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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.
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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... ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
(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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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? ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
His eyes track the firelight, the glistening rock, dark patches that have worn a little more smooth than their surroundings over the course of a thousand years or more. It passes over their heads, it's sloping down, and he can see a little bit of optimism in Mace's expression.
His chin tips into a little nod. ]
Yeah - but for what it's worth, it's been like a decade since I studied geology. If I'm remembering right, the general rule is if the water's clear, you follow it downstream. It wears and erodes rock until it makes it out. If it's murky, you go upstream instead to find the inlet.
[ His lips press tight into a little concession, one shoulder shrugging up and high - taking Mace's hand with it momentarily. ]
Doesn't guarantee the outlet'll be big enough, and I don't think they took into account supernaturally haunted possessed asshole demon caves, so.
[ Could go either way. Not to be a downer, just... probably best to lay it all out there on the table honestly.
He's trying not to worry about that part - the getting out part. Not yet. He can make a fucking hammer, he can make a chisel, he can make things that explode if they need to widen something. They'll cross that bridge when they come to it.
It's the pumpkin-smashed head and the jawless assailant that has his anxiety's focus right now. ]
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He listens intently to everything Ian's saying, the careful nod, the caution in his voice, in the way he shrugs. The message is clear and Mace honestly appreciates it, that Ian's giving him the pure facts insofar as he knows them. It's the opposite of a downer; if anything, it gives Mace more of a confidence boost, since now they (i.e. Ian) will know what they're looking at.
Whenever they come to it, of course. ]
Hey, I didn't study geology at all. Far as I'm concerned, you're the expert.
[ They start up again down the slowly winding path, and by now there's been a sizeable amount of time since they'd passed that poor son of a bitch, mashed into the floor like an insect. But although Mace's bravado has made a mostly-triumphant come-back, he hasn't relaxed at all. Still focused, just more at peace thanks to Ian, more motivated and less weighed down.
There was something about seeing death in such a way that brought the point home, and Mace knows it must still be on Ian's mind too. Mary’s corpse in the cave, that had been long-gone, grey and mottled. Didn’t seem real. The doctors back at the cabin, they’d clearly been something worse, mutated to a point where Mace’s brain didn’t even recognize them as human.
But the person who’d been crushed in the other tunnel, the blood still thin and red as it dripped from his shattered skull —
Enough to remind a man of his mortality. More than enough to remind him of the mortality of the ones he ...
Mace's hand tightens briefly, reflexively, on Ian's and he halts them again. There's another fork up ahead, except it's vertical this time. The ceiling's lowered enough so that it's just above their heads, and by the light of the torch, Mace can see where the tunnel breaks off steeply, one part of it descending and the other winding up, almost like a staircase.
Thank god, Ian had already made rope. Mace wets his lips and steps close enough to the edge, so that he can reach out with the mirror, and ... ]
Asshole demon cave with a basement. [ Not quite; more like an enclave, from what he can see. Like a stone clearing. He turns around, lower lip pulled between his teeth as he thinks of asking Ian if he'll let Mace check the area out on his own. Fuck, he doesn't want to put Ian in any more danger.
But he already knows the answer to that. ]
Shall we?
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His confidence in himself is low, and Mace's should be even lower.
But here they are. Working with what knowledge they have.
He nods tentatively, hand gripping more tightly on his crowbar, and they move in tandem down the grade.
It's not... bad, actually. Smaller than the initial cave they'd wound up in originally, curving a little into the space beneath the ascending slope beside it. No rucksack, no lantern, and no do you know how greg killed martin written in blood on any of the walls that Ian can see right off.
Clearly a dead end, though Ian pauses once they've scoped it to shoot a look at Mace. Brow wrinkled up, almost deliberately pointed - you haven't slept. He needs three or four hours to make flashlights. His sixty minute nap isn't going to last him forever, either.
His look reads what do you think, man?
Because apparently he's assuming they're on communicate wordlessly terms already. ]
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It's empty, completely bare of anything that could pose a threat. Small enough that they can see everything right off the bat, and Mace changes his position accordingly, falls into step behind Ian the moment he's assessed the room. No danger up front; he needs to cover their back, and he stays close to the opening as Ian finishes checking the rest of the space out for them.
And Ian's assumption is absolutely correct. Mace doesn't even need to hear them to know what Ian's thoughts are when he looks back at Mace. The pointed little look, the implication barely hidden behind it — this is a dead end, it looks relatively safe, and they can at least attempt to let down their guards somewhat. Get some proper rest.
Also a lot more privacy, here. No wide mouth leading out into the wilderness with demons in it; no long, open hall winding out into interminable darkness. And after a thorough sweep of the unblemished walls, no hidden fucking trap doors either.
Mace raises his eyebrows and gives a conceding nod, as if to say, could be worse. Of course, being Mace, he follows up with an inexplicable wink.
He hadn't missed that uncertain, dubious little huff earlier, and even in the midst of all this, there's a small, curious part of his brain that's working away at how to respond to that. Later, though. First: ]
Could use some of those furs now, huh?
[ As he briefly, reluctantly lets go of Ian's hand to set the flannel-shirt-bag down in one corner. Instead of grabbing that hand again, he steps close and brushes the hair out of Ian's forehead, a poorly-hidden excuse to cup his face right afterward, looking him over intently in a way he hadn't been free to earlier, not even when they'd been chest-to-chest around that corner.
The torch is starting to burn low; by its dim yellow glow, Mace can see that the brief nap had done Ian a little good, but not nearly enough. Gently: ]
I'm good to stay up longer, if you wanna get some sleep first. Or we can focus on blocking that entrance. [ A pause, his thumb brushing Ian's lower lip in a touch that might feel absent, but is entirely deliberate. ]
Might even be able to rest together, I dunno.
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Fuck those furs, by the way. Fuck anything that looks like them right now. He'll pass. ]
You need sleep.
[ He insists, though his voice is quiet - subdued not by fear for once but rather by the touch of palm to his cheek, by the stroke of a thumb across his lower lip. It does something to him, trills like bells across his skin. Radiates out farther than it ought, spreading like a hot shower cascading over his ribs.
Not for the first time, he's got to acknowledge that this man is too fucking good for him - not in terms of status, in literal goodness.
It might be visible in his expression or his body language the moment he says rest together - god he wants that. He really does, for them both to be able to lay down together. Share body heat, fucking sleep for a while. ]
Let's block it.
[ It isn't huge, just six or so feet high and three or four feet wide. There isn't much by way of movable rock to pile up before it, anything huge will weigh a fucking ton and gravity will seek to knock down progress at any opportunity.
He cards a hand through his hair, pushing it back, contemplating the problem. ]
Maybe I could do... a thin metal sheet and two wooden struts? It's not gonna be foolproof exactly, but it'll take a good amount of force to get through. Enough time for us to wake up, anyway, probably. Unless you can think of a better idea?
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An echo of the same longing Mace is feeling, maybe, because it’s clear that he wants that too, to rest together. The exhaustion they’re feeling now is the same bone-deep thing that’d assaulted them that second night, after the shower. Something that sleep alone couldn’t fix, not unless it was with the other guy. Mace does need sleep, but he needs Ian more.
Give it another few days, they might be able to read each other’s minds.
Although there's something Mace knows he’s missing; the emotion flickering too quickly to catch before it disappears and Ian’s running a hand through his hair as he thinks. Doesn’t take him even a minute to come up with something that’s actually their best damn bet. ]
I was gonna suggest Legos. But I like your idea better.
[ Gravely, before swooping in to steal a quick kiss, what he'd been angling for the moment he'd cupped Ian's face with that innuendo about the furs. ] Could probably still use some, though. Scatter ‘em right outside, show these fuckers the meaning of true pain.
[ All jokes aside, he really fucking hopes they can stay undisturbed. Just a few hours to put down this invisible load of perpetual vigilance — just enough so that they can stop feeling like prey and feel like people, again.
There’s a small dent in the wall where Ian had spread out his blanket earlier, and Mace wedges the torch there at an angle, before taking a seat there as Ian gets to work next to him, ready to lend a hand wherever he's needed.
Though, he thinks Ian's got this part pretty much covered. Mace is happy with his role of playing the grunt to Ian's brains. ]
So where’d you teach at, Professor? California or somewhere else?
[ Said as he unbundles the torches and the ropes out of the flannel shirt, laying out across the blankets so he can search it for any splinters. It's gonna be draped over Ian, after all. ]
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It's short, it's simple, chaste, and despite that something unfurls low and wanting in his gut. This world - because it does feel like an entirely different world than his reality - has a tendency to amplify everything in him. Everything he feels gets cranked up ten notches, including the rippling effects of a kiss. The opposite end of the spectrum from his typically overwhelming fear.
It's good. Sweet, hot.
Enough that his eyes are a little dark when he peels them away to focus on creation - he angles his palm out instead of up maybe for the first time since they've been here, concentrated effort pulling minerals through the air - maybe from the stone walls around them, maybe from nowhere. Whatever the case, they begin to knit together before him almost like a shield.
Metal isn't hard, he works in metal. It's just the size of it. It's gonna take time - twenty minutes, maybe. ]
UC Berkeley.
[ His answer has less pride than it might've before all this; hard to feel accomplished in a fucking death cave. It used to matter, used to be significant to him because he came from nothing. His mother would be proud, if she lived long enough to know. ]
Adjunct, not tenured. But. I liked it.
[ A lot. He'll miss it. ]
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At the expression there, and the vague vestiges of pride in his voice. It reminds him of earlier. That small, skeptical huff of breath when Mace had called him an expert. ]
No fuckin’ way. Berkeley?
[ Look, Mace is plenty impressed with that. Same as he had been that first afternoon when Ian introduced him to what he could do, and frankly, he’s not even playing it up. Adjunct or on the tenure-track, that shit’s Ivy League; he has an idea of what it takes to climb up to that level, and it’s not pretty. ]
Well, that explains a lot. I mean, I knew you were smart, but … [ Leaning forward, his elbows braced on his cross-legged knees, watching the blue glow gently pull molecules into existence out of the air, pooling thin and silver in Ian’s hand. Metal, growing from a palmful, to a small plate, to more. ]
You’re more than that. Something special.
[ Technically, he already knew that one too, but. Can’t hurt to let Ian know explicitly, his gaze sliding back to Ian’s face with something soft and warm in its depths.
Also something a little sad, at the way Ian says I liked it. Past tense, like he’s not gonna get to like it again. Like he’s not making it out of here, like he already knows that for a fact, and … it makes Mace want to make promises he doesn’t have the ability to guarantee.
He runs the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, feeling the phantom edge of Ian's teeth from that kiss just now, and then adds, ]
Gonna show me your office one day?
[ With a rueful little smile, because he knows that what he's implying might sound like a pipe-dream. Both of them getting out of here, both of them even making it back somewhere. ]
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Something special earns a little heat, though - it's a little more than he normally hears, a little more intimate in a way, too. His chin dips a bit at the praise, hair drifting down and framing his face in messy, clumped strands.
Metal grows out a little more quickly, though whether or not it's related...
No way to say. ]
Sure.
[ He says mildly, flickering a glance over at Mace. ]
I'll introduce you to my desk.
[ In a tone that sounds innocuous at first glance, but definitely isn't.
When the metal's finished, it doesn't sit flush - of course not, the wall is made of uneven rock, there are two to five inch gaps in places. If they wind up fighting smoke demons they're fucked, but anything else surely won't fit through. Maybe one of Mary's scrawny arms, but she'll have to grope around for one of the struts he starts making. She'll have to put some real effort into dislodging it from how hard he plans on wedging it in. ]
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But even if he’d known the difference, he still wouldn’t have changed his response; Ian ducks his head, but Mace catches the pleased little look that’d gone across his face just now, something faintly smug right before Ian’s hair tumbles down and hides it. Seems completely unintentional, completely casual, and Mace has no doubt it was in direct reaction to being praised.
It’s endearing as hell — both the little dip of his chin, and the wry self-satisfaction before it — and Mace shifts forward with the intention of brushing Ian’s hair out of his face, curious and amused, when —
I'll introduce you to my desk.
Doesn’t matter how innocuous the tone, that statement only comes across in one way. And Mace is entirely on-board. Pun intended. ]
Yeah? [ Drawing out the word until it’s practically two syllables, his rueful smile turning into something closer to a smirk. Keeps his hands to himself, for now. ]
I think I’d like that.
[ The metal sheet finishes, and once it’s put into place, Mace likes the way the grey hue blends into the stone around it — it’s visible to them in the low firelight, but from the outside it’d look like a dead-end in the dark. Unless something already knew there was an opening here, of course. In which case, there’d be the wood to deal with next, that Ian’s already started to make — and Mace observes him with his head slightly cocked to the side, musing: ]
Or, hey, maybe I could help you rediscover it. Find places you didn’t even know existed.
[ He holds his hands out, ready to take the first wooden strut the moment Ian’s done with it and jam it in with all the force he can muster right now, which is still more than enough for the task. No food and no sleep didn’t measure up to the heat that had sparked low and deep inside him at that kiss in the tunnel, stoked further by the chaste peck stolen from Ian's lips a few moments before. ]
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[ He muses in good humor, passing the first strut over and starting on the second.
It's not really, though - Ian's never had sex on or around his desk, or in his office at all. It's not as though he hasn't had his fair share of co-eds make a less than subtle pass at him, that's kind of the nature of being good-looking and teaching. It's a tale as old as time. Someone sent him a link once to rate my professor and his ego had been stroked for days.
But he's never acted on it, because he actually values his job - and because of all of his other relationship hangups.
There are plenty of places in his desk left unventured by mankind.
The second strut is crafted and slotted into place, and Ian's starting to feel the strain. Constant creation, no calories, minimal sleep. He needs rest at least, he can go a while longer without food. He can fill up on water and coffee, but god, sleep.
He peels himself away toward the sad singular blanket that makes up their bed, and he sits down heavily on it. Not laying yet, blue glow kicking in to make one more thing. ]
I'm gonna make one more thing - just. A candle. Shouldn't smoke up the place, should burn for a couple hours. I just...
[ A soft click of his teeth, a little shake of his head. ]
Can't fucking imagine sleeping in the dark right now. I'm gonna think--
[ That she's hanging over his fucking head, and that he just can't see her because the torch burned out and there's nothing to give her away. Candle light will be enough if he cracks his eyes open at some point, just to reassure himself they're alone. Small enough that the gentle glow won't escape their metal door. ]
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He’s testing the struts one last time when Ian speaks up, and Mace turns back to see the soft blue flare up again. Can't fucking imagine sleeping in the dark right now. I'm gonna think—
A candle’s something Mace had been thinking of suggesting, back at the entrance — but at the time they’d just come off of the terrifying fucking visit in the cave itself, and a candle wouldn’t have been enough. The lit bottle-torch had cast a broader glow around them, enough to see anything approach.
Over here, there’s nothing that can approach them without first breaking through the barrier they’ve set up, but. Didn’t mean your brain accepted that, did it? Didn’t mean you’d stop seeing shadows where there weren’t any, or dread their eventual arrival. Not after the shit they’ve seen, gone through, and there’s an understanding look in Mace’s eyes as he wanders back to Ian’s side. ]
Come here.
[ Quiet, after Ian finishes making the candle, taking it from his grasp before placing it near the area that’ll be their headrest, so to speak. It isn’t too difficult to lift and maneuver Ian into his arms after that; Ian is tall and broad, but he’s also feeling the strain of the proverbial burden on their shoulders, and Mace is used to conditions similar to this, sans demonic murder victims with a grudge. He’d meant it before, when he’d said he was good to keep going without sleep a little longer.
They settle into place on their makeshift bed much the same way they’d been resting before, with Ian sprawled on top of him. Except this time Mace isn’t half-sitting up — he’s laying flat on his back, a small sigh escaping him at finally going supine. The kinks in his spine start to straighten out and he doesn’t mind how hard the ground is underneath; it’s softened by the blanket, which also gives him added protection from the chill of the cavern floor.
Not that he’s feeling any chill with Ian’s warmth holding him down so sweetly, his head nestled against Mace’s chest and the weight of him as good as a quilt. He reaches for the flannel and shakes it open, covers Ian’s upper body with it and then tucks in the sides for good measure.
Soft and slow, one arm folded protectively over Ian's torso, the other hand sliding into the back of his hair, fingers rubbing at his scalp: ]
Whenever my sisters had a nightmare, they didn't like going to our folks. They'd come wake me instead, and they were tough customers, even when they were scared. If I said, I won't let anything get you, they'd ask me, but what if it's huge and it bites your head off, so I had to give them, you know. Something concrete. So I used to tell 'em ...
[ A quiet, clicking sound as he swallows. ] Any monster's gonna have to go through me first.
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