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

[ As uneven as the battle sounds, the cacophony is distressing enough on its own that Naminé never ends up travelling much deeper into the fog than she already has. Tucked fully behind a large tree trunk, she listens despite how on edge each sound makes her, because each time she's expecting to hear something more human. Strange, how she never seems to.

But presently it ends, and though it certainly seemed like the creature wasn't on the winning side, Naminé feels her heartbeat pick up again in the relative silence. Holding very still, she hardly breathes until she hears her name from the fog. She hasn't been far enough into the woods to experience the disorientation, or to expect false voices - which makes hearing him call her all the more startling.

Eyes round, she hesitates. She didn't tell him her name... did she?

As disconcerting as that is, she appears soon enough, turning to step out from behind the tree. Recognizing his shape through the small amount of fog left between them, she begins to walk closer with careful steps, arms close to her body in a posture that's somewhere between frightened and concerned. Her eyes are searching, uncertain, and if it weren't for the fact that she's always been prone to staring, it might look odd how closely she examines him. Her eyes hesitate on his face first, then shift down to the rest of him to take in the injuries, the way he's standing. ]

It hurt you, [ she observes as she comes to a stop, farther from him than she would have if she remembered. That doesn't keep her eyes from being fretful, even so; she just has more and varied reasons to be troubled. ]

Edited 2020-06-06 23:33 (UTC)

[ He almost says, let people make puns around you, because Mace is many things and self-aware is one of them. He knows how odd his sense of humour is, and nine times out of ten, it’s only for his own benefit. Ian’s taking up that last slot, though; even what he’d said earlier had been to get a smile out of him, something to gainsay the approaching panic he could sense welling up.

That, and maybe a measure of — possessiveness, for lack of the right word. Mace isn’t generally an old-fashioned guy, but the thought of some son of a bitch trespassing over such a vulnerable area of his partner’s body evokes a certain knee-jerk reaction of fuck no out of him, straight from the heart. And … for the duration of their stay, and as long as Ian gives him the green light for it, that dick is nobody else’s business but Mace’s.

But the way Ian’s speaking right now, it stops him from making any jokes, droll or otherwise. There’s a note of guilt in Ian’s voice that he doesn’t understand, and it makes him want to tread softly here. Near this part of Ian that he’s choosing to expose, whether out of some swell of emotion, or just bone-deep exhaustion.

Whatever the reason behind it, it’s a show of trust that’s perhaps more private than what they’d shared here earlier, or in the shower just now. ]

Nothing wrong with that.

[ Mace’s eyes have adjusted a little bit even to the current gloom, and in front of him he can just about see the gentle slope of a neck, hair falling across a nape. He thinks of pressing his lips there — just trails the tips of his fingers there instead, a faint touch meant to be both acknowledging and reassuring, before sliding them back into Ian’s hair.

I don’t date. Was it because he didn’t want to? ]

You know, I remember reading in college … the Band of Thebes.

[ Ian probably already knows, he’s a professor. Mace presses on anyway, his voice a low, steady thrum in the darkness. ] It was a military squadron. Comprised entirely of lovers. The idea was … well, you give a man somebody to fight for. Put that somebody right next to him on the battlefield, and … he’d find himself equal to whatever it was that came their way.

[ In the end, that’d been death for the Thebians. All three hundred of them, slaughtered. But that’s not what Mace is getting at, not why he’s saying this and probably sounding like a fool for it, too. ]

Thank you for letting me.

[ Letting him do whatever is that you don’t normally let people do. He doesn’t need to know what the specificity of that is; thinks he gets it, anyway. And with that, he brushes his lips right to the base of Ian's neck. ]

[ Wellp, considering the current population of the cabin consists of Mace and aggressively amputation-happy zombie doctors, Ian's quite happy with his dick being nobody's business but theirs for the duration of their stay.

The touch to his skin, to his hair, it's incredibly pacifying. It lulls out anxiety a little, edges it closer toward rest. Soothes away some of the tension that could easily take root in his brow and in his shoulders. He's tactile, but he didn't realize that meant receiving too.

The Band of Thebes is a familiar story, but in a distant and detached way. He remembers the name, remembers vague details, but the elaboration is welcomed and immediately understood. It's another root, another tendril weaving its way into the knotted tree that's been rising in his chest. The branches have been thick and so have the boughs, filling him uncomfortably full.

Give him somebody to fight for.

If he only knew the kind of person Ian was, what he'd do if they weren't here, he wouldn't be so quick to fight for him probably. If he knew that by now Ian would've left, run for the hills, turned off his phone... if he knew Ian would absorb himself in a new project for the next four weeks to make sure whatever this was would be good and dead by the time he resurfaced again...

He's disingenuous. He feels guilty in a way he can't really explain. ]

You shouldn't thank me.

[ He murmurs tiredly, reaching up to curl his fingers around the wrist Mace has settled over him. ]

I'd have left by now. After that kiss - maybe before. The first one. I'd be gone already.

[ He's not trying to be hurtful, and he normally doesn't even talk about it, but... every time Mace opens his mouth he says the exact kind of thing that pries Ian open a little farther. Makes him want to issue warnings, protect him in kind like he'd planned to do when he peeled that dresser away from the door.

It's only fair, he thinks. He'd be an asshole for not being upfront about himself at this point. ]

[ Naminé stops.

It doesn't take much, considering her naturally small strides and general lack of momentum. The fire crackles and burns a bit too close for comfort on one side of her, yet she still pauses right where she is, as if something has caught her attention. Maybe it has, in fact - because she's no stranger to nudging minds in the direction she wants them to go, herself. It might well be that she recognizes the foreign influence... or perhaps she's merely surprised by the concern.

Either way, the girl looks bemused as she turns to glance back over her shoulder toward Gwenaëlle. Naminé regards her a moment, then shakes her own head. ]

I won't, [ the blonde promises, ] not unless...

[ Unless she finds someone. But if she does, what then? She wrestles with the idea for a second, then admits, ]

I probably couldn't do them any good, anyway. But I at least want to see if there's anyone around the other side.

[ Someone injured, perhaps, or close enough to freedom to be helped. Her voice is a little gentler than before, almost as if she feels it's necessary to provide reassurance. And sure, she could leave it at that and continue on her way, but she waits instead, presently adding an, ]

Okay?

( the tone of it sets her teeth on edge; she'd prefer someone annoyed at her for contraverting their will over someone talking to her like a skittish horse, and she settles curtly on, )

If you're gagging to watch someone burn to death, by all means. I don't want to smell it from this close.

( whether or not some sliver of genuine concern was involved is completely unrelated to gwenaëlle having any desire to have that acknowledged.

she would almost certainly rather deepthroat glass. )

[ His mouth is still pressed to Ian’s nape when fingers wind around his wrist, a careful touch that he immediately likes. More points of contact between them felt better. It reminds him of what Ian had done earlier — the gesture that had, in a way, been the first spark to their oil.

Instead of drawing away immediately, like he’d initially meant to, Mace stays where he is and mulls over what he’s hearing. Nose slightly buried in Ian’s hair, still damp from the shower, smelling woodsy and sweet.

Despite the topic, despite where they are, he’s starting to feel his own limbs go loose and heavy now, relaxed in a way that he knows means he won’t have much trouble sleeping when the time comes. The heat of Ian’s body, the comfort of the shower — the simple intimacy of post-coital pillow talk.

Although, it’s a pretty unique kind of pillow talk. But it doesn’t hurt. If anything, Mace appreciates the honesty of it and the fact that Ian’s clearly aware of this part of himself instead of hiding it away or pretending it doesn’t exist. He can also tell it’s meant as a sort of caveat, like what Mace had tried to do when he’d told Ian about Cassie, about the type of person he was.

I’d be gone already. ]

But you didn’t leave here, did you. You stayed. You … let me. So that doesn’t change why I’m thanking you.

[ Mace’s lips brush against his skin with every word, and at Ian’s chest, the hand that he’s holding by the wrist strokes his sternum from atop the robe, trying to tell him without saying so that it’s okay. Whatever he's saying, it's okay.

He's also getting the feeling that maybe they're not on the same page about what he meant by fighting for somebody, going by the growing sound of guilt in that tired voice. ]

If this were back home, though — just a hypothetical. Don't overthink it, don't worry what I'm gonna think about it. Would it have been because you didn’t want me?

[ He doesn’t want to pry but there’s a curiosity in him to know the answer to that, if only because it’s something he can’t really wrap his mind around. ]

[ Does it count as staying when he doesn't have a choice? When the alternative is - what, go hide in the other bedroom alone at best, brave the fog alone at worst? There is no other path besides staying here and letting this unfold, and it's only through that necessity that any of this even happened. It's the only reason it's still happening.

The feeling of lips at the back of his neck sends sensation rippling down his spine - not a heat like earlier, but that static autonomic sensory meridian response, tingling and pleasant hums. The breath puffing warm against him helps. It's all so much nicer than he really deserves. ]

Fuck- no, it's not that. You're fantastic.

[ He murmurs immediately, instantly, because apparently not overthinking isn't even an issue for that question.

It's the opposite, actually. It's because he does want you, and that's the problem.

He licks his lips, then softly elaborates. ]

I told you. Back at the start. I don't have anybody.

[ It's a choice. It's on purpose. Not because he couldn't, but because he knows better.

It's easier to confess this, this secret usually unspoken part, in the dark and with his eyes closed. With soothing touches that keep him grounded. With the inhibition removal that comes from extreme tiredness. It's the perfect environment to strip away barriers and allow the truth to float up. ]

[ Honestly, it counts as staying in Mace’s book, which is written mostly in medium, bold lettering, with clear diagrams and very little ambiguity. Because — yeah, that would be a feasible option from where he’s standing. Ian could’ve hidden alone, could’ve left Mace to his own devices. And he hadn’t just stayed in the cabin, but he’d stayed on the bed. He’d stayed in the shower. He was staying here and now, held in Mace’s arms and against his chest, his spine pressed to the beat of Mace’s heart.

There's always a choice. Mace had offered Ian one earlier, and Ian had chosen to kiss him back.

All the same, he's glad of the swift way Ian responds to his question, his lips curving into a smile where they’re still touching the back of Ian’s neck. It promptly does away with the new and unpleasant possibility that had begun to form in the back of his mind — that Ian, given the choice, wouldn’t have wanted what they’d just shared. Had done it only for the sake of doing it.

The elaboration, though. Mace turns it over in his head and then gives a confused little huff. His first thought is that it's disinterest in commitment, but a guy like Ian doesn't seem the type. ]

Okay, tell me if I get this wrong. You — don’t have anybody. But it’s not because you don't want anybody. You do want ... a hypothetical somebody. But if you got 'em, you’d leave, because ... because.

[ Slowly spelling it out like this is an equation and he has to show his work, except the longer he talks, the more confounding it gets. The stupider it sounds, too, because he’s missing a piece here and he knows it. His brows furrow as he tries to figure it out, his fingers tapping a gentle tattoo where they rest near Ian’s collarbone.

I’d have left by now. I’d be gone already. You shouldn’t be thanking me. I don’t have anybody. I don’t do this, back home. I’d have left...

Like all equations, it’s simple once you see it. It isn't a thesis, it's a single damn word, written in invisible ink at the end of what Ian’s trying to convey, and Mace holds up the lighter behind it and sees what he’s been missing all along. ]

You'd leave first.

[ His fingers stop and then resume, with only the slightest hitch, and his tone stays warm and low like they're still discussing shampoo. Not commitment, then, that's the problem. No, there was only one real reason somebody like Ian would want to exit a relationship first, and Mace didn't need to be an aerospace engineer to see that it started with a capital letter A. ]

Gotta say, that still doesn't tell me why I shouldn't be thanking you.

[ It's-- not that he wouldn't have wanted what they just shared, although it kind of is. If he could undo it, rewind, make it all go away instead, he might. He really might, although... fuck, it feels good. Maybe he wouldn't, maybe this is just the time where he finally shoots himself in the foot and lets himself bleed out from it. Go out with a bang, right? Really hurt before the end.

Feels weird to be analyzed out loud like this. Makes his lips scrunch up into a tight and slightly displeased little moue that Mace can't see from his perspective.

You do want a hypothetical somebody.

Indignation flares up a little. Fans up a bit more at you'd leave first like it's some kind of conclusion Mace has drawn but isn't sharing with the class. He's not gonna ask.

(The A stands for Asshole, in his opinion.)

He sighs softly at that non-question that wraps all this up in a neat bow. Still doesn't feel like Mace really gets it - if he would, he probably wouldn't still be holding onto him, wouldn't be tapping out that pleasant rhythm on his collarbone that feels nice.

Or maybe he would, and he's acknowledging like Ian has that this is pretty much it. The end, all they get before they go. All he gets is Ian.

At any rate, at least he tried. Put it out there so that he's transparent and it's known. It assuages a little bit of his guilt, and he'll be able to sleep because of it.

He's not gonna push the point. He's just gonna softly state, like undisputed fact: ]

You're too good, you know? You're really, really fucking good.

[ The young lady's mouth turns down at the corners thanks to the mental image - complete with smell, even - but it doesn't register as offense so much as grim acceptance. She's not exactly keen on that possibility either, but takes the comment on the chin with a polite little nod before she turns back around to continue on her way.

Doing a circuit of the building yields no more results than an extra coughing fit, at which point Naminé puts a bit more distance between herself and the growing fire. On the far side of the cabin she finally pauses, peering into the windows as best she can against the brightness of the flames, but it's futile. Her eyes won't do her any good from here (and they'd probably do even less in there.)

Exhaling, the girl spends a few moments in place, waiting, hesitating - she hardly knows for what. Some kind of confirmation that she's right in assuming there's no one left to be saved? Only then does it occur to her to search a different way; if anyone is in there, they probably have a heart, don't they? They probably have memories, at the very least, and those are quite comfortably within Naminé's domain. So presently she gives it a try, reaching out with her magic to see what she can see.

(Of course, someone else sensitive to that sort of thing might notice it when she does - the weird feeling that there's an entity peering over their shoulder, the sensation of being watched when there's clearly no one around. But it's over quickly, and surely no one will mind if she's only checking that memories exist, not actually looking at them.)

Soon enough, Naminé turns up again, making her way from the direction opposite the one she left in after having circled the cabin. Her verdict, which she states as she approaches with a rather preoccupied frown, is, ]

If there was anyone inside, they... aren't there now. At least - I don't think they are.

[ Which doesn't mean that every one of those hypothetical people made it out, but maybe it's better not to assume the worst. ]

[ The question for Mace, in that case, would be: would Ian undo it because he didn’t want it, or because it would hurt to want it, and then have it taken away? But that's not a worry that’s on his radar anymore, with the way Ian had called him fantastic; and if it were, he’d be broaching it with his characteristic panache of a merrily thrown brick.

And if Mace were a more sensitive guy, it would occur to him that analyzing somebody else out loud isn’t the most tactful idea. But as it is, it doesn’t; to him this entire conversation has been straightforward from start to current point, with thoughts being laid out and said thoughts being methodically sorted through. Ergo, there is nary a prick in his conscience except for the one he’d been handling earlier.

Speaking of which. He hums at the unexpected compliment, like he’s debating the merit of it and if he deserves said merit. Debates whether he ought to explain what he meant earlier, about having somebody to fight for.

But it’s simpler to just shake his head and inadvertently end up nuzzling Ian’s nape in the process, before murmuring: ]

Wait until you see what I can do when there's lube.

[ A commercial break for his usual brand of humour. In truth, he thinks they’re both hovering near sleep right about now, what with the way Ian had sighed a moment ago, the exhaustion from everything catching up to them.

Except he can feel his mind start to ward it off, his eyes blinking quickly every now and then in the dark, and his hands still keeping up their slow touches at Ian's hair and chest. He realizes that he doesn't actually want to sleep, and it's not entirely out of concern for what'll happen to them once they drift off.

He wants this to last, this moment. It's all they're gonna get, right? ]

I meant what I said, before. I'm glad it was you. [ A slow blink, and then: ] You glad it was me?

[ God, that brush of nose at the back of his neck. It's so simple, it's so nothing, but just like every small touch from Mace it pulls forth a bloom of feeling. It transcends itself and becomes something deeper, and maybe being at the cusp of sleep just makes him more susceptible to it. Yeah, he wants this - some part of him does, anyway. Some deep and selfish, irrational part.

He's never been taken care of by anybody but himself. Not since he was old enough to know how to work the stove without burning the house down.

A stuttered laugh shakes through him unexpectedly at the quip, cutting through the tension like a knife. Derailing his thought spiral and bringing him back to the present. There's a gentle pause at the question. ]

No.

[ He murmurs, earnestly. ]

I wish it was anybody else but you.

[ Because you deserve better than this place. He wishes you weren't here to experience it. Fuck, you really are genuinely, really good. What in the hell did you do to deserve this? ]

But... if there were a million cabins like this and you had to be in one of 'em, yeah, I'm glad you're with me.

Cooperative and helpful? Yeah, no, sounds fake. As it stands, one of two actual things is gonna happen: either Klaus will somehow still be able to walk away from this or Jiang Cheng's maybe (probably) going to kill him.

For whatever it may be worth, nobody is ever prepared for Klaus and the cultivator will be no exception.

Aw, damn, there goes that. Klaus's shoulders slacken somewhat though, his hands unfurling then moving up to press against his cheeks while he and Jiang Cheng stand there, face-to-face, like it's a totally normal thing to do.

But goodness, he's sure worked up, isn't he? And this hasn't even been his worst. “No,” he answers simply, “I've already said, I'm just dealing with it better.” Left hand reaching out, the tips of his first two fingers tap right underneath Jiang Cheng's chin and as he gives the faintest head-tilt that draws them ever-so-slightly closer, Klaus lifts the other hand to – boop – the other male's nose then drops both hands afterward. “And I didn't need to try anything, darling, you're the one who brought out the fancy purple whip on the first date.”

[for the moment, klaus's distracted with shoving crisps into his mouth, but thankfully manages getting everything down before he responds. an amused smirk quirks his lips first then he playfully nudges lalli's knee with his elbow.]

Well, at least it dumped some of us together during its fuck-up. [he, too, considers the cookie and barely manages stifling his laughter after the finn downs it in one go.]

[...okay, well, that's completely, utterly fair because how does huaisang know klaus won't murder him? he doesn't, which is why he's got the right idea being uncertain— even if he's for sure not planning to.

oh, hello there, fan. klaus's eyes follow it closely, brows lifting with interest then he withdraws the vegetable.]

Then ignore what I babbled before and just pretend I said, “It's magic!” Okay? Okay, cool, problem solved.

[and with that figured out, he's briefly going back to his cucumber, pushing the left side of his coat aside to reach for the knife he has there.] So, sweetheart, considering your lack of fridge knowledge... I'm assuming you have no idea how the lightswitches and shit work, either.

[at least it'll be better than the basic-ass answer wei wuxian's going to get to his homeworld question here in a minute. ‘terrible’ doesn't even come close to describing it, although familiar faces will make the place a whole lot better.

if the cultivator's lucky, klaus will have mercy and stop him before he tries to take a slice of that thing. (here's hoping it doesn't accidentally squirt any juice, either.)] Uh... yeah, before Asgard, I lived in The City.

[hot damn, a gun would be extremely helpful right about now, but even during his last moments in asgard, none of those had shown up. to be fair, it all depends on what they're going to fight, although three knives and their magic between them might not be enough. so long as he's breathing, klaus will make absolute certain nothing happens to the swede while they're... wherever the hell they are at the moment? some stupid cabin in the woods.

point made loud and clear, by the way. klaus makes an agitated noise in the back of his throat but climbs higher on the steps, pauses right inside the doorway because being with that thing is the direct opposite of what he wants.]

Like I really wanna find it faster... [but regardless of his hesitance, he cinches his right hand tighter then pushes onward, gaze darting every which way in search of whatever may be hunting them. it's uncomfortable, not being able to register right away, and yet he keeps moving anyhow.]

“Yeah, me either, but I'm not sure what else we're supposed to do?” Cheekiness aside, he is being serious about getting used to the loop. So far, he's remembered three major things: touching an urn and being attacked by some angry spirit, meeting a dead(???) guy, and seeing his sister. Those are just the loops he can remember right now, so who knows how many there's actually been?

Klaus hums thoughtfully, contemplating which one he'd experienced last. “I remember my sister,” he admits. “Buuut not much else yet? Might have to see if there's a way to shake loose some memories.”

Sizhui's attention instantly directs that way too, lingering a moment or two longer than necessary before he does, albeit with some reluctance, turn back to Jiang Cheng. Whoever it is he was chasing sounds like they're in an alarming amount of distress, so he can understand why wasting time with all of it is unnecessary.

Instead of making it worse with further needless conversation, he nods understandingly toward the remark, straightens back up then presses his lips together while patiently waiting for whatever else the sect leader has to say. And when he does, Sizhui listens, bobs his head again, though somehow more vigorously this time. (Even if he'd already said he was going to help, yeesh!)

Without missing a beat, he moves to follow after, picking up pace alongside him once there's more screaming.

It seems silly to ask if the person yelling is his sister, but it's also rude to assume? So, he'll just. Live in limbo, forever wondering— or at least until they find whoever's shouting (which he's almost certain is this man's sister).

[ Somewhere in his head, there’s a part of him that’s started to keep a tally every time he gets a smile or a laugh out of Ian. Each time, it’s a win because Jesus fuck, look at where they are. Look at what’s happened to them so far, and what’s most likely going to happen to them —

Yeah, he’ll take every good part of this as a victory while he can, snatched right out of the clawed hands of this cabin itself. So that small, shaky laugh, it prompts Mace to nudge Ian’s hair out of the way from his nape with the full intention of pressing a real kiss there.

Halfway through, he gets that earnest no — and he doesn’t freeze, exactly, but it makes him wonder for the briefest of moments if Ian hadn’t wanted him after all, that same shadowy sliver of doubt from before trying to pierce its way in again. Then, I wish it was anybody else but you, and oh. Mace thinks he can see where that’s coming from.

This is pretty much hell’s hideous little backyard, and if he could somehow make a deal with the devil himself to get Ian out of here — he’d do it in a goddamn heartbeat. He knows he would. Ian shouldn’t be here even in a nightmare, forget in reality; he ought to be back at a college somewhere, booting up a whiteboard screen at the start of a lecture, in front of a bunch of dweeby engineering freshmen. ]

That was almost a very bad blow to my ego.

[ Quiet, amused, and somehow a little sad, because saying ego here is safer than saying where Ian’s words had really struck him. His heart. Although he figures that’s kind of obvious, with the way he kisses the first knob of Ian’s spine: slow and comforting, like it’s his lips instead.

And it’s what Ian says last that Mace holds onto, waiting for sleep to take him, unwilling though he is.

I’m glad you’re with me. ]

[ The only answer Mace earns is another soft huff, and it's really impossible to determine whether it's his words or his lips that earn it. They're warm, sweet, satisfying, and his skin's still buzzing with the feeling when he finally finally falls asleep.

He's out like a goddamn light. Out like they did actually get murdered in their sleep, like there's never going to be a moment where they're forced to wake up back where they were.

It's almost true.

Where he finds himself is so bright and sterile it almost feels like a J.J. Abrams movie. Tech well beyond anything he's had to see up close, light-reflecting insulated walls down long corridors. An enormous, closed bulkhead at one end, and at the other - obvious to even a layman - an airlock.

His feet carry him away from it and toward thick steel, only a small panel of glass built into it. Enough, barely, for a face. Enough, barely, for him to look through. ]

[ Wen Ning nods slowly, ceding to Klaus' wisdom. ]

You're right. I didn't consider the possibility that there might be monsters in the forest.

[ He probably should have. Forests back home were one of the most popular places to find monsters and have night hunts. Are they part of some kind of strange night hunt? That doesn't really make sense. ]

We should probably stay inside, in that case.

[ Wen Ning does a bit of a double take, confused. ] I need you to unsheathe it. [ What is he going to do, fight with it like a big stick? Well, he could, but wouldn't it be better to fight properly?

There's a SLAM! against the wood frame of the door, and Wen Ning's attention zeroes in, knowing that any second now, the wooden door will splinter away. There isn't time to argue about swords now. ]

Draw it. [ He urges, holding Suibian out still. ]

He stumbles back when released, and honestly, it takes a lot to push Wen Ning to his breaking point, but Jiang Cheng is getting close. It's one thing not to like what he's saying, to be angry. He gets that. Jiang Cheng has every right to be angry with him. He's done a lot that has hurt him in the past. But to refuse to believe it outright? That's just maddening.

He can't help the way he lashes out, raising his voice for once. "Then do it!" His hands ball into fists, but he doesn't raise Suibian, even if he could unsheathe it, he wouldn't use it now. He has no intention of defending himself against Jiang Cheng's wrath. He deserves this ire, this righteous anger. "Whatever you want to do to me, just do it."

[ As Sizhui's deft blade slices through the beast's flesh, it cries out in agony. It tries to fight back, but its pain makes it lash out blindly. Wen Ning has just enough time to pick it up and toss it away before it lunges after Sizhui, its bisected jaws clamping down on nothing but air.

He takes a moment to turn, checking over Sizhui first before he leaps after the creature. ] Are you alright? [ His pure white robes are probably stained in blood, but as long as he's not hurt, that's what matters. ]

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inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.

sounds legit

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u kno me :')

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