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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.
Mr. Peanutbutter | BoJack Horseman
The blankets are the first thing Mr. Peanutbutter notices as he wakes up. They're a welcome distraction from that creepy dream. Have they always been this soft? As Mr. Peanutbutter works to untangle his legs from the bedsheets, he realizes they feel different against his... skin. He has skin now?
After stumbling out of bed - a bed he realizes is not the circular bed he's had for years - he makes his way to a nearby mirror. Staring back at him isn't the lovable face of a playful yellow lab - instead, it's a human face with strange features. If they could, his ears would shoot straight up.
Beyond his own reflection in the mirror, he realizes this isn't his room. After he leaves the room to explore, he realizes this isn't his house. Shaking his head, he mutters to himself in quiet disbelief:]
Am I the lead single to Talking Heads' fourth studio album? Because I may find myself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. And I may ask myself... "How did I get here?"
[At least his quirky references remain intact.]
[II. Don't be a square
If not for the party hat that's just been shoved on his head, one might assume Mr. Peanutbutter is one of this town's strange inhabitants already. He's eagerly scarfing down the gelatin they've prepared, laughing at everyone's jokes (and delivering some solid zingers of his own), and making friendly conversation.
Sure, none of them seem to be familiar with his filmography or clever references, but what can he say? He likes parties! At one point mid-conversation, he spots something out of the corner of his eye. It couldn't be - ]
Erica? Erica!
[It seems Mr. Peanutbutter believes he may have spotted an old wallflower friend of his from back home. He lets out a bark of jovial laughter.]
Man, I guess this place'll abduct just about anyone, huh?
[At which point, this old dog will disengage and try to slip through the crowd of people. Chances are he may bump into you along the way, or once he gets to his destination, it's possible he may have actually mistaken you for his old acquaintance! Whoops.]
[III. At some point in October
Perhaps you've decided to try and investigate this town with Mr. Peanutbutter. As you make your way through the neighborhood together, he gladly shares his findings with you.]
Okay, okay, so I get that we're in California, and the year is 1951. It's nice and brisk outside, and there's leaves scattered all over the place. According to those cartoons on TV, we're only weeks away from Halloween, so that must mean... it's either October or January.
[It makes sense in his head. Just trust him on this one.]
[IV. Always respect the dead
The jingle abruptly ends, cutting off the small tinny voice trying to speak through the bursts of static. Mr. Peanutbutter stares, mouth agape, at the television before lighting up as bright as a jack o'lantern - ]
Wow. That was pretty ominous!
[ - if only its candle were lit. There's a sharp knock at the door, and Mr. Peanutbutter's grin grows wider. He strolls towards the front door, a big bowl of candy in hand.]
Now who could that be?
[Hopefully the grubby little fist that punches straight through the window is enough of a hint for the others in his household.]
[V. Wild card
Got something else in mind? Feel free to PM this journal to plot, or just hit me with your best shot here!]
III (oh my god i love you please let me be your todd standin)
Wise in the fact that they are sharing one braincell and neither has a particularly tight grip on it. But, you know, Osomatsu's not going to realize that. He's listening, nodding along.]
Right. Weeks away from Halloween...
[He nods quickly.]
You're right. That's when they always replay those sorts of things, when people have nothing to do. January. But here's the thing - I talked to someone the other day to try to get a sketch for what people know. One of them brought up going to Boston like it was nothing. You can't go to Boston in January! You go to Boston in the fall!
So it's gotta be October, right? That's the only explanation.
[...]
Unless that guy was in on it.
[Never put it past a guy who suggests travel vacations he never intends to go on.]
PB Livin' is back in business
He does raise an interesting theory, though. Could someone be lying to them about what month it is? This Hollywoo star can't help but wonder...]
This individual you were talking to. They aren't a mailman, by chance. Are they?
no subject
He didn't look like he skipped leg day. So it's a possibility. A strong one.
Are the mailmen in on something???
[He's never trusted them, anyway...that's why he's never won any sweepstakes, he's sure. Even home, the mailmen and their sabotage!]
no subject
[His expression darkens uncharacteristically. "Sad Dog" memes aside, he generally presents himself as pretty content and carefree. Unless mailmen are concerned.]
I don't trust them.
II
Watch where you're going!
no subject
Ohmygosh! Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry. I thought - [He trails off, then frowns, realizing:] You're not Erica.
[Erica's scar looks way different.]
no subject
[She looks him up and down.]
You from here?
no subject
Now, when you say "from here," do you mean "from California?" Because I'm from California. [Technically he's from the Labrador Peninsula, but details.] Or do you mean from... here?
[As in, this town specifically.]
no subject
From here, [she specifies, and looks him up and down.
It's plausible.]
no subject
[He animatedly shakes his head, a dopey smile returning to cross his face.]
I'm from LA! Also from about 60 years from now, so that's been an adjustment!
III
[And someone so enthusiastically sharing must know what he's talking about, right?]
I see.
So January comes after October, which ends with this Halloween event?
[Gods help him.]
no subject
That's why January makes the most sense.
[If only Todd was here to help Mr. Peanutbutter with this abridged elevator pitch - he's such a professional.]
no subject
[Fascinating!]
Is Halloween celebrated at the end of January too?
[He is going to make sense of this!]
no subject
It is now, my friend. It is now.
no subject
[Someone is going to be very confused at the end of January. Erwin decides to change the subject.]
Do you know much about California?
no subject
[He muses this on a moment before shaking his head, deeming it unimportant.]
Never mind, doesn't matter. What do you want to know?
(no subject)
II
[ Haruhi had been holding a plate of gelatin, idly trying to figure out the best way to respectfully decline before she's bumped, straight up accidentally dropping the gelatin on the ground.
As one of the ladies comments and offers another helping, she waves it off, saying she'll have some more in a moment. But first! ]
You there, stop!
[ As she's pointing across right at him. He might've been one of them, he might not, but one thing's for sure. He looks suspicious and is moving around like he's suspicious! ]
no subject
There's something about this girl's sharp, disciplinary tone of voice that makes this dog stop right in his tracks. When he turns to face her, his goofy grin has been wiped clean.]
Me? [He gestures to himself.] Did I do something wrong?
II (What is this, a crossover episode?)
Okay, so, this place... sucked. It felt like the whole world had jumped back to when his parents were younger and miserable. And that irony wasn't lost on him, because here he was... old and miserable. Mostly because of this shitty gelatin that they kept pushing at Bojack. Maybe also because of the dumb almost mandatory block party happening that he wasn't allowed to ignore. Maybe also also because of his new face. Or maybe he was just cursed to be miserable forever. Whatever the reason, Bojack wasn't having a good time.
So, color him surprised when he heard the one voice that didn't carry a lot of baggage. As always, that voice was yelling for Erica, who Bojack honestly considered as an Eldritch Horror at this point from his disconnected knowledge of her as secondhand Mr. Peanutbutter anecdotes. Ah, forget Erica! "Mr. Peanutbutter? Wait, Mr. Peanutbutter!" He could not believe he was chasing after this dog... er, human now, he guessed. Whatever.
He weaved his way through the crowd, stopping to pant. "Ugh, god, I am... I am still out of shape! Man, this does not get easier." He stops to take a drink at a stand, immediately spitting it out. "Ugh, what is this, honeydew juice? It is not better in juiced form!" With no refresher (honeydew, ugh), he continued trying to flag down that elusive dog. "Mr. Peanutbutter!" Human. "Goddammit, stop trying to find Erica!" Whatever. "Mr. Peanutbutter!"
YES
"Is that BoJack Horseman?!" His sense of smell wasn't quite the same with this new nose, but that didn't stop him from trying. Pushing his senses as far as this weird new body would allow him, he scanned the crowd for the source of this voice calling his name until finally, he found him.
The hastily discarded cup of honeydew juice beside him was a dead giveaway. It was strange, but even with a different body, BoJack had a long face that Mr. Peanutbutter would recognize anywhere. Grinning like a lunatic, Mr. Peanutbutter made his way towards his 'best friend.'
"BoJack Horseman and Mr. Peanutbutter, flung through time to the same mysterious town - " Without warning, he grabbed at BoJack's cheek, squeezing it much in the same way Nana Peanutbutter might. " - with unusual new human bodies - " He pulled back, gesturing to their surroundings with a dramatic wave of his arm. " - mingling at the same neighborhood welcome party at the same time?! What is this?!"
Hopefully BoJack felt the need to interrupt before this joke could be finished for what must be the millionth time.
no subject
And just like that, Bojack was cringing as Mr. Peanutbutter pinched his cheek. He swatted at the hand, but it was already gone by the time his dead reflexes kicked in. Bojack rubbed his cheek while rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, crossover episode, blah blah, whatever. Isn't this place the weirdest shit ever? I do not want a family! I can barely take care of myself!" And family was shit. Except, uh, Hollyhock. But that was its own can of worms.
He stared at Mr. Peanutbutter and sighed. "I can't actually believe that I'm..." Bojack could not tell Mr. Peanutbutter that he was happy to see him. Absolutely not. He'd never live it down. "... standing in the middle of the dumbest throwback crossover ever, guest starring: Mr. Peanutbutter." Ugh, kill him. This sucked. Everything sucked. Was it too late to just say he was happy to see the guy?
no subject
"I'll admit, the time travel did throw me a little," he conceded. (Remarkable that this was about all he was willing to concede at this point.) "But I'm no stranger to historical fiction. I was a recurring guest star on Downton Abbey, you know!"
You heard him correctly, BoJack. Mr. Peanutbutter's butt was the first thing audiences in the UK (and everywhere) would see in those fabled opening credits.
no subject
"But, I don't think this counts as 'historical fiction'. Doesn't that hinge on the fiction part? Unless this is the creepiest and sketchiest method acting exercise." Just a bunch of actors, standing around on a street... changing animal people to human people... doing 60's things. Everything about this just rubbed Bojack wrong. And not in the way where he's avoiding actual problems. This was actually wrong.
no subject
at the same time, and all of this was alarmingly real, then Mr. Peanutbutter should have been much more scared of all this than he was at this moment. Then again, almost everyone in town that Mr. Peanutbutter had run into up until now adored him.And at the end of the day, Mr. Peanutbutter didn't feel the need to think too deeply about any of this just yet.
"BoJack, relax," he coaxed his friend. "The human stuff's weird, but the food's delicious and these people love us. Do you know what they said when I showed up here tonight? They said I was their guest of honor! Can you believe it?"
Never mind the fact that the others at this party likely told BoJack the exact same thing.