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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.
sam winchester | supernatural
[ Sam's been here before.
Well, not exactly this place, or this house, but everything about this situation feels eery, like he's done this all before and it's got him more than a little on edge. How many times have he and his brother seen the what-if's, the too-good-to-be-true's? There's always some supernatural explanation for this, another jinn maybe, or an undead scientist injecting them with drugs (that 'magic mojo') to distract them.
Which means one thing — he's gotta find his brother.
Sam's shirt, decidedly not plaid, feels too tight, too scratchy, and he's wearing glasses now, because of course he is; it's bizarro world. He heads down a hall of photographs he doesn't remember taking, of moments he doesn't remember having, notes a colourful invitation flyer left on the table by the keys, and pulls open the front door. Stepping out onto his lawn for the first time since he'd woken up, he gets a pretty cheerful view of his neighbourhood: houses neatly lined in rows, the bright sun and blue skies, and speckled across perfectly manicured lawns are are tables and umbrellas strewn about to indicate — what did that flyer say? A block party? Could be an opportunity to figure out what the hell was going on here.
He's swept up in the festivities pretty quickly, even while he does his best to politely nod and smile and move out of the way, always surveying the lawns for a familiar face. Plates of chips and other inedible foods are passed into his hands, and eventually he'll wind up with a dorky looking hat atop his head.
Truly, this is the worst day of his life.
It's maybe about forty to forty-five minutes of being bounced from lawn to lawn before he finally manages to catch a moment to himself, finding someone — you — who doesn't quite look like they belong either. It's the only lead he's got so far, so. ]
Hey — you haven't happened to see a guy named Dean around here by any chance?
❚❚❚❚❚ always respect the dead
Grab anything, grab whatever you can find — [ Sam's voice is calm, collected, almost relieved that all the long, too-cheerful days have finally led to this. This is something he's used to, this is something he can handle; can understand. All the other stuff? Maybe when he was a kid, he'd fantasized about the 'perfect suburban life' but that was a long time ago. Back when he hadn't dealt with apocalypses and demons with yellow eyes, angels — and literal God. This is his reality, and honestly? It feels good to be back in it.
The doorbell rings, the sound so goddamned normal, this whole situation feels a little comical, and if Dean were here he'd absolutely crack some inappropriate joke much to Sam's chagrin. Thing is, Sam thinks he'd take that brief moment of levity, if only to bring familiarity to the situation. Instead all he's got is an eery message from the television set still echoing in his head, something about — ]
Wait, wait. Hold on. What'd the TV say earlier? Something about the pumpkins.
[ Some time later, he's got the beginnings of a gameplan, and he'll explain it to you. Together, you've got to light the pumpkins long enough for the swarm of zombie kids to back off, and then while you stay put, Sam will head off to find help, or at the very least — a better weapon than a chair leg he'd broken off from one of the set in the dining room. ]
Keep the pumpkins lit. I won't be gone long. [ And then, mumbled under his breath: ] I hate Halloween.
❚❚❚❚❚ wildcard
[ as always, feel free to manipulate the prompts to fit whatever you have in mind, or leave something completely different below! i'm down for whatever. hmu to plot something by way of
respect the dead
Right now, she looks up in alarm. ]
You're going out there?
no subject
[ No big deal, like it hadn't even occurred to him that there are swarms of zombie children in costume, just hungrily ripping people apart outside.
And all he's got is a chair leg.
Okay, maybe he needs something else. He finds a metal poker by the fireplace, which seems a little more formidable against whatever's outside. ]
Are you gonna be okay?
no subject
I don't know. They didn't cover undead children in grad school.
[ But she does know that she would really rather not be left alone here. ]
What is it you're hoping to find out there?
no subject
[ Yes, Sam's got a real skill with instilling confidence in others, especially when he's got absolutely no idea what he's dealing with here.
Truthfully he's not even sure regular bullets will work on these things, but it's better than nothing. ]
Those — those things. Okay, what do we know about them so far?
(no subject)
(no subject)
don't be square
He's lucky enough that the neighbors have all wandered off to their next victim by the time he arrives, though Cortana's smile has a bit of a tired edge to it as she speaks.]
Hm, maybe. Is your Dean about this tall--[A gesture vaguely above her head and closer to his height than hers, being that she's. Pretty short.]--and grumpy enough to consider homicide when the neighbors keep bringing jell-o to the front door?
[Said as if there's possible another Dean in town who's not liable to consider murder as a solution. Wouldn't that be something?]
no subject
Maybe things will start to make a little more sense now. And if not, at the very least, he won't have to worry where Dean disappeared to while he wound up here. ]
Yeah. That's him, all right. [ His mouth quirks. ] When and where did you last see him?
no subject
Well. No use dwelling on that missing person in her life now.]
This morning, and back that way. [A gesture over her shoulder at one of the many identical houses down the road. Her sense of direction is still screaming at her.] If I had to make a guess, he's probably as far away from the jell-o as he can get, so. [Shrug.] Probably looking for supplies to make a mold out of someone's face. He was pretty adamant about that, too.
(no subject)
(no subject)
Don't be a square
He too was handed all kinds of weird food and a hat. He's never had neighbors like this or block parties, although he's pretty sure it's not supposed to be as bizarre as this too. It's very Stepford Wives, how he feels at the moment. But he's the woman who gets all confused about the other wives.
He looks awkward and uncomfortable in these Leave It To Beaver-ish clothes and he misses jeans and he is trying to get away from others until some guy approaches and he sighs. Oh god what now. Oh wait. He seems ... huh. ]
Uh no, not that I've noticed, but if he's one of these people. [ He waves his plate that he hasn't touched toward the others. ] I don't know any of their names.
no subject
[ That, Sam can be 10,000% sure of. In a place like this, Dean really would stick out like a sore thumb, and in most places that tends to get them into more trouble than it's worth. It does make him wonder if ... no. He's not going to go down a path in which he's left in this place on his own. Dean's gotta be around here, somewhere. He'll just have to figure out the rest of this place until then.
He gives Desmond a quick study, feeling a kind of kinship to someone here who also doesn't feel at home in this too-perfect, uncanny caricature of a place. It's good not to be completely alone, even if he can't be sure he can trust him yet either. Hunter's instincts and all that. ]
He's my brother, actually. [ No harm in that truth. ] I think we got separated coming here.
no subject
[ Eat them, do weird shit to, who knows what it is. Desmond isn't necessarily walking up to them and accusing anyone of things, but it's pretty easy to tell the difference between the two of them and the others. Desmond stands out with his bulky frame not fitting in the clothes, bad slouched posture, a distinct scar upon his lip, the barest peek of a tattoo at the end of his sleeve, and general lack of giant pod person smile.
They have that in common at least. They don't belong. It's a relief. And cool, if his brother is here that makes another non-pod person. Desmond's starting to think they might need to make a little crew of those and figure out the deal. ]
It's not a huge suburb. You could probably knock door to door. Or just walk around calling his name. [ Desmond shrugs. ] These weirdos won't notice.
always respect the dead
whether or not tonight is when it's all catapulted to its full peak or meant to get far worse, she's quick on her toes to figure out the vein of the mystery, all too eager to get her hands dirty and get down to the bottom of the peculiarities that continue to escalate — and the zombie-like children that seem to be hovering about the front yard is miles peculiar.
clara has the box of matches clutches in her hand, one match unlit but ready when needed in her other as she hovers behind sam once he begins to arm himself. ]
Wait, you're not intending on leaving me behind, are you?
[ is she much of a fighter? well, no, but she has more uses than just huddling behind furniture and playing guard. ]
If we're out to figure out this thing, we're doing it together.
no subject
Jesus. Harmless so far, they're just scanning the porch; if they can get to the pumpkins, they'll have a chance. ] — it's dangerous out there. We don't know what we're dealing with yet.
[ He pulls back, drops the chair leg for something with a little more heft and hopefully more use against the creatures outside. There's a fireplace poker — are they weak against iron? We'll see — and comes back to join Clara. ]
It'll be safest in here where they can't — [ There's a sudden, loud crash! as glass shatters into the living room, a small greyish fist poking through the broken window before it clambers forward to climb inside, its friends squelching right behind it.
Shit. ] Okay, new plan. We're getting out of here.
always respect the dead | cw: vomiting
she spends the time in between gathering could-be weapons listening to everyone - their reactions to it all, if they've dissolved into inconsolable messes or are keeping their heads or are comforting others. she's doing her best to learn what she can in between bouts of retching from the poisoned candy she'd ingested before knowing what was happening, and the tall guy sounds like he's had some experience with this before waking up in pleasantville.
he announces he's going out and she stands, looking the crowd over before making her way to him. ]
You'll need backup. I'm coming with you.
no subject
[ Sam's voice is calm and understanding. He'd seen her trying to hold it together while he was busy salting the doors and windows — much to everyone else's confusion. He'd been lucky he hadn't had a piece of that cursed candy, but not everyone was. ]
Those things out there are strong. We don't know how strong, or how to kill them yet, but it's best that we don't take chances.
[ No one in this house is dying, not on his watch. ]
no subject
Yeah, chances like going out on your own to fight against whatever those things are. I can help, let me help. The people here will be fine if they stay put.
don't be a square | cw: mention of death/murder/suicide
At first, she considers offing herself or putting herself in some situation that'll get herself killed, by accident or purpose, but nothing about this particular day is familiar. There's no dorm room, no Carter, Ryan busting into the room with an inappropriate comment... Death probably won't solve this and might actually be permanent, so she abandons the idea fairly quickly.
Luckily — or perhaps unluckily — she stumbles across the invitation to the block party shortly after that and figures if she can't beat 'em, might as well check out their creepy event. By the time she's got a ridiculous party hat strapped to her head and a sixth plate of questionable gelatin shover into her hands (she's discarded the past five), Tree's about to call it quits.
She's poking at the food with a fork, nose curled in disgust when someone addresses her. ] No. [ She looks up from the plate, scowl fading somewhat because he looks as uncomfortable about this whole thing as she does. ] But it's not like I've been making the rounds or anything. I can keep an eye out, if you want?
no subject
[ Even Sam can admit he hasn't been particularly thorough with his search, but Dean isn't exactly the kind of person who could blend in with this crowd. The apple pie life was never in the cards for either of the Winchester brothers, but if forced to blend in, Sam would do a hell of a lot better than his older brother. No offence to him. ]
He'll be pretty easy to spot. About this tall — [ There's a gesture to a shorter height than Sam's very tall one. ] — he'll probably be yelling at someone, maybe threatening to throw a punch. [ This is spoken with fondness as he glances towards the crowd at large like he might catch sight of a fight breaking out; yeah, the Winchesters are weird. A lifetime of hunting probably skewed his humour.
He turns his attention back to Tree. ] Uh — he might hit on you. He does that. [ And then because his summary makes Dean sound like kind of a dick, Sam chuckles under his breath. ] Wow, I'm not doing a very good job of making you want to help me, am I?
no subject
Vastly different reasons, of course, but when you keep dying and reliving the same shitty day, maybe it's to be expected that your humor takes on an edge that wasn't there before.
The question gets a laugh as she looks back towards Sam, her shoulders lifting in a noticeably unphased shrug. ] Honestly? I'd welcome shit like that over the sickening fakeness of all of this. [ She gestures with her gelatin-covered fork to the crowd around them. ] I feel like I stepped into some 1950s sitcom.
wildcard—
bad news? well, bad news happens to be right behind him. he may or may not have inadvertently collected a band of merry undead kids as he attempts to help anyone who's still caught outside at this hour of the night. kon fully plans to return to his house asap, but unfortunately, his house is, well... okay, to be perfectly honest here? he's lost.
yep. he's definitely lost and normally that wouldn't be a problem because normally he can just fly, except— he can't fly and he can't do anything but run.
not a problem either, of course; except— yeah, yeah okay, more zombie children in front of him. he really hates to do this, but since he can't go through the front doors right now, maybe he can try to enter someone's house through the back and, y'know, hope they're home and a pumpkin's lit.
so, right. sorry whoever lives here, but please open the door? he's banging on it pretty loudly as his eyes darts behind him at the advancing group. ]
Anyone home?! Can you let me in please? I've got a bit of a situation out here!
no subject
But if there's one thing he knows right now, the current threat is a bunch of waterlogged zombie kids, and anyone yelling for help isn't someone he's going to turn down.
Firepoker in hand, he pulls open the front door, grabs the young man (not a kid, exactly, and thankfully not a zombie either) by the arm, and pulls him in before shutting the door and flicking the lock. A useless gesture, sure, but it's better than nothing.
He glimpses out the sidelight by the front door to check on the status of his lit pumpkin. They'll be okay for a while. ]
You okay? You hurt?
no subject
Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks. [ following after the man to the living room, he peeks out the window at the small mob loitering on the lawn. ] I almost thought that I would have to fight a buncha undead kids if you weren't home.
sup bro
of course, as it turns out, it's not hard to spot his giant nerd of a brother in a crowd of average whitebread suburbanites. and, honestly, thank fuck for that. it's a relief to finally see something in this town that makes sense.
he makes his way through cheery faces, returning their greetings with a tight smile but pushing his way forward nonetheless. he doesn't have the patience to be polite. )
Sam! ( he waves as he closes in, nodding in the direction of an area that's slightly less populated with their nosy neighbors, knowing sam will be quick to drop whatever conversation he's tied up in to follow him. )
no subject
[ That voice is unmistakable, and more importantly, it's what he'd been hoping to hear since he'd arrived in this creepy neighbourhood. Whatever gossip he'd been pretending to be interested in (something about Karen Miller's casserole) doesn't even register anymore — it's in one ear and out the other, a quiet chattering in the background of everything. He turns back to the group, clears his throat, and quickly exits the conversation with a, 'Sorry, excuse me' before he heads in Dean's direction, pulling the party hat off his head in the process and shoving it into his pocket. ]
Dean. [ There's a relieved exhale. Before they can head anywhere else, Sam's just going to pull his brother into a tight hug.
Because he has to. ] It's good to see you, man.
→ don't be a square
Normally, putting up a facade of a perfect marriage isn't difficult for her. She's had years of practice covering for men more unpleasant than the one she'd woken up to; in fact, the man masquerading as her husband here has been surprisingly helpful, if a bit strange. Kinda gruff. (But that's understandable and the bar is so low it's practically in hell.) But everything about this is fucking weird and surreal, and this is her first real foray into the world beyond her new home, so she feels a little... lost.
It must show on her face. She thinks that's why this man singles her out and God, she's not ready for another mindless conversation about what her husband does for a living, but then he says the name of the guy she's supposed to be married to, and Beverly looks up at him with open surprise and clear recognition. ]
Dean? [ There could be a couple Deans in this neighbourhood. It's a common name. But she doesn't know if this guy is one of them or someone like her, so she wets her lips and changes tack slightly, almost teasing except it doesn't quite reach her blue eyes. ] I see him every day. He is my, uh, [ God help her, ] husband. [ The name pinned to her dress reads BEVERLY, definitely not someone from their world. ] Unless you mean — a different Dean?