TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

[lifeaftr_mods]

Test Drive Meme #1

Hello, and welcome to our very first test drive! We’re pleased that you’re expressing an interest in the game. Here, you can test the waters, gauge how your character may fare in the world of LifeAftr, and even gain some in-game incentives, if you so choose.

Remember that Reserves will open on July 17th and that Applications will open on July 24th, in preparation for the game’s official opening on August 3rd!

But first, two important notes!

1. The island of Mu exists apart from the real world and possesses a dream-like quality that characters are innately aware of from the moment they appear on its shores. No need to panic or fret. Dreams are odd things, after all - and anything can happen in them. Why would anyone question where their mind chooses to wander in its sleep?

2. Due to the nature of Mu, threads in our test drive can not only be accepted as thread samples in your application, but can be accepted as game canon as well. In fact, certain choices your character makes in Mu have the potential to bear in-game consequences.

Shipwrecked
The white sand of the beach ridges the island’s edge, even if the clear water soon becomes murky the further out you look across the horizon until the turquoise gleam of the tide disappears in a coil of surrounding fog. Indeed, your best prospects may very well be to strike out among the trees or the crags looming out over the foam-capped waves. There’s lumber to be found and made from the palm-like trees, potentially fruit or edible tubers of some kind if you forage about some. The further you travel, however, the more of your surroundings will reveal themselves in a steady unspooling of curiosities.

One corner of Mu’s current construct drops away into a sheer cliff, initially too dangerous to brave for all but the more daredevilish, but if one starts to scan the sharp rocks below, you might catch sight of what appears to be sodden planks of wood - a wreckage tossed up against the rocks. And a little further...a bobbing, shattered wreck of a lifeboat’s remains, potentially bearing supplies that might yet be salvageable.

Fashion what you can from the wood and stone around you or scavenge from the ruin of the land, if you like. But you can’t simply stand around and wait forever. It’s going to get dark sometime - and if a creature of unknown terror doesn’t catch you, the elements surely will.

Storytime

There’s a sense of camaraderie in this cove, you think. As the sun hangs low over the horizon, the world cast into orange hues, long shadows dispersed by roaring fires that dot across the beach.

That’s right, folks: it’s storytime.

There’s no one to preside over this meeting of the minds in Mu. Call it a vague recreation of things to come, if you like, some vaguely fatidic dreamlike state where you may find yourself drawn to the heat and company that awaits you by the fire. And from there, compelled to default to that old instinct that most of intelligent civilization has revered since they were advanced enough to paint geometric shapes on cave walls.

You tell a story.

Perhaps it’s a tragedy, a tale of woe and of personal loss. Perhaps it’s the sort of thing you’d break out after a few rounds of your alcoholic beverage of choice, clapping hands to your knees as you try to bite back your mirth long enough to spill the punchline. Perhaps it’s an adventure of some sort, some unbelievable rendition of your past exploits. The only common thread to be had, as those gathered around the fire share their tales, is the fundamental rule of a ritualistic sharing of stories such as this: its truth.

But how one chooses to define "truth" is, in its own way, another story entirely...

Dance, Sucker, Dance!
The beat of your heart in your chest is difficult to ignore. It judders with a pulsing, rhythmic quality. If you’re one of those that lacks a heart, the beat is still omnipresent and all-encompassing, until your entire body is unwittingly bobbing in time to a metronomic tune that seems ingrained into your very soul. It’s inescapable. You can’t seem to move unless it’s in time to the rhythm that’s now singing in every atom of your being.

But rest assured, you’re not alone in this musical curse. Everything, from the swaying trees to the waves against the beach, jumps in time to the music. And so do the monsters approaching you, that - wait a minute.

Monsters?

Oh, yes. Did we mention those?


It seems you’ve encountered the wrath of the Boogieman, who curses you to only dance to his infernal beat. If you wish to best him, you’ll have to either evade or destroy the blobs of greenish slime that serve as his minions, all in time to the hard beat of the tune in your head. Clear the radius of his curse or risk an open confrontation, if you dare. Don’t worry if you look foolish; chances are anyone else caught in the Boogieman’s thrall feels just the same.

Mu isn’t pulling any punches to start with. It is a flighty creation, after all, and seems to revel in displacing people into new and uncomfortable situations.

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

tim wright | marble hornets ( sol raveh crau )

[postictal]

son of a beach;

Last he checked, the castle sure as hell wasn’t an island paradise. The expectation seemed to be that, once you kicked it, you were stuck as some kind of shadowy entity, some fragment of yourself, lost and meandering until one of the living is kind enough to put you out of your misery. The months of navigating labyrinthine stone walls, the cling of rust to storm-soaked chains, the castle that lived in the mist - none of this in any way correlates to an island with clear turquoise waters, trees arching overhead to cast Tim in the shade.

Welcome, as someone once told him, to putting your back into it. If this is some sort of afterlife, it is apparently a good deal more involved than lying about and waiting for something to happen. Maybe a few months ago he would've been content to stand and wait, possibly for something bigger and larger to happen along and scarf him down without complaint.

But too often as of late, Tim's come to understand that in situations like this, there's an unspoken expectation; something required of him, or of the people around him. He runs fingertips around the camera strapped to his chest, but there's no reassuring, blinking red light signifying that it's on. Or...working at all, really.

Feeling around in his pocket reveals the presence of three hard lumps - pills, knife, and lighter. Okay. Good.

He flicks the knife out. Even if the blade is only a few inches long, the firm resolve behind the motion lessens the pressure around his chest, if only slightly. It grants him the illusion that he has a plan, and that he's well on his way to implementing it.

The world feels - odd. A few inches removed to his left, like none of it's quite real. That's par for the course in terms of what Tim might be used to, but it's still not what he'd call a pleasant feeling.

Pleasant or no, he sets off with a beeline for the wooded area, pausing only to dig the blade of his flip-knife into the bark of the nearest tree, scoring it with a hard "X". He starts marking tree after tree as he goes, stopping every few meters to mark his path to himself.

One can never take chances in the woods.

once upon a time;

[Maybe it's the fire that draws him close, the crackle of embers and the sparks that wisp above the open flame. It pulls to him in the same way that water does, the lapping of the waves both promising and hideous in what they represent. But fire - fire is its sanctuary. It sets a barrier the water cannot cross.

Tim sinks into the sand, dreamlike, to sit across from whoever else might be present. The words swim in his head and on his tongue, stewing minute by minute, before he finally speaks them aloud.

Tim's not what you would call a gifted storyteller. In fact, he makes it a point of never sharing any of his personal stories at all, if he can. But the compulsion's swollen like an ocean tide to the point where he simply can't ignore it any longer.]

This, uh...this one time, me and these two other guys got stuck in a cage. It was raining, and we just...we kinda woke up there.

Weird, right?

there'll be shell to pay

[achievementhunter]

They're not actually following Tim. Or rather, they are, if only unintentionally. X marks the spot, etcetera, etcetera. There's nothing better for Chara to do- and so they follow, trying to learn as they go, what it is to walk quietly in undergrowth. Twigs and death leaves crack under their weight- Chara doesn't know precisely how to walk to stifle that completely.

Perhaps at the end of this yellow brick road, there's peace. They can wander into the light, as it were, though the silence is perfectly acceptable in of itself. They look utterly out of place in scenery such as this; a baggy sweater in the midst of a fairly muggy environment. Doesn't matter.

Where, oh where could this trail lead..? That hardly matters either.

Still, it's something to do. Welcome to not putting your back into it at all. Welcome to wasting your time completely.

mark my words - one day, you will pay

[postictal]

Tim's just wrenching the blade free from the bark of the latest tree on his meandering trail when the crunch of leaves and twigs behind him arrests his attention. He spins, eyes scanning the surroundings, maybe for something tall and thin and faceless, looming out from the vegetation of verdant green.

Instead, he encounters a smear of green and yellow, and his heard thuds, a sickening pang in his chest. Maye a phantom tingle of the sensation of a knife digging into the red, cartoonish heart, hard enough to see it crack.

It's them. Undeniably.

"Chara." He's crushing the undergrowth beneath the rapid beat of his footsteps. Trying not to let the selfish relief bleed into his voice. "Holy shit. You okay?"

And what do they last remember?

karma's gonna come collect your debt

[achievementhunter]

He seems very happy to see them.

Is that just what they want him to feel, upon seeing them? Are they this starved for a positive response to their existence?

...Ha ha.

"Considering the circumstances, yes." To the question he asked and the ones that he didn't. Their stance shifts the slightest, however it's no less lax, for all their pointed gaze lands on the point he has in hand. "I wouldn't have thought providing you with a blade was a positive step for anyone, mister Wright. Considering a new pastime?"

Or an old one?

[postictal]

Would've been hilarious, maybe, if he were inclined to laugh. Thankfully, Chara's got the smiling thing well covered enough for the both of them.

"Asked Ozuma for a favor." He...must've had it on him when they met. In his pocket, along with the camera. Even if the camera doesn't work for whatever reason, it's probably worth keeping.

(Jay would've wanted him to.)

One shoulder lifts in a partial shrug, the corners of his mouth twitching as he grimaces. "Guess it's for the best that I did. 'S not cages, but it's new."

what a beach

[yallstupid]

[The next tree that Tim carves his knife into jostles suddenly, and something rather large seems to fall from from it on the other side. It's a spider, albeit a really strange looking one. Wriggling its feet, the massive arachnid flips itself over by flexing the stingers on its rump and twirls around to stare at the offending party that knocked it out of its hunting spot.

...You're not her trainer.

Clicking her fangs at Tim curiously, Ariados lifts herself up a little on her feet, examining him a moment before making a snapping and keening sound, like she's calling out to someone. This is the first other human she's seen, and she has to keep tabs on her own. While she waits for Guzma to arrive, she takes a few steps closer to Tim, staring at his knife and lifting her two front legs a little.

o: that is a very peculiar and shiny stick you have there, sir. is that a pokemn, too? It's very small to be a honedge.]

[postictal]

[Oh god what in the hell.

Not for nothing, but Tim sure doesn't look pleased to be confronted with a technicolor spider. He turns the flip-knife over and over in his free hand, eyeing it nervously. Might be a pokémon of some kind or another, but Tim's also of the mind that if he never were to see a pokémon again for as long as he lived, that would suit his purposes just fine. Not that it was any particular pokémon's fault that he ended up stranded in a cage with a couple of guys playing a game of "guess the wacky silhouette this creature makes," but it's not what he'd call a positive association.

Still, in his experience, these things aren't usually hostile. And while it might look unpleasantly arachnid, it looks more curious than anything else.

Slowly, he drops into a careful crouch, free hand extended, palm out.]

Hey...little guy...

[Antagonizing the wildlife is never a good place to start, but he's gonna keep his knife out. Just in case.]

[yallstupid]

[Well Tim, you're about to have your pokemon knowledge expanded to include generation two. Ariados isn't too bothered by the knife, and she is actually the more energetic and friendly of Guzma's pokemon (up there with his Masquerain), despite her intimidating looks and size. She fearlessly scuttles closer to his outstretched hand to inspect it - half expecting to be fed a treat or so - and lifts her two front legs to touch the young man's hand.]

She's a girl.

[It's practically growled behind Tim, as a tall and rather fearsome looking young man looms over him, eyeing the knife with a look that spells he is very displeased that it is pointed toward his pokemon. Just what were you planning on doing with that there, buddy?]

[postictal]

[Oh boy. Tim's not what anyone would call an animal person by any stretch of the imagination, so when the spider-thing decides to bump its legs up against his outstretched hand, he can't help but tense, as though waiting for some sort of hostility to wrench him off guard.

She's a girl.

Tim wrenches around, all gentle caution abandoned as he jerks to his feet, backing up to the nearest tree with the knife held out, just in case he proves to be hostile. Shit.

How'd he get behind him?]

...hi.

[It's drawn out nervously, Tim's brows canting down as he eyes the newcomer warily.]

[madnest]

[ New place. Same face. New place. Same rules. Never deviate from the steps outlined in How To Seamlessly Transition To Your New Dimension.

First: Get to know the local populace. They will have a culture completely unique to them, and it's important to understand it so that you blend in.

Shade sits across from him, intent. Knees are drawn up to chest with elbows propped up on knees and chin balanced on fist. She'd been in a cage before, she could relate. Cage of expectations. Cage of society. Cage of Metan Dentention Center that she was eventually released from because they couldn't find the goods. But he looked human, and humans were primitive when it came to everything, even their containment systems.

She holds up a finger. Clarification, please.]

A metaphysical cage or an actual one?

And why was it raining?

[Was the rain actual or metaphysical?]

[postictal]

[It's a fair question, all things considered. He didn't actually expect anyone to express an interest, but an interest is being expressed nonetheless, which means he can...he should tell the story. Might as well finish it, right?

It's a hell of a story.]

A real one. I mean, I guess we could've tried to escape, but we'd get...trapped with these shadow things. Black silhouettes, yellow eyes. Really not the kind of thing you wanna be fighting when you're stuck in a cage. [Or at all.]

It was October. Fall. So it was just the weather, I guess.

[madnest]

[Shadows yawn, reach, stretch, hunger.

Shine a light in the dark.

Everybody could be a shadow in the dim; everybody had a shadow trailing behind them.

She nods until he's finished.]

You're trapped in a cage outside, it's raining, if you try to leave, there are things waiting to fight you.

[Actually, said out loud, this sounds like a dive in the back alley underskirts of Meta. Or like some of those black market Earth fairy tales she managed to get ahold of. But she doesn't want to be ignorant, what if:]

Traditional custom?

[postictal]

[That kinda summarizes it all nicely, yeah. Tim nods, wearily accommodating.]

Not really. Everyone else was just as surprised as we were that we'd ended up there. We weren't the only ones, either. There...I think there were seven cages total. Every single one of them was locked, and a key was hidden somewhere.

We had to solve these...puzzles to get the key.

once upon a (story)time

[prettypurpleparlor]

Certainly not the nicest way to spend an afternoon, no. Did you figure a way out, or did someone come to help you?

[postictal]

[That sure is a spider lady talking to him from across the fire. That's met with a slow lift of his eyebrows as he adjusts, before he apparently decides that he's spent enough time puzzling over her appearance and consequently moves the hell on.

It's not the weirdest thing he's endured, after all.]

We had this...puzzle. If we solved the puzzle, we'd get the location of the key that would let us out. Only the cages were lowering, real slow.

They were set up over the ocean.

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Muffet winks at him, to show that she saw him staring, but doesn't say anything. After all, it's not the rudest way she's seen a human react to meeting a new monster, and they've all had a long day.]

Ah, puzzles. There's a taste of home, albeit one I never liked much.

[Someone's still a little salty that one of the hardest puzzles in Hotland was set up right outside her goddamn house. Thanks Obama Asgore.]

How did you find the answer?

[postictal]

We, uh...

[He peters off, caught off guard both in the strangeness of seeing a spider wink (just one eye out of many, which is disconcerting in its own right), and in the fact that he feels a bit stupid for starting his tale when the ending is so...]

There were these shapes on the cage floor. Silhouettes. We had to guess the, uh, animal they belonged to.

[Yes; they played a rousing game of Who's That Pokémon?

And yes, Tim hates his life.]

stuff it up your beach

[solperierat]

It's the marks on the trees that wind up leading Edward to Tim--it's the first sign he's seen of anyone else on this island. He doesn't mean to keep quiet as he comes up behind the human, but somewhere along the way he started stepping more carefully and avoiding disturbing the underbrush as much as he can, until he's only a few yards away.

"Hey!" Ed calls out and waves an arm to catch his attention before moving forward a little quicker through the trees. "'Bout time I found something else with more'n two brain cells. You alright?"

rude

[postictal]

Another living soul in the vicinity is generally plenty of reason to be relieved - assuming that living soul is a friendly one. The guy approaching him is unfamiliar in just about every way, but he sounds earnest enough.

Not that Tim's prepared to simply trust something like that right off the bat. The flip-knife might be small and insignificant, but it's about all he's got, and at least he has it.

"I'm alive," says Tim, which, while accurate, is probably not the most potent vote of confidence. "You?"

[solperierat]

The knife is definitely not missed, but Ed just huffs and comes to a stop where he is. At least the guy isn't having a damn conniption about his horns or something.

"Eh, I don't remember dying recently, so that's something." He shrugs, tail flicking back and forth. "Been looking around for a while, but I haven't seen anything useful yet. Just a whole lot of sand and trees."

Edward pauses for a moment then, debating. The whole place does feel like a dream, the hows and whys of 'before here' vague and hazy. But he's been displaced before, and caution won't have any consequence other than feeling stupid as hell when he wakes up. "You don't happen to remember hopping on a boat to get shipwrecked in the first place, do you?"

surprise! tw; self harm

[thejaw]

[It's definitely a dream.

Brian knows it is, because his ears are clear of ringing. His mind feels calm, clear in a way that it hasn't in a long time. There's no shaking to be found when he lifts his hands up in front of his eyes, and perhaps most notably- he is not wearing a hoodie.

Oh. Or- or, it could be something else. Brian kneels and scoops up a handful of sand, allows the grains to slip through his fingers. They're coarse and soft all at once, and feel very real. So the afterlife is more tactile than some would expect. Quite suddenly, he rakes his nails down his left arm, methodical and curious. Okay, so pain is definitely still a thing, as well.

Sticking around on the beach isn't going to give him any answers, so Brian ventures into the trees, where he finds a scattering of 'X's marked into wood. Only, no, it's not a random scattering- it's a path. He follows them, for lack of a better plan.

It's a curious thing, to feel surprised and yet not at the same. Oh, it's Tim!, but also, of course it's Tim. Who else would it be.

He doesn't bother attempting to mask the sound of his feet crunching over leaves and twigs. Whatever this is, it's not real. It doesn't matter.]

Didn't Hansel and Gretel use breadcrumbs to find their way?

[Oh. He said that out loud. He can speak.]

HAHAHAHA HOLY FUCK YOU 1/3

[postictal]

[The sound of footsteps drawing nearer, as always. It doesn't set off any of the alarm bells in his head that it should, mostly because he's just too damned used to the sensation of being crept up upon, of being watched. The reflex that has him whirling around, the knife brandished, might not even belong to him. Whose mind is that a product of? Jay's? Chara's? Asriel's?

How many parts of Timothy Wright remain, having resisted being whittled away by the press of other, far more potent minds and souls against his own?



And what he sees is -

Is -



...]

[postictal]

[postictal]

[It's him.

It's him like Tim remembers him. The chiming in of something sardonic and slightly whimsical, commentary on this silly little life of theirs. There's no mask coating his face, no downward turn of an articial frown stitched out from fabric.

There's just...him.

His heart's beating too fast in the hollow of his chest, and he's taking a step forward before he can rein himself back - and then he's stepping back properly, reeling, trying to speak and failing, miserably.]

You're not...

[Why did you bring me here?

I don't belong here.]

You're not real.

[thejaw]

[There is the way that normal people feel and react to things. And then there is the way Brian, half outside of his own body, feels and reacts to things. He doesn't know what the median is anymore. There's no happiness at seeing the person he considers his closest friend. (But then, there's been no huge gap between the moment he saw him last, not for Brian.) There's no anger, either, even though the last thing he remembers is a ledge. His gut swooping. Impact.

He'd ended up here, after all, and this is alright. This is more alright than anything has been in forever. He doesn't feel the weight of a presence, forever approaching, weighing him down. Doesn't feel like he's crawling outside of his own skin. Maybe this is better. Even if-]

Yeah, maybe not. I don't know if any of this is.

[He shrugs, glances at the trees around them. Turns back to Tim and smiles, and ah, there it is. Feeling something.

Sickly. Bitter.]

What's weird is that if I think about it really hard, my head still hurts.