test drive meme #1

[historiadores]

TDM #1

LA LLEGADA

The Museum of Art and History is the largest and oldest in Llave, and contains a grand collection spanning from the time the first humans landed on its shores to the modern day. The building encircles an open courtyard where an art installation sits amidst many of the plants important to the settlers of Llave. Behind the museum is a wide, shallow field of hard-packed dirt lined by large stones, the petroglyphs on their surface worn by time—the earliest known playing field in all of the Caribbean. And further out are the areas where excavations are ongoing, uncovering the pottery, jewelry and artifacts of the ancestors.

After awakening, things move quickly. The museum is closed, and the characters ushered into the courtyard to wait. Any needing emergency medical attention are kept in one of the air conditioned galleries until the paramedics arrive. A group of women with a military bearing take charge of the situation; identified as the Bajari Bara, they question the healthy and able. They cede authority only to the Prime Minister when she arrives. Two more of their group flank the nation's leader, though they step aside when she begins to walk among the new arrivals to speak with them.

Each side has many questions and few answers. Characters are informed they are in Llave. It's October 2020. And efforts will be made to return them to their homes. But how they came to be here and why remain mysteries…as does how they’ll find their way back.

A hurricane shelter nearby is activated for use by the recent arrivals. There, characters are provided with food and clothing, a cot and other basic supplies. No one is allowed out, but through the windows they can see the lush green of the their surroundings. At night, coquí sing them to sleep. Those taken to a hospital will remain there until they are discharged. Each patient is allowed one visitor to stay with them overnight.

Over the next several days, all characters undergo physical and mental evaluations; are provided with their first immunizations; have the next legal steps explained to them; and are taught about Llave. Every character, regardless of age, has a caseworker who checks in with them daily. None have been arrested, they are assured. But they must also complete the quarantine process. To enforce quarantine, at both the hospital and the shelter, the Bajari Bara guard every entrance and exit.

Welcome to Llave.

EL AREYTO

As luck would have it, around the time quarantine ends, all of Llave is in the midst of celebration. Today is the Day of Heroes, celebrated every last weekend in October, which this year happens to fall on the eve of All Saints’ Day. So when the new arrivals venture out for the first time, Nona, the capital, welcomes them with color and music.

The people of Llave have a special love for music and dance, and it shows. All day, groups gather to play, and many more to dance. The songs center around heroes of Llave with the chief of these being Nuna, a beloved figure who is said to have led her people here to freedom. Those performing wear traditional clothes: guayaberas, long circle skirts, palm hats and headwraps, all brightly colored.

From early morning, artisans have set up under tents tables laden with goods. Clothing, jewelry, musical instruments, paintings, and more made from leather and wood, seashells and fish scales, aluminum and copper. Many create right at the table. Most popular are those working on cemís: sculptural objects, said to house the spirits of ancestors. Many carry them as amulets especially on this the eve to the days of the dead.

The food is equally rich and one of the cooks takes an interest in the new arrivals. Those who eat his food find their mood changing depending on what they ate. The tostones he prepared while speaking of his childhood home in Santa Cecilia bring on feelings of joy and contentment. The alcapurrias fried while arguing with a customer about last night’s wrestling match cause those who eat them to feel irritated. And the casabe, a flatbread made of cassava, that he explains he learned to make from his wife who passed, induces a profound nostalgia for lost loves. His wife, recognizable from the photo he keeps on the wall, sits beside those most affected and comforts them until the melancholy passes.

More dead can be found. An old man in a fine guayabera recalls composing the lyrics to a particular song. He points out the man playing the congas and proudly says his great-grandson will soon outplay him. When characters look back to the old man, he’s gone. Those with a sense for it will recognize many dead walking among the living. These next few days honor and celebrate the departed, and the dead have seized the rare opportunity to join the festivities once more.

For those who prefer the sea, the impossibly blue waters of the Caribbean are just a short walk away. Cobblestone and concrete paths line La Bahía de Nona. On one of the larger rock outcroppings jutting into the bay sits a silver-white dog. If called, he will trot over. Up close, one can see his color is due to the sand and salt that has collected on its coat. Though he allows himself to be petted, he does not step off the rocks. A passerby comments that the dog has been waiting for his master to return. How long? The man shrugs. When he was a boy, the dog was keeping watch; now he’s forty-three, and the dog is still there.

EL TRAVIESO

Or perhaps the characters were more distracted by how clean the water was, how clear. Enough so that the sight of a bottle bobbing in the waves seems offensively out of place. Anyone who chooses to snag it out of the water will find it’s a corked bottle of rum, apparently empty.

From a nearby restaurant, someone yells and waves their hands—too late. By uncorking it, they have freed the bacoo. Immediately, everyone backs away. Two cross themselves.

Only one stays long enough to warn, “You have to trick it back into the bottle. It likes milk and bananas. Don’t ask it for anything.”

Turn around, and the bacoo is there.

Short and rugged with large eyes, long arms and legs, covered in unkempt hair and its fingers and toes ending in claws, the bacoo is a strange little creature. Stranger still, it can grant any wish—so long as it is kept appeased with a steady diet of milk and bananas.

A hungry bacoo will pelt walls with stones, move objects, keep its owner up at night, and otherwise wreak havoc until it is fed. A shapeshifter, they can be difficult to locate, much less trap. And a starving bacoo will turn vicious and its pranks malicious.

Best find a way to trick it into the bottle. Fast.

---

OOC NOTES

This TDM covers from mid-to-end of October. The first prompt lasts approximately two weeks; the second, a day. For now, all characters are restricted to Nona. Any attempting to leave will be gently, but firmly escorted back.

The TDM will also double as the first IC post of the game. Threads between any two or more characters who were all apped and approved will be considered game canon. As such, actions characters take in this TDM will impact the game once it opens. How characters behave will shape the inhabitants’ first impressions of them. Make it count.

Questions regarding this TDM can be asked below, while questions regarding the game at large should be directed to the FAQ.

Thank you for your interest and we hope to have you join!

NAVIGATION • IC COMM • OOC COMM • MEME COMM

Comments

[wolfchild]

         NIGHTS

[ the shelter isn't bad.

the girl has meals three times a day and snacks between. she has her own cot with blankets and a pillow. and her clothes aren't new, but they're new to her, and no one insists she wear a dress if she doesn't want. if she's quick (and she can be very quick) the water in the showers is warm. the "toilets" she especially loves, and spent her first day flushing it again and again until one of the people there told her to stop.

the people aren't bad either. no one beats or insults her. they are all very nice, which she initially found more suspicious. the woman assigned to her asks a lot of questions: who she is, where she's from, about her family, about her scars. the girl prefers their guards. they talk mainly amongst themselves, but they will answer her questions too. soon, she is japing with them and they are showing her new fighting stances. keep practicing, her favorite guard, who one day showed her her macana, tells her. maybe when you're older you can join.

the nights are the only parts she mislikes. she sits near a window and stares out between the metal slats at the green outside. the frog's song was annoying at first, but it's almost soothing now. she stays until they're told lights out, then she sneaks out of her cot in her new to her pajamas with weird smiling animals on the front of her shirt to the window again.

"are there wolves here?" she asked the bajari bara once. there aren't. too hot, she was told. but between the sweet coquí songs— ]

Do you hear it too? [ she asks without looking behind her, only sensing the presence.

the fine hairs on her arm stand on end. the sound vibrates through her…the mournful lonely howling of a wolf. ]

         ANIMALS

[ as soon as they are given freedom to explore —

she has dashed into the streets.

she has rarely seen so much vibrant color packed into one place. and the sounds. and all the curious things! she forces her way to the front of the crowd to watch the dancers and listen to the musicians. she visits each artisan's table one by one, often lingering to watch how skillfully they weave, carve and paint. she races through cobblestone roads, filling her air with good ocean air.

she lingers longest by the dog. she offers it food from her palm, and pets its salt-roughened coat. she tries to urge it to follow, but it only buts her hand and returns to its watch. a strange expression flits across her young face, a melancholy much too old for her. ]

I know what that's like, [ she tells the dog. ] Waiting.

[ hopping onto the rock with him, she sits down on the sun-warmed stone. the dog lies down next to her, his mournful gaze set on the horizon. she pets him as the sun continues beating down overhead.

maybe get her a hat. ]

( ooc note: if neither of these work for you, pm me and I'll set up a starter for us! )

nights

[boundwitch]

[They are the same age, Sieglinde has noticed, and that is unusual. So many of the other newcomers are older, children as small as them are rare.

The other girl moves, after lights out, and Sieglinde isn't sleeping either so she moves after her, out of her cot and crawling on the ground to settle behind her.]

What are you listening for? [She asks, hushed, straining to hear past the constant call of frogs.]

[wolfchild]

[ rather than speak, she cups her hands around her mouth. she howls, not caring when someone inside yells to be quiet. her fingers press to the window. she waits a breath —

a howl answers her.

her blooming smile transforms her face. long and solemn with large grey eyes that look bigger still thanks to her hair being shaved to the scalp, she looks suddenly, noticeably pretty. and she looks her true age, a skinny girl of one and ten who knows the truth: there's a wolf in these forests. ]

[boundwitch]

[Sieglinde's eyes go wide at the howl from the other girl, but there's no fear, and her own smile grows at the answer from outside.

She crawls forward in a quick scramble, reaches up to the windowsill and pulls herself up, holds tightly to whatever she can reach that can help her stay standing as she looks out.]

But they said there aren't any wolves! [Her voice is still hushed, tense with excitement as she looks and looks.]

[wolfchild]

[ smiles must come at her bidding, and it is only this that keeps from smirking. but it's audible nevertheless in her voice. ]

They were wrong. There's one there.

[ and another when she sleeps and her two skinny girl legs become four powerful paws and a penetrating wolf's sight opens the forest around her at night. ]

[boundwitch]

[Sieglinde looks, and looks, hungry for a sign of rough fur, sharp teeth, gold eyes. Wolf, or werewolf, or anything else, she wants to see it.

They said there aren't any wolves, but this skinny girl with the shorn hair called and received an answer and so Sieglinde needs to see what might be out there.]

But if there's only one, she'll be lonely. Where's her pack?

[wolfchild]

[ her smile fades. ]

Scattered, and dead, and slain, [ says arya.

her nails drag a little on the window. ]

[bananaclip]

[ The stubborn Caribbean sun has already proven to be too much for the pale Dayna's skin tone, and she has suffered what was only thankfully a light sunburn before she had procured for herself a parasol. She begins taking it everywhere, giving it a little twirl now and then just for the fun of it. She's wandering near the beach with it today when she spots Arya petting the dog. She notes this and wanders on by, but when she's making her way back and the girl is still there, she decides to approach. ]

Need some shade?

[wolfchild]

[ the girl cranes her head up, nose wrinkling. nevertheless, the shade proves a welcome respite. still, she has to point out — ]

They put a cream on me against the sun. [ a beat. ] It smelled weird. [ sunblock be like that. ]

[bananaclip]

Oh, sunblock is gross. It's hard to wash off, too.

[ Sunblock in Dayna's era was even worse than this modern stuff, but she doesn't know that. She has been relying on the parasol to keep from being burned. ]

Besides, this makes things a little cooler.

[wolfchild]

[ she wipes experimentally at her cheek, but the sunblock has long since been absorbed into her skin. ]

You don't have to stay, [ she points out.

the woman is right; it is a little cooler now. but it's their first day allowed outside. she won't want to stay the afternoon with a little girl. ]

[bananaclip]

I don't mind. But do...you want me to not stay?

[ She doesn't want to barge in where she's not welcome. It's just that it's been kind of lonely since arriving here, with none of her friends around. ]

If you want me to go away, I can. I just thought the shade would be nice.

[wolfchild]

[ she glances up at the parasol again, then lifts a shoulder in a shrug. ]

It is nice.

[ the dog snuffles closer before lying down. he lets her card the salt-stiffened fur, but he never closes his eyes. brown eyes remain fixed on the horizon far away. when the girl glances out to the sea, the sunlight reflected off the water hurts her eyes. ]

It's so bright here. Hot too.

[zaldrizer]

[ It is unqueenly to be unshod. Still, Dany does not fear what she might trod upon. Light materials flutter around her, flattering her silver-gold hair and granting her the image of some moon goddess. She wears only one braid now, Missandei's deft skill at hair absent from her presence. She cannot remember the last time her head felt so freed.

She pauses behind Arya, curious at the question. Then, she thinks she hears it -- something thin and sad and lonely. ]

Yes, [ she answers, joining Arya at the window. It is wide enough for the pair of them. Unqueenly again, Dany leans her elbows onto the windowsill. ] What is it?

[wolfchild]

[ there were no wolves in this forest, she was told. yet it is not her weak girl's eyes studying the wall from outside. the night is dark, yet it seems fully lit to her new eyes. ]

A wolf. [ she chews her lip. ] She's singing for her pack.

[ once, a long time ago and in a different life, she had to throw stones. one struck the animal, but even then the direwolf had not fled. only looked at her mournfully, her eyes like gold in the shade.

no stones flew this time. arya swore they wouldn't. but arya pushed her away, nonetheless. direwolves are not meant for a cage, and only a cage awaited her if she had stayed. ]

[zaldrizer]

I heard a wolf howl once, [ Dany admits. ] Upon a grassy sea. I would have made a poor meal, yet it made me feel sad and lonely all the same.

[ She would rather have seen a lone wolf than the pack of Dothraki that had swarmed her mere heartbeats later. Yet if she had not been dragged back to Vaes Dothrak, she would never have reached Westeros.

There's a queer familiarity in how the girl speaks of wolves, so Dany ventures: ]

She is yours, this wolf?

[ Who better to understand the bond between child and mother? Or creature and girl? ]

[wolfchild]

I told her to run. She'd have been caged.

[ grey eyes do not flit away from the darkness beyond and the creature she knows is prowling in the long grass. her fingers curl over the edge of one of the window's slats. it was right what she did. she has been treated kindly. but there is no promise nymeria would have been. she knows how to be a mouse, a cat, a shadow. nymeria knows only how to be a wolf.

(nymeria would have fought, and nymeria would have been killed.) ]

[zaldrizer]

I have come with another, as well, [ Dany admits. ] He is not of my flesh, but he is as much my child as if I'd given him birth.

[ And he would not have been caged. He would have been killed. ]

In this place or another, it makes no matter. All who look upon him see power -- and a dragon is no slave.

[ The last sentence is whispered, fierce. She would sooner take the scorpion bolt herself. ]

[wolfchild]

[ long ago, her teacher taught her of the true seeing. here, now, she sees a delicate woman of tremendous beauty. she sees the silver-gold hair and purple eyes of old valyria. she remembers the rumor of dragons in slaver’s bay brought by sailors from half the world away, and she sees teeth as long as swords, hidden skulls beneath the earth, in the muted light behind the woman.

a targaryen.

immediately, she hears the kindly man’s voice. ever patient, he asks, do you know? she must be that, but the girl is not certain and so she cannot say she knows. but her heart quickens anyway.

silly, of course. the name means nothing to a little girl who only knows of dragons from sailor’s tales. but jory, like every child, has imagined a dragon flying overhead. ]

A dragon? For true?

for gendry.

[wolfchild]

[ three things. she had to return each new moon with three new things she had learned.

she has learned thirty new things, but they have all been pushed aside. she is still learning new things, none of which she knows how to begin explaining. the air smells queer. gone are the brackish waters of the lagoon and the labyrinthine canals. the ground beneath her is hard-packed dirt. the sun beats down hotter and brighter than even in king's landing. the tree behind which she hides, its roots as thick as buttresses anchoring it to the earth, grants her a brief reprieve from light and eyes both.

it is not for her sake that she hides.

the reason stands beside her, eyes burning a dull gold in impotent fury.

her wolf. hers. she is not meant to own anything. she had given up everything. (you lie. a secret step shifts, a skinny sword hidden beneath.) she should be a master of her own face, but the girl cannot help her smile whenever she looks upon the direwolf—or the tears that splash down her cheeks. her wolf. she keeps a hand on the wolf as much to make herself believe it real as to keep nymeria from running off, not yet convinced it is not a dream she will soon wake from.

this is no dream, however. as soon as she hears the voices drift, she races from her hiding spot, her wolf beside her—

—to come to an abrupt stop before a familiar face.

his eyes are angrier, the blue brighter than even her memory. a thick black beard obscures half his face. he wears clothes she has not seen before. but she knows him. she learned him. her only friend. her pack until he wasn't.

nymeria steps forward, and arya remembers herself. ]

Help me!

[ —and they are in the riverlands again, two children trying to keep another of their number alive. only this time it is a direwolf she fears for. the voices and now footsteps are coming closer again. arya knows they will not believe her when she claims nymeria will not harm them. as she knows nymeria will not go easily. even as a pup, she refused a leash and collar.

she will not go into a cage; she will die.

arya refuses to see it happen. ]

[bullshead]

[ of all the things to find in this queer place, he would never guessed he'd find arya or a direwolf. some part of him hoped for something familiar, something to latch onto while he got his bearings but the feelings that came were anything but relief. confusion, frustration, anger, that quickening of his pulse as he instincts recognize the danger before him. arya is here, arya is here and so is a giant fucking wolf.

shit.

his feet move before he has time to think, time to process. pulling his blacksmith hammer from the belt on his side, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. the hell does she expect him to do? chase off a fucking direwolf? how the hell is he supposed to do that? the thing could tear his throat out before he has a chance to react. still he approaches in a few large strides, hammer raised and expression twisted into a snarl. ]

Get you stupid wolf! Get out of here!

[ the shit he does for this girl. ]

[wolfchild]

[ the sight of a raised weapon rips a ferocious snarl from nymeria's throat. on another day, in another place, gendry would have likely lost his arm and his throat. but arya slams her hands against nymeria's neck, using all of her body weight to turn the direwolf into the brush. ]

You have to go!

[ the words are as much command as they are a plea. arya keeps shoving. between her actions and gentry's figure behind them, she finally feels nymeria moving opposite the building and the people there. the ground slopes down and she peeks a dirt path, no more than a track, leading to a stream. when she runs down it, nymeria leaps after her.

the water from the mud along the stream seeps into her soft slippers, but arya does not care. her hands come to rest along either side of nymeria's head. arya's face is mere inches from the wolf's teeth. but if there is something she knows as well as breathing it is that nymeria will never hurt her. closing her eyes, she kisses nymeria on top of her nose. ]

I'll come find you, [ she swears fiercely. ] As soon as I can.

[ she hugs nymeria around the neck, then steps back. nymeria hesitates. the grey direwolf whines quietly, and arya feels the hole in her chest grow tighter. but she shakes her head. someone has to learn where they are, and how they came to be here. she can't do that in the forest. but she can't keep nymeria with her, either. behind them, she hears someone call that they saw two kids come this way. the direwolf's golden eyes move from the girl to the boy behind her, studying him for a long moment, before returning to arya.

when nymeria has crossed the water and raced into the green, arya drops on the banks, a small figure made smaller still in her robes: black on one side, white on the other. her hands wrap around her shaved head, short nails digging into her scalp.

twice now. twice, she has had to push nymeria away.

her tears taste bitter. ]

[bullshead]

[ fear makes a lump forms in his throat, heavy and thick, but he stands his ground like a stubborn wall of stone. hells, it might not help but he can only really draw from the few times he had to drive off wolves from the crossroads back in the riverlands. they weren't nearly as big as this one, nor as likely to rip his throat out or tear his arm off, but he has to wonder if something like this was leading those wolves.

when arya starts to move gendry follows after, glancing behind them at the sounds of people approaching. it isn't difficult to figure out why they're doing this, most people don't like wolves on a good day and one this big? yeah, they'd probably try to cage or kill it if they got their hands on it. gendry skids down the dirt path, stopping some distance away from the girl and her wolf.

'i'll come find you,' he hears her swear and it brings him back to the riverlands, fingers curling tightly around the hammer in his hand. he watches her hug the wolf, watches it study him, and watches it bound across the water into the forest beyond. it's only then, after the wolf is gone, that he feels himself relax, tension draining from his muscles so fast it leaves behind an ache. ]

Hey...

[ questions sit thick on his tongue, too many questions. ]

[wolfchild]

[ she flinches in surprise. she shouldn't— she forgot she wasn't alone. the kindly man disappointedly reminds her she must be mindful of her surroundings: every shift in the air, every soft smell, every taste, every sound.

the leaves crunch under gendry's feet when he shifts his weight. he has always been more strong than quiet, more bull than boy. turning around, she realizes that is truer now than it was the last time she saw him. (the surprise on his face when she leapt to her feet and raced past snatching arms into the rain.) he is broader still of shoulder, his arms thick with muscle. from experience, she knows how heavy that hammer, but he wields it as lightly as a child with a doll. he looks a man-grown. (does anything remain of her friend?)

then their followers are upon them and she has no time to speak. arya jerks her black-and-white robe over her head and shoves it deep into the mud beneath a shrub. she straightens, her fingers covered in mud, which she wipes off on her thin linen shift. clad in her shift and smallclothes, her slippers wet, and a knife kept sharp enough to shave with hidden against her arm, she moves to stand beside gendry.

whatever happens now, they face it together. ]

[bullshead]

[ the reaction gives him pause, makes his brow furrow into an annoyed frown as he looks at her. she's so different than he last remembers, some physical differences considering how long it has been, and sharper around the edges. he isn't certain if he should be relieved to see her, or angry, or happy? glad she's alive? all of it spins around his head and making knots in his chest.

his mouth opens again to speak when he hears shouts behind them, turning as arya pulls her robe over her head and shoves it in the mud. gendry doesn't have to ask why she's doing it, realization hitting him quickly as he crosses his arms across his chest. they can't let them know about the wolf, so she's making it seem like she tripped and fell into the stream, right? well, it's the story he's sticking with as the followers approach. ]

We're fine. [ he starts before anyone tries to speak. ] My kid sister lost her footing and fell into the stream is all. We don't need you breathing down our necks, alright? I'm taking care of it.

[ gendry bends down and grabs her robe from the mud, not caring as he covers his own hand and his clothes in the mud as well, shaking it of excess grime. ]