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singillppl2025-06-04 11:05 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2025-06-04 11:05 pm
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June 2025 Test Drive Meme
JUNE 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 — WHAT LIES BENEATH: New fissures caused by seismic activity within the Northern Territories physiologically alters the Interlopers who check them out.
PROMPT THREE — SUFFOCATION RISK: Interlopers find it hard to breathe, and need a helping hand to catch a breather.
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.
WHAT LIES BENEATH
WHEN: The month of June.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural ailments; mental manipulation; altered physiological states; potential character injuries; potential dangerous situations; potential cold injuries.
The world has gone quiet since last month’s quake that caused a considerable amount of damage around the Milton and Lakeside regions. Newer Interlopers have been met with a town still in the process of being repaired and rebuilt, and some properties have been abandoned all together, used only for spares and repairs of homes that are actually occupied. Milton was home to some thousand people in its hey-day, now it remains a shell of itself. Some hundred or so people making this place a home in a harsh and unforgiving world.
But the world is not completely quiet: tremors and minor quakes can still be felt as time goes on. These tremors don’t have the same impact as earlier quakes, but they’re enough to give someone pause — keeping Interlopers on their toes.
What’s more is the damage caused by this ongoing seismic activity is dotted all over the landscape: scars are beginning to show in the earth itself, or rather — open wounds.
The fissures are small and unassuming, but can easily snag someone’s attention. Even more curious about them is the occasional strange vapours that seem to curl and lazily rise from these fissures. The vapours are a faint green in colour, almost sickly, and there’s plenty enough in you to make you feel like you should keep well away from these rising fogs. But there’s something about curiosity and cats, after all.
The vapours won’t kill you, no. They certainly won’t do you any physical harm, either. No instant burning of the strange, caustic fog that plagued Interlopers last year, nor the sickness that Glimmerfog brought.
But getting close enough to the vapours to examine them will cause a change in you. It’s more of an insidious thing: gradual and slow, changes in your behaviour over the course of a week. Feeling a little more anxious than normal; snapping at people you interact with; avoidance of others; the feeling of being watched and a growing paranoia. You feel like the animal that has known the feel of the snare, or seen the barrel of the gun. Hunted and small.
Soon enough, this slow chipping away at your mind is enough to cause you to snap: fight or flight.
Fighters are lost into states of pure rage. They are combative, blind to anger in a desperate bid to survive — seeking out their dangers to face them head on. They are volatile, difficult to reason with. They will cause damage to anything around them, or anyone. They will cause damage to buildings, objects — smashing their way through whatever stands in their way. They will fight with those around them — their fellow Interlopers — lost in perceived threats.
Flighters are lost into states of pure fear. They’ll break down in crying fits, hysteria and abandon all logic — avoiding their dangers. They will try to escape from wherever they may be — wanting to run out into the wilds, putting them in potentially more dangerous situations. They could end up getting lost in the wilds, or encountering dangerous wildlife like moose, wolves or bears. Or perhaps even onto thin ice on bodies of water. They will hide whenever they can: under beds, in caves, anywhere their minds might tell them are places of safety.
To those around them, it’s finding a way to try and bring the affected Interloper back to their senses. It’s a little stumbling in the dark: wrangling flighters back to the safety of town, like trying to calm a spooked horse and give them a sense of safety and care and connection might be enough to bring them back to their sense. Fighters can arguably be dealt with the same way, but some might need restraining or fighting back in order to knock some sense into them. Perhaps even literally. Drawing blood in a fight with Fighters will also… strangely calm the affected Interloper down.
Affected Interlopers will be a little shaky afterwards. But a stiff drink or a hot meal and some rest will end up soothing them. Hopefully they won’t go poking around those fissures again.
SUFFOCATION RISK
WHEN: The month of June.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural afflictions; themes of suffocation; themes of co-dependency/unhealthy codependency; potential character death/near-death experience; medical emergencies.
You think that maybe it’s the weather. The Northern Territories have been known for unsettled and sometimes ferocious climate — this is the world of endless winter, after all. But June marks a period of calm as the midsummer draws near. Occasional biting winds are the only disturbances to that calm. Other than that, it’s just damn freezing. Even with the midsummer upon the world and the still weather — the world is frigid.
The cold often bites at one’s lungs, and maybe that’s all you think it is at first. Each breath is like ice, hard to catch, and you feel like you’re suffocating sometimes. Overexertion seems to make it worse, whether you’re hiking up a particularly difficult piece of terrain or carrying a heavy load.
Interlopers will need to stop to rest often, and even then it feels like you still can’t quite get your breath back. This breathlessness will slowly get worse over time, until it’s almost unbearable.
Until it ends up nosediving into something more horrifying. One day, it’s the worst it’s ever been. It feels like you’re drowning. Your breaths are shallow and quick. Your vision blurs and warps, a shimmer of dull prismatic at the corners of your eyes. The world grows smaller around you, your hearing growing dim and distorted. You cough and splutter, gasping for air that you cannot seem to breathe in.
Panic sets in. You are suffocating, and if something isn’t done quickly enough, you will die.
But there’s a strange pull in you, too. A need. A person. You get a sensation of them, something about them. Their hair colour, their voice, their smile. Maybe it’s someone you know, maybe it’s a complete stranger, but something in you pulls you towards them.
As the world closes in on you, everything zeros in on that person. They can help. Hopefully you have enough time to reach them, hopefully you can find them. Maybe they’re searching for you too, in the exact same predicament — unable to breathe and trying to find that person to help.
Reaching that person and touching them will finally allow you to breathe. Like the air is clear, and breaths are painless again. It’s like an instant balm, and slowly the world grows back again — vision and hearing restored. You don’t know why, but this person, whoever they are — has given you your breath back.
You’re spared from the affliction, for a short time. Soon enough, it will return, and you’ll need to find that person again. Or just keep them close for a little while.
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. Characters can be affected multiple times by the vapours.
1. The length of time Interlopers are 'stuck' together to combat the Suffocation Risk affliction is player choice. It could be a couple of days or even weeks — with the affliction itself ending by the end of the month.
2. Both Interlopers can be suffering from Suffocation Risk, or just one.
3. Interlopers who do not reach the person in time will die. They could potentially be revived through CPR, however — provided they are found quick enough.
no subject
[ It comes naturally, without much thought as to whether or not that's an appropriate thing to say. He'd wanted a sibling growing up, badly. Or even a pet. Some source of company, of more overtly expressed love. He'd given up asking when his parents got divorced; he'd known before them, probably, that one of him was bad enough.
The steam rising from the twin mugs smells like rosehips, obviously devoid of the notes of hibiscus he's used to smelling in tandem: they're a far, far way from anything of the sort.
There's a question he knows is invasive, that he doesn't really want to ask, but he can't resist asking it, either. His own mounting anxiety in the presence of a man he knows to be very dead wins out. ]
Did you arrive here after... [ Freddie's eyes flit to his hands. He knows it's a question he shouldn't be asking. ] ...once the Expedition had...
no subject
He can tell, as he turns back toward Freddie, that he's getting ready to ask something, and the halting, uncertain question itself therefore isn't terribly surprising. Freddie isn't the first here to know what happened to the Expedition, and of course he might be curious, even if the question is... Impolite, to say the least.
James is far too tired--emotionally and physically--to even entertain the idea of responding with either offense or sincerity, the two ends of the spectrum for how to handle such a question. Instead, he chooses the third option, lifting his chin and responding with a light tone.]
My role in the story has reached its conclusion, yes.
[And that's all it was; a story, an experience that happened in the past, as if to someone else. It's certainly nothing more.]
cw eating disorder mentions/starvation
(And if there's the ghost of something uncomfortably familiar as he imagines what it must feel like for one's body to slowly crumble around them, to be able to do less and less of what it used to be able to do, he shelves it, pushes it to the side.)
The sympathy—empathy, to some limited degree—makes it to his face. ]
I'm sorry. You don't have to answer if it's too personal, I'm just... trying to figure out what's going on with my whole... [ A pause. His voice comes out quieter, like it's the kind of thing inappropriate to ask at full volume. ] Did you know? When things ended, did you know that was what was happening? And you just... you immediately woke up here?
no subject
At the moment, it's a strange mix of both. He doesn't like the look of sympathy, doesn't like being unsure of what exactly Freddie does and doesn't know about him, or what he's imagining. James has healed as much as he's going to, but is very aware that his current 'best' is a shadow of what he'd been before the Expedition, and that it's apparent even to those who hadn't known him at that time. It's something he can't do anything about, and so he tries to simply ignore it, though that's difficult to do when someone gives him a look like that.
But then Freddie explains, and James' own empathy is once again stronger than any irritation he might've been more inclined toward indulging. The question is certainly a personal one, and one that's even more distressing to consider at the moment than it would've been at a different time considering his fears about his recent ailment, but it seems to have been asked for a reason other than simply to pry.
There's a long pause as James tries to decide how to answer, and eventually he does with a question of his own.]
Have you been unwell?
[It doesn't seem a stretch to think that perhaps Freddie is asking about all of this because he's afraid he might've died himself, but James wonders if there's a particular reason for it beyond the simple shock of the situation.]
cw severe internalized fatphobia/diabetes stigma, unreliable narrator
Well, yes, to say the least, for about a million different reasons. Fitzjames should be able to tell that just by looking at him—but Freddie has to gently, consciously remind himself that he's speaking to someone from the 1800s to temper some of the kneejerk sourness the question brings about. Being overweight was a desirable thing, back in this guy's time, when they were still bleeding people and had fainting couches and leeches and shit. It meant that you had access to food, not that you had no self-control around it. He's pretty sure they had no concept of Type 2 Diabetes or high cholesterol or coronary artery disease.
Unwellness oozes from his fucking pores. He slams water like it's PT on a hot summer day on the Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama and it never makes him any less thirsty because he's pretty sure his blood is basically corn syrup at this point. He's a heart attack waiting to happen, because he is, per the doctor, fat in the worst way one can be fat, mostly visceral, which sounds as disgusting as it feels. He has metabolic syndrome—prediabetes that's only really pre in name considering the degree of insulin resistance he's given himself. Elevated LDL, low HDL. His teeth are crumbling to shit and his throat hurts and his head hurts and he's tired all the time and this walk alone was enough to make him need to catch his breath because he let himself get that out-of-shape. His own stomach acid is chewing open the skin over his knuckles and he goes through Tums like candy and ice cream feels like an electric shock to his teeth.
Yes, Captain Fitzjames, he's been pretty fucking unwell. Enough so that it's entirely within the realm of possibility that he just had a heart attack in his sleep or something.
But Freddie doesn't say any of that. He does, however, balk at the question, silent for one incriminating second too long before he pulls himself back into the present moment and thinks of something to say. ]
No, I just—just wondering.
cw terminal illness
So he might've taken the answer at face value if it weren't for that hesitation. It's subtle, but it's enough, especially when combined with not only the rest of the conversation but James' own experiences; how many times had he told the exact same lie, even when he knew he was dying? Isn't he doing the same thing right now, as something is certainly wrong, but he isn't sure what?
The slight narrowing of his eyes might give away that James doesn't buy the answer, but he moves to hand Freddie one of the mugs of tea now that they've steeped long enough, deciding how to approach this.]
If you were close enough to death to be at risk of it, you would know.
[James had known for a long time, but it had been academic knowledge more than anything else for much of it. But then, at the very end, he'd known in a way that had been completely different, a deep and intuitive understanding that his time had run out.
Whether or not Freddie is unwell in some way, and whether or not it's serious enough to be life-threatening, James thinks he would know he was about to die if that were the case. Of course, that's only true for a slow decline, and it's only right to add--]
If it were more sudden, perhaps not.
no subject
I guess that's like it is in the real world. Most of the time, if it happens suddenly enough, people don't really know. [ What he'd always hoped for, if it had to happen while he was deployed. ] But I didn't think there was any kind of... after.
[ There's a pause as he tries to formulate his next question, and it's a luxury of not feeling rushed. Fitzjames is kinder than any of the books his dad had ever thought to mention; his presence is gentle in a way that he can dimly recognize himself as desperately needing right now. He's been given space to sort through this in real time in someone else's house, and his inappropriate, anxiety-driven questions are being humored, and he appreciates it. ]
Are there other people here who... People like yourself and Lieutenant Irving...? [ And maybe me? ]
no subject
And James still very much suspects there's a reason that's the topic Freddie is focused on, including continued comments about a potential afterlife, and the question he finally decides to ask. Finally, though, James can perhaps give him some reassuring news.]
There are, but most are not.
[As far as James knows, anyway; even some of those here from the Expedition were still alive when they arrived in this place. He's pretty sure situations like his own--and Lieutenant Irving, though James is unsure if he's actually reached his own death or not, as they've never discussed it and Freddie could simply be assuming--are the minority.]
So it is certainly not a requirement to find oneself in this place.
[Although it could still be something of an afterlife, and everyone could indeed be dead even if they don't know of it, it seems less likely. There is also, of course, the issue of how someone could die once already dead, and death here is not entirely uncommon.
But as a small shift in topic, back to something Freddie mentioned--]
You've spoken with Lieutenant Irving?
no subject
Yes. When I first arrived here, and came out of the cabin I woke up in. He helped me find my way to the community center. He told me where I was, who he is. I asked him if anyone else from the Expedition was here, and he said you were.
[ He feels suddenly silly, a little ridiculous, like he must seem like a fanboy going to tremendous lengths to get an autograph from someone who would clearly rather leave the whole thing behind him. ]
I'd— My dad's Canadian. Québécois. So I'd heard about you, and I knew the name, and... I guess I just wanted to confirm this, with my own eyes. I'm sorry, I imagine a lot of people probably do the same thing. I'd get tired of it too.
no subject
And, just like it had been when Konstantin had mentioned knowing of the Expedition, it's... Strange, perhaps, to hear that he's someone Freddie's family had talked about at some point. Of course James had always known he'd be in history books to some extent, not just as a leader of the Expedition but for his various other adventures over time, but those had been the concerns of a James that had fluttered around ballrooms and charmed his way through society. After the Expedition, and after his time here, he's been so removed from that world that it feels like it belongs to someone else.
So he's not sure how he feels about being known in such a way, to the extent that Freddie would specifically seek him out, especially just after arriving. One one hand, he's very curious about what's said about him, what Freddie knows of him, but on the other he has no real desire to hear it. He's similarly torn on the other answers he realizes Freddie may well be able to give him.
So he avoids all of it, for the moment, focusing instead on what Freddie says about being Québécois. It isn't a word used in James' time, but context is clear enough, and between that and Freddie's surname, he decides to take a leap.]
Do you speak French?
[The translation provided by this place is universal, so it hardly matters which language is spoken in, but James has found one can tell when it's a language they're familiar with. Although French is not James' first language, it might as well be; he'd learned it very young, and had continued using it intermittently through adult life, so it feels natural to use despite having had no reason to for a few years.]
no subject
« Yes. As well as I speak English, but you might not recognize my dialect. It's spoken different in Canada. » [ A pause as he rifles through his own memories. Most of his storage space, as it were, is taken up with aviation, physics, technology. Not the things his father taught him growing up. He does, however, eventually succeed in pulling the file he needs to have this conversation. ] « You would call the place that that half of my family is from "Canada East". It's all Québec now, under an Anglo national government. My father is from Montréal, so I grew up speaking both languages. »
no subject
I have never been to that region of the Americas, but I am passingly familiar with the locations you describe. I've been told that this place, where we are now, is in Canada as well, but nothing more specific.
[And, considering the difference in year from James' time to the time it is here, James has very little sense of what land Canada might even encompass. Though if Freddie's from Canada, and a similar time as well, then perhaps he could figure out more.]
no subject
[ That would start to narrow things down, and might tell them just how far north they really are here. Actually, even the wildlife might— ]
« Have people seen reindeer or any seals around here? Puffins? »
no subject
[And indeed, this does narrow it down, and James feels suddenly very stupid. Using the coast was, of course, something he had thought of--with the main problem being that it's not entirely certain that they aren't simply on an incredibly large lake, or even perhaps Hudson Bay--but not animals, and even had he thought to do so, he wouldn't have had the confidence to narrow anything down based on that. He thinks, for a moment, that Goodsir might have, but there's no way to ask him now.]
no subject
« We're probably close to the middle of the continent, just very far north. I think we're in what was called the Northwest Territories in my time, or at the northernmost tip of the one they call Yukon. There's a little... inlet thing on the uppermost edge of the Northwest Territories if I remember correctly. It's still salt water, but you might be looking at that and not the ocean. That could explain why nobody's seen any seals. [ He squints for a moment. ] Do you have a—pencil, pen, charcoal, something to write with? Some paper? »
[ He could also draw it with a stick in the snow, but he'd really rather not go outside again so soon after getting inside, especially because he's not finished with his tea yet, which has actually turned out to be both good and refreshing—bracing in its warmth that creeps down into his core and spreads outwards from within. ]