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.
ted lasso | ted lasso
[ Already settled at one of the folding tables, seated on a rickety, flimsy chair, is a man with a rather impressively thick upper-lip moustache, and basic trainers on his feet. Ted Lasso might look like your dad, or what you imagine a wholesome American dad should look like, and he doesn't look especially bothered by the strange circumstances that surround him. It's a little like he's impenetrable to the downsides of any situation. Whether that's a front or not, you'll likely have no time to register the thought before he's looking up, meeting your eyes, and gesturing to the little bowl in one hand with a warm and friendly smile. ]
The food's not half bad! [ His accent is soft and a little twangy. ] You know, considering the circumstances and what I imagine must be a shortage in foodstock what with the weather outside and the influx of visitors like you and me here. But I highly recommend you try the soup — feels a little like a warm hug right in your gut. Might go for a little top-up myself, if the big guy'll let us.
[ Or later, you might meet him at the beverages station where he's helping himself to coffee, eyes already surveying the table for the familiar little sugar packets, and maybe a little creamer. ]
You want one? [ He'll happily start to fill a second cup. ] It looks like real coffee, which is more than I can say about the tea. And tea's already trash-water in the best places. [ Mumbled more to himself, he continues. ] I still do not understand how anyone drinks that stuff.
hope nobody needs this anymore:
[ In the days following their arrival, Ted bundles himself up in his best borrowed winter-wear and sets out to explore. The town has the barest resemblance to his hometown in Wichita, Kansas if it were ... maybe at least thirty-some years in the past, and had undergone some real rough apocalyptic circumstances, but the buildings are ones he recognizes. The things still kept in the houses are too.
It weighs on him, all the untold stories, or the stories cut short when whoever had once lived here likely had to evacuate. All those families ... and he hasn't got even the barest idea yet as to why.
If you happen on a house he happens to already be snooping, he'll lift a hand to wave in your direction with a friendly, 'Hello!' and may suggest that a little teamwork could help the explorations go faster.
Experimenting with the television or the radio, he says: ]
It sure would be handy if any of this stuff worked. [ And then: ] How about you grab some'a those cans and I'll just check the back pantry real quick.
[ For a while it's quiet. Just the opening and closing of a door, some shuffling, a set of footsteps — presumably Ted's.
And then in the midst of the silence comes a sudden shriek that sounds a little too high-pitched, a little too shrill to be anything other than real, pure, fear, followed by an, Oh my god oh my god oh my god!
Maybe you should ... check it out? ]
wildcard:
[ ooc: gently voicetesting a complete normie in a horror setting, as you do. hmu here for anything else that your heart desires — i'm open for anything! ted is roughly set from around the end of season 1/early season 2 for those canon-familiar.
pm me if you want to plot anything out, but i am pretty easy peasy and will happily follow your lead! teamwork makes the dream work! ]
no subject
luckily, this guy offers before iggy has to ask and even elaborates so iggy doesn't need to clarify. it's going great! they're the same height, or close to it based on where iggy orients the sound of his voice so when he turns his head it looks for all intents and purposes that he's looking at ted. his pale blue eyes regrettably see nothing.
the mustache is lost on this boy, what a tragedy. ]
I don't think coffee tastes that good either but beggers can't be choosey, right? [ almost got it, dude. ]
no subject
All right, that's okay, it doesn't faze him. ]
Oh, right on. [ If he takes any offence to the slight error in the phrase, Ted certainly doesn't think to correct him. Instead, he leans into it in a way that only Ted could: with a little flavour of dad-vibe. ] The choosey becomes the losey.
[ And in the same breath: ]
Now did you want cream or sugar with your coffee? 'Cause I know a thing or two about that cream to sugar ratio, really cuts down on what makes most folks hate the taste of coffee.
no subject
[ after a clearing of his throat that cracks because this kid is still in puberty, bless him, he shrugs, looking unsure. ]
Whatever makes it taste better. There's not Swiss Miss hiding around here, is there? [ look he isn't being choosey because he doesn't want to losey, but if there is a stale packet of hot chocolate laying around, that is what he would chose to doctor his coffee with. ]
no subject
Awh, hell. Swiss Miss, huh? Haven't heard that one in a while. You know, the Brits've got this thing called Milo. Not half bad, honestly. Unfortunately I don't think I've seen any of that lying around either ... but if there's something chocolate around here, guaranteed, I'll find it.
[ He can multitask. It's fine. In the name of helping out, Ted's willing to put his best effort in. And while he's letting that coffee pour: ]
Until then ... one perfect not-coffee coffee coming right up.
no subject
Thanks.
[ this guy is nice, so iggy swallows down the discomfort of asking for help from someone outside the flock (ew, weakness) and barrels into it before he can second guess himself and wind up hungry because he was unwilling to take the l. ]
I can smell the food, but I can't... find it. [ the boy is at least 6' tall, if he walks into the table, it could end in disaster. ]
no subject
[ That confirms it then, what Ted had noticed in his eyes earlier but didn't want to outright bring up in case it was a sore subject or he wound up sounding any kind of flavour of ableist.
Now, Ted clears his throat. ]
Let me help you with that. You wanting anything in particular, anything smelling especially good? There's soup and stew, which you don't see on offer every day, I tell you what, but it looks like there's some kinda meat here too. And mashed potatoes and veg like a whole gosh-darned Thanksgiving feast. Take your pick.
arrival
Din's not optimistic about the latter. From the technology he's seen here, there's no way there's a spaceworthy vehicle anywhere near here.
On his way in, he'd picked up a shotgun from a body frozen stiff, and he's got it on the table in front of him as he examines it, taking it apart. Until he hears someone addressing him from the next table over, and looks up to see a mustache that, frankly, puts his own to shame. Not that anyone present will know, given it's hidden under his helmet. Din glances at the soup that's being gestured to -- it does look good, he'll admit -- and there's a long, silent pause as he considers what he'd have to do to eat it in amongst this crowd.
"No, thank you," he says at length, politely.
He's already an apostate, having removed his helmet twice before. He's not going to make it worse by doing it a third time.
"I'm sure Methuselah will let you. He... seems kind."
no subject
He's already ladling a little more soup into his own bowl, not a whole lot because they've gotta ration this stuff, he's sure, but enough to sate his appetite. It's just veggie and a little meat but on a frigid, scary day like today, it's comforting.
And besides, the man is right. Methuselah, for whatever else he might intend, does seem like a nice enough fella. ]
You sure? I can bring you some if you'd like. It's all this good and useful energy wrapped up in a bowl.
no subject
Methuselah seems like a generous man. He's in a town full of dead bodies and he's openly sharing what little he has, and Din has to admire that. This man seems to have happily taken up that mantle as well, making sure others are fed and taken care of. It's not the kind of attitude that Din has encountered much in his life, leaving him feeling uncertain of how to respond.
In some cultures, his refusal would be seen as unbearably rude. To the Tuskens, refusing to share their offered water is on the level of a mortal offense. Din hopes he isn't offending this man that much.
So he'll have to politely provide an explanation for why he's refusing. "I don't remove my helmet," he says, voice rusty where it's filtered through. "So I cannot eat here. But your generosity is very kind."
no subject
[ Ted isn't paying especially close attention to the particular shape and look of the helmet or the rest of his uniform, at least not until he brings up that fact. Because, you know, he and Henry have watched every Star Wars movie to date, and while the original ones still remain his favourite, that's kind of the point.
He recognizes the helmet now, and he is t h i s close to making a reference to Star Wars and ComicCon at once, but he sounds so genuine, and so in-character that Ted feels a little bad about making light of it.
So!
He'll dutifully play along. So sorry, Din. You deserve better. ]
It's not a religious thing, is it? Or not one of those 'I subsist on the taste of air and light' kinda things? It's cool either way, I'm just curious.
hope nobody needs this
It’s as he’s trying to fit one more can into the bag that he hears Ted’s scream, and that kicks Edward into action. He rushes in after him, hidden blade flicking out from under his sleeve, ready to stab.]
Get behind me! [He’s going to try and put himself between Ted and whatever the threat is, hidden blade at the ready. The cold steel glints in the light, and Edward falls into a stance like he’s ready to Do Some Violence.]
no subject
He tilts his head up to look in Edward's direction now, looking properly harried. ]
It's all right! [ He lifts a hand as though to reassure present company that he's totally fine even if he's still easing himself off of possible cardiac arrest.
(Or a panic attack. But he isn't going to go there. Absolutely not.) ] It's okay, I'm just — I just got startled, is all. There's a — ah. A dead body. Here.
[ He gestures to the form frozen and partially covered in ice and snow and decay. ]
no subject
Suppose we know where the locals went. [Nowhere, essentially. Edward kneels down, pats the body down with the ease of someone who has done this many times before and knows what he’s looking for.] Can you go find a shovel? I’d rather not leave this to keep rotting out here, whoever this was deserves better and there’s no telling what it might attract.
no subject
He's still remembering how to breathe, and to breathe in this crisp cold, when Edward speaks. ]
Well, one of 'em anyway. Doesn't account for the rest of this place, unless there are more dead bodies strewn about in the snow. [ Dear God, he hopes not. ] Uh — yeah. Yeah, I'll look for a shovel. Great idea.
[ He's halfway back out through the door before he turns back, one hand clutching at the doorframe. ]
... you don't think there's anything else out there, do you? I mean, anything alive and angry.
arrival
Oh, yes, the soup. I'll - sure, I'll have a bowl.
[ He also isn't used to taking food when there's a lack of resources, preferring to save it for the humans, but then he realizes for the fourth time today that he is one of the humans now. ]
A hug, you say? Well, perhaps, if nothing else, it was made with an abundance of love.
no subject
[ Ted shrugs thoughtfully, and then sets to ladling a bowl-ful of soup for the glum fella.
(Yes, he caught that shift in the man's face, the way the smile is genuine and pleasant enough, but doesn't quite reach his eyes.) ]
Anyway, you doing okay? I know this place is probably far from wherever you're from, but ... we're all gonna figure something out.
no subject
Oh. Yes, quite. I've got no more room to be complaining than anyone else!
[ He says, his voice very tight. In actuality, he feels as if he was cast into mortality, since the other angels have finally figured out what to do with him and that's to discard him. ]
Ah, thank you for the soup.
[ He takes a spoonful, and finds that it actually is quite good. That makes him smile, genuinely, if small. ]
I'm Aziraphale, by the way. I don't believe we've met.
no subject
'Course sometimes you just gotta blow off a little steam and that's all right too.
[ He shrugs a little. ]
Like, for example, those cots? They are rickety as all hell. Squeaks with every movement like you're shouting to the whole world that your back hurts. And there: that's my complaint. [ His mouth quirks under the bristles of his well-kempt moustache. ] Ted Lasso, nice to meet you Aziraphale. What is that, Greek?