![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
expiationmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
expiationmeme2023-08-06 09:08 am
TEST DRIVE MEME #4
Welcome to the TDM for Expiation, a pan-fandom adventure game with fantasy, science fiction, and some horror elements. We ask that top-level comments are reserved for new characters and players looking to experience a taste of the world and overarching storyline. Characters already in the game, however, are free to use TDM prompts in their own catch-alls and logs. Feel free to submit any TDM / prompt-related questions to the corresponding comment below.
New players / characters looking to app are free to use TDM threads as samples in their application. Preexisting players / characters may use TDM threads as part of their AC proofs.
You may find the below link helpful in getting to know themes of the world, locations, the people, and so on.
AS OF AUGUST 2023: We have decided to reduce the waiting period for new updates / canons to two months. So if your canon is two months old, your character is appable as of now.
The last thing you recall is waking in a room of blinding white light. You hear voices around you, speaking in muffled tones; you get the distinct impression that they’re talking about you. And you’re on the verge of figuring out what they’re saying, you’re so close...but then the floor drops out from under you. You’re falling into blackness.
You come to after falling through this dark void, and when your vision clears, you find yourself on a…beach? Many wake up covered in sand, but some wake in the shallows of the ocean, too. Surf’s up!
IT'S THAT TIME AGAIN...
SAND AND SALT (ARRIVALS)
After dusting off the sand (or drying off with a towel, if they had a really rude awakening), newcomers to the area find themselves greeted by the locals and directed to the city of Aldrip, where they can find food, shelter, and dry clothing, should they need it. There's mention of an inn, though some mutter that it's getting a little crowded, so maybe characters should find a roommate or make nice with the locals so they can crash on their floor—at least temporarily. Once they're in town, they'll notice that there is plenty of construction going on: building materials everywhere, half-finished structures waiting to be finished. Maybe you won't be sleeping on the floor for too long, after all.
Those who choose to remain on the beach will find the locals setting up for something that looks like a festival. Colorful tents are anchored in the sand, filling with strange-looking goods, delicious-smelling food, games, and other activities. Locals call this the "Festival of the Sun," a celebration of the hottest days of the summer, where crops begin to swell bountifully and the seas become warm and refreshing. The festival has not yet begun, of course, and there is plenty of opportunity to help out. Chosen who wish to lend a hand will find themselves enlisted to help set up or decorate tents—or even to run some of them, if they're so inclined. Grab the balloons and streamers! (Or…colored scarves and flowers, maybe.)
FESTIVAL OF THE SUN
The festival kicks into gear in the afternoon, and there are plenty of activities to draw attention. There are boat racing competitions and a sandcastle contest, as well as a grand seashell hunt taking place on the beach. All of these are free to enter, and the contests offer prizes both for participation and for winning. Participation prizes are small tokens of memorabilia: seashells, shark teeth, dried flowers, things like that. Contest winners will find themselves gifted a refreshing treat or a free meal.
Other tents boast all sorts of different games, food, and trinkets for purchase. Merchants will accept coins or other goods in exchange, but if you find your pockets empty, they may also have to help work the booths if they need a well-earned break. Better get to work, and don't forget to give your most winning smile!
Later in the evening, the locals light a bonfire and host traditional songs and dances as the sun begins to set. All clean-up work will be left until the morning; according to Those Who Were There—the locals' patron deities, apparently, though they offer little information about them—it's bad luck to work this evening after the sun sets.
THIS IS ECOLOGY
MAKE A FRIEND
It seems there have been new additions to Aldrip and the surrounding areas. Even the locals are surprised to see large, flightless warking birds now charging around the meadowlands in packs, not to mention the cute piglets with bunny ears and other strange animals that seem to have appeared. There’s even something that looks like it’s made of rock roaming around–its bark is worse than its bite, though. You may even find that if you befriend them, you can ride on them.
Most are harmless, but Chosen may find a few more monsters than usual roaming the area, too. It seems best to be careful—especially after dark and in the forest, when some of these creatures feel emboldened to roam a little closer to civilization.
[[WILDCARD: Players can use anything from this post to interact with! It doesn’t even have to be the ones we mentioned in the prompts.]]
STOP AND SMELL THE FLOWERS
It's not just animals that have begun to appear in the area, either. Strange new flowers and plants seem to be cropping up everywhere, as if this is a normal habitat for them. Most of them don't seem harmful, although some of the vines can be a little…aggressive. However, getting too close to some of the flowers and mushrooms could give someone a nasty surprise. This is particularly unfortunate because the locals seem quite interested in the new additions to their town, encouraging the Chosen to investigate and acquire samples.
The pollen from these new flowers isn't normal, so Chosen won't find themselves sneezing too much. Unfortunately, they may find it has some other effect on them, such as sleeping, confusion, temporary loss of sense (sight, touch, taste, etc), powerlessness, forgetfulness, or inability to speak. While these are all examples of effects the pollen might have, this is certainly not a limitation. Just about anything you can come up with—within reason—is fair game.
STRANGE MACHINATIONS
A PILE OF JUNK
Ask the locals, and they'll tell you all about the recent trip to the desert, including how several of them were rescued and owe the Chosen a debt of gratitude. While they're repaying this debt mostly by way of helping with building projects, they've also brought back piles and piles of…broken technology. Mostly tablets: dirty, sandy, scratched up, and missing critical components like batteries and chargers. They've very kindly piled all of these things in the eating hall at the inn, and anyone who wants to check them out is welcome to do so. It's possible that cleaning them up and matching them up with their missing components will activate them, but you may have to sift through a whole pile to do so.
But activation does not necessarily mean they're in perfect working order. They may randomly beep, as if pinging off of certain locations, or make strange static sounds if they're turned on for too long. Some of them seem to ping off of each other, too, beeping more quickly as they're brought nearer to the other tablet they seem to be paired with. When connected to the pair, they seem to stabilize a bit more. Not enough to find anything of value in the system itself, but characters might find that they can now text each other, play one of the games, or send pictures on a local network.. After about ten feet of distance, they fail again and aren’t able to be used on the local network.
GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT
Whatever happened to the locals at the beginning of the month seems to have passed—mostly. Every so often, Chosen might notice the locals acting a little strangely, stopping what they're doing for a second as if they've forgotten something, repeating something they've already said, or even flickering in and out of existence.
These experiences are minor, but Chosen might notice some other oddities popping up occasionally. Some animals seem very…odd, at a glance, like a fox that has two tails or a deer with three eyes. Look again, and you might think your eyes were playing tricks on you, because they appear normal. Fish with transparent scales, plants that change color—these are examples of the occasional oddities Chosen might encounter.
They might also sometimes hear strange noises, particularly at night. Beeping or static like the sounds coming from the tablets could easily wake a person in the night—as can the sound of a voice, perhaps even a familiar one, luring Chosen out of their beds and away from the town. The source of these voices is a mystery, and they always seem to stop before characters get too far, but you'd do well to be careful after dark.
You know the drill–this is the wildcard one. Just because it’s not listed in the prompts above does not mean it’s unavailable as an option. We encourage you to do whatever you’d like to utilize the setting to its full potential. If you have any questions about what is and is not possible, please don’t hesitate to ask!
Click to view:
| CANON | CHARACTER/TOP LEVEL |
| Arcane | Ekko |
| Arcane | Silco |
| Critical Role | Mollymauk Tealeaf |
| Digimon | Mimi Tachikawa |
| Final Fantasy X-2 | Paine |
| Fullmetal Alchemist: Broherhood | Pride |
| Honkai: Star Rail | Dan Heng |
| Land of the Lustrous | Phosphophyllite |
| Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story | Mitama Yakumo |
| Marvel 616 | Quentin Quire |
| Omnicient Reader's Viewpoint | Han Sooyoung |
| Persona 1 | Naoya Toudou |
| Persona 2: Eternal Punishment | Kei Nanjo |
| Persona 4 | Yu Narukami |
| Persona 4 | Yosuke Hanamura |
last updated: 8/16/23, 10:55PM
no subject
haunted eyes, darker still because of the shadows beneath them. sometimes there are certain faces that catch an eye; just because of their arrangement, their alignment. gojo's not a fool for a pretty mouth, or thick eyelashes, or things like that, but. sometimes melancholy has its own prettiness too. he doesn't speak yet; instinctively, his hand gravitates to muss the short silver hair at the back of his neck. fyodor doesn't look real; an unreal creature on a beach, separate from the rest of the merrymakers.
weird. for just a split second, he'd seen suguru. but— this isn't suguru at all. he sees now, not even close. ] Yo.
[ gojo voice: Yyyoooo~
he does, however, take a step back, due to that split-second reaction, and he wonders if he hurt him with that push. he seems fragile; breakable.
shuffle shuffle. he glances at the ocean. at fyodor again. moonlight turns gojo's hair spun silver. but with fyodor's it seems to absorb; like an absence of colour, a dark space for light to seep into. all of those analogies! this guy looks kind of fancy, if you ask him. ]
You're local? Don't look it! Hi.
[ sometimes, and he's learning, just in the short space of his time here, it's the easiest thing on earth to see when someone is of this world, and when they're not. then again, he wonders if he saw fyodor sloping through shinjuku, if he'd appear of that world too. or any world at all. weird looking cryptid— apparently.
stupidly, he holds out a hand to shake. ] Satoru Gojo.
no subject
perhaps this is something else entirely, seeing as those observations about fyodor's origins are clearly sharp. this man is new and a mental file is opened, little details being put away for further consideration later: tall, silver hair, well-built, a creature of beauty and no tact.
fyodor turns away from the ocean to fully face the newcomer, straightens his spine and lifts his chin, haughty. there is only one god in fyodor's life, there is a godling and other small beings of semi-importance but when he sees this man he only sees that: a man. nothing worth a second glance.
but pleasantries are not something he tosses aside because fyodor is polite to a fault and that is how each rule memorized at the table pushes him to respond in equal measure.
very well, if he must.
(a pause, too brief for most to take note in which he thinks and checks, then double checks, then triple checks--again just once more to be certain of crime and punishment).
a pale hand takes the offered one; nails bitten to the quick, calloused pads from hours of playing an instrument. ] Fyodor Dostoevsky.
no subject
the hand that's placed in his is so narrow that it's more like a tied bunch of twigs than a hand, but, it's rougher than he expected, and he gives it a companionable shake— just a little too enthusiastic (he's friendly, sorry about your arm, fyodor).
gojo tips his head to the side, silver hair falling— kind of in the way of all large canines. ] Hey. You don't seem like you're new here. Aha— or, from around here.
[ a breeze sweeps in; oddly chill off the sea. it ruffles gojo's hair, and glances down, mouth quirking sidelong. oh. right.
he lets go of fyodor's hand, and steps around him. something catches his eye on the ground and he kneels to pick it up, bringing the thing up to the light of the distant campfires. a small cowrie shell— like the ones from his own world, but different. iridescent— kind of maroon. he turns it over— ah, they'd been having that competition for shell finding earlier, hadn't they? he shoots a look in fyodor's direction. strange, how those narrowed eyes have that sense of suguru about them. the snide look. some people just carry villainous airs— it's interesting. suspicious.
he steps back over, hands the shell over to fyodor. ] Get these back where you're from? That's not something I've ever seen on Earth. And— yep, I've seen everything. [ winks stupidly. can't stand this man. ] Present.
[ he's so sure he's found this place's villain— or at least, the loneliest creature this side of the bonfire. ]
no subject
at first, he thinks--it's done, it's over, move on--with the singular cynicism that is characteristic of his train of thoughts. one shiny thing traded out for another, then forgotten, tomorrow is another day and one moves on-- fyodor turns back to the ocean and the waves, and the promise of impermanence in the eternity of each atom that is part of that body of water--except
gojo satoru is still here, looking back at him and fyodor tilts his head every so slightly to stare, from those blue eyes down to the tiny shell cradled on the palm. fyodor takes it because to not do so would be rude, and it's damp and hard and smooth, the ridges of the edge the only imperfection. it's pretty, and pretty useless.
clearly, there is something fundamentally wrong with this man. ] Thank you. [ politeness weighs in, he pulls back, and puts it inside his pocket to throw away later.
then silence; he is not someone who speaks casually, if gojo is here for conversation of the meaningless, friendly type, he's out of luck. ] 'Seen everything' is a bold claim.
no subject
he smiles easily, this time with more warmth, and looks back to fyodor, watches that fine, sharp profile. ] You from ah— Earth? [ there's a something something did it hurt when you fell from insert location here line in there somewhere, but guess what, he refrains this once. not hitting on random unhappy-looking (russian?) guy standing on a beach in a foreign land that is probably not even on the same planet. not doing that today. then again, there's no time like the present, right? anyway!
that shell gets deposited into a pocket, but gojo's already forgotten about the silly little memento. call him whimsical, call him frivolous, he might want to get back to his students, to the carnage that's about to occur in shibuya, but there's something to be said for this time, and place. he's here, and he can't be there— there must be some kind of alignment in all of this. there's no use yowling and getting grumpy about it, after all! so. investigation it is. fyodor just happens to be his first official meeting with an— earthling. fellow earthling. is he— even? he's russian, judging by the accent, so. that surely does mean earth.
defensive posture, he thinks, looking at that arm. odd. gojo's at ease regardless, and steps towards the ocean, starting to walk along the shoreline, the waves shot through with moonlight. he motions with his chin to the long, pale shore. ] Come for a walk? You're the first person from back home that I've met here, nee? If that's where you're from. Ah, what a weird place, isn't it? Fyodor-san.
no subject
there is infinity in them, the endless sky that covers eden and the holy land and all of that in heaven. ]
Am I the first person you've met here? My condolences then. [ a glimpse of that sharp, biting humor that is delivered with absolutely no inflection whatsoever. ] You would have more success talking to others if you want to know more about this place.
I have neither the time nor inclination for meaningless talk. Either you'll see what this place is or you won't, then you'll decide to try to escape or accept your incarceration.
All in all, it's the same to me.
[ ...and that's a lot of words for someone who said he would give no explanations. ]
no subject
he's better with blood and fast movement— he's a creature of all kinds of kinetics. but here, weirdly enough, on this foreign beach, wherever they are, there's a sense of stillness. maybe it's the man beside him.
he huffs a soft laugh at fyodor. ] Hm, you've explained it, that's fine.
[ incarceration. the cube.
this must be that place.
he thinks of that shock of power before he was sealed, and then the shock of sentimentality that ruined him. oh, but it had felt good, hadn't it? the weight of heaven in his hands. if he'd been a cruel man, he'd have won. what a pity to have been born a lover and not a fighter, but given a fighter's prowess! annoying! so mean. he sighs, audibly, enough so that fyodor can hear him (he did that on purpose). ]
Something bad happened, before I came here. But now I feel like I'm getting a reward, so. Ah, strange, isn't it. Please walk with me? [ those blue eyes are so pleading.
gojo's clearly feeling garrulous today (more than usual?)— he continues, stepping out, into the rush of the shallow waves: ]
It's a nice night, and I guess, it's only us in the world, huh? Come here. Come.
[ he has a way of saying things, sometimes: like there are no other alternatives— the only direct line forward. ]
sir.....sir
what a curse it is, when you glance at someone and can dissect them—their entire life like a page of a book, memorized and dismissed. people are boring, and this newcomer is no exception but he is persistent, and he can--not really forgive that since he hates being intruded upon--but understand. the utter fluidity of gojo satoru is visible, fyodor can see it reflected in each taken breath: this man is a barely leashed thing, but still oh so human. except he's bumped into a man whose convictions rival the most immovable of objects and with his presence comes that stillness.
something bad happened before i came here-- and there is a lightbulb going off in that brain of his, as if fyodor has just come to some conclusion in another of the many trains of thoughts he has racing. something bad; the concept filed for later reflection. ] This place is not a reward, it is a prison of sorts. [ if only because fyodor feels distinctly uncomfortable by the logic that this could feel like a reward.
a pointed look at what gojo is wearing, versus what he is wearing but then the russian, with a minute shrug of his shoulders, toes off his usual boots, followed by his socks. he's not about to ruin these by wading into saltwater.
he hates sand, the way it feels on the soles of his feet, how cold the first touch of the water is, and how it quickly seeps into the fabric of his trousers. this was a terrible idea, and what possessed him to give in to this idiot of a stranger? ]
Not only us, there are many others here.
[ except--he parses the words again, then makes a face at gojo. sir, he understood the implication. ]
:3
one second, he's standing, staring at the face of his oldest, dearest friend— back from the dead. the next, he's swallowed in time, spends a day on a beach as if nothing had ever happened, as if the rest of his life was the dream, instead. next, there's a pair of clever eyes and windswept dark hair standing in the dark, by the ocean, as if someone with a divine sense of humour had handed him a do-over. this russian is not suguru, but he has the same intensity. also, he's never met such a simultaneously pretty and unhappy face— or well. maybe he's just never been good at reading people. they've always seemed far away.
the sea pulls back on the sand, scoring it lightly, and gojo watches as fyodor steps in towards him. this whole day and night have been unreal— he feels like he's in a liminal space that he chose for himself; fyodor had called it a prison, hadn't he? prison realm is what the cube housed. he wonders if this is just his own mind, if really, this is a gift and a prison all at the same time. a lacuna, away from the brute force of everything that has happened, and everything that is about to happen.
the thing is— he's not sure he could have come up with this russian by himself, so. there are some doubts as to the legitimacy of his theory.
the sea sweeps in more strongly now, a wave knocking at gojo, and he reaches out a hand without thinking; palm up, in case the other is unsteady on his feet. he dragged him in here, he supposes, and he looks a bit—gojo shoots a glance fyodor's way—grumpy about the ordeal. funny. ]
I don't see any other people. [ gojo chirps, and sweeps a hand out at the beach (the way he ignored the fact that there are literally bonfires with tons of people around them...). ] And if this is a prison, then I guess it's not so bad, huh?
[ he looks back at the ocean, and those eyes have their own bioluminescence to them. strange; there's almost no light to pick up. he waits for fyodor to get closer, hand still extended.
gojo's rolled the pants of his uniform up already (he's been doing beach day ALL DAY) and looks perfectly suited to his surroundings (
his job is beach, now), and he grins— abrupt and bright. ] I haven't gone to the city yet, I should probably do that sometime. You're my guide now. Deal?SIR THIS IS A WENDYS
the waves knock, stumble: the smallest of flinches, more out of surprise than fear for crime and punishment coming out. after all, he's had years and years to come to terms with that, to learn to remain still while his ability takes and consumes and destroys. he recovers, shifting in the water so he can catch up.
he hates wet and cold situations; the snowy landscapes of russia.
not so bad, this place is not so bad--fyodor shoots gojo a look and still dips his head because he is polite,] Thank you. [ for the hand.
the glow of that blue gives fyodor pause to consider the request, or rather brazen demand. god, he already feels the headache building at the back of his eyes. whatever creature this is, he is as irritating as dazai and gogol combined, and yet with the weight of confidence of someone who wields immense power like chuuya. how interesting.
how...useful.
yes, fyodor doestoevsky can work with this.
gojo had decidedly ignored an entire group of people in favor of whatever charade he's playing with fyodor. a game? fyodor always plays to win. ] I can show you around, [ the hand in gojo's is withdrawn, delicate movements as if fyodor is a thing of not-this-world-nor-another--do not touch telegraphed.
the smile is a wispy thing that has nothing but malice behind. ]
Satoru-san.
love a wendys ♡
what story starts like this, he wonders. you're standing on a beach and there's a thin hand in yours. it's dark, and the ocean is darker, there are fires nearby—where are they really, he wonders.
is it selfish to not want to be back home? even gojo satoru, the strongest, steers clear of that thought (and should it still be a source of shame if you avoid thinking of it? who cares, there's no narrative anymore).
fyodor places his hand in gojo's, and he helps him stand in the waves, holding tightly to those bony fingers. ] Careful.
[ he shrugs at the thank you, and lets him go— steps back, tucking his hands into his pockets. fyodor's had been cold against his own palm, but not uncomfortably so. he'd asked him to come out here, so, it's only right that gojo stands close to him— he does now, glancing backwards as the wind crops up even more. silver hair is shaken when he shrugs, and he reaches up to run a hand through it, flattening it against his head, until it springs back straight afterwards. ] Show me around, then. I wanna ask some things.
[ boring things, mostly. where are we, what did you do to get here, are you from our world. where, actually, are you from. things like that. he doesn't, though, and he stretches out his hand again as another wave comes in. this is a game, isn't it, he supposes.
touch, then stop touching.
he should want to go home more than he does. he's always been undeniably selfish. ]
Eh, watch out, Fyodor. [ no honorific now, because this guy seems like a foreigner— but. gojo raises a silver eyebrow. ]
You speak Japanese. Ah, wait, the locals all understood me, weird, isn't it? Wanna know something fun?
Pterodactyl. Screeching.
So you'd like to play tourist?
[ this story starts like this: you're standing on a beach, and the wind and waves conspire to make you stumble and reach out—it's a test. if you fail you fall, but you've spent so much time learning to pick yourself up alone. even those you've learned to feel for do not touch you. physically yes, but not where it matters—the juncture of where your ability and soul lay entwined in that limitless void.
there is a man who wants to play a game, and you like games but aren't sure if this is the type to amuse you, so you consider leaving the other to their fate but the ocean is conspiring within its darkness, and this stranger illuminates it, briefly, you want to reach out and are forced to because the sea shoves—
fyodor grabs onto gojo again, a sour expression as he feels ever so wet, and the chill of the night creep along his shoulders. the calculations are made; fyodor dostoevsky has never trusted anything he can't control--a fatal flaw; in this place he has begun learning to extend that trust, somewhat, it makes bones creak until they break and are mended together. to change into another thing he must rewrite himself, bit by painful bit.
he leaves his hand within the other's. after all, if he can endure killing people he knows well and has been intimate with with crime and punishment, if he kills this stranger by accident it matters little.
casual way of address, fyodor is not bothered by it but he will always be polite--he might stab you but to drop honorifics with a newly met individual? never. ]
Correct, I speak it but that's not relevant here. [ does he want to know something fun? from this weirdo? he opens his mouth to deadpan, drier than paint wall and with just about as much enthusiasm. let's see if this man rises to the challenge.
(and then that fountain pen is picked up, and the author restarts: outside the confines of the new and old testament, heaven and hell, it’s always darkest before the dawn.) ]
Absolutely not.