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

[ William says nothing to that—it's as though the other man's thoughts have grazed his own. Stung or struck or something more tender. If he spoke now, he's not sure what would pour out of him, so he doesn't. Just takes a breath, watches Hickey attentively. He gives a rueful little smile at the request.

That's the catch, isn't it? He'd planned to keep the details to himself. Give Hickey the sparsest facts. Anyone could guess how it goes anyway—a man, a woman, time alone. The what is unremarkable.

He hesitates, considers for an insane moment telling someone else, this not wholly strange stranger, what kissing her felt like. His eyes fall back to the train car. ] The train's carrying nitroglycerin. [ His voice is soft, almost shy—designed to slip into conversations unnoticed. Beneath that, though, there's an eagerness. ]

And for the first few hours—he feels it like it's his own bones. The rattle and rumble, the screech of the [ a pause as, smiling, William digs for the word ] wheels, I guess.

It could go up like that. [ He raises his hand in front of his face and gives a single decisive snap of his fingers. Then swipes the hand across his mouth, covering another smile. ] They're plunging into hostile territory. The man running the show, um, El Lazo. He's a notorious outlaw. His name's traveled farther than the wind. He's betrayed them once already.

And she sits, looking out the window, and she tells him—she's a rancher's daughter. Not a fighter, not... [ William turns the doll over in his hands. He's been wrapped up in his own story, but now his voice goes soft again. ] In the middle of all this, she tells him, with such calm, with more certainty than he's ever managed to feel about anything, that she isn't going back to her old life.

[ He lets out a sigh. Rolls his shoulders back and looks to Hickey, suddenly self-conscious. He gives an apologetic twist of a smile. ]

[Hickey's learned to watch and read people from afar, attune himself to their little movements and tells. He's seen William's style of servility before in countless people: maids, cooks, servants to the noble and the wealthy. He'd seen it in Gibson and Tozer, in all his little members of the revolution, and learned there's often more to be found scurrying beneath the surface.

It's again like all those exhibitions he used to attend in London, shows with the aim of bringing the foreign and exotic to the masses. Showing the style of the thing without the real essence of it. This story has something of that in it, not in the sense that William is insincere but in the sense that there's something too picturesque about it.

He snorts when William repeats Dolores's words, but his eyes remain focused intently on the other man. He can understand that ambition, wanting to shed your old life like snake skin and push forward towards something new.]

Do they escape? [He's honest in his curiosity and he doesn't want to interrupt the story.]

[ The snort draws Hickey abruptly into focus—a hitch in the flow of the story, its scope expanding to encompass the other man. William's eyes snap him up.

There's more: the standoff with an army of defectors, a dreamscape sketched in charcoal then laid out in front of them, brilliant with color, testing the horizon. The sound of a loosed arrow, the sound as it finds its target.

There's what he said back to her.

The truth is disappointing. William doesn't, can't know if they escape—he's here. He takes a moment mustering the words, putting off the fizzling-out of the story. Then he remembers (something else Dolores said, that alley, blood on the wall): the story's his. ] Yes. [ And saying it, he believes it, feels something in his chest unknot.

William's gaze slips free of Hickey's; his twinge of a smile reappears. ] It's the how I'm still working on.

[ He sets the doll back in the train car, touches a finger to her head to steady her. He'd thought of taking her from room to room, as though that might be the way to solve this place—figure out where she fits. It doesn't seem important anymore. It's just a doll. ]