trāmitem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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tramitem_meme2020-01-23 08:34 pm
tramitem) wrote in tramitem_meme2020-01-23 08:34 pm
Entry tags:
Test Drive Meme #1
✦ TEST DRIVE MEME ✦ |
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... And when my good dream came to an end, I woke up more than ready to bend ... Game Navigation |
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A few rules for the TDM: 2. Comment with your thread start, with your character name and fandom in the subject line. 3. Tag into other's threads. 4. Have fun! 5. And what happens on the TDM stays on the TDM (it's not taken in game). **If you have questions, ask the MODS This may not be the first time it has happened. You really wouldn’t have any way of knowing, would you? You’ve just been living your life as a citizen of the city you live in New York, the city, they say, that never sleeps. It’s a place you always wanted to live in, hearing about it as a child, and it sounded exciting to you. Or maybe it was the place you wanted to get to in order to become something more, something interesting, something that would bring you up in the world. You wanted to be there more than anything. But anyway, right now it sure seems like the first time it’s ever happened. You experienced a sudden flash, a rending of unreality from reality, the way a person would rend a piece of cloth in two, but this is the world, and you don’t know what to think at first. Because this isn’t your life. Except it totally is. You know it is, like you’ve never known anything. This is your memory and when you come out of it you know that was your life you were witnessing. This is known as the Event, and it will change everything for you. Those around you notice one thing about you during the time you’re experiencing this memory—you’re frozen, as if you’re frozen in time. And it’s catching. Life before the Event and after are a study in contrast. Before, you thought you knew who you were and what you were doing here. Now, all of that is in turmoil. Especially after your encounter with the man from the Bureau. Now, you don’t really know whether to trust the man from the organization that came to talk to you. Something about him seemed...off. Something that was enough to, perhaps, even make you feel suspicious. But now you know...you are one of the Different. You feel like it, too. Members of the Different, the man from the Bureau told you, have their own special Network to communicate on. Will you post to it? Will you relate your memories to the others among the Different—or will you come up with something completely different to say? There’s a generic spread of food on a table off to one side of the room: donuts and muffins, coffee and lemonade. Maybe you’re hungry enough to try it—it’s free after all. Or maybe you can’t stomach anything, given the event you’re attending. The space is a local rec center, reserved for the evening. The beige-painted cinder block walls and the fluorescent lighting are a terrible combination. The meeting was interesting—who knew there were so many people like you, receiving memories of a past life? The group was led by someone from The Bureau—the Department of Medical Services. Some people are staying in their chairs and chatting—they must know each other from previous meetings. Some of them are gravitating towards the food. How do you feel about tonight? Has it helped you come to terms with the dream of memories you’re having? Maybe it’s time to talk to others, get an understanding of their experience. New York City has grown increasingly more safe over the last decade or two—statistics bear that out, as well as the experiences of the people who live here. But something seems to have suddenly broken in the hearts and minds of your fellow-citizens here in the last day, ever since the sun has come up. People are being incredibly opportunistic about carrying out their wildest dreams, or at least, as long as their wildest dreams include attacking people around them to try rob them or to kill them. The longer the day goes on, the more and more people seem unable to resist giving into their bases desires. Bank robberies are happening right and left. The strangest part of it all, though, is that anyone who is defied by their victim seems to snap out of some reverie they couldn’t control. That’s right, this whole crime wave seems to be some kind of brain sickness. Maybe this means the people around you need to be cured by having someone fight back. Or maybe it means you catch the sickness yourself, before you know it. ...Maybe it’s time to hide and ride the whole crime wave out somewhere where you won’t become collateral damage. (Third person log or First person Network response are both encouraged.) One week ago you were living an average life. You were trying to make New York City work for you, a place to call home. Were you in a rough patch? Were things just starting to pick up? Or was life swimming along as you expected? Today, you are running down the street with a lumbering hoard of the Undead ambling after you. They have caught the scent of your living brain and it is a tasty snack to them. You have a weapon in hand - a pipe? a crowbar? a bat? but there are too many behind you to take them all out before they get you. You’re only option is to run, find help. (Power mode – along with your memories you’ve started getting back powers, what if you tried them out against the zombies?) When you were told that different universes bleed over into this one, did you believe it? Do you believe it now? What are you doing around NYC? | |
... What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause ... |
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Lisa Imai | BanG Dream!
I feel like life was simpler this time yesterday. Just me trying to get by, not figuring out who I am all over again. I've done that already. What the hell... well, I guess there's nothing else for it, right? So! Hello, secret society members! I hope we can all get along when reality isn't deciding it doesn't really apply to us.
[3]
[Somewhat uncharacteristically, Lisa's a little nervous as she sits in a chair and glances around, trying and mostly succeding to keep herself from hiding behind her mane of hair. A cup of lemonade is in her hands, shaking a little bit, but she's keeping her composure well enough after what proved to be a somewhat trying meeting; her fingers on the cup, semi-consciously, move in imitation of (unfamiliar) bass lines before she catches herself and forces them to still. It's some time, maybe a few minutes, before she shakes her head, works herself up to to an almost-convincing smile, and musters the courage to do what she usually does when she's lost: focus on other people until her thoughts settle. Lisa stands, and approaches anyone that doesn't seem too occupied with other people.]
Hey, you all right? New stuff in your head not too overwhelming?
[Nailed it.]
3
He looks up as he's spoken to and at least swallows what he's eaten before replying.]
It was. Not so much now. [How to explain...] It's just like a story. If I think about it like that, it makes it easier.
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[She's distant briefly, after that; thinking about how that could make what she's seeing make just a little more sense. But...]
...not enough sense yet, though. I feel like someone just left a page on my desk and kept the rest of the book. Jerk. [Lisa laughs quietly at her own (bad) attempt at humor.]
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Then get back at the jerk and write a brand new story.
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-my metaphor is kinda falling apart, sorry.
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I say just go with the flow unless it's something hugely life changing?
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So... yeah, I think going with the flow might be better? It'll make more sense, at least. [A beat.] Which means this meeting is pointless. Well, show's over, everybody go home! [She raises her cup to her lips and drains the whole remaining glass of lemonade theatrically, before grinning at him.] You're pretty good at this, y'know.
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[Says the guy who is bad at keeping notes.
He gives her an owlish blink. What exactly is he good at? Someone is a bit oblivious and just said what he thought of at the moment.] I am?
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At this whole being reassuring thing. I came over here to see if you needed help dealing with stuff, and you ended up helping me.
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[Or he's still in some shock. Who knows.]
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[Okay, now she's starting to fret a little bit.]
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[And he hates it.]