DECEMBER 2019 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to December's Test Drive Meme!

This month's Test Drive's theme is: PROPHETIC 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: Possible death via exposure (freezing), Krampus imagery, possible vore, visual and auditory hallucinations, monster violence, stalking, decapitation

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

Prompt One Prompt Two Character Arrival Master Navigation

VANISH LIKE THE WARM STOVE

Winter has set in in Deerington and it’s as harsh as one would expect for the frigid mountains of inland Maine. There’s snow on the ground, icicles hanging off of most buildings, and black ice all over the roads. Better be careful where you step or you might just slip and hurt yourself while you’re walking around town!

But there’s something unusual about the cold. It feels bone-deep and no amount of layers or staying inside seems to make it shake. Your teeth are always chattering, you feel the need to hunch in on yourself to keep any heat from escaping, and if you look at your hands, you might see them go from bright red, to white, to even the slightest tint of blue throughout the day. You’re getting colder by the minute and it feels like there’s no way to stop it. Maybe you’re just doomed to freeze.

The box is waiting on a bench. You didn’t see who placed it, but there’s a small tag with your name on it, so clearly it was meant for you. If you ignore the box, it will start to show up on random surfaces around town wherever you might be; the kitchen counter, a desk or display case at your work, the floor of your bedroom… No matter where you are, the box is there too. Eventually, you might as well just give in and open it.

Inside every box are three matches. They’re relatively long, like the sort you’d use to light a fire in a fireplace, and they appear to be completely normal. People who can sense magic won’t get a reading off of the match and no amount of testing the wood or the tip will show anything other than the exact chemical make up one would expect. So maybe they’re safe! There’s a small note tucked inside the box with only two words written in childishly messy scroll; Keep Warm.

If you light the match, you’ll find that you’re instantly starting to feel a little less cold. It’s the first bit of heat you’ve managed to snag in so long that you’ll probably find yourself a little desperate to hold onto it. The matches burn at a relatively steady rate, not too fast or too slow, and the wind can easily blow them out, so be careful! You’ll have to protect the flame from the elements if you want to keep yourself toasty. The only strange thing that you might notice is that whenever you’re near another person who has a lit match, both the matches seem to burn a little stronger and stay lit a little longer. So maybe you’ll have to pair up and learn to share. If you’re smart, you’ll light just one of each of your matches at a time, giving you a total of six chances to keep yourself from freezing to death.

There’s always a catch though, isn’t there? Each match will come with a unique vision as the flame dies out. A vision that can be seen by both of you. The vision will belong to whoever’s match as burning and it will be as vibrant and detailed as if you were really in the middle of it.

The end of the first match will show you something you want. It can be anything; a warm meal, a new bed, an object from home you’ve longed for. You’ll be able to pick it up, taste it, smell it, do whatever you would normally do; but at the end of the day, it isn’t real, and ultimately you might find that you’re just chewing on your own (or your companion’s) hand.

The end of the second match will show a vision of someone that you miss. Whether it’s from home, a previous world, or someone who’s come and gone from Deerington, you’ll see them clear as day, calling for you and beckoning you to come with them. It’s probably best to not. After all, you’d have to leave your matches behind, and it’s cold out there.

The end of the third match will show you a vision of somewhere you miss. It’ll be like you’re standing in the middle of the very place you’ve been longing for ever since you arrived in Deerington — maybe even longer. It’ll look, sound, smell, and feel like the place you’ve missed most. It’s almost easy to want to stay and forget to come back to reality and light your next match.

If you both can make the six matches stretch until the sun sets, you’ll find that the cold has finally broken, and you’re able to keep yourself warm again. If you don’t? Well, it’s time to find someone else with a bundle of matches, and hope they’re okay with some basic invasion of privacy to stop you both from getting hypothermia.

BETTER WATCH OUT

Have you been a good person this year? Probably not! This is Deerington after all and everyone’s got a sin or two they’ve committed that they’ve been carrying around some deep shame about. Whether it’s something you’ve done here or something you did back home, the things your character feels guilt over will start to plague them more and more frequently as of late. Maybe you’ll start to see small little snippets of the memory flash before your eyes, or hear the voices of the people you’ve hurt calling out to you for mercy. No matter how it manifests, it’ll be gnawing at your insides, growing more and more impossible to ignore.

It might just be the paranoia from having to flashback to your worst memories at all hours of the day, but eventually you start to feel like someone (or something) is following you. You hear the scrape of nails against cement, the thud of heavy footsteps, or the sound of a heavy sigh by your ear accompanied with the smell of rancid breath. But every time you go to look, it seems like there isn’t anything there. No matter how logical a person you might be, you still end up feeling a little on edge, and you know you’re right about being… well, stalked. You may not be the sort who usually goes for comfort from others, but something inside of you tells you that maybe you’ll be a little safer if you aren’t alone. You seek out a friend, a colleague, or even a complete stranger— just someone who might make this creeping suspicion of being watched go away for a little while.

Except the moment that the two of you are together, Krampus finally arrives. He seems to fall from the sky, landing in front of you with a ground shaking thud, his long tongue hanging out of a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. He’s ever bit the demon you’d expect him to be and he looks hungry. You can try to run or you can try to fight, but he’s quick and strong, certainly hard for any normal human to take down. And if you look into his eyes, then things are about to get a whole lot worse.

Whoever locks eyes with him will have the very thing you have been feeling guilt over put on display for both you and your companion to see. It’ll be like you’ve been transported directly into the memory, Krampus’ clawed hand gripping your shoulders and forcing you to watch whatever your shame is play out in front of you all over again. The detail is striking and there’s nothing left out, no matter how hard you or your companion try to stop it.

When the memory stops playing, Krampus will start to move his tongue around you, wrapping you in the long, blood red muscle like it’s a snake. You can try to break free and it’s possible to cut the demon’s tongue with a sharp blade if you or your companion happens to have one; whatever you do, it’s best to do it quickly before you end up a snack.

Krampus can be taken down in one of two ways; either the person who is experiencing the guilt must confess their sin out loud and profusely apologize, begging for forgiveness for their misdeeds or he can be taken down in a somewhat simple ceremony. The chains dangling from the Krampus wrists must be grabbed and somehow secured into the ground; this will weaken Krampus greatly and leave him more vulnerable to attack. Once he is secured, you must take off his head. It doesn’t matter if it’s cut off, ripped off or blown off, the moment the neck is severed from the rest of the body, the Krampus will turn a deep black, like coal, before crumbling into dust, leaving only the head behind.

A little messy, but definitely efficient.

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

[ Thing is—comfortable how is not a question that occurs to him. He knows the comfort of preparedness, of taking stock and having a plan in place. Of provisions and alarms.

Of a shelter there to retreat into like an escape hatch from your own damn head.

He gives a ruminative: ] Uh-huh. [ And on its heels, dryly: ] Don't suppose you've given any thought to investing in a lighter.

[ When she points out the mask, he looks left and then right. It seems deliberate. It's not, at any rate, accompanied by any fidgeting, any extraneous movement. ] Reflectatine. Protects against psychic backlash from extradimensional events. [ Such as, you know. Showing up here.

His gaze—such as it is, the silvered-over eye sockets each cupping a tiny reflection of her—returns to her. Slowly and distinctly, in the manner of a zookeeper at the lion's cage, he adds: ] Please do not touch it.

Ever seen Wild Wild West movies? They light a match on the bottom of their boot or between clenched morals? I’ve always wanted an excuse to try.

[ He doesn’t really look like the type of man who appreciates bizarre lines of thought— or rather sounds— the mask is doing a very good job hiding whatever is underneath. And is it ever a mask. A pretty shiny thing. Villanelle leans forward, eyes bright. Like telling a child not to pull the bottom card out of a card tower. ]

What would happen? An electric surge? A curse? Can it do that?

Where I'm from, we just call those movies. [ Is that a joke? His tone is nearly as opaque as the mask. A moment later, though, and it's steeled: ] You don't touch it, you ain't gotta worry about it.

[ He gives no physical reaction to the increased proximity. The naked scrutiny. Behind the mask, he's returning the favor, looking into those bright eyes, studying the nuances of expression. He takes his time before speaking again. ] Your matches. Did they come with a note?

[ Her smile is good natured but the temperature behind her eyes drops several degrees. Maybe even a hint of some sort of plan forming there. People always commented on her youthful face and fancy high quality clothes. That always seemed to be enough to disguise the slightly deranged look of someone wanting to rip wings off a fly. But people here seem to come in a higher caliber. Used to dealing with people exactly like her. ]

In that case I won’t even dream to try.

[ She leans back, attention breaking as she thinks over that question, twisting her hands to warm them up. ]

A name that I have no interesting in anymore. With a note about using them to keep warm. Of course, none of us are that stupid.

[ She's pretty. He notes it abstractly—it's just barely adjacent to what he's interested in, which is the guile glimmering beneath. Her demeanor thus far has reminded him of no one so much as Agent Blake, a playfulness that isn't precisely cruel and isn't precisely not. The poking and prodding at people's buttons masking, he suspects, the desire to tear everything down.

She's not, however, lying. ] I appreciate that. [ Said with a dip of the head. His voice is wry: it is a provisional appreciation, subject to revocation.

He steps back, hunching his shoulders. As though her commenting on the cold has intensified it. It's true that he's loath to use the matches. On the other hand, he already ate the fucking food. Never a good idea, not from a realistic nor mythological standpoint. ] Did you keep em? [ The note, the tag.

There's really no point in asking—not her, not himself—what kind of person has a name they've got no use for anymore. ]

[ She keeps her smile careful and tight, mostly just assessing. People didn’t walk around with masks just because so she’s doubtful that his questions aren’t self serving in some way. Showing her hand is something that always makes her bristle.

But slowly after a moment she reaches into her jacket pocket, fingers tinged slightly blue, and withdraws the packet of matches. She flips over the card to show the writing, but her fingers obscure the last letters of the useless name. Oks followed by the stay warm scribble. ]

Assholes. I don’t really care to be told what to do.

[ If that isn’t glaring obvious from the bully vibes rolling off her. She tucks the notes back away and draws out a single match with those fingers instead. ]

Why? Did you want to see me light it up?

[ He pulls off one of his gloves—the hand inside is human, red with cold—brings out his own note and accompanying nametag (Wade T). He shuffles no closer than necessary to hold it side by side with hers. ] I thought I'd compare the penmanship. [ It's the same. Handwritten, by the looks of it. Which is a troublesome thought, somebody scrawling the same warning or admonishment or threat over and over. No wonder it's so sloppy.

And—not that he believes she'll accept, but because he's curious, now, how high a price she'll put on that name: ] Give you a match for it.

[ Without any sign of hurry, he returns the papers to his pocket, the glove to his hand. Flexes his fingers a few times before sticking his hands in his pockets. Head tipped back ever so slightly, he affords the match and its wielder equal consideration. ] Did you want me to dare you?

[ He’s got her number quickly. A dare. she’ll be damned if she’s ever turned one of those down. ]

You’re on, cowboy.

[ She shifts her fingers over to reveal her real, and rejected, name. Oksana. ]

It’s not as nice as the one I wear now. My tastes run far more expensive than such a common commodity.

[ The comment might be a reference to the perfume sold in high-end stores in Europe, the brand name Villanelle scrawled across a fancy label in elegant curved script. The name she decided to steal for her own. Or maybe a comment that she’s evolved from the bedraggled girl living just outside Moscow. Someone different. Someone now worth a killing in encrypted currencies.

She extends her hand with a little flourish of her fingers. A self satisfied smile in place too. ]

You can lay it in my palm.

[ With none of her dramatics, he takes the card. ] Oksana. [ Aside from his accent, which turns every word to taffy, it's a fair approximation. He's not throwing the name in her face—on the contrary, it's just a little bit delicate, the way he says it. He watches her while it lingers in the air. Trying to see, maybe, where it does and doesn't fit.

Then, as promised, he extracts a single long match from one of his coat's inner pockets and sets it in her hand. ] Take your time.