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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
Jeez... no luck, man. It's stuck.
[ He's not not freaking out, but he's not freaking out as much as this guy. Instead, while Flynn fruitlessly tries the door again, Yuri looks around the room, a hand on his hip. He lets out a whistle ]
Alright, the way out is up. Far... up...
no subject
Up doesn't make sense. I've been into the bathroom on my room. I was just there this morning! It was a normal door! It didn't lead—
[ Finally, he turns around, still frowning, and follows the guy's eyes... ]
...up.
[ Flynn squints into the hazy light. Is that a ladder? He steps closer, trying to get a closer look, and then yelps as something sharp hits his eye. ]
Ow!
no subject
He doesn't really hear it at first, but his eyes go up, and up again, and he can see the shimmer of tan against the white wall. Taking a step forward, he kneels down, and touches the floor, where little granules of sand are building up on the edges of the room ]
Huh. That's weird.
[ It's sort of like rain, but sand, and indoors, and that doesn't make any sense at all. Just as he's about to say more, the sand seems to start falling faster, the pile at his feet doubling in bare seconds ]
Looks like bad news.
[ He glances at the guy again, sizing him up. He feels a tug of something--he looks familiar, but Yuri can't for the life of him place why. But he can't for the life of him place much today. That doesn't matter now. What matters is this guy looks strong ]
Think you can give me a boost? [ He tilts his head toward the ladder ]
no subject
Anyway, this guy doesn't look light but that doesn't matter, either: it's the best plan they have. ]
Of course. You'll have to climb up—
[ Easy as that. Or, well, it should be: Flynn has to pick his way through puddling sand, shaking off his boots as he goes, and the moment he braces against the wall a deluge of sand is coughed down from above, running fast right between his arms, making him cough and recoil as far as he can get. ]
Hurry! If you stretch, you should be able to grab the bottom—
[ While Flynn devolves into graceless coughing oh this is the worst, he is so uncomfortable right now. ]
no subject
[ The sand is streaming in fast, like someone dumping water from a bucket, only it doesn't end, and Yuri chases after this guy, grabbing onto his shoulder and using his hands as a step. This man is built, sturdy under his hand, and he wonders briefly if he's any good with a sword. Another foot on his shoulder, and he can reach the ladder, grabbing on tight.
He pulls himself up enough that his elbows are on the bottom rung, and he isn't going to be holding on by just his fingers. ]
Climb up me!
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[ Flynn has to shout it around a mouthful of sand, coughing out the words like they're the things clogging his throat. It's hard to breathe this close to the wall and he's still bearing up under this guy's weight, muscles straining. Sand is practically up to his knees now. He needs to step out, pull himself up but he can't see how attached Yuri is and if he falls now they're doomed. ]
no subject
[ Yuri snaps, closing his eyes against the sand falling on his face. It's making it hard to breath, sand going up his nose, and he needs to sneeze, but he doesn't want to let go. ]
Just climb up me.
no subject
Brace!
[ He snaps, all command. There's nothing graceful at all about the scramble out of the sand: he has to hang onto Yuri's chest and press against the wall, and sand pulls and sucks at him like it really is determined to just let him die down here. It's in his eyes and his ears and his nose, and he's coughing as he climbs up, scrambling gracelessly up enough to dig a knee into Yuri's shoulder—he really is solid, at least he has a better grip than Flynn thought he did—and then onto the ladder, which clatters with the effort, swinging out and knocking into Yuri. Flynn has to ignore it because the stream is now a torrent and getting faster still, and they need to climb. He clambers up a few rungs and presses himself against the wall to make the ladder stay still. ]
Climb, hur— [ he has to spit out a mouthful of sand, coughing through the word ] —hurry! I've got it still!
no subject
He doesn't hesitate, squinting through the sand, grabbing the next wrung, and the next, pulling himself up with just his hands before his feet can find purchase. He maybe kicks Flynn in the gut trying to find a foothold, but doesn't have time or thought to apologize.
He barrels up, and up, and his arms are screaming at him, sand collecting in the bandana around his throat that he doesn't have time to get rid of.
There's sand on one of the rungs, and his hand slips, body slipping back down the ladder, hands running raw against the sides of it as he tries to get a hold again. His chin whacks into at least one rung. ]
Fuck!
[ He just barely manages to grab on again, cursing, shaking the sand out of his hair ]
no subject
Slowly, because the ladder shakes and moves with every one of Yuri's movements. Flynn's mouth and eyes and ears and nose are too full of sand for him to shout slow down like he wants to. He can't focus on anything except climbing until the entire thing jerks and clatters, and adrenaline shoots cold through Flynn. He shoves himself away from the wall just in time to see through sand and tears the form of the guy above him falling back down, catch on the ladder just a few rungs above Flynn. The ladder flails as he catches it, nearly pitching them both off so that Flynn has to slap an arm against the guy's back to press him back against the wall, shouting above the hissing rush. ]
Are you alright?
[ It hurts, his muscles are furious at him and he has to pee so bad but like hell is he letting this guy fall off into the sand. ]
no subject
Doing great. D'you see the top?
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He doesn't mean to smile back. It's too serious a situation for smiles, and yet— ]
All I see is sand.
[ Some of which he shakes out of his hair and onto Yuri's hip, huffing to get it out of his eyes. The sand is still coming hard and fast, but it's not so bad when they're still, actually, and looking for the top is a good idea. He holds up a finger, hooks an arm around the ladder, and pushes out with the balls of his feet until he's as far from the wall as he can get, squinting through watery eyes at the hazy light. Sand, light, walls, and... ]
It's—
[ Nope bad idea, Flynn gets a mouthful of sand, spits, and swings back close to the wall, sheltering briefly under Yuri's elbow. ] It's brighter up there, at least! I think— [ another tiny cough. Flynn grimaces. His throat is scraped raw. ] —we need to climb more slowly. Make this move less.
no subject
Looking down, he grimaces to see the sand climbing quickly ] I dunno if we can go slower, but-- only one way to do it. Go.
[ He waits just a moment to let Flynn go first, not wanting to fall past him again. He'd rather die, he thinks, than have to be saved by this guy. ]
no subject
[ Wow, it's incredibly awkward having to clamber over Yuri like this. Flynn's thighs end up in his face at one point, especially as he sways to avoid the river of sand, and he has to do his best not to let his boot dig into Yuri's shoulder. ]
—but we should still be careful! Fishing you out of the sand wouldn't be easy.
[ So, obviously, Flynn is going to climb more slowly. Still quickly, still urged on by the rising sand and his own fear, but he isn't practically sprinting up the thing. Sand scrapes his palms raw, drags at the inside of his throat. The air in here is dry and hot and sharp, familiar in a way that's only frustrating. ]
Stay close!
no subject
The slow pace is grating, but they are still beating the sand--mostly. Yuri can see the light growing above them, and starts to move a little faster, his head hitting Flynn's boot at one point. Looking down, the sand is nearly on him, and he curses again ]
Go! Faster, come on--
no subject
Later, he'll feel kind of terrible about this. They're in a race for their lives and just because Flynn is uncomfortable in every way possible and terrified of drowning in sand—a visceral thing that he can imagine a little too well for some reason—doesn't mean he has to be an asshole about it.
But now, in this moment with a mouth full of sand and eyes so watery he can barely see what he's climbing toward, all he can do is speed up and cling to the flailing ladder and ignore the raw-scraped burn in his hands. The light brightens more, and then resolves itself into a river of sand flowing down through the open high windows of some kind of tower. ]
There! I think— I think that's open, we just have to get under the sand!
no subject
[ Yuri mutters it, climbing at pace with Flynn, doing his best to get up higher, higher, climbing steadily and dutifully. They're so close to the top, and the sun is starting to hurt his eyes, and as the sand falls faster, he has a strange feeling, a sick pull in his gut like he's experienced this before, a deep seated, painful guilt that makes him miss a rung.
He's falling again, trying to grab for the ladder, but his head hurts, it hurts so fucking much, his mind trying to find that memory, to find the source of the guilt and hurt, but there's nothing there but searing pain.
He misses the rungs altogether, falling to the sand below, which isn't that far below, close enough that it barely hurts more than falling from standing to the ground. Except that now he's in the sand, and sand is falling down on him, and the mountain of sand is growing, and he doesn't want to die like this. He doesn't want to die like this. He lets out a shout, but that only serves to fill his mouth with sand, and he pushes himself up, fighting desperately against the sand to try and get back to the ladder. ]
no subject
He barely thinks about it. Can't let go of the ladder, can't let this guy die, so there's only one thing to do: grip it with one bloody-raw hand, slide down with sand pummeling him still, reach out with everything he has and yell, hoping he can be seen over the torrent. ]
no subject
But he won't say no. He grasps Flynn's hand, and uses it to pull himself the rest of the way out of the sand. His feet find the ladder and he pushes off of it, pulling himself further up with Flynn's help until they both spill out onto the ledge the sand is coming from ]
no subject
Where is it coming from?
[ And, more importantly, what do they do now? The only option Flynn can see is to jump down, and he has no idea how far down this thing goes. ]
no subject
No clue.
[ It seems like it's coming from nowhere, like a fountain with no spigot. He glances back into the room, and it's still filling with sand, and it won't be long before it spills out over the ledge. He glances at Flynn, frowning ]
I'll climb up, see if there's somewhere else.
[ There's a roof on this thing, at least. He does just that, pushing himself up, ignoring the pain in his head, his arms, and pulls himself up onto the burning hot roof. He hisses, glad that one of his hands is clad in leather at least, and clambers up.
There's nothing there. Just a small, pointed roof. Around him stretches blue, endless sky, and he can't see the ground, it's as if there's nothing there at all.
It burns too much on his bare hand and he slips back down by Flynn ]
No use. Think the only way out is down.
no subject
It lurches when Yuri touches back down, tightens up painfully when he reports.
Down, huh.
Flynn nods, white-faced, and leans out with his head spinning to look down. He has to resist the urge to lean back again immediately, or throw up. He can't do that. If the option is go down or stay up here and burn...
Slowly, he looks up at Yuri, his jaw set. ]
In that case, I'll go first.
no subject
Nah. I'm not waiting up here.
[ He gives Flynn a once-over, then reaches out to grab his arm. It's strange to jump into an unknown, but he isn't scared of it. He's excited. Excited for the thrill of it, and to get away from this strange, sandy tower. ]
On three, we go together.
no subject
But if we die— isn't it best if at least one of us makes it? I— if you're sure—
no subject
[ It's reckless, and stupid, but he ran the calculation in his head that it's either leap or be stranded, he grabs Flynn's arm, but pauses, looking at him. He doesn't want to make this choice for a stranger, but that stranger was willing to leap first for him, so. ]
You ready?
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