saveournumbers | First Test Drive Meme

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First Test Drive Meme

First Test Drive Meme

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Welcome to the SoE TDM!

Due to the premise of the game, everyone on this testdrive must be the modern day reincarnation of the characters we all know and love. Please take a quick look at our navigation to familiarize yourself with the concept and setting of the game before you jump in.

Feel also free to check out the AU Relationship Plotting Post, the place where you can ask the mods any question, no matter how dumb they feel, and our call for more app, echo or co-mods.

When putting up a toplevel on the TDM, please link to your character's relationship plotting post comment if you have one for them. That way, other players can easily get an idea of what kind of character they will be tagging.

Other than that, you know the tdm drill - when commenting, please put your character's name and canon in the subject line, and write one or more threadstarters so others can tag you easily. Below, you'll find some prompts that you can use or discard at will to write those threadstarters.

1. This is now our wonderful everyday

Being people living in our regular, modern world, people need to work or study, eat and commute, shop and relax... Just that all those regular, normal tasks can hold unexpected difficulties if you were just sitting at the tills at Tesco's, and this noseless customer suddenly made you remember the day you lost your parents. Or maybe you were getting some exercise, and running down the street you developed superspeed and have no idea how to control it yet...

2. How many times will they have to tell you?

Twice a year, there are guided tours through the tunnels under the cliffs east of Mossgate. Those tunnels, dug into the chalk throughout centuries or perhaps millenia, were built without a general plan, so their layout is an absolute confusing mess. On top of that, there are cave-ins and unsafe areas. It is strictly advised to not stray from your group, as people have been harmed because they got lost in them before. But you just had to get distracted, or perhaps think that it would be more fun to explore on your own, and now you are lost without a blip of signal to call for help with...

3. Call my number, baby

Somehow you have the number of another Numbered, but don't know whose it is. Why? Perhaps a friend is trying to set you up on a blind date, perhaps you got a slip of paper just saying 'call this person' - for whatever reason, you have it, and deadly curious as you are, you of course write it down...

4. Fun, fun, FUN!

At Mossgate's seaside, a Victorian pleasure pier extends about 40 metres into the sea. The platform at the end of the pier holds fairground rides such as a merry-go-round, a small rollercoaster and a helter skelter and along the pier kiosks sell candy floss, rock candy, roasted nuts and other goodies. A small distance down the street, a minigolf site can be found and on the street along the coast there are fish and chips shops, family-friendly arcades and souvenir shops. Maybe you are actually here for the fun, or maybe you just work here or are trying to track down a wayward friend...

5. History is calling, can I hang up?

Mossgate has a rich history, visible through two museums, the Moss Army Fort, the ruins on the cliffs, and Moss Manor. Most of these can be visited. And two idiots with a boat can get to the crumbling Sea Forts, too....

6. Wildcard

The obligatory "do what you want, we're not your mum" option.

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Alexander is a slender, floppish man in his mid sixties, with dyed blonde hair and an attention grabbing sense of fashion.

4

The sun is out, and so are Mossgate's inhabitants, not least one of it's more flamboyant sons. It's late enough in the morning that Alexander has been lured out by the promise of sun, surf and shirtless men. Protecting his pale skin from the sun with factor thirty and an oversized hat, he's taken occupancy of a well placed bench on the pier. He has a sketch book out, but it's really just an excuse: his main business here is people watching, and he's having a wonderful day of it so far, though the seat next to him is also welcomingly empty.

6

The Hive is Mossgate's premiere LGBT venue. Located in a prime position on the corner of the highstreet, the basement is a club, the ground floor a bar/cafe, and the first floor holds a rentable room for private parties and meetings. Matching it's bee theme, it's decked out in luxurious gold and rose gold, contrasted against gloss black. And the drones of this hive are the barmen and women, picked out specially for their beauty and fashion sense.

Like a true queen bee, Alexander can be found here most nights, since he lives on the top floor above the private rooms. Tonight he can be found in his favourite seat in the bar, attended to by a flurry of barmen and friends, but as always, anyone is free to join him (especially if they are pretty). The theme tonight is Eurovisions Past, and both club and bar are playing Eurovision favourites, although the bar has them on a much more reasonable volume.

Edited 2018-05-01 17:34 (UTC)

Nanny is in her 90s; a matriarch of one of the oldest families in Folkton. She isn't particularly mobile these days, and lives in Mossgate with her well meaning but harassed grandson.

1

Nanny has been dropped off in the OAP creche (aka the cafe in Tescos) while Shawn does the weekly shop. It might have made more sense for her to stay at home, but she likes the opportunity to get out ~~and harass more people~~. She has her tea and cake, and is sitting in a prime position on the way out of the supermarket, quite happily talking to anyone who will pay her attention. And when no one will, she'll call out to those leaving the store.

"Oooh, dearie dearie me, you shouldn't have gone for those apples, luv. They won't last a week. Our Pat, she had them last month, and I warned her, but they were mouldy in days! If you want my advice, you'll take them back and ask for a refund!"

3

Godspeed whoever has this number. Somehow Nanny got it. And like all of her social media she is now spamming it with recycled minion memes, chain emails, and cat pictures. You know the ones. Good luck.

6

Shawn needs a break sometimes, and sometimes Nanny needs the company of those roughly her own age, which is why twice a week he ferries her out to the OAP lunch in the Folkton church hall. Here she can get her fill of gossip and a proper cooked lunch that isn't Shawn's cooking. She'll quite happily talk to anyone there, fellow oldies or the younger volunteers alike.

"And now our Rob's said that he won't marry her, which is exactly right in my opinion, especially after what she said about little Sue. Serves her right! And I don't mind telling you, that dress that she picked out wasn't exactly the cream of the bunch either. Now I don't hold it against anyone who doesn't wear white; I didn't myself, and that was rather a scandal, but bright blue! It'd clash horribly in the church, I said, and then she said that she wasn't going to get married here! And not even in the registry office in Mossgate either! Some fancy hotel she'd picked out, like we weren't good enough for her."

Edited 2018-05-01 17:51 (UTC)

...they play, until someone slips and drops their drink all over the mixing console. Luckily, the resident (or well. Frequently frequenting) technician is there in short order. Not that she can do much about water damage, but she goes about salvaging things as quickly as she can, carefully but swiftly taking things apart, drying things off, and examining the situation.

A regular technician likely would have to call this mixing console a loss, but luckily she has a few aces up her sleeve. Though those would work better if nobody was looking over her shoulder.

She looks up and glares at the surrounding crowd (because of course bystanders have turned into an audience), and especially that one backseat driver giving unqualified advice in the back of the crowd.

"This will be fixed faster if you could go out for a smoke in the meantime."

Her eyes cast around for Alexander - surely he is around to usher people away? Please tell her that he is...

He is by now, at least, and he takes the hint, swarming his way to the front of the crowd in the way that only Alexander knows how. He's already made a couple of quick texts to the upstairs drones, preparing them for a flood. "Now, my sweetlings, you know we can't work nearly as fast with your lovely presence distracting us, so if you just toddle upstairs for five minutes, Mattie and Gill have brought down a bottle of sours, and there'll be a shot for everyone on the house to make up for the inconvience." Actually, he told them to take their time getting said bottle, but it's enough to cause a stampede, even if the backseat mechanic takes one last look before following the herd.

"There, my darling, now you can work your magic without all those little inconveniences." He smiles sweetly at Charley, the magic part of that sentiment absolutely a part of his regular speech pattern (except that this is Charley and it absolutely isn't, any more than his new wardrobe is just a change of style). "You can fix it, right?" He adds, with a little tinge of worry. A new deck will be rather more expensive than a couple of bottles of sours - and he'll have to put his Eurovision parties on hold.

"Thanks."

It's said rather too dryly to really count as gratitude, but it is still meant to be a thank-you and not a go-away. She doesn't mind Alexander's presence. The club's owner might take interest in what she does, but in a way that she surprisingly doesn't mind - a pleasant mix between not strictly understanding what she's doing but appreciating it with expertise, anyway. Not many people can do that. Usually you either get armchair mechanics, snobby dudes or overwhelmed little old ladies as types of observers. Alexander falls in neither of those categories.

And, she has found, for one reason or the other he doesn't make it harder for her supernatural tech skills to not malfunction. Most people - even some numbered people - do.

"I'm not going to promise anything, but I'll do my best." Her hands are still busy taking things apart and drying them off while she talks, her eyes on her work and not on him. "Can you get me more paper towels?"

Of all those options, Alexander is closest to the overwhelmed little old lady. He loves social media, but he doesn't understand it, and he defers all of his computer issues to his second in command and/or whichever drone gets too close when he's having an issue. All he can do right now is wring his hands worriedly and watch her as she works, and hope for the best (and keep their well meaning audience away).

"If you can fix it, I'll fetch you anything you like, peach blossom." He promises, but he still patters off behind the bar. The drones who were manning (and ladying) it have disappeared upstairs to help Mattie and Gill, so he's safe from distractions and returns in a moment with a fresh package of towels. He leaves them on the side, within her reach, and then heads back over to grab the mop from the cupboard. He might be a ~~lot~~ bit of a fop, but at least he's a fop that doesn't mind getting his hands dirty. "Let me know if I can do anything else for you."

"Right now I mostly need you to stick around and make sure that no new crowd gathers.

...Preferably that nobody comes down here, but I guess you can only do so much." She makes an almost pained noise as she gets deeper into the board and sees just how deep the liquid has gotten.

"Wow, that person had aim."

Sam looks a little bored, but he's still at least listening as he plows through his lunch. The old man-- not quite as old as Nanny is, but he's getting up there-- isn't as talkative as Nanny, but he's receptive to other people's chatter at least. Which is probably perfect for her, since she can ramble on as much as she likes.

"Some kids like things more fancy," he does say, in a placating sort of tone, at the last bit. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Anything interesting happening today?" asks a voice over Alexander's shoulder, as a familiar face comes to lean on the back of the bench.

Sam Stone, retired airforce officer and one of the local busybodies, is a decade and change older than Alexander, but still active and generally friendly, if a bit gruff. He knows most of the retired community in Mossgate, and even though Alex is still technically working, owning the club and all, he still counts as someone worthy of Sam knowing.

"I see you haven't managed much artwork, so I'm going to guess yes," he adds with a smirk.

Sam Stone is a seventy-something retired widower, originally from America, who moved here to be with his wife's family a few decades ago. Most of them are gone now, though he has a couple adult kids if anyone ever wants to pick them up!

3.

Sam couldn't remember who had given him the number currently written on the napkin he found in his pocket, but he's bored, and honestly trying to be social these days, so he punches it into his phone. It doesn't look like a phone number, but you never know these days.

"Hello? This is Sam Stone, I had your number in my pocket."

4.

Sam is mostly people-watching, having found a bench overlooking the minigolf course. He's grinning, somewhere between amused and nostalgic, at a handful of teenagers on the course. Any familiar face coming up on his good side-- the side without the half-blind eye-- get beckoned over, an invitation to join him in the people-watching. He'll even hold over his carton of popcorn to share.

"Here by yourself, or am I keeping you from the rest of your party?" he asks amiably.

[The voice that answers sounds like that of an about sixty years old man, and a rather arrogant one at that.

Who seems a bit surprised by the sudden voice calling out from the radio. Or a lot, as he's yelling aggressively:] What? What? GET OUT, GET OUT, THIS-

[And then he stops as he seems to realize where the voice was coming from. Which means...

His voice abruptly sounds a lot calmer, if still arrogant.] On a napkin?

She accepts some of the popcorn and gives a long-suffering sigh.

"Not here by myself, but you're definitely not keeping me. Alicia made me look after the kids." A hand gestures over towards the bouncy castle that's been pitched next to the pier. "Not like I have a life of my own or a job or anything."

Her tone doesn't match the words, though - as long as her sister doesn't try to make her do wholesome things with the kids and they behave at least somewhat, she doesn't mind looking after them. And the money for the bouncy castle and some ice cream later is well invested if it keeps everyone happy. Still, she does have things to do that she cannot do out here.

Edited 2018-05-22 20:16 (UTC)

You don't need to scream at me. And yeah, on a napkin. I can't remember who gave it to me, but I thought I'd give it a call, anyway.

[He pauses, then says more than asks,]

This isn't a normal phone number, is it. It's one of those damn numbers.

[There was a sudden voice in his territory! A STRANGER'S VOICE! Of course he had to bark at it!]

Obviously.

A phone wouldn't call our radio.

[Sam makes an annoyed noise.]

Right. Well now I'm even more confused how I got this number.

Who is this?

"Could always have called me if it's that bad," Sam comments, setting the popcorn on the seat between them. "It's not like I don't have a lot of time on my hands." He isn't as good with the kids as he could be, having been a moderately absent father due to his work, but he's trying with the grandkids at least. Or he has been for the past year or two-- he went hermiting pretty badly after Amy died.

Chad.

[He's taken to not give his full name, despite very much wanting to. It might be an odd name, but it's his, and thus he's going to act like he's proud of it. And he is proud of the title attached to it.

But it is much more useful when people think that he's human at first. And no human is called Eng CH Bumblecorn He's A Jolly Decent Fellow.]

I take it you're new to the network?

Which, though she won't say it, is probably why Alicia didn't think of him first, and why she didn't think of him either. it's still a comparatively recent thing that he's out and about again. Not for the grandchildren, perhaps, as time moves faster at their age, but Sam's children still treat him like a carton of eggs at times.

"...Vieve said I should go." She crinkles her nose. Damn her partner. "Said something about seeing the sun for once. She's one to speak, really." They're as bad as each other when it comes to getting lost in their work.

Edited 2018-05-24 21:40 (UTC)

Sam. Nice to meet you. If this counts as meeting.

[He, unlike probably most of the rest of the Numbered so far, has an American accent. If dogs can recognize that, anyway.]

Relatively new, I guess. Too new to recognize this was one of them and not a regular number, but at least I know what's happening as much as anybody does.

And Sam isn't quite to the point where it annoys him. Most of the time. He's just trying to prove, now, that he's done moping and is actually trying to live his life again. Eventually they'll get the idea, right?

Still, he has to agree: "She's not wrong there. You need to get out now and then, too. And you don't seem like you're having too terrible a time. You're not even burdened with them right now." He quirks a smile at her, expression wry.

It counts.

[Since ...there's not really any other way in which he can properly meet people. Everywhere else communication will be close to impossible.]

We have introduced ourselves, after all.

So what are you doing with your life now that you have a number?

"That's the point of spending money on the bouncy castle." She says with an eyeroll, but doesn't sound too bothered. "...So."

There's something that they really need to talk about.

"You're numbered, aren't you?"

She's pretty sure that the person whom she heard talk to someone on the network earlier was him.

I guess I'm talking to more people than I used to, but nothing much else has changed.

[He's still retired, puttering around the house or wandering around the town, and occasionally babysitting for the grandkids. What else is he supposed to do with his time, number or not?]

Why, are you doing things differently?

He twitches and looks sharply over at her, both surprised and alarmed. "What the shit, Charley. How did you find out about that?"

He thought that was invisible to people without numbers! Which means either he was wrong, or... she is, too. Shit, he does not like that idea.

Some.

[He's loathe to go into detail there, though. Let people think that he isn't a small, fluffy dog.]

Have you not changed in any significant ways yet?

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