methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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singillppl2023-08-10 12:13 am
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-08-10 12:13 am
Entry tags:
August 2023 Test Drive Meme
AUGUST 2023 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A group of newcomers 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.
PROMPT TWO — HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE: Once recovered from their journey, newcomers are free to explore the town of Milton for supplies and find any signs of the townsfolk.
PROMPT THREE — THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN: A mysterious woman haunts the frozen lake of the Milton Basin, trying to lure newcomers to their deaths.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Day One.
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 days, maybe longer. The fire is cold, the dishes in the sink are a little mouldy. 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.
But it won’t be long until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire.
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. As you head into the outskirts and 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, are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up. Other than those heading in the same direction, towards the smoke, you won’t find any townsfolk coming to greet you, or even looking at you from behind curtains. … Where is everyone?
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the smoke 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.
“It seems like a great deal of you have come.” he muses finally. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. Please, warm yourselves. Eat. Get your bearings. Mother Nature has not been kind to you.”
The room is dim, lit mostly by the weak 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, places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold or any injuries. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long, foldable tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen.
There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred moose, deer and rabbit meats, 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.
If you ask him where you are, he will simply respond: “This is Milton, of the Northern Territories.”
If you ask how you came to be here, he will shake his head: “Something has changed. The sky, it was… full of light. The Flare. I felt you coming, a great arrival. But I cannot say for certain how, or why you are here.”
He is regretful, genuinely so. He wishes he had more answers for you, but he does not. Instead he will simply insist you rest, get warm and eat. There is plenty to go around. Eventually, when you feel well enough, Methuselah will gesture to the door: “When you are ready and able, explore the town. Many left, others could not make it out. I have found no one but the dead. They will have no use of the place now, perhaps you might in the meantime.”
HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE
WHEN: First couple of weeks since arrival.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: frozen dead bodies, unexplained deaths, suicide, murder.
Other than Methuselah in the Hall, the town of Milton is void of life. While not a particularly large town, there’s a few stores and even a gas station. Life here is rustic. Function over form. Homes are simple but sturdy and warm, it’s a rugged place and one can easily deduce that the folk living here led simple, self-sufficient lives.
Commercial buildings and stores of note include a bank and post office, a hunting/fishing supply store, a grocery store, and a clothing store. There is even a church just on the outskirts of town. The buildings are ripe for picking, with most of them still with the doors unlocked, including the residential buildings. Others are locked, but can be broken into easily enough. A few are even trickier, with some of them boarded up or with entrances blocked. In terms of contents, a third of the residential buildings seem to be almost empty, as if the owners moved out long ago. There might still be things left behind of use: old, warm clothes good for the wintery weather, tools and cooking utensils — but little in terms of food. Even if the former residents move some time ago, they didn’t completely empty their homes.
Most of the homes in Milton seem to be left as if the owner stepped out only a short while ago, and with very little disturbance. Some houses, however, seem to be abandoned in a hurry, with a mess of items strewn about in some last-minute dash to grab essentials: keys, identification, treasured personal items, supplies for a quick exit. Cupboards are typically filled with an abundance of canned goods, and some chilled goods might have survived in the cold weather within the fridge-freezers, but it might be a gamble if one wants to try and eat them. Any and all electronics within homes: televisions, computers, mobile-phones — although dated, will all appear cracked and damaged, and will not function or turn out at all. The same will go for any vehicles around the town: there is no hope of starting any of them.
Diaries and journals kept by the former residents may remark on a change in the weather, with the cold and harsh climate becoming more hostile as of late. Others remark strange lights in the skies, dating several weeks or so ago, strange noises in the air, issues with power and electrical items. Some make mentions of changes to the wildlife, with wolves coming close to the town even when they had never done so before. One or two mention problems on the Mainland, with increasing difficulty of reaching out to loved ones who don’t live in the Northern Territories, or deliveries being unable to arrive. The growing trend is that something odd and terrible has been happening, although no one can truly explain what, and the problems have been growing increasingly worse and worse up to the final entries. You might note that the actual years and dates might not line up with your own: the current year given in these entries is 2014.
The newcomers are free to take over these homes, if they wish. No one appears to be stopping them, and even Methuselah seems to shrug about moving in. And as he’d mentioned, he has found no one but the dead: and plenty of them can be found.
Bodies of the town’s former residence can be found scattered over the town. In homes, in stores, out in the snow. They appear still relatively fresh, although it may be hard to tell if it’s from the cold or if it’s from very little time passing. Most appear to have died from cold exposure, some appear to have simply dropped dead on the spot. Others may be found with a gun in hand. Some, worryingly, appear to have perished by another’s hand. You won’t find the entirety of the town’s population, but there’ll be at least several dozen. Men, women, children.
Methuselah seems to have begun laying the dead to rest, but there’s too many for one man to do. Maybe you can work out what to do with them, try to bury them in their backyards, or try to take them to the churchyard.
THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN
WHEN: Until the next Aurora.
WHERE: Milton Basin.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mental manipulation, malevolent mythical creatures, falling through ice, attempted drowning/possible successful drowning, potential character death.
Those who venture further south of the town will find themselves traversing the steep, winding paths down towards the Milton Basin. The way down is treacherous, but if enough care is taken you should be able to make it down in one piece. The water is just about completely frozen over down here, thick and sturdy enough to walk over for the most part. Within the Basin there’s more wildlife to be found: deer and rabbit are plenty. And there’s even plenty of foragables, too.
Out on the water are two small ice-fishing cabins, enough to fit one or two people inside comfortably, which hold a few forgotten supplies to try out some ice-fishing if you want to see if anything bites. Both even hold little log burners to keep warm. An old hunter’s shack can be found along the water’s edge, for those not quite brave enough to travel out onto the ice, to take shelter in for when the weather gets a little too difficult, with an old log burner still working within it.
But it’s calm down here, for the most part. Peaceful even. It’s an excellent place for fishing and hunting, and a little more sheltered from the freezing winds.
Until you hear the voice. Something soft and feminine, echoing across the ice. The Basin helps to amplify the sound, and for a long time you can’t quite be sure of where exactly it’s coming from. It’s singing, she is singing. Something old, in a language you can’t quite understand. Maybe it’s not even a language at all, but simply melodic vocalizations. It’s... beautiful, you’ve never heard anything like it before in your life.
And then you see her: a woman standing upon the frozen waters of the Basin. You realise she’s probably the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life, even if you can’t quite even begin to describe her. She appears different to everyone who beholds her, some one might see her hair is long and dark, others might see her with neat red curls. Some swear her skin is dark and rich, that looks almost plum when the light hits it just so, others claim it to be cool-toned that glistens like sunlight on snow. Whatever someone might find aesthetically pleasing is how she’ll appear, and even then to describe her to others will bring you at a loss for words. And she’s singing… to you, for you.
You’re compelled to go to her, although you can’t explain why. You’re drawn to approach her, to hear her better, see her better. Your feet carry you onto the ice, out into the midst of the Basin. You ignore the calls of everyone and anyone around you, fixated on the woman before you. She smiles when you’re close enough, beckons you a little closer.
… Then everything changes. Without warning, the woman leaps for you, her face contorting into something hideous, mouth opening to scream to reveal rows upon rows of tiny, needle-like teeth. She collides with you, and the force (paired with the slippery ice below you) is enough to send you off your feet. As you fall back, the ice cracks beneath you with an almighty sound, plunging you into the frigid depths below.
The woman fights to put you beneath the water’s surface, those needle-like teeth bared like some ferocious beast. She can be fought off easily enough, but she might just drown you before you’re able to. If you’re lucky, someone might be able to help pull you out. Tools or weapons made of iron or silver are especially harmful to her.
Once you’re pulled from the water, getting somewhere warm will be the utmost priority — otherwise the cold will kill you quicker than the woman would. The woman, you’ll find, will have vanished, and the ice where you’d fallen will have restored itself, as if it had never been broken at all.
FAQs
1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. If asked how he knew that the Newcomers were arriving, he concedes that although it is a strange thing to know, it is much like how one knows a storm is coming.
1. Characters are welcome to take up residency in any of the homes of Milton. Methuselah will strongly advise characters to leave a huge, dilapidated house — known as Milton House — well alone, due to extensive fire damage.
2. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. Characters with hearing impairments will not be susceptible to the Siren's song, or may only be somewhat susceptible depending, but may be entranced to a degree by looking at the Siren. However, this will be far easier to snap out of.
2. The Siren cannot be killed, only fought off. She will disappear for a length of time to recover before she attempts to lure her next victim.
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Why's there no one here, though? Look-- [ he points to the population sign of Milton with the hand that's not still grasping at his new friend's cotton candy dress. ]--we're in the middle of down. Where did all of those 947 other people go? Why's this place a ghost town? Shit's mostly all boarded up.
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[Whatever that all means, it's not going to slow their progress toward the light and warmth. Huaisang walks faster, if anything, heading up to the door and pulling on the knob without any success before trying to figure out what latch or mechanism opens the door.]
It's locked from the inside, [he announces, with confused frustration. It is not, in fact, locked from the inside. Huaisang has just never in his life encountered a rotating doorknob, and at the moment he's a little too tired and upset to think about the obvious solution of knocking.]
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Culture, man.
What he can't let slide is the way the other is trying to open the door. He watches it with what looks like passivity, but he's absolutely fascinated. ]
What are you doing?
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[Since it's open. He stomps a little to get to said window, but then he finds out it has some kind of clear material in it. It's glass. Glass! The purest, clearest glass he's ever seen. Huaisang taps it, enrapt. Which is mercifully when someone else takes pity on them two idiots and opens the door.]
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Not that it matters: the knock has been answered and the door is open and March puts on his best winning smile, all boyish charm with a confident swagger that he had been completely lacking before. There's a number of factors at work: there's a fire, it's warm, there's someone who can clearly answer his questions or at least looks important, and from what he spies (he can't smell it) there's a bunch of food. There's some teeny, tiny glimmer of actual fucking civilization. March is a big fan of civilization and not so big on the crushing cold wilderness and the loneliness that's sure to come with it, so in he goes and quickly. He does stop to remember his manners: ]
Hey, thanks, pal. You really saved my ass.
[ He means it, and flashes another boyish smile with a half salute and a wink before he saunters over to start his investigation. First stop: old guy. Next stop? Food.
---
March finishes his talks a little defeated and a lot unsatisfied, both fairly common in his line of wor, and once he's got a warm drink and a blanket splayed over him like a cape he decides to bother his new friend. He's decided they're friends, or at least passable acquaintances. Life saving and all of that. Huaisang doesn't get a say.
March's presence is announced plopping unceremoniously into the seat next to the shorter man, all legs and no grace and a heavy sigh. Almost immediately he begins to root around in his pockets. ]
Huaisang. Can you believe this place?
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All the snow that had collected on his robes while trekking through the mountains melts once they're inside, leaving his clothing sopping within minutes, so he has to shed most of the layers, hanging them up near the fire's warmth to try and dry them out a little. But that leaves him indecently dressed, in a single layer of gauzy silk that's basically see-through. The style is of pajama pants and a wrap shirt, not a single button on any of his layers.
He helped a little with some of the injuries, assisting a doctor and putting some of his field medicine to use, but that's not a skill set that Huaisang manages comfortably, and combined with all the other emotional traumas of the day, he's currently just sitting by the fire and quivering, holding a cup of horrible black liquid (made from, he presumes, dried burnt swamp ooze) which has since gone cold without him managing to choke down more than a quarter of it.
He twitches as Ma-chu approaches, brow furrowing with fear and misery, but he doesn't move away. Ma-chu is no longer an assumed exception to the norm. Whatever this place is, he is far more of the norm than Huaisang. By virtue of their shared ordeal, and Ma-chu now being a relatively familiar thing compared to all the terrifying unknowns, Huaisang accepts his presence. He answers the question only with a little shake of his head.]
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[ He draws it out, letting the depressing reality sink in for him as well, and comes close to blowing a raspberry and putting his feet up on the table until he glances back over at his new pal.
Oh.
He knows that look, the way the other's he's semi curled in on himself. He's seen it on Holly. He's seen it on himself, too, and he presses his lips into a thin line. ]
You wanna know the worst part? [ He's saying it without waiting for a pause, finally pulling out a small flask from his suit, thankful he almost always keeps one on hand, and unscrews it. ] I'm going to miss Three's Company. I'm never gonna see Chrissy Snow's legs again.
[ He doesn't wait for an answer or bother to ask: he reaches over to put a bit of whisky into Huaisang's coffee in an attempt to comfort him, and then brings the flask to his lips to take a long swig for himself. ]
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But he can appreciate the yearning for an attractive body.]
Was Chisi Sono your favorite courtesan in Third Merchant's House?
[Surely if he had seen the actress or gymnast's bare legs, then she was the type of actress or gymnast who made most of her money off the stage. No judgement. Huaisang's a big fan of actors and gymnasts of whatever gender.]
no subject
Every week. Me, her and Janet Wood... And Jack Tripper, but you can ignore him pretty easily.
[ A sigh. His lighter comes out from his pocket next, flicking the zippo open as he talks. ] You find anyone you know around here?
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(Perhaps they were crimes of debauchery? Huaisang can't imagine any of the sect leaders arresting anyone for something as minor as an orgy, but maybe it was a very disruptive orgy or a very grumpy magistrate.)
He reaches gratefully for the flask, knocking back a mouthful of the unfamiliar liquor. It's good. It tastes like roasted barley cakes with honey.
At the question, however, he shakes his head with a sigh.] No. It does not seem like we're in Qinghe at all.
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This sucks. But March, ultimately, is used to disappointment. This is on another level but dead ends and fruitless searching for answers is kind of his whole thing. He has no idea that Huaisang probably thinks he's some sort of wild sex fiend, but if he did he's not about to correct him. ]
So what's your story, morning glory? Qinghe, China? [ Is there a place in China called that? March is assuming there is, what with Huaisang's whole deal, and the robes and all that. He lights his cigarette with his lighter and tosses the lighter on the table to join the pack, leaning back. ]
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I'm the province leader. Only ... only recently. [Huaisang's brow furrows deeply at the thought, and he takes another sip of the awful black liquid to try and distract himself from the grief.]
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[ He doesn't get the firewood remark, but the rest he does, and colour March impressed. He looks it, too: lips pursed together with with a flicker of a smile, approval in his eyes. He brings the cigarette to his lips and after taking a drag he uses his hand to give Huaisang a little thumbs up. ]
Hey, congratulations, that's like...Lord? Mayor? You got power and shit. Nice. You dig it?
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March inhales, takes another drag off of his cigarette, exhales, and decides to do something about it. ]
You ever see the Bad Breath Tie?
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For a moment, Huaisang's general concern about the situation is more specific concern about Ma-chu, his sanity and desperation levels.] The what?
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You wanna try it?
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You're tied up because you have bad breath? I don't want to be tied up. And I don't have bad breath.
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--Shit, It's a joke, I was going to do a joke for you. Like a little bit. Like a little funny ha-ha bit.
[ He hasn't asked to be released yet but he is sort of hoping Huaisang will just sort of...do it. ]
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[He looks worried, but also tries to look attentive for whatever the joke ha-ha bit is, since he does like jokes, mostly, usually, but he's very concerned (mostly for Ma-chu's sake) about how this is going to go.]
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Nah, don't worry about it. [ He waves indifferently, picking the cigarette back up and continuing to smoke. He shoots the other a quirk of his brows. ]
You know there is one good thing about this place, right?
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No. [No, he doesn't know what the one good thing about this place is and also No he doesn't believe there is one.]
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We don't have to worry about chilling any gin we find.
[ His brows are still lifted, a half smile on his face. It's something that doesn't fucking matter, and it's not like March is an optimist--quite the opposite--but he's still going to say stupid shit to make it seem like this place isn't a big deal. He'll have a giant freakout about it later. ]
Place is an icebox. Air conditioning? Forget about it. Don't need it.
[ Does Huaisang have air conditioning? Probably not. Ah, well. ]
Foxy ladies, too.
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[His inability to understand most of Ma-chu's communication combined with all the rest of this makes Huaisang feel overwhelmed. His head droops.] I'm tired. The old man said we should explore the houses. Unless we're going to stay here. [At least here is already warm, and yet Huaisang feels a little skittish amidst all these convicts, and all this noise. If things are going to be crowded and boisterous, he'd rather it was a party or a festival. Not ... this.]
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March takes another drink from his flask, a drag off of his cigarette, watching Huaisang. The fact that there's multiple cultural barriers isn't lost on him, but he's mostly thinking about how literal fox ladies are probably sexy as hell. ]
You really wanna go out in the freezing cold again? You're wearing a bathrobe. I'm wearing a linen suit. You kidding me?
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