atonementooc | Test Drive 001

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Test Drive 001

Test Drive #001

Welcome to Atonement's first test drive, and thank you very much for stopping by! Please refer to the prompts below for ideas, or simply make up your own, whichever is easiest for you.

Prompts

Arrival: You don't quite remember how you arrived here. It appears that you're suddenly in a dead land with eerily red skies. The grass is dead, the trees are dying, and there's absolutely no sounds of life beyond your own footsteps, even if it feels like you're being watched somehow. Eventually along the narrow path you follow, you walk through gates that seem to guard a quiet, abandoned town and a sinking feeling starts to settle in that you are far from home and there may not be an easy way back.

The sign hanging above the gates simply says "Welcome to Penance: Home Between Homes" and nothing more.

Within the gates, there are the leftovers of what may have once been a lively, welcoming little town, if it didn't look as if people either fled or somehow vanished in the blink of an eye. There are dusty shops that are still stocked with supplies, many with their doors busted out or left open. There are homes that haven't been touched in what feels like an eternity but they still have furniture and the remnants of the people who lived there previously. Cars and bikes are littering the streets that are in varying shapes of usability. The more you look, the more unsettling everything becomes...

First Punishment: As a show of good will, your hosts will give you a very easy, albeit potentially embarrassing, task to carry out for your punishment this month.

First: There will as few secrets in Penance as possible. Transparency is key to atonement. You will reveal at least one sin in a way that will be permanent, which means via tattoo, scarring, branding, or other permanent means somewhere on your person. For those who are unable to be injured or scarred, there will be enchanted items that will be able to pierce even the toughest skin, cut deeper than even increased healing can recover from. All necessary items will be available at the tattoo parlor in town. If desired, characters may also make an announcement on the network listing their sin(s) for judgement from their peers.

Please note that if the character insists they are free of sin, they will be provided a list of what they're guilty of by their hosts.

Settling: It's time to settle into a home in Penance, either alone or with roommates. There is comfort and safety in numbers after all...

Do try not to fight over housing if you've both accidentally chosen the same home... Your hosts will be very unhappy if you start a fight this early on over such a silly thing.

If settling down isn't something you feel like doing, you may go and explore anywhere that you'd like, including outside the gates. Please be aware that there may be demonic forms of all types of common animals living outside them that move swiftly and silently. They will vary in aggressiveness and tamability, so please keep this in mind.

As a note, all threads may be considered game canon if all parties agree. Hope you have fun and thank you! Game is set to officially open February 1st or when we reach a minimum of 10 players.

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Taking the knife, Vasquez flips it a few times in his hand, staring at it warily not because he doesn't want to do this, but because he's wary about how to put it on his skin (also, if Billy could do it, it would probably look nicer). "I'm not going to put ninety-one ticks on you, but I'll put the number," he says, to offer Goodnight an in-between that won't scar him so terribly.

Reaching out to turn Goodnight's arm towards the least painful part (he thinks), he taps at the forearm by the elbow. "Here," he says. "I think," he adds with a shrug. "I'll write ninety-one, but in numbers or letters? You tell me."

He doesn't count much, if he's honest, but if he did, he'd be nowhere near Goodnight's number. It's impressive, even, but Vasquez gets the feeling that Goodnight doesn't want him commenting on this, mainly because the more he thinks about this, the more he knows the only reason even he's okay with it is that it isn't his own people, but if it were, ninety-one would be a cause to take arms against.

Surely Vasquez knew him enough in those days they had all been together to know that Goodnight didn't believe in in-betweens. The over-dramatic peacock in him demanded all or nothing. That and he knows it'll hurt and isn't that what he deserves? But he won't make someone else bare the brunt of that for him. He's too much a coward to do it himself. Can't even shed his own blood so he has to agree to the compromise.

It's better than sitting here staring at that knife until whatever Demon is here comes to drag him where he truly belongs.

He frowns in uncustomary quiet, looking at the spot Vasquez picked for him. It could still be hidden if he kept his sleeves rolled down, which he's very much likely to. What proper gentleman goes about with his arms all showing! He's being offered a mercy here and he knows he should accept it.

"The number is fine." Either way, it's not like it spells out exactly what it means. In way, he's chosen to force himself to answer questions about something he prefers to never ever talk about. "Too bad I don't have my flask with me. A little nip to take off the edge. But it is what it is. You will have to forgive me if I don't watch." He doesn't want to get sick all over the other man.

Vasquez snorts as he looks at the knife and then Goodnight. "Better for you not to see," he agrees, mainly because he doesn't want to have to deal with flinching and apologies. It's not like he's Billy and they're that close, but he also learned some respect for the man, if not for his troubles.

He doesn't blame him for running, honestly. If Vasquez had anywhere else to be, he might have taken off too and it's just luck that he didn't. Flipping the knife up, he carefully begins to etch in 'ninety-one' as neatly as he can, but he wobbles because this isn't his game.

His is lassos, quick draws, maybe a fight in a pinch.

"You could have done a smaller sin, I think," he says conversationally, trying to keep Goodnight's attention off every minute flick of the knife. "Something like leaving socks out? Maybe you've raised your voice in anger to a woman, hmm?"

Goodnight takes a slow breath that comes as a slight wheeze. He knows what's coming but that still doesn't take the edge off that first press of a blade. It's not like he's a stranger to pain. Still, it's not something he rightly enjoys and each careful line has his gritting his teeth together and going a might paler.

He appreciates Vasquez's attempts at distraction. The man is right. He could have gone for something smaller, less. But he wouldn't be him if he didn't visit the full measure of his greatest sins. "Yes. Let everyone know I cheat at cards. Then no one will play poker with me. I couldn't abide that." He frowns a forces himself to remain still. "If you did that, I'd have return the favor of course. Three Marias." He keeps his head turned.

Vasquez still doesn't like to do this on his own (which is why he got someone else to do his, too), but he'd made a promise to Goodnight to help and whatever the differences that might have been between them (and there are less than there would be with him and some of the others), he owes him this.

Snorting a little, he grins up at Goodnight with a flash of teeth. "More than three Marias, cabron," he guarantees with a wicked curve of his lips. "I never even started in on all the Angelicas and the Luisas," he says.

He doesn't say that there's no way he'd have brought up the Gabriels and the Raouls, because that's not the sin he decided to emblazon on his skin. "Besides, that would only make me more popular, si?"

He really is grateful for this. He knows he'll pay Vasquez back for this somehow. A good deed done does not go unrewarded. He might not have anything right now, he'll just put it to a debt that he's certain he already owes this man. After all, he had stayed. He had stayed and he had fought. He'd been there with Billy after Goody had run out like the yellow bellied coward he was.

And though he can't look, he does feel a little smile starting. He can't help it. "I'm not terribly surprised. Left a string of broken hearts in your wake. All those ladies in a dozen different cities, all pining for the handsome young devil who passed on through. It sounds like some torrid dime novel." He dares finally to glance to the side. Honestly, if Vasquez had mentioned the others, Goody wouldn't judge. Then again, that's the one sin of his he'll never ever regret. He isn't remotely sorry for those years he spent with Billy.

He keeps his eyes above the line of his arm waiting for it to be over so he can wrap it up. "I'm sure you'll be popular within a fortnight without all of that, mon amie. Just remember the little people when you do. I'll consider it a personal slight if I can't at least win some of the money I lost back from you." Did they even have money here? He's not certain.

When he finishes with the last little edge of the '1', he tries to add the slightest bit of a flourish to maybe make it seem a little nicer? It's a sin, though, and one that they're supposed to be bearing, so he's not sure that aesthetics count, but he still wants to make an effort. He can't help his amused snort for his seeming reputation. "More like, I tumbled as many as I could quietly because even though I wasn't an outlaw yet, I was the wrong colour north of the border," he says.

"After the ranger...not so many Marias," is all he has to say on the subject, bluntly, seeing as you couldn't trust any of them. $500 was a lot of money and if you had a man in your bed, that could easily become dangerous.

He can't help his disbelieving look at Goodnight when he imagines him so popular. "We could always play cards," he allows. "I don't cheat, unlike some other people we know," he adds with the heavy emphasis that they know exactly who he's speaking about, even if he's not currently there.

In a way, he appreciates the little flourish. He might hate the number, hate seeing it, hate knowing what it is, what it means, but at least it's a little pretty to look at. Not that he wants to look at it. The sight of his own blood isn't enough to give him the vapors or anything, but he still feels slightly better to reach for a cloth to press to the wound until he can get bandages for it.

While he staunches the flow, he gives a little nod. He understands. He had been a bounty hunter once. Billy had been his bounty almost so long ago it felt like another lifetime. He understands the dangerous and careful dance a man with a price on his head must do. He also understands how being the wrong color makes things all the worse. Not from the inside, of course, but because he's become the go between, the buffer between the white man's world and Billy Rocks. He can't count his own experiences. Even if he goes North of the Mason Dixon, he's still white. That still counts for something as long as he keeps his head down and his mouth shut.

"A pity for all those Marias that didn't get a chance. I will mourn the passing of such a golden opportunity." His tone is slightly glib, the almost playful banter he holds with Billy at times. Now that the deed is done and he can hide it with that cloth, he feels all the better.

He even laughs a little because he knows exactly who Vasquez is talking about. "For which I'm sure my pocketbook will be eternally grateful for. I will actually have a chance to win it back. Or Billy will. He's got the better face for it." He would pay a shiny gold dollar to see anyone able to crack the code of Billy's impassive expression. "I suppose I'll have to learn this place to locate all we need for it." Which, honestly, is just cards. He doesn't actually need a table and chairs and the trappings of civility. He's just as happy sitting in the dirt by a campfire, whiling the dark hours away with cards and rowdy stories.

Vasquez wipes the knife off on the edge of his red rag in his belt, handing it back to Goodnight when he's done with it. It says something of the trust that there's no attempt to keep it to protect himself, because they might not know each other well, but they'd gone through the same fire and this is enough for him.

Snorting, he gives Goodnight a faintly amused smile. "It never would've been anything serious," he says, sure of that. After all, responsibility and dedication were things that he didn't know what to do with. It's almost better to be here, where nothing's expected of him.

He snorts at the idea of playing cards with Billy. "Even when he's drunk, it's still so impassive," he complains, because a man shouldn't be that hard to read. Glancing around, Goodnight's words do beg the question ...

"Are we even supposed to get to enjoy ourselves here?" he wonders. If it's somewhere to do penance, are those small bursts of happiness even allowed?

Though in the end, he might have found it within him to shoot one last time, it's not like Goodnight to seek unnecessary bloodshed. That knife is safe in his hands. He wouldn't turn it upon Vasquez. Instead, he considers slipping into his belt. One more knife to add to Billy's collection. Practicality has him doing it, even if he's none too proud of the idea that he might be stealing it.

"So you say. But such things do have a tendency to sneak up on us when we least expect. When it does, I'll be happy to help you wish your bachelorhood a fond farewell." The blood staunched, he starts to busy himself with a quick bandage. Easy enough to hide under his shirt. He just has to remember to change it.

It help keep his shoulders from stiffening to know that Billy had been drinking. In the many years they had traveled, he can count on his fingers the number of times that man had touched alcohol in anything more than strict moderation. He was the drunk, not Billy. It is a blow to know that his cowardess must have been what had pushed such a thing to happen. He tries to keep it light though. "He is a marvel."

The question though does have him looking up. His face goes sober for a moment. He's had a long long time to think of suffering and sins. He's lived with his own demons every day. It's a good question and for a moment, he is almost too silent. "Mark Twain said that you must have the one to appreciate the other. How do we really know we are suffering if we don't have some semblance of happiness to compare it to. The happier we are, the more it will hurt." It's quite the melancholy statement. "If we are to suffer for our sins, then it stands to reason we should be allowed some modicum of happiness. Just so we can be even more sorry when it's taken away."

He shakes his head a little, as if to clear such a maudlin thought from his head. "Of course, it's all philosophical and I would say that I'm going to grab hard at any chance I can have at happiness." He's going to enjoy himself while he can, mostly because Goody has always believed that he is beyond forgiveness for what he's done. "Besides, I'm sure you'll find nothing enjoyable about losing your hard earned wealth to Billy and I."

Vasquez can't help but laugh at the idea of him marrying ever, a long and loud thing. "Cabron, no, that was never going to happen after the bounty came on my head. After that, it was different ways to find pleasure," he says, dancing around the part where he'd kept it to barns and back-rooms with other men who also didn't want it spoken about.

He'd resigned himself to a life on his own, but he was fine with that so long as he got to stay alive, he thinks. "All the suffering I did for my sins was something that came as a side effect. Hunger, loneliness, bad beds," he lists, "it was all because I had to hide."

He'd never felt bad, though, and it certainly didn't keep him up at night. No, what kept him up was the worry that with no one to watch his back, someone would have a gun on him. "Maybe I'll pick up some tricks and defend my money, si? Would that be so wild?"

Goody laughs as well. Mostly because he can't help it. He knows he's being unfair. But once upon a time, he had thought the same thing. That it was never going to happen. And while technically, he's not married, it's not like he could be. His is not a union that's smiled upon either in Heaven or on Earth. Even here, he knows he'll need to be just as careful and vigilant. It's only with people like Vasquez, who know, or who at least suspect, that he can be even remotely open. Even then, it's buried in the words he doesn't say.

He hums a little. It sounds so much like the life Billy must have had before that saloon in Texas. And while he knows he didn't act it, he has known those things too. Hunger so bad that the scraps of leather that came from shoes was a delicacy. The loneliness of fame, lauded in the South, feared in the North. The hard cold ground, the smell of gunpowder and blood still clinging to his skin, the screams still ringing in his ears.

"You shouldn't have had to. Suffer like that. And while I'm sure it means little to nothing in this place, I'm not aiming to claim that bounty of yours. I already have my bounty head with me. The last bounty I'll ever collect."

He lets the conversation drop in that area. No need to talk about that. Instead, he'll focus on Vasquez and better things. "That, mon amie, is a very wild tale and I will believe it when I see it. So I will find some cards and see what tricks you have learned."

"I couldn't compete, I don't have nearly enough talent with knives to be useful there. Now, when someone needs a gun-spinner and a lasso-twirler and aims not to kill me, they can have my bounty." If he'd stayed back in Rose Creek, he thinks he could have hung in Sam's shadow for protection at times. The other option that he'd been hopeful for...well, it had blown to bits in a field, didn't it?

No point lingering on lost chances.

"I don't think bounties are going to be much of a problem here, though," he admits. "Haven't seen a single poster or bounty hunter, so we can see what the cards deal. Maybe if I win, I can ask for you and Billy to show me some tricks. Knives, sharpshooting, those things," he adds, even if he'd left a smirk and a hint of a wicked pause between the tricks and what they were defined as, the mischief lurking in the sparkle of his eyes.

It had indeed and the development had been something Goodnight had been quietly watching before he had run off. Perhaps because he had still somehow retained an appreciation for romantic notions, even if what might have been had been starting a far different way than his own. But it's not something he will dwell on. It's just another reminder of what had been lost.

"Lucky that. Those posters didn't do either of you any favors. The artists were truly insulting. Didn't really capture your charms at all." Still, he's glad for it. Glad, because he's got a small investment in Vasquez and would feel the need to step in and run interference. A debt paid for being there with Billy after he wasn't.

Which is another thing between them. One he avoids. The man is talking with him. Joking around. Making nice. Treating him civilly. He won't ruin it by reminding the man that he had run off when it mattered most. Instead, he'll sputter for a moment at that pause. The reaction is immediate and well rehearsed. He's far too used to defending this. Making it seem less than it really was. "I'll have you know that Billy and I are respectable members of society." It's a miracle he can say that. Look Vasquez straight in the eye and say that with a perfectly straight face when they all know neither of them is terribly respectable.

Then he breaks because this is Vasquez he's talking to. His laugh is warm and brightly friendly. "Besides, I'm not sure the tricks we know are anything you would want to learn, mon ami. Though perhaps Billy would finally have a student of the knife that didn't walk away because he was showboating." He remains silent on the sharpshooting. Honestly, Goody isn't terribly certain he'd be able to. He managed it at the Battle of Rose Creek, forced one last fight out of himself, but he's not so sure he could again.

Vasquez puffs up like a peacock when he's complimented and he should hate it, but he doesn't. He's just vain enough with his flashy vaquero pants and his guns to pretend like he doesn't care about this sort of thing. "I would care more if I wanted to be put down in history, but I don't like the idea of those bounties being more accurate," he says darkly.

Shaking his head, he can only imagine the additional trouble had they been. With more time, he could've grown his hair out, shaved, taken on different clothes to hide in plain sight. He didn't have that kind of time, though.

When Goodnight insists on them being upstanding members of society, he just snorts, says, "Cabron, please," under his breath, and shakes his head. "I used to take a knife to animal's throats on the farm to butcher, but never took the talent to men. Guns always seemed easier."

He said it once before in front of Vasquez. It had become a joke, really. Using his words to poke fun at Faraday's lack of vocabulary. But he had meant it then. "To fade from history would be a boon. That day when no one knows or cares who you are is a day to look forward to." For Vasquez, it would be freedom from his bounty, the chance to make his way in the world without hunters coming for him. For Goodnight, perhaps a moment's peace in a local saloon, the specter of the 'Angel of Death' a distant shadow.

"But you are right. Guns are easier." You never have to get close. Never have to look them in the eye. You can stay hidden, a coward in a sniper's nest. He says none of this, but the expression is there on his face. "Though Billy is good with both. I'm sure if you asked, he'd be happy to teach you, so long as you didn't walk away on him. And perhaps I can find some use for that lasso twirling of yours."

"Maybe here it can happen," he opines. If he is dead and this is the afterlife, then maybe it's some sort of peace and quiet. The only trouble with that is that he doesn't remember dying, but there's a dead man standing in front of him and talking to him, so what else is he supposed to think?

"Guns are flashy, pretty, loud," he lists, with the look of a man who enjoys all those things immensely. "Maybe I could learn some of his knives and in return, the lasso could be taught. If you've got the right flick of the wrist, it's no trouble."

"Perhaps." He doesn't sound too positive about it. But not for Vasquez. He's certain for that man, things will be a lot more peaceful. Perhaps, Vasquez will finally get to have a full nights rest. Goody isn't so foolish to think he personally is going to get any peace. Why should death stop the ghosts that haunt him. Now, he's on their level.

"They are that. But nothing in the world is prettier than Billy with his knives." He might be a bit biased there. "Of course, you're welcome in the house we pick without any lessons. Or cards." He would say they have to stick together, but he's shown his ability to stay around when things got difficult.

Vasquez can't help his derisive snort, not because he disapproves or because he thinks it's something silly, but when he gives Goodnight a reaction, it's a dubious look that says that he's not subtle and that people are going to pick up on him, even if he's not saying things so bluntly. "Not even going to bother staying in different houses?" he points out.

"You know, my abuela would say that it's a very big sin, that." One that he'd indulged in, of course, but it's not like he has someone at his side to make it so obvious. "Do you think purgatory is going to like that?"

He hears the snort and perhaps Vasquez has a point. But at the same time, it just seemed natural for him to say that he and Billy were going to be in the same house. They'd been together so long that it seemed strange to even think that they might stay in different places. And while he knows he's not terribly subtle around Vasquez, he knows when to be careful. He thinks if the other man would have had issue with them, he would have surely said something.

At the question, Goody just gives his most eloquent shrug. "Honestly, why would we? It's what we're used to after so long on the road together. Besides, isn't it always said that there is strength in numbers. That and these houses are fair to middling in size." Technically, for most of the Heroes of Rose Creek, these houses would be mansions. For Goodnight, who had once lived in a plantation house, they were actually on the small side. "The one I chose has four separate bedrooms. For all anyone knows, we sleep on opposite ends of the house."

He then gives a long low sigh and for a moment there is something like guilt, but it is short lived, replaced by resignation. "Your granmè and my daddy would probably have gotten along with all the things they would say. However, like it or not, this is the one thing I won't give up on. They can do what they want to me, but I'm not about to sell Billy out to save my neck. Not a second time." He knows this is Vasquez and so he feels he can at least say this. "And if they decide to punish someone for it, I'll make certain it's me. Because being with him is the one happiness I simply can't bare to let go of. If Billy is to be my albatross, so be it."

There is strength in numbers, which is why he'd been the one snoring away when the others had been protecting him in Comanche territory, figuring that if he was going to die, it wouldn't be because any of them were slouching on the trigger finger to make sure that they were protected. "I was happy to walk out of Rose Creek alive, with some gold at my side," he says, patting his pockets to find that he hasn't got it on him.

Last he'd seen of it, it had been in his bags in the new cabin he'd been holing up in, waiting for a few bounty hunters to pass. "It's almost romantic, what you say, if we weren't stuck in some backwards shithole place that wants our sins on us," he says, gesturing to the number he'd carved into Goodnight.

"I could have done that for you, you know," he teases. "Big heart, Billy's name."

The fact that Vasquez walked out means that they had won, somehow. It would be the only explanation for the man surviving and taking his share of the gold. He doesn't know if he should be happy or not about that. He supposes he should be. That's what they had wanted even if it had ended with himself and Billy dead.

He won't ask though. He doesn't want to know. Instead, he focuses on the things he does like to talk about. Billy is often that specific subject. It's actually a bit soothing to be able to and know that he doesn't have to really watch his words and dance around the truth of things with this one man.

"You say almost. I say is. I think after ten years of multitudes of backwater shitholes, as you so eloquently put it, the romance would be dead. This is just another stop for us, like any other." He makes a slightly airy gesture with one hand, as if tomorrow, or the day after, he and Billy would be riding out, a couple hundred dollars richer due to a quick draw or some other scam that Goody would concoct.

He knows the man is teasing and so he has to tease back a little. Honestly, he'd never do such a thing because he's not ashamed of Billy. He never will be. "Yes. I'm sure it would be a lovely tribute. But then I'm sure Billy might want one as well. I would be in luck. His is a short name. But mine..." He gives Vasquez a cheeky grin. "You know how good Catholics are about naming their children." Goodnight is just the tip of that particular mountain. "I'd bet five dollars that you personally have no fewer that 3 first names."

"Ten years, if I spent ten years with anyone, I think I would have shot them at least ten times," is his deadpanned remark, seeing as he doesn't exactly feel like he's the romantic soul that would be able to manage that long without that.

Still, there's a part of him jealous. Neither Goodnight nor Billy are typical men, but they have each other and they have something he doesn't think he'll ever get. It's definitely worth being jealous for. Grinning, though, when Goodnight brings up names, he can't help his shrug. "Plenty of them," he agrees. "None of them I'm going to share with you today. We might be friends, but we're not that close yet."

"But, at least tell me this. Is Goodnight really your first name?"

Goody has to laugh a little. "And you don't think Billy isn't sorely tempted to do so on a regular basis. You didn't travel with me long enough to know how bad I can get." He doesn't mean his...unfortunate episodes. He means his inability to abide with silence. He's lost count of the number of one-sided conversations he's had with Billy over this last decade.

His smile grows a bit impetuous. It seems he had been caught out. It's always been a curiosity to find out the other man's name. It seems unfair that a man could go through life with just the one. Even his wanted poster seems to only give the one name. He doesn't mind that he's been caught in his little fishing expedition and he's not insulted that he doesn't get a bite.

"So, then I am right and you do have many." His grin doesn't change in the least. Instead, he just gives an eloquent shrug. "One of them. Family name. Named after the granddaddy your granddaddy removed from this earth."

"Plenty enough, for my actual friends and family to know," he says, which hadn't been many people at home. Lucky for him that his reticence in saying his name meant that only a last name had wound up on that wanted poster with the image that didn't so much look like him. So long as he kept shaving every once in a while and hiding, he could make a good case that it wasn't him.

"Your grandfather was named Goodnight?" he scoffs, not apologizing for what his family did, especially because that whole history is still a sore spot for him. "What's wrong with you white men?"

Test Drive 001

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