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

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“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.

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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

[oldmanfive]

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

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

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

[hardcase]

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

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

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

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

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

[oldmanfive]

[ Five lets out an amused scoff on Flagg's apple pie comment, though he continues on with setting things up for the coffee as that is his priority at this point. He only pauses as he glances over his shoulder with a sigh. ]

Definitely the latter. I messed up a time jump and ended up age regressing my body.

[ Once again he returns to preparing the coffee, before moving over to the stove top to put the percolator on one of the burners to start it brewing. Once it is set up he moves back over to the counter and leans against it ready to wait. ]

I don't suppose you got any ideas on what is going on here?

[hardcase]

That's rough. [ But he's giggling under his breath like a giddy schoolgirl because it's also really, really funny. ] How old are you for real, then? A hundred?

[ That's actually a guess on the low side; most of the people he knows who've screwed with time are older than that. ]

My best guess would be that we were some place where the barrier between worlds was thin and something knocked us through it. It's happened to me before. A big enough blast'll do it. [ He only wishes he could remember what happened before he got here. Whatever it was really scrambled his memories something fierce. ]

'Course, you usually end up lying in a ditch somewhere, not tucked in bed. Doesn't explain the family portraits, either.

[oldmanfive]

[ His eyes momentarily widen at that guess. Holy fuck, how old was this guy to toss out a number like a 'hundred'? Five manages to recover himself quickly as he shakes his head 'no'. ] No, I'm actually 58.

[ As far as Five knows, he's human, but it is questionable given the circumstances behind his and his siblings birth. He crosses his arms over his chest as he listens to Flagg's suggestions for what could possibly be going on. He can't really deny that he finds the idea of multiple worlds to be intriguing. The idea sparks his mind in the way it sparks when thinking of traveling through time.

But then it comes back to the photos that cover the place, basically suggesting that the lives they knew were some how an illusion and their current situation is reality. He frowns at the thought.]

Everything about this place feels like it is straight out of an episode of the Twilight Zone. Someone or something has gone out of their way to try and convince us that we've only ever been a family and nothing else.

[hardcase]

I’m somewhere between one and two thousand. Closer to two, I imagine, but I stopped counting. [ He looks mid-forties if anything, and without his magic he’s got no way to prove that claim, but he seems serious enough. ] I’m afraid ‘respect your elders’ still applies, huh?

[ His tolerance for actual children is low, though, so Five’s real age is a positive. Anyone looking to Flagg for gentle fatherly guidance would be very disappointed. ]

Either they’ve done a shit job of convincing us or we’re immune to whatever memory manipulation or other mindfuckery they’ve tried. I don’t personally mind going through the 60s again, but the involvement of whoever set this house up is...concerning.

[oldmanfive]

Shit. [ He mutters in completely shocked fashion. Given their current circumstances, he doesn't really have a reason to believe that the guy is outright lying. But holy shit, two thousand years old, the idea of someone living that long is mind boggling! Five can count his existence down to the minutes and seconds, so the number presented by Flagg has his eyes widening. ] I can't even wrap my mind around the idea of living that long.

[ He has to shake his head to get his mind back into the conversation. Cause if whatever brought them here was able to take away his powers and bring someone as old as Flagg here, then they were likely screwed. ]

What if they weren't trying to alter our memories directly? [ He doesn't like his current train of thought, but they can't dismiss the idea that someone or something might want them to remember their old lives as some sort of sick game. ]

[hardcase]

I couldn't have at your age either, but hey. Time's relative. [ He's taken months-long walks without getting bored at this point. It all passes so fast and he has a lot to think about.

That means he's not in too much of a rush to leave this place, either, but he does love a good puzzle and the fact that some of these photos show him as a teenager - something he hasn't been in countless centuries - concerns him more than anything else. ]

Also possible. I have to wonder what the motivation would be for that, though. Unless it's for funsies. [ Says the man who has toppled civilizations for what might be referred to as 'funsies'. ] Whoever did it must be powerful, because they've cut me off from my powers completely.

[oldmanfive]

[ He's definitely heard the time's relative thing before and he can't dispute it. He learned that first hand working for the Temps Commission and all the time line hopping they had him do, when they sent him out on missions.

However Flagg mentioning being cut off from his powers, has Five stiffening...]

You too then? I haven't been able to use either of my powers since waking up. I've never felt this disconnected from them, not even when I was too starved to use them.

[ He sighs as he pulls two coffee mugs out of the dish rack near the sink and places them on the counter.]

Things can't really bode well for us, if whoever has brought us here can change reality to only make us into a 'family' and suppress our powers too.

[hardcase]

Mine come and go, but not at the whims of some reality-bending kidnapper. Almost no one's got power like that. [ He knows this because it was the type of power he was pursuing himself, and he's never found a reliable way to get it. ] Luckily I've busted out of universes with less to work with. You ever jump worlds, kid?

[ He smiles slightly at that because if he were stuck in a kid body it'd annoy the fuck out of him to be called 'kid', and he's a cheeky bastard. But Five seems to know his shit and could be a valuable ally, so he won't be too mean.

He eyes the mugs on the counter ]. Nothing in mine, thanks. I'll take it black.

[oldmanfive]

[ He barely suppresses the eye twitch at hearing himself get called kid. It's reflex at this point, there's bigger thing to worry about than being called 'kid', 'sport', 'young man' and so forth. ] No, I've only ever jumped through time. I've had theories of alternate realities, but I never gotten a chance to research it.

[ He admits as he picks up a pot holder and walks over to the stove to turn off the burner and remove the percolator. ] Good, I wasn't planning on adding anything else to it.

[ Five always drank his coffee black, if anyone wanted to pollute their coffee they could do it on their own. He takes the pot over to the counter with the mugs and fills them both. The black liquid billows steam as it is still piping hot. He puts the pot back on the stove, before going back to grab one of the mugs off the counter. ]

Here you go, hopefully it is passable but I can't vouch for the grounds around here.

[ He says as he places the mug on the table in front of Flagg, before going back over to the counter to retrieve his own mug. ]

[hardcase]

Well, it's difficult and it might take a few years but I can get us out of here eventually. [ Where exactly they'll end up is still afterwards up in the air, but that's how it is. ] You might wanna stay a while, anyway. You'll be old enough to go to Woodstock by '69. [ He laughs out loud at his own joke, because Five does not seem like the Woodstock type.

He takes the mug and blows on it a little before having a sip. Normally he wouldn't be bothered if it was too hot, but without his magic he's just as vulnerable to a burnt tongue as anyone else. ]

It's alright, not the best cup o' joe I've ever had but not the worst.

[oldmanfive]

I really hope it doesn't take that long to find a way out. [ And it's not even impatience this time around driving his need to get out of this place. He just really doesn't want to see what else can be done to him, if they can take his powers and use his image for their fake photos. He frowns at the Woodstock joke.] Ugh, once was enough and I was just there long enough to take out a mark.

[ Woodstock was definitely not his scene, luckily that was mainly sniper work for him. He blows on his own mug before taking a sip of his coffee. Yeah, he was definitely going to have to get better coffee grounds later, but for now it would do. He just really needed the caffeine. ]

Well if we are going to be stuck here for awhile. I'll have to see what they types of coffee they sell at the store.

[ And then promptly steal what he wants. ]

[hardcase]

You missed out. You should've seen it after it started raining. Whole place was just a big ol' mud pit. [ And his tone suggests that he actually quite enjoyed the big ol' mud pit, unlike most of the attendees. He's long past the point of caring about things like warmth and comfort, and the chaos of thousands of people stomping around in the mud was fun. ]

I'd say 'that's assuming you trust the shopkeeper' but I guess we're already trusting random shit in the cupboards here.

[ Not like there's a choice. It's eat what's here or starve, eventually. ]

[oldmanfive]

[ He slightly grimaces of the idea of a mud pit, but it isn't because he's against getting dirty. It just sounded like a good way to trigger one of his PTSD episodes as he had spent over forty years in a wasteland by himself. Rain really wasn't pleasant when you had to struggle to find shelter, especially when the rain could be like acid.

Though he frowns as Flagg makes a good point, but seriously what choice do they have? ]

True enough, hopefully the ones who brought us here aren't looking to poison us right off the bat. At this rate, I'll settle for not accepting food or drinks that I didn't see being prepared first hand.