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singillppl2025-04-04 10:29 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2025-04-04 10:29 pm
Entry tags:
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
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. 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.
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.
Re: arrival
"Yeah," he mumbles. "But he's a fighter. More than we could possibly imagine. This won't beat him."
And if he says it out loud, maybe they'll believe it.
He takes a deep breath, letting the warmth char his own lungs a little, and gives John's leg a pat as he goes to stand. "Right. Alright-" it's a grunt as he stands "-I'm going to- to get some food going. Something soft and warm will help, w-when he wakes up. A stew, I think."
Re: arrival
He doesn't show signs of waking up. It's a limp, exhausted sleep.
Re: arrival
"It won't," he agrees, looking down as Charlie settles in his arms. He gathers him a little closer, clearly tender. But as Arthur stands up to leave, he nods.
"I'll stay here. S-so he can rest."
Re: arrival
It means Arthur's mind is free to wander, while he gets the food from their cold stores and some other ingredients from their limited pantry. Granted, his spiralling thoughts aren't necessarily good, but worrying how to feed and clothe another adult is better than the icy dread in his stomach.
When Charlie eventually wakes up, it'll be to the rather distinct smell of Beef And Fish Stew, thickened a little by pine nut flour so it's not just broth - it's not much, but at least it's edible.
Re: arrival
Mere exhaustion doesn't stop him shifting restlessly now and then, or rolling over if John dares shift himself. At one point in his sleep he tells John rather crossly to put something higher on something, and then immediately becomes unavailable for further comment.
The smell of food slowly brings him to. The first thing he's subconsciously aware of is that the shapes are wrong, and his reaction is to look for the specific silhouettes of his bedroom, which he doesn't find. He wakes up further. He's not in his apartment, he's no longer clothed, and the groggy impressions of a larger hall and larger fire that precede actual memories aren't helping.
So the first order of business (though consciousness is hurrying towards him, ready to vouch for the likelier explanation and all the points of continuity) is to stir and breathe in sharply, twice, in alarm. "What-" Another quick breath. "What-"
Re: arrival
Re: arrival
"Noel, it's- it's Arthur, you're alright- w-well, you're alright now--" He moves to kneel in front of him, between Charlie and the fire in case he startles in the worst possible direction. "You passed out in the hall, you were- p-practically frozen through, we got you to our house as fast as we could." He offers Charlie a hand - both, in fact, partly surrender and partly to help him back to his feet if he wants it. "You're alright - it's only been a few hours."
Re: arrival
John. John? Didn't they talk about how that was possible? He doesn't turn to look. Context says it's John. Context is coming back out of order. His life these days would be so much easier if actual memories trickling back was distinguishable from stage directions being fed to him.
"Shut up," he begs, breathing fast, back turned to them both, waving his hands as if they'll knock Arthur's words out of the air. He doesn't want fucking stage directions. He doesn't want them in a voice he trusts. It's true: he was in the snow. Then he was seated out of the snow. There was sharp, fresh tea offered. "Shut up! Don't-- Don't fucking do that, don't-- Let me-- Don't. Don't. Stop it!"
Yellow was in his head. Kayne sent Larson to the Dreamlands, then snapped his fingers and Charlie was somewhere else. Charlie has decided multiple times that this is happening in reality, but was it out of evidence or necessity? He can't survive a round two. If this is round two I'll make it bad for you.
The fire is crackling within arm's reach, and he nearly puts his hand into it just to see if that'll make the scene change, but the thought occurs that that might upset John and Arthur. Which makes them perfect parts for a scene, and also means that he knows he's not sure, because if he was sure their faces didn't have people underneath then he would do it anyway.
He decided that this was happening in reality for a reason. He must have. He twists to look at John's face over his shoulder, nervous and searching.
Re: arrival
"It's us, Noel. John. And Arthur." A pause. "We just saved you from freezing to death."
Re: arrival
And more quietly, to John. "Just- give him a minute."
But he'll reach over John, to the pile of assorted abandoned warm things on the couch, and tug one of the blankets out to roll into a ball and toss at Charlie's feet. Let him make his own decision with it.
Re: arrival
"Ha, sorry. Bad dream--"
The blanket lands at his feet and surprises him, and he cuts himself off. No, he doesn't need to fucking say that, and he shouldn't say it so lightly. They know what just happened.
He scoops the blanket up, so that he can find it very interesting to look at. Near-nudity is one thing but it's nothing next to the nakedness of knowing that they know. He almost wants to protest that it's usually not so bad, not after two years of re-establishing himself, that they just keep seeing the worst of him -- but doing so would be more than he has ever wanted to explain about himself in his life, and they've already had that part of him once as well.
"Sorry. I, uh." Serious this time, consciously avoiding flippant. Forcing himself to breathe slower. He shrugs the blanket quickly around his shoulders so that he's covered, paying lip service to civilisation, watching his own fingers grip the fabric. They're pink and painful, and laying the foundations for some handsome blisters, but at least they all made it here alive. He grins a grin that sits uncomfortably between sincerity and performance. "Jesus. What a show."
/bullies brain
"I was grumpy as shit when I first came in. And I had someone offer me a place to warm up on my way in.
"Don't worry about it."
John's going to unfold himself from where he'd been sitting so he can stretch a little; he'd had a
catCharlie sitting on him the whole time and, nice or not, he's got muscles and muscles that cramp when they're in the same position for too long. He looks over to Arthur. Should he go for a bit? He can if it would be easier. This is...This is Noel. Charlie. This is different.
Re: /bullies brain
"It's fine, Charlie. You don't owe us anything." There's already so much they haven't told him, and Charlie's already told them more than enough. "Frankly I think it's rather the opposite, but- anyway."
He's not going to send John away, not if Charlie's calming himself down. "There's food, when you're ready. A-and your clothes, still." With a light gesture at the couch John had just been propped up against, the pile of fabric mostly indeterminable from a distance, piled in with blankets and such as it is. "Whatever you need."
Re: /bullies brain
(Even so, he can't stop glancing at John: not nervous looks, but frequent ones. At the tentacles, the gold, the horns. At his expressions. At the natural way Arthur touches him, as if their skin is still shared. Did he spend the last few hours holding Charlie like a mother hen in his robe, in his goddamn lap? Both smaller than they used to-- no, no, no, kibosh. Veto.)
"Oh, food'd be marvellous," he says readily, and he points himself towards the couch. "I could eat a god damn horse. We can fight about whether I owe you later. At very least I owe you both a hell of a thanks."
He starts to root one-handed through the pile of clothes and whatnot, while the other hand pins his blanket in place.