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quietplacememes2018-02-28 08:56 pm
bequiet) wrote in quietplacememes2018-02-28 08:56 pm
Entry tags:
TDM #003
TEST DRIVE MEME
You wake, standing. A thick, muddy red dust coats your skin and clothes - it sticks to your tongue and blocks your vision. Inhale and it chokes you, exhale and your breath puffs out in front of your face in a transparent maroon cloud. It tastes of copper, tangy and harsh. Movement is difficult, every limb tingles and aches. Look to your left, your right. Evenly spaced in each direction stands another person indistinguishable in every way from the next. You're disoriented and lethargic, unable to grasp onto a single thought. A pinprick of light blooms ahead and grows steadily larger; a door has opened.
Hands grip your wrists, push at the small of your back and guide you out of the darkness into a room with four walls and a thin, sagging ceiling. The plaster is peeling, the air is musty, and the floor is slick. White plastic piping juts up from the center and curves into multiple spouts, clean water flowing in uneven streams. Those hands pull your clothes off and clear the dust from your body, redress you in handsewn jumpsuits.
A finger is pressed to your lips. Kind eyes meet your own and a single word is whispered - hush.
Led out of the room in a line, you’re taken down a short hallway and into another, much larger room. There’s a woman waiting for you there, a child hugging her leg, and a cloth bag in her hands. She reaches in and pulls out a device, passes one to each of you. Once finished, she begins to move both hands in graceful gestures, a language. One of the people who helped you lifts their device and the screen lights up, tracks the woman’s hands. Letters appear on the screen and you understand the device’s purpose. She tells you what she knows and it’s not much.
This world is haunted. Noise attracts them, so it is not allowed. Communication is through body language, soundless writing, and the device. She tells you that your feet must be light and your mouth never used. There is a community outside these doors, where you can survive together, but only if you agree to one thing: complete and total silence. You'll have time to talk it over. Acceptance allows you to journey outside. The ground is marked in pathways of sand, lining the paths to each building and everywhere in between. You notice that the locals hold their devices always, aloft and glance to it often. It will not vibrate or make a sound to signal a message.
Notices appear. Rules. Guidelines. Feet on the sand and never anywhere else. To open a door you brush your fingers along the hinges - oiled and you may enter. If not, take the brush from the can sitting nearby and coat the metal with the dark liquid. You're to settle into your new home.
Caught me unawares
Content Warnings: Confusion, disorientation
Themes: Survival, horror, it's like groundhog day
The ending of the floor has caught me unawares. This must be the reason why I’m falling down the stairs.
That night, when you fall asleep, you dream of your life before The Quiet Place. At first it's the happiest moments of your life played on repeat, over and over. Everything good and sweet and fun. The second night, it's much the same. You go to bed anticipating another restful and pleasant sleep. But on the third night it changes.
For everyone, it starts the same. There's a long hallway with a door at the end. You walk towards it with nowhere else to go. You twist the knob and when you step forward, the floor ends and you fall. Falling lasts for seconds, minutes, or hours and when you land, it's with a jolt and a cloud of red dust all around you. There's someone else next to you, stumbling, coughing and choking on that familiar dirt that coats your tongue and mouth. When your eyes meet, everything blurs and you're falling again - this time, when you land, it's inside that dream from the first night. Only you're not alone. They're with you. The only way out is to experience the dream together. And when you do wake up, for real, that same red dirt is on your hands.
Falling down the stairs
Content Warnings: Confusion, disorientation
Themes: Survival, horror, it's like groundhog day
The ending of the floor has caught me unawares. This must be the reason why I’m falling down the stairs.
That night, when you fall asleep, you dream of your life before The Quiet Place. At first it's the worst moments of your life played on repeat, over and over. Everything bad and sour and awful. The second night, it's much the same. You go to bed anticipating another restless and dreadful sleep. But on the third night it changes.
For everyone, it starts the same. There's a long hallway with a door at the end. You walk towards it with nowhere else to go. You twist the knob and when you step forward, the floor ends and you fall. Falling lasts for seconds, minutes, or hours and when you land, it's with a jolt and a cloud of red dust all around you. There's someone else next to you, stumbling, coughing and choking on that familiar dirt that coats your tongue and mouth. When your eyes meet, everything blurs and you're falling again - this time, when you land, it's inside that nightmare from the first night. Only you're not alone. They're with you. The only way out is to experience the nightmare together. And when you do wake up, for real, that same red dirt is on your hands.
OOC
From your mods:
Please remember to mark your content in your starters or subject lines as material comes up. The threads on this meme can be used as game canon. Feel free to thread out arrival style meetings as well! If you have questions, pp the mod account, use the faq or comment below. Have fun!
sansa stark : a song of ice and fire/game of thrones
[Once the dust has cleared (in all ways literal and not) it's easier terms to accept than she would have once thought. She'd been soundless before and not by choice, though that had only been weeks and this was...
...well, she couldn't say how for long it might be. And that was the worst part of it, truly, now that she'd had time to think, to turn the little device over in her hands, to inspect and unlock what secrets she could, all the while comparing it to the three that came before it - yes, the worst part were the slow waves of memory that returned - both of her own home and of the in between places that peppered those memories: two strange and oft dangerous, unpredictable lands and one hell.
Which is this, then?
Odds were it very well could be a hell.
Inspecting too, her hands, the faint lines of scarring not quite as visible as they once were - the trace of a symbol or word etched into her skin, worrying at the corner of her lip with her littlest finger, still absent its tip.
Worrying at the growing ache in her breast, needling at it - the realization that she is alone again and wolfless. It would be unnatural, and maybe cruel to subject Lady to such silence, wouldn't it? Ghost would not be bothered by it, and Jon would likely have---
---that hits her harder, her brother (half, he's only half) with the memory of Arya on its heels, gained and lost to her all over again.
The wince is instinctual and she's swallowing hard but does not cry out - it's all ache and coppering ashes in her mouth. A mouth which sets into a hard line - fingers on the keys and grasping hard - all the anger and sadness and bitter disappointment that's risen up in the wake of those memories - unknowingly firing off a senseless string of text.]
un: ladystark
u9nv; kfk f;ojSF ;;;L'SJDKLF
caught me unawares; all worlds intertwine
[The faint taste of mulled wine and lemoncakes - the gentle whine of a wolf sleeping at her feet. She wakes in pile of finely stitched pillows (some with intricate patterns, some with unkind words - there's a "shit" in there that elicits a smile) and the scent of slightly burnt bread drifting through the loft. Laughter, hers and theirs - Jon and Arya and the clang of steel on stone (not inside, stop it, you'll break---) - the faint hum of something more - someone more and the pillows are not pillows but whispering leaves - bright red and dusted with snowfall as she wakes once again.
In a godswood under what should be the shadow of a weirwood tree, her eyes open on sunlight and snowfall all at once. The drift tickles her face - it's the ghost of a wolf's kiss - the echo of a lost rabbit - no, it's Winterfell and she is building a snowcastle with your father, standing beside him as he breathes magic and life into an unreal imagining of the glass gardens, a snowball in her hand at the ready for...
...for...
Until it isn't - it's just a path and a door and red dust where the leaves should be. A stranger, and then---
---and then it is again, but:]
Don't spoil it!
falling down the stairs; you've dreamt this before (cw violence, all kinds of nope and abuse)
nightmare option is here because long post is really long
wildcard;
[Hit me with it, ok.]
UN: nymeria (hello sister! \o/ )
[Arya doesn't answer straight away, not wanting to dare to hope that this is who she suspects it might be. She's already met another Stark who isn't her family. Even if she liked Tony, he isn't a Stark of Winterfell. But there must still be a fraction of hope left in her somewhere deep because she finally types back.]
you're very articulate, lady stark.
ALL THE HELLOS \o/
She almost smiles a fraction at the reply - better a jape than an outright insult - until she fixes her eyes on the name.
The name.
Gods be good, I---
But who else might choose such a name, of all the names she'd heard in duplicate or more - Stark for sure, it'd been almost commonplace by the time she'd found herself in the world of Clock, but Nymeria? She can't be wholly sure, but she's so close to it - they're at least familiar with her world, even if just through hearing the name from...
...from Nymeria herself, or anyone who might have known of her. Or Arya. (Another Arya or the same? I...it doesn't matter.)
It could be. It could.
Her mouth is dry again as if full of dust, and her knees weaken as she shifts on the sandpath. Looking over her shoulder from the direction she had come: nothing. No one watching her. Everything still, silent.]
It cannot be said that I don't know my letters. But as to what order they fall in...
💩 💩 💩
[If she knew the faces, they might share the same memories of Clock and of Jon and of Lady Lyanna. Of...
...and if not, it still didn't matter. If mymeria was Arya, any Arya at all she was her sister. And though it can't be seen in the confidence of her words, she's trembling a little as she types this next part:]
Are you familiar with the tale of Nymeria and her Ten Thousand Ships? Or of the lesser known tale where she stuffed her elder sister's mattress with sheep dung?
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And then the next message comes and a grin spreads across her face and she also must furiously fight off a snicker. It is her! It doesn't occur to Arya that this could be another Sansa. Another sister from another life. She isn't aware that's even a possibility worth considering.]
Lesser known tale, perhaps. But no less important! I like to think she did it because she thought it would make her sister smell better. She was being thoughtful. And because her sister had made a snide comment about her stitching.
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Arya!
[Now Sansa's smiling. Thoughtful was one way to describe it - and it wasn't really a lie. She'd no doubt many thoughts had preceded the prank. (And many snide comments, if truth be told. It's been so long she can barely remember specific incidents, though she's well aware of how dismissive and condescending she'd been. For Arya, the memories could very well be fresh - so she addresses it.]
I'm very sorry about the things I said. I like to think I said them because I was a spoiled child who didn't know any better, and gods be good I didn't know you at all. If I'd wanted to insult you I should have criticized your marksmanship.
Where can I find you? Or should you find me? You're better at that than I am.
[If Lady were with her, she could surely do it.]
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[But Sansa is here. Not that Arya wants to subject her sister to this world either, but she can handle it far better than her wolf. And it's good to have someone rather than being alone yet again. It does mean Arya will have to protect her as best she can, but this isn't much of a hardship. Arya wants to do it as much as she buts heads with Sansa.]
You wouldn't have anything to insult about my marksmanship, though! [Arya's always had a very high opinion of her skill, even when she was younger and it wasn't nearly as warranted.]
Gods, I was always awful at sewing. But honestly I did a bad job on purpose. But that wasn't exactly a well hidden secret. I'm sorry too. I know I wasn't the easiest little sister. [Perhaps putting it mildly.] Oh, you'll never guess the job the natives have tasked me with here. I think someone was playing a joke.
Knitting. KNITTING. [She can probably change another role if she kicks up enough fuss, but thus far she hasn't really been doing this assigned job much to begin with, so it hasn't mattered.]
I can find you. Describe your surroundings. I know this place fairly well. I've been exploring.
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[It might seem strange to Arya now depending on what had gone before, the wheres and the whens of it. Sansa had not been so easy with her sister since they were both very, very small - and she knows she'll have to broach it eventually, though how much she might have to tell is an uncertainty. It's overwhelming when she thinks on it too long. I've done it before, I can do it again, even if I can't say it aloud. Maybe that's better, maybe---]
No, not the easiest sister. Neither of us were. You were so stubborn. But you also knew what you wanted and what you didn't, and you didn't care who knew it. You weren't a liar, and I always knew when you were displeased with me, even if I didn't know why.
Knitting? Truly? :-? (I don't know the little face for laughing, but I would place it here tenfold if I did.) Did they just task you without asking? That's not very sensible at all. Though, I suppose I could try my hand at it. Both of my hands, even.
There are many buildings nearby, but there's one that's covered in warnings not to enter. I've moved away from that one and have no inclination to go inside. I'm across from it. Am I safe?
[I might warn you that I may not look how you remember me. she almost adds, but it's not important. It may not matter at all.]
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[There's so much that's happened, it's easy to forget how important their squabbles had seemed at the time. Now it's all like a dream, all so ludicrous and unimportant. What did it matter who tripped whom or spat, kicked, or prodded... They were alive. They had each other. All of that didn't matter.]
The did assign it to me without asking, yes! Maybe I could ask to become a sandpath technician or a member of the patrol instead.
I know where you are. By the theatre. You'll be safe there as you are anywhere here, just don't go inside. Stay on the sandpath. I'll be there soon. [Arya doesn't waste any time. She gets on her newly returned leathers, Needle too, the Dagger at her hip. And she's off in the direction she expects to find her sister. What will she find when she get's there?]
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arrival / un: gg
Try again.
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I didn't mean to send it. I was holding this little machine very tightly and I'm sure you can guess the rest, even if you can't read minds. Do they have a name, these devices?
I am a little overwhelmed, gg. Maybe more than a little, when I think on it. Did you only just arrive, too?
arrival - un: socorro;
[ Kylo Ren pushes to his feet, dusting sand from his gloved hands. He's a big man, well over six foot, with dark hair and eyes and a scar that bisects one half of his face.
He points a hand toward one of the paths, ] The fountain is that way and should be safe enough to drink from.
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Scars are a thing that now occupy her thoughts in ways they never used to - both the ones on the outside and the ones on the inside that were sometimes harder to see. She's not green enough to assume he'd acquired them from a hell like she had - she's well aware of other possibilities than her own narrow experience.
Off guard, cautious - a little embarrassed - it's easy enough to read before she composes herself, stops shy of a small curtsy (in a jumpsuit it feels ridiculous) and manages a polite nod instead.]
Thank you kindly, ser. I wasn't expecting this.
[A gesture toward - well, everything around her, really. No matter how many times it happened it still was a shock - and why shouldn't it be? She takes a step toward the path, turns back, unsure:]
Did you wish to go together?
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[ His last memory had been of wrestling with Rey for control of his grandfather's lightsaberㅡhe hadn't wanted it, not then, but had recognized that as soon as she had it back she would leave and they would again fall back into being enemies, resolved to destroy each other. Something he'd hoped to avoid.
Except that things were far from that simple.
He glances back at the path, debating whether or not it would be worth abandoning for the sake of one frightened girl, then his attention shifts back to Sansa, his head inclining. ]
If you'd like.
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What to say is what's more appropriate, which is just ...not amusing but something darkly close.
Could be not so much a hell as a lesson. Hadn't she fallen back into secrecy and silence just before her arrival here? Well...]
I think I would.
:-? :-)
[She uses the little faces - one for 'well, i don't even know what i'm thinking' and the other plain enough in its smile (to her, at least) out of old habit - and maybe because this stranger reminds her just a little, of Jon even if on a surface level (the scar, his hair, all that black - something else she can't quite place) - and because she's wolfless, and lonely, and reaching. It's a long time since she's allowed herself to do the latter. She does so literally now, extending an elbow if he wishes to take it.]
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Someone of status, then. ]
I am called Kylo Ren, [ it's said as he takes her arm, falling into step beside her. ]
caught me unawares
Her brow raises at the warning. Don't spoil it!
Well it's not like she meant to be here, when she could be navigating her own hellscape of a dream. At the rate this place is going, she won't be surprised to be dropped into the Void and for the Outsider to welcome her with another vague speech.
She climbs to her feet and looks over what she's not meant to disturb. There's... warmth here. Happiness. A family. It makes her long for her mother, taken too soon from her. It makes her long for Corvo, and she hopes that one day she'll see her father again. Whether it's here or back home, she doesn't care anymore.
Emily glances over at the girl whose mind she's intruded on.] I'm not trying to.
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I'm sorry. Forgive me, please, I just---
---I thought it would all vanish again and I...I don't want it to.
[She's unused to this. Her dreams have been put on display for all to see and sometimes even feel before - long ago but suddenly raw just now - but she's never had someone else inside them like this.]
Who are you?
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Her fist closes around a melting flake as she turns back to the girl. A little lady, by Emily's guess. The jumpsuits are always the same, and individuality in clothing only comes once the natives secure their clothing. But it's more in the way she carries herself, in the way she talks. She'd know another noble when she saw them.]
Hold tight to this dream. Reality here is far worse.
[She gives a slight nod of her head.] I'm Emily Attano. [Only a slight lie, but it rolls off her tongue as easily as the truth. Her father is an Attano.] And you are?
unawares!
The first thing he notices is the sounds. Household sounds, like when he wakes up in the morning to Aunt May making breakfast. Then, his gaze drifts, taking in the stone walls and the fancy bed with red hair spilling over. And oh god oh god oh god he's in a girl's bedroom. He's in a girl's bedroom alone with a girl (!!!) for the first time and he didn't knock; he just opened the freakin' door like he owned the place. The dream is moving, ever shifting, and yet —]
Wha — Sorry! [ hands up in surrender!! ] I'm not gonna — [ ruin it? ] — I didn't know it was your room, honest!
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[A cough and a huff and a blink and just how is it that her mouth is full of dust again? She braces for the hallway - for anything, really - and only when it doesn't come does she add:]
---it isn't. What I mean is...it was.
W-why is it not falling away again? Are you doing this? Making it stay?
arrival, un: jonsnow
is something the matter with your fingers?
[he's genuinely concerned. frostbite is seldom far from his mind.]
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Only that they haven't found yours.
I squeezed the little machine and it made nonsense letters. I was angry.
[She's not anymore. Maybe a fraction, but it's so buried beneath the tumult of this - of Jon and of the hope that maybe he'll stay, whichever Jon Snow might be.]
Where are you? Are you all right?
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Sansa. :) I'm coming to get you. It's hard to make my way without Ghost.
[he snaps (not literally, the camera mechanism is silent) a picture of his surroundings and adds it to the message.]
I'm well enough. I'd be better if I had my sword. Longclaw's missing and they won't give me anything to use in the meantime. Are you all right?
[he assumes she is, or she would have asked for help, but it's hard to know sometimes, since she got back from the eyrie.]
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(what if he doesn't remember? if he's been somewhere terrible since? what if--- stop it. she'll deal with that as it comes, there's no point in this line of thinking.)]
I'm by a fountain. I've been quiet as instructed. I don't think it's a lie, but it could be. :-?
I don't like that they would leave us without defense. Lady's not with me, either. Nor the blade that you gave me. Do you remember giving me it?
[And the lessons? And ...all of it, really. And she doesn't like the idea of rendering people weaponless. It's ...unfair. Which WELP - she almost laughs aloud at because of all the things these places can and have been - fair's not really on the list.]
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Of course. Did you give it a name? We should have saved Needle for you. :)
They're afraid. The fear isn't a lie. I don't know that they have weapons to give us. Even stone blades need an edge knocked off. [ygritte had made arrowheads this way. he thinks he could do it, if he had to.] A forge is a noisy place. And then they say these things are too quick to be cut. But they haven't tried. That's what worries me. They couldn't tell me anything about them. Or they wouldn't.
[he comes to the fountain and takes a breath. he doesn't like that he can't call out to her. it feels too much like sneaking. he'd feel awful if he startled sansa. so he awkwardly raises his hand, like he might hail his rangers. it has a big stick in it.]