JANUARY 2020 TEST DRIVE MEME

[sodder]

JANUARY 2020 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to January's Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: OCEAN 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.

PLEASE NOTE FOR CHARACTER ARRIVALS: This month, all players can choose to have their characters wake up in the town of Deerington or on the Titanic.

CW: Ghost of a child, rotting corpses, drowning, hallucinations, paranoia
Don't forget to tag content whenever necessary. Have fun!

Prompt One
Prompt Two
Character Arrival
Master Navigation

WHERE FEET MAY FAIL

For those who were left behind in Deerington while everyone else was whisked away in the flood during the New Years Eve party, they will find that the town is a little more wet than usual. The streets are still flooded, houses are damp, and the chill of winter isn't making it easy to deal with. Your hands can feel like ice any day of the week and it's hard to focus with how badly you may find yourself trembling from the cold.

But it's almost preferable to the visions. They start off while you're sleeping; large sea monsters roaming the ocean, waiting to pull you down into the darkened depths; or maybe it's a strange, ghost looking girl with glowing eyes and tattered clothing, her skin blue and rotting the way a body does when it's been submerged in water for too long. She's calling out to you, beckoning you down, and all around her are the strung up, floating corpses of the people who were foolish enough to listen.

It's just a dream though, right? Slowly you start to see the girl around town. She's still calling to you, watching you, waiting for you. If you get too close, she'll even be able to grab onto you, pulling you down into the waterlogged streets, and into what you thought was only a puddle of water. It's as deep as an ocean, and just as dark and cold too. Someone near by can grab onto you before she can drag you under and the vision will disappear. If no one does, maybe if you're a strong swimmer, you'll be able to struggle free, but when you resurface, there will be a bruise forming on your arm in the shape of a hand – something to remind you that maybe these visions are a little more real than you gave them credit for.

The only way to stay safe is to travel in pairs. The girl seems to keep her distance when there's more than one person around, but it doesn't mean she won't try to find the means to separate you. Whether it's increasing the flooding in certain areas of the street or trying to distract one of you long enough to put some distance between you and your comrade, she'll do whatever it takes to try and grab onto whoever she can.

GHOST SHIP

Those who are on the boat might find that life is a little easier, depending on what class you've found yourself in. The struggles between first, second, and third are certainly rough on everyone, but many seem to find themselves thinking this is just the way of things. Maybe your mind has been altered to just accept the class differences or your memories completely rewritten and you think you've led a completely different life so far; either way, only a handful of passengers seem to fully understand that this isn't the way things are supposed to be.

There's nothing anyone can do to change things, though, and so many find themselves getting lost in day to day activities. Whether it's working on the ship, enjoying the finer foods in the first class dining halls, or enjoying the rowdy parties in third class storage after hours, everyone seems to be finding something to keep themselves occupied. As the days pass, even those who know full well what's coming seem to forget the looming doom, and you might even find yourself feeling lost in the monotony of day to day life.

But those who stare into the water too long, who look at the strange, large shapes swimming just under the surface might find a sense of dread filling them. The paranoia will shake you to your very core, leaving you with a sense that all is not right with this journey. You can try to tell people, but most will look at you as though you're insane. Eventually, your fear will become so heavy that you start to see destruction all around you. Whole sections of the ship will look flooded, rotting wood and rusted steel taking over every inch of the once proud ship, and every section is covered in algae. You might start to realize it looks uncannily like an old shipwreck.

The ship is still floating, though, and the coarse steady. So it's all in your head, right? Staying away from the water will make the visions and paranoia eventually ebb, but any glance at the floating shapes will cause it to come back tenfold. Maybe just stay inside and away from the ship's edge. It seems a lot safer that way.

Character Arrival

You can read how all characters arrive in Deerington here.

NOTE: Character's this month can wake up in Deerington or on the Titanic.

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.

Comments

cw: homophobic slur

[dividingline]

Understanding begins to unfurl in Abraham's mind as the man's fingers draw towards his face, his expression both thoughtful and friendly in a way that Abraham recognises. He's no stranger to such men, after all. Bribes and threats are not the only way to get information or extract an agreement that will open a door, pass a roadblock, or assist in crossing a border. Of all of his skills, it's one he uses rarely, knowing he has to be careful. Bad enough to be a known gonif, let alone a faygelah gonif who courts another target on his back. But here, anonymous, cast out between two shores, perhaps he can afford a little risk. The man doesn't look like the type to resort to violence, anyway.

Abraham raises his eyebrows and smiles back at him, a wide and pleased grin that, unknowingly, transforms his dark and vaguely suspicious expression into something far warmer. He takes a final draw on his cigarette and sighs out a cloud of smoke, flicking the rest over the side, the tiny ember disappearing quickly into the gloom.

« Do you always talk so much, sweetheart? Here, let me help. » It's Abraham's turn to mime, this time gesturing between them before making a motion as if rubbing a coin between his thumb and fingertips, then a curl and jerk of his fist, low down, that needs little translation.

cw: nsfw talk

[speed_of_snark]

That smile is fantastic, and for the first time Jean-Paul is genuinely sad he can't understand the man. Not his words, anyway. The miming is perfectly clear.

Jean-Paul throws his head back and laughs. "Ah, oui," he says, chuckling. "I understand. You're too pretty to be free." Smiling, he nods and repeats the gesture of rubbing a coin. What the hell, he has plenty of cash.

"I do wish you spoke English or French," he sighs. "Still. I suppose conversation is overrated." He taps a finger on his own chest. "Jean-Paul."

cw: period-typical homophobia

[dividingline]

If he'd been able to understand them, Abraham might have been, in turn, flattered, confused and suspicious of the compliments being paid to him. As it is, he edges a little closer along the rail, sharp eyes going to the shadows beyond them, assessing the likelihood of their being interrupted. Earning a little money, and perhaps relieving this pretty Frenchman of the weight of his pocketbook, is a fine idea, but he doesn't relish the idea of being arrested for lewd behaviour and spending the rest of the voyage in confinement or, more likely, beaten and tossed over the side, a victim of his own anonymity.

That problem is large in his mind when the man offers his name, so his first instinct is to lie. He raises his eyebrows and puts a hand to his heart, thinking of a man he knew in Southampton, a little Irish pisher who had already altered his name from lilting Gaelic vowels to sound more American.

"Grady," he offers, looking the other man thoughtfully up and down. "Where?" He raises his eyebrows and gives a wave of his hand, indicating the deck, the corridors, the rooms beyond.

[speed_of_snark]

"Grady." Jean-Paul repeats it, smiling. He pitches his own cigarette over the rail, then turns to head back inside. He doesn't look to see if the other man is following - he simply assumes he is.

The corridors of first class are lit well, the rugs running down the center lushly scarlet. Indoors, he slows to let Abraham walk beside him. He stays close, even when bright voices break the stillness. A group of other passengers turn the corner, walking toward them.

"Madames et Monsieurs," Jean-Paul says by way of greeting, favouring them with a flamboyant wave and half bow. One of the women titters behind her hand, while the men seem determined to ignore him completely.

"Have a good night, ladies. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Jean-Paul calls out cheerfully as they pass them. "And God knows I've done it all."

This elicits more laughter from the women, and a derisive snort from one of the men. The whispering begins almost at once, a hushed murmur of scandal and intrigue. Unphased, Jean-Paul rounds the corner. Near the end of the hall he stops, unlocking the door to his room. He opens the door and beckons, smiling.

It's a private room, large enough to fit a bed, storage for belongings, and a small table and chair set. The bed is large enough for two, four-postered with drapery. The wallpaper is a damask pattern, glowing mellowly under the warm electric light sconces. A few books sit on the table, but otherwise it's quite neat.

"Oui?"

[dividingline]

It's interesting to Abraham how much trust this man is willing to give to a stranger, especially one met under such secretive circumstances. As Jean-Paul leads the way back into the bowels of the ship, he wonders what inspires that trust. Carefully disguised strength, perhaps? The Frenchman seems healthy enough, but slight, not widely built, and a little shorter than Abraham himself. Money, then, enough to convince him that nothing in the world can harm him. That seems more likely, especially given the man's apparent lack of concern when they meet the group of First class passengers.

Abraham doesn't miss the way the ladies and not a few of the gentlemen look at him, appraising him as if Jean-Paul has brought in some mangy dog that might, if fed correctly, be persuaded to perform a few tricks. He meets their eyes and smiles, deliberately, and touches his forelock, earning more muttering and, he knows, glances at his back as he and Jean-Paul make their way towards the man's rooms. He thinks this is perhaps not Jean-Paul's first time bringing back someone below his station and finds a little respect for a man who cares so little for what others think of him.

He steps into Jean-Paul's room with undisguised admiration, pausing to drag his callused fingertips across the hangings of the bed before turning to look at the man who has invited him here, studying him with patient interest for a moment before he turns his attention to himself. Without preamble and with a certain amount of matter-of-fact economy of movement that suggests it's not the first time, he shrugs out of his jacket, folding it and placing it neatly over the back of one of the chairs. His waistcoat gets the same treatment and he pushes down the straps of his suspenders until they hang from his hips, then starts unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the ink scrawls across his chest, a pair of deer antlers under his throat and a single word, strangely, in English along the line of his collarbone.

[speed_of_snark]

As Abraham disrobes, Jean-Paul moves to an already open bottle of red wine he's had tucked away, producing two glasses as well. He pours, watching the other man with cool blue eyes that miss exactly nothing.

He steps close to offer a glass, a finger pointing delicately at the tattoos. "What does that mean?" he asks. He pauses, considering his phrasing, and adds, "Why?"

[dividingline]

Abraham doesn't mind being watched. It is, after all, the point of his small show, a little extra line for the fish to dart at beneath the ice. As Jean-Paul moves closer, he lets the wings of his shirt fall aside, revealing a torso bisected by a thick fur of dark hair like a forest marching across the tundra, as well as not a few scars, the thin white lines of knife cuts and the puckered skin of bullet wounds.

He takes the glass from the other man, eyes it thoughtfully, then throws it back with the careless disregard of a man more used to drinking spirits. It tastes like grapes and sunlight and summer, distracting him a little until the Frenchman speaks again, his gesture and expression saying as much as the question itself.

Abraham looks at him with a moment's confusion, then glances down at himself. The sight of the tattoos, what he can see of the cursive script that describes 'boundaries' across his skin, doesn't surprise him. As if he has long since made his peace with their presence on his body, so much that he barely notices them. But when he gropes in his mind for an answer, a reason or a design for them, he finds only emptiness and the sensation of something obscured, a doorway hastily boarded and painted over. A headache spikes suddenly behind his eye, making him wince.

« I do not.. I do not know. » The words are murmured as much to himself as his companion, but the moment of vulnerability is fleeting as he abruptly remembers why he's being asked in the first place. He reaches out with his free hand to take the fingers of his would-be benefactor and tugs him closer, setting Jean-Paul's palm against his chest beneath that unknown English word. « Perhaps you can help me remember, sweetness? »

[speed_of_snark]

He will, he thinks bemusedly, have to yeah this one how to enjoy wine. Assuming he gets the chance, which isn't horribly unlikely - it's a long voyage.

Hand on Abraham's cheat, fingers petting softly, Jean-Paul frowns. He doesn't understand the words, but he gets the meaning well enough.

The antlers disturb him. There's a fluttery feeling in his solar plexus, something he imagines a trapped bird feels in its final panic. Rather than examine this, he instead steps closer still and kisses Abraham on the mouth with infinite gentleness and affection. By the time he brings his other hand up to run through the other man's dark hair it has opened and warmed, become something sensual.

But that initial meeting of lips is sweet.