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

chirrut îmwe / star wars

[whillpower]

» waking up

[ this is not death.

chirrut has, by all accounts, spent considerably more time alive than he has dead but he can still say without a sliver of doubt that this is not death. death does not come bearing incredibly soft beds, or comfortable clothes, or the sounds of children playing just outside. death does not ease you gently into consciousness with the warmth of morning sunlight streaming through a window.

it's not death, but it's nothing familiar, either. he sits up, closes his eyes, and focuses on his surroundings, trying to pick up on anything that might indicate where this is. there's a person a few feet away on his left, sleeping or unconscious by the sound of their breathing, but chirrut can only be sure that it isn't baze — their identity otherwise is indecipherable.

another peal of childish laughter rings out from somewhere outside, cutting through the silence — this isn't scarif. it also lacks the sterile scent of a hospital; even jedha city's dusty, back alley clinics had smelled of bacta.

a broadcast is playing from somewhere downstairs but he can't make out what it is.

ah, and perhaps most notably, the force is absent. not silent, not still, just gone. chirrut's connection to it is tenuous on the best of days but right now he feels like a drowning man scrabbling for safety and finding nothing. the first pinprick of fear begins needling its way into his chest. to quell it he furrows his brow and launches into a familiar prayer: ]

The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force; and I fear nothing, because all is as the Force wills it.

[ even, he thinks, when the force is being decidedly stubborn. perhaps especially then.

his expression tightens and he cocks his head, shifting his attention back to the other person in the room. they're stirring now, which surely has nothing to do with the stranger spouting a prayer over here. ]

Are you awake?

» coming attraction

[ the promise of a real thrill-o-rama at the drive-in isn't what's drawn chirrut out tonight. in fact he hadn't even heard about it. he's already making a habit of walking the town each night, covering every square foot he can reach, trying to memorize every path, every alleyway, every storefront. his uneti-wood staff is gone so he uses a cane he'd found to guide him instead. it's flimsy and won't be much use in a fight, but it will do.

the sound of blaster fire is what draws him towards the drive-in. it's the first sign he's had that this might be somewhere closer to home than it seems, but as he gets closer he realizes that it's not real fire at all. it's a recording, but not just of blasters. he can hear himself praying, and baze calling his name. he hears an explosion.

he's listening to his final moments, or what should have been, but how? he can't even begin to make sense of why this would even exist, let alone why it would be playing here.

there's a presence to his left. someone's there, so he turns towards them, brow creased into a deep frown. ]

Are they playing a vid?

» wildcard

( i didn't do more prompts bc i intend to tag out but if you wanna do anything just lmk!!! )

( prompt: coming attractions. )

[sunborne]

Unfortunately.

[ the person speaking to chirrut is clearly a young man, his voice crisp and clear in both youth and discomfort as he continues to talk. it's almost like he's trying to drown out what's being played before them. ]

So, like, I don't know about you but I'm hoping this is one of those budget films, you know? Scrappy team pooling their stuff together because they got these big dreams in show biz, hullabaloo like that. They're usually thirty minutes long, maybe forty minutes if the cast and crew were feeling ambitious, but I don't think this is going to be the usual hour-long film.

[ he pauses and there's some shuffling where he stands. then someone rapping their knuckles on a solid, wooden surface. ] I hope it isn't an hour-long.

[whillpower]

[ chirrut doesn't blame this young man for sounding upset, nor does he find his reaction particularly strange. it's footage of war, after all, and the star of said footage is standing right here.

he can hear his own final words play out for everyone to hear and that doesn't really bother him so much, to be honest. he's at peace with both his death (or what was meant to be his death) and the circumstances. what bothers him is not knowing how the rest of it turned out. whether or not rogue one succeeded in their mission. whether or not anyone else made it out.

in any case this should be the end of it, right? and it is, technically — the video doesn't keep going, but it doesn't stop, either. instead it starts over, looping from the beginning.

dreadful. ]

Hm. [ he hums a thoughtful note, pressing his lips together in a firm line. technology here has been... simple, so far, to say the least. he doubts whatever the source of this footage is will be any different so probably not too hard to disrupt. ] Shall we stop it?

[sunborne]

Stop it...?

[ something about the suggestion snaps him out of his anxiety and his discomfort. daylight has been trying to play it nice with the town since he got here. he knows there's more to this place than meets the eye if they're able to change him and neutralise him of his powers. the constant walking of eggshells has been getting to him and the bold idea of merely hampering them gets his attention.

he looks at the man next to him and daylight really looks at him now. assessing him for his seriousness in the suggestion, the certainty of pulling off the idea.

in the end, he ends up nodding in the end, feeling something that's a mixture of resolve and spite cementing in him. they're probably going to get in big trouble for what they're going to do but.

maybe the drive-in should have thought of that before plastering all of that on the screen. he nods in agreement and, audibly, thankfully confirms his willingness to do this. ] Yeah. Let's fucking do it. I know how to wreck film projectors like a champ.

[ a weird thing to brag about but very useful in light of what they want to do. ]

coming attraction

[niteowls]

Yes.

[ she answers the man, leaning against the wall of the concession stand of the drive-in. bo-katan was drawn here too, by scenes of watching her home under siege by the empire. memories still raw even over thirty years old. the screen fades to black, and a large INTERMISSION sign projects. she turns her head to him, startled for a moment by his eyes before straightening herself again. ]

It isn't very good.

[whillpower]

No, [ chirrut says, ] I do not imagine so.

[ by all accounts there are worse moments in his life that could be broadcast seemingly for all to see and hear. the empire's arrival in jedha, their subsequent attacks and the loss of so many innocent lives, the day jedha itself was destroyed.

but this has been selected for a reason. he's not foolish enough to think otherwise — his unease and worry over the unknown, whether or not rogue one succeeded, is meant to gnaw at him. to break him down.

he has already resolved not to let it. ]

How does it look? [ a question normally reserved for baze, and one that meant more than "describe this thing to me." he realizes he must specify, and so he does: ] Security footage?

[niteowls]

Not quite. It's too cinematic to be that.

[ security footage is stagnant to one view of an area. it does not sweep around, closing in on shots of faces, of battle, of destruction. she must assume this is a deep fake of sort, manipulated to reflect real events. the reflection, however, is startlingly accurate. ]

You should not concern yourself with it. It isn't a very enjoyable holovid anyway.

[whillpower]

Of course not. It's war.

[ his expression darkens and he finds himself, perhaps for the thousandth time, cursing this place and how quiet the force has become. he wants a sense of this woman. right now he can't tell much beyond how guarded she strikes him. is she imperial? probably not a rebel. she could even be from somewhere far beyond the reaches of his own galaxy but he doesn't think that's true.

he probably shouldn't press it but he does, because her dismissal frustrates him. ]

You are watching desperate people dealing what blows they can to an empire built on hate and fear. It is not meant to be enjoyable.

[ or cinematic. that part's odd. ]

waking up

[naboosnaberrie]

[The words are rhythmic, the sort of mantras that Padmé is familiar with from Anakin -- sutras and chanting had become as reassuring as the sound of the waterfalls in Theed. It takes her a moment to realize that the voice is completely unfamiliar, and she jolts upright with a gasp.

Instinctively, she tugs the blankets up to her chin.] Yes. I -- I am, yes.

[whillpower]

[ the voice is unfamiliar, which comes as both a relief and a disappointment. a shred of familiarity would have been welcome in whatever strange predicament chirrut has found himself in but he'd prefer his friends remain safe. so far, the plush bed and soft clothes have only made him wonder if they might be a carefully-chosen costume concealing something more dangerous.

nevertheless he smiles, and when he speaks his tone is bright. ]

Ah! Good. Then perhaps you can tell me where we are. [ pause. ] This is not a cell.

[ a statement that edges on becoming a question. he doesn't think this is a cell. it doesn't smell or sound or feel like a cell. but he hasn't tried to leave yet, and the door very well could be locked. ]

[naboosnaberrie]

[Padmé is still mostly asleep, reaching up to rub at her eyes and shove her tangled hair out of her face. Usually she braids it back, but it's loose now, a riot of curls that'll take ages to brush out. It's...definitely a testament to how foggy and sleepy she is that she's thinking about that.

She looks around, taking the strange room in with a growing sense of uneasy fear.] ...it appears to be a bedroom? Of some sort. I've never seen it before. [She clears her throat, trying to remain calm.] I'm Padmé. Were you -- also someplace else before you woke up?

[whillpower]

Yes.

[ chirrut goes quiet for a moment. he tries again to reach out, to feel the force, to get some sense of the woman in the room but there's still nothing. just silence. he notices for the first time that he can't hear the distinct hum of the sliver of kyber crystal housed in the end of his staff either, so that's gone too. ]

I was on Scarif, [ he says as he climbs from the uncomfortably soft bed. his bare feet meet plush carpet, and that's just as unsettling. ] Were you there as well?