vestigechat | inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.

Entry tags:

!tdm

inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.

				
				VESTIGE TEST DRIVE MEME

WHAT IS THIS?

Vestige

The Box

invite-only

horror jamjar

Good Quality Suffering™️

ongoing

no official start date

literally nothing but this TDM

all powers intact

items

Intro + Friending

EDIT 5/20:

DISCORD SERVER

 PROMPT 1 ► just your ordinary cabin in the woods 

⬛ARRIVAL + GENERAL PROMPT

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

⬛MONSTER HORROR.

packed

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! )

 PROMPT 3 ► congratulations, you fucked up

⬛SURVIVAL HORROR.

easy

smoke

here

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

⬛PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR.

try

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.

 THE LOOP ► a note on replayability

left unbothered

sunrise

burnt

fall unconscious

reawaken in a perfectly undamaged cabin

CODE BY TESSISAMESS (patreon)

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[chenqing is quite a striking instrument, it's true, and sizhui can't help staring at the flute, brows lifted and eyes curiously widened. he doesn't remember that being what wei wuxian had been carrying when he'd seen him last (also, his clothes look different?), though he's not given much time to consider either before his attention is drawn toward the energy. while he wants to look a bit longer and figure it out, he's well-aware he has already been staring too long.

though it takes all his willpower, he averts his gaze, assuring himself things will eventually pan out in some fashion. regardless, they're friends(?) in his book, so sizhui's already made up his mind.] Something tells me I won't find much else, but there's no harm in searching, yes?

[there was once a time when wei wuxian had said he'd paid attention to details, first and foremost.]

Edited 2020-05-30 10:22 (UTC)

[not long, actually, and if he doesn't act fast, who knows how long he'll even last? but in his defense, he's never witnessed a monster like this before, so it's a little startling.

sizhui's reaching for his sword, cinching the handle and pulling it free from the scabbard whenever ning collides with the creature again. pushes it back with relative ease and within the same moment, is at his side. he exhales a fleeting, relieved breath then redirects his attention to the man next to him, lingering long enough to give him a brief once-over.

while he's unsure what time (used very loosely in this sense) wen ning came from, it seems like he recognizes him, though they won't know for sure until they've gotten rid of their little problem.

in spite of himself, the lan junior backpedals a couple paces after he's urged to, mouth opening to protest, except he comes up short once wen ning rushes ahead. he can help fight, they'd worked together before not that long ago, after all.] Just know, I'll help if necessary!

[interfering now wouldn't do any good though, so! sizhui waits, still prepared with weapon in hand for the proper chance— if it ever comes. the ghost general is, of course, quite a proficient fighter.]

[ Deuces, he says. That last line gets him squinting at Mace through narrowly slitted eyes, and it might be hard to tell if that's meant to be a warning or if he's trying to determine Mace's sincerity at the suggestion.

He'll have commentary on that later. In the meantime, he folds the paper in half and then half again. Moves to stand up (slow, careful) and slips it into his pocket.

There's a kitchen. It's beyond their power to make sure the food isn't spiked with more hallucinogenic properties, but they don't exactly have a lot of options. Heading out into the woods to live off the land is outside of his skill set.

He nods his head in a c'mon gesture, and ambles into the kitchen.

The first thing he goes for is the fridge. When he tugs it open, a familiar sight freezes him in his tracks for a second. Right after, he gropes around blindly behind him for Mace's arm, shirt sleeve, whatever he can grip and pull around to see what he's seeing.

Heart on a plate in the center of the fridge.

Beating.

Dimly, awed. ]

Do you see it?

[ He doesn't notice at first. He has a tendency to get absorbed in his work, and right now that work includes taking a screwdriver to the plates on the side of the door opposite the knob. He makes quick work of it, one screw after another pinging onto the floor and leaving only the semi-imbeded metal that he edges the screwdriver into in order to pry it out.

It's when he stands to do the top hinge that he pauses, falters, gets that... feeling at the back of his neck, and turns.

And spots her, freezing at the sight.

Debating quickly in his mind.

Doesn't look hostile. Maybe he's making assumptions by stereotyping looks alone, but it doesn't seem like she's gonna wrestle him to the ground for trying to break the door off.

He opts for the path of caution and carefulness, offering up the first olive branch. ]

Hey.

[ Gently, no move to approach. He's tall, over six feet. A broad shouldered guy by nature. He's cognizant enough of the perception that he can come across as threatening right now if he moves in.

Spooked cat approach it is. ]

You just wake up here, too? This isn't your house, right?

[ Wen Ning peeks over Wei Wuxian's shoulder out the window, eyes widening at the sight of the... whatever that is... scurrying its way towards the house. All thought of eating the fruit bread is forgotten, and he drops it unceremoniously on the floor as he readies himself next to Wei Wuxian in front of the door.

He nods to his friend and pulls out Suibian, still sheathed. Either Wei Wuxian can take it and do is best to fight without a Golden Core, or he can draw it and let Wen Ning fight with it. Either way, that's probably the best chance they have. ]

Mn, no, no pain.

[ He is capable of feeling pain, but his general just... way of being doesn't hurt him at all. Maybe he feels a little colder than he might if he were alive like a normal person, but then... when he was alive like a normal person he was also sick all the time. Maybe he's better like this, instead.

Once he hears that there's no way out, Wen Ning gets curious, and moves to try the front door. It's not that he doubts Klaus hasn't tried it already, but he wants to see for himself.

Yep. Locked. He backs up a few feet, looking around the room, thinking. ]

I could try breaking it open. I could throw something through it.

[ Wanton destruction of property isn't everybody's cup of tea, though, so he'll leave the decision up to Klaus. ]

[ He is a proficient fighter, but this beast is also a formidable opponent. He would be remiss not to accept the help that Lan Sizhui is offering. As he struggles to hold the beast's head back, hands gripping various parts of its three-way-split maw, he calls back through gritted teeth. ] Go after its wings!

[ If they can keep it on the ground, that lessens the advantages it had over them. ]

[naive would be the preferred word, although ‘stupidly trustworthy’ wouldn't be the worst, either. sizhui, being none the wiser, doesn't even consider that this man may harm rather than help him, since he's assuming quin's just as much of a victim as he is.]

Mm, [comes the faint noise of agreement.] I wonder... if it might be poisonous?

[toward the following remark,] No, it wouldn't hurt to work as a team. [but whenever quin moves closer and puts an arm around him, sizhui's eyes widen with surprise at the casualness of his gesture. sure, he's shown affection, though that's been aimed toward fellow juniors his own age. people he's spent years beside, not some stranger he's met in the middle of the woods.]

I did. [he shifts partially, doesn't quite pull away from the man's arm but he does put the faintest space between them.] So, it's safe to assume you arrived the same way?

[because where (when?) sizhui comes from, huaisang's brother is definitely not the head of nie sect anymore. much to his dismay, he's unsure how to respond to the confusion, so it's a good thing that won't be necessary, seeing as he has no proper answer. (and god forbid, sizhui break a fucking timeline here by telling him some horrific news.)

not unfair if it's true, they're are quite a few of them. this one's just going to have to play dumb or something before he missteps.]

...there's no music. [he realizes that's stating the obvious, but what happened to it within the span of a few seconds where it suddenly doesn't work anymore? shifting somewhat closer to get a better look, sizhui's head tilts, considering, lips pressed together while he does.

but then huaisang closes the box, which prompts him to shift back a single step, his posture straightening slightly.] I did, yes. [dust still partially staining the left side of his robe is indicative to that.] Have you been exploring long? There seems to be quite a lot of [pause] items lying about.

[to put it nicely, anyway.]

[ Having a poker face comes naturally to Mace, even under the weight of a squinting look from an engineering teacher — a look that might mean anything from don’t even try it to do I look like Elmo to you, it’s hard to tell. Although the payoff if Ian is actually ticklish would be well worth the elbowed spleen and/or nose that Mace gets out of it.

Not now, though. Later on when he’s in less pain and, more importantly, less likely to be further injured by any monkey business, and his poker face flickers with concern when Ian makes to get up, folding the paper in on itself. At that little head tilt, Mace's hands hands go out slightly for a couple of seconds, both in unspoken protest and just in case Ian ends up stumbling on those first few steps toward the kitchen.

Following close behind, Mace pauses when they reach the fridge to do another area-check over his shoulder, his wariness intensified by the relative quiet they were in just now. Can't be that easy. ]

See what?

[ The thing about blind groping is that you never know where your hands'll end up. In this case, with the way he's half-turned to the kitchen entrance, it would've been the bottom hem of Mace's shirt — but because most of that is a torn mess still hanging off the jagged edges of the master bedroom's window, Ian's fingers end up nabbing Mace by his belt.

It catches his attention faster than his shirt would have, anyway, and he immediately leans over to look at whatever's got Ian sounding so quietly astonished.

It's a head. Dark-haired, familiar, turned away from them on a silver platter — but there's very little doubt in his mind whose it is, or is supposed to be anyway, and his stomach turns at the thought.

Mace tenses up all over, one hand landing protectively on Ian's shoulder, his voice going hard. ]

Yeah, taking that as a threat. I'll grab some shit from the pantry, we gotta go.

[ He is not even remotely 2% bothered by snatching Mace by the belt and reeling him in. There are other circumstances where he'd be more interested in that than what he's looking at, but as it stands... This sort of takes precedent for his attention.

The heart's still beating, and once again Ian's overcome with this... urge, this impulse -- grab a knife, drive it through. Make it stop. Put it out of its misery. He thinks, irrationally, that somewhere out there is a person carved open but still alive, desperate to have all of it just stop.

He slams the fridge closed. Nods, and if he... seems to hover a little too close to Mace as they move, well, frankly it's because they're building sort of an association here. A dynamic. Hard not to think of someone as your protector when they've taken every available opportunity to protect - even though Ian's adamantly never allowed himself one before.

He guards himself. He doesn't trust his safety or his body or his vulnerability to another person.

Tell that to the way the front of his left shoulder's almost constantly brushing the back of Mace's right.

Supplies are gathered. Canned soup, canned meat, canned vegetables, canned fruit. Crackers. It's gonna be a hell of a lot of sodium, but it's a decent enough array of nutrients aside from that. He can make water. He can make- well, not fire in the traditional sense, but he can make a chafing dish. Utensils. Dishes.

They retreat, once again, into the bedroom. The dresser gets pushed back in front, but as soon as it's there Ian takes out the bottom drawer. The window's still broken. He can take apart the drawer and they can board it up. Got a screwdriver already, the hammer's just as easy. It might sooth mace to see him sit down on the bed for this part. ]

I think we gotta start thinking about trying the woods again.

[ He murmurs, wedging the screwdriver in. Smacking it with a hammer once or twice, then wiggling back and forth to pry the front away from the sides and bottom. ]

This isn't sustainable. Cameras, mics, maybe hidden speakers for audio replication. Whatever the fuck they're pumping into the air to make us see shit, or...

[ Actually manipulating, somehow. ]

[ Fuck, this can't be easy on Ian. Setting aside the physical torment he's been put through, and at least half of it at Mace's hands, the strain this must be putting on his psyche ...

No wonder he can't immediately look away from what's in the fridge, no wonder he slams the fuckin' door shut, and Mace's hand tightens sympathetically on his shoulder. For whatever godawful reason, this place has Ian squarely in its eyeless sights; once might've been a random hit, twice a lot more suspicious, but the third time is flat-out enough for Mace to want to make dead certain that he doesn't leave Ian's side for the duration of this goddamn nightmare.

So if he's a little too much in Ian's orbit even while they gather supplies, all the way back to the bedroom, well. He can't really help it. Keeps a discreet eye on him with more concern than for his body alone, watching his hands for any tremor, his face for any signs of distress.

There's none that he can see, though he still breathes easier once they're inside the bedroom and the dresser's shoved against the entrance. Which, of course, is when Ian pulls out a drawer and promptly starts taking it apart. It doesn't take more than a couple seconds for Mace to realize why he's doing it, but still. Take it easy, buddy.

At least he's sitting down for it, and Mace takes a seat next to him with a vaguely exasperated exhale — but what Ian says next has him pausing mid-way. On the one hand, Ian's right. It's absolutely not sustainable, and they have no damn way of knowing what the next day's gonna look like here, at the mercy of these evil motherfuckers.

But in the woods, surrounded by all that fog and the way it muffled sound as well as sight, they'll be at the mercy of everything else.

When the bottom panel of the drawer is all the way off, Mace snatches up the hammer up before Ian can get any ideas, and holds his other hand out for nails so he can go board up the window. It's his fuck-up, after all, and it's only right that he fixes it. ]

Outside could be potentially worse. Although if we stay here much longer, we're definitely fish in a barrel for these pieces of shit. Fuckin' cowards.

[ Spoken in between hammering in nails at the window, that last part grunted out with no small amount of ire, because it's not lost on him that they're targeting the teacher over the (ostensible) soldier. It reminds him of the horrible sight that had awaited them in the fridge, though, and there's a pause as he mulls over how Ian must be feeling.

With a pensive, sober look over his bare shoulder, ]

What about a compromise? We stick it out here until you heal up a bit more. Take shifts to keep watch at night, so they can't get the drop on us like that again.

[ Ian does huff softly when Mace takes his hammer - yeah, he'd been absolutely right, Ian had every intention of nailing the damn thing up himself. There isn't much he's been able to do to contribute aside from summoning up things that are only useful about half the time.

All the same, he places his palm down on Mace's directly, skin on skin, fingers to wrist.

Muffled glow that doesn't feel warm or cold, but rather a little electric. Ionized particles. Ozone. Static cling. The light weight of nails slowly press down, and there are six when he takes his hand away. ]

They broke into the bedroom without waking either of us up.

[ He points out mildly, using the screwdriver to detach the four remaining panels of the drawer. While they're at it, they can board the door shut too. No telling if it'll make a difference, but... ]

I'm not that hard of a sleeper. Betting you're not, either. Not hard enough to sleep through a damn dresser sliding across a hardwood floor. It means they've gotta be pumping the room full of something, right?

[ Not that it matters. Mace is right, he's in no real condition to start a days-long trek into nowhere, he couldn't climb a tree well enough right now to save his life - which might be a literal concern. Their single play is Mace's idea right now.

Four panels taken apart, he saves one for himself on the bed to use as a tray.

Blue glow, this time it's there longer. Bright and burning away for minutes, because what he's making is complicated. It has chemical components. A specific structure. Ethanol gel in a shaped canister. A book of matches. ]

[ That’s true, neither of them are light sleepers — definitely not enough to miss the sounds of a damn dresser being dragged across wood, no matter how badly they’d had the figurative shit kicked out of them the day before. ]

Dunno about that, I slept pretty soundly next to you.

[ Murmured with more humour than he’s feeling on the inside right now, but if Ian’s able to put on a brave face after seeing himself served up on a literal silver platter, the least Mace can do is keep true to their brand, so to speak. Besides, there was something to be said for gallows humour to keep a guy sane.

Finishing up the window panel, Mace sets the hammer down and cracks his knuckles as he gets to his feet, grabbing one of the few perishable items they’d snagged (a clementine) before heading back to where Ian’s currently — huh. Making hand sanitizer, with a book of matches already next to him on the bed. Watching the blue glow as he seats himself on Ian’s other side, Mace thinks he can still feel the tingle of it on his own grazed palms.

Or maybe that’s the phantom sensation of Ian’s palms resting on them, surprisingly warm for a guy who’d just been knocked down with a fresh surgery wound on his chest. ]

You know, Da Vinci had a weird fuckin’ sleep pattern. He’d take twenty minute naps every four hours. Not saying we do that, but … maybe a modified version of it. A full REM cycle every three hours? Or maybe two, and then we swap throughout the night.

[ Said with ulterior motives, because Mace intends to let Ian sleep through his shifts; it’ll delay his healing, for one thing, if he stays up. For another, Mace’s protective nerve is well and truly raw at this point and he’ll probably deal better with staying awake.

Without really thinking about it, he starts peeling the fruit in small, methodical movements, and only offers it to Ian when it’s fully unpeeled. Another habit from his days of dutifully cutting off bread crusts. ]

[ Strangely enough, for all of their flirting and their back and forth, something about that trips him up. Makes his glow falter for a second, has him peering up through his lashes at Mace's back. Maybe it's because that implies something a little more than sex, doesn't it? A little more than the implications of the rest of it. Tips toward a little bit more.

Plays a note in his chest, one single ivory piano key.

But it's nothing, and there's no way in hell he can even entertain the notion considering their fucking reality right now.

He lowers his eyes back toward the task at hand. Strikes a match, tips it into the opening of the can. Immediately it flares to life, a small blue cleanly-burning fire. After that comes a low metal stand, simple in construction - just four legs attached to a circle. On top of that, an extremely simple metal bowl.

He pops the top off of two soup cans. Dumps them in. Throws in the vegetables for good measure.

Only when that's done does he settle back against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder, eyeing the peeled fruit Mace offers.

He looks amused, a touch fond, and he says: ]

Split it.

[ He'll eat half if you'll eat half. He holds his hand out for it. Split the sleep with him too, while you're at it, but something tells him it won't end up being even.

Slept pretty soundly next to-- ]

You never told me her name. That girl you're in love with.

Edited 2020-05-31 08:24 (UTC)

[sounds metal as fuck, but hey, work with what you've got, right? and at least the dirt grows something. whatever it is about the cabin klaus can't put his finger on, it's unsettling has been what he's decided.]

Stayed in Asgard for... almost a whole year? Then I showed up here. Before either of those, I was in my homeworld, though. [practical seems to be what klaus's going with, and yet he can see the humor in it; kidnapped twice and ending up somewhere not the city is a bit humorous. in a bizarre sort of way, anyhow. (let's not forget he'd been taken once before the asgard trip, too!)

regarding the lemon wei wuxian's holding between them, his eyebrows lift, a faint, wry-looking grin coming across his face. god, this is one of those moments where he has to stop and really consider if betraying someone in such a way is worth it.] I'd say try it first since it has one of those acquired flavors? But it's kinda like the orange. [which at least gives wei wuxian the option of trying it and he's just left desperately hoping he will.]

[ By the time Ian's done with the stand, Mace thinks he's got a pretty good idea where he's heading with all this, and the amusement comes easier to him now. It's in his eyes as he watches Ian go about adding soup to the newly-born metal bowl, softened at the edges with fondness.

But Mace is a simple guy and as far as he's concerned, all of these emotions narrow down to just the one — affection, simple and clean like rain on fresh leaves.

Whether it's an intense result of the crucible they're in, or just that instinctive, magnetic liking he's felt a few rare times in his life, it doesn't matter. It's there, and he doesn't need to examine it to make sure, and because he's as fixed in his ways as the stars in the sky, it's gonna stay there.

Split it.

Done with a faint smile and an eyebrow raise, although it's on the tip of Mace's tongue to ask his friendly neighbourhood Batman if he plans to do this fifty-fifty business with everything else; and if so, is he aware that Mace isn't the one with the horrible injury here?

But then Ian's saying something else, something more, and — ]

Was. [ Another one, and Mace's smile twists into something a little sadder. He can count the amount of people who've seen that expression on one hand, and still have a finger left over to give their kidnappers the only form of greeting they deserve.

But he hasn't forgotten how Ian's been laid bare to him here, a forced vulnerability that went beyond the physical, and there's some part of him that wants to even that playing field. Out of respect, and out of that same uncomplicated fondness that's taken firm root in his chest, and maybe just the plain human desire to share something with somebody.

Somebody who's made him feel more like a person than he's felt since he stepped foot in the Icarus II. ]

And it wasn't, you know, mutual. If anything, it was ... more the opposite.

[ Hard to admit loving somebody who'd said the kind of things Cassie had to him, and it's only after this incredible display of dignity that Mace realizes he hasn't even answered Ian's question. ]

Cassie.

[ They sit side by side, shoulders pressed into one another, each of them holding half of a citrus fruit. Ian's working on separating a segment of it when Mace answers; was. Damn. His lips press together into something sympathetic, brow pinched up a little to leave a small divot.

He doesn't say anything at first, just studies Mace's expression while he chews on pulp and sugar - the first thing he's eaten in so long, his stomach wakes up immediately. Roars to life, slumber disturbed, demanding more.

It's second priority to paying attention. ]

She didn't like you?

[ It's a combination of subdued and incredulous - he's a steady calm by nature, when not under duress. They're easing into a sense of safety now and so it's back, that level reserve that usually underlines any other emotion he wants to express.

Such as, for example, utter disbelief that anyone could opposite of love this guy. Jesus, have they met him? Ian's not sure he's met a better fucking person in his entire life. No one braver, no one more emotionally strong when the world's on fire. No one who combos smart and funny and good looking on top of those other things. ]

She hit her head a lot as a kid, or was it more of a visual impairment?

[ The smile fades but the sadness lingers, hearing the quiet incredulity in Ian’s voice, the way he phrases himself. Mace allows himself a full thirty seconds to feel the warmth from those words, and then shakes his head.

For the first time, he's something other than unapologetically himself. A hollow moment, thinking what it would be like to pretend to be somebody different, feel that warmth a little longer. Somebody with rounder, blurrier edges, somebody who wouldn’t be willing to take a scalpel to his teammate’s wrist if it came down to it.

Can’t, though. Can't pretend. Everything else aside, it’s not fair to Ian. It’s especially unfair to him, given what he'd said the night before. Mace doesn't belong anywhere near a pedestal. ]

The mission we were on, it went sour near the end. There were a couple times when I had to make a choice between a crew member and — Earth. Chose Earth, rubbed her the wrong way. Not just the choice, but that I didn’t hesitate. I guess she figured that meant that I didn’t regret it.

[ What the hell was the point of showing your regret? It didn’t bring anybody back. It didn’t change what had to be done. At the same time, he understands now that Cassie had considered him heartless for it, and doesn’t blame her; it’s not like he tried to dissuade her of the notion. He just wishes he’d known it before the launch, back when they’d been training together.

Being the hated half of a hate-fuck only worked if you knew what was going on beforehand. ]

Thing is, I grew up on military bases, and … [ Slower now, weighing his words in a way he hadn’t before. ] It’s a lot of bastards out there who only understand one language. I had to become fluent.

[ It's the reason he hadn’t graduated out of the air force’s ROTC; a cadet willing to cut up an officer wasn’t exactly pilot material, even if the officer was a piece of shit. ]

So there you have it, full disclosure. Not Prince Charming. His bodyguard, maybe.

[ A hint of a grin as he finally looks up into those eyes, lifting his eyebrows up and down as if to say, that means you’re the prince — one last flirtation before Ian disengages from him entirely. Belatedly, he pops the clementine into his mouth and barely tastes it, focused on the shoulder pressed up against his own and counting down to when it would pull away. ]

And I'm still fine taking the rug. [ If you want. ]

[ He listens raptly, brow knit and a small frown tugging one corner of his mouth down. A choice between a crew member and earth - god, what the hell kind of mission was Mace even on? The kind of stakes it must have been, Ian can't even fucking imagine it.

A few seconds of contemplative quiet follow it, but his shoulder doesn't peel away.

She figured that meant I didn't regret it, and here he is lamenting it now with his boots on the ground, well after the mission ended. It's clear as day that he does.

Ian slides his hand over until he finds Mace's wrist. Fingers curl gently around it, softly squeeze. ]

A crew member or seven billion lives.

[ He points out, slow and breathing as much awe into the last two words as he can, like he's trying to impress the point. ]

If you let yourself fall too far down the hole trying to make that choice, you might not make the right one. Takes a lot of strength. Just because you have it doesn't mean you don't feel. It's just that some of us are good at deciding to feel later.

[ Like Ian, who carries his upset home with him rather than ever flashing it to anyone - until you're getting a wound cauterized shut because zombie doctors sliced you asshole to elbows and you remember two weeks ago you were smoking weed in a Subaru outside of a Starbucks with your TA. ]

And... for what it's worth, a body guard protects one person. A prince protects a country.

[ The many over the few. Seven billion over one. ]

[ It's true that Naminé cuts about as unthreatening a figure as possible. If she weighs more than a hundred pounds it isn't by any considerable amount, and there's no secret about her lack of muscle tone even at a glance. Nevertheless, judging by how much the door moves with each hit against it, they probably need all the effort they can muster between them to keep it closed.

The girl is quick to shake her head at his question, a touch anxiously but honest. ] I know it isn't human, [ is most of what she feels she can safely claim. As the door rattles again, ] -- Or a Heartless.

[ Because if it were one of those, the physical barrier would mean very little to it. Her eyelids flutter in a blink as he changes position, her shoulders rising very slightly; she's not fully convinced of his trustworthiness, it seems, but leaves her misgivings internal. Most of her trepidation lies in his being a stranger, truthfully, and not because he's done anything to alarm her. Even drawing a sword against her would have seemed like a perfectly reasonable reaction at a time like this, and Naminé is not so short-sighted as to think otherwise. They've both got reason to be on edge.

The abrupt twist of the doorknob still clutched in one of her hands provides an adequate distraction regardless, her attention snapping down toward it. Startled, she tightens her grip reflexively, trying to keep it from turning any further. It's a lost cause with one hand, and she adjusts her weight a second time to get her remaining arm positioned where it can help hold the closing mechanism in place. That much paler than before, she looks up at him with muted horror. Whatever that thing is, apparently it has hands. ]

In here? [ she questions, voice starting to lower toward a whisper as something in the back of her mind suggests that perhaps they ought not let the creature on the other side of the door know what they're up to. ] There isn't much room. I'm not sure if...

[ The door has begun to splinter. Naminé knows this because one of the smaller chunks goes flying, catching along her hair just enough for her to feel it. Voice tight with dread, she admits, ]

No -- I guess there's no choice. Not unless there's some other way out...!

[ It doesn't take long for the girl to determine his aim. Fingers closing slightly in surprise at the first tnk of metal hitting the floor, she watches as others follow. Her shoulders sink back from their tensed position as her face shifts through a few different expressions, worry becoming analysis and then being replaced by muddled contemplation. His obvious intention to get out only provides her so much comfort when a number of possibilities remain about why.

So despite feeling somewhat less concerned about his potential maliciousness (or lack thereof), the girl still makes an immediate attempt to shift herself back into cover when he turns. She's too late, and the adjustment of her position stops abruptly in the middle as she realizes she's been seen. Not much of her is showing by that point save the curl of soft blonde hair, a skinny arm, the corner of a pale skirt and one intensely blue eye. That eye regards him carefully, warily; save being easily mistaken for a ghost, the girl observing him really doesn't seem like much of a threat. Her capacity for wrestling anyone to the ground in particular appears limited, considering the fact that he's got at least a foot on her in height.

Though her lips purse at the greeting, she doesn't immediately return it. The spooked cat approach is probably the right one, but that doesn't negate the fact that she can tell it's deliberate. She hesitates through his first question, pauses at his second - there's a subtle change around her brow, a little adjustment in her eyes as they sink, thoughtful. Then she edges half a step out of the semi-safety of her cover to offer a silent nod that looks more like she's just chosen that moment to tuck her chin. ]

No, [ she adds after a moment, in late answer to his second question, ] it isn't my house.

[ She's a fragile-looking thing, a fine-boned teenager that can't be more than about fifteen. In spite of her caution, her well-placed fear, there's a keenness in the way she studies him a moment, then shifts her gaze to the fallen screws, as if to indicate them. ]

… And I suppose it isn't yours, either.

[ It's more observation than accusation, his decisions about causing property damage aside. ]

[ For all that Naminé tries to hold together any memories of the fog that might point her in the right direction - or at least the same direction long enough - it feels rather like a futile effort. Her talents don't help much when there aren't really any good landmarks to remember, when her mind plays tricks on her and obscures what she might otherwise have hung onto for direction, when voices call for help and following them inevitably makes the cabin rise up out of the gloom.

This loop isn't her first either, but it's the first time she recalls returning to see the building alight. Initially, she almost thinks she's managed to find somewhere else - only to recognize a moment later that this is the very same place that she left. It startles her long enough that she pauses at the edge of the curling wisps of mist, staring wide-eyed as the structure burns. It takes nearly a solid minute before she realizes there's someone seated in the grass nearby, but once she does it feels as though her attention is better spent on them.

At this point, she's learned that most of the others she encounters aren't in on it all - or at least claim not to be with some credibility. But that still doesn't stop her from asking, once she's made careful steps close enough to the woman to be within earshot, ]

Did you set it on fire?

[ Her voice is somewhere between disbelief and awe. ]

[go after its wings! and without missing a beat, sizhui springs into action, bridging what distance is between them, his sword readied. in a deft motion, he tears through one veiny membrane with a wide upswing—

blood sprays, causes him to flinch back somewhat, eyes momentarily winced shut. this, of course, agitates the beast even further; it squirms in an attempt to get free and just as sizhui's peeking upward, he slides his feet, shifts closer to wen ning and barely avoids getting clipped by some of the spikes on its broken wing.] A-Ah! Okay, we'll need to push it back slightly, so I can get the other wing!

( now that emil has taken a cookie, lalli wastes no time in taking another of his own. they're not even stale. lalli would have expected them to be, in a place like this.

the question has him humming a thoughtful hum as he considers what it is that he's feeling, and a shoulder lifts a little. ) Think so. It's duller than my magic, though. Harder to feel. ( but he does think he can identify the honir-flavored undercurrent of it all, standing out a bit from the rest but otherwise not terribly remarkable.

a glance is finally cast over emil's work so far in ransacking the room, surveying the progress the swede has made in whatever this is - but he finds that he's no closer to understanding what that is, and thus comes a mildly skeptical, ) What are you doing?

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inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.

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not late, not garbage

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a 'cool' mustache.... smothers myself

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steals ur smoothie

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cw: monster gore? yeah, let's go with that

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