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TDM - OCTOBER 2020

TEST DRIVE MEME - OCTOBER 2020

Everyone's entitled to one good scare.
CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing baseball outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

OCTOBER 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping.

If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas.
If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player.

And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time.

By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, a cartoon pack of cigarettes and accompanying cigarette dancers prance around a black and white pumpkin patch, joined by dancing skeletons, ghosts and witches as a cheerful little earworm blares:

”Thirty days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, thirty days til Halloween—“

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961.

If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke?

A. AUNT MYRNA'S PARTY CHEESE SALAD.

Over the course of the week, your neighbors will come by unannounced, each with a new homecooked meal to welcome you to their cozy little side of town. Meatloaf, potato salad, lamb chops. Gelatin molds — lots of gelatin molds.

Someone even comes by to drop off a gelatinous yellow lump of pineapple, green peppers, celery and yellow cheese swimming in a soupy mixture of sour and whipped cream. “It’s my aunt Myrna’s recipe!” they gush once they drop the casserole tin into your hands, proceeding to rattle off every ingredient.

Well, at least you won’t be starving anytime soon.

When you bring it back in to your kitchen - and its cheery wallpaper and its floral patterned Pyrex dishware, you and your new...family(?) all stare at the cheese salad, the gelatin, the curiously frosted meatloaf spread. A smorgasbord courtesy of the insistent generosity!

Who will take the first bite?

B. DON'T BE A SQUARE!

You can only avoid the cheer and the neighbors for so long, even as you sit inside enjoying all the amenities of your new home. The television can only turn its volume up to five, after all! One bright and sunny Saturday, the weather crisp and clear, news broadcasts and reruns of The Ed Sullivan Show are drowned out by the music in the neighborhood. Eventually it’s too much to bear — you simply must put on your shoes and go discover the source of that infernal racket.

Why, it’s the block party! Haven’t you seen the invitation — with instructions — sitting in your mailbox, silly? Wear a badge so everyone on the block can know you’re new and welcome you to their extended family!

Well! Each neighbor was supposed to set up a table with snacks and drinks and entertainment on their front lawn. Carter Mayhew, one of your Robbie neighbors, has a whole ring toss obstacle course set up for boys to play with, and his wife is cheerfully and blandly instructing a group of girls on jump rope rhymes. Colorful streamers hang from every lamppost and mailbox, balloons and party favors galore. Like you, there are even a few newcomers to Santa Rosita that are caught just as unaware of this event — though others are being welcomed in by husbands and wives and children, caught in conversations about building decks and the upcoming Halloween festivities.

Before you can decide if returning home or joining the party is your choice, a plate with chips and dips and yes, more gelatin is shoved into your hands and a party hat snapped on to your head.

“The guest of honor has arrived! Come and meet your neighbors, neighbor!”

THROUGHOUT OCTOBER.

Life falls into a peaceful haze for the next several days. Dull, unassuming, tranquil. As the month drags on, the spirit of Halloween begins to manifest in Santa Rosita, from the pumpkins people start putting out on their doorsteps to the smiling faces of paper skeletons pressed against their windows.

And then, towards the end of the month, something terrible happens. You hear it first through word of mouth, rippling through Santa Rosita like a wave, dark murmurs accompanied by sad sighs and downturned eyes. Soon, you start to read about it. Grim business, they say. A tragedy. How could something like this happen.

People stop talking about it by the end of the week. Best just to forget about it.

Every day, that cigarette commercial comes on. It’s impossible to escape it. And every day, the number of days in the song changes, counting down.

”Thirteen days till Halloween—”

“Eight more days til Halloween—”

“Three more days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween…”

HALLOWEEN.

CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

October 31st. It sneaks up on you whether you like it or not. When dawn breaks on Halloween day, things are as serene as they’ve ever been as men do yard work, raking leaves as their wives bake fresh pie and cookies in the house, the spicy scent of cinnamon, apple and pumpkin wafting through the neighborhood on chilly October wind. There’s a smile on every child’s face as they skip off the school bus in the afternoon, running into their houses to get their costumes ready. As it begins to get dark, the residents of Santa Rosita start lighting their jack-o-lanterns. One by one, little balls of light flicker to life on every porch and doorstep, jagged smiles grinning in the dark.

For the entire night, nobody blows the candle inside their pumpkins out. It’s a tradition, a very old one, and traditions are just another way of saying rules.

And Halloween in Santa Rosita, as it turns out, lives and dies by the rules.

A. ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY.

Halloween isn’t just for the kids, although they certainly make up the bulk of who you’ll see out and about on the streets. Walking through Santa Rosita, your neighbors are as generous with handing out treats as they are with handing out gelatin molds and pot roasts, and they don’t discriminate. Adults are received just as warmly as children; the worst one can expect is a quirked eyebrow if they show up to a house without a costume.

Apples, packs of gum, homemade cookies. Chocolate bars, nickels, popcorn balls. Your neighbors hand out all sorts of treats, most of them homemade. The Robbies are no exception, and it’s their treats that seem a bit more high quality than most, some of the candy they hand out being obviously expensive, brand names. The good stuff. They drop each treat into your bag with those same pleasant, mild expressions and too-tight smiles you’ve grown used to in your short time here.

Eventually, as everyone winds up doing at some point in the night, you decide to start digging into your treat bag to sample some of your well-earned goods — maybe in the comfort of your home, maybe outside on the streets. And that’s when the fun begins.

Maybe you bite into metal, the razor sharp end of a blade embedded into the apple or candy bar you’ve picked out burying itself in your gums, or splitting your tongue. Maybe it’s a needle, impaling itself straight through the roof of your mouth or a cheek. Or maybe it’s nothing that obvious. Maybe the realization that something is wrong comes moments after you’ve devoured that chocolate bar or cookie, the bitter aftertaste of rat poison hitting the back of your throat along with bile and the rest of the contents of your stomach as they rise up and out of your mouth.

Or maybe you’ll bite into plain, sweet chocolate or fresh fruit. That’s also part of the surprise. You really don’t know what you’ll get until you start eating.

B. ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD.

At ten o’clock, all the television sets in the neighborhood turn on, blaring to life right in the middle of that omnipresent cigarette commercial. The volume begins to rise of its own accord as your television starts to pick up interference, bursts of static squealing amidst the rising, screaming chorus of ”HAPPY HAPPY HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN!”

Breaking through the static, garbled and tinny, a child’s voice cries out.

“Can’t— I can’t hold them— back— Pumpkin— don’t blow the— out—”

And just as quickly as it cut in, the voice cuts back out. Commercial jingle notwithstanding, you’re alone once more. But not for long.

The doorbell rings. You can see them outside from your window: costumed children. Their masks and clothes are grimy and ragged from the muddy, slimy water they’ve been decomposing in for over a week. When they come to your door, squelching wetly as they shamble up the porch steps, they ring the bell or knock, as all polite children do. If you don’t let them in, they’ll find their own way, always by force. And once they find you, all they can gurgle in their reedy, waterlogged voices is, ”Trick or treat.”

From there, they attack.

With superhuman strength and speed, they tear and rip at anything they can get their hands on — clothing, skin, muscle, face, eyes. Being short and small, despite their strength, they're at a distinct disadvantage. They can even be thrown off, with some effort. But they don’t stay down for long, and attempting to hurt or mortally wound them only stalls them for a few moments, if that. How can you kill something that’s already dead?

Some in the neighborhood are willing to try and find out.

The only houses they seem to ignore completely are the ones with lit jack-o-lanterns still outside. They’ll loiter outside these houses, staring straight ahead at your door or window like they can see exactly where you are. But sooner or later, they’ll pass by and move onto the next house.

As long as the candles in carved pumpkins stay lit.

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's first TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to December 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper.

If you would like to have Halloween content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

With regards to the dead trick-or-treaters: you may NPC them however you'd like, but keep the details we've listed in their prompt in mind. They are supernaturally fast and strong, will ignore houses as long as they have a lit pumpkin on the porch outside, and will try to enter each house the moment the candle in the pumpkin goes out. Additionally, they can't be killed, but they can be momentarily stalled by injuring them. By November 1st, 6AM, they will disappear the moment the sun comes out.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

one; being human

[The worst part of all this — although there are a lot of worst parts — is having to figure out the management of a human form. Sleeping is something he learned millennia ago, but eating was always more Aziraphale's indulgence, expect Crowley doesn't trust the angel to actually know how to cook or remember that a body needs feeding three times a day, at least. Crowley's been taking care of Warlock for the past year and change, he can keep to a schedule. He can probably learn to cook. It has to at least be better than the gelatin monstrosities that the locals keep forcing on them.

That particular train of thought is what leads to him standing in the grocery store, staring at the food on the shelves with absolutely no clue where to start and annoyed at the whole procedure. Even though he made the choice to do this, part of him balks at the fact he got shoved into the role of a bloody wife and is expected to do it.

He understands the basics of food, but he's never set foot in one before, not counting the occasional foray into Fortnum & Mason in the earlier days of the century, and it's a long way from the markets he used to frequent.

He's got too much pride to actually ask for help, but the furrow in his brow is obvious above his dark sunglasses, and he keeps muttering curses under his breath, so he's clearly out of his element here.]

two; block party

[For all intents and purposes, a block party seems fairly benign, fairly harmless. He's not sure if that's the case, but it's a decent enough way to get a lay of the land and check out the neighbors, so he pulls together an outfit, selects a pair of glasses — not needing them doesn't change 2000 years of habit — and ventures out onto the street.

None of the food strikes him as especially appealing, but someone's table has a bowl of punch that claims to be alcoholic, which makes the sugary taste of fruit juice worth dealing with. He snags a few crisps while he's at it, eating them for the sake of appearances before he quickly gets bored with the whole affair. He has no idea how humans do this regularly.

At least it's fairly obvious who does and doesn't belong. The locals have an air of ease that no one else shares, so it's someone who doesn't seem to belong that he slinks up next to, flashing a grin.]

If they break out ambrosia salad, we ought to riot.

[Just saying.]

three; always respect the dead

[Looking back, staying out late on Halloween in a creepy Stepford town probably isn't the smartest decision that he's made in his life, but he's still adjusting to the concept of being vulnerable and human, so he doesn't really think about it too much.

That quickly changes when he notices the dead children. At first, he's reminded so sharply of the Flood that he wants to be sick, before he remembers the news about the bus crash and counts the number of children he can see on the street. Even without his usual senses, he can tell they're bad news.

Rather than see what happens if he gets too close, Crowley back tracks and jogs up onto the nearest porch, rapping sharply on the door.]

Not to be a bother, but could I borrow a cup of sugar?

[He doesn't want a cup of sugar, he just figures if he shouts something about waterlogged, decomposing children, no one will come to the door.]

four; wildcard

[hit me with your best shot.]

[ It's Alice he slinks up to. The usual tension in her shoulders is turned up to eleven, which makes her posture perfect, and thus makes her look like she belongs— except for the way her half smile is clearly forced and she looks like she's not breathing altogether well.

What be says is so out of character for the place that she knows right away he's like her. He doesn't belong. Alice turns to him, keeping the smile on because appearances. ]

Better here than when they have you alone with a group of them. My neighbors had a cook-off for this in the house next door. All these perfect housewives, and— me.

[ Alice is not housewife material, thanks. ]

So, um— don't have the macaroni salad by the grill.

[ She made that one. Trust her. ]

[It's very weird, adjusting to not being able to read the background hum of desire in humans, and he feels oddly at a disadvantage when he can't make use of it.

But he's still like, charming? He likes to think he is, at least. So it's fine, he can make conversation. And Alice seems receptive enough to the attempt.]

Can't exactly say I was planning to try macaroni salad.

[Experiments with eating have been mostly unproductive. Carbs and dairy hold little appeal, outside of the occasional nice cheese. Even without actually being able to tap into it, he's still a snake at heart.]

You let them get you all alone? How'd that go?

[Obviously she's not dead, but he's curious what they're like in private, these strange people.]

[ Well, he's not Chipper And Cheerful like the weirdos are, and that's good enough for her. ]

Good choice.

[ Honestly, Alice wouldn't even eat it. She might just gently bump it into the grill and watch the stuff burn. Or maybe lay it out for birds and squirrels. ]

Oh god. [ His questions bring back those recent memories, and Alice visibly forces herself not to shudder. ]

They're always smiling, and they told all these stories about their kids and their husbands and the town. There's some inane gossip about... Jesus, I don't even know. They were so friendly and nice to me because I'm this "quirky new neigbor". [ Airquotes and all. ] It was awful.

[ Because where Alice comes from, if people are that nice to you, they're gonna stab you in the back or otherwise screw you over. ]

I'd rather be shunned. Please tell me there's some sort of social group for those of us who aren't from here to talk to people who aren't from Leave It to Beaver.

[Back when it first came out, Crowley thought Stepford Wives was a decent enough book, way better than the movies they tried to make about it in later years.

So far, this is all way too in line with what was described for him to feel comfortable, and everything Alice says fits just as neatly into the image he's built so far. He wrinkles his nose in sympathy as she talks, looking more and more perturbed by the whole thing.]

Right, I'll make a note not to go into any of their homes. Not sure I could play nice through all that.

[He knows himself. There's a limit to what he'll put up with.]

Those watches we got might be something, you know? I've not seen any of our good neighbors wearing them, and the technology isn't right for the decade.

[Not that he'd paid much mind to his, but now that he's thinking about it, they might fit what Alice is asking for.]

TEST DRIVE MEME - OCTOBER 2020

Everyone's entitled to one good scare. CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

OCTOBER 1st.

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

A. AUNT MYRNA'S PARTY CHEESE SALAD.

B. DON'T BE A SQUARE!

THROUGHOUT OCTOBER.

HALLOWEEN.

CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

A. ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY.

B. ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD.

OOC INFO

anthony crowley — good omens

block party

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block party

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three

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Block Party

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for bibliophilicbells

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Everyone's entitled to one good scare.
CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors