TDM - JANUARY 2021

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - JANUARY 2021

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

---

“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

---

JANUARY 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping. If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas. If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player. And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time. By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, the morning news is playing. The newscaster, a man in a gray suit and horn-rimmed glasses, keeps shuffling his paperwork on his desk as black and white footage of people in the midst of celebration — throwing streamers, wearing paper hats, toasting flutes of bubbly liquid — is interspersed between his droning report: ”New Year's Eve was in full swing last night as citizens from all over Santa Rosita came together to ring in 1961. A surge in ginger ale and sparkling cider beverage sales was reported by Honeybees as early as eight o'clock in the evening, a boon for the store…“

---

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961. If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke? A. CLOWN AROUND. If December was a time for sweet treats and good food, January is the month where everyone is trying to unload their leftovers. Who better to enjoy them than you, the newest family on the block? Your neighbors have quite a bit of food to share: Throughout the month, they'll stop by to say hello, bringing a new sugary dish with them each time. As always, jello molds are a staple. One plate turns into three turns into five, and by the end of the first week of January, you're likely to end up with a collection of jiggling pink, green, and orange lumps taking up space in your fridge. From mountains of Whip 'n Chill to Broken Window Glass cake, you'd be forgiven in thinking that there's no end to it. And yet, there's the occasional exception. Someone comes by with a Bundt cake lathered in vanilla icing and topped with rainbow sprinkles. Were it not for the giant candy clown head topping it, it would almost look good enough to eat. "There's a rumor going around that you've been a bit under the weather, so I thought this would cheer you up!" they say, right before thrusting the technicolor nightmare into your hands, the clown's dead pink frosted eyes staring up at you. Your neighbor is quick to tell you to eat it while the icing is still fresh (you never know who might lick it off when you're not looking, eh kids?), but not that the clown itself is made out of styrofoam. That's something you'll just have to find out for yourself when you take it back inside and start chowing down!

B. SNOW DAY

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

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

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

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

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

---

THROUGHOUT JANUARY.

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

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

---

END OF THE MONTH.

CW: body horror, dolls, violence

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

A. DOPPELGANGER.

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

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

This is not the case.

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

You.

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

"Hi!"

"Good morning!"

"Hello!"

"Rise and shine!"

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

That is, until you become aggressive with it.

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

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

"Not nice!"

"Why are you so mean?!"

"Not nice, not nice, NOT NICE!"

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

---

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's second TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to February 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper. Additionally, starting today comments made to the TDM will now count towards Activity Check. Current players are permitted to use up to five comments from it for this month's Activity Check — half of the required amount to pass. The other five must be made within the game's communities.

If you would like to have January or other winter-themed content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

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

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Comments

Number Five | The Umbrella Academy

[oldmanfive]

1. January 1st.

[ Five's pretty sure he's stepped into the Twilight Zone when he finds himself waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom. Though on the nightstand he's greeted to a photograph of himself dressed in a baseball uniform while holding a bat. He's standing next to people who look like they could be his family...if he knew who the hell they were. He sits up grabbing the photo to examine it closer. But then he finds himself looking around the room. It's filled with things that a typical thirteen year old boy would like from comic books and model kits to various sports memorabilia. And there's more photos in frames on the desk next a kit that looks like it was being worked on.

What. The. Fuck. If he didn't know better, he would be convinced that he's tripping balls. This shit has to be drug induced or something! He glances down at his clothing to see he is wearing pajamas that remind him of the academy pajamas but without the logo. He eyes the closet door cautiously before opening it to reveal what he can only assume is his wardrobe. It's not a bunch of uniforms, but the sight of the clothes make him groan anyway. ]

Okay, suddenly I'm Leave it to Beaver.

[ He scoffs, pulling out one of the outfits with a frustrated sigh. Fuck. He doesn't even know what the fuck to think anymore as he changes and heads down stairs to see if he can find the other people in the photos. Maybe one of them knows what the hell is going on. And well he could use some fucking coffee. It's at the thought of coffee that he realizes that he can't use his powers for some reason. And it is not the normal exhaustion or hunger that is keeping him from them.]

Fucking great, just what I needed.

[ He mutters to himself as he heads into the kitchen and starts looking through the cabinets. There better be coffee or someone is going to die. And it won't be him. ]

2. Coming Attractions CW: Blood, violence & death. (His serial is totally viewable if anyone wants to see it.)

[ He's not really sure how he got talked into coming to the movies, it's not really something he's interested in. Yet, he is, sitting in the car, looking a giant screen, waiting for the short films before the movie to start. However once the screen lights up and Five suddenly sees himself and his actual siblings surrounding his brother Diego and the Handler's daughter, Lila. Five remembers the heartfelt words that he gives to Lila. You're one of us. We can be your family. Diego tells her. She looks confused and Five's brothers and sisters look sympathetic, however Five notes that the unnerving smirk on his face is not the look he remembers giving.

Then the Handler comes out of nowhere with an ambush shooting Five and his siblings down with a machine gun. Blood splatters everywhere, while his siblings' bullet riddled dead bodies are sprawled out all over the barn's dirty floor. Pools of blood, slowly soaking the hay beneath them. Five on the screen manages to gasp out as he awakens, desperately trying to look around for his siblings but he's gravely injured and slowly dying a painful death himself.

Oh good, you're still alive. It's only fitting you got to see how this all played out. The Handler speaks, pointing her gun down at him, just about to pull the trigger. Though she is shot from behind three times, blood bubbles up from her lips as she falls to the dirty ground. Meanwhile Five continues to gasp and choke on his own blood, fighting to gather what strength he has left to use his powers. The serial ends as a tall Swedish blond man walks over to him and points his gun at Five ready to put him out of his misery. The film closing in on Five's eyes that are looking toward the camera in a moment of fourth wall breaking a cold murderous gaze surfacing and then that the part of the serial is finished.

Five's poker face falters at what he's just seen. His chest tightens and suddenly he feels the need for air. He frowns in an effort to maintain his usual surly demeanor. Though he feels as if the car is closing in around him.]

Screw this! I'm getting another drink.

[ He announces as he quickly jumps out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he heads toward the concessions. Luckily it is cold outside because he can use that as an excuse as to why his hands are trembling as he orders himself a hot chocolate. All the while he contemplates walking home rather than subjecting himself to anymore of the movies. ]

3. Wild Card

[ If you would prefer a different scenario with Five, hit me up through PMs on this journal or PPs on plurk. I'm at ariyanaforever if anyone wants to plot something out specific. Otherwise I am also cool with playing things by ear and seeing how it goes.]

Coming Attractions

[measuringdistance]

[Five isn't the only one who's been trying to ignore the screen. Not that Chikai's about to leave over it - it's all just stuff he's lived through already, so there's nothing to be bothered about. Obviously. He's just spent the last fifteen minutes at the concession stand trying to decide between different kinds of candy because he's picky and their selection is garbage, that's all.

Then, to his surprise, the film starts showcasing someone else. What appears onscreen may be objectively pretty nasty, but as long as it's happening to someone else, it's an improvement. Chikai's finally starts to head back for his own car so he can sit out the rest of however long this 'film' is supposed to last, when the kid he thought he just saw die walks past him on the way to the snacks. It's not really his business, but... curiosity wins out and he decides to linger a while longer.]

So, that all real, or you just a really great actor?

[oldmanfive]

[ After that whole intrusion of his privacy put on display, Five wasn't exactly in the proper space. He hadn't realized anyone was lingering near him until he heard the man spoke. Instinctively he glances over and finds himself suppressing a sigh, but certainly not withholding the glare. ]

Definitely not an actor.

[ He answers curtly, turning back to the concessions to get the cup of hot chocolate that is being held out toward him. ]

[measuringdistance]

Guess that's not a surprise. Kids usually ain't that convincing - no offense.

[He takes another glance at the screen - ah, shit. It's back to one of his own. One of the night's he'd been running from Kamome, trying to dodge his fellow gang members in dark alleys. Managing to overhear one of them say, 'If we can't find him, we can always just grab his brother. Hear he's got a soft spot for the brat.' Not a great one.

...Wait. If he could see one of this kid's memories, would it work the other way around? Now there's an idea he doesn't like at all. With a slight grimace, he turns totally back to his new buddy, placing himself directly in the way of the screen like he could block it all on his own.]

Well, sorry you went out like that. Getting shot blows.

[oldmanfive]

[ He just shrugs, he's not an actor or a kid, so he could care less about the dig. ]

Whatever.

[ He really wants a cup of coffee, but he settles for choking down the chocolate as he glances back toward the screen taking note that the guy talking to him is being featured. Well at least he's not the only one getting his business put out there. ]

I didn't die from that.

1.

[mandelbrots]

[Fortunately, he doesn't have to look far. In fact, he doesn't even have to look in the cabinets at all. Sitting with all her limbs in a hunched tangle is a young woman not much larger than him. There's a cigarette in her mouth, trailing smoke out the open window over the sink, and in her hands are the pieces of a mid-century coffee percolator.

As soon as Five enters, she zeroes in on him, thrusting out the contraption.]

Hey, you, Beaver Cleaver. [A shot in the dark, seeing as how he's a random child in goofy pajamas, but she's on the precipice of a caffeine withdrawal migraine. It's been at least a day since her last energy drink in the back of the guys' van, and apparently you have to have passed high school chemistry to make a cup here.] Please tell me you know how to use this shit.

[oldmanfive]

[ He can't even stop himself from glaring at her for the Beaver Cleaver comment, even if he had been thinking it when he woke up in this stupid place. ]

Ha ha, does that make you June?

[ He asks sarcastically, though he does take the percolator out of her hands. Luckily for both him and her, he does have experience with 60's style appliances and well when it comes to coffee, there is nothing going to stop him for making a pot. ]

You're in luck. I do know how to work this.

[ He walks over to the sink to start prepping it. ]

[mandelbrots]

[Amanda gags dramatically into her hand as she shoves over the contraption. Clearly only one person in this room has the maturity of a seven-year-old boy, and she's perched right here in the window.]

Yeah, apparently I don't remember having a baby at my sixth grade dance, but life is full of surprises. [A shrug that would be cheerfully sarcastic if she wasn't a hunch of nervous energy right now. She tips her ashes into the sponge dish.] Do you need breakfast? I can make, uh.

[Shit. She's not prepared for this.]

Cereal.

[oldmanfive]

[ A part of him wants to laugh when she gags because for a moment he's reminded of Lila gagging at Luther when he tried to be heartfelt. ]

Despite what the photos in this house are trying to tell us. We both know you aren't my mother and I'm definitely not your son. [ He says simply as he puts the percolator parts down on the counter. ]

So please don't feel like you have to try and mother me. Besides all I want right now is caffeine.

1

[niteowls]

[ after going through her own crisis, bo-katan gets properly dressed out of terrible pajamas and into a comfortable Look because she must always be blue. in her exploration of the house she comes to the kitchen and stops when she sees the young boy. she watches him silently, raising an eyebrow as he goes through the cabinets, then puts on her best impression of a pleasant smile. ]

Hello?

[ who are you tiny boy? ]

[oldmanfive]

[ Five glances over his shoulder as hears himself being addressed. Ah one of the people from the pictures. Though judging from the stiff smile she's giving him, he's beginning to think he won't be getting any answers from her.

Just before he turns around, he grabs a canister of coffee out of the cabinet and closes it. ]

Hello. You want some coffee too?

[ He shrugs as he needs some caffeine if he is going to make heads or tails of the situation. ]

[niteowls]

[ coffee? her brows press for just a moment, unsure, then takes a closer look at the cannister. ah, he means caf. ]

I'm more for tea. [ a polite decline. she steps further into the kitchen, taking a look around with curious eyes. her smile dissolving as she decides she doesn't need to keep it on. ] I suppose you don't really live here as well.

[oldmanfive]

To each his own then. [ He shrugs as he goes about setting things up to make the pot of coffee he's been craving since he woke up.

He only really pauses his movements to turn his back to the woman, who judging from the photos around the house is suppose to be playing the role of his mother. Though he has no intention of actually calling her that, regardless of what might be expected of them.]

Nope, just woke up here this morning. There's too much crazy going on for me to function without caffeine at this point.

[ He's fairly matter of fact as he goes back to preparing his pot of coffee. ]

1.

[naboosnaberrie]

[It takes Padmé a good twenty minutes to make her way downstairs, so unused to the architecture and the lack of familiar technology -- manual doors with knobs, rather than sliding ones activated by a gesture over the motion-sensor. By the time she gets to the kitchen (she's assuming, being that she only recognizes half of the appliances, if that much), she's caught halfway between irritation and panic.

Seeing a completely unfamiliar boy ransacking the cupboards doesn't much help with that. Padmé clears her throat, polite at first, wrapped up in the tragically boring-patterned robe.] Ah, excuse me?

[oldmanfive]

[ It takes Five a few moments longer to acknowledge Padme as he is hyper focused on finding the coffee, once he opens one more cabinet and scores the coffee canister. He lets out a sigh of relief, he finally turns around to see the lady of the house. According to the photos all around the house, she would be playing the part of his mother and given the expression on her face, he can see this might be an issue. ]

You okay there?

[ He asks as he goes to start setting up the coffee percolator because he needs caffeine in the worst way. ]

[naboosnaberrie]

[Padmé has a few thousand questions, but they all die away at the sight -- and somewhat familiar smell -- of the machine.] What -- is that caf? [Please, sithspit and hells, say yes, she needs it so badly.]

[oldmanfive]

[He partly frowns at the question as he's not heard of coffee referred to in that manner. But he's just going to assume she means coffee.]

Coffee? Yeah, it'll take a few minutes to brew, but it isn't like we have anything else to do at the moment.

[ Caffeine is a must if he is going to make any sort of sense of what the hell is going on. As he finishes setting up the pot and goes to place it on the stove top burner to brew. He turns back to Padme.]

I'm Five, by the way.

[ He introduces himself because they are on the same boat, so they might as well exchange information in some fashion. ]

2

[alchutie]

[Not long after Five's serial airs and as he steps away from the concession stand, another serial featuring a sickly little girl follows. Pale and gaunt, her body is racked with horrible coughing fits- the poor thing looks like she could keel over at any moment. But she tirelessly works at a table with all sorts of materials and substances. Another girl joins her at some point, telling her that she should get some rest. But the girl at the table stubbornly refuses, reminding the other that she doesn't have any time left. She needs to make that new body or else--

"But Brother--!"

Wait, brother?

That's when an angry voice cuts in from the concession stand's counter.]

Gimme a pack of chocolates.

[It's the sickly girl from the screen.

As she steps away from the stand to ungracefully shove some candies in her mouth, she spots Five and her brow furrows further.]

I'm gonna guess that you didn't consent to your memories being shown for all the world to see either.

[oldmanfive]

[ There's still a slight tremble in his hands as he grabs the hot chocolate handed to him and he turns his attention toward the screen. He finds himself frowning wondering if he's seeing someone's memory since it doesn't seem like it would be a serial anymore than his own memory was.

The angry voice he hears, catches his attention and well the silent question is answered quickly. And well she doesn't look anymore happy than himself to have her business be broadcasting to the town at large. He sticks his free hand into his pocket in an effort to get his trembling under control, while he takes a sip of the hot chocolate he just bought. It sucks, but it is warm, so he just focuses on that until she addresses him. He scoffs, his own irritability showing.]

Since when have they bothered with our consent for anything around here? But this is a new low for sure.

[ He acknowledges as he takes another drink and wishes for something stronger. God, where were the assholes who would sneak alcohol into these things? ]

2!

[bibliophilicbells]

[Aziraphale is hovering next to the concessions stand, hands wrapped around his own (so far untouched and rapidly growing cold) cup of cocoa — his expression is a little dark and a lot troubled, though the fuzzy trapper hat he's wearing softens it some.

This is not, exactly, what he had in mind for this evening. He sought an escape, something fun and light, and instead...

He pulls his gaze from the screen when there's movement beside him; he looks, sees the boy, looks back at the screen. Does a double-take.

Makes it a triple, for good measure, and can't quite hide the concern that's taken over his face.]

[oldmanfive]

[ Five does his best to ignore the looks that come his way. This is certainly not the type of attention he ever wanted. He hates being the center of attention, especially when the attention is because of his hardships.

He merely sighs as he feels the eyes of the guy next to him at the concessions on him. He tries to ignore the glances as he takes the cup of hot chocolate being handed to him. It's not really the sort of drink he wants right about now, but being stuck in the form of a kid means he won't be getting any liquor any time soon.

After a moment he sighs as he glances over to the man staring at him.]

Please don't give me that look.

[ He can't handle it right now after being exposed once again. This stupid fucking town. ]

[bibliophilicbells]

[Aziraphale doesn't think he's staring, but then he realizes: He is, in fact, staring. At least he has the manners to look apologetic.]

— sorry.

[He can't be that much older than Warlock. The thought makes Aziraphale want to shiver.

Or maybe that's just the cold.]

For what it's worth, the townsfolk here never seem to notice... well, much of anything, really.

[oldmanfive]

Whatever.

[ Normally he'd be a lot more irritable, but the wind has kind of been taken out of his sails. He just lets out an annoyed sigh because this stupid fucking town. He hates it here, so much. ]

Yeah, I've noticed, but that doesn't make any of this okay.

[ As if one of the Stepford Wives shoving a stupid Jell-O mold at him would make this invasion of his memories more palpable. ]

2! lmk if okay!

[evoque]

[ you know, this was getting old. one stint into the 1960s was enough for his lifetime. he could go the rest of it without ever having to be tossed into another year, another place he doesn't know.

its tempting, to drown his sorrows again. it isn't a surprise his coke is spiked with whatever rum he found in the cupboards that even still predate that whole stepford-wife appeal and either way, klaus would make a terrible one.

wherever in california this was, it felt wrong. obviously. like looking at a funhouse mirror, edges distorted into something not quite real. and maybe it was because one moment, they're all together. so close to going home, so close to putting a final neat little period at the end the terrible shitshow that they were in the center of, only to have to wake up to this.

so, what does klaus do upon finding himself alone once again?

well, the movies is a good option. because they fill the deafening silence. because then he doesn't have to focus on being so starkly alone, and can shove some popcorn down his throat and sip on a boozy hot coco.

except of course that's not how it fucking works and he doesn't stay seated in the car for long. not with the memories that play across the screen. not with what he's forced to remember, that train-wreck inability to look away before he finally wrenches himself out of the car, spills out into the grass with a near-sob, before shuffling off towards the confection stand.

it's there that he sees him.

he doesn't immediately believe it and the heels of his palms press so hard into his eyes he sees white, and when he does approach, it's with a harrowed, sunken-eyed look. is he seeing the dead? did his conjuring work?

he should be happy. instead, all he feels is terrible, sinking dread. still he digs the flask out of his pocket. ] You look like you need something stronger than some fluff and coco. [ his own voice, sing-song lilt and all, is distant even to him, and he offers a weak smile.

even klaus' bullshit masks can crack. ]

looks good to me!

[oldmanfive]

[ Five finds himself freezing on the spot as he had just been reaching out for the cup of hot chocolate that was being given to him, the moment he hears a familiar voice. His emotions are still raw from being reminded of what happened back in Dallas. Not to mention the added bonus of having others being able to see his memories on display in a Drive In theater.

He inhales sharply as he forces himself to take the cup before glancing over to find his brother looking at him. Welp, that was not the way he ever wanted any of his siblings to find out about that moment in Dallas. Obviously he saved them or they wouldn't be here, but that doesn't change the memory for Five, he has to live with image in his head. ]

You're not wrong, but they don't serve the good stuff to minors around here.

[ Yeah that was his attempt at a joke, but his voice comes out a bit too shaky to be convincing. Suddenly he feels his chest tightening again as he desperately tries to force down his panic. You weren't meant to see that, Klaus! No one was meant to see that, but especially not his siblings! Five hates this feeling of being exposed.]