quietplacememes | TDM #003

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test drive meme!

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
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NAVIGATION

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{ arrival }

[ This isn't the station, and it isn't the mountain temple in China. She's landed somewhere new again, her life taking another unexpected turn, and unlike before, she's genuinely unsure whether it's a good turn or a bad one. Flinching away from those hands, she insists on doing whatever they want herself, explaining You can't touch my skin and fumbling through her disorientation as best she can. There won't be any more lives on her conscience, not if she has anything to say about it.

At least the jumpsuit they give her isn't grey, but dark green. Small blessings are all she can hope for these days.

As she walks through her new 'home', if it might ever be considered that, she stops to examine signs, doors, any small sign of soundproofing. She even bends to roll a bit of sand between her bare fingers, feeling the texture and already trying to think of other ways they might stay safe here. ]

{ settling in }

[ Aside from the creatures who apparently want to kill anything that makes sound, this place really isn't so bad. Everything seems better than what she'd faced in her original world, though, so Rogue wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she's in the minority with that opinion. It had been the same on Hyrypia with the other hosts; while she'd been thrilled at being out in the sun among other people, at being free, so many of them had focused on the downsides of their situation and how to get back home. Perhaps things would have been different if she'd had a home to go back to...

But she has been wondering something, craving it more like, so when she finally stumbles upon someone who doesn't look like they'd try to bite her head off for asking a question, she holds out her device for them to read:

I don't suppose there's any coffee around here?

{ falling down the stairs } cw: torture, imprisonment, death

[ The cold silver metal of the lab surrounds her, the usual sheen of Cerebro now dulled from years of being abused during the Sentinel War. She blinks up at the masked figures of today's batch of scientists, all of them covered head to toe but still seeming to have an air of satisfaction around them as they wheel out their most recent victim. Her most recent victim, the young man whose arm they had pressed to her own and held in place until he'd stopped breathing and her skin had glowed with his power while she cried. His mind had settled into her own and she'd apologized again and again as she stuffed him into yet another room in the endless hallways of the house in her mind, the place where hundreds of copied psyches now reside. Her tears fade as the bring out the scalpels again, unzipping the leg of her pants and slicing away strips of her skin to test before moving up to an arm, her stomach. Sample after sample, the pain is a welcome distraction from the agony in her soul.

Another mutant is wheeled in, then a baseline human, these victims only absorbed to the point of unconsciousness and not death. Again and again, the cycle continues, an endless string of experiments to unlock the secrets of her mutation to rid the planet of mutants once and for all.

The new hallway is an abrupt change, not matching any of the ones in her mind. But then she's falling, almost flying, and she wonders if this might finally be it - until she lands in that red dust. And suddenly there's someone else being pulled into that torture, someone there in that lab who never had been before, and she's sorry, so sorry. ]

{ wildcard }

[ You know the drill, show me what you've got! Feel free to hit me up via PM, over at

taintedcrimson or on discord at taintedcrimson#0896 to chat things out. ]

If not at the greenhouse then you'll have to take your chances with one of the other arrivals.

How pressing is your need?

Well, I won't DIE without it. It's just been a long time since I had any.

[ Truth be told, she might fight someone for a cup of coffee, even instant. But she's not telling that. ]

A relief, I'm sure. There's more than just caf in short supply here.

[ Plenty of terrible, terrible moonshine though. ]

[ Tone is always difficult to read over text, so she's not entirely sure, but was that sarcasm in there? ]

Everything was in short supply back home, so I guess it's a good thing I'm used to it already. Is there anything we do have decent stock of?

[ No more nor less than he ever is. Truthfully, he wouldn't mind a cup of something warm and caffeinated himself. ]

Alcohol. [ If they're being generous with the word. Really, it seems to have more in common with paint thinner. There's also the red drink from the recent festival, but that's unlikely to be volunteered to newcomers. ]

Try the pool. The food stores and greenhouse is kept there and the natives are generally accommodating.

[ Oh goodie, she'll love a generously termed 'alcohol' while longing for the smooth warmth of aged bourbon. Well, like with so many other things, she'll just have to manage. ]

Thanks, I appreciate the information.

Is there any particular food from before this that you're missing? I used to be good at cooking, I'm hoping I can figure something out here with what's available.

You're not the first to ask and I worked in the stores briefly before moving onto the paths.

Pakarna, though I'd take settle for a halfway decent meat pie.

I've never heard of pakarna, but I'm sure I could pull off a meat pie with the right ingredients.

It's a kind of spiced soup. Difficult to find the spices here though, I imagine.

And what would you have in exchange for this generosity?

A lot of things can be used for spices. You never know what we might be able to find. Though it might not be the same, and sometimes that's worse than not having it at all.

I don't need anything in exchange. You'd be giving me a purpose for doing something I enjoy - that's enough.

There's also the chance that it's better. Haven't had it in so long my memory might be mostly nostalgia at this point.

They'll soon put you to work. I've been trying to decide whether or not whoever handles the assignments is inspired or possessing a peculiar sense of humor.

"What the fuck is this bullshit?!" Seth demanded to know. As if suddenly being stripped from his clothes, being told to keep silent, dressed in fucking prison blues wasn't bad enough. Now he was being strapped to some gurney after landing in that damn red dust again.

It was sheer luck that his struggle knocked a tray of surgical tools over, sending them flying to various locations. A scalpel landed in reach of the woman they seemed to be experimenting on. Seth grabbed a hold of some other tool which he used against two before the third muscle stunned him with some kind of weapon.

Seth grabbed a hold of the woman who was on the table and finished losing consciousness. "The fu..." He didn't have any superpowers but a long history of fighting for survival. For a human, he was handing with a gun and good with throwing a punch. He could've made good use of the scalpel that had been in her reach.

[ the emptiness is jarring, a throbbing lack forming a migraine dissipating into a feeling of longing for the odd fullness that used to occupy his mental processes. a place for everything, and everything and everyone in their proper places, slotted in. but there's one presence in particular that flares bright in the back of his mind - the lingering scent of magnolias gone a little stale in the back of his mind, chocolate tasting sweet but bitter in the back of his throat.

he feels her before he sees her, and that should be jarring if he hadn't been doing it on the station since his arrival. the shape of her in their uniform jumpsuits is unmistakable, shock of white hair in her profile enough as he moves towards her with softened steps, heel-ball-toe and carefully choreographed. peter's worked in silence more times than he can count. he can handle, for once, not opening his mouth. ]

( Behind you, darling. )

[ he can feel the link, there and warm, and he strokes along it carefully as he approaches her. "hush" they'd said, but this counts, doesn't it? ]

[ The moment that presence flickers back into her mind, Rogue's heart just about stops. That thread of connection reaches out, pulls their minds close, and she feels that smoothness that feels like warm silk to her now. Like home. Someone who knows her, accepts her, even if they haven't been acquainted for very long at all.

Turning, it takes every ounce of control she has to not let out some sort of vocal exclamation, to keep her steps quiet as she closes that distance between them. She doesn't hesitate to fling herself at him like a reunited loved one, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tight, nothing but joy and affection washing from her mind toward his. ]

( Oh sugar, it's so good to see you. )

[ the moment she lunges, he braces and feels her press into him. it feels like an embrace and then an implosion of emotion, his own mirroring with fondness and affection as well. he breathes out as soundlessly as he can, fingers catching at her back, smoothing her hair as she holds fast. ]

( You’ve no idea. )

[ rather, she has every idea, mind racing to very carefully situate itself against hers again, as if it’s been eons instead of some unmarked spam of time. he parts from her only a moment to glance her up and down. ]

( No worse for the wear, it seems. ) [ a soft dusting of her shoulders, as if she’s got something on them, general fussing as he’s wont to do. ] ( And still very much attached... )

( Thank goodness for both of those. )

[ She doesn't mind that casual touch in the slightest, but rather basks in it and wraps the feeling around her. His touch is safe, the symbiotes ensuring their own survival by keeping her mutation from flaring up and harming him. She doesn't have to be afraid of his slipping into a coma, at least not one of her making. Her hands stay firmly in place, fingertips wrapped around fabric because he's not going anywhere just yet. ]

( And you? Are you alright? )

[ There's no one else she can feel in her mind, not yet, and she worries for him if he's lost the person he cares about most. These strange new circumstances they can handle just fine, but loss is a completely different story. ]

( Absolutely peachy. Green isn’t my favorite color, but function over fashion for the moment, hm? )

[ steel trap smile. he lets her cling to the fabric as he does the very same. clutching on to familiarity soothes so many nerves, but one remains bright hot, a thorn in the web of thumb and forefinger.

glass bends, warps a little, but remains smokey as ever, as he lets out a very soft refrain of someone’s name, unintelligible and murky. simple enough, two syllables. a soft shake of the head. it was like this when he’d come aboard the station, right? no juno. wherever he is, juno is spiteful enough to perhaps survive it. he’s faith enough in him to hold out hope for that much. so the longing and concern is a brief wash, a hand passing through gauzy curtains. ]

( Everyone else is very late. )

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TDM #003

rogue | x-men: days of future past (s72 crau)

settling in - un: socorro;

un: rogue

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falling down the stairs

arrival (it's me, just with a pb /thumbs up)

just with a pb, be still my heart

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