singillppl | October 2023 Test Drive Meme

OCTOBER 2023 TDM

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A 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 — GUILTY PARTY: Interlopers are kidnapped and held captive by a being and forced to confess their wrong doings, or face fatal consequences.

PROMPT THREE — OFF THE BEATEN TRACK: Interlopers get more than they bargained for when a mysterious albeit friendly dog comes across them and persuades them to follow them into the wilds.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-October.
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 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. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. 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 see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: 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.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. 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. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

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. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“Ah, more of you have come.” he nods, just as he suspected you might. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

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 laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. 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 troubled, thoughtful. The arrival of so many is not something that sits well with him. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search amongst 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, but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

GUILTY PARTY

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Paradise Farm Outbuildings.
CONTENT WARNINGS: forced imprisonment; forced honesty; supernatural beings; confessional themes; threat of death; possible character death; possible death by throat injury.

You don’t remember how you came to be here. The air is cold and damp, the rot of wood is strong, and… blood. Why does it smell of so much blood? You can’t seem to see all that much in the gloom, but you think you’re in some kind of outbuilding of sorts. You find yourself chained to a chair, the metal is heavy and cold against you and no matter whatever you seem to do, you can’t seem to free yourself from them. No struggling can ease their hold, and there’s no lock to unpick or break. They weigh you down in your seat, you can't even seem to tip yourself over.

But you’re not the only one here. Across from you in the dark is someone else. One of your fellow Interlopers is trapped here with you, too. They too don’t remember anything either, they’re equally as confused and uncertain as you. Perhaps frightened. Not only this, they’re also sat chained up just as tightly. You have a little time to talk before you realise the two of you aren’t alone.

There's a glooming green light, the feeling of a presence. A huge figure steps into view, cloaked in black. It’s hard to tell whether it’s a man or a woman, and it’s difficult to make out much detail of them. Their face is obscured by a stone mask in the shape of a monstrous, horned and fanged Jackal. Green light glows from behind it, foreboding in the dark. It will not answer you if you try to speak with it.

“WICKEDNESS LIES WITHIN YOU.” The voice is a fierce chorus of whispers, but yet so loud. It sends a shiver down your spine. “I HAVE SEEN IT.”

... You can’t help but know it to be true. Something inside you knows what they speak of is true. Any misdeed or wrongdoing done by your hand, any cruel word you spoke, any life you took or heart you broke. You feel exposed, seen. The figure knows what you have done.

“CONFESS.” the figure demands. “UNBURDEN YOUR HEART AND BE FREE. BE SILENT AND CARRY IT TO THE GRAVE.”

The figure holds an item in its hand, something that glints in the light that glows from its mask. Now you realise why there’s so much blood in the air: it’s a sickle, dripping with blood. You are not the first to be brought here. You will not be the last.

Speak, unburden yourself, and if the figure is satisfied — you will, in fact, go free. Refuse, or not take the demand seriously, and the figure will deem you unworthy. They will move within the blink of an eye, striking you with the sickle in the neck — let it be a mercy that they kill you quickly.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Milton / Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creature; trickster creature; themes of peril; possible character injury; possible dead body discoveries; potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; possible character death.

The weather will continue to prove difficult for all who try to navigate this world, but with the current footfall in and around Milton, it’s at least helped to keep paths and roads somewhat clear despite the snow’s best efforts to cover up these walkways. Still, it’s a pain to get around, especially on particularly snowy days. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes necessary to go out on such days — survival doesn’t stop for the weather to pass.

And so journeys must be made, hunting must be done, forageables must be collected. You try to keep to the paths and trails, where the terrain yields before you for an easier journey.

… Until you hear barking through the trees, the sound of paws through the snow. Given the recent wolf activity of the last month, it’s understandable to be on edge. However, it isn’t a wolf that comes into view: it’s a large dog, bigger than any dog you’ve seen before. Coated in thick and shaggy black fur, this animal doesn’t seem to be like the wolves that have been found so far in this world. While the wildlife has certainly been altered, this dog remains very much like anyone would expect a dog to act in terms of behaviour. It’s playful with some, certainly friendly, constantly trying to play chase with you as it loops around in circles with a wagging tail.

However, there’s an insistence with this dog. It wants you to follow it. It will bark incessantly, trying to pull you from the path to go after it into the woods. It wants to show you something, take you somewhere. It will even try to gently pull at a coat-sleeve or trouser-leg to coax your forwards before heading off, keeping just in sight for you to go after it.

You’ll find it increasingly difficult to keep up, even if you pick up the pace as you head further into the woods. There’s less snow here, but the forest floor is filled with holes and tree roots that will trip you up. Falls are likely. But even worse is when before you know it, the ground simply gives way beneath you, sending you tumbling into a small valley or getting you stuck deep into soft, muddy earth. With it, perhaps, twisted ankles or worse. Or perhaps simply battered and bruised and unable to climb out of trench of earth. Maybe you come face to face with the body of some other poor Interloper who'd met their own end in similar manner — trapped and injured in the ditch.

Or worse still, the dog might just have you stumbling over a cliff face and tumbling into the Basin. Whatever fate befalls you, it’s as if the dog simply led you into it. And said dog, however, will be nowhere to be seen. It will have left you stuck, hurt, lost in the woods.

You’re sure you can hear some dark chuckling on the wind. Maybe it’s just the trees.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

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.

GUILTY PARTY

1. Characters will find that once they have confessed, they will pass out. When they awaken, they will find themselves lying or sitting on the floor — the being, chairs and chains have gone. They are free to leave.

2. Attempts to search the outbuildings at later dates will prove fruitless. There is no sign of the being, nor the chairs or chains that held characters, but there will be blood on the floor that can be found.

3. One character can confess, or both. Player choice! As long as someone's doing some confessing.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

1. Gyests, sometimes called Ghests or Bargyests are evil creatures from Northumberland, UK folklore. They seek to lure travelers away from a known and safe road to their miry and marshy demise, or perhaps lead them to walk in the darkness of a Cheviot night over the edge of a precipice. Often taking the shape of horses, donkeys or large dogs, Gyests could also shape-shift to appear as men, or even stacks of hay. But always their intention was to trick humans, for their own amusement, and lure them to their doom.

2. Attempts to lure or trap the Gyest will not work.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I’m not upset," says the vampire in one of his calm, slightly roughened voices meant to emulate a friendly fireside chat. Then he returns to blinking and the little natural shifts in weight like a regular human. He knew immediately what Tim was talking about without further explanation, but it rankled him to be caught at it. Sometimes, many times, Louis holds out in denial until the very last.

He forgets to remind Tim that he is a boy with more words than sense.

"Not a fan of bugs? You’ll see less up here, but I can’t promise this place don’t have rats. I haven’t had a chance to get it up to code. Did this Ra's al Ghul run that camp? Camp for wayward boys who break into folks’ houses?"

He smiles with more of his teeth.

And as Louis composes himself, Tim finds himself growing still. It's always a heavy silence with snow, and inside this rickety cabin the snapping of embers in the stove is mockingly loud.

Tim displaces the energy into a slow and long suffering breath outward. He leans back against the seat, theatrical. He thinks about manspreading but like, nah. Nope.

No.

"That," he says, "is nightmare fuel. So thanks for the push to pull an all-nighter."

And,

"D'you know what the coffee situation here is...?"

Bad times at camp. Noted. Tim feels the need to perform and be seen performing. Louis refrains from pressing, not for his own sake (he has his own nightmare fuel) but for Tim's sake. And, Louis doubts pressing would get him anywhere. He's calm enough to be calculating about this.

"...You do know where coffee comes from, right?" He's pretty sure Tim does, but he can't resist the dig. "Given the state of the supply routes, I'd say that's one vice you'll have to go without. Whatever you can find in town will dry up."

The house creaks, as old or poorly-maintained houses do, especially when the temperature changes or ice shifts between the cracks. Louis wonders if "camp" had cabins, or if it was more a facility type situation. There are schools dedicated to more than just education, and they have their share of runaways.

"The body needs sleep. You need to, for that arm." His fingers gesture lazily, nails catching the firelight. They're pointed and glasslike like they've been polished to a high sheen.

The million dollar question, my man: does Tim know where coffee comes from? From magical little beans, yeah, and the boy pinches his brows together as the wheels begin to turn around in that big ol' head.

"If they can smoke like a chimney," Tim drawls, and he doesn't know who they are by name but he's seen those motherfuckers around- "then I can get my coffee."

He doesn't pay attention to flashy manicures. The wistful glint in his eyes says that he's found his footing once more.

It's funny, because he doesn't even care for coffee. Teas, trash energy drinks, soda- sure. Coffee? Well, Tim Drake figures it'll become an acquired taste.

"Even if I have to eat it one grain at a time."

Sleep is for the weak, the room is finally feeling cozy, and ah... there is fuckery afoot.

"It'll keep me up long enough to find a home that's not currently occupied. But I don't like the taste."

And then he thinks, don't do it and he does it anyway:

"Coke? That's a different story. That will be hard to find."

Coca-cola but like

yknow

why not.

Call Tim Jack and get him a beanstalk. Louis nearly bursts out laughing, but that would be inappropriate. He tightens his lips, clearly holding it in. This is absurd. In his opinion, this kid has no sense whatsoever, either of self-preservation or supply lines. How is it he hasn't ended up dead in a ditch?

"Well, that's the thing," Louis begins, with effort, "Tobacco, coffee, even sugar, they all grow in warmer climates and require involved processes to refine. As does coke."

Both kinds. Louis doesn't bother specifying which. He also doesn't bother letting Tim know that alcohol of all kinds can be refined from things that do pretty alright in cold weather. Potatoes, vodka. Where there's a will, there's a way, and people find their way to vices without his help. He was just in the business of selling them.

"You fall asleep here, I'm dumping you in the snow. How's that for incentive?" Louis is using his dad voice. Uncool.

It's not that Tim's an idiot, but even in the midst of No Man's Land he had found it difficult to ignore the privilege that had coddled him. This moment, right now, feels the same. Tim can't deny the surprise of the realization that even small comforts will wilt away if they haven't already.

They are all so thoroughly fucked.

And he hadn't even weaseled his way through pharmaceuticals, if there are any. Maybe some basics for livestock or dogs. He's seen the farm in the outskirts.

So he adds that to the List.

And so he groans a pitiful defeated whine, the sort that comes naturally when one is a Younger Brother. He rolls his head back and stares bleary at the ceiling. He thinks about ceiling rats. It's better than thinking about the somersault in his chest at hearing warmth in Louis de Pointe du Lac.

Freakin' y i k e s.

"'sthat mean you're kicking me out, or should I wait until you Middle Name me?"

Rats compete with humans for food and are deemed pests. Vampires eat people and deem them prey. Louis can even subsist on a meager diet of rats if he needs to. Circle of life. This is what Lestat taught him, and killing people was always a point of contention between them. Louis desperately clings to his humanity, his family ties...

It comes on like a sudden riptide and drowns the meager humor Louis managed to scrounge for himself. His eyes grow abyssal. He is reminded of growing up with Paul, how he couldn't help spoiling his little brother. And now he's admonishing Tim like he would Claudia, slipping into old habits.

He shouldn't have gotten comfortable.

"Yes," he says, as soft as the curved back of a claw and with infinite sadness. "I'm kicking you out."

So dramatic.

Oh. Well then. Another wordless exclamation of protest against life, the universe, and everything. Kin to the jenga tower fell on my face and cousin to Bart drove the Batmobile into a ditch again.

Tim heaves in a breath and stands his sorry ass up with no more fanfare. Arranging the unruly and oversized coat he scavenged is a bit of an affair, but soon done with.

Impossibly understanding, he peers over at Louis and chirps, "I'll find you a Nyquil or something."

And, as he braces to brave the cold and dark all on his lonesome again, he keeps the door open just one second too long, long enough to be a pain and welcome inside the house some flurries of fresh snow.

"Ciao, Mister L!"

And,

"I'll let the French guy know you're looking for him."

--shoulda stabbed him when y'had the chance.

He recognizes the numbness that had become a familiar companion over the years. Louis is adrift now, completely severed from Tim's apparent agonies. How Louis longs to maintain connections to humanity, and yet he finds himself in a place that wrests him from them. God damn it. He doesn't even know what a Nyquil is.

In reply, he bares his teeth in a rigid grin that's more menacing than amused (were his canines always a little long?), but he's not looking directly at Tim. He's somewhere else, in that abyss that overtook him moments before.

"I already found him."

That's the problem.

October 2023 Test Drive Meme

no subject

short tag is short

lol tags are as long or short as they need to be | cw: dank reeducation/correctional schools

cw for stupid kid stuff, drugs mention idfk

oh my god this nervous bird

put him out of his misery

o7 lol. lmao.

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cw: depression? dissociation? take your pick