singillppl | April 2025 Test Drive Meme

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April 2025 Test Drive Meme

APRIL 2025 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 — and the current inhabitants, their fellow survivors.

PROMPT TWO — THE THING WITH FEATHERS: The Aurora has long since begun to alter the behaviours of animals in the world, and the Interlopers face a threat from above.

PROMPT THREE — MISFIT: Interlopers haven’t been feeling themselves lately. And one day they wake up to find they aren’t themselves at all: they’re someone else.

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.

These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.

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. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. 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.

The sun is bright, enclosed in light fog. It is a strange kind of twilight.

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. Once more, you poor souls come.” 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. 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, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. 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 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 gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.

THE THING WITH FEATHERS

WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal attacks, altered wildlife, gore, possible character injury/death, possible animal injury/death.

It is no secret that nature has been warped here somehow. Interlopers discovered this in the very early days of their time in the Northern Territories, when packs of wolves descended upon Milton. A frightening and terrible thing to try and survive — plenty were injured in the attack, a few unlucky Interlopers even lost their lives during that time.

There have been other ways in which the world around them has become strange: extreme weather, shifts to the flora of the world, changes in native animal behaviour, supernatural creatures, beats from the world’s old stories—

It is hard to tell what may happen next.

The flocks of crows are common sight enough, soaring through the skies, and often the heralds of death: a body, human or animal is close by. But soon enough, the crows began to gather in large groups around Milton. They watch the Interlopers with interest, and seem less easily scared by the people around them. That is the start of things.

Over time, their behaviour grows… unsettling. Interlopers who attempt to chase, scare or even hunt the birds will be met with squawks and even attempts to divebomb. Crows are very intelligent creatures, after all. They recognise the fact that someone is trying to harm them. An Interloper might even kill a crow will be met with raucous anger with their fallen fellow crow. They Will Remember That.

But what is stranger still is to see the birds fighting amongst themselves whilst in flight.

It’s hard to tell why the crows fight one another, but it’s a startling sight to see: the birds tackling into one another, talons trying to rip one another to shreds as they swoop and rise in the chilly air. Some will die, too, and even if one misses such fights in the skies — it is common to find the bloodied remains in the snow, feathers strewn about.

Soon enough, Interlopers may find themselves jumping at the sudden sound of something quick slamming against a door, a window, a roof, a half-buried car in the ground. Investigating will find freshly-dead crows with broken necks, glass cracked where their beaks have struck glass, blood upon wood.

And in time, the birds will stop their assault against themselves. They will turn their attentions to those below: other animals, and to the Interlopers themselves — flocking in huge groups to divebomb the unsuspecting below.

To be set upon is to be met with beaks and claws: the birds are set upon tearing you to shreds, a fluttering fury whirling around you. The best you can do is to try and protect your body from the attack, or run. The birds will be kept back by flames, filling the air with burning feathers as they try to flee — but the best that can be done is Interlopers find somewhere indoors to hide. At the very least, these birds are no stronger than usual animals changed by the Aurora — but they will likely cause some damage to buildings, particularly windows, as they try to get themselves inside.

In time, they will give up their pursuit, finding something else to focus their attention on — whether it be another unfortunate Interloper or some other poor animal.

MISFIT

WHEN: Throughout the month of April.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: personality shifts; body-swapping; possible themes of body dysmorphia; potential body horror, of a sort.

In the month of April, Interlopers have days when they feel….. off. It’s in little ways, at first. Maybe you don’t feel as brave as you normally are, or feel a little more melancholy when your spirit is usually upbeat. Changes in your personality. Little things.

Or perhaps it’s particular habits you keep. Maybe you find yourself not liking your tea the usual way like it. Maybe you find yourself less of an early bird, or prefer to sleep in a different position that you usually do. Those sorts of things.

It is really all that strange, considering the circumstances? Far from friends, family? Stranded in an unfamiliar place, with little-to-no luxuries or even the most basic amenities? Cold and hungry and afraid? God forbid someone feel unlike themselves for existing in this place, just trying to survive.

Eventually, you realise, something is far more wrong than those little shifts in personality or in personal habits. One morning you wake up and you feel… physically different. The weight of you shifts differently, and as you pull yourself out of bed, your perspective is different. Your limbs don’t feel like your own, and as you look at yourself— it doesn’t look like you.

It’s only when you find yourself a mirror do you really realise: you aren’t you at all, you’re someone else.

You’re in someone else’s body.

How do you broach this new existence? Do you roll with it? Do you recognise who you’ve become? Do you feel shame, embarrassment, or an opportunity to cause a little chaos? Are you curious, or very much determined to put an end to this nonsense? Are you horrified? Feeling a deep and strange feeling of wrongness?

Go look, and you’ll…. Well, find yourself. Eventually, somewhere in town is the person whose body you’re currently stuck in, now stuck in yours.

Good luck dealing with that, Interloper.

It’s not permanent, though. Probably. Maybe.

What’s that old saying? Something about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes? That might have something to it.

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.

THE THING WITH FEATHERS

1. Interlopers who have hunted the crows previously will find themselves subject to more aggression in their attacks, and the crows will be less likely to give up their hunt for them if they choose to hide.

2. Which... yes, you can eat the crows. It isn't recommended, as they are carrion birds.

MISFIT

1. This prompt is pretty flexible in how players wish to approach this! Interlopers can wake up in the other's home in the other's body and come face to face with a stranger's home and potential housemates. Alternatively, they can find themselves in their own homes but their body has swapped. This would also mean that whatever clothes they happened to wear to bed that night would now not properly fit them. Oops.

2. Interlopers can undo the body swap by talking it out and trying to reach a moment of empathy and understanding with the other.

3. If Interlopers don't reach that understanding, the 'curse' will eventually run its course after 72 hours.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's harder to tell what John is these days.

Oh, he's still seven, eight feet tall with the horns. And he's still got a face as dark as the void. And those are definitely not boots.

But when he's outside, the hood stays up and he's wrapped up in a dozen blankets and looks more like a shambling laundry pile than an eldritch horror, the golden eyes peering out through an old sheet or something or maybe someone's dress that's been made into a big scarf to wrap around himself. Those eyes are sharp enough, though, and they spot someone coming in from the wilderness, concerned now that he's very much learned what 'cold' and 'tiredness' and 'injuries' feel like.

When he spots the face, that's what has him calling out.

"Noel!?"

Edited 2025-04-05 23:49 (UTC)

Arthur's not particularly recognisable either, but at least he's more distinctly human-shaped beside John. Though between the layers he needs to stay warm with how little fat he has left and the patchy beard, the only identifying marks left visible are the sandstorm scar across his temple, and his gold-flecked brown eyes, impossible to miss.

But he still does a massive double take when John says that name, suddenly looking up sharply. "John- fuck, are you sure?"

To Noel, who's made the best laundry pile he can on himself out of limited resources, the silhouette makes perfect sense. The voice, though--

He stops walking, wide-eyed, and regrets it immediately, knowing how hard it'll be to get started up again. He tilts and has to fight to keep his balance.

He heard that voice for ten fucking years, and he heard it as he walked into thin air, and he heard it as he was snatched back from the brink, before thin air could become hard deadly ground. Not all that long ago, actually. Been a big day.

The impressions snap at each other's heels. It's difficult to keep his thoughts in order, but the good news is that that's a perfectly normal symptom of freezing to death! It doesn't have to mean - anything else.

What were we talking about? Right: hah, that guy looks a tiny bit like Arthur, and that other guy looks a lot like a laundry pile.

They're not so far away. They're a near-insurmountable distance away. The laundry pile's voice carried further. And he imagined he heard... well, not the first time. Noel lifts his hands a little way in greeting to the two men: just a small amount, not enough to let any cold air sweep in under the robe those hands are balled into.

Edited 2025-04-06 00:38 (UTC)

"Of course I'm fucking sure! That's Noel! He's even wearing the fucking robe from the Order of the Fallen Star!"

Noel will probably hear that part, complete with the cursing (the King in Yellow probably didn't do much of that, not dignified, but John has no such problems), as said laundry pile is going to pick up it's longer extensions of cloth and start galloping at him on a pair of what definitely look like black sheep legs.

"It's John! John and Arthur! Noel!"

...and his voice might sound wet on that last name.

"What-?"

It takes Arthur a moment to look again with that in mind, at the robes, something he never even fucking saw before, but he can't--

If John's sure, he can't doubt it. Won't. He trusts his eyes.

"Charlie?" His voice carries this time, and he sets off at a sprint with John; the sheep legs are so much fucking longer than his but he reaches his own top speed faster for it, lifting an arm to wave him down. "Charlie!!"

Holy shit.

What else can you say to that? Holy shit.

(You can say a lot of things, each more suspicious than the last; but he already established -- or decided -- or something that this was not a dream. Which leaves... weird shit. Oh, how unlikely! Weird shit?)

Charlie calls some sort of hello, openly confused, as they run towards him. It comes out indistinct and makes him realise how hard his teeth are chattering. Then he takes a heavy step forward, and his numb foot forgets how to land on the ground, and like a felled tree he just keeps tipping forwards until he hits the snow with a flat oof.

John knows what cold is. He knows what wet is. He knows wet plus cold is bad. That's why he's charging forward and practically howling Noel's name as he dives to pull him into his arms and starts pulling off the clothing piled on him to get it on Noel.

"Arthur, he's freezing! We have to get him inside now!"

"Let me see him, John, Jesus--"

In another time that'll have a much more positive meaning. But right now that means helping John bundle their friend into his arms, pulling one of his own gloves off with his teeth so he can tug Charlie's collar down, looking for a pulse or an injury.

What he finds is a fresh scar, just shy of his voice box. And he pauses, just for a moment, as a swell of complicated fucking emotions hits him.

And then gets summarily compartmentalised away for later, as he instead yanks his knit cap off and tugs it over Charlie's head. "I-I don't think he's bleeding, but- let's get to the Hall, it's closer."

(There's, uh - there's no delicate way to say this, but - there's bits of frozen brain stuck to Charlie's robe like dried Weetabix. Whether the bits are necessarily identifiable as such is its own question, but, well, there it is.)

Up Charlie goes in John's arms, as if for an encore. The only thing he can think to say is also the stupidest thing, and it's "We gotta stop meeting like this, kid," pleased and relieved and baffled.

He can't get much closer to explaining John's presence than 'projection but... different???', nor can he figure out why Arthur's trying to look at him. He does feel a whole lot warmer, though, and he has a feeling that'll make things easier to figure out soon enough.

...In fact, as his body goes 'oh shit! heat!' and all his blood makes a jump for the surface, he feels a whole uncomfortable fuck of a lot warmer. Arthur's hat is the last straw, so as soon as Arthur pulls it onto his head he pulls it back off again, sorry Arthur. He's about to spontaneously combust over here. "Who-o-oa. Slow down."

If they were in their own world, the sad piano music would be going apeshit right now, the way John's voice chokes up at the address.

"Noel..." he says, and the King has never sounded so heartsick, so broken in relief to see him, to hold him in his arms, to know that he is... if not safe, then at least here.

Then Noel pulls the hat off, and he growls as he lifts and congratulations Charlie, he's treating you like a lightweight. Literally. Up like he's got a toddler in his arms frankly. And whoah is he up. John's tall.

"Keep the fucking hat on. You're freezing. We're taking you to the fire to warm up. Arthur said you could lose pieces if we don't!"

No pieces lost! Noel is in one piece here, now, and he's staying that way, goddammit.

It settles something in Arthur's chest more than he can describe when he actually hears Charlie's voice, and an actual link is established between the human voice he's so dependent on and the body they're hauling.

That being said, he still catches the hat when Charlie drops it, and stuffs it immediately back onto his head. "Don't you fucking dare, Charlie."

He looks back up at John, and the concern is raw on his face. "John, this is bad, he's been out here too long. I-I'll explain later, just- get him to the hall, as fast as you can, I'll catch up."

Edited 2025-04-06 12:59 (UTC)

Whoo, it's like going up in an elevator. Charlie can hardly cope with one reality at the moment, and yet here he is, forced to deal with two: one in which the tone of John's voice saying his name is breaking his heart, and one in which being spun up in the midst of that deep growl kinda makes him feel like he's dying. He's still burning up, but he doesn't resist the hat again, or move besides shaking. He can't do a lot about the shaking.

A couple of frosty braincells knock together, and he gets the uncanniest sense of deja-vu. Maybe from Arthur's worry, maybe from being cradled, maybe from the threatening hole of dead tiredness that he's trying not to slide into.

Nervous: "Didn't we do this already...?"

John's going to grunt in reply to Arthur, and then Charlie is getting held close to his chest and he's going to move. He may not be a Free Runner, but John's got long legs and a Will to get there fast, which is why, sorry Charlie, but the world's turning into even more of a blur as John goes at his top speed towards the community hall.

If anything, he might just hear-

"Oh Noel."

In the blur of it all.

Fortunately(?), Charlie has been in a lot of storms, and a lot of storms' eyes, and so he isn't knocked proverbially flat. The moment of instinctive stillness has passed, and he retains the presence of mind as he's whipped along to pat -- clumsily -- John's chest, or what he can find of it through their matching layers of laundry.

"'S gonna be okay, John," he mumbles.

Is that true? Eh, maybe. He'll work on it. For now, he badly wants John to believe it.

For some reason, that mumbled reassurance just breaks his heart further, and if he can put on more speed, he will. Everyone else will just see a vague lanudry-colored blur heading towards the central fire and John doesn't so much deposit him beside it as sit down with Charlie cradled in his arms to try and warm him from both sides.

"You have to let the fire get you warm, Noel. You're going to be all right."

He is. He is going to be all right.

Edited 2025-04-06 14:56 (UTC)

Noel's very very hot and he hates it. But he's no longer shivering so hard he bounces -- not shivering at all, actually -- so that's a nice change.

It's taking time for John's body heat to leech through the layers of clothes, and Noel's body is obviously no help there, so he's still in absolute terms a hell of a lot colder than he should be. Arthur's hat directly from Arthur's head is probably by far the warmest part of him. The heat of the fire hits him with all the gentleness and comfort of a truck going 80.

Which, hey, means he's inside. Did it. Knew he'd do it. Ha.

He inhales sharply in pain and squeezes his eyes shut against the hot flames. Then he falls slack and quiet in John's arms, succumbing to the drunkenly spinning room and dropping down the hole, because great things can be done through sheer power of will but sometimes a human reaches a certain temperature and the results are just what they are.

...Fire or no, it's probably not safe yet for this man to be going to sleep.

Yeah, John's not about watching him go unconscious.

"Hey! Hey, wake up! Noel, wake. up." He has to be awake. He has to be okay. He's not allowed to die now that he got him to the fire. That's how that works, isn't it?!

Noel snaps awake. His whole body jerks. Through no fault of his own, John has a hell of a voice to wake up to. Thank fucking god the King called him Charlie.

The fire is still big and painful and so continuity of experience is, also thank god, easy to establish. All the same, Charlie sounds indistinctly panicked as he swears repeatedly -- his numb lips moving too slow to exactly keep up -- and then says: "John?"

...oh that's a relief. The swearing, the jerking, all of it. A good fucking fire is worth everything sometimes.

He relaxes, just a little, and nods.

"Yes, I'm here. I'm... holding you. I thought that might be easier if you were sore."

He's softer than the bench, anyway.

Okay. Okay. All right.

"...that's good luck."

He's surprised to find that 'I'm holding you' soothes his agitation a little. Guess being yanked from certain death by the same pair of arms twice gives a guy some positive associations.

And brings up a lot of tabled questions that he's too cold-drunk to properly look at, but warm-sober enough to recognise as weird.

"How'd you... ain't that..." Drowsily, he loses track of the question for a moment, until he remembers Larson strained and half-collapsed with Yellow rising above him, and the pallor of Arthur's face on the balcony. Urgent images that make his next question more distinct: "Can Arthur take it?"

It takes John a moment to make sense of what Charlie is asking him, mostly because he's had a month to get used to the idea of having a body and being a physical being. A month is an incredibly long time for him, really, considering. But he nods, just to reassure him first off.

"This place took Arthur first, without me, and later I arrived, like this. My body isn't reliant on his, a-at least I don't think so."

It takes Charlie a moment too. That's, uh, huge.

"So you..."

...were stuck apart? ...are free? Noel hits a branch of two very different, very big roads and gets confused trying to decide which one to go down. Big emotions on both. He slumps again, blinking and forcing his eyes back open.

The road about now.

"So we can talk whenever," he says, his face defrosted enough to grin faintly, his words running together.

"John-!"

Arthur's voice is a low call, that carries as the rest of the hall slowly recovers from their resident shambling mound taking over the fireplace, and as he runs over he's got supplies in his arms - another blanket, a thick tartan one from their house, and his bag swings with a much more distinct weight than it had before, bulging at every seam.

"John, make sure he's sitting upright," he comments, already a flurry of motion. "Charlie, d'you think you can take that robe off, w-we've got something a bit warmer, easier to wear, I-I-I got some food, uh- here--"

He's already shaking out the blanket, loosing the cold it absorbed from outside before he goes to drape it around Charlie anyway. "W-what's the last thing you remember?"

Charlie is close enough he'll hear the little humphf of John feeling a little thrown by Arthur's haste and fuss, but he'll grunt to the affirmative and help sit Charlie up a little farther. But he will answer Charlie.

"Yes, we can talk now." A little smile enters his eyes. "I can ask how you're feeling for once."

"Like shit," is the immediate comedy response.

Charlie's jerked aware again by Arthur's flurry of an arrival, and further by John helping him get more vertical. He's clearly a few steps behind them, because he can't suss out how to take off the robe when there are layers of laundry and a blanket on top of it, but he supposes Arthur knows what he's doing. He tolerates the blanket and rubs his hand over his face, achieving relief on his face where the direct heat of the fire is blocked, and a sensation like his skin is being scorched off on his hand where it isn't. He pulls a whole corner of the new blanket over his face instead, like a sweaty burrito, and now that's the ticket. He knew he could trust you dude. This is mint actually.

"Uh..." Arthur said a lot, so he's just going to tackle that last part and also loopily misunderstand it. "Sitting' down... John's keepin' me up."

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