aftr_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

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 )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

His hand briefly goes over his chest. There it is, inevitably; the warm beat of a heart pulsing in the very center of him, rushing blood through his veins and to his head and keeping him alive, all question to the contrary.

If this is just...them, or a projection of them, some fleeting afterthought of the child he remembers, who'd mantled a smile over their every thought and act, then maybe it's for the best that some part of them could have survived in his soul. That some shred of them could still remain, clinging there, determined as always to hold onto life.

If it means that someone remembers -

(They'd not want anyone to remember.)

"Thank you," says Tim. And he means it. "I guess it..."

(But when has he ever done what he's been told?)

"It worked?"

A hum, something satisfied. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, to be somewhat spoiled by their time in Sol. To have inspired within them some idea that they could make the right decisions, could assist others.

Tim simply reinforces it further. Perhaps, he's just providing them one last kindness, in the time that they have left. Chara will take it without complaint.

"Think nothing of it. After all, once we part, you'll be someone else's responsibility." Not theirs anymore.

There's no sense in standing here much longer. They step forward, leading the way in the direction Tim had already chosen to go. They can walk and talk. "Shall we?"

He snorts at that, faintly. Someone else's responsibility. They don't have to look after him anymore. Don't have to...care, at all, really, for the man who used them, callously and without regard for their well-being. Don't even have to pretend to care.

So what's one last walk?

"Sure." He pauses only to cut a fresh "X" into the trunk of the nearest tree. The knife stays out - and whose instinct is that?

He tips his head back, briefly, to survey the canopy, listening to the sound of the waves lapping up against the shore.

"Hell of a day for it."

Yes. They don't have to look after him anymore. Don't have to care, at all, really, for the man who used them- callously and without regard for their well-being. Don't even have to pretend to care.

They walk anyway. Eye off his blade, but don't withdraw from it. Even armed as he is, Tim remains one of the least threatening people they've met, solely due to his ineptitude.

"Quite. The sun is shining." A perfect day for kids like them to be-

Ha ha, no. He wouldn't quite get that joke. Not like others would.

"It makes for a rather welcome change, don't you agree? Soldiers no longer."

The sun is shining. The world is...new, or at least has the appearance of something new. Funny how it doesn't really feel like a fresh start. Not for him. For Chara, though -

Well, maybe this makes them the lucky of the two of them, in a supremely morbid sort of way. But that form of humor always did suit the pair of them.

"Not soldiers," he agrees. "Maybe pawns."

And then, correcting himself both mentally and verbally: "...pawn. I guess."

He'd be the only one who's really here, even if that's in and of itself up for debate. His own sense of self is pretty goddamn tenuous, even on a good day.

Shouldn't be torn up about something like this. They wouldn't want to be something like that - a shadow, a statue, a remnant, a figment. An old, tarnished nightmare.

They wouldn't want to be remembered.

"Oh come now; we don't know that just yet."

Take heart! The most realistic option in this scenario is also the most negative!

"Perhaps you have simply been freed; to a warm, sunny place, filled with flowers." They gesture to the bright patches of color across the forest floor; come now, Tim. Even you can appreciate such natural finery. "Given the gift of being capable of assessing your life from a warm, bright place- is that not a gift?"

Haha.

A little huff of air out from his nostrils that approximates a laugh pulls at one corner of his mouth in a way he can't fully quantify. The morbidity of their humor shouldn't be something he can cling to as proof of their existence, but he finds it appealing nonetheless.

"All right, so it's not a castle in a mist full of shadows." Is it just him, or has his tone lightened comparatively as he replies? "Never too late to start practicing positive thinking, I guess."

Ha ha.

"That's the spirit." Their own morbid amusement is clear enough; perhaps even more so, with those subtle indications from Tim. A receptive audience is far more appealing than blank silence.

"No more Queen, no more shadows- the only death that awaits you is entirely mysterious in nature!" How pleasant! "Starvation! The great outdoors! A highly territorial beast of some, spiky nature. The potentials are limitless, mister Wright."

That's the spirit.

"Why not try something new and exciting, right?" Maybe he can die of dehydration. Surrounded by water, but all of it soaked and salt and entirely undrinkable. That's a level of irony on par with getting knifed in the throat by a weapon that belonged to the last man you killed.

...alone, though.

"How long?" The question sobers him up almost at once, creasing his brow. "Do you know how long until you're...?"

Gone.

"Are you truly going to linger upon my imminent demise the entire day, mister Wright?" Come on. You're the one alive, still; you should be living a little, not them.

...He really needs to stop being so fixated on them.

"I don't know." Is the honest answer. More honest than, perhaps, most would receive. "It's pointless to contemplate, however, I will certainly not be leaving until I have found my Partner. Knowing them? We may very well cover this entire island."

Why shouldn't he? That's the bottom line. Why the hell shouldn't he? If this is his last chance to remember them, he should goddamn well remember them. They would not, would never, admit or even recognize that there continue to be parts of them he finds admirable, pieces of a person that he's not sure if he should be wanting to forget at all.

Will he lose that? Will he lose the understanding of the pieces of himself that belong to another source, to the cherry-bright determination that wove itself into the strands of his soul?

Does he even deserve to?

Pressing for answers is never going to yield anything of note; Jay taught him that, if anything else. He quiets, and lets the nervous prickle in his skull quiet as well. There's nothing out there in this dream - no inherent danger lurking behind every tree trunk.

Nothing but the knowledge that one day, this will end.

"Okay." What other answer does he have? He starts to walk, as they'd earlier suggested. Stopping here and then to scratch an "x" into a tree trunk, just the same as before. Until at last he can add,"I'll keep an eye out."

TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

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