test drive — spring

[villagemod]

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: ♫ )

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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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Comments

[tinstar]

As much as Raylan hated this damned Town Hall, it was a place he still checked every other day or so, half hoping he'd see John Constantine leaned back in a chair with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, ready to read Raylan the riot act for not keeping up his notes or something. The Bulletin board was half the excuse, something he should probably be minding more directly, and it got him out of the house.

He'd gotten used to seeing people show up here, but the sounds of what seemed like a rabid raccoon looking for a snack in one of the offices drew his measured step that way. Peering in, the hat brim leading the way, Raylan watched for a few seconds, eyebrows lifted in idle curiosity before speaking up.

"You ain't gonna find much in there, I'm afraid," he started by way of greeting.

[bonified]

Taken off guard, Wynonna jumped and nearly knocked the half bottle of good whiskey off the desk she was rummaging through. At first glance, the hat got her and her face shifts into a scowl about to give Henry shit for sneaking up on her. After a less than graceful sounding w o w, she looks up, kneeing the drawer closed and snatching her bottle up.

"Where were you 3 offices ago to tell me that?" she half slurred, squinting at Raylan as she passes by him to head back into the reception area. "You can't tell me there's nothing though. There's always something."

Some kind of hint or piece of a puzzle that needs to be collected.

[tinstar]

The jump made him smile a little, a faint lift of either side of his lips to match the equally fractional lift of his eyebrows as she grabs her bottle and sweeps past him. Not that getting drunk right from the jump wasn't the worst idea when you found yourself in Mathis but good whiskey was in no supply. He was more interested in that bottle as she went by.

"Workin' up the courage," he says with an easy going sarcasm that most people tended to find endearing or disarming, if they were so inclined. Plenty of others found it to be the most irritating shit in the world, apparently.

"Mm, nothin' here. Unless you want to start pullin' down walls to look at funny symbols on the inner bits." His head tilted a little as he and his crooked way of walking in a stright line followed lazily behind her. "But the nothin' that is here say somethin' on it's own. You know any small town don't have at least one jail cell?"

His smile lifted a little. "Not that anyone's takin' anyone else in on things like public intoxication."

[bonified]

"I've done my fair share," Wynonna replies matter of fact, punctuating that with a dot from the cap of her bottle before she unscrews it and takes another drink. Fact is, she has done over and above her fair share of pulling down walls to look for things in both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word.

She stops at the reception desk and turns to half sit on the front ledge of it, giving him a proper once over. He was definitely good-looking, but then she was half corked and there was that truth that everyone turned hotter after a few drinks.

"Actually, it's usually two or three holding cells," she says, offering up a smug but sweet smile. Wynonna points to herself. "I'm small town. I also know that from first-hand experience. On both sides.. god that's still so weird saying out loud."

[tinstar]

If she did her fair share, then she'd be right at home. Plenty of walls would need it, he was sure.

Raylan smiled back as he stopped a few feet plus arms distance away, thumb loosely hooking his jeans pocket. The man seemed like he was leaning, the way hips sat despite being upright and without the gun holster there to house his hands, his hips would make due. "Big small town. Of course, Harlan just redid it's PD office to bring it up that kinda standard. Everything in Kentucky takes a little bit longer."

His free hand lifted, index finger pointing lazily in her direction as he continued, expression pinching curiously in a way that left him squinting, as he most often was. "Weird to be on the inside or the outside?"

[bonified]

The way he stands reminds her of a famous gunslinger she knows and the way she eyes him and his posture will tell him so. Then again, Mr. Hips Don't Lie is standing right in front of her so it's kind of hard not to look. She knows a lawman when she sees one. Plus the hat. He was most definitely a Deputy Marshall.

She dares to smile a little more. "Yeah, well Purgatory decided a doughnut shop was smarter and I'm definitely not arguing that." The girl does love her sprinkle doughnuts.

After another drink, Wynonna caps the bottle and sets it between her legs.

"And both. I was one of those kinds of teenagers. Now, I kill demons."

[tinstar]

He'd gotten that look a lot.

Raylan's eyebrows lifted, chin leading a faint tilt forward of interest with a 'Hmm' to go with it as he nodded a little, watching her out of half moon, utterly amused eyes.

"No help for anyone's waist lines though, is it." Not that anything seemed to be hurting hers. "All Harlan's got is the diner, but their pie is mighty fine."

"From Purgatory right into hell," he drawled, index finger and thumb coming together. Raylan was a gestury one, to say the least. "'Fraid we're fresh outta demons and we're runnin' low on salt, but I promise Mathis'll have somethin' for you to chew over. You got a name?"

Realizing it was rude to ask without offering his own, he propped a hand on his chest. "Raylan Givens, pleasure to meet you."

[bonified]

Wynonna lets out a little scoff, glancing down at her waist before running a hand over her flat belly. She keeps drinking as she does and that might change once she hits 40 but there's a window there still. And really, it's the little measure of help in a bottle that gets her through the shit she calls her life.

She manages to slip in a soft amused note. "Oh, good, I was up for a little time off, sadly it's not paid, but you can't have it all.

Wow, that's quite the Kentucky name, isn't it? Well, Raylan, a pleasure to meet you," Wynonna smiles, sticking out a hand. "I'm Wynonna Earp."

[tinstar]

Raylan had to wonder if she was pregnant. She didn't look it, right now, but most women didn't at the starts of it all. He'd already recognized 'Purgatory', but showing his head before he was ready wasn't really his style. Not when he can work out a little more information by feigning ignorance.

"Sure ain't government work." Or a vacation - she'd find plenty to still be freaked out and chew over, if that was her kind of thing.

His eyebrows lifted in recognition as he reached out his hand, pumping hers a few times with a firm grip before it was released back to her. "Wynonna Earp. Great-grand daughter of Wyatt Earp, right?" No, he wasn't going to explain how he knew that right out of the gate. He wanted to see how she'd take it.

He'd learned his lesson about springing things too soon, too casually with new faces.

[bonified]

If this was another place that managed to get inside her head, well, it would have to take a number. As far as she was concerned there was a mighty big difference between getting freaked out and being disturbed, which she's dealt with in spades. Like everything else, though, it gets shoved into a corner to be compartmentalized. But who didn't do that these days?

Raylan echoing her name has her giving a nod, waiting for that inevitable connection that she usually gets after saying her last name, only he says something that no one would know unless they were from Purgatory.

Her face turns slightly, one eye squinting more than the other. "Great great-granddaughter, but yeah."

Wynonna carefully regards him.

"Let me guess, Black Badge?"

[tinstar]

"Honestly, I stop keepin' track and sayin' the extra greats after the first, no matter who we're talkin' about," he admitted with a smile and a lift of his eyebrows like he was divulging some deep personal secret before pulling a 'Nah' face and shaking his head.

"Brown, but I guess the leather that the Marshal's Service uses can't change over on that coast."

No, he did not understand her question.

"If you're guessin' about how I might have an idea of your lineage, well. There's a hat looks a lot like this one in black kickin' around town. If you happen to be keepin' an eye out for it."

Raylan knew who this woman was, knew at least one person here that she was connected to, though where that relationship stood was none of Raylan's business. He wasn't going to go all kool-aid man letting Henry know but if any of his people came in, he knew Henry would point them his way. He didn't have to think about how Doc would take it. Pleased, no doubt. Worried about the bub and the state of her. The way it should be.

[bonified]

She didn't understand it much herself, but it did make a difference. Especially when it came to differentiating between each of the heir's. She was the fifth, the fourth being her sister, Willa.

It was apparent enough that the man had no idea what the Black Badge Division was. Still, she watched him carefully, looking for any kind of tell that would give away that he was lying. Yes, it was personal. Yes, she had problems trusting people right out of the gate.

The hat. Of course. Always close by.

She smiles to herself, though it would definitely be obvious to the man standing in front of her that even without saying a name, she knew exactly who he was talking about.

Somehow hearing that has sobered her quite quickly.

"Something tells me you made the cut with him. He doesn't trust quickly, but those that he does have a pretty loyal ally at their disposal."

[tinstar]

Having been on the other side of enough people trying to size him up, either for information, character, how close his hand was to his gun, he took it well and without being bothered in the slightest. So it was easy enough to catch the look of recognition. Good. Cuts through some of the dancing and bullshit.

"It's the hat. We formed a club," he joked, features curling openly in the playful sarcasm of it all. She was right, of course. But you don't feed, live with and then bury the man doing all of it with you without earning some trust. Still, he wasn't so openly going to say so - Raylan followed similar rules to Doc Holliday.

"A club with moonshine. Make sure you save that bottle, when it's empty.. Do I get to ask what the Black Badge thing is?"

[bonified]

"Figures. You Cowboys and your hats," Wynonna rolls her eyes playfully. "Did he tell you the tearful tale about how he lost his to a nasty looking demon. Yep, tore it apart and ate it."

She can still hear Waverly laughing about the look on his face. She wasn't there, but she certainly heard the lamenting about it for the rest of the day.

"Duly noted," Wynonna replies, not really thinking about the fact that there was an extreme shortage of booze around the township of Mathias. This wasn't going to go very well for the functioning alcoholic who needed the steady flow to staunch the repressed guilt, rejection and emotional trauma that was her life.

But moving on.

She eyes him but realizes they are nowhere near her world or his, which was still a notion that was hard to wrap her head around.

"Black Badge is a special division of US Marshall's that keep track of and eradicate paranormal forces and wow," she drops her head forward and mumbles something about someone named 'Dolls'. "They're supposed to corraling anything dark and scary and pointing us in their direction. We handle it."

[tinstar]

"Hey," he said, lifting his off hand. "I just tried it on once and I liked how it fit." A very subtle lie, Raylan was very attached to his hat and had gone to lengths to keep it, over the years. He'd bitch for a week at least. "But no, he hasn't. I'll have to ask him sometime."

Wynonna was going to be an interesting source of information on Henry, that much was clear.

"So you're also a Marshal, is what you're inferin'. I don't.." His face shrugged, hand gesturing this way and that. "Suppose you got a badge on you to back that up, do you?"

[bonified]

Oh, she had a few stories, but she also had plenty of things that would go to the grave with her. He wasn't the type of man to spill everything. To this day she was still learning new things about Doc. Their relationship most definitely fits into the It's Complicated box.

"Oh, hell no," she scoffed, making face. "Not with my record. Nope, my badge is Peacemaker. They recruited me because that gun is the only thing that will send the Revenants and demons back to Hell."

A pause.

"Which I seemed to have misplaced, so, if you see a long barrel Colt Buntline Special, you mind returning it?"

[tinstar]

That was the way it was with men like them. Raylan expected and claimed no knowledge of any stories. All Doc has really told him about is the well, the Witch, the Marshal and his great-great granddaughter, and only that much about her being with child.

His eyes narrowed at 'the Revenants' - something he hadn't heard before and had no context for.

"Only because it's impolite to hold onto other gunslingers weapons. If you find anything that fires bullets and not musket shots, you let me know." Firearms expert, at your service. "What are the Revenants?"

Since she was in such a sharing mood.

[bonified]

She might have asked why Doc hasn't shared any of this with Raylan, but she knows why. It's what she would do if she was alone here with people who didn't her or some of the people she knew. Doc has always been respectful like that. Opening up meant letting walls down and neither of them was particularly keen on showing that weakness that they were for each other.

It wasn't that she was in a sharing mood, but this was information that was more or less known throughout the Triangle. She's gotten the gist of this place or at least that it was in some different world from her own.

"Deal." she smiles. Then takes in a deep breath and fills Raylan in. "Revenants are the outlaws that Wyatt killed back in the day and who were resurrected by a curse that was put on him. The eldest Earp gets the task of trying to send all 77 of them back to Hell. If they fail, the curse resets and, you guessed it, all the Revenants come back and the next heir gives it a shot."

Wynonna snorts in amusement.

"Get it? Pew." she adds, shaping her fingers into a gun.

Ahem.

[tinstar]

"Ah," Raylan said, head tipping back and forwards again, smiling at her finger gun. "The curse," he continued, wagging that finger once in recognition. "Doc never named 'em as such, but he gave me the basics of that particular little damnation... You should look into the occult, see if it can't do somethin' for you. Y'all got demons, you must have that.."

How that would be taken, he didn't know, but Doc hadn't laid any deep secrets bare to anyone that mattered. He bobbed his head as he ambled away a few feet, looking around the open room as his free hand settled on his hip, eyes half expecting to see.. Someone. Doc maybe. John. Quentin. Hmm. Too many ghosts and ghosts to be.

"The peacemaker's sixshooter revolver right? How many of 'em you got down so far?"

[bonified]

Wynonna squints. "Only it will turn into a situation of this guy knows that guy and eventually I end up with a crater in the middle of my town because the government caught wind of the problem and thinks that's the best way to get rid of them."

Wynonna smiles, conveying that what she's told him isn't even half of the story. But, she's nice about it as she watches him move around.

"You know your guns." she pulls the bottle up and unscrews the cap again. "19.. no 20."

She'd momentarily forgotten about Willa, her sister.

"Your turn," she says, taking a quick swig. "What kind of firearm you carry? I mean you got some hips on you, but they don't look like they appreciate anything heavier than a .45."

[tinstar]

Raylan bobbed his head. Far be it from him to force any kind of idea without much of an idea as to what the actual situation looked like. He wasn't a big enough asshole to assume that.

"Tends to be the way the Government deals with big threats that they can't throw the army at. Unless you think throwin' the Army at it wouldn't do any good." He didn't quite understand why her but he assumed it had to do with the gun. The gun in the hands of an Earp, probably. Spooky shit tended to go that way.

"Mm, I carry Marshals standard issue 9mil on my hip and another at my back, but I can handle well more than a .45," he said, a twinkle in his eye as he looked over at her. "Firearms expert and quick draw deadshot. You put a gun in my hand, I can not only use it but disassemble, clean and reassemble it. It might be an old time six shooter, I'm bettin' you're not, and I'mma assume any asshole with two cells to rub together can use a shotgun but. You know how to handle other kinds of guns?"