memesinthenight | TEST DRIVE MEME #5

Entry tags:

!tdm

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:

SOS. SEND HELP.
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!

QUICKNAV
comms	\|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	\|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

SOS
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.

Dressing up!

"Don't touch it."

Maybe you hadn't been about to take the Venetian doctor's mask from the pile, maybe you'd been aiming for something else, or maybe you'd seen the white and gold peeking out from the pile and wanted a closer look, either way, you're now on the receiving end of a flat and empty stare, coming from a young woman who'd look more at home sipping a latte in Ugg boots than here in Beacon. Except... that stare, it's strangely cold. The longer you look, the less you see behind her eyes. Then suddenly, her face is transformed, a bashful smile, a flutter of eyelashes, human again.

"It looks old, antique maybe? You don't want to break it."

Wildcard
So. We're all dead here. Yes? I just want to check some things, like, how did you die? Did you get strangled to death by your tie getting caught in a lift, or poisoned by your perfume, or maybe stabbed in the face by a hairpin, to pick three, totally unrelated examples.

MAMMA MIA (here i go again).

[ considering everything that dana has been witness to in the past five years and her years of practice and belief in the catholic faith throughout her life, the idea of an afterlife shouldn't be that outlandish to her. it's not necessarily the fact that an afterlife exists that's shocking, it's the fact that it's this place with its odd rules and structure that she feels compelled to rebel against immediately out of frustration. that and the fact she remains in her own body, still feels the ache in her arches as she walks through the town in her heels, still wears the shirt she'd been killed in clinging uncomfortably to her body with her blood.

the most likely place to find answers from people who have been here long enough to fill her in on what she can expect and not just what she's been told by the people who'd told her the rules is the inn, but she'd like to find a clean shirt before she tries talking to anyone. she pulls her blazer tighter around her, both to block out the chill and hide the stains, and starts heading towards what looks like a general store.

she's a few feet into her journey when she hears a voice, and the voice in question is enough to make her freeze in her tracks.

"dana..."

the last two times she'd heard that voice, it had been over the phone. and one of those times was right before the woman the voice belonged to had been killed. ]

Missy?

[ it's not possible, or at least it shouldn't be. but then she's dead too now, isn't she?

dana swallows hard before turning slowly around, expecting to see her sister standing behind her. her mouth drops open slightly when she sees no one.

"dana."

the voice comes again, from the opposite side, and dana whirls around again, faster this time, a frantic gleam in her eyes. her pulse pounds rapidly in her chest, blood rushing through her ears, drowning the sound of the woods and the fire and the town out as she keeps searching for the source of the voice, but there's no one. she's alone. ]

Melissa? Melissa!

(darling can't you hear me) SOS.

I'm sure that my title doesn't carry the weight here that it did back home, but I'm a federal agent. My name is Dana Scully. I know I'm not the only one who received an SOS message on their device this morning and I want to find whoever sent it and send the help that they requested. In order to do that, a few questions need to be answered.

Has there been anyone who's gone missing in the past few days? Does this place have a history of disappearances and does anyone know the typical causes? If so, has anyone noticed a pattern?

If anyone's got any information, please contact me as soon as possible. If you're uncomfortable discussing this through the network, I can meet you in person. Thank you.

(take me through the darkness to the break of the day) WILDCARD.

[ you wanna get nuts? c'mon, let's get nuts! ]

Many have gone missing due to various circumstances.

It would be in your best interest to ignore any plea for help given on this network.

Crowley's hand freezes over the mask. This girl looks like the sort of person who would be taking a lot of selfies and being pretty vapid in every sense of the word, so it would be pretty easy to just disregard her----another troll to head into Hell in a few years once she'd discovered MLMs and all that---but then she's got that stare fixed on him. Cold, vacant, like she's trying to bore into him.

And then it's gone, just like that.

He's met less terrifying demons.

"I'm used to breaking things," he says.

Why is that?

It is probably a trap. There are those on this network you should not trust.

[ her first instinct is to ask who, but she has the feeling that will only get her so far. ]

Can you give me an example of what you're talking about?

The lighthouse keeper can apparently eliminate us all on a whim.

I've heard that, but aside from their word, is there any evidence that it's been done before?

Clothing
[Having arrived in less-than-ideal condition (even barring the issues immediately pertaining to his death), Avdol has to freshen his appearance if he is to squeeze himself into a leadership position while hoping that the others would take him seriously. The jagged hem of his sleeves ought to be replace or covered with something fashionable. Something elegant, regal, and refined but not ostentatious. His weird pants filled the Bizarre Article of Clothing quota. Who was he, someone so vain the he took little care in how he appeared in public? Dead or alive, a man needed to convey his maturity.

The undershirt is tucked under his long sleeved cloak with its sleeves rolled up. Yes. That will do. Add to that some new jewelry for his arms, and why not some beads for his boots? It can’t hurt to add some extra mysterious flair.]

Excuse me. [He turns to another exploring the contents of the box with him.] Do you happen to have a sewing kit?

SOS
I assume everyone received that message.

Whatever we do, we cannot afford to run into the darkness alone and without a plan. This could be a trick by the enemy, but I won’t ignore it if it is a genuine cry for help.

Meet me at the bonfire in ten minutes and I will join an expedition to uncover this mystery.

I’m serious about not running off. Don’t expect me to run after you if you get into any trouble.

There are empty buildings, I assume that is evidence of others from before. As to whether or not she actually has that power, no. I have not seen direct proof.

To say that showing up here had been a shock is putting it lightly.

Ellever had always had mixed feelings about mortality. For one, nothing had ever really hurt her, and some of her... 'cousins' have lived hundreds of years, if not perhaps thousands of years in the case of Dewan. She isn't even the youngest. But none of them were named The Harbinger of the End, the catalyst of the end of the world, with no further useful notes on how she'd cause the end. The end she very much did not want to cause. More than a few times, in notebooks and scribbling on her dry erase boards, Elle had considered that perhaps her death would do it, however that happened. Was that preferable to her unknowingly setting off the end of the world? She had no idea.

And now, staring down at the crate full of colorful costumes, Elle feels empty and numb. She doesn't recall much of her death, and it's eating her up inside. Whatever had happened after, if anything, is a mystery. Reaching up, sending her rainbows-under-clouds earrings wild, Elle scratches her fingernails against her scalp, wispy blonde hair going in all directions. The color she's seeing in front of her eyes is almost jarring. Taking a deep breath, Elle reaches down and pulls up a costume that appears to be a pink princess gown.

"Is this some sort of... joke?" she wonders out loud, voice rough from dis-use. Her gaze is intense as she examines the dress, in futility, for some sort of clue.

Uh. Hi. Has anyone figured out where the SOS came from?

[ If only this were back home, where Elle has access to tracking equipment and leads and important things like that. ]

[ Elle has been combing through the costumes with her usual studious flair, trying to figure out if they're all the same innocuous thing or if there's something else going on. So far, no results, and she's feeling frustrated. But she's so focused that she doesn't register the person beside her until he speaks.

She blinks, and then her face smoothes over with something approaching a smile. She can't summon the actual thing yet. This approximation will have to do. ]

I'm sorry, I don't. [ There isn't even one at home. She never learned. ] I... [ Woah, wait, wait, look at the flash on this guy. ] What are you trying to do?

@daylit.

I'll join you on your expedition!

My name is Daylight. I have experience in exploration and stuff, so I think I can be of help if you're still in need of helping hands.

clothing |
[Her jeans are soaked from both knees down and she's managed to lose a shoe. Which is great. But there are crates being loaded from the forest of all places, into what she thinks is a general store. Which is also great, in a less sarcastic sense of the phrase.

Sally raises her lantern and squints into the dark- before following the movement. She's trying to convince herself that it won't be all that different from going to a second-hand store; after all there are plenty of creaky floorboards and strange smells to fit the bill. But those hopes are abruptly dashed when she looks from the first delivery, to the next.

Her shoulders drop and her eyes squeeze shut.]

Of course they're Halloween costumes.

drinking |
[She isn't looking for Gillian, but the thought comes to her and can't find anywhere else to go: if her sister was here, this is where she'd be.

Sally lingers by the door for a long while, watching the occasionally empty stools and chairs, the play of light and shadow through the room as figures move and their lanterns bob alongside them. When she can't bear to keep waiting anymore she looks at her palm instead, the scar across the meat of her left palm.

She would know. If Gilly had come here too, she would know.

But she doesn't see her sister, or the aunts. Thank god she doesn't see either one of her daughters. But she doesn't see the people who do belong here. Not her parents, or Michael. Not Jimmy Angelov.

The thought pushes her from the wall and off towards the bar. Instead of waiting for someone to play bartender, she rounds the corner instead. One arm raises and she pushes the hair back from her face and reaches for a bottle of wine, prying up the cork with short, familiar twists until she's able to pour, generously, into a highball glass.]

texting |
What's going on with all of these hands? Who's doing that?

Here We Go Again
[Something touches Duster's back. He doesn't know what it could possibly be, only that it's heavy, smooth, and thankfully not slimy. Whatever it is, the phantoms of everyone he protected are screaming at him to turn around quickly and strike before it does!

He spins on his right foot and raises his left for a strong kick at whatever was behind him - a building, the air, a person.]

Texting
hh

[Give him a moment; typing is strange and just touching the screen messes up his work.]

how do i take a picturE its allblack

"That doesn't sound very useful. Give it to me." She holds out her hand for it.

She thinks she could kill him with it, if she had to, it looks ceramic and would hold an edge if she smashed it against the ground. He's taller than her, and wiry, but she knows very well how to use a bigger person's strength against them and there's a dandyish-ness to him that makes her discount him as a real threat.

But it would be shame to lose the mask, so she keeps her smile in place and waves her hand again.

In the town itself? And no one's investigated to find out?

Can you give me other examples of why I shouldn't trust a cry for help?

I. Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

( as it is, Daithi already appears costumed for a certain holiday (or convention). the classic wizard's hat he sets on his head, however, is rather incongruous with the nutcrackeresque uniform and plate armor. one sleeve, folded as best one can manage, is somewhat tattered and bloody.

an end on the more gruesome side of things, that much is certain.

Daithi crouches, rummaging through the shipment and lifting one of the costumes from the pile, a strap or sleeve of some sort across two fingers. the fabric is bright — as much as one can tell in the dark — and terribly thin. unsuitable for autumn in Daithi's opinion, even in the middle of the season. )

Is this how people dress in Beacon? ( he returns the costume to the crate. )

II. Mamma mia, does it show again?

( Daithi has seen a myriad of strange things in his life.

in fact, his life — what was once his life, he supposes, the thought leaves him hollow — only seems to be a series of strange events and sightings. all the same, he recoils when countless hands thrust into his vision: gone as quick as they came.

he pauses, glancing here and there in the dark of Beacon, then... slow, poised like a cat to leap to (or from) action, he approaches the building in question. nothing reveals itself round the corner, or the adjacent side, but that only prompts Daithi to inspect closer, feeling the wall, peering into the window.

A. | ...finding it occupied although not with a sea of hands or any monstrosity that might have need of so many.

no, only a fellow resident, now justifiably offended.

Daithi straightens, slow as his initial approach, stiff with a new and particular horror. he steps a pace or two from the window. in his experience, saying nothing is the safest option (although he's certainly willing to apologize and answer for himself when the offended party allows).

B. | ...finding nothing there as well.

"what are you doing?"

Daithi startles, turning in an instant. he clicks his tongue in place of an "uh," shifts his weight as he gathers himself. gesturing — unconsciously to the building behind him — ) There are spirits in this area. ( ... ) Aren't there? Any known to be dangerous?

III. Knowing me, knowing you

( ooc | aka choose ur own adventure!

Daithi is visibly elfy (and 5'4" depending on the brand of elf ur character is accustom to) and an amputee, lacking his left forearm; the latter is new to him. he is, also, hopelessly tech ignorant. so feel free to use the obvious to start something else off.

he can be found near anywhere for the sake of exploration, although he is most likely to frequent the Invincible and drunkenly consult the log book; meditate in the church; or go out his way to poke around the armory. assumed acquaintanceship is a ok for any thread. Daithi would introduce himself as "Lavellan." )

( it's usually the best call to go and get your own drink at the Invincible. yes, people can and do take the job on occasion, though it's like ships passing in the night most of the time. or, if you have the misfortune of Matt being the bartender, he hands out the wrong thing on purpose. Sally is overall lucky that he's heading in as she heads behind the bar and not lingering behind it, because he's the worst.

that said, he hears her at work and has to assume she's following the advice of the sign and doing her part to keep the town mildly tipsy. he doesn't actually expect her to do any work besides identification, though he does sidle against the bar to wonder, )

I don't suppose you could find me the whiskey. ( why does a grown man need help finding his own alcohol? well, he's wearing sunglasses in an eternally dark town, and there's a walking cane that he's slowly folding up to place neatly on the bar. the only bigger tell Matt could have that he's blind would be a guide dog snuffling around, and sadly he didn't even have one of those in life. not a good chance of one in death. ) I can pour it myself, but last time I tried to find it I had to drink an entire glass of peach schnapps. Not what I was going for.

On the outside, she doesn't look threatening at all. All pretty smiles and big doe eyes and long eyelashes. No, she looks like she's nothing at all, and Crowley should just totally discount her as someone beyond useless. But, he's a demon. He can see that she's got sin whipped all around her----and she doesn't even seem to have any guilt at all about it.

He takes the mask and tucks it behind his back.

"Plenty of costumes here," he says. "Pick something else."

A challenge. A dare.

For a second outrage flickers behind her eyes, but an attack would break the mask. She considers and discards emotional responses in the time it takes to blink. Anger? No, escalation would lead to a fight. Sympathy? She's certainly played the poor little girl routine enough times, but there's a challenge in his eyes... If it's a game he wants...

She relaxes her body language, narrows her eyes, arches her back just a little. "But that's the one I want." She says. Emphasis on the want. There's a sly smile on her lips.

Is she flirting with him?

She really picked the wrong person if she's trying any sort of seduction technique---Crowley has a great big not interested stamped right on his head. However, if she's playing games? Oh, loves a good game, he does.

He holds the mask out for her, then quickly retracts his arm, putting it out of her reach again.

"Nah, think I'll keep this one for myself, thanks. I rather liked this part of human history."

She bites back a snarl as his whips the mask back from her reaching hand. He's so dead.

"Oh, why's that?" She doesn't care about history, but all men like to hear themselves talk.

She leaves the box beside her and casually steps closer to him, nudging aside fabric with her foot. She's without her hairpin this time, but there's a glittery scarf lying a little out of her reach, part of a belly dancer's costume. The bells would jangle as she strangled him. How pretty.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 27

TEST DRIVE MEME #5

no subject

no subject

dana scully, the x-files

username: subzero

fuck yeah killing eve what what

username: dana.scully

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Mohammed Avdol | Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

no subject

Ellever "Elle" Brandt 🙣 OC

no subject

( prompt: sos. )

sally owens | practical magic

Duster | Mother 3

:D

no subject

inquisitor lavellan ( dragon age ).

drinking (SCREAMS ABOUT PRACTICAL MAGIC AND THAT SOMEONE HAS SUCH GOOD TASTE AS TO PLAY FROM IT)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject