1.0 Test Drive Meme

[wellie]

1.0 Test Drive Meme

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Welcome to Well! Characters arrive the same way every month. Your character arrives with only a handful of memories, clad in old west style clothes of your choosing, with no items from home.

Anyone is free to play on the TDM, but you need an invite to apply. Feel free to use these prompts, and interact with the arrival or locations. NPCs are around, but only say a certain set of phrases. TDMs can be considered game canon.

Applications open on January 20th, and the game opens on February 1st. Invites are available for members of the mods' plurk lists.

Put on your dancing shoes

Content warning: Alcohol, intoxication, altered mental state

Something’s happening at the Cactus Pad Saloon. It’s lit up bright against the growing night, and music spills out onto the street. Seems like a fun time that you should check out. In fact, it’s hard not to check it out: the closer you get, the stronger the urge to join the fun. If you’ve been spending a lot of time alone, you’ll feel even more compelled to come get a drink.

The bartender serves up anything you can think of: from whiskey to apple juice to blood, if that’s your preference. She doesn’t blink an eye, no matter what’s ordered. The funny thing is, no matter what you order, once you take a sip, the world feels a little easier to deal with, your worries seem to melt away. You’re flush with sudden confidence.

If you strike up a conversation with the person next to you, conversation flows like you’re talking to an old friend. You feel a sense of kinship, deep and meaningful, good or bad, that bonds you together.

The old record player is playing a fun ditty, and the longer you stick around, the more you’re tempted to join, or start, the dancing. Whether you’re a great dancer or you have two left feet, you find that you feel capable of dancing like no one’s watching. No one knows you here, after all. You barely know yourself, so why not draw a partner into the fray? A party’s better together!

If you end up staying there til closing time, the bartender kicks you out with a gruff “come back tomorrow,” leaving you to stumble home with your new best friend. What was their name again?

Sand trap

Content warning: Quick sand, potential drowning in sand

You step through a door into a room you didn’t mean to enter. You were trying to head into the saloon, or your hotel room, or the bathroom, and instead you’re here: in a small, tight, windowless room in a white-washed building. The air here is old, stale, and thick. Hazy gold light bounces off the walls, but you can’t tell where it’s coming from, since there’s no visible ceiling. The walls just stretch up and up into bright nothingness.

Someone else is there, too, coming through an identical door on the opposite wall. Both doors snap shut, and won’t open again, no matter how hard you try. They won’t even break.

This might not be so bad, except that a sound starts to fill the space: sand, trickling down the walls. It’s just a dusting to start. It comes sprinkling down above, seeping through the cracks in the door. The longer you stand there, the faster it comes: sand flows down the walls in massive torrents, building up on the floor, shifting and thick, trapping you in place.

The only way out is up. When you look again at the walls, you’ll notice it: about 10 feet up the wall hangs a flimsy rope ladder, half-hidden by the waterfall of sand. You’ll have to work together to even reach it, or maybe let the ever-growing pile of shifting, slippery sand lift you up? Be careful, because even if you manage to reach the rope, you both have to get out of here, and the longer you’re here, the faster and harder the sand falls. The ladder seems to go on forever, tens of feet up an endless wall. The better you work together, the closer the top seems. No matter how well you collaborate, they're at least 50 feet high.

When you’ve fought your way through the sand and reached the top of the ladder, you finally see it: the sand is coming in through the open windows of a steeple. You can’t see where it’s from, not really. You can’t see much of anything, but it’s clear: the only way out is, well, out. You have to jump, trusting that yourself and your companion will be safe.

Once free, you land together outside of one of the buildings or rooms you were trying to enter, like nothing happened at all. It’s a calm day, after all.

Memories of the living

Content warning: Cemetery, contemplating mortality

Dusk settles purple over Wellstone. Early stars are out, the moon is thin, and you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the graveyard. You can resist, but the more days you do, the harder it gets. The graveyard is calling to you in a voice you can’t hear.

While it seems small before you enter, once you start walking through the crumbling graves, it seems to stretch endlessly. You pass elaborate dust-covered crypts carved with strange angels; bleached wooden crosses overgrown with cacti; a crumbling old well, long gone dry; worn-down headstones jut at odd angles. Some graves have old offerings on them, brightly colored beads or candles or framed photos, sun-bleached beyond recognition.

You may have been walking for five minutes or fifty, but when you look around, you can’t see to find the exit. You hear howling, and see the flicker of lights from behind the graves, but you can never find their source, no matter how much you look. No matter how long you spend in the graveyard, the sun never seems to sink lower in the sky. An oppressive sense of being watched grows to the point that you whip around, expecting to find someone there until—

You do. You find each other. Others drawn here to the graveyard, walking among the crumbling stones, will end up by the same headstones. Exploring together eases the watchful feeling just a little, but it won’t help you get out. No, you’re looking for something. The exit? No, you’re sure there’s something more important than that.

If you follow your impulses, you may just find it: a gravestone, weathered, old, with a familiar name on it: yours. Your date of birth can be visible, but the date of death is too weathered to read. You may find an offering there, something small and meaningful to you, a small shiny coin or some bright beads.

Once you find your grave, when you look up, you’ll see the exit. You’re really not that far from it, after all, the rusted iron arch barely a stone's throw feet away. Your companion won’t see it yet. You can make a dash for it, get out of this awful place, or help your companion find their own gravestone. When your companion finds their stone, they will also be able to see the exit. Exiting together will alleviate the impulse to come back to this place. Leaving alone will only draw you back, making it more difficult to find your grave again.

You can take the offerings left on your grave if you want, but the sense of being watched will only grow greater until you’re compelled to return them, and leave another offering of your own.

Comments

Shiro | Voltron | ota

[shiro2hero]

(1) THE HOTEL WELL-IFORNIA
It's almost like the outfit was made to fit too tightly. At least in the chest and biceps. As such, the man now resembles a plaid-clad dorito in black jeans where he leans against the front desk, trying to do his utmost to get more words out of the clerk.

"I just -" What is there to do in town? I'd check out the saloon "Yeah, you said that. Look, I need to know."

He shifts, and something goes thunk on the counter. It's his right hand. And it's completely made of metal.

"What is this?"


(2) DANCE OFF | the saloon
"Sorry, I don't - "

He was going to say he didn't think he wanted anything. It just felt right to say. No thanks. But the glass is definitely just water. Which sounds great, actually. It's hot out, after all. And so, at first, Shiro can be found at the bar proper, with his dorky glass of water, nodding politely to people passing by. Or snapping his head around to what he swore was a dark shape in a corner.

... later on, though, the magic drink does its trick. Shiro will be out on the dance floor with the rest of the people. His expression suddenly lighter, and despite the grey hair, he looks much younger. He's a crap dancer though, no matter how enthusiastic he is.


(3) GETTING WEIRD | the graveyard
It gets cold in the desert at night. And so the plaid shirt is exchanged for a long coat. There's a glove over his right hand. It's all very dark and dramatic in the evening, echoed by the faraway look in his eye. Staring into the dim light, out over the little graveyard.

If you're there too, he glances your way, then nods his head forward. "You hear it too?"


WILDCARD;
( Happy to match format or throw up a separate, specific prompt for anyone who might want one! )

( 1 )

[unjedi]

. . . Your arm?

[ buddy. ]

[shiro2hero]

[He sort of deflates in the way only a man who has had the wind sucked out of his sails can.]

I... I mean why is it like this.

[unjedi]

[ ahsoka eyes it, not really seeing the issue here. ]

Why wouldn't it be? You must have lost your arm in battle. Someone replaced it.

[shiro2hero]

With metal?

[Why is this so distressing? Her words do make sense - words that align with what he saw in the mirror earlier. But it's... it just feels wrong.]

[unjedi]

I think it'd be weirder if someone gave you a flesh one.

[ like, that's a horror show right there. ]

2

[vibing]

Sitting easily with a glass of beer, Yuri's enjoying the sounds of the bar, the music, people talking. It's nice after the quiet of the heat of day. He glances over at this guy next to him, in the too-tight shirt, trying to say no to a drink. He smiles, and raises his glass.

Normally, he'd be happy to just sit there in silence, but his own drink plies words from him. "Almost didn't remember what I like to drink, either."

[shiro2hero]

He looks up, a bit surprised at being addressed. Then has the wherewithal to look sheepish over his glass of water. I mean, really, the other guy is drinking actual alcohol and here he is with plain water. He raises it back, though.

"That's weird, though. Isn't it? This is all weird."

It's just a feeling he has. A nagging one, but it's probably just the lack of memories talking.

[vibing]

"It's pretty weird," Yuri agrees. He doesn't care that you're drinking water, Shiro. He nurses his beer with a little sigh. "Dunno if I've ever been in a place like this. Wish I knew."

[shiro2hero]

"Yeah. Me too."

Or know anything, honestly. He doesn't even know why one of his hands is like that. Somehow, that feels more unnerving than anything else. That thought hanging over his head, he shifts the glass to said hand, and offers Yuri the real one.

"Shiro."

[vibing]

"Yuri," Yuri takes his hand for a brief moment, with a small smile. "Good to meet you, man. And, hey, least we're all in this together, so far as I can tell."

Being in the same boat, so to speak, isn't the worst thing. At least no one is further along than anyone else.

3

[shardsofmemory]

[ Roxas will swear later that he doesn't startle. Alright, sure, he jumps a little bit, and maybe drags his long dark coat a little more closely around himself, and sure, he stares up at this guy for way too long trying to figure out whether he's trustworthy, but...

Well, it's better than being alone in here, isn't it? Roxas has never even seen this many graves. ]

What does it want? Or... I don't know. Why? Seems like a bad idea to listen.

[shiro2hero]

[Shiro shrugs - the gesture meant to be apologetic as much as it is accepting. Sorry to scare you, but he also doesn't know what it wants.]

It's just a graveyard, right? Worst thing in there is probably an cranky snake.

[Ghosts can't be real. Right...?]

[shardsofmemory]

...aren't there supposed to be bodies in a graveyard?

[ That's scarier than a cranky snake! A cranky snake can be handled with a well-used stick and some anger; bodies are a whole other unfamiliar Thing Roxas has no context for. ]

Either way, staying here isn't going to get me anywhere. Let's move. That gate has to show up eventually.

[shiro2hero]

Not... up and around. [The kid isn't wrong! There are absolutely bodies in a graveyard! That's what they're there for. But they're all underground. It's fine.] They're buried.

[Which isn't so bad, really.]

Stick close, okay? It's nice to have a friendly face in here.

[And so he can keep an eye on this kid...]

1

[femboi]

(Haku, meanwhile, has been disjointedly shoved into a bustle skirt with a cowboy's jacket thrown on top. He hardly looks bothered to be in such an outfit, ridiculous though it may be, because he just simply doesn't know any better.

He has been patiently waiting for the man in front of him to finish asking the clerk questions, but it doesn't seem to be going very well...)

Um...(A soft voice.)

I believe that is a replacement arm.

[shiro2hero]

[The frustration goes all the way out of his sails at the quiet voice. Something in him can't bring himself to be irritated, once he hears it. So when he turns, it's with a much milder expression.]

[And... this person isn't wrong. Shiro's face creases in the sort of grimace one wears when you realize you've asked a stupid question.]

No - I get that. It's - metal.

[Why is it metal.]

1

[hedonistic]

[No, no, listen, Kagari's seen this in his anime. What anime? He doesn't remember, but the point is, he knows this trope.]

It's a prosthetic--a really cool one, too. [:O!!] There's definitely a story to it. Did you forget everything too?

[Hm, perhaps his theory about being the protagonist of this story was incorrect after all; there's usually only one mysterious amnesiac per party, but it could be one of those stories where everyone has a mysterious secret that has to do with why they forgot instead. Kagari hopes his secret is an exciting one.]

[shiro2hero]

But prosthetics. They're not usually metal.

[Are they?]

[He's suddenly not sure. Maybe they are and he's just weirdly upset by this one. He just knows it makes him wildly uneasy.]

But... yeah. Yeah, I - I don't remember anything.

[hedonistic]

What else'd they be made of...?

[Even if his memories were intact he used to be from 2112, the concept of non-metal prosthetics never existed in his head in the first place.]

[shiro2hero]

Plastic? Really... dense plastic?

[That sounds right. Sort of? Maybe. Wouldn't metal be heavy? Too heavy to use as an arm?]

3 hey red

[undiagnosed]

"Yeah," Archer says, glancing towards Shiro. "I think I can make out words..."

He squints dramatically into the distance, slowly taking a flask from his waistcoat and unscrewing the lid.

"It's saying..."

Long drink. Long, long drink. Must drain it in one go. Of all the things Archer remembered, him being a deeply bitter and petty person was, unfortunately, one of them.

"Why are there so many fucking idiots standing around outside my gates?"

new shiro who dis

[shiro2hero]

"... Really?"

There's some kind of disappointment in that tone. He's not really sure why. He doesn't know this guy. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe he shouldn't be that concerned over someone he doesn't know, but... that doesn't seem like healthy behavior here.

"Maybe we should come back and check it out later."

When Strange Drinking Man is less... like this.

[undiagnosed]

That's the neat part, Shiro. He's always Like This.

"Obviously not. To both statements." he finishes the flask and throws it over his shoulder, where it clangs and clatters off some pebbles by the dusty roadside. "This shit has been annoying me for ages, so I'm gonna go see what's up instead of being a gigantic pussy about it. Maybe punch and/or shoot a ghost. Hopefully not get roped into graverobbing."

A beat passes and he glances over at Shiro. "Which I will shoot you for, by the way. That's kind of a shitty thing to do."

[shiro2hero]

"I'm not going to steal anything from the graves."

The words are indignant. And honest. Shiro's forgotten most things, but his inability to lie with a straight face isn't one of them.

It feels like it's going against his better judgment here, tagging along with this guy. But on the other hand, he just chugged a whole flask of... something. Maybe it's best he doesn't go alone.

"I'll go with you, though."