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duplicitymemes2020-01-12 10:22 pm
duplicitymods) wrote in duplicitymemes2020-01-12 10:22 pm
Entry tags:
TDM #10
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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. ... 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. |
 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. |
 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. |
 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. |
 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. |
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!! |
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[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.]
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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.
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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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He'd briefly entertained the thought of taking off his sunglasses when they'd entered the flat, and he's endlessly grateful he didn't follow through on it. His eyes sting, and he has to blink a few times to clear them.]
Stop that. You're not — you're not putting me through anything.
[He tries to sound casual, like they're talking about Crowley suffering through a play that he doesn't want to see, but his voice is too strained for it to really work.]
Not quite this. M'sure you don't want the sordid details.
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[Such an empty threat he has no way to complete it. He's not used to being so anchored into bodily sensations that there's emotional investment. It's not like indulging in crepes or going to the symphony. No question, he'd be kind to him if the situation was reversed.
He asked him to go away with him.
Kindness? Not even he's that naive.
His throat clicks with his swallow.]
No, I don't need to hear that.
[He won't ask him to recount humiliation to make himself feel better.]
You need to--I need you to tell me about Armageddon. You said it's averted?
[Throw him a lifeline. He needs something else to focus on besides where his mind keeps taking him. He asked him to go with him.]
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He's barely holding it together now, just for entirely different reasons.]
The boy, the antichrist, he decided he'd had enough of everyone telling him what to do with his power, so he just... stopped it. Told Satan to bugger off, basically, rewrote reality so that he wasn't Satan's son anymore and it sort of stalled the whole business. [He assumes there are going to be a million questions, so he decides to cover the basics and leave room for what Aziraphale decides to focus on. At least this is easier than talking about kindness, or what's happened to Crowley since he arrived here.] Gabriel and Beelzebub turned up, but you, you clever thing, pointed out that the Great Plan might not be the Ineffable one. They had no idea what to make of that, but it pulled 'em up short. Then, uh —
[This is the trickier bit. He hasn't really had a chance to go into detail of his trip to Heaven back home, and now he has to try to manage it when they've skipped a few steps.]
Heaven wasn't... pleased with you. We swapped places, corporations, I went to Heaven in your place and stood in the hellfire that was — that was meant for you.
[For millennia, Crowley has known that Heaven is full of hypocrites and assholes, but he hasn't even begrudged Aziraphale his loyalty. That sort of thing can't be rushed, it would've been cruel to do so. He knows it's going to hurt, learning that Heaven wanted him dead. But he won't lie, not now.]
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That is clever. Good for me!
[If he wasn't holding him so tightly, he'd pat himself on the back, all in good fun.
Until. Oh.
It doesn't matter that Crowley can't see it with his face pressed up against his neck. The smile is automatic and forced. Long, long habit. It feels strange on his features, like it doesn't quite fit right.]
Clever.
[It's a shadow of the previous declaration. He pats him a little. A very little.]
They were intent to do for both of us, were they? Well, I suppose they would be.
We spoilt their fun.
[Another few moments of quiet, until the whiskey bottle spontaneously shatters, along with every glass.]
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He wishes he'd known a way to be kinder with that information, but Crowley's still figuring out how to soften the rough edges of himself, and sometimes honesty is the best he can offer. Honesty, and his grip tightening around Aziraphale, as if a hug helps any of this.]
They never deserved you. Gabriel and the lot of them are bastards who are so far up their own arses they don't remember what they were made for. [Love and goodness and all those things that angels were full of in the beginning.] It's just us now, me and you, and I swear I'm not going anywhere.
[He doesn't want to talk about this, but maybe it's important. Crowley exhales slowly, turning his head just enough to press his lips to Aziraphale's hair in something of a kiss. It happens automatically, as he weighs up his words, a small gesture that he's come to associate with comforting someone.]
I wouldn't have gone, you know, to Alpha Centaur, not without you.
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It tracks with some of what that woman said about a different Eden, maybe. He's absorbed enough that for a little while he forgets to breathe.
Just us now.
It has always been just them for a long time. He probably would have seen it earlier had he not been so afraid. What is he now? Maybe that's why he can't leave, why neither of them can, they aren't an angel or a demon anymore.
Maybe that's all hogwash and this is unrelated to anything from Earth. He draws his delayed breath and lets it out.]
I know.
[He settles his fingers at his nape and gently rubs. It might be kinder to disambiguate exactly what part of all of that he's claiming to know. He doesn't want to try while he's this angry and confused. Resigned. He'd only muddle it worse like this.]
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Because the thing is, Aziraphale doesn't know. Not about how much he means to Crowley, he can't understand the depth of it if he even for a second thought a hug was something to be endured. This isn't the time for that conversation, though. Dealing with this place and learning about Heaven turning their back on him is already enough, he hardly needs Crowley's messy feelings dumped on him as well.]
You're doing that thing. Thinking too much, I can practically hear it. [Spiraling could be a more accurate word, but Crowley is kind enough not to use it.] Talk to me, angel, let me help.
[There likely isn't much he can do to help, but he can listen, if nothing else.]
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[He'll know the tone, the one that says, I can't ask that of you, the one that's starkly aware of their differences. What he likely doesn't know, and doesn't need dumped on him while he's already close to being climbed like a tree, is that he has been avoiding demanding too much for longer than this. Their dance has always been delicate. Now it's also on a razor wire where one slip could...
His hand at his nape tightens for just a moment. Loosens. He draws in a deeper breath, so stupid how good that can feel when technically he doesn't need it and never really has. He draws back just enough to look at him, wishing those glasses weren't in the way but not daring even to think about touching them. He knows what they are to him. He'd never violate his privacy that way.]
I'll do better. Get better at resisting these pulls of theirs. The trouble is I'm soft. Thousands of years to get used to being soft. The past eleven have been just a blip of stress.
I'm...glad the boy came through and it sounds like we bought a little respite for that silly little planet.
[He runs gentle fingers down the front of Crowley's lapel, smoothing what he has rumpled.]
I am not going to be your burden, or a burden to the humans trapped here with us. I'm an angel. I need to be that. Strong. So I will. I'll be all right, Crowley.
[As though to demonstrate it, he draws his wings out and back, pulls them in, forces another step back. Both hands come to rest against his chest without pushing.]
You're right. It is just us now. Which means you need me, too. I won't let you down.
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So he keeps still, and he watches, and he doesn't whine when Aziraphale pulls back. He wants to reassure him that it isn't about being soft or strong or anything, that they don't have the same control they had back home, that it isn't a failure to give in.
But he feels untethered, with Aziraphale out of his space, as though he's the one hit with some compulsion to stay close, and he moves without thinking, bringing his hands up over the angel's, holding them against his own chest.]
You couldn't be a burden, Aziraphale. Not to me.
[He's meant that more than he's meant anything he's said in his life, except maybe his desperate pleading for Aziraphale to run away with him.]
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Oh.
[He blinks, mouth working and head drawing back.]
You... I...
[It's a day of firsts. His mind is ground down to a halt, too many emotions vying for supremacy all at once and leaving him completely at a loss. Only the sudden tightness of his grip on Crowley's fingers gives any sort of hint of what's happening. He is not pulling away.
Love doesn't lie.]
Crowley.
[His grip is painfully tight now.]
Me too.
[Of all the times for eloquence to flee.]
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All his focus is centered on Aziraphale, cataloging his expression, watching his mouth work, trying to figure out whats about to be said based on tiny context clues because he can't bear this not knowing.
It doesn't occur to him that it's his love being sense, he just assumes that everything he's said and done so far is enough to finally make somethingme too, it's in reference to what Crowley's said about burdens, the implication that he cares, that it's not any kind of hardship for them to look after each other.
Which is still more than enough to make him feel giddy and ridiculous and hopeful. All that fear bleeds out, leaving nothing but a helpless smile.]
I thought you didn't even like me.
[Throwing his words from the bandstand back at him, but only as a very gentle tease. This can't — he can't let this be a heavy thing, something that weighs them down. Not after so long.]
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[The look in his eyes pays lie to the words. What a confusing, befuddling, wonderment of an afternoon, and the sun isn't down yet. He wonders if he's even aware he's shining love from every pore, so much so that it's humbling and more than a little terrifying. They've been so many things to one another through the eons. Never this. Never openly.
He loosens his grip, but it's only so that he can flatten both hands against his chest again.]
Will it hurt you if I...
[He tips his head.]
I want you to feel what I feel. But I've never...I don't know how it would affect you.
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He shakes his head at the question, almost laughing, looking somewhere between amused and fond.]
Thought I made it pretty obvious, angel. [After a second of hesitation, he reaches out to touch Aziraphale's cheek, as gentle as possible.] I'll give you anything you ask for, let you do anything you'd like.
[That's already been the way of things. Hamlet and lunches and stains miracled from coats. Crowley's always been wrapped around Aziraphale's fingers, there's just no need for pretense anymore.]
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[Maybe on some hidden level of his psyche he has always known, but like with anything that truly scares him or makes him uncomfortable he has buried it. Hearing it so openly, he wants so many things at once but above all to protect him, not to take advantage, not to be his usual selfish, bumbling self.
He closes his eyes and leans his cheek lightly into the touch.]
You really shouldn't let me, Crowley. I mean it. [Stern.]
Just tell me if this hurts.
[He starts out so very small, the faintest extension of power through his fingertips resting over his shirt. Love the only way he has ever known it, and there's worry. He can't help but think of the holy water or the consecrated ground of the church, the fact that they are meant to be anathema to one another.
He watches his face closely.]
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You really are terribly stupid sometimes. [There's no heat in the words, only a hint of fondness, as he allows himself to rest his hand more properly against Aziraphale's cheek, cupping his jaw, thumb brushing gently over his skin. He's dreamed about touching him like this for so long that it hardly seems real.] I trust you, you daft thing.
[That's why he'll give anything, allow anything. He trusts Aziraphale not to purposefully try to hurt him, and anything that happens unintentionally is just something they'll deal with if it happens. It's bound to happen, they've done it hundreds of times before and they've both got so many landmines buried between them, but Crowley isn't too worried about it. They've figured it out so far, this is just an added dimension.
So it's easy to close his eyes, to exhale slowly and focus on the feeling that Aziraphale is trying to give to him, bringing both hands back over the ones resting on his chest, an anchor point. Crowley can just grasp the edge of it, like sunlight spreading over the horizon, and that alone is enough to draw a small gasp, his grip tightening to stop Aziraphale from pulling away. It doesn't hurt, not physically, but it does ache.] M'not sure if this is meant for me.
[Not the love itself, just being able to feel it this way. God tore out his ability to feel love, maybe he's not meant to have this.]
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[He's sparkling with teasing and thinking no one has any call feeling this giddy. He closes his eyes again. On some level, he's aware that his enjoyment of physical touch is false, something foisted upon him by this place given what Crowley has said. He has never been very physical, not beyond his indulgence of fine foods and drinks or sumptuous fabrics.
It's what's coming through the touch that he could bask in for as long as Crowley is willing to indulge him. To feel such love from a demon. Yet, Crowley is long past being just a demon, no more than he is just an angel. Their time on Earth, together, has fundamentally altered them. Never has he been more aware of it than in this moment.
His eyes are open in the deliberate exchange of energy, not just watching his expression but also for any signs of smoke or sensations of abnormal heat beneath his palms.
Instead, the stinging comes, unexpectedly, for him. He blinks rapidly, his scoff louder and more vehement than he intends.]
Don't you dare say that. Not ever again. This is for you.
[This time he thinks he'd pull him back into his arms regardless of compulsion, a tight wrap, a full body embrace with the flow of love opening out and up. He'll still tamp it down in an instant if he senses it's doing harm. He presses Crowley's head to draw his face against his neck and shoulder, a reverse of earlier.]
Who else could it possibly be meant for, my dear?
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[It's so familiar, this back and forth, the bickering they've been doing since Crowley first slithered up to Aziraphale on that wall, six thousand years ago. Now there's just an entire extra page on the menu to select from, whenever he wants to tease about something.
Despite any teasing, he goes so easily when he's pulled forwards, the sunglasses disappearing instantly so that there's nothing between them. Crowley tucks his head into the crook of Aziraphale's neck, wrapping his arms around the angel, fingers curling into the back of that well worn coat. It's softer under his hands than he expected it to be. Comes from being loved, he imagines.
And then the coat doesn't matter much at all, not when he's suddenly overwhelmed by the rush of love coming from Aziraphale. Even if it did burn, he's not sure he'd be able to tell him to stop. It isn't anything like Her love, and he's glad of that because it's infinitely better. Something freely given, something chosen, not a love that was built into them.
He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels himself sob, and fuck if that isn't mortifying, but he only presses closer as his shoulders shake. Anything he might want to say will have to wait until he can trust his voice again, but he doesn't think Aziraphale will complain about managing to shut him up for a few minutes.]
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There's a reason the demons are held as stark examples of what happens to disobedient angels. It's not that Hell is dank and unpleasant.
He can't be Her. He can only be himself. Now that there's no obvious reason to withhold, no one standing behind them looking over their respective shoulders and waiting for them to bungle it all up, he doesn't. It's all Crowley's, for as long as he wants it and will stand it from him like this, incandescent and fierce, gentle and soft, and no contradiction for somehow managing both.
The most profound experiences have always been beyond words. He lets out a shaky sigh. There are thoughts moving beneath the surface, nothing he allows enough air to breathe yet. This is for them. Everything else can just wait its turn.]
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God's love was always conditional, it might not have felt that way at the beginning, when it was breathed into him, but he learned quickly that there were rules to it. That it could be taken away. What he wants is love, just like this, from someone who knows him. Someone who's seen the awful things he's done, all the questions and curiosity and selfishness, and who chooses to love him anyway. Despite it, because of it. Humans get it all the time, he doesn't think it's too much to ask for the same, and that's what it feels like, coming from Aziraphale. That's what he hopes it is.
Mercifully, the tears don't last too long. They peter out with a deep, tired sigh, and Crowley takes a moment to appreciate the sensation of Aziraphale's hands on him, before he finally gathers his wits about him, mumbling his next words against the angels' throat.]
Hope you're not expecting me to move ever again, you're stuck with me, now. M'like a mollusk.
[There's the word that Aziraphale couldn't remember earlier.]
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He could just...What?]
Now, what does a tiny monkey have to do with anything? Honestly, Crowley. Just be still for once and enjoy things, will you?
[Just like him to try to crack a funny at a time like this. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue, then settles right back in again.]
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Even after all that, he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.]
I'm trying. [A little petulant, but also —] Are you glowing, angel?
[His eyes are closed and he's not brave enough to open them while he's this close to angelic radiance, but he can sort of feel it, in an odd way. It's kind of tingly.]
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[Immediately, he is not. The love is still there, however. He truly is losing himself here. He should be more careful, or he will burn him, and then everything will end in tears.
He lets out a soft huff.]
I suppose in a way you've gotten your wish after all. It's not Alpha Centauri, but we are together. Away from them.
[For good or ill.]
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