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

[hydraulics]

[ Then again, maybe Mace would’ve understood if he’d seen the whole thing — would have intuited the note of hysteria even through the silence, in the way Ian’s shoulders moved, uncontrollable and like a man pushed past his breaking point. He’d understand because god, he’s right there with you, Ian. The entire bullshit from start to finish has been fucked.

Still, seeing the whole thing — it would've made him want to handle Ian a bit softer, a bit more careful. Probably would've had him initiating the kiss he’s being pulled into right now. But it’s Ian who’s surging forward and Mace makes a little grunt of surprise and delight that neither of them can hear as he drops the hammer again in favour of putting both arms around him.

His grip is clumsier than it was in the shower, weakened compared to when he’d carried Ian across the threshold of the bedroom that first night. But there’s an urgency to the way his lips move against Ian’s, the kiss going fierce immediately; teeth scraping lip, the faint taste of somebody’s blood in somebody else’s mouth, Mace using his tongue this way to say all the things he can’t otherwise.

I got you, and thank fuck you’re okay, and most of all, a swell of emotion that he doesn’t have the words for. Maybe it’s just as well that nothing he says can be heard.

He knows it isn’t safe — they could still be being watched, they should be on their feet, hyperaware of their surroundings and searching out the nearest place to hide that wasn’t so much out in the open. But the full weight of what they’ve just gone through is starting to press down on his shoulders; the kind of shit they had to listen to, the way it felt like hell had cracked open right underneath their feet, all the skeletons in their closet tumbling out in front of the other guy.

They might as well take a second to process it now. And why not this way?

He draws back just enough to trace Ian’s lower lip with one busted knuckle. Looks him in the eye and mouths slowly: Mon-te-zu-ma.

Make ‘em a drink when they get somewhere safe, huh? ]

[wittingly]

[ He's there, he's there, matching intensity shot for shot. Grabbing Mace by the front of his robe and reeling, teeth clicking once uncomfortably, tasting his mouth and the blood and the dirt inside of it. Fuck, fuck.

We almost fucking died man, we're always almost dying.
That thing was more terrifying than dying.

That thing - whatever it was - god, he's imagining what it must have been. What it must have looked like. The horror of it, and his imagination's ripping up amalgamations of body parts and expressions he's seen in theological books and horror movies. He's imagining gnarled off-human features, he's imagining something that sounds cartoonish to describe but that, in his head, is reminiscent of Lovecraftian horror in that it would break you just by looking at it. Drive you out of your mind for real, for good.

He's imagining that it takes you and it breaks you and it turns you into one of those eternal voices whispering in the woods.

Mace draws back. Mouths words that Ian knows the shape of because holy fuck has he been too drunk to hear or surrounded by too much music or the person talking to him was too drunk to make voice words but the legend of montezuma will fucking live on forever won't it?

If they get out of here, he's writing a thank-you letter to the ceo of the company.

Maybe Mace can make out what he breathes back:

Fuck yes.

Okay.

Recentered, the taste of Mace in his mouth, he turns his attention to making socks. Easy. Jeans immediately after, because the cold and the branches, the thorns, the rough bark, if they have to run or climb that bath robe ain't gonna cut it.

By the time he's done, the silence in his ears has been replaced with a constant tinnitus-style ringing. He doesn't know if that's better or worse. ]

i;

[deferences]

[initially, it's the shout that draws sizhui's attention. his head whips in the direction of the room he'd passed only moments ago, eyebrows lifting with concern (and maybe a little apprehension). while gripping his sword somewhat tighter, he turns around, soundlessly moves toward the door, hesitating just midway through reaching for the knob. someone's inside, talking to someone (something?) else, though no answer comes so he's uncertain how to explain that.

with a slow inhale, he steels himself, glances over each shoulder to make sure no one's creeping up behind him for whatever reason—

then he lifts his empty hand, raps his knuckles against the middle of it.] Ah, hello? Is somebody in there? [well, obviously there is, but better safe than sorry? whoever it is may not be too friendly and sizhui doesn't want to cause unnecessary problems.]

[mannerless]

I promise. ( the words come quickly, perhaps too quickly but they're running out of time for talk. he has every intention of following right after her - he's only going second in the first place to make sure she makes it through before he does.

now that they've decided she can run (and he hopes to any available god that she's right), he finally releases her and steps over to tug at the door - and it yields, fire immediately leaping into the room in its wake, which wei wuxian dances a hop-step back, pulling chenqing from his belt. ) Go when you see the path, ( he says, unable to keep the smoke-rasp from his words, then he lifts the flute to his lips to pick up an eerie sort of tune. and it does very little for one, two, three long seconds of fire and smoke and certainly worry. but then something shifts. it seems... almost as though the flames are being pushed back. like some invisible barrier fends them away, farther and farther until a narrow path of scorched earth is cleared through the rising flames.

eyes flicker to yanli, brow knitting, urging his shijie to go. he needs both his mouth and his hands to play the tune holding the flames at bay, so he can't give any better indication than that. )

[hydraulics]

[ Fuck yes, Ian says silently, and Mace feels like he can almost hear it. Gives Ian a parting nip to his upper lip in response, as a sort of IOU for the future.

As much as he wants to keep Ian's taste on his tongue a while longer, Mace knows they're far from safe. But kissing Ian had had pretty much the same effect as a shot of the aforementioned infamous-and-yet-legendary tequila, and now that he's drawn back, focus directed to the blue glow beneath his fingers, Mace finds himself missing the warmth of him.

If he didn't know better, he'd think he was starting to develop some sort of codependent thing; something that went beyond just thinking of himself in utilitarian terms when it came to Ian. Even with that fucking thing that had surrounded them — he'd had Ian holding him down, in more ways than just the literal, and ...

Man, he should ruminate on this when they're less out in the open. Continue the rest of the processing there, he thinks, and distracts himself with putting on socks, almost immediately as they appear. The jeans, those go over Mace's towel that has, against all odds, remained knotted right at his hip even underneath the robe and the horrible adventure at the tree.

It's good, having a layer between the teeth of the jeans' zipper and his dick. Safer. ]

So, so glad that you're a wizard.

[ —ah. He catches the tail end of his own words as more than a low rumble in his throat, and realizes that his hearing's coming back. More than just the thin, wheedling sound of a continuous ring that had begun to pierce the silence about a minute ago. He glances up at Ian, pushing himself onto his knees first and then slowly getting to his feet, clearing his throat before: ]

Testing, testing. One-two-thr-Ian.

[ Yup, his hearing is getting clearer all right. ]

[wittingly]

[ It's funny, isn't it, how despite the whirlwind hurricane of things he's been feeling, somehow that unexpected nip still hits him with a soft, internal oh. Oh, like a reminder. Forgot for a second that Mace has been sweeping him the fuck off of his feet for days. Slipped his mind. Came rushing back nice and quick.

Faster than his hearing, which is spotty. Only just starting to realize his eardrums ache a little, too long at a concert, too long with headphones in, an inner ear infection feeling. All the same, he catches wizard and then thr-Ian, and--

The absolute incredulousness in his expression cannot be measured by human means. They haven't developed instruments that can go that high yet. Someone will when a Nobel prize when they do.

Did you just-
While they're fucking-
With a towel down your pants-
At a time like this-

He has to scoff, to shake his head, and his voice sounds a little off-center in his head when he speaks. ]

Maybe I should've given you binoculars instead.

[ To stare that thing in the face and spare him. Thr-Ian.

God, he l-

Nope.

He stands. Brushes off dirt and bark. Combs it out of his hair. Looks to Mace for direction, for guidance, because- where the fuck is safety now, even? What direction should they walk? He's so incredibly disoriented by the experience odds are he'd lead them straight back to that cabin. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Hard to tell what it is that gets the grin out of him, wide and sudden enough that it splits his dry lower lip: the look on Ian’s face, incredulous, absolutely beyond belief that Mace is capable of humour this bad at a time like this; or what he says next, clearly ready to disown Mace on the spot for said horrible humour.

Mace closes the distance between them, gently tugging the bathrobe drawstring free before letting the robe fall to the ground, watching Ian’s face contemplatively while he sucks the blood off his lip. Moves his jaw around a bit, a few painful pops going off in his ear as his hearing clears further.

Yep, the look on Ian's face wins. Or just his face, anyway.

It is, after all, a very good face.

Also a somewhat disoriented face, turning to him with a lost confusion that has Mace’s protective instincts flaring all over again. Yeah, he’s got you Ian. Literally, in fact, and by the belt area of those jeans as he uses it to pull Ian closer, his quiet drawl echoing oddly in his own ears, ]

Maybe I just like saying your name.

[ As he threads the bathrobe belt through two loops at Ian’s hip, before sliding the other end through his own and double-knotting it tight there. Leaves enough room that they can walk freely at a distance of about an arms-length, but the intent is clear, and he wants Ian to have the immediate reassurance of it with every step they take.

I’m with you. ]

So, I tried to keep track of how far I was — we’re about two miles away from the cabin.

[ At least, where he’d last seen the cabin. Absent-minded, he brushes a little more detritus out of Ian’s hair with his clean hand and looks around them to make sure they’re still alone. ]

Let’s keep going straight ahead for another couple miles, see how we feel at that point.

[ Could be that they find somewhere to hole up at that point. Or, it might be smarter to regroup back at the cabin, and four miles won’t be too much of a distance to cover in case they feel like turning around somewhere up ahead. ]

[sobloodyinspired]

"Weird is, like, my entire life, mate." All of it that he can remember, at any rate. And not being able to remember personal memories is pretty weird in and of itself, isn't it? "Ask away." He waits for the older guy to grab his own weapon and nods a bit in something like approval at his choice. Can't go wrong with a bat, really. He glances around the kitchen for any obvious signs of movement or other occupants, but upon finding nothing, he approaches the door. "Yeah, sounds good--" he nods once and reaches for the door. It isn't locked, so that's a step up already, innit? He pulls on the door to open it, but it doesn't budge. Newt frowns and tugs a little harder. "It's stuck," he mutters, pulling on it a little harder. The doorknob is so loose in its place that he's worried he'll pull the thing right off if he yanks too hard.

[sobloodyinspired]

"Shake them loose... like-- you think they're messing with our memories?" There's a distinct sort of panic in the boy at the idea. He's already learned that's so easily done, and had happened to him already once before. The idea that it could be happening again, in a more specific way, does not sit well with him at all

[legbreakings]

I know! I know! I'll protect you. We'll make it out of here. [ He knows he is just babbling pointlessly but he can't help himself, Jiejie is standing in front of him alive and choking and in acute danger, yes, but... He places his hands on Yanli's shoulders, taking a moment just to look at her. He aches so much to pull her into his arms for a fierce hug but the smoke is growing ever thicker and if they don't act now, he will have got her back only to lose her all over again.

He wraps an arm around her and looks around nervously at an ominous creak coming from somewhere above them. Yes, she's right, they have no time to waste. ] Alright, to the door! It's even worse outside, the entire house is surrounded by fire but we have no choice. With some luck, we can fly above the ring of fire.

[ Something that will, in fact, not be possible as the fire will be greeting them right in front of them already when they open the door, but for now Jiang Cheng has hope. ]

[wittingly]

[ Considering everything they just went through, he shouldn't have enough room or emotional capacity to feel attracted to anything Mace does right now. And yet, the way his bottom lip pulls in, the way he steps into Ian's space, reeling him in by his waistband, I just like saying your name...

It's gotta be the fucking adrenaline. It's gotta be that- feeling that you see on movies and television, when two people just survive a horrific trauma and they immediately start fucking. That we just survived relief, the way they're amped up on it all.

He gets it now.

He really does.

Because of that, it takes him a little longer to get the reasoning behind the cloth belt and his loops, right up until Mace starts threading them through his. A tether. Can't rip one of them away by the fucking ankle if they're tied together, can they?

There's an immediate rush of profound relief, of absolute appreciation.

Let's keep going-- he may not know where, but even so, he can't hold back: ]

You're a fucking genius.

[ With a hand loosely wrapping around their tether. He doesn't even bother with the full arm's length distance. When they set out, it's close enough that their shoulders occasionally brush.

They begin trekking across the forest floor. It isn't overrun with shrubbery, no dense underbrush, mostly just tree roots and the occasional patch of weeds, thorns, fallen logs that have accumulated a small ecosystem around them. Enormous rocks embedded into the earth with only their tips sticking out like icebergs. It reminds him of the mountains around Weaverville, the woods he used to run through sometimes back home. Familiar in that way that almost doesn't make sense, just the geography, the topography, the plant life. ]

You sure you don't want shoes?

[ He positions after a while, flicking his eyes down to Mace's feet. ]

Probably have to make a fit-cut at the sides and the toes, but I could make it work. Save you from a bad day with a thorn vine. Too cold for snakes, but rocks, or... I don't know... fucking foot ghosts.

[ Who the fuck knows, with a place like this. ]

[hydraulics]

[ On a roll with his terrible humour, Mace almost replies with, I’m fucking a genius, but — he’s only just gotten that appreciative, relieved look on Ian’s face, intermingling with something softer that makes him want to shorten their tether until they’re as close as they can get.

Doesn’t want that expression rumpled with the incredulity from before no matter how funny it had been, and so his only reply is a playful tug at the belt now connecting the two of them.

Its presence is a reassurance for him, too, after the fucking scare they'd just had; Ian’s got a loose grip on it as they walk, and Mace is glad of the lack of distance between them. If it were solely up to him, they’d be even closer, with his palm steady and firm at the small of Ian’s back.

But that’s not really the rational part of him talking. It’s the part that wants his hand on some part of Ian’s body as often as he can have it now — out of the desire to keep him safe, yes, but if he’s being honest, mainly the desire to keep him close.

Maybe the two are starting to become one and the same.

Yeah, not a romantic goddamn walk in the woods, Mace. Focus.

He keeps his urges limited to a casual brush of his shoulder every now and then as they pick their way through the forest, and it’s a fairly easy terrain to navigate even without shoes. The socks, though, they make a pretty big difference to his barefooted attempt earlier — he can feel the warmth coming back into his toes that he hadn’t even noticed was gone, and he’s about to say something along those lines when Ian beats him to the punch on footwear commentary.

Fucking foot ghosts. The fog around them seems to swirl almost disapprovingly with how hard Mace snorts at that. ]

Sounds kinky. [ You can’t keep a good man down. ] The fit-cuts might just be asking for trouble, in that case. I'd be tempting them with my big ...

[ He trails off, eyes straining in the gloom and one hand going out to pause Ian mid-step. The mist up ahead seems to be getting darker in one particular spot, off to the side of the trees. Denser, almost, except ... ]

Toes.

[ No, it's not getting denser, it's getting thinner. The fog shifts a little more and now Mace can see the sheer wall of rock looming into view on their left, covered in the same ragged moss that's been coating the stones and logs on the ground. He looks up but the height of the wall — the cliff? — disappears into the grey haze surrounding them, climbing up steadily with the height of the trees.

At the base of it, about fifteen yards away — ]

I think that's a cave.

[wittingly]

[ The adrenaline begins to fade out. The fear. Faster than before, faster than the previous times. Maybe that's a sign he's getting used to it, or maybe it's a sign he's burning out. That he doesn't have the emotional energy, the capacity to feel anything that terrible for that long anymore.

Or maybe it's just Mace. Maybe it's just everything about him. The brush at his shoulder, the playful tug at his hip, his voice and his terrible jokes and his fucking sweetness.

He swears he thinks the pause is for comedic effect, some kind of dick joke.

Nope.

Not exactly.

Fog swirls around it, it's definitely better than being out in the open, but... ]

Oh yeah, I think I saw a picture of this in ominous bullshit magazine.

[ Not that his instincts are flaring up or anything, he doesn't have any gut-wrenching indication that it's inherently bad, it's just the freaking aesthetic.

He blows out a resigned breath. ]

Might as fucking well. Go meet some fucking demon bears or cave spiders or fucking Medusa or something.

[ He's so sick of this shit. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Honestly, Mace agrees. If Ominous Bullshit were an actual mag, this picture would probably be their June cover.

The fog continues to dissipate around the area as they draw closer, and the mouth of the thing looks something straight out of a horror movie, admittedly much like everything else. If they’d just started out — if what had happened right after they’d left the cabin, hadn’t, Mace might’ve thought about avoiding it.

But it’s getting dark, and faster than he’d figured it would. For them to keep on going, in the woods, left vulnerable to whatever the fuck had surrounded them last time — they might have a better chance here.

Demon bears and cave spiders. He shoots Ian a look that’s half-amused, and half-pensive. Ian might be able to clock it as a little sad, but Mace quickly directs his gaze back to the cave.

This is the downside of attaching them together at the hip. He can’t tell Ian to wait here, can’t keep him out of harm’s way entirely and make sure the inside of the thing is safe — although, last time he’d tried to be the vanguard, it had ended up with them in worse hot water than ever.

His busted hand, he cleans it off on the side of his jeans one last time before reaching down to hold Ian’s. Redundant, maybe, considering the tether. But he wants the touch. And he wants to make sure that they stay together, that some phantom fuck doesn’t drop down from the cavern roof and snip their chain, and drag Ian away again.

If that happens again, it'll have to be over his dead fucking body. ]

Perseus was kind of a prick.

[ Stay behind me, he doesn’t say out loud, but makes it clear enough with his body language as they move forward again, hammer held at the ready and his attention now fully focused on their surroundings.

The inside of the thing is, surprisingly, demon (and bug) free. Nothing leaps out at them from behind a boulder, the earthen floor is devoid of any snakes or trap-doors. It bottoms out about ten feet inside, and against the far wall is something that could be an indication of good or bad: a bundle of furs, a lumpy rucksack, and a goddamn old-timey kerosene lamp. It's too dark to see if there's anything written on the walls, they'll need to shine a light on that first, but.

They're clearly not the first inhabitants of the place.

There’s a heavy damp in the air that Mace isn’t particularly happy to notice, though. The source of it seems to be the walls itself, the stone darkened in places, although thankfully no tell-tale cracks in the wall; maybe above, along the hilltop or clifftop or whatever the fuck it was, there’s some body of water. Or behind it, a thin, underground stream running through stone.

Back outside, Mace turns to Ian with an expression that all but says what do you think? ]

I feel like we could do worse.

i

[channellings]

[listen, jaskier, do you have any idea how absolutely terrifying it is to be woken up by someone sneezing underneath your bed? not only that, but then they start talking – something about a countess? – and shortly thereafter, they're crawling out with a lute in hand.

for once in his life, klaus keeps his mouth shut, stays where he's sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes almost inhumanly wide. at first, it occurs to him this could either be his kidnapper or someone just as unfortunate as himself. while he takes a few minutes to look the bard over before he turns his way, the whole appearance of this guy kinda tells him he (likely) isn't the one who brought them here; he seems... too out of place, though not necessarily in a bad way.

the moment jaskier's attention is on him, klaus relaxes his rigid posture and smiles faintly in return, right hand lifting off his knee to wave.] Hi there!

A harem? Oh... no. Unfortunately, it's not, but it'd be a lot better if it was. [he pauses, completely ready to continue talking too, except he's also content to just. stare and let jaskier prattle on. he's cute, talking about a harem, how he's flattered yet isn't sure about being tied down— does he like it in other ways? klaus, no.]

No reason to apologize, sweetheart, I'm listening. Intently. [he grins, all bright enthusiasm, too kittenish for his own good. then he inclines his head in return,] Nice to meet you, Jaskier. Name's Klaus.

[wittingly]

[ Their palms slide together, and... a week ago or two days ago or maybe even yesterday that might've made him nervous. Uncomfortable with the familiarity, what it means, what it symbolizes.

And then he pinned Mace down with a hand over his eyes while a fucking demon tried to tear their souls out or something. It just... gets... more. It gets more, to the extent that finding fear in something like this feels fucking stupid.

So he grips back tight, and he lets himself be guided a little bit behind Mace while they enter.

He's played in caves before. Granted, most of the ones they used to go to had spray paint symbols all over the walls and old beer cans distributed everywhere - not a lot to do in Weaverville, and if you're underage caves were an awesome place to get hammered or stoned without getting caught.

Still, it means that the low ceilings in places and the dark corners don't bother him so much, nor the concept of a spider dropping down from the ceiling. You seen one cave, you seen 'em all.

Not really, but kind of.

What does he think? ]

I feel like we're picking between the ghost of an old-timey fucking prospector or the forest demon.

[ He says flatly, nodding his head toward the furs and the kerosene lamp. ]

But if my time smoking weed and watching Scooby-Doo taught me anything, it's that if we rip that guy's face off we'll find the landlord trying to get the deed to this property. Then you can call me Karen and I'll ask to speak to his fucking manager, game over, we just won Haunted Ghost Cabin Adventure. I need a fucking drink.

[ So... yes. ]

[hydraulics]

[ The thing is, Mace is a very literal person at heart. At twelve years old, his answer to the phrase and Bob's your uncle was a stoic silence followed by the declaration that he had only one uncle, and his name was Jeremiah.

As such, weed is the least confusing part of that sentence; the rest of it gets Mace's eyebrows rising and they don't stop until fucking manager, at which point they're practically at his hairline. He thinks he gets that last reference, but. ]

See, now I just feel like I need a translator. All I got from that, was that you like to smoke. And be called Karen?

[ A little teasing, a little serious, leading them back inside the cave with one last glance over his shoulder. The outside is still deserted and the inside of the cave is clearly empty, and between the ghost of a prospector and a forest demon, he thinks they're better off taking their chances with the ghost, but ...

God, he hopes this isn't the worst call to make. That he's not leading them into something worse, if that was even possible after what'd happened in the forest. If anything, at least they have a quick exit behind them, but the reminder of it being just the one is unsettling.

His grip on Ian's hand goes briefly tighter, the fingers interlocking, before he slides his fingers up to Ian's wrist, and then up his arm, coming to rest at his shoulder. ]

Ian.

[ Mace's voice goes all the way serious for a moment, watching the low grey light play across Ian's features, like he's about to say something important. And then he closes his mouth and drops his gaze. Shakes his head before glancing back up again and giving Ian an affectionate chuck under the chin.

There's no point saying he wanted to say. He knows what the answer would be. ]

I could use a drink too. Happy to take it straight from the source. [ He means your fingers, Ian. ]

[mannerless]

( wei wuxian stops short just the same, eyes scanning up and down the boy and his odd clothes and his sunset-orange hair. how does one even get hair that shade? wei wuxian's nearest guess is some sort of 'fox-pelt wig' situation, which doesn't explain the braid and he opens his mouth to ask -

but then comes the question. wei ying glances back down at the array of objects - many of which now have very lewd characters scrawled on them - and his brow lifts a little, head tilting. ) I didn't... not touch anything, if that answers your question? ( but then it occurs to him that maybe he should take this seriously, because what if - ) Is it yours?

[wittingly]

What, you never saw Scooby-Doo?

[ Distracted, incredulous, picking his way carefully over rocky, uneven floor. Doesn't go any further than that, doesn't chase the thread, because Mace is shifting their hold to grip and to touch and...

What was that? What was that moment just now?

He lingers in it even after Mace shakes it off, searching his face and the air around him for context clues. Should he hazard a guess? Should he chase the notion, follow up with...

God, should he? Or should he just let it go because they are (he is) emotionally exhausted? Is he fixating?

If it mattered, if it really mattered, Mace would've just said it instead of changing the subject. He doesn't trust much anymore, but he trusts the guy holding his hand.

He breathes out a soft laugh, tired, lacking substance. ]

You joke, man, but I tried it. It winds up tasting like... fucking... particles, or like... you get one layer of tequila separate from the other layer which comes after and they're supposed to go together so it's god fucking awful.

[ And yeah, maybe Mace was joking, but... he's. Something, he's somewhere in his mind, just. Letting words fall out without much care, taking things half-seriously half-jokingly, some bizarre combination of annoyed and calm and absurd all at once.

But yeah, let him actually get started on that.

He extracts his hand gently from Mace's so he can lower himself down onto dirty rock, palm flat until ass hits the earth, then knees up a little, legs stretched out. Blue glow radiates. His priorities are exactly in line, he thinks.s

Tequila first.
Then shoes.
Matches.
Knife.
Blankets until he gets too drunk to make more blankets because fuck sleeping in those furs that'll probably come to life as poltergeist bear skins and try to affix themselves to their skin and parade them around like fucking marionettes or adhere to them and make them go all werewolf or what the fuck ever.

Speaking of which, a glance up at Mace-- ]

Hey man, do me a favor and like... don't fucking touch anything over there? I know it's probably tempting, but... honestly fuck all that. Also-- can you make sure there's no... creepy fucking Latin on the ceiling or like some weird symbol or like ectoplasmic slime or fucking bleeding rock? I don't fucking know. Something's gonna happen. I just wanna be drunk first.

[mannerless]

( it doesn't seem like a spirit-catching bottle - the script on it is plain writing, not talismanic in any shape or form, and how often is there liquid in a spirit-catching bottle? never, he thinks. only a spirit. at least that's what he'd assume, never having seen one before. )

Well, ( he starts, a little slowly, eyes on the bottle. ) I don't think so? I don't feel any angry spirits lingering around to rip your fan or cut your hair. ( kidding, kidding - but only about that last bit, he doesn't feel any resentment here and that's something he's... uniquely attuned to these days. )

[deferences]

[a proper reaction, frankly, given their circumstances with the monster and all. even sizhui himself isn't sure if what he did was the proper thing, letting it come into the room while they're struggling window-wise. but stunning it had been the right move since that gave them the slightest amount of breathing room.

with naminé watching the creature, that leaves him to deal with the glass, which he believes he'd handled as best he could, though it's true: broken glass is quite difficult to avoid altogether. also, gosh, shame on him for not paying better attention to what she's got on her feet or else he would've warned her. in sizhui's defense, however, footwear isn't something he'd pondered when their lives are in danger at the moment. it shouldn't be so surprising, telling her to go first and it's for that exact reason; he has a weapon, he can fight back if it comes his way. he'd rather take that chance than have her get injured.

how unfortunate, there's no way he'll be able to stop (or have a chance to help) her from ultimately getting hurt how she does. toward her remark, his head nods fervently.

he flickers his attention between naminé and the dragon-bat, eyes steadily growing wider as she moves through the newly-created exit and the creature begins regaining its bearings. the pained noise draws his gaze, concern overtaking his features once he realizes.] Ah...! [though he quiets himself after, making certain nothing distracts her from getting out because just as she's freed and sizhui's moving to follow, here it comes scrabbling toward them.

without hesitation, his sword is back out and he turns, arcs his arm in a downswing right atop their pursuer's head— which might've done more damage if it hadn't already been lunging. thank goodness, it's larger than the already-made hole so whenever it knocks him backward, sizhui – albeit rather gracelessly – tumbles out alone, is at least quick enough to catch and drag himself away before the thing can get his legs.] Run, [he warns, already clambering back upright, hand holding the sheath gently urging against her elbow.]

[deferences]

[taught by them, nevertheless, despite technically not being related. (technically is the keyword there.) it's true, he's probably far more expressive than either of the twin jades, but for certain more than lan wangji since he wouldn't be caught dead smiling how sizhui does.

whatever it is that has the basement feeling off, he'd figure it's safe to assume ghosts, except just color him curious: what's all this random stuff doing down here anyway?]

Not that I can see, [is tossed over his shoulder while he's tracing his first and second fingertips across the buzzsaw, which isn't smart when he's looking away— how ironic though, the pad of the index digit gets nicked after he's turned back. unsurprising, the bizarre instrument still being sharp, he should've known better. rubbing his thumb over the cut and wrinkling his nose,] Ah... [then he sighs disappointedly, begins searching for something to clean up with because he can't very well just use his robes. (can he? it's not as if he doesn't already have dust everywhere.)]

[deferences]

[while sizhui hasn't got a clue where they are, he has no problem taking the lead and at least trying to figure it out. the cabin is odd, that's for sure, but nothing bad has happened (yet), so perhaps it's alright to relax somewhat.]

That's a fair point. [he casts a glance around them, wrinkles his nose then draws both arms closer to his body, clenches his fingers tighter on the sword between them. better safe than sorry, yeah?

something about the basement does feel off, even if they can't sense it very well. ‘lan-gongzi,’ makes his head turn toward huaisang and he instantly offers instead:]

Ah, my name is Sizhui, by the way. [because... because it just feels better, okay? okay.] But no, I haven't seen anyone else from my group here at all.

[hydraulics]

Think my granddad did.

[ But it's not much more than a mumble as Ian gently disentangles himself from their grip and takes a seat, that blue glow materializing and momentarily stealing Mace's attention. Especially now that they're back to a context where imminent death is (hopefully) not at the top of the list of Mace's personal Red Notice.

Although, Mace does do a quick look-see to make sure Ian's not sitting on anything dangerous or, more like as not in this place, messy. He'd had a mind to place one of those furs on the floor first, maybe; a desire at the back of his mind to have Ian sit down on something warm and soft, something purely subconscious that he's not even aware of.

But then Ian's glancing up at him, and there's still that drained note in his voice that had been there a moment ago. Mace meets his gaze with steadiness, and also a growing concern now that he recognizes that tiredness for what it is.

It's not physical. Or at least, not physical exhaustion alone. A mental toll was obviously a given, considering what they'd gone through over the last week, but the sound of it in Ian's voice, slowly becoming more plain — ]

Scout's honour, I won't touch a fuckin' thing.

[ Gently, with a slightly guilty glance toward the pile of things neatly tucked away at the far end of the cave. Ian's right; it was tempting to go over and fuck around with it, and Mace's natural curiosity had been piqued by the lumps in the rucksack the moment he'd seen it.

But whatever's in there isn't worth more of Ian's peace of mind. Hell, not even what he'd wanted to say earlier had been worth that, and it'd been a lot more important to Mace than some old, forgotten stash. ]

Though I feel like I should warn you, I wasn't ever a scout. [ Musing, as he lights a match to go over and investigate the walls and ceilings dutifully, the belt just about enough to stretch along that length. The ceiling is clear of all creepy possible Latin, and ectoplasmic blood, which he's gonna take as a win. The walls, though.

God damn it. So much for not disturbing Ian's peace of mind. Mace stands there while Ian finishes making the next item on his list, staring at them until the match in his hand goes out and he burns himself with a hiss. Doesn't light another one right away, though; just comes back and folds himself right next to Ian with a measured exhale.

A pause, and then slowly: ]

Y'know, I've never actually gotten drunk. Not properly, anyway.

[wittingly]

Granddad?

[ He echoes softly, a murmur more to himself than to Mace. He's really gonna have to sit down with Mace sometime and hash out just when exactly he's from, because... that ship, that mission, that's way beyond anything happening on Earth that he knows about now. Beyond anything that could be happening in the next decade or two or three...

Maybe that should be a bigger deal, a bigger concern, but considering all the more pressing shit happening he doesn't feel so bad they haven't had the time.

Four days? Is it four or five? Six? Less than a week, they've known each other less than a week and he's so far beyond any relationship he's had in the last ten years.

He doesn't notice the walls. He doesn't notice the hiss. He's completely wrapped up in creation, and it's taking longer than normal. The bottle of tequila comes out fine. The shoes... they take a while. Longer than they ought to, but he's tired and shoes are complicated. Matches, easy but the cardboard's crooked. Knife...

He's still on knife when Mace makes it back. Still on knife when he looks up, incredulous. ]

What- never? What's properly mean here, buzzed, tipsy?

[ The knife clatters to the ground instead of into his hand. Startles him so bad his entire body jerks.

It's a handle, but only half a blade - the side closest to the hilt, like the top half of it snapped off and left a flat line behind. He can't comprehend it for a second. ]

What...

[ The fuck? ]