![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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
It takes him a few precious seconds to pinpoint her in the window, but it's worth it. Even if he can't understand her, the message is clear enough: climb up, get out.]
Well. That'll do.
[He hasn't got the luxury to weigh his options. The not-darkspawn is slowly turning into a horde of not-darkspawn, and at least he knows he can take a person down, permanently, if it comes to that. The way these things keep disintegrating and re-forming, it's hardly even a choice.
The next step is beating a retreat without getting a shadow sword in the back.
He starts backing toward the building she's in, and swings one arm over his head to flag that he's seen her. His weapon needs two hands; he can only waste so much time.]
Let it down! I'll come to you!
[He just needs a minute to shake off the closest of these beasties. No point in any of this if he ends up bringing the fight to her.]
no subject
[She sees his hand, and hopes that's the universal sign for 'drop the ladder', because it's what she does. Quickly, she moves around the wait for him, wanting to reach out and knowing she can't. Some distant part of her knows she'd be devastated if he died, just like how she tries not to think about how that giraffe is certainly clicker food now.]
[Never let it be said she's not inventive. She begins throwing well-aimed bricks and rocks at the shadows, trying to distract, or help, or something.]
no subject
He can't climb and fight at the same time— again, two hands— but a few moments of distraction are all he needs. A brick hits a clean clock right across one of the shadow's faces, their heads all turn— and he takes his opportunity. He seizes the first rung of the ladder he can reach, shakes it to test the balance, and as soon as he's sure he won't fall back on his ass, hauls himself up.
He doesn't know what to expect, once he gets to the top. There's always a possibility that it's a trap, that there will be a wall of thieves or bandits waiting for easy prey, already worn down by monsters. But he gets there. Has to.
He hooks one arm over the bottom of the sill, pulls himself and his maul and all his armor up into the windowframe, and she's... a kid.
That doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's just not what he expected, is all. If anything, it gets him to crack a half-there smile— whether she's bait in a trap or not, she's damn resourceful, he'll give her that.]
Suppose I've got you to thank for this. [He's a little out of breath, but only a little. He waves her back, away from the window.] Give me a minute, will you?
[He stands half-braced in the window, one arm around the top of the frame to keep his balance, and kicks the ladder back down to the concrete, taking any shadows that had kept their focus long enough to try to follow him up down with it.
Hope you weren't planning on using that for anything else, Ellie.]
no subject
[As soon as the ladder's kicked, she crouches low, putting a finger on her lips, listening carefully. She needs to know if any of the other shadows have found their way into the building.]
[But, strangely, none of them ever come through to the indoors, no matter what. She's observed that multiple times, and she never quite believes it. Still, relief floods her when she can confirm the monsters are wandering off, some disappearing or... melting? What the fuck.]
[You know what, whatever. They're both alive. She lets out a sigh and rests, her backpack getting smushed into the wall as she sits down.] Oh my godddd. That was intense.
no subject
He watches them go, too, trying to ignore the unsettled shiver that slides down his spine when they're just... gone, like they were never there.]
Not very smart, are they?
[In his defense, darkspawn are pretty stupid, most of the time. It doesn't occur to him that they might be intentionally avoiding coming inside, instead of just not knowing how.
Once she seems satisfied, he drops down from the windowsill with a clatter of plate mail. He's on his guard still, a bit, one hand on the grip of his weapon while he scans the room.
Just her, it seems. And she's not exactly in a fighting stance.]
Just you, up here? [He wants confirmation anyway. It's dawning on him that words might not be the best strategy here, though.] Uhhh, what else... [In distinctly a different language, that might kind of sound like French while definitely not being French:] Hello? [And again, in not-German:] Anything?
[Stroud would give him so much shit for not practicing properly, if he were here.]
no subject
Yeah, no hablo. [She makes a fist and smacks it into her chest.] Ellie. [Then she points to him, and looks up questioningly.]
no subject
Fantastic. Andraste's ass, what a pain.
[No choice but to bumble their way through it, though, even if it makes him look like an idiot.
He points at her, confirming:] Ellie. [The sounds are easy enough to copy. He pats his chest in return.] Carver.
no subject
[How do you tell someone you're friendly?]
[...She realizes he has no reason to trust her, just underestimate her. She gets that gentle, unsure feeling in her gut, the giraffe all over again. Ellie stands and scrambles to open her backpack, pulling out a wrapped bit of jerky she found earlier. She holds it out, before realizing a knight wouldn't know what jerky is. Did they have jerky a billion years ago? She isn't sure.]
[She opens the wrapper, snaps it in half, and puts half in her mouth before holding the other out.] Here? See?
no subject
He watches her with a sort of curious wariness, while she clambers around; he's not really threatened by her, necessarily, but after all that just happened he knows better than to assume she's helpless. Abundance of caution, and all that.
When she comes up with food instead of, like, a knife or something, the guardedness in his expression settles, but just a little bit.
His first instinct is not to take it. Resourceful or not, she's still just a kid; she'll need it more than him, if food gets to be hard to find. Plus it's just... kind of weird, even if it's just the shape and the wrapper that's throwing him off; dried, salted meat isn't that strange on its own.
He knows it's meant to be an olive branch, though. Refusing it might be worse in the long run.]
Can't say it looks any worse than what I normally get. [It is, in fact, much better than what he normally gets. He takes it from her, and sniffs it experimentally.] Thanks.
[Is there a better way to communicate that? He visibly struggles for a second, then lands on an awkward, exaggerated tilt of his head and a vague gesture with the jerky.] Thank you.
[Maker.]
no subject
[She doesn't bother to hide how she slips the jerky back in the wrapper after she's taken a bite of her half, tying it off in a knot and sticking it back in her pack. She is saving food, despite being a constantly ravenous teenager.]
[Behind him, she spots something glowing, and immediately goes still. She's not used to electricity just up and working in buildings this condition, and something in her hindbrain still thinks it will attract infected. The moment of distress passes, though, and she spots another radio. This one is working, just like the last one, the buttons glowing. She grins. Maybe somebody out there knows both their languages? It's possible. Anything fucking is, in this place.]
[She darts around him, quick footed, to snatch up the radio. It's old, made of wood and everything, and she fiddles with the dials.] I can't believe these things work. Fuck, it's not even plugged into anything...
[Yet, strangely, it records and transmits her voice back to her.] Spoookyyyy.
no subject
Hey! [This is a bark, more urgent, and he's hoping his tone is enough to communicate disapproval.] Put that thing down, you don't know what—
[But then the little device crackles, and then words come out of it, clear as day: 'Fuck, it's not even plugged into anything.'
All his tension drops into shock.
It's her. Is he crazy? The voice is a little garbled, but it sounds just like hers, and the cadence is the exact same as whatever she just said, just, you know, this time with actual words. No magic he knows can do that.
To her, it might seem like he does an abrupt 180 on the subject of the radio, mostly because, well, he kind of does. He's suddenly at her shoulder, leaning in to get a better look.]
Do that again. [He waves at it urgently, the thing, whatever it is.] Whatever you just did, do it again.
no subject
Is it translating? Aaaawesome. Finally found something friggin' useful in this place. You- you can understand me, right? I can understand you.
no subject
[And this is a good thing, presumably, but he still looks put off by it. It's slow-going, having to wait for the thing to spit out her words after she says them, but it's better than what they had before.]
Is this thing meant to do that?
[Translate, he means. He's assuming not, given her reaction, which is why he's not 100% on board yet.]
no subject
[She looks up at him expectantly while the radio relates her voice back.]
no subject
['Radio' is the word she used. He studies it, even if he's careful not to touch it. The Wardens have taught him to give magic a longer leash than he used to, and maybe this is a case where the benefits outweigh the risks.]
Figured it was magic. Not like any magic I've ever seen, though.
[The floating stuff, sure. The inconsistent doors, less so. This, definitely not.]
no subject
You've seen magic?
no subject
[Casually, like it's something you see at the dinner table. Which it kind of was, for him. His brow pinches a little, confused, but maybe she's from somewhere the Circle actually did its job?]
Comes with the territory, I guess. Don't know how much of a chance normal people get to see it.
[Between his family, Kirkwall, and the Wardens, his life is decidedly not normal.]
no subject
The territory? Of being, like, a knight? Do you fight dragons and stuff?
no subject
You think I'm a knight?
[He's not offended, basically the polar opposite of that, but still, it catches him off-guard.]
no subject
no subject
That's my territory. Taking down what crawls in the dark.
[Preening, him? A little. He's genuinely devoted to what he does, lives and breathes it with every fiber of his being— but that doesn't mean he's above bragging about it, or spinning it for glory points.]
I'm not a knight. [He touches the front of his breastplate, emblazoned with the seal of a winged griffon.] I'm a Grey Warden.
[Usually that speaks for itself. Maybe not so much, in this case.]
no subject
[She doesn't want to admit total ignorance of what he's clearly proud of. Ellie can be cruel, but even she knows that's a shitty thing to do. It feels worse because it's earnest.]
no subject
They don't usually forget this literally, though.]
We fight the darkspawn. The Blight. [The Blight is so ubiquitous that it seems bizarre she wouldn't recognize it; she's certainly old enough to have felt the effects of the last one. But everything here is bizarre, and she's... clearly different than the kind of people he's used to.] If we're not around where you're from, then... maybe that means we did our job right.
no subject
[More importantly (anything to change the subject)-] Do they call you Carver because you, like, with the sword- [She makes a chopping motion with one of her hands, a crude approximation of his skill.
no subject
What, because I sprouted up with a sword in my hand? [Droll sarcasm. He gets why she laughed at him now, har har, carving jokes, very creative.] Be a shitty nickname if it was. It's just the name my father gave me, that's all.
[That's all he wants to say about it, anyway.]
Carver Hawke. That's the whole thing, if you were wondering. Seemed easier back there just to give you the one.
[But he's proud of that, too, the Hawke name. That might've also been enough for her to recognize, maybe, but he almost likes it better if she doesn't.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)