afraid I no help to you with naming colors." She had dated that one interior design student back in college who probably would have known exactly the shade Mike was talking about, but that was neither here nor there. She hadn't thought about Alex in a long time.

"What about your number one go-to tool?"

Her reassurances are taken to heart, and when she doesn't seem to be bothered, by... well. Him Luke relaxes considerably. It isn't so much that speaking to someone famous made him nervous, he was just always on the look out for how he was fucking up this time. But he believed her when she said there were no wrong answers, and while he continued to toy with his gloves idly, he otherwised seemed a lot calmer.

"Okay. You can go first?" Even if there were no wrong answers, he'd still rather hollow her lead. He glances down at the questions. "Not promising I'm going to actually have an answer though. "

"Needlenose pliers." The first time he'd been asked that question, it was a tossup between those and his multi-tip screwdriver, but he'd decided on the pliers. There were very few things he couldn't fix with a good pair of needlenose pliers, at least around the house. The side was a hammer, add a rubber band and they were a great clamp, they could tighten or loosen bolts or screws, and even remove splinters if you could be exact enough. "I've even got a multitool with a set that you fold out. They're great."

But that left one scripted question, and that was the question he never could quite answer. Not really. Not with any kind of knowledge. "And I guess that last question is kind of pointless to ask you."

Eren's talents lean far more to the physical side of their training, but his breakneck dedication extends to all of it. Which means he has to try a little harder with the written portions—study a little longer to drive it into his memory, as if he can physically hammer it home the way he can a martial arts stance—but he throws himself into it with the same focused enthusiasm. Which means that he often ends up spending his free time at the end of the day in the library, head bowed over a book until the text starts to blur and his best friend nudges him back toward the barracks to actually sleep for a while.

Armin's running late, taking care of some thing or another, so Eren's on his own for now, digging through the shelves in the back until he hears movement coming from the tables. He's already talking before he leans around a bookcase to find the source. Probably a little too loud for a library, and clearly directed at her, even if—

"Hey, Armin? That-" you? —It's clearly not meant for her. Nope, that sure isn't Armin. He falls silent, blinking owlishly at the tablefull of books and the wrong blonde head bent over them. That is a lot of books. Some of them don't even appear to be in English. At least he remembers what manners he has, if belatedly. "Shit, sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"People start by asking that you try."

It's a soft suggestion. Having the answers, let alone right ones, is a luxury most people don't have.

Andrea glances at the list, skimming down the questions she knows are there. "When do you feel like you're at your best? What time of day, that is. Mornings, afternoons, early evenings...?"

Most kids around his age didn't tend toward being morning people, but the point wasn't so much in the questions. Andrea watches him in her quiet way, expression turning into something neutral and friendly.

"I'd debate it's still a matter of belief. First hand belief," she added, amusement in her eyes, "But belief either way." Explaining the Drift was difficult due to the intensity, how singular an experience it was compared to any other in her life. She'd almost say it was addictive, but it lacked any element that left her craving to return to that state of shared sensation.

"By all means, I'd love to hear your projections. God knows I had all sorts of ideas before the real thing. If you don't mind a poorly worded fumble at explaining, I can toss in my two cents worth after the fact."

Her she shrugged, not negligent, but aware of her own lacks. Description of the Drift went beyond most of her powers of imagery.

"I, uh."

He knew how he'd answered it before. Just thinking about it had him lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck, almost embarrassed at his own awkwardness. His most common thought was 'I have no idea', and now, facing someone who had done it, that almost seemed like the right answer. But now he really asked himself - what did he think the Drift would be like?

Memories came quick, ones he'd pretty much forgotten about until he started really thinking. "His name was Kevin. This guy I was bunked with in school. Unlike the rest of us, he was a huge sci-fi geek. His free time was spent watching old DVDs of Star Trek and Star Wars and about a thousand other things that had 'star' in it somewhere, I'm pretty sure," he started, remembering how eager the guy was to get other people into his favourite thing, and how Mike often used him as an excuse not to go home on breaks. Kevin, unlike the rest of them, didn't really have a home to go to.

"He ended up giving me something of a crash course one Christmas break. Vulcans." Mike glanced up from his thoughts, having not even realised he'd half-bowed his head, looking into the middle distance somewhere between Andy's knee and the floor. "You know, Spock and Tuvok and all that. He talked about the mind meld and how Star Trek had inspired DARPA scientists into making the whole jet fighter thing. How people had started work on the mind-controlled wheelchair, I think it was, not long before K-Day.

"I remember watching the scene of Spock and the lump-monster thing in the cave," he went on, hand waving off his having no idea of the word "Horta." "And then when he passed his soul into McCoy. And then, in the other series, when Spock's dad had to use Captain Picard to feel his emotions so he could do his job as an ambassador. I think that's the closest thing I'd ever thought of to the Drift before jaegers were built."

Mike shifted in his chair, sitting up more straightly. "I've gotta say that part of it makes me think of schizophrenia. Or multiple personalities. Hearing voices that aren't yours. Having somebody else in your head. I'm... actually a little afraid of what it'll feel like," he admitted. "When I think of actually Drifting, I think of vertigo. The world moving around me, making me dizzy. But then I think of instinct."

That was when he finally could meet her eyes.

"Of knowing what to do because someone else had a great idea and we both have the knowhow when it comes to making it happen. And the satisfaction of managing to work with someone so seamlessly, you really are making one body work - even if it's a hugeass body that weighs more tons than I can count."

He laughed faintly, then, hand back at the back of his neck, head shaking, bowing - almost seeming to withdraw. "Sounds like magic. And it sounds like pure sap, too."

Edited (Spelling, because typing with cold fingers is hard.) 2014-01-29 09:19 (UTC)

"Sure," Mike answered, flopping down into his chair. It was a sort of instinctive reaction. If this guy was going to be so perfect, then Mike was going to go out of his way to be exactly the class he grew up as - which meant the poorer-than-dirt class. The started-fights-as-a-hobby class.

He was going to have fun.

"So, let's see here," he mused, looking over the questions yet again. No matter how many times he went through them, he never quite memorised them. "Let's start with this one. What time of day do you get the most done?"

Mike bet himself a mental penny that the answer wouldn't be the crack of dawn.

"First thing in the morning," he said, ever-so-casually and without any hesitation. "By the time school is over, all I want to do is play with my friends, so I never get much done in the evening. I'm actually quite the morning person, so it works out. How about you?"

Stock answer: "Evening," he said. "By then, I've had the time to wake up and get over the night before."

Okay, it wasn't crack of dawn, but it was morning. He'd spot himself half a penny on that one while he wondered exactly what 'play with my friends' meant. And then he spared a moment to wonder if his interview-mate, here, would survive the culture shock of rations and living in a Shatterdome.

Time would tell.

"How about you pick the next question," he offered, not really asking as he offered out the clipboard with the sheet of general guidelines clipped to it.

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test drive meme

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you're in the survey corps, I don't know what you expected.

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you just wanted to make that joke again didn't you

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Tamaki Suoh | Ouran High School Host Club | scenario one

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two!

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