methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
david rose | schitt's creek
✬ 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝
( or hit David with something different! pm if we should chat about any big details or pp me @
wildcard
And then he'd dressed as warmly as he could, tucked some bread in his pockets and gone back out again. He'd seen the others trickling in as he ate, in various states of distress, cold, and hunger. He can't stand the thought of sitting around doing nothing inside. Not when there are other people still wandering out in the snow, maybe lost, maybe injured.
Not when sitting still means actually facing the reality of what's happening here, and what it means.
So he goes out on his self-appointed rescue mission, careful not to stray too far from the town or lose his bearings, but searching for anyone he can in the frozen landscape. He misses David, busy helping a young woman half-frozen and near tears on the other side of town, and by the time he gives in and comes back inside for good, it's late enough and he's exhausted enough that he crashes immediately, asleep before his head hits the pillow. Lack of pillow. It trly doesn't matter.
It's not until the next morning that he collects his buffet-style breakfast, slides still half-asleep into a chair, and looks up to see David Rose sitting directly across from him.
For a long moment, Patrick just stares stupidly. He's hallucinating. He's still asleep. But he blinks hard and forces himself to see what's really there, to wake up, and David doesn't disappear. ]
Holy shit.
David?
no subject
Patrick would never be in some club kid's speedball dream. ]
Oh, my god. Patrick!?
[ He can't get up fast enough and he immediately knocks his food all over the floor. Nailed it, absolutely nailing this reuniting thing. ]
no subject
Whoa - careful -
[ Too late. The food's a lost cause, and he gives up on it in favor of standing up the rest of the way and turning to David. ]
David - I can't believe - are you okay? [ He reaches for him, second-guesses himself, and drops his hands again, though the eye contact couldn't be more intense as he looks David over like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. ] I can't believe you're here.
[ More like I can't believe you're here, honestly. Because if there's one person in the entire world who doesn't belong in a place like this, it's David Rose.
Well...on the other hand. ]
Is...is anyone else here? Your...family?
[ They can't be, can they? Surely if Moira Rose was within a hundred miles of this place, the whole - province, state, whatever they're in - would know it by now. ]
town
"What's a latte?" Huaisang asks curiously, even though he's not the person who was originally being asked. He's just very intrigued as to what this man considers adequate payment for his murder-services, even though that part of it was almost definitely hyperbole.
He's busy with the important work of re-braiding his hair, though the only comb available has just four long and awkward tines at the end of a long handle, and it's very impractical for combing as much hair as he has. He can't imagine why anyone would design a comb like this, but there was a whole stack of them over by the food. (It also seems very unhygienic to him that these people keep the hair care tools, however primitive and poorly designed, right in the middle of the spoons and knives that they're using for their food.)
The braiding work is definitely going to take a while, even if he manages to obtain a more practical comb, because each braid is no wider than his finger and he does not have particularly large hands. He's not going to pick a less elaborate woven braided hairstyle just because he's been taken hostage by this community of peasants and/or convicts.
no subject
Thankfully, something else needs a comment from him way more than this person's outfit. ]
Really, Ariel? You cannot be serious with this.
[ The hand gesture that accompanies the statement specifies that 'this' is all-encompasing. ]
It's a whole lot. That can't be easier than combing with your fingers.
no subject
But he's definitely not taking hair advice from someone with cropped hair like that. It looks very recently cropped. His crimes, however serious, must have been recent.
Pausing in his hair styling to blink at MCPa/oCiSPTP947WaPI, Huaisang takes a second to consider whether he wants to respond with bitchy snark, how-could-you-be-so-mean pitifulness, or to lean fully into blank cluenessness. Tempting though it is to swap clever insults, being an airhead has generally been his best strategy for self-preservation.
So he furrows his brow a little, surprised confusion deepening into helplessness.]
What should I do, then? I can't ... [He looks at the fork with genuine frustration, letting go of all dignity and emotional guards and letting himself actually acknowledge that he's scared and lost and alone, so when he looks back at MCPa/oCiSPTP947WaPI it's with eyes shining with the possibility of tears.] My hair never tangles like this and I don't know where I am and ... and ...
[His breath starts hitching in little gasps like he might start sobbing, and please O Self-Declared Finger-Combing Expert won't you help him solve this hair disaster?]
wilderness!
In contrast to the man wrapped in blankets, First Lieutenant Edward Little stands in uniform well-equipped for this environment, layers of warm sweater padded beneath a long black woolen coat. Cap on his head and shotgun strapped to his back, he boasts an air of authority, though in truth he has been riding the line towards panic, himself. But in moments like this, coming to someone else's aide... perhaps it is easier to remember who he is supposed to be. Little lifts a gloved hand, holding it up to the other man. ]
Do not be alarmed, sir, I have come to your aide! Have you encountered the devil who may have done this? Are they in pursuit of you now?
[ With the way the man is screaming, maybe he's being chased by whomever's responsible.... ]
no subject
Look, [ he says it as much with his hands as he does with his expression, ] I don't know what... Victorian reenaction troupe you've broken off from, but I need your phone, please.
[ Grabby hands from under his blanket shawl, like a baby bird but for his sorely missed technology. ]
If I call my dad, maybe he still knows someone that can fly us out of here. It's going to be, like, the biggest I.O.U. ever, though.
no subject
—Reenaction troupe? ...His phone? Though a man generally in great control of his expressions, the lieutenant is visibly confused, the word not drawing forth any recognition. Edward looks down at his person for a moment, as though there's something on it this man might be referencing, something he needs......? ]
I must apologise, I do not know what you are referencing. My phone...?
town!
Fucking hell... [ He pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to ten, making it to about four before his temper gets the better of him. ]
We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. This shit is probably more organic than whatever your favourite bullshit restaurant charges you back home. Now grab a plate and sit your arse down.
[ You can take the coach out of London but evidently you can't take the coach out of Roy if he's bossing around people he's just met. ]
...I'd murder for an Americano too. [ He adds so they do have good taste in coffee in common. ]