mods of the vestige. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vestigemods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vestigechat2020-05-12 11:48 pm
vestigemods) wrote in vestigechat2020-05-12 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.
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.
- 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! )
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:
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.
no subject
He's gonna have to defer to Mace on this. He's glad he made them clothes; shirt, jeans, socks, shoes. He's gonna need to make a flannel for Mace, after this, though torches should create a bit of heat too. They're not long lasting, is the problem. ]
I can do wood. Used to be for, you know, carving, woodworking, but it'll burn. It's simple.
[ Just one component, dense, uncomplicated. Even easier than a basic fucking knife. ]
Start soaking some cloth. It needs to be completely saturated so it'll burn longer. Save some for the handle - something to hold onto. Can't use dry wood as the base or it'll catch on fire. The metal I can make's gonna get hot eventually. Torches are gonna last less than an hour, so we're gonna wanna use them one at a time.
[ Easier to focus on this than third party, third person, eventual attack. ]
If we can get somewhere to camp out, somewhere we can spend three or four hours, I can make hand-crank flashlights.
[ The components are simple. He doesn't need to make the whole thing in one go, that'd be harder. He can just make the pieces and assemble them, they're incredibly basic. The batteries would've been the hardest part, but the kind you wind? Easier. ]
I think... I think when I'm in proximity with... something, one of those, with something not...
[ He can't say not real because they definitely are. ]
With something other, I think it shorts me out. It started goin' out not long before she showed up. Then lit up like a fuckin' beacon when she was close. Lit up in the woods when that thing was trying to trick us into looking, too. So it... maybe it's good, I don't know. Warning system? But it means I can't make you a weapon when shit starts to go down, so.
[ Don't lose that knife. Don't ask for matches. What they've got, they've got. ]
no subject
Shorts me out. It wasn't a hijacking so much as it was Ian's body itself, warning him after his superpowers got zapped, and that means they're both left more vulnerable during an attack but also warned before it, which. You know what? Mace'll take it. Because.
It gives them time, and that's the one thing they've always been fuckin' short on. The one thing that can make the difference between surviving and not when you get jumped, like these goddamn spooks kept doing. He begins to tear the cotton into several long pieces, meant for the torches, setting them to the side as he speaks. ]
Want you to make a weapon for yourself. Maybe a kind of bat, if you're good for wood; easy to use, long-distance so you can hang further back. Me, I got myself covered with this.
[ This, meaning, he's got the knife, and he has absolutely no intention of losing it. Has already shifted into a mindset of rationing in a way that hadn't happened even back at the cabin, when they'd started stockpiling in the master bedroom, because then at least there'd been some subconscious idea that they would escape, almost a certainty. Here, there's none.
The only other thing Mace needs, or that they're most likely gonna end up needing, is rope, and fuck. He's lost count of how many times he's thought this, but again, Mace can't help but think how fucking lucky he is to have him. ]
And ... could use some rope, if you can wrangle it. First birthday gift I got was a fuckin' paracord bracelet, it comes in handy.
[ For example, Mace had teethed on it. He starts soaking up the first stretch of cotton, holding out a hand for the wooden parts, for whenever Ian's finished making them, continuing: ]
I feel like this is probably the safest place we're gonna get to camp out, though. We can stick it out here for a while, until we're ready. Can hit pause on the flashlights until we get to our next pit-stop, if you're — not doing too hot.
[ Tired, obviously he was. Upset, a fucking given. Drained is probably the best word here but by that time, Mace has already gone for the far lamer description. Hand-crank flashlights sound they're gonna take a lot out of Ian, though, and Mace's eyes go over him again to see how he's holding up through body language alone. ]
no subject
[ Not quite. He's tired. Physically tired, in a way that's starting to show. The underneath of his eyes are a little puffy, starting to look bruised. His hair's getting slowly more tangled over time, curls matted by sweat and cave dirt. He had that nightmare last night - Christ, was that only last night? That woke him - both of them - up probably too early. Then came everything after - the solo run through the woods, the terror. The long trek to get to their cave. Terror round two.
Even if his powers don't falter, another four hours awake and active - thinking, not even resting - is going to be hard.
He's running on adrenaline right now. The spiked energy of a near-death experience, which is becoming a too-familiar sensation. That will fade out, and once it does he's gonna crash hard.
But he won't stop voluntarily, not until they're covered. Not until they're-- until everything is safe enough. Safe enough, though... that arbitrary line, it's something they might never come close enough to for Ian to willingly pack it in.
The stakes for the torches come next. Four of them. Good enough that he feels like he can switch to a flannel for Mace - hypothermia right? Then rope - he's got no concept of how much is enough, so he's opting for a hundred feet of it.
The exhaustion starts kicking in about half way through. It manifests in the form of dry eyes that are hard to keep open for too long without blinking. A sort of tug at the back of his head that he has to keep fighting. That almost-stoned feeling.
There's so much left to make.
A bat for himself - he thinks he can do aluminum. Maybe a crowbar might be better - sharp on one end, multi-functional beyond just swinging.
Something to put between them and the ground - hypothermia, right, so a sleeping bag.
An actual bag to carry all this shit in.
Water.
Flashlights.
There's so much fucking more they should have.
God, he just wants them to be safe. ]
Why'd they leave it- do you think?
[ He murmurs, eyes flickering, trying to find something to concentrate on aside from tedious mind-numbing cable to keep himself alert. ]
All of it. Their stuff - those furs. The note.
no subject
He wants to tell him to stop, for a while. They’re arguably safer here than they’d been back in the cave, because the way behind them’s blocked and whatever’s headed their way is extremely likely to be found much further ahead. But they’d stopped before, hadn’t they, and where had that gotten them, exactly? Trapped in an underground tunnel, with one way out if they’re lucky, all possible monstrosities included. And he can see the way Ian’s working. Diligent, focused, uninterrupted.
So Mace stays quiet, focuses on the task at hand, making the torches. Folding the shirt neatly, setting it aside. Moves on to cutting off a short length of the rope Ian’s already started to make, enough to bundle the extra torches together.
He’s started coiling the rope round, foot by foot, when Ian breaks the silence with a question that Mace himself has been mulling over. ]
You remember the hospital mask? Being drawn to it? The stuff in the cave, I think I wanted to … it was the same, for me. [ He casts a dubious side-glance at the lantern, and then shakes his head. ]
Back then we thought it was a warning, or a puzzle. Turned out to be a trigger.
[ Again, that fucking feeling at the back of his mind. What is it? What the fuck is he missing? Mace goes over the murder-note in his head, all the stuff along with it, until he feels like he’s going in crazy fucking circles with nothing to show for it.
And then his mind trips over something, hard.
It’s about the same time his gaze lands on Ian again, the way exhaustion is creeping into his expression, unmistakably headed toward one conclusion. His eyelids lowering every now and then before he blinks hard and fast a few times. The way he’s drooping forward with an invisible weight on his shoulders. Wilting.
His hand goes out before he can think it through, fingers setting at Ian’s wrist. They’re gentle, but Mace’s voice is firm. ]
That's enough rope. The rest, you can make after you sleep.
[ He knows they hadn’t wanted to do watches in the cabin, had opted for sleeping at the same time because fuck it. But right now Ian's about to drop. Mace might be banged up but he's far too keyed up to catch a single wink. ]
I know I made a mistake. But I won’t let anything get to you while you’re out. On my life, man.
no subject
God only knows how that might've gone differently. They'd have kicked the door in with neither of them remotely prepared, no bonding to speak of to make them look out for each other. He'd be dead, probably.
This place is a fucking mouse trap, isn't it? Or some kind of maze? Luring them in with treats and temptations, and they get fucking zapped when they touch them.
Mace's hand on his wrist makes the glow flicker, then ultimately die off. Tired hands go for Mace's forearm, curling around it with the soft feeling of dry skin passing over skin. It's a bleary, pointless thing - not to remove or to pull, just an automatic rub. A reassuring touch. The tactile need to express affection in an absent, gentle up and down.
The desire to settle against his side and lean into him is near-overwhelming. ]
Yeah, but who's looking out for you when I'm out?
[ A discontented murmur. Fighting the inevitable, he knows, but. Fuck, it just feels so wrong to leave Mace awake by himself.
And always, always the permanent fear that he'll wake up to something new and horrifying hovering over his fucking face. ]
no subject
The surprise doesn't show on his face, but his expression relaxes visibly, some of the tension going out of his shoulders and the set of his jaw.
It emboldens him a little, too. Enough so that his automatic attempt at giving Ian his space after they'd ended up here, thanks to Mace's fuckup, gets superceded by something more instinctive. Without saying anything at first, he shifts and kneewalks over to Ian's side, and only then dislodges their hands. ]
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? [ Dredged up out of his college memories, rusty and probably mispronounced, seeing as he'd only ever read it in a book. Definitely out of context here, considering the origin of it.
Careful but steady, no longer expecting to be rebuffed, he tugs Ian into his arms, but it's different this time; arranges him so that he's settled with Mace's chest underneath his cheek, on his stomach. Their legs splayed out, almost touching the other wall. The flannel, he shakes out and then covers Ian with it, wrapping the whole thing neatly by folding his arms over Ian's back and upper body. Like this, Ian's head is nestled just underneath Mace's chin, and they're close enough that he can murmur: ]
I will. Now, go to sleep.
[ The knife is right by his hand, the wall at his back, and the bottle just down and off to the side. Rope and torches lined up, making a meaningless barrier between their bodies and the rest of the tunnel. His sisters used to do that, sometimes. Line up their pillows down the bed like it could stop anything.
Mace passes his hands back and forth over Ian's back as they lay there, slow and soothing in a way that he probably doesn't need to put him under, and his mind wanders back to what had knocked into it earlier. The rucksack.
The lantern had been busted, the furs ripped apart, but the rucksack had been plain fucking missing. And sure as fuck, it had had something in it. And whoever'd put it there had wanted them to open it, had been luring Mace to do it even before he'd read the wall.
A warning. A puzzle. A trigger?
The note on the wall, written like a riddle.
What the fuck had been inside the bag? ]
no subject
It sure as hell isn't enough to steer him away from the warmth of contact, from this thing they've been building that's rapidly become an addiction. A requirement, for the sake of his sanity. One of the only things that makes continuing on even remotely tolerable, let alone worth it.
The floor beneath them is cool, it never warms to body heat, and he understands what Mace means by hypothermia. On the other hand, the selfish and comfortable position he's in drives that thought out of his head for the moment. Mace is warm beneath him, the flannel over him traps that heat, and he melts into it like all the resistance has gone from his muscles.
The touch at his back is soothing, and it starts to drag him under rapidly. He's sleep-delirious and practically gone when he mumbles one last thing: ]
Don't leave me, okay?
[ Doesn't realize he says it, won't remember, definitely won't know if Mace says anything back.
He's fucking out. ]
no subject
To know he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore is a relief he didn’t know he was missing, has him relaxing despite himself. Despite everything. Laying like this, the comforting weight of Ian’s body on top of his own and the heat of him so close, it serves to give Mace the kind of rest that’s the next best thing to sleep itself. He doesn’t let his guard down, doesn’t nod off even for a blink, but it’s like he can feel his exhaustion seep straight from his back and into the stone underneath them.
It’s like the kiss. Back at the cabin. He hadn’t needed or thought about food, after that. Ian’s pretty gone to the world in his arms, but every now and then makes some sort of soft, snuffling noise that has him smiling faint and involuntary in between bouts of deep, mostly horrific thoughts.
Namely, the contents of the rucksack. He goes over the scenario a hundred times in the ensuing stretch of time that follows, and each time, that’s the main thing that stands out. Leads him to the same conclusion.
Not a threat, nor a trigger. A riddle on the wall, and inside the bag — either a clue, or the answer.
Had Mary been in there the entire time? Her corpse? Or the murder weapon? Neither is that great of a thought. Neither inspires confidence. Because suppose it was her who'd written that on the wall — suppose if there’d been some sort of clue in the bag —
His thoughts are cut off by a sudden sound — the very first, during this entire time — that comes up out of the dark.
It’s muffled enough that for a second Mace thinks he's imagining it, that it’s just some echo of own breathing in his ears. If it hadn’t been dead fucking silent around them he would’ve missed it for sure. Wouldn’t have been able to catch it if he’d been talking, either. But he hears it now and with a mouthed curse, understands what it is; the sound of stone grating against stone, the same as when they’d fallen down this damn rabbit hole.
Jesus fucking Christ. There’s another door?
One hand tightens around Ian’s slumbering body while the other slowly peels away and goes for the knife, as he turns his head and stares into the hall, muscles coiled tight and ready.
Nothing. Nothing.
Just that sound of a door being opened, and … God, he doesn’t know if that’s better, or worse. On the one hand, it just about confirms that there’s an egress point. On the other, somebody had to have opened it, which means it also confirms the existence of an active hostile.
Which means he'll have to wake Ian up, let him know. ]
Ian. C'mon, buddy.
[ Softly, trying not to startle him out of sleep, regretting that he has to pull him out of it at all. Don’t leave me, Ian had said, and Mace’s answer had been in the form of his lips brushing against the top of his hair, careless of the sweat and dirt and dried blood there. Something he knows Ian hadn't even registered, because he'd been asleep almost immediately. He hesitates and then repeats the movement, this time shifting so that he can aim for Ian's forehead, gently rubbing one hand against his back in a rocking motion. ]
no subject
It means he wakes up groggy, though. That it takes long seconds for him to blearily crack his eyes open and lift himself up. Takes him a few more to remember where he is, where they are, and as soon as they do he starts shifting - one leg up, shoe scuffing across the floor. ]
Wh- is it a fight- are we running-
[ Mumbled out, raspy-dry voice, groping around for... nothing, because he never actually got around to making himself a crowbar.
Speaking of which - he holds an arm up.
Not glowing. That's... good? Right? ]
You okay?
no subject
We're still in the clear, don't worry.
[ Although the arm-check absolutely doesn't hurt to have as confirmation of that, and Mace's eyes are drawn to it almost immediately. No blue, thank god, and he feels another twinge of regret at having woken Ian up. But. ]
I heard something. Sounded like the door we just came through, although from pretty far off. Figured it'd be best to start getting ready for ...
[ Anything, honestly. Having slid down a few migratory inches, Mace finds himself having to straighten up again some. His legs aren't asleep and neither are his arms, but there's a kink in his back he can't resist cracking out. Watches Ian's face while he does it, taking note of the lack of. Tears. Upset. No nightmares, or at least none as bad as the one they'd both had in the cabin which ... he'll take it as a good sign. ]
How you feeling?
no subject
He scrubs a hand over his face, and the other arm comes out automatically. Blue kicks in, takes a little more dark out of the room.
Crowbar first. ]
I'm okay.
[ He murmurs, and though his voice is raspy, it sounds more true than it had before he knocked out for a while. ]
How are you? Do you need sleep, man?
[ They can trade off, though he doubts Mace is gonna be able to let himself relax enough after hearing something like that.
Alternatively -- ]
I can make coffee, if you need some.
[ He mentioned that the first day they met. Water, coffee, tequila, lube. He's still got that packet of instant, too, but they're sort of strapped for a heating apparatus that isn't just plain wasteful.
He can't remember what else was left, what else they needed. The thing is, they probably shouldn't sit around just... fucking wasting time. They don't have any food. Coffee's only gonna get them so far. If it takes days to make it out, if they lose energy and can't climb or fight because they spent too much time trying to prepare for other shit... ]
no subject
[ The joke's out before he can catch himself, his usual weird humour. And the way Ian says he's okay, Mace believes it this time, or at least a lot more than he had before when Ian had been visibly nodding off. Still that exhaustion visible in the way he holds himself, scrubs his face; still the shadows under his eyes, the pallor to his face, but there's a lucidity there now that hadn't been there earlier, as he materializes a crowbar.
Better than a bat. Easier to wield, pointier at the end ... Mace approves. ]
And nah, I've never been much of a coffee-drinker.
[ He lays the flannel shirt out on his lap as he talks, and places the rope and extra torches into it before buttoning it back up. Ties the sleeves together into a sort of strap for his shoulder.
Knows Ian can make a bag for them, but they can do that at the next pit-stop, too. Probably best they get moving while they can, although there's maybe one thing for Ian to make, and not just for Mace. Dehydration is the next big threat on the list. ]
Always preferred water.
[ A pause, as he gets to his feet, and then holds out a hand for Ian. ]
By the way, there's something I wanted to get your input on. A hypothesis.
no subject
(Not that he's necessarily... calling them a couple yet.)
You can't know a person until you've been through shit like they have together.
He also knows Mace isn't a coffee guy, but it's less about taste right now and more about energy. Alertness, having something to burn while they navigate through.
Water.
Yeah, that's a good call - when's the last time they fucking hydrated? There's a way he can do at least that much while they move - as they stand, he threads an arm through Mace's, elbows like chain links. ]
You lead, don't let me fall on my face.
[ A murmur, before the blue starts up again. His eyes are on it when he asks: ]
What's your hypothesis?
no subject
But this time all that comes out is a firm, ]
I've got you.
[ Not as cheesy as I won't let you fall, but it's up there and yet Mace absolutely doesn't care. Qualifying for common-law relationship, and all.
They start heading down the tunnel slowly, Mace's right arm linked through Ian's, their first torch held aloft in his left hand, the knife in his pocket. Out of his peripheral vision he catches a snatch of blue glow, knows that Ian's making something as they walk. Multi-tasking wizard man.
There's a pause as he thinks over what he's been piecing together, the conclusion his thoughts had been leading him to, and the best way to phrase it. ]
So, I was thinking. Back in the cave, when the Sun went down, that knapsack disappeared. Maybe there was something in it, like a hint. I dunno, maybe the note on the wall wasn't a threat so much as it was a riddle. A puzzle, like you said back in the cabin, except for real this time. You're not allowed to stab me until after we get the fuck outta here, just letting you know.
[ Another one of those moments when Mace's tone stays uniform throughout the entire conversation, two statements joining together seamlessly. They're almost at the bend now, and Mace stops, turning to look over his shoulder. ]
no subject
The objective may be complete, but he doesn't unlink his arm from Mace's. They're still joined at the waist by that robe belt, but he's past the point of feeling like anything less than physical touch is enough. Hands, arms, whatever it is he needs it.
If they ever make it out of here, that's probably gonna fuck him up. Be one of the hardest things to get over. It's gonna take so much fucking therapy.
Focus on the present before you dread the future, Fowler.
He recalls the knapsack, the lumps in it. The furs, the lantern. Do you know how he killed Mary? He can't connect the dots between these things, they don't seem to have... any common thread, any underlying deeper meaning aside from location or perhaps possession by the killer, Mary, or their poet. ]
Why am I stabbing you?
[ For calling out that he was wrong about the doctor mask being a puzzle? His ego's not all that fragile. ]
I don't know. Maybe you're right, maybe there was a hint in it - or maybe this place really fuckin' wants you to lay hands on that shit. How'd the fucking lantern get in the tunnel with us? I didn't kick it, I don't think you did, I'm pretty sure Ms. Mary Mack didn't throw it in, and the first thing you asked me is whether or not you ought to light it.
[ Just saying. It could be nothing. It could be coincidence. ]
Or maybe you're right, and it was filled up with Mary's jaw. Or, third theory, we were always supposed to wind up in here, we were supposed to pick up the damn lantern and the knapsack and carry it through this tunnel like we're recreating the story. How the hell'd you know that was a door in the first place?
[ Sorry man, he slept so both his mind and his mouth are back to rattling off stuff a mile a minute without enough space in between for answers to these theories he's pitching out back to back. ]
no subject
But nope, no gestures or looks like that, and Mace takes that as a greenlight to drain the entire thing like some kind of canteen-sucking vampire. Fuck, he'd forgotten how good water tasted.
He hands it back to Ian after he's done with a drawn out exhale and a mouthed thank you. ]
Man, I hope to god you're right and I'm wrong about this.
[ That third theory's lifts an entire boulder off of Mace's conscience, which had grown more and more disquieted during the long hours he'd chipped away at it with what-ifs, maybes. And Ian's right; he hadn't felt the lantern hook around his ankle, hadn't caught the clanking sound of it dragging in with Ian either, or the sound of Mary throwing it in after them.
But what's weighing on Mace most is Mary herself, in conjunction with everything else.
She hadn’t tried to hurt them, had she? Hadn’t attacked from the front, ignored Mace's half-blind tequila expedition when he'd been wide-open for an attack. Went straight for Ian, who’d been fumbling around in the dark for the opening that Mace had told him to find, as if —
What if he’s fucked them over by bringing them here? That's the reason behind Mace's knifing prophecies, admittedly predicated on a single theory: Mary Mack having written her own suicide note, the missing sack, and her behaviour. ]
Because if I read the situation wrong back there and she was somehow trying to warn us, then I fuckin' deserve a stabbing.
[ Or worse. That neck-wringing he wanted to give himself earlier, perhaps. Mace takes a sharp intake of breath, going back over everything Ian'd said. How the hell'd you know that was a door in the first place — ]
And I heard something click, in the cave. Like a loose stone, or a button, every time we leaned into the wall.
no subject
But that cracking sound above him, those snapping fingers like bones breaking themselves downward into claws. Why would she, if it weren't to dig them into his throat or to reel him up to the ceiling with her? Why fucking crawl at them like that, and not just...
Do literally anything that didn't come across as threatening?
He pauses them - partly so he can swallow down some water, but also partly so he can glance over his shoulder back the way they came. He's still swallowing, still clearing his throat when he tries to speak again. ]
If there's a fucking button, maybe we crack the door open and you can ask Mary directly. Assuming she's not spidering around over our heads like one of those cave spider-cricket things. Which, by the way, are almost more creepy than she is.
[ He's slowed down in his speaking, leveled out a little back to that baseline steady drawl. ]
Did you check to see if it was a one-way only? I sure as fuck didn't. We've just kinda been rolling with the assumption like jackasses.
no subject
He chews his lip for a moment as Ian finishes speaking, and then: ]
You pressed it on the way in.
[ The button. The — whatever Ian'd gotten his hand on that had sent the wall sliding open. Mace follows the gaze Ian throws over his shoulder, into the distance behind them that's now gotten dark, and then shakes his head. ]
But I didn't see anything after it closed. Stared at it for a while, so unless it's hidden, I think that was a fairly logical assumption.
[ They could go check it out while they have the chance, though. But first, he wants to make sure after the bend's clear for them to turn into, and he holds up a finger in the air and then to his mouth, before jabbing a thumb behind him. His hand slides into his pocket as he takes a step backward and then another, turning around to face the bend in the hall.
Gets a good grip around the knife hilt as dips his head forward and then around the bend. Keeps the torch held right in front of him, at his waist, and much as he doesn't want to, prepares himself to unhook his elbow from's Ian if need be.
Need not be, apparently. Nothing but another empty stretch of stone tunnel ahead, which seems to go on for longer this time. Enough so that he can't spot any bends up ahead anytime soon, and Mace is just about to give Ian the all-clear when he hears it, and freezes.
Thin, tinkling sounds. Old. Like a music box, or ...
It fades away before he can concentrate on it enough to understand what he's hearing, what he thinks he's hearing, and when he turns back to Ian, it's with a strange, blank expression. ]
Did you hear that?
no subject
For instance, Mace's ability to twist himself around the bend ready to stab anything that breathes - or doesn't breath. Anything that isn't a fucking rock.
He's still. Quiet. Waiting with his breath literally held, and he- falters, at the question. Falters a little bit more at Mace's expression, which is disconcerting as all hell in the torchlight.
A glance down at his wrist - needlessly, he'd be able to tell - but it isn't glowing yet. ]
No. I didn't... I don't think so.
[ Maybe, or maybe he just heard Mace's clothes scuff against the rock. He plants his feet, reluctant to travel farther down.
His arm tightens where they're joined, partly a deliberate choice and partly a manifestation of this trickling discomfort. ]
What'd it sound like?
no subject
The vacancy in Mace's expression flickers, not with fear but with something close enough to it where Mace is concerned. It's doubt, and it's directed toward himself, because ... Ian's arm hadn't gone blue, and Mace had been the only one to catch snatches of fucking orgel music in an underground cave system. The grip around his elbow tightens, doesn't know if it's out of reassurance or just a reflex.
He debates not telling Ian.
For exactly half a second. He's done with not telling Ian shit like this, fuck. ]
It was music. Like strings, or something. I don't know if I'm fuckin' hearing things, or if something here's getting to me.
[ He thinks back to what he hadn't said outside the cave, what he hadn't said at the front of the tunnel a while ago, and it's a stupid goddamn habit to be getting into. Full disclosure is how he's always kept things, why the fuck is he stopping now? ]
Ian, there's a chance that I become a liability instead of an asset. Not saying it's happening now, or that there's a guarantee of it at all, and maybe I'm just wired as shit. But I gotta at least acknowledge it.
[ It's not everything he'd been thinking of, and not exactly how he'd been thinking it, but it's the most pressing thing and it's out now, the stupid habit finally broken before it could get too bad. He looks away, nodding at Ian's crowbar. ]
We're good to keep going. But stay ready with that thing.
no subject
He doesn't think it's quite the same - he still refuses to do that latter bit, but it's...
He licks his lips. Tucks the canteen into his back pocket so he can instead press a palm to Mace's cheek. Wide spanned, fingers dipping into his hair, the physical equivalent of look at me. ]
I need you to do me a favor and promise me something.
[ Okay? A little pointed look in his eyebrows. ]
As long as you're in control of your own brain, if we see that shit laying around - the lantern, the backpack... don't fucking touch it, okay? Just... I know there's a puzzle here and I know you're getting obsessed with it, and I think it wants you to. But what the fuck's the point? Why get lost trying to solve it? You think it's gonna get us out of here, or is it just gonna lure us deeper in? Fuck the game, okay, I need you to stay focused on out and not Mary.
[ And if he stops being in control of his own brain, Ian will make a stretcher, knock his ass out, and drag him the rest of the way. Whatever it takes. ]
no subject
And Ian's expression is very clear. Very pointed, very much I'm not screwing around here, and that's what stops the protest that rises in Mace automatically: I'm not focused on her, I'm focused on out.
But that wasn't exactly true, was it? Focusing on out meant more than just being determined to get out, even more than doing the damn thing of protecting Ian, of seeing them through to the other side of this place physically. It meant not letting it get into his head. Which, yeah. Ian's right, that's what it's trying to do, and Mace has been trying to fight it but clearly hasn't been winning.
Because while Mace hadn't gone off track just now, that's where self-doubt was gonna lead him eventually all over again, and ... without breaking eye contact, he nods. Except it's not so much a yes nod so much as it is a slow, pensive one. Tilts his face so that he can brush his lips against Ian's palm, the heel of it just beneath the bruise there, before turning away.
His hand uncurls from around the hilt of the knife, and he shifts their elbow grip so that he can slide his fingers down and link them with Ian's.
They can let go in a second, he's not gonna disbalance them for long. It's his way of saying I promise. ]
What's your last name? You never told me.
[ As he finally turns around fully, starting them around the bend. ]
no subject
God, please don't let anything fuck with him. Ian doesn't have the capacity to hurt him, he's barely even confident in his own knock him out plan. You hit someone too hard in the head you could fucking kill them, life isn't like the movies. It's not a swift, clean process. It's a fine line.
He's just gotta hope it doesn't come to that; if he dwells on it he's gonna ramp up his own anxiety needlessly.
Aside from all that, Mace's question has a soft puff escaping from his throat. It's a laugh, just... at the absurdity of it. How fucked up they are over each other, and last name hasn't even come up. ]
Fowler.
[ If Mace is looking for a sign Ian wants him to let go, he won't find it. He hangs on firmly, crowbar in his free hand and eyes flickering through dim firelight toward the ominous path before them. ]
September 1, 1985. I'm a Virgo, from Weaverville, California. Only child. My mom's name was Olivia. I'm agnostic, or I was. I vote democrat. I think cheese is overrated.
[ It just... it's all the basic stuff he thinks someone he cares this much about ought to know.
And something to keep Mace's mind off the potential dark spiral he could be headed in.
Give him something back, man. ]
no subject
Until now, of course. Fowler. He mouths it in the darkness, unseen, and decides he likes it. It's a good name. It fits Ian like a well-made shirt, it ... man, if they'd met somewhere else, a lifetime away, he thinks he might've started calling Ian by that name, same as he himself goes by his last. Although it's strange to think of that right now, as attached as he’s gotten Mr. Fowler’s given name.
Ian doesn't stop there, though. Keeps going with his birthdate next, and at first Mace’s brain doesn’t quite catch up with what he’s hearing; he smiles at Virgo despite himself, and it’s only when Ian’s telling him his mom’s name — Olivia, which has a sweet, musical sound to it — that he finally realizes something’s off.
1985. Mace’s fingers twitch and tighten briefly around Ian's, but otherwise he gives no indication of his surprise, his voice still pitched low, but no longer strained. Amused, if anything. ]
I see we agree on the two most important things in any relationship.
[ Doesn’t think twice about using that word to describe the two of them, or how that might come across, because it comes naturally to him.
Ian can stabilize him with just a hand to his cheek, sustained eye contact, and the reminder that he’s not alone in this. Ian’s trying to distract him from the spiralling tumult of his thoughts, and more importantly, he’s succeeding. Ian’s the only thing he trusts right now, even more than he trusts himself.
What else is he gonna call what they have? He’s seen spouses with less feathers in their cap. ]
Cheese, and politics. [ Also religion, in a way, and Mace’ll get to that and the other stuff. But first, with a curious note in his voice: ]
So you’re a fall baby, huh? Figures. That’s my favourite season. [ It figures because he Likes You, Ian. ] Didn’t see much of it where I was born. Texas. But I got no real affinity for the place; we moved when I was a toddler. 2030.
[ A little bit of an urge to look over his shoulder at this point, but now that Ian's got him focused again, Mace stays facing forward as they walk, alert like a sheepdog. ]
no subject
That's my favorite season earns a soft, skeptical mhmm from the back of his throat. Is it, or are you just flirting with him? Impossible for Ian to tell for sure.
Texas is something he'd comment on, but it's quickly replaced with 2030. ]
I was meaning to ask you about that...
[ A murmur, and a habitual glance behind them just to check - not terribly unlike Mace's impulse, but he's not the leader right now. ]
Because that trip you... apparently died on, it's way more... way more than anything we're capable of now- or, when I'm... from. I was gonna mention it, but I think we got jumped or something, and then I just... if they're capable of animating fucking corpses or summoning ghosts, why the fuck not time travel too.
[ That, or... You know. Bringing back the dead in a much less horrific fashion. Either Mace, to the past or Ian, in the future.
While they're walking, it couldn't hurt for him to let himself be lead again and generate some more things they might need. He slips his hand out of Mace's, drags fingers gently up his wrist until their arms hook together again. Hypothermia's the biggest threat, aside from... actual threats. He can't concentrate on making the components for a flashlight while walking, and even if he could he doesn't have anything to carry them all in right now. Blanket's gonna be time consuming, but he may as well start. It can double as a carrier.
Blue glow, knitting fiber, slow, slow, slow, three inches at a time. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)