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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.
no subject
[Molly pauses, scanning over what little he remembers. And adds,] There's this...person I knew. I don't remember much about them, but they helped me. Helped me get my feet under me.
And that was something they taught me. [His drink comes to an end and he looks into it then at the bartender as they arrive just in time to refill it and put in another little umbrella. He grins again.] How about you? What impressions do you get?
no subject
[ He has the scars on his body to prove it, even if he doesn't remember getting any of them. There's one particularly bad one in his gut, and he wonders how he survived a wound like that. ]
She means a lot to me. I think she... helped me, too. She gave me something to care about.
You don't remember anything else about that person, the one who helped you?
no subject
Well that and I worked with a circus under his direction. I’m good with swords too and there’s more there but fuck if I know what. Other than one name of…something important. Does ‘The Mighty Nein’ mean anything to you?
[He doesn’t like this saying so much truth. But it doesn’t feel like he owes the truth or the past anything. Whoever he is, he’ll build something here. He glances about the bar and sighs.] I don’t really need names. I got what is important. Who knows, maybe we’ll run into him or this mighty nein. Whatever it is. Or your princess.
no subject
Yeah, maybe. I haven't seen her around. I remember her name, and... a few things. But it's sort of hollow. [ He grimaces, looking down at his beer, he takes a sip, then looks at Molly's drink, which looks much more interesting ] You were in a circus, huh? Man, if we had some swords, I'd give you a run for it. I'd love to see circus tricks.
[ He has his own sort of flare with swords, but he's pretty sure Molly could teach him a thing or two.
Looking at the drink again: ] Is that any good?
no subject
You get a good kick and a fancy little umbrella. [He swirls it and sips.] I'll drink anything if I get a fun experience out of the deal. But, let's make it a goal. We get some swords and then show each other some tricks.
Who knows, we could figure out an act together.
no subject
[ He grins back at Molly ] Hell yeah. Never done if for show--I don't think. But I got some flash to me. Don't even really need swords, but they're more fun.
[ The bartender slides him his new, fancy drink with the little umbrella. He brightens, delighted, and toasts Molly with it. ] Let's make it an act. Molluri. Yumol? I dunno, we'll work on it.
no subject
I’m good with one handed swords but not bad with daggers. Probably could juggle either one. …when I remember how, that is. But relearning things could be fun.
If we learned it once. We can do it again. If I didn’t before still can learn it now.
no subject
[ He frowns a little. It doesn't seem like something he knows? ]
I didn't see any swords anywhere, but knives might work. Knives, or axes, if we can find one.
no subject
Sorry, little headache there. I say we find some fruit and toss and catch first. When we’re not drunk. Or we could! So long as we stay in here.
[He doesn’t want to leave just yet. Odd thought. He puzzles over it then shrugs.] Or maybe spoons? It’s a thought.
no subject
[ She stares at him for a long moment, then moves away supposedly to retrieve the spoons. Yuri sits back down with a satisfied smile ]
Oh, yeah. You tried to remember something? Hurts like hell. Ignorance is bliss, and all that. Might really be true here.
no subject
What happened to make this time different? He sips again and glances at himself in a mirror behind the bar. He runs his finger along the top of the glass.] We can look on the bright side. All the food and drinks we were used to are new again.
no subject
Oh, hey, thanks. [ The bartender returns with a handful of spoons and drops them on the table. He realizes them that he knows very, very little about juggling ] Maybe muscle memory will do it for you.
no subject
When and where eludes him so, he doesn’t try to find the answer. He picks up two and tosses and catches them. A thoughtful look crosses his face.] So far, this feels right. Bit like tossing swords. Try it.
no subject
Usually only have one sword. Think you can do three?
[ He offers the two spoons back to Molly ]
no subject
Looks like I could do that before. The circus never leaves us. Good. I like that.
[His grin widens.] My gut tells me I usually wield two swords. Kind of curved things but any one handed sword will do. We’ll see if I had any fancy tricks to go with them.
no subject
Impressive. Damn. Two swords... not a bad idea. I-- [ He stops, frowns ] feel like I do something that wasn't, uh, normal? With fighting. No clue what. Heh, maybe being scolded sticks with you, too. Circus sounds more fun.
no subject
[His grin turns wider.] Love to see it when you get a sword in hand. Bet what you do is something amazing. Either way, it's yours. And that's the best part.
no subject
Just gotta find one first. I feel naked without it. [ The compliments have him buzzing, feeling oddly proud and embarrassed at the same time ] I'll show you, when I find one.
no subject
…I get the feeling I got some other fun tricks that are circus related but I’m not going to try to remember them. If I do, I’ll share. Best to know what your fellow performer can do, eh?