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chismosos2020-10-17 10:54 pm
historiadores) wrote in chismosos2020-10-17 10:54 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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!
for gendry.
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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
no subject
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. ]
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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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
before she can stop herself, her bottom lip is between her teeth. a habit of arya stark's, not no one's. but the pressure, almost to the point of pain, helps keep her from falling into the ugly emotions rearing their heads. she digs the toe of her slipper into the carpet of leaves beneath her.
one of their followers, a man, looks at her and asks her if that's what happened. she digs the leaves out of her throat. ]
Yes. You spooked us, [ she accuses.
her hand is still wrapped tight around the handle of her knife. she keeps it just behind her where none will see it. except gendry. where he is standing, he will see it. he sees a lot, she remembers.
he is still holding his hammer. if she dashes forward, she can slice the man's thigh. when he falls, she can open his neck. that will distract the other; gendry need only swing his hammer once.
before she can put her plan into action, however, the man who spoke to her takes a knee before her and holds his hands up that she can see they're empty. he apologizes, gives her his name, asks her for hers.
she stares hard at him. if he were lying, she would surely read it. the memory brings another: are you a butcher, the kindly man asks her, and her jaw tightens. his partner is waving others over. if she will act, she must do it now.
then she looks into the man's brown eyes, and finds no lie within them. ]
Jory, [ she offers. quieter, ] This is my brother.
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and yet something tells him they shouldn't, not when they know so little, not when─ the thought grinds to a halt as one of the men kneels down in front of her and gendry feels himself move towards ayra out of instinct alone. something fierce burns in his chest, hot and angry and reminds him so much of the riverlands, of hot pie, of the inn and the children there.
if this man dares to lay a finger on arya.
the fear is unfounded, the man revealing himself as unarmed, yet gendry doesn't relax. if anything he tenses more, wanting nothing more than to grab arya's wrist and drag her away from the other people approaching. they could run off into the forest, just like her wolf did, run until they lost track of them and survive.
but he doesn't, and arya doesn't use her knife, instead simply answers with a name he has never heard. jory? gendry feels eyes move to him and he scowls. ]
Gendry.
no subject
when he asks if they know where they are, she has no answer for him.
rising, he starts up the path again, pausing to wait for them. they can run. they don't need to hurt these men. if she starts back toward the stream, she can try to run it like nymeria. she can hide among the trees. she did it before.and you got not closer to where you wanted, a voice reminds her. she ended up farther away than ever. no family. no friends. no pack.
she does not move until gendry is next to her. then, she slowly follows the path.
beyond the trees are wide fields, some green, some dirt packed. the dirt fields seems deliberately kept that way. stones ring them on three or four sides. the path they take keeps them largely under shade of trees she has never seen before. a few have trunks and branches covered in thorns.
the building they are taken to is painted orange. they pass through an open gate and a much cooler hall into an open courtyard teeming with plants. a flag she does not recognize flies above the building. she squints at it before turning to the rest of the courtyard. their escorts tell them to sit anywhere, that they're not in trouble. someone offers her water. when she says yes, she gets a translucent little bottle full of water, capped. it's not glass. when she turns the cap, it breaks, leaving a little ring around the mouth.
the drink has no smell and, when she lets a little touch the tip of her tongue, it tastes like cool, sweet water.
this isn't westeros. it's not essos, either. ]
Where are we?
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it's what he assumes the man is, what his companions are, even as they begin up the path and lead them towards the large orange building. it reminds him of the red keep in the afternoon sun, burning as orange as the sky itself, an ever-present reminder of the heights the lowborn would never reach. gendry takes the offered water, squinting at it before turning the cap off. it's cool, he notes, bringing it up to his nose to take a quick sniff. smells like water, but it's a lot clearer than any water he has ever seen. it's only when arya takes a drink that he does so himself, surprised at the taste.
where are we?
he looks to her and feels something tight in his chest. ]
Some island, don't know the name.
[ got a little distracted with the whole long lost friend and sudden direwolf situation. ]
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now they’re on an island. (if gendry says so, they must be. he might be a pain and often stupid, but he also knows how to pay attention and listen and survive.) gendry is here, and there’s an ugly emotion climbing every me higher in her breast the longer she looks at him. the ugly feeling births a fruit the moment she remembers he made her his sister to the people who found them. it tastes sour as soon as she recalls missing him, wishing her and him into a stupid story where they could run together through the riverlands forever.
the bottle makes a crinkling sound when she clutches it tight. ]
Why are you here?
[ the kindly man would not approve of her picking a fight for a fight’s sake. but the kindly man feels far away now. and the ugliness in her wants screaming and hitting. ]
Shouldn’t you be with the brotherhood?
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[ he can't help but snap at the question, grip tightening around the bottle in his hand, and immediately feels stupid because of it. it was just a question, but the way she asked it set off something in him he thought he had buried ages go. she's picking a fight again just like she used to and he is falling for it.
taking another drink he focuses his gaze somewhere else, anywhere else as long as it meant he didn't have to look at arya. ]
I don't know why I'm here, I don't know where here is. All I know is I saw you and I thought─ [ shit, fuck. he clamps his mouth shut, plastic underneath his fingers creaking in protest. ] Nothing. I thought nothing because of that bloody wolf.
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Her name is Nymeria. We each had one. One direwolf for every Stark. [ and one for jon snow who could not bear the stark name, but was as much her brother as robb and bran and little baby rickon. her throat threatens to close on her. arya forces herself to speak. ]
I had to run her off before I got to King's Landing because the Queen wanted to kill her. But she followed me. She followed us. [ she looks at gendry. ] In the Riverlands.
[ the howling of the wolves that sang them to sleep so often. she remembers lommy and hot pie telling her she growled like a wolf in her sleep. she hadn't believed them until gendry said it too. she still dreams herself a wolf. they're the dreams she longs for. where she is powerful and quick and leads a pack hundreds strong, all following her, all with her.
she bites her lip tightly. the gendry she knew would never have told a soul about nymeria. he helped her again. he pushed nymeria away. he covered for them. ]
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he no longer cared for stories about heroes and queens and dragons. ]
─Wait, she followed us? [ of course he remembers, those nights in the riverlands still live in the back of his mind. he can't forget the days of running, the nights of restless sleep, the howls that always seemed to follow them no matter where they went. arya growling in her sleep. ] Of course, you'd make a friend out of a massive beast like that. Why does your family have to take their symbol so literally?
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[ only gendry ever makes her this angry. arya barely quashes the urge to throw the bottle at his head.
they are drawing enough attention as is. she can understand the language surrounding them, but based on their confused expressions, none of their captors understand common.
(are they captors? it's the question arya keeps coming back to. if so, they are clumsy ones. no one has restrained them or threatened them or tried to hurt them. no one warns them not to speak among themselves. but she sees men and women standing by the doors, and she knows instinctively none will let her or gendry through.
they had their chance. back at the river's side. escape themselves or be the distraction by which nymeria ran free. and she knows that, given the chance, arya would make the same choice again and again and again.)
grabbing his sleeve, arya turns to him, deliberately keeping her volume conversational so as to not arise suspicion. ]
I don't think they speak the Common Tongue. Don't whisper and don't talk about her. Just in case.
[ she casts a look around. ]
We have to find out where we are. You don't remember anything either? [ she squints up at gendry. ] For true?