inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.

[vestigemods]

VESTIGE TEST DRIVE MEME

WHAT IS THIS?

This is a test drive meme for Vestige is a musebox-game successor to The Box (yeah, the one that died like five years ago). It's invite-only with no activity check and almost no application to speak of.

This is a horror jamjar based on Cabin In The Woods, in which characters are pulled into this containment zone run by the Technicians working from a lab underground with the goal of creating Good Quality Suffering™️ to appease the elder gods who hover on the verge of creating a worldwide apocalypse. But of course, suffering is pointless if everyone is too numb to properly suffer, so there are plenty of morale boosts provided in between bouts of fear and misery.

This TDM is ongoing and will fill the gap between now and when I get around to setting up the comms. There is no official start date and currently literally nothing but this TDM available for perusal, but I'll update this section of the blurb as that changes. Threads in this TDM are welcome to be game canon once this shit opens because fuck it. If you have questions, feel free to ask in the top-level below or just wing it tbh, we'll be doing a lot of winging it up in this shit.

Characters arrive with all powers intact and carrying all items that they had with them on their canonpoint.

Also, feel free to hit up the Intro + Friending meme to network with your future peers in this suffering endeavor. (EDIT 5/20: We also now have a DISCORD SERVER! So hop on into that if you'd like.)

PROMPT 1 ► just your ordinary cabin in the woods

⬛ARRIVAL + GENERAL PROMPT

Whenever you're from or wherever you were, you awaken now with the mildest of headaches in a medium-sized wooden cabin. Maybe you wake in a bed, barely padded and covered in dust (so are you now, congrats!). Maybe you wake on the floor, arguably softer than the bed in spots thanks to some handy dandy water damage. Either way, you certainly aren't where you were before, and you have no recollection whatsoever of arriving.

The cabin is modest but multi-roomed and fully kitted with a kitchen and cozy living room. Nice, dry wood sits stacked by the fireplace, and if you check the various switches, the lights turn on with only the faintest protesting static. The cabinets are surprisingly well-stocked, as is the fridge, with perishables and non-perishables alike. As if someone has been here recently... but how, when everything else seems so thoroughly abandoned?

Should you choose to ignore the cabin's supposed hospitality and try to leave, you'll find that both the front and back doors are securely locked, in a way that no amount of fumbling with the locking mechanism seems to remedy.

That's when a sloooooow creak draws your attention to a door nearby, one you may not have noticed before... but it's open now. Was it before? Better yet, should you check out what lies beyond?

PROMPT 2 ► who's up for some fighty-fight, kids??

⬛MONSTER HORROR.

The basement is musty and dim, though a pull-string at the curve of the creaky stairs seems to turn on a sparse row of lightbulbs dangling precariously from the ceiling along the center of the room. This little bit of light illuminates a room absolutely packed with items, furniture and boxes and various knick-knacks of unknown and questionable origin. Spiderwebs litter nooks and crannies, many with actual spiders still nesting inside, and a layer of dust coats most every surface in sight.

It doesn't seem like there's anyone down here, nor is there any sign of an exit at the basement's far end. There is, however, something that catches your eye. An item, one that your feet seem to carry you toward without your mind quite telling them to do so. Perhaps it's familiar somehow. Perhaps it's so foreign to you that you can't help but get a closer look. One way or another, you somehow end up reaching out to touch it. But what harm can that do, a single touch?

Oh, sweet summer child. Haven't you seen this movie?




---




Whatever else your characters might touch, to activate this prompt they'll also touch one of the following five items:


• A child's drawing, of what appears to be... shit, what even is that? Is it a bat? Is it some kind of... reptile? We just don't know. (result! warnings for gore/violence.)
  
  
• A light-blue paper face mask, the sort used in hospitals for patients who have a cold. Maybe you guys should've brought masks too. It sure would keep all this dust the hell out of your nose... ( result! warning for body horror! )
  
  
• A buzzsaw blade, dusty but intact. ( result! warnings for gore/violence. )
  
  
• A music box, covered in faded yellow flowers. I wonder what music it plays? ( result! warnings for gore/violence and Alarming Children. )
  
  
• A funeral urn. But... It seems that someone glued it shut around the edges? I guess that's one way to make sure nobody spills grandma. ( result! )

These enemies can and will follow characters outside, should they try to flee. It might actually be a good idea to face these foes outdoors where it's less confined, provided they don't stray too far from the cabin (see prompt #4).

The blurbs are just guidelines, feel free to scale up or down how strong/weak the monsters are, how many there are, etc. in order to better fit your characters' level of capability. The Technicians know your characters' strengths and weaknesses, so they'd know how to send enough to make this challenging but not insurmountable.

PROMPT 3 ► congratulations, you fucked up

⬛SURVIVAL HORROR.

Perhaps you didn't touch anything in the basement. Hell, maybe you didn't even set foot through that ominous basement door. But hey, we get it. Not everyone likes to party. You're not getting off easy, but at least you can say that you didn't fall into the trap.

If, by the time an hour has passed since the creaking open of the basement door, no object has been touched and no baddie has been summoned, you'll find your nose assaulted by the prevailing smell of smoke. One glance out any window tells you why: The cabin has been surrounded in it, an oblong ring of fire six feet thick burning tight along the exterior cabin walls. You're safe inside for the moment, but how long will that last?

Now, you have no choice but to try to escape the blaze. It overtakes the cabin quickly, creeping up over the rooftop, shattering windows and burning a path inside. No matter which way you try to run, you're almost certain to get burned... But that's certainly better than burning to death in here.

PROMPT 4 ► "escape"? never heard of her.

⬛PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR.

For some, staying in this creepy cabin with its stupid locked door was never an option. Maybe you break one of the windows and crawl through that, or maybe you're angry and OP and punched a man-sized hole in the wall itself. Hey, we're not judging. You got yourself outside, and that's what counts.

The outside of the cabin is... actually pretty nice. Picturesque woods, birds singing, perhaps a couple of deer bounding through the trees not far off. This place might actually be relaxing, if it weren't so alarming and kidnap-y. But it is, so it's time to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Or to try to, anyway. Just a few short meters into the trees, you find yourself entering a deep and all-encompassing fog. You can barely see your hand out in front of your face, let alone your path through the forest ahead. If you're not alone in this venture, you'd best keep a hand on your companion lest you lose track of them, as well. And is it just you, or is there a slight chemical taste to the fog that you're breathing in?

(Yes. The answer is definitely yes.)

Before long, you find yourself turned around, stepping back out of the fog with the cabin in front of you. Little do you realize that simply turning you around is the most merciful fate that this fog has to offer.

---

This is easier to break down without narrative, so!

• The first time your character ventures into the fog, they're just turned around and sent back to the cabin.
  
  
• The second time, they hallucinate things that they don't want to hear. Something they fear, something that hurts them, something that stresses them the fuck out. Maybe a character's worst fear is wildcats and they hear one growling just out of sight in the mist. Maybe instead they hear a loved one crying for help back in the direction from which they've come, drawing them back to the cabin. Or maybe they hear the voice of someone they admire berating their cowardice or stupidity or something, for running away from the cabin in the first place. The goal is to psych them out and send them running back to the place where the action is happening.
  
  
• The third time, it's the same but full-blown visual or even physical hallucinations. Basically anything that might lure, scare, emotionally wound, etc. them into going back to the vicinity of the cabin.

Characters are welcome to start off venturing into the mist together, or to discover one another while they're already in the mist. If it's the latter, look out - it may be harder to tell friend from foe when you can't quite trust your own mind.

THE LOOP ► a note on replayability

Regardless of which prompt your character faces, they'll be left unbothered after the creature is defeated or the problem is overcome until sunrise the following morning. Though the fog still keeps characters from straying from the area, they're welcome to recover and lick their wounds in the immediate cabin vicinity. An unburnt cabin leaves them food and resting facilities, while a burnt cabin... Well, at least the fire never spread from that self-contained ring, so they have some nice unburnt grass to sleep on.

Come sunrise, all characters still awake will fall unconscious. At this point, many of them will reawaken in a perfectly undamaged cabin back in Prompt #1 to begin the loop anew. They may have the same comrades in this loop, or perhaps they have different ones. Maybe their new companions have done this before as well. Maybe they're brand new and have no idea what they're up against. R.I.P., you poor unsuspecting fucks.

This is, in effect, a series of trial runs by the current batch of Technicians to see if they're able to run this containment zone scenario long-term. When Vestige opens properly, characters will awaken free of the loop and will have quite a bit more continuity and recovery time between horrors. The 'loop' mechanic is specifically in place to give this TDM some shelf life and let y'all entertain yourselves while I work on the actual pages and such, rather than the one-and-done feeling of the usual TDM.

CODE BY TESSISAMESS (patreon)

Comments

[misplayedmelody]

[ She can't help but flinch as he takes a step toward her, but she tries (and fails) to mask it by crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing with her hands as if to get circulation back. Her expression is apologetic. Things have been really overwhelming of late and she hasn't had any time to process anything yet. (Including "Why am I here in some weird cabin?")

There is obviously mutual relief at seeing each other no matter what else has happened. Klaus being alone is also somewhat comforting. Not because she thinks he can't hold his own when he really needs to, but facing any other of her brothers would be a much more dangerous situation--for herself. ]

What is this place? How did we get here?

[ Tentatively, she reaches to take his hand. His right with her left. "Hello." ]

[channellings]

[ah, see! he did know better than to follow through with that gesture. man, yeah, reaching for someone's neck without any explanation is clearly something he should've thought through further—

everything's fine though, he didn't touch them and now knows he shouldn't try to.]

What are they? [a moment's hesitation before he follows up with,] If it's okay to ask?

Telling me to mind my own fucking business is also an option.

[channellings]

[best believe, it's a good thing.

and it's funny because he's never met someone who didn't know what a damn refrigerator is!? seriously, klaus's doing his best to keep it under control, but... for real, where did this guy come from? catching even a glimpse of huaisang's face makes his lips quirk at the edges and rather than fight it, his expression just softens with the gesture.]

Had this thing been a monster, I wouldn't have let you stick your hand inside it, alright? I'd have told you to stay away.

[thank whatever higher power, he presses his lips together, inclines his head, gives the faintest shake.]

It's a big metal container that runs on electricity and keeps your food fresh for longer.

[channellings]

[a shrug is better than nothing; at least the gesture tells him he's unsure(?) of if it'll work or not. blood is something klaus can offer; perhaps alongside his blood-based magic spell, it could be some help in making a protective ring for minato and himself, but all that other stuff isn't necessary for his summonings, he just. calls them.

drawing closer to the staircase, he clears the first and second steps, hesitates halfway through the third when a sudden chill jolts up his spine. it fortunately doesn't last long, however, it's more noticeable than he would've liked.]

Good idea, [comes his easy agreement as he continues ascending.] This basement is giving me the creeps.

Vanya Hargreeves | The Umbrella Academy

[misplayedmelody]

CABIN IN THE WOODS

[ Considering the last few hours that she does remember are simultaneously painful and fuzzy, waking up in a weird cabin is not enough to cause Vanya to immediately freak out. She's still dressed in her all-white concert attire, now smeared unevenly with dust from the bed. Glancing in a dirty mirror, she can see that her eyes are dark, back to normal, but she has a splitting headache and is partially deaf in one ear. There's also a ringing in it. That... can't be good.

Cautiously exiting the room in which she'd awoken, Vanya peers down the hallway before committing to explore. It's not any place she recognizes, nor does she have even the slightest idea how she could have gotten here. Maybe this is Five's doing? Who knows?

Maybe if she can get a good look around outside... but the door is locked. Thoroughly. Triggering a sudden onset of cleithrophobia, and the ringing in Vanya's ear starts to get worse. Nearby objects begin to rattle, and she closes her eyes, trying to calm down. Deep breaths. Focus. Getting upset over one locked door doesn't help right now.

Vanya is so focused on stilling her powers that she doesn't hear another door open behind her. Doesn't notice anyone else approaching. ]


CABIN IN THE WOODS (LOOP)

[ With the second... and third... and however many other times she awakens, Vanya's trepidation lessens and her frustration increases. Still trapped, it's getting harder to hold her volitile powers in check. But she's trying so hard to explore more of the cabin before everything in her head catches up to her.

Cabinets stocked? Check. Suspicious later of dust on everything? Check. Any broken furniture or windows repaired as if new when she awakens? ...also check. ]


BASEMENT / FIGHTY-FIGHT

[ Vanya probably should know better than to go down into the dusty, cluttered basement. Nothing good ever came from exploring these sorts of places, especially alone, but she still couldn't resist at least taking a look around. Maybe there would be a close about what's going on, since there didn't seem to be any answers in the cabin itself.

Shoving her hands firmly into her pockets, Vanya carefully maneuvers around the basement's clutter. There are a lot of curious things in the room... but a yellow music box catches her eye.

She's just about to reach out and touch it when she hears someone else descending into the basement. Alarmed, she turns to see who it is. The music box is forgotten... for now. ]


ESCAPE???

[ Finally, the captivity is too much. Vanya focuses on the tone ringing in her ear and doesn't so much blow the front door open as blow the whole door frame from the wall with the door still closed.

And out into the fog she goes. Running as fast as she can.

And back at the cabin she arrives. ]

What the hell?

[hydraulics]

[ For the second time in as many minutes, Mace has another oh moment, although in retrospect he should’ve seen this coming a mile away. He understands, completely, where Ian’s coming from — not just the emotion in his voice, which explains the strangeness of his tone earlier, but also the logistics of it. The pieces he's putting together, and the question those pieces are forming.

The only piece Ian’s missing, though, is a crucial one. ]

Had. [ Spoken around a nail, and Mace finishes hammering in the second hinge before he takes it out of his mouth so he can elaborate, steady and careful: ]

I don’t know if they’re still — there.

[ There’s only the slightest reluctance in his tone, and it’s borne out of not wanting to voice this particular doubt rather than any hesitance in telling Ian.

It all boils down to a question mark. A dubious, murky area best left alone in his brain until he has any more information to go off of, which is why he hasn’t allowed his mind to wander there at all. As it is, all he knows is that the mission he’d gone on had been a hairs-breadth away from failure, and he has no concrete reason to believe it had succeeded.

Mace didn’t want to leave that word hanging in the air, though. A knell that had no probable cause to exist, because he has zero proof either way, and he’s not about to let a baseless fear take root in his heart, either. For all he knows, they did succeed, and it’s with that thought in mind that he drives the final bolt through its hinge. ]

None of that’s got any bearing on what I’m doing here, though. So whatever you got running through that pretty little head of yours …

[ He doesn't finish that sentence but the look he sends Ian's way is clear when he turns around: cut it out. But halfway through, he catches sight of the still uneaten sandwich in Ian's lap, and Mace just ends up squinting at him instead. ]

Wait, don't tell me you like it with the crusts on.

[wittingly]

[ Had, and that brings him pause. Any further chastisement or appeal he might've had teed up in the back of his throat gently dies, fading out to a very familiar understanding. He knows had. He's a had too. The difference is his is an absolute fact, he'd been the one to take care of every scrap of paperwork, every arrangement that needed to be made for his mother when her lungs finally stopped working for good. Nobody else, no other family, just the two of them.

He knows for certain where she is. Spread out over a creek in Weaverville, California.

He doesn't know if living without that certainty would be better or worse. Hope or dread. Probably worse; he hates not knowing something.

Pretty little head.

It earns at least an effort at a wry, flat look. ]

I'm crusts only.

[ He says solemnly, apologetically. ]

I don't have a lot of principals in life, but this is one thing I can't compromise on.

[ Hopefully it's as transparently bullshit as he means it to be.

He sighs softly, raking his hair back away from his face. It sticks in messy strands, catches in a few tangles so that bits stay sticking up in odd places rather than falling back down with gravity. ]

So... about that getting drunk strategy. On the one hand, I think it's a pretty safe bet that if we both get hammered and anything like that turns up again we're probably dead.

[ Which seems like he means to say only he should, but that is in fact the exact opposite of where he's going with this. ]

On the other hand, if I get drunk -- or don't get drunk, doesn't matter since I'm an invalid - and four more of them bust in on you, odds are we're both probably dead anyway. Not because you couldn't get out by the skin of your teeth, but because you make terrible decisions and you'd do something dumb like try and help me get out.

[ Fair assertion? He thinks so, all evidence points toward it so far. ]

So, in summation - if we're both definitely going to die either way if shit hits the fan, we may as well both do it drunk off our ass on specific, shitty tequila. Discuss.

[hydraulics]

[ Crusts only, and coupled with that wry little look, Mace is gonna take it to mean Ian’s lost his appetite. He doesn’t blame him, knowing what they’ve got ahead of them; more specifically, the kind of pain that Ian has ahead of him. Hell, the thought of it's taken Mace’s appetite out of him, and it won’t even be him going under the knife.

The lack of any further questioning on the family front has Mace’s squint going speculative, but when nothing more on that front is forthcoming, he lets it pass without any probing or comment.

Later on, if they get a later on, then maybe he can — ]

I like what I’m hearing. But you getting drunk matters a lot more than me getting drunk, Teach.

[ A quiet drawl as Mace sets down the hammer and walks back over to the bed, sitting down and gently taking the plate out of Ian’s hands, putting it off to the side. He had, in fact, been thinking that Ian meant only he oughta get soused, and is a little surprised that his thesis is actually headed in the other direction. ]

Better chance of dulling the pain.

[ Honestly, that’s the main reason why Mace is interested in the tequila in the first place — that, and the alcohol content, for disinfecting purposes. It’s not seventy percent ethanol but it’ll be better than nothing, that’s for sure. A head tilt at the rest of that assertion, because while it’s definitely fair enough in terms of outcome, the wording — “terrible decisions” like doing “something dumb” to help Ian — leaves something to be desired.

Make that another question that Mace wants to eventually get an answer to: why Ian thinks of himself like this. ]

How about this. You go ahead and get drunk first, and after I’ve done the cauterization, I join you?

[ A shrug, the beginnings of a smile in his eyes as he adds: ]

We’ll be holed up in here by that time, so. No dying, hopefully. Just a lot of embarrassment, depending on the kind of drunk you are.

[wittingly]

[ He blows out a slow breath, cheeks puffed up, eyes tipped to the side like he's considering the proposal. A little click to his teeth, a slow shake to his head like he just can't sign the contract yet.

He speaks slow, his accent is a laid-back drawl that's still somehow cleanly enunciated. Matter-of-fact, conversational. ]

I think we both know the physical pain of getting my skin seared medium rare doesn't hold a candle to the emotional pain of getting drunk alone.

[ They both actually know that's a fucking lie and almost nothing could hurt worse than branding your fresh wound closed.

It's honestly a bit more about wanting to feel like they're on even ground for something. Not adding another tally mark to only the 'things inhibiting Ian' column, widening the gap in their disparity.

And the companionship. Social bonding. Stop taking care of him for a second, swap it out for with him. Two minutes of feeling like a peer instead of a task. ]

Besides, I'm looking out for you here. You're gonna start cauterizing this-

[ A gesture to his chest. ]

And only one of two things is gonna happen. One, you're gonna be absolutely thrown off balance by raw, unbridled attraction to my battle scar, or you're gonna feel bad when I scream like a little girl before you even put the whole knife down. Either one would be easier for you after a two-shot compromise.

[ A beat, and then an afterthought: ]

What's the worst that could happen, you fuck up and stab me?

[ Been there, done that. ]

[lookslikeacinnamonroll]

[ He probably could just tell Klaus he'd rather he minded his own business... But that feels too impolite. ]

They... They're the mark of being a fierce corpse.

[ He says quietly, shyly. Knowing that now that that confirmation is out in the open, Klaus is more than likely to be afraid of him, or try to run from him. He's accepted that that will be the reaction of most of the people he meets. People fear the Ghost General. It's just how things are. ]

[compendiem]

[ Can't believe Klaus is going to let Minato make a fool of himself when he knows more about summoning than Minato, whose familiarity with circles leans towards to sacrifice and death rather than an invitation for friendly conversation.

The crayon gets turned around in Minato's hand as he follows at Klaus' heels, rubbing the sticky layer of dust off the paper wrapping and —is that a storm going on up there? Sounds like a hurricane, with the screaming wind and rattling window panes. ]

...Sure you don't want to stay down here? We can summon on the stairs, or something.

[compendiem]

Mm...

[ Minato offers a hum, a placeholder for his thoughts so they don't all go towards wondering why Emil is already asking how to make Ananta go away, despite just being summoned into the world. Like the Evoker, this isn't something he's had much of a need to explain before, and there's the part of him that hopes he can get away with not saying anything.

It's this part that glances up at the monster who rears its many heads over Emil, mouths open in a spitting hiss that overlap like the ocean crashing onto shore. Like it's saying "Just try to stab me, punk," except that if Emil does, there's a good chance that Ananta will retaliate and borrow Emil himself as a battering ram through the door, so Minato is quick to give the silent command.

For how large the monster is, towering over the two of them with its heads brushing against the ceiling of the cabin, it is quick. Like the wind, it darts past Minato's legs and whips around Emil to get to the door, picking up speed just before it slams full-bodied into the door, reducing it into splinters. At the impact, Ananta's body also shatters into glowing shards of light, like glass or ice mixing amongst the wooden splinters that fly out into the open, dissolving with the sunlight.

Minato, decidedly not answering any of Emil's questions in the end, steps outside.

he has the mouth of a sailor, i am so sorry

[atypically]

[ Caleb's eyes move from the knife at her sentiment back to her face again when she lets go of it finally. A soft but incredulous huff; a mirthless laugh, to be sure, escapes him and he lifts his eyebrows. ]

Be pretty fucking stupid of me to stick around if it was, don't you think?

[ Literally, who would do that unless it was a hostage situation? And, as far as Caleb knows, hostage situations are supposed to be pretty clearly hostage situations so that, you know, the hostages are the leverage the bad guy uses to get what he wants.

Then again...there are people like Damien to consider. That fucking guy always trying to insert himself into situations as a first resort to getting what he wants, but then again, Damien is also the sort of Atypical who can literally make the people around him want the things he wants them to want which...honestly is still kind of brain-breaking, even for Caleb.

She doesn't seem all that concerned with him, specifically, though, so Caleb is incined to believe her for now. ]

I'm gonna be real with you: what I'm about to say is going to make me sound like I'm batshit crazy, but I swear to God, it's legit.

[ Caleb sighs, rolling his eyes a little at himself, already knowing that the likelihood she's going to believe him is, like, super fucking slim, since, like...he thought everyone back in Nonah was full of shit at first, too. ]

I'm pretty sure that no particular person kidnapped us or put us here. It probably just kind of...happened and, as much as I would love for you to be right in thinking we can leave...in my experience, we're not going anywhere anytime soon, whether we like it or not.

That said, maybe...hopefully I'm wrong and this time is fucking different because I'm definitely down to get out of this fucking creepshow. So...looks like you've been conscious longer than I have been, so I'm gonna go ahead and defer to you for any intel you might have gathered on this place while I was still out cold and then we can brainstorm together and hope for the fucking best. Sound like a plan?

...and...like, maybe we could start with you introducing yourself so I don't have to resort to some shitty, misogynistic, like, 'hey you' sort of thing to address you?

[ Caleb rubs the back of his neck and wrinkles his nose a little, giving her a sheepish shrug. He's not sure if she just forgot to reciprocate his introduction or if she was doing it on purpose as she tried to figure out if he was a threat or not, which he thinks is a pretty valid excuse for withholding her name, so it's not like he's pissed about it or anything. ]

Re: 1.

[legbreakings]

"You... He..."

This is just. Maybe too much weirdness for one day, or at least more than Jiang Cheng strictly knows how to deal with. He takes a small step back and there's a moment in which he is half tempted to just turn on his heel and walk away, pretending that he never even came across Wen Ning.

He is ready to be done with all of this. Absolutely ready to be done and wake up in his nightmare of a life, which at the very least makes some measure of sense.

But that's no way to go about it, so he shakes his head, shaking off these dismal thoughts, and focuses on the nonsense that has been thrown at him.

"Don't bother lying," he snarls, though right now the bluster feels like a far too brittle, too thin mask. Yes, he knows Wen Qing died, there's no need to rub it in. The question is why the one who deserved to die isn't dead. "Accusing Jin Guangshan of crimes won't undo your own!"

[legbreakings]

No, the poor bastard really has no idea what he is in for, but he is quickly discovering that he is very much out of his depth here when his very fearsome shriek has absolutely no effect to deter Klaus.

He isn't even in any state to appreciate just how bewildering - bizarre even - the man's clothes are, what with him being so very determined to be losing them. And what he wouldn't give right now for him to have more layers to lose!

He gives another little squawk when the shirt drops to the floor and then... then he goes and makes it worse. Jiang Cheng may not be the worldliest man, but before he became a sect leader, he did spend his teenage years studying along with plenty of other boys and Nie Huaisang's porn collection. He may be innocent enough to be scandalized by it but he isn't innocent to be ignorant of what Klaus is implying there.

And he's really quite done being made a fool of here.

There is a choking noise followed by a growl of, "You are the single most shameless creature I've ever met!" and then it's suddenly not a laughing matter at all anymore as he shifts the sword to his left hand and a cord of purple lightning lashes out of the ring he wears at his right hand, aimed right at Klaus's neck.

[hydraulics]

[ Doesn’t take a rocket scientist (or an engineer, as it were) to see that despite his lazy, conversational tone, this is something Ian’s quietly unwilling to budge on, much like the sandwich. Maybe more. Appetite aside, not eating further meant less chance of throwing it up when there’s a blistering knife gliding along his open wound, whereas this is something a little more personal.

Whatever the reason behind it, the fact remains that he doesn’t want to be alone in this, and that itself gives Mace pause. Or he doesn’t want to feel alone in this. Emotional equilibrium, if nothing else.

So Ian gets another one of those intent, peering looks, both quizzical and faintly amused by the way he’s wording himself, before Mace relents with a small sigh and a considering nod, as if he’s pondering the latter half of what Ian’s said. Technically, he is. What’s the worst that could happen is gonna be stuck in his damn head from now until the whole ordeal is over.

But when speaks, his grave observation is: ]

Too late, already thrown off balance. Raw attraction to your raw wound, and I’m a handsy drunk.

[ Not quite true, but all right, two-shot compromise it is. And if that’s the case, he’ll need his energy whether he wants it or not, so the crustless sandwich goes down the hatch in a few large bites, and then Mace is getting to his feet, still chewing. ]

I’ll get you another, afterward.

[ Yeah, like Ian’s gonna be in any shape for a nice, continental lunch after the fact. God, he can’t believe they’re really doing this, and there’s an unfamiliar sense of trepidation and anxiety starting to form in his chest as he brings in the necessary equipment to the room, setting it on the nightstand: a candle, matches, a clean knife, and a small bowl of homemade saline solution to sterilize what he can — literally salt in a wound, Jesus.

Now that he thinks about it, maybe tequila isn’t such a bad idea for him, too. Calm his nerves, steady his hand so he doesn’t actually stab Ian with a red-hot poker.

The last items to come are two glasses, and he hands them off to Ian as he sits down next to him, saying with a grim uptick of his lips, ]

There's one more thing you might wanna make before we get started. Something to bite down on.

[wittingly]

[ There are few things in this world that Ian likes more than recreational flirting. Even if it's completely platonic, one hundred percent harmless, no intentions to go anywhere, the worst possible timing, any of it. It's that loose, easy rapport that feels incredibly comforting to him. Lighthearted reaffirmations of goodness and good will, a sense of humor. Some people like to give each other shit, they like to tease, casually poke fun or insult, he'll do that from time to time but flirting feels like the polar opposite of it. Typically makes people feel good rather than bad about themselves.

Mace does a good job of it, and it cracks a proper smile onto him for the first time in a little while. Sideways and amused, teeth peeking through.

Glad the sandwich didn't go to waste. It would've if he'd eaten it, probably - right onto the floor, or if they're unlucky, the blankets.

Watching Mace unpack their burn kit twists up his stomach in a way wholly different to the gash. It squeezes everything from his lungs to his bladder, and with that in mind he starts peeling the blankets off of himself. His legs have feeling again, evidently that two hour nap was long enough for the paralytic to wear off.

He prefaces movement with: ]

Don't freak out.

[ Like he's guessing Mace might when he curls his hand around the knob at the headboard and uses it to start peeling himself out of bed to stand. It's hunched forward, palm gently pressed to his stomach like he's holding something in just in case. A little shaky, but it's not his back or his legs they're worried about right now.

He can manage. ]

I need five minutes. I haven't peed the bed since I was five and I wanna keep the streak going. Also, it's less embarrassing to cry in front of the shower curtain.

[ Because he has no illusions that he'll be able to withstand this without losing control of every involuntary process partway through. ]

[legbreakings]

You! [ He had heard the sounds of someone stumbling but before he could make his way over there and investigate - it could be Jiang Yanli, she could be right here! - Wei Wuxian comes stumbling right in his view looking exactly as desperate as he feels and...

...Nightless City, swathes of resentment, fierce corpses, his sister growing lifeless in his arms...

He remembers the battle, remembers the hate bubbling up in him and it doesn't make sense that he should be furious with Wei Wuxian for killing her when he is at the same time frantically following her voice but right now, he can't bring himself to question it. All that matters that Wei Wuxian is here and A-Jie is somewhere out there, calling for him and in need of his help. ]

You did this! [ he howls though he barely even knows what exactly he is accusing him of now. He bodily throws himself at Wei Wuxian, aiming to grab him by the shoulders, to throw him back onto the ground and tear at him, or punch at him, he doesn't even know what will be enough. ] You did this to her!

[ It doesn't really matter what this is when the list of his betrayals is so long. ]

Re: 1.

[lookslikeacinnamonroll]

That's the question Wen Ning has been asking himself for sixteen years, sitting alone in the dark, trapped within his own mind. Why was he alive when everyone he cared about was dead. At some point, early on in his confinement, the Jin clan lackey who came to check on him boasted that his precious Yiling Patriarch was dead. That's the moment when the last of Wen Ning's hope shattered.

It wasn't until he heard that flute again, that he had anything worth living for.

Wen Ning shifts back a step when Jiang Wanyin keeps accusing him. The regret inside him is boiling over. "I'm sorry..." he says in a weak voice. "I-- I've tried..."

Tried what? To fix things? He couldn't do that. To help? Yes, he tried that. And failed, again and again, with Lan Wangji pushing him away until he was needed at last. That's all he's ever good for, when someone needs a weapon they can command. No one can stand the sight of him, no one ever could. Except a rare few, and they're not here. It's just him and Jiang Wanyin, angry for everything the weapon standing before him has done.

"I'm sorry," he says again, because he can't say anything else.

[riskanalyst]

"Holy shit!" Eddie barks out on the heels of a gasp of surprise when the kid breaks the silence in the room that had otherwise only been punctuated by Eddie's quiet nope-ing and the hopeful incantation that whatever is going on isn't real. No dice, evidently. "Jesus fucking Christ, kid, you trying to give a guy a heart attack?!" he breathes, a hand going to his heart because, seriously, what the fuck? Where'd that kid come from, anyway?

His heart races under his hand and Eddie takes another deep breath, willing himself to calm. the. fuck. down so that he can focus. Clearly this is real; there's no reason for Pennywise to have manifested some random European kid, right? So, there's something else happening here and that means he needs to focus up.

"I'm fine," he finally answers terribly belatedly. "I'm fine. Who are you?"

[hydraulics]

[ Don’t freak out. Wise words from a wise, strange man, because without that warning Mace would’ve absolutely startled at any movement from Ian, let alone him getting up. He distinctly remembers having threatened him with mild bondage earlier as a consequence for that, and he can’t help sitting up a lot straighter as Ian pulls himself to his feet, alert for any sort of mishap with a pointed little: ]

Hey, careful.

[ But it’s a quiet thing, watching as Ian handles himself more or less fine on his slow, stilted trip to take a leak. Which, actually, Mace had been meaning to ask about because bodily loss of control is frankly an occupational hazard of extreme pain. It would’ve been his next question, except that he’d been thinking Ian might need a bedpan and maybe a hand, depending on how badly off his legs still were, and man.

No easy way to broach that topic sober, so he’d figured he’d ask after they got some tequila into their systems.

In the silence that ensues, for the first time since this whole thing started, Mace finds himself briefly alone and also entirely unoccupied. It gives him some time to think, to rally his own thoughts on what’s to come.

Ian’s been putting up a good front, and it’s both noted and appreciated. The easygoing demeanour, the good-natured mixture of flirting and self-awareness, the sense of humour that matches up with Mace’s own in a weird, deadpan harmony — all of it is grounding, all of it makes this infinitely easier than it would’ve been otherwise.

The guy’s capable of smiling and cracking wise with a wound going straight down his chest, for fuck’s sake.

But Mace is pretty sure it’s nothing like what he’s feeling inside, and that …

Would it be better to lay that out in the open? Or just keep to the course they’ve already set? ]

You know, the shower curtain’s not the only one who doesn’t judge.

[ Over his shoulder as Ian re-emerges from the bathroom, but he keeps his gaze on the two glasses in his hands, giving him a little more privacy on the way back just in case. ]

[wittingly]

[ There are now many things he has done in front of Mace. Bled, screamed, passed out, threatened to puke on him. There are many things that are likely to come; crying and actually puking come to mind. What he will not do as long as his brain can make functional people words is use a fucking bedpan. His manly pride is not actually very rigid despite the jokes he's been making at his own expense, those are more self-aware pot shots that he thinks might make things lighter than they'd otherwise be. Aforementioned lack of manly pride begins to come into play during moments of extreme personal vulnerability.

He doesn't plan on ever being on that level with anyone, save the nursing staff at an actual non-murder hospital maybe. Clinical and distant, no depth required.

He palms the wall on his way back, chin tipped toward the floor and shoulders rounded into the worst posture known to man. His hair falls in his face, damp now from a few minutes leaning against the bathroom counter to both catch his breath and clean himself up. Scrub off the blood. Soap it out of his hair where he spots it. Comb water through it so he looks like he's got some semblance of having his shit together.

Probably becomes stalling at some point, and soft rose petals of blood weep through the bandages from the movement. Not surprising and not so much as to be concerning, but it's a definite reaffirmation of his decision.

He's a little breathless by the time he makes it to the bed again. ]

I know. I judge me, but mostly just when I have an audience.

[ Mildly, pleasantly, with only the slightest strain threading through his voice. He settles on the bed a little more upright than he'd been, with only one leg still sticking off and running long down to the floor.

Kind of feels good to feel it stretch, considering.

He holds his hands out for the glasses, a little finger-wiggle gesture until he's got them both. Settles them on his left thigh, one leg in crisscross position so it's flat and mostly stable. He presses a palm down onto the rim of either glass, an air-tight seal that's more about making sure he doesn't spill them than by any real necessity.

Radius, ulna, lunate, scaphoid, capitate. Soft blue, like a computer screen or any real device monitor typically is. He speaks as he works, particles gathering like small hurricanes in either glass. It looks dry, sandy almost, nothing resembling any kind of fountain flowing from his palms like you might expect. ]

It's called Montezuma. Unlike most of the other stuff I can do, I didn't learn to make this on purpose. Didn't have to spend any devoted time studying it. It was ten bucks a liter when I was in college, and the guy I was crazy about only drank tequila.

[ The approximate amount of two shots settles softly, feather-light into either glass.

He holds one out. ]

I spent so much time partying and drinking this shit, I learned it on accident. After I realized that, it became pretty clear I needed to cut way the hell back. After that I realized I only liked him when we were both drunk. Sober, he was a fucking moron who couldn't hold an intelligent conversation to save his own life.

[ A beat, a soft sigh. ]

God, he was good looking though. Really tragic.

[porndealer]

[Around him? Are you sure about that? Faint memories of the temple with the dancing fairy... regardless, Huaisang didn't fear that Wuxian would ever hurt him, but there was a lot he didn't know about what was going on. What with him usually in the Unclean Realm while things went on, hearing most things second hand.

Things he doubted after knowing Wuxian personally for some time.]

Ooh... where did you hear it from?

[There's no one else here, right? ... right? Whether his friend answers or not, he's easily distracted by all the food Wuxian is grabbing and well. He may as well as help! So he'll just grab whatever he can reach, arms full.]

Don't you think we should leave some, maybe just in case.

[They still don't know what's going on after all. What if they need some of this later?]

[hydraulics]

[ Ian’s reply is framed as a joke but there’s something about it that would make a guy think he means it, or at least some of it. Depending on his lifestyle, that could mean judging himself all the time or just half of the time — which is, in all honesty, a thoroughly understandable emotion and fairly universal.

Albeit a little foreign to Mace, who is pretty much Popeye’s most famous saying in human form: I yam what I yam. Not self-assurance so much as utter self-acceptance, blunt and practical like the rest of him. It’s the same practicality that’s guided his every thought process and decision this entire time, rooted in the ancient, esoteric philosophy of never passing a buck.

Trapped in a murder cabin as the only one with any combat experience? Do the job you were trained for.

Somebody can’t walk from point A to B? You pick ‘em up and bodily take them to point B.

Your murder cabin partner is paralyzed and has to answer the call of nature? Can’t let him break his non-bedwetting streak, so the next logical conclusion rhymes with shedman.

Paralytic wears off? Wait for him to do his business, but keep an eye on him when possible, just in case — which means that Mace ends up frowning a little when Ian approaches the bed, immediately noting the small, fresh blooms of blood on his bandage. But a few finger-wiggles later, and the glasses are back in Ian’s hands, in time for his super-powered magic trick that Mace doesn’t think he’s ever gonna stop being fascinated by.

What ends up throwing him, though, is the accompanying story that’s more fascinating than the process itself, even with the way tequila materializes as something whirling and granular rather than a rapid flush of liquid. It’s an unexpected offer of information that distracts him from watching the blue glow this time, eyes flickering up to Ian’s face instead.

… Huh. So that’s the unfortunate-brand tequila story. Montezuma. Mace mouths it silently as he takes the proffered glass and raises it to his lips with the ghost of a grin. ]

At ten bucks a liter, can’t say as I blame you. That’s fuckin’ cheap. Throw in a handsome good time —

[ Mace pauses, arching both eyebrows as he tips half of the first shot down his throat, feeling the pleasant burn as it goes down. ] Or at least, I’m assuming he was a good time. Hopefully you weren’t having any highbrow debates in bed, Party Animal.

[ Look at that, a new nickname, given freely and with no small amount of hidden amusement in his eyes as he does so. Because Ian’s definitely not the guy Mace would’ve pegged for as a party-harder, even in college. More of the stoner sort. ]

[wittingly]

We never actually slept together.

[ He corrects in a slow and easy drawl, to the tune of I know, pathetic right? He follows that with both of his shots knocked back in a single painful swig, getting it over with. The faster it's in him the faster he'll be a little numb, and... frankly, on an empty stomach with the amount of blood he's lost, two shots of strong piss tequila are likely to kick like a fucking mule. The taste does, too, and when he pulls the glass away it's with an unabashedly disgusted expression. It's one of those things where you've got so many memories puking something up it's almost hard to swallow without triggering a Pavlovian response. It only lingers for a couple of seconds, and then it settles hotly somewhere in his chest. Jesus Patron Christ, he wishes he had the ability to create limes, at least.

Just 'cause he makes it doesn't mean he likes it. It works in a pinch, but he's more of the craft beer persuasion. Probably a surprise to nobody.

He talks in a way that suggests he's got no qualms sharing details about his personal life. It isn't a confession, he doesn't have any particular agenda. No shame, no concern that Mace will judge him about it. Just a layer of awareness at how absurd he'd been, his own shortcomings. His amusement in hindsight. ]

We just did this-- well, I just did this thing where... You ever make up somebody in your head? Like, you meet them and you get a first impression, and then you make the best possible version of that impression? Well, I did that with him, and then we did that whole flirting around the subject hovering in each other's atmosphere having too many inside jokes but nobody making a move thing. The chase, or whatever.

[ Because it's those beginning stages of relationships Ian can do. He's comfortable with those, he revels in them. Reading body language, picking up subtle clues - either that the person he's interested in is giving out deliberately, or the unconscious signals they don't even know about themselves. It's like a challenge, or a puzzle, and it's loaded to the brim with flirting. Practically his calling.

It's when things get real that he backs out. When either the idealistic pedestal he builds for them comes crumbling down - such as the case with this college interest, or worse - when they're exactly who he thought they were and he feels himself starting to get invested. Starts to notice that if they stopped coming around, if they left, it's about the point where it would start to hurt.

He rips off the band-aid, or... gently soaks the band-aid until it gets wet and falls off on its own, if you can stomach the metaphor.

The glass gets set over onto the nightstand. He cards his hair back again. ]

But anyway, that's my personal anecdote. Gimme a story about yourself, your highness.

[ Prince Charming. Kind of hard to dismiss that particular brand as an aggrandized opinion on Ian's part, not considering every single fucking thing he's done since they woke up here. ]