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vestigechat2020-05-12 11:48 pm
vestigemods) wrote in vestigechat2020-05-12 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.
VESTIGE TEST DRIVE MEME
WHAT IS THIS?
- This is a test drive meme for Vestige is a musebox-game successor to The Box (yeah, the one that died like five years ago). It's invite-only with no activity check and almost no application to speak of.
This is a horror jamjar based on Cabin In The Woods, in which characters are pulled into this containment zone run by the Technicians working from a lab underground with the goal of creating Good Quality Suffering™️ to appease the elder gods who hover on the verge of creating a worldwide apocalypse. But of course, suffering is pointless if everyone is too numb to properly suffer, so there are plenty of morale boosts provided in between bouts of fear and misery.
This TDM is ongoing and will fill the gap between now and when I get around to setting up the comms. There is no official start date and currently literally nothing but this TDM available for perusal, but I'll update this section of the blurb as that changes. Threads in this TDM are welcome to be game canon once this shit opens because fuck it. If you have questions, feel free to ask in the top-level below or just wing it tbh, we'll be doing a lot of winging it up in this shit.
Characters arrive with all powers intact and carrying all items that they had with them on their canonpoint.
Also, feel free to hit up the Intro + Friending meme to network with your future peers in this suffering endeavor. (EDIT 5/20: We also now have a DISCORD SERVER! So hop on into that if you'd like.)
PROMPT 1 ► just your ordinary cabin in the woods
⬛ARRIVAL + GENERAL PROMPT
- Whenever you're from or wherever you were, you awaken now with the mildest of headaches in a medium-sized wooden cabin. Maybe you wake in a bed, barely padded and covered in dust (so are you now, congrats!). Maybe you wake on the floor, arguably softer than the bed in spots thanks to some handy dandy water damage. Either way, you certainly aren't where you were before, and you have no recollection whatsoever of arriving.
The cabin is modest but multi-roomed and fully kitted with a kitchen and cozy living room. Nice, dry wood sits stacked by the fireplace, and if you check the various switches, the lights turn on with only the faintest protesting static. The cabinets are surprisingly well-stocked, as is the fridge, with perishables and non-perishables alike. As if someone has been here recently... but how, when everything else seems so thoroughly abandoned?
Should you choose to ignore the cabin's supposed hospitality and try to leave, you'll find that both the front and back doors are securely locked, in a way that no amount of fumbling with the locking mechanism seems to remedy.
That's when a sloooooow creak draws your attention to a door nearby, one you may not have noticed before... but it's open now. Was it before? Better yet, should you check out what lies beyond?
PROMPT 2 ► who's up for some fighty-fight, kids??
⬛MONSTER HORROR.
- The basement is musty and dim, though a pull-string at the curve of the creaky stairs seems to turn on a sparse row of lightbulbs dangling precariously from the ceiling along the center of the room. This little bit of light illuminates a room absolutely packed with items, furniture and boxes and various knick-knacks of unknown and questionable origin. Spiderwebs litter nooks and crannies, many with actual spiders still nesting inside, and a layer of dust coats most every surface in sight.
- A child's drawing, of what appears to be... shit, what even is that? Is it a bat? Is it some kind of... reptile? We just don't know. (result! warnings for gore/violence.)
- A light-blue paper face mask, the sort used in hospitals for patients who have a cold. Maybe you guys should've brought masks too. It sure would keep all this dust the hell out of your nose... ( result! warning for body horror! )
- A buzzsaw blade, dusty but intact. ( result! warnings for gore/violence. )
- A music box, covered in faded yellow flowers. I wonder what music it plays? ( result! warnings for gore/violence and Alarming Children. )
- A funeral urn. But... It seems that someone glued it shut around the edges? I guess that's one way to make sure nobody spills grandma. ( result! )
It doesn't seem like there's anyone down here, nor is there any sign of an exit at the basement's far end. There is, however, something that catches your eye. An item, one that your feet seem to carry you toward without your mind quite telling them to do so. Perhaps it's familiar somehow. Perhaps it's so foreign to you that you can't help but get a closer look. One way or another, you somehow end up reaching out to touch it. But what harm can that do, a single touch?
Oh, sweet summer child. Haven't you seen this movie?
- Whatever else your characters might touch, to activate this prompt they'll also touch one of the following five items:
These enemies can and will follow characters outside, should they try to flee. It might actually be a good idea to face these foes outdoors where it's less confined, provided they don't stray too far from the cabin (see prompt #4).
The blurbs are just guidelines, feel free to scale up or down how strong/weak the monsters are, how many there are, etc. in order to better fit your characters' level of capability. The Technicians know your characters' strengths and weaknesses, so they'd know how to send enough to make this challenging but not insurmountable.
PROMPT 3 ► congratulations, you fucked up
⬛SURVIVAL HORROR.
- Perhaps you didn't touch anything in the basement. Hell, maybe you didn't even set foot through that ominous basement door. But hey, we get it. Not everyone likes to party. You're not getting off easy, but at least you can say that you didn't fall into the trap.
If, by the time an hour has passed since the creaking open of the basement door, no object has been touched and no baddie has been summoned, you'll find your nose assaulted by the prevailing smell of smoke. One glance out any window tells you why: The cabin has been surrounded in it, an oblong ring of fire six feet thick burning tight along the exterior cabin walls. You're safe inside for the moment, but how long will that last?
Now, you have no choice but to try to escape the blaze. It overtakes the cabin quickly, creeping up over the rooftop, shattering windows and burning a path inside. No matter which way you try to run, you're almost certain to get burned... But that's certainly better than burning to death in here.
PROMPT 4 ► "escape"? never heard of her.
⬛PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR.
- For some, staying in this creepy cabin with its stupid locked door was never an option. Maybe you break one of the windows and crawl through that, or maybe you're angry and OP and punched a man-sized hole in the wall itself. Hey, we're not judging. You got yourself outside, and that's what counts.
The outside of the cabin is... actually pretty nice. Picturesque woods, birds singing, perhaps a couple of deer bounding through the trees not far off. This place might actually be relaxing, if it weren't so alarming and kidnap-y. But it is, so it's time to get the fuck out of Dodge.
Or to try to, anyway. Just a few short meters into the trees, you find yourself entering a deep and all-encompassing fog. You can barely see your hand out in front of your face, let alone your path through the forest ahead. If you're not alone in this venture, you'd best keep a hand on your companion lest you lose track of them, as well. And is it just you, or is there a slight chemical taste to the fog that you're breathing in?
(Yes. The answer is definitely yes.)
Before long, you find yourself turned around, stepping back out of the fog with the cabin in front of you. Little do you realize that simply turning you around is the most merciful fate that this fog has to offer.
- This is easier to break down without narrative, so!
- The first time your character ventures into the fog, they're just turned around and sent back to the cabin.
- The second time, they hallucinate things that they don't want to hear. Something they fear, something that hurts them, something that stresses them the fuck out. Maybe a character's worst fear is wildcats and they hear one growling just out of sight in the mist. Maybe instead they hear a loved one crying for help back in the direction from which they've come, drawing them back to the cabin. Or maybe they hear the voice of someone they admire berating their cowardice or stupidity or something, for running away from the cabin in the first place. The goal is to psych them out and send them running back to the place where the action is happening.
- The third time, it's the same but full-blown visual or even physical hallucinations. Basically anything that might lure, scare, emotionally wound, etc. them into going back to the vicinity of the cabin.
Characters are welcome to start off venturing into the mist together, or to discover one another while they're already in the mist. If it's the latter, look out - it may be harder to tell friend from foe when you can't quite trust your own mind.
THE LOOP ► a note on replayability
- Regardless of which prompt your character faces, they'll be left unbothered after the creature is defeated or the problem is overcome until sunrise the following morning. Though the fog still keeps characters from straying from the area, they're welcome to recover and lick their wounds in the immediate cabin vicinity. An unburnt cabin leaves them food and resting facilities, while a burnt cabin... Well, at least the fire never spread from that self-contained ring, so they have some nice unburnt grass to sleep on.
Come sunrise, all characters still awake will fall unconscious. At this point, many of them will reawaken in a perfectly undamaged cabin back in Prompt #1 to begin the loop anew. They may have the same comrades in this loop, or perhaps they have different ones. Maybe their new companions have done this before as well. Maybe they're brand new and have no idea what they're up against. R.I.P., you poor unsuspecting fucks.
This is, in effect, a series of trial runs by the current batch of Technicians to see if they're able to run this containment zone scenario long-term. When Vestige opens properly, characters will awaken free of the loop and will have quite a bit more continuity and recovery time between horrors. The 'loop' mechanic is specifically in place to give this TDM some shelf life and let y'all entertain yourselves while I work on the actual pages and such, rather than the one-and-done feeling of the usual TDM.
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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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
But that doesn't mean Ian isn't entirely, one hundred and ten percent right about what he says next, as pleased as Mace is to hear the punchline. They should be more suspicious of this. Hell, Mace should be testing the entire length of the bridge all on his lonesome first, and would do it if there was some way to ensure that unknotting the two of them wouldn't mean leaving Ian alone and vulnerable, for however brief a time. ]
No humouring necessary. You're right.
[ Firmly, to offset the apologetic tone Ian's got. He looks around for something to throw, and finds nothing at first. And then a lightbulb goes off over his head; the metal plate. He ducks back around the corner, hefts it up into his arms and brings it back out with a vaguely triumphant air. ]
Let's test the current, too. Can't javelin this to the other side, but —
[ He gives it a try anyway. It's ... it's kind of sad, because it only goes so far before tumbling into the water almost without a splash, and he snorts before hunting for a loose stone near the mouth of the tunnel. Finds a suitable rock not too long after and, thank fuck, it's a lot more gratifying because he had played plenty of baseball.
The rock not only clears the river, it clatters some distance past it too; satisfied, Mace takes Ian's hand again.
Downstream, something clangs in the dark. ]
no subject
The rock goes next, and... alright, well, way to redeem yourself on that one, man. He appreciates good form.
Ian seems more or less satisfied that nothing rises out of the river, although he does start at the clanging.
It's the metal sheet, right? Bouncing off rocks and cave walls with the force of the current, probably? His hand tightens on Mace's a little, a brief flex, looking for reassurance. If he's of the same mind... if Mace can dismiss it easier than Ian's hyper-paranoia is allowing him to, he's amenable. He'll sweep the torch out ahead of them in the dark, looking too-vigilantly for dips in the rock that might send them tumbling over.
Looking for fucking hands reaching up out of the water while he's at it. ]
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That drops immediately when the clang rings out, and his head whips around in the direction it'd come from as Ian starts next to him. But —
Wait, of course. It has to be the metal sheet he'd just thrown into the water, and the flicker of hope inside him grows to a small flame; the metal might've hit the exit point of the river, and if that's the case, that means it's not too far.
Ian's hand flexes around his own and Mace tightens his grip reassuringly as they start to carefully cross the bridge. Just because he's hopeful doesn't mean he's trusting it fully, though, and it's slow-going; Mace keeps himself ahead of Ian same as he had in the tunnel, using his foot to feel along the stone as they walk, testing for the slightest hint of structural weakness.
There's none. The only thing strange is the water, because while it had looked impenetrably dark from the mouth of the tunnel, up close it's startlingly clear. Mace thinks he can even make out the riverbed, although what he's seeing is both troubling and outright strange.
It almost looks as though there's a railroad running along the length of the river.
By the light of Ian's torch, they make it almost all the way across when Mace looks up from his intermittent bridge-watching, and curses sharp and quiet. Up ahead, some distance after the bridge ends, is a steep wall of rock that looms up into the darkness.
In the wall itself, a thin outline unmistakably in the shape of a door. ]
Ian, you seeing this?
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Part of him - some deep part - thinks that he shouldn't look. Thinks that if he looks for too long, something will manifest and he'll regret it. Strangely, that thought only compels him further, as though to spite himself. As though to prove that the world has logic and reason, because horrible things manifesting themselves just because you're looking shouldn't be reality.
He's looking down while Mace is looking forward, and he freezes for an instant with shock-still horror.
It's a face. A face staring up from the bed of the river, so sudden and so jolting that he locks up and can't even yell.
Good that he doesn't, because the face doesn't move as water flows over it. It doesn't move beneath flickering firelight, it doesn't move when Ian locks onto its eyes, and it gives his mind another second or two to process some details. The perfectly smooth skin, the vacant expression, the uncanny valley feel - it's a fucking mannequin. It's nearly completely buried in silt at the bottom of the river, and now that he's got the perspective he can track it down torso and see the raised tips of a perfectly positioned set of fingers sticking up just a few inches from the dirt.
It may have been carried down by the river. Must have been. Gotten stuck and slowly buried over time, because humanity's litter knows no bounds - not even, apparently, the barriers of this unnatural dimension.
The relief he feels is accompanied by a deep and intense foreboding, a sense of warning. A glimpse into the future.
He drags his eyes up and away without commenting on it, and they land upon the door.
His grip turns a little bruising. ]
Fuck that.
[ He declares immediately, head shaking and heel taking a half-step back. ]
No, fuck ominous convenient cave doors embedded into rock, we're going down the fucking river.
[ Just in case Mace was thinking about a change in the plan. ]
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You okay? is what he wants to ask and almost does, noting the way Ian's taken a half-step back, his grip on Mace's hand going suddenly rigid. Instead, with a pause and then a conceding nod, ]
Down the fuckin' river we go.
[ And his thumb rubs back and forth over Ian’s knuckles, gently underscoring the point: no changing of plans.
He — doesn’t know why he wanted to ask if Ian was alright. His expression hadn’t given anything away other than, understandably, a general aura of tenseness. Not fear, not upset, nothing that would warrant the way Mace’s hindbrain had given him a swift rabbit kick, as if to say check on your guy. Maybe it’s just another facet of how deeply, worryingly attached they’ve gotten. They’re already attuned to each other enough to communicate wordlessly; Mace might be subconsciously picking up on body language cues that he isn’t really cognizant of.
As they finish crossing the river, though, another dilemma presents itself to Mace. Where should Ian walk? On his right, that'd be right next to the river, and although it had been empty enough while they’d crossed it … well, Ian’s still right. Tentacles crawling out of the dark is a depressingly viable possibility, considering where the hell they are.
If something burst out of those dark depths and grabbed Ian —
Mace gives another hard look at the direction of the door, this time not looking at it as an egress, but searching the darkness there instead. Just rock. Just stone. Just silence. Enough distance for him to anticipate an approach or an attack, enough room for Ian to utilize as an escape.
Fine, he’ll take his chances with that instead — and with that thought in mind he maneuvers Ian to his left, a moment of fumbling to switch their luggage to their opposing hands. ]
You know, I was born left-handed.
[ Idly, as they walk along the bank, his gaze roving constantly — from in front of them, to the river, and then a thorough sweep of the left-hand side. ]
They had me switch.
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They have an out. They have a plan. If it fails, if there's no outlet, they can always double back. If that door seals up behind them like the one they came through? There's no going back, only deeper.
He allows himself to be maneuvered in a way that's starting to feel natural. Switching hands and rearranging them to allow himself to be led, giving up on any fight about Mace making himself a human shield in the event of danger. It pricks a little guilt into him, but when balancing the scales against the relief and security he's getting from it? It's not enough for him to protest.
He feels good. Mace, that is. Mace feels good to him, doing this, deciding small things for them and confidently executing them without even asking. It feels like it alleviates a little bit of the stress Ian's wearing in his muscles, in his mind, in his chest.
He glances over at the anecdote, eyebrows lifting. ]
They- your parents? Why? Can you even... do that? I thought it was like a... you get what you get kind of deal.
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The way out couldn't be that simple. He knows it in his gut even if he's still trying to rationalize it away: that this place, or whatever was in it — or whatever had occurred inside it — demanded either blood, or pain.
But with Ian's hand in his, and the blessed lack of any horrendous apparitions (with the exception of their aural, terrifying visitor near the alcove) ... it's been easy to start to forget that, even unconsciously. Ian's presence with him, safe and sound and whole. The one spot of warmth in this blizzard. The one thing that's wholly, unequivocally good. ]
They.
[ And then a quick, reassessing twist of his mouth before he corrects himself: ] Well, to be fair, my dad. But my mom didn't try to stop it, so. Equal credit. You catch it early enough in a kid, you can force it the other way.
[ Positive reinforcement hadn't been an option, so the lesson had to stick differently. On the next sweep around, though, he catches Ian's inquisitive glance, his raised eyebrows — ]
Joke's on them. Ambidextrous now. [ — and waggles his own at him, suggestive and unrepentant. Remember that handjob, Professor Fowler? ]
As for the why of it ...
[ There's a story there and Mace is about to tell it, but another clang has him pausing. Muffled this time, and his attention snaps back to ahead of them, a ripple of relief going through him at the sight up front. Another wall looms above them in the murky dark, curving upward a lot sooner this time, all the way into the ceiling. It spans the width of the river, which itself is flowing through a rounded tunnel in the very middle of the wall.
The outlet. Something glints in the water as they draw nearer, and Mace realizes it's probably the metal sheet, hitting something underneath the surface. ]
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That clang grabs both of their attentions. Eradicates the story from his mind, to be replaced with hyper-awareness.
Gotta be the sheet of metal, maybe getting thrown around by the water and smacking against rock. ]
So, we're starting a drinking game.
[ He declares, staring at that tunnel. ]
I'm gonna predict something, and if I'm right you drink. If I'm wrong, I drink.
[ Rules are simple, right? Here we go, first one. ]
If that sound turns out to be chains and they fucking drown us, you're taking a shot of tequila.
[ Let's go. The only way out is through. Might as well just embrace it. ]
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[ Scoffingly, as they get close enough for Mace to eyeball the tunnel and ascertain that it's ... maybe high enough. High enough that if they go into the water, they can keep their heads up. Unless the tunnel lowers further in, makes it impossible to get out without some way to breathe underwater.
He ducks his head down and to the side as they approach the final ten yards, peering into the hollow dark, trying to see if the tunnel height remains consistent. Can't tell from here, though; the flickering torchight only shows rushing water — ]
Like I'm gonna let you go in there without checking it first.
[ And then he catches it again, a glint in the deep.
It's the metal, horizontal now so that it glimmers in the water like a stingray. Being buffeted by the current, striking against something in the water when it goes all the way in, Mace can't see what it is from here, but he sets down their supplies with a sharp little grin at Ian. ]
Not chains. Drink up, Fowler.
[ Well, maybe not the rag-soaked tequila they have on hand. When they get out of here, Ian, which is starting to seem, strangely enough, likelier by the fucking second. ]
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[ He corrects mildly. You never fucking know. Maybe they're hallucinating the metal sheet and then a bunch of snake-chains are gonna emerge from underneath it and drag them into the abyss. ]
Not callin' it until we're on the other side. And I'm not letting you go alone, so.
[ Just to get that out there. There's no fucking way. They haven't separated this entire time, they're not gonna start now.
Besides, if Mace starts drowning or going under, Ian's gonna dive in right after anyway. Might as well cut out the middle man. ]
Once we go in, the torch isn't gonna work. You gotta make a choice - we wait here for a few hours for a a flash light--
[ And potentially risk getting caught by whatever that titan sound was. ]
Or we go in dark. Hope we don't have to go under, because if we start swimming blind it's a death sentence.
[ They won't know if there's a breathable pocket two feet or two miles in any given direction. ]
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But that leaves them out in the open here, for however many hours it takes for Ian to make the flashlights.
But it'll be them out here, in the open, together. Where Mace can watch Ian's back (or his front) the entire time. Protect him. And in the event of that godawful huge fucking thing they'd heard go by the enclave, he can distract it if need be. He goes over the two ideas for a handful of (unnecessary) seconds and then, ]
All right, compromise. Flashlight, to see into the tunnel. But I go in first to do a security check, and then we go together.
[ Can't help but go firm on the last sentence because he can't budge on this. They go underwater and suppose whatever's in there decides to pull a zombie doctor and hone in on the most vulnerable target? Suppose it is chains, and suppose Mary tries to finish the job she'd started in the cave?
Mace hasn't forgotten how she'd skipped him and gone for Ian. Mace hasn't forgotten why they're here in the first place. His hand twitches in their joined grasp. ]
I'm of use on land, Ian. My reflexes underwater aren't anywhere near as good. We swim into some fuckshit, I won't be able to —
[ Protect both of them. Protect Ian. On his own, he might be able to get back up in time, but together their chances plummet — Ian's chances plummet. It's a zero sum result and there's no sense in it. He picks up the supply bundle and starts leading them away from the water and toward a spot near the base of the wall; when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, tired. ]
This was my fuck up. Gotta be the one to fix it.
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Can't. Can't let that be something that eats at him while he does what he's gotta do. ]
Fuck.
[ He breathes finally, but it's clearly him conceding. His back presses gently against the wall, and he uses a palm to guide himself down onto the ground. He wedges the torch between a few tightly spaced rocks, pressed down into the gap for some hands-free lighting while he starts to get his glow on. ]
You didn't fuck up, man.
[ He corrects seriously, shooting him a pointed look. ]
Who knows, maybe we would've stayed. Taken our chances. Or maybe she'd have sprung her ass down on us when we tried to leave. God forbid we have twenty goddamn minutes without something unnatural trying to kill us, right?
[ It's a rhetorical question. He doesn't wanna give Mace any time to argue it, so he plows on quickly. ]
What'd you think was behind that door, Lefty?
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He’s glad — actually, grateful — that he doesn’t have to dig his heels in for this, that Ian’s letting him have this even though he’s clearly unhappy with the idea. Plain and simple, Mace needs this, would start to spiral down something a lot worse than where he’d been headed earlier without it. Because even though Ian's still loyally insisting that Mace isn't to blame for this, complete with an austere, pointed expression that Mace catches when he turns around to set down the supplies …
It is his fuck up, and if Mace doesn’t apply his sense of accountability twice as ruthlessly on himself, he might as well tie a rock to his ankle before he jumps into the river. He wouldn’t deserve anything less.
Certainly wouldn’t deserve to be with (wouldn't deserve to have—) the man sitting next to him, blue glow at his fingertips and a series of slightly sardonic words that Mace knows are rhetorical. He's about to answer them anyway (see: above, stubborn-asshole principle) but Ian must’ve anticipated the socratic thesis headed his way because —
Lefty. Mace snorts despite himself, despite the memories that brings up. ]
Thought it was a way out. That there might be another button in the walls that’d open it up, just like the way we came in. But you’re right. It’s too fuckin’ convenient, too good to be true. By the way, I prefer Southpaw.
[ Hard to maintain a dignified tone when declaring a nickname for yourself that might as well be a dog's name, but somehow Mace manages it, his chin resting on the aforementioned hand as he watches Ian at work.
Besides, Lefty sounds like a dog’s name, too; maybe a puppy with one crooked ear. ]
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