memesinthenight | TEST DRIVE MEME #1

Entry tags:

!tdm

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...

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( lordy, he's a big fella. he'd missed it at first, on account of the atmosphere and the amount of beer he's gotten himself into. now that he's had a chance to slow down and actually pay attention, it's all too obvious. reminds gene of that canuck they met up with on d-day. he steadies himself on the table a bit, the question makes him blink.

give him a moment, he needs to think about it. he's met enough folk here from enough different places and times that he has to suss out just how much information is necessary, an' that's a mighty tall order when you're halfway to tipsy. he's from a dry county, booze was a foreign thing to him before he got into the war. his tolerance is almost laughably bad. )

Ah... American infantry. 82nd division, 1945.

( a pause. then, helpfully, )

On Earth.

( at least he ain't slurrin' his words none. that'd be a sure sign to stop. though his alabama accent is perhaps a touch stronger than usual. )

[That is genuinely helpful, that last addition. Helps put him in that category of just about everyone else. Earth must be a busy place.

He gives the guy a smile, warm and companionable, because even though they don't know each other, they have something in common beyond just being stuck in the realm of the dead.]

Explains why I didn't recognize it. Another Earth man, huh? Marine Commander Rosinante, Marineford. Not Earth.

[No last name given, but that's common enough. Not even the Fleet Admiral went by anything other than a given name. Some people have backgrounds that don't need to be shared. Long as you do your duties, people look past it. And he holds out a hand, to shake, then gestures with a nod of his head for him to have a seat if he'd like. Join him at the table.]

( he's a genuinely hard man to cow. he'd go toe-to-toe with a general if he disagreed with him on a firm enough point, an' he ain't never been afraid of pointing out when an officer is being an idiot. he knows that medics are too damn valuable to court-martial in the heat of the moment.

but he still don't like lookin' like a fool around one, neither. an' this man's bein' nothing but kind about it. he transfers his beer to his left hand, which frees him on up for a salute. )

Sir.

( ain't one of his, but he has a lotta respect for marines no matter where they're from. but unlike how he might be with an allied officer, he doesn't wait to be released to parade rest or ease, just drops his hand down again. )

Corporal Hicks. My brother's a marine.

[Awfully formal, given the circumstances, but hell, it's nice to see anyway. Years of solo undercover work means he hasn't actually been saluted since his departure for that last mission. And you know what? It feels good to fit back in with people who he doesn't have to hide his life's work from.]

Nice to meet you, Corporal. Really, sit down. Relax. Enjoy your drink.

[Just like he'll enjoy his for a sip, then pulls out his dwindling pack of cigarettes, takes one for himself, and tips the pack toward Hicks. Better be a way to get more of these here. He'll have to look before he's completely out.]

You smoke?

( cigarettes are a precious commodity in war. a k-ration holds four, an' he's got a few of those in his kit. he's halfway through the last pack he bought from a canteen, an' he's got a couple dozen with him he won of'a the boys in the poker matches they'd organize during the quiet hours on the belgium front. he's got plenty, is all, an' he ain't of a mind to relieve another fella of a likely limited supply.

gene does take a seat, eases himself down with a grateful, acknowledging tip of his beer bottle. )

I do, sir, but I've got plenty of my own. Don't you trouble yourself none about me. Matches and the like don't seem to work here, but me an' another fella, we learned you can light 'em off that little Lantern you've got just fine.

Yep, found that out myself early on. I've even got a lighter on me, but it doesn't do a damned thing here.

[The pack gets shoved back into a pocket as he lifts his lantern off the floor where it's been set by his feet, and puts it on top of the table instead. Seriously, this little thing's been a lifesaver already just for being here. He has to unscrew the cap on it to get to the flame, then reaches the cigarette in to light it. Once lit, he holds it in his teeth for a second so he can screw the lantern back together. All good.

Less good is that in setting his lantern back down beside him, he misjudges the distance between its base and his glass and knocks the two together. The lantern is fine, of course; the drink spills itself across the table and drips onto the floor as the glass rolls onto its side, and he only just manages to slap a hand down onto it before it can fall off the table and shatter.]

Shit. Sorry, I swear I haven't had that much yet.

( he ain't one to get all jumpy or react in an outsized way to a minor thing. he just eases his chair on back to avoid the spill. he's got a handkerchief like all good southern boys, and he pulls his out to start soppin' up the mess. )

Place ain't what you're used to, huh?

( it's both a deflection of the apology and an offered excuse for the difficulty itself. gene's used to finding reasons for other folks not to feel badly about messin' something up. #justmedicthings. )

S'all good. You wanna order another while I go on an' tend to this?

( the... tidying. all matters of rank aside, he reckons this fella's too damn big to get the spill fixed up under the table, an' he don't mind doin' it none. bein' just this side of tipsy, if anything, makes him even more pleasant than his norm. which is pretty damn pleasant, all things considered. )

Oh- hey. Thanks, you didn't have to clean all that up. Sure, though, I'll be right back.

[Right, definitely the fault of this place being so different. Easier than admitting to an enlisted man he's only just introduced himself to that he's clumsy beyond reason and always has been. Which always sounds like a cute little quirk until someone is faced with the reality of him falling and breaking things all the time, himself included. Wasn't born right. Something like that.

It's only a few short strides to the bar to catch the attention of the odd little fairies who seem to run the place. He probably didn't even need to get up, but shouting at them from the table feels rude. Shouting in general isn't his style anyway. He sets the empty glass down and apologizes for the spill, and they stack three of themselves onto another and refill the drink. It's still fascinating to watch, every time, and he's still glancing back at them as he returns to his seat and sits back down.]

Weird little creatures. Helpful, though. You don't happen to know what they are, do you? Are they an Earth thing?

( he's just finishing with mopping it all up when the fella gets back, and he stands politely while he takes his seat back. more habit than anything. )

Ah, I wouldn't exactly call them an Earth thing in the sense that there's things like 'em what wander around that I've seen. But we've got stories. Fairies and spirits and their ilk, though the fair folk ain't to be trifled with from what I've heard.

( the man literally sees ghosts, he's not going to assume fairies are outside the realm of possibility!! only that he hasn't seen them. even when the 82nd was stationed in ireland.

at first, he'd thought he'd be the only one able to see them, but as he watched more and more folk interact with them that tune changed right quick. spirits, sure, but of what? )

We've got stories, too. Just didn't know how out of the ordinary these might be for you or anyone else. I've never seen anything like them either.

[They serve decent alcohol, though. Then again, he's no connoisseur. It has a bite to it. It's recognizable as whiskey. Better than the too-luxurious wine his brother always kept around at Spider Miles so already he figures he's lucked out.]

Where I'm from, I've heard creatures like that steal things if you don't keep an eye on them. You go to sleep, wake up, and suddenly you're missing a single sock, or one chocolate out of the box.

[They were slaves, long ago, those so-called fairies. He knows that too. The old truth is more brutal than the current fiction implies, if he's put the pieces together correctly. These aren't Tontatta, though, from the descriptions he's been told of those creatures. Hopefully, they're not slaves either.]

( sounds a little like the shinin' folk. odd, how the commonalities exist across worlds one and sundry. )

They like milk where I'm from. Sometimes folks leave it out as an offerin'. I guess there ain't no hurt in tryin' it here, least we can do for them given how they're helpin' us.

( of course, there are strict rules for interactin' with any sort of fae. an' you ain't meant to take food or drink in their company, which. well, he supposes that's already come and passed. but there don't seem to be much in the way of malicious intent here, or maybe that's just wishful thinkin'. )

It's always a good idea to get on the good side of the locals, in any case. Hell, they understand what we say. We could probably just ask if there's anything they'd like a hand with.

[That's what he'll do. That's what he'd intended to do with a few of these places at one point, like the shop or the boat house, only to discover that there was nobody there tending them. These creatures are the closest thing he's seen to natives - them and maybe that bird fellow.]

This place does need some work. All of it, I mean, the whole town. I'm thinking we ought to all get together, see where everyone's from and what they're good at, and maybe figure out who wants to tackle which problem first. For example, we got dropped off with food, but I don't know how long it will last or if we'll get any more.

( it's a solid plan. one gene can appreciate — he can lead, but he ain't a leader. always had a preference for followin' someone else's decree, him. he nods. )

Well, besides bein' a medic, I'm a carpenter. An' I can keep a garden all right so long as we've got seeds.

( had to learn. he preferred flowers, but he got good at tendin' to all manner of beans and squash and cabbage. )

[Despite being trained for leadership, Rosinante doesn't care for it either. He's always preferred working alone - it's a better use of his particular talents. It's why his rank has been frozen at Commander despite being in the Marines for most of his life. The higher the rank, the more people notice you, and it's better not to be noticed, even by your own side, if you're working as a spy.

Not here, though. There's no mission now. Just get people situated so they're not wandering around lost in the dark.]

A carpenter? [Now there's something helpful.] Well, we'll need that around here, but - I don't suppose you know anything about building boats?

( he ain't got it in him to deny it outright. instead, he thinks about it some. he knows how to handle wood and cure it curved. built a few wooden barrels as part of what he did in new york. there's a theory to ship building that he thinks he could probably maneuver his way through it, so long as he had the time and resources to facilitate an error or five.

he turns his beer until the label faces him with a deliberate twist of his hand. )

Not with any skill or certainty, to be sure. But I reckon I could muddle through if there was a great an' urgent need for it and the scale and scope were left to men with a head for numbers more'n'me.

( john would've been good for it. always was a genius in that way, smartest one in the family bar none. )

I don't even think it would have to be anything complicated. A couple canoes might work well enough. Just thinking ahead, though. It's definitely not great or urgent.

[Which pains him, because he really wants to get out on that water and see what he can find, but it's not worth making up a story about the urgency of it. It's purely selfish when they all have perfectly good feet to explore by. He's just much more comfortable with oars than his own two legs.]

The garden, though, that's easier to get started on, if you think the light from the fire is enough to grow plants with.

( that'd be easier to start, for sure. gene nods along. )

I can't say. It ain't normal fire of a sort I'm used to. An' the food here's gotta come from somewhere first. The forest spirits might have an inklin', could be I could speak to them on the matter.

( an' he hasn't seen hide nor hair of native animals here. things get ugly fast when food ain't plentiful, he'd just as soon not see it happen here. )

Yeah. There's a list of things to work on. I might write about it on that tablet thing, I suppose. Let people volunteer for whatever they want to do.

[Not that he really wants to. There are things to get done, but he doesn't want his name on them. He'll work on them, he'll even help organize them, but people looking to him for some sort of actual guidance? No thanks. Let someone else take that credit. But on the other hand they will have to work together, and he's not sure he trusts others to just organize it themselves. Maybe he'll stall, let someone else put their neck forward first, and only step in to give direction if nobody else is.

It's just not his place to boss others around. There are lords and grandmasters and others here who are far better suited for that.]

Until then, might as well sit back and enjoy the drinks and the atmosphere. Thoughtful of someone, providing us with an afterlife that has alcohol.

( he tips his head to one side. quizzically, )

'Tablet thing'? You mean that queer thing they gave us? I ain't made heads or tails of it.

( the most technologically advanced thing he's ever seen outside of a c-47 or a typewriter, maybe. he ain't about that life. boy barely knows how to use a telephone or send a wire. )

Mmhmm. First person I met called it a tablet and showed me a little of how it works.

[He pulls the thing out from a pocket and unfolds it on the table in front of him where Gene can also see it. It lights up as it connects to the network, displaying its messages.]

It's like putting written messages out for people to find. Everything is signed with a name you choose, and you can say whatever you want and anyone can read it. I'm sure it does more than that too, but that's all I've got so far.

( gene's brow furrows the slightest bit at the words written and read. but it ain't enough to forestall him watchin' intently at the fella's demonstration. he fakes it well enough, that sense of understandin' that should only come from literacy. )

So it's like... sendin' a wire telegraph, almost?

Uh... heh, I don't know what that is.

[He admits it with an embarrassed chuckle at the end of the statement, and scratches his chin. Who would have thought so many different worlds would have so many different ways to communicate?]

I've been thinking of it as a message board. In fact, I'm thinking I might set up one of those too, since not all of us are used to a thing like this and might not remember to check it. This is like that. One spot everyone knows to go and look to see what's written on it. Does that... help?

[Unsure, he keeps his gaze on Hicks, with a self-conscious little smile. He didn't really say anything different, did he? But how else can he describe it? It's simple, just made of light instead of paper and ink. More like notes on a board than messages sent by snail phone - for he hasn't discovered the voice option yet.]

( normally gene would give him a helpful explanation, but the truth is he's not sure he could begin to start explaining telegraphs. somethin' about transmittin' sound that translates to words? he knows morse code well enough, but the process of it all escapes him. he simply shrugs. )

I guess. Ain't nothin' like that in my time, though. Unless you're writin' on a slate in chalk.

( which was sometimes done for mission briefings at a command camp, but. mostly sand tables had replaced that by his age. )

An' you say this can reach everyone?

Sure. Slate and chalk, ink and paper. Exactly like that, except somehow instead of you going to one spot to see what's written there, you can look at it from anywhere, and add to it any time.

[And indeed, as he pokes at the flat panel, it displays a number of messages. Mostly questions from others like themselves, wondering what the hell this place is and what they're supposed to do now, or how to get things like coffee.]

So, say, this person here wants to know if there's a room at this inn left. You could push the word "reply" here and write to them, and they'd see it and so would anyone else who wondered the same thing and hadn't asked it themselves.

[But he has no answer, so while he taps the button to show the blinking cursor prompting him to send a response, it remains otherwise blank, though the keyboard does slide up to display itself.]

You get to pick what you want to be called, which is nice, I guess.

( he can parse the occasional word. mostly tryin' to read 'em is a point of frustration, an' after a moment he blinks away, focuses on peelin' the label off his bottle of beer instead. )

Wouldn't it make the most sense just to use your name?

TEST DRIVE MEME #1

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)