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!
no subject
The crackle of his radio wavers in his ears, buzzes under his skin. Will is overcome with the urge to throw it - instead he grabs the nearest strip of broken wood and hurls it. It hits the nearest wall and splinters, and the splinters shiver to the ground like confetti.
No answering voice. Will swallows against a tightening throat. He hasn't spoken to anyone in three days, not since the last point of contact had fallen out of range, or been killed by a shadow creature, or lost their radio to the strange laws of physics here, or whatever had lost Will every companion he's encountered so far in here. ]
If this place is trying to tell us that we-- belong here, [ his teeth are grit, and the strain comes through his voice as he speaks low and angry to himself, ] it should probably try a better tactic than sabotaging everything we do.
no subject
—Hah! ( a bark of surprise rings out over the sudden silence as Ben's hands cease their senseless harassment on this pile of detritus. he spots a walkie-talkie, which he grasps for like water in a desert. he scrambles over the impossible device, looking from the front-faced speaker that buzzes with sound, to the non-descript buttons and dials here and there. for all he knows, in a place like this, the wrong button could make this damn thing turn to jelly.
his luck permitting.
Ben has never used these sorts of things before, but it's now or never. can't exactly ask Siri how to use a walkie-talkie right now.
he click a button on the side, and it clicks sharply. the open sound cuts abruptly, impossible to tell if that's a good or bad thing. hesitantly, Ben leans into the device to finally reply— ) Hello? Yes, hello, are you still there?
( it does take Ben a few seconds to realize he ought to let the button go, if he wants to receive any response. that is how these things work, right? should he have finished with 'over'? these are not the nuanced dilemmas that Ben has the patience for right now. )
no subject
So far, Will hasn’t spared a lot of time for feeling sorry for himself. He’s been too concerned with finding his next meal, finding his next human contact, and exploring any piece of the scenery that actually stays static long enough to handle something approaching study. Now, however, he's teetering dangerously close to exactly that.
And then, while he’s still holding it in his hands, Will’s radio contains a human voice. He stares at it like it’s a face, listening to the uncertain – desperate? – cadence of it. New to Will’s ears. He hasn’t met this person yet, then.
He hits the talk button again as soon as there’s a change in the static coming from it, signaling the other might have let go. ] Yes. [ The first word is a desperate burst, too relieved to contain in Will’s chest without feeling like it’ll break a rib or two.
Which just paves the way for the drier commentary to follow it. ] Don’t think I’m going anywhere soon.
no subject
it's fortunate that radios like these require push to talk, which saves Ben the embarrassment of the involuntary breath that is so audible, it rings around the open space of this structure Ben has ended up in. he leans back to sit, on the smoothest part of the stone floor without garbage masking it, listening to the words that trickle through.
and what words spill forth ache in the connections between ribs and sternum, so direly relatable that they feel like words stolen off Ben's own tongue. it's not that it feels hopeless, or melancholy — it carries a neutral weight of truth that teeters on the sort of acceptance Ben might ascribe to understanding one's destiny. it's bittersweet, like coming home.
it's just that, returning home doesn't always feel easy...
Ben swallows, and finds his mouth uncomfortably dry. he buzzes with anxiousness, the sort that burns white and doesn't feel pleasant nor dreadful. ) Yes, well, I suppose that's up to the fickle whim of this...place.
For what it's worth, I could do with the company. ( unintentionally tender, a vulnerable admission to be made. it lacks the words, but it's a burst of gratitude blooming out like a blush, one that Ben has to reel at in a short daze. well, it's been an insane couple of days (Ben assumes; his wristwatch still isn't functioning) and he can chalk this all up to a very normal, human desperation as a response to what's happened to him thus far.
well...what does he say now? )
How are— ( no— ) Are...you all right? ( less awkward, but, hmm, not quite normal. good job, Ben. )
no subject
And apparently, contains the same dry humor that Will does. Will sits back heavily on the ground, eyeing his (still-clothed, still very much in pain) ankle for just a moment before turning his attention back to the radio. He feels like the tar that's been building up behind his ribs is finally cracked apart and is letting him begin to breathe normally. ]
I'm— [ Will's not generally one to lie about things for saving social face, but there's a vulnerability inherent in admitting anything this way. Over radio, when he's just found another person after an indeterminate amount of time alone - everything shared might be the last thing he says. Will sucks in a breath. ] I actually just fell through some stairs.
When they melted. [ A thought...occurs to Will, sudden enough and loud enough that his brow furrows and he bypasses the next obvious question ('are you all right?') with, ] Can you-- see it too? The stairs?
[ Softer, almost to himself, and yet Will doesn't forget to hit 'talk' to share this, just as the stranger shared that moment of his own: ] I wonder how this world picks...what to let us share and what to use to separate us.
no subject
fell through some stairs...
Ben jumps with attention and looks up, all on his own volition, timed just as the man on the other end of the connection provides words that would be prompting Ben to be looking just there. the stairs above, ones that had seemed to impossibly stretch from one flat wall to the other, with no visible doorways at either end. then again, vantage point means it was difficult to know from all the way down here.
what is more compelling now is...understanding where this other man is. Ben jerks around and stares across the rubbish, the piles of nonsense, unwanted artifacts that feel as though they had a purpose once.
he doesn't see anyone.
this man...on the other end of the radio...fell through those stairs right there...so, where is he?
Ben doesn't like riddles.
riddles, which seems to be the continuing topic, with what remark his radio friend finishes on. ) Wait a moment— you fell through those stairs— I see them, yes— but you're not here.
( Ben emphasizes this point by looking around animatedly, one final time. 'what to use to separate us.' ) But you're saying you...are here.
( all at once, Ben becomes staggeringly pensive, as he considers the details. his eyes scan across the dull room, seeing beyond his immediate surroundings, peering into his ticking thoughts. the things the man says align so fittingly with wordless impressions that Ben has has nestled away, an overarching sense of an awareness, a calm and eerie thing. ) You think it's aware, too. ( this world, he means. )
no subject
Will touches one hand to the ground, pushes aside a piece of wooden rubble. It's exactly the same rough-smooth texture of finished wood that Will's used to...it's just that the broken ends aren't fragmented shards, but snapped-taffy bluntness. Will thinks of Ellie, who he's still never seen, taking the jerky off the ground after he'd laid it out like the world's most generous trap.
Will throws it, and it clatters when it bounces low against the ground. Will the other man see it, too?
But Will goes still after he's released the wood fragment. Instead of scoffing or arguing, he gets...agreement. The relief comes across in his own scoff, a syllable of laugh that's only barely picked up by his radio as he presses the talk button. ] I talked to it.
Or at least I— think I did. I wrote my name on a mirror and asked for the other person's name — I thought I'd be talking to another one of us — but the world...
Answered. In a sense. [ A crackling sigh. ] Not that I have anything useful to share beyond that it just seems...aware.
no subject
it's a comforting thing that rings with something like an old memory, the sensation of someone there, even when they can't be immediately seen. it requires a strange kind of trust, faith, some might call it.
with all of the insane things he's witnessed here, Ben has no difficulty putting his belief in what seems so completely impossible.
Ben jerks with a sudden shock — something rigid clatters a few feet away, 'Christ Almighty,' he breathes harshly to himself. ) Don't worry, you already have my attention. ( Ben's voice is...just a few degrees more tense. a subtle thing.
but Ben can be heard relaxing back down with a thoughtful sound, one that doesn't become entirely swallowed by the ambient static between them. ) Last time I wrote my name on a mirror, I was certainly communicating with someone here. I wasn't entirely sure he was in the same world as myself. Haven't...seen him since.
( and that feeling is nearly gutting.
Ben's head tilts down over his walkie talkie, a nonverbal shift that speaks volumes: focus on the information. as if regarding an examination table, Ben looks over the jigsaw pieces this stranger lays out: the environment responds. how sentient is it? as little as a flower that shuts itself up in the night, or as much as a human? more?
and then, an odd, almost uncomfortable feeling weights down into Ben's stomach: were they...chosen, to be brought here? )
no subject
Will laughs, just a syllable and unshared due to the one-at-a-time nature of the radio, but the sense of confused relief at the fact that interfering with the other's space is possible is...welcome. That's the second person so far that Will knows about interacting with...
Or rather, the third. He thinks of someone throwing wastepaper baskets and errant staplers across a desolate street-decayed-into-a-strip-mall to distract the shadow-dog from himself, and Will realizes he's not the only person who knows that actions travel across...
Well, that's the question, isn't it? What exactly is separating everyone from everyone else?
'Last time I wrote my name on a mirror...' Will's gaze, already thinking of places he can't quite see, goes even further distant. Clues line up, and Will sees the lack of them, too - he'd never gotten to see the way the man on the other side of the mirror really talked, when he wasn't encumbered by the fact that he couldn't speak at-ease and instead had to hastily write only the most pertinent of his intended words.
But Will's never been one for not jumping to intuitive conclusions. ]
...Ben?