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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!
no subject
He thinks of carving out an alarm clock, reconsiders. Painstakingly, William scratches some small jagged-edged clouds leading to one large cloud above the sleeper's head. What are they dreaming about? ]
no subject
[She watches with mute wonder as more of the floor is carved away. What are they dreaming about? The answer seems obvious.]
FOOD
no subject
He wonders in earnest who it is he's talking to. How this is happening. If it's an individual, that's one thing. Maybe they need help. If it's something else—
He puts it off long enough to scratch a little V—a cone—beneath one of the Os in FOOD. This time purposefully slow, he carves a drop, and another, and another, and a final dribble of ice cream on the dreamer's head.
Then he sets to work, the letters starting out uniform but getting gradually larger: ] WHAT ARE YOU?
no subject
[What are you? What the fuck question is that? She scratches out a stick figure, head blocky, and decides not to draw the pony tail she usually adds to designate herself in these shitty drawings. Playing it safe or whatever (she's not, she knows, and if she lets herself think about it too long, she can hear Joel's ready reprimand.) Next to the stick figure, she writes] DUH
[But then she feels bad; she could be talking to a ghost or something. In her mind, that isn't creepy or scary-- scary is the real world. Ghosts are stories. Except here, maybe. So she scratches out her name.]
ELLIE
no subject
In hindsight, it's obvious it's a child. Questions crowd his thoughts: where are they? How long have they been here? How badly do they need food? What, really, can he do about it?
He agonizes in this vein for a good minute. Then, separate from their drawing, he carves a horizontal line. A vertical one, perpendicular to it. Two more quick cuts, and he's made a hangman's gallows. Beneath it he scratches seven empty spaces.
That's for being a smartass. ]
no subject
[She considers how to play the game, before a spark of inspiration takes her, and she writes a] J [off to the side.]
no subject
In short order, an O—a head—forms on the gallows, a diagonal slash runs through the J. Try again. ]
no subject
no subject
no subject
[In a singsong voice,] don't be a di-iiick.
WORDS HURT!!!
Once he's regained some semblance of composure, he plans his next move. Bit by bit, stick limb by stick limb, he completes the dangling corpse. Scratches in two tiny Xs for eyes, a sad little mouth. After a moment's hesitation, a wide-brimmed hat.
He gives it a minute or so before he starts filling in blanks: ] W I L L I A M
no subject
NICE 2 MEET U ☺
[In the post apocalypse, chat speak survives as a quicker and easier way to carve things into desks. After a moment-- well, he did include the funny hat-- she draws a little ponytail on her smiley face.]
HOW LONG U BEEN
[A phrase she knows well; you'd find it carved into a lot of desks in detention, with various numbers and names written under.]
no subject
FEELS LIKE WEEKS
[ A pause to flex his fingers, debate what to say next. He opts for honesty: ] I MISS PEOPLE
no subject
[And then she sees the next scrawl, something that makes her heart hurt a little. She rubs at her eyes on instinct-- she really did get dust in them-- and stares a little before answering. She misses people. Of course she misses people. She always misses people.]
[He probably means something different. Or does he?]
[Well, she's not offering to go and find him, so...]
WHO
?
no subject
William reaches for his knife again. ] ANYONE
[ That's what he'd meant, but Dolores is never far from his mind. It'd be satisfying to carve her name here, chip away at this place.
Nice to have some illusion of permanence.
He decides against it. Too much like scratching their initials into a tree trunk. ]
ARE [ and then efficiency wins out over spelling ] U OK?