+ 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]

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?

[battlefront]

['You're putting yourself at risk.' He wants to say it. Just... have him leave him alone and be safe and not have to dot over him like this.

But he can't. Just leans back again, shoulders slumping against the chair a bit. His hand shakes as he holds the bottle of water but it's fine, it's just nerves, it's not another attack. He's fine.]

I get that.

[Boy, does he ever.]

I... thanks. I guess. I'm not really used to this.

[postictal]

No problem. 'S just water.

[Tim resists the urge to shrug again in the absence of anything else to say.]

[battlefront]

[He wants to get up and possibly find a shower before it spreads around too much, but he can still feel his knees shake a little at the effort of trying to stand. Maybe just another minute or two. It'd be even more embarrassing to have a spill in front of this guy.]

Uh.

[He lifts his stained gloves, frowning a bit.]

You know what. I think I might need a wastebasket, too.

[He really liked these gloves, too. But safety above aesthetic and all that.]