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soddersays2019-07-27 01:49 pm
sodder) wrote in soddersays2019-07-27 01:49 pm
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AUGUST 2019 TEST DRIVE MEME
AUGUST 2019 TEST DRIVE MEME
Welcome to August's Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: DYSTOPIAN 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: Physical violence, monster violence, creepy ogre-like monster in link, being hunted by a monster.
Don't forget to tag content whenever necessary. Have fun!
BLOOD IN MY VEINS
With supplies low and food getting even more scarce, things in Deerington, Maine seem to be getting that much more tense. For those who pay attention to the habits of the townspeople, there’s something that might add to that feeling of stress; all of them seem to be involved in some kind of physical training, whether it’s archery, hand-to-hand combat, or fighting with firearms, they all seem like they’re getting ready for something and it definitely feels like it might be something big.But no one wants to train against a townsperson - it’s highly likely they’re not going to fight fair with the way they’re all glaring at the Sleepers, as though they’re to blame for everything that’s been going on. Unless you’re sparring with people in your own backyard though, it seems like there isn’t any space to get your own training in.
The Betties are starting to pop up around town pretty regularly, waiting until they find Sleepers on their own, and quietly waving for them to come closer. “You need to prepare,” they’ll whisper to you in hushed urgency, before grabbing your hand to try and get you to follow them. If you fight, they’ll insist only once more, before leaving you alone. But there’s something inside of you urging you to comply and follow.
They’ll lead you down an alley, pushing aside a large dumpster, and revealing a trap door in the middle of the concrete. You’ve never noticed it before, even if you’ve been down this alley a hundred times. The Betty leading you leans down, pulling it open, and the ladder that goes into the tunnel is long and dimly lit. You could leave now, but the Betty will insist this is for the best.
“Knock twice. No more or less. Show them what you’re made of.”
Once you get to the bottom of the ladder, there’s an equally long hallway that leads towards a closed metal door. You knock twice and the door shakes before sliding open. The light that comes through is almost blinding with how bright it is compared to the dim tunnel, but as your eyes adjust, you can finally step in to a fully stocked training room.
There are instructors in basics for beginners, areas for intermediate, and most abundantly there are one-on-one sparring areas. The moment you come close enough, you’ll be immediately paired with another Sleeper, and the two of you will be locked in the room together to be observed. You could choose to not fight, of course, but you’ll be stuck there for a good long while if you do. It might be best to just get it over and done with.
So feel free to help others who seem to be struggling or show off your strength for everyone to see. It looks like everyone is going to need to be ready for some kind of fight.
I AM THE GREAT UNKNOWN
Maybe you got knocked out during a fight or maybe you fell asleep in your own bed - or maybe you don’t even remember closing your eyes at all, especially if you don’t usually have the ability to go unconscious for one reason or another. No matter the cause, everyone will wake up in the same place, surrounded by tall, thick hedges in the middle of a... maze?It doesn’t take you long to realize you aren’t the only one waking up, too. Someone is next to you and it seems like you’re stuck finding your way out of here together. Literally. On each of your wrists is a metal cuff with a long chain connecting them. It can’t be broken, no matter how strong a person is or how powerful a weapon or spell they try to use against it. You’re in this together whether you want to be or not.
Once you can pick a direction to head in, it seems like this might almost be boring - that is until you start to hear the sounds of rustling leaves and breaking twigs. At first it seems like it might just be a trick to spook you, but the more you ignore it, the louder it gets, until finally you see it, charging down the row at you, scythe raised and ready to strike.
You can try to fight, of course, but it’s hard when you’re chained to one another. Learn to work together quickly and maybe you can make it work. It seems to go down with normal attacks, though it takes a long time to get the creature to fall unless you cut off the head. Ultimately your best interest might be set in running as fast as you can to get away. You can lose it in the maze if you’re quick about it. But then you might also be lost yourself.
If you do manage to lose the monster rather than killing it, stay quiet and you might not attract its attention again. It may take a while to find the end of the maze. The hedges feel like they stretch on forever and the sun is blaring down. You’d think there would be shade with all the height of the bushes, but there’s no relief from the heat. Hopefully you don’t burn easy.
When you get to the end of the maze, the two of you will come up on three doors. One door will lead out of the maze and back into the center of Deerington, cuff free. Another door will lead you right back to the beginning, forcing you to start again. And what’s behind door number three...?
The monster, of course.
Choose wisely.
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.
no subject
she stares at him, wide and suede-clad and uncertain what her impression of the stranger is. she feels disdain toward most adults, but it's nothing personal — she dislikes most people in general.
something passes over Lydia then, a wave of knowledge, that Barbara would remind her not to judge every book by its cover, even if you haven't liked most books you've seen so far. she's stuck with someone she doesn't know; it's natural to be guarded, but Lydia has to clearly remind herself not to spiral inward about it.
so she moves to stand, smoothing the dirt off her dark clothes, which already feel warm in the forceful sunlight. ) Can you break them? I would've, but I left my bolt cutters at home. ( in reality, Lydia was trying to soften the mood with a joke. instead, it lands awkwardly, and it wouldn't be crazy to think she might have sounded a little sarcastic. with her averted eyes, it could be difficult to tell what she intended with that. )
no subject
Come on, Wrench, wake the fuck up.
He jams the cuff as far up his wrist as his hand will allow and growls in frustration. The pain of the friction burn seems real enough, and he can smell the rusty metal that binds them. Unless he's smelling his own blood, but he can't find the thread to follow out and back up to the last place he remembers consciousness actually leaving him. Wrench makes a fist and jerks the chain in frustration, which might send the woman stumbling to compensate for the bit of slack that's taken up between them. At least he has the good sense to look guilty at that when he realizes.]
Sorry, [he circles his chest with his right fist, and just that small action tugs her left arm again to comply. This has got to be a dream. Only his own mind could invent so many different rationales for binding up his hands like he hates most. Wrench squints over the hedges and shrugs. What can they do but start walking?]
(every tag is just me waiting to see how long before she realizes he probably can't hear her omg)
she allows her attention to scan their surroundings a little more — monkey see, monkey do — since Mister Man is all about that right now. he's dressed like maybe he knows how to survive like an animal does, which is leaps and bounds away from a negative impression. animals seem to be a lot smarter than people, and on a fairly regular basis.
the chain jangles with about as much irritation as the man grunts with suddenly, and that alone snaps Lydia's attention back around. she stares as if unaware of manners momentarily, eyes slowly widening with concern, but also some anticipation, at an attempt of brute strength. Mister Man is genuinely trying to just...intimidate the cuff into giving way for him, holy crap.
too bad it doesn't work. he eventually relents first, and Lydia seems to deflate with him, shoulders relaxing, eyelids drooping back down to dejection.
well, he speaks his first word to her, which is kind of something. she presses her lips in and shrugs. ) If it helps, I was pretty convinced you were going to break solid metal with your bare hands. ( she might sound sarcastic, but really, it would have been slightly amazing.
Lydia is jerked easily when he pulls his arm, and you best believe she's looking pretty irritated about it. ) Jeez, watch the arm.
( they wander down together, because Lydia kind of can't do anything except follow him, and they reach an end that stretches into a T, left and right. ) It looks like a maze. ( Lydia has to squint through the harsh sun, lifting a hand up over her eyes. )
—Wait. ( something sighs, shifts at a distance. through the walls of hedges, it's difficult to tell where it comes from. unconsciously, her small hand grips the chain that traces against her fingertips, pulls on it slightly. ) Did you hear that?
no subject
[He's built for physicality and intimidation, and everything from the way he dresses to the manner in which he conducts himself is a reflection of what he knows. It's really not that difficult, when the wondering is a weapon unto itself. Combine the man's stature with his preferred language, and people have either been picking fights to prove their own worth or cutting him a wide berth for most of his life. It used to upset him, until he learned to make it work for him. Until the first time Grady held someone at the edge of his knife then turned to Wrench and started lamenting his high score in fucking Galaga. Cutting wide arcs through the air with the blade of his knife to imitate the path of his ship, and imitating shooting. The fool hadn't known the difference. What's more, he'd thought Wrench had saved him.
People assume a lot of stupid shit, in the absence of answers. And the burly, silent man makes a good place for any willing party to project their thoughts onto. Wrench is used to the worst of them, but he's learned to work that to his advantage. Except there's nothing advantageous about being bound by an unbreakable chain to a stranger whose intentions he hasn't quite figured out. When she walks he walks, and he's glad enough it's that easy for now. At least he thinks so, and so he pays no mind to the heaviness of his boot-clad footfalls, the weight of his breath, or the clacking chain between them.
He pays so little attention, in fact, that he doesn't stop when his compatriot does, and her anchored body causes him to give her a firmer tug. Wrench throws up his hands -- more rattling chain sounds -- and turns to her. "What?" his expression seems to ask, shoulders shrugged, palms open and expectant.
Several yards off a bird flies from a tangle of branches, dropping needles with its hasty retreat. The motion catches Wrench's eye and he yanks the length of the chain to reel the young woman behind him.]
no subject
( Lydia is built for...probably making people concerned, or uncomfortable. withdrawn and prickly, and featuring all of the judgement a teenager naturally possesses. she's a good kid, but socially weary. her attempts at fights are by word, and are nothing more than half-hearted snipes. any of her skills aren't really applicable in a potential survival situation such as this. put her in New York, and it's a different story.
basically, if you want to be a ghost, then that might be her claim to something. if she has any intentions, they're likely centered around getting the hell out of here.
the man, nearly a whole foot taller than Lydia, nearly pitches her off her feet before he realizes the need to stop. he wordlessly sasses her, and it's so thorough as to nearly prove itself impressive. Lydia stares at him, brow pinching upward in the middle, irritated and confused. ) Is it like, difficult to hear me from all the way up there...? ( does she need to send smoke signals or something?
he isn't looking at her again. Lydia's hands swing up swiftly only to fall again, slapping her sides, her lacy-shawl drifting like a delayed reaction.
until a notion crosses her mind... )
...Can you even—? ( but her question is cut short by the shuffling that sounds...considerably closer...
Lydia nearly goes flying this time, by the chain latched to her arm, around the man's form. her hands plant on his back for something to brace herself onto with the strikingly sudden momentum, releasing something of a commotion out of her in surprise. ) Hey, I'm not a rag doll!
( when she peers around the man, she sees nothing, but hears something new: stomping footfalls. they don't echo, simply fall on the mutable earth, but something grazes against the evergreen needles of these green barriers as it moves. Lydia's expression goes lax, eyes rounding. words spring onto her tongue, but she's caught in a silent trap between the tail-end of her thought before, and a newly-rising sense of dread.
until it rounds the turn, ugly and large, almost obscene in composition. its beady little red eyes that peer through a roughly hewn mask settle on the both of them. Lydia's heart lunges so hard against the inside of her sternum, it nearly makes her sick.
her small hands grip in a base reaction, one into the back of the man's coat, the other on the chain linking them, jerking with more might than she would have thought was possible for her. when words finally come, they speak themselves, her awareness of them frightfully nil: ) What is that?
no subject
[Wrench is a utilitarian sort of fellow, fringe leather jacket notwithstanding. He trusts the girl will come to realize sooner than later that his actions are intended to keep the both of them safe, even if his means of imposing them is light on the instruction. He doesn't much seem to care for her assessment of the unfolding scene the way he carves that physical barrier out of his own chest. When he feels a gentle hand take hold at the small of his back he squares his shoulders. There's no doubt now she can see what his bulk is built on, the truth of the mass. It's all material. Layer after layer of fabric intended to help him cut a more imposing figure.
Despite that deception, Wrench hates the ones who think they're artful. He's had a lifetime's fill of the animal masks, the calling cards, the men who speak in riddle and rhyme. He doesn't trust those who make the killing itself into something for them to say. It's a level of hubris he can't abide, so he instantly disdains the hunched, red-eyed man draped in mask and loincloth. It's among the strangest of what he's seen, and he wastes no energy puzzling out the particular insanity of a man who models himself after a children's book of fantasy.
There's no space in his mind for this to be anything but the deformed image of a man twisted by his own need for self-importance. That in itself might say something about the week Wrench is having, when red-eyed men holding scythes are almost justifiable. He reaches for his gun as if by reflex before realization overcomes him. The hopeful grasp rattles the chain between himself and the young woman, and he spares her a look over his shoulder. Fighting the man while shackled to an adolescent seems as foolish as futile. Wrench has to hope that she can run.]
no subject
( meanwhile, Lydia can't decide if this is a manifestation of what childhood illustrations gleefully dumbed down for hundreds of years, or if this is just a joke. she would love to shrug her shoulder and say 'cool, how many yard sales did you have to poach for this much garbage?' but there is something visceral about the sight that tells Lydia...this feels just too real to laugh at. things like this only ever look terrifying in the dark, where rough details are soften and obscured — in broad daylight, assembled monsters look cheap, goofy.
this is nothing like that.
it curls its lip up and snarls, almost...excitedly. it's unsettling, it's creepy, and Lydia doesn't enjoy understanding on an unconscious level what she thinks could be its intentions; for something so foreign, she swears she can see a welling anger, as much as a ravenous hunger.
hell no to that.
she wouldn't know much better, being fourteen and all, but pressed behind this giant man like one of the Scooby gang peering around a hallway corner, she doesn't know if he has any weapons on him, and all Lydia has to her name is her camera. the weight gathers around her neck, dense with meaning to her, the absolute last thing she wants to turn into a projectile weapon.
so, their options are few, and clear. it's known as soon as their focused gazes click together, as if on cue. )
—Come on!! ( her fingers claw and grip into his coat, her hand grips his wide wrist, and she pulls on him with every ounce of her adrenaline-fueled might. the creature lets out a guttural roar in reply to her shrill voice, and all she can process now is the blinding view ahead of her, how fast her feet slam on the dirt path, and how the harshly stomping sound barreling yards behind them threatens to match the furied tempo of her running...of their feet, rushing, out of sync.
they stop at a new turn, the path giving them a choice, and Lydia turns without thought — and finds herself whipping back, the chain catching her and momentum bouncing like a rubber band back toward the large man. she doesn't even think he does more than stand there, and that's enough to send her reeling back, knocking into his front.
also, wow, that hurts, as it turns out.
Lydia winces through the aching protest in her shoulder, looks down the left and right — one side is shadier than the other, given the height of the walls and the direction of the sun, it gives just a sliver of shadow. Lydia presses a hand into the walls, the manicured and shaped evergreen; the branches are tightly knit, but they still give under some force.
she has an idea. ) —This way, ( Lydia insists, grabbing at his arm, pulling him toward the right. ) Please, can we just—? ( listen to her? trust her? jesus, just humor her, if that's possible right now. )
no subject
It's no surprise Wrench wasn't a great match for any of his peers even at that age. He's always outranked the majority in size. Either they conform to his wide gait or he finds himself shuffling with tentative half-steps that are almost enough to drive him to an impatient sort of fury. It's the least of the ways that Wrench folds into himself and shrinks to find a place in a world that isn't built for his utility.
He could pick her up and carry her under his arm like a football. It wouldn't even be that difficult. Wrench spares it some consideration as he strains himself to keep up with her pace rather than insist his own. If this is a test meant to teach him some lesson in morality that someone thinks him absent of, deference is hardly the skill he needs practice with. He's got that one down to an art form.
While it's not his natural inclination to put his faith in a child, he can't forget what he faced at an even younger age than she looks to be now. Her insistence seems desperate, but that's nothing to say she doesn't know what she's doing. When she gives another tug at his arm he relents with a nod and gestures to her to lead the way. As she does, Wrench scouts the area behind them, but for the time they seem to have lost the eyeline of whatever thing is stalking them.]
no subject
they round the corner and she presses up flush against the wall, where the sun cuts just enough shade to stand within. it feels cold, not out in the direct sun, but this frantic adrenaline makes it impossible to appreciate it when Lydia's skin stings with terror. she pulls part of her clothing apart, a dark lace shawl, and throws it up at the man's head. or, tries to. he's just so tall, how does he live?
the chain between them is suddenly clamped to a mute, soundless, as she gathers it up in one hand. it forces her more immediately closer to the other, but that's just a price to pay. she looks at him and motions for him to throw the obscuring shawl over himself before she pushes him — just straight up pushes him to stand as closely as possible into the evergreen shrub. Lydia is quick to demonstrate as she turns to push through the pinelike scented green, only managing to force about halfway in, but between her dark dress and just enough give, she's at least partially disguised.
sure, the guy with her is bigger, but — she's going out on a limb here, okay?
the monster's feet stop short. it snarls, it takes a couple more steps, but it's still too far to call close while lingering at that turn, struck between two options, and suddenly...it might sound as if...it doesn't know which one to take. it wanders in uneven directions, sounds as if it strays gradually closer, and closer.
Lydia wants to peer around the corner...god, of course human stupidity wants to kick in and send her stretching around this corner, just a few feet away, to know which direction it's considering. but she shouldn't, and she won't.
instead, she glances to her other side, to look at Mister Man. he hasn't said anything, and she can't read him at all. well. especially with the shawl over his head.
the steps scrape slowly, and Lydia stands, tense — anticipatory. it feels like forever, it feels endless, and it's at most a handful of seconds. it hurts to stifle her quickened breaths, makes her ribs feel like they're going to snap around her swelling lungs. the sounds don't hasten, and don't grow in volume, but...decrease.
when she looks at the man, definitively, she points past him, down the untraveled path, and carefully steps outward. clutching the metallic chain in hand, she's virtually hand-in-hand with the man. her other alabaster hand, with a stark image of a deer skull and antlers over her narrow knuckles, lifts to press a single finger to her lips. )
no subject
Yet what's the alternative? To drag her out of her burrow by force and insist they escape it on foot? He's got nothing on him to attack at range, and Wrench isn't sure he's up to another fistfight shackled at the wrist to a stranger. So, he tries to tuck into himself. To make a smaller picture of what he's learned over a lifetime to use to his advantage.
He can sense her strain at his side, and the stillness she works to adopt. It's a wordless reminder to Wrench, who puts his tongue between his teeth and does his best to forget to breathe. He wishes he knew what sense the creature hunts by; is is the sharp, fruity smell of the bushes that will protect them, or their manufactured silence, or concealment of body heat? What has the best chance of keeping them protected?
Wrench, like the woman, is crawling out of his own skin to take a peek. He can't rightly say if they've stood there for one minute or five when she finally tugs his attention back around and gives a point. He pays the direction of her indication a moment of long consideration and nods. If nothing, it's bought them some time. They may not be able to play this cat-and-mouse game forever, but it's a window of opportunity to think and to be strategic. He rolls his eyes at her reminder, looking every bit the teenager himself, but nods some assurance of silence.]