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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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?
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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
Three points of contact. That’s what you were supposed to keep, in a cave — a wall, the floor, and somebody else.
As far as Mace is concerned, he trusts neither the walls in this place, nor the floor. Only trusts the man whose hand he’s holding right now, and that’s two points of contact for him right there — hooked elbows, and a single belt looping them together at the hip. Reluctantly has to count the floor under their feet as the third, but every step forward is precipitated by Mace's foot carefully feeling along the stone for any clicks or depressions, like the wall they'd come tumbling through.
Last thing they need is a trap door opening up beneath them.
Don’t let me fall on my face.
I’ve got you. ]
You make a good point, Professor Fowler. [ At last, the real reason he'd wanted to know Ian's last name. Moo ha ha ha. But his tone sobers up quick as he thinks about what Ian's saying, really thinks about it. Animated corpses, spirits pulled seemingly from the grave. Thinks briefly of confirming the fact that he’d died, and thinks the better of it just as quickly.
Instead, slowly: ]
After what I saw up there in space, I wouldn't rule out — anything. We already know time travel's possible.
[ God, Ian was born in the damn nineteen-eighties. 1985, and he said he was thirty-three, which pegged him at … 2018, Jesus. Ten years before Mace had even been born. No wonder he'd been so familiar with vintage films from the nineties; he must've grown up watching them. Also explains why he’d known Summer of ‘69 immediately, Mace’s off-tune singing and all. ]
Probably a good thing neither of us are religious. Would be a hell of a faith crisis.
[ — oh fuck, wait a second. Mace almost does end up glancing over his shoulder at a sudden thought that occurs to him, catching the blue glow coming from Ian. ]
Unless I understood was an agnostic completely wrong, and you went the other way?
no subject
(The two or three second deliberation about whether or not he finds it hot, can't come to a conclusion before he's moving on.)
He hums gently at crisis of faith. He's sort of having one anyway, because Ian's faith is in physics. In logic, in the fundamental laws and theories of the universe bound by science. Most of what he's seeing here has absolutely no rationale, and he's trying to think of it just... in terms that the haven't discovered the explanation yet. Like in the dark ages, trying to understand how the Earth revolved around the sun. ]
Not really, it's just-
[ A puff of breath. ]
There are fucking ghosts or something here, man. Demons. Kind of makes it... harder not to have an opinion, harder to believe in nothing.
[ A beat, a considering shrug. ]
I mean, I guess technically still agnostic, considering it doesn't prove or disprove the existence of God, but... Fuck, you know what I mean?
[ All this stuff, it's really gotta make you wonder.
His blue flickers.
The blanket falters. ]
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I do. [ Sounds almost like he's admitting something, a little wry since he's also always been a big believer in the laws of the universe. Tangible, verifiable, falsifiable. Something you could rely on. ]
Or I think I do.
[ It's a conversation he's had with every one of his crew-mates at least once. But even now, even with everything that's happened so far — out in space, in the cabin with those motherfuckers, out in the woods with that fuckin' demon thing, and down here with their welcome wagon of a goddamn ghost ... ]
I dunno, I just. I always figured, if God existed or didn't, it wasn't any of my business, and I didn't care either way. As long as He did his job, and I did mine. Apatheist. Is that a thing?
[ This time he does look over his shoulder, pausing momentarily to do it so that he doesn't trip them over, and to look into Ian's face properly when he makes his next Professor Fowler reference, since that had absolutely been another not-so-subtle attempt at flirting.
Instead, he sees the blue glow start to flicker and fade at Ian's palm. The half-formed blanket he's holding begin to stutter mid-creation. Adrenaline floods his system, and Mace's eyes snap back up to Ian's for one alarmed, tense moment.
Then he's turning back around as his hand goes for the knife — and where there'd been just another stretch of tunnel up ahead of them, now there's a fucking fork in the road. Still some distance away, at least ten yards, but he knows it hadn't been there before.
Or. He hadn't seen it before.
No music, though. No doors opening, one way or the other. Just a double bend up ahead, and ... ]
Ian. [ Very softly. ] Can you make a mirror? It's okay if you can't.
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straight.
When the glow fades out properly, it's because Ian lets it. They have half a blanket at least, a twin-sized something which- you know what, if even one person fits on it they're already better off than they were. It gets folded in half hot-dog bun style, and he ties it around his waist over to of their belt-connection - a little sloppy, since he refuses to put down the crowbar.
How bad is it, how sad is it, that coming unlinked from Mace for that short of a time felt uncomfortable?
He's made mirrors before - he's gonna have to make one eventually for the flashlights. He can do it, or, he can normally do it. If there's something in front of or behind them...
He re-links. The glow starts up again. ]
You wanna be able to attach it to the torch?
[ Because he thinks he- maybe he understands what it's for. Keeping a constant eye out behind them while they move forward, maybe. If he's gonna hold that torch up before them anyway... ]
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That's smarter than what I was going for.
[ He'd been thinking of using it to look around the two corners without actually putting his head past either of them, but attaching it to the torch would make his life a lot easier. Free up a hand for the knife, just in case he needed it immediately, for one thing. But. ]
I don't want to push your power, though.
[ Only if Ian thinks he can make it attachable. Otherwise, Mace can use just his hand, although ...
He hates that he'll have to unlink again for it. The crook of his elbow flexes unconsciously against Ian's as if in response to that thought, and then he's carefully moving them forward until they're about two feet from the fork. His ears stay pricked for any sound up ahead and a muscle twitches in his jaw as he realizes he can hear.
Something dripping, from the turn at the left. It's not loud. Doesn't sound like it's from the ceiling, and he glances up to make sure that, yes, the damp in the stone is still only dampness and not outright water starting to trickle through. ]
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[ Murmured toward his forearm; the glow begins to bounce around the tunnel, reflecting off mirror toward ceiling and wall. Just more glass, just glass and thin wire like a bread tie. Like a pipe cleaner.
He doesn't go for huge - five inches in diameter, roughly, with a raised hollow divot at the back with wire threaded through it. Something they can twist on or twist off when they have to swap torches. ]
Lower.
[ The torch, he means, so he can stuff the crowbar under his armpit and wrap the wire around the stake a few inches beneath the firelight.
Mirror on a stick. Solving modern problems with modern solutions. ]
Brought to you by my masters' degree in engineering.
[ Wryly, quietly, while Mace sits alert with his ears up like a German shepherd. He only notices when he looks up to gauge for a reaction, then tracks Mace's eye line toward the left tunnel.
He can hear the dripping.
Conflict sets in immediately.
His voice dips to a near-whisper. ]
Running water always leads to an outlet, but it... I don't think we can know for sure that's water dripping and not... I don't know, fucking blood off half of a corpse mouth?
[ So, you know, maybe they go right?
He told Mace not to obsess over the puzzle, over solving it, but all the same his mind can't help but turn it all over. Everything he knows, every bit of it, over and over again seeking pattern recognition. Conclusions to draw.
Do you know how he killed Mary?
Furs
Rucksack
Lantern
Jawless, bulging eyes, ground down fingers
Sliding rock
Tunnel door
Nothing ties to this. ]
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(Those'll come later, if Ian wants.)
He lowers the torch the moment Ian gives him the say so, without even looking. It's fuckin' nuts if he really thinks about it, but even in less than a week, they've become so accustomed to each other that they can move pretty much in sync, attuned to the other guy like he's the complementing cog to their collective machine.
Like Ian's his other — ]
Is it crazy that I'm almost glad you can hear it too, this time?
[ A murmur, after Ian's almost-whispered hypothesis. It absolutely checks out. The entrance tunnel had turned left, with the damp in the walls alongside their right. Mace had kept tracking it every now and then, gaze flickering upward as they walked, and it hadn't changed. Which meant to their left most likely wasn't water, or at least not the moisture soaking the upper ridges of the walls.
Blood, though. That was not only a possibility, it was practically a probability at this point.
But he has to make sure. If anything, that it's blood off of a corpse's mouth and not something alive, or undead, ready to attack them from the back the moment they take the right fork. It's Ian's who's the vanguard here, and Mace isn't risking it. ]
Gonna take a look. Stay ready.
[ With the mirror, first. He leans forward as much as their link will allow, resting his shoulder against the wall at his side for balance, and angles the torch around the corner with his eyes locked on the mirror.
His first thought is, thank fuck Ian had only heard. That he was bringing up the rear.
His second thought is, what if it's a trick. What if there's something else there, but a mirror's making it so that he sees it like that, instead of ...
Wordlessly, he unlinks their elbows, but it's only so he can quickly grip Ian's hand afterward. No fucking way is he letting go of him right now.
Just elongates their physical connection enough so that he can take a bracing breath and then duck his head around the corner. His hand spasms around Ian's. ]
Fuck.
[ A sharp, breathy exhalation, and his shoulders slump as the tension that'd rigged them tight gets drained out as he draws back, closes the distance between himself and Ian in a few backward steps. ]
You were right, it's blood. And it's dead. He's dead. Some fucking guy with ... [ A pause as he turns around to catch Ian's expression in the firelight, confusion entering his own as his voice slows down. ]
With his head smashed in like a pumpkin.
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Mirror's definitely the better call.
Tempted as he is to look, curious as he is, one of them needs to be watching their back. It'll be him, scoping the path behind them and occasionally shooting a furtive glance at the opposite tunnel.
Mace unlinks, Ian panics for a split second with his fingers going for wrist-- and Mace catches it, the quickest whiplash of relief Ian's felt since they made it through that door. God, if he needs a way to know whether or not something's wrong with either of them it might be to see if they willingly detach. Doesn't seem like either of them are equipped to handle letting go anymore.
With his head smashed in like a- ]
It's dripping.
[ He says, which... it may not mean enough right off, and it takes him a second to find the words to elaborate. ]
It's dripping, coagulated blood doesn't drip. It's gotta be... I don't know, less than twenty minutes old. Could be much less than twenty minutes old.
[ Meaning, that guy just died. Meaning, something or someone just killed him. Mace heard another door earlier. He curls his fingers more tightly around the crowbar, licks his lips trying to think. ]
You heard music, but you didn't hear any yelling. Sure as shit doesn't sound like how he killed Mary either. Fuck, I hope this isn't a ploy, but--
[ He flicks his eyes to the other tunnel. ]
Occam's razor.
[ Right? Fuck the head-bashing tunnel and whoever or whatever's doing the fucking bashing. ]
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That is exactly the reason for Mace's confusion. A broken body, the spine twisted so unnaturally that the ribs had burst from the skin. Mangled arms, one still outstretched uselessly to the side, holding what looked like a bullhook. The head nothing but blood and crushed brain smeared across the stone — except it was worse than what he'd done to the zombies from the cabin, because the man had been clearly a man. Reddish hair still clinging to his scalp, or at least the pieces of it visible amid the viscera, wearing a fuckin' old-timey three-piece suit with suspenders.
It's a fresh kill. Meaning the killer can't be far from here, that he might've been the source of the opening door Mace had heard earlier.
Meaning they're in fucking danger, Ian's in danger and Mace needs to be taking him in the opposite direction as soon as possible. His tense gaze flickers from Ian's to the space behind him to make certain it's still clear, an uneasiness starting to settle inside his gut like a stone. ]
I think you've had it right all along. The, the fuckin' puzzle or whatever it is, it might not even be real. Might be a trap, like whatever got that poor sonuvabitch.
[ A ploy, like Ian's saying, and no sooner does he finish adding occam's razor than Mace nods, firm and decisive. ]
We'll take the right. But I don't wanna leave you open to — anything.
[ Definitely not the fork to the left, which means Ian can't be the vanguard anymore. But Mace is equally reluctant to have Ian lead them, because who knows what's over to the right? They're making an educated guess, but it's a guess all the same, and ... ]
I got an idea. C'mon.
[ It's not the most intuitive way to go, but fuck it. Mace had seen this in a spy flick and it makes sense; it's the only way he can provide cover while they turn a corner, lets him lead and shield at the same time.
Ian's hand holding the crowbar ends up between them as Mace maneuvers them so that he's all but pressing Ian up against the opposite wall. Chest-to-chest, Ian with his back safely, solidly against rock. Mace in front, with the torch held out away and to the side.
Their fingers are still overlapped, and he thinks he can feel Ian's pulse through them. Slow but steady, they inch past the bend and Mace keeps them that way even afterward, his eyes focused on the path up ahead to make sure it's empty, devoid of killers and corpses both.
Only when they're about to reach the next bend in the road, thankfully not a fork, does he let up. Steps back and exhales long and slow, shifting them back into their original positions. ]
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Was it Mary who killed him? Smashed his head in, got her revenge after her death and subsequent resurrection? Was that music Mace heard meant to lull him down that same route? Christ, he doesn't know and he can't stop going back and forth.
Maybe this was the wrong decision.
His anxiety spikes a little higher every passing second until Mace... does whatever this is. It's...
Sweet. Safe. Romantic. Unnecessary, and a little absurd, and overwhelmingly good. So much is wrapped up in that gesture, it makes his heart ache a little. Squeeze tight in his chest, unfurl wings like a bird.
Instead of saying any of that, Ian murmurs low and wry. ]
You look kinda hot like that.
[ With the torch up in front of them like a flaming fucking sword, crowding him against the wall.
Just so you know. ]
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He’d wanted to kiss him, before they left.
He hadn’t.
And hell, but Mace never knew regret the way he did when his bare feet touched dead grass, and he looked up to see that Ian was gone.
You look kinda hot like that, and under the flickering glow of the fire, with Ian gazing at him like that — those dark, pretty eyes soft with whatever it is he’s thinking and not saying — Mace can almost forget where they are. His voice deepens, out of humour and something else. ]
Funny. I was thinking the same thing.
[ Fuck the cave. Fuck the doctors, fuck that fuckin’ demon in the woods, and — well, Mary died badly, he'll leave her out of it, but —
He crowds Ian against the wall again, and Ian might have an inch on him in height, but Mace makes up for it with a kiss that’s as rough as it is tender, his shoulders curving in. Protective and possessive, because as much as Mace's decision to round the corner in this manner had been based on strategy and security, this had been the root of it.
He draws back all too soon, pausing only to take in the way Ian looks after that. Memorizing it.
When they turn the next corner, it's still hand-in-hand. Not elbows just yet, because that juvenile whisper-urge is back along with the return of Mace's bravado, and it's telling him palm-to-palm is better, out of what is clearly a thinly-veiled desire to hold Ian's hand. But also ...
Ian put him back on track just now, when Mace had been about to go careening off the rails, got his head screwed back on straight; it’s time Mace picked up the goddamn slack and did the reassuring for a change, even if it is non-verbal. He'll use his big boy words when they're somewhere safer, where they can camp down for the night.
The tunnel ahead of them is empty, looks much the same as the one they'd just left, but with a marked difference as they keep going. One that has Mace slowing down a little when he picks up on it.
They're headed south. ]
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He's still lost in that moment when Mace pulls back; lips gently parted and eyes only cracking open reluctantly. Slowly.
Jesus fucking Christ.
If they fuck in the hallway and Mary stumbles upon them, will she get embarrassed and turn around? Probably not.
Gotta move. Now's not the time.
Mace's fingers threaded through his, holding that hand feels safer than holding his fucking crowbar. It doesn't matter much - it turns into a little bit of a lull, no movement behind or ahead of them. No sliding doors, nor tinkling of music. Just constant cave walls bearing down on them, gently winding them around...
Mace slows. Ian perks up. It's impossible not to be attuned to every shift, not in the quiet, not in the solitude, not when you've reprogrammed yourself to be aware of another person so intensely.
Quietly, mildly: ]
Talk to me, Goose.
[ Wait, he's probably way too young for Top Gun isn't he? Maybe not, right, ROTC and the air force and pilots and all that - does it stay a classic? Not the point. Why the slowdown? ]
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The fuckin’ picture Ian had made just now, up against the wall like something out of a centerfold, still in Mace's mind in full colour.
A sharp, amused exhale when Ian speaks up quietly and he’s glancing over his shoulder questioningly. ]
Goose? Is that a …
[ Pet name — but before he can say it, something nudges him in the back of his mind: an old, old memory of sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the couch his father was on. Watching something on a huge screen, his small neck craned back and his mouth dropped open in permanent wonder. The piercing, thrilling whistle of a fighter jet revving up, a man in dark glasses, a motorcycle gleaming under the sun.
The wide, endless, open sky. ]
Movie reference. Of course it is. [ He finishes wryly, with a dumb little twinge at the realization, followed by feeling absolutely ridiculous for it. What the hell? Had he … wanted it to be a pet name? Jesus, what's Ian doing to him, and why doesn’t he even mind?
Come on, Mace. Head back in the game. He halts them gently, raising the torch up just a little to make sure the way’s still clear, before turning around. ]
Floor’s starting to slope. The moisture in the walls, that’s still mostly to our right, but check this out.
[ He lifts the torch up a ways, indicating how the damp has started to slowly shift in the direction of directly above them. When he meets Ian’s gaze again it’s with a quiet spark of something that might be hope, for the first time all night. ]
You said something about running water and an outlet, right?
[ Looks like they’re headed somewhere, at least. Making some kind of progress, unharmed and unhindered. Although, the spark he's feeling — Mace is fully aware that it has more to do with the guy he's holding onto like they're going to prom instead of headed down a murder-cave's tunnel system. The guy who’s done more to light his way than the goddamn fiery torch in his other hand. ]
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