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duplicitymemes2023-03-10 09:15 pm
duplicitymods) wrote in duplicitymemes2023-03-10 09:15 pm
Entry tags:
TDM #29
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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 LIEs 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 LIEs 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 high-rise. 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 for all new and past arrivals. Cloudy skies and chilly weather mark the start of spring. |
 After stepping through the door and participating in Orientation, LIERs are assembled together in the Up for a tour of Duplicity in its entirety. 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. |
 (cw: d/s themes, public demonstrations, bondage, spanking, humiliation) It's that time again, when more experienced LIERs are roped into playing a part in Orientation and helping their fellow newbies out. Unfortunately, sometimes it's a newbie who gets called on by mistake. Bureaucracy is the worst! All that red tape. (And rope.) LIERs are broken into small groups for intimate Introduction to Dom/Sub workshops in order to help newcomers more quickly adapt to the cornerstone of the Duplicity lifestyle. Those with lines down their throats are only chosen to demonstrate Submissive roles, while those without are chosen for the Dominant roles. Participants are encouraged to practice on each other while being taught. Subjects include but aren't limited to: In addition to the workshops is a fun matchmaking game. At the door, everyone is given an exaggerated and embarrassing caricature of someone else, whether through distorted features, awkward poses, or being drawn naked, and told to find that person. Added incentive is that the pictures are given out in pairs. Find the person in the drawing, and you find the person with an equally awful drawing of you! If they won't hand it over right away, you may need to get creative with incentive. |
 (cw: forced sex work, voyeurism and exhibitionism, lingerie/costumes, drugs, aphro, humiliation, leaked nudes) Both in Fiddler's Square and Riddler's Square a set of small, mysterious, curtained boxy structures have been erected. Soon enough the purpose becomes clear as masked miscreants snatch people off the street and force them first into a makeshift dressing room in a nearby nondescript building, where they're instructed to choose a cheap and revealing costume from a rack and put it on. They're then dragged and stuffed into one of the boxes. In other cases, characters may be drugged unconscious and awaken in one of the boxes already wearing their new sexy getup. Either way, once it's occupied, the curtains part to reveal a shuttered Pop-up Peep Show. Anyone on the outside can insert a coin to raise the shutter and activate the two-way mic. Tinny music begins to play. Better put on a good show, because the box won't open and release its prisoner until a certain amount of money has been earned. Toys and lube are provided for use. Also set up around the area for the low, low price of free are photo booths that anyone is welcome to use. At first they seem like the usual kind often seen in shopping areas. It's only when one enters with a partner (or on their own!) that they'll realize, much like everything in Duplicity, these too have their own sexy spin. There are various filters one can pick from to place over their booth image, along with silly stickers they can add on screen before going to print out their photos. Harmless enough so far, right? Unfortunately anyone who uses the photo booths will discover the air inside is laced with an aphrodisiac to encourage them to take more risque poses than they normally would. On top of that, what they don't know is that the booths can wirelessly sync with characters' devices to download and install a hidden app that will store the photos and activate at a later date. Even worse is any image taken within the booth, thanks to shoddy cloud storage, may end up posted to the network feed or sent as attachments to individual contacts, even to complete strangers. Sorry about that. |
 (cw: body fluids) It seems like everywhere you go these days you're bombarded with marketing for a new miracle product. It'll revolutionize your life! Best sex you've ever had! You've never experienced anything like this before! What is it, you ask? Or maybe you didn't ask, but they're going to tell you all about it anyway. It's Back Door Delight — the drink that goes down smooth and generates lube! That's right, no more wasting time fumbling around with bottles of artificial lubrication that gets everywhere and makes a mess. Now your butt will do the work for you. A slippery ride, every time*, guaranteed (*each dose lasts 6 hours). Comes in regular or warming tingle varieties. Try it for yourself or, better yet, get in on the ground floor of this amazing life-changing innovation and become a Back Door Delight salesperson today! In addition to pushing sales, the shady distributors of this product will promise easy riches to anyone who wants to become a seller themselves and will quickly offload bulk quantities onto those who show even the slightest interest at no upfront cost. The catch, of course, is that they're on the hook financially for any leftover product they don't manage to sell and it turns out this is a gang enterprise. Pay up or get your kneecaps rearranged. Characters who don't make enough sales or find another way to come up with the money might find themselves making desperate deals with gang members to work off the debt. The worst part is, it doesn't even work as advertised! Every bottle of Back Door Delight is a total dud. Some of them cause excessive anal lubrication for a period of 24 hours, leaving the drinker inconveniently dripping wet. Some don't work at all and just make characters feel bloated and terrible for a while. The warming version? More like burning. You could douche with hot sauce for the same effect and it would be cheaper, too. Hopefully you didn't invest too much. |
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 the assignments are OOCly 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: If your character would prefer a slap, they are a Dominant. If your character would prefer a tickle, they are a Submissive. To Note: Characters can only swap their designation for one of the following reasons: an event occurs that allows it or there are OOC reasons that make it a necessity. Any swap always requires mod approval and each character can only ever switch once. Characters that are being reapped will keep their previous designation but players can choose to use new TDMs with different designations for fun! Test Drive threads can be used as activity proofs for characters currently in-game. Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!! |
no subject
He might just like this man, this Not-Grayson. A similar cut to the face, but the fire is all different. Farm kid all grown up and looking respectable, or at least that's the impression he's giving, but the fucker knows how to take a beating. That doesn't just happen. Begs certain questions, doesn't it?
Carver just flashes his teeth and gets his weapons back. There are questions, sure. But he's not in the mood to push just yet, not when he can leave Not-Grayson to stew in it for a while. And, quietly, clean himself the fuck up and start forgetting this part ever happened. It feels good now, in the aftermath, but Carver's not exactly fond of getting his face mashed into the ground.
Still. Tests aren't supposed to be pleasant. It's good to remember that.
He watches the stranger go, and he considers his next move. He doesn't catch him immediately after the locals let them loose back onto the streets, no. That'd be too obvious. But Carver's got some skill at tracking men from a distance and really, isn't not hard when you know the layout, when you spend your free time figuring out the blind corners and good vantage points.
It's not hard to find Not-Grayson again, though it takes some time. That's all right. Carver can be patient when he cares to. Wild Pony - hmm. Not the place he would have guessed at first blush. But maybe someone likes the atmosphere. Maybe he really is a farm kid after all.
For his part, Carver's cleaned himself up, but his clothes are pretty much the same uniform black as before. Same knife at his belt, same gloves on his hands, hiding the lovely bruises. And there's no reason not to sidle up, cat-quiet, and flash him a grin.
"Never did catch your name, you know."
Hi, stranger.
no subject
With no other clothes yet except the suit, when he was ready to go back out again, he'd donned it without the tie, left his hair more deconstructed, and searched the phone for somewhere decent to go. Of course it would be in that weird, underground Morloc cave system. Probably better to get over himself about that anyway.
Inside the bar is the first place that feels familiar. This could be almost anywhere Montana, down to the cheap whiskey and pisswater beer chasers. He has never been much of a heavy drinker. Can't afford to lose control like that, and Beth is the certified messy one of the family. There's only ever room for one of those. It doesn't stop him from ordering a double on the rocks and a bottled beer.
He's just getting into it when a familiar voice way too close makes him jump. He catches a spill down his chin and wipes upward with his hand, flinging the rest of the droplets to the side. "Following me?" he asks with narrowed eyes. Please, God, don't let it be a sex thing.
Fucker is unnerving and clearly knows he is. Worst way to deal with one of those is show a weakness, so he sets down his glass and turns more to face him. "Jamie." He doesn't offer a hand to thick looking gloves, not a fan of getting his fingers wrenched. "You?" And since they're doing this, he jerks his chin toward the stool next to him if he's inclined to sit.
no subject
Interest. Carver cants his head, like a dog. Always, always watching. "Maybe," he drawls. "It's not hard around here."
Not if you practice. And he takes the indicated seat because it sure seems like they're playing this out. There's no reason not to at this point.
He props his chin up on his palm.
"It's Carver. You're new."
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He reaches for his beer for a pull. "Yep." He gives the 'p' an extra pop. "Shitty town. Not a fan." After a long swallow he lowers it, the sudsy head sloshing clear sides.
"Hospitality leaves a lot to be desired. You're not new." Not the way he went at those guards like he'd been waiting for the excuse. Most new people, like him, would be a lot more worried about not walking out of that.
Or he's just that crazy. Some people are. He has seen a few of them off to the train station through the years. One way of dealing with problems his father has he doesn't fully disagree with.
no subject
Either way: interesting.
It's been a while since Carver's had a chance to play an interrogator's game, anyway. Maybe he's bored. He waves for the bartender, orders himself a glass of whiskey. It might be good, might be shit, it doesn't really matter. It's just an excuse to stay here, and eyeball this motherfucker who calls himself Jamie.
"Nah," Carver agrees, because he's not and it's more fun when he doesn't bother lying. "Been here about a year. Boggles the mind. You come in with anybody?"
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"No." He shakes his head. Thank God for small favors. Aside from a few 'New Montana' real estate assholes, he can't think of anyone he'd wish this place on, not even Beth. Jesus, what a disaster that would be. He knocks back another swallow and eyes him again.
"You?" More militia crazies? Wouldn't that just be a kick in the teeth.
no subject
His drink arrives. He inclines his head slightly at the bartender and knocks it back, taking a good swing. It’s something to do with his hands, an excuse to linger. Do the social dance that people expect instead of sitting down across from a stranger and peppering them with questions. That shit makes folks nervous, and Carver—despite his mood—has training in this.
Thing is, most people want to talk—especially about themselves. The trick is finding the right prompts.
“Nah. Not yet.” Carver cants his head. Watching Jamie intently. Always, always watching him. “Couple from the same area, but we didn’t know each other. It happens like that before. Have to say, you don’t strike me as a farm kid.”
no subject
The farm kid remark briefly curves his upper lip in a micro expression of contempt. Is that what this redneck thinks? He's some farm kid stuffed in a suit to put on airs? Elevate his station?
"Because I'm not." It's crisp, and now he's meeting stare for stare. "My family owns the largest cattle ranch in the state of Montana. I worked it from the time I could sit a saddle until my father shipped me off to Harvard because he decided he needed a decent lawyer more than he needed another ranch hand." He downs the rest of his whiskey and reaches for the beer.
"You military?" He doesn't want to dwell on that topic. The less of John Dutton he has in his head while trying to enjoy a drink the better.
no subject
“You sound proud,” Carver drawls, though proud isn’t quite the right word. Defensive, maybe. He’ll prod more at that until he understands the shape of it, though not just yet. “Mhmm. I was. And then I went private.”
And then the world ended, though he doesn’t say that.
“I like lawyers,” he adds. “They’re useful.”
no subject
His grin is flat, more blatant and open contempt. "It's usually city slickers who call me 'farm boy.' That's all."
A merc then. Not far off from militia crazy. More often than not there's overlap. He takes another swig, blue eyes sharp over the bottle.
"Then you're going to love me. I'm the most useful lawyer I know." Useful enough to keep his family out of prison several times over. Enough to keep the ranch together with duct tape and popsicle sticks thanks to his father's outdated ideas and refusal to see the lay of the land. Useful enough to be the governor's hand picked replacement for her retiring fossil of an AG. All of it runs through his head while he watches him right back. He has his attention now, for good or ill.
no subject
Now, that’s just fun.
“Maybe so. Depends how easy you flinch.”
Carver drops his hand and then abruptly leans forward, just to see, just to see what that gets him. If Jamie balks or holds firm. “I strike you as a city slicker? Hmm?”
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"No. That's why it was such a surprise." More sarcasm, a lilt on the last word.
"You strike me like a lot of the ranch hands who've come through over the years, hitting the bunkhouse with dicks swinging and Hell to raise. Figuring out the pecking order. You got a problem with me, then bring it. I'm almost certain you'll kick my ass up one side and down the other. Wouldn't be the first time. I'll make you feel every inch of it. I can promise you that."
He polishes off the beer and signals for another. "Or we can cut the theatrics and bullshit, because whatever night of the week bar brawls are something I haven't been into since my twenties, and I've got nothing to prove."
no subject
That’s fun.
Carver’s grin goes wide. And then he leans back, nice and sweet. “I bet you would. I bet you’re a mean little fucker when you get the chance. Thing is, I already know I’d win. I know how to move and maybe you’d even tag me a time or two, if you’re quick, but still.”
Really, how else would that end?
“But you’d get me back, wouldn’t you?” Carver lifts his glass in salute. His eyes bright, and focused. “Mhmm. That makes you interesting, Harvard.”
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Not until he mentions paybacks, and then he's gleaming eyes and a much slower smile. "You can take that to the bank."
He lifts his bottle in turn and downs a longer swallow. After this one he's done. He can hold his liquor fine. In a new environment with a crazy son of a bitch talking vendettas for no apparent reason but the hell of it, if he wants to get drunk tonight, he can stop by a liquor store and do it behind a locked door. "And be sure it won't be fun. Only an idiot rewards a dog when it bites."
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Not so long ago, Carver bared his teeth and bit down on on a stranger who laid hands on him. And oh, that felt good. That felt real fucking good, didn't it? The taste of iron in his throat, the crunch of bone between his teeth.
"But like I said: lawyers are useful. Maybe you will be too, one of these days."
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"If this place has anything codified, I'll know it soon enough. I don't think anyone is in the market for a ranch hand around here." He'll have to find other work first. Having housing supplied is the bare bones least of what he'll want or need.
"Trouble like you, though..." He lets it hang a bit. "Sooner or later probably runs into a little more than a fine will fix."
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But there are other concerns, too.
He knocks back the last of his whiskey. "You don't get points for stating the obvious, Harvard. But let's just say nobody likes going to sex jail around here."
Which is a thing. Unfortunately.
Carver lowers his glass, flashing his teeth.
"Oh, here's something they didn't tell you in orientation: we don't stay dead around here. Isn't that fun?"
no subject
The rest of that, though...
He laughs before he can stop himself. Well. The kind of place John Dutton wouldn't be able to manage at all, a man whose all too frequent go-to solution is kill a problem rather than handle it in a smarter way, a way that doesn't require a son to constantly scramble to find loopholes and people to blackmail to save his ass. "Been waiting for something like that over half my life." He polishes off his beer, too, and sets it on the bar with a loud clack.
"Be seeing you, Carver. You don't have to stalk me." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone to wave it. "Jamie Dutton." He pays for his drinks and slips off his stool to head for the door.
no subject
"Jamie Dutton," he repeats, letting some of that old Colorado drawl bleed back in. Just for fun. Just for a little bit of nostalgia. "I'll remember."
Yeah. He'll be keeping an eye on this man.