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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♔ i. ghosts of the living

[ Billy doesn't have much time to assess anything before the fog creeps up on him. Though if he's being honest with himself, he's not really at his best right now, mentally or physically. He's pulled himself through some shit in Iraq and Afghanistan - no matter how bad it got, he knew how to keep his head clear and his eyes alert - but not like this. Not when he's not sure how he's even still whole, or alive, and he feels the screaming pain in his face and his body.

All he wants is to find a place to take shelter, to take stock of his injuries (of which there are more than he cares to count), and maybe even take a damn shower. He feels like he just stepped off the set of a Tarantino movie. But then the fog rolls in, and Billy doesn't even try to censor himself as he lets out a string of curses

Even squinting through the fog hurts. Billy thinks he saw a house or something directly in front of him. He walks, expecting to run into it, but it never happens. He should've run into something by now, right? And if he keeps walking, will he ever find something to make him stop? He wishes he had something on him. A gun or a knife would make him feel a hell of a lot better. This is the perfect set up for an ambush. He knows that because he'd do it, too, and the moment Billy sees a figure walking through the fog then he's sure he's right.

But the figure keeps walking. Billy cautiously follows, until he sees another, and another, and he's sure he's being set up. ]

Come on, you son of a bitch. [ He holds out his arms to the phantom figure lurking in the fog. ] Don't be a fuckin' coward.

♔ ii. a bit of exploration

[ Billy's broken into a house. It's empty, of course, which is for the best because it might not have ended well for the residents of it if they were there. With the door locked behind him and the house cased, he lets himself rest, passing out on the couch for how long he doesn't know. It's a nightmare that finally makes him jolt awake.

He hisses as the pain from his wounds comes screaming back to him. He thinks he needs a doctor. He thinks he needs a shower and to change out of these clothes, which are crusty with dried blood. The shower is brutal. Billy isn't kind to himself, blasting it as hot as the water will go. He holds himself up against the wall and watches until the water stops running red. On his way out of the bathroom, he spares himself a quick glance in the mirror and he grimaces. Somehow it's not as bad as he thought. Where there should be open, gaping wounds, and a face shredded by glass, his face is peppered with healing scars. He almost wishes it was as bad as it should be. He'd prefer to look like ground beef than have a constant reminder of what he's supposed to look like.

There's some clothes he finds that aren't a bad fit for him. A pair of worn out jeans and a t-shirt and a flannel. He laces up the boots he arrived with and grabs a letter opener off a table near the door, slips it into his boot, and heads out.

Maybe you run into him as he's leaving the house. Otherwise, he finds himself gravitating to the library and the bookstore. When shit seems like it's hitting the fan, sometimes all you need is a good book to read to try and calm you down. And Billy really feels like he needs some calm. ]

♔ iii. to see and be seen

[ Can't go wrong with town halls. By now, Billy's learned that wherever the hell he is, it isn't New York. That's not a bad thing, when he stops to think about it, but that doesn't mean he feels safe, either. The sort of people he's pissed off have resources to hunt him down. He knows how they'd do it because he'd do the same. But a town hall might at least have some answers, or be the place where Billy can connect with the other residents.

He's seen them around. His own paranoia makes him avoid them when he can, eyes constantly moving to make sure he's aware of his surroundings at all times. He wants to limit conversations until he gets a better feel for what's going on.

At the bulletin board, Billy's relieved to see he doesn't recognize any of the names. The more he glances at it, the more he comes to think that someone like him might be able to make a good impression on the town. He's a useful guy. He's a survivalist, and, reading these notes, it looks like that's what everyone's trying to do. Survive and get by. Billy can help with that, provided people are willing to look past his looks now.

That's when he sees it between the notices. Maybe it says too much about Billy, the way his brain automatically assumes that anything in red must be blood. He leans into look better, to see if his suspicions are right, but as soon as he actually gets a glimpse of the eye, he steps back. Billy doesn't like feeling perceived. His paranoia spikes as he looks around. Just because he can't see someone doesn't mean they're not there. ]

♔ iv. wildcard

Choose your own adventure. Any locations across town are up for run-ins, or if any of these prompts don't float your boat and you wanna do your own thing, that's cool, too.

[ooc: Let me know if you need me to edit any of this!]

[ He knows the signs.

It's in the way a body carries himself, the look in the face, the constant casing action of the eyes. Tim had spotted the man a day or so ago but he'd kept his distance rather than immediately rolling up and trying to make friends. Again it was all about the way the man carried himself, it screamed military. High strung, one broken shoelace from a bad scene, type of military.

Tim knew the type. Hell provide him with a bad enough PTSD episode and he was the type. Best to let the man settle into the weirdness that was Mathias before attempting to approach. But approach, eventually, Tim did.

The small sniper had made sure to stop a safe distance away. Definitely out of arm's reach with enough additional distance to be able to defend himself if this really went wrong. His voice was deep, Kentucky drawl and edged with the idea that he kept his back teeth set when talking. Normally he'd have his hand on the butt of his service weapon, but since he was also unarmed he lifted his hands, slightly out to his sides and palms towards Billy. ]

You're not losing your mind. [ He said with laconic sort of done-with-it attitude. ] We're being watched by something. No idea what but a lot of the people who have been here awhile seem to lean towards the watcher being the town itself.

[ Lowering his hands Tim made a face. ] Kinda creepy, like having your dog staring at you when you're trying to take a shit.

There's no such thing as privacy anymore.

[ Billy didn't sigh. He wanted to. Any other time or place, he might have even cracked a smirk or a smile. For the most part, he just sounded tired. But, sure, why the hell not? People fly around with superpowers, guys turn into angry, green giants, it was probably just a matter of time before some of that bullshit caught up with Billy.

Instead, he carefully assessed the man talking to him. Maybe it was just something they could all do, spot another guy who served his country. You spend enough time in the trenches you get to know the type, after all, and Billy had made a career after of hiring military men for contract work. He liked to think that he could spot them, and, even if he couldn't, the guy's actions pretty much sealed the deal.

In a way, it brought Billy a sense of calm for the first time since he got here. ]

Billy Russo. [ He broke the silence that he'd let settle between them while he sized up the stranger. ] Marine, special ops. You?

[ When you'd been in the shit, some of it just stuck in a way that even years of civilian life couldn't entirely wash away. Tim lowered his hands and gave a small smile in acknowledgement of Russo reading him correctly and then an impressed nod. Marine, special ops were no joke. ]

Tim Gutterson. [ He didn't hesitate in responding in kind. ] Army Ranger sniper. [ There was no boasting, but there was also no faux 'aw shucks' attempt at humility either. It was the easy confidence of someone who is comfortable in his own skin; at least in this aspect of his life. ]

Afghanistan and the Sandbox. [ He added on at the end, his turn to offer up information in a show of respect to Russo. ] US Deputy Marshal currently.

No shit. [ Billy did smirk then, accompanied by a vague chuckle. ] Rangers are the real deal, man. Remind me not to fuck with you.

[ Whatever had gotten under Billy's skin was forgotten, at least for the moment. He didn't necessarily feel relaxed. He probably would never really feel as relaxed as he used to, but at least he maybe found someone he can trust in this shithole. ]

Good for you. Seriously, about the Marshal thing. A lot of guys like us, they have a hard time finding a place for themselves once they get home, you know? Nice to hear about someone who actually did it for a change.

Special ops in the Marines? Don't think I'll go out of my way to piss you off either. [ There was a bit of imp in his eyes, enough to suggest that the word 'Jarhead' had almost left his lips. But to his point, he wasn't looking to land on this guy's bad side straight out of the gate.

In fact there was a sense of ease working its way from across Tim's shoulder and down along his spine that tended to come over him when he was talking with fellow veterans. Even that initial introduction with Colton Rhodes, knowing the man was probably going to end up on the wrong side of his gun sights there was just something about that brotherhood.

Tim took a couple of steps closer, giving a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement of Russo's recognition of his Marshal service. ]

I know a few like that. [ He said with empathy. ] Guys who can't live without the mad minute and end up contracting out to chase that high. The Marshal service is actually pretty supportive in hiring veterans; for those who want the support.

[ Some guys just ... didn't. ]

I hope this doesn't ruin my shining first impression, but that's what I did. Do. It's what I did before whatever the hell happened to bring me here, hire vets for contract work. Mostly security details or acting as hostiles in training exercises for agencies.

[ He held up his hands, as if saying he was guilty as charged. ]

We did full psych evals, of course. Don't wanna send a ticking time bomb into a stressful situation, right? You know, Tim, I gotta say, it makes me feel a lot better knowing you're around here.

That's just because you don't know me. [ The self directed jab came from that place where off kilter humor got you through the day and night.

He did give Russo a closer look when the man admitted to his previous (current?) occupation. No contractor worth their lawyers' retainer was ever going to admit to hiring veterans to do more than security detail or exercises. Tim 'lawman' spidey senses were tingling.

But quite honestly even if the man was running one of those operations that hired for the mad minute, Mathias was not the town to start casting stones. This was a place where that edge, which Tim would have to tut tut back home, was the same sort of edge he wanted at his shoulder in this place.

So while his expression said as much about the 'tut tut' it relaxed almost immediately. ]

Psych evals don't do us much good around here. Resourcefulness and an ability to imagine the worst case scenario are much more practical skills.

Nah, I like to think I'm good at getting a read on people.

[ But Billy noticed that vague shift. Minute as it was, it had been there, and Billy was going to clock that and remember it. He might not have the good looks anymore to accentuate his charm, but Billy could still be as charismatic and likeable as he'd been before he decided to go toe to toe with the Punisher.

It was fine. The conversation was moving on and Billy was glad for it. ]

Good news for us, then. Resourcefulness and imagining the worst is pretty much tricks of the trade at this point. So this town just like ... What? Messes around with people somehow?

[ Tim wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of someone being able to get a good read on him. There was a natural reserve, secrets he had and tried to keep carefully crated up and he did not need someone peeking under the lids.

But he decided to let that be an internal warning, rather than cause it to dictate his behavior with Russo. At least for the time being. ]

Honestly, we don't really know. [ He explained. ] I'm a fairly recent arrival, you'd want to talk to Raylan Givens, or Doc Holiday for details. From what I've been told, this place has a habit of killing a person, in gruesome fashion, and then haunting your dreams until you feel very messed with indeed.

The killing thing? It also appears to bring people back from those deaths; sometimes. Not all the time and there is no rhyme or reason as to who comes back from what and who doesn't.

[ Well, hey, it's not as if gruesome deaths are new to Billy. Shit, he just about went through his own not too long ago. ]

What, like, zombies? Vampires? Other living-dead type things? Sounds like a real riot around here.

She spots him from a distance, heading into the library, and her first thought is What the hell is he wearing.

Her second thought, on coming closer, is—- “What the hell happened to your face?”

There’s undeniable worry for him in her tone. Sorry sir she thinks you are another handsome imposing frowny man.

Billy stops when she speaks, feeling his jaw clench at her words. It's only through years of practice that he's able to keep his face from showing too much emotion, but there's something in his eyes that betrays his annoyance.

"So much for common courtesy," he says, and his voice is likely distinctly different than that of the man she thinks him to be. Instead of a soothing, posh tone, Billy's voice carries the sort of accent one would think of when thinking of a stereotypical New Yorker. "Anyone ever teach you to say hello before offending strangers?"

She stops short, eyes widening. "Oh, shit. Sorry. I thought..."

Though, in retrospect, saying that to Kirigan wouldn't have gone over great either. "You look... a lot like someone here."

That's entirely sheepish. "Sorry."

She ruffles her own hair awkwardly. "He didn't--"

Have a bunch of scars. Yeah, no. "Um. Are you new?"

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test drive — spring

Billy Russo ♔ The Punisher (MCU)

♔ iii. to see and be seen

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exploration! Prose bc I’m on my phone many apologies

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