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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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(scenario I)

Waiting for his new survey partner to make himself (or herself) comfortable across from him, Eren leans on the table, watching the clock on the wall—the one counting up from the last Kaiju attack—with serious green eyes and an oddly intense amount of focus. As if he's waiting for it to reset any minute.

This many hours since we were last invaded. This many days since the human race had to fight to survive.

The clock ticks up (57 seconds...58...59...another whole minute that the hammer hasn't fallen;) and he blinks back down away from from it to study the person across from him. This could be the person he drifts with one day.

"You wanna start or should I?" he asks, and looks dubiously down at the seemingly random grouping of questions. It doesn't make much sense to him, how they could tell anything from this stuff. Still, this is important. He's not going to goof around.

(scenario II)

It's hot as hell in Chile. Muggier than he'd come to expect from summers in California. Despite the oppressive heat, Eren is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as the new recruits wait for the bus to arrive. It does, finally, allowing them to file into the stuffy interior wihthout fanfare. He manages to swing himself into an empty seat with enthusiasm just as the bus lurches itself into motion, bumping shoulders with the poor unfortunate soul already occupying the window seat in the process.

"Shit, sorry," except he doesn't really look sorry. Far too busy craning his neck to look out the window, as if expecting to catch sight of the Shatterdome already.

"Almost there," he breathes, mostly to himself. He's waited years for this. Ever since Trespasser had torn his old life up from the roots and devoured it. Ever since the jaeger program had been established and given him a way to fight back, to achieve his dreams. The best weapon against the kaiju. Jaegers. Like a sign that he's meant for this. He has to be.

(bonus scenario III)

It turns out Eren Jaeger is nothing much like the finely tuned machines that happen to share his name. In fact he seems—at first glance—entirely inept, if earnest. Dedicated, passionate. Enthusiastic—to the point of idiocy, maybe—but almost as likely to hurt himself as he is to take out a practice dummy. To be more accurate, he's prone to achieving both at the same time with alarming consistency.

He is, frankly, embarrassing. But to his credit he is getting better. And fast.

Unfortunately, today is not a day in which he manages to circumvent his nature. He's bloodied his nose doing something ill-advised and possibly suicidal during kwoon combat training. It's not bad enough to warrant a trip to the infirmary, but he's been ordered to stand by on the sidelines until he's done bleeding all the over the place. So he's sitting outside the room, glaring daggers at the ceiling and holding a red-spotted towel up to his bruising face. As he hears someone approach, he lowers it and looks back down. Furrowing his brow, he sets his jaw and his shoulders, as if he's got something to prove.

"I said I was fine," he insists, apparently under the impression that the person in question has been sent to check on him. Whether or not that's true— "I don't need babysitting."

(Also open to brackets if you prefer it! I'm flexible.)

Edited (tenses why) 2014-01-28 06:56 (UTC)

"Somebody's eager," Mike chuckled from the window seat, half-wry but halfway honestly amused. Sometimes, he felt old and this was one of those times, watching the eagerness of other people to get into all this.

But then, his past had already given him some preparation. Before the Academy. Before the training.

"Take a breath or two -- if you can, this damn air's as thick as gravy."

"Yeah, no fucking kidding," he agrees, swiping a wrist over his brow. Never appreciated the weather back home—what had been home—so much until now. They haven't been out here very long, but already his shaggy bangs are sticking to his forehead with sweat. Still, he grins as he says it. It's his past that's led him to this point. Spurred him on in with a singleminded (obsessive) and breakneck trajectory. They've got a chance to strike back at the kaiju with their own hands, to give as good as they'd gotten in the past seven years, to make them pay for it in their own blood. Damn straight he's eager.

He does, however, seem to stop take a deep breath. Only to open his mouth again.

"We're on our way to becoming Rangers," he says, immediate and energetic. He tears his gaze away from the scenery flashing past the window to look the guy beside him square in the eye. "There's no way I'm letting anything stop me now."

Definitely not a thing as inconsequential as the weather.

The only thought that came to mind was that damn, the guy was bouncy. Bouncy and happy and... Mike almost wished for a few seconds that he could envy that kind of energy, but it just wasn't happening. He was too content to be somewhere warm, even if there was going to be more work at the end of the drive.

He could live with that, as long as he wasn't freezing his balls off.

"Yeah, and we're all looking at the possibility of getting to punch a kaiju in the face, which is what we're all looking forward to, but let me give you a hint: if you look too happy to get into a fight, no matter the kind of fight, people don't tend to take that well."

Well intentioned or not, his good mood doesn't seem to survive that little tip. He frowns. Sets his jaw, and his posture edges toward defensive, or combative, or both, because the two often end up becoming one and the same before long. Eren's not a thug, he's not even that bad a guy once you get to know him, but he's gone through much of his life with a chip on his shoulder. Spent years getting into fights with people bigger than him even before he had cause to carry a monster-sized grudge. (And whether or not he'd won those fights is beside the point.) He's a firm believer that you need to stand up for what you believe in. And there's nothing wrong with doing it.

"We're all fighting for a reason," he maintains, stubborn. This is a big day for him. Despite what he's been through he's an idealist at heart, and he doesn't do things in halves. But it's actually not too often that his energy gets to be expounded in such a positive way—if not one that might be universally accepted as such. They're on their way to the Academy, taking a big step toward his dreams, toward fighting for humanity—is he supposed to be unhappy about that? "For humanity. No one's being forced to come along."

Mike's eyebrows rose as he watched the guy go from way too bouncy to... He didn't even know what to term this, but it left him bemused. "...Wow. Way to go to extremes," he murmured before clearing his throat and speaking in a more audible voice. "Look, you're kind of jumping to conclusions, here. You go from me saying 'people look at happily violent people with suspicion' to fuming patriotism - not the right word, but the best I've got for now - in about, what, two seconds? What's next, you accuse me of treason because I'm not having a sugar rush on the idea of getting in an extraterrestrial fight?"

"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."

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."

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.

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.

It's no secret that Eren is taking this really seriously. There's something incredibly frustrating about the past few years—that despite (because of?) the fact that humanity can now stand up for itself, the war has seemed to dial down in intensity. A kaiju attack has somehow stopped being an outrage and a threat and become, in a way, routine (and marketable.) Like a natural disaster, if hurricanes sold action figures. The public air of complacency is stifling.

So in some way, he can appreciate the sentiment. In others—

"That's bullshit," he turns back to watch the front of the bus, less sharp, but his hands are still drawn into fists. "It's still our world. We always had the right. That hasn't changed just because they tried to take it away."

"Okay, man, you can have your opinion, and I'll have mine." And Mike would just have to hope that any kind of future interactions between them would go differently. He knew better than to think that he could avoid talking to the other guy - after all, that was kind of what people did in military situations. Put you with someone you obviously didn't see eye-to-eye with and make you get along. Luckily, Mike had practice. "Truce."

Eren's walking around with a chip on his shoulder the size of a wrecked city. He's young, he's idealistic, he's really pretty short on temper—but it turns out he's not actually big on petty grudges. They're all here to stop the kaiju, aren't they? He tips his head away from the aisle of the bus to study the guy next to him for a while, then exhales in a huff.

"Yeah, sure," he says, extending a hand for Mike to shake. Truce. "Eren Jaeger."

Mike took the hand, giving it a confident shake. "Nice to meet you, ma-- ...Are you serious?"

The name hit a little delayed, but without even thinking, he'd blurted his question. "Jaeger? Man, it's like the universe freaking knew. Mike Traceur."

It makes sense, really, to start off applicants with potential matches they have a previous history with. Perhaps it will be easier to bounce the questions off a friend as opposed to a stranger, depending on how intimate they range. While Eren's eyes drift upwards, Armin's remain fixed firmly on his clipboard even as he settles straight-backed in his seat, sifting through every printed query before raising his gaze.

Only to find the other stubbornly glued to the clock. He's had a fascination—nigh obsession—since that fateful day, one that permeates his entire being and radiates out like an aura blinding as the sun. With the attacks, with the program, and ever since he'd made it beyond the first stage, it's been more intense than ever.

But they won't progress if they don't focus on the task proper.

Armin opens his mouth to snare Eren's attention, but it isn't necessary. As if the tiny movement had yanked him back to reality, he's mulling over the questions for himself now.

"I can start," asking the questions, that is. Should they just start at the top? Seems the proper way to do it. "What is your least favorite color?"

Surprisingly, it's not something he can say they've ever brought up so directly.

He'd learned somewhere that the foundation of a good drift is trust. It's not uncommon for the drift compatible to be friends, siblings, lovers. They'd be hard pressed to find someone who Eren trusts more than his best friend, so that they've been started off together isn't at all a surprise.

Hell, it's probably for the best that Armin is first, because as seriously as Eren's trying to take this, he wrinkles his nose down at the questions in muted frustration as he reads them, shoulders drawn up and tense with concentration as he leans against the table. Armin already knows half this stuff about him, anyway. The rest just seems arbitrary. Unimportant.

But before he can voice the thought Armin reins him in again, starts at the top of the list. Least favorite color. He makes a hedging noise as he casts about for an answer.

"Purple? I dunno. It's just a color, isn't it?" There's an impatient air to it. He feels sort of silly. "What's all this got to do with piloting, anyway?"

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."

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.)

It's not the first time it's happened, but it never fails to get a bit of a grin out of him. Eren brushing off a concept only to have him latch back onto it with renewed vigor after being taken through its merits. But it does leave Armin having to cast about for an elaboration on his response.

If he had to overthink the question, he's always held warm colors in a harsher context. They're brighter, louder, more eye-catching, thus put to use where the eye needs to be caught most. Indications of danger. While yellow and orange are fundamentally more grating, they serve as more of a warning: a backdrop for important notices, a vest to stand out a vulnerable worker in a bustling construction site, a color scheme of a venomous animal. Red comes after. It's a sign that the damage has already been done; sirens, emergency vehicle lights, the color of blood.

Even if he hadn't been quite at ground zero, there had been a lot of red that day. A lot of confused and frantic and scrambling red, completely baffled as to how to handle the impossible situation. If that isn't overthinking, he's not sure what is.

"I'm just partial to cool colors. Yellow and orange get a bad enough rap as it is, but red is overrated."

Nailed it. There's a little shrug to follow. A thought process doesn't require a four-page essay of personal history, it requires a simple explanation (which is just as much the truth as anything else, even before any influential factors, he'd never quite understood the allure of the hue). Speaking of, had Eren's answer been genuine or had he simply thrown it out before coming to appreciate the exercise?

"Why don't you like purple?"

Why? If, in the language of association, Mikasa is red—and black and white, all stark and clean contrast—and Armin has favored greens and blues—like the ocean, or the sky—what was it that drove him to answer the way he did?

(Historically, it means royalty and wealth. Or else something light and lilac and delicate. For him, it's rather the opposite. The color of a bruise, on his knuckles, under his eyes. Not that Eren is opposed to brutal things—just the opposite, really—but there are some he won't stand for. Earned many of his bruises trying to spare others, stumbling on Armin backed into a corner by a handful of kids twice his size. Wrapping the scarf around the discolorations ringed around Mikasa's neck the day they'd met.)

He's looking down at his hands as he considers it. Eventually, he looks back at Armin and runs one of those hands through the hair at the back of his neck.

"I guess I didn't think that hard about it" he admits it readily. None of that had been why he'd answered the way he did, at least not consciously. It had been kneejerk, a gut reaction, little thought put into the why, because that's how Eren makes most of his decisions anyway. Act first, on a feeling. Rationalize it later. (If at all.) "It's not that big a deal, really. Like I said, it's just a color."

He'd dye his damn hair purple if that's what it took to become a Ranger.

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test drive meme

Eren Jaeger | Attack on Titan | multiple choice

Going for II!

you got it!

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obligatory harassment.

I'm being oppressed with surveys

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

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

you made it hard not to.

it's a good joke.