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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
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
He's just so goddamn tired, and it just feels so fucking good.
One of his legs threads through Mace's, the other's settled on the ground taking a little bit of his weight. The stone floor beneath their blanket is unforgiving, but even that isn't enough to take away from the sheer relief that's flooding his body.
Mace is warm beneath him, the rise and fall of his chest is soothing, his steady heartbeat breeds a calm and contentment you wouldn't think possible in a place like this.
Ian's starting to memorize the way he smells. Starting to associate this feeling with it.
His arms wind around Mace's sides, forearms bracketing the length of his ribs, fingertips nearly dipping under his shoulders. A long, low exhale escapes his nose when the pads of Mace's fingers slip into his scalp. His eyes flicker closed.
Any monster's gonna have to go through me first.
The scary thing is, Ian believes him. God, it's fucking terrifying. He doesn't say that, doesn't say anything at first but rather turns his cheek a little against Mace's chest until he can press his lips into the fabric of his shirt, just over his heart. ]
You were a really good big brother.
[ Quietly, earnestly. If he hadn't been an only child, if he'd have had a brother like Mace, maybe he wouldn't be so fucked up. Maybe he wouldn't have retreated in on himself so thoroughly when his mom died, resurfaced a year later with all his old connections having moved on with their lives and forgotten about him.
He thinks Mace wouldn't have.
He thinks what's going to ultimately take him away from Ian is something carving into him in front of Ian's eyes. It's fucking hideous to even anticipate - the notion of watching him go. That he'd be dying for Ian if he had to.
It's becoming clearer and clearer that the only thing he's more afraid of than the monsters is the heartbreak that will follow it. ]
no subject
Then fingers are moving up the sides of his ribcage, the tips sliding underneath his shoulders as Ian’s arms frame either side of his chest, and — Mace quietens, his eyes opening to stare at the stone ceiling above them, unseeing. His fingers don't falter in their gentle massage along Ian's scalp, but ...
It’s almost as though Ian’s the one holding him.
And Mace realizes he can’t remember the last time someone held him. Not like this. Different from all the other times they’d been wrapped up in each other — in the woods, his hand had been over Mace’s eyes; in the shower, Ian's arms had been around his waist. In the bed, in the cave, in the tunnel — no, not like this.
Then Ian’s head tilts to the side, and Mace feels what is undeniably a kiss, right above his heart. An ache as sweet as a bruise blooms beneath Ian’s lips, and though it's been beating steady and strong this entire time, Mace’s heart finally skips a beat.
At Ian’s soft, earnest words, the arm that’s curled over him tightens briefly, and Mace swallows again, shaking his head slightly. ]
Always tried to be. But I messed up, before I left. [ Regret enters his voice, making it go hushed. ] Promised ‘em that I was coming back, no matter what. And then I went and froze in a coolant tank.
[ The full irony of his death hits him like a brick to the face — dying in the cold, wet, and dark, just a few thousand miles from the fucking Sun — and Mace’s shoulders shake a little in a sudden, silent moment of laughter. It dies off almost immediately, and he’s left with a faint, crooked smile as he cranes his neck to gaze down at Ian as best as he can.
Don’t leave me, Ian had mumbled earlier, so dazed with sleep that Mace figures he probably doesn’t even remember saying it. ]
I can’t promise that something won’t take me. But what I can promise is this.
[ That he won't go down easy. That he'll hold onto Ian with both hands, until the very last second, and they'll have to rip Mace away if they want him. ]
I’ll fight it tooth and fuckin' nail.
[ I won’t ever leave you, he doesn’t say, but when he brushes his lips to Ian’s forehead in a lingering kiss, Mace thinks maybe Ian can hear it anyway. ]
no subject
As it is, he goes where he's told and he settles gratefully. Happy to soak up the comfort, more than happy with fingertips on his scalp and an arm tightening around his waist. Fatigue settles in like snow, slow at first but accumulating into a blanket. The still flame from an undisturbed candle makes the glow feel safe rather than flickering shadows uncomfortably around the room.
His mind accepts this false sense of security with too much ease. Any excuse to let him finally drift.
A murmur, only partly joking: ]
Yeah, you fucking better.
[ What's the saying - he'll bring you back to life and kill you himself?
But it isn't a joke. God, don't let him be too willing to go out needlessly.
One of Ian's hands shifts, dips back down Mace's ribs to gently work his fingertips under the confines of his shirt. It glides back up again, skin to skin, the wide spread of his hand curling around his back. It isn't about warmth, it's just about touch - one less barrier, comforting in a strange way he can't explain. Cloth could be anything, could be the blanket, could be the flannel, could be anything to trick him. There's no replacing warm, familiar skin.
He goes quiet, still. Listening to Mace breathe, to anything else he might say, but if time goes by for long enough he'll slip under. ]
no subject
Protecting him. Ian doesn’t have to. Not his job. But he’s doing it anyway, and it brings a strange ache to life inside Mace's chest.
That little threat gets an agreeable, amused hum deep in Mace’s throat, but there’s nothing more to be said. His gaze goes half-lidded at the warm, skin-to-skin touch of Ian’s fingers as they slide down his ribs and then back up again, splaying across his bare back.
He wishes he could do right now what he used to do for his sisters — turn on his side so that Ian’s got his back against the wall, have Mace between him and the door. One last barrier between Ian and the empty dark.
But he recognizes that that’s borne of irrationality rather than practicality; and anyway, that would mean letting go of the guarding hold he has on Ian, moving him from the pliable heat of Mace's body to the cold, hard floor. That would mean relinquishing the warm, comforting weight of him that’s gently pulling him under with each passing second. None of that acceptable or desirable.
Mace’s stroking fingers slow and so does his pulse; his muscles slacken, and without his permission, his eyes slide shut to the soft sound of Ian’s breathing, to the lulling thud of his heart.
When he wakes up, it's as though he's been pulled out of a well, and he stares with bleary incomprehension into the darkness above, his heart hammering in his chest like he's just run a marathon. The candle's gone out, the faint scent of smoke in the air; he can taste salt, and he realizes it's his own tears. His arms tighten reflexively where they're still wrapped around Ian, holding him like a lifeline. ]
Ian?
[ Husky, almost unintentional, his throat dry. ]
no subject
Like it'll keep him from being ripped out into space.
He's bleary, though. It's a more muted affair than it had been the first time, if only because he's sleep deprived. Still incredibly groggy, a little confused, lost in the oppressive dark without even the fading light of the ship to watch disappear.
But the space beneath his palm is warm, and gravity's settling him onto something comforting, and the voice beneath his ear reaches more deeply into his mind than the memory of a dream.
Slowly, one by one, his fingers unlock from around Mace. ]
Sorry.
[ Slurred out just as raspy. He's apparently under the impression that it'd gone the other way around - that his startled grip and sudden gasp woke Mace up.
He doesn't want to wake up properly. He's still tired. His nightmare had been a desperate and heartbreaking affair again, and the tight hold around him is chasing it slowly away again.
He settles, willing his heartbeat to slow.
Remembers where they are, though, and pieces of him tighten up again. Fingers, shoulders, back. ]
We okay?
[ Right now, he means. Safe? Is something attacking them, is that why they're awake? ]
no subject
Doesn’t say what’s pressing most in his mind. Doesn’t have to ask to know what the answer to that would be.
Gradually, Ian’s fingers ease up, his body following suit bit by bit, and Mace makes a quiet noise of disagreement and confusion at the groggy apology.
Realizes belatedly that Ian must think he woke them up, and opens his mouth to clarify — but by then Ian’s starting to tense up again, uncertainty intermingling with the bleariness in his voice as he asks if they’re okay, and Mace’s first instinct is to dispel that.
The hand that’d been in Ian’s hair had slid down sometime during their slumber, ended up between Ian’s shoulder-blades, and Mace rubs it up and down in slow, soothing circles over the flannel. ]
Yeah, we’re good. [ Hoarsely, and he clears his throat, tilting his head to shoot a look around them to make sure he’s not actually wrong. It’s useless; the enclave is pitch black. ]
I’ll light a match, just … one sec.
[ Normally, he’s an up-and-at ‘em kinda guy. Even on the days when his energy hits a low, he’s on his feet within minutes of waking ... but right now, all he wants is to stay like this a while longer. Hold Ian a while longer, stemming from some unknown, agitated desire inside him. Almost like if he lets go — if he moves his hands away from Ian even for a second, he won’t be able to close them around him again.
That he’ll be gone. That something will snatch him away.
He doesn’t even want to brush the back of his hand across his face, right now. ]
Wish I could fuckin’ remember.
[ If only so that Ian wouldn't have to be alone in this, the nightmares that they're both clearly having, and it's not too big of a stretch to think that it's something about this godawful place that's doing it to them. ]
no subject
Besides that, the more immediate threat to his psyche is the one he just woke up from.
His cheek presses down into Mace's chest, some vague shake of his head restricted by muscle. ]
No y'don't.
[ He murmurs, absolute certainty in an otherwise absent tone.
He wishes he didn't remember either. Wishes they could both wake up ignorant and then just go right back to sleep again. There's no point in telling him, no point in Ian making things even one iota worse for him than they need to be.
It's okay. He can deal with this one alone. Small mercies.
He turns his head to face the other direction, nose digging into Mace's chest a little bit. It can't possibly be comfortable from an objective viewpoint, but Ian seems content with it. ]
no subject
Another shift, and then his nose is pressing into Mace's chest in a way that can't be comfortable, but he doesn't seem to mind it at all; the whole business just makes Mace wish they were somewhere else, somewhere safer, or at least more like a house. Even the goddamn cabin would be better than this.
His own heartbeat is back to normal now, and the strange, fraught reluctance to let go of Ian for even a moment is starting to fade. Mace's voice goes from hoarse to a calmer, more wry rasp, ]
You're not gonna tell me, are you? [ About the nightmare. It's almost a rhetorical question, that's how certain he is of Ian's answer to it, and with an unwilling exhale, he lets go of Ian's waist to grope in the darkness for the matches he'd left by his head.
Grabs the box, and realizes he'll have to bring his other hand into the equation; with another exhale, does exactly that for a brief moment, and a flame bursts into life right above them, illuminating the immediate area as he sweeps it in a wide arc. A swift, keen glance around the enclave confirms there's nothing there, that their metal-and-wood blockage had done the trick of keeping them isolated in their sleep, and Mace lets his head fall back in relief.
It's short-lived. He's just about to suggest that they get a start on making whatever they need before they head out again, when the words freeze on his lips and his body goes suddenly tense underneath Ian, one arm quickly folding across his back.
Music. The faintest notes trickling into his ear as though from a great distance, and this time it's accompanied by something that has the small hairs on his arm stand up: a thin, grating sound of metal dragging against stone.
The match goes out. ]
Fuck. [ Bitten-out, angry at himself, feeling unease ripple through him. ] I'm hearing it again.
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Shit, shit. The flannel Mace had draped over him gets tugged off in favor of stuffing his arms into it to mute the glow into something incredibly dim, hopefully not enough to escape the small gaps in their makeshift door.
Softly, barely a whisper: ]
I- I don't...
[ Except then he does - at least one thing. That metal dragging against stone sound. One hand furls tightly in Mace's shirt while the other dips out of the flannel just long enough to wrap his fingers around the crowbar.
Maybe it won't notice their alcove. Maybe it won't know they're here.
Then again, if it fucking lives in these tunnels it's bound to notice a change, right? Can it get through the metal and the wooden beams?
Fuck, fuck, what is that?
Do you know how he killed Mary? Ian never wanted to know an answer less than he does right now. He should've made them more tequila for a fucking Molotov. Should've made those flashlights. It's too late for both now, but at least they've got a couple of torches left they can light up and maybe weaponize.
They're gonna have to let go of each other if they have to fight, aren't they? ]
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Fuck. Mace is on his feet in the next second, pulling Ian with him, his mind rapidly compiling all of their options, the unease turning sharp and bitter at the realization of how unprepared they are. The half-full bottle of tequila. The matches. The knife in his hand. Ian's crowbar. The torches.
It'll have to be enough, at least to get Ian out of here if they're cornered. Or maybe they'll get lucky, and whatever the fuck is headed their way might miss their existence altogether.
Right, and maybe the thing in the woods had been an angel.
I don't ...
The way Ian trails off, it's clear that he's hearing something, and Mace is willing to bet it's that hair-raising sound of grating metal. The music's already melted away into nothingness, but the other one —
It grows louder. It starts to reverberate, something deep and echoing, it ... Jesus Christ. ]
Chains.
[ Breathed out, tugging Ian completely behind him as dread starts to coil viciously in the pit of his stomach, because it's fucking getting closer. Not just any chains. They sound monstrous, large enough that they barely clink, like there's a motherfucking cruise ship anchor attached, and they're getting closer with each passing second.
DRAG.
DRAG.
DRAAAAG—
Whatever's pulling them can't be human. Mace knows that instinctively, something cold and primal going down his spine; knows that they won't be able to fight it off. God, Ian has to run. Mace has to make the opening for him to do that. The moment the struts come down, Ian has to fucking run because the sound is so loud it's gotta be right outside the entrance now, and —
— it passes right by them, slowly fading until there's nothing but a strange, ringing silence in its wake.
Except there's nowhere for it to fucking go. The enclave had been a dead end, the tunnel ended here. Mace swallows once, convulsive and dry. Then: ]
We have to get out of here.
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Even if it weren't the case, would they ever really feel prepared enough? Ian thinks maybe they could have a fucking tank and still not feel equipped to handle what this place is throwing at them.
He's definitely not ready to handle the fucking sound of those chains, though. It's a different kind of fear that floods him - not the freezing, staggering sharp horror that came from the thing in the woods or from Mary. It's an incredulous, absurd kind. It almost sends him into another fit of manic laughter, because how--
How do you even--
How do you even fucking handle something like this? How do you even react, how-- do you fight it? It is so far beyond his realm of comprehension, so far beyond anything he feels like he could ever face, it's fucking laughable. If it broke in now, if whatever behemoth it is knocked down their door with swinging thick chains, he thinks he'd just stand there and laugh until it cracked his skull open like a pumpkin, just like that other guy.
They're out of their fucking depth. They are fucking mice. They're nothing.
Victims in denial.
It's Mace that draws him out because it's always Mace, though he looks over with lips parted in surprise like how are you even still functional after hearing that? It almost feels... pointless. Surely whatever that was is heading in the same direction they are. Though, he supposes, there's only one way to find out. ]
Sure.
[ He agrees distantly, dimly, somewhere far outside of himself.
Sure, might as well. Whether they wait in this hole and starve to death or they go see whatever reality-cracking bullshit that was, they're gonna die either way. Might as well rip the band-aid off, right? He starts mechanically tugging the strut away from the wall. ]
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The drive for survival is what pushes every living thing in existence to keep going until the last, the very last possible second. But for Mace. Ensuring the survival of others, that overshoots it. Biology turns it into something more, here; he’s attached to Ian in a way that’s probably irreversible, where his well-being is fucking paramount to Mace. Body, mind, and heart. God, the kind of hormone cocktail Mace has been drinking since the moment sparks first flew between them … in a near-literal sense, he’s drunk on the guy. Addicted to him.
(Another word applies here, far better, and he knows it.)
Then again, Mace's specific brain chemistry was already skewed for something like this — a mission. Clear parameters, clear objective, work around all possible obstacles to fulfill it. It’s what makes him able to power through the numbness right now, jumpstart his body and his mind into functioning.
Even in the darkness, he can sense the perfunctory, detached way Ian’s removing the first strut from the wall; had heard the emptiness in his voice when he acquiesced. Mace fumbles around, lights their second torch, and then puts a careful hand on his shoulder, offering the torch to Ian. ]
Ian. Pack up for us, huh? And some water, if you can.
[ They’re both parched, and Ian needs his strength if they end up having to make a run for it near the end; Mace should handle the heavy-lifting, while he's still good for it. And as he works, so does his mouth, both in a bid to distract Ian and to sort his own thoughts aloud. Quietly, in case there’s something still outside.
But he can’t hear anything right now. ]
There’s another occupational hazard of caving. Bad cave air. Can be toxic, can be inflammable, can be … Jesus, I dunno. Hallucinogenic, maybe, in this fuckin' place. Because how the fuck did it pass right by us?
[ This last bit a mutter as he sets aside both struts and then fixes his fingers around the metal to pry it back. Pauses, looking over his shoulder to get eyes on Ian, making sure he’s still in the back of the alcove. ]
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It takes him a long, confused second before he realizes he's meant to take it. He does, though, with fingers wrapping around it tightly and a little uncertain nod. Pack up, right, okay. Yeah, he can do that instead. He forgot they had... supplies.
Frankly, he was set to wander out aimlessly in the dark toward that entity like he was turning himself over for a crime.
Their remaining two torches are packed onto their blanket. He fills their canteen with water, and has the presence of mind to drink some himself.
Toxic. Hallucinogenic.
Like that day in the cabin, when he heard Mace calling out. Like Mace seeing something else that wasn't him. Some part of that tracks enough to begin slotting into place, for his untethered mind to apply a new rationality to it and slowly reel it back in from outer fucking space. ]
Yeah. Right, yeah.
[ He agrees, tentatively at first and then doubling down just a bit. Sure, could be... could be that. ]
It sounded...
[ Too big to fit through that upwardly ascended passage, didn't it? It sounded... unreal.
The blanket's packed with everything but his crowbar, the flannel he made for Mace that he intends to make him finally actually wear, and the canister of water he intends to make the guy drink. ]
Hang on-
[ Murmured, for some last minute housekeeping. It's only when he tries to attach the mirror that he realizes his hands are fucking shaking, and he has to exhale sharply. Pull back. Shake them out deliberately and then try again. ]
Put this on. Drink.
[ Before you go prying that thing off, because who knows what's on the other side. Let him reattach their belt at the hips, too. Make sure the knot is snug.
After that, he'll be ready. ]
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Fuck. He swallows back words of concern, knowing that they won't help right now. ]
Gotta be that. Or …
[ What Ian had said outside the cave suddenly comes to mind. Medusa. Greek mythology. Same thing Icarus was from, and hell if Mace doesn’t know that myth both inside and out. Icarus, son of Daedalus, the architect of those doomed wings. And Daedalus had built something else, hadn’t he? For the king of Crete. The labyrinth.
With the minotaur in its twisted guts.
But, Christ. He can see how shaken Ian is, hear the dazed sound of his voice — and Mace keeps that hypothesis to himself as he wordlessly takes the shirt. Part of him protests, wanting Ian to bundle up instead, but Mace does as he's told and slips it on, feeling the warmth of it instantly as it covers his bared arms. It’s good flannel.
(Ian made it for him.)
The corners of his mouth go a little soft as he tips Ian’s chin up with his thumb, and looks him in the eyes for a brief, steady moment. Then, softly, ]
This shirt smells like you.
[ He likes it. Likes … having something of Ian on him. Apparently, two back-to-back naps in a demonic death-cave had been enough to build the association for him — the shirt, Ian soft and rumpled in his arms, both of them at peace and together. The soft, tender feeling in his chest. Mace buttons the shirt all the way, up to the goddamn collar. Then he rolls up the sleeves in short, methodical movements, takes a long drink out of the canteen until it’s empty, and then passes it back to Ian.
Who has just finished retying the belt between their hips, testing the knot, and Mace realizes with a razor-thin pang that he’s gonna have to be ready to slice that in half, in the event that Ian has to make a run for it.
In a low voice, as he grabs either side of the metal: ]
Stay out of sight until I give the go-ahead, keep the crowbar up, and — be ready to make a break for it. Okay?
[ Compared to the wooden struts, it doesn’t take much to remove the enormous plate, and once it’s out Mace doesn’t put it down just then. Turns it on its side and slides it out of the opening as quietly as he can, moving behind it stealthy and slow — using it as a shield. The passage outside takes an upward turn almost immediately, and he goes as far as their tether will allow him.
It’s clear, as far as he can see and, more importantly, hear. No chains, no music, and there’s a palpable relief in Mace’s face and body language when he comes back. ]
We’re good to go.
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He's never had that before. This. Never had someone tell him that, though he's seen it in movies and he's read it in books. Then Mace buttons it all the way up, and he silently inhales so deeply his lungs feel stretched out.
Oh no.
But they gotta go, they need to focus.
The crowbar goes up in his right hand, their bundle of supplies tucked under his left arm and ready to drop in a heartbeat if he needs to start swinging. Strangely, he doesn't feel frightened by the sudden exposure - maybe he's at max capacity already, or maybe he's still a little numb from the shock of it all. In any case, there's a steadfastness to him as he follows Mace out.
Even has the audacity to sound a little wry. ]
You just gonna carry that the whole time?
[ He could've made it a little less unwieldy, or if they had the time he could put a wrist strap on it. Hell, if they'd had a couple hours he could make Mace an entire fucking suit of armor (poorly crafted and clanky as hell) to make him a knight properly.
They ascend, their position given away by torchlight even though their footsteps are quiet. It's unlikely, he thinks, that they'll have any kind of element of surprise. ]
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Well, you made it. Can’t hold your hand, figured this was the next best thing.
[ Technically, Ian had also made the knife he’s holding in his other hand, but Mace is going for vaguely charming-roguish here, not stabby-vagabond. Besides, he’s starting to take a liking for the metal plate; the fact that it’s so thin means it’s not nearly as unwieldy as it could’ve been, and he moves it along without too much trouble, glad to have one more cover between Ian and whatever’s ahead.
The mechanic in Mace is taking notes, discreetly assessing the proportions and the soundness of it with a keen, admiring eye. If they get out of here — if they make it out together, if if if — Mace thinks he might ask Ian if he can take it a bit further, function-wise.
They’ve been in such a blind, terrified rush this entire time that they haven’t had the fucking time to properly plan. Two engineers, and one of ‘em with the superability to create matter, they have the kind of possibilities at their fingertips that most people could only —
Mace comes to an abrupt halt just as they’re about to reach another bend in the upward tunnel, because his ears start to pick up a faint, consistent noise coming from up ahead. For a moment, for one goddamned elating moment he thinks it’s an echo of the wind, rustling through what sounds like a hundred trees.
Then, as realization dawns — ]
I think we found your moving water.
[ He’s only slightly less elated, and they keep going further until the sound becomes loud and obvious, almost exponentially. Flowing water meant an inlet, or an outlet, according to his personal, handsome expert on the matter. Meaning an exit, and he leans the metal plate up against the nearest wall before holding a hand up, indicating Ian to pause while he turns the corner alone. ]
Holy shit. Ian?
[ An odd, muted shock in his voice at the sight that greets him. It’s a river. The tunnel exits out into an cavernous, high-roofed chamber that might be the size of a movie theater from what Mace can estimate, the floor melding seamlessly into a stone bridge that spans the wide rush of dark water below. He can’t see where it leads, not without the torch.
Fuck, it’s an underground river, and for a moment doubt hits Mace square in the chest: why the fuck hadn't they heard it before? But no, they’d known it was there almost immediately, hadn’t they? The damp in the walls. How it had shifted along the stone until it’d been directly over their heads during the climb. The acoustics in the cave system must've fucked with it somehow. ]
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Truth be told, this isn't what he'd expected when he mentioned running water having an outlet - he was expecting something slower, smaller, a steady-flowing creek at the most. He studies it, brow furrowing up a little, glancing back behind them and then forward again. ]
So we... wait a second--
[ He does engineering, sure, but his sense of direction's not entirely the most reliable. He doesn't have a precise memory for maps, he just... feels like with the direction they'd entered the cave, the direction the tunnel started curving, maybe they should've seen...
Fuck it. There are a thousand explanations, maybe it keeps on going underground for a few miles before spilling out into some kind of lake, or even the fucking ocean. At this point he's just looking for shit to mistrust.
It's not like they're going for a fucking swim. ]
This is... good.
[ Tentatively. Maybe. Probably. ]
Water flowing this rapidly in this quantity, it'll have worn down a sizable exit point in the rock. Definitely has to be big enough to make it out.
[ There's almost no way this doesn't dump out of this cave system onto the surface skin of the earth somewhere. It has to, by all the understanding Ian has of how water wears down rock over time. ]
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The bridge leads somewhere solid, then, and it ... it looks entirely crossable. No cracks in the rock, seems sturdy enough to walk on, wide enough that they won't need to walk one foot in front of the other. Could even walk side by side. This is good.
God fucking damn it, it has to be.
He glances down the direction the water is going, squinting into the dark, but it's not short enough to see where the exit point is that Ian's talking about. Easily remedied, though; they get over on the bank of the river, and then walk along until they find it.
He looks up at Ian with a glint in his eyes that's a little bit like hope. Can't help it, at the prospect of this fucking nightmare being over, this nightmare that he pulled them into blindly. ]
Why did the engineer cross the bridge?
[ To get to the other side. Thank you, thank you, he'll be here all week. He takes the supply-bundle from Ian and wedges it under his own arm, not wanting him even close to misbalancing when they cross, before holding out a hand for him to take so they can find the punchline together. ]
Come on.
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He doesn't come on yet, though.
Everything leading up to this point has been a nightmare, or some kind of trick. The mask in the basement, the knocking on the walls, the hallucinogen in the cabin, that creature in the woods. Everything that seems good is always fake, and is heels ground in with a kind of Pavlovian fear.
It's irrational. It's based on nothing but the way the light stops on the other side of the bridge, and the fact that the bridge looks so inviting. ]
To get to the other side.
[ Murmured with a dark, ominous certainty. When he levels eyes on Mace it's with an apology in his tone because he knows, he knows he's slowing them down, he just... ]
Can you humor me and just fucking... chuck something across it before we go walking over? I wanna see if fucking tentacles crawl out of the dark or it swallows something up like fucking quicksand, you konw?
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