inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.

[vestigemods]

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.

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:


• 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! )

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.

CODE BY TESSISAMESS (patreon)

Comments

[wittingly]

[ It's a sensible approach, and for a fleeting second he finds himself a little appreciative he's been paired up with somebody who seems to have their shit more or less together. A decent head on their shoulders, and critical thinking skills.

Of course, it's just as possible that it's a bait-and-switch and he's the one who stranded them here, but while Ian acknowledges the possibility he elects not to dwell on it too intensely. That kind of cynical thinking will drive you crazy.

Humans are social creatures, he knows. They require social bonds, particularly in situations of duress or high stress. For exactly as long as they're both here, he's declaring them best friends.

(But make no mistake, the term has a completely different meaning to Ian than it does to most.) ]

No. No military. I'm an engineer. I teach it more often than not these days, but.

[ It's not like other professions wherein those who can't do teach. That's not something you lose when you shift from consulting jobs to a university classroom for half your income.

He nods his head at James. ]

I guess that means you do?

[hydraulics]

Not exactly.

[ It was in his parents, and he’d done some training, but — ] Grew up with it, and I guess there’s some stuff that becomes a part of you, whether you want it to or not.

[ Not that he hadn’t wanted it to, and it had come useful in the past — would probably come in use right now, too — but it wasn’t his first choice or his passion. He looks at Ian and while it’s not quite a smile, there’s something at the corners of his mouth that’s a little less severe, anyway. Mace wouldn’t know what to do with best friends even if the term came with a handbook, but two people on the same mission — and moreover, with a very similar outlook — is something he understands full well.

Now that he thinks about it, the guy's demeanour does suit teaching. ]

Believe it or not, I’m also an engineer.

[ Makes sense why they’ve been on the same wavelength — both looking at things on a practical, tangible, falsifiable level. The likelihood of all of this is on the strange side, though, and he figures Ian’s thinking along more or less the same lines. Wondering if it’s all on purpose, and the choice to put them together could be a tactic to make them doubt the other, but that’s a line of thought he knows there’s no point in feeding.

Instead, he elaborates: ]

Space program.

[wittingly]

[ Ian's eyebrows go up - ironically higher and more reactive to space program than he's been to creepy basement. ]

Shit.

[ He says, clearly impressed. Space program's no joke, you have to have some serious dedication.

He gestures to himself vaguely. ]

Mechanical and a side-order of civil.

[ The most basic bitches of the engineering field. Guaranteed he always had a job, though, so. Can't complain.

Focus here, they've been kidnapped and locked into a creepy probably haunted cabin by what they're now assuming is a psycho doctor. Not for nothing, but he's picturing Hannibal Lector from the NBC show, but cross-bred with the cancer guy from Saw.

Slapping that combination together does a good job helping him get his priorities straight. ]

I, uh- there's one other thing that I can do that might help. I'm not usually the oversharing type, but. You know.

[ A glance at the cabin around them. Situation being what it is...

The way he got out yesterday was by making a screwdriver. Now, he's thinking the tools they're going to need are a little less friendly. He holds out a hand - not in Mace's direction, but straight out above his knee, palm up. From somewhere just off to the right of the vein, soft blue light starts to peek through muscle and skin. It grows, it glows, it spreads up his wrist and into his palm.

In the air above it, particles bleed into existence. They're summoned forth from seemingly nothing, knitting together in a way that looks like a spiraling galaxy until you notice that it's just steel, just shaped metal gathering up into the soon-recognizable shape of a knife.

When he curls his fingers around the hilt, it all seems to stop. Solid, tangible, real. He turns it over in his hand, offers the hilt out.

So, there's that going for them. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Whatever Mace had been expecting when Ian said oversharing, that absolutely had not been it.

He’s seen a lot of shit, especially out in space — but materialization on demand, now that’s a whole different kind of new. Startled out of his position against the wall when ice-blue light starts emanating softly from Ian's arm to his outstretched hand, he damn near drops the log on his foot when metal starts manifesting itself out of thin air. A whirl of spinning lights, almost like stars, and then ... ]

Man, what the fuck.

[ Quiet but emphatic, a statement rather than a question because that’s one hell of a party trick. Impressed would be the understatement of the year. ]

Mechanical engineering, my ass.

[ But the shock in his voice is tempered by a rare streak of humour, because he's not doubting the other guy's credentials here, he's pointing out that this skill is way above that particular pay grade. Nothing to be humble about here, they don't teach that in any faculty of applied science, and Mace’s widened eyes go from the hilt being offered to him, to Ian’s face, and back again.

He wants to grab it, more out of sheer curiosity to hold a — well, a magical knife, for lack of a better descriptor — than the drive to have a real weapon on hand.

But. ]

You got enough juice to make another one?

[ Mace has his makeshift baseball bat; he doesn’t want to take a weapon from Ian if that’s the only one the guy's got. Both of them are gonna need to be armed if and when things go tits up. Which seems extremely likely, seeing as they're locked in some mad doctor’s creepy summer cottage for what looks to be a horrible vacation. ]

[wittingly]

[ Ian's smile is muted, a little wry, but unmissable all the same. He hasn't shown many people this - the ones that he has aren't in his life anymore (not a surprise to him). The few times he's gotten the chance to display it have always gone a little something like this, and while he hasn't done anything to earn the awe it's still a little gratifying to see nonetheless.

He gives the hilt a little wave, take it. ]

Yeah. It's one component, small, simple. As long as it's not much more complicated than that I can do it pretty consistently. You start mixing material and adding size or complexity and it taps out pretty quick.

[ But two solid-steel single piece knives shouldn't be hard. He could make a half dozen or so before they stopped forming and came out as fragmented, useless little pieces. Try that too many times and he can't make anything at all for a while. ]

So if you want a gun or something, that's not really in my wheelhouse. It's the bullets, mostly, the gunpowder isn't... familiar. Easy. Screwdrivers and steak knives I can do all day.

[ Which is why he doesn't consider it all that much better than actual engineering. He can only make piece parts with magic or whatever you wanna call it. When it comes to using them, assembling them, finding creative applications for them... that matters a hell of a lot more than just having them. ]

[hydraulics]

[ If he'd had any doubt taking the knife, the little smile he gets is enough encouragement for him to know that Ian's not doing it out of some sense of obligation. Mace's fingers close around the hilt as he nods at Ian appreciatively, and he weighs it in his hand for a second. Brings it up to his face take a closer look at the blade, the craftsmanship of it, and it's as sturdy as knife ever was. Runs a thumb along the edge as he listens intently to Ian describing what he can and can't do, and yep. Sharp as a bitch.

Quickly wiping the droplet of blood that oozes out across his shirt, Mace raises his eyebrows at Ian as he finishes speaking, with a faint grin of his own. ]

With the way this whole place is set up, I don't think our new best friend's gonna be staging a gunfight, so bringing knives sounds like a pretty good idea to me. Gives us an edge we didn't have before.

[ Pun intended. But now that the shock has worn off a little, Mace's natural, intense inquisitiveness is there to take its place. Coupled with the knowledge that their way out of this is gonna be messy, his mind's already rifling through the possibilities that Ian's superpower (that's what it is, okay) affords them.

And there's a lot, depending. ]

Can you do liquids? Water, for example? Or acid? Simple compounds.

[ Imagine if Spider-Man's power was spraying spiders at people. The average villain wouldn't stand a chance. ]

[wittingly]

[ That pun earns one lingering look from Ian, not amused or annoyed - some space in between, maybe, mashed with the fact that he can't believe anyone could whip out the lowest form of comedy at a time like this. He acknowledges you, Mace, but you should think about what you did and feel bad.

He can say the first question Mace hits him with isn't something he's ever been asked before. Then again, nobody he's ever shown has been in this particular field - gone after too many writers or artists. ]

I have to know it. Like, really know it, not just... know of it. I can do water. I can do one really specific, really unfortunate brand of Tequila. I can do coffee, a couple different lubricants, WD40, motor oil... Can't really get friendly with acid.

[ It helps if it's something he can touch. He's a tactile person, the more hands-on he can get with something the easier it is for him to reproduce it. ]

I'm also not great with complex organics. No animals, no plants, no bugs.

[ No shooting spiders at their enemies, sorry. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Hey, the lowest form of comedy suits the place they’re in right now, so Mace will remain unashamed in the face of all this judgement as he mulls over their remaining options, taking into account Ian's parameters. Something he's gotta be familiar with, and it sounds like it has to have been up close and personal, so ... ]

Coffee, huh?

[ That gives him an idea. Maybe just water'll be enough for what he's got in mind, if Ian can cover all three states of matter for it. Hell, even liquid'll be enough, but Mace wants to get a good understanding of Ian's abilities before shit goes down. ]

Can you control the temperature, too? Or is just a room temp kind of situation? Because we're looking at possible ice projectiles, or hot steam in somebody's eye, or ...

[ It ain't spiders to the face, but it's a level of weaponization and unpredictability that's bound to come in handy, and Mace trails off with a vague but meaningful gesture, still holding the knife in his hand. His thoughts flick back over what was just said, and then it's his turn for a lingering glance at Ian. ]

By the way, if we make it out of this, I'm gonna want to know which brand, and why.

[wittingly]

[ Coffee. He's tried his heart out to make specific coffee, the creamer/sugar ratio, but evidently that's too many different things at once and he fucks it up every time. It either tastes like shit or it's full of so much of one component it's practically sand sludge. Somehow straight tequila is easier, maybe simpler.

He shakes his head. ]

It's not... I'm not that good. I can get you room temperature water, I can get you hot coffee, but if I don't drink it or touch it scalding I can't make it scalding.

[ Which, granted, normal hot coffee in someone's eyes still sucks, but the time it takes him to make it means it won't be a spur of the moment attack. If they just constantly have coffee sitting around on the off-chance, sure... ]

I get what you're looking for.

[ He does, and he doesn't sound upset about it. Not particularly bothered or judgmental. If they were on opposite ends he'd be asking all the same questions. ]

But I can't think of any way to weaponize it other than... literally. It takes too long to pull something out, and if I'm in a fight, if I can't concentrate, I can't do it.

[ A beat, then wryly: ]

No ice projectiles. Barely ice. The good news is if you give me about three hours I can start making us the best margaritas you've ever had. If we got kidnapped by Dr. Jimmy Buffett maybe that'll be enough to get us out.

[hydraulics]

[ Some confusion passes over Mace’s face at the reference to Jimmy Buffett, which goes careening over his head, but he files it away to ask about later on. Instead, with a vague smirk, ]

You’re making wine without the water — or margaritas, as it were. That overshoots past good straight into miracle territory, for me.

[ As far as Mace is concerned, yer a wizard Harry. And he can appreciate needing to concentrate in the middle of a firefight (or whatever it is they’re going to be stuck in), so literal weaponization sounds just as good to him. It’s about a world and a half better than what they’d have without Ian, that’s for damn sure.

But now that he's got a feel for the framework they're gonna be working in, that whatever Ian creates has to be something he’s directly familiar with, there's another important question that’s been in the back of his mind this whole time. Another swift glance up at the stairs behind Ian to make sure they’re still in the clear, and his face goes back to serious.

This’ll be a little more personal than a tequila story, but he’s gotta ask. ]

You a father?

[ Not do you have a family, or are you married, because while those bits are still just as important in an emotional sense, none of them imply dependents in the same way that children do. And for the purposes of their situation, Mace needs to know which one of them matters more, in the greater scheme of things.

After a pause, he adds: ]

I'm not.

[wittingly]

[ Of all the places this conversation could have gone, he wouldn't have banked on this hard left. From margaritas to suddenly somber. His smile falls quickly, easily. Slides off like water.

It isn't until the I'm not that he understands why the guy's asking.

He's prioritizing. The understanding is a visible transition onto Ian's face, no masking, no holding back. His lips purse for a second, but it isn't because he's considering being dishonest.

It's because the truth sounds worse than he really believes it is. ]

No. I don't have anybody.

[ Nobody. Nothing. No wife, no kids, no parents, no siblings. No close friends, just work friends and guys I know from college, people who pad their weddings and their parties with him because he's easy and he's fun. People who have never seen the inside of his house, people who don't know his mother's name.

Don't prioritize him if you've got anyone at all.

And to gloss over how pathetic it probably sounds, he follows it up wryly. ]

I feel like we should probably be on a first name basis at this point.

[ Because he's pretty sure they haven't swapped those yet before getting to where they are. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Even in the low light, Mace just about sees the moment he gets it — gets the why of it, the realization and the reaction it evokes passing over his expression; he knows what the answer's gonna be before he even hears it.

The way it's delivered speaks volumes, too, and Mace thinks he can make an educated guess as to the reasoning behind it. It doesn't sound pathetic to his ears so much as it does clear, leaving no room for doubt. Cut and dry.

However, it does make his brow dip and his expression go thoughtful for a moment. The guy said he was a teacher, and that means he has students. Passing on knowledge and guidance, a stone thrown into water, the ripples extending outward over and over. That means something.

But he keeps that bit to himself for now, just gives a slow, understanding nod in response as if everything's settled, as if they've both established themselves on the same level of prioritization. They haven't, but that's for him to know.

Slipping the knife into his pocket, he offers out his now free hand. ]

Mace. I mean, that's my last name, but nobody's called me James since high school.

[ There's some guys that just settle into their last names even more comfortably than their first, and Mace is one of 'em. ]

[wittingly]

[ An eyebrow arches up at Mace, but who the hell is he to judge? He doesn't have a middle name, that's arguably just as weird as going by the name of a medieval weapon.

There's no hesitance in the way he reaches out to shake. He doesn't try to big dick by squeezing too hard, there's no reluctance in his grip. There are callouses, but they're in strange places - the heel of his hand, the meat beneath his fingers, but the dead center of his palm is soft and unmarred.

Not hard to guess why, if you can track that blue glow. ]

Ian.

[ He offers back, and when their hands drop away he postulates with barely-detectable humor: ]

What about Jim? Jimmy? Jamey?

[hydraulics]

[ Some people say you can't tell what a person's like just by their handshake, and those people all probably have the grip, temperature, and texture of a cold fish. Mace tends to use it as a barometer as to the kind of person he's meeting, and that barometer's telling him right now that Ian's a stand-up guy. One who works with his hands, which he'd known already — engineering — but it's good to have the reminder all the same.

His own grip is firm and warm, as blunt as he himself is, as straightforward, and Mace makes a little face at hearing that shortlist. He's never understood Jim and the variations thereof; come to think of it, most nicknames don't add up to their originating names. ]

I see we're moving to nickname basis, now. What's that, second base?

[ He's got a weird sense of humour, sorry Ian. ]

Anyway, I can't shorten Ian to anything, so. If I have to take one of those, you're gonna get a made-up one from me.

[wittingly]

[ Another tiny uptick to his lips; second base. There's a little micro-expression, an almost teasing lift of one eyebrow and the tiniest little nod of his head to the right in a way that suggests he's considering it. It doesn't last long, flows right on by without commentary. ]

Can't wait to hear one of those.

[ He muses dryly, but it's a little distracted. Too busy sticking his hand out and slowly crafting a knife to match the one Mace has in his pocket. It takes sixty or ninety seconds, and he curls his fingers around it once it's done. He's not exactly a knife guy, doesn't get in very many fights, but he can hold a screwdriver.

Same thing, right?

Ha.

Might be time to get back to serious business. ]

So... You ever seen the movie Home Alone?

[ Yes, this is in fact serious business. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Making up nicknames is not Mace's strongest suit, so it’s probably just as well that Ian decides to materialize another knife at that point, distracting him completely. The moment Ian’s hand is out again, his eyes are right back on it, following the blue glow like he’s trying to figure out how it works just from watching it.

He does catch that reference, though, as well as the way the atmosphere shifts — they’re getting down to business. It takes a second but it does strike a bell, and Mace is, in fact, all seriousness as he nods.

He can see where this is going and he likes it. ]

Kid booby traps his house, takes down the bad guys despite the odds.

[ Or rather, tips the odds in his favour. A pause in between looking around the area for some fabric to wrap his hands with — no point getting splinters while swinging — and he glances back over at Ian. ]

Old movie.

[ Same decade as the Island of Doctor Moreau, now that he thinks about it. ]

[wittingly]

[ At old movie, Ian's shoulders kind of bounce back and forth. Yeah, okay, depending on your perspective. He's in his mid thirties, he's starting to get used to hearing things he grew up with called old.

Mace doesn't look all that different than him in age, but still. No comment. ]

We could get something like that going. The only problem is it means sealing ourselves in, so if they get tired of trying and... I don't know, burn the place down, we'd need an exit strategy.

[ Some way to leave that also doesn't let anyone in. ]

We also don't know how long we've got - if spotting that thing did anything, or if picking it up's going to trigger it, or if it's completely irrelevant and someone's gonna pop in at random to... hand us a Publisher's Clearing House check?

[ Shrug. Who knows what the plan is. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Right. They could be running short on time — or maybe that thing is the trigger, and this whole thing is the puzzle Ian suggested it was at the start. If they try to skip steps, ignore the mask and break out of the cabin, they’ll just end up wandering in the fog until they wake up right back here. Can't go around it; they'll have to go through. ]

So we make sure we don’t get caught without an exit.

[ There’s a patch of floorboard that’s uncovered and undisturbed in front of the staircase, and Mace squats down by it, setting down the log and starting to draw into the dust. Two squares, connected by a dotted line, and the bigger square gets an X right at the top left: the front door of the cabin. ]

Okay, so say this is the basement. [ taps the second, smaller square, ] If I were a mad doc, I’d be looking to either trap my mice in one place or separate 'em. Cut us our checks, one by one.

But they can’t do any of that if … [ two fingers, smudging out the dotted line ] There’s no seal.

[ A keen glance back up at Ian, Mace nodding at the basement entrance behind them. ]

If you can make me a screwdriver and a hammer, I’ll take that door down off its hinges.

[wittingly]

[ He hums in approval, bent at an awkward angle and leaning into Mace's personal space so he can get a face-forward view. Yeah, okay, take away the divider. Seen too many movies where the main characters get trapped on either side and it fucks them up.

He can do better than dust, too.

A blue glow, quicker this time, knits together a wide piece of drafting paper. Another afterward and the most simple drawing charcoal you can fathom. Easier to see, easier to sketch out something more intricate. He repeats Mace's original floor plan, but adds on the rooms. ]

I'm thinkin' we take down all the goddamn interior doors. Bedroom's just as bad as basement if we're talking split-ups or barring someone in. Not like they're not gonna be ready to bust one down to get us anyway, right?

[ Because no kidnapping fuck is going to show up to their own murder house without being prepared to get through the fucking doors. ]

Swap 'em for some basic tripwire, it'd take two seconds. Simple components. I can make fishing line, nails. If we can get somebody down on the ground our odds go up.

[ Except - another thing that spirals into his mind - he reels back from the drawing. ]

But you think they'd do two on one odds? That's crazy, right? Why would you give someone the numbers advantage?

[hydraulics]

[ Something real comforting about the familiar sight of a drafting paper and charcoal, and not even noticing how crowded their space is getting Mace leans in with an appreciative murmur. ]

Nice.

[ And it’s not just Ian's draftsmanship that’s clear and sound, so his plan; already settling into the clarity of a methodical mindset, that tripwire comment acts like a flame to a fuse, giving Mace another lightbulb moment. Getting somebody down on the ground is good, and the odds go further up if they can keep them there.

Man, if they had the time — and weren’t, you know, stuck in a fuckin' psycho horror show — he’d suggest they go further in-depth about this over some of that aforementioned coffee. ]

You wouldn’t. You’d bring company, which means … [ Reaching over, plucking the charcoal gently out of Ian’s hand — ]

We’ll need a way to try and take down multiple hostiles at once. [ In the corner of the drafting paper, he sketches out a quick picture of a fishing net, weights attached intermittently around it. ]

Make some netting, and we can rig one of these over the main thresholds — basement and living room. They set off the tripwire, and boom. If the netting’s no bueno, we can grab some of the sheets off the beds upstairs, attach some weights to ‘em.

[ A pause, and then something else occurs to Mace; he looks over at his makeshift bat and then back at Ian, raising his eyebrows. ]

Think you could make a whole lot of nails?

[wittingly]

[ The charcoal is freely given, offered up as though he always loosely intended for Mace to take it. His arms fold gently over his knees, smashed together as they share a space.

Glad he's picking up the same thread that Ian is - there's no way one single doctor is gonna run into a house with two guys who had time to weaponize. Not unless he's got something like what Ian has but better, something that leaves him feeling confident taking on two victims alone.

Ian's never met anyone else who can do what he does, though, so he's not banking on it.

Assume they have the numbers, then.

He can't make a net per say, but he can make rope. Bed sheets would work too, probably just as well, unless-

With the nails... ]

Yeah, I can do nails. I can also do conductive wiring.

[ Said with a pointed look at the bulb-less socket over their heads. The light switches upstairs work, he knows that one for a fact. They have electricity.

You going the same place as him with those nails, or are they hitting on two great ideas at once? ]

[hydraulics]

[ They’re absolutely hitting on two great ideas at once. In fact — ]

And here I was, figuring on a humble nail bat. [ Mace sounds both wry and a little impressed, having caught that upward glance and the connection to the electricity just about immediately, and wonders why he hadn’t thought of it himself. ]

I like the way you think. We fry ‘em.

[ Whoever’s brought them here — and Mace is hoping it’s a who and not a what — is probably gonna be coming through one of the entrance points of the house. But if even if they’re already in the cabin somehow, hidden and waiting, it won’t be too difficult to lure their captors through the empty doorways instead.

Okay, so maybe he’s simplifying it in his head, but that’s the crux of the nitty gritty. And with the added reassurance of having a guy as sharp as Ian with him on this, Mace is pretty hopeful they can pull this off.

Home Alone 6: The Mice Bite Back.

With a decided air, he balances the charcoal on top of Ian’s folded arms. ]

All right, let’s do this. You magic the materials, I’ll get started on the doors and — [ His gaze lands on the knife Ian had made for himself a few minutes ago, going pensive as he looks back up and makes eye contact again. ]

And … you know how to use that thing, Teach?

[ The nickname slips out on its own. In Mace’s defense, all this mechanical talk got his creativity flowing. ]

[wittingly]

[ His lips pull up at humble nail bat. Hey, you know what, that's a good one too. Wouldn't have thought of it, but it'll definitely take their weaponization to the next level. Further reach than a knife, more lethal than just a blunt object.

He's all set to magic the materials when the nickname comes out, and he pauses to shoot Mace a wry look.

About that nickname thing, huh? Guess who broke the barrier first? ]

I don't know, Jamey, do you stick 'em with the sharp side?

[ No, he has never had any kind of Systema knife fighting class. He doesn't, as a rule, get into knife fights. He just knows that in general stabbing and slashing are probably a good idea if you're being attacked and you've got a knife in your hand.

If Mace has something better for him than that, he's all ears. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Between Jim, Jamey, Jimmy, or God forbid Jimbo, Mace figures Jamey is the lesser of the numerous evils. Anyway, he’s brought it on himself, so there’s only the briefest of eye-rolls at both his new nickname and that smart-assed comment. ]

In theory, yeah.

[ Not that he’s been in a class for this specific shit himself, but he knows a few things here and there. ]

First rule of knife-fighting is, you’re gonna get cut. [ No, it isn’t, but it’s a guideline that’s served him well enough, as in don’t be afraid of getting nicked and mess up in the process. But: ] Don’t keep getting cut, though. You get hurt, you trade that in for a kill, which. Second rule, and actually more important than the first: maximal violence, immediately.

[ And that’s really the only thing he needs Ian to fully understand before this all goes down. ]

It’s not jujitsu. Nothing fancy. Not even really a fight, it’s — you’re gonna go in with lethal force and you can’t hesitate. Okay?

[ The more he talks, the more Mace finds himself start to worry a little. Considers suggesting that maybe Ian also materialize a broom handle, affix the knife at the end of that to make some sort of spear instead, give him a distance advantage, but …

No, that increases the complexity of the situation and also introduces the possibility of confusion, which is the last thing needed during or before combat. It’s on Mace, then, to make sure he gets the lion’s share of whatever comes at them.

Okay. Understood. He nods, and even though he’s looking Ian’s way the whole time, it’s directed at himself. ]

All right. You’re gonna be fine.

[wittingly]

[ There's a soft, breathy laugh at the first rule of knife fighting. He's assuming this means his opponent's gonna have a knife too, otherwise it's less of a knife fight and more of a stabbing. Fair enough.

Maximal violence.

The second rule of knife fighting is you don't talk about knife fighting.

He doesn't make that joke, tempting as it is. Instead, a more somber and steady expression takes over his features. He can't read minds, though sometimes he used to wish he could swap his gift out for that. He can, however, assess the uncertainty in Mace's tone. The way he seems to suddenly second-guess Ian's proficiency.

Can't tell if he's worried for Ian or for himself, having a partner that doesn't know how to fight. Either way--

He reaches out to curl a hand around Mace's forearm. A grounding contact to add emphasis, something to drag Mace's attention up so they can make real eye contact. ]

I'm not gonna hesitate.

[ Impressed with deliberate intention, confident, unfaltering.

You believe him? He means it. ]