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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!
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Regardless, it's now facing him, its dull mirror eyes open and welcoming.]
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How disconcerting. ]
Is anyone here? [ He calls out, his voice echos. ] No tricks, no games. Just come on out. Let's be friends. [ This time Murphy makes sure he is looking directly at the ice figure. He wants to make sure he isn't making things up in his head.
Paranoia, it's something of a parasite that encompasses him. Murphy has died once and then came back to life. Thank you snake and your unique properties in your venom, Murphy thinks.
And Murphy doesn't feel like making that trip all over again. ]
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If Murphy turns away, when he turns back, he'll find the ballerina sitting on its ice block, hands in its lap, smiling at him. If Murphy has absolutely ironclad will and doesn't move an inch, well, that's kinda weird. But if he does, the ballerina hasn't moved. The ceiling looks pretty tenuous, though, whatever happens.]
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He not only turns away, he whirls around so fast that you would think he given himself whiplash. There's nothing there of course, besides the chandelier that's now stern on the ballroom for. ]
[ Turns out crawling inside here was a bad idea. ] You know, fuck this. I'm not playing your game! [ Oh, he has a will, the will to get the fuck out of this room. He dashes towards the nearest door. ]
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Is she crying? Weird.]
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That could be Clarke, he suddenly realizes. He doesn't know how or why him but maybe she's letting him know she is alive. That she needs help. His chest feels tight, like all of his anxiety is crammed in there. His heart is racing.
And it could be a number of other people. Emori, Raven, Bellamy, Echo. Why him? Bellamy thinks Murphy stabbed him the back. ]
Why me? [ He's walking away from the door, slowly closing the gap between him and the statue. ] Huh? You could have picked anyone else.
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There's an old-time radio somewhere in here, and it starts playing a song that bounces softly off the mirrored walls of the ballroom.]
Darlin', I need you; lately I find you're out of my heart and I'm out of my mind. Let our hearts take wings 'round midnight, midnight, let the angels sing for your returning...
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I was going to keep us alive. Immortality. They were going to upload us -- [ His hands are shaking now but one digs into his pockets to pull out two mind drives. There, in his palms, are two cybernetic implants. Useless here, he supposes but he shows the ice sculpture anyway. ]
We wouldn't have to worry about dying. W-we'd live forever. [ And that meant stabbing Bellamy in the back. All Murphy was trying to do was keep them all alive. ]
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The music changes.]
I'll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new. I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.
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The chips are stuffed back into the pocket they had come from.
Okay so someone or something is speaking to him through song. Maybe. He is pretty sure he's gone crazy.
Sun. Moon. Maybe that means something. Maybe it doesn't. ]
Okay. [ He lets out a breath. ] Okay. Alright. We're good, Murphy. [ Keep it together. A quick pep talk before:] What do you want me to do?
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[The music changes one last time.]
Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few. September, November... and these few precious days I'll spend with you, these precious days I'll spend with you...
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No, no! [ Murphy rushes closer, trying to scoop of the film, whatever is melting off. He tries to smooth it back up. ]
Don't do this. I'll do whatever you want. Whatever you want! [ Murphy shouts, his voice booming. He honestly thinks this has something to do with Emori. And she is one of the few that can peel away his rough exterior. ] Just make it stop.
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[The statue melts away into nothingness, becoming a silvery puddle on the floor.
Just like all those mirrored walls surrounding you, Murphy. Feel free to notice those melting off the wall at aaaany time.]
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Another song plays and it gets shuffled away in his memories.
It takes him a solid three seconds to notice that the mirrors surrounding him are melting away in the same manner as the ice sculpture.
He rushes towards the same door, wiping his hands of whatever silver that had gotten on his hands. He is done with this room. He is done with being here. Murphy is just done. ]
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In the center, on a pristine desk, there is a tiny music box, playing no song at all, but a smiling ballerina spins inside of it. Her smile is painted on. Her arms are outstretched.]
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He skips the gramophone and goes right to the vinyl records. One by one he pulls them out of their sleeves to chuck them over his shoulder. The music box goes unnoticed for now. ]
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A quiet tune begins to eke out of the music box. It's You Are My Sunshine.]
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A song starts to play, a little scratchy but it's way too familiar for him not to know what this song is. No matter how old. His mother --
Nope. He stops himself. Doesn't want to go there. Murphy keeps that door locked in his head. His knee jerk reaction is to slap the damn thing into a wall. But there's that ballerina again.
Murphy played this song many times. He dug it from the archives when he secluded himself to the other side of The Ark. Made himself cry because that's what you do when you already hate yourself. ]
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Yeah, I get it. [ He's not too sure. It could all just be a coincidence. Someone could just be fucking with him, dipping their fingers into his mind, teasing out the tangles. Murphy steps closer to the desk and when he is close enough, stoops down to be eye level with the ballerina. ]
Here is the deal. [ Like he can call the shots or something. ] I take you and you help me. Comprende? [ And, no, he is in no way fluent in Spanish. ]
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Though she does bobble, as though flicked by an unseen hand. It's almost as though she's nodding.]
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Unless you want to be called something else? [ Murphy looks at the intimate object expectantly. Whatever, he's gone crazy, may as well talk to it rather than himself.
But is there really a difference? ]
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Alright. Here we go. [ Murphy keeps the music box open, looking both at the ballerina and the direction he was currently walking in. ]