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November 2018 Test Drive Meme

NOVEMBER 2018 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to November's Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: WONDERLAND.

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.

PLEASE NOTE: Due to the nature of November's plot, character arrival prompts are unavailable in this month's Test Drive. Throughout each prompt, all characters will very clearly feel as though they are still stuck in a dream, and are working on a way to get out.

CW: Body horror (growth/shrinking), implied drugging, violence via swords and bludgeoning

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

Prompt One
Prompt Two
Prompt Three
Prompt Four
Master Navigation

BEGIN AT THE BEGINNING

The hallway you've ended up in is long and narrow, almost seeming to twirl in on itself as it spirals a long way out of sight. There's no means to go back the way you came - it's walled off now, somehow, though you're not sure when or how it happened - and so you realize if you want to leave, the best thing to do is just move forward. You walk along the checkered marble floor, the click and the clack of your shoes echoing off the twisted walls, the only sound in the whole place as you move.

You're almost convinced you're never going to find the end of this hallway, until you start to see a pinprick of light in the distance. Maybe you even pick up your pace when you start to see it. Regardless of whether you keep at an even walk or you sprint towards the light, you eventually get to the end of the hall. The ceiling has stretched up way out of sight at some point, but there's still a light shining down from somewhere, casting a large spotlight on the only two objects in the room: a fairly large dollhouse on the floor and a table with a cup filled with what looks like punch and a plate with a piece of cake on it. There's a sign, neatly handwritten in black ink: EAT ME! DRINK ME! At least it's to the point.

You can choose to ignore that sign, but as you observe the dollhouse, or the hall you're trapped in, there are two things that might persuade you into realizing it's your only option: 1) There's no door at the end of this hall in order to let you out of it, which means you're still as trapped as you were at the start. And 2) There is a door on the front of the dollhouse and if you squint, you can see a tiiiiiiny key stuck in the lock.

This all might be looking familiar to a fortunate few.

Eventually, you'll have to cave, or end up sitting there forever. Whether you choose the cake or the cup, the moment you swallow, you'll start to feel an uncomfortable ache through your whole body. Soon you can start to feel your bones caving in on themselves, your muscles tightening and shrinking, and your whole body might even start to feel like it's about to implode. It's agonizing - worthy of a scream or two as the magic works through your body, and you see the world starting to become bigger and bigger...

And all at once, it stops. The dollhouse now looks as big as a real house and that key? Is just the right size for your hand. You turn the key, push open the door, and enter into a grand foyer, brightly lit and covered in flowers and ribbons. On top of that? You're no longer alone - someone is in the room with you and they seem to have been stuck waiting for someone to help them explore the house.

TAKE SOME MORE TEA

Sometimes dreams just don't make sense. And this room seems to be the one that sticks out the most. You can see the ceiling, decorated with whimsical paintings and colorful chandeliers, and you can see the four walls, but the ground is definitely grass and dirt, and somehow there seems to be a fresh breeze blowing through, bringing in the crisp air of fall and the scent of burning leaves. Strange, since the grass is so green, strikingly so when compared to the white linen of the table cloth covering the expansive table in the center of the room, and there's not a fallen leaf to be seen anywhere.

There is, however, several place settings, several tea cups, and several tea pots. Your favorite treats are stacked high on the plates in front of you, smelling so fresh your mouth is watering already. It seems like a feast just for the two of you and your stomachs are starting to growl. Maybe sitting for a little while to rest and eat wouldn't be so bad, right? You notice name cards in front of each place setting and eventually, you find your own names, neatly printed in bold lettering. It's best to take a seat if you're going to dig in.

As you start to pile food onto your plate, you notice there's a card between the two of you, with a fun riddle printed out for you to solve:

I'm as small as an ant,
as big as a whale.
I'll approach like a breeze,
but can come like a gale.
By some I get hit,
but all have shown fear.
I'll dance to the music,
though I can't hear.
Of names I have many,
Of names I have one.
I'm as slow as a snail,
but from me you can't run.
What am I?

It might seem like fun and games, but you'll find that as you eat, your mind is getting a little foggier, and the words are blurry and harder to understand. You think it's time to go and you get up from your seat to do just that, but the door you came through - the only door in the room - is locked.

Chances are that riddle is your only means to get that door open. When you finally do solve it, a bright light will appear, and you'll need to stand in front of it, lining your shadow up with the handle, and miming turning it in order to get the door to open itself.

OFF WITH THEIR HEADS

The strategists might enjoy this next room when they open it; in front of you is a giant chessboard, one half of the board all set up and ready to go, and the other half of the board just missing a few pieces in order to get started. The Knight seems to have gone off to do his own thing and, much to the dismay of those around them, the Queen seems to have made herself scarce as well. But luckily for you both, there's two of you! And you seem to be just in time to take the place of these missing players.

Once you each settle into your chosen square, the game begins. It seems pretty tame at first - pawns moving to various pawns, and maybe one of you is taking charge and shouting for where each piece should go next. Best left to the Knight, likely, considering the strategy needed for that particular piece. And all is well and good and fun - until the first piece gets taken. Or, rather, not so much taken, as suddenly smashed to pieces by their opposition.

It doesn't take long to realize the same will happen to you if either of you are captured by your enemies. You have to rethink now, figure out the best strategy to not only win the game, but to make sure that neither of you ends up dead on the way there. You see the other Knight has a giant sword, one that seems to slice through the marble pieces around you like they're made of butter.

If you fail, you can try and dodge the blast, and you could also choose to run from the start; but there's a high chance the pieces will begin to revolt and come after you. You can either play the game or try and fight your way to the door. An interesting dilemma, considering that you're unarmed.

I AM NOT MYSELF, YOU SEE

This dollhouse is filled with tons of rooms, all of which seem to have their own unique flair, and sometimes they seem to be very much filled with the uniqueness of you. As you and your companion explore each door, you eventually start to open ones that seem to contain pieces of them or pieces of you put onto display. How is that possible? Well, you're not quite sure, but it certainly seems like they've managed.

Some of these rooms may hold memories playing out like strangely made stop-animation films; clay versions of yourself and anyone who was in the memory with you, mocked up to put your deepest secrets or your happiest moments into a visual reality. Other rooms may hold objects that relate to your very being - either physical items from home that were exceptionally important to you or metaphorical symbols of who you are as a person. A heart for loving, a stuffed lion (or a real lion, though you'd better hope it's friendly) for courage... All those stereotypical links people have created to show who they are over time.

There's no choice but to keep searching these rooms, though, learning more about yourself and your companion than either of you probably ever wanted to know - because eventually, one of those rooms? Is your ticket out. You'll know when you see it. A giant mirror will be leaning against the wall, the image fuzzy and rippled and not at all the reflection of the room around it. If you put your hand to it, it will sink right through. So long as you don't shy away in fear, you've finally found the end to this dream - or nightmare, as the case may be for some.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He would not be quite so hasty to leap to pitchforks, at least; perhaps in another time and place, but he was a monk off the shores of a world dominated by pagan superstition — and one that had learned a sort of tolerance that was still left unchecked by any reputable parish in their isolation. Even still... judgement was of a second nature, even if he learned to keep his tongue in check.

He'd never seen eyes of that color before — nor hair, or... girls, before Deerington — so he still reels a little from the intensity of it. She seems like a kind child, and so very delicate. Diarmuid looks from her smaller hands to his calloused ones, and wonders when they started looking so much less childish. He certainly doesn't feel like a 'boy' anymore, after all he's seen.]

... I'm Diarmuid.

[The monk feels a little sheepish, that that was his best response.]

I apologize, Momo, but I'm not sure what — what a prototype or Realian is...

[MOMO smiles, her whole face lighting up with the expression.]

It's nice to meet you Diarmuid.

[Her head cants curiously to the side. Whatever MOMO is, she doesn't seem overly keen at hiding how she's feeling.] You're not? I haven't heard of someone who didn't know what a realian is. [She appears thoughtful and them plucks the definition out from her memory stores.]

Realians, also known as Synths, are synthetic and enhanced human beings produced by the Galaxy Federation and mass produced by companies such as Vector Industries. They are cybernetic organisms designed to resemble humans and typically have navigational, observational or combat functions.

[He has absolutely no clue what any of this is, and his face says as much.

Oh, he feels so out of his element. Save him. Forgive him his sins and take him now, Lord.]

[But she's so earnest about it all! He feels terrible for being so inexperienced with — could he even say 'the world', when all of this sounds so beyond his own? Beyond his time? He's voiceless for a moment in trying to piece together a reply that is inoffensive. He's starting to think maybe that's not really possible, though.]

Forgive me, I do not know most of what you... So — you are...?

Not a human? But you look—

[... Yes, a nice way of asking this is nearly nonexistent.]

[She shakes her head gently from left to right.]

It's all right.

[Her voice is soft and her expression sad when she speaks but MOMO tries to be strong and in the next moment she's forcing her mouth to curve into a smile.]

I know. My daddy built me fourteen years ago but he died before I could meet him. I am the 100-Series Observational Prototype Unit. But- [Her lips press back into a frown.] I'd really like you to call me MOMO. I-

I don't like being called by my model number.

[He doesn't intend to make anyone so sad in company with him, and he feels a worried little blush color his expression; it may not be the way of the Cistercian, but he did not want to lead a pious life with a violent tongue, cursing damnation or calling heresy to whoever served against him. To him, monks should be a people of refuge, somewhere people like the mute can trust to be kind and safe.

Even if he can't understand what she means — can't comprehend what she is...

Even if she were a monster or demon in disguise, should he not be true to himself?]

I won't. I won't call you by anything but your name, Momo.

[She has been open with him about someone who has passed.

He... only feels right to do the same.]

I am glad you have one; I have a — I had a dear friend, and I knew him a very long time, but I never had a name for him. I used to call 'a chara!' for him, and he always came.

Edited (forgive my edits) 2018-11-01 19:34 (UTC)

[Her chin lifts and those vibrant amber eyes meet his as a smile spreads across her lips.] Really?! [MOMO claps her hands together with an excited air to her.]

Thank you!

[She bounces back fast, almost too fast given the situation.]

Really? Why not just give him a name? MOMO is the name that daddy gave me but I gave my friend Ziggy a name. [Names have a power, they can make people feel different things, and MOMO's name allowed her to feel like she was human or might be able to become human if she's good enough.]

What does 'a chara' mean?

... It means — dear friend; my friend.

['O, friend, would you like to fish with me in the ocean waves?'

And the Mute would raise an eyebrow at his eagerness, and follow anyway. Diarmuid was terrible at catching them — too excited to pull back the twine and hook, and they often let him have his meager fun while they took to baskets and nets and far more proficient means. He had almost been swept up when he was a boy, chest-high in the cold waters with his line, and that had been the first time the Mute plucked him from danger.

He had been scolded so terribly, but he knows Ciaran was just relieved not to lose him. Times like those, it made it easier and easier to accept the Mute into their monastery — Diarmuid prayed for him often, at Rua's recommendation.

His eyes burn a little, but he clears his throat and smiles at the girl, at ease despite himself.]

That was kind of you, to give someone a name; names are precious things.

My friend didn't speak, not in all the time I've known him. So I suppose I spoke for him.

Edited 2018-11-02 19:35 (UTC)

I think that everyone should have a name.

[Names are human.]

Why don't you give him a proper name?

['Friend' doesn't sound like it'd be a good name for a person. She didn't know them or what he looked like but they could have come up with a name for him if they tried.]

You were a good friend. I'm glad.

[Which is evident by the wide happy smile that shapes her lips.]

[He closes his eyes, and counts to five slowly — simply to keep himself from bowing under the weight of what happened in his world. Lord, give him strength to endure — forgive him for being so lost, and help him to cope, because... He can't... It's so hard to think of these things for long.]

He was a good friend... It was only right to be the best I could be, for him as well.

[His voice cracks a little, as he sinks into his cloak and stares holes into the tablecloth. His hands shiver in their large sleeves. What is this sudden wave of misery that clutches his heart so terribly? He feels if he doesn't focus on the tea set out before him with all his might, he may lose the ability to breathe.]

... I would not have reason to call for him again.

He — he passed recently, defending us from harm.

[He hasn't faced it. Any of it. It's too much.]

[MOMO stands and walks over to his side of the table. She gently places her hand over his and tries her best to smile for him.]

I understand. I'm sorry.

[She doesn't want to see him be sad. He's been so nice to her but humans die... it's what happens and even though you know it's going to happen, it's sad. It's never not sad.]

I know it isn't the same... but I'll be your friend if you want. You can call on me if you're lonely.

[Diarmuid's expression softens, wet eyes drawn to her hand before he looks back to her with a newfound and earnest thankfulness. He still feels so alone — lost and astray, without his family to guide him now. Rua, Cathal, Ciaran... the Mute. All of them lost to such senseless violence. Such bent and broken ideals. And now he's all on his own, left to do something with these terrible pieces inside him.

He puts his hand over theirs and squeezes carefully, allowing himself for a moment to succumb to his old ways and trust fully, with hope and appreciation and something nearly innocent again in his gaze.]

Thank you. Truly. I will do the same for you — that I will promise.

It's all so many of us can do, in times like these.

[MOMO is innocent. It's how she had been programmed but it's also the subtle influence of the consciousness sleeping inside of her. She doesn't want to see anyone sad or worried. Even if it's something small, she wants to help.

Being friends is something that she can do to help and she wants it. MOMO wants friends.]

Thank you.

[Her smile is wide and earnest.]

Did you try any of the cakes? They look delicious.

[His stomach growls fiercely as he studies the food and drink. Oh, he would love to eat the food. He feels the temptation crashing over him like a large wave, one he can hardly stay upright from. But if there's one thing he has honed his skill at, it is avoiding those earthly temptations — fasting of food or of something else prevalent in your life, it's a feat of faith, after all.

But it still makes his stomach hurt a little. He swallows hard, and resists.]

It may not be a wise idea, Momo... What if these are left here to tempt us?

We may be punished for our trespasses.

Tempt us?

[Her head cants to the side like a puppies as she look at the large table of teas and small cakes.] But why would they do that? [MOMO is very trusting and she can't come up with a reason why the cakes would be bad.]

I'm so hungry.

[Which if she stops and thinks about it, doesn't make a lot of sense.]

[He nods, and mumbles mostly to himself in bowed thought:]

"... Where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing during those days, and at the end of them he was hungry." [A pause, and then a sigh; oh, how he wished he could tell what was truly temptation or simply something at hand.] Sometimes people are presented temptations — by man or devil. It can be food, or the offer of something better, or cleaner health. But not all offers are kind and selfless.

[He glances at her, brow furrowed.]

I... fear... punishment from whoever created this bounty.

Do we know it to be from good hands? Kind hands?

Not eating for forty days will kill you.

[MOMO pauses thoughtfully.] You might survive if you still have access to water but I don't want you to die. [She's very practical and doesn't know anything about religion.]

We can leave if you want.

[She doesn't know that the door is locked.]

I would like that.

[Leaving, that is. It seems safer than lingering.]

If we can return to the town, perhaps we'll be in safer company.

[... Of course, when he moves to the door, the knob does not relent under the weight of his palm; he stares with some concern, shaking it futilely. This is the only door out, is it not? Someone must be toying with them.]

What is it?

[She steps towards the door and then stops and looks back at the table. Something about those cakes look better than before and without knowing the reason why, MOMO finds herself drawn to them.

She isn't used to feeling hungry or having these kind of desires and she has no idea how to stop them.]

Momo! You must resist!

[He reaches out, his hands gripping her forearm and shoulder, soft but resisting. He looks to the food, his stomach twisting up in knots and growling with reckless anger; the devil's work, perhaps? He licks his lips.]

I fear there's some bewitchment placed upon this food and drink.

We must find a way out instead; we mustn't let ourselves be carried away by overindulgence and indigestion. Surely there's a way out of here we can find.

[Her hand flinches back as Diarmuid's sharp words pierced through her perception. She blinks and looks back at him with an uncertain furrow knitting between her eyebrows.]

I-

[MOMO isn't sure what she's doing.]

There was a riddle, on the table. Maybe it's a clue? [She takes a step away from the table and the cakes and her stomach rumbles loudly. Diarmuid is right, she shouldn't eat the food but it's growing harder and harder for her to resist.]

I'm sorry.

[And she really means it. MOMO has no idea what's come over her.]

You need not ask pardon from me; I too feel the impulse to eat.

[He picks up the paper, looking over the words urgently; it's important, he's decided, to hurry and find clues to their escape, before the hunger becomes too much for them.]

I'm as small as an ant... as big as a whale. I'll approach like a breeze, but can come like a gale. By some I get hit, but all have shown fear. I'll dance to the music, though I can't hear. Of names I have many — of names I have one. I'm as slow as a snail, but from me you can't run.

What am I...?

[The hunger is hardly abated; if anything, it makes it hard to think straight.

But try they must. He holds it out to her, determined to keep her focused.]

What do you make it it? This riddle?

[She tries to listen but her thoughts keep turning towards the delicious cakes on the table. What if she only has one? Or what if she just tries the icing of one?

MOMO forces her thoughts away and tries to think of the riddle. She's good at these kinds of things but it takes focus.]

As small as an ant and big as a whale. [She starts in a soft sweet voice.] Well, what do both ants and whales have? [Then they can narrow down the list as they go through the rest of the riddle.]

They both have life in them. Both're living.

... But I don't think that's it. Maybe something like it?

... Do ants breathe? Have they lungs, or something else? Might it be the wind?

[He's racking his mind for something, Momo, he swears it.]

Um... I don't think the wind is very slow. It's also used in the riddle but maybe something like that. [She places her hand thoughtfully on her chin as she goes through similar but different descriptors of the two animals.]

Ants aren't mammals like whales are.

[They do both technically breath air.]

What about...

A shadow? There is a fairy tail about a man named Peter who lost his shadow.