duplicitymemes | TDM #4 ( revised )

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«tdm

TDM #4 ( revised )

« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »

« « « HERE WE ARE AGAIN

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.

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.

Oh, and one more thing. It's fucking cold. Better bundle up.

» » » LIES TRAVEL IN COMPANY

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.

« « « END IN THE DISCORD

While the societal climate between Dominants and Submissives remains somewhat neutral throughout Duplicity, there has been the occasional whisper of defiance and call for equality. Yet, demonstrations and visible proof of this unhappiness spreads faster by word of mouth on a day exactly when you need it most.

Welcome to Autonomy, a "traveling" nightclub that is never in the same place twice. People wanting to attend only learn of its lucrative location and password hours before it opens for business. Tonight, I choose the third door will get you inside and into the temporary freedom club Autonomy has to offer. In this circle, there are no assigned designations and no consequences for taking a role that isn't the one given by society. So, a Dominant may become the Submissive they've always wanted to be—or vice versa. Dominants and Submissives alike are able to mingle without repercussion and be themselves. Food, drinks, and private areas for more intimate – or if your preference is sexual – encounters are provided. Donations are accepted at any point during the night to further Autonomy's attempts of spreading the fulfillment that comes from being untitled.

On the night you choose to visit, Autonomy is holding a random lottery for temporary connections. When entering, you have the choice of submitting your name into this drawing to be paired with someone else in the club regardless of designation. A short while later, a message will pop up on your device with the name and information of your partner, and whether or not you choose to meet them is purely at your discretion. Having more than one connection isn't completely unusual either.

» » » TABLE IT FOR LATER

Gratification of being a successful Dominant or Submissive isn't necessarily simple. Learning curves are to be made, and mistakes will happen. Led by a Dominant and Submissive couple – Miriam and Victoria, who have been paired for twenty-two years – a monthly meeting for unattached Dominants and Submissives is held in the conference room of Morning Wood motel in the Down. The meeting starts a few minutes after nine and has no designated end time. The couple introduce themselves and explain the purpose of the meeting: learn the proper method for a new kink and possibly find your perfect partner. The space is intimate and well-stocked with refreshments.

To begin, Victoria, while blindfolded, balances on her hands and knees with her back perfectly level. Her partner, when ready, places various items on the level surface–a full cup, a plate. The Submissive is meant to hold the items until the Dominant believes she's reached her limit. The exercise is one of trust and understanding. The demonstration is a short one, followed by Miriam removing the blindfold and soothing her Submissive. The words are whispered low and with care, clearly a method that is specific to this couple. The process is concluded with the pair handing out workups, videos, and answering questions. Anyone wishing to practice Purposeful Submission can do so in the open room with a random volunteer, aided by the couple, or can find someone to take to one of the rented rooms. Sex may follow any scene but is not necessarily included. Experimenting with unattached Dominants and Submissives allows for new relationships to form.

« « « MOD & OOC NOTES

Please read carefully.

On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles based on birthdays; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, character 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 chose "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. All characters who have blue eyes or one blue eye and another color are Submissives. All characters who have brown eyes or one brown eye and another color are Dominants. Characters with any other color eyes are Dominants. To use this TDM as a door pass please link this on your app and place whether it is Dominant or Submissive.

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

» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's an answer that surprises him. Not that she'd use logic and reason to try and make him see that he doesn't have to throw himself bodily between every danger he encounters and those he loves, that much he expects, is accustomed to, even if on this occasion the logic seems strong and certain, far more than his dubious protection might be. No, it's the news about Lucio and his new social status that makes him scoff, thick auburn brows raising practically into his hairline.]

Hah. Lucio is a submissive? Now there are two words I didn't expect to find in the same sentence.

[Because his own status only seems logical, entirely deserved, and as such he'd supposed that some form of reasoning went into it no matter what others might say on the matter. This revelation precludes that, it seems.

She bumps him with familiar playfulness, and he drops his grip on her hand only to sling one long arm around her shoulders, but--]

Well. Some people are better made for it than others. At building something solid, that matters.

[Not him, he means, of course.]

There's no apparent rhyme or reason to the assignments, as best I can tell. I'm nothing like Milady, for instance, but my Submissive? My Leo? He's out and out royalty. You'll only give yourself a headache, trying to find some logic to it.

[She nestles into his side, melting straight into age-old reflex. She slings an arm around his waist, and pinches his bony hip for that last little bit of praise, with its hidden, self-deprecating edge.]

Hey. Hey. Some people are meant for houses, and some for ships. Like Mazelinka and Lilinka. It's not better or worse, it just... is. No two happinesses are alike, but if they could make it work their entire lifetime, so can we. Love endures; on top of everything else, they taught us that well enough, right?

[There's certainly a comfort in the closeness of her, in the familiar shape of her pressed against his side, and it's a comfort that grows rather than falters when the tips of her fingers pinch at the scant flesh over his hip. He yelps dramatically, more for effect than from pain, the sound of it breaking around an affectionate laugh.

He has thoughts about what she's saying. Thoughts he chooses not to voice because he already knows she won't agree, or will argue against them in some way. Thoughts to the tune of, if he's been made a second-class citizen here it's because in some way he deserves it, that they've seen into some ugly part of him and recognised him for what he is. To the tune of, whilst he doesn't doubt that the love they have for each other can ever be eroded, it doesn't mean that having him around for any length of time could be a good or desirable thing, that he's best loved from a distance. That when it comes to love of any other kind besides the familial, he'd only find some way to spoil it, to poison the hearts of all lovers against him.

Sensible and not at all melodramatic things like that.

So he decides the thing to focus on is her new-found love, something he fully believes stands far more of chance than anything he could ever have.]

My sister, the princess. Or is it Queen, Duchess, Countess? Should I be calling you Milady now? Don't go forgetting your lowly wretch of a brother when you're living the high life, will you.

[And he flashes her his most incorrigible grin.]

We're not married.

[She pinches him again but... well, something about the way she says it is contemplative, beneath the dismissal.]

...besides, it's... it's not a very happy tale, how he ended up King. Given the choice, and the chance to bring his one confident I think—I think he'd come back to me to Vesuvia in a heartbeat.

[She leans her head into him, ear to his heart. Her voice is small and soft, like when they were children murmuring fanciful ideas of 'someday' late at night after Mazelinka came home, full of stories.]

I'll never forget you, Ilyushka. Never ever. The stars'll all go out and the seas will dry up sooner than that. No matter how far or off-course your ship takes you, my door's always going to be wide-open and waiting to welcome you back.

Oh my, that does sound serious, if he'd be willing to move all that way for you. You have been busy, Pasha.

[Wherever Vesuvia happens to lie in comparison to this-- but its a dizzying thought, one he decides not to think too hard on, right now.]

You'll have to introduce me. Or, um, reintroduce me...I suppose.

[There's the slight inward pull of his eyebrows at that, the whole concept still beyond him but...best not to spoil happy reunions by dwelling on those things. It's something he can contemplate in greater depth, later, when he's alone with it.

For now...there's an intensity in her words that has heat rising up in him, and as such - of course - he laughs it off whilst pulling her that little bit more tightly against him.]

And you call me dramatic.

Of course. Did you really think I'd let you get away without coming to dinner or visiting the Vesuvian? Leo works there and helps me with the financial side of things.

[She wrinkles her nose up at him, going a bit pink too.

But she laughs, high and bright.]

What can I say? You were a horrible influence when I was little.

Pasha, you wound me.

[And it might be more convincing if he didn't say it around the shape of a grin.]

But if that's the worst my influence has had on you, you should consider yourself lucky.

[And its self-depreciating, yes, but he says it with a bump of his bony hip against her, and his tone is light, all tease.]

Now how much further is it, anyway? I'm ready to get good and drunk. Maybe if I drink enough, something about this situation might just begin to make sense.

Yes, we're both lucky I can bounce back from anything.

[She says it lightly. She says it to prove it to herself. She says it to underline a point, and make it real through will alone.]

It's this building to the left. ...I...

[Fresh from Vesuvia; not even in the noose, just yet.]

We're on the fourth floor. Do you want to take the lift, or the stairs?

[She never asked the last Julian just what he preferred.]

And I'm glad for that.

[His smile only falters slightly in the wake of her rejoinder, and then they're approaching her building, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar architecture that shares very little resemblance with any of the styles he's come across during his travels until now, and its another small unwelcome reminder of the alien nature of this place. His gaze returns to her though, when she asks her question, his expression growing more contemplative by degrees as he finally unwinds his arm from about her shoulders.]

I...oh. Perhaps the stairs.

[He imagines it'll be quite different, won't necessarily bring to mind darker memories so recently awoken in him, but regardless. Perhaps best to avoid it. It makes him think though, of what he's discovered, of the plan he'd come up with in the wake of it, of his impending appointment with the gallows. Finally, with some mild trepidation, it occurs to him to ask.]

Which reminds me, tangentially, um.

[He runs a restless hand back through his hair, which only has the effect of causing the curls to tumble back down across his eyepatch again.]

All that stuff about the different books...you said the last thing you recall is the night of the masquerade? Do you know how it turned out? My execution. It's a funny sort of question to have to ask, isn't it?

[And he laughs dryly, regrets not waiting until he already had a drink in his hand to inquire.]

[The door opens smoothly, and she leads him past the elevator doors. At the very least, she rationalizes, they're bright, brushed silver; not wrought iron backlit by an eerie red glow. Still, even if the stairwell echoes, she doesn't mind a little bit of climbing.]

...you woke up again, if that's what you mean.

[She grips the railing, letting her gaze fall so she can watch her step and not totally broadcast the look that sentence puts on her face.]

This is all thirdhand since I had a grandstanding ex-ghost to clean up after while the rest of you worked your magic, but... well, in short, the count caused the plague, and it was going to come back because he did. So... I guess, I guess you found one of the answers you were looking for with that gamb le.

Oh. Oh, good.

[He says it with some measure of relief, with a slight loosening of the shoulders because even if he doesn't understand it, can't wrap his head around how such a thing could possibly be, his trust in Portia is absolute, unshakable. She wouldn't lie to him on some cruel whim amidst all of this other strangeness, this much he knows.

Which...works to ignite his guilt in the next instance, and even if she averts her gaze it's hard to miss the hesitation there, would take a bigger fool than him to realise what he'd done must have been wretched, terrifying for her. And that's a knowledge that reiterates to him what he already knows-- that he's a disaster to be around, that he causes only difficulty and pain.

She's still talking though, and as he listens his brow furrows, mulling it over, thinking it through.]

Which would mean killing Lucio would have ended the plague, and killing him a second time would have prevented a second wave. Only I didn't kill him, which begs the question, who did, and why...

[He's thinking aloud, words half-muttered as he walks, and it takes him a moment to realise she's probably heard this before, that it's only novel, and of interest, to him. He stops himself, there. Moves to take her hand in his.]

All that with the hanging...I'm sorry. It must have frightened you.

[And perhaps she's heard that before too, but he doesn't care. Feels the need to say it anyway.]

[She stops, her head whipping up. Unsurprisingly, the glare she levels at him is brimming with tears.]

Dont—don't you dare—

[Her lower lip wobbles.]

You aren't sorry at all. You'd—you'd do it again, in a h-heartbeat! It's bad enough I had to see that but don't lie to me about it!

[Her shoulders heave once, twice, her voice echoing briefly before she scrubs at her cheeks.]

..."frightened" doesn't begin to cover it.

[Her voice isn't bitter. It's small again. She takes a deep, composing breath, and musters up an attempt at a smile.]

...I-I guess... you'll understand when you have to bury me, someday.

[Talk about revenge being served cold.]

[The vehemence of it, the suddenness-- it surprises him. Takes him so off-guard that he stumbles back a step, almost trips over his own long legs and narrowly avoids falling down the stairs. He catches himself before that happens though, is left standing wide-eyed and wretched as her eyes gleam with tears and the words sink into his bones like blades.

It hurts him to hear it, it does, a pain the blooms large behind the ribs and spreads out from the centre of him, made worse by the fact that she is right. He's sorry he hurt her, a kind of sorry that's big and genuine but somehow not enough because yes he would do it again. Even now, after hearing this, were he to return to the gallows tomorrow without the knowledge he needed he wouldn't lift so much as a finger to prevent them from hanging him.

And then her final words, like a bullet through the heart, and it does pain him to hear it, she's quite right about that.

And this, this, is why no one should ever get close to him. Because he'll hurt them callously, ruthlessly, without even meaning to do it. Without even giving it consideration.

He wants to say it again, to change the words around, to say he's sorry he hurt her with his recklessness but that the end results were necessary. Wants to sweep her up in his arms and attempt to comfort her, but ultimately he keeps quiet, thinks better of it. Suspects if he does she may hit him. Would be within her rights to. Instead, he says nothing at all for several long and painful moments.

When he finally does respond, it's somewhat weakly.]

Well, um. That won't happen, will it. No doubt you'll outlive me by a long shot.

[You know, what with all the reckless stupidity. It's probably not a helpful statement.]

Ilya, the worst plague ever and a noose couldn't put you in your grave. And I...

[She laughs, faint and mirthless.]

Well, I'm just not special the way you are, Ilyushka. I-I don't have any healing magic. I don't—

[She rubs at her cheek again, inhaling roughly to choke back a second wave of tears.]

You're... you're not always going to be there to pull me out of the shipwreck, I think we both know that after three years of nothing. So...

[She rubs her arms, as if to warm herself up, or perhaps a comforting self-hug.]

So. Yeah. Might be a thing you need to—brace for, eventually.

[There's no bracing for watching your sibling, your family, your only flesh and blood go limp and lifeless. She doesn't say it outright, but she doesn't need to, she thinks.]

...sorry.

[And much as he wants to deny it, she has a point. Whilst he hardly considers himself special despite all the things that he's done and have been done to him, all the ways he's survived and moved beyond the realm of what is normal, it's impossible to see himself in such terms. Twisted, wrong, cursed, a blight on those who know him yes, but special isn't a word that applies.

But the point remains. That he isn't always around, that he can't be relied upon, that he finds ways of side-stepping horrors that would have killed most people but won't always be there to save the people who matter to him.

That she might die before him-- it's something that fills him with cold horror and through that inverted mirror he can begin to see - really see - the pale shadow of what his hanging might have done to her.

He doesn't have a comeback for this. Fumbles over the the things he could say but again and again he comes up wanting. So in the end he stands there with his broad shoulders slumped and his eye averted and says nothing at all.

Quite possibly it's the first time in his life where he's been shocked into silence.]

[She reaches up and cups his face in her palms, rough callouses gently scraping across sharp cheekbones.]

I love you, Ilyushka.

[It's less a profession of affection now, and more like a lesson she seems to be trying to impress upon him.]

No matter how far you go or what you do, or don't do, even if you never speak to me or visit for the rest of my life—you can't make me stop loving you. Even if you had done something—if you had earned your place on the gallows—I'd still love you. To the very end.

[He blinks down at her as she cups his face and tries to teach him this lesson of love, and there's a sting there, a mild and building burn that leaves his one visible eye somewhat red-rimmed and - vaguely - glistening. He wants to tell her that he loves her too, but that he thinks her love is misplaced, that after everything he's done, he's frankly, irrefutably, undeserving of it.

But he also feels sure that what she says it true, that she's likely to go on loving him regardless. And so he bites it back and holds it down, says nothing of it.]

I think I'd like that drink, now.

We can get that sorted for you.

[Love isn't earned, is the crux of their miscommunication.

She pulls him down to smack a kiss on his forehead, then resumes climbing. It's the next landing up, and she leads him to her half of the hall easy enough.]

...remember; the dogs are here, so be wary of nipping and whatnot.

[Perhaps one of these days he may even come to accept that.

For now, he allows her to pull him down for that kiss before once again unbending. Follows her up vaguely sheepishly, but following all the same.]

Those dogs. They never were very friendly.

[He says it absently.]

They weren't raised right. I've undone what I could, since I started working at the palace.

[She unlocks the door and they are immediately treated to the sight of two gorgeous white hounds, sprawled out and snoozing regally in a white pile on the couch.]

...lazy brats. Pepi's around somewhere; either in our room or the spare one.

[But she heads to the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets and fridge until she gets a couple bottles of beer and an entire handle of rum.]

So. Is this a glasses sort of day, or a straight-from-the-source sort?

[So she says, but he gives the dogs a wide and vaguely wary berth regardless. Instead his focus falls on her apartment, eye roving appraisingly over the size of the space, the furniture, all the trappings. Looking out for all the signs that she truly is doing well here, that she's as happy and settled as one can be when one has been kidnapped and thrust into a strange and disturbing new world.

He casts his glance back over the angle of his shoulder, though, when she asks her question, and finally there's the reappearance of his curved-blade smile.]

Oh, straight from the source, most definitely.

[All over, there are signs of Portia's touch; the furniture is provided, but there's an assortment of knickknacks, hand-made blankets, and some other touches that are notably hers; familiar enough, compared to her cottage. Aside from that, there's a great deal of books, and a few darker, more masculine creature comforts here and there.]

Good man.

[She slides the rum across the counter at him, and twists open a beer for herself.]

To reunions.

[And it's...nice. It is. she seems comfortable and well set up here, and that settles something inside of him, one small worry he can dispense with. Despite everything, all his clattering confusion and head-spinning concern, the sharper edges of the conversation in the stairway, the news that Lucio walks amongst them-- well. There's a small swell of pride at her capability, the fact that she has managed to assert herself here and thrive.

He snatches up the handle between long fingers, lifts it jauntily to toast her.]

To reunions, and to much needed drinks.

[And he pulls the stopper free, knocks back several deep and needy mouthfuls.]

[She tips her drink to him in turn, and takes a long, long pull of it herself.]

The first few days are always weird as anything, from what I remember; orientation and a bunch of explanation and the weird technology...

[He nods, finally setting the bottle back down as he lets out a breath that sounds as though it has been held for an age. It's how he feels, anyway-- as though he's been holding his breath since the moment of arrival, tense and balanced on a knife's edge. A modicum of that tension seems to drain out of him now, however, as the rum burns a warm path along his throat, acts to quiet something in him.]

That's better. And yes...it's all been quite overwhelming. I feel like I could sleep for a week.

[This coming from the man who rarely sleeps, it attests to his mental exhaustion.]

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