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memesville2020-10-25 11:03 pm
robbies) wrote in memesville2020-10-25 11:03 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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.
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? |
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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.
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.
RJ MacCready | Fallout 3
[If you were hoping for a quiet morning to sort out what exactly is going on, well, too bad. Once MacCready gets a semblance of his bearings and realizes his uniform and gun are nowhere to be found in this room he woke up in (not even his own comics, what the fuck?) there's a rumbling of furious little footsteps coming from the second floor, then down the stairs, before a small child with a baseball bat comes into view looking completely pissed off. He couldn't even find a metal bat. Or a bat with nails in it. A wooden bat.
He's brandishing the thing like he's ready to start knocking heads. Surely these people got pictures of him doing things he's never done in places he's never been so they must know what's happening. And he intends to find out!]
What the fuck is going on here?!
2
[Fuck all of these adults with their creepy smiles and friendly...friendliness. He may not have strayed far from Little Lamplight but he sure as shit knows this isn't normal, and that nice lawns and people walking around unarmed was so far from standard.
Worst of all is the way the adults talk to the kids. He keeps his bat, because it's the only thing he has to defend himself should he get attacked, patrolling the neighborhood with the most suspicious glare.
At some point one of the grown ups says something to him, but he's not paying attention, calling him kiddo and mussing up his hair with his gross hand. MacCready immediately feels his fight or flight instinct take over as he winds the bat back and lets him have it right on the knee.]
Get your mungo hands off me!
[MacCready may be small, but a bat is a bat. And the way the man flinches and still holds his wide small, shaking his head and exclaiming, "oh, you kids! Be careful with that!" before he wanders off is...
...He's seen some shit, but this is creepy.]
What the hell is wrong with all of these people?
3
Well, what's anyone gonna do about it?
[The creepy neighbor laughs, which he should fucking expect by now, and tells him that he's much too young to be worrying about something as ghastly as the missing children. Best to forget about it. But that only fills MacCready with a fiery anger as he throws the newspaper at their retreating form. It his them...and predictably...they keep walking.]
Typical mungos — what do they care about a buncha kids, huh?
[Fucking grownups.]
4. (cw; gore, dead children, and violence ig)
[The first time the doorbell rang MacCready ignored it. Then it rang again, and again. Eventually he angrily stomps over to one of the windows, climbs on a chair, and peers through the curtains. Now, he read about this holiday, but most of the text was burned up and he only got bits and pieces, so as far as he's concerned it just seemed weird. Though he got the impression it was a holiday mostly for kids — imagine his fucking surprise finding out there was anything not shitty specifically for children. Point is, he knows enough (and just from all the shit he keeps hearing around the block) to know what this is.
But some of the kids here are weird too. And just because they're kids doesn't mean he's going to go giving them his trust or nothin'. But...there's something about them and those creepy costumes they're wearing...something familiar.
Oh shit.
Of course, in his mind, if you're dead you're fuckin' dead. The kids must have survived, right? And children in costumes and funky clothes isn't new or strange to him. That being said, he's extremely cautious when he opens the front door and peeks out.
And they don't say anything.]
You guys hurt or somethin'?
[They gurgle in response, rasping voices delivering a "trick or treat" that — he won't fuckin lie (well he will) — is freaking him the fuck out.
Everything in MacCready's gut tells him to shut the door and so he does, then locks it. He immediately hears the windows being banged on in the back so he runs for dear life—]
Why doesn't anyone board up these fuckin' windows around here?!
[But by the time he gets there the glass is broken and bloated, scarred, arms are reaching in. MacCready turns tail and heads for the front door again, still cursing under his breath, and when he unlocks the door and swings it wide open, he feels himself being grabbed on his way out and yanked to the ground. He has one child descending on him — and boy do they fuckin smell — but he manages to wiggle enough around to elbow it in the face, knocking it off of him.
He tries to get up again to dart out the front door but both his ankles are grabbed and squeezed, forcing him to fall flat on his face. He grabs on to the doorframe as it pulls, and after a moment he can feel more hands grabbing at him.]
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
[Little help?]
wildcard!
[feel free to hmu with anything!]
1! just remember: you asked for this.
he doesn't seem bothered by the bat. or the angry child brandishing it. ﹚
Calm down. We're the only ones here right now, and I don't know any more than you do.
﹙ and he, by his body language, has no intention of fighting. historically, that hasn't meant much of him — but he isn't going to harm a child even if he swings first. ﹚
no regerts
[That's the first, childish, demand he must make before this conversation goes on any further. He's still holding his bat with a tight grip, eyes shifting about suspiciously.
It takes a moment of him glancing about, as if ready for someone to pop out from around a corner. After a moment he seems...well, about as satisfied as he could be in this situation. His guard remains up, though he's glad there doesn't seem to be any mungos around, just a freakishly calm kid who claims to be as confused as he is.]
So what the hell are you doing then?
i think you meant no regards, regerts is when u eat bad yogurt
instead: ﹚
Getting my bearings. Are you from Earth?
﹙ he's met others that aren't. ﹚
o yea the first one then
What kind of question is that?
[But before the question can even be answered he's narrowing his eyes again, tone wary.]
...Are you an alien?
[Please do not let this be about fucking aliens.]
#nailedit
I'm human, if that's what you're asking.
﹙ human enough. ﹚
(☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞
You see any aliens around here?
[Because he was asking for a reason, right? And he wants to fucking know if there are any of those green fuckers about.]
no subject
I've been more concerned with waking up in another century than finding little green men. But no, not that I've noticed.
﹙ given the boy's reaction and attitude, they're in the same boat so he doesn't feel the need to lie. if this is a kidnapping and not simply a hallucination, he suspects everything will be eventually revealed anyway. there's no point getting worked up about their captors until they show themselves. ﹚
no subject
[Because, according to the Wanderer, they're fucked up. To put it mildly, anyway. MacCready completely forgets Heero's original question, though in his mind it's pretty damn obvious by now he's from Earth. Because why wouldn't it be?? He's more focused on something else now—]
Wait, "another century"? The fuck are you talkin' about?
1
[ Jack has no idea how to deal with children. He actually takes a step back as MacCready barrages down the stairs, keeping his distance and staring at him as though he's something contagious. It had been bad enough waking up here, trying to figure out where the hell he is and what's going on and why isn't Anne here, and now this. ]
What are you doing here?
no subject
That's what I'd like to know, mungo. Are you the shithead that took my gun?
no subject
What? No!
[ He looks offended. You don't take a man's pistol. Or...a child's? Suddenly, the offended look turns to one of suspicion. ]
Did you take mine?
no subject
If I took your gun don't you think I'd be pointing it at you right now instead of this shitty wooden bat?
no subject
[ Not that it's much comfort. Strange how the mental image of this boy pointing his own pistol at him doesn't do much to bolster Jack's spirits. He nods at the bat, the shock wearing off to the point where he's more than aware that this child is armed and he is not. ]
You can put that down, by the way. Whatever's going on here, I can assure you that I am not the enemy you're looking for.
[ says the pirate. ]
no subject
[But he at least lowers the bat enough so that it no longer looks as if he's going to hit a homerun with Jack's head. At least for now. Don't ask how he would manage that at his height. He just could!]
Just because you don't know what's going on doesn't mean you're not bad.
no subject
Do you mind - at least defining that word, if you're going to keep using it -
[ At least he's lowered his weapon. Progress. Jack sighs inwardly. ]
No. It doesn't. But let me call your attention to the fact that I've made no move to threaten you, despite you giving me every reason.