duplicitymemes | TDM #10

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TDM #10

« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »

« « « LIFE WILL GO ON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The weather is a brisk negative seven during the warmest parts of the day.

» » » BLINDLY WE'LL FOLLOW

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

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

« « « ASK ME ABOUT X

Along with the usual Dom and Sub seminars and demonstrations, the powers that be have decided to try something a little more friendly. After attending the mandatory classes, all characters are invited to a (mandatory) social mixer! There are beverages and light snacks, and mingling is highly encouraged.

Also, all participants have had their clothes removed and replaced with long shirts ( they are allowed to keep their undergarments, but nothing else is allowed ). Said shirts have the phrase “Ask me about _____!” plastered loudly and proudly on the front. It could be a character’s deepest, darkest secret, their most negative trait, or something embarrassing they had happen to them. Each participant is given a clipboard, pen and a piece of paper and are tasked with “asking” three others about what’s written on their chests. Once they’ve completed the task and handed in the assignment they’ll receive their clothes back. Of course, the long shirts can be removed, but that means you’ll be stuck in the nude or in your undergarments until you cooperate.

« « « ON A FLIP CHART

Not into your long shirts? Want to complain or refuse to participate? There’s another option! Unruly Dominants and Submissives will find themselves locked in a private room with a bed, stuffed together into a get-along-shirt. There’s no escaping the garment either, until certain conditions have been met. Written on a flip chart in the corner of the room are the tasks that need to be accomplished to “get along.” Are the two supposed to share a kiss? Sing a romantic duet together? Say the alphabet backwards in sync? The whole point of the exercise is to find that synergy a Dom and Sub pair are supposed to have. Maybe this isn’t the best way to find it, though…

When the conditions are met the shirt is removable or rippable. Otherwise no matter how hard the characters struggle they’ll find themselves unable to get the pesky thing off.

« « « THE LONG WAY AROUND

Many local businesses have adapted to the timing of newcomers, and take advantage of the incoming crowds to do a little marketing. Stationed throughout Duplicity in LIEr-adjacent places such as the train station, the Up Apartments, the Down Motel, and the orientation center are representatives for local businesses and companies handing out free samples and hoping to attract business later.

This month, there’s a particular presence by Harbroken Industries, a cosmetic and beauty company. They’re pushing free samples of their new pheromone perfume sprays, delicately scented and guaranteed to work. Sample bottles are freely available, but some overeager volunteers are taking the department store approach and spritzing unwitting passersby.

The citrus scent is energizing and bright, inducing a talkative state where users cannot get enough conversation, and lose any internal filter for their words. The strawberry-vanilla scent is sweet and comforting, like a warm hug, which users will get a lot of with their new obsession with physical affection. Cedar-sandalwood makes those who use it tough as nails, angry and ready to pick a fight over the smallest slights. The cinnamon-pear scent makes its users feel adventurous and curious, and maybe a little TOO bold about trying new things. And predictably, the patchouli spray inspires “free love,” with an aphrodisiac effect that gets worse over time, unless taken care of quickly.

The scents will wane and the effects will fade after six hours, or after the urges they cause are fulfilled. These volunteers are so eager to make a sale that it’s entirely possible to be hit with more than one spray at a time, so maybe take the long way around these areas if you’re looking to avoid them.

« « « MOD & OOC NOTES

Please read carefully.

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

To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide: Count the letters in your character's full name ( first, last, middle or whatever combo that they have ). If it totals twelve letters and below they are a Dominant. If it's thirteen and higher they are Submissive.

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

» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «

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[He handles the disentanglement with equanimity and takes his hand instead. He probably should have given it some thought first. Hugging a demon. What's next? The Gavotte? Oh, that would be splendid, if only he'd learn it.

He's drawn out of the distracted musings by the sight of the car.]

It certainly isn't.

[That's all he has to say to that. He's charmed by the unusual consideration of having the door opened for him. As he slips into the ~~wrong~~ passenger side, he smiles.]

Tally ho! I am curious about your flat.

[Is this what having a stroke feels like? Crowley thought he was prepared for whatever this place could throw at him, including the possibility of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale under the influence of something, but this is so... harmless. It's soft, and he so desperately wishes it were real. He's endlessly grateful for his sunglasses, hoping they hide what he's sure is a hopelessly needy look.

He allows himself a few seconds to breathe as he makes his way around to the driver's seat, muttering a few choices words to himself, as if that ever helps. Driving, at least, gives him something to focus on. As soon as he's seated and the doors are closed, he puts the car into gear and starts towards his flat.]

S'just a flat, nothing special. Not like my one in Mayfair, either. Don't go much in for the concrete look, here. Should probably warn you about the mice, they're pets, in an enclosure and all, it's a long story, not really important. But I've plenty of tea and I think there's some biscuits floating around, Mar— [He cuts himself off, unsure out to broach the subject of Martin and his presence in Crowley's life.] Anyway, there biscuits. And lots of alcohol, if you'd rather that than tea. Not a bad idea, that. M'sure we could both use a drink.

[He's rambling, it's fine.]

Edited (gently fusses ) 2020-01-13 19:50 (UTC)

[Pity it's not one of the older style bench seat cars. Those were lovely for sitting in nice and close. It's what he wants in the moment, just to sit right up next to him and wrap him up in both arms. Poor bugger seems to need it, too, the way he's carrying on.

He reaches out a few times to pat him on the knee, a little punctuation to every couple of sentences or so with comforting little noises thrown in on top of it.]

Crowley. When I say slow down, for once I'm not speaking of your driving, although it's hardly improved. What--what is all of this about mice, and biscuits, and tea?

Martin? Lovely young man. I met him at the dull mingle. He was as much in a lather as you are now. You really should breathe. I'll let you have my alcohol if it will help.

[Right. A hand on the knee is fine, Aziraphale probably won't be upset at Crowley for allowing this once he's back to himself. Because that's the crux of it, really. Crowley has to be the responsible one, here, has to be careful what he accepts. It'd kill him if he ruined everything so soon by taking advantage of Aziraphale's sudden desire to be affectionate.

He should be mortified at those little comforting noises, too, but the worst part of all of it is that they actually help.

So Crowley does what he's told, breathing in and out, eyes on the road for once, not quite able to look at Aziraphale.]

I've been here almost four months.

[That seems — the smartest thing to say. Something that might offer some explanation. About the tea and the mice and the lovely young man. He keeps his mouth shut for a bit, to allow that to sink in, to wait for whatever questions Aziraphale has next.]

That isn't...well, Crowley, that isn't possible. I saw you more recently than that. You dropped me off at the bookstore.

[While he was sneaking the copy of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter he'd found into the back to comb through it and find answers. He glances off to the side suddenly.

And yes, he had spent a good bit of time looking at it, enough to gather dust and mold his hot chocolate. Not four months!]

Really everyone needs to stop playing games. We don't have time for this nonsense, not if we're going to save Earth and stop the war.

[Oh.

Of course this can't have been simple. They can't just pick up where they left off back home and try to make the best of it here, Aziraphale has to be from too early, from before he realized that Heaven was full of it, before he decided to be on their side. Crowley has to bite down on a laugh, knowing it'd only come out sounding a bit manic.]

Time doesn't work right here. S'been four months, I wouldn't lie to you about this. [But of course Aziraphale doesn't trust him. What else should he have expected?] And we're from different points, it seems. We've already saved Earth from my perspective. You haven't even — we haven't met at the bandstand yet?

[The last time Crowley dropped him off was after their trip to Tadfield, which could mean they haven't had their two bloody fights about all this. He's not sure how to feel about potentially having to rehash all that in order to catch Aziraphale up to the present.]

Edited 2020-01-15 13:09 (UTC)

[Wait. What? How had he forgotten the fight? S. Fights plural and...no, no, no, he'll deal with the rest of that later. He doesn't just forget things, hot cocoa aside. Important things. Important!

The internal meltdown is happening at the speed of angel. Outwardly, he's just blank until his mouth opens for unhelpful sputtering.]

What do you mean? Already saved Earth? You...you said you wanted to leave. Then we were... Hang it all! Why is it that all I can think about is giving you a hug?

[It's outrageous. He expects better of himself than this, and he can't be completely sure this isn't somehow Crowley's doing, although he truly doesn't think so. It's not his style to be this elaborate. Far too much effort.]

Four months?

[There's so much he could say to all of that, so much he wants to say. To reassure Aziraphale that he'd never leave, yell at him for getting discorporated, explain how they (well, how Adam) managed to save the world. He's not sure he can manage it without losing his cool, more than he already has, and now that he can practically feel the uncertainty pouring off Aziraphale, that's not a luxury he can allow himself.

They can't both have a breakdown here. When he finds his voice, it's as gentle as he can manage.]

It's the city, makes you want things you don't normally want. Could be worse, least you're not thinking about — [Nope, he bites his tongue on the next words. Those are dangerous waters.] I've had four months of this rubbish, yeah. So I am sorry, about you're being here, you deserve better.

Edited 2020-01-15 19:28 (UTC)

[There it is again. I am sorry. Not an apology this time. Worse. Regret. With effort, he closes his mouth and takes his own advice, several deep breaths. In all the time he has known Crowley, he hasn't seen him this unrelentingly serious and subdued.

He'd expect deflection or even raging, but not this. More than anything else that has happened so far, it's this which makes it all feel plausible. He watches the scenery flash by out the window long enough to decide on his approach.

He's an angel, for Hell's sake. He can act like one.]

We're going to talk once this urge wears off. For now, it wouldn't be untoward if you held my hand. [Primly.]

[Everything that Crowley wants to say is held behind clenched teeth, but this is a familiar sort of thing. Don't reveal too much, don't overstep, don't go too fast. He can be quiet and patient, waiting for Aziraphale to decide where this is going to go. At least they're not having an argument about it, he's not sure he's in the right frame of mind to handle that sort of thing.

What eventually comes out of the angel's mouth isn't much better, but it's so typical despite it all that Crowley can't help laughing. Fortunately, it does sound more amused than unhinged.]

Oh, you've just decided for us both now, have you? Who says I want to be holding your hand? [And yet, he shifts his grip on the wheel and holds out the hand closest to Aziraphale.] It mightn't wear off. Sometimes these things don't until you've satisfied some mysterious criteria.

[This reminds him of those strange little plant creatures, actually, though that's clearly not the case here.]

[He knows him better than to point out that he seems as though he could use it. Happy that he doesn't have to make any more of a case for it than that, he takes it very snugly and comfortably and can't resist the urge to sandwich it. It's no hug. It's also not going to lead to a potential car wreck. Who says he can't compromise?]

Well, if it doesn't wear off, then I suppose eventually we'll have a very cozy conversation, because we can't avoid it forever.

[Would that be so bad, he wonders? To have a terrible conversation wrapped up in a nice tight hug? If people hugged more, they'd fight less. It's science.]

[Last time they held hands was on a bus ride back from Armageddon. Crowley had been exhausted, half-mad with concern about what was waiting for them once they arrived back in London, so he hadn't really been able to appreciate it. Not that he's less anxious now, but he's definitely not exhausted the way he was then, which leaves him a lot more room to, unfortunately, think about how nice it is.

Fuck's sake, he's a rubbish demon.]

Could do. We're good at it. [Not talking about things, dancing around the important topics. It's mostly muttered to himself, though, followed up by a sigh.] Nearly there.

[It seems safest to keep his mouth shut until then, focusing on the road and the feel of Aziraphale's hands wrapped around his.

A few minutes later, they're pulling up outside Crowley's apartment building, in a miraculously free spot. He turns the car off, looks over at Aziraphale with a raised eyebrow.] Think you can keep your hands off me long enough to get upstairs?

[A very funny joke.]

Edited (autocorrect pls) 2020-01-15 20:10 (UTC)

[He's sounding more like himself by the moment. If it has him beaming, he can hardly be blamed. They've managed all manner of trials in the past 6,000 years or so, even managed to find a way to manage each other that didn't constitute a loss.

He has confidence. He gives him an extra warm squeeze and a soft scoffing laugh. They are masters at not talking about both context and subtext. It's likely why they usually get on.

The rest of the ride is quiet on his side, too. Once he pulls to a stop, he purses his lips.]

Send me up first, and it's a guarantee.

[Crowley feels more like himself; despite all the unpleasantness that's associated with Aziraphale being here, the fact of the matter is that Crowley is soothed just by his presence. Having his hand held does help, too, but they've never done much of that before and it hasn't stopped him feeling... better, when he's around the angel.]

What, and give you a chance to poke about unsupervised? Not likely, come on.

[He does give Aziraphale's hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and getting out of the car. It'd be easy to offer his hand again, but he's wary of how it'll be taken with two doms, so he tucks both hands into his pockets and keeps a few steps ahead of Aziraphale as he leads him inside to the elevator. It isn't really anything new, to be worried about who might be watching. At least that's familiar.]

Do you really think I'd pilfer? [Such an indelicate snort.]

[He climbs out of the car. It's always a treat having his feet back on terra firma after these car rides. To Crowley's credit, not that he'll say it, he didn't terrify him to the degree he usually manages with the Bentley. They didn't almost flatten a single pedestrian.

The hands tucked away are a disappointment. It's a challenge walking as close as he'd like without stepping on his heels. The desire to touch is growing from the denial. Despite being able to recognize this as wrong and alien to him, he can't banish the compulsion.

He wonders if he can at least banish the sickly sweet scent. Ahhh, yes. That's better. He continues to follow, looking around in open curiosity as they go.]

Never said that.

[Just that he'd look, which is a crime in and of itself, when Crowley's place here isn't as stark as his one in Mayfair, which means it gives far too much away.

There's some anxiety there, about all that, but Crowley keeps it tucked away as he ushers Aziraphale into the elevator, leaning his shoulder against the angel's to maintain a point of contact without being too affectionate. The whole place screams expense, but the more subtle kind. There's some warmth in the wood finishes, nothing too gaudy in the halls or elevator.

Crowley is, naturally, quite high up. Once they're out of the lift, he leads Aziraphale to his door, which opens without any need for a key, and then it's — into the flat. Like the rest of the place, it's expensive without being over the top. It isn't the harsh concrete of Mayfair, and there are clearly personal touches. A hand-knitted blanket folded over the back of the couch, the aforementioned mice (who are brightly colored and well looked after), the books and art that he's collected in his time here so far.

It doesn't occur to Crowley that there might be some trace of love in the place, considering the time Martin spends here. It isn't something he can sense, so it slips to the back of his mind, most days.]

Right, home sweet home, I suppose. You want that tea, or something stronger?

[He settles in shoulder to shoulder and resists the powerful urge to put a hand to the small of his back. He's amazed Crowley has tolerated as much from him as he has thus far. Empathy isn't his strong suit, more recent developments back home notwithstanding.

It's nice not to be subjected to elevator music. Not that he'd mind an instrumental rendition of something from Johnny Mathis, or perhaps Frankie Vaughan.

Once they're in the apartment, his eyes alight on anomaly after anomaly and linger rather overly long on the mice and the blanket.

He could never be too distracted to feel traces of love. For the first time in memory, he's at an utter loss. He couldn't be more gobsmacked if he had found him tending a basket of kittens.]

Whiskey.

[Crowley's felt less exposed while naked than he does right now, with Aziraphale looking over his flat. It's an unpleasant prickle at the back of his neck, one that he very much wants to dispel.]

Best thing you've said so far.

[There's a posh little bar cart near the sofa with a decanter of whiskey on top, and it doesn't take Crowley long to pour them each a generous glass.

When he brings it over to Aziraphale, he lingers in the angel's space, just close enough that he's within reach if that's... wanted. It's strange to navigate something the city is encouraging when he's not equally under the influence. He knows how uncomfortable it can be to resist, but he equally doesn't want to overstep. It's a strange line to walk.

He opens his mouth to say something and ends up just making a couple of meaningless sounds before he sighs and decides to just drink his whiskey. Hopefully the alcohol will help.]

[He downs it without hesitation. It will take far more than that to have much of an effect. There's something a bit symbolic about having a drink to steady the nerves, not quite as old as mankind but up there.

The lodestone pull toward affection is only stronger in a place where such feelings linger. He'd never felt it at his flat in Mayfair, especially not over the terror of the plants. There's no such terror from the mice.]

Pets?

[He can't stand it, the insufferable longing. Reaching out, he strokes down his sleeve and at the outer edge of his hand. He doesn't believe he ought to give in fully. It's crossing some unspoken line and can only lead to complications in a situation that is already beyond Gordian.]

[Crowley snaps his fingers, the first miracle he's really done since Azirapahle arrived, using it to refill the glass. He's taking his time with his own drink, it's more about the ritual of it right now, something to do with himself.]

They were a gift, meant to be a snack, but I didn't have it in myself to eat them.

[Crowley bites his tongue against a sigh when Aziraphale touches him. He hasn't made it six thousand years to be undone by a little physical affection, especially not when it's outside Aziraphale's control.

When he breathes out, his chest feels too tight.] I don't — mind. You can do whatever you need.

[It says something that he doesn't think to chide him for such blatant use of power. It's already sinking in that they may be beyond the reach of Hell or Heaven to complain. That's a terrifying enough thought that the whiskey is just as quick to disappear on the second fill.]

A snack? Who would--it wasn't that woman, was it? The one who insisted you were my serpent? Honestly, the people you know!

[That does sound chiding. He'd much rather be petulant about inconsequential things than think about how difficult it is not to wrap him in both arms, or to break out the wings and bring them into play, too. It's not temptation. It's compulsion, or something so close that it's physically painful to hold it in.

He shakes his head abruptly.]

How is that fair to you? Enduring my glomming onto you like, like...oh, what are those little things that stick on the rocks? Like one of those. I know you don't enjoy displays. I'm fine.

[That definitely startles him; Crowley runs through a mental list of women he knows, that also know he's a snake (most of them), who might be able to make the connection between himself and an angel. Diana likely would, but he doesn't think Diana comes across as the sort of person who would give mice as snacks.

Who else could it be?]

It wasn't a woman that gave them to me. Who's been calling me your serpent?

[Like, it's true, but they shouldn't say it.

As for the glomming, Crowley turns to face Aziraphale, reaches out to gently touch his arm with his free hand.]

Didn't I say? There's a lot worse than this that you could want. [He'd allow that too, if it was necessary, but that's not the point.] Promise not to make it weird once the feeling's passed and I'll not complain about your displays.

She didn't give a name. It was a demon who claimed to have more than a part in Eden. I sensed she was toying with me, so I didn't say much.

[Especially not once she mentioned Crowley.

He leans forward. It would look comical, the beginning of a pratfall, if there wasn't so much open longing in the small movement. It's mortifying.]

That's beside the point. [Breathless. He never was a good liar.]

I don't have to make it weird. It is weird. I've never been compelled, Crowley.

[And then he's at the end of his ability to stop himself. He folds with a whimper rather than a bang, just a simple falling into him with arms spread and encircling, and after that wings, too, almost upending some things from the cart in the process.]

[Lilith, then.

Crowley doesn't comment in it, can't comment on it, not when Aziraphale is looking at him like that, with all that want, as if he's the sort of thing that an angel could ever want. His heart aches with the knowledge that it isn't real, that this is the best he'll ever get. Something fake, something that's practically hurting Aziraphale with how unnatural it is.]

I know, I know. [It's quiet, almost plaintive, and he can't help the soft sound of surprise he makes at the sight of Aziraphale's wings. It takes every ounce of his own self control not to touch them, but he manages it, shifting enough to disappear his glass into the ether and then get his arms around the angel's shoulders. He's so focused on not touching feathers that he doesn't think much about curling a hand around the back of Aziraphale's head, holding him carefully in place.] S'alright, I've got you.

[Four months time in this place is enough to have him trying to comfort him instead of hissing or making his little uncomfortable sounds, to pretend he's fine with tolerating this excess. It worries him for both of them.

Without too much thought, he snaps his glass back to the cart. Clean. He still has standards. It allows the full wrap and press of hands. His wings encircle him so thoroughly, all anyone watching would see of Crowley would be a pair of shoes, maybe a few inches of lower trousers leg.

Their height difference isn't so pronounced that it's awkward to press his face in against his neck. It's a good fit.]

I hope you know I wouldn't deliberately put you through this.

[He feels as though he has to say it. How often has he gone on about love and the beauty of its expression? How often has Crowley demanded that he stop it already? That's a familiar dance, a little light teasing. This feels too good. The pain is gone. It's delight, all right with the world, and yet whatever it is doesn't have enough weight to remove thousands of years of knowledge and experience.]

This has happened to you?

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