fluxscapememe | Test Drive 1: Beachville

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Test Drive 1: Beachville

((Note: We are still under going construction here at Fluxscape! However, we've decided to open the TDM to better gauge the level of player interest. If you have any questions please comment to our Rules and FAQ page!))

[ ooc: Welcome to our first TDM! TDM links can be considered game canon. Here is a link For anyone wishing to reserve with us!

Also, please be sure to check our reserves page to make sure there isn't an existing reserve for the character! Please and Thank You! -Fluxscape Mods. ]

Upon Arrival

Just ask anyone, Beachville is the most beautiful city anywhere! That's exactly what the NPCs will tell you with a genuine smile on their faces and a happy nod. It even just might be true. For a beach as crowded as it is, it's surprisingly clean! The sand is just right. Not too hot and soft to the touch. The water is so blue you can see marine life swimming just under the surface. A variety of multicolored fish. Dolphins. The occasional mermaid.

...yes, that was in fact a mermaid! They're playful, don't worry. They won't try to drown you, Maybe just knock you off your surfboard with a laugh and a flash of a shimmery tail as they swim off to who knows where.

There are still sharks in that very blue, very clear water, but they're not interested in you in the slightest. In fact, they seem very keen on avoiding you.

There's so much to do here in Beachville! There's fishing off the docks, well away from where people are swimming. There's a boardwalk with almost every shop imaginable. A tattoo artist, a piercing parlor, a place to buy silly souvenirs like hermit crabs in cages, or ridiculous shirts. There's so much food to be tried; Pizzas, Salt Water Taffy's, lemonades of various flavors and some of the best burgers and fries you've ever had!

If the day-life isn't for you, wait until dark. The amusement park (which opens at sunrise and runs until 2 AM), lights up the night in a fantastic and colorful display, the sounds of the roller coasters and laughing guests heard for miles around, and part of the docks turns into an open air nightclub, complete with dance floor, beverages for all and alcohol for anyone over eighteen. Don't try to trick the bartender. They'll know.

If the hustle and bustle and noise of the beach isn't for you, don't worry. There are many resorts nearby with their own private swimming pools and entertainment. There are coffee shops on almost every street, various boutiques and curios to look at and a movie theater or two.

Don't worry; you'll also find the more necessary stores like grocery stores (where there is something for almost everyone), pharmacies, book stores, clothing stores, hardware stores. There's even a police station, fire house and hospital.

But that's not what Beachville is about! Everyone needs a vacation, right?

Beachville Locations
(Feel Free to use our locations to spark ideas for prompts! Check out other fun locations Here!)

	Beachville Boardwalk and Amusements Just what it says on the tin. Every possible Boardwalk location you can think of is here. Tattoo parlors, really cheesy t-shirts and hideous beach attire, awesome food of highly dubious nutritious value. There are also rides, like a huge ferris wheel, bumper cars, spinning rides and a huge roller coaster. At night, part of the boardwalk closes and turns into a place for dancing, drinking (For anyone over eighteen) and watching fireworks every weekend until 2 AM.
	The Surf Board There are three of these places located along the beach, and each one seems to be run by surfers in 'business attire'. Of course, by business attire, we mean these shirts and khaki shorts. They're here for all your surfing needs whether it be board rentals, lessons or even board purchases and care products. Dude.
	Shellfish Shack A small, outdoor restaurant right beside the fishing docks that can happily boast the freshest, most inexpensive seafood. There are crabs, lobsters, shellfish of many edible varieties and other seafood, besides. They also sell fresh catches by the pound that you can cook yourself at home, so go ahead and buy some! And be sure to buy some of their fresh made lemonade by the gallon. It's known all over Beachville as the best.
	Beach Breeze The Perfect place outdoors to grab a smoothie or any kind of fruit juice. They also serve the best shaved ice you've ever had in your life. What a great way to beat the heat!

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[Arrival]

One moment he was on the battlefield, the next...

He's on his own two feet--weak, but vertical. The physicians in this place saw to it that he was well hydrated, that he had the nutrients he needed, and sent him on his way.

Now, he had this bundle of information, a key, a home...a place away from Paris and the regiment, away from Roxane and Christian. Away from his disgrace.

He's torn between sorrow and a strange, almost sinful lightness of being...and he can't decide which to embrace as he walks the streets, searching for his new home.

[Boardwalk]

Once part of the boardwalk opens for adult clientele, Cyrano takes up residence at a table in the corner of one establishment serving wine. He has pen and paper, a notebook purchased earlier in the day, and he's trying to write--about the fighting, about this place, about his pain.

Around him, the night is a celebration of light, food, drink, and laughter--but within, he's devoid of anything that could reasonably be called joy. He's...lost.

He needs to find his guide if he's to understand what he's to feel--and the only true north he knows are the words.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Allison is standing near the table in the corner, watching the guy who is currently lost in his own thoughts and scribbling in a notebook despite all the noise going on around him.

It was for the reason he had caught her attention in the first place but also because his table is tucked out of the way from all the bodies milling about and she needs a moment to step back just to breathe.

Especially since she is feeling just a little overwhelmed and lost at the moment.

Cyrano glances up from his notebook at the slender young woman standing over his table, looking for all the world like a scared fawn about to bolt...but there's too much steel in her eyes for that.

Feeling a wave of sympathy, Cyrano nods, gesturing to the other chair at his tiny table.

"Word of advice, mademoiselle," he replied in a thick Scottish brogue despite his flawless use of French, "if you're lookin' for air in a room like this? You're doin' it wrong."

With a barely there smile, he slid his wine glass towards her in silent offering.

Allison knows that he is trying to be nice but she can't help stiffening at his words. Mostly because she should be doing a better job at hiding the fact that she is uncomfortable at the moment. She isn't supposed to let it show.

"I'm fine, I just wanted a bit of space." She replies, her accent American even though she speaks in flawless French as well. She doesn't know if she can explain that she thought she would feel better with all the bodies around but she doesn't.

Then she glances at him, noting the fact that he is pushing his wine towards her. She does pick it up but she studies the contents for a second before giving it a sniff and then stealing a small sip. It's quickly followed by a brief wrinkling of her nose before she nudges it back. "Thanks."

He feels a little like an ass, but he can't help it: when she drinks and makes a face before returning his wine, he finds himself laughing--not unkindly, but laughing all the same.

Gracious, a good sport, a French girl herself based on the accent--and clearly has a delicate palette. That, and she's a soldier from the look of her.

He likes her already.

Signaling to one of the waiters drifting around, Cyrano orders a lighter white wine with more fruit notes and less punch than the bolder port he's drinking.

"You're claustrophobic." he pressed, this time in English. "No shame, soldier, so am I. If not for my poetry, I'd have long since flown."

He lifts his notebook and gestures with it.

"That is why I am here." he declared. "Because I am not here--I am at the cliff's edge, calling to my muse for wings with which to fly from here...and, sadly, she does not hear me in this place."

Her gaze flickers to his face when he laughs but she doesn't seem bothered by it since it doesn't seem like he means it unkindly. Especially since she had been the one to wrinkle her nose upon the taste of his wine which is a sign she doesn't really like it.

She remains quiet for a moment then as he flags down a waitress to order her a different kind of wine which makes her think briefly of Lydia. But it isn't a thought she can linger over as it hurts to think of her best friend.

"I'm not claustrophobic either, it's just..." She doesn't know how to explain it or if she even wants to. So she focuses on what else he is saying instead, pausing with a curious look at the fact that he is possibly writing poetry. Right here of all places.

"Your muse?" It's a soft curious question as she tries to get a glimpse of the words he has written even though it would be upside down for her.

"It's just...too many men, none of them your own." he replied quietly, losing some of his smile as he watched her with a knowing look. He understood the feeling all too well, being trapped in a crowded room with not a single friendly face to have his back...

Her curiosity hit him in the chest in a strangely pleasant way. For a long moment, he said nothing...then after a beat, he flipped through his notebook until he found one he was comfortable sharing and turned his notebook to face her so she could read.

"This is the only tripe I can muster."

Upon the white sand
Across the blue sea
I outstretch my hand
Lies alone greet me.

Allison winced as he hit the nail right on the hard or at least very close to it. She wanted to see her 'men' but they wouldn't be there. Not here in this place where she was sure it was some kind of afterlife since it would be fitting.

But it certainly wasn't like any afterlife she could have imagined. Except for maybe the beach.

"Pretty much." She murmured as she looked at him again, unaware of the pained look before she looked away again when the waitress appeared at her side to slide a glass of wine in front of her.

It was also right at the same time he slid his notebook over so that she could see the words he wanted to share with her. She paused as she leaned forward, scanning the four lines before glancing up at him. "Lies?"

Cyrano nodded, gesturing around them as he leaned forward, folding his arms along the edge of the table.

"This...this little slice of heaven by the sea." he replied. "Before I arrived here, I was on the battlefield, starving and dying of thirst--supply lines were cut. I wake up, I'm treated, I'm given a new home and this idyllic life awaiting me here...it's no life. It's lies, and given the kind of man I am? I wrote that with the belief that I'm in Hell...and its true face will be revealed in short order."

When her wine arrived, Cyrano reached for his port, flashing her a grim little smile as he raised his glass in toast.

"But with a fellow soldier in my midst...a comrade to drink with...I feel a little less convinced that this is Hell." Clinking his glass against hers, he brought his glass to his lips.

"And a bit less claustrophobic." he finished before taking a long swallow of his port.

There was a flicker to her lashes when he told her where he had been before he was brought to this place and she couldn't help feel a bit chilled. Mostly because she had been on a battlefield of sorts as well.

"Why do you call me a soldier?" She asked him curiously after lifting her own glass to salute him before taking a sip. Then she relaxed with a small smile as the wine he had picked from her was definitely more enjoyable than his own port.

Then she snorted, glancing over her shoulder. "I don't know, it kind of seems like there are more people here than before."

"And yet..." Cyrano trailed off, drawing a slow, easy, deliberate breath before exhaling with a little smile, winking good-naturedly over his port as he took another sip before setting his glass down again after their toast.

"I call you a soldier because that's what you are." he continued, clearing his throat around the pleasant burn of alcohol. "I serve with the Gascon, and were you not a woman I would swear you had done the same. There's a look to those that have tasted blood in combat rather than as a matter of honor or wanton destruction."

He loses some of his smile, yet the warmth of camaraderie remains in his expression...a sympathy, an understanding.

"Where even in a crowded room, you are utterly alone, and utterly lost. Imprisoned behind the barricades of war no innocent nor civilian can cross."

"Are women not allowed to be soldiers where you're from?" Allison asked curiously, watching him with a briefly unreadable gaze. She wondered what he might think if he knew that she had actually been raised to be a fighter and a leader while the men in her family were meant to be soldiers.

Not that she wanted to talk about that.

Then she sobered, his words striking true as she looked at her wine and tried to breathe through the pain that existed for the next second. Licking her lips, she looked up at him again before nodding a bit. "It's not a nice feeling, is it?"

Watching her...for Cyrano, it was a problem. This woman, this soldier, this...wilting flower, too long out of the sun...

He wasn't even aware the poem was in his head until it spilled from his lips.

"She grew in the hardest packed earth,
the little silver violet.
There was no glory in her birth,
the seed that bore her: pure granite.

Upon the grave mound she was sown;
a nameless soldier's final rest.
She saw no sun 'neath his tombstone,
her roots drew strength from in his breast.

Her petals wilted ev'ry day
while her stem turned thick and heavy;
One by one, she lost her soft grey
while her leaves protruded sharply.

She drank of death, she tasted war,
the battle gave her no respite
'Neath hard packed earth, a sword was born
From the little silver violet."

His eyes never left her face as he composed, his attention never wavered--his heart raced with something he didn't want to name. Through the lens of words, he saw something heart-stopping beneath the blood and the grit that stained her lovely features and the line of her shoulders. He saw...he felt a link between himself and the rest of the human race.

Something that transcended even his nose to connect him with someone else.

"May I ask your name, madameoiselle?" he asked after a long, quiet moment at the end of his poem, bright blue eyes sharp and curious as they ran over her face.

Allison fell quiet as he started to speak, uttering a poem that she didn't recognize and wondered if it was his own creation. She felt almost stripped naked by it and revealed, her throat tightening as each word struck at the heart of her being.

She couldn't find the words to speak when he finished, merely staring at him for a long minute as he looked at her. Then he was finally asking for her name and she almost couldn't remember. It felt like another broken part of her stripped away by the sword that had buried itself in the middle of her body.

"Allison," She murmured when it came back to her. "Allison Argent."

Argent. The revelation startled him just a little--but pleasantly so.

Was it a happy accident, or a sign from Fate? Did the muse truly speak to him that this one woman might hear the voice of the universe, or was that gleam embedded in her inherent loveliness.

Regardless, it was a feeling he could hardly describe--a strange sort of rush and security, running his fingers along the razor's edge of a blade and coming away uncut.

"Argent." he echoed back, that flicker of surprise melting into a heavy but dazzling smile, broad and bright. "That's the title, then."

Allison couldn't explain the way she felt when he focused the smile on her, stunning her for a second as she tried to remember the last time she had seen someone smile like that. There had been so much fighting, so much to worry about, that the stolen minutes of happiness or fun had almost felt rare.

She wasn't sure what to make of it but she made herself smile a little as she nodded, fixing him with a curious look while the smile remained.

"And what do I call you?"

For a second, Cyrano almost didn’t want to tell her. If she knew his name, could put an identity to the nose, she would have the means to mock him more efficiently and the only way to protect oneself from the disdain of the men, of the Gascon, was fear and respect.

He didn’t want this woman to fear him—and he couldn’t make her want him. It wasn’t even something he was certain he desired, the marriage of Christian and his beloved Roxane was still so fresh...

“Cyrano.” He spoke before he could stop himself—and found there was a touch of something freeing in the admission of his name, something warm and bright and effervescent.

Something like hope.

“I’m called Cyrano—Cyrano de Bergerac.”

But she couldn't pay an identity to his nose more than the fact that they were just strangers meeting for the first time. She has no desire to mock him, not in the state she is in or ever. It's not in her nature to do.

So she waits quietly as he seems to drum up the courage to answer her before relaxing with a small smile again, nodding a bit as she decides that his name is interesting. It certainly isn't anything like she has ever heard before.

But then again he isn't like anyone she has ever met before either.

"It's nice to meet you." She tells him with a little nod. "Cyrano de Bergerac."

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Test Drive 1: Beachville

Cyrano de Bergerac - CYRANO DE BERGERAC {Theatrical}

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