villagememes | test drive

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test drive — spring

SPRING TEST DRIVE
Welcome to the test drive and thank you for your interest in The Village. This test drive is not game canon but will allow players the opportunity to experiment with game mechanics, the setting, and the flexibility of choice allowed by this game. The following prompts are examples of typical situations characters might face in the game. At least one thread from the TDM is required as part of the game's application process.

Prospective players are welcome to play with any of the established locations within Mathias.

( Recommended listening: ♫ )

GHOSTS OF THE LIVING
The fog moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. It is not a soft blanket enveloping the town, but a heavy weight pressing down, threatening to suffocate as the sky is blotted out and no one can see more than ten feet in any direction.

Those who are outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, hoping that a randomly chosen direction will lead them to shelter or another living soul. There are perhaps even those who were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in. Wherever they are, the residents of Mathias will soon notice that they are not the only ones in the fog.

Anyone out in the fog is left disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.

With all of these elements at play, the first strange apparitions encountered may be assumed to be figments of addled minds, tricks played by psyches struggling to cope with the strange reality they've found themselves in. But before long, there will be no denying that the Others in the fog are real. Appearing almost wraithlike and startlingly recognizable, these figures even feel a bit like ghosts to those who can sense such things, though everyone will feel that there is something wrong about them. Truly, there are many things wrong that residents will begin to notice as they encounter more and more of the spectres that do not acknowledge their presence in any way. They simply exist, silent and subtly terrifying like so many things in this town.

Like misty ghosts of those who have been in the town at one point or another, the Others appear as those who have died or disappeared and even those currently within the town. The likeness is truly uncanny, to the point of being completely terrifying, made even more so when they realize there is no way to communicate with the Others. They do not acknowledge anyone's presence nor anything said to them. At times, they may be only one in an area, or there may be a dozen existing in the same space. There is no limit to how many people can see them — if they are there, they are seen by all.

The Others do not enter buildings and cannot be contained in any way. They can appear at one moment and be gone in the next, or they can exist in one place for hours on end. Whether standing stationary or slowly wandering throughout the town, there is no discernible purpose to them. There is something absent and distant in the way they hold themselves, the way they walk, and their expressions, as if even they cannot grasp what is happening.

A BIT OF EXPLORATION
There are plenty of places in which to get one's bearings and hide from the fog.

There are businesses on the square, nestled around and extending out from the Town Hall. There is a schoolhouse nestled by the southern treeline, not from the rather expansive makeshift cemetery at the end of Jackson Boulevard that is courtesy of a few kind residents in town. To the far north of the square is a sprawling garden, now covered in snow, and a greenhouse that once supplied the botanical shop. And to the east and west, beyond the business square, is are residential districts.

The eastern district sprawls all the way to the beach, with some houses in perfect condition and others beginning to show significant signs of age. The western district, however, is nothing but decay. From the beginnings of rot to completely collapsed and little more than a pile of proverbial bones, none of these homes are anything resembling livable. Well, as far as one can tell, at least. For between the streets of Hill Lane and Stine Road there is a crack in the earth. A dozen feet across and fifty feet down, there is no way across.

TO SEE AND BE SEEN
Standing at the center of Mathias, the Town Hall is a modest two-story building that would be welcoming if not for the faded sign, chipped paint, and deafening silence within its empty halls. It's a typical government building, with a reception desk at the front and rows of identical offices within, the names half faded from each door. But what catches the attention is a large bulletin board on the main wall beside the reception desk, once meant to hold flyers or announcements for the community.

What it holds now is decidedly different. Covering the board are tacked-on scraps of paper covered in an assortment of handwriting styles — requests for supplies should anyone find them, pieces of information shared in the hopes of someone understanding the strange symbols and mathematical equations, notes about those missing or recently deceased. And painted directly across the center of the board, visible in the gaps between the pieces of paper, is a symbol in dark red. While peering at that obscured symbol, a strange breeze ruffles the papers, revealing a little more, just enough to—

An eye. A strange, ornate eye with three lobes, painted in still-wet red. And upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the paint is actually blood, perhaps even human.

The longer someone stands there, the more it will feel like they are being watched, even studied, with great interest. It's a sensation that lingers and stays with them even when they exit the building.

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A Bit of Exploration

All she wants is a bottle of something hard; to remove her from the present because nothing made sense anything anyone tried to tell her sounded so impossibly farfetched and... totally not. In her mind, this place hardly compares to Purgatory.

Then again, she's only been here a little over a day.

Her search for liquor takes her to some of the abandoned houses where she goes through cabinets and drawers aggressively, rambling mostly unimportant things (nothing no one would understand) to herself before finally hitting paydirt. Tucked deep into a corner cabinet is a full unopened bottle of something deliciously amber-looking. Jackpot.

She continues on, guzzling mouthfuls along the way as she slowly but surely makes her way to the next building, which so happens to be the Town Hall. Wynonna spends a bit of time there, looking over the bulletin board, snorting as she reads some of the messages because, upon inspection, half of that bottle is almost gone.

After rifling through some offices, she finds a cool pen and an empty flask that she pockets and moves along to the library before finally finding herself out of booze and at the Grey Gull looking for more.

[ Wildcard! Got something else in mind? Set it up and I will follow or contact me at

lilbeejack and we can plot something out. ]

The Grey Gull was still sporting Neal Caffrey's artwork. The New York City skyline and other such wonders that Doc had never witnessed in person, etched in chalk on the boards. Clearly they had just had an event of some kind. Misshapen black trash bags are sitting outside the door leaning against the outer wall, and there's one lying open inside as well. The tables and chairs have all been moved to the edges of the restaurant floor, chairs upturned on top of the tables. A broom and a wet mop leaning near the window speaks of the floor having just been cleaned.

"I am afraid we are closed," he mumbles with his cigarette burning away between his lips and his back turned to her when he hears her footsteps making the stairs and floorboards creak. He looks to be focused on putting some kind of clear paste over a crack on one of the windows.

"If you are looking for Raylan he's upstairs," Doc gestures, seizing the opportunity opportunity to take a puff from his cigarette before going back to finish up the window sealing.

There wasn't much that flew over Wynonna's head, not even after a full bottle of whiskey, that in hindsight was nothing short of rubbing alcohol but she'd had worse. Far worse. She also wasn't so drunk that she couldn't pick that voice out. It was seeing three of him that had her hesitate though, especially since he didn't know who Raylan was.

Wynonna moves in a little more, eyes moving slowly until she finds the man in the familiar hat and immediately her brow furrows, half in curiosity and half in confusion. No, that definitely was him. The last time she saw him so much had happened and it hit like a brick wall and she couldn't stop the tears from forming in her eyes.

In a small voice, she calls out to him. "Doc."

It's a heartstopping voice. One he has dreamt about. Yearned for. Dreaded to hear, in this place. In the silence where you could hear a pin drop he swears even she can hear his heartbeat standing all the way over there.

At first when he turns he doesn't think he can trust that it's her. She looks like her. Sounds like her. But Mathias has been a cruel mistress and she has him doubting his senses. Another ghost perhaps. Some kind of manifestation of his heartache and desire. Anything but the real deal.

But she's standing there looking like the hot mess he remembers her to be and it's impossible to just heed his sensibilities and ask all the questions he should.

"Wynonna." He'd been holding his breath. Setting his tools aside and stubbing out his cigarette, he closes the distance between them and sweeps her up into his arms, holding her close, breathing in her shampoo and her eau de whiskey and finding immeasurable comfort in the familiarity of it, of how her body fits against his.

"Woman, why are you crying?" he asks with a small emotion-laden chuckle, the irony of echoing John 20:15 not lost on him.

She's almost mad at herself for letting Doc see her like this, but the events leading up to landing in this place weren't exactly warm and fuzzy and cause for celebration. Killing Bobo came after killing her sister, Willa, and before that came each of The Seven with so many getting caught in the middle. Not to mention the number of times she could have lost Waverly or even him...

Her drunken state doesn't help numb the mess of emotions that she usually tries to hide from and when Doc says her name Wynonna gives herself a moment, deciding she can't even be mad at herself for letting it out in front of him. Still, in front of him, it was especially shocking since it's Doc that she finds herself fighting so hard against feeling anything for. Because in the end, she can't help but think he'll just end up leaving too.

She takes the necessary steps to meet him in the middle before sinking against his chest and cinching the fabric of his button-up shirt into her fingers to send a fair warning to not even think of letting her go. Not yet. Not until she's ready.

But the question forces her to choke back a sob and a moment later let out a groan as she pulls back to look at him. To her left, she holds up the dusty bottle she found with less than a shot remaining in it.

"I need another drink," she nearly pouts, tears openly falling down her face.

"Well. Is that it?" he asks, forcing a smile even though he can't help his voice crackling and breaking ever so gently in the process. "Dry your tears, my love. I have drinks for you here."

He is reluctant to let her go, and she seems reluctant to let him slip away. There are no drinks to be had standing around where they are at, only the breadth and depth of their personal sufferings keeping them rooted, holding on to the only promise of relief they have.

Brushing the backs of his curled fingers against the top of her cheek, he wipes her tears away and rubs his hand down her upper arm. He has missed her so, but he would not burden her with fifty days of this desert road he has already walked on ahead of her when she is barely holding herself together.

"Come with me," he murmurs, taking a small step back, and when she's following he will guide her over to the bar, get her seated. Is a drink actually a good idea right now? Well Doc wouldn't claim to know everything. Sometimes when they're hanging on by a thread a drink is the only thing that is holding them up. Holding them together. In any case, there are no universes out there where two alcoholics in an abandoned bar is going to be a good idea.

No, that wasn't it. Not it by far and her eyes will tell him precisely that. Nonetheless, exposing that nerve is still too dangerous and showcasing her vulnerable side has become a habit she knows she has to get out of. Only she can't help but listen to his voice and hope that maybe he needs her as much as she fears she needs him.

She leans into his touch and begins reigning in her emotions so she doesn't feel as embarrassed by looking less of a whiny baby, who left little wet spots on his shirt and more of the badass that she thought she was in front of him. It was getting harder and harder to do over the last year. In front of everybody.

Wynonna releases her hand from his shirt with great reluctance and follows him over to a chair before landing on the seat heavily. Only one person had told her about the township of Mathias and answers to questions were limited to basically 'no one knows.

She watches him, following his movements behind the counter before shaking her head in confusion. "What the hell is going on here? One minute we're walking the Ghost River Triangle where it all happened and next thing I'm here."

He doesn't stay behind the bar for long. They don't have much whiskey left but he gives to her what he can find, rummaging around where he knows Raylan's secret stash is not going to be. There are limits, even for Wynonna.

"I don't know," he answers honestly as he returns to her side of the bar, sitting down next to her, eyes trailing up and down her body making sure she isn't hurt. "I have been here several days now." Exactly how long and what he's been up to and what she needs to watch out for in this town, they can get to later.

"I think the more pressing question is, do you have Peacemaker?" Because she is here. And the gun is not. And the only thing that is keeping the world safe from the Triangle and the Triangle safe from the world is the fact that she likely hadn't left willingly.

Her mind swims and the drink placed in front of her gets a brief look before Doc gets her attention again. No, she doesn't think he's lying to her. Why would he? Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he's had his own agenda. And why would he be asking about Peacemaker? Above everything else?

She is far too tired and far too drunk to question it so she breaks her suspicion by picking up the glass and taking a mouthful.

"Someone had to have taken it," she replies, closing her eyes and shaking of her head. "I woke up on some beach and it was gone and this fog.. all I could do was crawl my way up to the nearest building."

Wynonna turns her body around, her knees brushing against his leg.

"Is Waverly here? Or anyone else?

Wynonna Earp | Wynonna Earp (S1)

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