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singillppl2024-08-07 09:42 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2024-08-07 09:42 pm
Entry tags:
August 2024 Test Drive Meme
AUGUST 2024 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: Yet another new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.
PROMPT TWO — TEA TIME: A mysterious stranger offers Interlopers some tea by her fire, with... unexpected results.
PROMPT THREE — YOU LYING NEXT TO ME: Thawing and quake activity in the Northern Territories make for a deadly mix, particularly with bodies of water.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'
It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words. You will later learn that these are the words of The Darkwalker, a malevolent being that exists in this world. It knows of your presence here, and you will be far worse off for it.
You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.
You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.
You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. Interlopers who arrive in the month of August will find that there is often disturbances and damage to the earth and roads — often similar to that found following quake activity. Care should be taken in finding your way.
Soon enough, you'll be able to find a path to town. A little more worse for wear, but alive. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused — battered from the journey. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.
Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you smell it through the fog: the scent of smoke that seems to cling in the still air. Fire. Not just one, but several perhaps. Civilization...?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the foggy mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights, even if it may appear a little eerie in the half-light gloom: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!
As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more. Some of them will direct you to the Community Hall, tell you to head there — you've been expected.
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building where many people seem to gather: a community hall, by the looks of it. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Everyone looks as though they could faint from the cold at any second, damp and shivering.
The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face, but looks sad. He smiles warmly despite the sadness in him, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“As I suspected, another batch of poor souls from the wilds.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. The lights are changing things, bringing more of you here. Come, we must get you warm and fed. Mother Nature has not been kind.”
The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold.
Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables offering food, and drinks similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers. Newcomers will hear from others of Feasts held before, but the offering this month are… somewhat meagre. Newcomers will hear from others of Feasts held before, but the offering this month are… somewhat meagre. There are canisters with hot herbal teas and perhaps a rare canister of coffee. Soup and stew are on offer, but little in the way of charred/grilled meats. What little game Interlopers already here have caught has been used wisely to stretch it further. There is grilled fish, however. That is the most plentiful, it seems. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast.
The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is very troubled, thoughtful. Much has been happening. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search among the new faces.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much. Methuselah seems exhausted. Life within the Northern Territories has been very difficult for all who dwell here. But perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.
TEA TIME
WHEN: Mid-month — end of the month.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: altered/magical drinks; loss of inhibitions; physical age changes; body horror/animal attributes; memory sharing; possible fourth-wall breaking; future visions;
It is incredibly rare to come across others in the Northern Territories, but certainly not unheard of. Even if the town of Milton had lost what seems to be its entire population before the arrival of Interlopers, there are still others native to this place out in the world. Young Bill and Methuselah are proof of that, as are the Forest Talkers — who have a tense relationship with the Interlopers, to put it lightly. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think that there could be more.
The old woman appears to be one of them, wrapped in many layers of synthetic clothing and furs. You may come across her as she wanders through the world, or perhaps find her huddled around a campfire in the depths of the wilderness. If one were to hazard a guess, they’d assume she were some kind of nomad like Methuselah.
She’s friendly sort; that’s the first impression you make of her. It’s safe to conclude she isn’t with the Forest Talkers. She regards arrivals with wide eyes, beckoning Interlopers to come join her by the fire. Softly spoken, with a mumbling quiet voice. It might seem like she’s not all there, and seems harmless enough. Perhaps a little lonely. Who isn’t in this place? She is mostly curious about the Interlopers themselves and will be interested in hearing about them, asking them questions about their worlds and lives. She’s a very keen and attentive listener.
As conversation grows, she will boil some snow for water upon her fire. With all this talk, what better way than to add some tea to it? The weather is getting colder, too. Something hot will stave off the chill. Out of her rucksack, she will pull out a carved wooden box. It is something quite precious to her, and within it are several small metal tins. She will show it to the Interlopers, and inside there will be different blends of herbal tea. She will ask which of the teas you would like to drink.
The choice is yours, Interlopers. But drinking one of these teas will have… unexpected results.
BURDOCK TEA: An earthy and bittersweet tea, with a slightly nutty flavour. Drinking this tea will pull away any inhibitions and mental filters and make you more susceptible to speaking your mind and being more honest with those around you. Maybe you want to tell someone how much they suck, or maybe you want to confess your feelings to someone. Maybe you just really want to air out your grievances about your life or current situation. And they say alcohol will loosen tongues.
HERBAL TEA: This miscellaneous ‘herbal’ smells pretty fragrant, but you can’t quite tell what’s all in its blend. This tea will show you a random moment from your future. This might be something immediate within the Northern Territories, or it may be a moment of your future within your own world. The vision itself will only last for a few moments, and then fade into black.
ROSEHIP TEA: A sweet and floral tea with a tangy aftertaste. This tea will show you a moment of your past, replaying it out before you as if you are watching it like one watches a movie. It may be a happier time, a fond memory of sorts. Or perhaps it will be your worst memory ever: a failing, a wrong decision, a difficult or upsetting time in your life. What’s more, is that anyone drinking this very same tea with you will also experience this moment with you.
REISHI TEA: A bitter tea with a woody flavour. This tea will change your appearance physically in some way. It may be something small like changing your eye or hair colour. It may go even more extreme and temporarily give you some kind of animal features: ears, scaly skin or a tail.
BIRCH BARK TEA: A pleasant wintergreen drink that tastes faintly like rootbeer. Drinking this tea will change your physical age. You may revert to a younger version of yourself, or become an older version of yourself.
Once drinking the tea, you will find yourself alone. The fire is almost embers beside you. You will find that you will never come across the old woman again, no matter how hard you try to find her.
YOU LYING NEXT TO ME
WHEN: The month of August.
WHERE: Everywhere. And specifically: Milton Basin, ponds around Milton Outskirts; Lakeside Lake, misc. Water sources.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; potential partial nudity.
There has been an instability in the earth as of late. Interlopers have been made aware of the fact that the Northern Territories have been victim to quakes in the past. But lately, there has been new seismic activity, which has not helped matters. In Lakeside, it is certainly more obvious to see: sections of the railway track that run through the area have buckled, roads are damaged and undrivable and the bridge that leads out towards the coast has crumbled away.
But the damage extends beyond the roads and railway tracks, something which Interlopers will, unfortunately, discover as they go out travelling or exploring the world.
It is hard to tell which part of the ground will give way, it often happens without warning. Interlopers will simply be out walking and the ground will suddenly collapse from beneath them into small pits and ravines. They’re easy enough to climb out of for the most part, but Interlopers are in danger of sprains and even broken bones if they don’t land right. But they may end up being completely submerged in the snow, leaving them not too worse for wear but very cold. They’ll certainly need to be dug out, and hopefully, they’re not left for too long, either. Hopefully some kind-hearted stranger may find them.
The most dangerous of all are the frozen lakes, ponds and streams. It feels like the Northern Territories have been a place of endless winter. The snow has never left, and the thick ice of almost all water sources remains. While certain smaller bodies of water have thawed enough for Interlopers to fish, most have remained in a permanent state of frozen solidity. Interlopers have been free to walk across the ice untroubled. But the quakes have… endangered the solidity of what seemed to be unmeltable ice.
What was once a rare safe bet will become no more. Unsuspecting Interlopers travelling or exploring these ‘frozen’ waters may find themselves in for a nasty surprise. Without warning, the ice will creak and groan beneath their feet — the sound echoing, a strange kind of sharp snap. Then, with a groan, the ice will give way: plummeting whichever poor soul stands upon it down into the frigid waters below.
Such cold water is dangerous no matter the depth, but some will be much luckier than others. Some of the smaller ponds within the Northern Territories will only reach waist or chest height, but the much deeper bodies of water like the Basin and Lakeside Lake will prove far deadlier. Getting victims out of the waters is half the battle, trying to do so risks yourself. Many may find themselves falling in with their companions — and although a way out can be achieved, the harder part is warmth.
Getting the poor souls who fall victim to falling into the water or trapped in the snow indoors and close to a fire is a good start. Building a fire takes time, though. It could be a while before a roaring fire is going. So alternate plans might need to be put into action. Let’s hope there are some dry blankets nearby, and it’d be a good idea to get out of any soaked clothes before they freeze on a person.
They do say that sharing body heat is also a good way of heating up a person who’s suffering from the cold. Hypothermia is deadly, after all. Skin-on-skin contact works best, wrapped up in blankets. Who has time for getting awkward about it? Getting cosy might just save someone’s life.
FAQs
1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.
2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.
3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.
4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.
5. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. The effects of the Burdock, Reishi and Birch Bark teas will last for 24 hours.
2. Physical changes to characters (ie. getting animal ears) will be purely aesthetic.
1. For those down in the Basin, there is a small hut/shack with a fireplace that Interlopers can use for refuge to warm up. Shelter in other places isn't too far off. Best get warmed up quickly!
2. Interlopers already in-game with the Cold Fusion Feat won't be susceptible to cold damage/hypothermia if they fall into the waters but will also not be able to warm up their fellow Interlopers who end up taking an icy plunge.
3. Interlopers already in-game with the Lightbringer or Moon Touched Feats will be hugely beneficial/vital in warming up their fellow Interlopers who fall into the waters.
cw imperialism/anti-indigenous thought
There's only a split second for him to process that she's actually doing exactly what he thought she might before the mug and its contents come flying at him with a particularly forceful throw. He manages to get his head out of the way, but the stoneware projectile catches him in the collarbone, the impact hard and uncomfortable even through the dark wool of his new coat and the imperial uniform beneath it.
And, of course, the tea is everywhere, not scalding but very close to it. He closes his eyes in time to keep it from getting into them as it splashes in his face; he can taste it a bit—disgusting, that's probably her fucking backwash, he's spitting it out on the ground as the blaze of fury overtakes him.
And. Another dreamlike vision in the middle of the day, another reliving: the doors to the craft closing, and finally shaking off the distance of that handshake for their primitive, backwards Valtii audience, catching Galen in the tight embrace he's been holding back for almost an hour now with no mind to the woman holding the baby in the background. Galen's alive. In a sorry state, but alive. It's nothing time won't fix. How he missed him, how much of an anaesthetic distance was—!
He holds him there for several seconds, and Galen, confused, hugs him back, and it's the first time he's allowed himself to be touched in some half-decade. Even once it's time to talk, he only withdraws enough to stand face-to-face, arms still lingering on atrophied biceps. He was always built like a damn door, even as a young man. They haven't treated him well; they'll pay for that, and for their foolishness in aligning themselves with the Separatists. But he's still handsome under the grime, still has the same high cheekbones and strong jaw, and the beard almost works for him, makes him look rather distinguished; Krennic says as much, unabashedly. That woman isn't here, to him. She won't take this from him, even though he's sure he'd be able to feel her scrutinizing stare if he were to pay attention to it.
And the memory ends, and fucking tea, already becoming lukewarm at best in the cold air, is dripping off of his chin, dampening the hair on the side of his head. She's making a scene; the people around him are stunned.
He rises sharply to his feet, seething, every word flashing straight, well-manicured teeth. ]
What is wrong with you? If you have a problem, take it outside. Away from these people.
[ And already he's striding to a spot a ways off from the campfire, veins burning with anger the momentary reprieve of a fond memory has done nothing to pacify. ]
no subject
because her father's face comes into view again, much younger and somehow more gaunt than she remembers, even as his body had gone still and cold in the rain on eadu. jyn swallows, throat going tight — but there's another swell of emotion surging through the vision, too, one that's distinctly not hers.
and that, she thinks, the fact that this son of a bantha has the audacity to hold onto any kind of fucking fondness, is the worst part.
she's fast on his heels when he rises and tries to walk away, stalking forward like an animal in pursuit of prey — and practically snarling like one. the weapon she tosses this time is verbal, hissed more than it is actually spoken.]
You killed my father. [of course that isn't the whole truth, and jyn knows it; the alliance squadron had bombed the platform after an assassination order had fallen through. but she's already flung her weapons about that, and laid them to rest before she'd set foot on scarif.
these, now, need to be targeted, and they need to hurt.] You killed him, and you think you were his fucking friend. [she grabs the sleeve of his stupid coat to stop him before he can get away from these people like he wants, tipping her chin up to look at a stupid face she's never hated looking at more. her voice rises, freely, and she makes no effort to keep her voice down.] What's wrong with me? The question to fucking ask yourself is what's wrong with you?
no subject
The visions of Galen. That's why she was staring at him; somehow they must have shared that, and now she's screeching about you killed my father, and ohhh, all of the pieces are clicking into place now, aren't they?
Galen's daughter. Jyn. He knew she lived, but he'd always assumed she'd turn out unremarkable, like her mother, and stay under the radar—yet, to know that he's dead at all would mean that she was on that tarmac or watching it through a scope or part of the flyover. There's a cold wave that runs through him at the thought of his own memories, his own private moments staring at the body before leaving it have apparently been vivisected by someone who may as well be a complete stranger, and who certainly has no right to them—but it's quickly replaced by a blinding flash of rage.
He grabs her upper arm right back, grip hard, fingertips sinking in past her own coat, and stares her in the eye right back, keeping his voice to a hushed snarl. ]
Nothing's wrong with me, Jyn Erso. Your father was killed by insurgents in a flyover attack. Why would I kill him?
[ Not that he didn't desperately want to—but he at least would have wanted a conversation first. ]
no subject
as it stands, though, every muscle in her body tenses at just his fingertips touching her, ready to fight back. with some effort and force, she attempts to wrench her arm away and free, her face scrunching, lip curling, as she does. the whole time, she makes sure she isn't the one to blink first.]
If it hadn't been for you, he wouldn't have been there in the first place. He would still be alive, and so would my mother.
[once again, she makes it a point not to keep her voice down; for anyone who cares to listen, they'll have no problem hearing about the blood on orson krennic's hands.
after a beat, she adds, flatly,]
And you should actually look at your reflection. You'd find twenty things wrong in seconds.
[had she just called him ugly? maybe. she's entitled to something from being forced to look at his stupid face.]
no subject
[ Not a friend, it turned out, but she needn't know that. It's a reality he hasn't even fully processed himself. But of course he's easier to be angry at because he's here; he's not a faceless assassin spraying down an entire tarmac with an impersonal rain of plasma bolts. She's going after him because she wants closure for a man she barely even knew, a thought that sours him further. If anyone has the right to grieve, here, it's him. She's mourning the concept of a father she never knew.
He doesn't respond to the rise in volume, keeping his voice a low, pressing hiss, teeth flashing as he speaks. ]
If I wanted Dr. Erso dead I already would have killed him. He was my colleague. And your mother had plenty of chances to avoid putting me in the position of having to put her down. She chose death, even knowing she'd leave you behind.
[ Not that he hadn't been more than happy to watch the body he'd stared at with resentment for so many years finally stop moving, stop breathing. But he didn't have to, would have continued to tolerate her if it was more feasible. Galen would have been more workable like that. Maybe he wouldn't have betrayed him so horrifically, if— ]
no subject
until three words linger: put her down.
put her down, like lyra erso had been some kind of a farm animal with a life-threatening injury who'd needed to be put out of her misery, and not a person. not the woman who'd held her small hand on the shores of lah'mu and explained the color of the sand, who'd taken care of her injuries and kissed her goodnight, who'd told her to trust the force.
rage, a constant for what seems as long as she can remember now, reaches a boiling point in her. she lunges forward, flattening both her palms on this bastard's coat before shoving him with all the strength she has.
she snarls,]
Say one more word and I'll kill you.
no subject
He does nothing to keep the condescension from his voice: she's deliberately twisted the knife, knows he watched Galen die, was privy to things she had no right to witness or to—feel. She, too, shall hurt. ]
With what, Jyn? With what?
[ Lowering his tone: ]
Your hands? You'll go back to prison if you kill me. These people don't care what some lunatic woman claims I did. But they'll care if you kill someone in front of them.
[ He presses the blaster harder against her. ]
Dr. Erso is dead. My only reason to spare you no longer holds, and these people watched you assault me.
no subject
orson krennic is really just that: pathetic.
with that revelation, it isn't even an effort to not falter. her hard stare is as easy to maintain as her balance, and is as steady as her voice.]
You think they won't care if you kill someone in front of them? [of course that's what he thinks — every imperial she's ever dealt with above a certain rank doesn't think that any rules apply to them at all — but that's not the point of saying it. she tips her chin, defiant.] Go ahead. Do it.
[it's not like she fucking cares about the outcome of this baiting one way or another. she'd been a dead woman walking long before she'd ever set foot on scarif.]
no subject
But there are practical considerations. It would still be a pain to explain this to people, and even in self-defense, it would still cost him some degree of trust and public goodwill. It's an action he shouldn't take unless he has to, and she's unarmed and very much smaller than him.
He keeps the blaster in place, a physical threat, but doesn't fire, at least not yet. ]
One might be led to believe that you've given up the fight. That you want to die a second time. [ Because surely that's how they get here—dying. ] I'd have thought Lyra's daughter a little braver than that.
no subject
there's only the tug of something at her mouth that's not quite amusement, but it is in the category of derision.]
I'd have thought you'd be a little less pathetic, but I guess we're both disappointed.
no subject
What have you done in your lifetime, Jyn? What have you accomplished? Your father was a great scientist; surely you must have done something worthwhile with your life, used the intellect you should have inherited in some way.
[ He smiles thinly, eyes cold. ]
Galen always told me he didn't care what you turned out to be, that he intended to let you choose. But I think he and I both knew he expected something.
[ The first name is a slip, maybe, in the heat of the moment, the first time he's referred to the man as he, Orson Krennic, knows him and identifies him in his mind, as opposed to the greater public. Galen, who is now dead. ]
no subject
a twitch in her jaw is, though. her teeth are clenched together so tightly that the movement of them makes a sound, too, loud, at least, to her own ears. her eyes narrow at krennic, almost to the point of squinting.
with the way purses her lips, tips her chin just a slight bit more, she might give the appearance that she's about to spit in his face. a part of her wants to, and she's not counting that out as an option for her going forward, but for now, she tells him, plainly,]
I destroyed your machine, and I destroyed you. That's what I've accomplished.
no subject
He doesn't believe for a moment the claim that she somehow destroyed the Death Star. ]
Come now. You expect me to believe that? That you destroyed a battle station the size of a moon, engineered by your father and I? Please.
[ He leans forward, voice low. ]
You never knew him, not like I did. So I'll tell you. Galen Erso was one of the most skilled engineers in the galaxy. So am I, and I watched his every step. The Death Star is immortal.
—Oh, and I don't think you destroyed me, either. Wishing that were the case won't make it reality.