cursedcontent | TEST DRIVE MEME #1

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TEST DRIVE MEME #1

A Blood Offering

You wake up cozy in bed at the Saturn Motel. As you observe the room you may realize that it looks a little dated. Or, perhaps from your point of view the lamp and TV are wildly futuristic. Or, like Goldilocks, it may seem just right: close to the world you just left behind. Either way, you just had a very strange dream (see the arrival scenario) and now you're here. And you're not alone: there's a bed next to yours and someone else is waking up just like you are.

You can chat for a while if you like, but if you try to leave you'll find the door is firmly locked and no amount of kicking, punching, or hitting it with an object will do you any good. Instead, there's a letter on the nightstand which reads:

"Good morning and welcome to your new home!

You may be wondering why you're trapped in this room. Fear not, the door will open easily if you offer a bit of blood. More than a few drops but not enough to be a serious wound. A handprint's worth will do, let's say, and it only needs to come from one of you.

I'll let you sort that out yourselves. See you on the other side.

Sincerely,
The Mayor"

And indeed, a handprint's worth of blood pressed against the door will unlock it and let you out into the world. Do you volunteer your own blood? Do you take it from the other person by force? It's up to you! But there's no food in here, so you better figure it out eventually.

Roller Rink

As a celebration of your new lives here (and an apology for the whole blood offering thing - they were just testing something out, really) the Mayor has invited everyone to the Crazy Eight Roller Rink for a private, after-hours party.

Attendance isn't mandatory, but it is heavily encouraged so that you can meet your fellow Cursed and know who's in on the whole secret. It'll help you down the line at some point if your Curse gets out of control and you need someone to wrangle you.

As a reward, everyone who shows up and completes at least one lap around the roller rink (you must be wearing skates, but you can crawl the lap if you can't get the hang of them) will receive a free walkman with a mystery tape inside. The color, style, and mystery tape your character gets are up to you.

Mallrats

Everyone loves the mall! Right? Right! And this group of newcomers is lucky enough to be here for the White Pines Mall Grand Opening celebration! Feel free to walk around the mall and partake in sales galore, check out the attractions, or just get to know the layout of the place.

The Mayor has given everyone a gift card for $100 that can be used anywhere in the mall as long as they attend the Grand Opening.

They also strongly suggest that you familiarize yourself with the mall and its layout, just in case you ever get stuck there for a while and have to compete with others for food and resources. But that probably won't happen.

Extra Info

The test drive meme and the IC intro log will have the same prompts, and threads between two accepted characters can count as game canon.

The first prompt is flexible: technically you're supposed to be with one other person, but if you want to do larger groups that's fine.

Rooms at the Saturn Motel initially contain two beds for the prompt, but upon leaving and returning characters will find that they all have their own rooms with one bed. If you want a roommate, someone better be ready to sleep on the floor or snuggle up! The room doesn't have to look exactly like the reference image as long as it's not too fancy and suitably dated.

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[Later probably comes much sooner than anticipated. Wanda pauses in her steps back to the bed he woke up in, eyes settling on this stranger again. Not that the Peter Quill she knows of is anything less of a stranger. There would be more of an outward reaction if she hadn't just dipped her fingers into the multiverse.]

Do they call you Starlord?

[She asks for clarification, because there could be other people with that name, of course. And maybe he does fill that spot in his corner of the universe. Maybe he doesn't go by Starlord. There's room for countless variations.

Ultimately, it doesn't really matter.

Wanda frowns, watching his expression as he reads. And maybe to see his reaction when she introduces herself.]

My name is Wanda Maximoff.

( he doesn't look particularly surprised when she asks if he's called star-lord, but the corners of his lips quirk slightly and the response is an immediate, dismissive— ) Sometimes. ( a beat. ) I prefer Peter.

( over the years, he's had a love-hate relationship with the name slash title slash pseudonym, peter's not really sure what to call it. on good days, when things have gone to plan and he has a crew and a team and they haven't imploded due to his poor decisions and apparent inability to listen and take the right action? yeah, sure, star-lord is great.

the rest of the time? when it serves as a poor reminder of everything he regrets and misses and is trying to ineffectively run away from? it's less great.

then she says her name is wanda and he looks at her — really looks at her. she's not the wanda he's familiar with, he's almost certain of that, and she's definitely not the wanda he'd encountered in the cancerverse, either.

there could be worse people to be stuck in this room with, he thinks. he holds the letter out to her. ) I'd say it's nice to meet you, but we've already met. ( beat. ) Kinda, anyway, I guess. ( a breath of a pause because one, he's dealt with weirder and two, they've — apparently — got more important things to deal with. ) Have you read this?

Edited 2022-08-21 08:09 (UTC)

[For all that seems to be lacking and leaving her with a distinct sense of unease, there's still the urge to ask. What's she like? But it doesn't matter. She gains nothing from knowing whether other Wandas are living happily ever after or living a life more similar to her own.

She gives him a faint smile before taking the letter. Reads it once, twice.]

Blood?

[She thinks not. Wanda sets the note down with a soft exhale and decides to simply go and try the door. It was next on her to-do list, anyway.

Naturally, it doesn't budge when she tries the handle. Go figure.]

( like wanda, peter's gut response is to doubt the letter, to think that there's another way out of the room than what it's saying they need to do. more than that, even, there's a sizeable part of him that thinks this is still a dream — it wouldn't be the weirdest dream he's ever had in his life, and it would explain a whole lot more than the "dream" he'd had before waking.

while she tries the door, peter circles the room, running his hands over the TV, the radio and the phone before trying each one in turn. for the first, there's nothing but static and the radio refuses to pick up a single station, whilst the phone is — dead. just dead.

he drops the handset with a noticeable lack of care before turning back towards wanda. she's managed a whole lot of nothing with the door and he eyes her quizzically. )

Can't you— ( he waves his hands vaguely. she has powers, doesn't she? ) —You know?

[Wanda's slow to believe what she's told by people she doesn't know, but anything is within the real of possibility. She knows that much, now. The noise from the television and radio almost disturbs her more than the letter.

But maybe the most disturbing thing is that she can't do anything more than what she just did. Try the door.]

I should. But I can't.

[She splays out her hands before her, and there's nothing. No red glow. No destruction of the door. It's like something just beyond reach, in a shelf just beyond the extension of her fingertips.]

I don't know if it's this place or if something was done to me.

[There are plenty of ways to stop magic in its tracks, but you'd think that maybe being some prophesized bringer of ruin would grant her a pass. No exceptions, apparently.]

Either way, my magic isn't working.

[She looks to the door again. It must have a magic to it, then, and it doesn't want them to cheat.]

( his gaze rests on her when she says that she doesn't know if it's the place or if it's her. he doesn't know her — any her — well enough to offer words of comfort or support, or even conjecture on which it could be.

there's a part of him that thinks that if they'd done something to her, then they'd have been able to do something about the curse. it's not, then, that he thinks it's the former, that it's the place, it's just a little something-something to keep in mind regarding how much of the truth they've been given.

he doesn't have powers to miss, but he has noticed the distinct lack of his helmet and his element gun. either-or would have been a great boon with the door, so of course he doesn't have either.

he steps in front of the door, looking it over from the hinges to the handle to the lock and the couple-ish of centimetres gap between the door and the frame. it's not the first time he's been imprisoned somewhere and he's positive it won't be the last, and he's seen way more secure-looking cells than a cheap motel door.

which really doesn't help with the 'leaving' part of the equation. )

You notice the letter doesn't actually tell us why we're in here? ( he half-asks, half-comments. "you may be wondering", it says, and d'ast right he is, before it goes on to talk about blood and do precisely zero explaining of the why. ) You're not squeamish are you? ( an actual question this time, rather than commentary.

whilst he's not, strictly speaking, happy about the escape method proposed in the letter, peter's (in)voluntarily provided a hell of a lot more blood than the equivalent of a handprint before, on more occasions than he can count; and as far as he's concerned, it's not a question as to who'll provide the blood. )

"See you on the other side," he said. I wonder how immediate that will be.

[If a fight is waiting for them on the other side of the door, Wanda's going to be a poor ally. But they have to get out, first of all, and Wanda fixes Peter with a frown and a crease of her brows as she rests a hand on her hip.]

I'm not squeamish, no. I'll give the blood. Just find me something sharp.

[Looks like there's no question on her end as to who will be providing the blood, either.]

What? No, I can — give the blood. ( he half starts, hesitates, then finishes. the hesitation is less for the reason she might think — that he doesn't really want to (which, no, he doesn't, but it's another day ending in y, of course there's something he doesn't want to do rearing its ugly head) — but more that he realises how completely flarking stupid they're going to sound arguing about who gets to slice open their own skin in order to open a door. )

Tell you what— ( he says, looking over the room from item to item, attempting to ascertain the best object for getting this thing done. ) Whoever finds a knife ( or an alternative ) first gets to choose.

You mean whoever finds something sharp enough gets the honor of slicing themselves.

[It's only marginally less stupid than them arguing over it. Oh, well. At least she doesn't have to worry about him coming after her, defenseless as she is.

Wanda sets her eyes on one of the bigger, uglier lamps in the room, and steps over to knock it off the dresser with a push of her hand, like a cat deciding to tip a cup of water over the ledge. It goes with a very unsatisfying crack thanks to the brown carpeting cushioning its fall.]

I don't think they're providing us with anything useful.

( he lets out an exhale of breath that's part acknowledgement, part laugh. )

Yep. ( sideglance; wryly. ) I know you Avengers really flarking love being the guys with the sacrificial play, but it doesn't have to be you every time.

( and if you must do it, he thinks, capital-y you as a group need to stop with the in-fighting and the pissing off other species and stop getting into shit you can't handle and calling on the wider galaxy for help, because it's a pain in the flarking ass.

he thinks it but he doesn't say it, because wanda? you really helped him and richard rider out one time, and he's still appreciative of it.

he makes his way to the bathroom, which in true hasn't been updated since the late 70s fashion, is a stunning — key word — shade of avocado green. peter hates it, but he figures that if there's going to be anywhere in this d'ast room that has something sharp, it'll be the bathroom.

(maybe. probably. health and safety really wasn't a thing in the 80s, right?)

he opens one cupboard, then two, and that's all there is. there's a toothbrush and toothpaste, a plastic cup — for what? he doesn't know — a couple of washcloths, and— that's about it. soon enough, there's a dull thud somewhere behind him. somewhere, of course, being completely relative and a couple of metres, because the room is Small.

I don't think they're providing us with anything useful, wanda says and peter laughs. the entire situation is flarking absurd. he eyes the lamp, a crack running pitifully along its cream, because of course, base, and he runs a hand through his hair and decides— )

You know, you might be on to something. ( he's wearing boots, wanda. he could stomp on the base, likely a far more effective venture than whatever that attempt just was. )

Edited 2022-08-22 07:16 (UTC)

[The comment about the Avengers makes her mouth twist. She hasn't been an Avenger for a long time, but she can't really say much about the sacrificial play. Better not to say anything at all, then, and she lets her lips simply purse together in absence of comment.

When he approaches, she motions to the befallen lamp with a flourish of her hand. She was planning on him being the brawn.]

Be my guest.

[He can do the work and she'll do the cutting. It's fair, right?]

( for a split-second, when she chooses not to say anything about the avengers, he looks up at her. he doesn't imagine to know what it means, if anything at all, so opts to act like he didn't notice anything but instead files it away for future reference, just on the off chance.

instead, there's an eyebrow quirk when she gestures to the lamp. it's punctuated by a shrug and he lifts a foot, bringing it down heavily onto the lamp. it's oddly cathartic and there's a satisfying crunch with the first stomp.

disappointingly, the lamp doesn't complete shatter - instead, peter's boot travels through the centre of the lamp, more or less severing it in two, resulting in a pointed and noticeable lack of fragments. he pauses, readjusts his weight and stomps on the base of the base, the crunch less satisfying this time as the china buries and embeds itself in the carpet.

peter huffs a sigh and toes the fragments of the lamp with his boot, kicking some of the more sizeable shards up and out, before bending down and picking a sizeable, pointed piece.

he holds it carefully between forefinger and thumb — why carefully? who knows, it's not as if it really matters — and starts to roll up his sleeves.

(what? they're his only clothes for now.) )

I can do it.

[Be the blood sacrifice, she means, not cut him. Wanda holds her hand out expectantly for the shard.]

I have a feeling you'll be a nicer nurse than me.

[Nice is not a thing she really feels capable of in the moment, though she's not feeling particularly cruel or malicious. She feels... a lot of nothing, in between the sparks of confusion and worry about whatever the hell is going on. All of this feels like an out of body experience.

Shock does that, maybe.]

Fine. ( quite frankly, peter's not all that convinced bedside manner has a whole lot of relevance to or with anything but equally, he's not particularly inclined to stand around debating which of them gets to cut themselves with a sliver of china.

he drops it into her outstretched hand with a shrug, remarking— ) I don't have any lollipops or gold stars. ( more pertinently, he doesn't have any bandages. he supposes, worse comes to worst, he could rip one of the edges of one of the blankets and use that, but given the — relatively speaking — little amount of blood needed to open the door, he hopes it won't come to that. )

You won't need to cut deep.

[She's glad for no fuss, despite his earlier comment about the sacrificial play. It's born out of selfishness, really. A quiet desire to not see another's blood, no matter how little, so soon after tearing through lives.

It's easy to take the shard in the fingertips of one hand and hold out her opposite palm, though she does pause at his advice, brows lifting.]

What, you don't want more work to do?

[It's advice she follows, slicing a long, thin line down her palm in one quick motion.]

Not really, ( he admits, making his way back towards the bathroom whilst she does whatever she's going to do. he picks out one of the washcloths from the cupboard, giving it a cursory once-over to make sure it's clean — or at least, cleanish — before running the tap and letting it soak up the water.

after wringing out the excess, he turns back to face wanda. his attention flickers towards her hand, the red of the blood stark against her skin and he eyes the cut, just for a moment, before looking back up to meet wanda's gaze. a handprint's worth of blood is pretty vague and the thought is reflected his expression, a mixture of doubt and expectancy pulling at his features. ) D'you think it's based on individual hand size or average hand size?

[Wanda manages to look entirely disinterested as the red peeks through the cut made, and curls her hand into a fist to hurry along the process and get a thin coating over her skin.]

I'm more worried about why it has to be blood to begin with.

[At least any hand size is tame, relatively speaking, but Wanda is sure this will turn into giving an inch that suddenly becomes a mile, eventually.

Nothing to be done about it now. Especially lacking her powers.

Taking a breath and squeezing her fist a little tighter, she steps over to the door.]

Hope it's not picky.

[About where she's putting her hand or how much blood it actually needs to open. Wanda relaxes her fingers and presses her palm to the door, leaving a faint red handprint.

Hesitantly, Wanda's clean hand reaches for the handle, and--the door opens. She makes a very thoughtful huh noise. No fanfare, no nothing.]

( he makes a noise of loose, vague agreement at wanda's concern about why it has to be blood, and he looks over towards the discarded letter, mentally running back through the contents. there was nothing in it that indicated the why of anything, and he likes it about as much as wanda seems to, but it's easier to pretend he's not really bothered by it. ) I dunno, ( he responds mildly, pushing himself off and away from the sink and towards wanda. ) Atmosphere? Ambience? ( magic has never really been his thing and he's always preferred to leave the details and the intricacies of anything magic-adjacent to literally anyone else. )

This place is probably just run by a bunch of creeps, you know? ( "nothing more and nothing less to it". he's not discounting that that's probably part of it — what absolute psycho can't resist being weird and unsettling about everything? — but he'd bet money on it being a whole lot more than that. )

Here, ( he says, holding the damp wash cloth out to her. ) You don't know who else has touched that door.

( he toes the door curiously, giving the door frame a cursory once over. there's nothing visible, nothing that jumps out as an explanation for — absolutely anything. the hallway is as brown and beige and walnut as the room, and he shoots wanda a look, expectant, and then— )

Hello? ( directed down the hallway at a whole load of nothing and closed doors. )

[Cursed blood opens doors in more than one way, maybe, though Wanda is reluctant to say it aloud. Magical sorts tend to be dramatic--don't ask her how she knows--so it really could just be for show. Who knows.]

Thanks.

[She wipes her hand clean as she watches Peter look over the door, pressing the cloth to the cut as he calls out. She's not going to be much of a help if things go south, but she has some hope that maybe outside this room, outside this building, her magic will be available to her.

Slim hope, but some.]

Let's see how far we get.

[Before shit hits the fan, she means, but she doesn't think she needs to tell him that.]

After you.

I'm just hoping for outside, ( punctuated by a beat. ) Did you ever see The Shining?

( peter's never been superpowered, never been in possession of anything to miss beyond his elemental guns which he does miss but he's never understood how they work and as much as he'd like to say the opposite, given wanda's lack of access (question mark) to her abilities, peter's not convinced the guns would work as planned either.

what he does have in his favour is physiology and a familiarity with and — in all honesty — frequent participation in fights. if it comes to it, he thinks he'll be able to hold his own for long enough for them to be able to—

—well, make a break for it, mostly. in a world (galaxy) of aliens, superpowered so-and-sos and beings literally created to destroy thanos, peter's never been particularly special.

he's just the (semi-)ideas guy. the keep it all together guy.

(and he's not always great at that last one).

he picks a direction at not-quite-random, opting to head in numerically decreasing order than otherwise, internally reasoning they'll either (in theory) hit an exit of the ordinary and/or fire related variety at some point. )

Just let me know if you start seeing creepy twins. ( anyway. ) What's the last thing you remember?

Yeah. [Probably not one of her smarter choices to watch that one night when unable to fall asleep. She bites her tongue, fighting off the urge to comment that she is (was) a creepy twin. Was his Wanda a twin, too? That leads to a spiral of questions popping into her mind, and she has to shake her head to quiet them.] Let's hope for some more dated decor and nothing worse than that.

[She follows, one hand gently applying pressure to the other palm. It's quiet. Peter asks another question, a good one, and Wanda listens to their out of sync footsteps on the carpeting as she considers how much she wants to reveal.]

A dream. And before then.... [A nightmare. Buried beneath rubble once more.] Well, there's always a villain to fight, isn't there? It was over. What about you?

Weird dream, ( peter agrees. not the weirdest but it was up there. ) My ship and, uh, trying to figure out where and why a giant Celestial head-slash-city disappeared from its usual location at the edge of the galaxy. ( it's the long and short of it, anyway — a little more personal drama, some drunk dialling an ex, and a mutiny, but those are most of the important beats.

(aside from the whole gamora kill squad and thanos downloading his brain into someone else thing, but boy, peter is trying is hardest not to focus on either of those two things.) ) You know, the usual.

( a lie. kind of. ostensibly, it's not anything that peter would find unusual — if future him walked up to past him and said 'hey, so gamora's going to go nuts for five minutes, kill you but not permanently, then shit's going to go down, something thanos, something the galaxy', he thinks he'd probably just groan and, like, internally cry or something because of course. this is his life.

it's fine.

he slows a little, attention shifting to the numbers on the doors, discoloured brass and paint that says they building's been here a long time (or the halls have been frequented by smokers. or both.) he thinks of his ship, of groot and bill, phyla and moondragon; of his and wanda's awakening. ) How many others do you think there are?

[Weird dream, ship, Celestial... head. Right. Wanda nods, listening, if not understanding. The usual, indeed.]

Depends how big this place is and if we think two people are behind every locked door.

[She pauses to try the handle of one door. It's locked, and when she leans closer to the door, she can't hear anyone inside.]

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TEST DRIVE MEME #1

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