soddersays | FEBRUARY 2021 TEST DRIVE MEME

Entry tags:

FEBRUARY 2021 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to February's Test Drive Meme!

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: Prompt 1; Grimp Reaper image, feelings of being stalked, repeated death, Groundhog Day/Russian Doll themes, talks of car accidents and suicide/murder. Prompt 2; Image of a heart, organs on the outside of the body (heart), very mild body horror.

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

Prompt One
Prompt Two
Character Arrival
Master Navigation

BEREFT OF HOPE

The day feels the same as any other in Deerington. You wake up, you go through your routines, you wait to see if something creepy is going to be lurking around every corner, and then you go get breakfast. There's nothing too unusual going on, though sometimes you get the strangest feeling that someone might be looking at you from afar. Watching you. Waiting. For what, who knows, but isn't that just the normal vibe in this town anyway? You're starting to maybe get used to feeling perpetually anxious that you're being stalked. It might not even really make you think much of it at all. You continue to go about your day. Things still go as normal.

Until you die.

Maybe you were hit by a car, or you choked on your morning bagel, or a piano fell on you, or a townsperson who was going off the deep end decided to drag you off and murder you in Deerington Park; however it happens, you absolutely remember dying. The details are a little fuzzy around the edges, but you do remember seeing someone standing near by when it all happened, a shadowy figure you can't quite recall the face of. Maybe that's who had been watching you.

Dying isn't necessary the weird part, though. People die in Deerington all the time and come back remembering the details, usually with a fancy new scar to show off to everyone (or more likely keep desperately hidden because of your trauma ridden guilt). This time, though— this time sticks out. Because you don't go through the normal death process. There's no calming valley with a strange deer, there's no fruit, nothing about it is the way that it's supposed to be. You just were dead one second and now... you're not. Maybe it was a bad dream? You're in your bed, that's usual, but you're in the same clothes (or lack thereof) that you went to bed in the night before. The sun is shining through the window and...

Everything is exactly the same as it was yesterday.

If you've ever been a fan of Bill Murray at home, you can probably guess what's going on here. Or at least have your suspicions. You go about your routine again, you greet some of the same people, you eat the same breakfast (or maybe you switch things up just to try and break the cycle), and you still have that strange feeling of being watched. Every person you meet doesn't remember seeing you before your death and certainly none of them remembering you dying, no matter how public it was. You can try to convince them, but they're probably not going to listen, or they'll think that it's Deerington just fucking with your head again.

So you go outside. Same time, same place. And you die. Again.

Things start to repeat. Some people might start to snap from it and start to try and die in different ways. Some people might try the age old rule of learning from your mistakes, of being a better person, and try to spend the whole day being kind or trying to find some significant moment they're supposed to focus on to make this all better. Some people might just break down after a while and think there is no way out. Because nothing seems to be working. It's happening over, and over, and you're meeting the same people over and over, and you're doing the same things over and over, and you're dying over and over, so what's the point of even getting up out of bed now?

But there is a way to end it; find someone who is going through the same thing. All the other people you've seen, Sleepers or not, have had no recollection of you dying or of this all being a repeat day. Eventually, though, you might start to notice another person who is having the same discussion with another, desperately trying to tell them that this is all happening repeatedly and you can't figure out how to make it stop. When you realize there's another person having the same issue as you, you can start talking to them. Maybe you won't realize what you need to do at first, you might even end up dying together a few times before you finally realize— you have to save the other.

Every day you've died at the exact same time in roughly the exact same place, whether you took your own life or it was done outside of your own control. Prevent your comrade from dying all together until the sun goes down and the cycle will finally be broken for both of you. It just might be hard to do when the forces of the town are pretty hellbent on making sure you both die.

THE BEATING OF HIS HIDEOUS HEART

Happy Valentine's Day! Deerington seems to be trying to get somewhat in the mood of romance this month, the town decorated with hearts and tiny cherub statues and all sorts of delicious displays of chocolate in the windows of most stores. Don't worry! They're just normal chocolates. Eating them will do nothing to you unless you've got problems with controlling your blood sugar levels or an unfortunate allergy. Buy some for your sweetie! There are even some beautiful looking chocolate covered strawberries at the Hart Mart that could be perfect for a romantic evening...

One morning, you'll wake up to a gift wrapped in pink paper with a red bow on a table in your home. It's clearly marked for you and it's from a secret admirer. Did you even know you had a secret admirer? If you choose to not open the gift (this is Deerington, this could obviously be bad news), it will do exactly what one would expect it to in a town like this; the package will follow you. It will show up on your desk at work. It will show up on the counter at the store you frequent. It will show up on a bench. In your car. Next to your bike. On your porch. On your best friend's porch. Anywhere you go, the present will be there. Waiting. You can't ignore it forever.

When you finally cave and open the gift, you'll find a truly fitting present for such a romantic holiday: a heart. It might be human, it might not, but it's still beating. You can watch it pulse, but it's surprisingly neat, no blood to be found anywhere in the box or in the heart itself. It just sits there, thudding away, waiting for you to pick it up. No one really wants to touch a heart, but if you know Deerington, you know this heart probably actually belongs to someone, and if you're new? Well, you're gonna figure out how this all works pretty quickly.

Pick up the heart and you'll get a flash of memory. Someone else's most precious moment. It will be burned in your mind and the heart will start to faintly glow as you hold it. Walk with the beating heart in your hands and it will start to change. The closer you get to who the heart belongs to, the stronger the glow will get, and the faster the heart will beat. Eventually, you'll find them— someone who looks empty, soulless, like a walking ghost more than a person. You can save them by putting the heart back where it belongs— you'll have to use some strong force, but slam the organ against their chest, and it will sink right back into place. Your hand will even go a few inches into their chest before you let go and yank yourself free. There's no scar, no hole, no blood. But the life will come back into the person in one fell swoop, like breathing again after almost drowning.

If you choose not to put their heart back in their chest, they will be forced to do whatever you say so long as you are in possession of their heart; however they will get steadily weaker and by the end of a full day, they will die.

Enjoy your Valentine.

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

It's not far from here to that apartment, and the walk is soon spent indulging Raven's curiosities for the dull boy.

"Someone have your brain too or am I expecting too much from a human your age?" She stops just to see if he'll stop and walks to see if he'll walk after her until they finally reach their destination and his co-dependant lumbering rubs her the wrong way.

"Stay here. Make yourself useful. You'd make a great dropstop." She says flippantly, as she enters the apartment and lifts that heart in question out of its packaging until it throbs in her hand again.

"I'm probably smarter than you," is the response. Still completely deadpan; he's just answering her question.

Once at the apartment, he of course has no choice but to follow orders, which is how he winds up standing against the door, obediently holding it open.

His heart beats more strongly the closer she brings it to him, but he makes no move to take it back.

"Oh, find yourself a touch personality did you?" she asks, but stops dead when she turns back to find him standing there propping the door open with his body.

"Are you... making yourself a doorstop?" For a moment she thinks it's a joke, but it's so unfathomably at odds with that claim of intelligence she can't imagine why a person who believed they had any amount of braincells to rub together would lower themselves so willingly. Unless it was unwilling.

"Smart you said, hm? Then you'll understand if I just have to indulge my own morbid curiosity," she smiles, leans on the counter and squeezes that heart when it starts to glow in hand. "Fit your fist in your mouth," she says coldly and waits for the result. "Try not to choke, but do be ambitious about it."

There is simply no choice: he has to try. It's impossible, of course, but that doesn't matter because the order was to do it. After trying to just cram it in fails, Kyle studies his hand with his dead eyes. Then he feels along the hinges of his jaw.

He thinks, perhaps, if he dislocates it, he might have a chance. He just isn't sure he knows how to do it. He prods the tendons there, clearly calculating the odds of success.

The first attempt inspires a surprised little laugh from Raven, who can't decide which is more absurd; the sight of him doing it, or the fact that it worked. She reconsidered that heart in her hand comes with unfounded power over this kid.

It's almost a shame he seems to be just, some kid. "So close," she taunts him, sitting her chin in her hands as she leans over her kitchen counter to watch. "We'll call this one a draw, if there's something more impressive you can show me. Can you do anything worthwhile? Read minds. Start fires with your fingers. That sort of thing."

Kyle thinks about it before answering in his dull, lifeless voice, "I once achieved complete control over all of reality."

He shrugs. "But I can't show you that."

He thinks some more, like an old, clunky computer searching its databanks. "I can't do anything worthwhile, no," he says at length.

That's got her attention. Maybe she was wrong to dismiss the boy as another useless human. "Reality you say? Are you sure you're human? Look at me. I won't tell."

She folds her arms scowls at him before finally throwing up her hands with impatience. "There's got to be some useful purpose to this. Some way to benefit from the fact that you're completely mine so long as I've got this thing, right? What's this place got to offer? I didn't even see a bank you could rob out there. What's the most valuable thing in this Godforsaken little burg?"

Kyle looks Mystique in the eye. "I am sure I'm human," he tells her.

He watches impassively as she complains. His heart continues to beat, and every so often the scent of freshly made bread can almost be smelled as the memory contained within it periodically tries to assert itself in Mystique's mind.

"From what little I've seen, the most valuable thing here is the people." He thinks. "If you mean of monetary value, there's some bars that probably do well."

"The people. Touching." She rolls her eyes. "Despite my reputation I don't have much use for people. Not individually anyway. Unless—" before she can finish that thought the smell of fresh bread hits her again.

Her nose crinkles up and she looks past him down the hall as if she might see the source of it. "What is that? Is that you? This thing? Why does your disembodied heart smell of bread?"

"I didn't say it was sentimental."

He shrugs. "I don't smell anything. Must just be for you."

"It's definitely connected to your ugly little heart," she mutters. "It gives me visions of photo albums and bread and hugs. It's awfully saccharine for a boy your age."

"Shut the door," she orders. "If we're going to get this thing back in your where it belongs I suspect it's going to be messy.

Kyle shuts the door, looking supremely unconcerned. He at least walks closer under his own volition.

He stands there, looking at Mystique blankly.

"Not talking, hm? Fine. Get your shirt off. Let's see if there's a scar or a... gaping wound this fell out of."

Kyle takes off his coat and peels off his sweater and undershirt. He's thin, with very little definition from sports that are neglected in favour of studies. His chest is unmarked; the only scar he has is lower and very old, clearly from a long ago surgery.

The heart itself beats stronger the closer it is.

"How the hell did this thing get out of you?" she complains. "What am I supposed to do open you up like a cadaver?" A kitchen draw rattles as she heaves it open for a knife but the second she does that insufferably sweet vision of some child's room and family photos and a child's hugs hits her again.

She slams the knife down and glowers at him. "Tell me about this fucking vision I keep having before I gut you like a fish. Maybe the answer to this hideous mess is in there. So just. Start talking. The photo album. The bed. The hugs. What is this fucking memory?"

"I can't see it like you can."

He thinks for a moment, silent. "It sounds like it was my baby brother's bris," he says tonelessly. "I found out he was adopted, so I thought he wasn't really my brother. He was scared. He brought me a photo album, and it had pictures of us together. I realised it didn't matter if he was adopted, I was still his brother and I should protect him.

"You can still love family who aren't your own blood."

By the time he's done her face is twisted into an expression of absurd distain. "Yes, definitely nothing sentimental about the people here."

"I'm sorry I asked. I guess that means this thing gets back inside you the hard way. If you're not squeamish climb up here and lie back. We'll see what we can do," she says, clearing the counter top like some kind of make shift operating table.

"Not what I meant. And I'm not squeamish."

Kyle climbs up on the table and lies back, arms at his sides. He stares at the ceiling.

"This is really unsanitary."

"So are the brothels in East Berlin but I've bandaged up plenty of wounds there and lived to tell about it. Chin up, honey."

For a moment she lays her ear to his chest. Just listening to the nothing in his chest out of sheer curiosity. "It's going to hurt," she warns, but so far the boy's mechanical stoicism makes her think he's not liable to feel it. Or at least not liable to care. "Don't flail though, hm? It'll only prolong this."

At that she raises up her paring knife, draws and imaginary line on his skin with her finger tip and sinks the blade into his skin.

Edited 2021-02-10 01:10 (UTC)

"Okay." Voice still dead. When the knife parts his skin he winces very, very slightly - the face of a man who has mild indigestion, perhaps.

His heart, on the other hand, beats fast and loud.

He doesn't flail, although whether that's because of his condition or because he's been given an order is unclear.

Neither does there seem to be any blood. Her face scrunches up to see the way he flays like old meat. But perhaps that makes sense. As much as any of this does. There's no blood pumping in a body without a heart.

"What's keeping you alive anyway?" she mutters as she pushes deeper through the tissue, her blade stopping against his sternum. "Damnit."

"Can you hold on? I'm going to have to just... stuff it in."

"I can hold on," he says, sounding unconcerned, as if he could just stay like this all day.

The heart is absolutely pounding now, the memory inside it pulsing in and out of mind.

"Great. Take a deep breath for me. In one. Two—" She doesn't wait for the three though. Never wait for the three. People bear down on three. Go on two and it catches them off guard. Makes me for less of a fight.

With her palm over that squishy, beating organ she braces her elbows against her body and shoves with all her might. Cringing at the thick, wet sound it makes squeezing into the boys chest cavity.

The second the heart is pushed past the incision, the body seems to suck at it, pulling it deep within itself. It half draws Mystique's fingers after it, releasing only when she pulls back.

Kyle's chest seals, bloodless, and he suddenly jerks up into a sitting position, gasping.

"What the FUCK, dude?! What the fuck?!"

His hands fly to his chest, feeling desperately and he stares at Mystique with wide eyes.

"...thanks."

"Ugh!" She recoils like she's been burned when the force with which his body draws that heart back into place threatens to take her hand with it.

"Disgusting..." While he's yelling she's wiping her hands on his shirt with a permanent sneer of distaste over the whole thing wrinkling her expression. "Stop yelling would you? Someone's going to get nosy and come knocking."

"You're welcome," she mutters looking a little surprised to hear any thanks about it actually.

(no subject)

kyley_b - 2021-02-10 04:22 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

shapely - 2021-02-10 04:34 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only