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: ♫ )

---

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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caitlin snow — dctv

[trigeminalheadache]

A BIT OF EXPLORATION.

---

She’s cold. It’s what wakes Caitlin on the beach, the bone-deep chill that’s set in from her head to her toes, soaked through the pajamas she’s wearing. She’s cold. She doesn’t feel the cold, not since her powers emerged. Not since Frost. But that’s far from her only concern. She woke up on a sandy, rocky beach with crashing waves, and she doesn’t live anywhere near a coast. She’s in her pajamas. No shoes. And this fog has set in. She can’t see anything around her as she gets to her feet and brushes the wet sand from her body.

Maybe it’ll get better if she’s somewhere that isn’t… here.

She picks a direction and heads off. She makes note of the roads as she goes: Phillips Drive, King Lane, Stoker Park, Jackson Boulevard. There’s house after house. The streets dead end, requiring her to turn around and go back the way she came. Is it the fog that’s making her dizzy or is it the wandering? Either way, she needs to stop. She needs to find a place to sit down, get out of the fog. The fog won’t follow her inside, right?

Caitlin picks a house. Any house. There may be people inside; it may be uninhabited. It doesn’t matter to her right now. She’s happy to play Goldilocks if it might get her out of the damp, out of the weather. She’ll help herself to a spot on the couch. She’ll poke around the cabinets, looking for something for her head. She may even wander into the bedrooms in search of dry, warm clothes to put on.

TO SEE AND BE SEEN.

---

She isn’t content to stop at just houses. Once Caitlin feels like she’s gotten her bearings back, she goes back outside. The fog is no less heavy, no less suffocating. That sense of feeling sick comes back, though this time it’s less dizziness and more nausea. She doesn’t last terribly long outside, her empty stomach churning and the occasional belch escaping her. This was a terrible idea. Why did she decide to go back out?


This time it’s a government building she takes shelter in. She waits at the reception desk, her patience slowly waning the longer she stands there. Her voice sounds like it echoes as she calls out a few times, but the “Hello?”s only seem to cement how empty it is. With no answer, she turns her attention to the bulletin board on the wall. Dozens of handwritten notes layer the surface, some with odd looking phone numbers inscribed. She spots one that looks to be calling for certain people, so she takes a moment to scan for any familiar handwriting. It’s a hopeful thought, but a disappointment. There’s nothing there for her.

She’s just about to look around the building more when the papers rustle in an odd breeze, revealing something painted there. Her fingers brush against the symbol and come away wet. It… it doesn’t feel like paint. Against her better judgment, she leans in and sniffs the stain on her fingers. It has an unmistakable metalli tang to it. She flinches and pulls away. “Oh my god. That’s blood.”

WILDCARD.

---

[ hit me up with other scenarios or ideas you may have in mind. if you’d like to plot, find me up at lovedbythesun or pm this journal.! ]

A BIT OF EXPLORATION

[abrightboy]

Philips Drive leads right onto the beach. That, out of the homes on Philips Drive, she happens to pick 1306 to walk into is just happenstance.

It’s still pretty early in the morning and Malcolm Bright is in cobra pose on the living room floor, breathing in through his nose when the door opens. He can just see her over the back of the couch as she passes. Out through his mouth will have to be less than mindful as he gets to his feet, seemingly emerging from nowhere behind her as she reaches the kitchen at the other end of the open plan space.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asks her back helpfully.

[trigeminalheadache]

Maybe it was the long walk up from the beach that had lulled her into this peculiar sense of aloneness. Maybe it's the way the dizziness seems to wreck her other senses, a tingle of lightheadedness in the back of her brain that's made everything fuzzy and out of focus. Maybe she should have expected to run into another person. It's a town after all, and don't towns have people?

Whatever the case may be, when Malcolm speaks, Caitlin gives a quiet but undistinguished yelp, her shoulders jerking back as she turns around too fast to face him. Her vision takes a moment to catch up, and everything tilts like a bad dutch angle in a movie. She can feel her knees bending, the floor coming up to meet her, but, to her credit, her hands catch the edge of the island and keep her from hitting the ground.

She closes her eyes, wobbling slightly, as she tries to form words. "Advil, Tylenol, an aspirin. Sorry, I didn't realize some lived here."

[abrightboy]

He rushes over as soon as she seems unsteady, taking her by the elbow to help her onto a stool.

"No, it's okay. Sit here. We have some aspirin. Are you okay? Did you just arrive?" he asks as he moves around the counter to pull a pill bottle from a drawer.

[trigeminalheadache]

She follows his lead on clumsy feet, thankful that there aren't that many steps to the relief of the stool. The world still feels like it's moving under her, and she isn't sure if keeping her eyes closed is making it better or worse.

"I'm just... I'm dizzy. And cold," she says. The long sleeves of her pajama top cling to her torso; her chilled skin could likely be felt under the material when he grabbed her elbow. She carefully opens her eyes while holding onto the island, just in case everything tips the other way and sends her off the stool. "And by 'arrive,' do you mean 'wake up on the beach with no idea how you get there'? If so, then, yeah."

[abrightboy]

He gets her a glass of water and sets it next to the aspirin.

"Yeah, they really like leaving people on the beach. Almost everyone has arrived there."

He gets the french press down and puts the kettle on. He's going to make coffee. Just in case. Someone in the house will drink it anyway.

"Where are you from?" he asks curiously.

[trigeminalheadache]

She reaches for the bottle of aspirin, first lining up the edges of the childproof cap before popping it off. Caitlin shakes out two of the pills and tosses them back, gulping down the water to wash them down. Hopefully, it'll help because she hates feeling like this.

She exhales out of her nose, an amused little huff. "I wish they would have told me beforehand. I could have put on a wetsuit, packed a bag." But when people are kidnapped, they don't get much advanced notice. It seems that would defeat the purpose of a kidnapping.

The sight of the french press helps her perk up a little. Coffee. Yes, god, coffee would be great. She lifts her eyes to look at him. To really look at him.

"Central City," she answers plainly. No qualifiers. No state or country. Everyone knows Central City. "What about you?"

[abrightboy]

He looks at her oddly because he does not know Central City.

"New York," he answers, watching her face for recognition. "Manhattan, to be precise." He scoops grounds into the press while keeping an eye on her. "Grew up on the Upper East Side, but I live in SoHo now."

[trigeminalheadache]

There's a brief flash of confusion to his look. Maybe it's merely in relation to the location. They're obviously in some coastal town, and both coasts are pretty far from landlocked, midwestern Missouri. It's still hard to think about it too much.

Recognition does light up in Caitlin's eyes at the mention of New York. Of Manhattan, the Upper East Side, SoHo. There's a click in her mind, making a reasonable assumption: he comes from money. What is it people said? Upper West Side is new money, Upper East Side is old money? So, a couple of generations of wealth, at least.

She isn't going to ask him about it. She comes from money, herself, and was raised right. One doesn't talk about that sort of thing. "Expensive place," she says. Carefully, she lets her gaze rove over the kitchen they're in. No turning around. That doesn't feel safe yet. "But this clearly isn't SoHo, so where are we?"

[abrightboy]

"We don't really know," he admits. "We all woke up here, no idea how we got here: same as you. The first arrivals that I know of got here....oh, a month and a half ago now. I got here about a week later. New people arrive all the time. Sometimes people disappear. Or die. This town is called Mathias, according to what records we've been able to find. We don't know who's pulling the strings, but not from lack of trying."

The kettle boils and he pours water into the press.

"Where's Central City?"

[trigeminalheadache]

The look of confusion and dismay on her face just grows with each sentence he utters. No one knows how they got here. No one knows where they are. He mentions the arrivals like they're the only people here. How can that be possible? Surely there'd be other people who lived here. There's coffee, there's aspirin. You don't just find those sort of things in abandoned towns.

Don't you?

Water hits the coffee grounds and the smell alone feels like it's starting to part the haze in her mind. Which makes his question hit her extra hard. Her brow knits together, her expression puzzled. "You... don't know where Central City is?" she asks in disbelief. "Central City, right across the Gardner River from Keystone City? Central City, home to 14 million people in its greater metropolitan area?"

That's like asking where New York City is. Or Gotham.

[abrightboy]

"I... don't know how to tell you this, but... not everyone here is from the same reality?" he explains. "Some worlds seem to have some things in common, but then you get into it and details are wrong. Like. Some worlds have magic or superpowers. But even worlds that seem the same... like, my friend Neal is from New York too. And he's also from a New York with no magic and no superpowers. But... in my world, my father is very famous. Very. And Neal's never heard of him. He doesn't exist there. Or, if he does, he never got..." His voice trails off, like he's said too much. "Famous," he finishes, and it's clearly not the word he was originally going to use. "So what else is different, right? We can't know. But the point is, your world can have New York and Central City and mine can just have New York."

a bit of exploration

[technologique]

1305 Phillips Drive certainly looks lived in. Or perhaps more like a place that was once lived in but has since been abandoned, depending on one's definition of such things. The upkeep leaves a lot to be desired. To be fair though, its occupant is not terribly accustomed to such things. Scattered around the living room are things ranging from small collections of screws, to scraps of wire, to the inner workings of radios and VCRs. There are also holes in the walls between the living room and dining room, though what appears to be wanton destruction is actually calculated. A completely unnecessary renovation that's only partway finished.

Tony is currently in the dining room, leaning over the table and, more to the point, his current project. Two sets of walkie talkies for Doc and Ellie. A small bit of normalcy for him here in Mathias. Something to keep his mind off of everything he doesn't want to think about it. Something to keep him busy at night when he simply doesn't want to sleep. At least they're useful and not just a make-work project (which is how the renovation started).

"Doc, I really don't appreciate-" Tony stops mid-sentence as he steps out of the dining room to see who's come into his house. No, he still doesn't like that. The house. Tony's eyes narrow and his brows furrow as he points toward the woman. "You're not Doc. Who are you?"

[trigeminalheadache]

Shelter is all she can think about. When she can think. The dizziness has hit a fevered pitch; she moves slowly, carefully, and looks like a house of cards on the verge of being blown down. There's a buzzing in the back of her head, making everything fuzzy and slightly out of focus. What is this? Is it the fog? Is it some remnant of whatever she might have been drugged with before being dumped on the beach? She can't think. She needs to get inside somewhere, get warm. Get out of this.

The place looks a wreck, something that would normally make her balk. Normal Caitlin wouldn't stick around, not unless she was looking for something this mess might provide. But freezing cold, wet, feeling ill Caitlin? This could be her port in the storm.

The unfamiliar voice brings her to a halt, though, even standing still, she's shivering hard enough for it to be visible and wobbling unsteadily. She's not supposed to be cold. This is wrong. She braces a hand against the wall beside one of the holes. Doc. Who goes by 'Doc'? Her head wavers as she looks at him. "Caitlin Snow. I-I'm sorry for intruding."

[technologique]

Tony lets his hand drop back to his side as he takes in the state of the woman standing in his living room. Caitlin Snow. He should probably try to remember that, right? Not that there's even enough people here to make it difficult to remember everyone's names, yet there's still far too many. And by the look of Caitlin, here, it seems that their numbers have increased by at least one. Their numbers are going in the wrong damn direction.

Keeping an eye on the unsteady woman, Tony steps back into the dining room for a moment and grabs one of the chairs that he'd pushed up against the wall, out of his way. It's an offering for Caitlin that also means he doesn't have to clear off any of the surfaces in the living room for her to sit. Without JARVIS here to keep tabs on everything for him, while also being in an unfamiliar house, Tony's been finding it easier to keep track of what he has and what he doesn't by having things all laid out. When he has some downtime, he'll come up with a better system.

So for now, he sets down one of the dining room chairs in front of Caitlin and gestures for her to take a seat.

"I'd probably be upset about the intrusion if I wasn't already intruding. Not my house, so probably can't really say much, right?" Though if it were anyone else, he probably would have had something to say about it. As it stands, he's not about to turn Caitlin away, given the state she's in.

"Tony." He gestures toward her. "Run-in with our lovely beach?"

[trigeminalheadache]

She’d be just as happy to collapse on the floor, let herself slide down the wall until her ass hits the ground. That would pose the question of how she’d get up again. The world would have to stop tilting first, for sure. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—rely on the stranger whose home she’d just waltzed into. His hands are empty, but he knows this place and what’s in it. He isn’t the one about to fall over. So, no. Maybe the floor isn’t a great idea.

Caitlin looks relieved when he brings over the chair, like someone who’s been crawling in the desert spotting water. It’s quicker than him clearing off something in the living room, she can tell that much. A better option than the floor. Less trouble getting up from it. She hopes, at least. She grips the back of the chair with her free hand, uses it and her hand on the wall to step to the side of the seat. When she lets go of the wall, she wavers a moment, unsteady, before she drops into place. A very small, practically imperceptible “Thank you” escapes her as she shifts and pulls her legs in front of her.

She probably looks every bit as fragile and frail as she feels. Sure, there’s a chance she might fall out of the chair, but it’s less likely than her keeling over on her feet.

She listens to Tony with her eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning. Not intruding. Not his house. Then whose house is this? Is this all the owner’s junk? Not the point right now, Caitlin, she tells herself. She breathes out an amused huff at his question.

“I’d say the beach ran me over, not into me. I didn’t fall asleep on the beach. I don’t live anywhere near a beach.” Carefully, she cracks open one eye to look at him. “Where are we, and how do I get home?”

to see and be seen

[bestfuneralever]

Klaus doesn't usually hang out at town hall, but it'd been the closest building when he had started feeling like he might pass out from traveling through the fog. He was slumped in a heap in a dark corner, trying to remember what it felt like when the world wasn't axis-tilted.

He might have even answered the woman calling out aimlessly into the space, except the nausea had gotten to him, too. It takes him a few more minutes before he thinks he can drag himself to his feet.

"You must be new," he drags a hand through his hair and leans up against the wall near the bulletin board like it might be the only thing supporting him at this moment.

[trigeminalheadache]

It's not that she's gotten used to the silence. It's not. The lack of sound is so foreign for someone like Caitlin who's grown up in a major city all her life. Even in those rare moments where she might have retreated into nature (never alone of course, camping and such things were always proposed by Ronnie), there was sound. It's just that the eerie quiet is nearly as oppressive as the fog outside, like it may suffocate and choke out any noise that dares disturb it.

So when the man speaks? She jumps. Her hand snaps closed, smearing the blood over her palm like she's subconsciously trying to hide it. She isn't, though, that's ridiculous. Her gaze shifts to him, quickly looking him over as if assessing him. He takes up a spot by the board, and she takes a couple of steps away from it, maintaining a little distance.

"Is it that obvious?" She pauses, looking herself over: wet sand still stuck in her hair, her wet pajamas. "Okay, yeah, it's probably obvious."

[bestfuneralever]

"Sorry," he holds a hand up in a surrendering gesture. "didn't mean to scare you." Not that he can blame her. Everything about this place was a little disturbing, unsettling, pick an adjective.

He smiles slightly. "Little bit. You got that doe-eyed newbie look aboutcha. We've all been there." He doesn't miss the way she backs away from him and he can't help but wonder what about him seems threatening. Then again, maybe nothing has to be. She's a woman, alone in a building with a man she hadn't realized was there-- and isn't that alone enough for any woman to be uncomfortable in these days and times?

"I'm Klaus," he offers easily. "It's not always like this here," Sometimes it was worse, but he'll leave that part out for the time being. "The fog just likes to roll in and fuck with us sometimes."

[trigeminalheadache]

Doe-eyed newbie look. At least it isn't just her looking like that. Though she has to wonder what this place is that it appears to be a patented look which signals a new arrival. How many people have been through this? Where are all of them? Where's the actual town to this town? The questions just keep churning in her head.

He doesn't move to encroach on the space she's created, and he's shown her he's unarmed. Being empty-handed isn't exactly unarmed, that's something she knows better than most people. No one would assume she could be dangerous just by looking at her. But that tune could and would quickly change if they made a move to threaten her. He isn't being threatening. Her shoulders relax and her jaw unclenches.

"I'm Caitlin," she says, automatically reaching out for a handshake. She stops halfway there, though, and draws back. She opens her hand to show him the blood. Wouldn't want to get this on you, she hopes the gesture conveys. "Where is 'here'?"

[bestfuneralever]

He relents when she makes the pacifying gesture with her blood-smeared hand and nods. He's fine with not going in for the handshake, in this case.

"Mathias township," he answers in a voice that sounds...tired? weary? "Probably somewhere in the New England region, if we had a guess, but nobody knows for sure." They should really make a flyer or something with all the basic questions one might need to know on arriving here. Stick 'em all around here, the Gull, the boarding house, and all the. other public spaces. He'll file that way and talk to someone about it later. Probably Malcolm.

[trigeminalheadache]

"Mathias Township," she echoes as she looks around for something to wipe her hand on. Her clothes are out of the question, and she can't very well do it on the bulletin board. There's just more blood there, and these messages are important to the people who wrote them. She settles on one of the blank pieces of paper, though it still leaves her skin stained a red-going-brown. Good enough for now.

"New England would explain the cold." There's something bitter in her words. The cold. The cold she isn't supposed to feel and has been trying to not think about. Thinking about that gets her thinking about the silence, and that's another can of worms she isn't ready to unpack at this exact moment.

"How can no one know for sure? There has to be a-a radio station or tv news or newspaper that tells us where we are. If not any of those, then the internet for sure." Don't mind her as she stubbornly tries to cling to the idea of normalcy.

[bestfuneralever]

"Not a fan of cold, I take it?" He asked, an amused note in his own voice. "I'm used to it, I lived up north all my life." Don't ask him where, Caitlin. The source material never says.

He shakes his head at her suggestions. "Nope... no records in here indicate anything that specific," he gestures vaguely to the building. "There's tax records and inspection reports, but dates and names, counties, towns, anything specifically identifying is always smudged out. TVs only play VHS, I don't even think I've seen a radio."

[trigeminalheadache]

"I can usually weather it better than this," she answers, bitterness creeping into her voice. He couldn't know that she seems to be missing a whole part of herself, that she's spent two years immune to the cold. This isn't a loss of tolerance; this is a loss, full stop.

Her eyes go wide as he describes the lack of information. This is... this is insane. What is this place, some secret ARGUS base? Or something controlled by a different government entity? Nothing civilian could be that heavily redacted, have that much of its essential identity wiped off the map. Her expression shifts from bewildered to confused to incredulous. "You're joking, right? You're pulling my leg here."

[bestfuneralever]

"It'll be all right. We can get you some clothes, there's a store, or sometimes you get better stuff out of the houses." He says it so casually, like it's a normal thing. Funny, what you can get used to.

He huffs a soft, amused sound. "I wish I was. This place is insane, and the lacking amounts of geographical info is only the tip of the iceberg."