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)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ That hey startles him before his fingers make contact; he's not really the jumpy type, but something about the compulsion to investigate it made him miss the sound of footsteps he should've picked up on. His hand lowers, but it doesn't completely fall away. ]

Yeah, maybe, but...

[ A glance back at James, eyebrows furrowing up. ]

You think it's a coincidence, the fog outside and this?

[ It's out of place, and it seems like they sort of fit together, doesn't it? ]

Either way, I'm not sure bacteria would survive as long as it's been sitting down here.

[ Judging by the dust. ]

No such thing.

[ As coincidences, that is. The atmosphere of the place and Ian’s hand still stretched toward the mask, both these things are setting his teeth just a little on edge. What’s making it worse he doesn’t exactly know what it is that’s setting off his spidey senses, considering there isn’t any discernible threat, but …

Mace lowers the log, stepping forward until he’s standing right next to the other guy, scanning the rest of the room beyond him to make sure there isn't somebody hiding there behind a box. ]

And it could be anything — poison, or an artificial antigen. Something with a longer shelf-life than your average bacteria. [ Hell, even asbestos would be bad news. ]

Besides, there’s too much dust in here for this place to have been uninhabited. [ A pause, as he turns back around and makes eye contact. ] Whoever’s brought us here, I’d bet on them coming back.

[ They're on the same page, at least, about coincidences not existing. They aren't real, this can't be one, not when everything in this cabin almost seems deliberately placed. A locked door, the fog outside, the way the bed is exactly as dusty as it'd been the first night he woke up.

The way the cabinets and refrigerator are perfectly stocked.

His hand drops properly, but only his chin turns toward James. Still beholden to that mask, unwilling to let the thread go entirely. ]

If they were gonna poison us they wouldn't wait for us to wake up, they'd just do it.

[ He's confident about that - if it was about killing, they could do it while the pair of them were unconscious. Or they could've left Ian wandering in the woods until exposure got him, or they could've jumped him there in the dense thick of it, or they could just not stock the place, bar the exits for real, and let them starve to death.

Poison doesn't match this. ]

This is a puzzle, you know that right? You picked up on it? This isn't just- murder, this is something to solve.

I like puzzles.

[ A drawl as dry as the desert, but with a ring of honesty to it. It’s true. He likes to tinker, to put things together, to know how they work and make sure they do it well. It's not quite the same type of puzzle they’re facing right now, but the idea is one he can work with. ]

Fine, not a murder scene. Then … [ What’s the benefit of the whole thing? Keeping them going around in circles — in a dusty but habitable cabin, one that he now knows there's no escaping from. It could be a different kind of poison, not meant to kill but to infect — but no, the door was locked.

Unless it was meant to see what it’d do to them, or make them do. Not a trap, but an experiment? Somebody was getting something out of this whole thing, and Mace starts to wonder if they’re not currently being watched, another suspicious look at the stairwell behind them. The corners of the walls, the rafters above. ]

Why a hospital mask?

[ An abrupt question, looking back at Ian and taking in his body language, the way he’s still turned toward the thing even if his hand's lowered. Guy’s still interested in picking it up and Mace shakes his head, just a slight left and right, once. ]

[ Interestingly, it's James' curiosity that peels him finally away from the mask. It's compelling, but he's always had a particular affinity for watching people question, learn, study, think. It's part of why he switched over to teaching from field work. Why every partner he's ever had has been someone intellectual, someone complicated, someone that made him second guess himself.

Not a murder scene, at least not outright, that's correct. That doesn't necessarily mean it won't come later. ]

Psychopaths like to tear the wings off of birds before they kill them. Just to watch them struggle.

[ You get what he's saying?

A flickering glance over at it again. ]

I don't know, maybe whoever's doing this is a doctor. That's one of the trademarks for sociopaths and psychopaths - they seek out positions of power. They're particularly interested in positions that let them legally dig into the human body, take it apart, put it back together.

[ He shrugs. That's the best theory he's got. ]

[ All of that checks out, especially the part about digging into the human body. More and more this is feeling like some kind of twisted game of candid camera, and he gives a little shrug in Ian’s direction as if to say, Well, shit. ]

So, we’re on Doctor Moreau’s island. [ Maybe. Possibly. But it’s making more sense by the second. ] As what, a couple of mice in a cage? Like some kinda life sciences bullshit —

[ This last bit louder than the rest, with a pointed glower in the general direction of “upstairs”, just in case the good doc’s listening in. Not that Mace has something in particular against M.D.s, but he’s feeling a little bitter right now. Besides, he'll take applied mechanics any day of the week. ]

Anyway, this mask. Maybe it’s not a trigger, or … the cheese. They wanted us to spot it, and it stands out enough that …

[ He chews his bottom lip, puzzling it out, thinking over what Ian’s just said. A psychopath. Somebody who gets off on watching things struggle, who likes watching a victim watch the knife — or axe or tweezer or goddamn magnifying glass — as the psycho brings on the hurt. ]

We’d know there was something coming. [ To mess with their heads, maybe. Psych them out. ]

[ Doctor Moreau's island earns a soft huff - not nearly enough humor to be a laugh, but rather more a scoff of acknowledgement. Yeah, pretty much. One of his eyebrows arches up as James yells at "the camera", but he can't blame the guy. He might be tempted to do the same if he weren't typically at a steadier, more self-contained wavelength.

They want us to spot it.

As soon as James says it, Ian knows he's right. It's just too deliberately placed, too slightly different, too goddamn blue compared to the drab bronze and brown that surrounds them.

Does it matter, then, whether or not they pick it up? Maybe that's the game. He exhales loudly, an audibly frustrated sigh that precedes his ambling back in James' direction just to settle heavily on the second-from-bottom stair. Elbows to knees, hands clasped, eyes on the puzzle piece. ]

Well, if they wanna watch two guys sit around and talk about the pros and cons of picking up a disposal hospital mask, I guess they're getting what they want.

[ Dryly, but there's still an unshakable measure of calm to the tone. The sigh might've been frustrated but the speech is quiet. He dips down, lifts his hands to meet half way so he can scrub them both over his beard. ]

Idea one was your poison theory. Idea two, it's a message to tell us who's fucking with us. Idea three...

[ A little tilt to his head. ]

I don't know, what are the odds there's specific directions written on the inside for how to navigate through that fucking fog?

[ That dry comment gets a snort out of him, amused even if he’s mostly just feeling all kinds of pissed at their dickhead captor. If he's really got an eye on them, Mace hopes it's like watching paint dry. ]

Point taken. Well, there’s only one way to find out.

[ A hospital mask being a pseudo post-it note isn't too odd of an idea, considering the kind of fog that's out there — one that they've both clearly tried and failed to navigate on their own. It could be a piece of the aforementioned puzzle instead of something more morbid, and those are odds that Mace wants to take into account, despite his misgivings. It gives them something of a fighting chance, and morale’s important, in a situation like this. ]

But before that …

[ He shifts a bit closer to where Ian’s walked over and seated himself, until they’re adjacent and facing each other. Leans against the side of the stairwell with his back mostly to the wall — close enough that they can talk a little quieter if need be but on his feet in case he’s gotta move quick, a periphery visual on the door above them so nothing can sneak down. ]

We need to figure out what we can handle, if things go south.

[ More south than they already are, anyway. Mace takes in Ian’s seated form, the analytical gaze of somebody whose mind works in equations, evaluations, small moving parts working in perfect mechanical sync. It’s a considering look, but he knows that there’s always more than the surface can tell, so … ]

Got any military in you?

Edited 2020-05-17 05:34 (UTC)

[ It's a sensible approach, and for a fleeting second he finds himself a little appreciative he's been paired up with somebody who seems to have their shit more or less together. A decent head on their shoulders, and critical thinking skills.

Of course, it's just as possible that it's a bait-and-switch and he's the one who stranded them here, but while Ian acknowledges the possibility he elects not to dwell on it too intensely. That kind of cynical thinking will drive you crazy.

Humans are social creatures, he knows. They require social bonds, particularly in situations of duress or high stress. For exactly as long as they're both here, he's declaring them best friends.

(But make no mistake, the term has a completely different meaning to Ian than it does to most.) ]

No. No military. I'm an engineer. I teach it more often than not these days, but.

[ It's not like other professions wherein those who can't do teach. That's not something you lose when you shift from consulting jobs to a university classroom for half your income.

He nods his head at James. ]

I guess that means you do?

Not exactly.

[ It was in his parents, and he’d done some training, but — ] Grew up with it, and I guess there’s some stuff that becomes a part of you, whether you want it to or not.

[ Not that he hadn’t wanted it to, and it had come useful in the past — would probably come in use right now, too — but it wasn’t his first choice or his passion. He looks at Ian and while it’s not quite a smile, there’s something at the corners of his mouth that’s a little less severe, anyway. Mace wouldn’t know what to do with best friends even if the term came with a handbook, but two people on the same mission — and moreover, with a very similar outlook — is something he understands full well.

Now that he thinks about it, the guy's demeanour does suit teaching. ]

Believe it or not, I’m also an engineer.

[ Makes sense why they’ve been on the same wavelength — both looking at things on a practical, tangible, falsifiable level. The likelihood of all of this is on the strange side, though, and he figures Ian’s thinking along more or less the same lines. Wondering if it’s all on purpose, and the choice to put them together could be a tactic to make them doubt the other, but that’s a line of thought he knows there’s no point in feeding.

Instead, he elaborates: ]

Space program.

[ Ian's eyebrows go up - ironically higher and more reactive to space program than he's been to creepy basement. ]

Shit.

[ He says, clearly impressed. Space program's no joke, you have to have some serious dedication.

He gestures to himself vaguely. ]

Mechanical and a side-order of civil.

[ The most basic bitches of the engineering field. Guaranteed he always had a job, though, so. Can't complain.

Focus here, they've been kidnapped and locked into a creepy probably haunted cabin by what they're now assuming is a psycho doctor. Not for nothing, but he's picturing Hannibal Lector from the NBC show, but cross-bred with the cancer guy from Saw.

Slapping that combination together does a good job helping him get his priorities straight. ]

I, uh- there's one other thing that I can do that might help. I'm not usually the oversharing type, but. You know.

[ A glance at the cabin around them. Situation being what it is...

The way he got out yesterday was by making a screwdriver. Now, he's thinking the tools they're going to need are a little less friendly. He holds out a hand - not in Mace's direction, but straight out above his knee, palm up. From somewhere just off to the right of the vein, soft blue light starts to peek through muscle and skin. It grows, it glows, it spreads up his wrist and into his palm.

In the air above it, particles bleed into existence. They're summoned forth from seemingly nothing, knitting together in a way that looks like a spiraling galaxy until you notice that it's just steel, just shaped metal gathering up into the soon-recognizable shape of a knife.

When he curls his fingers around the hilt, it all seems to stop. Solid, tangible, real. He turns it over in his hand, offers the hilt out.

So, there's that going for them. ]

[ Whatever Mace had been expecting when Ian said oversharing, that absolutely had not been it.

He’s seen a lot of shit, especially out in space — but materialization on demand, now that’s a whole different kind of new. Startled out of his position against the wall when ice-blue light starts emanating softly from Ian's arm to his outstretched hand, he damn near drops the log on his foot when metal starts manifesting itself out of thin air. A whirl of spinning lights, almost like stars, and then ... ]

Man, what the fuck.

[ Quiet but emphatic, a statement rather than a question because that’s one hell of a party trick. Impressed would be the understatement of the year. ]

Mechanical engineering, my ass.

[ But the shock in his voice is tempered by a rare streak of humour, because he's not doubting the other guy's credentials here, he's pointing out that this skill is way above that particular pay grade. Nothing to be humble about here, they don't teach that in any faculty of applied science, and Mace’s widened eyes go from the hilt being offered to him, to Ian’s face, and back again.

He wants to grab it, more out of sheer curiosity to hold a — well, a magical knife, for lack of a better descriptor — than the drive to have a real weapon on hand.

But. ]

You got enough juice to make another one?

[ Mace has his makeshift baseball bat; he doesn’t want to take a weapon from Ian if that’s the only one the guy's got. Both of them are gonna need to be armed if and when things go tits up. Which seems extremely likely, seeing as they're locked in some mad doctor’s creepy summer cottage for what looks to be a horrible vacation. ]

[ Ian's smile is muted, a little wry, but unmissable all the same. He hasn't shown many people this - the ones that he has aren't in his life anymore (not a surprise to him). The few times he's gotten the chance to display it have always gone a little something like this, and while he hasn't done anything to earn the awe it's still a little gratifying to see nonetheless.

He gives the hilt a little wave, take it. ]

Yeah. It's one component, small, simple. As long as it's not much more complicated than that I can do it pretty consistently. You start mixing material and adding size or complexity and it taps out pretty quick.

[ But two solid-steel single piece knives shouldn't be hard. He could make a half dozen or so before they stopped forming and came out as fragmented, useless little pieces. Try that too many times and he can't make anything at all for a while. ]

So if you want a gun or something, that's not really in my wheelhouse. It's the bullets, mostly, the gunpowder isn't... familiar. Easy. Screwdrivers and steak knives I can do all day.

[ Which is why he doesn't consider it all that much better than actual engineering. He can only make piece parts with magic or whatever you wanna call it. When it comes to using them, assembling them, finding creative applications for them... that matters a hell of a lot more than just having them. ]

[ If he'd had any doubt taking the knife, the little smile he gets is enough encouragement for him to know that Ian's not doing it out of some sense of obligation. Mace's fingers close around the hilt as he nods at Ian appreciatively, and he weighs it in his hand for a second. Brings it up to his face take a closer look at the blade, the craftsmanship of it, and it's as sturdy as knife ever was. Runs a thumb along the edge as he listens intently to Ian describing what he can and can't do, and yep. Sharp as a bitch.

Quickly wiping the droplet of blood that oozes out across his shirt, Mace raises his eyebrows at Ian as he finishes speaking, with a faint grin of his own. ]

With the way this whole place is set up, I don't think our new best friend's gonna be staging a gunfight, so bringing knives sounds like a pretty good idea to me. Gives us an edge we didn't have before.

[ Pun intended. But now that the shock has worn off a little, Mace's natural, intense inquisitiveness is there to take its place. Coupled with the knowledge that their way out of this is gonna be messy, his mind's already rifling through the possibilities that Ian's superpower (that's what it is, okay) affords them.

And there's a lot, depending. ]

Can you do liquids? Water, for example? Or acid? Simple compounds.

[ Imagine if Spider-Man's power was spraying spiders at people. The average villain wouldn't stand a chance. ]

[ That pun earns one lingering look from Ian, not amused or annoyed - some space in between, maybe, mashed with the fact that he can't believe anyone could whip out the lowest form of comedy at a time like this. He acknowledges you, Mace, but you should think about what you did and feel bad.

He can say the first question Mace hits him with isn't something he's ever been asked before. Then again, nobody he's ever shown has been in this particular field - gone after too many writers or artists. ]

I have to know it. Like, really know it, not just... know of it. I can do water. I can do one really specific, really unfortunate brand of Tequila. I can do coffee, a couple different lubricants, WD40, motor oil... Can't really get friendly with acid.

[ It helps if it's something he can touch. He's a tactile person, the more hands-on he can get with something the easier it is for him to reproduce it. ]

I'm also not great with complex organics. No animals, no plants, no bugs.

[ No shooting spiders at their enemies, sorry. ]

[ Hey, the lowest form of comedy suits the place they’re in right now, so Mace will remain unashamed in the face of all this judgement as he mulls over their remaining options, taking into account Ian's parameters. Something he's gotta be familiar with, and it sounds like it has to have been up close and personal, so ... ]

Coffee, huh?

[ That gives him an idea. Maybe just water'll be enough for what he's got in mind, if Ian can cover all three states of matter for it. Hell, even liquid'll be enough, but Mace wants to get a good understanding of Ian's abilities before shit goes down. ]

Can you control the temperature, too? Or is just a room temp kind of situation? Because we're looking at possible ice projectiles, or hot steam in somebody's eye, or ...

[ It ain't spiders to the face, but it's a level of weaponization and unpredictability that's bound to come in handy, and Mace trails off with a vague but meaningful gesture, still holding the knife in his hand. His thoughts flick back over what was just said, and then it's his turn for a lingering glance at Ian. ]

By the way, if we make it out of this, I'm gonna want to know which brand, and why.

[ Coffee. He's tried his heart out to make specific coffee, the creamer/sugar ratio, but evidently that's too many different things at once and he fucks it up every time. It either tastes like shit or it's full of so much of one component it's practically sand sludge. Somehow straight tequila is easier, maybe simpler.

He shakes his head. ]

It's not... I'm not that good. I can get you room temperature water, I can get you hot coffee, but if I don't drink it or touch it scalding I can't make it scalding.

[ Which, granted, normal hot coffee in someone's eyes still sucks, but the time it takes him to make it means it won't be a spur of the moment attack. If they just constantly have coffee sitting around on the off-chance, sure... ]

I get what you're looking for.

[ He does, and he doesn't sound upset about it. Not particularly bothered or judgmental. If they were on opposite ends he'd be asking all the same questions. ]

But I can't think of any way to weaponize it other than... literally. It takes too long to pull something out, and if I'm in a fight, if I can't concentrate, I can't do it.

[ A beat, then wryly: ]

No ice projectiles. Barely ice. The good news is if you give me about three hours I can start making us the best margaritas you've ever had. If we got kidnapped by Dr. Jimmy Buffett maybe that'll be enough to get us out.

[ Some confusion passes over Mace’s face at the reference to Jimmy Buffett, which goes careening over his head, but he files it away to ask about later on. Instead, with a vague smirk, ]

You’re making wine without the water — or margaritas, as it were. That overshoots past good straight into miracle territory, for me.

[ As far as Mace is concerned, yer a wizard Harry. And he can appreciate needing to concentrate in the middle of a firefight (or whatever it is they’re going to be stuck in), so literal weaponization sounds just as good to him. It’s about a world and a half better than what they’d have without Ian, that’s for damn sure.

But now that he's got a feel for the framework they're gonna be working in, that whatever Ian creates has to be something he’s directly familiar with, there's another important question that’s been in the back of his mind this whole time. Another swift glance up at the stairs behind Ian to make sure they’re still in the clear, and his face goes back to serious.

This’ll be a little more personal than a tequila story, but he’s gotta ask. ]

You a father?

[ Not do you have a family, or are you married, because while those bits are still just as important in an emotional sense, none of them imply dependents in the same way that children do. And for the purposes of their situation, Mace needs to know which one of them matters more, in the greater scheme of things.

After a pause, he adds: ]

I'm not.

[ Of all the places this conversation could have gone, he wouldn't have banked on this hard left. From margaritas to suddenly somber. His smile falls quickly, easily. Slides off like water.

It isn't until the I'm not that he understands why the guy's asking.

He's prioritizing. The understanding is a visible transition onto Ian's face, no masking, no holding back. His lips purse for a second, but it isn't because he's considering being dishonest.

It's because the truth sounds worse than he really believes it is. ]

No. I don't have anybody.

[ Nobody. Nothing. No wife, no kids, no parents, no siblings. No close friends, just work friends and guys I know from college, people who pad their weddings and their parties with him because he's easy and he's fun. People who have never seen the inside of his house, people who don't know his mother's name.

Don't prioritize him if you've got anyone at all.

And to gloss over how pathetic it probably sounds, he follows it up wryly. ]

I feel like we should probably be on a first name basis at this point.

[ Because he's pretty sure they haven't swapped those yet before getting to where they are. ]

[ Even in the low light, Mace just about sees the moment he gets it — gets the why of it, the realization and the reaction it evokes passing over his expression; he knows what the answer's gonna be before he even hears it.

The way it's delivered speaks volumes, too, and Mace thinks he can make an educated guess as to the reasoning behind it. It doesn't sound pathetic to his ears so much as it does clear, leaving no room for doubt. Cut and dry.

However, it does make his brow dip and his expression go thoughtful for a moment. The guy said he was a teacher, and that means he has students. Passing on knowledge and guidance, a stone thrown into water, the ripples extending outward over and over. That means something.

But he keeps that bit to himself for now, just gives a slow, understanding nod in response as if everything's settled, as if they've both established themselves on the same level of prioritization. They haven't, but that's for him to know.

Slipping the knife into his pocket, he offers out his now free hand. ]

Mace. I mean, that's my last name, but nobody's called me James since high school.

[ There's some guys that just settle into their last names even more comfortably than their first, and Mace is one of 'em. ]

[ An eyebrow arches up at Mace, but who the hell is he to judge? He doesn't have a middle name, that's arguably just as weird as going by the name of a medieval weapon.

There's no hesitance in the way he reaches out to shake. He doesn't try to big dick by squeezing too hard, there's no reluctance in his grip. There are callouses, but they're in strange places - the heel of his hand, the meat beneath his fingers, but the dead center of his palm is soft and unmarred.

Not hard to guess why, if you can track that blue glow. ]

Ian.

[ He offers back, and when their hands drop away he postulates with barely-detectable humor: ]

What about Jim? Jimmy? Jamey?

[ Some people say you can't tell what a person's like just by their handshake, and those people all probably have the grip, temperature, and texture of a cold fish. Mace tends to use it as a barometer as to the kind of person he's meeting, and that barometer's telling him right now that Ian's a stand-up guy. One who works with his hands, which he'd known already — engineering — but it's good to have the reminder all the same.

His own grip is firm and warm, as blunt as he himself is, as straightforward, and Mace makes a little face at hearing that shortlist. He's never understood Jim and the variations thereof; come to think of it, most nicknames don't add up to their originating names. ]

I see we're moving to nickname basis, now. What's that, second base?

[ He's got a weird sense of humour, sorry Ian. ]

Anyway, I can't shorten Ian to anything, so. If I have to take one of those, you're gonna get a made-up one from me.

[ Another tiny uptick to his lips; second base. There's a little micro-expression, an almost teasing lift of one eyebrow and the tiniest little nod of his head to the right in a way that suggests he's considering it. It doesn't last long, flows right on by without commentary. ]

Can't wait to hear one of those.

[ He muses dryly, but it's a little distracted. Too busy sticking his hand out and slowly crafting a knife to match the one Mace has in his pocket. It takes sixty or ninety seconds, and he curls his fingers around it once it's done. He's not exactly a knife guy, doesn't get in very many fights, but he can hold a screwdriver.

Same thing, right?

Ha.

Might be time to get back to serious business. ]

So... You ever seen the movie Home Alone?

[ Yes, this is in fact serious business. ]

[ Making up nicknames is not Mace's strongest suit, so it’s probably just as well that Ian decides to materialize another knife at that point, distracting him completely. The moment Ian’s hand is out again, his eyes are right back on it, following the blue glow like he’s trying to figure out how it works just from watching it.

He does catch that reference, though, as well as the way the atmosphere shifts — they’re getting down to business. It takes a second but it does strike a bell, and Mace is, in fact, all seriousness as he nods.

He can see where this is going and he likes it. ]

Kid booby traps his house, takes down the bad guys despite the odds.

[ Or rather, tips the odds in his favour. A pause in between looking around the area for some fabric to wrap his hands with — no point getting splinters while swinging — and he glances back over at Ian. ]

Old movie.

[ Same decade as the Island of Doctor Moreau, now that he thinks about it. ]

[ At old movie, Ian's shoulders kind of bounce back and forth. Yeah, okay, depending on your perspective. He's in his mid thirties, he's starting to get used to hearing things he grew up with called old.

Mace doesn't look all that different than him in age, but still. No comment. ]

We could get something like that going. The only problem is it means sealing ourselves in, so if they get tired of trying and... I don't know, burn the place down, we'd need an exit strategy.

[ Some way to leave that also doesn't let anyone in. ]

We also don't know how long we've got - if spotting that thing did anything, or if picking it up's going to trigger it, or if it's completely irrelevant and someone's gonna pop in at random to... hand us a Publisher's Clearing House check?

[ Shrug. Who knows what the plan is. ]

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