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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!
no subject
M, my apologies! Once more! [he tries more delicately and controlled to remove himself from where he fell over her lap. At least she's given him a task to fulfill and Silas can focus in on that obedience instead of wallowing in his own shame.
The druid will manage to pull himself from the bath and to his feet. Steady on his boots this time, careful to not go sliding again, he feels his way back to the door. Nose looking thing on the far wall- he feels around until the little lever is under his fingers and he flips it upward with a click.
Then jumps in place as light pops on in the room. Oh! That's quite the trick!]
no subject
Later though, when he least suspects it.
Meanwhile, she waits for him to find the light, wincing a bit when the light flares, burning her eyes. Her hand comes up to cover her eyes, and she turns her head, hissing at the sudden ache.
Ouch. Yeah, she might have concussed herself, just a bit.]
No apologies, just do what you need. Mind giving me a hand up, flower boy? And getting some towels? I'm soaked.
[And cold. And bleeding.]
no subject
Mysteriously, all his clothing is bone dry. Had been soaked a moment ago, but already like nothing at all had happened to it. His hair and flowers and skin is still wet, where he dunked his head straight into the ice bath, but the clothing showed no evidence.]
H, here. This will absorb the water. Ah. You're bleeding. Sit down and I could heal that for you. I am a doctor, good miss... [that means he's Dr. Flower Boy!]
no subject
Though it really is weird that his clothing is fine. Pristine even. Well...at least not wet, like the rest of him. They both look like they're in a sorry state.]
On the edge, right?
[Gingerly, she moves to sit on its ledge, tightening her jaw so her teeth won't chatter. No weakness. Even with injuries!]
Though...don't mind me saying it, since I'm sure you hear it a lot but...you seem kind of young to be a doctor. How old are you? Or is it that you have a baby face?
[She's babbling, but she's alert, even if she is wincing from the light and shivering from the cold. It might be because she's only wearing a set of thin pajamas.]
no subject
I hear that often and I am twenty-five. Quite young for a Druid of my skill level... I do assure. I've had my magic long enough to master it fully. [he touches three finger tips over the injury and it doesn't so much as sting. A floral scent and a warming sensation spreads from the contact, spreading beneath quickly healed over abrasion to fix what was hurt beneath. Concussion be gone... quite the handy magic, quick and effective... and nice smelling!]
no subject
You tryin to sound modest? Because you sound rather proud of yourself.
[She's not disapproving; rather, she finds this funny. Even if she does wince a bit at the touch...huh. Nice smelling healing? She usually goes for the heat sensation...]
...you're a druid? Where from?
[Druids...she's heard of those, here, there, hither and yon.]
no subject
Confident. A patient will have no faith in my abilities if I do not.
[He clears his throat slightly, before offering his now gloved hand to her to shake]
I am a Druid of the Springtide Clan. A pleasure to meet you. My name is Silas. [you cannot escape these BOYS, Sokie]
no subject
Oh Everett, you were engaged to a cute boy, you himbo.]
Springtide? How illuminating. I've heard of your clan.
[She takes his hand, not asking about the gloves as she offers a firm shake. She knows she was lucky to even see his ungloved fingers for a moment.]
Sokie Undertown, former witch, always magic user, always clanless.
no subject
Are you of the Above World, good miss? I've not met another human from outside my own people. [they don't come visiting, really, the rare ones who did were usually swift to integrate into their culture, turned away from their own. Silas didn't consider those sorts to truly be outsiders... they seemed to know where they belonged.]
no subject
[She's cheerful as she speaks, even as he stammers and is unsure of himself. Seems that most of her grumpiness had to do with the cold and the wet, not with Silas himself.]
I met someone of Springtide, and was friends with them for awhile. We were in a bit of a strange situation...but I won't bore you with the details.
Do you live here?
no subject
Maybe, another time, he'll inquire gently...]
I see. Ah. No. I just awoke here. Mysteriously. Not more than a minute before hearing your yell of distress.
no subject
Gross.]
Aaaah. Well. It was cold.
[She jerked her chin towards the shower.]
I didn't expect to wake up in a bathtub. So...I guess we've both been kidnapped by mysterious forces, pretty boy.
no subject
That would seem. To be so. Madam Sokie.
[he'll make up for this by being far too overly formal, what a bold strategy]
no subject
[What a face she makes to that. She scoffs, and moves to gently pinch his cheek between her forefinger and thumb. Take that Silas!]
What, you don't like being called pretty? I thought we were getting along.