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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.

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[Dorian takes it all in, and if anything sticks with him after this evening it'll be the fruit thing.]

Sometimes it's the little things in life that bring you the most happiness. [He trails off a moment, remember when the Cat fellow showed him his basket and he'll get up, wobbling a little in doing so as he remembers the room spins when he walks. He goes to the counter where his basket sits and he pulls out a jar. He brings it back to Logan and offers it to him, inside are some fresh green grapes with probably a handful missing.]

Here. Help yourself. It's the least I can do to repay you for your kindness. [He's eaten what was necessary out of it, he won't fade away any time soon. And as far as he can tell they're just grapes. Nothing magical about them, so it shouldn't hurt to share.]

[ For a moment Logan moves to rise, but seeing how Dorian seems to have everything under control, he sits on the table again and watches him go about. If he expected anything, it wasn't the man's Basket and the grapes inside, but the corner of his mouth pulls up slightly in the simplicity of how nice it is for him to offer. ]

Thanks. [ Careful about the Basket, he puts on the table to his side as well. He's not particularly hungry, but he thinks it's the significance of the gesture that matters, so he pulls the grapes out, holding it in one palm while his other hand plucks and pops the first piece into his mouth. ] I've liked fruit since I was a kid.

[ He holds his palm and the grapes on them out towards Dorian, too. Grapes are arguably the easiest fruit to share. ]

[Dorian gives the other a soft smile but raises his hand in a way as to say "no thank you." The mage then sort of perches himself on the arm of the couch, considering Logan for a moment.]

What was your childhood like? Where are you from?

Uh... [ Depending on the years, it's a loaded question. Logan decides to go with his childhood before the claws, popping another grape into his mouth and letting it burst between his teeth. ]

We were rich. Old money. [ Swallow. ] I was sickly, always on the verge of dying, so I wasn't allowed out.

Mother oversaw my indoor education. Father was always busy with the workers on the estate an' only came home at night.

I was friends with the groundskeeper's son. Besides that, though, I never really met anyone new.

[Dorian's brows loft slightly hearing that Logan was from money. He's... not exactly like people from his world or where he's from when it comes to people who are born rich. Typically there's very specific grooming and Logan seem so ... well different than he's used to. It's not bad, just surprising. Also surprising is the idea the other used to be sickly. Look at him now! he seems to be fit and in very good shape, that's for sure. Built like a brick shit house too.]

That's not an uncommon story, and if my father had had his way I'm certain I would have had much the same fate. My people. Mages from Tevinter, specifically those of us born in the upper class as I was, are literally bred to be the best and brightest. They marry each other to create perfect mage babies, not for love. In fact it's fairly common that most married couples simply hate each other for the entirety of their lives together, taking on lovers on the side to fulfill their desires where their husbands or wives can not.

[He sighs.] I was sent to the most prestigious of mage schools, over and over again, as I tended to wreak havoc and get expelled at every turn I could. You see, I didn't like being the perfect son, I wanted to be myself. I was practically married before I was born, a lovely young woman was to be my wife when I was old enough... but unfortunately for my father I knew from a young age that I didn't want to be miserable my entire life because it was what I was expected to do. So I rebelled wherever I could by being a handful and a disappointment.

[ If Logan expected anything, it's not how open Dorian suddenly becomes. He supposes it must have something to do with the drink, and he eats his grapes in silence as he listens to him.

And all he can think is-- ] Disappointin' your parents ain't a measure of how good a kid you were.

[ He doesn't say more than that, though. Probably best if he keeps any negative remarks towards someone else's parents to himself. ]

You're being yourself now. [ Logan guesses. ] Not everyone can do that.

Yes... well... [There's a small, pained lit to his words for a moment, voice a little shaky at the thought. Deep down there is a part of him that wanted nothing more than to make his father proud. He wanted a better relationship with the man until he realized what was clearly more important to him. His sons happiness wasn't as important as power and prestige among their equals. Dorian didn't want to be a pawn. He didn't want to pretend to be straight and have to try and breed more magelettes like himself to have to live up to some high standard that was forced upon them. To live miserable lives screaming on the inside until they perished, unhappy and unfulfilled just playing their intended role.]

Trust me, I take pride in being an awful son and the subject of hushed whispers within the courts. I take my role of pariah very seriously.

[And though he takes pride in his skill, in all the things that did in fact make his father very proud, it was more for the idea that one day he wanted to return home, take up position in the Magisterium or at least a point of power to make some kind of headway and impact. He may not make Archon, but he would do whatever he could within his power to make change for the better in Tevinter. Whatever it may take.]

Yes. [He admits with the last part.] That is true. Above all else, I didn't care what the cost, I would be who I wanted to be and no one would tell me different.

[A hand wave.] but enough about myself, what about you? How did you eventually get out? You seem perfectly healthy.

Edited 2018-10-30 15:32 (UTC)

[ Logan wants to say that he's perfectly fine listening to Dorian speak-- there's nothing interesting he has to say in comparison-- but the questions have him pausing, and then furrowing his brows. ]

Mother kicked me out for being... different. [ And I ran because I murdered my birth father, he'd add, if it wasn't as terrible as it is. ]

I have these abilities. [ He's never been ashamed of them so much as he's been wary of mutant racism, but he's been in Deerington long enough to realise that most of the people in this world don't seem to hate mutants as much as they do in his world. So, although he lifts a hand to scratch awkwardly at a bearded cheek, he doesn't feel threatened telling Dorian the truth. ] One of them's the ability to heal myself. The other one's having an extra set of bones I can push out of my hands.

But if your magic ain't working right here, my healing's stopped working, too.

[ He holds his hand out, showing the back of it. One scar lies between his index and middle, middle and ring, and ring and pinky fingers for three scars total, each of them thin and clean and uniform in size. ]

This is the first time I've scarred since I was thirteen.

[There's a sort of quiet stillness that falls over him, especially for a drunk who seems almost sort of noisy just sitting still. But all it took for his entire focus and attention to be on Logan was to utter the words "kicked out for being different" His heart goes out to him and he's absolutely curious about what makes him different, about his abilities. And at first it seems odd to him to be shunned for being able to heal oneself. That is such a common ability, especially among mages. One of the first they are taught. But then he continues... and his brows loft with disbelief and curiosity. An extra set of bones in his hands??? Bones that can be pushed out???

Curious grey-silver eyes look to Logan's fist when he raises it and the drunk mage can't help but to lean slightly forward and reach for his hand. He grips his fist in both of his own and pulls it closer to peer at the soft, light scars between his knuckles.]

Fascinating... but... what purpose do the bones serve? Does it hurt? It has to hurt... [He muses, pressing a thumb over the scar and the space between bones to try and feel for the extra ones... even if it's sort of rude to just be touching someone he doesn't even know. Blame it on the booze.]

[ Dorian's rubbing for nothing. That might be where the bones come out, but it isn't where they rest.

So Logan takes his wrist in a gentle grip, guiding him to trace the tips of his fingers along the back of his hand. The tips of his claws can be felt just a little bit above the wrist, the curve of the dull part of the edge safe to touch. ] Yeah, it hurts when they come out. [ He doesn't sound angry about it, though-- not so much as he sounds tired.

Logan brings Dorian's fingers lower and lower until he's travelled a full foot from where the tips of them had started, just by his inner elbow. He's traced the entire length of his claws now. ]

But I have them so I can fight. Protect the things that matter to me.

Like most animals do.

[Dorian allows his hand to be guided easily, tipping his head curiously, eyes flicking between their hands and Logan's face. When he first feels the point of a bone claw he'll quickly focus back in on his hand with interest and his finger will gently press as it follows the length of the claw from the back of his hand, down his wrist and further still almost all the way to the elbow. His slender brows loft, impressed and intrigued. But one thing he does note is that it doesn't FEEL like bone should feel. It's ...harder, and smooth like some sort of metal or blade was forced under his skin and between the bones. But Logan definitely called them "bones".]

Like... claws. [He muses as the other mentions how he uses them to protect the things that matter, like animals do.]

Like that of a predatory feline. [A thoughtful pause before he looks up at the other.]

But... they feel more like steel than bone. [His fingers trace back over the length of the claw under his skin if Logan allows him to. And thinking back to it, as he rubs a thumb over a scar he realizes how clean of a cut it was...]

Sharp, like a sword no doubt. [He'll finally release the other and lay his hands on his lap.]

I imagine it was a bit awkward to learn how to use them, but not unlike a rogue with his daggers. And if you can heal...[And he looks strong. Thick. Firm or solid. He looks as though he has been training to be a warrior for quite some time.]

I can only imagine how fierce a foe you would be on the battle field. Many a man would run screaming at the site of you charging at them. [He means that as a compliment really. Something like Logan charging after soldiers back home and watching them run off screaming brings a smile to his face. It's an amusing thought.]

Do you... often need to protect and fight things where you are from? [He doesn't know anything about his world after all.]

And your...abilities... were you born with them or did it somehow happen to you? [The "bones" don't feel natural...but it does sound more like he was born with it.]

[ His expression goes soft, faintly amused at Dorian's description. ] The idea's to get someone with the claws before they see me charging. [ Quick and easy and painless and drawing the least damage possible.

He eats the last of the grapes, arms folding as he rests them on both his thighs. ] I was born with them, but they only started working when I was a teenager. The claws came out for the first time, the healing started, and suddenly I wasn't a sick rich kid any more. Just a homeless monster.

You called the claws steel? [ Logan shakes his head. ] They're adamantium. Melted meteor fragments grafted onto my bones. [ Tipping his chin down, he brings a fist up and knocks his knuckles into his temple. His collarbone. His palm, his ribs, his hip. A dull clank follows each precise tap, clearly proving his point. ] All of them.

Ah, so yes, definitely more like a rogue then. Some of my closest friends have that sort of skillset. The whole, sneaking up behind you and stabbing kind. We'd make a good team if it ever came down to it. [He smiles softly then goes to lean back and completely forgets the fact he propped himself on the arm of the couch and not IN the couch so he's flailing a bit and flopping over onto the cushions none too gracefully. But it's a soft landing and as he rights himself his hair is a mess. He'll fluff it back into the proper position and laugh softly at himself.]

Sorry about that. [Totally still drunk, and a little tired, but still way too interested in Logan now.]

Adamantium sounds so very interesting... but how--[He pauses watching the other as he strikes points to hear the metallic ring.]

...I'm not sure I even want to know how they did that to you. [because even drunk he's able to gather that it was bone originally, and the metal was added after the fact, somehow, and it was probably awful.]

I'm sorry your mother rejected you because you were different. I know our stories aren't the same but I know what that pain is like. [he reaches out to put a hand on Logan's knee since he's leaning on his arms.]

If it's any consolation you are not a monster to me. You have been far, far from it in fact. You are a good man, Logan.

[ Dorian calls him a good man and Logan says: ] You just met me.

[ He doesn't sound offended, though. It's more dumbfounded, uncertain how the man got to that conclusion within a little over an hour of knowing him. Logan reaches down, taking Dorian's hand in his own, and gives it a little squeeze. ]

...but thanks. [ And then he relocates that hand to Dorian's lap, but rather than pull away immediately, he lets his touch linger just so Dorian's aware he isn't averse to him. Then Logan moves, finally taking a seat on the couch by Dorian's side. ] If you're tired we can keep talking later.

Edited 2018-11-19 15:58 (UTC)

Perhaps, and well, you've been good to me? I don't think you deserved the things that happened to you as a child at least. You seem to me like a good man. No other man would volunteer to be the sober friend and help a drunk stranger home or keep him company. [he shrugs.]

Doesn't much matter to me what you might've done before I met you. [It's a nice sentiment anyway, Dorian's done some awful things and would never describe himself as a good man, though others may think otherwise. He's drunk and drunk sometimes means "I love you" and "you're the best" and all kinds of affection even towards strangers. As his hand is picked up and moved back to his own lap he doesn't think much of it, for once he wasn't really trying to be frisky or anything, just... comforting. Making a sort of awkwardly drunk connection.]

Am I tired?? I don't know. Do I look tired? [A shrug and as Logan sits next to him he just sort of... leans over and rests his head on his shoulder. It's a lazy sort of flop. His hands are kept to himself as he just... rests shoulder to shoulder with enough space between them still to make it comfortable. He hasn't snuggled up to him, just sort of tipped over.]

Maybe I am... but you can talk all you like. Your voice is sort of soothing.

[ Dorian rambles and Logan envies the simplicity of the drunken mind. If only forgetting your past was so simple-- he knows from experience that it isn't a blessing at all, and losing it only makes you want to learn what it is to begin with.

Still, at least the weight on his shoulder is a nice one. Comforting, in that easy way anything done out of trust for you is. Logan doesn't move to displace Dorian's head, but he doesn't wrap his arm around him, either, instead smiling slightly as he looks at his hair and then leans his head into the backrest with his eyes closing. ]

I don't know what to talk about. [ It's a somewhat awkward admission, but no-one's ever called Logan a skilled conversationalist. ] But I know a couple poems, so... [ Taking a breath, Logan looks up at the ceiling, and when he speaks it's with a softer tone, a kinder nuance-- ] Let not my love be call’d idolatry, nor my beloved as an idol show, since all alike my songs and praises be, to one, of one, still such, and ever so.

[ He'll finish the sonnet, and then he'll move on if uninterrupted-- and on and on, until finally he hears Dorian's breathing even out in a tell-tale sign of sleep.

Even then, however, he won't move. Logan promised he wouldn't, and so stay he will.

He just hopes Dorian has something to cook for breakfast. (Not knowing that when he nods off and eventually wakes, he'll find himself in a plastic box with no Dorian in sight.) ]

Edited 2018-11-22 17:28 (UTC)

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