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

QUESTIONS

[robbies]

Sans the (former) Skeleton | OTA

[ribticklers]

A; October 1
[Sans is not having the greatest morning.

First of all, his bed is a bed and not a mattress. It's also a lot smaller, so he rolled right off it and onto the floor. Wait, no, first of all falling off the bed meant he's up way earlier than he wants to be. But third of all--or something--he's in a weird room, in a weird house that definitely isn't is. Fourth of all, at some point he realizes he's all weird and squishy and human. A human who needs glasses, apparently, because he can't see a thing unless he's got it held an arm's length away from him.

But he finds some glasses and he puts on the first shirt that he finds in the closet and stumbles outside and--

He sees the sky.

And he just stands there, on the lawn, like a weirdo in bunny slippers, staring up at nothing.]

B; Gelatin Molds
[It's a good thing someone is providing food, maybe. Sans, at least, accepts the gelatin mold with unrestrained glee. You may catch him bringing the thing back in the direction of the house he apparently lives in now, or you may be one of the unlucky people living there too. Either way, Sans is going to shove it in your face.]

Look at this, it's hilarious. [It's like a moldsmal, but made of (maybe) food!]

C; Always Respect the Dead
[It's funny--Sans doesn't realize the problem at first, because while his jack-o-lanterns are terribly made and aggressively lazy (one which is definitely not doing anything to help just has "sans" written on it in marker), he has them lit up for Halloween because that's part of the fun. But there's no way Sans would think to check if they were still lit, especially when he passes out on the couch.

Anyway, that's how Sans wakes up to three very dead-looking kids smashing the front window and trying with more success than he was prepared for to eat his fucking arm, what the hell. At least, for once in his life, he has a size advantage.

He's still trying to process that he's bleeding and what that means as he ducks outside, slamming the door in the faces of the pack of children.]

Do human kids take Halloween this seriously everywhere? [His laugh is half-hysterical. They're going to be climbing out of that broken window again soon, he's sure of it.]

Re: QUESTIONS

[marryonette]

a quick one!

is it possible for el to find a gun of any sort in her house. whether it's "home defense" sort, or hunting sorts, or anything of the like? and what sort of ammunition would present, if any?

Re: QUESTIONS

[robbies]

Unless she was able to obtain a gun from Honeybees' sporting goods department at some point before Halloween, no. The guns for sale there are very simple, being only BB guns, pistols and hunting rifles, in order from least expensive to most expensive. They also sell ammo there, too.

[spaghettimonster]

With the option of time and/or reality distortions, are we free to experiment tagging with multiple people as potential spouses? I'd like to have a top-level or two available for family, and don't want anyone to feel locked in for the whole TDM.

Anduin Wrynn | Warcraft | ota CW: Needles, Razors in later prompt.

[shalamayne]

(arrival)
Help me. Please, help me...

[ Anduin wakes up slowly despite the urgency of the voice he'd just heard, taking his time to come around to the fact he's not where he ought to be. It had only been moments ago he'd been in Stormwind, discussing Old Gods with his advisors before hearing a voice, but that didn't explain why he was suddenly in a comfortable bed staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Anduin reigns in the momentary panic at the thought that this could be an Old God's interference, opting to simply take a breath and try to think this through rationally as he makes a move, sitting on the edge of his bed. Common sense and strategy would dictate at least looking around before causing a scene, to gather what intel he could so making the right decision would come more naturally.

That and the whole place is quiet, it almost feels serene with the way the sunlight filters through the window and that alone is worlds apart from his own home. Even the pyjamas he's wearing are comfortable but also fit as if made specifically for him. Opening the wardrobe shows more outfits, all ones Anduin are unfamiliar with in terms of style yet a glance tells the young King that each one would have no problems in fitting.

Soon enough he's wandering into the kitchen, having managed to slip in to a pair of trousers and a shirt. Anduin feels underdressed but there's nothing more than these, no robes or suits of armour to be donning and a cursory glance around the kitchen lets him know that the strangeness doesn't stop. He can even hear a strange noise coming from the other room, letting him know that there are only so many days until Halloween!]

Hello? Is anyone here?

[ It's better to just speak out loud, to find out just whose abode he's found himself in. If someone else is around then they may just have the answers, that and the idea he's completely alone in whatever bizarre thing is happening is a little unnerving. That is, until, he sees the pictures and the handwritten notes on the fridge. He's in those pictures, there's no mistaking his own face and long blond hair! But even more startling is the fact the writing is his own, instantly recognisable! the sense of strangeness only serves to dig it's claws in all the more and now the sense of panic is starting to make itself known.]

Anyone? What is this place?

(Party Cheese Salad)
[ Anduin still isn't sure what's going on. He had been hoping to look for some kind of a library, a place full of information but instead he's been caught up in a whirlwind of visiting neighbours. Luckily for Anduin he's a King, he's been brought up learning how to constantly meet new people and each time a gift of food shows up he gives his best smile and most gracious thanks no matter how many times he has to say it. That seems to be all he gets though, any comments about another world or such seem to be brushed off as a joke and the oddity of it all doesn't go unmissed.

The latest gelatin tests Anduin's noble poker face, his smile just a little wary as he glances at the creation. Is it edible? He doesn't know, it could be an assassination attempt from the looks of things. Anduin still manages to say thank you before bringing the food in to place on the table along side all the others.]

Would it be rude to declare that I shall not be eating that?

(Checking candy, cw: needles, razors)
[ Anduin gets sent out in a makeshift outfit. He isn't even sure what it's meant to be but some of the residents had seemed encouraging and it would serve a purpose; it covers Anduin's face and lets him look around without others taking notice of him doing as much. No-one so much as bats an eyelid at the tall young man walking around, he only gets generic compliments and piles of candy before he's moved on to the next one. This holiday is familiar at least, something similar is held back home and Anduin pauses by his supposed house to take a bite out of some chocolate, instantly yelping as a needle suddenly digs through the side of his cheek.

He makes a move to heal himself before remembering his powers are gone, there's no connection to the light here and Anduin can't help but grimace, removing his mask to and bracing himself to pull the needle out in one swift move.]

Does anyone have a bandage?

[ Anduin briefly glances towards his bucket of candy, only just managing to spy a razor blade buried amongst the items along with some more needles. How? When?? Whatever it is, someone is out to do some real damage and the thought someone would do something during a time when there are so many small children around....]

What is going on here? [ The nearest person with a candy bucket gets a warning.] Be careful, there are dangerous things in there!

(wildcard)
[ ooc: down with anything, feel free to PM or ping here. Am absolutely down with more family members and the likes too!

As Anduin is nineteen years old he's considered the child of the family even if he's a high king and adult sized.]

[robbies]

Yes, that's fine! The only canon family your character will have is the one they are assigned to when they formally enter the game, so until then, go wild.

Erwin Smith | Attack on Titan | OTA

[13thcommander]

October 1st

[OOC: feel free to be his spouse or one of his kids if that appeals to you!]

[Erwin jerks awake with a start, his entire body contracts as he lunges forward. He nearly brains himself on his knees, and flails out with an arm that isn't there anymore to brace himself. When he fails to catch anything--of course he fails, his right arm is gone now, bitten off by a titan, he has to use his left and his left only--he nearly goes sliding to the floor, and it's only pure good luck that he stamps one foot down and manages to keep from toppling over.]

[Rocks. Flying rocks, filling the sky. Horses screaming, the soldiers around him screaming, the air full of deadly missiles, the city behind him in ruins, and a child's voice... a lost child, crying for help...]

[Erwin shakes his head. Control. Control, he has to control himself, he can't let them see him this way, he has to... he has to...]

[What?]

[Erwin opens his eyes, and takes in his surroundings for the first time. He almost fell because he's in a bed, and the sheets are made of some kind of slippery material, too soft by half. The room is too bright, too homey, too lived in. This isn't a barracks, or a hospital, or even his own quarters. It's someone's home, and he's in their bedroom, wearing pajamas and sleeping in their bed.]

What the hell?

Getting to Know the Neighbors: B

[It's been a few days, and this place, this world, still feels like a bizarre dream. Erwin would think it was the afterlife, except he's still missing his arm, and has nasty scars across his abdomen that he doesn't remember getting. He's been told, by some of the neighbors, who shake their heads indulgently and then thank him for his service, that he'd fought in something called World War II, and that's where he lost his arm, where he got his scars.]

[Except that's impossible. The idea of a world war implies a world, groups beyond the walls, and yet that's exactly what everyone here seems to believe in. They're in some place called California, in the year 1961, which is over a thousand years in the future, and honestly, some of the technology around here feels like it's from a thousand years in the future. Erwin still hasn't gotten used to cars, or the television, with its incessant chanting about something called Halloween.]

[Still, Erwin is going to survive this, and his innate curiosity starts to get the better of him when he makes it a few days without anything attacking him or any obvious danger. And when you're in uncharted, undiscovered territory, the best thing to do is to make a map of it, to figure out where you are and what's going on, so you're ready when things go to hell.]

[A big part of that is getting to know the locals, and so when everyone takes to the streets to celebrate something called a block party, Erwin ventures out to go see what it's all about. He wears clothing from the closet that is apparently his--a shirt so bright blue it's almost blinding, patterned with white flowers--and walks from stand to stand, introducing himself and trying the food.]

Hello, I'm Erwin Smith. I just got to town, and it looks like I'm your new neighbor. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Halloween: B

[Now this is more like it.]

[Erwin had dutifully followed the neighbor's advice and put candles inside carved pumpkins--seems like a waste of food, but it's cool out tonight, and he can take the pumpkins inside tomorrow to figure out how to preserve them--and so when the rotting children descend to the street, his house is left alone. Some of his neighbors, other new people like himself, weren't so lucky, and Erwin watches in horror as a house nearby gets overrun.]

[The children are small, but the swarming behavior is the same. The mindless reaching, the clamoring mouths... Erwin knows this, and knew this place was too good to be true.]

[He doesn't have his horse, or his gear, or the Survey Corps at his back. But he's got a house that the kids are leaving alone, and there's a butcher knife in the knife block in the kitchen. Erwin grabs it, and takes to the street, making a beeline for the house the kids are swarming around.]

Get outside! Come with me!

[The kids are easy enough to bounce aside, but a blow to the back of the neck only staggers them. They get back up and keep coming, and it really is like being in the middle of a nest of tiny titans.]

Get out of there! Now!

( gelatin molds. )

[sunborne]

Gross.

[ daylight makes a face, scooting back as if afraid the... the... the thing he has to call 'food', for lack of a better word, might attack him.

a silly thought, he knows, but he also thought it would be silly to be fully human and yet-

he crosses his arms, frowning at the still(!) jiggling plate with clear trepidation. ] Do you think they actually expect us to eat it? I think there's, like, this rule to this thing. How we're expected to give back the gifter's plates and dishes after eating the food.

Re: QUESTIONS

[marryonette]

gotcha!

follow up question; how likely would they be to sell that to someone who they perceive as a teenage girl, and would she even have access to the money needed to purchase if she could?

gelatin

[13thcommander]

[Erwin is out wandering the neighborhood when someone shoves a gelatin mold in his face. He flails at it, startled, but quickly realizes it's... food?]

What is it?

[He pokes at it, and the way it wobbles is weirdly engaging.]

We're supposed to eat these, aren't we?

[ribticklers]

[Sans keeps wiggling the plate, so the food just keeps wiggling.] We've gotta try it, just look at it! [This is the second time he has demanded this food mistake be looked at. But it's very important to him.] It's one of those culinary adventure things.

[Is it, though?]

Re: gelatin

[ribticklers]

[This is the best worst food he's ever seen, maybe. He's thrilled.] That's the polite thing, yeah? Gotta be neighborly. Make sure we gel with the community. [Puns always intended.]

missing memories, etc.

[hext]

per the premise and FAQ, the characters wake up with their memories gone but still feeling like something is wrong/missing. do their memories ever tug at them like weird dreams or phantom limbs or ideas they can't place during their waking hours, or is it a complete blank, and the characters just have a sinking feeling they don't belong in this town, for some unexplained reason?

( checking candy. )

[sunborne]

Huh-?

[ daylight stops in his tracks, turning to face the person who had spoken to him. much as he's finding himself getting swept up by the hunt for sugary treats, the alarm in their voice, and the warning itself, grabs his attention.

wanting a better look at the guy, day sets down his candy bucket and fumbles with the eyepatch and beard of his cobbled-together 'pirate' costume. it allows his confused yet concerned expression to be more clearly seen- he's... puzzled, clearly, but he's willing to hear him out. ]

What's dangerous?

ᴅᴇᴀɴ ᴡɪɴᴄʜᴇsᴛᴇʀ → sᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ

[righteously]

mi casa es

[ Dean Winchester wakes up careful, but he does not wake up easy. There's an undeniable measure of wariness in his posture, in his eyes, in the silent steps he takes as he navigates through an unfamiliar house. The bed across the room, be it empty or housing a sleeping body, will get a long and scrutinizing look before he creeps away toward the hall. A framed photo of himself catches his attention; grey and tan and white, smiling wider than he has in years, standing with his arm thrown around somebody that distinctly is not his brother. What ultimately pauses his Stealthy Sleuthy Creeping is the jingle playing out on the world's oldest television. His voice comes out in an incredulous whisper. ]

What the hell?

[ Whatever the case, it breaks his silence and therefor all his effort at moving around undetected. After that, anything's fair game. Photo albums get ripped off of shelves and flung open for a hasty and unthorough look at photographs of himself with people he doesn't recognize. Vinyl records get pulled out, scoffed at, and then flung over his shoulder with the air of a man too good for whatever it was he just read.

This distrust and bad attitude will linger for the first several days. You can find him poring over books, photos, any material he can find look for a clue or a discrepancy, looking for anything. Subtly and oh-so-charmingly grilling the neighbors when they come by to drop off food, which he... actually does eat with some amount of gusto for the first couple of days.

Until the gelatin molds. Until the god damn molds. After that his smile becomes strained, shifts to disgust as soon as the door slams shut in Whoever McSally's face, and he flings it onto the dining room table without a speck of care. ]

I swear to friggin' god if I get one more Jell-O mold I'm gonna shoot myself in the face. This is freaking disgusting. Who the hell puts-- is that sour cream? Is that sour cream in a Jell-O mold? That's it, I'm killing everyone. Just. Everyone.

sweet tooth

[ As the days and weeks pass, Dean's attitude calms down to something reasonable — most of the time. He's still relentless in his pursuit of answers, but he does it in an almost impressively charismatic way. He slips in like a chameleon to talk shop with the neighbors, nice hedges Ron. How's that deck coming, Steve? You seen any of those racoons out by the garbage cans? Little rascals. Mixed into the perfectly pleasant conversation are gauging questions about the town. You hear about that bus crash? What was the deal with that guy? Anybody that you can think of he's got beef with? Who's the mayor? Say, you wouldn't happen to know where I can find some town records?

He's even festive on Halloween itself, because ya boi has an unrepentant sweet tooth. Costumeless but also shameless, he strolls on up to a door with a couple trick-or--treaters. Holds out his hand with a beaming smile, accepts his candy bar, and strolls away already ripping the thing open to take a bite.

He makes it all the way to the sidewalk before cursing loudly, freezing, and reaching slowly in to pull a freaking razor blade out of his gums. Blood spreads between his teeth, spills over his lip, and he stares at it in uncomprehending disbelief.

And then rage.

Watch a grown man fling a razor blade and a candy bar onto the ground, then storm right on back up to that house to start pounding on the door. ]

Open up you son of a bitch! What the hell's your problem? So help me god if you don't open this friggin' door—

not today satan

[ He knows what's up as soon as the static on that television starts rising. It brings him a long beat of pause, and then as soon as he gets his shit together he starts tearing open cabinets, flinging cans and spices and boxes of flour out onto the floor in a desperate search for a tube of salt. Thin lines go down in front of the front door, the back door, the windows, anywhere with an opening — he's only part way through the biggest living room window when the knock comes. It freezes him in his tracks, tube still in his hand, unmoving. If anyone's around, they're getting a sharply barked, authoritative: ]

Don't answer it!

[ Salt's abandoned in favor of snatching up the nearby fireplace poker like a bat, and then he creeps around to subtly nudge the curtain enough to see through the gap.

"Trick or treat."

Except their clothes are sopping wet and ragged, falling apart, and their voices — Dean calls out with his back pressed against the wall. ]

We're all out!

[ Not dissuaded, the knocking becomes a pounding. Polite voices become demanding, a cacophony of chanting "Trick or treat," and he sighs quick like he's gearing up for something. ]

Well, it was worth a shot.

[ And then they break through the window. So begins Dean's clearly well-practiced unapologetic technique, bashing in tiny little skulls with the fireplace poker until they overrun the house. He goes staggering across the lawn, searching out patterns, trying to figure out why the hell some houses are getting tagged and others aren't. Along the way, he'll swoop in and whack the heads of any kids attacking civilians. ]

wild card

[ come at me with anything, I love to improvise. hit me up with questions at rifting ]

[sunborne]

I can't not look at it. [ its regally wobbly presence all but demands his attention.

... and much as he shouldn't be eating this stuff, it's not like it'll kill him. not anymore. ] I guess it wouldn't hurt? Auntie Chris was over the moon for this stuff when it was released where I'm from; I always wondered what was so great about this. Stuff.

[ribticklers]

I've never seen food like this where I'm from. [Not on purpose, anyway. When food comes out this wiggly it usually means something went wrong.] So, do we just cut it up or what? Think it'll still wiggle like that?

[13thcommander]

[Sorry, buddy, Erwin comes from a remarkably humorless world, and that pun is going to go straight over his head. Once you teach him the ways of punning, though... oh god, the dad jokes. The endless, shitty dad jokes...]

How?

[Do you just reach out and stick your hand in it and then eat it? Or is this something that requires a fork and knife?]

[Erwin uses his head to gesture behind them.]

My house is over there, if you want to use the kitchen. You can cut yourself a slice of it.

[ribticklers]

[Sans's note to self: make the next pun even more obvious. BUT FIRST: this gelatin.]

If I'm usin' your kitchen, you should get a piece, too. [Also Sans wants to make other people eat this thing too.]

[robbies]

Not very likely, I'm afraid. The age limit to buy a handgun or rifle is 21. However, they will sell her a BB gun without any second thought. Better than nothing, right?

As for whether she has the money to purchase it, well, that's up to you! There might be a few dollars in the piggyback in her room, given to her by her "parents" at some indeterminable point in time (aka, before any of them woke up in Santa Rosita). As well, she might have been able to cobble together the money by doing part-time work in the weeks before Halloween. It's really up to you.

Of course, she can always try her luck and try to steal the gun, but being that it's a relatively busy department store and the guns are behind the counter, her odds of success and her chances of being caught and handed over to the police are 50/50.

[13thcommander]

That sounds like a fair trade.

[Did you know there's this thing in the kitchen called a dishwasher? It does the dishes for you. Amazing invention.]

[Erwin leads the way back to his house, and to the kitchen.]

I'm going to have to ask you to slice and serve it. [Erwin gestures at his empty right sleeve. Something that jiggles that much probably requires two hands.] I'll get the plates ready.

[robbies]

Hi there! There actually isn't any memory loss in the game. The description that there's something terribly wrong is mainly to accentuate the situation's and setting's wrongness, so it should only be treated as flavor text. Characters entering in the game lose all of their supernatural and/or superhuman abilities and are completely humanized, but they otherwise retain their canon memories, personalities and identities.

[sunborne]

... I don't know.

[ he never ate this before. this is new territory for him and everything, because. you know. strict diet and stuff. ]

I guess we can cut it and see what happens next. [ he's already heading into the kitchen, rummaging for a knife and plates. ] What's the worse that can happen?

[ a bad taste in their mouth? that's what water is for. ]

[hext]

omg my bad, i knew i was overcomplicating this in my mind. THANKS MODLY FRIEND.