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memestertrucks2025-05-15 04:31 pm
monstertruckers) wrote in memestertrucks2025-05-15 04:31 pm
Entry tags:
MAY TDM
Things are a little stranger than usual at the gas station and garage. Namely that gravity just isn't working as it should. Objects float, pieces of the floor float... Even unlucky new arrivals can also find themselves floating! It's going to be a challenge to get around without any scrapes or scratches... Though at least there's what looks like a hospital nearby? Granted, it's an upside down hospital, but it's better than nothing.
01: SUMMONING CIRCLE
Drifters come to with an odd floating sensation hooked into their stomachs, and instead of laying on the concrete find themselves drifting a foot or two above the floor. An unfortunate few may be stuck on the ceiling. Whether they crash down hard into the floor (and the various vials, daggers, and broken glass scattered about) or remain floating in the air is a coin toss.
Still, it might be best to lend a hand with pulling them back to the ground, and hoping gravity will work as normal in another breath or two.
Once they make their way out, they can see a gas station and garage located in the midst of strange, floating rocks… And an upside down hospital close by, for those who had a rougher landing.
Still, it might be best to lend a hand with pulling them back to the ground, and hoping gravity will work as normal in another breath or two.
Once they make their way out, they can see a gas station and garage located in the midst of strange, floating rocks… And an upside down hospital close by, for those who had a rougher landing.
02: START UP
New arrivals will have a similar experience to before; a Convoy waiting 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 the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the (sometimes floating) supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.
And hopefully no one's vehicle has decided to float. But one can never be sure in a place like this.
…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 the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the (sometimes floating) supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.
And hopefully no one's vehicle has decided to float. But one can never be sure in a place like this.
03: HUSKS AND HAUNTS
The inverted hospital seems to have trouble deciding the exact formation of its hallways, whether the new arrivals should be walking on the ceiling, floors, or walls. But one thing that is certain: this place isn’t entirely deserted. Warnings of “Beware the Husks” have been spray painted on the walls. Metallic bodies line those same halls, some of them broken open. A wet trail leads from the broken Husks to the rafters… Where several odd monsters wait to drop down. Some look like they’ve merged with the hospital equipment, while others look like they’ve been cobbled together from different body parts. And all of them look ready to turn the newcomers into a corpse, or part of a specimen collection.
Strange, malformed chimeric creatures that are Unknown stalk the hallways. Unknowns come in three different colors, red aligned with fire, green with poison, and purple with lightning.
Adding to that are the various screens flickering on, and diagnose new arrivals as infected. The screens declare the infection seems to be contained, but requires further study… And if the monsters aren't enough to worry about, there’s also the restraint systems trying to activate and tie the new arrivals down.
Strange, malformed chimeric creatures that are Unknown stalk the hallways. Unknowns come in three different colors, red aligned with fire, green with poison, and purple with lightning.
Adding to that are the various screens flickering on, and diagnose new arrivals as infected. The screens declare the infection seems to be contained, but requires further study… And if the monsters aren't enough to worry about, there’s also the restraint systems trying to activate and tie the new arrivals down.
04: TESTING (CW: Needles)
The deeper someone plunges into the hospital, the more the building reacts to them. More defenses are deployed, treating them as thieves or intruders. Traps and monsters alike wait for them, with syringes melded into the forms of attackers, or lining places where someone might step or reach for. The syringes make a quick bite on skin… But it’s only a few minutes later where the effects become clear. Something in those syringes is now in the blood and forcing monster transformations. There might be an antidote amongst the supplies… Or the newcomers might need to rely on each other, in order to stay anchored.
The needles can also force temporary Swarm traits, along with:
+Group Mind: compelled to link thoughts with other Drifters, to share emotions, memories, and achieve cohesion.
+An increasing reliance on telepathy/empathy/etc in place of speech.
+Increasing collectivist mindset. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few; this becomes more evident during high stress situations.
+Compelled to hunt and share their prey with others.
+Gravity Affinity: If possessing wings or the ability to wall climb, may freely hunt/traverse corrupted gravity areas.
The needles can also force temporary Swarm traits, along with:
+Group Mind: compelled to link thoughts with other Drifters, to share emotions, memories, and achieve cohesion.
+An increasing reliance on telepathy/empathy/etc in place of speech.
+Increasing collectivist mindset. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few; this becomes more evident during high stress situations.
+Compelled to hunt and share their prey with others.
+Gravity Affinity: If possessing wings or the ability to wall climb, may freely hunt/traverse corrupted gravity areas.
05: LONG WAY DOWN
A portion of the gas station breaks away with groan and a rumble. And it is slowly pulled up and up, taking a portion of new comers with it! They (and anyone watching) will need to act fast, as gravity starts to go weird the further they rise. They’ll need to find a way back down, taking any supplies from the now-floating garage that they can grab.
What’s more, they are drifting closer to the broken moon, and that seems to be having a strange effect on those stranded on the new floating ruin. They may start to feel their control fray, and their forms shift, the higher they rise.
In terms of getting back down, there’s a handful of tow lines in the ruin that might work as ropes. There’s also a few pieces of rock that are floating up more slowly, and could work as stairs back down… Or there’s just jumping and falling fifty feet and hoping for the best.
What’s more, they are drifting closer to the broken moon, and that seems to be having a strange effect on those stranded on the new floating ruin. They may start to feel their control fray, and their forms shift, the higher they rise.
In terms of getting back down, there’s a handful of tow lines in the ruin that might work as ropes. There’s also a few pieces of rock that are floating up more slowly, and could work as stairs back down… Or there’s just jumping and falling fifty feet and hoping for the best.
06: PSYCHIC ECHOES
There's one last quirk to this area; a few scattered bits of odd plantlife, and the odd dead brain monster. While these things aren't a threat on their own (beyond being unnerving) they still pack a psychic punch; mainly in the form of temporary psychic abilities.
It's possible that after coming in contact with either plants or corpses, newcomers will find themselves gifted with either empathy (projecting or receiving emotions) telepathy, OR the ability to share their dreams with others, and having their dreams influenced by others in turn. This effect fades in just a day or so, but is still capable of causing mishaps.
It's possible that after coming in contact with either plants or corpses, newcomers will find themselves gifted with either empathy (projecting or receiving emotions) telepathy, OR the ability to share their dreams with others, and having their dreams influenced by others in turn. This effect fades in just a day or so, but is still capable of causing mishaps.
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.
Broadcast: The garage contains a few burnt out monitors. But a handful of them are playing a message over and over again on loop, filled with static. It’s a recording of important looking people in lab coats advising people to remain indoors and avoiding all objects falling from the sky. Especially “moon shards.” They insist that they are working to contain and cure the infection, but the safest action is to remain inside.
Warped Air: As seen in Long Way Down, the air overhead has strange warped pockets in it. There seem to be slightly different shards hanging suspended in the air, looking more silvery than the surrounding rocks. Almost like it could have fallen from the broken moon overhead.
Medical supplies: Most of the medical supplies found in the hospital seem to consist of healing salves and potions, a handful of healing herbs, and a few antidotes for poison or sickness. As for reverting transformations… It’s advised that new comers be careful of taking any experimental medicine. It may revert a change. It may also leave them hallucinating nightmares and fears, and they’ll be wanting someone close by to help administer the drug.
no subject
Nope. Spiraling again. He needs to focus.
"Roger that. Lead the way, boss." he replies, that humored tone he always tends to speak with really pulling it's weight, now. Deacon has always been exceptionally comfortable with lying. The fact that someone can hear his truths is actually terrifying. It's the most vulnerable he's ever been in ages, and given his history with Danse in particular, that makes it even moreso.
"How about you tell me more about this place," he suggests, hoping for a distraction, "I mean, you know, the real insider info. Who you trust. Who you don't. Who makes the best moonshine. That sort of thing."
no subject
That's certainly enough distraction for Danse, anyway, who arches an eyebrow almost to his hairline as he heads for the shelves lining one side of the garage. It's kind of a truth universally acknowledged that any opinion Danse might hold on anyone else's trustworthiness or lack thereof, Deacon would have good reason to think precisely the opposite. Their standards could hardly be more diametrically opposed.
But then, Danse supposes that would still make his own opinion a pretty good bellwether, if Deacon just takes the extra step of filing away whatever he says and then assuming the converse of it. It's probably what Danse would do himself, if he had any talent for reverse psychology. He'll allow it.
Though it would have been a much easier question to answer a few weeks ago, and now he no longer knows exactly what to think. He considers it, as quietly and non-echoingly as he possibly can (inasmuch as he has any control over that) while he pulls the chain from a drawer and begins to loop it around his arm.
"I don't think anyone's demonstrated an inclination to be a threat to general security." This is a decidedly recent development in his view of the situation. "So far, there's been an encouraging level of cooperation." He doesn't know about the guy who got his finger chopped off.
"I'd say our fellow captives seem to have a fairly varied and useful range of skill sets, though entirely too many of them are underage for my comfort. I suppose it's probably for the best in that case that alcoholic spirits have been somewhat difficult to come by, and if any of them are brewing their own, I don't know about it. But there is a bar, and people try to keep it stocked with what we find in our travels. I'm doing my best not to monopolize the whiskey."
no subject
This is considered in his mind, sure, but when Danse asks, however incredulously, if Deacon really wants to know who he trusts, his lips contort in a sort of expressive shrug and he nods, because he has already thought Danse was a stand-out man from the Brotherhood. A good person. One would even venture to say a pal. And given his recent predicament, his association with that faction mean very little, anymore.
Thoughts of Danse not trusting Deacon, should they be projected in his direction in any way or form, have no impact. Because why would they? Deacon's well aware that he's a liar. It had started out as a defensive mechanism, continued on as a tactical means to an end, and become just a force of habit. He has no idea why he even does it these days, just that he can't stop.
Deacon watches, arms folded and eyebrow raised, as Danse answers in the most soldierly way possible, like he's debriefing him or delivering a tactical report.
"So no parties on Saturday nights, I guess," he replies, "Sounds like one big dysfunctional family. The kids must love you," he smiles, teasingly, then moves to root through the drawers where Danse is pulling the chain, looking for anything else that might be useful; hooks, carabiners, hitches, whatever else they may need to get the job done.
no subject
Honestly, he really should be fine with big-titty pinup art, as he is with most proud old military traditions, but he is mildly scandalized nonetheless. Even if it's good art.
He doesn't know any of the rowdy teens around here well enough to consider them part of a family unit, dysfunctional or otherwise, and he suspects they wouldn't want his particular type of buzzkill around either--but Deacon's phrasing strikes a chord anyway, and not because Danse has ever been near enough Railroad HQ to hear it said about them. He does feel that kind of frequently-grudging kinship with the people here who understand the hardships of the wasteland, the increasing sense that none of their conflicts--political, ideological, interpersonal--really mean much anymore. It doesn't even matter if he likes them or not. There are bigger things at play.
It doesn't really strike him as all that strange that Deacon has effortlessly insinuated himself into this idea within a span of hours, such that Danse is already wondering idly what he'd make of the others as if the entire dynamic is important to consider. They're already accustomed to sharing a common enemy. It's just an altogether different one here, if not that much more inscrutable or unpredictable than the Institute.
(Or the Enclave. But even if Danse had a reason to think Deacon knew the Capital Wasteland like he does, he's learned his lesson about judging a truck by its paint job.)
He brings the chain over to assess what Deacon's assembled, and nods approvingly as if he knows what he's doing, which he...sort of does. Well enough. It'll probably work. "All right. You get that attached and I'll go get my truck. Rendezvous in five."
no subject
It isn't that he actually thinks being stuck in this place is offering him a fun side-quest; if anything the thoughts and feelings his mind might project are much darker in tone. Fear, regret, melancholy that he masks with a smile. But there are still people here that need help. And there is a certain comradarie that comes with being stuck in a shit situation together. Deacon knows this better than anyone.
Sharing common enemies does a lot toward building the peace. It's why Deacon finds it so easy to work with others despite their disagreements. As long as a person isn't actively committing truly evil acts, there's no point in holding grudges. Deacon has worked with The Railroad for some time now with colleagues that find him truly obnoxious and unsettling. And in that time has even seen a side of Danse that earns the man extra sympathy- which he has to remind himself he isn't thinking about right now. At least with the other man right beside him.
He seems pleased enough with Danse's approval and makes his way back to his stupidly-shaped vehicle, lacing the chain around the frame and hooking it to itself so that it's secure. When Danse returns with the truck, he hitches it similarly to the back of it and waves the other man on, ready to spot the vehicle and try to wedge it up so that it isn't dragging across the road.
no subject
The moon in this strange world may be warping them all into monsters, the vehicles they drive may be appearing miraculously out of the ether, but the real incomprehensible magic at play here is that Danse is actually joking--with actual innuendo, however tame. He's begun to adjust to being flirted with around here in a way no Brotherhood subordinate would have dared, and the humor comes just a bit more naturally now. Maybe the stick wedged up there is more of a ruler than a yardstick these days.
He doesn't expect it to be anything more than a joke, or received that way even if it were; Deacon's reputation might involve some things Danse finds unsavory, but philandering isn't at all one of them. He's caught off-guard by the picture of himself--not of his own imagining--that flickers briefly into his mind as he brushes past: not indecent, fully clothed, but clean-shaven and unscarred, hair parted differently with a little shock falling in his eyes. He doesn't think he's looked anything like that since Rivet City, and even then, his face was more torn-up than that.
He looks sharply at Deacon, who doesn't look like he's been caught out in anything he shouldn't, but when does he ever? It's possible he wasn't even the one thinking it, though why anyone else within echo-range would be picturing Danse like that, he doesn't know. Maybe someone's just reflecting on how the gouge carved out along his cheek mars his features. If he lets himself get distracted by it now, the bizarre sausage truck is never going to get off the ground, and then he'll feel obliged to let Deacon ride shotgun with him, and that is enough incentive to have him climbing into the driver's seat to get the project underway.
It works after all, even after a harrowing moment when it looks like the yanking might just make it all worse, and the Wienermobile finally stands tall and proud once more. Danse hops back down out of his truck, meaning to assess it from this new angle, but he can't help letting his attention drift back to Deacon instead. Why was he picturing something like that? It's going to eat at him now.
"Well," he says, loath to actually bring it up, "there you go. Wonder if it's comfortable on the inside."
no subject
reunitedmet, and it's a positive change of pace that puts him at ease. It's taken at face-value, of course, for the joke that it is. If he's going to be stuck some place and the only person he recognizes is Paladin Danse, it's a relief to be able to volley that sort of thing back and forth between them."Well... I don't think I'd have gotten the chance before. It's nice to see you've shed your exoskeleton." Deacon's tone is dry, but he is genuinely pleased to find Danse has abandoned the power armor that tied him to the Brotherhood. Even if it probably would have been useful in this place.
After the ordeal with the vehicle and everything is looking right-as-rain, he's feeling the same sort of excitement one does when happening upon a particularly good stache. Or any particularly interesting Old World widget. It's enough of a distraction to push those images of Danse's past from his mind, which is good, because the other man moves within close range again.
Deacon nudges him with the back of his forearm, a silent 'thank you' if it could be perceived as one, and then he steps toward the door. "Let's sate that curiosity of yours, friend," he replies, purposely picking that word in hopes that it tells Danse everything he needs to know; Deacon is offering the olive branch here. There are no hard feelings from their days spent with opposing factions. Danse is a synth, after all, and even if Deacon hadn't always thought him a stand-up guy, Deacon's mission is to protect and save people just like him.
He pries open the door and nods inside. "I haven't really looked inside yet. Come on, I'll let you call dibs on something you like for helping me out."
no subject
He doesn't think he really has friends here. Not like he did back home, however few they might have been after his exile. It's nice to have a generally harmonious community, as the drifters seem to be, but it's not the same kind of thing, doesn't make him feel less individually isolated even when the local magic is making everyone's thoughts vibrate together like a hive. Deacon's wording is a precision strike exactly where and when he needs it most, and he blinks at it, projecting that surprised warmth around him like a tangible aura for a beat before he collects himself again.
All right. Friends, then. Here, where neither Brotherhood nor Railroad exists, either at peace or at war.
"I don't know if there's going to be much to claim," he says dubiously, leading the way inside on instinct as if still taking power-armored point to defend a squad. There might be feral ghouls lying in wait. One never really knows. "Usually we've got to find anything good the old-fashioned way." Looting abandoned buildings, et cetera, the usual. Standard wasteland pastime. It's one of the only normal things about this place.
"Speaking of which, I've got a box of Twinkies in my truck. You're not going to find those in the mess hall here."
no subject
The inside of the car has multiple hotdog-colored seats, the back wall lined with a bench made up of some sort of storage drawers that look promising. There's a console in the back that he assumes manages the electrical properties of the vehicle (he'll tinker with that later) and a door just past it with who-knows-what behind it. It's roomy inside... and the ceiling is decorated like a cloudy blue sky.
"What's a Twinkie?" he asks, pulling a face, then plops down onto a cushioned seat and kicks his feet onto the bench.
"Oh man..." he groans, pleased with himself, "I'm gonna spend all day in this chair. Or maybe that one-- or that other one-- damn." After his bout in the hospital, he thinks he's earned it.
no subject
He frowns up at the ceiling, needing a second to figure out if it's a skylight or a painting, and then sizes up the seating. It does look decadently comfortable, by the standards either of them is used to. That's not such a bad thing to have around here. Of course, the convoy itself has seating and bedding that put anything from home to absolute shame, and Danse isn't the only one who finds that weird enough to steer clear of it and sleep out in his truck instead, but as an occasional treat...
He sits down opposite Deacon, sinking into the cushion with a surprised little hum of pleasure. "Well, I'm appropriating this one until you kick me out, so you'll have to make do with any of the others." He leaves his feet off the bench, though.