flawedmemes | TEST DRIVE MEME

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test drive

TEST DRIVE MEME

01. ARRIVING IN PELEA
A cold wind singing down from the white-capped mountains which hang blue-black in the distance stirs your cheek, the tall grass all around you. A bough creaks as the wind makes it tremble, and the dappled shadows drift over you, leaves rustling. As you blink awake, you hear the quiet hiss of water over stones. You are not where you once were!

You and a large group of strangers are blinking awake, pulling yourselves up off the dirt, grass, and rubble near a small wooded stream. There is no evidence of civilization in sight, and as you exchange stories you realize that you must decide what to do.

Will you head past the trees and towards the mountains? Deeper into the forest? Stay put and wait for help to arrive? You might even try to meet everyone else, and either convince them to band together... or head their separate ways.

02. CITY SLICKER
There are many cities throughout the world of Pelea, and in most player characters, the Flaws, are welcomed as curiosities. From the lively, bustling markets of colorful Vairaya to the grimly efficient and stately mountain strongholds of Draichurith, your characters will find a wide variety of cultures and races to interact with and investigate. They could be seeking empoyment, answers to the mystery of their arrival, or a quiet place to drink away their worries.

03. WILDCARD!

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The way he says her name reminds her far too much of the Doctor for comfort. Her eyes widen as she stares over at him, heart racing as she tries to figure out who in the hell he is. She ignores everything he says about starting a fire, because she's not interested in talking about that now. She's too focused on learning who he is.

"You know," she mocks how he talks to her, looking tiny and sassy as she stands her ground. "Typically when someone gives you their name, it's polite to give yours in return."

"Depends on where you are." He kneels down to examine some of the vegetation, plucking a blade of grass and nibbling delicately on the end. "Names mean different things in different cultures. There are some planets where telling someone your true name is absolutely forbidden because they believe it'll give the other person control over you. Some places exchange names ritually during marriage ceremonies. Some people only tell others their names before they kill them. Never tell someone your name, Clara Oswald, until you know how they're going to use it."

The Doctor straightens up, getting hit in the side of his head by the neck of his guitar. He winces and rubs the spot. "Standard Earth-like grass. Atmosphere is...well, obviously breathable for humans, similar composition, less pollution. Single sun, no way to tell how many moons," a quick jump, "standard gravity. That narrows it down to about, oh, three billion planets, give or take, not including the possibility of trans-dimensional travel."

The more she watches him move about and hears him talk, the more unsettled he is. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he's the Doctor. But he can't be, his chin isn't anywhere near big enough. Still, she watches him with eyes that steadily grow wider and wider as her suspicions as to what his identity is grow. And then, he goes and mentions three billion planets and trans-dimensional travel and she's left with her jaw dropped as she stares over at him.

"You - " She tries to be accusing, but she can only sound filled with disbelief.

"You're him, aren't you." She moves in close enough to him that she's in his personal space, and tries to look up into his eyes. "You must be." The eyes aren't the same color, but there's a look there that makes her frown in concern because it's so painfully familiar.

"Doctor?" His name comes out softly, her voice breaking a little. She doesn't know how this could possibly be him, but his behavior is so erratic and the way he talks make her feel like it couldn't be anyone else but him.

What his mind doesn't remember, his body does, and there's something undeniably familiar about having her so close to him. He doesn't feel comfortable with anyone being close to him, he knows that - but with her, he does.

"Why're your eyes so big?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. That's one of those fragments of memory, too. "You look like a deer. A deer with a round face." He can't think of anything clever to say with her so close, so he takes a step back, then another, and then he's falling backwards over a rock and into the stream, his guitar sliding forward with the momentum and banging into his chest.

"Clara?" he calls out from his position, partially in the water and also on top of several mossy damp rocks. "Would you mind giving me a hand?"

"I don't look like a -" She starts to snap at him, sounding very cross. But then he's stumbling and falling, and all she can do is think of how much that's something the Doctor she knows would do. His clumsiness is oddly endearing to her, and it is now, too. So she laughs, covering up her smile behind her hand.

"You still haven't said who you are," she points out as she steps in closer to him, attempting to shift his guitar so she can give him a hand to get back on your feet. "But you are him, aren't you? The Doctor?"

"It's the eyes. All big and round and brown. I said that already, didn't I?" He blinks up at her, taking her hand. His own eyes are unusually sorrowful; his face might not betray his emotions in this regeneration, but his eyes always do.

"When are you from, Clara?" Maybe he can piece things together somehow. He knows she's from before him, but nothing more than that.

(He really needs to stop saying her name, but he can't.)

"2013," she slowly gives an answer, too caught up looking into his eyes. She sees the sadness there, and it makes her wonder so much about what must happen. "We were on Trenzalore, and I jumped into your time stream."

Emotion starts to build in her eyes at the mention of what's just happened outside of this place, and she forces herself to look away from him so he hopefully can't see the fear and uncertainty there. Without having any doubts about his identity now, she just wants to figure out how many faces past her Doctor this one is, and why he's looking at her like he's depressed just being near her.

"What about you?"

"Later," he says softly.

Of course. That's how he survived. She'd strewn herself through his history, and he can't remember any of her. The memories are still there, he knows - human brains and Time Lord brains aren't the same, and the memory wipe is imperfect. It's so frustrating, knowing that he could remember, should be able to remember, and he can't.

"Next one along."

Unsure of where she stands with him, what with his being the next one along and all, she feels the warmth of tears slip down her cheeks. She reaches up to wipe them away, looking lost and confused for the first time since arriving here.

"Do you send me away? Is that why you're looking at me like that? Because you don't want to see me?"

"No, I don't. It's fine. You're fine. Everything's fine." For a certain definition of fine.

"Clara, please don't-" He reaches out, brushing the tears from her cheeks with a finger. "Of course I want to see you." He doesn't know what to say, because he doesn't remember her - of course he can't tell her that. He feels a little helpless right now.

"But I don't know you." The words come out a whisper, and she once again looks into his eyes to try and see the familiarity there. It's him, she knows it is, she can see the Doctor in there. But he's not hers, not the one that she's just given up everything to save. At least she's comforted with the fact that her idea works and he keeps going.

But despite how firmly he insists that things are fine, they don't feel that way at all.

"And when you look at me, you either see right through me or look at me like I've just broken your screwdriver."

He pulls his new screwdriver out of his pocket, showing it to her. "No, look, it's fine." Yes, he knows she isn't speaking literally, but he does want to show it off. River's the only one who's seen it so far, and more people need to appreciate it. Especially Clara.

The Doctor's expression turns serious, the lines in his face etched deeper with sorrow. "I could never see through you, Clara Oswald."

A single memory trickles back: the Doctor standing in the middle of a torchlit courtyard, the stands filled with medieval peasants.

"Did you see me?"

"When do I not see you?"

"What, one face in all that crowd?"

"There was a crowd too?"

As he shows her his screwdriver, her face only becomes more confused and sad. It's not the right screwdriver, the one she remembers. It's a ridiculous thing to be emotional over, but she can't help it. He's gone and changed faces and accents, gotten a new screwdriver, and looks at her like she's a ghost. Her fear that she stays trapped in his timestream overwhelms her, which results in tears as she reaches over to grab his screwdriver so she can look it over.

"It's lovely," she tries offering, voice shaking as she does. "What was wrong with the old one, exactly?"

"Felt like a change." He tries to sound casual, but she's falling to pieces in front of him and he doesn't know what to do about it. Is there something he ought to do? "I had a pair of sonic sunglasses for a bit." But then he'd left them for her in the diner, and he'd needed a replacement.

"I. Are you all right?" It's a daft thing to ask, but he's not good at this, not with anyone. "Do you need a hug?"

"A hug is just a way to hide your face."

Nodding in response to that question, she doesn't hesitate to move in and hug him. She buries her face up against him, trying to use the fabric of his shirt to catch her tears. She wants to tell him why she's upset and afraid, but doesn't have the heart to. She made her sacrifice willingly, and now she has to live with the consequences. So she hugs him until she feels her tears stop, and she's just clinging hold of him silently.

Eventually she feels like she can lift her head and look up at him, and she does so with a sad smile.

"You wouldn't have asked if I needed a hug before. You just would've hugged me."

"I'm not really the hugging sort," he explains lamely, with a twinge of deja vu. She feels like a little bird in his arms, fragile and thin, her heart beating wildly as she cries. But he doesn't let go, despite what he says about not liking hugs, because this feels right. Because his body remembers embracing her in this regeneration and the last, even if his mind doesn't.

"Chinny, now, he was all hugs and spins - and Sandshoes, he was a big hugger. I s'pose I'm just...different." He shrugs awkwardly. How do you explain yourself to someone who ought to know you? To someone you ought to know better than anyone else?

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TEST DRIVE MEME

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