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

lucina - fire emblem: awakening

[fauxmarth]

o1. at staywell

[the errant explorer on one of the floors of the hotels may be the lucky winner of bearing witness to the unintentionally violent yanking-off-the-hinges of a linen closet at the end of the hall at the hands of a dark-haired girl in a fringed skirt.]

Oh... [one of the pins holding the hinges in place tinkles to the ground and rolls at her feet.

oops.

she stands there, back to any witnesses, her face beet red as she stares at the sliver of closet she can now see, now that the door is askew. she appears to be in something of a quiet shock as she hastily goes over her options here. she should try to fix this. she could make a quick exit and forego the blame, but she really should try to fix this. but if she lets go of the handle, is the door going to sag with the awkward weight and break entirely off the single hinge??

thank goodness there are currently no witnesses.]

---

o2. dancing shoes

Excuse me...

[the girl bends a little to meet the person sitting in the booth closer to eye-level. she smiles, a touch timid, a dash hopeful.]

It's awful crowded, isn't it? [seems so to her.] Would...you mind if I sat here, too? On this side. [the vacant side.] Or are you waiting for someone?

---

o3. sand trap

...

[wait. huh? this isn't her room.

she frowns immediately, eyes narrowed as she steps into the unfamiliar room, hair prickling on the back of her neck. as she fights past the danger sense in her head warning her of unknowable threats, she forces herself to paint this space into the whole of the hotel she's in.]

...Too big to be along this wall...right...?

[she'd muse more, but someone's just come through the door opposite, wholly catching her attention.]

Oh-- Is, this isn't... Wait. [she's flummoxed.] How...how is there a door there? [that should be open air. that's the window-facing side!

...right?]

---

o4. memories

Was there a battle...?

[she's wondering aloud, her pacing having slowed to a stop as she takes in the long line of headstones before her, her expression scrunched with concern. it seems to go on forever, but that can't be; she was certain she was heading toward the fenceline, and yet it seems even further than before.

a battle...that was the first thing that came to mind, seeing such volume. what else could it possibly be? she has to really consider it.] A plague? [...surely these aren't over time; they're all relatively of the same wear, right? maybe...

when company comes her way, she's musing aloud as such, bending forward to wipe sand off the face of one of the headstones, trying to make out the name. when she catches glimpse of a shape under the brim of her hat, she lifts her head and looks, hesitating before straightening up, watching, curious and hesitant about whoever's approached.]

( 02 )

[unjedi]

No, go right ahead.

[ waiting for someone. as if she or anyone else can remember that. ]

You don't like dancing?

[fauxmarth]

[apparently when in doubt: find the strangest-looking person in the room! she's not sure if it was intentional or not, but...yeah. she is a strange-looking person; that isn't hair at all!

Lucina's mouth twitches in a sheepish way as she sits, unable to keep from briefly tucking her chin and looking toward the dancers.]

I'm not actually sure I know how, if I'm honest... [she looks back.] Is that strange?

[unjedi]

[ she smiles faintly at that. ]

Not at all. I remember a few things. Skills . . . but none of them lend themselves to dancing.

[fauxmarth]

[her brow knits.]

You don't remember much, either? Then...then it's really the same for most everyone...? [she'd hoped that wasn't so.]

At Staywell

[faithfulson]

[ Luke can't help but wince in sympathy at the... "attempt" at being subtle going on down the hall. At the rate she was going, he was afraid the whole wall was going to come crashing down on her. The fact that letting go of the door looked like it was going to fall off on top of her didn't help, and he found himself rushing forward, grabbing the door before it fell off the remaining hinge. ]

[ Lucina will have the pleasure of a man that looked like he lived his life under the sun suddenly hovering over her, though the clean black pants and fringed shirt didn't exactly match the farmboy look to his face. The charming, slightly lopsided smile made up for it though. ]

You look like you could use a hand, ma'am.

[fauxmarth]

-!!

[caught red-handed, it seems. and red-faced! Lucina flinches as the shape fills in the space near her, and she does something of a cartoonish double-take to gawk at him. for a second, her mouth opens and closes without a sound before she can catch herself.]

I-I, yes! Sorry, I only... [she flusters, looking back at the door knob she's clutching like it's her lifeline.] No, let's just...set this thing back properly first, yes? I'll lift on your signal.

[faithfulson]

[ Luke can't help but chuckle faintly. He's not sure what he did to deserve such a gobsmacked response, other than exist in a close space to her, but her reaction was still adorable. ]

All right, on three.

[ He paused a moment to give her a nod. ]

One... two... three!

[fauxmarth]

[with a grunt, Lucina hefts up on the doorknob and helps the stranger realign the door with its frame. but that alone wasn't going to fix the door: the hinge needed its pin back in place.]

Can you hold it like this alone? So I can-- there was a piece...broke off...

1 (Emm is post-fall, pre-recruitment)

[forgivewithgrace]

[Lucina's shock, combined with quiet footsteps, makes Emmeryn's silent entrance to the scene of the crime barely noticeable beyond the creak of an old floorboard. She stops a moment, considering the younger girl's frozen back and the state of the door in-hand, before approaching from behind. Hopefully it's not too much of a shock when there's a light touch to Lucina's shoulder followed by a pale hand covering hers on the handle while the other braces the door. Soft, faltering words try to relieve the tension:]

I can...help you. Everything...will be...okay.

!!!

[fauxmarth]

[Lucina bristles, holding her breath for fear of accusation, but it doesn't come. instead--]

Huh-? [she double-blinks, looking from the stranger to the door and back again, face pink. she looks like some kind of...magical fairy godmother-type? though Lucina couldn't even tell you what those are supposed to look like for sure; this is all just knee-jerk intuition.] Oh! Ah, sorry. Yes. Can you...help me hold it in place? So I can pick up the broken part. [beat.

wait:] A-actually, I can hold it! If you can grab the pin? It's... [she tries to get a glimpse around herself, at the floor.] I think it fell near my foot...?

♡

[forgivewithgrace]

[Emmeryn's reaction dawns slowly, but Lucina's flustered state manages to bring about a smile. A distant part of her wants to pat the girl's head, yet she's not exactly sure why. Or for that matter, why it feels like it would be the correct or natural thing for her to do. Nonetheless, the sage nods and pulls away so that she may kneel to search. It doesn't take long to find, and the only true obstacle is Emmeryn mentally puzzling out how to properly insert the pin back into its rightful place. She was an exalt, not a servant, okay!]

...Is that...better?

[fauxmarth]

[two women of nobility fumble with the babiest of DiY tasks... at least it's a gentle mission and the door is easily settled back on its hinge. only then does Lucina exhale and dare to let the handle go.]

Much better, yes... [she smiles over at the woman who helped her, grateful and relieved.] Thank you so much, you really saved me there!

Memories

[moremystyle]

...Ahoy there.

[The person approaching Lucina is a cowboy, albeit a short and wiry one, with his purple hair pulled back, and obviously considering the words he's overheard. A plague? Could be, to make this many graves. Its the kind of graveyard you'd spect from a vast city, not a meager little village like this one.

But if that's the case, where are the rest of the buildings? Those don't just go away.]

Reckon there's more graves here than there've ever been people in this place.

[fauxmarth]

[even before her memories vanished, Lucina had little to do with pirates, so she can't really say ahoy feels out-of-place one way or another. even so, the appearance of another comes as a surprise, and she looks just so.

after a beat, she looks back down to the headstone.]

It...it seems that way, doesn't it. But that can't be right. It's more like...a trick of the mind, don't you think? [she looks back over with a frown.] I feel like I walked into a tiny yard only to be wandering a mile.

[moremystyle]

[A trick of the mind? Not so unbelievable, considering that none of them remember more than their names.]

Aye, that could be. It certainly didn't look so vast from the outside. [Like walking up to a pond only to find that it's the sea in front of you.

He gestures to the headstone.] Anyone you know?

[fauxmarth]

[good question. she thinks about it for a moment before answering.]

...Not that I can recall, no. It doesn't look familiar. What about you? Have you...found any names you know?

1

[searingwing]

I had that happen to me too. [Says the witness. He eyes the linen closet and the hinge.] The front desk told me they would fix my error.

[But he has been wary ever since. He's a tall man, scars visible on his arms when his sleeves shift. He kneels and picks up the pin.] I'd go with you if you wished to tell them at the desk.

[fauxmarth]

...

[Lucina's ears burn with the voice of another, even in commiseration. it's embarrassing, okay! she remains stock-still as he retrieves the pin, her gaze flicking only briefly to glimpse some bright red before she hard-focuses on the door in front of her.]

I...yes, I do need to apologize. It's only right... [even if she doesn't want to heap trouble on herself.]

[searingwing]

We have little memory of who we were and what we were capable of. I strongly suspect they expect us to be...not as controlled as we would have been with our memories.

[Diluc says as he studies the hinge and then the pin. He turns it in his fingers and then sets it down under the hinge.]

Let's go talk to them. [He starts down the hall and pauses, to wait for her. He's in denim and a fringe shirt. He isn't a fan of both, but he wears them well.]

[fauxmarth]

[we he says, and Lucina feels her stomach clench. she hadn't said so herself, yet he already cut to the chase. as he's fixing what he can of the hinge, she wonders if she should admit to it herself so easily...

...or if it's painfully obvious already.

she takes a step back from the door, letting go and waiting a beat with her breath held for a beat, just making sure the whole thing didn't collapse outright. it doesn't happen, so she turns and hastens to catch up with him.]

You don't think they'll be too cross with me, will they? It was an honest mistake...

3

[unsign]

[ Mariner walks into this strange room, unconcerned, muttering under her breath about hospitable environments. The sleeves of her plaid shirt are rolled up to her elbows, brow sweaty under her black stetson.

When she hears another voice, she's pulled into the present moment and pauses, taking in this woman, this room, and reaches back to try and catch the door before it snaps shut, but doesn't quite manage it. She twists and tries the knob, but it's stuck and won't budge, and then she really tries it, twisting it hard, putting her foot up against the door, growling and cussing as she tries to pull it open, only to drop down a second later, straightening up with a huff to face Lucina. ]

Door's stuck.

[ Nonchalant. So lowkey, like her chest isn't heaving or anything. She leans back on the door, so casual ]

Your's too, huh? Funny, getting locked in in a place like this.

[fauxmarth]

['funny' wasn't really the word she was going to use, but...she supposes that's one way to put it. what's more concerning is a door not just being where it oughtn't, but that it's stuck now?

Lucina frowns, turning back to hers and giving the handle a tug, a turn, a pull...to no avail.]

We...we may be in danger.

[unsign]

Yeah. Seems that way. [ She sighs and kicks off the wall, surveying the small room. She walks a perimeter, her hand skipping the wall. The sand runs over her skin and she frowns ]

This place is tall. I don't remember seeing anywhere this tall around town. But I do see our escape. [ She points up to the ladder with a grin ] Up for some climbing?

[fauxmarth]

[it is tall, now that she mentions it... Lucina can't help but look up as well, spying the ladder just as the other makes a motion toward it.

her lips purse for a beat.]

It's awfully high, but...perhaps with some footholds we-- [her gaze had started to drift to the wall, and that's when she notices:] Is that sand? Running down it? How?