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duplicitymemes2018-09-24 09:02 pm
duplicitymods) wrote in duplicitymemes2018-09-24 09:02 pm
TDM #1 OVERFLOW
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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 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. |
 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. |
 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. |
 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. |
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. For characters with a birthday falling in the months of January to June, their designation will be Dominant. For characters with a birthday falling in the months of July to December, their designation will be Submissive. For characters with an unknown birthday, their designation will be Dominant. Arrival into Duplicity has not been used as a prompt as it is a rather large part of introducing the game and will be saved for the first in-game log. But feel free to thread it on the TDM. Also, any locations throughout Duplicity are available for TDM prompts as well! Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!! |
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-- A perfect moment, where their bodies were so truly a reflection of themselves. The train, too, almost a metaphor, barrelling at impossible speeds towards a fate they could not guess at, the glittering city, reflecting all, a sharp and almost deadly-dangerous promise.
Fate had gripped them. For a moment, he wished desperately for Faust, to be able to pour out his feeling to someone who would understand...
... but there was only themselves. The soft red coil of hair, springing buoyantly back into place. A blushing woman with scarred and calloused hands. The shadow of the glittering city out the window. The breath trickled out of his parted lips, and he reached for her hand, very gently.
He pressed his fingers into the spaces between her own, and met her eyes. His voice was soft but certain.
"It would be my honor."
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Syeira was no mage. Nor did she have any gift for divination or clairvoyance. But she was well accustomed to the feel of things that were weighted. Moments that carried a significance beyond the mundane. She had a prophecy attached to her, so really, had to get used to it sooner rather than later. And while this could be any first meeting, there was an inexplicable sense of importance, in the way that Asra looked at her. The warmth of his fine fingers lacing between hers, with an open intimacy, sent a shiver down her spine.
"And it would be mine to receive such a gift." The timbre of her voice matched his own, like naturally finding the harmony. And she felt, perhaps, she wasn't simply speaking about a gift of cloth and parchment, but more; this instant acceptance and connection. The gift of his path merging with hers, in this new and strange place.
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He curled his fingers. Drew his fingertips over her knuckles, reassuring. And it felt that, while they had touch, they didn't need anything else. Her voice, an echoing knell, soft and sure to bracket the conversation begun only minutes before, felt a reaffirmation.
He leaned his head a little, against her shoulder, fleecy white curls bunched against its bend, and watched the world pass out the window with her. The silence was warm, even comforting, and he knew he didn't need to say anything at all.
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---
They'd made arrangements to meet, later, at Autonomy. It was so deliberately illicit that Asra imagined it might, with luck, provide even an edge of escapism enough for his companion to relent her hard hate of their circumstances enough to enjoy herself. As before, he'd wound his voluminous scarf high, to obfuscate where he fell on the spectrum of personhood, and took care to skirt around most of the other dominants when he saw them.
But the rest? His eyes devoured it. Everything was so glassy, from the polished stone floor to the synthetic bartop; it made him feel like they were trapped in a gemstone. The impossible lights, the riot of colors and people-- some of them more shameless than others, for he was certain he'd glimpsed the pale skin of someone's unclothed back, glinting with sweat, tucked away into a heavily-curtained alcove.
---
Being seated at the bar seemed the best option, and he slid a glass tumbler towards her as she sat beside him, faintly flushed, eyes alight.
"I didn't know what you might like," he explained, hastily, "I told the bartender whatever might be appropriate for someone rather bigger and stronger than I am, but I think he thought I meant the drinks should be stronger!"
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Still, she'd felt the loss of him, v when he had to depart. He'd given her a very unique gift, and they had borrowed the time on the train to enjoy it. But when he left, that feeling of calm and peace went with him.
Certainly, she was eager to meet up with him again. Not just for that moment they'd shared, but because she genuinely liked him, and wanted to get to know him. She slid into the seat beside him, her own expression matching his.
"It can't possibly be as potent as Dwarven ale," she chimed lightly, pulling the drink towards herself.
"You know, I think that's the first time anyone has ever referred to me as 'bigger and stronger'."
Asra was actually a few inches taller than she, but his lean build did make one think of him as smaller, like a colorful, exotic bird. Syeira was not quite so delicate, but neither were her muscles that impressive. She was built more like a dancer than a warrior, but it served her.
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Her next statement interrupted his incredulity, made him laugh, head tipped back, eyes nearly closed, teeth flashing-- though he lifted the back of his hand to obscure his mouth in just a moment longer, positively preening. His eyes glittered with glad mirth.
"Really? But you've-- you've got swords." As if that immediately upped his estimation of anyone's size, regardless of their proper physical stature. "And you feel... powerful, somehow. I can't put my finger on it."
His smile grew a measure, "But I'd bet money that you could pick me up."
"And I'd bet money that you could probably lift me.
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"I might be able to, yes. But these are more about flourish, fluid movement, than about strength. Here."
She stood, drawing one of her swords. It had an ornately designed hilt, stlyed and colored to look like a blooming rose. As it slipped from it's sheath, it's magical aura would become less muted; it's wielder seeming more compelling. This she held out to him, hilt first.
"Go ahead, take it. It's meant to be for a bard, so it's light and balanced. Easy to use with only one hand, and move quickly."
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But the facade lasted only a few seconds further while his eyes tracked the blade as it was drawn. He could sense it, the manner of its magic, but only in the span of a heartbeat before it was withdrawn. His heart's rhythm faltered, began to gallop. He could feel it in his throat, which made it hard to swallow when he found his mouth far drier, and he tried to cover his sudden and pointed stare with a hasty drink before he set his own cup down, palms brushing over where his loose shirt gathered over his waist before reaching out to accept the weapon she proffered so lightly.
His tanned hand curled lightly around the hilt, supportive, while the other skimmed along the flat of the blade, so he could balance it between both hands and inspect its crafting more closely. As soon as it was out of her hands entirely, the fevered flush began to subside from him a little, and he wildly thanked every spirit he could name for his loose clothing.
He noted the rose, the magic woven, it seemed to him, in the very forging. His fingertips smoothed along both, very reverently. "Was this made for you? Or someone else? It--" looks like a gift to a lover-- "... is extraordinarily beautiful."
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But the color in her cheeks was her only comment on it, as he took the sword from her. It's influence immediately transferred to Asra, making his unique beauty just that much more breath taking. She remembered the feather softness of his hair, when he'd rested his head on her shoulder, and her fingers twitched with the sudden desire to touch those snowy locks. She had generally forgotten how the sword affected people, she'd had it for so long.
"No, I bought it. But the history of it suggests that Sune, the goddess of beauty and passion, had a hand in its creation. It's known as the Blade of Roses."
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It came to him as he lifted his eyes to smile at her, eyes radiant with delight. With care, he offered it back to her. Their fingertips lightly brushed as he pressed it into her hands like one would gift a treasure.
"Who are you, Syeira? That you have a god-forged blade, and are so fit to wield it?"
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She slid the sword back into its sheath, alleviating its influence, and slipped back into her seat.
"I'm not so special as you make it sound." As soon as she said it, she knew it for a lie. She would like to be unremarkable, for it would afford her some measure of normalcy. But the truth was not on her side. "I mean, anyone could have bought it, same as I did. Magical weapons are not uncommon in Faerun. Most anything of Dwarven or Elven make will carry some enchantments, as a matter of course. Some are merely more elaborate than others. My other sword is lit with flames, when drawn, and bursts with sparks when it strikes."
She leaned her cheek on her hand, and gave him an amused, wistful smile. He was so charming in his enthusiasm, she might end up telling him stories all night, just to see those remarkable eyes stay lit with discovery.
"I wish I had my Bag of Holding. We could spend hours going through all the items I've collected in my travels."
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His hand lifted, indicating her again. "I don't believe in coincidences. Some things are just... meant to be. Magical weapons may be as common as air, but this one is more special than a common magical item. The red of the rose and the red of your hair, almost made to match..."
What he's saying fades, as he realizes he's staring again. But he smiles, covers himself by reaching for his glass.
"What's a bag of holding? Don't most bags hold things?" He mimicked her posture after taking a delicately soundless sip of the far-too-alcoholic cocktail, eyes alight.
"Tell me about them!"
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"A Bag of Holding is a magical sack, about so big-" She gestured with her hands, to show him the aproximate size. Something big enough to put moderately sized items in, like a single book, or smaller. "And you can put anything in it, and the item will be transported to a small pocket plane, where it will wait to be retrieved. Anyone can put anything into it, but only someone who knows what is there, can retrieve a thing.
And I imagine that little plane is filled with a great deal more junk than useful items. I have a terrible habit of holding onto everything, if I can. Piles of notes, and useless keys. Stacks and stacks of arrows. But I've collected a fair few magical items: armor, weaponry, wands, scrolls, and potions. Most of which I will likely never use, because I am so partial to the swords I'm using."
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"Whoa. You're... that's brilliant." It reminded him of the oasis immediately, and he let his nails drum excitedly on the tabletop. How hard would such a thing be to make? To recreate? Could he even access that much power while here?
His nails drummed again, and he was still looking at her, all his breathless but latent excitement beginning to spill over on the edges.
"Armor, wands, scrolls...? Arrows? You're so practical! Prepared for anything!So--" He grinned, leaning a little closer over the table, conspiratorial, "What's the most exciting thing you've found a key to...?"
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"More like I'm a pack rat, since I'm always traveling. It just so goes into the Bag, until someone needs something."
But ah, he gives her quite the challenge then. The most exciting thing she's ever found a key to? That would take some thought. She bites her lower lip, as she thinks on it.
"You've given me a task, Asra." She chuckles, shaking her head. "Maybe the one that had silver dragon eggs behind it."
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And then his eyes lit up all over again, and he leaned forward, breathless with wonder,
"Dragons? Real dragon eggs?"
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"Very real. Adalon, the ancient silver dragon, is the guardian of a pathway that connects the Underdark with the surface. She tasked me with rescuing her clutch, which had been stolen by a Drow Matron - Drow are dark elves- in exchange for passage back to the surface."
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His blood, which before had been running so hot, felt ice-cold now. He wanted, feverishly, to feel the mark of his binding, to reassure himself that it was still there.
"Who would steal children, even those yet unborn? A clutch of dragon eggs--"
I would, he knew. He kept his smile light, but concerned, worried for the fate of those innocents.
"Why would a dark elf kidnap them? For... some magic purpose?" He was breathlessly engaged, but again, his traitorous mind answered,
To resurrect her dead lover. Had a plague struck her people too? Why are they called dark elves, and do they resent those who who call them that?
His breathlessness was real, not feigned; but underneath his smile, his carefully-crafted features, it came from pain. As if a ghostly hand were squeezing his heart.
I have to get back. I have to get back.
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It's all quite a complex set of circumstances, and I'm paring it down a lot. Perhaps another time I'll tell you the whole story. Some place quieter"
His mask fooled her, helped by his original reaction to her tale. But his breathlessness did concern her, though for unrelated reasons. She certainly didn't want to overwhelm him, and indeed, she'd piled a great deal of information at his feet, which would only spur more questions.
She reached out, laying her hand lightly on his wrist. Her smile was warm as the gentle contact.
"Am I throwing too much at you? I know I can ramble on when I don't stop myself."
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Smiling, he lifted a hand, making a smidge of space between thumb and forefinger,
"Just a little? Right?"
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"I suppose it is, though in the moment, I was less excited. More... stressed, juggling so many risky things. But looking back, I can see the excitement of it all. Adventures are always more glamorous in the retelling, than the living, I think.
But, I've been talking far more than my fair share. I'm just as curious about you, you know. Where are you from? What do you do? Tell me about your life, Asra."