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Entry tags:
- !event,
- !tdm,
- athena | borderlands,
- benedict dearborn | original,
- carver hawke | dragon age,
- denji | chainsaw man,
- eliot waugh | the magicians,
- ellie | the last of us,
- ivar ragnarsson | vikings,
- logan | marvel,
- octavia blake | the 100,
- quentin coldwater | the magicians,
- robbie reyes | marvel,
- ruth aldine | marvel,
- will graham | hannibal,
- william | westworld
THE SKY WENT OFF-WHITE.
WHO: Anyone and everyone.
WHAT: Our inaugural test drive meme.
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core.
WHEN: Whenever your character arrives.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.
WHAT: Our inaugural test drive meme.
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core.
WHEN: Whenever your character arrives.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.
Art by Basile Godard
THE SUNLIGHT SPLINTERED.
You reach the end of the ash-gray hall at a run, hands fumbling for an antique door handle. And then you stumble, fall, tumble—any number of adjectives, depending on where, exactly, the door opened—into a radio station.
The equipment is old and dusty, but devoid of cobwebs to the observant eye. And it's dark, save for whatever light makes it through the windows. They display disjointed locations; perhaps one shows an upside-down tower, while its neighbors frame the crumbling pavement of a rotting car park and the stripped out interior of a sewer. Whatever the case, peering through one window reveals a landscape that impossibly doesn't connect to the next.
The door is still there, the only exit to this grubby room. It opens somewhere, anywhere else in this distorted world. And once you leave, it no longer leads back whence you came.
Where do you go?
The equipment is old and dusty, but devoid of cobwebs to the observant eye. And it's dark, save for whatever light makes it through the windows. They display disjointed locations; perhaps one shows an upside-down tower, while its neighbors frame the crumbling pavement of a rotting car park and the stripped out interior of a sewer. Whatever the case, peering through one window reveals a landscape that impossibly doesn't connect to the next.
The door is still there, the only exit to this grubby room. It opens somewhere, anywhere else in this distorted world. And once you leave, it no longer leads back whence you came.
Where do you go?
THE LIGHT, DIVIDED.
A sun on one horizon, a full moon on the other. They're luminous but unreal, like they were plucked from a sky and pasted to a flat, starless backdrop. You can see only one, depending on which side you entered; it's essentially random. Both "sides" overlap like alternate dimensions and you can't see anyone who isn't on the same side as you. Light or dark, you walk in the light of a muted sun or an overbright moon. It never feels quite real.
Neither star nor satellite seem to move from their position. The passage of time is at a standstill.
Regardless of which side you're on, you'll find signs that you aren't alone. What someone does on one side affects the other, so moving an item or writing something down will translate to floating items and mysteriously appearing letters. Speech doesn't travel...unless there's a radio. Radios may turn on and off, with voices audible through the white noise. And if you walk past a mirror, the reflection isn't your own. Instead, it acts as a window to the other side.
In-character observations:
Neither star nor satellite seem to move from their position. The passage of time is at a standstill.
Regardless of which side you're on, you'll find signs that you aren't alone. What someone does on one side affects the other, so moving an item or writing something down will translate to floating items and mysteriously appearing letters. Speech doesn't travel...unless there's a radio. Radios may turn on and off, with voices audible through the white noise. And if you walk past a mirror, the reflection isn't your own. Instead, it acts as a window to the other side.
In-character observations:
- Anyone sensitive to time, space, and related dimensional shenanigans will feel they're distorted. And it isn't something they can fix, at least not with powers.
- It's possible to cross dimensions if a character has related powers, but they'll suffer backlash and significant stress from the transition. Successive jumps aren't gonna fly.
- If a character is affected by the sun or moon, they'll find neither holds sway over them here; e.g., vampires can walk in daylight and werewolves won't shift in the full moon.
THE SHADOW REALM.
Outdoors, there are shadows on the prowl.
Silent and eerily insubstantial, they trail after you like blind spots given form. Staring at them too long is unsettling but, for the most part, they're content to watch you back...if they can watch. They don't seem to have eyes.
When that isn't enough, however, they attack. Stealing the shape of monsters from other worlds, they may lack special powers, but that doesn't keep them from being dangerous. When in doubt, you're safest indoors.
But maybe that isn't good enough for you. Or maybe you just fucked up. Either/or.
Silent and eerily insubstantial, they trail after you like blind spots given form. Staring at them too long is unsettling but, for the most part, they're content to watch you back...if they can watch. They don't seem to have eyes.
When that isn't enough, however, they attack. Stealing the shape of monsters from other worlds, they may lack special powers, but that doesn't keep them from being dangerous. When in doubt, you're safest indoors.
But maybe that isn't good enough for you. Or maybe you just fucked up. Either/or.
RADIO WAVES.
If you aren't wondering how you got here, you're probably at least asking why. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be anyone around who can answer your questions. Everyone else is as clueless as you.
But, some time after you arrive—whether it's days, hours, minutes, or seconds—the dead air stirs. The atmospheric pressure drops and playhouse lightning arcs across the facsimile of a sky. It's a storm that warns of what's to come, as an earthquake shifts the ground beneath your feet. Around you, buildings flood, and water pours out in falls only half aware of gravity. Wind hurls debris at such high speeds, it turns into shrapnel. Rain pelts you from above and below as the temperature plummets. It starts to snow.
Somehow, the sun and moon remain visible through the turmoil. A collection of mirrors scattered through the world don't reflect their light; instead, it passes through them and illuminates the other side. These specific mirrors, all set in ash-gray frames that match the halls, are untouched in the unfolding natural disasters, and standing before them will shield you as well. Consider them havens in the chaos, proverbial eyes in the storm.
In the dark, a radio turns on of its own accord. Is someone—something—talking to you?
But, some time after you arrive—whether it's days, hours, minutes, or seconds—the dead air stirs. The atmospheric pressure drops and playhouse lightning arcs across the facsimile of a sky. It's a storm that warns of what's to come, as an earthquake shifts the ground beneath your feet. Around you, buildings flood, and water pours out in falls only half aware of gravity. Wind hurls debris at such high speeds, it turns into shrapnel. Rain pelts you from above and below as the temperature plummets. It starts to snow.
Somehow, the sun and moon remain visible through the turmoil. A collection of mirrors scattered through the world don't reflect their light; instead, it passes through them and illuminates the other side. These specific mirrors, all set in ash-gray frames that match the halls, are untouched in the unfolding natural disasters, and standing before them will shield you as well. Consider them havens in the chaos, proverbial eyes in the storm.
In the dark, a radio turns on of its own accord. Is someone—something—talking to you?
INTO ALL OUR DARKEST FEARS.
Welcome to THE WASTEYARD's first test drive! Some quick things to remember:
- Our TDMs tie into the game plot. As such, any applicants can keep their TDM threads as game canon.
- The network is exclusive to in-game characters. TDM characters can only use radios.
- There is a language barrier, so please mention what language your character speaks somewhere.
- We don't have a fixed day ratio; instead, you pace yourself at your discretion.
- Characters may face backlash when using any powers.
- Mark if your character is on the sun or moon side of the divide. The choice is yours as the player.
- If you have any questions, please direct them to our FAQ!
peter parker | marvel 616 | night side | ota.
peter [B] parker
Hard to tell time when his watch, after finally moving from its 2:35am reading, has now been stuck at...1:47am. Great.
But the next time he turns the bus' radio on, the crackle has something in it. Again. Will's been picking up just enough that he's been unwilling to leave the bus just yet. He leans in close over the tangled cord and the square, clunky piece of plastic, and waits, and...
...Is that voice talking about Pixar? Will presses the 'talk' button on his side. ]
Hello? Is someone there? [ He's said that enough times today that it barely feels like a sentence, at this point. ]
no subject
Helloooo? Anyone there? [...] Tommy, can you hear me? Can you feel me near you? ...Sorry, that was probably weird.
no subject
Everything is here, though, so I shouldn't be so surprised.
no subject
no subject
But— sorry, this guy's concerned about what? Will's voice is audibly cautious and alarmed, even over the crackling radio. ]
...Please tell me that's another pop culture reference and not anything you've seen here.
no subject
[He shrugs, realizes the guy on the other line (radio line?) can't see him, and adds-] Nah, goblins are a pretty New York specific phenomena. Honestly, I'd be shocked to see Norman on the wrong side of the East River. [If he gets out of... jail... but you know. It's kind of inevitable.]
no subject
How— how long have you been here?
no subject
You know how time's relative? Well, wherever we are, time is really relative. Time's gone rogue. Time's gone out the window. Time flew the coop. Time- I'm running out of metaphors. Anyway, I haven't had to pee yet, so it can't be that long. Sidenote: I really hope that doesn't become the new unit of temporal measurement.
c.
That is, until he catches a glimpse of the inexplicable dry patch, with the little red man in a chair.
Then he starts to fight against the flood in earnest, beating his legs against the current as he tries to swim towards the mirror.
It's the first sign he's seen of... anyone, since he found himself in this place. He doesn't think he's felt so desperate for company— any company— before in his life (and that's quite a lot of life.) ]
no subject
[Still, you see somebody, you help somebody. Peter's quick with his webs, and he jumps from the chair to get more leverage. If this guy can grab the webbing, he can reel him in, legs stuck on the carpet.]
[...Until the carpet, moth-eaten and threadbare, starts to give under his feet.] Uh oh.
no subject
He drags himself closer, squinting through the rushing water, dry land nearly within reeeeeach—
Hang on, red man! ]
A
Gah! Hvat sá--!
['What the--!' It sounds almost like the English equivalent, but not quite, like a bastardization of the words instead. Old Norse shares a lot of Germanic roots with what would form modern-day English.
Best to approach this one carefully as he shuffles back a little bit as best he can. He's obviously can't walk very well, with cumbersome leg braces on and leaning on a hand crutch, but his free hand has a knife in it, and he clearly knows how to use it. He points it at Peter with clear suspicion, but he hasn't attacked yet. He says something else, a question of what's going on, but the meaning will likely be lost.]
no subject
Right back atcha, citizen. Despite the costume, I am not, in fact, Captain America. I do autographs, though! He doesn't. I also take donations. My dry cleaning bill is gonna be nuts.
[During this ramble, he manages to free himself from the ground. Peter rolls over and lies on his back, panting.]
Well, that sucked. Hey, you sprechen?
no subject
Vil-k-vit ér. ['I don't understand you.' He pauses a moment, speaking slowly.] Vitu þer rœða Norrœna? ['Do you speak the Norse tongue?' He asks, then switches to Old English.] Oþþe Englisc? ['Or English?' At least the second word sounds very much like the modern-day word for English.]
no subject
English! English. I only know English and how to swear in Puerto Rican. Help a guy out, here.
no subject
Cweþan lætlíce, āblissian.
['Speak slowly, please.' He's already agitated and confused and this strange man isn't making him feel any better. It's moments like this Ivar tends to get a little stabby.]
[d]
Needless to say, he doesn't enjoy the sensation.
But he's more than used to being in situations he doesn't enjoy. So he works. Does what he would do in any other place -- hunts for a way out, or at least a way to work out what the hell's going on.
He finds his way up to a rooftop, or at least a high point on something that ought to be a building. Once he's up there he has to pause to catch his breath, sat on the edge of the roof fighting down waves of dizziness. Goddamn, he already hates this place. ]