August 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

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

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

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.

HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE

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.

THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN

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.

Comments

[rescapee]

[ The only thing La'an noted upon his first use of swearing is that he's definitely not Starfleet. Which strikes her as an odd observation when he's obviously not, but given the circumstances, she's not surprised is connecting things in odd ways. Dr. Sanchez probably would have explained it as a result of trauma, but given he's not here to head shrink her, she's going to ignore it like all the other signs.

The second thing she notes about the stranger is that he's surprisingly considerate to ask such a question. He's rattled by their situation, yet he's worried about disturbing her? It shapes her estimation of him, and as she gives him another good look, she decides he might be of use in her efforts. ]

No, go ahead. I haven't been upstairs yet, so if you find anything unusual, give a shout? [ She looks back down at her notebook, pauses, then adds: ] And as to your question before, I'm not law enforcement, but I do work in security.

[finefurryfella]

[ Roy can be surprisingly considerate when he wants to be, and he'd like to think he's learned a lot about giving people space after crowding his ex-girlfriend too much when they were dating. Not that he's dating this woman, of course, but still, it probably can't hurt to practice the art of not being a clingy loser on strangers. ]

More unusual than a dead body? [ Roy eyes the staircase before looking back at her when she clarifies what she does for a living, somewhat pleased he's in the company of someone who sounds a lot more competent than he is at whatever they're dealing with. ]

Good to know. [ It's a vague answer from her but still reassuring. ] Guess that makes you more qualified to take a dead guy's gun than an assistant football coach.

[ Which is what he does for a living, hardly useful to the current situation, or so he thinks. He starts climbing the stairs - ]

Shout if he, you know, becomes a zombie. [ He's half-joking, half-serious. Who knows what could happen next? ]

[rescapee]

[ He might be surprised at what she considers unusual, given their likely vastly different frames of reference. If he's from pre-first contact, then he'd probably consider giant alien lizards to be unusual, where they're just another nightmare come to life for her. Though, she has to admit, most people in Starfleet would probably also find her experience with the Gorn unusual, but that's beside the point.

An assistant football coach. With the accent, she makes a guess at which Earth sport he's referring to, her mind pulling up a vague memory of what a match looks like while recalling absolutely none of the rules of play. If he'd said he taught a martial art, she'd easily be able to relate with her own training, but team sports were never something that interested her.

Her eyes follow him as he starts up the stairs before his words prompt her to turn a slightly suspicious eye to the corpse again. It's not the first she's encountered here, but that doesn't mean its status as solidly dead couldn't yet shift to something not entirely. ]

He'd better not... [ She mutters the words to herself; the stranger might still be able to hear them given the silence of the house. If Spock were here, he'd be giving a spiel about worrying about zombies being highly illogical. She really wishes he was here to annoy her with his science and logic. ]

[finefurryfella]

[ Roy does hear her mutter and snorts under his breath. He lets out a mutter of his own: ] Fucking stairs...

[ His career-ending knee injury can make climbing stairs pretty painful on a regular day, but the fact that he's been travelling on foot a lot more than he normally would by exploring the town (he misses his G-Wagon already) as well as the cold temperature affecting his joints makes the pain in his knee even worse. He should probably sit down and rest, but Roy's never really done what's good for him, so he quietly suffers and carries on.

He inspects the bedroom first, looking for any clothes that might fit him. Sadly the dead guy downstairs is smaller than Roy so everything is too tight, though he does find a wooly scarf. Since it's red (anything that isn't black offends Roy), he decides to pick it up anyway and offer it to Security Woman (her name until he finds out her actual one). He finds a journal too and feels like an invasive bastard at first for glancing at it, but some of the later entries are interesting and mention changes in the town, and maybe Security Woman would find it useful, so he picks it up too.

The next stop is the bathroom, where he searches the cabinet above the sink for anything that might make the pain in his knee go the fuck away. He finds what looks to be painkillers, swallows down a couple before pocketing the rest, then makes his way back downstairs. He sounds noticeably slower coming down. ]

Your brain's still intact, then? [ He makes a zombie joke, dropping the scarf and journal on the table beside her. ] Here. I got what I needed.

[ Finally deciding he needs to rest his knee, he heads for the couch nearby and plants himself down on it horizontally, lying on his back with a sigh. The reality is, if it were a zombie apocalypse, he'd be dead first, unable to outrun any, so he hopes he's not jinxed himself. ]

[rescapee]

[ His steps are noticeably different as he descends the stairs, a change that she pinpoints as either exhaustion or injury, though she rules out the former after a moment since he likely would have struggled equally or more going up than coming down if that were the case. She keeps her focus on the gun she's examining, checking the state of it and counting the remaining rounds, but she glances up when he places something on the table. Another journal and...

A red scarf. It's almost exactly the color of her Operations uniform, which sends of pang of homesickness through her. She shouldn't be here, the device should have taken her home to her time, to the Enterprise— But there's no use in thinking of should haves. She's here now and all she can do is try to solve the problem in front of her.

Reaching back behind her, she tucks the gun into her waistband, hiding it beneath her coat and other layers as she watches him settle onto the couch, something in the way he moves practically confirming her suspicion. Her hand reaches for the items he's presented to her, intending to pick up the journal but instead taking hold of the scarf. Her off-duty attire is usually all-black, but part of her longs for even the slightest tie to the home she's desperate to return to. ]

Thank you. [ The words are soft, more than they should be for something so simple, and she clears her throat quietly before continuing in a more normal voice. There's no judgment in the question she asks. ] Your injury, is it recent?

[finefurryfella]

[ None of your fucking business, Roy holds back from answering, but she doesn't deserve that kind of attitude from him, not when she's been perfectly polite to him so far. He can answer her question without being a prick about it. Maybe. ]

Not really. [ His knee wasn't in the best condition in the months leading up to his last tackle. It was getting progressively worse each match, to the point where Roy knew it was only a matter of time before it put the final nail in the coffin of his football career. His body was paying the price for all those times he kept on playing with an injury, not giving himself time to recover, too proud to look weak by admitting he wasn't okay to keep playing. He always had to pretend he was okay, and he still does. ]

It's not like I'm terminally ill so don't worry about it. [ A response that says a lot about his mindset - that he would have to be dying for his injury to be noteworthy. The last thing he wants is her fussing over him like he's her frail grandad. ]

Are we gonna exchange names or is your plan to shoot me to put me out of my misery? [ You'll get used to the way he jokes about death, La'an. ] My last request is to write a goodbye note to my niece to avenge my death when she's older. [ He shares his goodbye note aloud: ] Avenge your Uncle Roy, kid. She never told me her name but she does work in security.

[rescapee]

[ Ah, so he's one of those types. La'an herself is as likely to ignore or push past her injuries as to acknowledge and take care of them, but she also makes that choice strategically. If her injury might put others at risk, she addresses it immediately, taking whatever steps are required to ensure she can still fulfil her duties as chief of security. She's well aware most civilians don't think this way, however, so she doesn't judge him too much for his mindset. It's one she'll need to tackle later if they're going to keep this place safe, but she can spend a little more time getting to know him before deciding on the best approach.

It's a nice surprise to find that he's funny. That she gets his humor. That's not something she can often say when meeting new people. ]

My name is La'an. [ She smiles as she says it, not making any move to hide her amusement at his joking, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small smile. Setting the scarf in her lap, she picks up the journal next, automatically flipping through the pages. ] How old is your niece? Would you be waiting a long time for her to avenge you?

[ Every so often, she lets her own humor shine through the walls she puts around herself for emotional protection. It's a testament to how impactful his gift was, even if it wasn't intended to be. ]

[finefurryfella]

[ La'an. It's not a name he's heard before. It makes his name feel boring in comparison. Roy without the Kent sounds so bland, but he knows that's just his insecurities talking. He's trying not to think about the fact that he is pretty much just Roy here if the person he's speaking to doesn't watch football, and if his team isn't here to coach. He's just regular Roy nobody cares about because football is the only thing that makes him special. ]

Eight. I'd give her ten years before she's ready. I've already taught her how to elbow someone in the neck at football. [ He smiles proudly at that. God, he loves that kid he affectionately calls "a little shit". He probably shouldn't turn her into his little football prodigy but the idea of her being a Lionness for England one day is the dream.

It's been a while since he's met anyone outside of football. It's hard to remember what topics you typically bring up with a stranger. He racks his brain for a moment. ]

Where are you from?

[ Fucking nailed it. Well done, Roy-o. ]

[rescapee]

[ Something in her chest tightens at the pride on full display as he speaks of his niece. It's clear as day how much he cares for her, and how deep their relationship must be. That's something she'll never have. Her family is gone, ripped away from her so long ago she has trouble recalling their faces, and after losing James, she's not sure there's a part of her strong enough to risk connecting with and losing someone else. Perhaps she's meant to spend her life just above an aching chasm of loneliness, buoyed up only by the family she's found in Starfleet.

(She can't even consider the possibility that she might never get back to them. Facing that might truly break her, and she can't afford to fall apart when there's so much work to do.)

His question is such an innocent one and yet it's impossible for her to give an entirely truthful answer. But she can try to get as close as she can — she feels like he deserves that, and the best lies are born from truth. ]

Nowhere in particular. My family moved around a lot when I was young, and I travel constantly for work. [ There's no one here she can be honest with and that fact is like a knife slowly twisting in her chest. She glances up from the journal again to turn the question back to him. ] What about you?

[finefurryfella]

[ Roy wonders if there's any resentment there towards her family. Constantly moving, never settling long enough to call anywhere home, making friends and then having to say goodbye to them... Roy thinks he'd be bitter about it, but then he doesn't let go of anger easily - it's a weight on his shoulders he carries around with him every day. With the right people around, the weight feels lighter. In this foreign land, it feels heavier than ever. ]

Travelling can be fucking exhausting. [ He's done a lot of that in his career, for training, matches and various other reasons. But at the age he's at now, he just wants to go home at the end of the day. And he has a home, but it feels depressingly empty at times. He complains about looking after Phoebe, but at least when she's around he's not sitting alone in silence. ] Eventually you want to belong somewhere.

[ As soon as he says that out loud, he realizes he's projecting his own issues on her and hopes to God she hasn't figured that out. He clears his throat before he answers the same question he asked her. ]

Born in South London. Moved away to Sunderland when I was nine once I was scouted. Kept moving wherever whatever club wanted me. Now I live in Richmond for family and work.

[ He rubs at his eyes, in serious need of a power nap, enough time for the painkillers to kick in. But can he trust this woman to fall asleep in the same room as her? ]

You gonna be here much longer? [ Not that he's trying to get rid of her. ]

[rescapee]

[ If they ever get to the point of discussing her family, really and truly getting into the weeds of her childhood and upbringing, she'll tell him about how close they all were. Her parents, her older brother... They were her rock in the stormy sea of daily prejudice and bullying lobbed at her from schoolmates who cared little for the hurt they caused. Whenever her family relocated, it was in the hope of finding somewhere better, and it was that hope that led to their deaths. She isn't one to let go of anger easily either, but hers is solely focused on the monsters that took her family from her.

It would be so nice to tell him about the Enterprise. To explain that she belongs on the ship, traveling among the stars. It's something few people based on a planet can understand, but much like the sailors of old Earth, she never breathes more easily than she does out on her ship. But she can see the connections to everything he's said, and it's easy to read between the lines of his own longing for a place to belong. She hopes he's found it in Richmond, or that he will once he returns from this place.

Because he will return. They all will. Closing up her notebook and the journal, she holds both in one hand and stands. ]

I should probably check out another house before it gets dark. I thought I'd take him out with me, unless you want to do the honors. [ She gestures at the half-frozen body on the floor, the insulation of the house only doing so much when there haven't been warm bodies in it for who knows how long. ]