TDM - JANUARY 2021

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - JANUARY 2021

Good to the last gasp.
CW: gaslighting, potential mentions and depictions of trauma and other problematic material, body horror, dolls, violence

---

“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 outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

---

JANUARY 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, the morning news is playing. The newscaster, a man in a gray suit and horn-rimmed glasses, keeps shuffling his paperwork on his desk as black and white footage of people in the midst of celebration — throwing streamers, wearing paper hats, toasting flutes of bubbly liquid — is interspersed between his droning report: ”New Year's Eve was in full swing last night as citizens from all over Santa Rosita came together to ring in 1961. A surge in ginger ale and sparkling cider beverage sales was reported by Honeybees as early as eight o'clock in the evening, a boon for the store…“

---

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. CLOWN AROUND. If December was a time for sweet treats and good food, January is the month where everyone is trying to unload their leftovers. Who better to enjoy them than you, the newest family on the block? Your neighbors have quite a bit of food to share: Throughout the month, they'll stop by to say hello, bringing a new sugary dish with them each time. As always, jello molds are a staple. One plate turns into three turns into five, and by the end of the first week of January, you're likely to end up with a collection of jiggling pink, green, and orange lumps taking up space in your fridge. From mountains of Whip 'n Chill to Broken Window Glass cake, you'd be forgiven in thinking that there's no end to it. And yet, there's the occasional exception. Someone comes by with a Bundt cake lathered in vanilla icing and topped with rainbow sprinkles. Were it not for the giant candy clown head topping it, it would almost look good enough to eat. "There's a rumor going around that you've been a bit under the weather, so I thought this would cheer you up!" they say, right before thrusting the technicolor nightmare into your hands, the clown's dead pink frosted eyes staring up at you. Your neighbor is quick to tell you to eat it while the icing is still fresh (you never know who might lick it off when you're not looking, eh kids?), but not that the clown itself is made out of styrofoam. That's something you'll just have to find out for yourself when you take it back inside and start chowing down!

B. SNOW DAY

What awakens you one cold Friday morning isn't the blare of your alarm clock or your family getting ready to start their day or even the chilly air that tickles your toes as they poke out from the bottom of your covers, but the sound of hooting and hollering outside your window. The sight that awaits you when you go to investigate is something out of a Norman Rockwell painting: The entire neighborhood is outside, playing and carrying on in the snow. While everyone was sleeping, Santa Rosita got four inches of snow, more than enough for the schools to close but not enough to stop everyone from enjoying it.

And enjoy it they are! Children build snowmen in their front yards while their fathers work on shoveling their driveways. Most, however, are busy erecting snow forts in their yards and the middle of the street, running back and forth as they collect ammunition for an ongoing snowball fight that takes up half of the neighborhood. Nobody is spared from their assault, not even the adults, and especially not the newly arrived ones who leave the house. Good luck getting the mail, mom and dad!

"Come on! There's plenty of snow!" one young boy yells at you over a snowdrift. "You can join my team!"

"Nuh-uh!" another boy shoots back. "You can join my team!"

And on and on it goes. Well, for the pacifists among you, making snow angels is always an option!

---

THROUGHOUT JANUARY.

CW: gaslighting, potential mentions and depictions of trauma, and other problematic material

There’s no business like show business! And business is hopping at the Starlight Drive-In, which has been boasting about its all-new film premiering on January 2nd and playing all month long. The critics are raving, the townspeople are flocking, and plans to go to the drive-in seems to be all anyone can talk about. “Make sure you get there early to see the serials,” many of them suggest, eyes wide with excitement. “I couldn’t look away!” Whether you come with your family, your friends, or simply come on your own, the lot is packed, Robbies and normal townsfolk alike beaming as they hook the individual speakers onto their cars. Apropos of the cold weather, the concession stand has added seasonal items to their menu, serving up hot chocolate and kettle corn in addition to its usual soda and popcorn. Watching a movie against a backdrop of gently falling snow while you're sipping on steaming chocolate and melted marshmallows has a certain je nais se quoi to it that even you have to admit is appealing. At last, when it's finally dark enough to start, the projector clicks on from the booth in the back of the lot and the movie begins. A. COMING ATTRACTIONS. The movie, Curse of the Doll People, is a horror flick. A real chill-o-rama, starring actors you've never heard of playing a group of archeologists who unknowingly trigger a deadly curse that sets a group of murderous living dolls upon them. The poster pasted on the ticket booth promises it'll be the most fun you'll have screaming. Unfortunately, you have to sit through several minutes of previews first. The coming attractions aren't anything special — a bunch of westerns, a romance, even a beach musical. Far from being bored to tears like you might be, the people in the cars around you are glued to the screen, popping snacks into their mouths and whispering their commentary among themselves. The movie is the reason why everyone's here, sure, but you don't just get one flick out of going to the pictures! There's also the serials, little 5—10 minute long chapter plays that tell a story in pieces. Nothing can beat those, and when the first one starts, everyone sits in rapt attention as if it were the feature presentation itself. But as the scene opens up on a sight that is instantly familiar to you, and your own face stares back at you from the projection screen, it becomes clear that this is no ordinary film. You watch your memories play out in grainy black and white footage, aired for all the world to see. Or perhaps not — though you may not realize it, the movie playing out on the screen differs from person to person. No one sees the same thing. The person next to you might see one of their worst fears come to life, whether imagined or real, practical or fantastic. You might see one of the worst moments of your life — the death of a friend, your hated enemy bringing you to the brink of death, your absolute lowest point — exactly the way you remember it... save for the way your double on the screen occasionally turns to face the audience, staring directly at you with a knowing smirk and a wink. Or the way your loved ones will sometimes go off-script, gazing at you with pleading eyes as they beg you to help them. The people of Santa Rosita will see an exciting battle between two pirate ships, swashbuckling and cannon fire in place of the traumas you're witnessing. When the serial ends on a cliffhanger, much to the disappointment of everyone around you, it's almost a mercy. "Tune in next week for the thrilling second part!" Well, you will, won't you?

---

END OF THE MONTH.

CW: body horror, dolls, violence

Aside from the horror of the drive-in, January might seem to be passing calmly... until one night, something changes. In the middle of the night, once you fall asleep in your comfortable bed (or on your couch, or with your head lolling against the kitchen table), a nightmare comes to you. The shift from whatever dreams you were having to the cold, dark void you find yourself standing in happens gradually and quietly. So too does the image that plays out in your mind's eye: From out of the darkness, a featureless mannequin stands ramrod straight, facing you with its arms pressed rigidly to its sides. It has no face, no identifying marks, no features at all. It's a blank slate in every sense of the word... until it isn't. Slowly, the material of the lower half of its face begins to split as a searing pain tears through your own, as if invisible fingers are ripping your lips off inch by inch. The slit on the doll's face widens and deepens until, finally, mercifully, its new mouth opens as yours disappears, replaced by a flat, smooth barrier of skin. Like it was never there to begin with. The pain returns, this time in your arms and neck — right as the doll's own begin to jerk. Your joints are hardening, seizing up as the doll's arms go from minutely twitching to slowly flexing. While every nerve and bone from your fingertips all the way up to your shoulders grows heavy, the doll tilts its head and looks down at its hands, as if seeing them for the first time. By the time it takes its first step, you've taken your last: the pain has spread to your feet, ankles and toes hardening and locking into place. Every part of you is claimed this way; what isn't taken by force simply fades from your body and shifts into being onto the doll's, your skin replacing its cloth body, your clothing dressing it, your hair filling out its head. Your tongue goes numb as the licks its newfound lips, coarse cloth and batting surging up from your lungs and all the way to the back of your throat. By the time it's over, you can't move. You can no longer breathe. All you can do is stare at the perfect, eyeless double of yourself standing before you. As your eyes begin to burn, the last thing you see before everything goes black is the sly curve of a smile — your smile — before the face wearing it turns away and walks back into the darkness. Luckily, you wake up to a room full of sunshine and the distant sound of traffic as the neighborhood gets ready for another beautiful day. The morning air feels cold and dry on your skin. You're you. As much as you've always been. Right?

A. DOPPELGANGER.

It's the kind of morning that makes you want to sing. Where the sky was once dull and grey, it's now a deep blue. Barring the usual hustle and bustle on the streets of Shadyside, the first sound that greets you when you wake up is the steady beat of water trickling outside your window as the snow begins to gently melt under the rays of the sun. You may even hear the chirp of a bird! January, in all its dreariness, is nearly at an end.

When you leave the room to go downstairs — or upstairs, if you slept in the living room — the house is quiet and flooded with sunlight. With how perfectly silent everything is, it's easy to mistake the calm for solitude and think you're alone.

This is not the case.

Waiting to greet you is a familiar figure. If you go downstairs, you'll see it sitting in your kitchen with its head bowed and its arms hanging limply at its sides; if upstairs, lying in your bed on its back. There's no mistaking who it is. Even at a distance, their hair, face, clothes and features all instantly recognizable, and you know who it is before you even fully register their presence:

You.

Motionless, your doppelganger looks more puppet than person. Its chest is still, not a single breath leaving its mouth. Its eyes are closed. They snap open when you get closer to it, wide enough to see the whites, as its head jerks up to look straight at you. In a staccato imitation of your voice, it chirps at you:

"Hi!"

"Good morning!"

"Hello!"

"Rise and shine!"

Your clone is a good imitation, but not a perfect one. Its movements are stiff and uncoordinated, like a marionette being commanded by unseen strings. Though its cheeks are rosy, its skin is pale and almost glossy with the texture of newly polished porcelain. None of these setbacks bother it in the very least. If left alone, it goes about the house mimicking your morning routine, though given how awkward just walking is for it, it's almost certain to do a very bad job. Still, it tries its hardest, following you all day around the neighborhood, trying to imitate your movements — all with a smile!

That is, until you become aggressive with it.

It doesn't take much to set your doppelganger off — a simple shove will do it. When that happens, its eyes will do the impossible and open even wider, its mouth yawning into a wail that pitches louder and louder. That's the point when it will lunge at you. Its hands will try to go for your throat, but not always. It's resourceful enough to improvise with whatever it has around it, whether that be a kitchen knife, a paperweight, or even a letter opener. Luckily for you, they're fragile. Just hitting them is enough to crack and chip away at their skin. With enough strength, their limbs can even come off. Unluckily, they don't stay down for long; even a severed appendage can be popped back into its proper ball-jointed place.

All the while, they never stop childishly whining and shrieking at you.

"Not nice!"

"Why are you so mean?!"

"Not nice, not nice, NOT NICE!"

The only way to shut them up for good is to keep pummeling them until they're nothing but a pile of doll parts. But be thorough — even a mouth that's nothing but a shard of porcelain can still talk.

---

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's second 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 February 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. Additionally, starting today comments made to the TDM will now count towards Activity Check. Current players are permitted to use up to five comments from it for this month's Activity Check — half of the required amount to pass. The other five must be made within the game's communities.

If you would like to have January or other winter-themed 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.

A note about the drive-in theater: Players are in full control over what memories, phobias, or fears the serials before the movie will depict. You can also specify whether or not other characters will be able to see your character's serial. Be sure to label your threads with relevant content warnings if needed!

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Comments

randall flagg / the stand

[hardcase]

1. january 1st /

[ Flagg is used to waking up in different worlds. What he isn't used to is waking up in a house with people in it. He's a drifter by nature, always outside, always alone.

Except now, apparently, he has a horribly saccharine little family unit to look after, like something straight out of an old magazine. Alright, sure. Let's see where this goes. He sneaks out of bed quietly, figuring he'll let his 'spouse' wake up on their own time as he gets to know his surroundings.

He hangs around the living room quietly until he hears footsteps. ]

You know, I don't usually photograph so well. [ He's staring at one of the pictures on the wall. Otherworldly entities don't generally pose for nice photographs, but there he is smiling for the camera like it's a regular thing. ]

2. clowning around /

[ It doesn't take long for Flagg to accept that he's stuck here. It also doesn't take long for him to embrace the horrible culinary creations that this place has to offer and, after a good read-through of a particularly tacky cookbook he's ready to start handing his own creations out to his unsuspecting neighbors.

He rings the doorbell. If there's no answer, he'll ring it again. He's old, and persistent, and he damn well saw that light on upstairs.

Whoever answers will be met with a man in a denim jacket and an apron with 'KISS THE COOK' written on it in a frilly cursive font, holding a gelatin monstrosity that may or may not be edible. ]

Howdy, neighbor. Just thought I'd introduce myself. Name's Randall Flagg. That's 'Flagg' with a double G.

[ And he grins, offering the culinary disaster to his hapless target. He's more curious about whether or not his neighbor will actually eat the terrible thing he's made for them, but getting to know people can't hurt either. ]

3. wildcard /

[ Anything goes. ]

1

[bindsthedead]

And I don't recall posing for ones with you. [Because there's Sabriel in those photos- Sabriel at her current age, smiling while seated at a piano, a younger Sabriel dressed up as a witch, Sabriel smiling up at this man like he's her father...

And then there's the real Sabriel, eyeing him suspiciously and holding a knife with an alarmingly steady grip for a teenage girl.]

Who are you and where is this place?

[hardcase]

[ His gaze darts to the knife for a second before he makes eye contact, seeming none too bothered by the possibility of being stabbed. ]

If you cut me with that it'll make an awful mess on this nice carpet, dear. [ 'Dear' might not be the best term of endearment in this situation but he calls a lot of people dear. Force of habit. That his fake-daughter's just as aware of how phony this is is a relief; he doesn't have to try and bullshit. ]

I'm afraid I don't know any more than you do. [ He puts his hands up in mock surrender. ] Looks like someone's pulled one over on the both of us.

[bindsthedead]

[Some of the tension in Sabriel's frame eases. Not all of it, but... some.

She doesn't let go of the knife though. And she can't help but roll her eyes at the 'dear'.]

I'd say there was magic involved, but- I can't sense any. Or do any.

I take it you woke up here too? What's the point of all this?

[hardcase]

Neither can I, but magic comes and goes for me. [ And most people don't know anything about it, but he's not too surprised that his fellow unwilling world hopper is also a magic user. ]

Yes, I woke up here, and not everything's got a point. [ He shrugs. Some worlds were just full of nonsense. ] You didn't happen to go through any strange doors or gateways, did you?

[bindsthedead]

No, I just- woke up here. In a bed that wasn't mine.

[Sabriel frowns, sifting through her memories.]

Right before that though- between being where I was before and waking up- I heard something. A child's voice, calling out for help.

Did you hear anything like that?

2.

[mandelbrots]

[The door slams open after Flagg's second ring, to a pissed-off scowl and an exceptionally fluffy bathrobe. A very young lady of the house, for sure, but don't try anything, grandpa - there's a paring knife in her robe pocket, and she is only somewhat afraid to use it.]

What do you- [The interrogation cuts off as Flagg dives into his unexpected greeting, taking in each part of the bizarre tableau in turn. Man. Apron. Gelatinous horror.

Huh.

She's seen worse - she's definitely befriended worse - but she's still going to be extra wary.]

Amanda. [Eyes still wide and vigilant, she pops her cigarette between her lips so she can grab the gift. It wobbles in her hands, and she can't help watching it in guarded fascination.] This is, like, normal Jell-O, right? Not one of the weird dinner ones?

[Oh, she scanned the cookbooks, alright. They contained nightmares. ]

[hardcase]

[ He shrugs as he hands the concoction off to her. ] It's called 'Jello Surprise'. Won't be much of a surprise if I tell you what's in it.

[ There's some kind of topping on it that could be frosting or could be mayonnaise. And was that chopped watermelon inside, or chopped ham? Who knows. Jello Surprise. ]

You the adventurous type, Amanda?

[mandelbrots]

[You know what? She's halfway hoping it is mayonnaise. That would be more interesting, at least. A middle finger in the face of The New Joys of Jell-O Gelatin Dessert still sitting on her counter.]

I've been known to partake.

[It's a touch self-congratulatory, and a bit of a private joke at that. Hours before waking up in this shithole, she'd just set off on one for the first time ever, and she's still beyond pissed that it got interrupted. Before this last week, she'd barely left her house in years.]

I'm calling the police if there's a fishhead in this, though. [She tips her head towards the coffee table, where the recipe book is perched.] Page sixty-two. Dark stuff.

[hardcase]

Oh, laws no, fish heads aren't for cooking. [ But he's making a mental note to check out page sixty-two because that is intriguingly horrible. ] I don't think I have that book. Would you mind if I take a look?

[ He'd read a pamphlet for a take-out menu if someone handed it to him. Reading anything and everything is one way to pass the time when you're over a thousand years old. ]

1

[oldmanfive]

[ Five doesn't really know what to think about the bizarre situation he has found himself in. And he's life has been anything but normal, so that's saying something. The photos are down right creepy though, because he doesn't remember taking those pictures let alone know who the hell is in the photos with him.

As he makes his way downstairs, he sees one of the other occupants of the house looking at one of the pictures on the wall. He lifts an eyebrow curious as to why the guy says he doesn't usually photograph well. ]

Is that right? Not a fan of cameras then?

[ He asks in a dry tone of voice before walking toward the kitchen to see if the place has coffee. Because he is in dire need of some, if he is going to make sense of the shit that is going on. ]

[hardcase]

You could say that. Not a fan of this type of photo, anyway.

[ He gestures vaguely at the wall. Every picture there is some flavor of sappy family portrait, the kind Flagg always thought of as painfully fake. The fact that he doesn't remember taking any of them only reinforces that view.

This kid - who was also in some of the photographs - piques his curiosity, mostly because he isn't freaking out. He follows him to the kitchen, hands in his pockets. ]

You don't happen to recall taking any of those pictures, do you? My memory's not what it used to be but I sure as hell don't remember going to a baseball game. [ Coffee does sound good right about now - and good news, there is some - but he'll let the kid make it for both of them. Hooray for child labor. ]

[oldmanfive]

[ The moment Five steps into the kitchen he spots the can of coffee, near the percolator. He practically sighs in relief as he grabs both the coffee and the percolator to set it up to make the coffee. This is definitely one of those instances that he is thankful he knows how to work 60s appliances from both his time in the Commission and well having spent the last week in the 60s before waking up in this crazy place. ]

Nope, I never even played baseball before, not even when I was actually a kid.

[ Yeah, he's just going to put that out there now, because he does not want to deal with the folks in this house thinking he's a child. ]

[hardcase]

Baseball’s not my scene, either. All that wholesome apple pie Americana; no thanks.

[ And now he’s in what seems to be the town from Leave It To Beaver. Lovely.

Flagg’s lived through the 60s, a couple times now, and he’s not much for modern comforts so the old tech doesn’t bother him. Seeing this kid - or not-kid, as it might turn out - use the ancient percolator is amusing enough, too. He sits on one of the chairs at the table, leaning back all casual-like. ]

This a clever disguise, then? Or did you get yourself stuck like that?

[ He’s a shapeshifter and a great deal older than he looks, so the good news is he doesn’t need any convincing that someone else could be, too. ]

2.

[measuringdistance]

[Fucking hell. Chikai wasn't someone who turned his nose up at free food, no matter what it looked like, and he usually had a pretty big sweet tooth. But after being barraged with shitty dessert after shitty dessert, even he had to admit he was hitting his limit.

And, he decided when he opened the door to one of the weirdest-looking jellos yet, he didn’t really feel like stretching it.]

Oh wow. [He gives the nightmare dessert a withering look.] You make that all by yourself, dude?

[hardcase]

Sure did! [ He beams, holding it out for Chikai to take.

Even without his magic he has a certain talent for making the worst of anything. The picture in the cookbook looked pretty bad, but it'd be appetizing next to Flagg's creation. ] Impressed?

[measuringdistance]

Yep. Definitely one word for it.

[He guessed it could be considered impressive to present something like that with so much confidence. With one more quick look between it and Flagg, he settles on a course of action and offers the guy a grin and shrug in return.]

But hey! If you worked that hard on it, I think you really oughta enjoy it yourself. You deserve it.

[hardcase]

Aw, please, no need to be so generous. I've got plenty to eat.

[ He keeps on holding it out. He's very old and very stubborn. ] I insist.

twoooo

[redimendum]

[ matt's got his dark glasses on and his cane, and when he greets the door his face is pointed slightly to the right of where the man's standing. until he knows what's happening here, he isn't letting on that he isn't just a regular blind guy ]

Flagg with a double g? Well, It's nice to meet you. I'm Matt Murdock, no g's involved.

[ he extends a hand vaguely in Flagg's direction, like he doesn't have the sense that he's holding something ]

[hardcase]

Nice to meet ya, Mr. Murdock.

[ He balances the plate the cake is on in one hand like a waiter at a fancy restaurant and returns the handshake with the other. A good magician has to have nimble hands. ]

I've actually brought a little housewarming gift. Thought you might be hungry. [ He'd feel bad about handing this guy a gelatin disaster if he had the capacity to feel bad. ]

[redimendum]

You did? Wow, that's uh. That's very kind of you. Very neighborly.

[ he smiles, assuming this is one of the people who live in this town. he can smell gelatin, and this isn't the first such gift he's received from the neighbours ]

Come on in, I'm afraid I'm still not totally familiar with the layout here, so I've gotta-- [ he holds up the stick and gives a small shrug. them's the breaks, you know?

but he starts to lead the way, slowly, through to the kitchen, where there are already two other gelatin desserts on the bench. ]

[hardcase]

[ He casually strolls in, setting the plate down by the other two. ] Not to brag, but mine would definitely be my first choice. It's on the far right.

[ The other two actually look a little better than his, mostly because they used actual dessert ingredients instead of trying to make a salad in gelatin. ]

I'm new in town, too. But I wanted to help out.

2. clowning around

[naboosnaberrie]

[Padmé's sense of propriety has her taking the plate automatically, looking somewhere between mystified and annoyed by it. She shakes it slightly, watches the blob jiggle, then offers the stranger an arched eyebrow. He doesn't look like one of the townspeople, but he seems...perfectly content to be here.

Strange.]

Thank you for the...ah. This.

[hardcase]

You're welcome. [ He smiles, handing the plate over. In his current state it's just a somewhat unpleasant-looking smile rather than the completely wretched thing it usually is, easily written off as just a regular guy that needs to work on his smiling skills. ]

Are you new here as well?

[naboosnaberrie]

[It's not a terribly nice smile, but it's still a relief to meet another newcomer, as strange as this all is. Padmé smiles a little more genuinely at the question.]

I am, yes. I just arrived. Have you been here long?