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worldofmemeness2016-09-30 05:31 pm
modmachine) wrote in worldofmemeness2016-09-30 05:31 pm
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE 01
Don't feel limited to the scenarios presented - make up your own prompts as much as you want! Reserves will open on the 7th and Applications on the 15th. In a grassy square in the Central District, wedged in between dorm halls, there is a tree. Far wider than it is tall, its leaves are just beginning to turn from yellow to orange, with a few green stragglers near the top and a growing carpet on the grass beneath it. At one end of the tree's reach, there is a picnic table, the sort with benches built in to either side. Anywhere under the boughs, a distinct ticking, like the sound of a clock, can be heard. Moving about makes it clear that the sound is loudest nearest the trunk. Numerous small gears stick out of twists between branches, though they do not appear to move to the naked eye. Someone has hung a string of orange lights in the branches for Halloween, along with some cotton spiderweb. No matter how closely you look, there doesn't seem to be an end where the lights plug in to anything. Otherwise, there is nothing unusual about the decorations. In the center of the table, half-covered by leaves, there is an iron plaque that has not been particularly well-treated for rust. Some of the writing on it is almost legible. It is chill to the touch. Someone's carved their initials and a date into the end of one bench - Abandoned vehicles are by no means an unusual sight in the Sixth District. Abandoned buses are slightly more unusual. This particular bus has boarded up windows, a black light string hanging over the windshield, and the words HAUNTED HOUSE written along the side, where the old inoffensive public-transit advertisements have been painted over. The front door serves as the entrance; the back leads into the wrecking yard and the haunted "house" proper. A girl in her late teens in slightly unsettling gothic lolita sits in a cheap folding chair around the front of the bus. She doesn't charge admission, though there is a candy bowl labeled for Donations on the card table next to her with a few bills and some change in it, in the center of a group of candles that burn in skull holders. She reminds everyone who passes her to please not touch the actors or props inside. Occasionally, mist from a smoke machine on the other side of the wooden fence billows around her ankles, almost seeming to form caressing fingers running down her legs. Across the street from her, two men sit in a beaten up old pickup truck, the much taller man smoking cigarettes with the windows open. The shorter man fidgets almost uncontrollably, constantly glancing in the direction of the girl and her bus. Their voices aren't loud enough to hear distinctly from the haunted house side of the street, but the woman at the bus entrance shoots them occasional looks none-the-less, alternating between pleased smiles and blank stares. Painted along the sides of the truckbed, in much dirtier letters than those of the haunted house, is the phrase NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH. In a bar downtown, it's not much different from any other night of clubbing, except that everyone is wearing masks. Ranging from the elegant custom work of a nearby boutique (conveniently open even after sundown tonight, if you need to pick one up) to cheap colored paper held on with elastic handed out at the door of the bar, masks are the must-have accessory tonight. Indeed, many of the parties won't let you in if you don't have one. Those paying careful attention might notice little dots of red on the necks of some of the partiers, especially those who seem a bit pale and have called off drinking for the night. Aside from that, though, it doesn't seem like anyone's really getting hurt; it's just a fun time for everyone. Except for the poor guy who made the mistake of wearing an owl mask and yellow contacts, anyway. Just within hearing range of the beating bass of the clubs, a young woman in a red jacket holds a mask in her hands, turning it over and sometimes holding it to her face to look at in a window reflection. The long face of it calls to mind some kind of black dog, perhaps a Doberman or German Shepherd. She isn't dressed at all for an evening at the clubs, and has a canvas bag slung over her shoulder with the shape of heavy books straining the fabric at the bottom. Not everyone seems to be getting into the spirit. A playground near the center of the city has precious few decorations - save for a spiderweb on one of the swingsets that seems to be natural, not man-made. A pumpkin or two have been left near the edges, but they're all smashed, the orange guts running along in a streak that seems to blend into a thin line surrounding the entire perimeter. The see-saw looks like the board's been freshly painted, but otherwise all of the equipment looks almost lonely and old. The rust on the metal stains everything an orange-red, and the slide in particular seems the worst hit. Still, everything is at least standing, and those who attempt to play on it will find it sturdy and warm in the cool night. ... Except for the merry go round. That one seems to be bent, as if someone very heavy sat on the edge. It still turns, but it wobbles dramatically, with horrible squeaking noises. Still, it's usable, for anyone who would like to play. | |
no subject
"Y'mean t'tickin' it's doin'? Y'don't suppose it's jus' a college project...like some kinda unfinished grandfather clock, d'ya?"
[A small pause, followed by a small shake of his head in disappointment of his own suggestion.]
"Nah...that'd be too easy. Ain't nothin' ever easy like that. What're yer thoughts, eh?"
no subject
She pauses before replying to his next question. "This whole city is... strange. It's as if-" she cuts herself off before she can say what she's thinking, that it's in the future, or even another world. Maybe here, she's the one from the past. "... as if it's almost familiar." She finally finishes with a truth, but not the truth she was going for.
no subject
[He said with a light chuckle, not being able to resist another Wonderland quote. He rolled his shoulders slightly to keep them from stiffening too much from the cold, though he did give the woman a sidelong glance once she made that particular comment.]
"Y'feel it too, eh? 'S like someone slapped a mask on'a corpse an' started paradin' it 'round like it were still livin'. I've seen plenty'a things in my time, but even I'm feelin' right uncomfortable here."
no subject
"What kinds of things have you seen?" It's a change of subject, and hopefully not an unwelcome one. Something about this place gives her an uneasy feeling. Maybe if they talk too much about those feelings, something will notice.
no subject
[He looked vaguely amused by the notion. It wasn't very often he ran into a complete stranger that would have even the smallest clue as to what he was about to say...but hey, it might be some good catharsis.]
I've seen'a New York jus' like this, familiar but wholly alien. Trees'n streets, vines through windows, a real jungle t'replace the concrete one I grew up in. A beast I've only ever felt breathin' down my neck as I ran, a tower'a stone scalin' up past t'clouds, a room filled with markin's from ages I can't even imagine, now includin' my own.
[He finally brought a hand back out to remove the cigarette from his mouth, blowing a small ring out into the cold air as he recalled his awakening. He hadn't shared the experience with anyone now that he thought about it.]
An' that's jus' t'beginnin'.
no subject
"... Boston. I'm from Boston. It... the tower, full of markings, it was there. But it wasn't a jungle." She remembers feeling like she was losing everything. A little hand, too hot, then too cold. A fever of her own. She's not sure how much of it was real, she was half-delusional. She thought she was dying, and came to accept that. But she remembers the lifting of the weight, and the tower. That felt real. "It was dark. And cold. And there were- there were whispers. I told them a story, just nonsense, and they quieted like children." She pauses before continuing. "I thought I had nothing left. But now... It scares me. Something's different. But there's a weight off of my shoulders, something that was always there, before."
no subject
Well, I'll be, didn't think I'd be meetin' any others round here. Hippocrates of the Adamantine Arrows,at yer service.
[He said with a smile, offering his hand for a cordial shake while offering his shadow name as he had been taught to.]
I know all 'bout that, lemme tell you. I don't much understand things m'self, but y'learn t'move with it after a time; y'seem t'be handlin' things in stride, all things considered.
no subject
She pulls away somewhat suddenly, not sure what to make of this. He's being very familiar, and the world is so strange. It's clearly not hers, or at least not her time. And these clothes! It's all so unfamiliar. "I... I believe I'm either still very feverish or I'm out of my time. And now you insist that I'm something, I don't understand what. What happened to me?"