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

Leonard McCoy - ST:AOS

[1701cmo]

-The Fog-

Whispered conversations too quiet to fully understand lead him down empty streets. The discord is pierced at irregular intervals by sounds he's absolutely sure are unrelated. A young girl's giggling. A high pitched scream that stabs at his eardrums. Water rushing, but not the waves of the ocean. Concentrating on tracking what he can almost hear means he's failed to recognize what he doesn't hear, the common sounds that filter into the background. Here there is no background. No insects. No animals. No rustling of the trees. No wind assailing him.

The fog engulfs him from behind, a prickly sensation that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand immediately on end. He pivots, startled by the suddenness of it, and is greeted by white. An unending sea of clouds that reaches around and through him, having no respect for boundaries or the physicality of matter. What should be wonderous is instead a cage without bars. He squints and turns, disoriented, trying to find his path. Any path.

"DADDYYYYYYYY!"

His daughter's frightened cry is neither ahead nor behind, everywhere present all at once. His eyes fly wide but his feet take him nowhere. Which direction does he travel?

"Joanna!" he calls back. Only to receive no answer.

[chuju]

For what seems like hours but has likely only been minutes, Daisy's been chasing voices through the fog. One unsteady step after another, pushing her battered body forward through the oppressive curtain of white, she moves through the town, trying to keep in mind what she'd managed to see of the streets before this. It isn't easy, far from it, but she stays on the street itself, arms outstretched to feel around as she strains to listen for those voices and feel the vibrations from the road beneath her. Both prove frustratingly difficult.

But then, finally—

"Hello?" she calls out for what feels like the thousandth time, but that last voice had been so close. Joanna, and with such emotion in that single cry... "Can you hear me?"

[1701cmo]

Odds say they'll pass like ships in the night, never catching sight of each other despite being so close. Instead, proving the world is upside down, they collide. A bump, a sharp intake of breath. Then his hands are immediately searching for the shape of her, breezing past her wrist then both hands land at her upper arms.

The fog is so dense even at a foot apart, her features are dull and distant.

Leonard's eyes are still wide. Like a madman, suddenly materializing. If she can see him at all.

[chuju]

Daisy finds herself cursing Nathaniel Malick yet again as she literally runs right into the man. If she'd been at full strength, this never would have happened; she would have felt his vibrations in time to stop the collision that nearly bowls her over. She refuses to admit to herself that his hands on her arms help her stay steady and upright and that her own hands find his forearms for the same purpose. It's to not lose each other in the fog, that's all.

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay," she assures him forcefully, projecting the confidence of someone used to being in charge. She peers up at him through the fog, stepping closer so she can see the look in his eyes a little more clearly. They're closer than two strangers would ever normally be, but these aren't normal times.

[1701cmo]

His gaze frantically darts from one direction to the next, continuously searching. As if there was more to be seen in the depths about them than just each other. Eyes pass over her without acknowledgement or comprehension. Until they abruptly land on her, his entire focus coming to bear.

"She's here."

His whole body is a live wire, his fingers antsy at her upper arms. At any moment, they could slip away. At any moment, their connection could be lost. If they part from each other now, the fog will swallow them once again.

"Joanna!" he yells a second time, louder, hoping his voice will reach her. Wherever she is.

[chuju]

Something has him rattled, whether it be this place or his panic over finding whoever Joanna is. He can barely seem to focus on any one thing for longer than a few seconds. She tightens her grip on his arms, fingertips grasping at the fabric of his sleeves in case he suddenly tries to bolt.

"Hey," she tries again, louder and with more force. "I promise you, we will find her, but I need you to focus for a minute, okay?"

If he's this out of it with her standing right in front of him, there's no telling what state he might end up in if he keeps wandering out here on his own. Daisy's not about to find out, either.

[1701cmo]

The tone of her voice rather than the volume seizes his full attention. Jim utilizes the same approach when he's sure his best friend has flown off the rails. Reassuring words wrapped up in authority, designed to ground him in the moment. The response is immediate. He stills within her grasp, his panicked energy funneling down to an intense and angry stare.

"Where the hell are we?"

[chuju]

Okay, good, that's better. At least she probably doesn't have to worry about him suddenly sprinting away and getting lost in the fog while looking for someone. She loosens her grip on his shirt just slightly but still keeps hold of him; now that she's stopped constantly moving, she's worried she might lose her balance, and no way is she letting him see that.

"No clue," she admits, hating her lack of answers with a passion. She's a spy, information is her job and she's failing miserably at it. "I just woke up here a few hours ago. I was searching for my team when this fog came out of nowhere. You?"

[1701cmo]

Murmurs return to tickle his ear, unintelligible. Threads of the familiar are interwoven with the foreign, hints of inflections he recognizes lost beneath others he doesn't. Like his daughter's terrified cry, they are neither to his right nor to his left. They cling to him and burrow. The temptation to chase after them again is nearly overwhelming. But at the instinctual level, he knows. It's a fool's errand. He keeps his hands on his new companion, tangible and real.

Her story isn't all that different from his. Waking up alone and in an inexplicable location, the rest of the landing party absent. Searching with no success. "The same," he hates to confirm.

It's only now that he takes his first serious look at her features. Those that aren't distanced by the mist. Her voice may be strong but she looks like she's been through the ringer. "Leonard McCoy."

[chuju]

Oh, she's been through the ringer a few times. It's been a long couple of weeks, and an especially rough last twenty-four hours. But in typical Daisy fashion, she is steadfastly ignoring the exhaustion attempting to dig its claws into her; so long as she keeps moving, she'll be just fine.

"Daisy Johnson," she replies, grateful that he seems to be resisting the siren call of those voices that she can still hear in the distance. Still none of them sound like her team, so she focuses on McCoy instead. "Where were you before you woke up here?"

Maybe they'll find something else in common that will give them some answers.

[1701cmo]

"Eminiar VII," he replies immediately, his memory crystal clear right up until the moment it isn't. "Pinned down by weapons fire."

He doesn't recall retreating or being hit, nothing that could possibly explain his abrupt waking in a radically different environment. Is he even still on the same planet? The time of day, the types of tree in the surroundings, the buildings, the temperature, the coastal location. Every detail is incongruous. Maybe he's dreaming. Or in a coma. The fog might be a symbolic figment of his imagination and the voices those of the people around him. His mind runs wild with all the possibilities, the scientist looking for clues to unanswered questions.

"What about you?"

[chuju]

Huh. Well, that adds another layer of what the hell to this whole situation. Because she's pretty sure that's the name of a planet or moon or something, but it's certainly not one she visited in her year of interstellar roadtripping. It makes her wonder if he's human though, or one of the many species that look human before suddenly becoming a dragon or something.

"Earth," she answers with only a few seconds of hesitation. And then, because why not if this guy's apparently used to things like space travel: "1983... I think."

[1701cmo]

"You think?" he parrots back. "That's... That's just great."

A hard edge invades his sarcasm, a product of their stressful situation. Are they not only out of place but both out of step with time? Why are they in this nowhere town, seeing shadows and hearing voices, going nowhere fast? He doesn't believe for a second that she is in anyway responsible for their predicament but she doesn't seem to have any more information than he does. Both clueless and... trapped. At least they're not alone anymore. A small blessing.

"Are you from Earth?"

[chuju]

The sarcasm isn't a bit unexpected or unwarranted. This entire situation is beyond frustrating, even more so the longer they go without her finding someone to punch answers out of. And with her powers weakened, she's honestly surprised she hasn't snapped at anyone yet.

"Yes, I'm Terran," she answers automatically for what feels like the hundredth time in the last year, assuming he's asking because he's not. Terrans weren't seen much off-world so she'd gotten pretty used to this song and dance over the many months of planet-hopping to find Fitz. Even his southern accent doesn't sway that assumption; you'd be surprised how many people sound like that out in the nearest five galaxies or so.

[1701cmo]

Spoken like someone who doesn't spend much time on her own home planet. Otherwise she would have said, 'Yes, I'm human.' Her choice of terminology paints a picture of off world travel and her earlier answer of simply 'Earth' makes more sense. Specific enough for someone who's traversed the stars. Many of his crewmates would have answered the same way.

"Seems we have something in common, then."

[chuju]

The surprise and confusion actually shows on her face this time; that's not what she'd been expecting to hear. It's not an unwelcome revelation, far from it, but it does bring up a dozen more questions. Her hands finally loosen the rest of the way and she lets go of his arms, adjusting her stance slightly so she's steadier on her feet.

"Do you know what year it was on Earth?"

[1701cmo]

Star Fleet operates unilaterally on stardates, a system of keeping time independent from those of Earth. But Leonard has never lost track of the seasons, the months, the traditional calendar of the place he was born and raised. He knows when to call to wish his daughter a happy birthday, to weigh in at Thanksgiving, and to send Christmas presents. The Enterprise is home but Earth is the root of his tree.

"2264."

[chuju]

"Wow," she comments without thinking, leaning back slightly and blinking in surprise. That... just wow. She doesn't even notice as she absently adds, "Furthest I've been is 2091."

And thankfully he'd never know that future, or past, as it were. They'd managed to break the loop and save the world. As many nightmares as she still has about those awful weeks, it never stops being reassuring to remember that humanity won't be enslaved by Kree, with Inhumans forced to fight for the entertainment of other species. There are few comforts in her life but that is most certainly one of them.

[1701cmo]

A hesitation is followed by narrowed eyes and a confused expression. He's not sure he heard her right. But then again, maybe he did. Why should his newfound companion make any more sense than Nowhere? "Maybe you can explain that. Later. When we're not knee deep in pea soup."

His desire to remain in their current location is dwindling by the moment. One of his hands falls away. The other ghosts down her sleeve to her wrist. Unknowingly right above where she's recently been injured.

[chuju]

Part of her hopes that later never happens to arrive. Explaining one part of her crazy past usually leads to another, and then another, and it really only goes well with copious amounts of alcohol involved. But who knows, maybe she'll feel especially chatty when they get to the other side of all this.

Daisy pulls her arm away when his hand reaches her wrist, frowning at the ache the movement produces. Her skin might have healed in the chamber but the bruising beneath was deep and still tender at the slightest touch. "Right," she agrees with a firm nod. "We should keep moving, see if can find our people."

[1701cmo]

A question regarding the odds of that happening forms unbidden in his brain. It's followed by a sting of ridiculously long imaginary numbers against their success. In Spock's voice. He grinds his teeth at the mental intrusion but is forced to accept the numbers, although wildly exaggerated, may not be too far off. Then again, he did run smack dab into her. What are the odds of that?

"I don't know my left from my right in this goddamn mess. We should find some shelter and let it pass through. Otherwise we're gunna run ourselves in circles."

If it passes through...