TDM #003

[bequiet]

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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Comments

[paragon]

[ He sees Peggy again, for a moment, when she comes nearer. He doesn't know whether he ought to feel grateful that she isn't. But it is, in the end, just a dance hall. Her dress is too elegant. He watches her lift her hand to her ear and realizes he's not the only one for whom the noise is painful. Her hand is covered in red dust. She doesn't belong here either. ]

Just a dream I've been having. [ He tries to offer a wry pull to the corner of his mouth, though it turns into a wince at the peal of a trumpet. ] Not sure how you got pulled in. Probably has to do with this.

[ He brushes his hands together, the dirt becoming motes of rust in the air beneath them. ]

[monomachy]

[A dream, then. This is the first time she's been trapped in a dream, and hopefully it will be the last. The flashbulbs are too bright, the noises too sharp, everything seeming to spin even though they're standing still. It makes her feel ill, and she has to keep her gaze on his face so she doesn't get dizzy.]

Not a very pleasant one.

[Diana holds up her hands as he does, and rubs the dust together between her fingers. She doesn't exactly know its significance, but it has to mean something if it's followed them into this dream. She risks a look around, and can't help but feel unsettled by the faces around her.]

What is this, anyway? [She lifts a hand to gesture about.]

[paragon]

A dance hall. [ A wine cork pops, and it sounds inexplicably like a gunshot. There are other things, in the real world, that sound similar, and he knows how to keep them from eliciting a reaction — these sounds are still a part of his daily life — so he doesn't know why it unmans him in this place. And now for someone else to see.

He doesn't disagree with her assessment, but had proffered his answer immediately, not surprised that she didn't know. They've gone out of fashion. Perhaps it's in the interest of trying to distract them both that he continues; maybe he just knows it doesn't tell her much. ]

They're celebrating. The end of the war, going home. [ She's trying not to look away from him, he notices, and he meets her eyes in turn. ] I never did. It's not real. [ He lets out a breath, uncharacteristically shaken. ] I'm sorry. It might help if we dance. [ An odd thing to say, but there's nothing disingenuous or leering in his expression. ]

[monomachy]

[Diana can't hide her flinch at the cork; she takes half a step closer to him, if only to put herself further away from the sound. She hasn't even realized that one of her arms has jolted partway up, preparing to deflect the bullet that isn't there.

The end of the war. She feels as if her breath leaves her, and all she can see is Steve's face in the black-and-white picture, his pilot's hat smartly atop his head. Her eyes focus on the man in front of her again, and the blue of his eyes is too much. It hurts her to see--but she can't look away. Her voice is quiet, hardly a murmur above the din around them.] I remember. [People cheering, kissing, and yes--dancing. London hadn't seemed so ugly then.

She looks over this strange man in his crisp uniform, and all she sees is a black-and-white photograph. Her heart aches, and it's too much. She can't think. Can't breathe.

Diana nods, arms lifting the way she remembers being shown.]

Yes. Let's dance.

[paragon]

[ He recognizes a defensive move when he sees it, even if he can't tell its exact purpose. Maybe it doesn't have one; maybe it's just an instinct borne of shell shock. He also recognizes a fellow soldier when he sees one. Regardless, the more deliberate movement of her arms speaks even more clearly, and Steve takes her hand, lets her settle the other on his shoulder.

Immediately the din lessens, not just becoming quieter but muted, muffled. He's not sure why it works — this woman isn't Peggy, or the ghost of her in his head — but it does focus his own grief within the circle of their arms. He'd never really had this dance, but he'd watched Bucky spin a dame around a room enough, and perhaps something about it being a dream helps make it easier to know how to lead her. ]

You shouldn't've gotten caught in it.

[monomachy]

[Somehow, when he takes her hand and she feels the solidity of his shoulder beneath her palm, the world shrinks a little. But in a good way. It's easier to focus on him and his voice, and to block out the bedlam around them. Diana takes a deep breath, steadying her nerves. This is his dream, and part of her believes that perhaps he has some kind of control over what's happening.

But perhaps she's just being optimistic.

The last person Diana had danced with was General Ludendorff, and she'd been preparing to kill him. And before that had been a dance with Steve, one that had been slow and just a sway, really, but had made her heart race. This experience is entirely different from either of those. She doesn't know how to describe it, exactly, except as perhaps a sort of... relief.

She doesn't know how to dance--at least, not in mankind's way. But he seems to know what he's doing, and possibly for the first time in her life, Diana lets someone else lead her. They're of equal height, so it's easy to keep her gaze focused on him once they're close like this, and easier to react to what he's said. She shakes her head a bit, the slightest of smiles crossing her lips, wry.]

It isn't the first time I've gotten caught in something I shouldn't have. [Her smile grows, just a bit.] And at least now, you aren't alone.

[paragon]

[ And this isn't the first time he's heard that — not even the second — and he's a man who's adapted easily to the sensibilities of the time he's found himself in, but he still thinks there's something to be said for women's intuition, or at least their willingness to speak these things aloud. For his part it doesn't bear mentioning, and he knows maybe it's just because he can't bear it. So he only offers her a similarly reserved smile, nothing more or less, in acknowledgment. ]

I know a little of what that's like. [ An echo of Peggy's words to him, in her typical British understatement. He's not unaware he's doing it, whether it comes more readily because of the dream or not. Everything certainly feels real, more like the vision it originally was than a dream. He can feel the silk of this woman's dress under his hand, and experimentally he lets go to guide her into a spin, but it doesn't invite the noise back in. ]

Normally I'd ask a woman her name before asking for a dance, [ he says apologetically, once she's back in his arms. Not that he's ever danced. He's not sure this even counts. ]

[monomachy]

[There is a familiarity in his words, the feeling that she's heard them before but can't put her finger on where or from who. Perhaps it's the dream muddling up her memories, or perhaps it's a feeling she's made up on her own. Either way, it's strangely comforting to hear, and she glides into the spin easily, with far more grace than she might have done in the waking world. As if she already knows the steps.

Her boots, supple leather covered by hardened steel, don't seem to make a sound on the dance hall's wooden floor.

Diana returns to the circle of his arms, grateful to have never left the odd safety their closeness had brought. His apology is acknowledged with the slightest nod, but she doesn't seem bothered in the least by his perceived rudeness. Instead, she smiles at him--and even though she can't muster one as wide as she might have any other time, there's still a brilliance to it that gives the strange atmosphere a bit of light.]

My name is Diana.

[paragon]

[ He suspects she's an inherently graceful woman, whether she knows the steps or not. Though there's still a readiness, an awareness of his surroundings that's unsettled because their surroundings are unsettling and will remain so, some of the tension eases from his jaw, from around his eyes. Her smile doesn't hurt; it makes this feel a bit less like a nightmare, like being trapped in the worst parts of his own head. ]

It's good to meet you, Diana. [ Not just a formality, as far as he's concerned. He's profoundly grateful for her presence here, even if he wouldn't have wished it on her if he'd had the choice. ]

Steve, [ he offers in return. ]

[monomachy]

[She wonders, idly, what kind of life he's led to dream this sort of place. There had never been time for her to learn much about mankind during the war; they had always been on the move, weaving their way across the ruined landscape of the Front. All she'd seen was destruction, and she hadn't been able to imagine much else. The only real taste of society she'd had was in London, and she couldn't say she'd found it very palatable.

Steve.

Her thoughts are shattered by just his name, and though her feet continue moving, the rest of her stills. Diana's breath catches, and the corners of her vision blur for a split second. How could a name hold so much power? But no, it isn't just the name. It's the eyes, the way he holds himself, the cut of his uniform. For a fleeting moment, she sees Steve Trevor's face, feels his arms around her, and hears his laugh as he tells her she might as well learn how to dance.

The feelings rush in and rush back out in what seems like centuries, but is really only a few seconds.

This Steve's face returns, and Diana remembers where she is and who she is not with. A deep breath, a realization that her smile had vanished, and she composes herself, finding her tongue.]

It's good to meet you, Steve.

[The words are steadier than she thought possible.]

[paragon]

[ He knows all about keeping your voice steady when it seems like something inside of you is falling apart. This dream, this vision, whatever it is — it's a glimpse past that facade. This place is where none of that does any good. When she's able to see him again, any relief he's been allowed at not finding himself alone here is edged by sadness, because he can see he's only pulled her into his grief.

It's why he so often fails to share it. Bleeding on other people does no one any good. ]

You lost someone?

[ His mouth presses into a grim line, but his eyes are open and watching her. ]

[monomachy]

[Diana recognizes the look on his face. It's the same one she'd seen from Etta and the others after they'd made it back to London. She knows she's not the only person to lose somebody in the war, or even that she suffered more because of it. When it comes down to it, she had hardly known anything about Captain Steve Trevor outside his mission and tendency toward reckless heroism.

But somehow, that had been enough.

With that look on his face, she's able to more decisively separate the Steve she's dancing with from the Steve in her memories. It helps, even if only a little.]

I did.

[Perhaps it isn't so hard to say because she's in someone else's dream, someone she's never met and may never see again. Someone who won't give her that look every time she sees him.]

He died in the war. He didn't have to, but he did.

[The I couldn't save him is left out, a personal torture for herself. She still thinks she could have done it--destroyed the plane and defeated Ares. But that reckless heroism she had loved so much had won out over his faith and her, and wondering if he was right keeps her up sometimes.]

[paragon]

[ There's the flash of another, more muted blue dress out of the corner of his eye, but when Steve looks it's gone. He doesn't need the reminder; or it's there because he already knows. It hadn't been until after the ice that he'd fully been able to understand what his sacrifice had done to Peggy — well, there hadn't exactly been time to comprehend it before he'd gone down, aside from a platitude about it being his choice thrown back in her face, maybe. But he's not sure he would've gotten it, given all the time in the world before being faced with her grief and guilt. She'd moved on, had a life, but in her less lucid moments when the past was as near for her as it was for him, he'd seen that his choice had been hers to bear.

He supposes he'd always thought that he was capable of giving a meaning to his death that his body before constantly threatened to render inconsequential. He'd always had an eye for the big picture. It had been his one comfort after waking up: he'd saved lives. Peggy's grief turned out to be greater than that small comfort, even if he couldn't and wouldn't take it back. She was still part of the world he'd left behind. ]

He must have thought you were worth it, [ he says quietly. ]

[monomachy]

[For a few seconds, Diana just listens to the music. Somehow, it's less garish and grating than it had been moments ago. Perhaps it's because she's focused on Steve rather than the noise surrounding them. Or maybe it's just that all her senses have dulled a bit as she continues trying to focus on the man in front of her and not the one she'll only ever see in dreams.

It's a strange thing for him to say, she thinks, but he isn't quite wrong. Steve had done what he had to protect her--and, in turn, the rest of humanity. But how could she explain that to someone who hadn't been there? How could she tell someone that Steve had thought mankind would be better off with her than with him?

That seems somehow conceited and cruel, but she can't quite put her finger on why.

Instead, she settles on a fairly neutral answer. She doesn't notice the way her vision blurs from stifled tears.]

He must have.

[paragon]

[ With that, the music stops. Or disappears, along with the band and their instruments, the rest of the dancers, all gone like they never were, at least not for him. He's not surprised. Now it's a place meant to hold her uncertainty and, if she's anything like him, her displacement.

At least it's not so loud anymore, though he can't say that gives him much relief. ]

Thanks for the dance, Diana.

[ He regrets that it hurt her, but is grateful that it was slightly more bearable than usual. ]

[monomachy]

[Diana's eyes go a little wide when everything stops. The soundless room is somehow deafening, and she almost wishes for the din around them to begin again.

She realizes, now, that there's no longer a reason for them to be standing as they are. But she doesn't let go of his hand quiet yet, preferring, at least for a moment, that they stay close.]

Thank you, Steve.

[She manages to say his name without sounding like it wounds her heart to do so.]

For the dance, and the kindness.