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

[reuniting]

[ she doesn’t have something as handy as a spider-sense to tell her when danger is around the corner, or walks right on up to her desk, ( well not her desk, according to the name plate sitting on the top it belongs to a bethany ) but she likes to think that she has a good read on people. she’d known when cloud had fallen right through the ceiling, making a hole in the roof of a church which could already be called dilapidated on a good day, that he wasn’t a bad person. even if their first meeting was a bit stilted on his end, standoffish, and she had to push to get him to accept a free piece of floral merchandise. most of the time, her estimations on people are right. really, she only worries when someone approaches her in dressed in the crisp lines of a suit, meaning they might be part of shinra and work near the top of the tower, and as a general the higher up your office is the more insidious work you do.

he doesn’t feel like shinra, doesn’t act like an agent either. he leans forward and continues on the path that she’s started and her mouth curves upward into a smile. the two items that he’s apparently lost track of, red slippers and a tiny dog, don’t evoke anything in particular and certainly don’t pull together into the story he’s referencing. toto doesn’t exist as an icon in midgar. the only tiny dog that lives in the public imagination is stamp, a cartoon with a green war helmet that fits over his head and floppy ears, whose nose points the way towards war. a piece of propaganda, but admittedly a cute one.

rocking back on her heels, she folds both of her hands behind her back, expression amused as he finishes. ]

Lost property, huh? If that’s the case, then you’ve come to the right place. [ raising a hand, she points her index finger straight up. ] There’s a lost and found bin on the second floor, but it’s mostly filled with scarves and hats. It seems like we might be in for some cold weather.

[ a thoughtful kind of hum— ] But, if it’s red slippers you have your heart set on, I’m sure we can find a replacement pair in your size. [ the dog part, she doesn’t think she can help with. she hasn’t seen any animals here. ] One out of two items will at least get you on your way, right?

[webshoots]

[ peter's gaze follows the pointing of her finger, up at the ceiling and rests on the dilapidated, definitely seen better days tiling: some are fine, some are simply missing, whilst still more have been shifted around a little, with holes in the corners and he wonders, just for a moment, whether mice are to blame or whether it's thanks to something a little less friendly.

(he thinks that it's almost definitely the latter: why else would a small town be otherwise almost entirely abandoned? he's seen dark, okay. or most of it. he may have fallen asleep during a few episodes, and skipped out on a few more thanks to the never-ending excitement of life in nyc, but he got the gist: strange things happen.

although speaking of strange, what he wouldn't give for the good doctor right about now.)

his attention snaps back to aerith when she hums and he lifts his head in a short nod. ] Thanks— [ a breath of a pause; a squint at the name plate sitting on the desk between them ], Bethany. [ enunciated carefully and punctuated by a quick quirk of his lips that says he's aware that probably isn't her name, but here they are. ] And sure, [ light lift of his shoulders. ] I like to think of myself as a glass-half-full kind of guy— [ he does not. strictly speaking, he hates the phrase. he gets it, he does! he gets why people say it, and he gets what they're angling for, but why is the glass always twice as large as it needs to be—? ] —and one out of two is one more than I arrived here with, so I'll take it. But they are going to have to fit some very stringent requirements. [ a beat and he straightens, gesturing down the hallway. ]

That way for the stairs? I've never been a fan of elevators.

[reuniting]

[ her expression scrunches into something suggesting displeasure when he calls her bethany, even though the emphasis on the syllables and the flash of a smile afterwards suggests that he knows that isn’t her real name. it’s certainly not one she would go with if she had to pick an office alter-ego. but, the distaste doesn’t last long, features soon returning to subtle amusement as he goes on ( a glass-half full kind of guy, huh? even if he was the opposite, a real grouch, she wouldn’t find it off-putting. in fact, that’s more what she’s used to. ) and her eyes follow the gesture he makes down hallway number one which does, in fact, lead to the staircase to the second floor. ]

Claustrophobic, huh? I get it, I’ve never been a fan of enclosed spaces myself. [ they remind her of the less... savory parts of her childhood before she was taken in by elmyra. it was a long time ago, the memories now faded much like everything in this building, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to shake them entirely. there’s a moment she spends opening the top drawer of the desk, rummaging around before she finds what she’s looking for— a folded tent sign that she blows the dust off of before placing it gingerly on top of the desk that reads ‘AWAY FOR NOW’. ] That should do it. Now, I won’t feel terrible about leaving my post, even if it is to give a tour.

[ she rounds the corner of the desk, before taking a couple short steps down the hallway, and turning back to him. ]

You don’t mind if I lead the way, do you?

[webshoots]

[ claustrophobic?, she half-asks and though that wasn’t entirely what he’d meant — it’s more that he doesn’t trust where they are and that he doesn’t trust the electrics to still be in good working order after — whatever had happened here. he doesn’t doubt that if something happened he’d be able to get out, doesn’t doubt that he’d be able to get the both of them out (hopefully, maybe), but he’d rather not run the risk.

but she’s not wrong with the question: he doesn’t like small spaces, and has a particular dislike of small, dark spaces thanks in no small part to being buried alive (thanks, kraven, you old crazy animal-themed russian oligarch, you).

his lips press together into an instinctual expression of distaste that somewhat mirrors aerith’s to being called bethany, before quickly sliding into something that more resembles a self-aware cringe. ]

Yeah, [ a huff of a breath that’s almost a laugh ], something like that. [ he replies before waving a hand dismissively and pausing, just for a moment as she rummages through the desk. ]

—You know, [ punctuated by a side-long glance as the sign is placed rather ceremoniously on the desk ], you don’t really look like a Bethany. [ it’s as close as he’ll get to acknowledging the expression she’d had just moments earlier, although it’ll progress into a full-blown apology if given enough time and prompting. ] But lead the way — I’m not too proud to admit I don’t know where I’m going. New to town, you know how it goes — you take one wrong turn and suddenly you find yourself wondering if you really should have had that grilled cheese before bed. [ it’s said more to her back than anything else as she’s already set off down the hall before he’s really had time to recognise the fact. after several, echoing steps later he adds: ] It’s Peter, by the way.

[reuniting]

[ it’s difficult to determine the exact reason behind the cringe ( it’s almost funny, that a minute later he’d level the expression she’d made right back at her ) maybe it’s the thought of boarding an elevator only to have the overhead lights flicker an ominous on and off before short-circuiting with the accompany snap of a cord sending them sprawling, or maybe it’s the fact that he suggested that he might be afraid of something which she doesn’t think is it, somehow. but the concern that she’s somehow managed to misstep is assuaged by his almost breath of a laugh which she takes as a win. he’s the first person that she’s met here, so far, and she doesn’t want to offend her only company into leaving her behind. it’s that, the simple fact that she doesn’t want to be alone, that makes her so eager to show him to a bin that’s not very exciting at all and filled to the brim with knitwear.

she waits the few seconds it takes him to catch up with her before starting off again; by lead the way she hadn’t really meant follow the leader, and given the odd set of circumstances it would be a bit spooky to hear someone’s footsteps trailing along behind her. at the offering of his name she glances sidelong at him, head tilted in consideration. ] Peter. [ a slow repetition as she decides how well it fits on him. ] It suits you. It sounds like a name someone living up on the plate would have— someone who takes the train into work every morning and has an office of their own.

[ it’s meant to be a compliment, really. though, one he probably won’t understand given that the plate is no where in sight. the distinction between the well-off and those decidedly not within midgar; the people up above getting treated to pieces of sky while those below get an overhead of steel. ] I’m Aerith. New in town straight from the Sector 5 slums.

[webshoots]

[ anything he'd thought of saying and anything he'd been about to say is cut short by her "up on the plate". he barely notices the rest of her comment, the "someone who takes the train" or the "office of their own": he's rarely had the money for the former, can count on more than both hands (more than hands and feet) the number of times in recent memory he's had to resort to hitching a ride on the top of a subway carriage because not only is web-fluid expensive, so is the subway fare.

instead, then, he utters a— ] Huh? [ so: multiverse all but confirmed, unless aerith (not-bethany) is just crazy. ] Ha, no. No private office for this guy, sorry. I don't even have a private apartment. [ punctuated by a pause and another cringe — whatever else having boomerang as a roommate might be, it's not the slums. he hadn't even had to settle for that one apartment with the fetching view of the garbage bins. it means, too, that the silence that follows, albeit momentary, is lingering and tangible and peter inhales abruptly before steamrolling ahead with: ] New York. Queens. I'm — [ re-earning? nah, that'd imply that doc ock-as-him's phd had been earned legitimately. between occupations? (ugh.) ] — studying.

[ not that it's important, not really. the more important questions are: where (mathias township doesn't mean a whole lot), when, how (eh, he can make some guesses), why and, his personal favourite: who. at the top of the list is the sin eater, but it's not really his m.o, whilst mysterio is floating as a close second.

personally speaking, though, peter's hoping it's something to do with hypno-hustler because the guy's not exactly a top-tier threat, and if peter can get this Whole Thing wrapped up in a fairly short amount of time, the better. (mj's done enough worrying and waiting around for him, y'know?)

he doesn't add anything else, not as they're heading up the stairs. instead he's left thinking, not for the first time, that it's kind of a good sign that the dust and the dirt on the flooring is relatively undisturbed. as they round the corner, he glances at aerith, glances back at the hallway, and then back at aerith. ] This might be a weird question, but do you remember [ uuuuh ] travelling here?

[reuniting]

[ well, that just about settles it. wherever they are, it’s far, far away from midgar. far enough that her mention of the plate, the slums and sector 5, only serve to provoke a silence that’s palpable— that it seems an effort for him to break. new york. queens. neither of them ring any sort of bell, and though she isn’t well traveled ( it’s only been recently that she’s ventured out of sector 5. a couple of times she’d entertained it, leaving the undercity for good and starting fresh somewhere else, but she’s always backed out of her plans last minute convincing herself that it’s for the best that she stick with what she knows. it’s safer that way. ) she hadn’t been insulated enough not to know what laid outside the circle of mako reactors that delineated the capital. but, she’d never seen new york on any maps, or queens for that matter, and there’s no flash of recognition at either. only a questioning tilt of her head at studying which tells her nothing really, and in the following moment she waits for him to clarify but he doesn’t.

there’s another silence as they continue up the stairs, turn and reach the next length of hallway, and she doesn’t answer the should be weird but isn’t question immediately, instead takes a second to clap the dust off of her hands creating a plume of it. in hindsight it might have been a mistake, holding on to the railing on her side of the staircase without looking to see if it was in the same uncared for state as the rest of the place. when she does answer her tone is sobered, losing a good part of its cheer. ]

Nope. I can’t say that I do. At first I thought this whole place was part of a dream that I’d wake up from any second. But, I guess that was just wishful thinking. I’m not going to wake up in Midgar any time soon. [ a beat of silence. ] Which doesn’t mean a thing to you, does it? You’ve never heard of it, right?

i swear i can do words

[webshoots]

[spider-man has had plenty of journeys outside of earth (his, quote-unquote), both to other planets and to other versions of earth; and he's met himself more times than he can remember, so this? this isn't that much of a stretch.

the issue, of course, is that peter parker, officially speaking, has done none of those things — peter parker is just a guy who's barely left new york, except for that one time for an ill-advised break to portland, and that other time to france, where his knowledge of french extended to answering any and all questions in italian.

for spider-man, this is just another tuesday. for peter, this is just another tuesday that happens to other people, and he takes photos of it, maybe, when he has a job actually working for a company that wants professional photos instead of mostly-in-focus shots taken on a stark phone.

so when aerith says midgar, peter hears midgard. he thinks of thor and of asgard, and he can't quite help the bemused expression he shoots her before shaking his head, just a touch. it's not a strong enough action to be a definitive no, and— ]

Kinda. [ followed by a loose shrug. ] I normally just call it Earth, but I know a couple of guys that call it Midgard. [ beat; a quirk of his lips that says 'nevermind, I know how that sounds'. ] I mean, I know a guy that knows some guys that call it Midgard — I've seen them on TV, even taken their photos a couple times, [ he half-explains. it's kind of the truth — you know, not not the truth, even if there's a little more to it than that. ], but they're not exactly locals.

—Even if Asgard did end up in Oklahoma for a while.

[ of the two, it's the comment that's easiest to reply to — he doesn't recognise aerith, and he's recognised (thinks he's recognised) a whole one of her references. ordinarily, he'd say one out of three isn't bad, but given the circumstances, he's not thrilled by the odds — one out of three right now tells him nothing about where they are, how, or why.

(and speaking of why, there had been that weird message on the bulletin board—.)

for as much as peter would like to think there's still the possibility that they could wake up back at home, wherever that is for aerith, he doubts it'll be that easy. hell, the last time something kinda like this had happened to him, when he did finally get home, it was to a full voicemail, overdue rent, and accusations of being bigfoot.

at length, then, he looks back at her, faint amusement pulling at his lips. ]

But, man, I've already tried pinching myself and all I got from it was a bruise, so I'm going to have to agree with you: waking up in a warm bed does seem pretty unlikely at this point. But hey! At least we've got our pick of the hats and scarves. [ translation: aerith is the first person peter's come across, too. the town hall wasn't large — the town itself barely seemed large enough to warrant it, in truth — so peter imagines they'll come across lost and found soon enough, but in the meantime— ] —If there are any other rooms you think we should be stopping to take a peek in — in the name of the search for my red slippers — just let me know. I've seen enough movies to be able to guess at what happens if we separate.

i believe you sometimes the words just get the best of us 😔

[reuniting]

[ the kinda brings with it a small hope, maybe he does know midgar after all? but then that tiny bubble of hope pops like someone stuck pin in it when he continues— earth? asgard? oklahoma? it sounds like, well, nonsense packaged together with a smile and her brows draw together in confusion as she tries to puzzle it out. somehow, she doesn’t think they’re talking about the same thing, that midgar isn’t the same as midgar-d at all, but then he’s moving right along to the next topic with the same amused pull at the corner of his mouth. she thinks that it might be intended to cheer her up, that they get first picks from the lost and found and it works ( maybe he’ll let her pick a set for him, gloves and a matching hat in... blue? blue might look nice on him. ) but she also doesn’t miss the implication that it may be just them here. or, that whoever else is in town hasn’t drifted their way here yet.

she stops walking entirely when he finishes, mouth twitching up at the sides, before she loses the battle and starts laughing. the bright sound of it at odds with everything around him, and to his earlier comment might bring out the knife-wielding horror movie masked weirdo out of the woodwork because they’re ruining the genre. ]

You know, back home people call me a chatterbox. But, I think that’s just because they haven’t met you. [ not that it’s a bad thing, she doesn’t mind it, really. ] It’s kind of refreshing. Before I arrived here, I was travelling with a guy who you couldn’t get a sentence more than five words out of.

[ the cheer in her voice is now firmly back in place, she never really does stay down for long. she thinks that peter might be like that too, but then again she has already been wrong about him once even if she was only teasing.

she takes a couple steps forward to where the hallway starts to be lined with doors on each side, the painted names on them in various stages of faded. ]

To get you back home we’re going to need them, right? Your slippers. That’s what we’ll say if anyone catches us snooping around, that you lost something important enough that you couldn’t bear to leave with even a single stone left unturned. [ or door unopened. she glances to the left to door number one, and then to the right to door number two, and decides after a moment of consideration to find out what’s behind door number one. she reaches out to grasp the doorknob, and before she turns it and pushes the door open— ] If someone jumps out at us, like in the movies, just stay behind me. I’ll take them out before they even have a chance to say gotcha.

SORRY MAN my notifs have been a mess

[webshoots]

[ the sound of aerith laughing manages to be relaxing and it, along with the rest of her comment, set him a little more at ease. there's the vague question of how and why she's (apparently) taking this as well as she is, but it's a question for later, not now, not whilst all they've got are questions, so— ]

It's — uh — a coping mechanism. [ to the chatterbox comment and again, not a lie, strictly speaking. he thinks, just for a second, of mj and all the times she's called him out on talking as a means of not dealing. he pauses, then, and looks back at aerith before continuing. ] Most of my freaking out was done over by the— [ he makes a loose rectangular shape with his fingers before gesturing vaguely in the direction that they'd come: the bulletin board, he means. ] —but despite my cool, calm and collected appearance, [ ha, ha ], I'm still not trying to think about any of this too hard.

[ liar liar pants on fire, parker, is the mental addition to that, but then aerith stops in between two doors and peter's attention flickers from one discoloured nameplate to the other and back again. whilst aerith pauses just long enough to inform him of what their excuse for nosing around the building is going to be and settle on which room they're going to enter, peter takes the moment to lean against the doorframe, noting the absence — still — of anything from his spider-sense: sure, on their way up here, there had been the odd twinge, the kind of dull, background ache that mostly says "loose floorboard" or " crumpled carpet, don't trip" — nothing, then, that says there's unwelcome company behind door number one.

(maybe there's a car—.)

he holds up a hand and places the other over his heart. ] Materialism in the name of survival, got it. Who'd imagine otherwise?

[ to the rest of it though, the idea that he's the damsel in distress here, peter knows how he looks: dishevelled hair (mask hair, thanks, it's a law unto itself and frankly, he's given up), a t-shirt that looks like it's almost-just-about his size underneath a checked shirt that's pretty definitively one size too big; trousers that — almost miraculously in comparison to the top half — are the right length (because he hasn't bought into this weird "hit two inches above my ankle" thing that he's told is "in vogue" these days); and shoes that carlie told him were unfashionable, mj told him were eye-bleedingly offensive, and — worst of all — his very own, dear beloved aunt may had informed him that "well, dear, they have seen better days, haven't they? I hear you can get something a little more modern at TJ Maxx—."

in other words: he knows he looks like he's the sort of guy whose idea of exotic and exciting is adding pesto to a pasta dish. he's not offended, then, by the insinuation that she would protect him from any danger — not only is he used to it, he knows well-enough not to underestimate someone just because they look — well, like aerith.

(or him, he supposes. puny parker is a name he'd — okay, from the right person, he actually wouldn't mind hearing it again.)

he shoots aerith a sidelong glance, a hint of self-awareness pulling at the edges of his expression, and— ] You can punch, I can deafen them with my extremely masculine scream of surprise.

[ still: the immediate opening of the door manages to be an anti-climax and peter finds himself expelling a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. at first glance, the room is much the same as the rest of the building: kind of sorry for itself, and peter's expression shifts from relieved to disappointed and back to relieved. ] Reminds me of my roommate's bedroom. [ he comments, mildly, stepping more fully into the room. dull lighting make the shadows and dust feel more pronounced and unsettling, so he decides to continue, explaining his comment with: ] He cleans once every three months.