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]

[ The flashlight is obviously the more prudent option here, so much so that Mace doesn't even have to really think about it, although he's gonna pretend to anyway. It's the principle of the stubborn-asshole thing. The water's still clear enough that even with the torchlight they can see the immediate area, but they can't angle it right to see inside the tunnel just yet. The opening is too low.

But that leaves them out in the open here, for however many hours it takes for Ian to make the flashlights.

But it'll be them out here, in the open, together. Where Mace can watch Ian's back (or his front) the entire time. Protect him. And in the event of that godawful huge fucking thing they'd heard go by the enclave, he can distract it if need be. He goes over the two ideas for a handful of (unnecessary) seconds and then, ]

All right, compromise. Flashlight, to see into the tunnel. But I go in first to do a security check, and then we go together.

[ Can't help but go firm on the last sentence because he can't budge on this. They go underwater and suppose whatever's in there decides to pull a zombie doctor and hone in on the most vulnerable target? Suppose it is chains, and suppose Mary tries to finish the job she'd started in the cave?

Mace hasn't forgotten how she'd skipped him and gone for Ian. Mace hasn't forgotten why they're here in the first place. His hand twitches in their joined grasp. ]

I'm of use on land, Ian. My reflexes underwater aren't anywhere near as good. We swim into some fuckshit, I won't be able to —

[ Protect both of them. Protect Ian. On his own, he might be able to get back up in time, but together their chances plummet — Ian's chances plummet. It's a zero sum result and there's no sense in it. He picks up the supply bundle and starts leading them away from the water and toward a spot near the base of the wall; when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, tired. ]

This was my fuck up. Gotta be the one to fix it.

[wittingly]

[ He blows out a breath, scrubs a hand over his face, his beard, up over his hair to palm the curls back. He doesn't like it, he really doesn't fucking like it. He'd counter argue and if something comes out here while you're under? Just to plant the thought, just to sway him, but he...

Can't. Can't let that be something that eats at him while he does what he's gotta do. ]

Fuck.

[ He breathes finally, but it's clearly him conceding. His back presses gently against the wall, and he uses a palm to guide himself down onto the ground. He wedges the torch between a few tightly spaced rocks, pressed down into the gap for some hands-free lighting while he starts to get his glow on. ]

You didn't fuck up, man.

[ He corrects seriously, shooting him a pointed look. ]

Who knows, maybe we would've stayed. Taken our chances. Or maybe she'd have sprung her ass down on us when we tried to leave. God forbid we have twenty goddamn minutes without something unnatural trying to kill us, right?

[ It's a rhetorical question. He doesn't wanna give Mace any time to argue it, so he plows on quickly. ]

What'd you think was behind that door, Lefty?

[hydraulics]

[ Mace knows a concession when he hears it, especially when it’s that particular word that rhymes with cluck, and he breathes just a little easier to hear it.

He’s glad — actually, grateful — that he doesn’t have to dig his heels in for this, that Ian’s letting him have this even though he’s clearly unhappy with the idea. Plain and simple, Mace needs this, would start to spiral down something a lot worse than where he’d been headed earlier without it. Because even though Ian's still loyally insisting that Mace isn't to blame for this, complete with an austere, pointed expression that Mace catches when he turns around to set down the supplies …

It is his fuck up, and if Mace doesn’t apply his sense of accountability twice as ruthlessly on himself, he might as well tie a rock to his ankle before he jumps into the river. He wouldn’t deserve anything less.

Certainly wouldn’t deserve to be with (wouldn't deserve to have—) the man sitting next to him, blue glow at his fingertips and a series of slightly sardonic words that Mace knows are rhetorical. He's about to answer them anyway (see: above, stubborn-asshole principle) but Ian must’ve anticipated the socratic thesis headed his way because —

Lefty. Mace snorts despite himself, despite the memories that brings up. ]

Thought it was a way out. That there might be another button in the walls that’d open it up, just like the way we came in. But you’re right. It’s too fuckin’ convenient, too good to be true. By the way, I prefer Southpaw.

[ Hard to maintain a dignified tone when declaring a nickname for yourself that might as well be a dog's name, but somehow Mace manages it, his chin resting on the aforementioned hand as he watches Ian at work.

Besides, Lefty sounds like a dog’s name, too; maybe a puppy with one crooked ear. ]

Here he is, the wonder.

[theprezident]

Oh, man, so much, but let me give you the bullet points: I rebuilt Atlas for real. Got enough money to leave Pandora. Returned to the planet that used to be Atlas HQ. Rebuilt that. Caught the attention of this prick executive of another company called Maliwan. Prick offered to merge our companies together. I declined, so he decided to make it happen by force.

[ A shrug. All according to procedure, really, but that doesn't mean he had to like it, and he's very happy it's over. ]

[wittingly]

[ It'll become apparent if it wasn't already that he isn't crafting a whole, entire flashlight. He's making individual components one by one and settling them on the ground before him as he materializes them into being. The battery is the hardest - normally they're impossible, but that's only because of the charge. He can't make one already juiced, but a hand-crank can power it. It's manageable, just time consuming.

Not being a lefty himself, he's not familiar with the term - not until now. It's clear in his expression, written in the look he shoots Mace. ]

Southpaw?

[ There's a touch of amusement there, though, and he can infer through context what it must mean.

He's not calling Mace Southpaw. Lefty the crooked-eared pup is locked in forever. ]

So if we know it's not a way out, if it's like... the glowing light on an Angler fish, what do you think's actually on the other side?

hi i wrote 75% of this a week ago, i am queen of suck

[sybaritic]

[ at least two of eliot's supremely elegant eyebrows ascend toward his hairline, since despite the trauma filled fog and okay despite how he is technically not high king of fillory anymore he was still very busy, this is still his #1 favorite way to be greeted. flatteringly. by an attractive man who is basically a perfect specimen of 50% of his total type.

(the other ones are older and daddy, but since i play the only one of those here that's. not happening. anyway.)

despite jaskier's already scribbling, he curves a hand around his chin, giving every indication of due gravitas. ]

Have at it. My eminence is undeniably and imminently quotable.

[ meanwhile he gets his own bow on, involving the many miles of limb that were remarked upon in a much earlier version of this tag, a few curls that do whatever they want escaping the magnificent red crown and flopping over his forehead. ]

I'm Eliot. High--former High King of Fillory.

[ if jaskier detects a hint of resignation in that, he is correct. on the other hand if he detects 98.7% relief, that's correct too. now that they have the formalities out of the way he doesn't per se undress his equally charming company with his eyeballs, but there's definitely some like. sexy ocular disheveling? ]

Right. Let me save you some time, and more importantly trauma inflicted on your virgin ears. If you hear anyone calling you from out there, trying to get you to trippety-traipse out there to rescue them--

[ or in his case uhhh slap them, as the case may be, but never mind. he gestures with exactly the right amount of drama (there is no such thing as too much!!) out into the fog: ]

--do not, under any circumstances, go down that primrose path. Nothing good awaits.

[mannerless]

( and wei ying watches in the corner of his eye as huaisang undergoes his own quest to deal with the foreign orange goop. it seems successful enough, since the man sinks down beside him again and regards his hand with lingering disdain.

the question earns a wrinkle of his nose and a vague shake of his head. ) I think I'll live to see another day - ( an arm lifts now, though, to jab a teasing knuckle at huaisang's arm or leg or whatever is nearest. ) ah, but if I don't, consider preparing something heartfelt to say while you cry over my corpse. A-Cheng would probably just say 'good riddance', so as long as it's better than that, you'll do fine.

[porndealer]

[The idea of Wei Wuxian dying has definitely become a stark possibility with everything that's gone on back home. Everyone thinks he's some devil and wicked. Evil. He's shown none of that. He's still just the same Wei Wuxian he's known. Kind but mischievous, willing to go the extra mile for people, to face what others wouldn't dare.

He wished he could could be so brave, that he could stand against everyone he knows and loves to do what he thinks is right. Maybe. Maybe one day. Huaisang understood both sides to some extent, but the politics and sect nonsense that made Wuxian some kind of villain frustrates him. It's not right, it just isn't.]

He probably would, but Jiang-xiong would cry too.

[And he pulls out his fan, flicking it open and sighs.]

I'd wear my best robes for you, I wouldn't do that for just any one.

[Huaisang says it with a teasing tone, even though it feels like this is a pretty serious topic. Haha, it's fine. This is fine. He'll clear his throat, sitting up straight as he fans himself.]

What would I say about Wei Wuxian, hmm... let's see... I guess he was pretty fun to hang out with. Teaching me how to fish and indulging me in bird watching sometimes. He was a pretty funny guy, but his jokes weren't as good as mine of course.

[He'll side eye Wuxian with a little smirk, but then continues.]

There's no better person to have a drink with. Wei-xiong had excellent taste. Not just in drink, but also literature.

["Literature".]

There was no one easier to laugh with than Wei Wuxian. He...

[God why does it feel like he's actually giving a speech about Wuxian like he's dead? He's laying right beside him, but his chest feels tight even now, because back home it felt like he'd never get to see his friend again. His next words come out with a more somber tone, quieter.]

He was my friend.

[hydraulics]

[ Watching Ian work at length is an oddly relaxing visual. There’s something about the steady, methodical way he creates each piece — because Mace can see, now, that it’s a component-by-component situation for the flashlight — and sets it aside that soothes the tiny, overworked mechanic that lives in the back of Mace’s brain.

It wanders to the front to watch from behind his eyes, and when he meets Ian’s gaze at that incredulous-sounding Southpaw, it’s not amusement in his eyes, but something fond and easy. ]

I’m guessing the Angler.

[ Why yes, he’s being a smartass, and it’s clear in the way he raises his eyebrows despite the softness in his gaze; but it dissipates as he gives Ian’s question the serious thought it requires. Gets a little lost in it, gazing at the blue glow like another man would gaze into a fireplace, as Ian starts up on what must be the most complex component of all.

Then, slowly: ]

If we were being lured in there, I get the feeling it wouldn’t have been immediately bad. Maybe this entire fuckin’ place is a trap from top to bottom and that’s the last piece. Could be that the bad cave air’s concentrated there, and we just.

[ A muscle works in his jaw, remembering how he’d been so ready to go through it, so ready to believe it was a way out, and if Ian’s hand hadn’t been steadying them … ]

Keep hallucinating worse. Not like the cabin, I don’t think. This place is different, I keep thinking of it as a labyrinth for some reason, and —

[ Maybe they'd have walked through that door and believed that they did make it out; and the whole time, they'd still be here. And just not know it. To Mace, it's a fate uglier than the cabin's. A slow, drugged death, surrounded by the bones of every other poor sonuvabitch who wandered in here too. But he just shrugs, knowing if he tries to put that into words, how fucked up it'll sound. Also probably dumb. Settles instead for, ]

Maybe that's the belly of it.

[ A wry quirk of his lips, before glancing away from Ian’s hands to do his periodical lookout sweep of the area in front of them on all three sides. So far, all clear. ]

Why, what do you think's behind it, Professor?

[wittingly]

[ He can see it, that labyrinth Mace is referring to. Not that the path itself has been loaded with twists and turns - only two forks in the road, and one of them a clear dead end. He thinks the labyrinth is more mental, a series of choices. Right and wrong. Follow one path, you get dragged in deeper. Ignore the wrong way, you make it closer to the exit.

Maybe.

Or maybe not. It's fucking impossible to know.

What does he think? He hums softly, flickering his eyes over to the far stretch of wall with that door in it. ]

I think it's Disney in August with 80% humidity and you step through to the back of the line at Space Mountain.

[ Decisively, with the utmost confidence. ]

But... the kicker that makes this truly twilight zone is when you finally get to the front of the line they tell you it's broken down.

[ Ian Fowler, master of horror. Stephen King 2.0 ]

[hydraulics]

[ Technically, Ian's entirely right; in its original context, at Daedalus's hands, the labyrinth was a single road that would divide into two paths at intervals, one of which would invariably become a dead end. The way out was to choose the right path every single time, ignore the wrong one.

Ian's also a pretty descriptive speaker and Stephen King wishes, to be honest. That's some grade-A horror. However, it's almost entirely lost on Mace, whose expression grows increasingly bewildered the more Ian speaks.

With that flourish of an ending, he nods for a few seconds into the darkness in front of them, settling into a brief silence. Then, conversationally, ]

All I understood was the part about humidity, just so you know. You think it's a spooky sauna in there?

[ He's never been to Disney, and the last twilight zone reference he'd heard had been when he was maybe four years old. His eyes drift back to Ian's hands; the current piece is still coming along, but by now Mace can pinpoint it for what it actually is, and with a half-admiring, half-exasperated tone he adds, ]

And where the fuck have you been all my life?

[wittingly]

Extremely dead.

[ He points out pleasantly, but it's definitely an afterthought. The bigger thing here -- Jesus-- ]

You don't know fucking Disneyland? Is there still a Disney Channel? Fucking... Cinderella, Snow White, Mulan, Mickey Mouse? Wha dystopian hell-scape are you from? No wonder you known how to navigate this one.

[ He cannot believe humanity allows the treasured vault of Disney to become less than a common household name. Mace, why?

All of the magic is gone from the world. Maybe they should just stay and die in this cave. ]

[hydraulics]

I've never been to fuckin' Disneyland.

[ A correction, amused despite everything else at the look on Ian's face, his outraged tone of voice that's actually genuine.

And while there definitely was some sort of Disney presence on television in the 2050s, Mace was not one of the people watching it, that's for sure. Can't answer that last part, although he is familiar with the characters Ian's listing here, through osmosis if nothing else. Humanity tried its best, but alas, it could only go so far in the face of James Mace's unintentional dedication to asceticism. ]

My sisters wanted to go one day, but the news about the Sun kinda took over everything else by that point.

[ That memory, and Ian's quip about being extremely dead during Mace's lifetime — the two criss-cross disquietingly in his head, remind him of what he'd left Earth to do and the uncertainty of its success, and nudge Mace back into a sudden quiet. ]

[wittingly]

[ The exhale Ian lets out is the one of sheer, unadulterated relief. What a roller coaster, from nearly giving up on humanity to the sweet reaffirmation of it.

No time to linger there in that half-serious half-joking scandalized place, though. He remembers now what Mace's mission was, what he had to go through. The fact that he died doing it.

(Ian sees that ship in his dreams.) ]

Hey... what the hell happened to the sun? I thought we were supposed to have, like, another five billion years before it burned out?

[ He shifts uncomfortably against the rock, moving his weight to his other hip. Ridiculous as it sounds, it's one of those moments he realizes he's edging toward the middle of his thirties. Sleeping on hard stone or another human twice in a row doesn't really lend itself to ergonomics. He's sore in places, stiff in others, and that's not even taking into account his still-healing stomach.

To add to all of it, for the first time since they've started this mess his stomach finally growls. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Ian's question stirs Mace out of the silence he'd fallen into, and he scratches his chin for a few seconds, like he's wondering how to explain. ]

We were, yeah. Then the Sun got ... infected, according to CERN. This ancient fuckin' particle left over from the big bang, something called a Q-ball. Altered the nuclear fusion of the Sun, and everything started getting cold, fast. They sent up a ship, seven years before ours. I was twenty-two, and I really thought ...

[ A shake of his head, remembering the Icarus I. Remembering the crew. ]

Anyway, that's what our mission was. A stellar bomb designed to blast the infection into a natural decay, and restart the Sun. But that's as far as I know; I was just the engineer, man. And the flyboy.

[ Mace looks up from where he's been watching Ian work away at the final component, his lips curving small and secret and a little sad; he hasn't missed the way Ian's been fidgeting now and again, knows what discomforts are causing it. Discomforts being a hell of a fucking understatement, considering what Ian's body had been put through, half of it at Mace's hand.

And then Ian's stomach interrupts them, polite but understandably ornery, and ... ]

Y'know, they say humans taste like chicken.

[wittingly]

[ Ian cannot even pretend to know enough about astrophysics to know what the fuck a q-ball is, nor that it was even possible for the sun to get infected. The thought of Mace at 22, the same age as some of Ian's bright eyed students, watching the fucking sun go out?

It pulls at his chest.

Still can't help that soft huff at humans taste like chicken. The battery begins to finish taking shape, slowly but surely. ]

We got a whole dead guy back there in the tunnels we're wasting. Should've grabbed a rack of ribs on our way through.

[ And so it goes for a while, a softer banter, a muted affair until the last piece is complete and Ian finally assembles the pieces one by one. It's simple, and he offers it over to Mace to give it the first test.

Just turn the thingy a few times. ]

If she lights up, we're ready for our sweet watery graves.

[mannerless]

( though the 'robes' comment is tossed his way as a joke, wei ying's smile is incriminatingly close to fond as he lets his eyes drift up toward the ceiling. he has no doubt in the slightest that huaisang would wear his best robes for wei wuxian's death, in the same way that he planned an entire banquet for wei wuxian's return. they may not speak of particularly deep or sensitive matters, but their friendship has never been any less true because of it.

and for the first decent chunk of the eulogy, wei ying lies there awaiting some sort of punchline. one that almost but doesn't quite get in 'his jokes aren't as good as mine', but it does earn a mild look of faux-offense regardless.

but then comes that somber, 'he was my friend,' and an inexplicable ache swells in wei ying's chest. it's loss and it's confusion and it's guilt, because this isn't the first time he's ached with loss since he settled down in the burial mounds but it's certainly the first time he's done so for nie huaisang. nie huaisang, who didn't deserve to be forgotten. who won't be forgotten again.

he swallows hard, then exhales a breath of laughter without any real humor, his hand reaching up to catch hold of the sleeve up near huaisang's shoulder and tug him down to the floor to lie beside him. ) You see, ( he says, forcing nonchalance into his tone with every ounce of stubbornness he contains. ) I told you yours would be better.

[hydraulics]

Nah, I wouldn't risk you getting food poisoning.

[ It's still a part of their banter, but that's the one sentence that comes across as perhaps a little too serious, mainly because deep down inside Mace isn't kidding.

With any luck, though, they won't have to resort to that — luck, and the flashlight Ian finishes making, which Mace takes in hand with a renewed light in his eyes, one that had started dimming from the moment he'd gotten them trapped here.

Turning the thingy is all he wants, honestly. A bright, pale yellow beam follows soon after, and Mace grins outright, looking up at Ian like he wants to kiss him. He'll save that for later, though. First: ]

O, ye of little faith.

[ As they approach the riverbank, there's another dull clang, and the mystery of that is solved soon after. It's the metal sheet, all right, and the river is buffeting it back and forth against what looks very much like a portcullis, about six feet deep inside the tunnel. Despite having been underwater for God only knew how fucking long, the thing is rustless. Gleaming steel. And on the tunnel wall, below the surface but clearly visible now thanks to the flashlight, even at the angle they're at —

Mace straightens up from where he'd been kneeling and pointing the flashlight, turns to look at Ian with a quiet intensity in his eyes. ]

It's got a lever.

[wittingly]

[ Of course it has a lever. Of course there's an impassible fucking gate. He reaches up to rub his eyes, thumb on one eyelid and index finger on the other. The nature of is brain is that it never fucking stops, and instantly about six worst case scenarios have rolled through it.

They pull the lever, the goddamn floor drops out beneath them. They pull the lever, it triggers something else. They pull the lever and they let something in that this gate was keeping out.

What's the right move? What's the right decision? It's starting to feel just as uncertain a path as the fucking door, except now it's Ian making these calls like he's got any fucking clue. Like he's got any right to assume the path he wants them to take is the correct choice.

If this fucks them both over, he's never gonna forgive himself for it.

After a few tense seconds, he pulls his hand away. His voice sounds a little rusty, a little thick. ]

Well, we're obviously not fucking pulling it while you're in the water.

[ They can rope it or something. Ian made a hundred feet of that in the first twenty minutes they spent here, bundled in with their other supplies for just such an occasion.

Lowly, more to himself: ]

I fucking hate this place.

[hydraulics]

[ Mace thinks he has an idea of what's going through Ian's head right now. Not exact thoughts, of course, but the general tone of them, and how quickly he must be rifling through them. The way Ian's gently massaging his eyes like just the news is enough to have given him a sudden headache.

Honestly, Mace doesn't blame him. The logical, most straightforward answer is that the lever would lift the gate.

Nothing about this place has been logical, let alone straightforward. It's equally likely that the lever triggers something fucked up, or does nothing at all. One last red herring to taunt them before the next bout of suffering begins.

But the weight of this decision, that's not something Mace wants Ian to be bearing at all, forget bearing it alone, and when he pulls his hand away, Mace's eyes are on him with the same intensity. Only this time, tempered by concern at the hoarseness of Ian's voice, at what he mumbles to himself. ]

Obviously.

[ A murmured agreement, as he kneels next to their supply bundle, undoing it with the intention of pulling out the rope. Ian had made more than enough for them to use it for both of the ideas Mace has in mind, and after he removes it, the next thing to go is.

His clothing. He stands back up, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt in quick, clever movements. Barely takes him ten seconds before he's bare-chested, the flannel draped over Ian's shoulders like a cape. Instead of moving to the zipper of his jeans, though, he bends down to pick up the rope. Starts looping a double-length of it around his chest, right at his diaphragm before bringing another length of it over his shoulder, and only then does he speak. ]

You ever do any ropework?

[ Incidentally, Mace hasn't taken his eyes off of Ian the entire time. ]

[wittingly]

[ Each and every time Mace doesn't dismiss him as overly paranoid, he's flooded with gratitude. It would be so easy to be reckless here, so easy to let the burning need to escape fuel impatience and carelessness. He can't, he can let himself - he can't let either of them slip up. Make one single fuck-up that gets them dead. Turned off like a light switch.

It could happen so quickly.

Two minutes of bad judgement and then permanently gone.

(Or a lifetime of bad decision making and chemo treatments and then lighting up a cigarette as soon as she got in the car when he picked her up. Didn't know how to make her stop. Can't let it happen again.)

If there was ever a spectacle perfectly crafted to get his mind on a completely opposite track, it's this. Mace stripping with confidence, and though Ian knows it's completely practical, he...

Well, there's rope around him in a certain kinda way and... ]

Any w-

[ Annnnd let's just course-correct that context because he's definitely not asking about it that way. ]

Yeah, a little. I wasn't, like, a boy scout but I know some basic knots.

[ No Shibari, sorry. ]

[hydraulics]

[ True, Mace hadn't been asking about it in that way — but he'd be lying if he said he didn't have it in mind when asking, or even when his fingers had undone the first button, and the smile he favours Ian with is slow and a little knowing.

Wouldn't be out of place in a bedroom, frankly, although it's definitely out of place here. But that's intentional. A sort of mental sleight of hand, directing Ian away from whatever thought process had begun in his mind just now. Distracting him from the burden he'd placed on his own shoulders, if only for a little bit. ]

Not bad.

[ Low, approving tone as he brings the rope over his other shoulder, before doing another double length around his sternum area, going underneath his arms. He's making a harness, and the final touch goes right at his waist, a constrictor knot to make sure it doesn't go loose.

Attached to it is the rest of the rope — minus the half-length he'd cut, meant to be tied to the lever — the end of which Mace places in Ian's hand. The implication is clear: even though he's going in the water, Ian still gets to have a hand on him throughout; they're still connected, they're still together in some small way, and Mace hopes that that gives Ian at least a little peace of mind.

The other free end (of the lever rope), he slides it loosely through Ian's belt loops, and then tugs him close with it the way he'd done with their tether, back in the woods.

The intent is the same, and he cups Ian's face in his hands, studying it closely. Sees the worry there, and something else flickering behind his eyes, something worse than worry. A fear, maybe. ]

We get outta here, I'll show you something better.

[ It sounds like a promise. It doesn't particularly sound like a promise to teach Ian the ins-and-outs of marlinspike seamanship.

Mace seals it with a kiss, unhurried and deep, not a goodbye kiss. If anything, it says I'm coming back. ]

[lookslikeacinnamonroll]

[ Wen Ning is about to nod when the question comes. ]

A detour? [ Where could they possibly make a detour to? This house isn't all that big. ]

Um, that's fine... I suppose.

[lookslikeacinnamonroll]

[ Wen Ning nods, following. He even has the presence of mind to pick up the pieces of the busted door and pile them neatly beside the steps to the house. Probably not the best thing, to have a gaping hole in the front of the house, but... They could figure that part out. Hang a sheet or something. ]

I don't suppose you have any idea where we are?

[lookslikeacinnamonroll]

[ He doesn't need any further encouragement. As soon as the thing lunges for Wei Wuxian, Wen Ning rushes forward, swinging Suibian at it from behind. Metal on metal isn't going to get him very far, but maybe he can slice through one of the joints of its tail. The cutting blade gets stuck in the wall briefly, allowing Wen Ning to get a good slice in, damaging the tail but not slicing it off entirely.

The only problem now is that the creature is turning to focus its next attack on Wen Ning. ]