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pedalbike2020-08-29 10:30 am
upcyclingmod) wrote in pedalbike2020-08-29 10:30 am
Entry tags:
First TDM: Sterile Blues
Welcome to the Test Drive Meme.
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Not all characters (known as Wickie, singular or Wickies, plural) arrive at the same time, surprisingly enough! That’s life for you. Some Wickies find their way to the island at a pivotal (or very mundane) point in their life, or even after or during their death.
Wickies who were standing or walking often find themselves entering the town South Sister, located on Lighthouse Isle, through an open doorway. Those that were laying down, or sleeping, tend to be found lying prone in beds, bathtubs, showers, couches, and similar places within the cottages on Cottage Row. There’s no rhyme or reason to it all! To Wickies familiar with the era, they will realize that everything looks as if it’s come from the ‘90s.
The house which a Wickie finds themselves within could already be occupied. This includes walking into a fellow Wicke, waking up in the same location, or accidentally scaring a room full of people with their sudden appearance.
Oops.
After arriving, Wickes will find that food and water are easy enough to come by, as they can be readily found in the various houses which populate Lighthouse Isle. Medical supplies, on the other hand, are not so easily acquired. Bandaids and other simple trappings can be pilfered from the odd medical cabinet, but otherwise you’re on your own.
Thankfully, if a Wickie or their friend are in need of medicine or a pair of trauma shears, while you won’t find a full-fledged hospital on the island, there is a clinic. The clinic, named Sister’s Helpers, is like the rest of the buildings in town. Its appearance is well kept, and the doors are unlocked. Whether the Wickie goes in through the windows (because they can), or through the front door like most would, they’ll find that the clinic’s interior is crisp, clean, and orderly. There are plastic chairs, a desk where a receptionist would sit, white walls, but then—
There’s a sound. It could be mistaken for a breeze, at first. But as the sound goes on, it becomes more obvious that the ‘breeze’ is an exhale, prolonged and forced. At the end, there’s a murmur, professional and assuring.
“That’s good. Breathe.”
And with that, the clinic becomes awash in shades of blue. Sister’s Helpers itself hasn’t become warped in any way. There is only monochromatic coloring which, upon further realization, is not truly in the building, but a problem with their vision. Leaving without investigating further will mean having blue vision for the next twenty-four hours.
But for Wickies who choose to stay and explore, there is a chance at clearing their vision. This is is especially difficult for those who have a history of not taking care of their injuries. Gradually, it becomes more difficult to walk, as if there are weights on their feet. For Wickies are especially guilty of not tending to their wounds, their movements will become even more sluggish, and weight will settle on their arms and chest, forcing the worst of offenders into a crawl as they explore from room to room.
Laying on the patient beds will alleviate the situation for a short amount of time. The cure, however, will come from characters taking the supplies which they need for themselves and not for others.
If the Wickie fails this, over the course of an hour they will be crushed to death, and will eventually wake up outside of the clinic. Their vision stuck in shades of red with a weakness in their limbs for the next twenty four hours.
The Wickie’s only cure for that is either taking medical supplies for themselves or by doing some form of self care.
It’s the middle of the night when all the Wickies are jarred awake from sleep by the blare of a broken siren. Wailing into the dark, the siren functions as a foghorn might, warning of hazardous conditions to come. Beneath Wickies feet, the ground trembles, pulsating once. Twice. Three times. And again, and again until—
The world changes, and it is no longer the foggy island the Wickies knew.
Ash falls steadily from above, blanketing the ground, and at first glance it can be mistaken for snow. Whether by scent, by touch, or even by taste (an option for the brave, the bold, the few), the truth of the ‘snowfall’ can be easily revealed. It is strange, though, that there are no signs of fire in the vicinity. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be much of anything at all. There’s still no sign of the mainland. There are no buildings in this desolate place, either.
Lighting in this new landscape is hazy and sullen, but still conducive to exploring despite it being the dead of night just moments ago. But while Wickies walk, there’s a growing feeling of foreboding. There’s something… something else with them.
And it conceals itself in the ash.
It attacks by lashing out to grab at the ankles and the calves, attempting to drag the unsuspecting victim down, to somewhere far deeper and hidden by billowing piles of ash. It’s easy to save a Wickie from the pull, so long as they’re quickly freed from their assailants grasp. Retrieving someone out of the ash itself is nigh impossible, though.
Grabbed Wickies who lived to tell the tale, may find themselves bitten. The stalkers in the ash sink their teeth into the foot or calf of their prey, leveraging the force of their bite to take down their target. And once there’s blood, more of these creatures will be attracted to the smell.
If a Wickie is clever or strong enough to draw the stalkers out of the ash, they will find that the attackers are shark-like people. Most of their head consists of oversized jaws housing an impossible amount of teeth, and lacking any eyes. Their bodies are covered in ashen chitin and bone, with elongated feet and thin, taloned fingers. These Ash Sharks do not like being exposed, and will respond accordingly.
Ash Sharks cannot be reasoned with. Trapping one in ropes, magic, or other means will elicit angry shrieks which will attract other Ash Sharks, either to eat the trapper, or trapped, or both if they can. Being dragged completely under the ash will start a feeding frenzy, and the Ash Shark will proceed to rip and tear chunks out of its prey.
In dying, Wickies will reset to a random location within the ash filled fields, completely intact but for a purpling bruise where the initial bite took place.
Good luck.
There’s a beeping alert on all Wickie’s smartphones that refuses to stop until a particular notification is read. The notification is for something called the Heart Game (which, yes, looks annoying, overly bright, and cheesy). And surprise! The game opens up automatically with a loud ping!
The game begins (and ends!) with a question, one which will not go away even if you try to close out of it or shut off your smartphone. It reads:
It’s time for everyone's favorite game! Confession! Heeeeere is today’s question which you must confess!
What is… the scariest thing you’ve experienced? It can be anything!
arrival
A-are you okay?!
(He's completely soaked! She doesn't get it. Really, she doesnt understand much of what's going on at all these days but she reaches out to try to help him out of the shrubbery,)
You aren't hurt, are you? L-let me see...!
no subject
I’m— I’m fine. [ just some dirt and scratches, but nothing that coaxes blood. wringing his fingers around the lower flaps of his simple button down, falco twists until the water squeezes out with a splat of the ground. ] Thank you, Miss. Um, [ important questions, but the boy tries to word them without it sounding too strange: ] I just moved in and got lost. Do you know the street we’re on-?
[ he hates to lie, but faking a story for his safety wasn’t above him. ]
no subject
(That doesn't stop her from awkwardly reaching out and trying to help with removing the leaves and twigs. The poor boy is completely soaked and she wonders if she can get him something else to wear,)
W-where we are? (She's only been here a day or two herself so she can't really answer with much confidence. Another world? Another realm?! She doesn't know! Ah, she can barely even answer what street they're on,) Uhm... I think... it's called something Sister? Big Sister? I-I'm sorry, I haven't been here f-for very long either...
(She takes a step back, giving him space for himself and she folds her hands neatly in front of her, fidgeting with her fingers anxiously,)
Y-you're soaked. We should find you s-something else to wear.
no subject
Do you know where? If you just moved too, um— [ there’s a quick look around, he fights the urge to hug himself when the breeze blows, ] we can ask for directions?
[ just not the house he came from. ]
no subject
There's the home I arrived in. (It wasn't much and it seemed largely unoccupied besides another who had arrived mysteriously like herself,) N-nothing in it belongs to us but if it's for something like this...
(It might be okay? It's... an emergency, right?
Until then, she undoes the clasp on her cloak and holds it out to him,)
Here. (It isn't much! At least, it doesn't feel like much to her but the material itself is a fine silk. Definitely something on the more expensive side, ) So you don't catch cold.
no subject
[ can silk get wet even? he doesn't know for sure, but he doesn't want to selfishly ruin her belongings, too. ]
no subject
I'm sure. (She's shy and timid but at least with this, she's certain,) Please, don't worry.
(And she's going to start to lead the way to her... house?? It feels weird calling it that but it's the best she can come up with for now.)
Uhm... this way.
(And she'll lead him down the street a bit towards an ordinary looking home.)
no subject
Thank you, Miss. [ but he coils it around his neck and fends off the breezes against his soaked clothes. the boy leaves a trail behind with each step, shivering but probably less than he would have with the winds directly hitting him. it's so soft too, he muses to himself. ] You didn't have to.
no subject
You need it more than me.
(So she had to. It's only natural as far as she's concerned.
But she'll try to hurry along, careful not to rush too quickly but still making her way towards the cottage briskly. Arriving, she calls out when she enters,)
Uhm, pardon the intrusion. (She can't quite bring herself to really say she's home. Removing her shoes, she looks him over. He's still dripping but... it's fine. A little water is nothing.) This way.
(To a bathroom! And she'll leave him there real quick to dip into one of the bedrooms to grab some clothes. A shirt and some pants, both far too big for him but honestly the best she can manage right now,)
Sorry... it's a little big.
no subject
he comes out fresh, barefoot, a little clammy but overall dry, returning her cloak into a neatly folded square . even if it needed washing, perhaps, it was separate from his own clothes, folding neatly on the bathroom floor and only waiting for his hands to be free. ]
It's— It's fine, look! [ who hasn't worn big clothes at least once in their life? he tries to reassure her, even with a small smile quirking his lips up and arms held out by his side. the sleeves certainly are larger than expected, cuffs dropping well past his wrists and pants needing a bit of a, um, fold around the mouth, but-! ] I wouldn't have dry clothes at all if it weren't for these. I'll just wait for mine to dry and—
[ he just needs to find someplace for his own to dry, but that could wait some. ]
I don't think I got your name, Miss-?
no subject
We can hang them outside to dry more quickly. I'm afraid we don't have a line or anything yet but at least we can hang them on the window?
(Who knows how long it'll take to dry off like that but it'll certainly be quicker than leaving them folded up. As for her name? She straightens her posture, holding her cloak in her arms neatly, and gives a bow-- natural and poised, like someone who's done this many times before,)
Forgive me, I never introduced myself. I'm Sakura. And you are?
no subject
I’m Falco. Thanks for doing all this for me, Miss Sakura. [ he gestures to his clothes, and makes to pick them up into his arms. ] I twisted them in the sink, if that’s okay.
[ so they’re easier to dry, even in the window. it sounds like a perfect idea, better than any he’s had. ]