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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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Ryan smiles and lets Min-Gi guide his hand. He's probably right about that, and plus it will be easier to hear each other anyway.]
Sure! I'm totally down for another one. You pick this time; I'll try anything.
[It's not like he even knows what he likes or dislikes for sure, so it'll be a learning experience either way. On their way back to the bar, Ryan links their fingers together again, as if they might lose each other between point A and B.]
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Should we try something with tequila this time? Most of these seem to either have that or whiskey...
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But with someone else by his side, it's a little easier to focus on the now. Those questions still gnaw at him under the surface, but not so much that they cause him pain.]
Sure! I think I've only tried the whiskey ones so far...and these all look pretty good.
[He glances eagerly to Min-Gi - he did say that he should pick, after all. Surprise him!]
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It takes longer than necessary for him to eventually settle on something. He wants to impress Ryan. He's not going to do that if he ends up ordering them a bad drink. He's still not sure he's chosen right when he does flag down the bartender, but standing here all night is probably not going to impress anyone either.]
Two Tequila Sunrises. Can you charge them to my room?
[He glances at Ryan to try and gauge what he thinks as she starts to fix up their drinks. He has no clue what he expects to be served, but it sounds exciting. Ryan seems like the kind of guy to enjoy exciting.]
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Well, it definitely has tequila in it. Otherwise it'd be kind of a weird name, right?
[He's excited though and he keeps trying to peek at what the bartender's doing, as though he can't wait a couple minutes to find out. When she sets the drinks in front of them, Ryan actually gasps.]
Woah! That looks awesome. It's so pretty? Good call!
[Their Old Fashioneds really do seem old fashioned in comparison. This drink is tall, and it has a vibrant gradient from yellow to red. He takes a curious sip and immediately perks up with the tiniest amount of recognition.]
Oh! It's like, orange juice! Try it, it's super good.
[Take these oranges, they're good for you.]
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[Or one would think so anyway. It seems a pretty good bet to assume it's tequila based, but what exactly makes it a sunrise remains a mystery until the drinks are served up to them. Ryan looks so pleased it already feels like a win before either of them have tried it. He watches with a hopeful smile as he takes his first sip, laughing at his reaction.
He does pick up his own drink at Ryan's encouragement though, trying it for himself. He's right. It's good.]
Not bad. I was worried it was going to turn out to be something terrible.
[Which is safe to say now that the pressure's off. He likes it, and that's all that matters.]
Okay, so... You still wanna play that game? I could ask you about your job now.
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He's glad for the reminder too - with the excitement of learning what tequila is, he almost forgot he said he'd go first in this game.]
Yeah! Yeah, hang on--
[He straightens out his posture and shakes out his hair a little before taking a deep breath. He knows what he's going to pitch to Min-Gi, he's just a few drinks in and is trying to make sure he doesn't break character by laughing - which he's internally decided is how you lose this game.]
Soooo before I got here, I was...a...
[Naturally he has to drag it out, for the drama.]
...circus performer!
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He'd absolutely expected him to go with something performative, but a circus performer? Of all the jobs he could have chosen, that's not one he could have anticipated. He does his best to try and recover, but he's struggling with keeping a straight face.]
Sorry. I'm sure that's a great job. So, you're... what? Like, a clown or something?
[That was probably a bad thing to guess. That mental image is making it even harder to try not to laugh.]
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Ha, ha. More like professional juggler. But I'm totally working my way up the ranks to acrobat. Eventually I'm gonna be doing all kinds of flips in the air.
[Honestly most circus jobs sound pretty fun as long as he's not like, the guy shoveling elephant shit. But twirling and leaping around in the air in fun costumes? That would be ]
Oh! Or! Or I'll be that guy they shoot out of a canon! Either way, it'll be pretty sick.
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[Although being an acrobat isn't actually any less risky, is it? He wonders if Ryan's this much of a daredevil in real life.]
I didn't know circuses worked out promotions like that. How long does it take to go from juggle to acrobat?
[It would be interesting to ask for a juggling demonstration, but he has no idea how well that would go down in the middle of a crowded saloon. Probably not very well, especially after a few drinks.]
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[He's clearly not selling Min-Gi on it though, so he glances up at the ceiling and tries to think.]
It just seems like it'd be fun to fly through the air? I'd be like a bird or something.
[Then Min-Gi asks more about the internal circus structure and Ryan has no idea what he's talking about. If he's going to make up more stuff, he needs a swig of his drink.]
Weeeeell...there's two more steps in the middle. After you get good at juggling? You get to be the Ringleader. And like, you'd think that would be the top, right? But! But then you have to like...run everything, and that part sucks. So after that you move up toooo Lion Tamer. Then Acrobat, and then Cannon Guy.
[He playfully shrugs, like this isn't complete and total nonsense he just drunkenly made up off the top of his head.]
But hey, if I never make it to Cannon Guy? I'd be okay being an Acrobat.
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I get it.
[He does not get it.
On the plus side it is genuinely entertaining to listen to Ryan make up the inner job systems for the circus on the fly. It's obvious nonsense, but funny in ways Min-Gi knows he could never come up with.]
That sounds cool. How close to Ringleader do you think you are? Like, how many things do you have to juggle to get that job?
[He should probably drop it and let Ryan ask a question, but he's so good at this game. He wants to stretch out his answer and hear what else he comes up with.]
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[Ryan does not know much about juggling at all, aside from the bits Molly told him. He's not even sure how much it's possible to juggle, but it's not like Min-Gi is going to ask him to prove it right now.
He's definitely gone on just a little too much about his own fake life when Min-Gi's probably waiting for his turn. So Ryan rests his cheek in his hand and settles in to listen. Everything feels really cozy right now.]
You're up! So...hm. ...Oh! I know! Where are you from? For tonight anyway.
[Not where he's actually from, of course. That's just asking for another headache, so now it's Min-Gi's chance to tell him a bold-faced lie for fun.]
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The few memories that do float forward don't feel helpful. He doesn't knew if he's ever been anywhere interesting. He might not have. He remembers running away from the chance to live life on the road.
He remembers the map from the diner he worked at laid out on the table, showing the locations scattered out across... somewhere.
He has nowhere. Unless...
What if he can use what he remembers after all? Make it something different. Cooler, and a little bit mysterious. He looks pleased as he pieces his story together, leaning against the bar with a hand on his hip in a pose he presumably deems cool.]
Oh, you know. Kind of everywhere. Kind of nowhere. I never stay in one place too long.
Never even bother learning the names of most places, but I can still tell you about them.
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But then Min-Gi knocks it out of the park and Ryan grins wide. He can totally work with that.]
Ooo~! You're a real man of the world! I bet a handsome guy like you meets aspiring acrobats like, all the time in your travels.
[Because that's totally a common occupation to just stumble across in a bar somewhere. That happens all the time to everyone, right? And clearly Min-Gi must be leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him.
(Not that Ryan sounds like he minds at all.)]
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Once I even met someone who got all the way to cannon guy. He was super boring, actually. The cannon was all he had going for him.
That was in, uh... [His eyes scan the bottles on the shelf behind the bartender for inspiration. It's not subtle.] Wild Turkey?
[That doesn't sound like a place. Why did he say that?]
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[He's on a roll here, and he can see the exact path from this to prodding about what Min-Gi likes in a guy (someone who isn't boring? He's pretty sure he isn't boring, so that's good)...
...But then Min-Gi blurts out that this happened in Wild Turkey, and suddenly Ryan's the one cracking up and breaking character. He laughs so hard he nearly snorts his drink, which is admittedly kind of embarrassing on his part.]
Yeah? [His voice is an octave higher than it should be, but he's trying to reel in the giggles.] Wow, I-- I never knew Turkey was wild. Shame their circus guys are lame.
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It might be. You don't know.
[Hell, for all Min-Gi knows Turkey might be wild. He huffs a little laugh at himself, rubbing the back of his neck. He had wished he could be as effortlessly funny as Ryan, but he hadn't meant for it to be like that.]
Did I ruin it?
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[Ryan isn't trying to be mean, no. It's just a little hard to hold in laughter after all of the alcohol. As soon as it becomes apparent that he's laughed too much and that Min-Gi seems a little uncomfortable, he sets down his now empty glass and shakes his head.]
No! Noooo, you didn't! You didn't ruin it - it was really good! It was so good. I mean...it was always going to be a little silly? Mine was silly!
[Distantly, he realizes he's talking way too much. Really over-explaining and laying it on thick. He doesn't know how else to reassure Min-Gi other than just saying things like this, because they really don't know each other that well yet.]
I shouldn't've laughed so much. ...Buuut it was pretty funny? [Sorry, Min-Gi.] Funny's good though!
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[He. Maybe wasn't supposed to say that part out loud. He stops to consider if that's something he'd usually say, but it's a little late after the fact.
He shrugs to himself before his eyes settle back on Ryan. Might as well let it all out now.]
You're like super funny without even trying. And so hot. I like you flirting with me.
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[He's spent basically the entire night with Min-Gi so far. If he didn't want to be here or if he was getting bored, it would be a lot more obvious. Right now he's exactly where he wants to be - warm and cozy and floaty with the handsome guy he just met.
But then Min-Gi turns the compliments on him and his whole face flushes from more than just the liquor. He can actually feel it in his cheeks, to the point where he reaches up and rubs one like that might make it go away.]
Yeah? You do?
[He doesn't feel nearly as cool as Min-Gi seems to think he is, but hearing Min-Gi say so himself makes his heart soar.]
That's...that's good. Because I really, really like flirting with you.
[At first he leans closer, as if he's going to try and be really smooth and flirt some more, but. That's...not exactly how it comes out.]
Like, you think I'm hot?? You are so handsome! And like, you're not even trying because you're gonna-- you're gonna be like 'aw you're just saying that you don't have to' but I'm not! I'm not, you're just...you're really hot and you're so much fun and I'm glad you like me...
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I do.
[He tugs Ryan's hand close to his chest as he speaks, staring deeply into his eyes. By this point it's hard to follow everything Ryan is saying (he keeps getting distracted by how soft it is and how warm it feels through the fabric of his shirt), but it's intensely flattering. His words make his face warm and his insides fuzzy in ways that have nothing to do with the alcohol, though that probably doesn't help.]
I am trying. I tried so hard tonight to be fun for you, and it was so good. I'm having so much fun with you, Ryan. Why can't I be like that all the time? I should be, right? I think I could do that for you.
[Tomorrow he will bury himself in a pit of shame. Tonight all of this feels poetic and magical. It doesn't matter he barely knows Ryan. It doesn't matter he barely knows himself. He just feels good and he likes that.]
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His hand is small in Min-Gi's, and it's hard to think about what he was saying and not like, how soft his shirt is. He closes any gap there was, fingers splayed now that he has the chance to touch.
What was he saying again? How is he supposed to focus on anything with Min-Gi looking right into his eyes and the world gently tilting?]
Shhhh. There's no should. You don't know what you're like, and...and I don't know what you're like or what I'm like...but that's okay! It's okay, 'cause it's a space up there, and you can put...anything in that space. Not circus stuff or wild turkeys. You can beeee...whoever! You can be whoever you want. ...With me.
[He gently tip-taps his fingers against Min-Gi's chest, as if that emphasizes his point in any meaningful way.]
You don't have to try, 'cause you are! You're fun. This is fun and so good. You're...you're really good, Min-Gi.
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Luckily he has another hand right there he can tangle his up in, but it takes him a minute or so to realise this. Once he does he's happier. It feels like they're connected, and he likes the way Ryan taps his fingers to emphasise his points. It makes his words feel even more inspirational than they did already.]
You're really good.
[Which sounds almost like an accusation, the way he says it. That's not really what he was going for, but it's hard to get his words out the way he wants to.]
I'd like that. I do want to be. With you. I think that'd make me more fun. I could take you back to the hotel, and we could kiss? Do you want me to kiss you? It'll be nice.
[Even to his own mind that sounds a lot less coherent than he'd wanted. And maybe creepier actually. He makes a dissatisfied little noise, squeezing Ryan's hand in his own as though that might somehow convey his thoughts better than he can.]
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That does sound like an accusation, but Ryan just snickers.]
No, you're really good!
[Min-Gi is so good, and he says so many nice things all the time, and he thinks Ryan's hot and funny and all of these things he doesn't remember being really. The problem with having both his hands held though is that he no longer has a hand holding him up against the bar, which makes balancing a little trickier.
But that's okay. He can use it as an excuse to keep holding Min's hands, and close the gap between them. He even rocks up on his tip toes, bringing their faces even closer.]
I want that. I want that so much. I wanna kiss you so much that I could...we could kiss right now? Why wait for the hotel~?
[Almost as if on cue, the bartender looks up (entirely unimpressed by these drunk lovebirds about to make out so close to closing time) and says one of her stock lines - "It's getting late. Watch out on your way back to the hotel."
In her defense, things do seem to have cleared out a bit. How long were they chatting and drinking anyway?]
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