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October 2018 Test Drive Meme

OCTOBER 2018 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to October’s Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: HALLOWEEN HORROR.

All Test Drive Memes contain at least one clue to the Deerington's upcoming in-game events for the month! Keep your eyes peeled! But...not literally.

Characters may die during TDMs, but you do not need to count it towards a game-canonical death unless you want to. Consider it a freebie. All TDMs can be considered game canon as TDMs introduce minor aspects about the world of Deerington that can be revisited by characters later on in the game. You may also use TDMs for your application writing sample as well as AC.

CW: Wet and rotting corpses/zombies, ghosts, violence, blood, knives, possessed dolls, options for underage drinking

Don't forget to tag content whenever necessary. Have fun!

Prompt One
Prompt Two
Character Arrival
Master Navigation

IT’S JUST A BUNCH OF HOCUS POCUS

It’s not Halloween if you don’t make a trip to a cheesy haunted house. At least, that’s what everyone in Deerington likes to say. The old Victorian stands at the top of a hill, rickety and in desperate need of a new paint job. The yard and porch have been decorated with what you’d expect for your typical haunted house; fake spider webs spread across the overhang, painted foam grave markers with cheesy names like “Here lies Richard Cranium” and “BEWARE!!” in creepy letter etchings. You can see the blinking of variously timed strobe lights in some windows and the shadow of what you’re pretty sure is a full-sized doll standing in the window, meant to look like someone staring out at you. The rocking chair on the porch near the door has a skeleton with a bowl of candy in his lap, and a sign is propped up against the wall next to him.

“ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. TOUCH NOTHING AND NOTHING WILL TOUCH YOU!”

Well that sounds promising.

The first few rooms you enter are appropriately cheesy. There’s the silly burst of air that you hear just before a plastic figuring pops out of a poorly constructed coffin, the clicking sound of the machinery inside echoing in the room when it starts to pull back and the lid closes once again. There’s fog machines trying to give the appropriately spooky air, stuffed sheets shaped to look like dead bodies wrapped up laying in piles on the floor with fake blood staining the white fabric, black lighting to show off words scribbled on doors like “TURN BACK NOW” and “SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES.” Nothing you haven’t seen before. It might be even worse than things you’ve seen before, over the top cheesy, boring enough to give a yawn. Each door seems to open on its own so you don’t even have to touch the handles.

As you make your way through the next automatic door, the room you walk into is different than those before it. It’s a regular children’s room. A bed against the wall near the window, a dresser in the corner, a small desk with a chair. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the lights not being on, and the strange flickering light in the closet. You step towards it, figuring you’re in for another jump scare, but the door doesn’t open. Whether you’re naturally the curious sort or not, something in the back of your mind makes you want to open the door and see what’s on the inside.

If you fight it and walk towards the next automatic door, you’ll find you’ve walked out to the backyard of the house, those same foam decorations and a dozen or more jack o’ lanterns lighting your way on a path back to the town.

If you choose to pull the door open, however, it’ll take you into yet another room, with a flickering television playing nothing but static. Once you step past the doors of the closet, they slam shut behind you and whoever else dared to enter. The doors won’t lock no matter what you do, no matter how strong the person shaking the handles or pushing against the wood may be. You realize you broke the one rule; you’ve touched something. But can things now really touch you?

The only light source in the whole room is that television and it’s not lighting up much inside the room around it. If you squint when the TV is at its brightest setting, you can just make out another door. Your exit, you hope. But as you make your way towards the door, the flickering suddenly stops, the TV steadily bright, a low humming noise coming from the screen, and suddenly the door seems several more feet away from you than it was a second ago. Before you can reach the door, there’s the sound of trickling water from behind you. If you choose to look back, you’ll see something coming out from the screen - a girl with soaked clothing and pale, rotted skin. She emerges fully from the glass and starts to move towards you. You know it’s best to start running for that door. If you stay and try to fight, you’ll find that no regular weapons work on her, though special weapons and powers that are effective against spirits will definitely do the trick. For those who don’t have any of these at their disposal, however, there is one more hope besides just trying to run; two old school VHS tape sit on the table near by, a fancy machine between them that is meant to copy one to the other. Work as a team and have one distract her while the other records, and you’ll find that she disappears as quickly as she flickered on the screen and the TV will return to static.

Regardless of what you choose before carrying on, the next room you come to as the door slams and locks behind you is entirely different. Brightly lit and filled with what seems like hundreds of porcelain dolls, it’s almost hard to tell where there could possibly be another exit hidden among the massive shelves. You can start to wind your way through them, but before long, you start to hear the sound of running feet, the jingling of bells, the swish of satin, and most eerily the sounds of children giggling - but there’s nothing that sounds save about them. Some of the dolls you saw on the last shelf seem like they’ve moved and are sitting in the corner or laying in a new position on a new shelf. Sometimes you swear you can see their heads turn to watch you pass, but it has to be a trick of the light, doesn’t it?

That is until one of those dolls runs by you, brandishing something shiny in their hands - something sharp. A knife, you realize too late, as it tries to slice at your legs and knock you down. You can kick them away and they’ll go flying, and when the porcelain smashes, the doll will scream in agony. You notice there’s blood pouring from the hole that formed, spreading quickly across the ground. The dolls are easy to kill, but are they really just dolls? You can take your time to contemplate that later, as now you have to fight your way through the violent and armed toys to reach the door at the end of the maze of shelves. Hopefully you can get out without too many severe injuries.

When (or if) you do manage to get to the next room, you seem to have a chance to take a breath and tend to any wounds. It’s decorated like the room of a small cottage, a large pot over the fireplace that isn’t lit, and several jars full of (possibly rotting) food and herbs on the shelves. You see a book on the stand in the center, latched shut and covered in dust. You can open it, if you want, but remember the warning you ignored that got you in trouble in the first place. It’s probably better to carry on to the next room.

If you do choose to open the book, though, there will be eerily glowing text lining the pages, the light will seem to poor out and fill the room, and you’ll be transported back out in front of the house.

Those who continued through the door will find themselves out in the backyard. Just like for those who got out sooner, there are dozens of jack o lanterns, but the graves don’t look like they’re made of foam this time. They’re real stone, engraved with real names and real dates this time. And the ground underneath them seems to be moving, like someone’s trying to crawl out of there. Better not to wait around. Soon as you start to move down the path, you’ll start to hear the sounds of groans as the undead start to crawl from their own graves, pulling themselves up through the dirt, and determined to get to the only food source they see - you. The zombies seem like they’re never ending, coming from every inch of the yard, but at least they’re just like normal zombies - completely incapable of being killed unless you cut off the head. There are shovels lying next to a few graves if you need a quick weapon, but there’s also still always the option to run as fast as you can up the stone path to the front of the house and back towards the street.

When you do finally manage to get back to the front, there’s a momentary blinding flash of light, disorienting anyone near it for a few seconds. When it finally fades, any leftover zombies chasing you have disappeared and the house looks like the same, cheesy haunted house you walked up to in the first place. If for some reason you decide to go and explore the backyard again, the grass will be back to normal, and the graves will all be replaced by cheaply painted foam once more.

Was that all in your head? Who knows. But maybe it’s best to just get out of here.

WE DID THE MASH

Somehow the street lamps have all been converted to oil based flames, the Authority are in witch hats, and every where you go there is music that seems to be playing from faintly glowing bats hanging upside down from telephone wires. The bats will open their mouths in succession, seeming somehow capable of producing the sounds of instruments and singers alike of popular Halloween songs.

Yards are decorated as thoroughly as the front of stores. Maybe you haven't bothered to decorate, but your neighbor sure has! Fake gravestones are propped up in yards, giant fake spiders in trees, and no matter where you walk, the ground seems covered in thick, rolling fog from machines. Or at least you hope it's coming from machines. Hell, you can't even find it in yourself to be too worried! Everyone around you is having way too good of a time! And God, there is food everywhere! Might as well grab a bite while you're out, huh?

It's tempting to break loose and dance. Jack-O-Lanterns absolutely crowd the streets. There's more than you can even begin to count, and all of them are lit all throughout the night. Even if you accidentally trip over some, they don't seem to catch fire to anything or go out! Some neighbors have camp fires set up with marshmallows to roast, while others have...are those broomsticks? Well that's kinda cool, you guess. Correction: it's really cool since you can actually pick one up and take it for a fly! Make sure to attach a little lamp to the front though because God knows it's dangerous flying at night. The brooms only work if you wear the appropriately provided hats, of course, but you can keep both the broom and hat indefinitely and have a readily available means of flight in Deerington after! Be forewarned though: the brooms are as easily broken as regular brooms and the hats easily blown away in the wind.

TRICK OR TREATS

At any of the events, especially the nighttime partying, you can find any number of the following treats (and their potential side effects):

Donuts (Will make you deliriously happy. Everything is amazing to you. May cause a lot of affection. A lot of affection.)
Candy Apples (You will eagerly tell someone everything you like about them. Talk about a sweet tooth.)
Candy Corn (Will make you extremely sad. Like god, you'll be wondering why you hate yourself so much.)
Pumpkin Spice Lattes (Causes suspicious amounts of obedience and a desire to do what you're told.)
Hot Chocolate (Can provide some minor healing. Best stuff to drink with a common cold!)
Hot or Cold Apple Cider (Nothing will happen. It's just really good.)
Alcoholic Cider (This isn't your grandma's apple cider. This stuff will knock you on your ass. Anyone who drinks this will get wasted regardless of whether or not they are immune to alcohol or even ingest regular food. It only takes one or two before you start to get tipsy, but any more than that and you'll be well on your way to drunk. Please drink responsibly. We don't need any FUIs.)

Character Arrival

You can read how all characters arrive in Deerington here.

There is not a collective "all these characters showed up at the exact same moment" occurrence in Deerington. Since characters fall asleep, die, or pass out at various times throughout all their worlds, it wouldn't make too much sense if they arrived in game all at the exact same time. There should be some discrepancy between character arrival, whether by a couple minutes, hours, or even days up to a week.

The players are entirely in control of how/when they want to play their characters arriving in Deerington. For TDMs, you can play it like your character has just arrived and that can be maintained as your game canon, or you can wait until game events for that moment. Or you don't need to acknowledge it at all. The flexibility for character allows a bit more of an organic feel to the character arrival situation, so please play it to whatever feels right for you.

If you are interested in having an "arrival" introduction for one of your TDM prompts, you are more than welcome to explore that option.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Logan is staring at the packets of non-dairy creamer in the community college faculty room.

It's a Saturday, he's got about two hours until his last class for the weekend schedules, and he's got a steaming mug of coffee in one hand but no milk to put in it. Somehow this is a dilemma to him. It's certainly making his day a lot worse than it has to be. ]

...hn. [ His nostrils flare slightly in irritation. It would be a waste to pour the coffee down the drain, but he doesn't particularly want it, which means approaching footsteps have him turning his head before the door to the lounge even opens, hopeful that this solves his minor environmental dilemma.

Blandly, lamely, he asks: ] Coffee? [ And no, there's no transition, no greeting. Logan just holds the mug out, the side with the handle offered the guy's way. ]

[Without pause, barely looking up from the papers he's holding, Jean-Paul takes the offered cup and continues walking toward the lumpy couches at one end of the room. He gets about four steps before he stops and turns back.]

...you are not my secretary.

[The accent is apparent right away - the inflections are off-kilter. Maine is next to Quebec so it isn't terribly hard to pinpoint, and of course another Canadian would place it easily.

He looks at the mug and makes a face, looking back up suspiciously.]

What did you do to it?

Uh. [ He doesn't even bother with making up an excuse. ] No milk.

[ Logan does recognise the accent, but doesn't comment on it. Canadians in America-- never mind dream America-- aren't a novel concept.

The only thing that tells him this guy isn't a native is the fact he isn't some bizarre pastel colour in hair and clothing. ]

Poured the coffee before I figured that out, didn't want it to go to waste. [ But now that it's in the man's hand, it isn't Logan's problem any more. This means he's going to snatch the book he'd taken with him-- Dickens' Great Expectations-- and give a lazy salute with two fingers of one hand. ] Bonne journée.

[ So he starts to walk towards the door. ]

[For whatever reason, it isn't until he speaks French that something clicks in Jean-Paul's head.

This guy sounds like Wolverine. He looks like him too, he realises, if Wolverine were younger and taller and just generally a little less troll like.

He drops the coffee cup, but catches it a second later, asking with honest bewilderment:]

Logan?

[ The way Logan freezes on the way to the door is almost comical-- probably made more so given the fact he's wearing an actual fucking trench coat that swooshes a little at the bottom with the abruptness of it all.

He turns, facing Jean-Paul with something that's halfway to a glare, lacking as it is in ammo. ] ...yeah, that's me.

[ The kids and faculty in the school know him as James Howlett, and the only ones who'd know him as Logan would be anyone he'd met personally or anyone from his world. He's never met this man before, he doesn't think, but given the fact that Cable had recognised him as well, then maybe this guy's from his world, too. ]

Why.

[Jean-Paul's heartbeat is suddenly hummingbird fast and he feels for a moment that he may actually faint. But no - fainting would show weakness, and that would be humiliating. So he stays upright through grim force of will.

Logan shows no sign whatsoever of recognition. Considering he seems so different that's not surprising, although Jean-Paul can't be sure if that means different realities or that yes, all of this is some weird prolonged nightmare, or worse yet another one of SHIELD's mental programming attempts.]

Just... tell me if any of these names sound familiar. James and Heather Hudson? Kitty Pryde? Jubilee? Charles fucking Xavier?

[ Bingo. His world, indeed. ]

The "F" stands for Francis. [ Bland as his tone might be, Logan bristles at the familiar names regardless, which should be enough of an answer. This guy definitely knows him then, and knows the X-Men, and knows him as Wolverine, and the thought of that--

His expression softens slightly, no longer quite as defensive. ] Heather's husband's name was Travis. But I remember her. Or... [ He hesitates, not sure how much the man might know of alternate timelines, alternate worlds. ] I remember my version of her.

And I'm guessing you know some version of me.

[Jean-Paul closes his eyes, torn between relief and disappointment. The same but not. Is it better or worse if this is real?]

Travis. I hope he was less of a cock than Mac.

[He opens his eyes, and at least some of the confusion there has departed.]

Ouais. I worked wit' you. We hung out during hockey season. [He swallows once, considering saying, "you killed me," but no. It's not the same man and that would be unfair.]

Assuming this is real... I guess whatever reality you're from is lacking in Quebecois superheroes. Pity for you.

I, uh. [ His brows furrow. ] I met a few. [ Granted that had been later in his life when the Sentinel War started, and Logan was too preoccupied with Charles, Magneto, and Storm in their efforts with liberating camps and saving refugees to join most of the offensive fronts. He remembers names, but if you asked him to recognise an alternate version of someone he'd met only once in person and more often in brief, few second snatches of video conversations, he'd be as reliable as you'd expect.

Like now. It takes a bit (Logan already isn't one of the smartest X-Men, so this is just cruel), but recognition dawns on him in a slow, dull click. He snaps his fingers and points. ] You're one of the twins.

Beaubier. [ And if he's not mistaken, then the boy's codename was-- ] Northstar. That right?

[ If Northstar's not going to mention his version of Logan killed him, then Logan's not going to mention that his version of Northstar's very much dead already as a casualty of war. ]

[Even if it's completely different, even if it's not really him, something about having someone say, 'you exist' is a huge relief.]

Ouais! My sister is Aurora.

[He laughs, and it's not entirely a happy sound.] I finally find someone in this shitty town I know and they don't know me. Fucking typical.

...Logan what the hell are you teaching, anyway? WhereI know you, you did mostly just physical training wit' the kids. [He has to think, considering that things might be very, very different.] We have a school, where I'm from. For mutant kids.

[ There's a small twinge of apology in the slight tilt to his mouth, but there's nothing Logan can do to assure him he knows him. Fortunately, the subject changes quickly, and the curve of his lips turns into something more resembling a smile (albeit subtle, careful). ]

Is that school Xavier's or something else? [ His free hand shoves into the pocket of his coat, fiddling with the insides to steady his nerves. Memories of what had been before the war still hurt in that faraway manner typically reserved for mourning. ] I did oversee combat training, but that was only after Cyke... uh, [ a brief flick of sadness crosses his face before he can stop it, but he lifts a hand to rub at his jaw ] a friend of mine went out of commission.

But I taught lit, too. Some history. It's all I'm good at, so. [ He shows the book in his hand briefly. ] Figured it wouldn't hurt.

You teach there too?

Xavier's, ouais. [Those piercing blue eyes don't miss much, but he's not going to remark on a little fidgeting.]

Cyclops? [A much gentler tone than his usual one.] We had one, too. ...this is going to get weird and depressing fast, isn't it?

I doubt that's all you're good at. [The briefest smirk.]

I did. Xavier talked me into it. Business and economics. But here... [He frowns lightly.] LGBTQ studies. Ironic, considering I never wanted to be the X-Men's token gay. But it seems... perfectly natural, somehow.

[His jaw tightens and although his voice remains calm there is an unmistakable undercurrent of discomfort in his tone.]

I don't know why I'm here or if this is even really happening. It could be just...

[He sighs.] Not that it matters. Even if you're a figment of my imagination, I'm glad to see you. [He grins, there and gone but at least completely genuine.] You're shorter, where I'm from.

[ Logan's less perceptive of the way Jean-Paul sounds and more tuned in to the way his scent shifts, like prey recognising threat. The smell doesn't match the smile, but he allows the man some semblance of privacy to his thoughts in the slight dip of his head to look down at himself, and then back at Northstar.

He frowns. ] How fucking short?

[ Logan will admit, at least in the confines of his mind, that it's strange to be a comfort to anyone-- he didn't understand Cable's joy seeing him, and he's not going to understand why Jean-Paul's relieved. But if it helps, then he's going to stay. So from where he stands close to the door, he makes his way to the shitty sofa like Jean-Paul originally intended to. ]

[He follows, still holding the unwanted cup of coffee. He sits, body relaxing just barely.]

Five foot t'ree. Most of the kids were taller than you. [He sips the coffee experimentally and deems it good enough. At the moment he really just craves the warmth and normality. His life is plenty weird, but this is the first time he's encountered an alternate reality version of a man who had recently run him through.]

You smoked there. Cigars. You do that here?

Yeah, I do. [ He snorts. ] The cheaper the better.

[ He's pretty broke in Deerington. This is primarily because of the $900 in library fines he's racked up by stealing books in his first month.

But Jean-Paul doesn't need to know that. ] And if you're asking about beer next, preferably Canadian, but I'm living with two kids right now so it's mostly been pop.

[ And his healing factor's not working properly, which means drinking and the subsequent loss of control freaks him out a little. He's not mentioning that, either. ]

Five-foot-three. Jesus Christ. [ He leans back into the sofa, legs falling apart lazily. ] That's a full fucking foot smaller.

I haven't been that small since my powers came out.

Kids? Oh, Logan. Are you adopting strays? The you I knew, you-- I mean, he, sorry. He was always rescuing young people, usually girls. Not in a creepy way. Like a dad way.

[He watches, picking the other man apart with his gaze. Yes, there's familiar aspects, but the way he sits, the way he talks... this is a different man, and it shows in so many different ways besides the height.]

You're cuter here, too. [He probably could keep that to himself, but Jean-Paul is not known for having a filter.] It's weird.

You're taking this very well. You've been here a while, then?

I'm not adopting-- [ But Jean-Paul goes on, and Logan thinks of Rogue and Bobby and Kitty and Piotr, thinks of the rest of the kids at the School, thinks about the teleporter he lives with in Deerington and the telepath he's been tutoring, about the girl who went to him for advice on college because she'd never been...

Shit. He brings a hand up to cover his eyes. Man's got a point. ]

...I'm not cute. [ It comes out in a huffed, mildly exasperated tone, but it's also about the only thing he can plausibly deny here. His hand slips off, landing on his lap. ] But yeah, it's been a month.

It ain't the best place by a longshot, but it's safer than the world I left.

Safe for mutants too, mostly. No-one seems to want to kill us for our species, at least.

[That hand goes up and Jean-Paul can't help but grin. It's nice to know some things are consistent across universes.]

As usual, I'm completely right. You might as well know now, Logan, that I always win.

You're pretty cute. [But that's really not the important thing. Eye candy is good and all, but if Wolverine of all people insists that this creepy town isn't that bad, well.

He stays quiet for a moment, studying his coffee.]

So it's really bad, where you're from, isn't it? It's not great, back home, and people try to kill us an awful lot, but...

[He sighs and puts the cup down.] I don't want to know how many of us are dead, do I?

No, [ there's more gravitas in that one word than any speech could convey ] you don't.

[ As easily as it was to joke only a few moments prior, it's always strange, always heartbreaking, thinking about his home. Though comforted with the knowledge that his time travelling had worked to save the future, the fact that Logan never lived in the timeline he changed meant it didn't really matter. He had photographs in his wallet and a letter from his friends, but what was the point when he wasn't the Logan of that happier world? When his world was doomed?

He tilts his head back against the sofa backrest, folding his hands over his belly with the book between. ]

But mutants-- society figures we're okay, here. 's the only reason Erik's not losing his shit. [ He snorts. ] The only thing you have to worry about are monsters.

[ Turning to face Jean-Paul again, Logan's expression is still serious, but is at least considerable measures less grave than it had been. ] I sound stupid now, but it's a horror novel come to life sometimes.

Edited 2018-10-15 14:40 (UTC)

[That bad then. Well. Perhaps not shocking - there's been enough time travelling and dire predictions in his own universe to indicate they were always fighting a losing battle. Still, it's sickening to consider, so he simply nods.]

...Erik? As in Magneto? Chrisse de câlisse... Okay. Sure, fuck it, why not?

[He arches an eyebrow at Logan.] Oh, there's something scarier than the tragic fucking fashion sense of the townspeople?

Monsters. I can handle monsters.

Yeah. [ And I'm sure I've eaten at least two people nearly comes out, but Logan holds it back, and instead elaborates with: ] Some things fuck with your memories, others get in your head, and it's like-- [ Bringing one hand up, he curls his fingers into claws, shaking them close to his temple. ] Like someone's scraping the inside of your skull with a spoon.

My first week here, the animal took control. [ If Northstar's as familiar with his version of him as Logan thinks he is, then surely he must understand-- the anger, the animal, the berserker. How they're all the same things. Though he considers the possibility of some version of him somewhere having perfect control, knowing how impossible it is for him means he's not hopeful about it. ] The last time that happened was about a hundred and eighty years ago.

And when I came to, someone bashed this kid's skull in because it was the kid who forced me to do it. I don't know what it is-- telepathy, demonic shit, whatever, but he broke through my psychic defences like nothing. And the only person I know who can do that is Charles.

[Monsters are no problem - you punch them until they're dead. This isn't monsters. This is exactly the sort of shit Jean-Paul had been having nightmares about before waking up in Deerington.

He listens. Oh, yes, he's familiar with Logan in a killing rage. Intimately, really. He keeps his face composed, but his pulse starts its hummingbird trick again and when he swallows he hears a dry click.]

Well. That's comforting.

[He runs a hand through his hair.] I've really had quite enough of THAT shit. Non. This is... unacceptable. There's got to be a way out. Got to. I'll wake up again, and... they'll say, oh, it was just ANOTHER fucking simulation.

[ Logan doesn't know what to tell him. He doesn't know how to leave himself, doesn't know if they're even allowed... and given he'd seen himself once, asleep in a bedroom with shelves filled with books in a place he knew for sure wasn't Deerington, it's hard to believe he isn't trapped in a dream he can't wake from.

Jean-Paul's heartbeat drums in his ears as if he's right there with his head atop his chest, and that terrorised scent fills his nose like pungent acid. ]

...I hope that's true. [ For Northstar's sake, anyway. ]

[He sits for a moment, just... breathing slow.]

It doesn't matter, does it? I'm stuck either way.

[He feels ill, but he remains as he is, outwardly calm.]

...I tried to leave. Nearly fell out of d'fucking sky. They say if you die in a dream, you die in real life.

[A long pause.] I don't want to die again.

[ It's the "again" that catches Logan's attention. He almost wants to ask about it, the curiosity burning in his throat, but swallows the urge away.

Instead, he says, ] I get what you mean.

But you're fast. You're smart. [ He's going off of brief memories and even briefer descriptions; a stunted eulogy from a miserable sister, Logan looking at Jean-Paul Beaubier's young face in a picture frame, the casket remaining closed. ]

It'll take a hell of a lot to get you, bub.

And you don't have to be alone, either.