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.
no subject
All right, calm down. I remembered you, didn't I? ( Steve wants to ask Eddie if he remembers drug dealers he vaguely heard about through the social grapevine four years after graduating, with a lot of being murdered in the middle. but for obvious reasons he cannot. what is he missing here? because there's clearly something, and he's got no clue what.
it is a relief when Eddie lets off the awkward you don't remember me as much as I want you to vibes to reevaluate the closed up shop. though, Steve can't quite tell why a twindly scrap of metal is such a boon. ) What for? ( Steve asks, mild whine to his tone — it's only because he's cold enough as it is, facing a full Alaskan weather in a goddamn Member's Only windbreaker. losing his gloves for any amount of time is just gonna make that reality more miserable. but, for what it is worth, and despite the chance of being mugged or pranked, Steve grumbles and starts to pull them off anyway. when he gets them off he hands them over and presses them into Eddie's chest, he is huffy about it to show his unhappiness about the situation.
he crosses his arms to stick his hands in his armpits for warmth and watches Eddie expectantly. this better be worth freezing his fingers off, bucko! )
no subject
[ It’s clearly not fine, and he’s trying not to dwell on it right now, but it hurts him more deeply than it honestly should. Steve doesn’t know him as a brother-in-arms, but rather in the same way Eddie knows the guy who sells him cigarettes at the corner store: by face, maybe by reputation, and nothing more. It hurts even more because he’s still Steve. Not even douchey Junior year Steve who probably wouldn’t even deem to look at him. Just Steve, if not slightly more clueless.
Well, if anything, they can be confused together. ]
Because, Steve—
[ He pulls the gloves on, grateful for the momentary reprieve from numb fingers. ]
If I’m going to pick the lock, I would really rather not lose my fingers to frostbite in the process. Might be worth it if I were trying to freeze off my fingerprints, though.
[ He crouches down and puts that little piece of wire to use, listening hard to the sound the tumblers make within the lock. It takes a few silent moments, but as if by magic, the lock ultimately springs open. Eddie cackles. He peels the gloves off, tosses them back to Steve, and rises to his feet just to sweep into a low bow, gesturing towards the door. ]
After you.
no subject
the familiar way Eddie speaks to him crawls around under his skin. Steve doesn't think they've ever said more than three words to each other, so it's definitely weird that Eddie thinks they are on first name basis. and Steve is aware Eddie is kinda strange, that is the one widely known interpretation of his character. but calling him Steve instead of Harrington feels weird, even for a notably weird dude. what is he forgetting, here? there's gotta be something and for the life of him, he can't guess what. it's like a pop quiz in a class he was coasting in. he feels on the spot and hopeless, staring at a blank piece of paper. he wants to ask more, and he will. he just feels too out in the open right now. anyone can see them. it's not quite that he feels safer inside, it's just... they can hide a little better if they're not two human shaped eyesores in a field of white.
it's interesting to note Eddie Munson can pick locks. Steve files that one away, even as he catches his gloves. he eyes the shop and the creak of the swung open door, evaluating exactly five seconds before he stoops and limbos through the boards instead of trying to pry anymore off. it's awkward, but doable. it's dusty and frigid inside, but in a stagnant sort of way, away from the wind. Steve looks around, decides there's no murderers hiding in the stacks, and sticks his head back out the boards to eyeball Eddie again. did he think he was off the hook now that the door was open? ) C'mon. Get in here.
( Steve displays no shame in being that bossy with someone that he doesn't know particularly well. he at least waits for Eddie to clamber in after him before he starts the third degree. and people say he has no self restraint. ) If you remember me from some class or something, man, I don't remember. All right? Sorry. I know I was a dick then, if that's the next thing you wanna say. You seen anybody else around here? You know Nancy Wheeler?
( he can't help the hope that creeps into his tone. he's not seen hide nor hair of Nancy and Jonathan, and it's really doing a number on him. if he's here, they've got to be here. they've got to be. )
no subject
But then Steve starts talking about home—about class and things that have been in the past for years, things they’ve already resolved. He tilts his head, searching his face for any sign that he might be joking—which would be pretty wild, considering Steve is typically a pretty earnest guy— but he sees nothing to indicate anything less than sheer sincerity. ]
Shit.
[ His eyebrows knit together and his voice softens with worry. Genuine concern for someone who can't even remember why he might feel that way. ]
You really don’t remember. Jesus. Did you hit your head or something, dude?
[ But this doesn’t really give “head injury” so much as it gives “more weird shit”, because Steve remembers things—they’re just not the things Eddie wishes he’d remember.
Frowning, he turns and begins wandering down the nearest aisle, dragging the tips of his fingers over pretty much everything within reach until eventually he pauses to focus a little too hard on a dusty can of bear repellent spray, trying to mask his disappointment. The whole situation makes for an eerily familiar feeling. It’s the same way he felt when he was holed up in Rick’s boathouse and couldn’t get anyone to respond to him on the walkie. Abandoned, alone, forgotten. With a humorless snort, he finally responds: ]
Yeah, man, I know Wheeler. Robin Buckley too, if you’re about to mention her. And uh, no, I’m pretty sure it’s just you, me, and Smokey here.
[ He flashes the can for emphasis and tosses it Steve’s way, expecting him to catch it. It isn’t an essential, really, and he won’t complain if Steve deems it superfluous and puts it back. He hasn’t seen much here in the way of life besides a handful of cold and confused travellers, but anything could be lurking in those woods. ]
I know you’re not a douche anymore, by the way. Dustin—you remember him? Yeah, he kept saying your douche-like tendencies were far behind you, and he was right, so…
[ He punctuates his statement with a shrug, not really knowing what else to say to a guy who doesn’t remember him anyway. ]
I guess it’s not worth asking what the last thing you remember from home is.
no subject
did he hit his head? he vaguely remembers the last trial before waking in a frozen Alaskan hellscape involved a really bad bout with the angry beefcake samurai, which may have involved being on the wrong end of a kanabo. that aside, his brains are no less scrambled than they usually are. he shakes his head, as if a little will rattle will help the weird, not-quite-right feeling settling over him. if this is some prank, he's sure as shit not laughing. Eddie Munson knowing Nancy makes relative sense, who doesn't know Nancy? granted, these days she is known most for breaking up with him, but ... that's neither here nor there.
knowing Robin is weirder. them being friendly wasn't exactly well known yet. and weirder still is mentioning Dustin, because — okay, well, maybe some people see him driving the kid around. but connecting all those dots so easily does imply some kind of familiarity, only how the hell does that work? one person remembers, and the other doesn't? sometimes Steve feels his memory isn't the best, he can't always remember the excruciating ways he dies or if everyone makes it out of a trial, but who wants to remember all the ways they've been murdered anyway? the point is, his memory isn't that bad. Hawkins feels almost like a lifetime ago, but he hasn't forgotten it either. Steve is sure he would know if Henderson was getting thick as thieves with a guy that sells weed behind the school. no offense, Eddie, he would have probably had something to say about it if he did. )
Remember what? ( Steve presses, sharp and frustrated. he catches the bear spray, and the can is pretty damn cold without his gloves back on. ow. he puts it down, but for the record he will take it. he doesn't even know what bear spray is supposed to do, but maybe combining it and his lighter will help set something on fire. it does require some digging, for the last thing he remembers from home. it's just been awhile. but, for the record, ) The mall exploded. We got a job at that video place. And then Nancy called me about some shit at the lab, and...
( oops. backpedal. he is really not supposed to talk to about the lab. and Steve isn't sure it is a great idea to tell people he viscerally remembers being trapped in a murder dimension and getting constantly killed by Michael Myers either. at least, you know, until it is obvious to everyone that they all are trapped in a murder dimension. because surely they are. he can't just be out! he shakes his head, the things he's not saying trapped behind his teeth for a painfully long beat. ) Whatever. What am I supposed to be remembering?
no subject
[ And there it is. It hits him like a splash of frigid water to the face. Starcourt came and went all in the span of one summer (taking the best record store Hawkins ever had along with it, by the way)—nearly a year ago. Steve doesn’t remember because, for him, there’s nothing to remember. It hasn’t happened. And somehow, that isn’t the strangest thing in the world, because Eddie has grown immune to the impossible. You don’t get dropped into an alternate dimension and shake hands with death only to come back as a realist.
Granted, it’s no less upsetting, but hey, at least they aren’t dealing with head trauma on top of everything else. ]
Well, man…uh…
[ He hesitates, because there’s rules against this, aren’t there? Telling someone else what happens in their future? That could be a dangerous line to walk, but…Eddie never claimed to be totally selfless, and he hates the feeling of being alone when someone he knows and respects is right there in front of him. So maybe it’s worth the risk, if he approaches it slowly. ]
The mall exploded in ’85, and as far as I’m concerned? It’s March of ’86, so…you do the math.
[ A lot can happen in the span of a few months. The guy you know only for selling drugs can become your pal. ]
I probably shouldn’t tell you all this—feel free to blame me if you just disintegrate on the spot—but uh...I’d call us friends, Steve. I was in a tough spot and you and the others really did your best to help me out of it
[ Or maybe they wouldn’t have been friends. Maybe they'd just have returned to their lives and never spoken again. Maybe Eddie is just so ridiculously grateful that someone gave a shit and believed he was innocent that he’s deluding himself, but he’s grateful to Steve Harrington, and he isn’t going to pretend like he isn’t. ]
And I know about the creepy monsters and alternate dimension Hawkins. Admittedly, I sort of got the cliff’s notes version, but…secret’s out.