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…“

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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

falco grice 🐤 attack on titan

[grice]

ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛ

[ it’s the same beginning as everyone else: falco wakes up in a room that isn’t his, with toys and drawings that weren’t his, medals and certificates hanging proudly on the wall of a promising theater child that, you guessed it, wasn’t his. the clothes, he’s never seen this fashion neither the eerily preppy architecture (or the pajamas he’s in, how comfy?). he’s not in the right time period, maybe some, what— sixty or seventy years into the future? one hundred? if they had a future. there’re photos and family portraits hanging on the wall, of him (that’s him) holding the household’s prized pooch in an adorable shot, fishing trips with an older man, hugging a woman tightly as if it were his mother, maybe others, sometimes together and sometimes apart . . . the kitchen fridge is decorated with lists and artistic talent, of hand drawn crayon portraits and loving notes at the bottom like: Happy Father’s Day, Pops! Love, Falco. since when—

the small blond, a child no older than twelve for the time being, has in his hands (pulled cautiously from the fridge) an invitation to a middle school junior musical, staring . . . falco? his heart is beating in his ears and he feels numb at his fingertips. he feels like his head could spin and that he needed to breathe and somehow forgot to. the front door opens then, or maybe footsteps have snapped his attention enough that he’s startled into a gasp to stare widely at the newcomer, very much like an abandoned fawn in the middle of a busy street. the first thing that comes to mind is to blurt out a question, many questions. by the time his parched throat croaks out any words, he’s as pale as a sheet of paper— ]

—H-hi, [ he swallows, straightens his back— and does his absolute best to lie right through his fright. results may vary. if you’re the man, ] Dad. [ and if you’re the woman, ] M . . . Mom.

[ he probably can’t bring himself to name siblings and can very well mistake them for parents, if they’re old enough. if they aren’t, they’ll simply get less words and more watching. the hand holding the invitation falls to his side, as natural as he could make it. those more acquainted with body language could tell: this boy is frightened, but he seems to have enough sense to blend in and probe rather than lash out. ]

I was just, [ hm, ] I thought the— musical was today, and. Got worried.

[ that seems to fit. good thing it’s only at the middle of the year! he attempts a quirk of his lips, as if to laugh it off, but it’s short lived. ]

ʜᴏᴡᴅʏ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀ!

[ everyone knew his name. all the kids knew his name. most of them were outwardly friendly and wanted him to come out and play. others were a little more naughty (but not unhappy) and teased him with names like ”tweety bird” and “panty waist”. he doesn’t even know what that is unless— was he being called girl’s underwear? oh, there’s way too much going on for him to really pay heed.

one of two things can happen, especially when falco wanders the winter wonderland alone, searching for things and people and talking to himself— “friends” think he’s rehearsing lines and playfully flag down young or older adults to take a jab at his sudden oddity. finding out what’s wrong? a little girl’s voice asking for help? it just earned booms of adoring laughter that followed “gee, falco! you sure are funny!”), ]

—I’m just rehearsing!

[ he’ll try to assure you that. or . . . you might just happen upon a group of mischievous teens cornering him for a snowball war. beating. he’s not fighting back in the slightest, looks like—

well. are you going to let the lad get pelted while he’s down and called a panty waist? ]

ɢᴀʟᴄᴏ ғʀɪᴄᴇ cw: violence

[ the doppelgänger was, without a doubt, creepy. it followed behind falco down the street and to school, wherever that was— truly, he had wanted to explore town and its corners, hidden or not, but with the puppet-like doll scrambling to follow him made attracting attention a complete show. it would squeal and wave its hellos, and . . . well, let’s just say something happened, and it wasn’t deliberately falco’s fault. short stopping right in front of it just to see what would happen causes the haunted marionette to run right into him. from there, it was all shrieks and danger.

down an empty slope, one would find the snow on the ground thrashed from its perfect sidewalk sheets. following the disheveled powdered ice would show signs of trouble, a blood splatter or three that smeared into white and fractures of porcelain. not far from it and at the little slope’s bottom was the ruckus: a boy struggling to hold off two glass arms held over his bleeding temple, holding a rock as large as a baseball stained red just at the tip while dangly legs bent at the knee sockets to trap the boy. MEANIE! BOO! NOT NICE! it whines, and in his dizzy attempt to hold the doll off, falco kicks it off of its incoming straddle (he swears he heard a crack), gets on his feet, and— oh no, stumbles sideways. he really got his head hit, and just in time for his doppelgänger to come swinging once more with a dismembered lunge: SERVES YOU RIGHT! ]

ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ɢᴀɢᴀ

[ individuals might receive a call that comes from a muted end; falco doesn’t say anything at first, trying to figure out how the thing works— hell, he might’ve called you for the third time by now only for you to be greeted with crawling white noise, provided it’s a voice call. the same thing might happen if it’s a video call, though not only does it look like he isn’t aware his face is onscreen, he’s . . . looking and prodding like he’s never seen something so advanced. eventually, he speaks up: ]

They’re moving—?

[ or, if you’re lucky enough to get a text: ]

aaaaaaaaaaabc d e f
f
Falco
GRICE
Hello_?

The Start

[magic_to_do]

[Trucy is very familiar with body language so she can read the fear in poor kid easily. That's why she's approaching slowly, and with a gentle smile. She kneels down. Not that she isn't already pretty short, but it can't hurt to seem as non threatening as possible.]

Hey there. It's okay, you don't have to pretend. I'm kind of in the same boat, you know?

[grice]

[ ❗️ while falco would love to be quick to trust her wording on what exactly counted as “same boat”— he purses his lips just as they break agape to say something: what? really? i’m not the only one?

but he doesn’t know a thing about where he was. he holds back, just enough, and tests the waters. though she did look nice, even stooping down to his eye level. ]

. . . How? [ there’s a portrait just by the hallway before entering the kitchen. she’s in the photo. ] Don’t you live here?

[ no way that everyone here didn’t belong, yet had every bit of evidence to say otherwise. ]

[magic_to_do]

Huh?

[She follows his gave to the portrait on the wall.]

What, the pictures?

[She shakes her head.]

Those are fake. I mean, they're good fakes, but still fake. I woke up here this morning. I'm guessing you did too?

[grice]

Yeah . . . Just now.

[ they look so happy in these— hugging each other, grinning from ear to ear. falco’s never felt so . . . conflicted. ]

So— we’re not siblings. We can’t be. I had a brother . . . [ had. at the same time that he’s relieved to hear that, making him completely not crazy, it’s still . . . so confusing. to the point that he’s considered, for a split second: what if i was dreaming before? ] How can someone fake these? They’re photographs—

[ you need people to make them, and . . . that’s them (nevermind he doesn’t know what a computer is). ]

galco frice

[freeflight]

[ Freaky life-size murder dolls are a shitty addition to the day, that much is for certain. Levi doesn't take any time to assess the situation beyond first impressions when he hears the scuffle, and he's down the slope in an instant.

The doppelgänger doesn't get the opportunity to connect with another blow.

A solid kick interrupts it with a disconcerting crunch of broken porcelain, sending it flying away from the boy. Only as he imposes himself between the two does he glance back to take him in, brows drawing together sharply before he turns his attention back towards where that knock-off had crashed in a heap. ] What's going on here?

[grice]

[ oh, the poor thing (??), with its would-be jaw shattered into a sloppy, open-mouthed slant and wide glass eyes. it's so broken, hardly much leg or back left to support an upright posture. it waves the stone in its only hand while whining, whimpering: OWIE ! THAT HURT . . . WHY'D YOU DO THAT ?

in the meantime, the actual live boy lifts himself from the snow, all clinging to the wool of his winter clothes and the back of his head. some of the short blond strands were wet and stained red, only realizing when he brings the fingers that try to press the dizzying pressure off when it sticks back down. oh— that's not all, it seemed. his mystery helper snatches a gasp from him, immediately as his eyes refocus, blink, squeeze harder, then blink again just to make sure he wasn't hit in the head too hard. he recognizes him. not as wrapped up as when he recently saw him, but— the caution and wide eyed wonder calls at last: ]

Captain . . . Levi?

[freeflight]

[ So the kid was dazed but not too bad off, though he's not altogether sure what to make out of that tone of voice. ]

Yeah. [ This is an awkward position to be in. Still, he's just a brat, and one that had just gotten the shit knocked out of him. Circumstances being what they were or what he perceived them to be, he hardly expected him to listen when he gives the kid an order. ]

For now, stay put while I take care of this.

[ If it's at all disturbing to watch someone else stomp a mangled murderous doll in one's own image, Levi isn't exactly taking that into account or anything. For all he know, the fucked up thing would figure out how to get back up if he didn't. ]

[grice]

[ what was he supposed to say? "no siree, i'll take it from here!"? on top of paradis' strongest soldier, apparently, on top of being in pristine shape, is indeed a little intimidating to just straight up defy at the moment. unless he was the sort of kid to take such things as a blow to his pride— luckily, not the case. falco's obedient where he needs to be, stays on the ground to gather himself (and his head) as he watched the . . . oh, man.

it won't have anything to get up with, at this rate. as levi crushes it to literal pieces, it could only thrash and wave out: OH ! OH, NO ! HELP ME, MISTER ! PLEEEEEE— and there went half of its head. lucky for them, the snow is some great ice. falco manages a handful in his mittened hands and presses it to his assaulted temple, just with a wince of his eye as he got up properly. a little sway as he did, but nothing he couldn't fix with time. ]

Thanks . . . [ there's so much he wants to ask and doesn't know where to begin. his lips are apart because of it, pressing together and parting ajar constantly until he found the words that felt right. ] You're— You're healed. How long've—?

[ he's still a little dazed, maybe. out of everything he could say first, that was it? his head hurts. ]

Radio Gaga | Text

[sonicsiren]

...Hello? Is everything okay?

[grice]

OK
Is_this_like_a_radio?

[sonicsiren]

Kind of? It's like a radio-wristwatch thing. I haven't fully figured it out myself yet. I know it makes voice calls too? And little instant messages like this. I haven't figured out if it has the capabilities for anything more advanced than that yet.

Not that I'm very good with technology in the first place.

[grice]

This_is_the_mOsT_advanced_I_have_ever_seen
How_do_I_knoWh o_I_am_Talking_to?
Sir_or_Maam

the start (of something glorious)

[13thcommander]

[One would think that, after over a month of living in 1960s suburbia, Erwin wouldn't be waking up at the drop of a pin anymore. Old reflexes die hard, though, and this place is definitely not normal, so when he hears someone unfamiliar shuffling around downstairs, he sits bolt upright in his bed. He knows what Levi and Cassandra sound like when they're in the kitchen, and this is definitely not either of them. He throws on a robe and heads down the stairs, moving nearly silently.]

[He's not sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't a kid. A kid who's actually alive, and looking terrified, and calling him... dad? Since when is Erwin anyone's dad?]

Did you just get here?

[No preamble, no playing around, no humoring the idea that this is totally normal. Erwin glances around the kitchen, and it's changed over night; there are signs of a child living here now, like there's always been a child here, and while some of the tension drains out of him, he's still on guard.]

Are you from this world, or somewhere else?

i am here

[grice]

[ he’s not sure if that’s the answer he would’ve liked to hear or not, but at least it was a signal, a sign, that he wasn’t losing it. maybe he wasn’t. the man, tall and no-funny-business, gets straight to the point, and falco’s shoulders lax down as he breathes out a held in exhale from the tension. he can drop it (but it doesn’t remove the fear from him—). ]

I think— somewhere else, sir. [ his bird printed pajamas do not match the occasion. ] I woke up in a room, upstairs, but . . .

[ if he could be truthful, ]

I don’t remember— I, I don’t know who you are.

[ did he hit his head somewhere? did he actually . . . did he forget something important or was this really wrong? ]

[13thcommander]

Ah.

[Things start to click together: the kid is confused, doesn't know how he got here, and says he's from somewhere else. He might be a new arrival, just as Erwin was a few months back, or he might be something hideous concocted by Santa Rosita. Erwin glances at the wall, where a picture of himself and Cassandra hangs; as he expected, it's changed, and the kid standing before him is in it now.]

Welcome to Santa Rosita.

[Erwin walks into the kitchen, giving the kid a wide berth while eying him cautiously.]

Where do you really come from? Where do you call home?

[grice]

[ that, he can answer quickly; he's also grateful that there's space, for the moment. it eases the tension of unknown strangers in unknown territory. ]

Liberio. It's in a nation called Marley. [ or, at least. was. what was salvageable at this point was in the air. ] Have you heard of that? Or anywhere close?

Radio gaga | video call!

[selfescapist]

[ Huh. It's just a kid.

Just like that, Lily feels all the tension that'd been building up inside her melting away. When the call had first come in... well, she doesn't want to admit it, but she'd been pretty damn afraid at first. But this kid... maybe he's someone like her? By now, Lily knows that she's not the only one stuck in the situation she's found herself in.

Actually... why isn't he saying anything?

Eventually, he does speak up. And with an eyebrow raised, Lily responds- ]

Hello? Who is this?

[grice]

[ falco immediately freezes, and he definitely looks the startled part. miss lance had mentioned some of this thing’s mechanisms, voice (like a radio), and this video that . . . he didn’t know what that was until recently discovering the modern television. so, that’s a person, a girl he could see— ]

Can . . . You see me?

sorry for the late reply!

[selfescapist]

...Uh, yeah? Is that surprising?

[ Lily looks a little bit baffled. He called her, so why's he so shocked?

She hasn't quite put together the fact that people have been brought here from different times yet. There's so much for her to take in already as it is... ]

[grice]

[ oh, wow . . . see, the tv doesn’t talk back, so— yes. he nods. ]

I’ve only ever seen a radio work, but not moving photography . . .

radio gaga | text

[modernprometheuus]

hellowhatisthis

what is this

[ Looks like Falco's found someone almost as technologically illiterate as he is... ]

[grice]

Hello.

It’s a messaging system. Like sending letters, but you get them instantly. Who’s this?

[modernprometheuus]

[ It's... a long time before Victor's response comes through. He's figured out spaces, how to send messages, and by now, the backspace button, but capital letters and punctuation are still a mystery to him. So he's typing everything out very slowly, with... a lot of erasing.]

how is that possible

? how does the writing appear? who is writing it?

this is victor frankenstein.

[grice]

[ don't worry, dude. falco is typing with his index finger and it takes exactly an age to send something that sounds right. ]

I don't know how to answer you. This is the first time I've seen anything like this, either.

I'm Falco. Do you know what a radio is?