duplicitymemes | TDM #4 ( revised )

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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

[The attempt at a wink while wearing an eyepatch prompts Geralt to smile, which he hides behind his glass.]

Along with the scintillating knowledge of how much spit one can project during conversation, I imagine. Learned that one myself from pirates and their ilk.

[Geralt's own experience with pirates is limited. He's more prone to encountering the land variety of miscreants - bandits, and they don't have the benefit of water or a ship to give Geralt the opportunity to learn anything from them before being cut down.

He finishes off the last of his gin, then orders a bottle. If they're going to talk, they might as well do it over a few glasses.]

It's commonly thought that pirates wear eyepatches. Not true, in my experience, but perhaps they were fond of the irony?

[It's a roundabout way of asking about the eyepatch. Scars like that always have interesting stories, though Geralt won't press if he's not in the mood to divulge.]

[Now this is the kind of luck he'd been hoping for-- a generous stranger ready to ply him with ample amounts of alcohol until he's drowned his sorrows - concerns, fears, confusion - at the bottom of several glasses. And whilst a trace of guilt remains over the lack of any suggested repayment for it, he certainly isn't going to bemoan it.

And so he laughs, knocks back the rest of what he has in his glass.]

They weren't exactly an elegant lot, that's for certain. Could have done with taking more baths.

[And his smile falters only vaguely at the roundabout mention of the eyepatch-- though it's not what became of his eye that sends slim shivers of something cold down his spine, but the circumstances under which it ocured and all the things that happened after. He lifts his broad shoulders in a shrug though-- always has enjoyed telling a tale.]

Oh, um. It's funny, when you think about it, but I didn't start wearing the patch until after my stint with the pirates. I don't suppose you've heard of the Red Plague?

[He asks the question, but considering that he's been recently made aware of the plague's source, he doubts the answer would be yes. Ploughs on, regardless.]

I was a plague doctor, you see. Working on a cure. And the one problem with working so closely with such a deadly disease and those who are afflicted is that one tends to end up contracting it oneself. That's what happened, in the end, and the Count under whom I was employed had me locked in the dungeons in order to incentivise me. He was quite the brute, let me tell you.

I found the cure, of course, or I wouldn't be here to recount the tail. But there was no reversing what had been done to my eye. Don't be alarmed though, I'm not contagious, but whilst the eye is still in working order, it does tend to frighten people.

[And...well. They're not in Versuvia anymore. He doesn't expect quite the same reaction. So without preamble he lifts the eyepatch, pushes back the fall of auburn curls and lets the stranger see it. Just as he said, the slow blink of the uncovered eye and the dilation of the pupil attest to his eye's functionality, but the sclera around it is red with blood.]

[There have being epidemics where he’s from. Epidemics of all kinds, including a plague that was starting to sweep through the lands just prior to Geralt being whisked here. Being a mutant, Geralt has never had to fear death through contraction of disease; it’s one of the benefits of being an aberration of nature, and one he doesn’t much mind. He’s seen how people die when they contract such illnesses and he shudders to think of going that way.

Geralt doesn’t react to the sight of the eye beyond a nod. Although, after a pause, he does shift a little closer, so he’s in the light. He might have been able to pass as wholly human while hunched against the bar, but the overhead bulbs light up his unnatural, sickly pallor and slitted cat eyes. Since his company is being so candid, it’s the least Geralt can do.]

Being brutish seems to be a standard feature of Counts. Wealth and power is a fine concoction for cruelty, as always. But that’s an admirable role you played. There aren’t many willing to endanger themselves in such a manner for the sake of strangers.

[He twists the top off the gin bottle and tops up the man’s glass.]

And what is this exemplary example of a human beings name? I haven’t yet asked, which is quite amiss of me.

[And it's true enough, Julian hadn't noticed any particular idiosyncrasies in the man on first approach, and his strong desire for stronger alcohol along with his proclivity for storytelling may have gone some small way towards wearing the edges off his observational abilities, but he sees it now as the stranger manoeuvres himself into the light. Julian allows his eyepatch to fall back into place and regards the other man with interest-- that's...certainly nothing he's seen before, but considering the fellow had been so polite about his gory eye, he smoothly prevents himself from gaping or being too nosy.]

Well, it looks like you're quite the interesting sort, yourself.

[He says it as he holds out his glass, grateful for the top-up]

And Count Lucio certainly conformed to type-- brutish, cruel, spoiled, petty...all the very best traits one can expect to find imbued in the rich and powerful.

[And he laughs, looking pleased because here he is with a drink in his hand having a perfectly decent conversation with someone who's arbitrarily been put in a position of power over him. So far this place isn't seeming quite so dastardly as he initially suspected it might be.]

Oh, yes of course. Doctor Julian Devorak, at your service. [And he cuts a sweeping, dramatic bow, almost spilling his drink.] And yourself? It really was rather rude of me not to inquire before, when you've so generously provided the drinks.

[Geralt examines Julian’s face carefully for any hint of disgust or discomfort – and he doesn’t find any. If there’s one thing he appreciates about this world, aside from the quality of the alcohol, it’s the lack of preconceptions about witcher’s or odd-looking people in general. Most of the people who arrive here quality as ‘odd-looking’, so Geralt’s appearance doesn’t elicit quite as much horror as he’s used to.]

I’m glad to have made your acquaintance, Doctor. Or Julian? If you prefer to drop titles.

[He gives a slight incline of his head rather than a bow. Sitting down as he is, he can’t bow anyway. Hopefully that isn’t some kind of social faux pas.]

I go by Geralt. Geralt of – [A pause.] A place no one here would be familiar with, and to which my association is tenuous, so perhaps it would be better to drop it.

Just Geralt, vagabond and witcher, and wholly retired in both regards since I see neither lands here to roam nor monsters to slay.

Oh, just Julian, please, there's no need for formalities. Besides, I rather think you're in a position to call me whatever you like.

[And again he laughs, as though the whole social status thing doesn't really bother him-- no faux par has been made on the other man's part, and he's unlikely to receive such a greeting from other people from Julian's world, it's only that the doctor happens to have a flair for the dramatic.]

And Geralt it is, then. It sounds like you'd have some interesting tales to tell yourself, with all that roaming and slaying and the like. Although you'll have to forgive me, I'm unfamiliar with the term witcher. Is that like a magician? I know a couple of those.

Elevated position or no, I'm in the habit of calling people what they are, rather than what I like.

[This doesn't surprise him. While magicians seem a common feature in many worlds, witcher's are not. Even monster hunters in general, as far as he can tell, aren't that common.]

It's been used in reference to us, but it holds little truth. The witcher guild focuses on the sword. Magic use is present, but minimally so. The real magicians of my world have better things to be doing that fighting monsters. Getting involved in politics and wresting control out from under kings, for example.

Then lucky for me, I've encountered a gentleman.

[A monster fighting gentleman, perhaps, but a gentleman all the same. And he listens to that explanation, nods along thoughtfully.]

Well, that does sound more like the master magicians I know-- all abstract thought and the like. They don't really go in for swords. Which makes a witcher more of a warrior, then? A, uh, monster fighting warrior.

[Monsters aren't a big problem where he hails from, not the non-human variety at least.]

Of a sort. [He doesn’t offer any further explanation, instead topping up their glasses.]

Have you had anything to eat this evening, Julian? You’ll have a devil of a hangover if you’re drinking on an empty stomach. [He makes a vague gesture to the buffet.] I have a pass for the buffet I’m willing to part with. Just bring me a plate of shrimp if you take me up on it.

[He lifts his glass for the top-up, but the next words take him by surprise and there's a moment when he seems unsure what to say, gives the man beside him now a curious look. Never mind that, were their positions reversed, he would have been glad to offer the very same thing. But going out of his way to assist others, and accepting help himself-- those are two very different things.]

Oh, I uh...you don't need to do that on my account. I'll manage.

[Never mind that Geralt has the right of it, that Julian hasn't even yet considered how he's going to feed himself, with no coin to his name.]

‘You’ll manage’? [He speaks dryly, though not unkindly.] Those words instil such confidence in me.

[Without another word, Geralt rises from the bar, walks over to the table, retrieves a few small platters – including the one with prawns, of course – and returns to his seat, laying the food out in a messy row. He starts picking at the seafood platter, looking expectantly at Julian.

He understands not wanting to accept help; he's done that himself often enough. But he also understands that going to bed hungry out of politeness, or to save face, or for any other reason is pure idiocy.]

It's inexcusably impolite to eat in front of someone you're conversing with without sharing your fare. So sit. We're both gentlemen, after all.

[Geralt gets up without a word and when he returns with the platters of food Julian's expression is caught somewhere between humbled and flustered because this isn't how things generally play out, this isn't how they go. But whilst accepting ordinary kindness seems a difficult pill for him to swallow, it seems this veritable stranger knows exactly the correct words to cajole him along.

He wouldn't want to be impolite or offend, not when someone is being so generous with him. And he does recognise the idiocy of refusal-- he's been hard-up before, has been in situations where food is hard to come-by, knows what real hunger feels like. Besides, tall and svelte as he is, he can't really afford to go dropping too much weight.

And that hangover-- it really will be a killer if he doesn't eat anything at all today. Something he knows from experience.]

Ah, well you're uh, you're too kind. But I wouldn't want to be impolite.

[And so he'll slide his long body onto the seat beside the other man, dig into the food as requested.]

Good man. [He first feasts on a couple of prawns, taking care not to gobble them down like a boor, before moving onto food with slightly more substance, such as rolls wrapped in seaweed and slithers of cooked fish.]

I have to compliment the city on its food. They manage things with sauces that almost inclines me to put on a few pounds. [It would probably end up turning into muscle, mind you; there isn’t a bit of superfluous fat on his body. He’s a little thin himself due to extended periods without food, perhaps, but he still has the structural integrity of a brick wall, and when his shoulder brushes Julian’s as he reaches for a platter, he’ll undoubtedly feel just how sturdy Geralt is.]

[And as it so happens, Julian is fond of seafood himself, and the first bite awakens the hunger in him that had been sliding by unnoticed in the wake of the stress and adrenaline and confusion of their arrival. He casts his mind back in search of the memory of the last time he ate, concludes that it must have been in the palace the night before he was due to hang, and if time has passed in a linear fashion from that very moment to this, he calculates that it has been at least twenty-four hours.

As such, vaguely chastened, he'll even attempt to eat thoroughly rather than politely picking at a few things. If he's obligated to rely on the charity of strangers for the duration of his stay in this strange city, then he ought to take advantage whilst he can. He isn't fool enough to believe that all the other dominants will be quite so obliging.]

Oh it is good, you're right. And this is just some bar, imagine the kinds of delights on offer in some of those upmarket eating establishments. You've hit the jackpot in that respect, haven't you.

[He says in reference to the other man's status, without a trace of rancor.]

I won’t be eating too lavishly. I don’t have a surplus of coin, and I don’t expect to come into much more once the people running this place find out I’ve no interest nor intention of playing owner to some poor sod. I’ve developed too many scruples in my old age. [This might come off as an odd statement given that he looks like someone in his thirties.

But he’ll take advantage of the food while he can, as he always does when given opportunity to indulge in things afforded only to the affluent. The free food you can get around here isn’t anything to turn your nose up at, anyway. Nothing anywhere near as lavish at this, but it’s not rotting, covered in filth, or so bony that you have to tear and grind, and that’s a step up from some of the meals Geralt has had to survive on.]

With that in mind, you might want to squeeze me for more drink later. [Which is to say, spend some time with him. He likes the company.]

[he looks up at that, lifts one thick auburn brow in question because, as he understands things, it's in their best interests to play along.]

Won't you find yourself in a spot of trouble, if you don't stick to the rules? Or is it only my lot that can expect punishment for non-compliance?

[And perhaps there's a touch of selfless concern in his voice as he says it, but there's also a distinct lack of judgment-- were their roles reversed, he would be disinclined to play owner himself, might consider contracting multiple submissives if only to give them a hand up out of the gutter and into something better, no expectations attached. As things stand, he aligns himself too closely with the role he's been given to have any complaints about his own treatment here; if he's been deemed a second-class citizen, it's probably for good reason.

His own self-respect, its as low as his social standing.

The concern in his face gives out around the offer, however, and lifting the glass of gin he hasn't yet finished, he smiles.]

I'll take you up on that offer though. Id say all of this stuff will easier to handle after a stiff drink or six. And listen to you, talking about old age. You can't be much older than I am.

There are consequences, but they’ll be hard-pressed to get someone of my make to worry about them.

[It’s perhaps stupid and anachronistic, but Geralt won’t break the witcher code – or his moral code, rather – even under threat of punishment, and often even death. And this is in part because he really is that stubborn (and perhaps a little obsessed with honour), but it’s also because he’s a witcher, and the claim people make that witcher’s are ‘fearless freaks’ aren’t without substance. Though it’s less about them being fearless, and more them being resigned to things like pain and death. Once you’ve seen your insides somewhere other than inside you, most threats – particularly the pitiful ones Duplicity is using to try and compel compliance – tend to lose their punch.

Geralt lifts his own glass, then takes a hearty swig. Once he’s done, he considers Julian for a long moment. He looks young. In his twenties, most likely. Thirties at most.]

Well, lets see. Give me your age and I’ll tell you how much older I am.

Edited (words are hard) 2019-01-14 13:27 (UTC)

[And it's a concept he understands, even if Julian's desire to help and protect and to bend over backwards for anyone he deems to be in need even at (especially at) the risk if his own personal safety is borne from a different kind of place, a place of no sense of self-preservation-- well. He does know it nonetheless. Can respect it.

And so he just nods, isn't going to try and talk him out of that decision, not when he seems to know his own mind strongly enough. Instead, he knocks back the rest of his gin, the burn of it beginning to be felt in his blood, the day's tensions slowly bleeding out of him. Answers the question.]

I'm thirty-two.

[Geralt nods; he would have guessed twenty seven, if asked for a number, so he’s not too far off.]

Just over two decades.

[He doesn’t know the exact age difference seeing as he neither knows his own birth date nor his exact age, only that he’s somewhere in his early to mid-fifties.]

Hence the white hair. [Okay, this isn’t true; Geralt just thinks he’s being funny.]

[It's what he'd suspected, that the other man would somewhat underestimate, that they'd turn out to be closer in age than Geralt suspected. He's half right anyway, but the number the other man gives him has Julian's eyebrows inching further towards his hairline in overt surprise.]

Oh, well. You are well-preserved. I'd never have guessed.

[And whilst he's usually good at discerning jocular tones, it bypasses him, on this occasion.]

I just assumed it was always that colour. My two magician friends have white hair, and both are younger than I am.

[His humour tends towards dry and sarcastic, so he isn’t surprised his joke flies by Julian. He has the sort of humour you have to learn to register.]

White hair on a young man isn't a common occurrence where I’m from. My hair was red, originally.

[Almost as red as vermilion, just like his mothers.

He pushes a few strands out of his face and into the thick of his hair, which does exactly nothing to prevent them from falling back over his eyes. At some point he’s going to need to think about getting a hairband.]

But I jest. I got this hair about the same time I got these eyes.

Oh, like mine then?

[And he twists one long slender finger around an unruly auburn curl, though its most definitely auburn, not a true red at all. He knows this.]

And I see, I thought perhaps you were born that way...it's a witcher thing then? Or something else?

[But after the words are out, he gives the man a side-long look, something vaguely chastened in it.]

I'm asking too many questions, aren't I. Of course, you don't have to answer any of them.

[When it catches the light, it certainly looks like it could pass for true red, so Geralt grunts in agreement. It’s close enough and he isn't about to debate hair colours.

The questions and the chastised behaviour that follows gives Geralt pause; people aren’t usually shy about asking him about his peculiarities, and initially he isn’t even sure how to respond.]

No, it’s fine. Perfectly fine.

[He picks idly at some salmon as he speaks.]

It's indeed a witcher thing. My hair pigmentation was lost during a mutation process. My bad luck, as I’m the only one such a thing has happened to.

[He stares openly at Julian, as though in anticipation - of what, exactly, Julian can probably guess, but his face is completely devoid of expression.]

[He wouldn't want his natural overabundance of curiosity and his propensity to talk just a little too much to be taken for rudeness now, would he. As his dear sister has been heard to say, perhaps others only seem quiet around him because he does all the talking for everyone else.

In any case, he gets his answer, and it's followed by that intense stare and really does beg the question, he thinks--]

I see um, so why only you? What happened with all the other ones?

[He asks it as he reaches to take what looks tantalisingly like grilled lobster tail.]

[There's nothing to indicate revulsion on Julian's face, and that earns him a reprieve from Geralt's stare. He turns his attention back to the food, licking the taste of salmon from his fingers.]

For one thing, they left the process more desirable as suitors. [It's something of a joke, but also true; the white hair in combination with the eyes tends to put people off. After a beat, he speaks again.] That was courtesy of them being spared additional mutations.

Is there such a science in your lands? I fear I'm speaking of things that do more to confound than explain.

Edited (I thought of a better joke tbh) 2019-01-15 06:17 (UTC)

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