memestertrucks | MARCH TDM

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After tumbling through shadow you find yourself in a shrouded, ruined garage. It’s full of shattered windows and broken mechanical equipment, with all sorts of sharp edges to watch out for. Between that are strange symbols scrawled into the ground. Outside is cloudy weather and the beginnings of a storm flickering and rumbling.

Beyond the rundown garage is a rundown gas station surrounded by rolling, grassy hills. Close by is a Convoy of vehicles, either parked or driving up to station.

01: SUMMONING CIRCLE

This time the summoning circle and car garage is attached to retro diner, and an old wind turbine, barely still spinning and providing fading power. There’s also a broken radio playing a message about Nirvana and imploring people to head north. In fact, there’s a large amount of broken electric equipment in here and spitting sparks.

A fan circles overhead, stirring those sparks and creating a breeze. Trails of paper are attached to the fan, spinning lazily about. If Drifters choose, they can easily retrieve those paper talismans with little more than a slight static shock. While the paper is tattered and smeared with ink and blood, the following can be made out: “Broken in two […] Nothing to lose-“ “Moon mourns, call her down, ease her pain-“ “Need […] Better vessels from afar. Stronger souls-“ “Imbue with moon sigils, Give blessings of moon, share her pain. Put the ritual right.”

Hard to say what that all means, but it seems to have something to do with the summoning circle here. And there’s lingering power crackling through the building. The sort that makes the lights flash and flicker… And line up eerily with flashes of thunder on the horizon.

02: START UP 

New arrivals will have a similar experience to before; a Convoy waiting outside for them, and a collection of vehicles, one of which feels like it belongs to them. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.

…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.

03: STORM WARNING

There’s something odd in the sky; it shifts between a dark cloud, and a collection of birds. As the thing draws closer, it clearly becomes a mix of both. Car-sized, dark feathered birds and skeletal avians fly in a thundering flock, and turn the sky stormy in their wake. That alone is bad… But what’s worse is how the shiny chrome of the Convoy and vehicles draws the birds. As they dive towards the ground to snatch at the shiny metal, they pull the storm and bring a tornado with them. The Convoy does its best to anchor to the ground, but lighter vehicles and Drifters might not be so lucky.

The garage and diner takes it worst of all: the electric devices start spitting sparks and can even act as homing beacons for lightning strikes if a Drifter with electric abilities gets too close to them. Any remaining, intact windows shatter as the storm winds pick up, pelting Drifters with razor shards. And water starts pouring in, further shorting electric equipment and soaking anyone to the bone. There’s even a strange droning, siren like noise to warn about the storm and cut into one’s hearing. It’s difficult conditions for anyone caught up in the blow-out.

04: WEATHERING

Once the main force of the storm hits, the following happens:
Diversion: Those with Fast cars can drive away from the station and divert the birds. They’ll want a second Drifter to come along; either to snipe at the pursuing birds, or keep eyes on the terrain! Eventually the birds will tire or get culled enough that the storm disperses.
Updraft: There is the risk of getting swept up in the tornado winds. Damage, injuries… And a particular quirk this storm has. Drifters who spend more than a minute in the storm winds will find that they begin to take on traits from the Harpy monster. These traits increase in potency if the Drifter experiences hunger or violence. As the weather clears and days become calmer, the traits fade.
Downburst: If Drifters get slammed into the ground by the storm, or the dark birds flying about. They may also find themselves drenched with rain. Any injury they take mends quickly, but is replaced with scales, as the Drifters begin to resemble a Naga monster. These changes grow worse if they tell lies, but disperse with the storm.
BIRDS: The birds themselves are vicious: those afflicted with Naga traits are seen as prey, while Harpies are seen as rivals. The birds are deadly, but also clumsy if forced to the ground. The screens on the Convoy recommend crippling the wings before finishing the bird off on the ground.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, NAGA

This month, Drifters will have access to the serpentine Naga. On top of all Naga species traits being available, the following occurs:
+Cold Blooded: the rain and storms can potentially make Naga slow and sluggish, or inclined to sleep or seek out other heat sources to gain energy; this includes basking in body heat from others!
+Water Divert: With their water shaping, Naga can divert falling rain and even ground saturation to make the area or other Drifters more dry. They can also concentrate water into different areas, and can also change water into mist or ice.
+Blue shift: the scales of Naga become more vibrantly blue, or a strange mottled combination of blue and stormy gray, the more intense the rains become. These scale colors can also reflect their moods.
+Extra arms that are painful and disorienting to grow, and can result in coordination issues.
+Scale Pains: Pain and discomfort when scales grow in, as well as fangs or talons!
+Water glide: during floods from the rains, Naga find they can easily traverse deep water as though they were simply walking (or slithering) across it.
+Thermal vision, making it easy to track others in the middle of storms. Vision may also become disorienting, and eyes become slitted.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, HARPY

The storm will bring a second monster this month, in the form of Harpy. On top of all Harpy species traits being active, the following occurs:
+Storm Rider: high agility and capable of flying through the storm winds without hindrance. Even tornadoes can be mastered!
+Feather pains: itching, or full pain when growing feathers or wings. Talons may also be painful when growing from fingers or from feet.
+Wind Affinity: able to shape wind, including diverting the worst of the storm winds, or summon and focus wind into razors.
+Warbling Voice: words may waver and slip into something more songlike, or even a damaging sonic scream if emotions are heightened.
+Height Call: a need to get higher into the air, whether through perching on buildings or the convoy, or through flight. A sense of euphoria as they go higher.
+Nest Building: a compulsion to create a nest out of spare and soft objects, and feeling more safe inside that space.
+Heightened vision like a bird of prey, able to pick out details even at great distance. This may be disorienting at first, as vision becomes telescopic.

05: RAIN, SHINE, OR SALVAGE

Upon culling enough birds, the storm disperses. The monster avians dissolve as they drop into streams of energy, feeding into Drifter Sigils and providing limited healing. And handful remain intact when they hit the ground and can be harvested for meat, feathers, and possibly even talons.

There is one extra problem, in the form of falling debris. After being pulled up into the sky, wreckage (and possibly stray Drifters) are going to drop back down. It’s advised to look out for falling objects and people. It might be possible to salvage something in the form of scrap metal for any vehicle repairs, but such a task requires two.

06: STORM SHOT 

The storm can be dispersed in one of two ways. One is waiting the storm out. The second is a battered collection of machines melted into the roof of the garage and gas station. When touched they burn the hands of Drifters, but also fire a jolt of lightning into the storm. One shot lessens the effects of the storm, repeated shots completely disperses the weather.

In the aftermath of the storm, something different rains from the sky in the form of glowing, quicksilver feathers. These feathers can suppress one avian or serpentine trait for a month, and can also drain away any Naga or Harpy changes from the event completely.

Alternately, the feathers will allow Drifters to temporarily access flight for one day. Doing so completely robs the feather of its magic: only one effect can be chosen from a feather.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Windy Days: Preceding the storm are gales of strong winds, enough to stagger Drifters or send them staggering into other people or other vehicles.

Diner Is Served: While the retro diner attached to the garage has only limited food stores, curiously there is a respectable amount of cooking equipment that can be plundered. Portable stoves, pots and pans, spoons, and the like are all available for the taking.

Fading Storm: In the aftermath of the storm, the garage and diner look like they’re on their last legs, barely held up by their shelving. Anyone who wants to try salvaging had better move fast and carefully, before the entire thing comes crashing down.

NAVIGATION || RESERVES || APPLICATIONS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It's the new usual, by now, moving from place to place along this apparently never-ending road and picking through the wreckage along the way. But that part, too, Arcade finds more familiar than not - both the wreckage and the salvaging.

What is different is that it's not exactly cause for immediate alarm, to run into someone else, busy at the same. Thus far, he's found nothing but a few errant signs of life, out here, beyond the handful of increasingly familiar faces trapped on this ride with him. So he assumes, naturally, that the clattering and rummaging around he overhears further into the dimly, intermittently lit diner is just another of the usual drifters on break from the endless convoy. He makes an effort not to step too lightly, boots gritting on broken glass and porcelain as he picks his way through. No reason to startle them, but he's not really in a mood to chat, either.

It isn't until Len speaks up more clearly that he suddenly loses interest in the as-yet untouched dusty shelves behind that long counter, expression a mix of disbelief and wary but obvious hope as he takes another step forward. ]

Uh, yeah. I think so.

[ It takes him a half-second too long to really connect the dots, something Len attributes either to his preexisting brain damage or the fact that he woke up on the floor of an unfamiliar garage in an equally unfamiliar place. It all slots in neatly when he pegs that tone, the wariness in his expression, and a broad smile stretches across Len's face.

It's an odd thing, he thinks, to feel such tremendous relief at the sight of him. Spend too many hours on the road with a person, and the way they look at you with vague unease and dubiousness becomes a pleasant sort of constant. Waking up alone and realizing that none of the people he'd come to know decently well were here- ]

Well I'll be goddamned.

[ He abandons the toolbox to stand, making short work of the space between them before clasping Arcade in a brief but firm embrace. Len's hands settle on the man's shoulders as he assesses him when he pulls back - same attire, same accessories - to look him over properly. ]

You're a sight for sore eyes. Thought I'd gotten dosed with somethin'.

[ It's a weird feeling, seeing Len again in the midst of all... this. Sort of a relief, because he's familiar, he's trustworthy (enough, so far, anyway), and he understands what things are like. (Arcade won't have to stop every second sentence to explain himself, for once, and - well, he hadn't realized what a relief that could be until he'd lived without it for a while.)

But there's also a part of him that's apprehensive. Worried, because where Len goes, trouble follows. And if this is Len-sized trouble that he's wrapped up in, already, it's not going to get better from here. None of which he would ever say out loud, but some of which probably shows on his face a little too well, as Len stands. ]

Well, I—

[ He doesn't get any further into that thought before Len is pulling him abruptly into a tight hug. It's a good thing it's brief, as quickly as the sensation kicks on Arcade's immediate impulse to flee any situation in danger of becoming too social. He doesn't have time to do more than freeze awkwardly, still tense when Len pulls back to look at him again.

Len's words have a mollifying effect his abrupt hug didn't, and that discomfort fades as Arcade smiles sympathetically. ]

That's still pretty likely.

[ They all had to end up here, somehow, after all. ]

What's the last thing you remember? You woke up somewhere around here, right?

[ Len doesn't need a genius level intellect to read the extremely transparent wariness writ into Arcade's otherwise stiff features: conflict and concern are scratched into every tense line of him. It softens, ever so slightly, but remains about as obvious as the man's height. Another half-dozen questions immediately crop up at the top of Len's mind - When did you wake up here? Where's Veronica? Boone? Cass? Has anyone told you where the Hell we are? - but he swallows them down thickly. Ain't no reason to worry.

Yet. ]

We were camping out a couple clicks north of the Grub n' Gulp. On our way to the Followers outpost.

[ Len had suggested that they push through another hour to the outpost. Arcade - ever vigilant about safety - thought they might run the risk of encountering the increasingly common Legion scouting parties in the area. They settled on overnighting in a shack that smelled like musty old clothes.

His hands slide off of Arcade's arms, settling on his own hips in consternation. ]

Woke up surrounded by candles in the garage over there. [ Len jerks his chin in the general direction. ] You?

I remember that. ...I think. But it was...

[ A while ago. Just like when he arrived here, and not from a routine campout while accompanying Len across the Mojave.

He shakes his head, looking out through the diner's ruined windows toward the looming broadside of the convoy. ]

I was in the elevator at the Lucky 38, before I woke up in a garage somewhere pretty far back down the road from here. And that was - a little over a month ago, now.

[ Len doesn't even bother leaning on the cool-as-a-cucumber schtick when Arcade informs him that he remembers things differently. His brow instantly wrinkles in confusion, and he huffs half of a laugh before whetting his lips, gesturing between them with one hand. ]

A month ago? I saw you last night. Don't tell me you're the one who got shot and got your brain scrambled this time.

As relieved as I'd be to find that was the case, no, unfortunately. I'm perfectly lucid.

[ He gestures to himself, hands spread. ]

Search me for traumatic head wounds, if you want. Or I could round up a few witnesses who've been here with me.

[ Arcade wouldn't just lie, and not just because it's incredibly obvious when he does. So it's either true, or it's false and he just believes that it's true. And which of these is the more likely?

Occam's Razor. The sooner he accepts the circumstances, the easier it will be to adjust to them. Len takes a breath, eyes searching for something in the middle distance as he weighs the options, worrying his lip with his teeth. They remember coming from different times, they both woke up here under duress, and Arcade has been here for a month already. Len exhales. ]

No, no need. I believe you.

[ When he makes eye contact again it's intent, flinty. ]

Makes you the resident expert of the two of us. What can you tell me?

[ It's a relief not to have to actually hunt down half the people he's met here and ask them to attest to his relative sanity, but only so much of one. Because of course if Len believes him, that means Len is going to defer to him - and Arcade doesn't really want that any more than he wants Len to keep looking at him like he's lost his mind.

It's Arcade's gaze that skates away, now, one of his hands going to his opposite forearm in a brief, hasty fidget, before he manages to school both arms back to his sides again. ]

Nothing you're going to want to hear. Or believe, until you see it for yourself.

We're stuck here. With that— [ He waves toward the convoy parked outside, right down there on the road. ] Driving us to who knows where, looking for we can't exactly say what. A few fuzzy radio broadcasts are the only contact anyone's made with us, and I wouldn't personally put any stock in those being anything more than prerecorded leftovers.

[ Arcade Gannon is the anxious sort. Sure of his own skillset, sure, and more than happy to tear somebody a new asshole if they're a repellent maniac or an incredible idiot, but anxious nonetheless. As much as he keeps to himself, it can't have been easy to be here - allegedly - for a month already, without anyone from the Followers around. Len's gaze tracks along the nervous fidgeting of his hands, which settle on something before Arcade seems to think better of it, stilling himself again.

That's new. ]

The unidentified station, yeah. It shows up on my Pip-Boy as a scramble of letters. Basically gibberish, and the text changes every time I open the radio.

[ Len pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to parse out the details. ]

So...is there a why in here somewhere? When you woke up in the garage, they give you any reason for the world's worst road trip?

No. Just the usual party line. 'Stay with the convoy if you want to stay—'

[ Oh. Caught up in his annoyance with the lack of answers after all this time (more like a month and a half than a month, actually, but he isn't trying to dump too much on Len at once - or he wasn't), he realizes only a second too late that he's said more than he meant to.

Unfortunately, it doesn't take more than a glance back at Len's face to know that he has to finish that thought. Whether he wants to or not. ]

...human.

[ Alive. Alive is where Len thought Arcade was going with that particular statement, because it's a party line with which he is intimately familiar. Never leave the caravan when out on Route 66 - if the geckos don't eat you alive, some wandering raiders just might. Slavers roam some of the badlands looking for new wares, and most of them carry around collars now. Even without these abundant dangers, exposure in itself is an increasingly likely way to go when somebody gets turned around, heat-sick and disoriented.

Len blinks at him slowly, his threshold for accepting new, reality-changing information starting to feel a little like a noose, tightening around his neck. ]

...I'm gonna need you to elaborate on that one.

[ Well, there's that, too. But perhaps it's telling of how much time Arcade has already spent, here, that surviving feels like the lower priority.

In any case, he's backed himself into an unfortunate corner at record speed, and though he'd ordinarily brush it off with some unconvincing dismissal or non-sequitur— That doesn't exactly feel fair, when Len is here. Which means Len is part of this, now, and he's going to be just as affected by it.

Someone has to warn him. ]

This place has an... effect on us. The longer we're here, the more it seems to cause - changes.

[ His hands twitch again, an abortive half-gesture as he almost reaches for his arm again. A second of that intense, measured stare weighing on Len later, he actually does, pushing back his coat sleeve and then the shirt underneath. ]

I used to worry about my skin and hair sloughing off from natural causes.

[ That's not really a laugh that catches under his breath, no amusement in it, as he bares his forearm, and the pale, raised scales covering the back of it to his elbow. They're large and tapered, ridged and layered like a rattlesnake's, and mostly white, save for the faintly emerging pattern in pale gold and brown. ]

[ They've seen the results of radiation sickness, the way most ghouls will be flayed alive by the rads, losing their hair and skin, melted to scar tissue. Even the ones that still retain their sanity, like Raul, have pains associated with the transformation. At least once in every wastelander's life they're subjected to that level of sick, nauseated by drinking the wrong water and having to sit with a heavy dose of Radaway until they feel normal again. What Arcade seems to be describing is permanent.

When he moves for his arm a second time, Len is ready for it - or thinks he is, anticipating something grisly. With the fabric rolled up, he's treated to a series of slightly raised scales growing up out of his skin, blending seamlessly into the flesh around it. More out of fascination than disgust Len reaches out to touch them without asking first, smoothing the pads of his fingers over them. Warm and layered so tightly that the lines where they overlap cannot be felt, it's like handling a particularly large rattlesnake. ]

Does this happen to everybody? [ He lifts his gaze to meet Arcade's again. ] Is it gonna happen to me?

[ The fascination is terrible in its own way, even if it is, admittedly, better than the expected disgust. Arcade hasn't exactly volunteered this change for anyone else's inspection, though he knows it hasn't gone completely unnoticed - and no one but him has actually touched them. (Unless he's counting the chromehound that tried to bite his arm off and got an unyielding mouthful of armored scale, instead. And he's not.)

He's too shocked by the suddenness of it to even flinch, freezing instead as his brain struggles to parse the vivid oddity of the sensation. The scales aren't more sensitive than his skin, but they feel differently, translating the familiar through nerve endings that have grown alien to him. (It'd almost be better if it hurt, he thinks. Easier to cope with.)

Len's question snaps him out of that uncomfortable stillness, and he pulls his arm back, hastily jerking both sleeves back down over it. ]

I don't know. I know something will, but - it's not the same for all of us. I've seen much worse. This is... mild, really.

[ Yeah, he may have overstepped with the contact. Len immediately retreats out of respect when Arcade pulls back, noting the way he covers the marks, wondering whether he'll experience the same sort of changes. He knows what it's like to wake up and feel like his body isn't his anymore, like it isn't right. ]

Mea culpa.

[ He mutters on instinct, hands held up in the universal symbol of supplication before he lowers them again. Len can't imagine he'd enjoy someone poking and prodding at him because of some strange new feature, either. ]

...I know it's a loaded question, but are you okay?

It's fine.

[ It is not, at all, by any sensible measure, in any way fine. But Arcade doesn't want to drop a month's worth of dramatic change and the unfortunate side-effects thereof onto Len right now.

Or ever, if he's honest. Len is going to have enough of his own, before long, if this isn't all some weird dream from which Arcade is going to wake on one of the convoy's unreasonably comfortable beds any minute now. And he still isn't totally sure of that. ]

I'm... fine.

[ That's as convincing as it ever is, Arcade already avoiding Len's gaze as he turns his attention back to the diner. ]

Were you finished up, here?

[ It's not fine, which is why Len doesn't believe him. Weeks and weeks of traveling with a guy have a way of making it pretty fucking easy to read when he's not doing so hot, especially when his poker face has historically been terrible. So no, he's not convinced, and they both know it. But neither are either of them going to point that out, for fear of dismantling the plausible deniability they've curated together. ]

...sure. Yeah.

[ Len hesitates for a half a second before moving again, sliding past Arcade with a short pat on his shoulder. He shouldn't force the man into the position of being his tour guide, but it's hard not to want to ask more questions. They aren't just sitting in his chest, they're spilling out of his head. Feels like waking up in Doc Mitchell's house all over again. How much time does he have until he starts growing something out of his skin?

As he rounds the counter Len stops on the other side, pausing to brace one hand on the formica, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. The mask falls just long enough for him to remove his hat, rubbing his fingers over the scar at this temple before they rake through his hair. ]

Tell me there's a place to get a drink here.

[ He doesn't expect Len to believe him. He's known him long enough to know he has an acute sense for bullshit, and it's been honed on far better liars than Arcade Gannon (who does not excel at this, even at the best of times). What he does expect, though, is for Len to leave it. There are bound to be more questions, sure, and Arcade won't even complain when he becomes de facto tour guide, anyway. But the questions won't be about him, and maybe not even about the grim inevitability of their now-shared fate. Len is too practical for that.

The pat makes him flinch, but that's not even far out of the norm, for Arcade. He doesn't otherwise react, turning to follow Len with his gaze as he attempts to orient himself to the new state of things - not for the first time, today, unfortunately.

But not all the news is bad. ]

Actually, there is. There's plenty to eat, here, too. Clean water. Actual beds - which is sort of amazing, really.

[ Len has always considered his general flexibility to be one of his better characteristics, particularly when it comes to circumstances such as theirs. If things are what they are, then he need to functions within them, pivot to accommodate for them. Accepting the new reality isn't a coping mechanism so much as it is futile to do anything less. Wallowing in the situation isn't going to do anything but make him look like a massive tool who throws a fit when something doesn't go his way.

Arcade's follow-up is a sparse sort of balm on an otherwise mild inflammation, but Len won't complain about taking some small, cosmetic wins in exchange for what he can only assume is inter-dimensional kidnapping. ]

Suppose they have to soften the blow of abduction somehow.

[ He gestures that Arcade lead the way to said amenities. ]

Can't have the captives complaining. Not that that'll stop you.

Edited 2025-03-24 13:54 (UTC)

We wouldn't make for very good test subjects if we were sleep deprived and starving.

[ Though he's not so sure how they do, as is, either. ...Not that he really expects there’s anyone actively in charge of this whole mess. Perhaps there was, once, but now it feels like they've simply been caught up in some automated derelict's obsolete machinations.

Either way, he turns when Len motions for him to, heading back out through the diner's broken front and toward the convoy. It's a bit of a walk to reach the back half, but at least it's a straight shot.

Annoyance without any weight to it crosses his face at that last remark, the look it fades into too close to a smile. He can't exactly argue. ]

And here I thought you found my loquacious nature to be part of my appeal.

[ As comfortable as Arcade seems to be making the walk back to the convoy - something Len assumes is rote now, more or less - his traveling companion is staunchly the opposite. The familiarity of this kind of environment still engenders the low-level paranoia that Len always has in similar places, wary and observant the way a hawk on an old power line is wary and observant. ]

It is.

[ He says plainly, mouth twitching into an amused smile at the gentility of Arcade's description. Loquacious is one word for it. ]

It's just infinitely more appealing when you're waxin' on about saguaros. They got anything like that out here? Like the Mojave?

[ Like home? ]

Cacti? Not that I've seen, yet. But before this grassland, we were in a forest, actually.

[ The sheer amount of green was almost more a shock than the abduction, if he's being honest. Some of that truth rings in his tone, as he skirts around someone's parked vehicle. ]

The trees were packed together so densely you could barely see the sky, in parts.

[ Nothing like home. But, maybe, fascinating in its own right. ]

I don't...think I've ever seen anything like that.

[ Small, scrubby trees dominate the desert, with cottonwoods pushing up around any source of untainted water. Nothing dense and dark, nothing broad-leafed or rich in nitrogen that isn't fought for with every inch that reaches toward the sky. Heard about it before, up near Colorado. The closest thing they have to that is Jacobstown's pines.

A little wryly, Len adds: ]

How many samples you got so far?

MARCH TDM

1b

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