TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[inthenightmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME #1

Hello and welcome to the In the Night test drive meme for June! Thanks for your interest in our game! Reserves open on June 20, and applications open on June 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/application cap of 20 apps per month (this has been waived for the first month!).
  
• 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.
  
• Though threads can become canon, they cannot count toward AC.
  
• 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

YOU'RE DEAD, JIM

You haven't been in Beacon long when you find yourself in Bonfire Square, staring into the flames and thinking about how you ended up here. Maybe it was an accident, a sudden freak thing that you never saw coming until you woke up on the ferry, or maybe it's a miracle you made it as long as you did. Maybe death was a relief. Maybe it was just your time. Whatever the case, you can't help but reflect on your final moments as you linger in the firelight.

But however you died, it's behind you now, and you're here, stuck in this little town with just a few buildings and a smattering of other people. You're going to be here a while, so you may as well get to know your neighbors, but... Would it be cathartic to commiserate about your deaths? Or is your time better spent stocking up at the general store? Then again, you've got plenty of time, so why not catch a drink or two (or three) at the Invincible? Pretend you're unaffected by your death, and, well. Fake it 'til you make it, perhaps.

Point is, you have options. You're dead, you died, and this is your "life" now. Better get used to it.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

Currently, there's only one place to live (technically speaking) in Beacon: the Invincible, a tavern and inn located in Bonfire Square. Luckily, the place has working amenities (minus light), and the forest spirits don't charge anything for your stay. Unfortunately, it seems there may not be enough rooms for everyone. Guess you'll have to get cozy!

Maybe you'll try to pick a roommate from around town or in the bar downstairs, or maybe you'll just walk into the first room you see and choose that way. Want a room all to yourself? Get ready to fend off any potential intruders. And the fun doesn't end there.

The Invincible's rooms aren't all created equal. Some may have had their furniture stolen or become a dumping ground for unwanted pieces, resulting in a single bed, five dressers, and other equally distressing situations. Will someone sleep on the floor? Will you nail two beds together to form bunk beds? Maybe you just want to make this room into something more like home— potentially to your roommate's chagrin. Whatever you decide, this is where you're staying for now, so you might as well get comfortable.

network prompts

HACKER VOICE: I'M IN

In order to use the network, you have to register a username. Er, at least, that's how it's supposed to work. For some reason, new users have recently been able to bypass that requirement, allowing them to post anonymously. Time to troll strangers on the magical internet!

Eventually though, you'll need a username in order to use the tablet's other functions, like the direct messaging system. So hey, why not take advantage of the ability to source opinions, and workshop your potential usernames on the network? Share ideas, get feedback, steal ideas, critique others, and figure out what you want everyone to call you.

TURN ON YOUR LOCATION

When you wake up, you're in the woods. An iron shackle complete with a chain leashes you to a tree, and the only light you have is your lantern. You've never seen this area of the woods before. You certainly didn't go to sleep here.

Hm.

But, all is not lost. You find your phone in your pocket, as well as a scrap of paper covered back to front in cryptic scribbles. Are these clues to your location? They must be. You also spot a key dangling from a branch, though it's hanging from a tree you'll never be able to reach from here. Perhaps someone on the network will be able to lend you a hand...

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Comments

raylan givens, justified.

[ultimatums]

001. YOU'RE DEAD, JIM

[ all things considered, this is more than raylan expected for an afterlife. and honestly, being honest, to be honest with you – he's real pissed off about it. he's spent his whole life thinking that when you die you don't have to worry about any earthly shit any more, so this is one hell of a snake in his boot. pretty nasty snake, with a pretty nasty bite. the discontent is showing as an almost palpable and very much constant stinkface that's showing no signs of dissipating any time soon, as he stalks around the bonfire feeling sorry for himself.

it's going to take him a while to not be mad about this whole ineffable design shit, although at some point his thirst starts to outweigh the angry malaise and he moseys on into the invincible. he cuts quite a figure, a tall slim man in a stetson and cowboy boots. he makes a beeline straight for the bar, leaning against it. as he's waiting to get served, he clears his throat to get the attention of the person standing next to him. ] Sure puts paid to St. Whosit at the pearly gates, huh.

002. AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

[ raylan's a practical guy, but there has to be a limit, and that limit is apparently sharing a room with someone like he's some sort of college freshman. up with this he will not, ever, under any circumstances, put. he's found himself a room, and it's very much his, thank you very much. he's been getting a few knocks pretty regularly, and shouting occupied! apparently isn't going to cut it, so he gets up from the bed, settles his hat on his head, and opens the door a crack, leaning against the jamb with his hip popped and a hand resting on it. the other is pressed firmly against the door in case of any unreasonable intruders who won't take no for an answer.

he eyes his visitor with open distaste, although just before he speaks he grins, coldly. ] Absolutely not.

003. NETWORK

[ texting is not even remotely close to being within raylan's admittedly pretty poky wheelhouse, and understanding computers is one of those adaptations of necessity. still, you're supposed to have a positive attitude towards new experiences, although it's really starting to grate on him that the afterlife involves blogging. it's fine, though. he'll suck it up eventually. ]

raylan
Anyone else feel like this place is already losing the limited novelty it first held or is it just me?

004. WILDCARD

[ go crazy aaaa go stupid aaaaa ]

3! @fuckthis

[evocation]

[But blogging is conducive to complaining, and Kyna is all about complaining right now.]

yep
i've seen like three people walk into shit and even that's not funny anymore
the food's lame too

[ultimatums]

[ to kyna's credit, raylan gets a good chuckle out of her username. ]

I haven't seen anyone walk into any shit
Where's the best vantage point for that?

[ ... ]

Shit, I didn't even think about the food

1.

[ryanreynoldsvoice]

[Pikachu pokes his head out from beneath one of the stools]

Uh, what was that now?

[He understood all--well most-- of the individual words this man just said but take together they make no sense.]

omg....

[ultimatums]

Y'know. St. Whosit. St. What's-his-face. With the—

[ raylan turns his head and realises he has no idea who he's talking to, since the only thing in the direction from which he heard the voice is huge yellow stuffed toy. his brow puckers into a frown but he's not done explaining his stupid half-joke so he should probably get that out of the way first. ]

—the big book of all your... good deeds. Sorry, where—?

3.; @rockstar

[completelycrazy]

You're right on the money dude. This is a cool setup for like a haunted house or something but human beings aren't designed to live without sunlight.
I dont know how any of these plants are alive either come to think of it.

[ultimatums]

That's a very good point

[ this is the extent of raylan's input on that score, since it hadn't even crossed his mind until right this second. as if he's ever have a coherent scientific thought in his life. ]

Have we considered the possibility that this is some sort of Truman Show-esque dome?
Not to sound like one of those precious souls who thinks the earth is flat

Room... mates?

[kungfuey]

[ In all fairness? That's probably the appropriate response to have when you see this upside down black and red mask staring back at you. The sword strapped to what he'll soon realize is her back, probably doesn't help matters either but perhaps it's the look of mild annoyance as she turns to stare at him through the crack he's made that really pulls the whole thing together. Basically, Raylan. Good instincts. ]

Look. I really don't care if you and your hand were hoping for a little alone time. I'd just like to sleep. [ All very matter of fact as she blows a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. ]

[ultimatums]

[ everyone here is so fucking weird, god help him. what happened to regular old ski masks? how can she even see out of that thing? raylan wedges himself more firmly into the gap. maybe his hat is a little in the way, but it's the principle of the thing, and he's not taking it off now. there's no way he's letting this...ninja person...think he's doffing it. ]

First off – thank you for assumin' I have the wherewithal to be jackin' off under present circumstances. And second, humans can sleep just about anywhere if they put their minds to it. Read that in National Geographic. [ he did not. ] How about, [ he adopts what he hopes is a helpful tone of voice, ] you just hunker down right there? [ you know, on the floor. in the corridor. he lifts his hand off his waist and worms it through the gap to point downwards. ] Just there.

2!

[withsadness]

[When Raylan opens the door, he'll not only have to look out, but downward. Mary smiles up at him, doe-eyed, seemingly oblivious to his hostility.]

Can I please come in? Pretty please?

[ultimatums]

[ raylan's eyes drop downwards after a few seconds of searching, and then he quite visibly recoils. definitely not in the right mood for this. ]

No. [ and then, leaning down a little, pointing at himself for emphasis, ] See, this is my room.

3

[policier]

@javert
I do not think it held any novelty to begin with. Being dead doesn't feel exceptionally special either.

( It's almost just like being alive except they're stuck in eternal darkness. Javert wants a refund. )

[ultimatums]

Lanterns are kinda fun though

[ that's about the only shred of positivity he can eke out right now. ]

But the negatives are strongly outweighing the positives at present

⤜ you're dead, jim (cw: musing about a gory death)

[dadyl]

[ It's the fact that there's a bar that Daryl finds the most impossible to reconcile with the suggestion that he's dead. Sure, he remembers dying - every panicked, gruesome moment of it, the frantic expressions on every face around him as they realized they were next - and his clothes still bear the evidence clearly enough. They don't tell a perfectly obvious story, though. The garrot didn't leave a mark on his clothes, after all.

So he's remembering what it felt like to have his windpipe sawed through by razor wire as he swallows another whiskey down defiantly. If he can swallow then he didn't really die like that, right? He didn't let all his people down like that? He didn't let Carol down so fucking spectacularly? God, her son...

Daryl looks sidelong at the guy who sidles in next to him, eyes narrowed, face dark. He's not exactly trying to look unfriendly. He just is unfriendly. Can you blame him? ]

Is that really what you were expectin'? [ Gruff, disbelieving, but not a complete dismissal. ] Angels an' shit?

[ultimatums]

[ the one point in daryl's favour right now is that he isn't slapping raylan on the back and telling him to cheer up. raylan would much rather commiserate than fight off people trying to tell him to look on the bright side. there's nothing that stings his teeth more. in any case, he'd take gruff and disbelieving over relentlessly cheery any day – gruff he can work with, even understand. chirpy to the point of irritation, that's the kind of shit that gets old fast.

another point in his favour: he's clearly southern. raylan's not usually the type to judge based on origin, and being from a red state often encourages idiocy rather than precluding it, but honestly, right now, it's just nice to hear a familiar accent.

raylan opens his mouth to reply, pausing for a second to get an order in from one of those weird things behind the bar that he's just deciding to compartmentalise for now and deal with later. he holds up a finger for the guy's benefit, the universal symbol for hold on a second. he waits until he has a whiskey squared on the bartop right in front of him before, waits a second longer to have a sip – it's not bad – and then drops his finger. ]

Well, no. [ bet he's glad he waited for that one. ] But it woulda been nice. Clouds and so on. Imagine that heavenly host would get annoyin' real quick, though. You gotta wonder, how many songs do they know?

1; just remember that you asked for this

[nonscriptum]

Peter.

[ Nate says absently, almost distant, filling in a blank he only barely registered. His attention is caught by the little book in front of him, bound in black leather and sitting - open - on the bar top. The pages are full of drawings and notes but his pencil is nowhere to be seen, presumably tucked away somewhere. From the intent expression on his face it is clear he is concentrating, as if the paper might yield an answer to the questions he is trying to strangle. He isn't supposed to be here.

None of them are, if the ambient chatting around him is any indication. Another place like before, like the city under the earth, Jules Verne crap but without the bolt-and-rivet inventions to serve as a balm to the ragged edge of surreality.

Either way, the lapsed Catholic in him can't ignore a prompt like that. He finally looks up at the man next to him, a bloody cut carved into his right temple just above his eyebrow, and quirks a thin smile. Nate can still taste iron and humid air and dust. He should have gone home, and maybe he did, briefly, but he's taken enough spills over cliff sides to know that he doesn't normally wake up next to the Lone goddamn Ranger. ]

Saint Peter's the one at the Pearly Gates.

and i do not regret it

[ultimatums]

Peter.

[ he just sort of parrots it and lets it hang in the air between them for a second, and then a few seconds more as he finally gets the attention of one of those things behind the bar, leaning forward to ask for a bourbon, enunciating very clearly. it doesn't seem to have ears, so it's worth being cautious. his order placed, he sniffs and takes a proper look at his bar neighbour. it's hard not to look at that big old cut, recent judging by the looks of it. raylan's own problem is a little less obvious, hidden as it is between his shirt and his jacket, a nasty hole in the chest. he hasn't really given it a proper look because, honestly, he doesn't want to. but then who would? ]

Always get him and Paul mixed up.

[ the whatever-it-is returns with his drink. it's a pretty shitty bourbon, hardly kentucky's finest, but it'll do in a pinch. he has a sip and bares his teeth when he swallows. church was never really a part of his life, only something he saw going on tangentially, the kind of thing he absorbed via cultural osmosis rather than saw first hand with any regularity. ]

Wonder if he's just on vacation. Forgot to leave the lights on for us.

3 - @hasashi

[comehere]

[So far as Hanzo is concerned, texting is a waste of time. If he could, he would dispose of the tablet altogether, but for now, it's at least useful as a light source.]

There is no novelty to be found in death.

[Been there, done that. This is less fiery than the last times, but he doesn't expect to stick around long anyway.]

[ultimatums]

[ well, alright. maybe raylan's finally met his match: someone in a worse mood than him. ]

Not even in these charming little lanterns? Kinda novel, no?

003; @malaka

[taintedone]

Limited novelty?
It never held that title.
Unless this is the way you pictured life after death.

[ultimatums]

No, generally I'd say there were a lot more heavenly hosts and angels playing harps in my imaginings
You telling me you expected this?

#3

[sulfa]

[ the comment makes him chuckle, although that much isn't apparent when one is only communicating through this world's equivalent of a letter. sounds like something reiben would say; for a moment, he feels a twinge of loneliness, but does his best to shake it off. irwin will deal with that later. ] Eh, so-so. Done hiking already? [ a rarity: an actual joke, or some semblance of one. ]

001

[hardwearing]

[ Instead of booze Wash is waiting on a coffee, because he couldn't decide whether to embrace his paranoia or his grief and defaulted to paranoia to be safe. Safe. Hah. What more could happen to him, really? Maybe he should just get drunk, sulk off into the woods so he doesn't have to play nice with anyone to find a place to stay, but the fact of it is he's never found anything but more misery at the bottom of a bottle and there's a chance this isn't really all there is to death. With his luck, this place is probably just lulling them into a false sense of security before it starts to fuck with them. The coffee shows up and Wash decides to stick with it, setting his helmet down on the bar and reaching for the mug. He'll stay in his armor, damaged as it is, and drink his coffee, terrible as it tastes, and at least be ready for a fight.

That's when the guy next to him speaks up. And what a sight they make, standing next to each other, a space marine and a cowboy. ]

I guess? I'm pretty sure if that story was real, I'd be turned away. [ He takes another sip of terrible coffee and gives Raylan a closer look. ] Were you ever religious?

02

[preseance]

( lucky thing, then, that he ain't lookin' for a roommate. gene just shakes his head, holds up the plate of pie he's holding. it's covered in a little scrap of cheesecloth. )

Ain't lookin' to disturb your peace, sir. Just bringin' housewarmin' gifts to all the folk hereabout, if you've a likin' to buttermilk pie.

( bein' the eldest of four boys, bereft of a ma by the time he was eleven means he's got a motherin' streak a mile wide to him. bein' dead's traumatic enough, and he's been helping folks find solace in the hereafter since he was of an age to stir himself about their plights. ain't nothin' different to it now he's dead himself. an' of course, southern hospitality don't up and jump ship for all that he's dead. )

Network: @HelpMePlz

[primordialerebus]

I mean kinda? But like, where else can a dead person go???? Cuz fuck the forest that place is terrifying.

[ A pause. ]

At least the people are cool?