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memesinthenight2019-10-15 04:16 pm
inthenightmods) wrote in memesinthenight2019-10-15 04:16 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME #5
TEST DRIVE MEME #5
Hello and welcome to the In the Night test drive meme for October! Thanks for your interest in our game! Reserves open on October 20, and applications open on October 22.
While you're here...
- Take a look at our rules and faq pages to familiarize yourself with the game.
- Note that we have a reserve cap of 20, and a (current) application cap of 10 apps this month for new players, as the game has a player cap of 60. An accurate count of current players will always be available on the taken page.
- TDM threads can become game canon if both players wish. If the situation isn't something that could happen in-game, you're free to chalk it up to some strange hallucination, a shared dream, or other mysterious circumstance.
- Note that this is not limited to new characters threading with characters already in-game. If current players wish to thread out the TDM prompts as canon events, they are welcome to do so. They are welcome to make posts in the main comms for TDM events as well. Please note, however, that actual plot clues or happenings will not occur in TDM prompts.
- If you plan to apply, please keep in mind that we do require at least one sample thread on the application to be from our TDM (though it doesn't need to be the current TDM).
- You're welcome to use the provided prompts or come up with something on your own, but we do ask that all threads take place in our game's setting.
Thank you again, and we hope you'll choose to join us!
log prompts
MAMMA MIA
The town is quiet, the forest spirits behave business-as-usual, Rastus doesn't know what's up. Whatever's going on, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.
And you will, though the hallucinations are subtle at first: objects moving when they shouldn't, people's proportions looking just a bit off, voices in an empty room, and so on. Is it just your mind playing tricks in the darkness? Might be! As the days go on, the hallucinations are harder to ignore, no matter how much you may wish to wave them off as flukes. What's wrong with everyone's faces? When did all the howling start? Who do you hold onto when the world drops out from under you? And those hands...
While you might know it can't be real, it certainly feels real. But at least it can't last forever... Right?
This prompt is a mini version of the game's Bury a Friend event.
GIMME! GIMME! GIMME!
Although the month is already well underway, residents of Beacon will notice a brand new shipment being delivered to the general store—only this one comes via the forest, as a small legion of spirits quickly drop off crates of boxes at its doorstep before scampering back into the woods. Hopefully nobody is riding too hard on hoping for further rations or supplies, because opening them up quickly squashes any notions of a full month's restock. Instead, it looks like each crate is bursting with costumes! Coming in all shapes and sizes to fit anyone of any age or decree, there’s plenty to choose from. Something scary? Magical? Clever? Or maybe even a bit on the sultry side? Dig deep enough, and you’re sure to find something to suit your tastes, props, accessories, wigs and all!
If nothing else, surely you can find an alternate use for a bit of spare fabric in your size, but what's the harm of having a bit of fun? But, oh, be careful if you're playing dress-up while the hallucinations from the event are in play... These costumes might just have a funny effect on you. 🤔!
network prompts
S.O.S.
The morning is interrupted by an alert. The text, which helpfully converts itself to automated speech when opened, reaches every inbox across Beacon, refusing to disappear until acknowledged. The problem? The username it comes from is glitched and unreadable, and all attempts at responding directly appear fruitless. The message is simple, three words:
There's nothing that seems to be able to be done about it, but with the earnestness in which it appears, maybe it would be wise to discuss it with the other residents. Isn’t there something you can do, even to track down the source? Maybe that will help you better put it from your mind.
TAKE A CHANCE ON ME
The longer you stay in Beacon, the clearer it is that you’re here for the long haul. And, on that note, the clearer it is that this place is going to need a lot of work to meet your standards. Obviously there isn’t much that can be done about certain things, like the state of lighting, or some of your potentially missing powers, but there are a lot of things that would certainly improve your personal quality of life. And for that matter, maybe some of your ideas would be agreeable to others, as well.
Whether you’re here to call for the establishment of a club, a new business, or even some kind of monthly therapy circle, the best way to get your message across is to turn to the Network and give your pitch. Whatever skills you may be lacking in the organization of this project, there’s undoubtedly someone out there who can provide. What are you waiting for? No time like the present to start collecting signatures!
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no subject
Is this some kind of joke? Because if so, it's in poor taste.
Hands
Tommy is at the bar nursing a whisky. He might have been here all night, but since night's all there is, that doesn't mean much anymore. Dying had been bad enough, waking up was worse, and the way the world's been twisting around him is making him wonder if this isn't just another nightmare.
He downs the whisky and raises his head to signal for another when it happens... Hands, reaching around his waist and pulling in tight. Hands on his shoulders. Cold fingers on the back of his neck. Tommy lets out a strangled shout, revulsion shuddering through him and he throws himself to the side, striking out to knock the hands away. He meets no resistance, just empty air. The stool he's on overbalances. He hits the floor hard.
hands
He resists the easiest suggestion, that the other has indulged too much.
"— alright?" he asks, instead.
no subject
And then, between one blink and the next, the air clears, memories part and at least a little of the darkness rises. He's in a bar, lying on the floor, and there's a hand in front of him.
He doesn't take it, barely glances up, and gets to his feet on his own. "I'm fine," he says after a moment, abrupt and dismissive, still looking away.
no subject
"...at least find someone to drink with," he suggests. Next time, the fall might crack his skull or twist his ankle.
(— although Daithi doesn't seem to mean himself, turning, now, for the stack of barkeeps.)
no subject
no subject
Daithi bows his head, pausing to gather himself, then turns to face the other.
His eyes shine in what little light the tavern offers. Ink decorates most of his features, incongruous to the militarism of a uniform (although perhaps not the steel of strategically placed armor). If he is one of the fair folk, he is not particularly short or tall for any, and an empty sleeve may lessen any threat or majesty.
His turn in dismissive, sardonic, "what gave it away?" he asks. His accent is surprisingly British for not human.
no subject
Other than the bar spirits, this person is the strangest he's seen in this place. Then again, stacked against the disembodied ghost hands, a pointy eared toff from another world isn't much to write home about.
"Soldier?" he asks after a moment, nodding at the uniform. He can't decipher rank on the foreign garb, but the cut, armour and the missing arm all paint a fairly recognisable picture. Strange to think there are soldiers on other worlds too.
no subject
"Inquisition," he says after his own moment, less guarded, not quite aware of differing realms yet. "You?" In Daithi's experience, only soldiers tend to place weight in the recognition of other soldiers.
Hands
For her part, Senka just sips her wine. She tips her head to the side and watches the man to see if he'll right himself or keep on flailing on the floor. It's too early to decide what face she wants to wear around these people, so she's fallen back on old habits. Quiet, drunken gangster is always a good option. Makes her seem sharp and mysterious, just dangerous to leave alone.
"Are you having a seizure?"
She doesn't move to help him. It won't do to show she can be bought. Compassion hurts a person more often than not. Better to wait and see it play out first.
no subject
"I'm fine." He pulls the stool back upright, plants himself on it and pours himself another drink. His hands shake on the bottle.
no subject
Senka hums to herself, and drinks more of her wine.
"Seeing things?"
It's said conversationally.
"It's going around. A shame, really. I prefer to choose my hallucinations. I certainly would have picked something more....pleasant."
no subject
"How do you mean?" He clenches his hand around the glass to control the shakes and swivels on the bar stool to face the woman, taking her in with a quick glance, from her tumbled blonde hair down to the soles of her shoes. Noting the way she sits, the wineglass before her, and the fact that she hadn't moved to help him beyond turning her head.
no subject
And she's very good at eavesdropping. Perhaps less so in this place, where she'll be marked as a stranger no matter what she does, but it's important to keep an open mind and absorb any information that comes. No telling what might be important later on.
She rests her chin on her palm, watching him. Dressed nicely, isn't he? Hmm. Not like her, with her brother's big coat and it's collage of patches and pins, or the heavy, magnetized work boots that are currently scuffing marks into the wood of the bar. Given the choice, she would have put a dress on, something unobtrusive and shapeless. But she died in her work clothes and there's no helping that, though at least she can zip her brother's coat closed over the bloodstains on her undershirt.
Can't have people wondering about that.
Now, who is she going to be for this man?
Distant and vaguely dangerous, she decides, and smiles ever so slightly. Careful not to show teeth. "But remember, the afterlife comes with alcohol. Not so bad after all, hmm?"
no subject
He clocks her giving him the same once over and wonders what she makes of him. His clothes are much finer than anything he had when he was growing up, but there's nothing flashy about the dark navy of his suit, his grey cap, his dark coat. His watch hangs on a chain from his waistcoat, but he doesn't make any move to hide it. She doesn't seem a thief, and if she tries for it, well, he has a bottle before him, it wouldn't be the first time he's found himself in a bar fight.
"You might be right." He offers her a pale smile and very little else. "What are you drinking?" He signals to the stack of spirits that pass as a bartender here.
no subject
Hmm.
She slides her wine glass over. Her hands are rough and callused, and there are a number of burn scars peppered across the skin.
"Such a gentleman, and I don't even know your name. More of that lovely red, if you please."
Thus far, he's been quiet and polite. Hasn't acted offended that she didn't immediately jump to help him, either. Perhaps the sort of man who knows kindness from strangers tends to come with stringers, or perhaps too wary and off balance to truly think about it one way or the other. Still, the way he holds himself is familiar; he's keeping a close watch on things, and on her. If he's carrying a weapon, it's something small and easily concealed. To be expected, really. But he doesn't seem to have armor on, which would have been the greater concern.
Senka doubts she would be able to take him except by surprise. She has a knife hidden up her sleeve, but no gun and her brothers are long gone. She can fight, as most smugglers can, but it's not her speciality and she prefers to win this sort of thing from a distance, and without broken bones.
Of course, he might just be a polite stranger and no threat at all.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. She'll wait and see.
no subject
The stack of spirits saunter over, if three knobbled beings balancing on each other's shoulders can be said to saunter, and the bottle appears between their fingers, the wineglass refilled and they retreat to the other side of the bar.
"Strange that," Tommy says, his tone level, inclining his head in their wake.