The Village Mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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villagememes2021-03-08 05:08 pm
villagemod) wrote in villagememes2021-03-08 05:08 pm
Entry tags:
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.
no subject
"I need a bit of time to finish up here." That paste he'd been applying on the window cracks is going to dry up if he leaves it sitting too long. "Are you alright sitting there for a while?" There's even more alcohol if she's wanting to help herself but he's pretty sure she's drunk enough already. It'll be a small miracle if she doesn't end up facedown in the shower later. Not that he would mind helping her out of her clothes.
no subject
She stays where she is, but lets the hand that had been on his cheek drop slowly down to his thigh. "Sitting will probably be safer, yes."
At least she was willing to admit it, though not sensible to know when to call it a night. When Doc gets up to finish whatever it was that he needed to finish, she taps a hand down on the bartop.
"Any chance I can get another drink while I'm waiting for my friend, barkeep?"
no subject
"This is nasty stuff," he warns. The kind of 19th century shit that kills people, makes them go blind, and no those aren't just old wives' tales. He pours her a small one finger drink first to let her have a taste of that fresh paint stripping gasoline before she can decide if she can stomach another. She'll have to learn to tolerate it if she wants to be nursing her drinking habit, because the whiskey will eventually run out and it'll be back to hitting the moonshine on the regular soon enough.
Leaving the bottle next to her glass, he flashes her a smile before turning back to where he'd been sitting by the window.
"Holler out if you go blind," he drawls half over his shoulder before he resumes his perch and goes back to sealing the cracks.
no subject
Shooting it back, she looks into the empty glass as the burn sets in and less than a few seconds after that, her face screws up and she lets out a shudder.
"Yeah, not bad," she chokes out, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. "That's about as bad as what the McClennan Brothers made. I got into the stuff before a 9th-grade dance. Apparently, I was glowing."
Reaching for the bottle she pours herself another. A full shot this time.
no subject
He is mindful of working quickly because she's just going to sit there and drink herself to oblivion in the middle of the afternoon if leaves her too long and he doesn't want to argue with her within the first hour of meeting her again after all these weeks. Whatever other small chores and remaining slack can be picked up by the other guys if he leaves after mending the last window.
"We should get you some clothes," he suggests. This place had gotten cold before and those black straps she likes to call her tops isn't going to be sufficient. He would put up with her complaining about the local fashion for days on end if it meant she would at least wear something that will keep her warm.
"Have you had a chance to wander through the town yet?" Maybe he could show her around, on the way back to the Boarding House.
no subject
Downing the second, she drops her head forward and lets the alcohol burn its way down her throat and warm her belly. Good thing Wynonna wasn't at the point of passing out, but puking was a possibility if she cut herself off now. So, she pulls her face up again and shakes her head.
"God that's nasty," she murmurs, sliding off the chair to stand up. When she's sure her legs won't give out, she starts strolling and looking around the place, ending up a few feet away from him to look at some pictures on the wall. "Some abandoned houses. I also grabbed a few items out of the new arrival box at the boarding house. I got this sexy-looking trucker shirt in extra extra large that we might be able to double up as a tent when it gets a bit warmer."
If Doc looks her way in time he'll catch the sassy wink.
"So, where are you staying then?" she asks, genuinely curious. He spoke of making the hooch with someone named Raylan. Did that mean they were living together, too?
no subject
"I am in a very busy house on 1306 Phillips Drive. Raylan is a Marshal." Doc seems to like Marshals, especially the kind who gets a little feisty sometimes, if that hint of a fond little smile is anything to go by. Wynonna might be facing some... stiff competition. "Malcolm works with the New York police, and his sister Ainsley has only recently arrived, like you. Neal is also from New York, a man of many talents. He drew all this." Doc gestures at the chalk art around them. "And he can make sixty different dishes out of a can of sardines. And then there's some asshole named Negan who is some kind of post-apocalyptic cult leader." Guess who in the house gets on Doc's nerves the most?
Without an Earp to keep him tethered, he seems fully capable of finding other Suns to orbit around. But there's only one Doc Holliday to go around, and too many people he wants to protect.
"It's a bad idea to stay alone in this place, but there aren't enough beds in that house. They won't mind me taking off with you." No, they'll probably have something to say about it. And Doc isn't actually thinking about leaving permanently. But he'll make it work, somehow. He always does.
"I haven't told everyone who I am." That either makes him Batman or a prostitute. Seeing as he's Doc Holliday he's sort of a bit of both.
"Didn't seem wise, in a town full of strangers. But the house knows, except for Miss Ainsley." She'll figure it out soon enough. "A few others too." Doc finishes up with the last crack and gets up, discarding what's left of the paste in the trash bag and washing his hands in the sink.
"Come on. Let's go before you drink us dry."
no subject
"Six people living under one roof," Wynonna muses idly, stepping off to wander over to the record player. "Sounds like an arrangement I never expected you to be a part of."
Especially for someone who didn't care much for closed-in spaces. But then, if there was anything she'd learn about him in the last year or so, it was that Doc never did anything without gaining some kind of incentive. And she's thinking that this Raylan has something to do with that. Then again, maybe it was something as simple as he was a Marshall, just like Wyatt was and this was some screwed-up way of making amends for it.
Glancing back over her shoulder at him, she sets down the record she'd picked up and turns to face him fully.
"I don't know why you're so worried. Sounds like you found yourself another family to call your own." Wynonna nods, not wanting to think about what he'd decide if they are ever given a chance to go home or stay there. She forces it out of her head and covers it up with her usual humorous side.
"But yeah, we should." Wynonna agrees, lingering and slowly moving towards the door. "First day in town and I manage to make everyone hate me. Sound familiar?"
no subject
"Everyone has offered to pitch in." It wasn't intentional for the house to have ballooned to the size it did.
He does bristle a bit at the mention of family. It requires him to be a kind of vulnerable to talk about this, and he is too sober-hungover to be in that state, to be able to muster up the words. It didn't sound like she'd said it to bait an answer out of him but he is a little wary nonetheless, feeling like any response he could have given would have been the wrong one. In the end, he doesn't respond to it. He simply puts on his coat and makes his way to the door, letting her leave first before stepping out after her and closing the door behind him.
"Well. Much as I would prefer you not to be a pariah for once, it is just as well that I have been here seven weeks and that I would do anything for you," he finally tells her, though he is not making eye contact, leaning back and looking down at his coat collar in an effort to straighten it. "Banked all the morsels of goodwill that you could ever hope to squander."
no subject
Stopping, she turns slightly as he makes that admission and her eyes soften, watching him avoid looking at her. Wynonna lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"I don't know if I deserve that. Not after what I did to you at that party." Unlike Doc, she looks at him, hoping to see those blue eyes of his meet hers. She'd thought he was dead. "And here you are, showing up again, like your my damn guardian angel."
no subject
"Wynonna. You could have anyone you want. It doesn't bother me none." Okay, fine, it bothers him a little, but he's good at not showing it. He would be a hypocrite if he tried to control her emotions, her attractions. And she would be a hypocrite too if she was going to take issue with his... whoring.
It was the least he could have done for Wyatt, is what he would have said not that long ago. Doc narrows his eyes and tears his gaze away from her before breathing out a sigh and making eye contact again. "I can't protect you from the kinds of things that get us here. I want to, but." Doc shrugs.
"I know you never asked for it. But I'm going to try, anyway. And I hope that you'll let me." It means she has to listen to him sometimes. He knows that's not easy for her. "I hope that you trust me."