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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.
2
Lava?!
[It doesn't seem to matter that it very obviously isn't. This is still extremely dangerous. It's less pressing, but not by that much. Not when the room is filling up this fast.]
no subject
[He's seemingly entirely unconcerned about both topics; the lava, and then rising sand. He heads to the wall spouting sand, feels the gaps and keeps feeling along the wall.]
I don't think there's a secret button around here. Must be some other way... Not likely a trap door. We'll want to head up, not down. Do you see anything interesting or unique?
no subject
It would be easy to think he isn't listening, but he still is. Even as his mind provides unhelpful images of his own flesh being scorched away, or the sand enveloping him completely. He looks up almost automatically. Min-Gi's not really expecting to see anything, but the ladder is obvious enough even someone as panicked as he is can't miss it.]
There's a ladder! But-- It's so high. We'll never reach it.
[He's tall, but that makes no difference here. There's an obvious solution they could at least try, but he seems lost to the inevitability of death. He doesn't want it, but he can't get himself together enough to try and stop it either.]
no subject
[The optimism on Fred doesn't even remotely waver as he heads over to the rope ladder, hand on his chin to inspect it. Then, back to Min-Gi:]
Maybe about nine or ten feet up. If you stand on my shoulders, you'll definitely be able to make it up.
[And before even asking if Min-Gi is alright with it, he takes a knee, and gestures to his shoulders.]
no subject
They don't exactly have time to argue, though, so he just nods. The guy seems confident, so maybe he knows what he's doing? He steps uncertainly onto Fred's shoulders, using the walls to keep himself balanced and glancing down to make sure everything's okay.]
Then I help you up...?
[He can't see any other way this plan would go, but he wants to make sure first.]
no subject
If it can support the both of us. That's the thing about sand rooms. If we have a way out, we really could just wait until the sand starts to reach the top. Kind of a boring trap room, if you ask me. A slow suffocation death, if we didn't find this ladder? They should do a room of poisonous gas next time, if they want to stir up some urgency!
[Hopefully Min-Gi has grabbed onto the ladder by now, because he's been kind of gesturing widely while saying all that. Why is he giving whoever made this trap room any ideas? Don't ask.]
Anyway, did you get on it yet?
no subject
It's Fred's gesturing that encourages him to grab onto the ladder, unnerved by how unsteady it makes him feel. The rope ladder looks flimsy, but when he pulls at it to test how it holds his weight... It feels surprisingly durable. He nods. Not that Fred can see it, but he can probably feel the way Min-Gi's weight shifts as he starts to climb onto the ladder properly.]
Y-yeah. I think it's steady. Are you okay?
[He looks down to see how the other guy is holding up, hoping he isn't too deep in the sand yet. It's hard to work out how to adjust himself so he can hold the ladder but still lean down enough to help pull Fred up, but he does what he can. He feels a little less scared for himself now, and definitely responsible for making sure Fred survives this too.]
Here. Grab onto me.
no subject
Thanks!
[It takes a bit of a leap as he takes Min-Gi's hand, and grabs for the ladder with his other free hand. Not the best launch he's done, but sand's tricky like that. His weight pulls on the rope ladder a bit and he sighs.]
Well. Time to start climbing. Actually, I never got your name. I'm Fred. Fred Jones.
no subject
I'm Min-Gi. Park. I'm Min-Gi Park.
[His mind still feels scattered, and it doesn't seem like the best time for introductions, but it would be rude not to reply. Not when he'd probably be waist deep in sand now if it hadn't been for Fred.
When he starts to climb his movements are cautious, but he's keeping an eye on the rising sand. He doesn't want to risk falling, but he also doesn't want them to wind up buried anyway just because he's taking too long.]
no subject
[Oh, did Min-Gi not sign up for teaming up to track down this mysterious trap-setter?
Either way, he begins to climb, just a step or two beneath Min-Gi's progress. If there's any urgency he feels about how they need to move faster, he manages to keep it to himself for once. New friends probably don't like being rushed, after all!]
no subject
[That gives him pause for a moment, but tha thankfully just that. They can't afford to longer too long, and the ladder seems to go on and on. Noting the sand getting a bit too close for comfort he picks up his pace a bit.]
Wouldn't that be dangerous? I still don't even know how we got in there.
no subject
[Poor Min-Gi having to deal with this.]
Surely you want to know who's behind this? If we don't catch them, what if they do it again to someone else?
no subject
[It's fine, Min. He's not a cat and he wasn't seriously considering it.]
Even if I did, it wouldn't matter. I work in a diner! What am I supposed to do about it?
[Weirdly the top of the ladder seems further away now, but that's got to be his imagination. Right?]
no subject
[And for the first time, there's a hint of disappointment in his voice. Some of the wind knocked out of his sails.]
no subject
I just think it sounds dangerous... It doesn't seem like something someone in high school should be dealing with either.
[Seriously, why doesn't the top feel like it's getting any closer?]
no subject
[If an adult with a job won't, then it doesn't seem like anyone else would.]
Someone needs to step up.
no subject
I... don't know.
[That's worrying. It might really be down to them.]
no subject
[It's a shame they're in such an awkward position of climbing up this ladder, because he's giving Min the most hopeful look right now.]
no subject
Fine... But we need to be careful.
no subject
'Course! I'm always careful!
[It's true, he's- somehow- the mom friend of the group.]
no subject
Good. We still don't know what they're capable of. We could get hurt if we aren't.