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

wei wuxian | the untamed

[weifinder]

NUCLEAR FAMILY WAKE UP CALL

( When he wakes, it's sudden: sitting up in a bed too soft to be standard, comforter and sheets tumbling down, the brush of fabric against him alien for its lightness. The chill air of a winter's morning strikes him, and while his hair, utterly unbound, cascades over his shoulders in a mess, he's scanning this deeply unfamiliar space and tossing back the covers, sliding out of bed with the lingering memory of a little girl's cry for help in the back of his mind.

The decorations here are senseless; the realism of the paintings he finds incredible, showing him in odd outfits, showing him with unfamiliar people, and at this point, showing him in creative situations that make no sense, and are eerie for their likeness. Coming from a world without photography, this goes so far past portrait art it feels Uncanny Valley, even if he wouldn't understand the terminology.

He searches for anything to wear that looks proper, instead finding more and more which simply fits like underclothing, no ties, plenty of other means of staying on. He gives up on dressing for the moment, stealing out of the bedroom like a thief in the mid-morning light and slinking down the stairs. He's been a lessened cultivator for a while now, but this complete binding, this lack of any of his cultivation, reminds him of other situations, other times. He whistles, not thinking hard about it: even were there dead or resentful creatures or energies around to listen, it would be meaningless noise, neither inviting nor commanding.

Whoever he meets first, some living, breathing human being (or so it seems), he flashes a smile at, straightening a fraction and chuckling under his breath as if this isn't all extremely unsettling. )

Hey, you, ah, wouldn't happen to know what's going on here, would you?

( This is not the inn he fell asleep in. This is no place he knows. )

TRASH CLOWNS CAN'T FROWN

( The food, such as it is, keeps coming. He tries a little, mostly out of politeness, but jellies are a particular disaster of sugar that gives him a near immediate headache, and by the time the clown cake arrives, he smiles as Stepford as the Robbies and politely says his thanks and carries the abomination (all of these foodthings are abominations, says the man who can manage spicy cooking and nothing much noteworthy aside) inside to place on the counter.

He gives it a full minute before he unceremoniously delivers the cake to the rubbish bin under the sink. Once he'd learned their function, and the whole strange dance of disposal required for the excess or the unusable, he's taken particular pleasure in throwing things out.

Sure, this means he has to then take this odd bag to the other bin waiting outside, but it's so efficient. Also mysterious. He'd be tempted to go after the large machine that whisks away all the refuse to see where it ventures toward, but he's not figured out the contraption in the cold room yet, and isn't sure when he will.

Nor does he think, from having tried to walk out of this town, they're particularly allowed to go.

Anyway, welcome home, family, or welcome over, neighbour, and witness Wei Wuxian cheerfully tossing a jello mold creation or a clown-cake into the trash. As one does. )

I'd lament the waste if you were vaguely edible, but alas...

COMING ATTRACTIONS LEAVE AREA MAN UNATTRACTED

( We're not wondering how he got here. Maybe he came with you. He sure didn't drive over, but why let that stop him trying to explore and figure out the nonsense of this town?

The problem comes when the screen, which has already been as fascinating as the small one with the moving pictures back home, starts playing out desaturated, blacks and whites when life has never been anything less than shades of gray.

It's one thing, witnessing memories as if they're on display. He feels denuded of pretense, seeing that screen, but not seen in spite of it. This is a manipulation, but to what end, he doesn't know, and how shared it is, he also doesn't know.

What he knows, when the screen shows Jiang Yanli, his martial sister, his adoptive older sister, collapse; when she's in Jiang Cheng's arms, reaching out to Wei Wuxian, crying, cradling his cheek as he and Jiang Cheng cry too; when the man who Wei Wuxian couldn't recall anything about other than his death that followed moments after strides up behind him and pulls back his sword; when Yanli shoves him and takes a sword through her chest and the him on screen turns his way and smiles...

He knows in that moment it's a manipulation, and he cannot stay. Out of the car, no words, chest constricted, eyes burning, and furiously sad, because that pain is newer to him than he likes to admit, and there is something this place wants, something it feeds on, that comes from this.

Of course, what it looks like is he just stormed out of the car and started storming off, screen at his back: to either run into someone upset in their own way, or to turn back around for whomever he came with, sliding back into the car. Whichever the case, he fixes dark eyes and his almost fully buttoned shirt and all the mess of his long queue of hair that fits with a part of the 1960's that hasn't even arrived, but not with this part, and asks: )

The display up at the front there, did you see something personal on it? Something important.

DOPPLEGANGER? MORE LIKE STOPPLE-GANGER

( ... So, family. Are you getting home? Or friend, are you visiting. Because when you do, you'll find Wei Wuxian sitting in a kitchen chair turned backward, his arms crossed over the back, staring at the bound figure of... himself? Tied to another chair, with a tie used as a gag to keep the doppelgänger from speaking. The twitchy way the bound creature moves, the saliva that streams from beneath the improvised gag, the unending muffled complaints that turn into some litany of mean, mean, mean are all met with Wei Wuxian's ongoing scrutinization. )

You know, I'm starting to suspect...

( He turns to regard you, dear family, friend, visitor, whomever you are. Then smiles, laughing a little: )

... Someone really, really likes me!

( This has nothing to do with what he's suspecting, but it sure beats answering the other question of what the hell and why or how is a copy of you tied down to a chair, and where'd you even get the rope for this? )

---

( ooc: feel free to wildcard as well, or PM to set up some scenario. multiple takers for all prompts welcome! )

Nuclear Family

[blackwaterchild]

[She's not at all a fan of this. At all. Her first priority was clothing, of course, managing to find an outfit not too unlike her usual, though she had to take some scissors to the skirt to make it a shorter length she deemed acceptable.

At least marginally pleased, she set about trying to figure out just what the hell all of this was about now. Weird pictures on the wall with people she didn't recognize, a picture of herself with a woman that was probably supposed to be a 'mother & daughter' portrait that made her lip curl in disgust.

Everything was so... 50s America like she'd see in Grease or something. What the hell.

The sound of someone else moving around upstairs gets her attention and she waits, head tilted and listening. Danger? Or someone just as confused? She rests her hands on her hips, tilting her chin p in an attempt to look more authoritative, but considering Wei Wuxian is at least 30cm taller than her, but she's trying and that's what counts, right??

His question gets an unimpressed look and she looks him p and down a moment, taking in the messy hair and pajamas, and then decides he's probably not a danger.] ...Well, you don't look like a ghost, so... [Miu trails off a little before looking away around the room again.] Probably you're just as lost as me, huh?

[weifinder]

( He smiles again by reflex, lifting a hand to brush stray strands of hair back off his face. )

Hah? No, I wouldn't think I would.

( He does hold up his hand, examining his nails briefly: nope, all as neat as he keeps them. Nothing in him feels like resentment, no surplus of that energy he's familiar with being riddled through by. Just a hollow, a heaviness of body, and the lingering dregs of sleep and... what had it been? A cry?

He shakes his head, hand falling back down to his side. )

Lost, yes. In a strange enough home, though whose is another mystery. Are you seeing these paintings?

( There's one nearby, hanging on a wall; he steps over, tapping a finger against framed glass. Sepia as the photograph proves, it's still remarkable. )

Is that you, too? We're both in this? ( Glancing back toward Miu, he taps his finger against his chin. ) So we're both lost, but found in images like these. You're familiar with ghosts, then?

[blackwaterchild]

Paintings? That’s— [She sounds baffled a moment, giving Wei Wuxian an odd, calculating sort of look. Was he making a bad joke or something??

Then again nothing about this could be called normal. Him calling some pictures ‘paintings’ is low on the weirdness scale right now. But she looks at the pictures, stepping up to take it down off the wall, being careful to avoid actually getting too close to him. She side-eyes him and steps back, before peering at the photo closely.] A happy family picture, huh. Gross...

[She mutters the last part more to herself and wrinkles her nose in distaste before tossing the picture aside onto the couch. The question about ghosts makes her cross her arms over her chest, regarding him warily.]

...Pretty well. More than most people. [She sighs then, expression turning weary and resigned] Are you going to call me crazy or stupid for it too?

[weifinder]

( When you're before photography, you don't have words for photographs, okay! These are paintings! Incredibly life-like paintings he has to admire for that quality, but it also happens to be even more ridiculous for the contents.

He taps his finger against one that looks like him at some strange griddle, wearing an odd overcoat (if he knew it was an apron...) and cooking something he can't identify. The All American Barbeque, utterly strange to him in the specifics, but familiar in the generals. Why he's apparently running a street stand in a grass yard is beyond him. )

Is that what these are all meant to be? Family pictures.

( He shakes his head, and smiles when she sighs. )

For what, believing that not every spirit moves on after death? Hardly. Resentful energies are built up by those who die and have resentment in their hearts when they do, amoung other things. Ghosts, spirits, imps, demons, they're all real.

( Not that he'd use the term himself, but the necromancer believes in these things; the only one he knows nothing about being zombies, but hey. One day.

He looks to her, tipping his head her way. )

Those who can afford to say otherwise have been either lucky or blind.

[blackwaterchild]

[It was such a little, tiny, wholly insignificant thing, really. All he's said was that they were real, that he believed them too. What did that really mean, in the grand scheme of things?

And yet...

Miu's breath hitches and holds, her eyes widening in surprise as she stares at Wei Wuxian like he's grown another head.] That's... Well... [She murmurs softly, feeling odd as she finally yanks her gaze away to look at the photos. She's wearing an old-fashioned cheer uniform in one and she can't help but focus on how cliched it is.

What had she glimpsed in Yuri's memories before? Something about a little warmth being all you needed sometimes? It's stupid. It's so stupid.

When was the last time someone had said they believed her? And seemed to actually mean it?

Ugh. She blinks a few times and scowls a little, giving a dismissive shrug and refusing to look at him, instead choosing to glare a hole into the wall.]

Must be real nice wherever you grew up. No one else can see or hear them where I'm from. ["Different worlds" doesn't really come to mind here--how could it, that sounds insane to her!--but different cities? Sure. Maybe they were both kidnapped. Human trafficking isn't exactly uncommon and... Well, maybe this is why they're both here.

She blinks, the aggravation leaving her as she considers that connection, eyeing him thoughtfully.] ...If we have something like that in common, then maybe that's why we're here. Though... That doesn't explain the pictures or the weird old-fashioned clothes... It looks American.

[weifinder]

( He smiles, no comment for what's nice or not about where he grew up. It's beautiful in Yunmeng, and all the local regions, even the Wen's home having its own beauty to it, he supposes. He doesn't linger in those thoughts for long. She's not talking about that, anyway. Just talking about a shared awareness, and the one possessed where he was from wasn't because what those kinds of lingering energies did was nice.

He raises an eyebrow, the faint recollection of that little girl's voice in his dreams fading further away. help... For all he knows, she's right, so he doesn't comment on it either way, focussing instead on all the other oddities she states with some air of familiarity. )

This is old fashioned? Doesn't look like any fashion I know. You say it's American—what's that mean?

[blackwaterchild]

[She gives him an odd look again, growing more and more skeptical that he's not just fucking with her. There's also an odd feeling of dread she can't quite put her finger on...]

Yeah, American. You know... Like from America? 'Land of the Free' and all that? Usually pretty tall, pretty blond...? [She can tell, however, that nothing she's saying is sparking any recognition on his face.

Finally she turns to face him fully, frowning deeply.] ...Where are you from? I'm from Japan. Do you know what that is?

[weifinder]

( He faces her in turn, frowning a touch. This goes beyond not understanding one place she mentions: he takes a moment to scrutinize her and her features, tapping a finger against his chin, then running it down the side of his nose. )

I don't. ( He announces, conversational enough. ) I'm from Yunmeng originally, and my best guess in looking at you is you seem more similar to people from the Eastern islands.

( ... in other words, Japan, but the name she uses rings no particular bells to him. )

There doesn't happen to be a convenient map around here anywhere, does there?

( It's a thin hope, but he can still hope for it. If it reveals a fully alien landscape, then...

... well then. He'll deal with it anyway. Who has a choice? )

[blackwaterchild]

[Miu purses her lips, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.] Eastern islands... So, you’re from the mainland, then. [Yunmeng sounds Chinese enough anyhow, and it fits with his features. His name would probably match, which makes her realize they haven’t exchanged names at all.

One thing at a time though. If there’s a ‘girl’ room for her, there might be a generic ‘boy’ bedroom too, right? She remembers opening a door to one upstairs and it’s more likely that would have one so—]

Come on. There might be one up here. [Jaw set, she strides forward with purpose, making a beeline for the stairs. She hurries up them, not really pausing to make sure he’s actually following her, before she yanks open the door to the other bedroom.

She ignores everything else (beside a brief thought of ‘how come the boys room got a record player and mine didn’t??’) to head for the desk in the corner and start shuffling through it. There was a small globe on it too, but it wouldn’t give her the specific place names she wanted, so she ignored it briefly.

After a moment she unearths a colorful atlas and slams it triumphantly on the desktop.]

An atlas! [She looks smugly pleased as she opens it, though she frowns a little as she flips through it, especially when she gets to the East Asian section and notes the land above China is being called “Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.”

Hmm. Don’t like that.

But she slides the book towards him and points at it.] This is China. Is this where you’re from? [The page is a bit drawn back to show some of the other places around, including Japan, which she points to next.]

This is where I’m from.

TRASH CLOWNS

[childofashes]

[Do not be picky with food.

The rule runs through Sizhui's head multiple times as he deals with the offerings. He doesn't want to turn all these... frankly too nice people away (Do not smile foolishly.), but certainly the rule can be bent a little when the food might be detrimental to his health and those offering it might not be entirely in their right minds. He's decided to try and avoid having to open the door to strange neighbors by going for a walk. They wouldn't stop him to hand him food on a walk, would they?

He has a couple close calls, but ultimately he can use the excuse that he won't be home for a while and he wouldn't want the treats to go bad. He fully expects to find some on his doorstep when he's through...

When he sees a familiar face, his eyes immediately widen and he makes his way toward Wei Wuxian's like a man thrown overboard and swimming for land. It's not his house and he is more or less invading the other's privacy by doing this, but now that he's seen him he can't just keep walking. He doesn't knock on the front door, as he might be taken for another visitor with sugary treats, but instead finds a window and knocks lightly on it.]

[weifinder]

( The knock at the window is new; aside from an errant snowball, nothing's been knocking there instead of the door. Wei Wuxian looks up and over, vigilance flashing in his eyes before the smile that would usually follow, a whole, Who, me? expression to keep the world calmer for the time being.

He doesn't expect he'll recognise the face on the other side of the window. It changes his expression, the not-smile fading immediately into a moment of blankness and then a smile of relief at recognition, and intense displeasure over the implications of seeing Lan Sizhui here—if this is really Sizhui.

Down that path lay a different madness, however, and he dusted his hands off and strode for the door, all smiles, standing out on the front step and waving for Sizhui to come over, to come in. )

Sizhui! I didn't expect to see you here!

( A neutral enough statement for a deeply felt sentiment. At this point, he's expected no familiarity in whatever realm this is, with the people who read as too... accepting, too optimistic, even for someone who lives leaning heavily into optimism himself. There's a difference between habit, performance, and something falser. He's not sure where these people fall, but the false notes stand out to him. )

Come in, let me make you tea!

( One of the blessed things that remains the same, along with a kettle on the contraption that counts as a cooking area in this home filled with evidence of memories that aren't his. )

[childofashes]

[Is it the powder in bags? is what he wants to ask but doesn't. If that's the sort of tea this place has, then that's what he'll have to deal with. And in any case, there are so many more important things to talk and worry about than how good the tea is.

He nods, not managing more than the briefest of smiles in greeting as he comes in. The inside of Wei Wuxian's house is just as disturbing looking as his own.]

If I'd known you were here I would have come by sooner.

[By now he's dressed a little more typical for the times (no more pajamas and bathrobe, sadly) and part of his hair is in a simple ponytail instead of a topknot. He's still missing his forehead ribbon, of course. He feels naked without it.]

How long have you been here? Have you seen Sect Leader Nie? Who else is here?

[The questions start pouring out and he has to quickly stop himself before he breaks multiple Lan rules in one go.]

[weifinder]

( Don't ask, then he won't have to tell. It's not dignified, but he could at least find intact leaves in the sewn bags, but the quality isn't worth trying to compare. At least it's green tea--or passing itself off as such--there's little else he can say about it.

Allow him to be a host, in his limited ways. )

That's the nature of not knowing; you can't act on something without being aware. If I'd know you were here, I'd have gone to find you, too.

( Simple, practical, and sincere: a truth as he moves seamlessly through the alien sea of the kitchen here. )

To answer your questions: since the start of this month, by local standards, I have seen Nie Huaisang recently, and he's filled me in on some of his personal experiences here. ( A pause: ) Xiao Xingchen is here, too. Beyond that, no one I've recognised.

( The gas flame beneath the kettle burns bright, controlled by the knob. It'd taken him several tries to get the knack for it, this strange process he appreciates for its effectiveness. When he turns to level all his attention on his long-missed and not-missing son, his expression is serious. So is his pause, explained by a simple observation: )

To think this is the third time I've seen a Lan without their ribbon. ( And a shake of his head. He, too, sports a ponytail, the pants that still feel too little for layering, and the shirt, mostly buttoned. No jacket. He's not interested in it when he's not cold inside. His robe is draped over a nearby kitchen chair. ) Will you sit? How much did Nie Huaisang mention to you when the two of you discovered each other?

BSing a conversation that hasn't been written yet...

[childofashes]

Thank you. [The younger man takes a seat at the offering. This is Wei Wuxian's current place of residence, so he should behave himself. (Not that he typically doesn't.)]

He did his best to explain the basics of this place to me. [Well, he probably did his best...] I wouldn't turn away a second opinion. [If anything, Sizhui felt more confused after talking with Sect Leader Nie than he had before they'd met.]

As for my headband... [He briefly reaches a hand up to touch the spot on his forehead where it should be, as if it might magically appear should he think about it hard enough. The hand lowers after a moment.] I haven't been able to find it. I'm hoping to talk to someone in charge about having it returned.

[If it hasn't been destroyed for some reason. That's not something he wants to think about.]

You said Xiao Xingchen is here? I'm not sure how that's possible.

we exist in a liminal space of "roll with whatever, it works"

[weifinder]

That might come with time.

( He taps a finger against his own forehead, which is no different than usual, bared because he's not a Lan and never has been. Based on his conversing with Nie Huaisang, and his slowly accumulated observations, the control others have over this situation is palpable. Who those "others" are is the question bearing answering, along with what they "get" out of terrorising a bunch of abducted people. )

I know it's not the same, but we might be able to improvise until then? One of those stores sells ribbon, you could say it's for... spirit?

( He's trying to recall any of the things he's heard the younger teenagers say when he's walked into and around town. There are schooling institutions for the younger generations, but his grasp on their particulars is weak.

He pulls down two cups for tea, then the pot. Into the pot goes the strainer and emptied bags of silk-sewn packeted tea. He cuts them open and pours them in with the equivalent of a mental shrug and a slight frown at his lips. He's not even a strongly opinionated tea drinker and he is offended by this. )

Let's reflect for a moment. The path of time here isn't running in a line. Xiao Xingchen... breathes, soul intact. He's been brought here like we have, but from a time where he was still living.

( It's absurd, but it's also true: no signs of puppetry, no signs of falseness he can find. He might not be a man who understands fierce corpses, and he may not have his cultivation right now, but he has his mind. Xiao Xingchen was living.

The kettle starts to whistle, and he pulls it off the heat, pouring it into the teapot. )

He also didn't remember me.

( Said consideringly, before he sets the kettle down, turns off the heat, and picks up the tea pot, bringing it to the table. He turns back to fetch the cups, setting them down too. )

Which coming from someone with a memory like mine, according to what people say, is probably worth laughing over. Nie-xiong could confirm we met before the war.

( So discrepancies happen in various ways. Is it this place, or something else at work? He doesn't know. Instead, he smiles, affecting an ease to how he holds himself and how he speaks that doesn't dismiss the very probable and real dangers they face, the unknowing and unknown, but it does make it seem a little less dire while being also addressed, point by point. )

We've been abducted to a realm where some form of influence over one's mind can be established anytime for going too blatantly against the 'rules' of this place, which no one bothers to lay out as conveniently as carving them onto stone monuments. So we're observing and mimicking the cicada to fool the mantis into failing to see we're also the oriole sneaking up behind.

( He taps a finger on the table, still smiling. )

Or so I hope! As for the happenings, unfamiliar rituals have kept ghosts at bay where otherwise they seek to destroy and kill. It's taken different forms, but that's the basic line of it all.

Doppelgangs

[fanoperator]

[They already went through running into each other in the street, Huaisang throwing himself at his best friend and wailing about how much he's missed him and how scared he's been, and catching him up on some of the strange details of this hostile place.

It's an immense relief to have Wuxian here, and Huaisang has been sticking close and visiting often. Especially now that he has a certain problem to deal with. A problem which he left locked out on the porch and which is continuing to knock and ring the doorbell with cheery calls of "Wei-xiong? It's me! Let me in!"

Half hiding behind his fan with wide eyes, Huaisang stares from Wuxian to the tied-up doll on the chair. He kind of wants to poke it, but he's far too frightened to get close.] Why does someone really, really like you?

[weifinder]

( He smiles beatifically, for all his eyes bear none of the apparent humour or better mood. )

Nie-xiong, making such a puppet and instructing it to follow after me in such mimic? Either they like me a lot to try and get this version of me without any of the complications, or they hate me rather a lot. Feels too personal when as far as we know, no one we know has any influence over these things.

( He stands, casting a look back to the door and the incessant knocking. )

Want me to take care of your worse half?

( He has the chair he just stood out of, after all. He's got more rope! And he's not unused to sudden violence, given his upbringing. The puppets aren't better at this than he is, in the end, and that's scant comfort when he's sure they can learn. What an odd sort of magic this is, and still... that dream. The one he can't recall much of, frankly, as it hadn't been all that pleasant, but enough to know the gist of it even now. )

[fanoperator]

It's far too personal, [Huaisang agrees, squirming uncomfortably at the thought of, well, all this.] I don't know whether they like me or hate me. I feel like... some part of this place hates all of us. It wants us to suffer.

[Whimpering unhappily at the thought, Huaisang winces at another loud blare of the doorbell. He's eager to nod in reply to his friend's offer.] Yes, please, Wei-xiong. I... it frightens me.

[weifinder]

Then the question is, to what end? Suffering for suffering's sake only makes sense if they're that sadistic.

( If the enjoyment is getting people to just be Tortured, then sure, maybe. But what kind of energy (he thinks of that first, of course) comes out of the fright instilled by things like this? Instead, he gestures toward his double, who stares back at both of them, no longer trying to speak as often. Almost looking wounded, like they've been wronged. )

But imagine, we see something like this. Does it make you wonder at all about some of the attitudes of people in this place?

( The people on the other side of town, especially. Regardless, he moves to the counter and picks up a length of rope that he hands over to Nie Huaisang, since scared or not, frightened or not, two people means four hands and that's easier than how he struggled through getting his own double where they are now. (The bruises and the rest are going to start manifesting tomorrow.) )

Let me get them down, then help bind their wrists. They fight back hard.

( Like individuals with nothing to lose, and no sense of pain, which as far as he knows may be doubly true.

That said, he answers the door with a smile, body blocking the view of his double, and gestures for not!Huaisang to step inside. )

Patience isn't your strong point, is it?

( Once the double steps inside, Wei Wuxian uses his foot to start the door closing, spinning toward the double and taking hold of their arm. The reaction is immediate, going from the pleasant chirping repetition of hellos to a shriek, but Wei Wuxian already has their arm behind them and drives a foot into the back of their knee, riding them to the floor. Nothing about it is elegant aside from the efficiency of Wei Wuxian's movements, but he has learned a thing or two once he ended up being the weak end of the cultivator spectrum. Momentum, angles, all the things to work in your favour when you can't match physical strength to physical strength.

It's a matter of riding a kicking, bucking not!Huaisang's back and wresting the second arm around to the back, keeping hold of their wrists for Nie Huaisang's binding, that makes all this look like some kind of kidnapping event playing out in the front room. )

Anytime now! Hey, will you calm down, you act like I'm trying to eat you.

( Ignoring, of course, the plethora of screams and shouted things coming out of not!Huaisang's mouth the whole while. )

[fanoperator]

Maybe they're this kind of sadistic. Like people who like being overseers because of the power it gives them over people.

[He accepts the rope, looking from it to the tied-up double and then back to Wuxian, as if he doesn't understand what they're about to do with the rope. Not!Wuxian is already tied up, after all.]

Oh, they have spells that do that. I don't know who controls the spells, but I've seen a few instances of people being too mouthy and causing trouble only to suddenly become all cheerful and cooperative minutes later. So... be careful. Drawing attention isn't a good idea.

[Watching wide-eyed as Wuxian takes down the eerie doll doppleganger, Huaisang gapes for a moment and then slips off his own scarf, bending down and stuffing it into the double's mouth. Then he grips it firmly by the hair to minimize its lashing while he kneels heavily on its back. Calm and focused, he swiftly secures the rope around the thing's wrists, tying a secure knot with expert hands.

Then he gets up and scrambles backward to safety, whipping out his fan again and hiding behind it as he waits for Wuxian to handle the rest.]

[weifinder]

( The amount of power, the kind of sacrifices needed to summon bodies across distances... hah. If anyone knew some of those costs, it would be the both of them. He gives Nie Huaisang a dry look, as if to imply, you think so?, but to him that's too thin a reason, too simple at its heart, and too complicated for its process.

Regardless, here he is, and so he'll deal with those thoughts later. )

Ah, but Nie-xiong, when am I ever anything less than cheerfully cooperative?

( Grin more than a touch wry, he knows it is not what he's known for, but the charming flaunting of rules in his youth is tempered anyway these days: still something he does, but with awareness and a choice of the when and hows. Granted, being in Gusu Lan at all as he has, or plans to be again, is a flagrant flaunting of one particular man's rules, but Lan Qiren isn't alive if he's not having some reaction to something about Wei Wuxian. Let an old man be as ridiculous as he wants, it's all benign comparatively.

Not that he ignores what's meant behind that. Some spell, or curse, that works in such a way... and none of them (as far as he knows) possessing any skills that would sense such things in any meaningful way. While Huaisang helps by gagging and binding the puppet Wei Wuxian's likewise keeping on the floor, he considers: )

No signs of anything I could see as significant or ritual when I woke initially. In this place, that is, waking up today was more... did you have any vivid dreams in the last few nights? Ones you can recall?

( Nie Huaisang moves again, up and hiding his face as he does, but Wei Wuxian only sighs and shakes his head at his friend (and, in ways, both saviour and the one willing to edge on a little bit of suicide in bringing him back for his own reasons, and as a masterful play off Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian both in the process, one Jin Guangyao had aimed for too later for his own reasons), vaguely amused. Is it better or worse he feels no less strong than he has been lately anyway, now that he's undeniably normal human in all ways? Who's to say.

Hauling the not!Huaisang up, he's met with kicking resistance and ends up sweeping the puppet into his arms, flashing a charming, ironic smile as he strides for the chair and deposits his burden there with more care than he needs, and less than he perhaps should. The puppets, unlike true beings, are more breakable. One looks closely and one can see a crack across the puppet Wei Wuxian's cheek, from impact in their tussle. )

The problem with making a fuss, and take it from two people who are very good at making fusses, is you need to either know or guess very well at your audience. You, my puppet friend, didn't know yours.

( All said conversationally enough, though the puppet again tries fighting back: first with a headbutt, that Wei Wuxian dodges by leaning to the side, then trying to kick up and out of the chair.

Wei Wuxian opts to sit in the puppet's lap, bracing a hand against their head and otherwise tossing a look back at Nie Huaisang: )

There's more rope on the counter.

( Take care of those legs, will you? The rope there however looks more home-grown, so to speak, made out of woven together strips of sheets. Sometimes you just gotta improvise. )

[fanoperator]

Hmmmmm, [Huaisang pretends to think about Wuxian's claim of always being cheerfully cooperative, pursing his lips in thought.] Can't think of any examples.

[He keeps out of the way as Wuxian takes on most of the effort of handling his puppet-self.] That awful dream about a puppet? This puppet? [Huaisang nods, shuddering at the memory of that awful, horrifying dream.] It was wretched. Like my skin was being torn off and I no longer had a mouth. [Among other terrors, but Huaisang doesn't want to linger on that misery. He always prefers to shoo away negativity and dwell on brighter things.] And then this one showed up. It doesn't seem like a coincidence. [Pointing his fan at his struggling other self, Huaisang grimaced.]

I'm glad it was only a nightmare. With the strange and awful magic of this place, I wouldn't be surprised if it got worse sometime. Will you... in case you run into me or another of these ones, just... make sure it's me. I'm scared they might actually swap me with one of those. [At least for now it's obvious which one's which, but the dolls are learning and mimicking, and Huaisang is terrified of them becoming truly convincing duplicates.

When instructed, he grabs the makeshift rope and brings it over, grabbing one leg at a time and winding the rope to secure them.] We're going to have to go to the hardware store and get you some more rope. And also... new sheets?

[weifinder]

( Wei Wuxian laughs at the response to his cheerful cooperation claim, one of the few genuine times since he's arrived here. Then he's holding a bucking, misleadingly fragile puppet in place while Huaisang runs down a list of too familiar statements. )

I had the same dream. So no, I wouldn't say any of this is a coincidence, exactly.

( Or that they are the only two people in this current situation. Whatever the number of abducted are, he'd guess there's at least a handful of them suffering the same situation. It's clearly not house-related. )

Have you seen any of the over-cheery ones bleed?

( He asks, as if this is totally normal to ask someone. The dolls are imperfect mimics in a variety of ways, that being one of them. Does that change? Is it what explains the half of the town so... strikingly optimistic? Or is that more of the mind manipulation that can be brought down at various times?

Either way, what's the purpose of the imperfect puppetry?

Nie Huaisang's entirely normal statement about supplies has Wei Wuxian blinking, then laughing, brief and again, honestly amused. )

Skip the sheets, there's the second bed sitting empty, and the whole second room meant for a youth of some sort. Rope, however, yes. Do we need some kind of story for why? Does anyone appear to pay attention to what people are buying?

( Another pause. )

Nie-xiong, are we supposed to... work here? Because whatever stipend getting slid our way is, ah, not really going to cover past necessities if I'm understanding the money system here.

[fanoperator]

Yes. [Huaisang shudders as he offers a grim answer to the question.] Last month, there was... well, I've told you about some of it. The overly-cheery Christmas village, being teleported there, being teleported into the lake there, seeing monster reindeer eating normal reindeer and people, snowmen who encroached on the house, and inside the snowmen were the over-cheery ones, and if you hit them they... they bled.

More important about the over-cheery ones is that it's not always permanent. One of my friends was ensorcelled like that for a couple of weeks, but now he's back to normal. I... I fear that the overly-cheery ones are actually ... us. The abductees. After a certain amount of time, we'll be permanently cheery like that. Especially if we draw attention and don't fit in like we're supposed to.

I don't think they'll ask questions about rope as long as you have excuses ready. Tell them it's a home improvement project. If anyone presses, say it's a rope swing. Just... have your excuses and act cheery and cooperative and it'll be okay.

[Retreating back away from the puppets and hiding behind his fan again once he can, Huaisang chews worriedly at his lower lip.] Yes. The houses seem to be paid for, but you need a job for necessities. I've been working part-time at the department store, learning to sew, and working on art pieces that I can sell.