wellcome | 1.0 Test Drive Meme

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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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wouldn't it be nice if you could, though? I can't even ask you anything about yourself, because you won't be able to tell me! It's—

[ The wind picks up again, colder this time. Flynn, still attached to Yuri's arm, squints into it and pulls them a little to the side as they near the diner, which is in fact glowing out there in the night like a red-and-purple beacon. ]

It's annoying.

[ A beat. Flynn tugs him a little closer to the diner. Lights, far away, dance in the desert. ]

It's more than annoying, I guess. It's... a little scary.

[ Yuri feels like he should pull away. He has a feeling that he doesn't like being touched, but something stays him. He isn't actually uncomfortable right now. Flynn's hand is warm and his closeness is nice and Yuri shrugs, smiling softly ]

Guess so. Scary 'cause you don't know who you are? Or scary 'cause you don't know where they wenr?

Honestly, I hadn't even thought of the second one. They're both... unsettling, at least.

[ Flynn's voice is dry, but warm under the faint whistle of the desert wind. They're getting close enough, crunching over dry ground, that the lights on the diner, glowing bright, are the only thing visible on the horizon, blotting out the stars. Something about that feels familiar, but Flynn couldn't say what. He swallows, slowing to a halt to stare at up them. ]

This is what I wanted you to see. Have you been here at night? It glows like this for hours.

[ Yuri's about to respond when Flynn stops and looks at the sign, and Yuri looks at it, too. He's seen it, but he hasn't really looked. His lips part, and he looks at it: the colors, how bright it is, how fun it looks, and he laughs, soft and easy ]

Well, look at that. Hours? What, until dawn?

[ Flynn laughs, too, a little more brightly, huffing soft into the cold night. ]

I didn't wait that long. Figured the responsible thing to do was go to bed, but I imagine it's like this all night. It's... really nice.

[ He meant to look at Yuri just to gauge his reaction, see what that laugh did to his face. He hadn't at all meant to get caught in the play of color on his skin, turning him pink-red-blue-purple at the edges, glinting off his flying hair. Flynn stares for a second, wondering—

And then the breeze picks up again, colder and stronger. ]

[ Yuri shivers, his hair whipping against Flynn, hitting him in the throat ]

Shit, sorry.

[ The wind really is doing a number on his hair. He doesn't think he has a hairtie--wait! He takes his bandana out of his pocket and pulls his hair back, tying the bandana around it. It won't hold forever, but at least it isn't attacking his new companion. He ignores the cold in favor of grinning at Flynn ]

Responsible, huh? For what?

[ The thing about admiring shiny, possibly-entirely-new lights is that you really don't expect a faceful of hair while you're doing it, so Flynn absolutely sputters and laughs and helps bat it away until Yuri gets it under control, murmuring something about it being a menace, but—

Well, Yuri's grinning at him, and Flynn grins helplessly back, shrugging out of his thick denim jacket on instinct. It's lined with a fleecy lining that makes it very warm, and it's warmer still from his bodyheat when he drapes it around Yuri's shoulders. ]

Trying to figure out where all my memories went, for one. I couldn't even tell you what city I'm from. There—

[ He's still standing very close, smoothing the jacket over Yuri's arms, and realizes it all at once with a strange rush of heat that makes him flush and laugh and step back. ]

Does that help?

[ Flynn wraps him in a jacket and he feels--something. His face feels hot, and Flynn is very close to him, and that impulse to shy away from touch is back, and he heeds it this time, taking a step back. ]

Hey, I don't need your coat. Now you're gonna be cold.

[ He starts to take it off ]

Keep it!

[ DON'T YOU DARE— Flynn reaches out and yanks it firmly back into place. ]

I'm fine. It seems like I run warm. It's one of the facts I have about myself.

[ Why does he want Yuri to keep the jacket so bad? Flynn has no idea. He is a lot colder without it, but Yuri was shivering in the wind, and he has his thin little shirt all open like that, and Flynn... sort of owes him, really. That must be it. He steps back again before Yuri can hand the jacket back, holding his hands up like a ward. Don't try anything, man. ]

Do you know where you're from?

[ If he's going to insist--Yuri doesn't see a reason to complain. It is warm. He's a lot warmer, and Flynn seems to really want him to have it. He rolls his eyes anyway ]

No. I don't remember much about myself at all. I know I was a knight. I know about one person. I remember... something awful happening to her. She's okay, now, I think. It was my job to keep her safe... [ He thinks. He's piecing it together. He frowns, fingers curling in the warm fabric. ]

You know you're from a city?

[ A knight, and someone to protect. Someone important enough to keep safe— something pings through Flynn, ricocheting around inside him like a tumbleweed. He swallows and curls his own fingers into the rough fabric of his jeans, staring at the lights. ]

A big one. Not... not a very good part of it, I think? It can't have been. Some of the buildings looked a little like the ones here. There were nicer ones in the distance, I think. It's... hazy.

[ A beat. He swallows again, glances sideways. It is a lot colder, not standing close to Yuri. ]

You think she's okay? The person you wanted to protect? Does that mean you're not sure?

[ Yuri nods slowly, taking that in. Estelle is a princess, from a castle, he thinks. They fought, on top of the castle, the city sprawled around ]

So, some people had more. And you didn't. That's... messed up.

[ He frowns, not having anything to back up his words ]

I'm not there. I don't know... what's happening to her, without me. It's not like she's helpless--she can fight--but she gets herself into stuff. She's too kind for her own good. She wants to help everyone, and she can't, and she gets herself into trouble trying to. I need to be there, to help her.

[ A beat ]

I can't help her now. It's... frustrating.

It sounds like it.

[ Flynn's voice is soft, full of the ache of understanding, because— ]

I get it, I think. The people in that city... I think they need me, too. Maybe that's a selfish thing to think. I'm sure they can handle themselves just fine, but I can't help but think that I should be there instead of taking a... vacation or something to a town I can't remember coming to.

[ Where, in the distance, something is howling, and where wind is blowing cold and dry. Probably they should just go back to the Staywell, but Flynn doesn't quite want to leave yet, and that place is... strange, and stifling, and makes him forget the sharp edges of his frustration. Somehow, out here at the edge of town, it's easier to feel it, and he wants to hold it close.

So, instead, he inclines his head toward the diner. ]

Do you think they're still open, this late?

You call this a vacation?

[ Yuri shoots him a quick grin, a deep understanding that he doesn't fully, well, understand. He shrugs a shoulder ]

Only one way to find out. Hey, you ever had a milkshake?

[ He's moving now, toward the diner, and he doesn't care that it's late, he has nothing of note to do here, and he doesn't think he really cares anyway. He's going to have a milkshake ]

I have no idea if I have.

[ It's not so awful to say when he says it this time: the shifting gray mass of things he doesn't remember feels more like a shared joke with Yuri than some bottomless pit he's half-afraid to look into. Maybe it's that warm smile, or the sense that Yuri actually gets what he means.

It's enough that Flynn can smile back when he says it, and shoulder the door open for them both. It opens, and the waiter chirps out what sounds like the same thing he said to Flynn when he came in here earlier today and also yesterday, so it must be open. ]

Are they any good? Vacation-worthy?

Yeah. They're good. Two milkshakes. Strawberry for me. And..? [ He eyes Flynn, but decides not to order for him. He drops into a booth and pushes a menu at him. ]

Y'think this guy ever gets to sleep?

[ Yuri doesn't bother saying "hello" even if it feels strange not to, but the waiter clearly doesn't mind ]

[ Flynn murmurs a quick "hi," as he slips into the booth opposite Yuri, because he can't help himself, even if the waiter doesn't respond or do anything but rattle off something about how tired he looks and whether he'd like a coffee.

That's... not a bad idea, actually. Flynn blinks at the menu, then looks up. ]

Could I... get coffee in a milkshake?

[ The waiter just whirls on his heel, disappearing into the back. Flynn blinks in his wake. ]

Maybe he hasn't gotten enough sleep, and that's why he repeats himself so much. It's strange, isn't it? I haven't been able to learn anything useful, and the more I think about everything I don't know...

Edited 2023-01-30 20:36 (UTC)

Yeah, but this place is open all day, and it's just him...

[ Yuri might not say "hi" but he is worried about workers' rights. He watches the waiter disappear. He turns back to Flynn. The jacket is nestled around his shoulders, still warm from Flynn's body heat. ]

Nah, they all seem to do that. The ones who work here. They say a couple things and repeat themselves, but some of them do kinda seem to understand us... sometimes.

But only sometimes.

[ Flynn agrees, leaning forward on his elbows in his own excitement. It's nice to talk with someone else who gets it, who's noticed the same things. ]

When you put it all together, it paints a strange picture. A town we don't remember coming to, which has clearly seen better days, full of people who repeat themselves and don't seem to live anywhere or have names. Missing memories. Doors that lead to deadly rooms full of sand. I... don't really have any word for it except that it's really, really strange.

That might be all there is to say about it. How'd we get here? How do we leave? I keep looking at the desert, and I'm pretty sure it's a death wish trying to cross it without supplies, and we're hard pressed to find any.

[ He glances out the window. It's dark out there, and the stars seem to go on forever. ]

I don't wanna be stuck here forever. It's only been a few days, but...

It's a few days too many, if you have someone to protect.

[ Flynn is guessing, just a little—maybe Yuri feels the same bone-deep restlessness that Flynn does, the same sense that when he opens his eyes in the morning that there's something he needs to be doing and that something is not here. He's been vibrating with it, moving since he got here without stopping to think. This is the first real slow moment. Maybe Flynn just couldn't do it alone, He's sure that he's bad at it, for some reason. ]

Will you tell me about her? Your person?

[ Yuri blinks, not having remembered mentioning--but of course he did. She's the only person he remembers, his own anchor. He debates, for a moment, if he should say, but... what's the harm? They aren't home. Flynn doesn't seem like a threat. ]

Her name's Estelle. Estellise. She's--important. I don't remember... everything. Pieces. She's tiny, little spit of a thing, with pink hair. [ His lips lilt up ] I remember protecting her, I remember traveling with her. I remember... [ fighting her, trying to make her fight for her life, refusing to kill her. His smile drops.

That's when their milkshakes show up, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Talking about himself is hard. Even if he wasn't. He was talking about Estelle, but she's him, isn't she? She's the piece of him he still has.

He pops his straw into the shake with a "thanks" to the waiter, who just smiles at them before moving along. He takes a long sip of strawberry milkshake to not have to say any more. ]

[ That something awful from before, Flynn would wager, and doesn't think too hard about the way he's hanging onto Yuri's words, tucking them against himself like precious things. Estelle. Estellise. Someone close enough to have a nickname, small and pink-haired and determined. In need of protection, but able to take care of herself.

Maybe it is a relief when the milkshakes arrive. Flynn murmurs a small thanks of his own, his head buzzing with questions he can't quite put into any semblance of order. The vinyl under him squeaks as he shifts, leans forward to drag the thing close to himself, tears off the paper of his own straw in one neat line.

It smells sweet. Like dessert, decadent, piled high in a fancy glass with a little dusting of what must be cocoa powder over the top. Flynn's never seen anything like it in his life, as far as he knows, and he's momentarily enraptured, first by the shake and then by the hollow of Yuri's cheeks as he drags at the straw.

Carefully, still watching Yuri, Flynn leans down to copy him, wrapping his lips around the end.

It hits his tongue cold and thick and sweet. He doesn't mean to make a sound about it but he does, and then he has to lift his head just say, ] It's so sweet! And creamy! This is amazing!

[ Yuri grins at him around his straw. That's kind of adorable. Okay, it's very adorable. He looks so surprised and happy and Yuri can't blame him, the milkshake is great. ]

Right? At least there's some good stuff going on here. Food's not bad. Desserts are better. Booze is alright too.

[ He stirs his shake, leaning on a hand ]

What about you? What do you remember? Your city, sort of?

[ give him a minute Yuri he needs to drink like. A lot more of this milkshake first—maybe it would be better with some salt? No, the diner must know what they're doing. But he is kind of hungry...

No, nope, milkshake and questions. Focus, Scifo. Lips off the straw so you can talk. Flynn has to ignore the little prickle of heat along his neck. ]

I know how to use a sword—one- or two-handed—and I think I'm good at it, although I haven't been able to find anything even remotely swordlike to prove that. My city, and... well, I can't remember, um. I think.

[ Flynn's fingers curl idly around his own straw as he glances away out the windows. It's hard to see the stars past his own reflection, pale and wan, frowning slightly. His ears are red. ]

Something tells me that my people were... really important to me. One person in particular, I think. It seems... wrong that I can't tell you any more about them, but I know there's someone I want to protect, too. Someone I want to make the world better for. I know that the world could be better, and that I was fighting for it. We weren't well-off, and the rest of the city was. I was fighting against that, somehow. I, um.

[ More heat prickles along his skin. He looks at Yuri's reflection in the window rather than Yuri, wondering at the tightness in his voice, the ache in his chest he can't put a face or a name to. ]

I know that the people in charge of that city weren't too happy with me for fighting them.

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