duplicitymemes | TDM #12

Entry tags:

«tdm

TDM #12

« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »

« « « THEY LIED IN EVERY WORD

It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit. Yet, solace is found in the lies we tell each other, comforted by the peace of knowing that we're not alone in our depravity, and once on this path, sin itself becomes the lesser of two evils masked in a cloud of normalcy.

This is how Duplicity has functioned since the beginning. The divide of power and social standing is overt in that Dominants influence the decisions made both publicly and privately while Submissives cater to the rules presented to them. It is the way of Duplicity to assign random designations at birth with no leeway in altering what has been given. Climate in the Up is far stricter than that of the Down; violating outlined personas for a Dominant or Submissive while in full view of others is punished by degree of infraction. In the Down, many tend to turn a blind eye to these sorts of offenses.

To counteract the discovery of the Deceit Gene – a natural "negative" response to all stimuli – the L.I.E.S. program was founded. The program had been designed to introduce new subjects to the current environment and test for the Deceit Gene through immersion in Duplicity's standing society. Sexual impulses and encounters increase the chances of detecting the gene within these individuals. Participants are typically released from L.I.E.S. after a year; however, results have remained unsatisfactory and testing still continues.

... and you’re here! Finally! Welcome to Duplicity.

After choosing a door and stepping through to the other side, the first thing that greets you are the enthusiastic faces of people in medical scrubs and pristine lab coats. Their enthusiasm translates to eagerness as they strip you of your clothes to perform a thorough examination—you will be healed, bathed, and given a paper gown to wear until your items can be processed and delivered to your residence later in the evening. You are also given a device that accesses the network as well as the time and location of orientation.

If you enter Duplicity into the Up, congratulations! You’re a Dominant, which means you are immediately picked up by a limo after processing and taken to your highrise. Here, it is two Dominants per floor with separate apartments. If you enter Duplicity into the Down, congratulations! You’re a Submissive, which means you are directed towards public transportation with the address of the motel you’ll be living in. Here, it is two Submissives per room with a shared common space for all rooms.

Enjoy your free time until orientation! Participation is mandatory by all new and old arrivals.

The weather is a windy 69 degrees.

» » » SUPPRESSION OF GLEE

It's time for the monthly Duplicity train tour. Seats are in pairs and randomly assigned to Dominants and Submissives alike. Traveling from Fiddler's Square, the train journeys through various parts of the Up, showcasing society and examples of lifestyle. Along the way, frequent stops are made; a variety of passengers can be seen exiting and entering the doors. A Dominant with a kneeling Submissive takes a seat near the front of the train at one stop. A small group of Submissives board and sit closer to the LIERS at another, all seemingly content in their roles. As the tour continues through the Up, the train passes close to the Market and White Wall Bridge and zips by North Park before heading into the Down and bypassing Red Wall Bridge and South Park.

The train makes a "final" stop at Riddler's Square, where inhabitants of the Down are instructed to return to their temporary housing. Those who live in the Up are permitted to stay on the train and revisit the same locations while returning.

CAUTION
On the second day that new arrivals have been in the city, the train will derail due to a malfunction in the computer systems. Anyone on board at the time, Noon, could be injured, stuck, or killed. Emergency services will light up asking for immediate assistance.

« « « ASK THE ROAD

Two of Duplicity’s largest film production companies are out to recruit new, exciting talent. With the warring success of Subliminal, Sublingual, Sublime and You Scratch My Back, I Claw Yours, they have the influence and the funds to go big. They have reached out to the LIEs program for help with the idea that inclusion in local culture will make incoming LIErs more compliant, not to mention bring fresh blood into the industry.

Orientation is just a little different this month. Welcome to the casting couch, LIErs and those unlucky graduates of the program mistakenly sent notice of mandatory attendance, or else…

Not everyone has what it takes to be a star. Both Domination Station Films and Studio Hott are in need of plenty of extras to fill in the background of their newest productions. After an initial sorting in the lobby of the newly refurbished Orientation center, some newcomers, LIErs, and graduates are hustled into a quick and dirty costume fitting. The costumes aren’t as nice or detailed as those for potential stars and may be safety pinned in awkward places. Makeup is cheap and sometimes gaudy. It gets the job done.

You may not have a speaking role. It doesn’t mean you’re any less important, so get comfy on the furniture or in the pool and get busy promoting the Dominant/submissive culture that drives Duplicity’s society. Unsure of how to act? Better listen closely to the director. There are shock collars and bracelets to “encourage” the unwilling, and the camera will keep rolling until the scene is right.

Scenes may be sexually explicit or merely instructive, such as proper seating and kneeling, feeding and serving of Dominants, and keeping a respectful distance in walking. Extras fill any and all roles required by the director for that realistic setting feel.

If you are a Dominant extra, be sure to claim elevated seating and show a firm hand toward any submissives cast as your partner. If you’re submissive, it’s the ground or floor for you, depending on where the scene is set. Be attentive to your Dominant’s needs. It’s OK to talk, as long as you keep it down. Anything you say will be taken out in post.

Craft services has just what it takes to set the mood. Stop by for a drink or snack. Soon enough those pesky inhibitions will be a thing of the past.

(Some, but not all, of the food and drink contains mid to high level aphro effects. The film companies are taking no chances. The scene doesn’t call for intimacy? Good luck keeping your hands to yourself. You may be in for a shocking experience. Repeatedly.)

« « « SOME END MIGHT

You’ve caught the eye of the studio. You’re ushered into a small room to wait your turn. Whether you’re new to the city or not, you find yourself paired with someone for a screen test. Do they want you for Hungry Hearts or It’s in the Pizza? Read your lines convincingly, make some chemistry with your partner, and you could see your name and other things in lights very soon. Don’t worry if the dialog is cheesy. It’s part of the charm.

Having trouble getting into your part? There are costumes hanging on a rack. Try one on. You may find the experience transformative, as though you were made for your role, or it was made for you…

(Costumes may or may not affect the personality of the wearer. Those that do will make it much easier to get into character and greatly lower inhibitions when it comes to the more demanding scenes.)

Be aware that any sexually explicit scenes will only be filmed between a Dom and a sub, or a Dom and multiple subs. If you are a Dom cast in the scene with another Dom, it will be gen only.

(We’re assuming you’ve seen a porn or two, or at least a parody. Go crazy on the cheesy dialog and stupid set-ups. It’s just pretend, right?)

« « « NOT FIT TO COPE

Some people just aren’t meant for film. If you don’t catch the eye of any of the studio reps, you are recruited to work on set building and painting, helping dress extras or potential stars, or providing that extra stimulation to keep them going between scenes. Individuals who complain too much about the circumstance may find themselves assigned to the more unfortunate jobs. Somebody needs to clean up those sets after they’re finished.

(Just put your role in your top level if there’s something specific you have in mind you’d like to play out, like “set building” or “fluffer.” We won’t judge.)

« « « MOD & OOC NOTES

Please read carefully.

On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, characters will still have gone through the doors but assignments OOCly are still randomized. When applying, there is a section of the application that denotes whether the character chooses "left" or "right". When participating on the TDM, there will be a third option. Players may link either a top level or a thread (five or more comments from their character) from the TDM and title the link as "Door Pass". This means that the player is choosing to take the designation that they were randomly assigned on the TDM, rather than taking the designation of a door. If the player decides to select a door rather than use the pass, then they are trying their luck; they may get the same designation they had on the TDM or the opposite. Once the application is submitted, players can't change their choice.

To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide: There's a table with items on it. Your character selects one. If they chose the jar of pickles or ballpoint pen they are a Submissive and if they chose a clothespin or mini baguette they are a Dominant.

Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!!

» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"There's a small second bathroom down here, or there's a proper bath up stairs if you prefer. I can get you some clean clothes and cook food while you're cleaning." Ed heads for the stairs regardless; his bedroom is up there with the clean clothes. Ginger's might fit him better, but Ed knows Oswald will not take well to being presented with women's clothes instead, however ungendered they might be.

Everything kind of feels like it's moving at a quarter speed, lending itself to Oswald's intermittent belief that none of this is actually real and he's just moving through a very vivid dream or some kind of simulation.

He watches Ed ascend the stairs as he rests his palm against the wall, his eyes on his back and imagines all at once reaching for him and stabbing him between the shoulder blades, still unsure which he wants to see more. It all feels surreal and hazy, but as Ed threatens to vanish out of sight from the top of the stairs, Oswald starts up after him; he may not be sure if Ed is friend or foe or both, but the last thing he wants right now is to accidentally be forced to interact with anybody else, especially not someone he doesn't know. And especially especially not some he doesn't know who is incredibly sweet but stupid.

Ed heads into the bathroom and starts the bath running first of all, turning on the heating in the bathroom as well. He's heading back out again by the time Oswald trudges up and he's there to gesture at the various doors. "Bathroom. Victor's room opposite, mine next to that, Ginger's is that way. They'll up in the Up until close of business, at the shop. I've got the bath running, I'll bring towels and clothes in a moment."

This all feels familiar, uncomfortable in how recognisable it is to see Ed scurrying around doing little things to ensure his comfort in an unusual space. It's a reminder that they have been here before, seeing one another at their lowest, dirtiest, most shameful moments in ways that no-one else has.

His eyes move with Ed's finger, making a mental note of who is where before shuffling a little further down the hallway.

"She has Victor working with her at her Dressmakers?"

It's an odd mental image, for sure, but Victor isn't exactly a conventional sort of man.

Ed laughs briefly. "No. Victor accompanies her to make sure she isn't mugged on the way to and from the elevators, in the Down. I think she does use him for fittings as such."

The sounds the bath running is quite distinct.

Ed vanishes into his room.

In the abstract, Victor probably would make a good dressmaker's mannequin...

Turning to drag himself into the bathroom, Oswald pauses abruptly, his eyes flicking from the base of the sink then away again as he and leans back a little past the doorframe.

"Wait! Didn't you say something about bugs earlier? But... you had an exterminator in? Is that correct?"

Clearly, Oswald took a slightly different meaning from Ed's earlier meaning.

Ed looks back over his shoulder. "No, Oswald. Someone bugged my room because they decided I'm a dangerous criminal and need constant monitoring. There's no insect infestation. There's also no monitoring. I check." That promise comes from Riddler, dark gazed and clearly unhappy.

There have been a fair few times when Ed, or Riddler via Ed, makes an attempt to look intimidating and it falls short--a little too soft, a little too ridiculous, a little lacking in true bite to back up the bark. Or the yap, Oswald may sometimes disparagingly think.

This is not one of those times. Not that Oswald himself feels especially backed off or nervous by the look, but he can see the true shades of wrongdoing here, the rage that may otherwise show as hurt were Ed sharing the information. It's a face not too many shades removed from one that is burnt into Oswald's memory and it involved a gun.

He holds that stare, confusion showing on his face not over the words themselves but for all the gaps in his knowledge. His eyes scrunch closed, his head shaking in a kind of bemusement.

"So... The segregated nature of this city and its stringent set of class rules and enforced subjugation aren't enough? They must go to such extremes to monitor us too?"

Of course, why wouldn't Oswald assume Riddler is referring to the disturbing dystopian neo-Orwelian society they've been dumped into?

Riddler gives a mirthless chuckle. "Oh, I'm sure they do, though their methods are far more discreet and possibly more esoteric than my experience. This was another resident. Another marked. He won't try again."

The door closes behind him.

The door, quite literally, has just been closed on that topic and even left alone the look of absolute shock and bewilderment on Oswald's face that Riddler would just leave things at that is the picture of affronted entitlement, even if its only present for a moment.

It makes sense though, it's not like they're in a place where sharing personal secrets is really on the table.

Taking a moment to himself, Oswald is momentarily torn between following after Ed and staying where he. Ultimately, discussing a lack of privacy and then pushing open Ed's door is a kind of irony even he isn't in for, so instead he moves more fully into the bathroom to turn off the faucet.

Standing there in relative silence with only a few quiet drips falling from the head of the tap into the bathtub, Oswald curls his fingers over the edge of the sink and lets his head hang for a time with his eyes closed and his head racing. This is the first time he's been alone in a long time, usually flanked by guards and cronies, but he's also alone. Except for Ed. Who, by some strange strange twist of cruel fate is here. Saving him. Again.

The sighs Oswald gives out is more shaky than he might have liked, especially considering how very secure in life he had been not hours earlier. Everything was finally coming up aces and this is just another reminder of his life being a house of cards.

"Pull yourself together," he mutters at himself, lifting his head and steeling himself. A bath, some time to think, some fresh clothes, an opportunity to regroup, and he'll be fine. He always is.

Pulling Ed's emerald green coat from his shoulders, Oswald pauses with the garment in his hands for a time, fingers running across the material and the stitching in quiet, private appreciation. Before he's even thinking about it on a conscious level, he's lifting the jacket up, toward his face as if to smell it, but about half-way to his face Oswald catches himself and forces his arms to a rigid stop, an embarrassed scowl crossing his face. He's not thinking clearly. It's the stress, the shock, the churned up emotions. He's not himself.

His gut response is to toss the coat to the floor, but he can't bring himself to. Instead, it goes on the back of the bathroom door that he pushes closed reminding himself of the plan: bath, think, clean up, regroup. Start at stage one, work up. Step by step.

Step one: bath.

Ed's a touch hurt and so Riddler's getting prickly in response.

In their room, they have a soft, private argument about appropriate responses and information to give before Ed takes over and organises things. Soft, comfortable clothes, freshly laundered. A second set, button shirt, slacks, things that while too big, might be Oswald's preference for feeling dressed against the world (against them).

He gets some towels as well and then goes to the bathroom door, knocking. "I can put these on the counter if you're in the bath already."

It's likely a testament to Ed's general efficiency that his timing is pretty good, catching Oswald just as he's at the tail end of mentally chastising himself by the bathroom door when Ed announces himself.

For a brief second, Oswald feels an irrational wave of panic, like he needs to find a way out as quickly as possible, but it subsides quickly. It's not a great sign though, that level of heightened emotion making him that kind of jumpy. He'll need to get a handle on that pretty sharpish.

Trying to straighten himself out, or at least stand a little more upright, he opens the door again.

"Not quite. As ever, your sense of timing is nothing less than impeccable."

He offers out the pile with a small, tight smile. "I put in two sets of clothes, I wasn't sure which you'd prefer, and there's two towels. The bottom switch is the overhead heat lights and if you need me, just yell, I'll be downstairs making some food."

He suspected there was some fresh rolls from breakfast still, assuming Victor hadn't stolen them for his lunch.

He bows out again, quiet and not wanting to intrude further.

And just like that, Ed is gone again, leaving Oswald a little dumbfounded all over again as he stands there clutching the pile of clothes. He'd felt himself wanting to say something to Ed, his mouth trying to form around words that he isn't quite sure of yet and in the end he hadn't really managed to settle on what he wanted to say anyway.

He sighs, bows his head for a second, then sets about getting himself cleaned up.

It turns out that it is rather hard to relax after being dragged into a sex prison city, but at the very least by the end of his bath Oswald is a somewhat less frayed and frazzled. The time to wash off the arrival, get his mind in order and get into some fresh clothes go a very long way to pulling his fractured pictures back together again, making his steps out of the bathroom and down the stairs more confident. Ed's switchblade in his pocket, temporarily swiped from the jacket, also helps--like a safety blanket for mobsters.

He treads with care though, taking a little more time to map the layout of the pink house as he descends, mental notes for the exist, furnishings, sounds of life and movement as he listens out for signs that Ed is indeed still present somewhere. Paranoia has been Oswald's greatest tool for survival and he's not about to let it go now.

Ed cooks some lunch.

He's off his mania of stress baking, and the craziness that had followed with their other cooking, and now he's carefully reheating some of last night's beef pie and doing a quick mashed potato to go with it.

He's lost his jacket and tie, sleeves rolled up and shirt open at the throat. It might be apparent to Oswald that he's lost weight here, his previously slender form now looking outright thin in places.

Sustained amphetamine use has some negative side effects. But he's recovering now.

"Oswald, come and sit down, it's just staying warm in the oven. I poured you a red wine to go with this."

It doesn't come as a shock that Ed can hear Oswald's approach and it's not he's entirely trying to sneak anywhere.

Since they met, Oswald has seen Ed in various different states. This one is an odd patchwork, something between dressed down comfort and the effects of Arkham and the result is somewhat unsettling in an entirely unique way. And at the same time, there's something very familiar about this moment, like a bastardised version of his own recovery in Ed's weird, dingy little apartment, eating Chinese takeout and drinking wine out of beakers. It leaves a complicated feeling in his chest that is starting to feel chronic.

He's still cautious, edging his way into the room and shuffling his way toward a seat as he watches Ed carefully.

"This city does not appear to have been terribly kind to you, Ed."

Not that Oswald has much scope to talk about being kind to Ed.

There's a napkin and silverware laid out at the dining table, a glass of wine poured and the chair already drawn back, ready.

Ed turns to get the plate from the oven, using over mitts to make sure he doesn't burn himself and then bringing it over and setting it down. "Be careful, it's been in the oven. And I wasn't well for a while. I stopped sleeping for the most part for about... six weeks."

Oswald might think he's seen Riddler going manic and high. He hasn't, not compared to the bender he went on here.

Listening to Ed speak, he does sit, his hands laying flat upon the table and his fingers splaying out slowly, covering as much space as he can manage for a moment before pulling all the digits back into balls.

I wasn't well could mean any number of things. Mental unwellness, physical aliments, infections, injuries. Or it could be something unique to the setting, something Oswald doesn't yet know about. He thinks briefly about the story he spun to the press about why he had Edward Nygma on display in a block of ice in the Lounge and his stomach tightens briefly from association.

"But... You are now well on the way towards making a full recovery, I am sure. And sleeping more soundly once again, I hope!"

Does he hope? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe...

Ed's never been an easy sleeper. He generally sleeps lightly and when he does get into heavy sleep, often has nightmares that he can't wake from and leave him restlessly tired the next day.

His instinct is to tell Oswald. About the drugs, about missing him and taking the hallucination in his place, about the side effects. But Oswald is cool and sharp and he's not sure if Oswald is planning revenge for whatever hurt happened to him in Gotham.

"I'm sleeping more often." He sits himself down at the other end of the dining table (it's really just a four person table) with a pot of tea and a cup that he fills before sipping from. "Eating regular meals. Those things."

Everything could be a weapon. Oswald has known that for as long as he's moved in proximity to the mafia. And of course, that includes food. With his distrust as high as it is, Oswald is reticent to dig in, instead watching what Ed does with his hands, what he brings to his lips and what he does not.

Even with the realisation that he is, in fact, famished, he holds back. Ed is a poor liar, but Riddler? Well. That's another story entirely.

"Baby steps!" he leans forward briefly as he speaks, all smiling and low, throaty chuckles before settling back once more, his fingers on one hand rolling and flexing in slow waves, the pads of each one brushing the one on his thumb with each wave. He's quiet and thoughtful, assessing, weighing the situation and what he does and doesn't know.

It's an awkward kind of silence, a little tense and the type that could easily contain a lunge across the table and a knife coming down at any moment. It doesn't happen though, not right now at least. And after a moment his lips part. He holds it for a moment, hesitating briefly before breaking the silence.

"I confess, I remains... unwilling to truly believe this is real. There is more evidence for me to believe this is some kind of experiment of Indian Hill, or some method of elaborate mental torture from Arkham."

He forces his fingers still.

"What I cannot yet decide is whether this is all in my head, or if it is a false reality that is being forced upon each of us as separate subjects. It is, as I'm sure you can appreciate, quite the conundrum, being unable to trust one's own mind."

Ed laughs.

He doesn't mean to, but if anyone understands the pains of not being able to trust your own mind, it's Ed. Especially after recent events.

"I had a bit of a breakdown," he finally says. "Recently. Not eating, not sleeping, taking things to compensate, the hallucinations got- intense." Ed screaming at voices that weren't there, hurling things to silence people long gone.

"Do you want me to eat some first, to prove it's not poisoned?" He nods at the plate in front of Oswald. And it's not an accusation, oddly, just a question.

The laughter is a little unexpected, but while it could arrive as cruel or mocking, the greater effect it has for Oswald is surprise. It makes him blink, momentarily caught in a kind of mild loop of not being sure what to do before Ed speaks--explains, really.

"A breakdown..."

The way Ed skips immediately from basically saying he's been self-medicating to deal with extreme mental disturbance to asking Oswald if he wants to vet his food is another one of those whiplash moments. In an instant, he can see several different versions of himself around the table, each responding to Ed differently. There's a cruel, vindictive version of Oswald, barking a harsh laugh and telling Ed it serves him right and doesn't it suck when it feels like you're seeing things. Another version of him feels a kind of deep-seated distress, both for Ed as a person and for the awareness that what he's talking about sounds very much like a response to the environment they're in now.

But the way Ed sort of hops from sharing those details to picking up on Oswald's paranoia with ease brings him back into the moment. It's just... very Ed, isn't it? To the point, matter-of-fact and non-judgemental. He understands. Even here, even now.

Oswald swallows, then shakes his head as he lifts a hand.

"That won't be necessary."

It's enough to convince him to take up the knife and fork and start to dig in.

Ed doesn't want to dwell on his breakdown. It was unpleasant, deeply unpleasant, and he doesn't want to have to explain the circumstances, what he saw and heard, or anything more. He nurses his secrets in ways unlike most Gothamites; he ignores them as much as possible.

He just nods when Oswald actually starts eating, relaxing into his seat a bit more and sipping his tea. He knows it's good, his cooking has actually improved here, with practice and a decent sized kitchen.

He's content to be quiet for now, mostly because Oswald needs to eat and this silence isn't actually heavy, uncomfortable and oppressive. Just a quiet as Oswald eats and Ed enjoys his drink.

Since rising in rank, Oswald has eaten in a lot of high end restaurants, many boasting rich and decadent menus along with equally impressive selections of drinks. It was a perk of organised crime that slotted into the things he dreamed of and never had access to growing up, something he wanted so badly to let his mother experience too.

But outside of his need to put on a front for his position now, Oswald can appreciate a good home cooked meal. And what Ed has provided is, indisputably, a good home cooked meal. In fact, if he casts his mind back it has been quite some time since he's been in a position like this--at a personal, home table in a kitchen instead of one that stretches across the full length of a room that he can virtually see his own reflection in from the polished wood. It's been a long time since he's been a space where the scent of the food being prepared lingers in the close air. And it's been a long time since he's sat down to eat in clothes that aren't tailored and buttoned to such precise personal measurements.

It's all so... nice. Which is a pathetic kind of word to ascribe to a quiet moment in a sex city across the table from the man who shot Oswald after he killed his girlfriend, but it is exactly that. It's also very bitter-sweet, the kind of moment that Oswald can imagine waking from at any moment and then cursing himself furiously for his mind having concocted such a humiliating desire.

"I was about to reopen the club."

Of all the things he could break the silence with as he slows into a steadier pace of eating, Oswald's really not sure why that's what comes out of his mouth first, why he wants Ed to know. There are so many other, grander achievements he could fluff up about, but it's this one that comes out. The more humble and arguably most personally complicated.

Ed is watching Oswald, though not scrutinising him. Just looking at the subtle differences between the man he remembers and this one. Oswald looks... harder. Like life has slammed a few more sharp edges into him, knapping him like a flint.

"Oswald's? Did you keep the name or go for something new?" Then he stops and thinks about that. "On top of being mayor? And your other activities? That sounds like a lot to take on."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject