+ ENTRANCEWAY TEST DRIVE MEME +

[vitaelamorte]

HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?!

You have stumbled into a new voice, fallen headfirst into a new canon? You're approaching new faces, exploring new scenarios, or rediscovering an old muse? There is novelty, there is excitement, AND YET--



--you're not ready to take the plunge just yet. BUT HESITATE NO MORE! We have just the place to practice or prepare, to warm up or invite a welcome, to mold the muses or to mesh with the premise! We have the

♥ ENTRANCEWAY ♥
TEST DRIVE MEME

► Try out any new characters and new Mirrors here! Have a go at the setting, thread with its current players, and see if Wonderland is a good fit for you and/or your character. Post a top level comment, tag into other people's starters, enjoy yourself!

► Thread your character's arrival, set a scene with them as long-established inhabitant, or let one of our past events inspire you. Any starter is fine, and both prose and comment spam are welcome!

► Please only note that any threads on the test drive meme are not game canon, and cannot be used as part of the activity check OR as samples for any future applications. Thank you for understanding!

► Intrigued? Check out our...

NAVIGATION | INPUT & INQUIRIES | TAKEN CHARACTERS | RESERVES | APPLICATIONS

AND THAT IS ALL, run forward, leap, and enjoy! ♥

Comments

[postictal]

[Tim simply shrugs tiredly. He doesn't have it in him to care. He's tramped through thicker vegetation than this and successfully kept the place from getting set alight - Alabama and its thick-ass kudzu comes to mind - and anyway, if the fire catches him in the middle of it, less work for him later, right?

That's a terrible joke, and he should be ashamed. But he's not.]

Eh. These things'll kill you anyway.

[battlefront]

[Exactly. So why do it at all?

But Cloud doesn't have it in him to insult another's coping mechanisms. It's usually why a lot of people he knows smoke.]

How 'bout we find out where we are before you go hurtin' yourself, alright?

[It's not the most... tactful response, but he's trying.]

cw self-harm mention

[postictal]

[Ha. That's a joke, right? It's gotta be. There's still the pale webbing of scars chasing up and down the outside of his arms, stark against dark skin. And given Tim's general short-sleeved wardrobe, they're not exactly difficult to miss.

But whatever. He stopped being self-conscious about those things a long time ago. A long, long damn time ago.]

I mean, that's the general goal, right?

[battlefront]

[He hasn't missed them. His eyes don't miss details like that. There were plenty of people in Edge who resorted to that type of coping after the stigma hit. Mostly adults, but some kids had taken up the habit, too. And it was just... sad to watch.

But... ha.

Not Cloud. Too much of a coward. More obvious than his own oozing, discolored bruise. So he just runs and hides. Always just trying to run from his problems. Maybe if he does it enough, they'll just go away, right?]

One would assume.

[He needs to pick his words more carefully.]

I still wanna know who thinks painting flowers is a good idea.

[postictal]

Maybe it was a joke.

[Oh thank god, a walkway. Tim steps onto the cobblestones, following the trail of it straight to the mansion's front door.]

I dunno. This place kinda has a...surreal feel to it. Is that just me?

[battlefront]

[Yeah, because defacing flowers is hilarious. Everyone laugh! Or maybe he's just still feeling bitter about... well, all of this in general.

It's frustrating. What the hell is going on?]

...I thought that was just me. [Dusting a few leaves off his coat, Cloud pulls himself out of the brush fully.] Kinda why I thought I'd died at first. Whoever's here might not be as friendly as we're being.

['Friendly'.

All they've done is sass each other back and forth since they met.]

[postictal]

[Unreality. Yeah, he's pretty sick of that too. But things tend to blur and detach at the edges when he's losing his mind - how fucked up is it that he has a metric for this sort of thing? - and this current picture is way too crisp. Way too defined. Way too immediate, rather than abstract.

Doesn't make it any less fucked up.]

Well, hey, if it helps any - I can say we're not dead. I sure as shit wouldn't've ended up here if that were the case.

[battlefront]

They say hell is other people.

[And that may not even be directed towards Tim.]

And I don't feel like meetin' whatever else might be here.

[postictal]

[Tim would be offended if he didn't relate to that sentiment so fucking heavily. He already knows he's not the best company. At least this guy's being honest about it.]

Maybe we won't.

[But there's a pair of doors in front of the pair of them now, and Tim gives the guy with the big honking sword a pointed look, as if to say, you first. He's the one with the sword, after all.]

[battlefront]

[He's not about to go hacking into things before he can access what they can do here. He's not stupid. Back home, he had materia, had the ability to Sense a monster and see what they could do, what they were capable of. Now? This is a whole new universe with new rules. They need to err on the side of caution.

He still steps forward anyway, slowly at first, but already reaching for the hilt of his sword.]

...seems empty so far. Lights are on.

[postictal]

Right, okay. That usually means someone's home.

[Judging by the sheer size of the building, Tim's guessing there's multiple someones. At least he's with a guy who has a sword. Tim's never pretended to be much good in a fight. He can hold his own, sure, but only if the other guy's brain is addled by his own megalomania, or is a little malnourished, scrawny twerp with delusions bigger than the state of Texas.

In other words, it's an overly narrow superlative.]

[battlefront]

[This is getting more and more unsettling the deeper they go. Painted flowers. Colorful scenery. A giant mansion with lights on but nobody's around.

The grip on his sword tightens and he moves at a careful pace, keeping an eye out for any hostiles.]

Come to think of it, why was the front door unlocked at all?

[postictal]

Maybe it's a boarding school. I mean, you don't get this kind of Victorian bullshit in the U.S. unless it's like, a winery or something.

[And somehow he doubts this is a winery. Tim licks his thumb and forefinger, extinguishes the tip of his cigarette with a pinch, and tucks the thing back into the pack.]

[battlefront]

All I got out of that was 'winery'.

[What kind of weird backwards world is this fella from.]

[postictal]

Really, dude?

[Right back atcha, Cloud.]

Where're you even from?

[battlefront]

...a Planet?

[Cloud, that doesn't help.]

[postictal]

Yeah, that really narrows it down. Me too, pal.

[Tim rolls his eyes.]

The U.S.? Europe? Fucking - Canada?

[battlefront]

Gaia...? I don't. Know any of those places.

[postictal]

Gaia.

[He repeats the word flatly. What in the heck.]

Hold up. Are you, like - not from Earth? Are you an alien?

[battlefront]

[...is he an alien.

Heh. Haha. He might as well be at this point, right? The Stigma was taking over, a proud, corroded scar on his left arm. The left arm. Sephiroth was always left-handed, wasn't he? Always out to get him, even in death. Or was it all Jenova? The alien. The Calamity From The Skies.

Is he an alien?

Probably.

Maybe.

Definately.]

No. I'm just... from another world, I guess.

[Stop rubbing at that arm.]

Same as you.

[No, you're not.]

[postictal]

Uh.

[Feels a bit like he opened a can of worms there, but he doesn't really feel equipped to address it. Because. Alien. Uh, no thanks.]

Hate to break it to you, but that's kind of the literal definition of an alien. So I guess, yeah, you kind of are. Good for you.

[battlefront]

['I guess you kind of are.'

His fingers grip the sleeve tighter, feeling a painful shock there. No, no not now. Not now. Keep control, keep standing, just...]

Are you trying to say I'm not human?

[He sounds tired.]

Because it's true.

[Very tired.]

I'm just here to infect your kind and rot the world.

[postictal]

Er - [Once again, Tim is reduced to making inelegant vowel sounds in the face of what looks to be a potential breakdown of some kind? He might not be able to detect what triggered it, but one thing he knows back to front is breakdowns. Mental-physical-emotional distress. His body language reeks of it.

He takes a breath, and forges ahead.]

You're being awfully straightforward, for a parasitic invader. [His tone is placid and light, as if they're discussing the weather.] Wasn't really supposed to be a sore area. I mean, from your perspective, I'm an alien too. Right?

[battlefront]

[Shouldn't be so hostile and bitter about this. He didn't know. Was probably just trying to make conversation. And even the people on Cloud's own world didn't know he was still...

Still just...]

Whatever. Honest mistake. Not like I make a habit of announcing it to the universe.

[Comes out before he can stop his own tongue.]

Some of these rooms are occupied, it looks like.

[You're an outsider. Not an alien. He knows what aliens look like.]

[postictal]

I don't know anyone who does.

[Not that he's ever met an alien, period. The guy looks human. Is this some straight-up Doctor Who bullshit? Or Twilight Zone, maybe. He's got no clue.

Tim peers inside a few of the rooms and hums his acknowledgment. The next door he tries is locked.]

Guess people do live here.