chismosos | test drive meme #1

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test drive

test drive meme #1

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.

GFR Media

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.

Jorge Arce

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

arrival;

﹙ old habits die hard or not at all. he wakes with the acute awareness that he's somewhere unfamiliar — the smells, the sounds, the humidity, the heat. it's not where he should be. it isn't, certainly, where he went to bed.

assessments are made before he so much as moves. doesn't open his eyes. he hears the tap of fingers against glass, and there's a painted styrofoam rock digging into his hip. he can hear an hvac system, smell paint and the astringent of a facility kept spotlessly clean. there are no immediate disturbances in the air around him, which means he's alone by a somewhat variable definition, and when he cracks his eyes he sees the source of the tapping. a child, perhaps three meters away, watching him wide-eyed. heero frowns, but relents — gets to his feet. he isn't bound. he hasn't been drugged. too clear-headed. no specific points of soreness that would indicate an injection site, and his lungs don't have the burn from chloroform.

the child tugs on the hand of their guardian. the guardian, who'd been reading a plaque, looks up and sees him.

he's in a museum display, he realizes. something documenting the early days of man. there's a maintenance door hidden behind some oddly realistic looking scrubs, and he starts for it, only to have the door opened before he gets there.

he doesn't fight. there isn't any point. better to observe, and use being unknown to his advantage. they have no reason to believe he isn't anything
more than a student who climbed in here on a dare, though he hardly volunteers the cover story.

what follows is irrelevant.

he's sitting on a cot shoved up against a wall in the hurricane shelter, arms folded, eyes closed. to all appearances, he may as well be asleep. but should another person be brought in as well, he'll give them time to acclimate, and then get up to bring them something from the rations. ﹚

You need to keep your strength up. Eat something.

﹙ it sounds perilously close to an order, which is rich coming from a teenager that barely tops out at 5'5. ﹚

the ocean swell;

﹙ he had never seen the ocean before he came to earth, and there was a sort of poetic irony in the fact the first thing he did was crash into it. how many critical moments followed with the smell of salt in the air, the lap of water at a foreign shore? it was a year ago, nearly to the day that he dropped wing zero into the water after his duel with wufei, and thought that death was preferable to the endless march of memories.

but now, he is sitting on a low retaining wall near the water, skipping the occasional rock out into the still and shining sea. that silver-white dog is sitting beside him, watching the rocks richochet and sink. every once in a while, he reaches down to ruffle its ears very gently.

he'll hear your character approach, but doesn't turn to face them. instead, when they're near enough: ﹚

He doesn't bite.

﹙ it's a sad story, isn't it? a dog who waits forever for its owner, ever faithful, ever loyal, ever lost. ﹚

[He's been here long enough to have heard the story, more than once in fact. The dog is waiting for an owner who will never return. It's enough to soften even his heart towards the creature, but even knowing it will not leave the spot does not convince him to go anywhere near it.

It's a very nice view of the ocean here though and he's feeling brave enough (or apathetic enough, he isn't sure) to push forward. Wei Wuxian is so focused on tracking the dog's movement—or lack thereof—that he doesn't even see the person sitting but a few feet from it, and he jumps at the sound, his heart racing in anticipation of barking that doesn't come.]

N-no, I'm sure he doesn't, but I'll keep my distance all the same. [He tries for a casual laugh and is sure he misses the mark, his nerves coming through instead. It's silly when he thinks about it, with everything he's been through, but his instincts don't seem to care about whether his fear is rational or not.

He risks a glance at the boy—maybe a few years younger than him but with eyes that look older—and manages a sheepish smile.]

Mind giving me a head's up if he moves my way?

﹙ is it a fear of dogs, or ghosts? heero gives him a sideways glance, and then then deigns consent with a quiet hmn. if the question had been posed to him years ago, he wouldn't have even bothered acknowledging it, but now... the consideration costs him nothing. ﹚

What do you want?

﹙ there are other places to enjoy the view. heero himself is the only variable, and if the man is braving the presence of something that seems to be making him unsettled, then he assumes he's the goal. his aim has always been unerringly direct. ﹚

[The soft exhale of relief is inaudible and he nods in appreciation before realizing his companion won't see it, eyes on the ocean as they are. Before he can vocalize his thanks instead, the question is put to him and he pauses, wondering how to answer. He doesn't want anything from him, hadn't even seen him as determined as he'd been to keep his eyes on the dog. Normally he'd have found another place to enjoy the view, but a celebration further down had caught his eye. A large family, children playing. One of them around three or four, just a-Yuan's size. The sight of it was enough to drive him away and to this spot, the dog be damned.]

Nothing from you, [He says and his voice is softer than it might have been another time. Where he might have seen petulance before, now he only hears defense.] Just the view.

[There's a smile on his lips but it doesn't reach his eyes.]

I didn't grow up next to the ocean, [He says after a moment of silence, his eyes staring out over the sea] I grew up in a village of lotus lakes. This isn't the same, but it's still beautiful.

Edited 2020-10-30 05:25 (UTC)

﹙ everyone lies. there are always tells, though he hasn't generally cared to bother looking. he's never been in one place long enough to cultivate a sense of belonging, to bother learning the habitual quirks and habits of the people there.

but none of the tells he's used to are present. no quickened breath, no visible discomfort besides that already established in the presence of the dog. there isn't anything to be gained from doing so anyway — they're strangers. something eases in his posture — a deliberate choice not to be actively ready for a fight.

this earth, this time aren't his. and the only thing anyone here knows is what he's told them. he is done with war, with fighting, but there is a part of him that's still trying to learn how to be... normal. in a way that isn't acting, part of a cover story. perhaps it's less being normal and more letting himself be normal. or defining to himself what normalcy even looks like to someone like him. he can't put away the life he's lived, but he can move forward from it.

he has a chance to choose who he is now. how he acts, reacts to things. there are times when he wants to live up to the way quatre sees him — to let himself reach for kindness when there is no call for cold efficiency.

he reaches out idly for the dog, who comes to butt its head into his hand. it may be waiting for a master who will never return from the sea, but it doesn't eschew affection in its eternal vigil, and perhaps it's that small impetus that makes him opt for conversation. you can choose to be many things that don't exist in contradiction. ﹚

It doesn't get any less beautiful after you've seen it for the hundredth time.

﹙ the words don't quite feel right. it's more as if he's... stealing bits from the others he's known, and trying to mold them into something that suits him. the end result is slightly stilted, though it's by no means uncertainly said. ﹚

[He'd flinched for a moment at the sight of the dog's minimal movement, head butting into hand, but the words make his smile a bit brighter, flickering across his eyes now if only for a moment. He wasn't sure the other wouldn't spurn his company after that first question, and he's pleasantly surprised by the response. Many things have changed about Wei Wuxian and his life, but he is ever a people person even now.]

Mmm, that's very true. I woke up to those lakes every day and I still couldn't get enough of them. [Every day until recently, every day until everything fell apart. They aren't the sort of details to share with a stranger and he sweeps them away like so much dust under a mat, allowing his posture to relax further, his smile to brighten more. It's easier to do with a stranger.]

Are you from an ocean town?

﹙ the sanc kingdom is on the ocean. he considers the lie a moment, the way it branches outward from there. there is a part of him that wonders if it ever could have been a home for him, if the kingdom had survived. a place at relena's side.

maybe in another life. his fingers curl against the dog's ear, rubbing absently at a crusted patch of salt and sand. ﹚

No. I'm from a space colony in orbit around the planet in the year After Colony 198. ﹙ this world's history is already different than his. heero yuy, the dead man who's name he wears like a shroud, won't be born for — ﹚ Roughly three hundred years in the future.

[Wei Wuxian blinks, his eyes gone wide. The year he ignores, the numbers meaning nothing to him since the way they track them is different. The words though...The language translated automatically in his head—a brilliant invention if anyone asks him—tells him what he means by space so he understands the idea of it, knows he has the meaning correct. Still.

Still. There is awe and overwhelming curiosity in his voice when he lifts a hand and points at the sky.]

Space?

[Like. Space??? Up there? He's learned of many things during his stay here so far, but he has not learned anything about space and people being able to go there.]

Yes.

﹙ his tone, by contrast, is mostly mild disinterest. space isn't remarkable to him in the same way, though he's capable of understanding why it would be. he lays off petting the dog and folds his arms instead — it seems more a posture of idle repose than anything defensive or withdrawn.

but he doesn't clarify. if the man has questions, he'll ask them. if not, heero saying anything now would simply be a waste of his time. ﹚

[The man has questions and he isn't shy about holding back.]

What is it like? How did humans first get there? What was the aim, simply exploration or—something else? [And then he mutters, the words clearly meant for himself, though completely audible.]

Space...to think, space! incredible, amazing!

[He blinks, catches himself and smiles, boyish and bright.]

Forgive me, I'm not from this era. I'm told there are hundreds or thousands of years between when I'm from and now. The idea of reaching space—the concept is...[He gestures at his inability to articulate and laughs aloud at himself.

Space!!!]

heero yuy | gundam wing

The Ocean Swell

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arrival;

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