TDM - OCTOBER 2020

[robbies]

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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Comments

kon el | dc comics

[kon]

DON'T BE A SQUARE

[ he still isn't entirely convinced that he isn't dreaming, but that's also really just mostly wishful thinking on his part.

no, he's just trapped in another dimension again, except this time around, his powers aren't even working! what's up with that anyway? it takes him more than a day of panic (and possibly an equal number of hours moping) before he manages to straighten himself out.

—annnd now he's at some dumb neighborhood block party because he got too curious. isn't there a saying about how curiosity killed the cat? he might not be dead yet, but he sure feels like that cat right now, especially when another plate of colored gelatin gets shoved into his hand by a creepily peppy man. ]

Thanks....

[ his enthusiasm (or lack thereof) cannot be any more evident as he makes a face at the jiggly stuff. poking at it with a fork, he soon abandons it on a nearby table as he wanders through the lively get-together. every so often, he catches sight of a disapproving look or two, mostly from the parents. they don't seem like big fans of his greaser/punk style, but not even the 1960s can make him dress appropriately.

maybe he should just get out of here.

ripping off the name tag, he tosses it into the trash while he tries to map out an escape route. he'll just take this opportunity to explore the rest of the town since it seems like every single person in santa rosita has gathered here. but before he succeeds in his departure (or maybe soon following it), he bumps into someone with an immediate apology leaving his lips— ] Oh, sorry! Are you okay? [ if he somehow manages to knock 'em over, he'll extend a hand out to help 'em up. oops? ]

ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY

[ he is way too old to be trick or treatin', but in the spirit of the holiday (and given what was reported in the papers not too long ago), kon has volunteered himself up for going around the block with some of the neighborhood kids — or, rather, he was dragged along and he couldn't say no to their adorable little faces.

he isn't wearing a costume though, so he does garner a few more disapproving looks on top of the seemingly common reaction to his choice of wear.

whatever. he's only here to accompany the kids.

unfortunately, it doesn't take long for the night to go awry. with not much to do, he decides to try one of the candies, except instead of biting into something sweet and enjoyable, he gets a sharp pain at the roof of his mouth. instantly jerking back, he pulls the treat out with a cry, his expression bewildered. ]

Ow, what the hell?!

[ cue the following subsequent events of kon

a. frantically ordering people around him to hand over their candy bags so he can inspect them. they might be dangerous to eat!

b. angrily retracing his steps through the neighborhood to try and find the asshole who would put needles and razors in candies meant for children!

please stop him from getting into fights because he is 100% going to get into a fight. ]

ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD

[ he can tell why horror films like to incorporate small children now, especially with the eerie group standing in front of his house. luckily, none of his new housemates blew out the pumpkin lights, so there hasn't been any undead kids trying a hand at some b&e. still, it isn't exactly ideal to have them out there.

at first, he thought they were harmless, even going outside to hand them some treats. it was a biiiig (and pretty damn shock-worthy) mistake. they lunged at him immediately and he barely managed to make it back into the household before slamming and locking the door shut.

he can't stay cooped up inside all night though. there might be people outside who needs help!

maybe you catch him before he leaves the safety of his new home or he catches you in the middle of some seriously freaky trouble. either way, superboy is here to save the day (or at least try to the best of his abilities)! he might not have his powers anymore, but he can still throw a very mean punch.

(although, he might be a little hesitant about punching children, undead or otherwise, so how about some good ol' fashioned running instead?) ]

WILDCARD

[ ooc; choose your own adventure! hit me with your best shot. shoot a pm if you want to plot. ]

( prompt: always check your candy, a. )

[thricefold]

[ zita steps out of her household to set a lit carved pumpkin down on the porch, wanting to get the 'feeling' of the season right. for all that's strange and disorienting, zita has to admit she's happy all hallow's eve is still a thing. it's a comfort to see children asking for treats, houses dressed up in decorations, the cool wind of the evening carrying laughter, chatter...

... and the growing sounds of a fight happening next door.

frowning, zita is quick to inform her 'children' she'll be right back and closes/locks the door behind her before heading to the fence. ]

Excuse me- Excuse me- [ her voice, though soft, is firm and insistent. it should be heard over the din of squabbling- children? ] Is something the matter?

[ one of the children in the group turns at the sound of her voice and perks up at the sight of her. the little girl points at the (much) older boy, stomping her feet while she hugs her candy bag close to her chest. ]

He's trying to take my candy! It's mine! Make him go away!

[kon]

[ so, note to self: you're not as great with kids as you think you are, kon el.

he really tried his best to reason with them calmly (or at least he did after he realized that slightly panicky was not working in his best interest). but even calm isn't enough to persuade some of the more stubborn kids from handing over their treasured candy bags.

he isn't trying to be a bully here, but he also doesn't trust the contents of those bags to be safe and, between angering a bunch of kids or ignoring possible harm to avoid conflict, he picks the former. ] Look, I'm gonna give 'em back to you! I just wanna check to see if they're okay to eat— no, I'm not lyin'!

[ so, that's kinda where zita finds superboy. caught between a group of upset children who aren't shying away from kicking and punching him to no avail. ] Hey, hey, just— calm down! I'm not the enemy here. [ when he catches sight of a woman approaching, he regards her with an almost pleading look. ]

The... The candies aren't safe. I found some needles and razors in mine, so I— ow, [ he pauses for a sec as one of the boys kicks him in the shin. ] can you— can you explain that to 'em? 'cause they're not listenin' to me!

[thricefold]

[ needles and razors?

zita claps her hands together, the sound loud and clear as she begins to assert herself to try and take control of the situation. this is going to devolve if she doesn't get the children to calm down and hear the young man out. ]

Children. Do not hit him or anyone. You know that's not right.

[ having been the carnival mother for almost a century, more or less, zita has perfected her scolding voice when it comes to addressing lil'uns and it shows. the results are almost immediate: the children begin to quiet down and twist uncomfortably, unused to being reprimanded by an adult.

enough of them pull back to give superboy more breathing space and none of them are trying to take out his shins anymore. that's good. now to address the situation- ] Cindy, right? Cindy... Would you be willing to give him some of your candy?

[ cindy's reaction is an immediate, ] No! He's not taking my candy! He can't eat it!

He won't, dear. He only wants to make sure it's safe to eat. Could you please give him a handful for him to check? [ the little girl opens her mouth up in protest again but zita is quick to offer a reward in return, ] After this, I'll give you and the others a lot more candy from my house. All of it, even.

Does that sound fair?

[ the girl looks tempted by the offer and she eases the death grip she has on her candy bag. not only that but the other kids look excited by the prospect of getting a house's worth of candy. they begin pressuring the girl to give hers up, cajoling and poking at her until she pouts and nods. ]

Fine! [ she turns to look up at kon, her face scrunched up in a little scowl while giving him a handful of chocolate bars and lollipops and fudge bits. ]

[kon]

[ phew

the relief that floods his face is instantaneous. thank god this lady was here or else he would still be at a complete loss on what to do. negotiating with children is not his forte.

mouthing a 'thank you' to her, he takes the proffered candies from cindy with a grateful smile before he begins to unwrap each one. most of them look safe to consume as he snaps them in half — at least that is the case until one of the fudge bits. a shiny piece of metal reveals itself within its depth, resulting in a grimace from him at the sight of it. ]

Look. [ he holds it out for the woman to inspect. ] I don't know who's doin' this, but I've been seein' these scattered throughout the bags.

Don't Be A Square

[minuteofangle]

[ The food is borderline inedible even by Gabe's standards, which is actually impressive. After years of choking down MREs, he thought he'd burned out any sense of disgust or shame. He'd taken a small measure of pride from that, though he balanced it out by having Eli around to cook for the team; they ate like fucking kings whenever Eli managed to snag enough ingredients to make a proper meal. And then he ended up here, in Crazyville, where gelatin is the next big thing.

Which is just great, really. He declines the food and finds himself a spot toward the back and that's just that. Gotta get a sense of the terrain, of the people, or he'll never figure this shit out.

Great plan, really. Right up until someone crashes straight into him.

Gabe's first instinct is to snarl and slam right back into the stranger, start a fight. He holds back, standing up straight and glaring at nothing. At least he didn't drop his fucking cane. Be real fun having to grope around on the ground for it in front of everyone. ]

Watch it.

[kon]

Sorry!

[ way to go, kon. ]

I wasn't payin' attention.

[ his gaze drops from the guy's face to the cane in his hand, grimacing slightly. inwardly kicking himself a little, he sounds sheepish as he continues: ] I was just on my way home. [ a lie, but it sounds better than straight up saying that he's trying to ditch the party. ]

[minuteofangle]

[ The voice sounds young. Great, did he just snap at a kid? Teenager? Who the fuck knows these days. Probably a teenager. Sounds about Zee's age, maybe a little older. Gabe tightens his mouth into a thin line. ]

You a local?

[ Or are they dragging kids into this bullshit, too? ]

[kon]

No, I'm not.

[ a beat. ]

I take it that you're not either.

[minuteofangle]

[ Well, look at that. Gabe thins his mouth. ]

Nope.

[ He's been to a whole lot of strange places, but never one quite like this. ]

Can't say I'm a fan of the welcome party.

don't be a square

[collapsar]

[ there's still much to figure out, which she attempts by trying to blend in with the setting as much as she can. being a time traveler means knowing a thing or two about improvising, especially when it comes to messing around in the past.

her name tag easily reads with neat handwriting Clara Oswald ☆ ♥, almost too perfectly written like a school teacher who's crafted tags like these more than a few hundred times. but as she feels the sudden bump behind her, a force that has her lunging chest first into the bowl of pasta salad currently cradled in her hands, the neat tag easily becomes stained with wet clumps of macaroni noodles, along with the rest of the top of her dress.

mouth gaped open from the surprise, she draws the bowl back of her chest, frowning heavily when seeing the damage. ]

I'm ... alright. [ she peers up at the boy, putting on a tight smile. ] Just a little accident. I'll give it a light brush and it'll be as good as new. No worries.

[kon]

[ shit—

he should have been paying better attention to where he was going, but he got distracted when he saw a glimpse of the same man who'd given him the gelatin earlier. ]

I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you.

[ reaching out to grab a couple of napkins from a nearby table, he holds them out to her with an apologetic look. ] I, uh... [ his eyes darts over to mr. gelatin for a split second. ] I was a little distracted, but— if you don't mind, [ he jerks his thumb down the street. ] my house is pretty close by to here. You can use the bathroom to clean up...?

don't be a square

[bisexualdisaster]

[Alex has tried as hard as he can to make his clothes look anything resembling cool, but there's only so much he can do. Yeah, his button down shirt is untucked from his (oh god kill him) khakis, and he's got his (extremely boring, unpatterned) tie loose and casual. He's not wearing a jacket, and he's borrowed his "wife's" hair gel to give his hair the exact right amount of messy, but it's still all so horribly boomer that he wants to die.

So when he sees a dude in a leather jacket, he can't help but let out a wistful groan.]

Where did you get your jacket? I want to burn everything in my closet.

[kon]

[ it seems that he got lucky in contrast to so many others. his closet is relatively tasteful even if it does need a bit more work. ]

Found it in my room, but I know what you mean. I've got some pretty questionable sweaters.

don't be a square

[loomingterror]

[Kon wasn't the only one roped into this celebration that kept getting disapproving looks for appearing more than a little out of place in this era.

Ickis might not have had much of a choice in how his human form had taken shape, but he'd certainly had a say in taking shears to his hair, bleaching it and "fixing it" with the sticky sugary color packets that had been in the pantry, leaving himself looking more like one of the 90's crust punks he's admired back in his own world. As if changing his own physicality would somehow separate him from the human in the photos of "his house", or at the very least that making this body in any way similar to his own might make him feel even the slights bit more at home in it.

It didn't. It mostly just made the humans stare. Same with his habit of only ever seeming to wear the one ratty, moth-eaten polyester sweater and tattered grass-stained jeans, both of which had probably been at the back of his closet for a good reason. And unfortunately, he didn't have any understanding that he stylistically didn't fit in, so the staring just made the already anxious teen all the more intimidated by these smiling too chipper humans who only seemed to frown at him, like they knew he wasn't really one of them.

So, also much like Kon, he'd tried to bail on the town gathering early, trying to sneak off around back of one of the nearby buildings, and while shooting nervous, paranoid glances over his shoulder he doesn't see the other boy until they've collided.]

I-It's fine! I'm fine. [Stumbling back he takes a shaky breath or two to try and steady his nerves. Rubbing the shoulder he'd bumped into the other teen with he adds under his breath-]...Fine being very relative.

[kon]

[ it looks like he ran (quite literally) into someone who might just be in the same boat as him.

it's kind of a relief that there are more people who are willing to risk the judgmental stares for a bit more individuality in their attire. ]

Trying to get the hell out of here too?