+ 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 looks at the other man with the casual lift of an eyebrow.]

Is this normal for you?

it's not gay if it's in wonderland

[battlefront]

Who said anything about us being 'normal'?

it's not gay if ur ace af

[postictal]

Fair enough.

[He blows out a long, slow sigh, and drops into a sitting position, back against one of the walls.]

Hell of a day.

hell yeah ace bros

[battlefront]

[Cloud finally settles more in the room, rubbing at his arm a bit more. He'll... probably have to replace the gauze soon. Maybe sharing a room with someone wasn't the best idea.]

You're tellin' me.

[He still has no clue where his bike went.]

How long you think we're stuck here for?

[postictal]

Beats me.

[He almost reaches for his unfinished cigarette, buried in the pack in his pocket, but...nah. He wants to make those last. Nothing like going through continuous nicotine withdrawal to make him an even better roommate, right?]

Not like I'm one to complain. Wasn't really fond of where I came from, so anything's better than there, yeah?

[battlefront]

[He thought he saw the guy put that cigarette back in the box earlier. His eyes immediately go to that hand reaching for it again, but he simply shrugs, sitting in a nearby chair and leaning back a bit. His own hand is still gripping at his arm, closing his eyes as he feels the room starting to spin lightly.]

Some people love their home, no matter how bad it is. But everyone's different.

[postictal]

[Tim lets that conversational thread dwindle into silence, especially since Cloud hasn't released his hold on his arm. He looks at the other man from beneath lowered brows, concerned.]

You doin' okay over there?

[battlefront]

[Hardly even noticed his breathing getting laboured. This had become such a daily thing that he remembers he doesn't... usually let it show around people. Heh. Should've picked a different room after all.]

Yeah. Just. A long walk. I'm fine.

[postictal]

Yeah?

['Cause it doesn't look like your run-of-the-mill exhaustion. It looks like something that's worse. Irregular breathing, that too-rigid grip - that speaks volumes right there. Especially for someone like Tim, a seasoned breakdown-er.]

'Cause it looks to me that you're having a little bit of trouble. Which is, uh. Fine. I'm sure there's a bathroom or something around here somewhere.

[Just in case, y'know. He doesn't wanna have his breakdown in public. Who would, honestly?]

[battlefront]

I'll... I'll get there myself. Give me a minute.

[It comes out more mumbled than anything, but these spells usually take awhile to die down. Or he'll break into a full-on seizure, and nobody wants that. Get this mess all over the place and the man will probably try to clean it up, which involves touching it, which involves him being dead by the end of the day. Can't have another life on his hands, even if it's accidental.]

Please don't touch me.

[postictal]

Okay.

[He doesn't. He doesn't move from his position either. Honestly, touch as a form of comfort is a foreign concept, particularly for someone who loathes touch from most sources anyway.]

Just, uh...lemme know if you need anything, I guess.

[battlefront]

[Shaking hand. Shocks.

This one's mild compared to the others, but still just as exhausting. Cloud's hand tries to come off his arm to wipe away at... something dribbling out of his mouth, but that hand is coated in the same gunk and he doesn't want to smear it on his face instead. The hand hovers over his chest for a few minutes, finally cracking open an eye to glance at it, but it's bright green and slitted, rather than his usual blue.]

Sorry.

[He closes the eye again. Doesn't want to make this worse than it is.]

Give... give me another minute.

[postictal]

[Yeah, there's definitely some kind of physical reaction there too. Something like blood running out of his mouth, maybe, though he doesn't really want to know what it could be other than blood.

Something vibrantly green slits out from his eye before it closes again.]

Guess you're dealing with some pretty heavy stuff, [he says unnecessarily, unhelpfully,] huh.

[battlefront]

[He's quiet for a bit, trying not to let on just how weak he was feeling. But there's no use hiding it at this point. As long as the man doesn't go around making a big deal of it, maybe they can just keep it between them.

...hopefully.]

Stigma.

[His voice comes out hoarse.]

...don't got this where you're from, huh?

[postictal]

[That word carries the weight of a significance that's lost to him. He eyes Cloud with mild concern, his brows knitted tightly together as he watches.]

Nope.

Looks, uh...pretty serious. You sure you're gonna be okay?

[battlefront]

['You sure you're gonna be okay?'

Cloud just... laughs. It's nothing boisterous or bitter, but a quiet, sad sound that wheezes out of him. There is no cure. There is no being okay. After everything that had happened, this is the thing that's gonna kill him.

The Planet really was pissed, huh?]

It'll pass.

[No it won't.]

Dealt with worse. It's okay.

[At least when he opens his eyes again, they start returning to normal. He'd have to clean himself up, though. When... when he's feeling well enough to stand without falling over.]

It's... okay. It's...

[It's not okay.]

[postictal]

[Yeah, that's not the okay kind of okay that exactly solidifies Tim's faith that things are really okay. His eyebrows lift slowly at that, disbelieving.]

I mean, yeah, I've dealt with shitty stuff too. Doesn't mean it's any fun.

[And that laugh was a little too broken for him to believe it.]

[battlefront]

Never said it was.

[At least it was a quieter one this time. And even if he did wind up blacking out, he was glad he was able to tell the man to not touch him.]

...it. It spreads to you. When you touch it. There's no cure. And it's slow.

[And fatal.]

[postictal]

...ah.

[Short, sharp, simple. So some kind of illness, he's assuming.]

That sucks, man.

[He doesn't know what else to say to that. The guy's clearly in pain, clearly not having the best time. Something's infected him and it spreads through contact and there's no hope of curing it.

Hah. Doesn't he know how that feels.]

[battlefront]

[His hand falls to rest on the arm of the chair, clenching his fist a little to try and calm the trembling. His chin, his arm and that hand were all soaked in that corrosion, and a leg shifts to try and gear himself up to stand again. Still dizzy, still weak, just... need to take it slow.]

Nice way to meet someone, huh?

[He laughs again, that quiet, broken sound.]

First thing they tell you is that they're dying.

[postictal]

[Literally dying then. That's a step up. Okay.

Tim huffs, a sound that's not really a laugh but more a bitter acknowledgment of Cloud's words.]

I've had worse first meetings. Been the cause of 'em, really.

[He shifts on the spot.]

You need some water? Or like, a towel or something?

[battlefront]

...water. Yes. Towel, no. It'll... it'll get stuck to the towel.

[Deep breaths. Calm down.]

I... I should. Wash it off.

[Tries to push himself up with an elbow. Trying not to stain anything. Only manages to lean forward and almost topple off the chair.]

[postictal]

[Ooookay then, yeah. Water. Let's do that instead. He stands up, bracing his back against the wall for support, holding one hand up, palm out.]

Just, uh...stay there, I guess. If this stuff spreads by touch, you probably don't want it getting all over.

[Seems fairly straightforward. But there's a grit to the way this guy sets his shoulders, some kind of stupidly determined drive where he tries to be self-sustaining even if he can't be. Tim recognizes it. He recognizes it because he's the same way. But he's always "okay". He's always "fine".

It's all just fine.

He roams over to the closet in search of something he can use, he doesn't know what. He opens the door and blinks in surprise. The thing is empty save for a couple bottles of water, which he removes and holds up so Cloud can see with a patient lift of his eyebrows.]

[battlefront]

[Shit. Well, this is embarrassing. He doesn't want anyone coddling him, especially a guy he'd just met an hour ago. But some people were just like that. They wanted to help, even though you're fine, you can manage, that it just takes a bit of maneuvering to get where you wanna be.

But the guy's already going off on his own and coming back with some water, Cloud still on the chair and leaning on his left elbow instead, looking down at his stained right hand and his throbbing left arm. The only hand that wasn't tainted was the left, so he quietly shifts to take the water from the other man.]

Um... thanks.

[Should probably still wash up, though. Clean it out of the carpet, too. Maybe the man would be safer wearing rubber gloves or something, but he's not about to ask something that silly.

...even if it does mean keeping him from dying.

He wipes his mouth a bit with the drier portion of his stained glove, realizing he'd have to just dispose of it anyway.]

You... uh. You don't have to do this, y'know.

[postictal]

I know.

[He shrugs, sets a pair of bottles near Cloud and backs up appropriately.]

I'm doing it anyway. No reason not to, right?