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

[chromiums]

[ look, she knows they're ugly, but they're sufficient enough covering in an unfamiliar environment to make her feel less vulnerable. bonus, the pattern doesn't remind her of a prison uniform!

it's not until the kid almost chokes on his bite that lorna notices what he's eating and she makes a face at it, clearly indicating her disgust. all the food that was apparently delivered here and he picked the grossest possible option? ]

I'm not sure anyone should be eating whatever that is. [ look, she's had to survive on a lot of food that would be considered less than appetizing if you weren't on the run or in prison, but a line has to be drawn somewhere and she's pretty sure mixing jell-o and meat is leaping over it. ] So you didn't hear or see anyone dropping it off? Or let anyone in?

[webdesigned]

( is that to say his does remind her of a prison uniform? a preppy prison, maybe. no, this is too country club to be yard fashion. this pajama set is probably nicer than anything he owns, truth be told. and his closet (more accurately, the closet in the room he woke up in) is more of the same, which was really why he hadn't changed. he's not ready to face the world dressed like Mr. Rogers.

look... he doesn't have a good excuse. it's a dream, why not eat the nightmare food? his aunt is a terrible cook, so his taste buds are used to strange concoctions? the point is, even when presented with better options, he took the worst one. mostly grim curiosity. curiosity is bad for cats but nobody ever said anything about spiders. )

Um, ( he says, feeling unprepared for a genuine interrogation in what feels like a dreamstate. Peter rubs at an eye, as if that could make him more awake. it doesn't seem to. ) I heard the doorbell. I'm not sure who answered the door. Or why any of this is here. Sorry, uh... what's...

( he stalls, a little. it feels wrong to ask the name of someone he's in at least two dozen family portraits with. but Peter doesn't recognize her beyond her face, no matter what the idyllic family home implies. should he pretend to know who she is for the sake of a dream? yes it's his dream (presumably), but Peter would feel bad to upset even dream projections unprovoked. he can't help but feel this is a bizarre, surreal dream. there's not a lot of evidence to the contrary, after all. )

[chromiums]

[ no, it's to say that she's worn a few uniforms of her own in her day. some very recently, in fact.

lorna surveys him with her arms crossed for a minute or two, waiting for him to finish, probably looking a lot more authoritative than she's meaning to when she feels this out of her element. (possibly literally. they're in a kitchen with dozens of metal objects around them, hidden and on display, and she can't feel any of it.) when he stops just shy of asking her for her name, she relents, letting her arms fall to the side. ]

It's Lorna. [ not 'mom', in spite of whether or not he thinks that. maybe assuming that he does is safer, but instinct tells her that he doesn't. ] What's yours?

[webdesigned]

( oh, no worries. he was not going to call her mom. maybe that's what he's supposed to think, what with the family legacy uncomfortably spread down the staircase and any stretch of wall available. but she's too young, despite the impressively commanding posture and tone. technically Peter remembers his mother, in vague little snippets, memories of a child. really, when he thinks of his mother, he thinks of Aunt May.

and his present company isn't Aunt May. nothing against her.

his shoulders soften slightly from the anxious, defensive line when she offers a name, instead of some dialogue that implied familiarity, or that something was wrong with him for not remembering the obvious. it makes Peter feel a little less alone in this expansive kitchen covered in Midwestern delicacies. )

Peter. ( it's such a relief that she seems to be on a similar wavelength that he is. he abandons his spoon in the jello salad, not willing to go for another bite. ) Lorna. Okay. ( should he say "nice to meet you"? it feels weird, so he doesn't say it. ) Have you seen anyone else? From the, er. Pictures?

[chromiums]

[ lorna's only got a lullaby to remember her own mother by. her aunt had also ended up raising her, and now she's raising her daughter, too. for very different reasons than why she'd been left in her custody, but it still hurts, especially since she has no way of knowing if she and marcos will survive the world when it's more dangerous for mutants than ever.

but thinking about dawn and marcos and the world she's left them in is going to lead to her mind going to very bad places. better to focus on figuring out what the hell is going on, and hopefully how to get out of here. ]

No. Not yet. I think there was a father figure here earlier, but I woke up alone.

[webdesigned]

( better to figure out what the hell is going on, sure, but Peter has no clue where to start on that front. hell, he doesn't even totally know if what is happening right now isn't a surreal, admittedly bizarre dream. he doesn't need an explanation for a dream — they're weird, and he doesn't put a lot of stock in dream theory. it's not nearly scientific enough to earn his interest. and if this is a dream, then does it matter that much what they do?

if there was a quick way to wake up, that'd be great. sadly, disgusting jello casserole hadn't been enough to shock him awake. so that option is out. )

You're the first I've seen, ( Peter muses, dark eyes scanning the kitchen. ) But someone has to be here, right? Otherwise, how did all this get — ( his knock is interrupted by a sharp rap at the door, somehow cutting through the room even though they're not particularly near the front door. )

[chromiums]

[ lorna seems about to say something, but then the knock sounds at the door and she turns, immediately attempting to conjure her powers (but she can't, she can't feel anything in the room, much less try to make it move) and looking to the door. or in the general direction of where the door is. ]

I'm gonna see what they want. [ she looks around for something innocuous to turn into a weapon if she ends up needing it and ends up finding a spatula, metal with a plastic handle. she nods to peter, indicating for him to stay put, before she starts towards the door, slowly inhaling and exhaling before she opens it. ] Hello?

[webdesigned]

( Lorna isn't the only one noting powers that are usually there, aren't there. Peter startles, despite the fact he should have sensed it before it happened. spider senses, and all. and while the smothering voice in his head points out that he doesn't need to have superpowers in a dream, the rest of him can't help but note the absence. even if he doesn't know enough to be entirely weirded out by it yet.

Lorna grabs a spatula and nods in his direction. maybe that's a hint that he's supposed to stay put. Peter doesn't recognize it as one, and follows after, too curious to stay put. he does not go wielding a spatula, though.

outside the door is a perfectly dressed lady, with a smile wider and brighter than he'd ever thought possible. and she's holding a platter of... some kind of casserole? ) Welcome, welcome! I thought I'd bring you a little something to greet you to our block. ( she holds it, dementedly, in Lorna's direction. ) You and your boy look starving!

( Peter can't help it, he chokes audibly on his desire to point out that he's not at all affiliated with the woman he's ... admittedly standing in a picturesque suburban house with. there's even an uncanny valley portrait of their little "family" directly next to him, which would for sure limit the believability of that statement. so he says nothing... though the weird noise he just made isn't quite the same as being silent. )

[chromiums]

[ it was, in fact, a hint to stay put, and lorna doesn't look pleased that he didn't take it. she'd wanted to make sure things were safe and she still doesn't know if they are. but she can see the silhouette of the person who'd rung the doorbell and knows that they already know she's approaching the door. her grip on the spatula's handle tightens before she answers.

outside is an impeccably dressed woman, who shoves a still-warm casserole dish into her arms. she earns a raised eyebrow from lorna at her assumption that peter's her son (and an audible choking on air from peter) before she schools her expression into something that's hopefully sincere enough for the woman to accept. ]

Oh, thank you so much, but we've really got so much from the neighbors already. I don't know how we'll be able to finish it all -

Please, I insist. [ there's a hint of something in her tone, something a little darker in spite of her still cheerful disposition. ] I just spent all morning on it.

[webdesigned]

( Lorna's tone changes impressively to deal with the stranger? neighbor? at their door. Peter's impressed, if only because he has never had much skill in interacting with people in a normal situation, much less when the stakes are high and so bitterly confusing. there's no way he wouldn't blow it, and Lorna manages to keep a level head.

Peter wanders closer to take the dish, uncomfortably glancing down at the casserole. something about it looks wrong, though he can't place what or why. or maybe it's just the poisonous smile the woman is giving them. )

Thanks, this uh... looks like you worked hard on it. ( he managed to say that without swallowing his tongue or making any more strange sounds. progress??? Peter glances at Lorna, hoping she has a good idea to make the oppressively nice lady go away, because he has no clue. they don't have to invite her in, do they??? )

[chromiums]

[ lorna is notoriously terrible at undercover missions, but she can play nice enough until the stepford wife takes the hint and goes away. unless she doesn't. peter ends up taking the dish from her and lorna takes another step forward, trying to put herself between the woman and peter. the woman doesn't seem to notice, just keeps smiling relentlessly at them both. ]

Well, we really do appreciate the hospitality. I'd invite you in, but we aren't even dressed for the day yet, and everything is still just such a mess.

[webdesigned]

( they're clearly two peas in a pod, only barely able to manage in maintaining a cover story. that might not bode well for them right about now, though the eerie stepford lady doesn't seem to imply anything is amiss. though surely a young woman and her practically adult (too old to be hers to begin with) son in their pajamas at mid day is at least a little weird. right?

Peter notes Lorna's positioning, and he's done that move enough to know it's intentional. it's hard to think their well meaning neighbor is a potential threat, no matter how eerie her smile or how unpalatable her casserole, but... honestly, Peter gets the distrust. everything feels so distinctly off it is hard to trust anything. especially an unannounced stranger. the neighbor lady tilts her head at Lorna's attempts to shake her, smile never faltering. )

Of course! You've got so much to do, don't you? Well, take care and I'll see you at the block party tonight! I'll save you a spot at the ladies' table.

( there's a coy wink at that, as if that implies something going straight over Peter's head. with perfectly starched skirts, the lady turns and heads off down a manicured sidewalk. is it weird that Peter ducks his head around the doorframe to glance around their street? ) Whoa, ( he whispers to Lorna, ) it's like a Stepford Simulation out there.

( maybe he shouldn't be saying that out loud, even in a whisper? whoops. )

[chromiums]

Of course. You have a lovely day now, all right?

[ finally, the woman leaves and lorna's smile fades the minute the door shuts. she slides the chain and bolt to lock and looks through the window to make sure the woman really leaves, aware of how close peter is a he does the same thing. she turns hastily to him as he stage whispers how weird their environment is and shushes him, eyes still on the retreating woman.

finally, eventually, she's gone, and lorna's shoulders lower slightly as she exhales with relief. ]

They seemed to know we were new in town. We should check to see if there are announcements in the paper, or any alternate name we're supposed to be going by.

[webdesigned]

( he probably should be at least a little bit bothered by the shush, but it reminds him enough of his aunt that Peter is more cowed than offended. biting his tongue isn't really his strong suit but he does anyway, as the woman walks off with swishing skirts and singsong greetings to other neighbors milling around the street and sidewalk. )

Huh? ( Lorna is definitely about 8 steps ahead of him. hell, Peter is still seriously struggling with the idea this is actually happening, and not some very strange, lurid dream. ) Oh. Okay. Um... maybe the mailbox? Or some lease papers, or something? ( Peter isn't exactly committed to the idea this is reality, but he also isn't going to leave his dream not mom hanging. he's not that kinda kid.

he grimaces as he glances down at the casserole, though. ) This smells terrible. Maybe we should just toss this one.

[chromiums]

[ she's had to do this before. well, not exactly this, but things like it, usually for other mutants until marcos smuggled them over the border. there were times where it couldn't really work as simply, when who they were smuggling looked more obviously inhuman, but in most cases it worked well enough short term. ]

We can check that later. [ lorna's not really eager to venture outside and possibly run into another stepford wife. she looks around for possible drawers to look through, but her eyes settle on peter holding the casserole and her nose wrinkles. ]

Yeah. While we're at it we should probably chuck the Jell-O mold. Did you find anything in there that was mostly edible?

[ she's not really hungry, but he might be. ]

[webdesigned]

( Peter has not had to do this before. or, well, perhaps something similar — he lives his life with the attempt to impress on everyone that he is Normal and that he does not have a double life, and certainly that he does not have any superpowers. he's not honestly that great at it, but, not really having friends or earthly connections does help him get away with it. it seems like there's way too many prying eyes around here for him to scrape by so easily.

or, well, it would. honestly, this still seems like a fever dream, and maybe he had too much nyquil and can't wake up from his bizarre, sleep deprived imaginings. )

Don't you think she'll want it back? ( Peter only asks because he's definitely been sent halfway across Midtown to recover his aunt's bakeware. which presents another problem — there's an entire kitchen's worth of dishes in here, and they don't have any clue who left them in here. Peter uncomfortably dumps the casserole in the trash, nose wrinkling about the smell. why does it smell like sardines, but sweet??? )

Oh. Uh. I didn't really look that much. ( he glances around, and the spread surrounding them seems more oppressive than edible, but surely something is worth consuming. )