test drive — autumn

[villagemod]

test drive — autumn
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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.

Since not all setting details have been made available yet, you are welcome to invent your own general locations for this test drive. There are no living souls in Mathias Township beyond the player characters. In fact, there are no signs of life at all... We hope you enjoy your visit.

( Recommended listening: ♫ )



— the fog —

It moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. The fog is not a soft blanket enveloping the town, but a heavy weight pressing down, threatening to suffocate the sky is blotted out and you can see no further than your outstretched hand.

Those outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, stumbling toward shelter as you're unable to even see your feet beneath you, let alone any obstacles in your path. Perhaps you call out for help, hoping for another voice to guide you toward shelter or simply another living soul. Or perhaps you were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in. Can you hear those voices crying out? You recognize some, but the others... Are they really there at all, or are you alone here and simply beginning to finally lose your mind?

And perhaps the most important question: Do you answer?



— portents —

You wake up with an ache in your head and a cloudiness to your thoughts, your body sprawled on the ground in a location you don't remember going to. As you sit up, the world spins and start to clutch your head — to realize there's something on your hand. A symbol, a word, a streak of wet paint or ink. You don't recognize it or have any memory of how it got there...

Or how the much larger depiction came to be on the wall or the floor around them. You can see it shining wet in the glow of whatever light source is nearest, but something instinctual urges you not to touch it. If you defy that urge, it burns, a searing pain that radiates from the matching mark on your hand.

Did you do this? Or was it done to you? The person approaching may have answers — or accusations.



— past deeds —

The Town Hall stands at the center of Mathias Township, a modest two-story building that would be welcoming if not for the faded sign, chipped paint, and deafening silence. 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 your attention is a large bulletin board on the main wall, once meant to hold flyers or announcements for the community.

What it holds now is decidedly different. Tacked onto the board is a torn scrap of paper with words scrawled almost illegibly in dark red ink.

why did this happen

Upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the ink is actually blood, though whether it is human is unknown. And beside that scrap, a symbol has been drawn in dark black marker — it resembles a feather or a branch, but you've never seen anything like it before. It scares you even as you know it is perhaps the most important thing you have ever seen in your life.

On the floor below the bulletin board are more scraps of paper scattered amongst grime and dust, most blank but some with other strange symbols scrawled in a variety of inks, perhaps matching the pens and markers scattered near the baseboard. Some are small enough that they might have once been part of the same page, creating something larger. And to the far side, a pristine stack of crisp white copy paper and an unopened box of ballpoint pens.

What do you do?



code bases by tricklet

Comments

[thering]

[Is she sure she's fine though? She doesn't seem fine, however tough and brave that face looks on the outside. Just saying. He retracts his hands and placies them on his hips, keeping his thumbs tucked in behind his belt.]

Took those same words right out of my mouth, ma'am. [And he thought he'd been hitting the bottle a little too hard again. Either something very weird is going on, or they've both been day drinking. Or, well, you know. It could always be both.]

That's a real shame, I was hoping you could tell me where here is. Or where they took my guns and knife. [Whoever 'they' are. He would very much like to have a word, once he finds 'them'.]

Would you mind if I accompanied you, at least until we have you some water and shelter? I would be ill at ease to part ways now.

[chuju]

[ She's really not fine at all but is she going to admit that? Nope, not until Simmons shows up to haul her back to medical and force her into that healing chamber again. Or Coulson. Or May or Sousa or Mack— Her chest tightens painfully with worry and fear over something happening to them, or the possibility that they'd somehow been separated while she'd been sleeping. If something happened to the Zephyr while they were jumping...

Focus, Agent Johnson. Work the problem. ]

Sure, why not. [ She tries to sound flippant but it comes out flat. Suddenly the idea of him leaving makes that trickle of panic threaten to turn into a river. It's the stress of being somewhere unknown in a weakened state, she realizes, but that doesn't make it easier to overcome. ] It's probably better if we stick together anyway. Safety in numbers in case whoever did this to us decides to show their face.

[ Giving him a good once-over, as much of him as she can see through the fog anyway, she frowns again and tilts her head slightly to the side. ] Did they take anything besides your weapons?

[thering]

[He doesn't want to make a habit of inviting himself along to someone else's journey, but she's right, especially since they're unarmed. Two sets of eyes are better than one, even if they can't see shit right now.]

No. Well I was with Wynonna. [That's complicated, in bold, capital letters, flashing like a broken neon sign sort of complicated, and he is most definitely not going there. But they didn't take his clothes, shoes or his cigarillos, thankfully. Clearing his throat, keeping his head facing forward, he continues trudging slowly through the mists. It's a slow trek, having to be careful of their footing, and not being able to tell if they're walking into a trap, imminent danger or the glass door of a Taco Bell.] Hopefully she did not befall our same fate, but I should like to make the rounds after the weather has cleared, to be sure.

[He turns to look at his new friend then.] Were you with someone before you came here? We should look for them too.

[chuju]

[ Daisy does her best to feel through the fog with her powers, stretching out her senses to try pinpointing any unusual vibrations nearby, but everything is weak and dulled. That scares her more than anything else about this weird place, and she has to continually remind herself that she's just still recovering from what Malick did. They're coming back, they're not gone, and she is going to be fine. Her family is going to be fine. ]

Yeah, my team. [ Affection is clear in her voice, with worry leaking into the next words as she glances over at the really weird stranger she's found herself paired with. ] We were on the Zephyr, our— our mobile base of operations, so I don't know how anything could have just brought us down here like this.

[ Unless it had been the Chronicoms. If they'd found a way to just hop onto their ship... But then how would that explain the cowboy? ]

[thering]

Then we will look for your team too. [He tries not to stiffen or jolt every time he crushes some twig or leaf or what-have-you beneath his soles or when she makes a noise, but this place is doing its best to keep them on their toes.

It's hard to tell what direction they're headed when the place is unfamiliar but he thinks they're on the right track when the surface of the roading changes. He veers to the left a bit and reaches out to the left, hoping to grope the surface of some some of landmark that they might be able to use to orient themselves.]

What're the odds we'll find a saloon? [He casts as reassuring of a smile as he can manage at her.] Hell I'll settle for a store or a church, even a school. [There'll be water and shelter in any of those places.]

[chuju]

[ A saloon? She stops moving then, turning to properly face him and holding out a hand as once again she is utterly confused by something he's said. ]

Okay, I just have to ask because your whole thing is really messing with my head. Are you from the 1800s or something? [ That's when cowboys were a thing, right? And saloons? Not for the first time this month, she finds herself really wishing she'd paid more attention to her history classes in school. ] And I know that's probably going to seem like a crazy question but just go with me here, okay?

[ If he was from the past, she'd honestly feel a whole lot better about this whole situation. It could explain everything, really. The Chronicom theory could come back into play — maybe they'd gone even further back to try wiping out the families of the founders of SHIELD. That totally seems like something a race of space robots would do, right? ]

[thering]

[His hands return to his hips and he ducks his head. Doc stops next to her and breathes out a sigh as he considers the merits of namedropping himself. It was fine to do so in Purgatory with the Earps and their close ones, but. He's in a place he doesn't know with people he doesn't recognise dealing with a fog machine that's been running on overdrive for much longer than he's comfortable with.]

It's not a crazy question at all, ma'am. My name is Henry. I made an... ill-advised deal in 1887 and I've made it, thus far, to 2017. [He does half an eyeroll and gestures vaguely with his hand. He's clearly given something similar to this briefing before.] And I should like to keep going, our captors permitting. [Now he would ask the same of her, but it's rude to ask a lady her age.]

May I know how I am to address you, ma'am? [It'd be nice to have at least a name, even if she won't tell him anything else about herself.]

[chuju]

[ She watches him like a hawk the entire time he drawls out his explanation, looking for any sign that he was lying or just outright pulling her leg. Her intuition tells her he's not though; he might not be giving her the whole story, but he's being honest. Though the use of the term deal brings up thoughts of Robbie and Ghost Rider that strike a little too close to the eerie whatever they've found themselves in...

She sighs heavily and shakes her head, resigning herself to a whole new mess of weird to deal with. ]

Daisy Johnson. I'm an agent of SHIELD. [ She offers no further explanation than that. If he's from 2017, then he should know SHIELD. They might have been out of the game for a while, but the Battle of New York had only been five years prior and no way was anyone forgetting the city being invaded by aliens and saved by a team of superheroes. It was a day that changed the entire world, for better or worse. ]

[thering]

Shield. [He repeats the word back to her in a neutral tone with an unreadable expression. There's no overt sign of recognition but there's no confusion either. He figures it's just another government organisation, some codename for something he shouldn't be privy to, or whatever, just like 'Black Badge' or... 'Space Force'. Taking his hat off, he holds it against his chest and inclines his head.]

Miss Johnson. [His tight-lipped smile widens briefly before he pops his hat back on, straightening it up. That was a surprisingly easy introduction, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He looks like he's about to say something else when he trips over the corner of a step, stumbling forward a few steps to catch himself.]

...well I'll be damned. I think it's your lucky day. [Ascending the short flight of steps, Doc reaches in front of himself to touch the door before he walks straight into it. He's about to knock when it opens with a groaning creak. Because it was left slightly ajar, some of the thick smog had already started slithering in, but he pushes it closed behind her once she gets inside. There's no lantern hanging by the door, but there is-- ...a light switch?

Henry flicks it on and illuminates what looks like an old cafe. Without examining any closer he can't tell if it's genuinely old or if it was made to look this way for those brownie Instantgram points. Standing in the light, he can now get a better look at her, and her at him.

That's when his eyes latch back onto the little flecks of red on her hands.]

Right. Water.

[chuju]

[ If she refused to accept every weird thing she came across on a daily basis, she'd spend half her life fighting the inevitable. After six years with SHIELD, she's just going with the flow, especially if there's any sort of precedent for whatever the weirdness is. Robbie's supernatural tagalong had changed things drastically for SHIELD, as had the Darkhold. Everything they knew was questioned in the face of the science shaped as magic; who's to say that's not what Henry is mixed up in? This could even part of that too, it's probably about time for it to come back around to mess with her again.

If only Robbie would show up from whatever weird dimension he'd traveled to and drop some answers in her lap. That would be nice for once.

Following Henry into the building, she's a little surprised at it being a café. They must have made it past the residential district she'd been in when the fog descended; maybe there are businesses surrounding this one that might be able to provide some answers. Of course, that's not what they're here for — shelter and taking care of her hands, that's what he'd been intent on. And he's been so polite this entire time, so completely unlike most men in her era. It makes her wonder distantly if it was common in his original time or if he'd been the exception. ]

Maybe we'll get lucky and there will still be running water. [ She makes her way toward the kitchen that can be seen through an open doorway, trying not to give him too much of an opportunity to examine her in the light. If she looks anything like she feels... Well, she doesn't need someone worrying over how pale she is, how dark the circles under her eyes are, or how careful her movements are. Her job is to keep going when no one else can, to be the strong one for her team, and a wannabe supervillain like Nathaniel Malick isn't going to stop her, not even from his well-deserved grave.

Of course, that didn't mean she hadn't taken a good quick glance at him in the artificial light. The mustache still bothers her a bit, possibly because of just how out of place it would be in her time, but she decides she could get used to it. It suits him. ]

[thering]

[The poor state of her health is noted, without comment. He is-- was, a doctor, after all. He might not be familiar with all the modern tools of the trade but a sickly young lady looked the same back in his day as she does now making her way quickly to the kitchen. Doc lets her take care of herself while he walks to all four corners, checking to see that they'll be safe her for a little bit and if there's anything lying around they can use. He suspects any food they might find has long gone mouldy, but, as she says, maybe they'll get lucky.

He eventually follows her into the kitchen and he starts pulling open drawers there. They can't afford to be fussy and honestly, they weren't fussy in the time he came from. You took what you could get and made the most of what you had. Maybe there'll be some chef or waiter uniforms they can use as a spare set of clothes. Tablecloths for temporary curtains or sheets.

Or, as luck would have it, a cutlery drawer. Don't mind him as he rifles through, helping himself to two of the least flimsy-looking steak knives he can find. He tucks one away in his right boot before he steps in a little closer to Daisy, holding the other knife by its blade.]

Better than nothin'. [He offers it to her, not really expecting that she would know how to use it against another person, but a knife always comes in handy. All manner of things need cutting. If nothing else, having one on them might help them feel safer, even if it's just a psychological thing.]

How are your hands? Mind if I take a look?

[chuju]

[ It's a relief to have a few moments alone in the kitchen, which is just like in every other restaurant. Shiny metal surfaces that are a lot less shiny with the layer of dust on them; industrial oven and stove for cooking; an impressive looking coffee maker that she keeps eying while trying to taps at the sink. There's a gurgling in the pipes but then the water comes flowing out, a shade brown at first and then perfectly clear. It even heats up, meaning they've probably still got working gas to. Not exactly the situation she'd have thought they'd be in given the state of the rest of the town but she'll take it.

Letting the warm water gently run over the scrapes on her hands stings at first, but it does the drink of loosening up the dried blood. She adds a bit of soap that helps with the rest and stings even more. By the time he joins her in the kitchen, she has a dishtowel pressed between her now clean hands. He does his searching while she looks over the shallow cuts on her palms, glad they're not bleeding much anymore because she's really lost too much blood this week already, and she finally glances up when she sees him hold out the knife.

For a second, she considers arguing the point that she doesn't need a weapon, she kind of is one herself (as has been pointed out so many times over the years), but... Well, with the present state of her powers, it really can't hurt to have an extra bit of protection. They have no idea what's waiting for them when the fog finally clears and she can't rely on anyone else to be able to defend them when push comes to shove. So she accepts it, frowning slightly at how it's clearly not meant for the things she might have to do with it, before tucking it into her own right boot. ]

Have you done this sort of thing before? [ She doesn't specify what she means as she leans back against the counter and holds out her hands for him to examine. Patched someone up? Scavenged an abandoned building? Been kidnapped to a freaky ghost town? Take your pick. ]

[thering]

I'm not sure as to which sort of 'thing' you are referring. [He flashes her a smile before ducking his head, sliding his hands under hers and brushing his thumbs over her palms.]

I was a doctor, in my time. Among other things. [Not of the open heart surgery type then, but hopefully she can trust that he is genuinely trying to help. He gives her hands a light squeeze before returning them to her, letting them go once he's nudged them closer to her chest.]

You'll be fine, Miss Johnson. They look to be the least of your worries. [And that's all he'll comment about how she looks like shit. He doesn't have to ask and she doesn't need to tell. Looking over his shoulder again, he frowns as the windowpane greets him with a sheet of thick, white smog. He's not sure what they need to be worried about.]

Suppose you best make yourself comfortable. Doesn't look like this'll let up for a while. [And in here there's water, lights, furniture, a few knives. Beats having to go back out there.]

[chuju]

[ A doctor. Huh. The profession undoubtedly looked quite different in 1887, but it did explain his persistent concern. She can see it in the way he looks at her, feel it in how he holds her hands. His touch is gentle and caring and it's... so strange after the truly awful last few days she's had. Truthfully, it unsettles her in a way she doesn't care to examine; she can't stop to think about the last time someone cared about her physical wellbeing when it didn't have to do with being ready for a fight. ]

Thanks, Doc. [ The nickname slips out easily in her softened voice. A glance at the windows just about confirms his prediction and she sighs heavily. At least they can see in here, so might as well try and wait it out. They can search for their people afterward. ]

And call me Daisy. Miss Johnson sounds... [ She thinks for a second and then shakes her head, moving away from the counter and walking over to the coffee station. ] Well, I'm used to being Agent Johnson, so I guess it's the Miss part that's weirding me out. Guys aren't that polite anymore in the modern era.

[ He reminds her of Sousa that way, just about seventy years off. Reaching up to grab one of the large cans of coffee, she lifts it down and pries off the lid to give it a sniff. It's fresh. Another mystery to add to the mountain already piled up, but at least it's a useful one. Locating a filter, she starts prepping the machine to make a very full pot. ]

[thering]

Well alright, Daisy. But everyone can afford to be more polite. My father would be rolling in his grave if he knew. [He doesn't know what in damnation happened to everyone in the past hundred and thirty-odd years or so and while he enjoys being able to pluck a cold beer out of a fridge or make food in five minutes pressing some beep-beep-boop buttons on a microwave, he can't say he feels the same about peoples' manners.]

Hell I'd be rolling in my grave. [Whenever it's his turn to wind up there. Has she seen what men are wearing these days? Chinos that stop above the ankle with no socks, greeting each other with 'yo, what's up dude?' The outrage. What does that even mean?

Leaning against the counter, he watches her work the coffee machine with a raised eyebrow. His head pulls back a bit when it starts making funny noises.]

What are you doing, with that?

[chuju]

[ She hasn't been able to spend enough time with Sousa the past few days to really get a full impression of just how strange his good manners are, but the glimpses she had gotten before being kidnapped and in between healing chamber sessions had been enough to give her a good snapshot. It's weird, her younger self would have been completely weirded out by it and made more than a few jokes about his gentlemanly ways, but now? She kind of appreciates it, from both Sousa and the Doc. They're different, and that's definitely not a bad thing. The world could use more men who don't act like giant children. ]

Making coffee... [ She answers absently while carrying two mugs over to the sink to wash off the coating of dust. ] For some reason, the grounds are still fresh. Could you check the fridge and see if it's the same in there?

[ In her experience, one weird thing was usually accompanied by twelve more. Despite the evidence that this place has been abandoned for a while, the utilities are still working perfectly well. If the food is all still fresh, that at least gives them another piece of the puzzle. ]

[thering]

[He gives her a little appreciative hum before he makes his way over to the fridge. He's not sure what kind of mould monster would be growing in the back of it so he wrinkles his nose and braces himself a bit, holding his breath as he yanks the door open.]

...huh. [That's. Not what he expected. It's oddly clean inside. And there's more bottles of milk than a man can easily count at a glance. Not much else though. He's not sure why the plastic lids are in an assortment of different colours though. Milk is milk, right? He sticks a hand into the fridge and pulls out the strangest looking carton with various strategically-placed nuts on the packaging.]

What the fresh hell is this? There's no milk in almonds.

omg that tag was a gift i'm dying

[chuju]

[ The huh is about what she'd expected. No stench of rotting food drifts out from the opened door and she glances over in time to see him reaching into what looks like a sea of milk options. It doesn't even occur to her that he'd find any of them at all odd until that reaction.

She can't help it: the laugh bubbles up out of her like a force to be reckoned with, and damn it feels good to really laugh again. ]

There's probably soy in there too. [ Please excuse the leftover chuckling, cowboy, this is just exactly what she needed. ] Non-dairy options are popular in the modern era.

there are no tits on an almond >:|

[thering]

Soy. [That's crossing a line. He is positively disgusted. Shaking his head, he puts the almond milk back where it was sitting. He's a little overwhelmed by all the options for what should simply be a half gallon bottle of milk, but the one with red caps seem to take up the most space in the fridge, and they do have a cow on the label. He shakes the bottle and cracks the lid open. Oddly enough, it doesn't smell like it's been rotting in the fridge for years.]

Hmph. Suppose you have a preference. [He sets the bottle he just opened aside and gestures with his hand over the ocean of lids and packaging like a rainbow in the fridge.]

XD it is entirely your fault that i've now watched 10 eps of this show

[chuju]

[ The part of her that thrives on teasing others makes a mental note to tell him all about vegan culture later. It's really too bad there probably aren't any soy burgers anywhere in this creepy town, that would be hilarious to see his reaction to. ]

No preference. [ She shakes her head and sets the two mugs on the counter as the coffee maker begins gurgling the last few dregs of hot bean juice into the carafe. ] When you spend a couple years living in a van, you learn not to be too picky about your coffee. Among other things.

[ Of course, she'd learned not to be choosy long before that. Between the orphanage and endless string of foster homes... Well, the van story is always a lot easier for a stranger to swallow than the tale of her sad childhood. ]

hey it's a fun/crazy show, I'm glad you're checking it out

[thering]

[Oh there will be fireworks if he ever lays eyes on some 'impossible' or 'beyond' meat. If you want something 'plant-based' go eat a goddamn broccoli, leave his burgers alone.

Closing the fridge door, he brings the opened bottle of milk over. There's a cow on the sticker next to all that fine print. Can't go wrong with that, right?]

You lived in a van? [He folds his arms over the edge of the counter and crosses his legs at the ankles, watching her move in the kitchen. It's not exactly ideal, but he doesn't know anything of her circumstances. Seems rough actually, given that she's not in great shape right now. Today has just been mysteries all around.] Must have been lonely.

crazy is a good word for it

[chuju]

It was, yeah. [ She doesn't try to hide the sliver of sadness in her voice. Back then, she never would have admitted it. Skye was feisty and deflected her pain with humor and a front of always being perfectly okay with her shitty situation. Really, she'd been broken in a dozen ways, chasing any lead she could find on her parents in desperate hope of finding somewhere to belong with people who wanted her. She'd never realized just how lonely she'd been until she wasn't anymore.

Grasping the handle firmly, she lifts the heavy carafe and carefully pours them each a mug full of what is likely subpar coffee. There's room left for milk, of course. ]

That was before I joined SHIELD. I liked that I could just pick up and go anywhere, anytime, and not have to worry about being tied down by something like a house. [ She'd never lived in a house long enough to call it a home. The carafe is returned to the warming plate and she fishes a spoon out of a drawer. Milk is added to both their mugs, enough to turn the drink a medium brown without entirely masking the taste of actual coffee, and after a quick stir with the spoon, she holds one mug out to her strange new acquaintance. ]

[thering]

Thank you kindly, Daisy. [He takes the mug from her carefully and takes a small, silent sip before setting it down. The familiarity of the taste is the first sense of normalcy he's had since arriving here and it helps calm the nerves a bit.]

I've spent a great many nights drifting, going from town to town. Had a home, but. Never wanted to spend too much time in it, y'know. I think we like the word 'freedom', a bit much. It-- dresses up that lonely, aimless wandering, looking for sommin' you're never gonna find. [Whether that's answers or love or whatever it is that keeps people going.] Soon as you think you've found something, it's gone.

[chuju]

[ She sips her own coffee while he speaks, cradling the mug between her hands and letting the warmth seep through tired muscle and bone. It feels good against her scraped palms, though it's the taste of the coffee that's a balm to her soul. Not good coffee but not terrible either, it reminds her of so many days spent working on her laptop back in her hacktivist days, leeching off free wifi in countless diners. The better kind of nostalgia.

He's pretty poetic as he goes on about home and freedom and looking for that something. It's not the way she would have phrased any of it, but it still hits hard and rings perfectly true. She's thoughtful when she replies, and she finds herself feeling something like an easy companionship toward this man from the past. ]

You're not wrong. Most of the time, that's how it goes. But sometimes... Sometimes you find that thing and you just have to work really hard to keep it. Doesn't mean you'll never lose it, but some things are worth having even if just for a little while.

[thering]

[He's been known to have a bit of a melodramatic flair, from time to time. Doc's pretty sure he's found that thing now, just as she said, but. He's here. And that thing... is not.

Taking another sip of coffee, he breathes out what sounds like a tired sigh through his nose.]

Suppose we better find a way out of this place then. [He walks back out over towards the door they came in through, watching the fog roll over the windowpanes.] I have a thing to be getting back to. As do you, I gather.