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

[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.