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...

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Shit --

[ swings his arm too wide, makes contact, and here they are. truth be told, he might not ordinarily stop to help her. but it is a small hallway, and there isn't room to step around all of the dropped items without stepping on them. which is not quite a level of shitheadedness he's at right now. he's considering just teleporting when -- his eyes light on her book.

the notebook, which has fallen open very near his feet. and he crouches down to pick it up with both hands, scanning all of those equations and illustrations. not too different from the kind of calculations he's done before; making doors in time instead of space, but it's all the same in four dimensions. ]

Huh. This isn't half-bad.

[ which sounds more insulting than anything else, but is a compliment in five-speak. ]

It's far more than that, thank you.

[She's definitely grabbing it back, closing it with a snap. And it would be very easy just to huff and walk away, but she's not stupid, for all she's more than a bit distracted right now. Rosalind glances down at him, her eyes darting over his face with a sudden sharpness.]

Do you understand what those equations were for?

[ he doesn't fight her in the notebook, lets it slip out of his hands. he looks at her with a new interest as he stands, then scoffs at her question. ]

I can draw probability maps for temporal disturbances in my sleep. I know equations for making spatial jumps when I see them.

Ah, [she says, and turns more fully towards him, her gaze finally properly interested,] you're intelligent.

[That's a very rare thing. And yes, he's still a child, but she can remember being thirteen and so, so much smarter than everyone. She's still better than him, obviously, but he in turn is better than most of the idiots here, and she'll give him respect accordingly.]

Not just a jump. A doorway. Come along, we can talk a bit better in the so-called shithole, unless you'd rather a glass of wine.

[What a delightful sentence that is in her high-class British accent. And that's not a joke, by the way. She's from 1910, children had wine a lot, it's probably fine.]

No shit.

[ and he has arrogance to spare, clearly. says that like it's an obvious fact of life, something she should've noticed sooner. truthfully: even when he actually was thirteen, he had the kind of overconfidence born of a precociously bright young mind. it's what got him stuck in the future, after all, being convinced he could handle time travel before he was actually ready.

the more things change, etc. ]

You're talking about a stable doorway in spacetime? I've never seen one hold for long.

[ IT'S PROBABLY FINE, but he's had enough of the bar for now, so off to wherever ros had been headed they go ]

Yes, well.

[She strides past him, leading him back towards the bedroom she's claimed as her own. Airily, over her shoulder:]

You've never met me.

[ARROGANCE ALL AROUND, and she tugs at the chair, sitting primly at the desk. Is there another chair? Let's hope so, or else he'll have to perch on the bed.]

It wasn't so hard. Most things aren't, once you see the trick behind them. More importantly: what sparked your interest with spatial jumps and temporal disturbances? I rarely meet someone else who cares, not beyond an inane or selfish level.

Clearly not.

[ well, she has his attention, anyway. he follows her into the bedroom, perches on the bed (no second chair, alas) with his elbows braced on his knees. she has plenty of attitude, but not gratingly so; especially if she ends up having the competence to back it up, which seems likely now.

she asks about his interest, and he raises his eyebrows. then space seems to ripple around him, and he vanishes. reappears near the door, clears his throat so she'll see him (with a wave, dry), and then reappears again back where he'd been seated. ]

You can call it a professional interest. How did you get involved in manipulating spacetime?

[Oh, that's interesting. It takes a lot of self-control not to immediately stand and poke and prod at him, but she resists.]

Now, how did you do that . . .?

[She rests her chin in the palm of her hand, studying him. She's mostly talking to herself, honestly-- she heard his question, but this is far more important.]

Displaced your atoms and regathered them? Or simply made a collapsible doorway? I suppose either is possible, but one carries significant more risk-- what if you don't reassemble in this dimension? Tell me: do you tire out at all?

[That's to Five, and gurl, equivalent exchange, but apparently Rosalind is just interested in herself, quelle surprise.]

[ the questions remind him of his father, actually; countless sessions spent figuring out how his power worked, what the limitations were, how to hone and best use it. or maybe the handler with her clever, clever mind -- but no heart. time will only tell if the impression lingers, or if ros will seem different in the end. ]

I told you, [ he says, though he didn't, ] I jump. You can think of it as short-lived doorways. But they only open for me, and close right behind me. And there are limits.

[ aka: yes, he does tire out eventually. he can't make an endless number of jumps. and also, though less easily inferred: the time travel, which has never quite worked too successfully for him. ]

Now you answer my question.

[ girl!!!! ]

[In her professional opinion, it's both, then. If he tires out, it's not just that he's opening a doorway, it's that he's making himself able to pass through it. If you ask her (and he hasn't), it's a combination, which is thrilling, because it means he has the potential to do longer jumps. What's space but a miserable pile of molecules and atoms, after all? If you can jump a little, you can jump a lot.

Still. If she wants more answers, she has to play along.]

I was a particularly precocious child-- you might well relate to the feeling. My mind quickly outstripped anyone and everyone around me, and so, in need of something to focus on, my subconscious dreamt up the most intriguing concept: that of a world that was and was not unlike my own. And further: my self that was and was not like me.

I was six. I began a career in quantum physics. And ten years later, I proved myself right when I made contact.

Space and time, as I hope you've realized, are simply . . . concepts. Vastly more and less complex than most people think. Not like a river, but a sea. It's easy to at least access, never mind manipulate, one if you know how to do it with the other-- although of course there's a rather large difference between manipulate and mastering, isn't there?

[Ya girl knows. Ya girl sure did die trying to fix a mistake in the past, and ooh, if she isn't still bitter about it . . .]

[ oh, she has his full attention now, and he's listening closely. six: she wasn't kidding about being precocious. having the idea itself is one level of cleverness; implementation, especially without powers, is another. her story paints a distinctive portrait.

and the comment about the difference between manipulating and mastering -- cuts close to home, but his expression only changes minutely. a brief narrowing of eyes, an insincere smile. ]

So you proved yourself right. Congratulations. [ his tone is bright in a way that can only be ironic. if he isn't constantly lowkey mocking people he might die, apparently. ] What happened then?

You tell me your name.

[Maybe it's that she's intent on sticking to the quid-pro-quo. Maybe she's just a little rankled by his bright tone (she knows that bright tone, she's used that bright tone, this little twerp is precisely like she was as a child, and oh, Robert would be delighted, but that's a thought she won't think).]

Equal exchange. You've gotten a story, and now it's your go. And please, [she adds,] don't make me ask questions. Your name, where you're from, when you're from, you know what I mean.

It's Number Five. [ interrupts himself then, as if heading off an argument -- ] And, no, I'm not lying, so don't tell me that's not an answer. That's the only name I've got.

[ he'll go on to add that he's from the year 2019, and name some north american city, the place where he and his siblings grew up. ]

Now I want to know what happened.

[ more than he wants this reciprocal information about her, apparently. ]

[Hm.

Truthfully, what happened next is not so easy to say. She's bitter and angry, and she suspects she won't stop being bitter and angry until she can get revenge. But she isn't a child, and she can keep her voice steady and her story impersonal.]

Funding doesn't come from nowhere. The man who became my patron gave me money, and I got what I wanted. And when it came to pay the piper . . . I was rather indebted to him.

How old are you, [and there's only the briefest of hesitations] Mr. Five?

[ well. that's certainly vague, but he supposes he can't blame her. doesn't sound like anything good came for her, anyway, and his question was answered. he'd wondered, a little, if she'd been picked up by the commission; but that seems not to be the case.

(not to mention that she probably would've recognized his name if she were. he's well-known around those parts, more than.) ]

Well that's the question, isn't it. [ then, admitted, ] Fifty-eight.

. . . ah.

[Ah. That changes things, and honestly? It makes them far more interesting. Now, how could someone be fifty-eight in a child's body? Assume he isn't lying (and she'll assume that, because someone clever enough to talk about spacial jumps isn't the sort to pretend to be old just cuz). Something to do with a temporal jump, presumably . . .

She hazards a guess. It isn't entirely right, but it's not nearly as far off as most would be. She knows damn well what she's talking about, after all.]

Then you're a bit more aware than a child would be about how the world works. What happened next is that nothing exists in a void, Mr. Five.

Madam Rosalind Lutece. I began with atomic suspension and ended with establishing doorways in the fabric of the universe.

You made contact, and then he wanted his share of your technology.

[ she's right, of course; he's old enough to have an idea of how people, how the world works. nothing comes for free. he'd only been able to leave the apocalypse in exchange for the five year contract, certainly not out of the kindness of the handler's heart.

besides, given the commonalities in how everyone got here -- it's possible her debt got her killed. ]

In space. What about time?

Trickier. Not impossible, but much, much more difficult to pinpoint. And yet I've done it.

[Just once, and then someone, not naming names, had murdered her, so.]

Have you?

Yeah, [ he echoes, ] makes spatial jumps look trivial.

[ on the shortlist of things reginald hargreeves was actually right about: that five hadn't been ready to time travel at 13, that time travel was too difficult and unpredictable compared to spatial teleportation, that something would go wrong. even crazy old bastards can be right sometimes. ]

I've time travelled.

[ more of a sore subject, this. he's time travelled into the apocalypse; he's time travelled for the commission, countless times, to take out targets. ]

Do tell.

[She says it quietly, interested but not vulgarly so.]

[ he shrugs. ]

Not much to tell.

[ a lie. and then in a breach of their question for a question agreement -- ]

How many times have you done it?

This is going to be a very meandering conversation, Mr. Five, if you keep imagining I'm going to be deterred by a quick brush-off.

[ weLL IT WORKS ON HIS BROTHERS AND SISTERS! ]

Then try another question.

What happened then?

[see b/c it's what he said, she's quoting it back at him, American accent and all, do you get it]

[ yes, shockingly, her extremely subtle wit somehow goes noticed. which is of course exactly what he deserves. ]

I traveled to the future, once. And I traveled back, once. [ both things are, strictly speaking, true. ] It was while coming back that this [ gestures at himself ] happened. I screwed up the equations somewhere, obviously.

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