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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.
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Or at least, that's how Ryan's choosing to take it. He has no reason to assume there's any anxiety under the surface, but it does mean he should consider taking it a little slower. Let Min-Gi get more comfortable here.]
Pretty sure. I've been here a couple weeks now and no one's said anything to me about it - or anyone else here. They'd figure it out right away if it was everyone, right?
[Ryan's drink is basically done, but these Old Fashioneds come with cherries, and it's not finished until he pops it in his mouth and tugs it from the stem with his teeth.]
Plus all the townsfolk are kinda weird? [He's saying this directly in front of the Bartender, who does not bat an eye.] They only say a couple of things over and over again, like a video game. I think we're probably fine.
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[That surprises him. The saloon makes him feel a lot more comfortable than he'd thought, but Ryan seems right at home here. Even knowing they're in the same situation he'd expected him to have been around a lot longer.
It doesn't seem like he's wrong though... The bartender must be able to hear everything, but she hasn't reacted at all. He's still not convinced completely, but it doesn't seem like anything bad will happen immediately, and there's something about this place that makes it hard to worry too much.
He finishes off his own drink (but leaves the cherry), then turns to Ryan with a hopeful smile.]
So... Old Fashioned?
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[At least, that's how he feels about it. He doesn't have any metric to base that off of, but he's getting used to things for the most part.
Min-Gi offers the next round, and Ryan meets that smile with his own.]
Yeah. Old Fashioned.
[Then, before he can think better of it, he winks and cracks a terrible joke.]
It's the only old fashioned thing about me.
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[It would be great if his instinctive reaction wasn't to look down at those very tight pants, but he does it before he can stop himself. He averts his gaze quickly with an awkward laugh, flagging down the bartender to order them a couple more Old Fashioneds.
Was he always this bad at this...?
He watches the bartender prepare their drinks, wishing he had something more interesting to say. Turns out small talk is hard when neither you or your conversation partner can remember much of anything.]
You're probably getting to know this place pretty well then, right? Maybe you could tell me what else there is around here?
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The drinks are hitting now, especially since that last one went particularly fast, and Ryan's already feeling warm and floaty. He's made a good decision here. Min-Gi is good company, he's decided.
He does take a sip of his newest glass though, and nods in thanks at Min-Gi.]
Hmm...not a whole lot, honestly. You know about the hotel already. And there's a diner, and a weird little general store? Honestly everything else is kinda empty. Most of the fun in town is here at the saloon.
[While he talks, he's playing with the cherry stem from the last drink, just twiddling it around in his fingers for something to do with it.]
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Oh, I work at a diner. [Which is very boring, but at least it's something about himself he can share. That seems like an accomplishment at this point. Something's still better than nothing. Maybe. At least until he can figure out something that's actually interesting about himself.] Do you know what you did? Before here?
[He's positive it must be something more exciting than a diner. Sorry, Ryan. He doesn't know the risks of trying to push for memories you don't have yet, and if he gets to remember what his job was maybe that's something that sticks for everyone.]
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I...don't. [The laugh he gives is more forced this time.] It's just a huge blank.
[W̡̛͘͢͡h̢͜a͠͝t̢̕͟͜ ̀͏̡ḑ̵̕í̡̧͟d̶҉̷̨́ ͘͟҉̨͢h͡͝͡e̴̴͠ ͜͝d̶͠҉ơ̕͟͝ ͜͏f̷͢͞o̢͝ŗ̕͜͢͞ ̷́a̡͡ ͏̧͞l̨͜͏ì̴̧͝v̢͞͡i̸͜͠n̕͜g̷͡?̶́̀́͡]
But hey! That's cool you worked in a diner. Were you like, a cook or something?
[Ẃ͢͏̀h̀͘͟͞a̸̶̕͠t́͢͞ ̶̛͢͝d҉҉́i̢̢͡d̴̕ ̷̸̵͡͝Ryan ͡͏̶҉̛d̶o͜͏͜͢ ̴͞͡͡f͢͟͞͠ǫ̶r̢̀͜ ̵͢͏̶͢à̵̸ ̷́͘͝l͘͜i̴̕͡͞v̨͢i̵̵͝͞n͜͞͏ģ̴͜?̷͞͏̡͜ Did he ç̨ó͏̵̛o̷̵̧̨k̶͢͟?̸̨̀͞ Ẁ̵̛́͟h̷͟a̴̕t͘͜͝ ̷̴̧̨͠d̛͜͟͟o̵͢͜e͝͡s̸̡ ͢҉h̵̵͝é͜͢͡ ҉͝k̷n̸͟o͟͜҉͝w͟͡҉̶͠ ҉ḩ͘̕͡o҉͠w̸̴͟͠ ́́͢͜t̸̀͘͝o͞͞͏̕ ̸̸̧͘͜c̕̕͏ớ̷̀͠ó̢͢k҉҉͠҉̸?̴͏
He lets out a shaky breath, and tries to disguise the need to press at his temple by leaning his elbow on the bar and propping his head up in his hand. He's fine! He's good! He doesn't want to worry some guy he doesn't know, especially one he's been trying to flirt with.]
If you don't remember, that's cool too though. No, uh. No need to dig too hard.
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Don't worry. I know it isn't. It kind of sucks, actually. We can talk about something else.
[Like... what? He isn't sure, but he can buy himself more time by drinking. It's fine.]
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No! No, it doesn't suck. Really. I mean, unless you remember it sucking? But honestly like, just the fact that you remember something that big about yourself is cool.
[The ache has slipped into something less painful, now that he's trying to reassure Min. He straightens his posture a little, and sips at his drink like it might numb the rest of his headache.]
There's this thing you should probably know though, in case it happens to you? It's a little bit of a downer, but...so like. If you figure out something you can't remember and you try to think about it really hard? It actually hurts you. I get killer migraines, I know some people that get gnarly nosebleeds...it kind of sucks.
[You know, to echo Min-gi's words.]
So...yeah! That's what's up with that. Too bad this place doesn't come with a manual, right?
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It's fine, it does suck. I hate it.
[He sobers a little when he hears the real reason for Ryan's reaction, not thrilled that he might have unintentionally hurt him either.]
I didn't know. I figured maybe if I knew, then so did you... We both know our names, and it didn't seem like it would matter even if you didn't know what your job was.
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It's fine, seriously. It's not like you did it on purpose, man. Besides, this could have been way worse - if I'd wound up bleeding I probably would have freaked you out and blown literally any chance I had here.
[He chuckles, and gives a little shrug. Might as well show his hand at this point.]
Sorry it sucks though. But hey, at least you don't have to work at the diner here? You can just, you know. ...Do whatever.
[Like have several drinks in the saloon with him, for example.]
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[Which apparently hasn't been a problem here. He doesn't get it, but he's not about to complain.
He looks him over a moment, drawing in a hesitant breath as he considers his options here. He said he wanted a chance with him, and maybe he's taking that too seriously considering he literally just met the guy. But does asking him hurt?
(Yes, absolutely, if he turns him down. But Ryan's given him no reason at all to think he would. Everything he's said points to the opposite, if anything.)]
Maybe we could do something? If you wanted. If you don't I'm totally fine with that too.
[He speeds up considerably for his last sentence, wanting to get that in there before Ryan has chance to respond.]
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I am so not cool! I don't remember how to flirt either; I'm just winging it here!
[That being said, winging it is a lot easier with a few strong drinks in him. Plus, being in a saloon that just makes everything feel good and nice doesn't hurt either.]
You totally could have fooled me though.
[Not that Min-Gi has been as obvious as Ryan, but he's seemed receptive enough to it that Ryan didn't think Min-Gi was doing too bad at all of this.
Ryan glances up towards the ceiling, humming a little and pretending to think. Truth is, he already knows what to ask for. It's been on his mind since Min-Gi sat down, especially since the saloon makes it so tempting in the first place.]
Hm...think you remember how to dance~?
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[He gestures at his own considerably less Old West outfit, but he doesn't feel as ridiculous for it now. Ryan can't hate it too much, so that's something.
Min-Gi is pretty certain he doesn't know how to dance, but he decides not to dwell on it after the warning not to. He just shakes his head, doing his best to push aside any deeper thoughts before they cause him problems.]
Mm-mm. But we could still try? Maybe somewhere out of the way in case I suck it...
[He does take a large swig from his latest drink for liquid courage, but he looks eager enough as he stands up from his stool.]
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Oh, I'm sure we can find a dark corner somewhere...
[Wink wink.
He knocks back the rest of his drink (not that he needs liquid courage for the dance floor) and then rises from his stool as well. It was harder to tell while sitting, but Ryan is a couple inches shorter that Min-Gi. He beams bright, and offers Min-Gi his hand.]
C'mon! Let's go learn to dance!
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I didn't mean it like that! I wasn't trying to be gross, I swear.
[But boy, it's sure hard not to picture, ready for that or not. He stays flushed as he accepts Ryan's hand, submitting himself to his expertise. He trusts himself to be led to the best part of the saloon, where they hopefully won't be noticeable enough to make too big a fools of themselves.]
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I know, I know! We don't have to be gross right now.
[But, you know. They totally could be, if Min-Gi wanted that. For now though, dancing together and feeling light and tipsy and free is enough. Ryan leads them to a corner on the edge of the dance floor that isn't totally empty - it's just far enough back to create the illusion of privacy, because no one is really looking their way.
The music isn't anything he recognizes - it's something lively, with a lot of piano, and that's all they really need to know. They don't need to know the songs to dance around to them. It's easy for Ryan to pick moves to try though, since he figures anything that makes the fringe on his jacket flounce around is probably right. It swishes back and forth, as does his long-ish hair, and soon he's reaching both of his hands out to Min-Gi to join him.]
This probably counts as dancing? Come here--
[And if Min-Gi lets him, Ryan will pull him closer by the hands and settle into some sort of easy to follow sway without letting go.]
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He doesn't resist, though, swaying along with Ryan as best he can. His movements feel a lot more stiff in comparison, but it's fun. And it's nice to be so close to him. It makes him feel warm and heady. It's easy to feel like they're alone.]
I had no idea dancing would be this much fun.
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It's super fun - and you're pretty good at it for somebody who doesn't remember how!
[At the very least he's not bad. They're pretty evenly matched here. Ryan keeps sneaking himself a little closer and then pulling them apart again without letting go - all very playfully. Their dance gets so close he can smell whatever shampoo Min-Gi used before he forgot everything about himself, and then Ryan pulls back and lifts their arms up so he can be twirled. The fringe spins, and he's smiling so brightly it could light up the entire saloon.]
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I'm not.
[But that doesn't seem to bother him. He doesn't need to be good at it to enjoy himself. It's just nice to have fun, and to appreciate how free Ryan is.
His smile is just as wide as Ryan twirls, his eyes fixed on his face despite the flair of his outfit. He pulls him in close as he slows, intertwining their fingers again. It doesn't fit right with the flow of the music, but that's okay. It's mostly an excuse to be near him.]
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Ryan slides their hands down to his waist and holds Min's hands there for just a beat, a quiet instruction. Then, he lets go of those hands so he can settle his on Min-Gi's shoulders, falling into a cozy slow dance.
The current song doesn't matter. They have their own rhythm here.]
Not too soon or anything, right?
[You know, just in case. Min-Gi did want to be on the edge of this crowd.]
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It feels like he should have bigger problems than if he can catch some guy's eye, but being here with someone is reassuring. There's no hesitation in response to Ryan's question. He shakes his head, his grip on his waist tightening to emphasise his point.]
Not too soon. This is nice. I like it.
[It's easy to forget it isn't just the two of them when he's looking into Ryan's eyes like this. He's barely even thinking about the possibility of anyone else noticing them, let alone worrying about it.]
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But now, it feels so good to be just swaying in someone's arms like this. To enjoy how good things feel in this exact moment without reaching into that weird emptiness in his head. It doesn't matter if he's flirted with someone like this before, and if doesn't matter if it's something he would or wouldn't do.
He's here now, in someone's warm arms. And it's so, unbelievably nice.]
Good. I like it too.
[Someone a little smoother might try their luck sneaking a kiss while no one is paying attention to them, with how close their faces are. Instead, Ryan finds himself blurting out what's on his mind.]
Hey, so. Juuuust in case it's one of the things you forgot? ...You have such a nice face.
[It's such a stupid line, but it's true. If anyone's told Min-Gi that before he probably doesn't remember, and that's an actual tragedy.]
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What?!
[He honestly doesn't have much idea what else to say to that, but he doesn't want to say nothing else and risk him taking it the wrong way.]
You don't have to force compliments. I already like you.
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[There's a light laugh to his voice, not because he's lying but because he just wasn't expecting Min-Gi to outright disagree. How can he disagree with eyebrows like that? And that jawline! Why would Ryan make up how handsome he is?!
Then again, maybe it is a little weird. But he already said it, so it's not like he can un-say it now.
His thoughts circle back to the rest of Min-Gi's words though, and they finally register completely. He seems surprised, but pleasantly so.]
...You already like me? Really?
[It feels like a silly, childish question at this point, but it still slips out, like he needs to make sure before he gets his hopes up even higher.]
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