![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
1.0 Test Drive Meme
1.0 Test Drive Meme
Premise & Arrival ֍ FAQ ֍ Apply ֍ Navigation
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?
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.
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.
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.
Pela Cintri § original character
[ Pela is all too happy to give her name to the receptionist. Does any of this make sense? Not really, not with the muddled haze where she's relatively certain there should be memories. But this is all so exciting, and for some reason she likes that. After all, who wouldn't love an adventure? Unfortunately, she's trying to hold a conversation with the receptionist, having not realized he will only give her the same replies over and over. ]
Oh, I've seen lots of towns manage to turn things around. You just need to find a niche, something only Wellstone can offer. There's a storm coming? Weft, but it looked clear enough when I came in... what do you mean, dangerous at night?
ii. saloon
[ Pela hardly needs an excuse to join a party, and as soon as she hears the jingling tunes from the Cactus Pad, she doesn't hesitate. She lets the bartender choose her libation — "make it strong, let's have some fun!" — and strikes up conversation with anyone nearby. ]
Is this your first time in Wellstone? Where are you from? I'm... I'm from... you know what, let's have another drink.
[ If you're on the dance floor, she will seize your hands with a wide grin: ] Dance with me! I love this song! I think...
[ Near the end of the night, she's clearly plastered and might need some help getting back to the hotel: ] M'good, m'good... shed an' fell, are there two of you? Ohh, I don't feel great...
iii. sand trap
So this isn't... ideal.
[ She keeps the waver out of her voice... or at least, she hopes she does. But no, she must be brave and confident and clever! ]
Right, ah... what have we got in our pockets?
iv. wildcard
[ Anything else? Send me a PM or surprise me! ]
ii
You-- You're soooo not! You're not good!
[Neither is he, but that's not important right now. He's busy giggling over someone else getting as messed up as him.]
no subject
We— [ She pauses, the air of which suggesting she's about to make a profound announcement, or a devastatingly witty comeback... ]
... should go back to the hotel together.
[ Or not so profound, after all. ]
Uh, not together— I mean, we can go to the hotel together, but not— not together-together... you know what, I'll just take another drink.
no subject
She starts to over-explain and that just makes him laugh more, but he waves a hand.]
No, no, noooo I get it! Together but...but not To. Geh. Ther. Got it. Jus' like...buddy system! Super wasted buddy system!
[Since she orders another drink, he orders one more too (because god forbid he cut himself off when someone else is still going), and he holds it up and out to her. A toast!]
One more'n we go. To drunk buds!
[Clink? Clink clink clink!]
no subject
Relieved that he understands, she clinks her glass with his, tipping her head back and downing her... eighth? Ninth? Twelfth? She really can't remember but oh this ale is good. She thinks the bartender might have told her what it was, but that was several pints ago and everything since it just laughter, and rousing music, and feelings of happiness. What a night! ]
M'Pela. Did I give you m'name before, when we were dancing? And you're... [ she peers at him, squinting through the alcohol fog ]
... Jaoven?
no subject
Ryyyyan! Ryan. Close though!
[Not really, but whatever. He knocks back the rest of his his drink to go with their toast. It's his fifth or sixth or something like that, but he's been getting exclusively whiskey sours so he's on a similar drunk level as her. Once he recovers from hitting that too fast though, he laughs.]
Woah. That's...some other night you've gotta try that, Pela. We're done, drunk buds pact, but it's reeeeal good.
[They should maybe go, before he changes his mind and decides another one is a good idea.]
no subject
[ Is she already planning that? Why not, he's funny and indulged her wild and enthusiastically out of practice dancing, and instead of being lewd over her accidental misspeak, he was just funny and nice about it. She looks a little longingly at her now-empty glass, but pushes it back on the bar.
Pela slides from her barstool and almost slides right to the floor, giggling the whole time. The room is spinning quite impressively for her. After some patting of her pockets, she manages to produce the hotel key she was given earlier today. She manages to make it to the saloon entrance and ]
Ha! Now... which way was the hotel... ? Hey, you don't think it's really "dangerous" out here? Like the conser— concee— cinsure— the guy at the front desk said, do you?
[ Words are hard right now. ]
no subject
Yeees!
[He's also pretty wobbly when he gets up, and has to grip the bar a lot more than he expected to not fall over. But the world settles like a shaken glass eventually does, and in a blink they're both at the entrance. He even offers her an arm because frankly they both kind of need it.]
I...dunno! Kinda hard to tell when they only-- there's like, five things over and over. Annnnnd he said it was gonna be stormy but, y'know--
[Ryan gestures with his free hand at the clear sky above them. It's a little cold because it's nighttime in a desert, but it's not storming by any means.]
Soooooo maybe he was full've it.
no subject
I didn't realize that at first... kept trying to have a proper conversation with him. I felt like a fool when I realized.
[ Once they've exited the saloon, she peers up at the sky suspiciously, as though searching for the non-existent storm. ]
At least we're not going to be soaked. Hey Ryan...
[ The urge to ask him comes out of nowhere, and she speaks the question without really thinking. ]
Why did you come to Wellstone?
no subject
So...so, this is gonna sound stupid. Like really stupid. But. I don't...remember...?
[Surely he came to Wellstone for a reason, but all he really remembers is arriving all of a sudden.]
What about you? Why did you come here?
no subject
No, it doesn't sound stupid. The truth is, I can't remember either. I know I must have chosen to come here for a reason but... I just can't recall.
... That's strange, isn't it?
no subject
[He can't argue that, but he's not really judging so much as commiserating. They're in the same boat.]
Actually, I. I can't...really remember a lot of things? If I'm being honest here?
[Which is a big problem, but it's hard to make things sound like big problems when he's as wrecked as he is.]
iii
I got—uh, sand, that key the guy gave me, um—
[ Tiny jar of jam he'd swiped from breakfast because he thought it was cute, weird rock, shiny white thing he'd found on a barrel.
...huh.
Roxas looks back up, frowning. ]
I don't know if this stuff is going to help us, but I'm not gonna stay here. If the only way out's up, then we just have to figure out how to get... up.
no subject
Yes, you're right. Let's see...
[ She skids her way on the shifting sand to the pit wall nearest her, searching for some kind of handholds. Only when she looks up does she manage to spot the scraggly rope ladder, but well out of her reach. ]
There!
no subject
He turns on his heel. ]
You think you can lift me?
[ Given that Roxas is all of five-foot-five, he's really going to need the boost. ]
If I can just get up a little bit, I can jump for it. I think that's our only shot.
no subject
[ Pela has a few scant inches on him, but she obligingly laces her hands together to make a step for him. She doesn't look like he can weigh that much, after all. ]
You're not going to leave me behind once you're up there, right?
[ She gives a little laugh because she's joking... but also not. ]
no subject
Why would I do that?
[ He is, at least for a moment, legitimately baffled until he makes himself think about it as he steps forward, looking up to gauge the distance. She doesn't know him, and he's kind of asking her to trust him here. Probably smart to be suspicious, actually. ]
I'm not. Once I get up, I'll just... stretch down and pull you up, too. If you brace on the wall, we can probably make it.
[ He glances down, biting at his own lip, and braces a hand on her shoulder to help him step into the cradle of her hands. ]
As hard as you can. I'm gonna try to jump.
kitty just wants to RP!!
Okay, on the count of three then. One— two— three!
[ She puts her whole tenacity into the lift. She's not fantastically strong, but she's surprisingly sturdy, and he should have a good base from which to leap. ]
you're right I should let her express herself!!!!!
Or maybe his new buddy is just that good and sturdy of a base, but either way, she braces under him, and Roxas shoves one booted foot into her palms, pushes down, and promptly goes flying as soon as he tries to actually jump it. He yelps, startled, and only just manages to remember to scrabble for the ladder when he gets close enough. It's not graceful, but he manages to kind of hook an elbow through one of the rungs and go bumping against the wall, wincing at the force of it. He has to wait for the damn thing to stop bouncing before he can scramble into it properly, and then he's really more clinging like a monkey or something, but, well— ]
It worked!
[ VICTORY! Grinning, Roxas shimmies just enough to hook his knees over the bottom rung and lets himself hang down with his arms outstretched, grinning wide. ]
Grab on! You can climb up me—oh, crap, do it fast, there's sand—