soddersays | SEPTEMBER 2020 TEST DRIVE MEME

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SEPTEMBER 2020 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to September's Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: CHILDREN/YOUNG ADULT 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: Evil dollhouses, potential body horror (turning into a doll), heights, pranks with the potential to cause harm, some stalking vibes
Don't forget to tag content whenever necessary. Have fun!

Prompt One
Prompt Two
Character Arrival
Master Navigation

THE EVIL DOLLHOUSE

When you wake up, you find you're not in your own bed, your own room, or even your own house. The room is well decorated, almost Victorian in fashion. The bed is pretty uncomfortable and you're not even sure the mattress is a real mattress. The chairs look like they might be made of plastic and the doors are flimsy. But it might not be what catches your eye, especially if you look out the window.

Through the clear panes (which also seem to be plastic), you will notice you do not see the town of Deerington, or even the outdoors at all. You see a living room that feels larger than life. There aren't any people in it, but as you look around at the fake looking furnishings and the strange view, you might be hit with a realization: you're inside a dollhouse.

The dollhouse has three floors for those who explore; the second floor you woke up on has two bedrooms and a fake little bathroom, all decorated in the same Victorian dollhouse style as the room you originally found yourself in. The bottom floor has a cute little kitchen with small porcelain dolls sitting around the table, a living room with all the basic furniture one would expect to find (in fact, it looks a great deal like the living room outside the windows), and an office filled with books that can't actually be pulled out of the shelves. On the very top floor is an attic. It's dusty and filled with broken toy beds and chairs, a few shattered doll pieces, and on the far wall you'll see another bookshelf. All seems... fairly standard, really, if you're used to seeing dollhouses.

But what there doesn't appear to be is an exit.

While searching, you may run into another Sleeper. A friend or a stranger, it's clear you're both stuck here together. And the longer the time ticks by, the more concerning things get. You might not notice at first, but anyone inside the dollhouse starts slowly... changing. It seems to go at a different pace for everyone, but the results are always the same. Your skin will start to become porcelain, your cheeks more rosy, your clothes made of cheaper cloth material, your joints become stiffer, and your eyes will start to become more and more glass like. If you don't get out of the dollhouse soon, it's clear that you may become the next doll at the kitchen table.

Searching the house again may feel fruitless, but keen observers may find light scratches on the floor in front of the bookshelf in the attic. Maybe they were like that because of someone moving things around or maybe there's a reason. If you decide to eventually pull the bookshelf aside, there will be a large door in the wall. It may seem strange, given that the wall only leads to the outside, but it's the only door to the outside that actually opens. You expect it to open up into the living room, but instead you'll see the grass of the park below. Far below. It's likely you could get hurt jumping, especially if you've started to turn to porcelain, but what other choice do you have?

Once characters take the plunge, they will find that they land rather softly in the grass, despite how high the jump may have seemed. As soon as you are out of the dollhouse, your body will have returned to complete normal.

And the house with the dollhouse in the living room will be nowhere in sight.

THOSE PESKY KIDS

You start off thinking maybe you're just forgetful and moved minor pieces around in your house without paying attention. You might think you're just seeing strange things out of the corner of your eye, because why wouldn't you? It's Deerington. Things are always strange. But each day, there's something weirder going on. Small objects might turn into entire rooms being rearranged, strange sightings out of the corner of your eye might turn into you swearing you saw a lake monster running through the street, and you swear you can hear the rattling of chains or the sounds of someone telling you to leave echoing in your house at night or following you down the street.

A haunting seems plausible. It wouldn't be the first time in Deerington. But no amount of herbs burned, or exorcisms performed, or chants and spell cast will make these things go away. In fact, they seem to just becoming more and more frequent, and more and more intense. Eventually, the strange creatures you see running around may start to try and attack you. They may start to try and kill you. But they always run off before you can attack back or show yourself to be stronger than them. It's probably the first time the monsters have ever been so easily scared.

Anyone who looks into it further may start to find weird clues lying around after a monster has been chased off. Footprints that don't look quite monster-like, tapes or records that when played will make strange rattling sounds like the chains you've been hearing, a piece of rubber that looks a lot like the monsters skin... Huh. The more you follow the clues, the more they'll lead you towards the answer to your dilemmas; these aren't hauntings.

They're pranks.

People can work together to catch a monster or ghost (or killing it, if you decide to); catching them will lead to them getting quite flustered and angry, struggling to get away. Pull off the mask or the sheet and underneath you'll find... a very disgruntled townsperson. Maybe your business was taking too much money away from theirs and they were hoping you'd close down with enough scares, maybe you talked back to them one time and they were looking for revenge, maybe you ruined their house or garden when you were fighting the things in Deerington that actually try to kill you, or maybe they were just having some "harmless" fun; they all have a different excuse, but they're clearly angry about getting caught.

They woulda gotten away with it if it weren't for you pesky Sleepers, after all.

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

Neal can't help but be somewhat pleased at the compliment, particularly since Jean-Paul already doesn't seem like the type to blow smoke. He smoothes a hand down his tie and tries his very best to remain humble while simultaneously basking in the good feelings. As confident as he can be, there's nothing like having a stranger's approval.

"Thanks," he says, appreciatively. "This one came with me. But I've been looking for more." Admittedly, he has strong feelings about designer suits, but even something that can be altered is better than no suit at all at this point in his life. "Although in this heat, something more casual or linen would be nice." He gestures to Jean-Paul's shirt. "Did you get that here in town?"

Jean-Paul's smirk almost becomes a real smile. "Non, it's my boyfriend's. He has a thing for really stupid shirts." There's a lot of feelings tied up in just the stupid shirt for him right now, but that's not something to bring up with a stranger.

"Suits are hard to get here," he says instead. "My good ones are all from home. There's not exactly an Armani in small town Maine. But you can sometimes find things to get tailored at Stacy's, and any time there's a really fancy event magic seems to provide wardrobe."

Does that mean that Jean-Paul is the one nicknamed Bigfoot? That Wes is the one that wears the shirt? It looks a bit small, but then again, he'd only seen the guy in a bulky jacket with godawful fringe. Honestly, Neal's trying to understand the scope of this relationship he's only observed in pieces, somehow uncertain of his perspective but too polite to ask for more details. It'll either become apparent over time or he'll learn not to think about it.

"I'm not sure if pleases me to hear that. What do you mean by 'fancy event magic'? It seems obvious but... well, I'd like to know more anyway. Is this place really a dream?" Neal has been doing his research — he's the kind of guy that likes to be prepared — but some things still feel too unreal to be true.

Jeam-Paul's face turns solemn. "It is, or something close enough. You can wake up at any time. Go back to your regular life. You don't remember any of it." As he says it, Jean-Paul feels his stomach trying to drop out. He shakes his head minutely.

"Anyway. Parties happen. And it seems like when they do, you walk in and you're just... dressed. It's strange but you get used to it."

At that, Neal looks less than happy. It's too close for comfort and he hates the idea of it all. Not because it's such a deviation from the life he's used to, but because there are already things he doesn't think he'd like to forget.

"Speaking of parties," he says, hoping to change the subject, "Were you shopping for wine?" Not wanting to face the idea that Jean-Paul wouldn't lie about such things, that he might be right about the whole damn thing, he's intent on changing the subject to something more pleasant. "It's a bit rich for my blood at the moment, but I do give excellent recommendations."

Some of the tension leaves Jean-Paul's face. "I was. And I'll let you recommend some, because it's funny that a stranger wit' my face would be just as snotty about it as I."

Neal isn't quite sure he would characterize himself as snotty (although he imagines most people who have met him probably would), so he takes no real offense to the assertion. Instead, he finds himself strangely pleased that another man that shares his face has equally high standards.

"Well, the selection here leaves something to be desired, but I'm sure we can find something," he says, smiling briefly before rubbing at his bristly chin. Much longer and it would be obvious he's got more grey in his beard than he'd let on.

"Red. This '48 Chateau Margaux would be— Well, better in fifty-some years, but considering the price, I'm guessing it's only a couple years old." He pulls it from the shelf, somewhat enamored by the thought. What a strange town. "Honestly, it's not going to get much better, so this is a good price."

Jean-Paul snorts. "Ouais, I know," he says in regards to Deerington's meagre wine selection. Still, he sidles up and examines the bottle alongside Neal.

"You actually know what you're talking about," he marvels.

Neal offers over the bottle before sliding his hands comfortably into his pockets. "You should hear me talk about art," he jokes (without really joking).

"Speaking of art and wine, keep an eye out for a '47 Cheval. If you can find one around here, that's a real bargain. A perfect storm of mediocrity creating something divine. If you see two, pick me up one and I'll make it worth your while, monetarily speaking."

"Oh? You a teacher or what?" He supposes he could be an artist but that somehow doesn't quite seem right.

"Nonsense, you're new. I am quite sure I could afford two bottles."

"At the right price, I'm sure you could," Neal admits, with regard to the cost. Fifty-some years later and it would be a pretty penny — past five grands a bottle — but one of the benefits of being in a town trapped in the 50's is that items that are known later to be of quality and rarity are much easier found and obtained. It's a little like Marty McFly in Back to the Future with his book on baseball statistics: an easy bet.

"I was a teacher once or twice. And an art appraiser. And briefly a sommelier. Kind of a jack of all trades," he says, although he is actually holding back on some of the more boastful items on his curriculum vitae; revealing a history of making billions of dollars off of forged artwork seems only for very special occasions. Particularly since he's incredibly poor at the moment.

"What do you do?" Always curious, he's doubly so (pun intended) knowing this guy has his face and is likely much more well-known around town.

Jean-Paul's eyebrows go up. Experience had taught him that anyone who claims to be a "jack of all trades" usually has a colourful past.

"Here? I teach. At home? I'm..." What is he, he wonders? A superhero implies he saves the world, and that isn't right. "I suppose I'm a bit of a detective now."

"A detective, huh? Interesting." Neal suspects he doesn't necessarily mean criminal detective based on the wording — perhaps they're both suspicious bastards like that — but it does leave him curious for more information. There are some other things that interest him, too, including some features that seem different at closer observation. Was there scarring on Jean-Paul's ears? He's too polite to ask now but he keeps it in mind for later.

"What do you teach? Are you over at the college or the high school?" he asks. Honestly, if Jean-Paul allows it, Neal will talk like this all day, mingling in the alcohol aisle like this is his business. He's personable like that, not to mention fascinated more and more as he continues to observe this very direct copy of himself.

"It's been a very strange few years," Jean-Paul admits. "I'm not generally pro-cop, for the record." Because he really does feel the need to stress that.

He allows himself an ironic little smile. "LGBTQ-plus studies at college, sex ed at the high school. In a town that appears to be 90% bisexual, so that works out."

He lifts an eyebrow at Neal. "You are definitely younger than me," he says. "That's super annoying. Hn. Are you human?"

Well, well, well. More things they have in common. Although Neal has to admit he has a soft spot for at least one or two law-type individuals. He doesn't say as much though — why offer such things if he doesn't have to?

"Yeah, I'm human. And I wasn't going to mention the age thing because I'm not a monster," Neal says, grinning. Of course he noticed. "If it helps, I'm pleased for myself if you're my future. You can't be much older."

Human. Jean-Paul is clearly pleased by this answer. "I'm... hn. Early forties. I'm not sure how to calculate the actual age all things considered." Such is the nature of living in different timelines.

"You must work out, non?" As he looks Neal over critically.

"I do," Neal preens, secretly pleased that someone notices. "I do a lot of swimming and calisthenics." He reaches out down touch his core, patting it gently. He hasn't had good access to a pool in about nine months, but being that he also hadn't had a proper job in that time, he had been able to keep up on that.

"We're not so far off, though. I'll be forty soon," he points out, hoping to soften the blow a bit.

It's odd to see someone with your face look so goddamn pleased with himself... but not unpleasant, at least not for Jean-Paul. Really it only serves to stroke his ego because he takes it as proof that yes, his arrogance is charming.

"Okay, so I could kick your ass easily. That does make me feel a little better," he says with an absolute lack of malice - he's just stating what he sees to be facts.

Neal actually laughs at that, probably the first time he's been inspired to such lengths since coming to this town, in fact. He crosses his arms, but there's an ease to the motion, nothing defensive to be seen.

"Oh, absolutely," he agrees, far more amused than a person admitting as much should be. He's pretty good in the boxing ring, he's excellent at fencing, he's even a crack shot with a gun, but at the end of the day, Neal Caffrey is much more a lover than a fighter. "You'll catch me running and hiding before spoiling for any kind of fight. I do employ a little muscle, though," he points out mysteriously. "Just in case." Of course, employ is not the right word here, but that's really not the point.

Jean-Paul's eyebrow arches way up again. "You're going to have to explain that," he says. "Because it sounds like either you have bodyguards or you have some sort of lame alter ego."

Tact: he has none.

"Bodyguard, singular," Neal says, not feeling at all bad about admitting that. Cable has provided a level of protection that's been somewhat unparalleled in Neal's life and he has absolutely no question as to whether that will continue. Their particular arrangement works.

"My alter egos are never lame," Neal boasts without further explanation offered. That much he can be certain about: From Nicholas Holden to Steve Tabernacle, they've all been particularly exceptional personas, each perfectly tailored to his needs at the time.

"Did you—? You didn't think I meant I was Superman or something, did you?" Although he could fit the part...

"So how many alter egos do you have, hn?" Jean-Paul pounces on that at once. After all, it isn't often you find someone who admits to having more than one.

Jean-Paul laughs. "Non. You're human, you even said so. I mean, there's a few nuts who do the whole superhero thing anyway, but that's pretty few and far between unless you're some sort of tech genius or whatever. You don't have the vibe." He smooths his crappy t-shirt over his chest. "But trust me, we look good in the spandex."

Pardon Neal while he tries to imagine himself in Spandex without cringing. Despite being incredibly good-looking and well taken care of, he is surprisingly sexually reserved. He's flirtatious and even occasionally coquettish, knows how good he looks, but when push comes to shove, there's a personal shyness that takes a while to bypass. It's exactly why he feels so comfortable when he's pretending to be someone else.

"A few more than two alter egos, actually," Neal admits. He hasn't lost count — the number is high — but there's a certain security to keeping that information close to the chest. "Why? How many do you have?" He's assuming. He's fairly certain the number is more than none.

The look Jean-Paul gives Neal is easy to read - don't bullshit me, it says. But he shrugs.

"None. When I was in my twenties my identity was more of less secret for the sake of my career - I was an Olympian - but it all came out eventually. It's much easier to live as a public figure in most ways."

Neal raises an eyebrow at that — an Olympian, eh? It almost makes him wonder what could have been. But in a truly pedantic move, he scrubs at his chin and goes in for the correction instead of wondering further.

"An alter ego isn't necessarily a secret identity — at least it wasn't used in that way until the modern scene. In fact, its origins relate to 'another self', psychologically speaking. Alter ego — 'other I' in the original Latin form — was referencing the part of a person they was generally separate from a waking, 'knowable' state. 'Capable, but unaware' is a good distillation of the idea behind it."

But he digresses.

"Mine weren't secret, but they were distinctive."

SEPTEMBER 2020 TEST DRIVE MEME

SEPTEMBER 2020 TEST DRIVE MEME

THE EVIL DOLLHOUSE

THOSE PESKY KIDS

Character Arrival

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