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

Flynn Scifo | Tales of Vesperia

[thinkfirst]

1. Arrival // around the hotel

No, I know when the breakfast is, but how much is it?

[ An increasingly-agitated Flynn leans on the reception desk, frowning at the pleasantly-smiling receptionist. He's asked the same thing in three different ways now, and gotten the same—

"What is there to do in town? I'd check out the saloon, and the diner has great food if you want something different. Stay in town, though, it gets dangerous outside at night."

Flynn groans. ]

Yes, you've said as much, thank you. What kind of danger? What should I expect to find?

No, thank you, I'll just— show myself to my room. [ He cuts off another answer about the continental breakfast and whips around with spots of color high in his cheeks and anger clear on his face. If he can't get answers from the receptionist, he's heading for... you, apparently, with his face set. ]

Have you had a chance to look around town yet? I think it's time to explore.

2. Do I have dancing shoes?

[ Hello, stranger. Nice night out, isn't it? The moon is high, the music is rolling, the drinks are flowing. Maybe you're sitting at the bar, enjoying your drink, or pressed up against the wall to avoid the crush. Either way, soon enough there is a flushed, smiling blonde man in boots and jeans holding out a hand toward you from the crowd.

He's saying something, but it's hard to hear over the music until he gets close enough. ] —no need to just sit there! It'd be a shame not to dance while you're here.

3. Memories of the Living

This doesn't make any sense.

[ It might sound a little creepy, the quiet voice drifting between the gravestones. Flynn is sitting cross-legged in front of a weathered stone, flipping something shiny between his fingers, worrying at his lip. He needs to move, probably. He can't just keep sitting here, because the receptionist's warning keeps ringing in his ears and lights keep winking at the corners of his vision, awareness raking over his skin like eyes.

Which is probably why, at the first sign of breath or footstep, Flynn's head jerks up, his eyes wide, his hand flying to something at his belt that isn't actually there. ]

Who's there? Where are you? Show yourself!

memories of the living

[umbrosus]

[The tall man dressed all in black from head to toe freezes in place. His face is half-hidden behind a bandana and the brim of his cowboy hat, both monochrome to match the rest of him, and his footsteps were astonishingly silent for how close he's managed to get to Flynn in this quiet graveyard.

The way he's frozen has a tilt to it. Something coiled and alert, not shocked or caught off-guard. There's a latent potential to him that -

- dissolves as his hands come up in front of his chest, leather gloved fingers spread wide.]

Not hiding.

[thinkfirst]

[ Not hiding, presumably not a threat.

And yet, Flynn's heart is racing as he takes in the figure in front of him. Maybe because he blends in with the night sky, long and lean and black-clad. Like a sneak thief, Flynn thinks, or someone trying not to be seen.

Not a threat, he tells himself again, and straightens up, letting out a slow, steadying breath. Don't make enemies when you've only been here a day, Scifo. Anyway, he can't be a threat, because that awful crawling feeling, that tug in his gut, is receding slowly. ]

...sorry. I hate this place.

[ Which isn't an excuse, really. Flynn shifts in the dust, up to his knees. ]

All I've found are names. People who must have lived here. Something must have happened. A whole town just drying up?

[umbrosus]

[ The tension passed, the stranger slowly brings his hands up to his face to pull down his bandana, revealing the rest of his face. It's a handsome one, he's been told, although he still doesn't know how he's supposed to evaluate that. Every time he's looked at it in a mirror he's thought it mostly looked blankly wary. ]

Agreed.

[ About hating this place, or about the town drying up? It doesn't seem like he intends to clarify, or realizes that clarifying might be appropriate. ]

I haven't been able to determine a pattern yet.

[thinkfirst]

...to the graves?

[ Okay so Flynn is not at his deductive best right now. He is cold and he is spooked and he is slowly convincing his body that this taciturn man is a friend, not a foe, which is easier said than done when there's still something in him yelling that he needs to find—

To find what? What does he need to find? Flynn's fingers twitch at his side again. He's practically vibrating out of his skin with the need to move, sidesteps a cactus and then shifts again. ]

No, but I suppose there must be one, or something that we can—something we have to... find? I was trying to find the gate I came through, but I've been wandering for hours and I haven't found anything but graves and cacti and dead flowers!

[ OOPS, that was. Loud. Flynn's voice echoes back to him and he winces. ]

...apologies. It's, I find that I'm... very uncomfortable. What kind of pattern are you looking for?

[umbrosus]

[Bruce stares at Flynn unblinkingly, which may not do much to set him at ease. What might is the way his eyes flick down to his feet and then back out to his hand, and Bruce's slight shifting with him, the newly thin and uncomfortable set of Bruce's mouth.

There's a saying about 'more afraid of you than you are of them' that Bruce wouldn't think of even if he remembered it. He hasn't identified anything he's felt yet as fear, and has no reference point for contemplating if that's abnormal or not. What he'd call the thing he feels watching Flynn's distress is discomfort, and it has nothing to do with thinking of Flynn as some kind of threat.

Bruce just doesn't know what to do to make him stop being upset. He keeps talking, posing questions Bruce doesn't have answers to, voicing his unhappiness at that steeply increasing volume, and after his contrite quieting Bruce stands awkwardly still for far too long, like he only expects Flynn to keep going.]

...

[Whatever is howling howls once more. Bruce blinks.]

Dates. Names. Grave marker style, weathering. Offerings at markers. Signs of burial ages. Anything else that stands out. [He mutters more than speaks, his eyes sliding off Flynn to a point on the back of a grave.] You're...lost?

arrival

[theinstigator]

[ During the whole interaction, Ruby is sitting in one of the lobby's seats, furiously scribbling on a few sheets of paper. She doesn't look up until the blonde man is fairly close. For the first time today, she recognizes something -- the facial expression he's got on is one she's been wearing off and on since she got here. ]

Don't bother with them. They'll just waste your time.

[ Ruby holds up the sheet of paper. On it are schematic-like drawings of buildings around town. ]

I've looked a little. You recognize any of this stuff?

[thinkfirst]

The general store, that restaurant on the edge of town—

[ Flynn lists off, almost automatically, as he looks over the drawings and then up, his brows rising. ]

This is good. Are they really all like this? I haven't had a chance to talk to any of the others very much.

[theinstigator]

Not everyone. I'm not, and you aren't, and I've met a few other people who can say more than five sentences. But there's only one waiter at that restaurant, and he's like that. Don't ask him about the pancakes.

[ The compliment is nice, though, and Ruby relaxes from paranoid to merely on-edge. ]

But thanks. Exploring's not a bad idea. I've been trying to find -- I dunno, patterns, I guess, to figure out why we talk and they don't.

I'm Ruby, by the way.

[ She can probably trust him with her name. He seems...helpful, at the very least. ]

[thinkfirst]

Flynn. Scifo, if it matters, although I don't suppose it does.

[ At least she isn't another one of the repetitive unhelpful shopkeepers around here. Flynn, too, relaxes a little, some of his frustration leaching away into the morning air. He looks from the map to the front doors. ]

I don't seem to know much else. I don't even know why I'm here, and I can't say it's becoming any clearer, because this seems like a terrible place to take a vacation.

[ Nope, hold on, calm down, Scifo. Getting annoyed again isn't going to help anything. He sucks in a breath, breathes it all right back out, and sets his chin. ]

If you'd tell me about the patterns you've already found— would you like to fill out this map?

[simplefarmboy]

[Clark had heard the commotion from down the hall as he approached. He certainly understood the frustration- the receptionist hadn't exactly been the most helpful to him either.

Still he blinks in surprise when Flynn looks directly at him. He looks around and then points to himself when he realizes there is no one else around.]

Uh- You mean me?

No. I haven't really had a chance yet.

[thinkfirst]

Then now is a perfect opportunity.

[ Flynn is a man on a mission and he is not above strong-arming strangers into it. The more eyes, the better, as far as he's concerned, especially in a place as patently confusing and unhelpful as this. ]

The sooner we can understand our surroundings, the sooner we'll understand this whole situation. Did you happen to find a hat, in your room?

[simplefarmboy]

[Clark considers it briefly. But he can't deny he doesn't mind the call to action. To actually try and figure out what's going on here.]

Yeah. Sure. I guess I can tag along for that.

[He keeps it a little nonchalant. He's already had a couple incidents here as he's sort of realized he isn't quite like everyone else here. If he just tags along and let's this guy take charge. Then maybe he wont accidentally cause any trouble.

He rubs at the back of his head.]

There was a hat- I left behind it.

I can go grab it if you want?

[thinkfirst]

[ It would be more responsible to tell him to go get it, of course, even if Flynn is ready to vibrate out of his own clothes. ]

Yes. You should. The sun likely won't go down for hours, and you'll need protection. I'll wait.

[ Something tells him that a desert isn't to be taken lightly, although thinking too hard about it makes pressure close in heavy around his temples. ]

[simplefarmboy]

[Clark had no idea he was actually solar powered, so he was more than willing to take Flynn's word on that. He gives a smile and nods.]

Right! I'll be back in a second.

[And he almost prepares to run off. But stops himself- He remembers earlier when he ran and it was way too fast. He didn't want another repeat of that. So his steps are more careful and with purpose. Just a normal guy walking down the hall.

For someone about to embark on a mission it looked like he could probably use a bit more hussle.

But he returned momentarily with a hat on his head.]

Alright.

Let's do this.

Arrival.

[searingwing]

I have not. [Diluc says from where he is leaning against the wall. The receptionist had only said the same things over and over. So he’s waited to see who else might come around.

He pushes away from the wall and glances to the receptionist. They seem same as ever. Creepy.] I will gladly come with you. I don’t like the look of this place.

[Bits and pieces are all he can recall. It sets the hairs on the back of his neck rising.] Lead the way and I’ll follow.

[thinkfirst]

[ At least having his frustration echoed right back to him makes it ease a little, makes Flynn feel less like he's going to vibrate out of his own skin. He offers a quick little smile, his eyes darting to the doors. ]

It would be best if I knew where to lead you. I suppose we're exploring together. You don't know why you're here either, do you? I can't... remember why I would have decided to take a vacation to a place like this.

[ But, well, he is very much leading the way, right up to Diluc and then to the doors, which he holds open. ]

[searingwing]

Nor can I. [He follows in his companion’s wake with a glance spared for the receptionist. But nothing has changed. He narrows his eyes and looks back at Flynn.

There is an air of calm about him.]

Are you lacking large chunks of memory as well?

[thinkfirst]

[ Relief, instantly, even as they walk out into the sun and it slams into Flynn like a training sword to the gut. He squints, shading his eyes with one hand. ]

At this point, I can count what I remember more easily than what I can't. My name is Flynn. I'm a swordsman. There are people I was trying to protect. I barely know more than that, including how I got here, or... why.

2

[vibing]

[ Yuri's enjoying a cocktail with a little umbrella in it, thank you very much. At first, he'd ordered a beer, but after making a new friend and being introduced to fancy cocktails, he said: fuck it. It's sweet and alcoholic and makes him feel loose and happy, and he's content to sit here, letting the noise and atmosphere wash over him when a hand is in his face, and he looks up into the face of that guy he escaped the sand with. He blinks at him, then at his hand.

He's poised to say "no", but something in him has him taking that hand and pushing himself to his feet, cocktail still in one hand. ]

Not gonna run away from me this time, are you?

[thinkfirst]

[ Somehow, Flynn wasn't expecting the guy to actually take his hand. It's warm and firm and a little damp from condensation, calloused in a way that feels familiar.

He had a whole script prepared. Apologies, followed by an explanation. Obviously, it goes right out the window. ]

Don't give me a reason to.

[ Just one time, Flynn would like to interact with this man in a normal state of mind. He's going to wake up thinking about it later, when the buzz of what should have been a perfectly normal juice has worn off. But now the buzz is still going strong, and even if there's a little bit of squirming embarrassment in his belly he still thinks it's a good way to mend fences, and this guy doesn't seem mad, so Flynn risks a little smile. ]

Anyway, I actually— I meant to apologize. About that, and my behavior earlier.

[vibing]

[ His hand is warm and strong and Yuri is strangely aware of it as Flynn leads him onto the dance floor. ]

What? Oh, that's fine. Can't really be held responsible for how you act when you might die.

[ The opinion comes out without much thought. That's just how it is, as far as he's concerned. He smiles back, just a little, and takes another sip of his cocktail. The umbrella from it is tucked behind his ear. ]

[thinkfirst]

[ Flynn glances back at him—the umbrella is cute, a little pop of color right by his face. It's kind of hard to look away from. ]

I don't think that's true. No matter what, you're responsible for the way you act, especially if it impacts other people.

[ Especially when you're then trying to get that person to dance with you. Flynn pulls them to a less-populated corner, near enough to a table that Yuri can ditch his drink if need be. ]

And I was a jerk. I was, um. A little desperate. To leave.

2

[femboi]

(Haku has no real idea of how to approach a situation like this. Even if he had his memories, he'd be unfamiliar with this situation. He's glued to the wall more out of nerves than anything else, fanning himself with a red fan for the sake of doing something with his hands.

He's in a rather western-styled skirt and boots himself and when the man approaches him, he instinctively covers his face out of shyness. It would be painfully easy to mistake Haku for a girl, even when he speaks up:)

I'm...I'm not sure how to dance, I'm afraid.

[thinkfirst]

[ Later, Flynn will be incredibly embarrassed at his own behavior. Presumptuous to attack perfectly happy people lounging against the wall, rude to demand they dance with him, and intolerable to spout things like: ]

That's alright. It's not the kind of thing you have to know how to do before you start doing it.

[ With perfect confidence, despite that both being not at all true and not remotely what he did. Flynn, naturally, spent about an hour at the bar observing people, watching them dancing, following footwork and spinning and laughter to figure out what to do. He by no means improvised this, and it's only that bubbling feeling in his veins making him think this is fine!

His hand's still out, though. Embarrassment is for later. Now is for dancing. ]

It's fun. You won't get it wrong. If you'd rather stay here, though—