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.

---

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

[13thcommander]

Ah.

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

Welcome to Santa Rosita.

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

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

[grice]

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

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

[13thcommander]

You're from Marley?

[Erwin starts a little at that name; he had been starting to gather things to make coffee--kids drink coffee, right? he can make some for both of them?--but he gives the kid his full attention now. It could be a coincidence, the name Marley can't be that uncommon on other worlds, but it could also not be.]

I have. It's a militaristic nation, correct? Using some very old, hereditary technologies?

[grice]

[ old, hereditary, hereditary— oh, yes. it wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t as if marley hid the fact (at all, very famous), but perhaps how much it dawns on falco now to be careful with what he says about himself. at least for the time being. eldians weren’t a good look, much less shifters, but, at least he didn’t have his armband to snuff himself out. ]

Y—yes. That’s right. [ so anyway— ] Where do you come from, sir?

[13thcommander]

[Erwin notes that sir; either the kid has been very schooled in manners by his parents, or he's somehow involved with the military.]

Would you like some breakfast?

[It's an abrupt change of topic, but even as Erwin starts to gather the things to make food, he keeps an eye on the kid.]

I'm from an island where people live behind walls. I'm told it's called Paradise in Marley.

[grice]

[ falco’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to process breakfast (not wanting to say no, he follows along with a quiet nod and brings himself close enough to share a table.

it’s the island that makes him go stiff, even as he pulls a chair and slips into a seat. ]

Yeah— [ don’t forget to speak, ] it is.

[ the more he stays tight lipped, the more questions pop up in his head. they were at war now, technically, though never in his life has he thought to think of them as devils. it just makes things . . . just a tad awkward, but mostly because he didn’t know where they stood.

but the man seems pacific enough to earn continuation with less fear. ]

Do you know anything else?

[13thcommander]

[In all fairness, Erwin likely wouldn't be offering breakfast if it had been an adult Marleyan who had shown up in his kitchen. The fact that the first Marleyan he's ever met--who was honest about being from Marley in the first place--is a child has helped temper his reaction. He might be down an arm, but Erwin is pretty sure he can take this kid if he tries anything.]

[In the meantime, might as well feed him and then pump him for information.]

A bit. I know that there is a world outside the walls, and that our people fled Marley to live in isolation on our island. I also know that the Marleyan military made sure our supply of titans never ran dry.

[A pointed look as Erwin cracks an egg into the frying pan.
A fine chef he is not, but he can manage some scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee.]

But I've never seen the world outside the walls, or formerly met anyone from Marley.

[The coffee machine chimes, and Erwin leaves the eggs to sizzle as he pours two mugs of coffee. He gives one to Falco, and starts doctoring the other one for himself. The thought of not offering a child coffee never crosses his mind.]

I died before we made it to the ocean.

[grice]

[ it's better than any sort of rations falco has had to put up with over the last four years. already smelling like something fine and edible, he only realizes now how hungry he is. when was the last time he ate?

oh— coffee. thank you, he murmurs. while not a fan of the bitter taste, it was a rather revered bean if offered to just about any soldier. boosts morale when shortages chip away at them. the smell itself is toasty and tempting— he takes a sip, only wetting his lips and pulling them in when, one: it was hot, and two: it was bitter.

i don't even know his name yet, falco thinks, and hopes to change that soon. that last part was heart-clenching as it was confusing. some never made it to the ocean? he never did? ]

But, then . . . How're you—?

[ the rest of the sentence is logical enough. how was he alive, then? ]

[13thcommander]

[Coffee is gross on its own; even Erwin thinks so, and once he's done doctoring his into a fine sludge with milk and sugar, he places the milk bottle and the little sugar dish beside the kid.]

Unclear. I'm not the only one here who died in my own time. Somehow, this place brought me here, and back to life.

[The eggs are done, and the toaster pops up some toast with a satisfied zing. Erwin plates it all up and sits down across from the kid, watching him seriously.]

My name is Erwin Smith. Who are you?

[grice]

[ time to fill the cup to the brim with milk to get rid of the bitter taste, maybe one or two spoonfuls of sugar to finish it off. it feels like things needed to sink in still— he felt completely out of it even when aware of what they were doing and talking about, so much that it takes him longer to even start eating.

they’ve been truthful with each other up to this point . . . he gives a fortified nod. ]

Falco Grice, Mister Erwin.

[13thcommander]

It's nice to meet you, Falco.

[Erwin remembers how difficult it was when he first woke up in Santa Rosita, and he gives Falco a few moments to let it all sink in. He quietly eats his own breakfast and sips his coffee, going over what he already knows about Marley. It isn't much; everything he has, he got from Levi, and Levi had been understandably reluctant to talk about it. Levi hasn't mentioned any children from Marley, and Falco doesn't seem to have recognized Erwin's name, so he assumes, for now, that they haven't met each other.]

[After he's finished his eggs and toast, Erwin sits back in his chair, nursing his coffee sludge, and quietly clears his throat to get Falco's attention.]

Even though our people may not get along in our world, there's no reason for us to be enemies here. This is a place with its own difficulties and challenges, and it's better for us to work together rather than in opposition. Do you agree, Falco?

[grice]

[ he's only been nibbling on his eggs, becoming a little more comfortable with his hunger enough to start eating larger forkfuls of stabbed breakfast. he needed to eat too, to stay alert and healthy enough to change or fight at any notice. he's nearly filled his mouth until his cheeks begin to puff when erwin speaks up— he swallows immediately after the first pause. it just reminds him— so much of how things just didn't have to be the way they were, and yet, they were. ]

—No, I understand. It's what I was doing back home already, so, um . . . [ his hands are clean, he brings them to his lap as soon as he's set his tableware close to his now empty place, and then, with maturity, extends his hand over the table. maybe he should stand to reach him— ] We're all the same.

[13thcommander]

[Erwin can't help but be charmed by Falco's seriousness and professionalism. Good gods, is this what he was like as a child, all solemnity and trying to act so much older than he really was? The news that they're working together back home is a relief--even if Erwin himself is dead, he still thinks of the Survey Corps as his own, and he knows from Levi that it has survived--because it means he won't have to toss the kid out of his house.]

[Erwin's arm is long enough that he can reach Falco's hand across the table, and he grasps it to give a firm, respectful shake.]

I'm glad to hear it. I hope we work together here as well.

[grice]

[ . . . things could be this way. they were doing it right now. maybe it wouldn’t last forever, but— it felt like the right thing. being given a firm shake and taken seriously, no less, has the boy cracking a smile. ]

We will, [ and as he slides back to his seat, ] Thanks for the food, Mister Erwin.

[13thcommander]

[Falco's smile is infectious, and Erwin smiles back.]

You're welcome. You don't have to call me Mister, just Erwin is fine.

Although, if you woke up in this house, this place apparently believes I'm your father.

[grice]

[ falco hums, with a brief glance going the fridge and something called a "report card". certain enough, his last name wasn't grice on all the papers or the initials on his outstanding family portraits and macaroni art. "FS". "FS" all over the place.

that does bring out the question of how he should act outside— the same way he did here, but at the same time— ]

Should I just go with . . . "Falco Smith", outside? So I don't cause trouble?

[13thcommander]

That's what the locals will call you, regardless of whether you tell them otherwise.

[Erwin shrugs.]

I wasn't asked to give up my name, so I don't know how that feels. If you prefer to keep Grice amongst people like ourselves, who were brought from somewhere else, I certainly won't be offended.

[grice]

For a second I thought I was actually crazy. If I'm not, I'll always use Grice.

[ no offense to his fake dad! but after wondering about what's outside the house, falco begins to tap his knees with his fingers in thought. ]

. . . Do they need help? When I was waking up— Someone was asking for help.

[13thcommander]

Ah. You heard it too.

[Erwin leans forward, his eyes bright. It's a conspiracy theory, and he is here for it.]

Others heard that too, before they arrived. No one is quite sure what it means, though.

[grice]

[ that's a bummer that's sober on falco's face, like he was expecting (or hoping) for a little light, but— it's just a dead end. ]

Is there anything else that adds up to something strange, or . . . Do you think we're just stuck here?

[ what if the "help" was as much of a fake as this apparent life he has, you know? ]

[13thcommander]

There is a great deal that's strange about this place.

[Gods, where to start? Rather than delve into frozen corpses in snowmen and murderous reindeer, Erwin aims for the low hanging fruit.]

Most recently, it was New Years Eve, and rather than everything changing forward to a new year, it simply repeated the previous year again. It was 1961 on December 31st, and then 1961 again on January 1st.

[grice]

[ even the low fruits are tremendous amounts of groundbreaking info, and that's clear on falco's face as his top half leans forward and his hands stay on his lap. ]

Time's repeating—? [ and everyone acts as normal. he assumes, but . . . that's so weird. ] Someone's gotta realize that other than us, right?

[13thcommander]

Yes, to both.

[Falco picked up on the implications right away, which Erwin appreciates.]

The locals haven't seemed to notice, or care, but others like us have definitely taken note. What it means, though, we haven't been able to figure out.

[grice]

. . . Someone could be faking it?

[ it's his first thought, because . . . how else would someone control that? although he doesn't like the thought, even feels bad for thinking it if it wasn't the case. ]

I'd like to help figure it out if I can, though.

[13thcommander]

Perhaps. Although you'll soon learn that it's a large group of people, all believing the same thing. That kind of coordination is almost impossible to pull off.

[You know, without Founding Titan-assisted memory loss!]

[Erwin smiles across the table at Falco. The kid is a good little soldier, and as long as he doesn't mind getting pumped for information about Marley, he's going to get along with Erwin just fine.]

Thank you. We can use all the help we can get.