1.0 Test Drive Meme

[wellie]

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.

Comments

??? (ahsoka tano) | star wars

[unjedi]

( i. arrival )

[ okay. this looks vaguely reminiscent of her last memory, but not quite as dreary or heartbreaking. and her heart was breaking that day. she felt it with every step. she tugs on the poncho, feeling the fabric between her fingertips (this was grey once) and pulls off her hat to notice the bumps made, adjusted for her montrals. she glances to see if there are any other visitors in the lobby. ]

Wellstone . . . Does anyone know where that is?

( iii. dancing shoes )

[ the saloon seems nice, albeit a bit too noisy for her tastes. at least she's not getting stared at. she dangles her drink between her fingers, letting the liquid slosh around as she musters a faint smile, watching the people dance. it was . . . nice. nice to see people happy, even if the absence of her memories feels like a dull throb. at least it doesn't feel as painful as when she first arrived.

she leans back, taking a sip. ]

You're not going to dance?

( iii. memories of the living )

[ oh.

this has the tinge of familiarity. her last (and only) memory had been standing over shoddily-made graves. with sticks and helmets propped on top of them as markers, all with the same orange tint and pattern. the pattern that graced her own looks. she remembered the dirt under her fingernails, the burn of her knees as she dug those graves. and she remembered, this is my fault. these were the people I'm responsible for. I did this to them.

the what and why eludes her, but the guilt does not.

now, standing over her own, she can feel that again, with the steady thump of her heart. this is hers. ahsoka tano.

but the name doesn't mean anything to her. how could it? so she just stares at it, as if willing the meaning to come to her. as a thought, as a vision, as anything.

nothing happens.

she sighs, turning away. ]

We probably shouldn't stay too long in a place like this.

( iv. wildcard )

[ got a different prompt you’d like to do? ping me on timmtams / pm this journal. app + permissions. ]

arrival!

[thinkfirst]

It... feels like I should.

[ Flynn says uncertainly, to both himself and to this stranger, who has said the first new thing he's heard in hours—the receptionist, really, is not helpful at all—and who he is shifting closer to. Strangely comforting, with the empty buzz of his own head, to be met with as much confusion as he feels. It's a lonely thing to be trapped in your own head with only your doubts for company. Flynn should be okay with this, shouldn't he?

He's sure that he should. ]

You had a reservation, didn't you? I did, so I must have made it and... forgotten. But I'm sure that I'm supposed to be here, and that means I should know where here is.

[unjedi]

[ she can sense it. the uncertainty, the unknowing. so they're all the same? for some reason, at least that is quietening. she can loosen her guard a little. ]

I forgot a lot more than simply a reservation.

[thinkfirst]

What else?

[ Flynn asks, thoughtless, and then snorts at his own question. ]

Well— never mind that. If you knew, you wouldn't have forgotten, of course. What I mean is, do you also... seem to be fuzzy on more details than you should be?

[ Tell me, he doesn't quite say, though it comes off of him in waves, that it's not just me. Tell me I'm not the only one sitting in this strange lobby with a key I shouldn't have, wondering why I'm here and what I'm trying to do, and what I was trying to do before this. He can't be sure of any of it, is the problem. Flynn doesn't remember making the decision to come here. Something tells him he can't afford it, but the receptionist wouldn't even tell him the room rate, and he doesn't seem to have a wallet or any money at all, which all adds up to something suspicious except for that strange sure feeling in his belly that he should be here and that he has nothing to worry about. ]

[unjedi]

[ her brow furrows as she feels the train of thought. so they were all the same. how troubling. but she chooses to be honest because she feels it would be beneficial. and she didn't want him to worry. ]

I only have one memory. And . . . a power, I think, that resides within me.

[thinkfirst]

[ Flynn's brows rise unbidden. ]

A power?

[ His voice is oddly hushed when he asks, and he can't help a glance at the pleasant-faced receptionist, who seems to be ignoring them anyway. Still. He has a key and no desire at all to go to his room, and staying in here means that this whole conversation is very public. He'd like to ask more, but. Hm. ]

...would you like to look around with me? It's possible that there's a map or some other sort of marker out in the town.

[unjedi]

[ she considers it before nodding. ]

Yes. I think that would be wise. We won't find answers here.

iii

[vibing]

[ The graveyard stretches on forever, the quiet oppressive, the feeling of being observed making his skin crawl. He notices Ahsoka from a ways away, and feels instant relief. Another person, alive (he hopes). He's been in here for who knows how long, the moon hanging eerily still in the sky, the purple cast over everything unchanging.

He keeps his steps even, dirt puffing up around his boots, eyes slipping from her to the gravestone, the name unfamiliar as he tries to sound it out on his tongue. ]

Would if I could. Seem to be pretty turned around.

[ Like he just took a wrong turn. Like he doesn't feel like he's caught in an endless stretch of land with no escape in sight. ]

[unjedi]

You can't?

[ was something keeping them here? but her senses aren't telling her anything. ]

[vibing]

Nah. Not sure where the exit went.

[ Among a lot of other things. He glances around the cemetery again, pressing his tongue to his teeth. He doesn't like this. At least the shivers down his spine seem to have eased ]

You got an idea?

[unjedi]

[ she can see the exit easily, but this man cannot. she ponders this thoughtfully before responding. ]

Have any of these gravestones looked familiar to you?

[vibing]

[ Yuri shakes his head slowly, eyes skipping from name to name ]

Nah, not unless you count having walked past 'em five minutes ago. Does... that one mean something to you?

[ The one she was staring at ]

[unjedi]

Yes. It . . . called to me. I could feel my connection to it.

[ maybe she can do the same for him. ]

Why don't we look around? Perhaps one of them is your own.

iii

[femboi]

(The loss of memories didn't feel as alarming as it should. Haku was standing to the side, hands folded together in front of him, a contemplative look on his face when the woman questions him. He glances to either side of him to make sure he was actually who she was speaking to before he spares her a nervous, but sincere smile.)

I'm afraid I have no clue how to dance.

(And while he has no way of confirming it, he was almost positive he didn't know how to dance before either. Or...perhaps he did. He looks back at the dancing patrons, smiles becoming less nervous.)

Though it does look fun. Are you going to join them?

[unjedi]

If it helps, I don't think anyone does.

[ unless someone recalls some sort of dancing skill. but she shakes her head. ]

No. At least, not on my own.

[femboi]

Wouldn't it be embarrassing for them to try then?

(What if they should mess up?

Then again, if everyone didn't know then was there really any harm? Hm...)

I'm sure you could find a partner if you wanted one.

[unjedi]

[ a soft chuckle. ]

Who's going to tell them? Not me.

And I doubt it's that simple.

[femboi]

I suppose they won't be hearing it from me either.

(He lets out a soft chuckle of his own.

He lowers his hand a moment later, looking surprised.)

Why wouldn't it be?

[unjedi]

[ she gestures to her lekku. ]

It's not like I look like everyone else.

i. i am so sorry in advance

[hedonistic]

[Kagari doesn't remember Wellstone. He doesn't remember anywhere, honestly, though he has the weirdest feeling he would have very few wheres to remember in the first place for some reason.

Even so.

Even so.

What he does remember, in almost vivid clarity despite the haze and cracks and blackout surrounding the rest, is fiction. He couldn't tell you what he's watched, what he's played, what he might have read, but he knows that he loved stories about magic and dragons and spaceships and aliens and he is absolutely 100% looking at an alien right now.

He bounces a little on the falls of his feet.]

Forget Wellstone! [well, maybe not. there's so little to remember.] You're an alien, right?? Please tell me you remember being an alien. I don't know shit or fuck about me but this is definitely the coolest thing that could've possibly happened to someone like me. I can feel it in my bones.

lmao

[unjedi]

[ he sure is enthusiastic. alien, huh? she's not sure she likes that term, but it seems fitting here. ahsoka is definitely the odd person out here. ]

What exactly about being an alien should I be remembering?

[hedonistic]

I dunno! Stuff??

[helpful]

What your planet's like, maybe? ...Damn, I guess I don't remember enough about this planet for that to matter, huh.

[what a WASTED OPPORTUNITY ugh.]

Okay, okay, do you remember stuff about humans and what we're like? Maybe you know what's different.

[unjedi]

[ hmm. she's not sure she should be indulging this, but whatever. ]

Well, you have hair. And ears.

[hedonistic]

[well. this is true.]

You mean you don't have ears under -- [he gestures, vaguely, at her head] there?

[:0!!!]

How do you hear?

[unjedi]

The same way you do, I imagine. We just don't have ears.

[ she points to her montrals. the stubby horns on her head. ]

We hear through those.