TEST DRIVE MEME 002

[rubimods]

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:

Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. This test drive meme provides a medley of prompts evoking the game's general tone.

THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.

CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: nudity, spiders, character death, and references to children in proximity to sexual situations.

If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.

FAQ ✧ SETTING ✧ CALENDAR ✧ RESERVES ✧ APPLICATIONS

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the frost-covered mosses and ferns, the frozen soil cold and just a little damp on your bare skin.

Wherever you were before this moment, whatever you were doing or wearing, when you awaken in this forest, you find yourself naked and helpless as the day you were born. As you sit up and get your bearings, aside from a brief wave of disoriented nausea, you seem to be no worse for wear than you last remember.

You seem to be alone. The gnarled oaks and moss suggest no sign of civilization or sentient life. Just flickers of movement from curious squirrels or brave lizards emerging from a temporary retreat from the wintry weather. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, is running actively again as the weather warms back up from the recent snowstorm.

As you explore, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist groups, others may still be processing their confusion, with no memory of how they got here. Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty; it's going to be a long hike, and the weather isn't quite amenable to your lack of.

Turn your back to the darker, shadowy parts of the forest and eventually the glow of manmade lights and the curve of a dirt road may come into view. At the edge of the wood, you'll find a town surrounded by a fifty-foot wall of beige stone. The only entrance is an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people inside.

This quaint, historic town of five-thousand has cobbled street and signs lit by gas lamp. Wooden shutters protect otherwise open-air windows on the buildings, which are all under three stories with gabled roofs. A number of businesses hug the main street — a clockmaker, a cobbler, a grocer — while residential homes sprawl outwards towards the wall. At the far end of the main street, visible about a mile to the north now that the trees and the enormous wall is out of the way, sits a castle with three towers.

When you enter, the streets are full of people, but despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, they don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. Those determined to find proper clothing regardless will find that modern clothing stores aren't available — the closest this town has is a tailor's shop and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.

breaking and entering

If you intend to have your character break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry, please review the info about game laws on the FAQ and give the mods a heads up HERE.

SETTING: CRIME

Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! Anyone who ask the locals will be directed to the boarding house for both clothes and a place to stay. Accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines, beyond an overgrown yard in the residential sprawl of the town is a bright-red door, which opens to a spacious cottage of several stories. Parts of the house still bear the dust of disuse, gathered on various furnishings — bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. However, it's already full of people! Anyone who's already appeared in the village just as you did today lives here. Once inside, you may notice patchwork repairs have been made, and some scorch marks still linger from a recent fire, and some furniture is still lying around in splinters.

Tonight, a few of the townspeople will help out with the new arrivals. They stock the kitchen and prepare a communal dinner of parsnips, pheasant, and squash. During dinner, they (and those outsiders who've already begun to settle) sit down at the enormous wooden dining room table and help orient the newcomers and answer their questions.

finding roommates

Don't spend too much time in the dining room going for seconds, though. You'll want to claim a bedroom quickly because each one only has two full-size beds, and there aren't enough spaces for everyone. The last people upstairs will need to double up to squeeze in. Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements.

Get a good night's rest. By the light of day, locals will help get the new arrivals set up on the coal stove with breakfast. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. As you find your way around town to get your bearings, folks are eager to help you find a place to apply your skills so you can contribute to your new home.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing or other inventory items, asking questions at dinner/orientation, or staking your claim on a bedroom!

OFFERINGS FOR ULANTI

The festival starts in the middle of the night, when the sun and the children are safely tucked into bed. The streets come alive with dancing locals, their faces painted red and purple and black and yellow. They all wear revealing clothing that, to your sensibilities, may seem sexually suggestive. Some individuals openly expose their breasts and nipples, while some others may incidentally reveal when they turn around to tend to their errands that their dress is backless — entirely! market stands and kind neighbors will gladly provide clothing befitting the occasion to anyone who asks.

Notably, the locals' choice of clothes reveal a mark on their bodies. An astute person will notice that there are four varieties — and a very astute (thirsty) person might notice that their fellow woodsfolk also have one of these somewhere on their body.

FAQ: CURSE MARKS

In addition to dancing and the lighting of any number of candles, you may stumble upon fighting rings inspired by Terry Silver's basement club, where the locals brawl until they're bloody and unable to move. Elsewhere, amongst the performance of a number of erotic dancers, you might come upon a face you recognize — naked and collared and caged, tongue pressed to the bars to taste anyone who'll stop and give them a little attention.

Temporary night market food stands offer various forms of alcoholic beverages and sweet and savory street food in suggestive shapes — sausages, popsicles, flowering cupcakes. many of them represent hedonistic indulgences and displays of wealth that the town usually does not seem to possess. This bounty, they attribute to the Duchess' patronage — and much of it is dosed with herbs and additives that enhance the sexual appetites and aggression in any who consume them.

Another kind of temporary stand has been erected — while new arrivals may at first mistake these for some kind of bathroom, it becomes apparent upon entry that they are partitioned stalls with gloryholes drilled between them. Some stalls are closed with an anonymous stranger waiting inside for someone to push a part of themselves through the hole to be lavished with mystery touches; others are fully unoccupied, should your character wish to lock themselves in and wait on the small wooden stool for a partner to offer themselves.

Anyone native to Rubilykskoye will take the time to answer questions about the festival of Ulanti, which functions as a way to purge their bad energy ("zadza") and sate their inner beasts ("duchozweirz"). They encourage characters to join the festivities — which range from staged sexual performances to sadism and masochism designed to feed the desire for violence. all appetites are welcome here, and there are only two rules: (1) stay away from the unmarked, which refers to the locals' prepubescent children; (2) hold nothing back.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try entering the fighting rings, watching or joining a live sex performance, or eating some aphro food (deliberately or otherwise)!

the fathomless dark of pajak wood

At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches.

In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.

Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.

In addition to the spiders, you may come across the sharp-toothed furred yetis that emerged during the snowstorm, still looking for a meal. Each one hunts alone, a fifteen-foot-tall shambling creature that drips black ooze and super-chills the air around it until your skin feels tight and icy. If it gets the drop on you, you're likely to be its dinner. It has emerged from a long summer hibernation to enjoy the colder weather, and it's starving.

FAQ: DEATH RULES

Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?

In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!

HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US

Uh oh spaghetti-os.

The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.

FAQ: MONSTER CURSES & TIMELINES

Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.

Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.

someone else transforms

The baker, Nile Yoren, is a likable, middle-aged woman who can fill any request — wheat, rye, even nut breads. She boasts that her sourdough starter belonged to her grandmother. Today, when you enter her shop — to help out or to get a muffin or a bag of rolls — something is off. Her smiling face isn't behind the counter.

Around the back wall, you hear the crackling of the oven. But when you call, she doesn't come out. You have to go back and look for her. What you find is not just the oven crackling, but nile herself — twisted into an incandescent monster of human flame, the flickers of dark orange light like a face howling in agony amidst the yellows and reds and whites. Before you can scramble away, the creature lunges at you. Defend yourself or flee, or her inner beast will be feeding itself on you.

(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)

you waited too long

At first, as you hide yourself from your darker impulses, a subtle itch develops under your skin. An irritability that makes you snap at the person who bumps into you on the stairs because all those fleeting emotions that you've been repressing bubble to the surface. Every dark thought you've had about being here, all the fears of never getting home, of being surrounded by ticking time bombs, the anxiety of wondering who you might hurt or what relationships you might betray by doing what you have to do. The anger. Oh, the anger.

Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.

As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?

RULES: CONTENT WARNINGS

Comments

dwight fairfield | dead by daylight | wilk

[hatchways]

IN THE WOODS
cw | nudity

( something feels... wrong.

he doesn't need to open his eyes to know what it is. there is neither the warmth nor the gentle crackle of an ongoing campfire — no rustling of feet or quiet whispers nearby. but more distinctly, he feels cold and moist, and mortifyingly exposed. brown eyes immediately opens wide as dwight fairfield pushes himself up off of the ground. he hears the loud beat of his heart hammering in his chest, threatening to beat its way out through his ribcage; yet he doesn't breathe. he doesn't dare to. instead, he stills and listens, analzying each and every little sound until he's certain that he's alone and he's safe for now.

he doesn't know what game the entity is playing, but this is new. very, very new. he has never just woken up in a new realm, especially not without his clothes on. what kind of fucked up new game is this? did the entity feel like there was a lull and needed to spice things up?

fuck it, he doesn't have time to stay put and ponder. he has no idea who he's gonna come up against and what they'll do to him when they see him like this. scrambling to his feet, dwight scans his surroundings to the best of his ability. it's a guesswork; it's always guesswork in a new realm. he just needs to keep going, find a generator, hopefully meet up with another of his crew and get this over with.

at least with the rush of adrenaline, he won't have to worry about how the temperature is affecting him just yet. he should be fine as long as he keeps moving. that's the key. keep moving, stay alert and cross shit off the mental checklist.

—except it's never that easy, is it? he's walking, walking and walking, yet he doesn't see any generators or hooks around. he doesn't hear any screams in the distance and, in fact, he hasn't run into anyone yet, except for some squirrels and lizards. what the fuck is going on?

by the time he actually encounters someone, dwight is already beginning to feel the onset of the cold against his bare skin. he instinctually covers himself with his hands and maintains a considerable distance from them, unsure but desperate enough to try calling out. )

Hey, uh... ( he doesn't recognize them. it's weird. he knows all of the survivors. it's his job to. ) Who are you?

OUT OF THE WOODS
cw | anxiety attack

( revealing clothes is better than no clothes.

he doesn't have the energy or the pride to be picky over free shit, when he has spent the past seven years mending and conserving what little resources he could gather. besides, it isn't that bad. he's seen the trickster wear more revealing outfits than the crop top and leather pants he has on. it helps a lot that almost everyone else in this town have similar taste in fashion. if they can embrace it, then he can stomach it, until he finds an alternative.

the bigger issue right now is that he's pretty fucking sure that he's on the verge of an anxiety attack.

it's too crowded, too noisy and too... everything. his senses feel like their on overdrive right now, overwhelmed by all the visuals, movements and sounds. it's been years since he was surrounded by so many people, who're just laughing and singing and dancing like nothing is wrong.

but everything's wrong. everything's so so wrong. he's gotta be hallucinating or maybe he's finally gone nuts.

breathe, fairfield. breathe. you aren't crazy. this is real. it's impossible, but it's real and you are not crazy. just count your breath out, slow and steady.

pinching his arm for the umpteenth time, he tries to stabilize himself with the sharp sting. it hurts. it hurts because this isn't a dream and this probably isn't a delusion. concentrate on something else. concentrate. )

Uh... ( he grabs onto the closest person passing by, his hand shaky and his voice shakier. ) Can you—... Can you help me for a sec?

MISTAKES WERE MADE
cw | aphro'd food, aggression, anxiety issues & gloryholes

( the food was a mistake.

he should've known better, but he didn't realize how hungry he was until he saw the stands with all their displays and everything was free. but maybe he should have paced himself. it's been years since he had eaten that much and now it's clearly fucking with him.

pushing his way through the crowd, dwight tries to locate the nearest bathroom, his stomach queasy and his cheeks flushed. something isn't right with him. he feels too heated and uncomfortable, and he seriously can't tell if he wants to throw up or—... or what? ) Excuse me—... Coming through. ( he's growing increasingly impatient as his anxiety spikes. ) Excuse me, can you please fucking get out of my way?

( sooner or later, he successfully arrives at a bathroom, but it honestly isn't the kind he was aiming for. frozen in place by what he's seeing with his own freaking eyes, dwight starts to back out. is it him or is it insanely hot in here? either it's the embarrassment or it's the fact that he's feeling a very real and noticeable ache, and he would rather not get into it with anyone here right now. unfortunately for him, that step back collides him straight into the person behind. )

Sorry, I—... I'm on my way out. ( this was a big mistake. a huge mistake. )

WILDCARD

[ ooc | all prompts are malleable. play with them however you'd like! different points, different takes etc. if you're interested in doing something else that's not covered by the above scenarios, then feel free to hit me with it. don't hesitate to pm me for any questions and/or concerns. ]

in the woods

[erosive]

[ The cold bothers Zoya some, but she focuses on the task at hand: winding her way out of the woods. Except these woods feel endless. Each tree looks the same. Even when she tries to distinguish between them—one has bark peeling off its side, another large hollows one could shove their face through—she finds herself more lost than found.

Except now, clearly. By a naked stranger.

She doesn't bother with modesty. I am a soldier. Soldiers have little time to worry about skin. There's a job to be done, and she'll see it through no matter what.

But that still doesn't stop her from crossing her arms against her breasts to make herself appear as sharp as a crack of thunder. She's not disturbed by this. She's not thrown off-kilter. She's Zoya Nazyalensky and she's faced worse than this.

Even if she's entirely out of her element. Why had Juris, such an ancient, exasperating being, not ever found himself trapped in some spooky woods, naked and alone and with strangers? Zoya has no compass to guide her, no memories from an ancient entity to set her on her path.

Furrowing her brows, she turns her chin upward and peers down her nose at him. ]

Who are you?

[hatchways]

( the question is fair.

if she's the latest victim the entity has brought in, then she has every reason to be wary of him. but here's the thing— who's to say that she isn't the new killer who has been plucked from some passing dimension and nudity's just an all around exclusive thing for her?

it would explain why she seems so unfazed right now, which is kind of suspicious, right?

orrr maybe he's just overthinking things. or he's finally gone crazy. or both. )

I asked you first.

[erosive]

I was here first.

[ Yes, Zoya realises how childish that answer is. All she needs to do now is stomp her foot to really embrace it. Nikolai would love that.

Knowing that she'll get nowhere by being an absolute boulder, she huffs instead. There are other battles to fight. This one she can lose, not that it's much of a prize, anyway. ]

Zoya.

[ Followed by an expectant lift of her brows. Your turn, naked man. ]

[hatchways]

( she hasn't attacked him yet, which is always a good sign.

she also doesn't look like any of the freaks the entity likes to drag in, which is another good sign. )

Dwight. ( a name for a name. he can be fair about it. ) I woke up here a while ago. ( he jerks this thumb behind him. ) Maybe a mile or two back that way. No idea where this is. ( since she's claiming to have been here first— ) Do you?

out of the woods

[explosion]

[ Perhaps she should've startled at the touch. Despite being a decent actress, she doesn't think it's important she needs to pretend she hadn't caught onto those pervading anxious thoughts. She's always done her best to keep herself out of people's minds, even when they call out to her.

But small towns always tend to hook Wanda like she's the fish and not the fisherwoman.

She turns toward him, brows furrowing immediately in concern. She nods. ]

Yes.

[ Keeping her voice deliberate and loud, the word slow as though it's made up of multiple syllables intead of one. She tentatively reaches out to touch him in turn, wondering if a tight grip of her fingertips will help anchor him. Touch is tricky. One wrong press and she's stepping over a line she never wants to toe over again. But she keeps her hand on his bare arm, wondering if that's enough. ]

I can help you.

[ So many people think otherwise.

Wanda doesn't look away from him, although everyone else—the bodies around them, the energies, the thoughts and sounds and voices—fade to nothing for her. ]

I am real, and I can help you.

[hatchways]

( he doesn't know why he did it — why his hand reached out on its own. all he knows is that he needs help.

it's been seven years of handling his issues all on his own. it's been seven years of a continuous uphill battle against his own anxiety and his mountain range of traumas, which he frankly believes at this point will never go away, no matter how hard he tries to suppress or control them. it's ridiculous that he thinks he even could control them, yet it's under that very delusion that dwight has managed to come as far as he has.

he wouldn't call himself a leader, even if he has played the role countless times. there are far more capable people in the fog, who're more equipped to take up the position and guide everyone. but he has somehow become such a staple — possibly due to the fact that he was one of the very first victims the entity pulled in — that too many eyes now saw him as one and relied on him. it was all the more reason for him to keep his troubles to himself. he didn't want to burden others.

he couldn't ask for help, not where it truly counted.

but it's different here, isn't it? he isn't in the fog. there are no hooks and generators around. no hidden killers in sight — or none that he could easily make out. there are just people. so fucking many people. so, maybe that's why. maybe that's why he thought for once it should be okay for him to just reach out and ask.

he feels the warmth of her hand on his arm and the comforting firmness of her voice. drawing in a deep breath, dwight nods his head, silently repeating her words back to himself. she can help me. she is real and she can help me. )

I—... I just need somewhere quiet. For a moment. ( he closes his eyes briefly. ) So I can... breathe.

cw: references to war

[explosion]

Okay.

[ It's been a long, long time since Sokovia, but Wanda remembers how she'd held the hands of her childhood friend Marina when the apartment building next to hers had been shelled. She'd gripped her fingers delicately, firm enough to ground her but not tight enough to hurt her. She does the same now.

Glancing around, she determines going left—her left, his right—would be best. There's a pocket of space exposing a small alleyway, and while she doesn't like that the width is small, it's open-ended. They can at least leave the festival by following one direction if they need to.

Better to keep it simple. He has one destination in mind; introducing multiple of possibilities will only tangle the matter. ]

Let's go.

[ She squeezes his arm. She doesn't loop hers through it, not wanting to startle him. ]

I'm going to take your hand, and we're going to go to an alley. [ She cocks her head in the direction, just in case he prefers to know. ] I won't let go, and no one will follow.

[ It's easy to telepathically suggest to the people nearest to their path not to cross that invisible boundary. Wanda smiles small at him before she gently guides him away from this ambush of people. The townspeople continue their conversations, but their voices drop to whispers as they pass. The volume returns to what it was behind them. ]

[hatchways]

( he's grateful.

it's simple yet kind gestures like this that have managed to keep dwight sane over the years. community is important, but it's the individuals within it that truly defines whether it's one worth being part of. he hasn't made up his mind on this town yet, but if there are people like her around, how bad can it be?

she must have experience in this type of situation though.

no extraneous questions needed to be asked; no nervousness or uncertainty to her voice. her calmness helps. her clear directions helps. her reassurances helps more than she could ever know. he nods his head in silent agreement, following her lead as she guides him to the alley.

once there, he collapses back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. he feels light-headed and hot, and he can still hear his heart pounding away in his chest. it's much quieter here though, much more peaceful, like a couple of feet was all the difference it took to find someplace safe. slow inhale, slow exhale. he wants to thank her and express his gratitude and apologize for taking up her time with his nonsense. without realizing it, his hand has tightened around hers.

slow inhale, slow exhale, slow inhale—

it takes him a minute or two, but he manages to stabilize his breathing enough to at least reopen his eyes and get a good look at her for the first time. she's younger than expected, pretty enough to give him pause. ) Thanks. Anxiety. I'll be okay. ( he just needs time. )

out of the woods;

[somatosensory]

( the spike of anxiety has him turning long before the person — a young face, erratic heartbeat, definitely new — can even catch his fingers around his sleeve.

he's immediately reminded mavis and of the party. she'd looked much the same — pale and volatile. and, while he's not feeling the tell-tale prickle that means furor, he's also in no rush to meet whatever's simmering underneath this guy's skin. )

Sure, hold on — ( reflexively adjusting, his tone dropping to something low and steady. ) What's your name?

( despite the temptation to reach out and touch him, to try to do something about that jackrabbiting heartbeat, he bites back the urge. )

[hatchways]

( a part of him didn't think anyone would actually stop for him.

everyone seems to be so caught up in the activities and merriments of the festival that he doubts they would have time for him, someone who doesn't belong here — someone who currently feels like he's so outside of it all that he may as well be on the other side of a screen. he shouldn't have reached out. he felt his fingers retract even as he extended his hand out, yet by some freaking miracle, he managed to stop one of the dozens of people passing by.

it isn't a secret that dwight fairfield has severe anxiety issues. he's pretty sure everyone in the fog knows it, whether they're survivors or killers. he doesn't necessarily try to hide it (because he can't), but he does suppress it to the best of his ability. it has worked to varying degrees. sometimes he was able to go through multiple trials without losing his cool; other times, it got so bad that he couldn't even function normally — yet he never made it anyone else's problem.

he couldn't bring himself to, especially not when the others were already burdened by their own troubles and worries. )

Dwight. ( he barely manages to get it out. ) I just—... I just need to sit. Somewhere quiet. ( somewhere less overwhelming. )

[somatosensory]

( the name doesn't mean much, but then he's not gone out of his way to be social. being trapped in the boarding house for ㅡ...fuck, how long has it actually been?

long enough for the boredom to settle in, at least. the novelty of the vanish walls and voracious furniture wearing off right around the time a frisky nightstand started getting ideas. the furniture seems to have settled down, since, but maybe they'll look for somewhere a little closer for now.

close turns out to be behind one of the quieter stalls, while aristaeus talks the vendor into sacrificing some of her wares. )

Here. ( a mug of something is pressed into dwight's hand, their fingers brushing briefly. ) Tastes like gasoline but it'll help you level out.

[hatchways]

( he doesn't have the luxury right now to really consider the dangers of following a stranger to a nondescript location in an unfamiliar territory, so when they approach a stall with a vendor, dwight feels somewhat relieved. the stand is still within the confines of the festival, yet it's in a quieter nook.

it's enough for him, a significant step up from the middle of a crowded street.

leaning back against a wall, dwight closes his eyes, trying to distance himself from the noise and focus on regulating his breathing. slow inhale, slow exhale, slow inhale. the sound of footsteps forces him to reopen them as a mug is pressed into his hands. he smiles up at the man gratefully, his fingers tightening around the mystery drink. ) Thanks. ( given the types of food found in the fog, a concoction that tastes like gasoline really isn't all that heinous. lifting it to his lips, he takes a tentative sip of it, somehow managing to release a soft laugh as he realizes that it does in fact fucking tastes like fuel. ) What is this?

( some kind of home remedy? )

wildcard 💦 (cw: stalking, voyeurism)

[ghostface]

( the entity plays games. everyone that exists under the weight of her sprawling thumb knows this, including danny. especially danny. if it wasn't for that hollowed-out feeling deep in his guts, his insides scooped clean of everything that made him hers, he would've thought that this — appearing here alone, no familiar face in sight — was just another one of her dirty fucking tricks. maybe it still is. maybe she pawned him off to another mysterious eldritch entity, relinquished him with a finger-wiggling wave and a cheeky your problem now. maybe something bigger and meaner took him by force. there are more things in heaven and earth. hamlet had no fucking idea.

then, hours in, while chummily knocking elbows with strangers at the largest dinner table he's ever sat, he sees it: a familiar face, haggard and fidgeting, squirreling food into his pockets from his dinner plate before he promptly disappears out the nearest door. danny doesn't stare. his heart ricochets off his ribcage, but he neatly cuts his food and says his pleases and thank yous the way his mama taught him and finishes his dinner.

it's him. it's him, it's him, it's him, it's him. i found you. got you, bitch.

predictably, dwight handles the festival as well as he seems to be handling everything else: like shit, one wrong shoulder bump away from a full-blown panic attack. danny tracks him through the crowd. later, into the woods, where dwight seems to be temporarily living, huddled over his knees around a flickering campfire. there's no fog here to hold danny back from approaching him, no series of convoluted rules he needs to follow at the behest of the entity, but he leaves dwight alone for the night, and the next night, and the next.

on the fourth day, hours before nightfall, danny cuts a noisy path through the woods to dwight's campsite, branches snapping underfoot. he clutches a bundle of fabric to his chest — warm layers, a blanket, a waterskin, dried jerky wrapped in cheesecloth. gifts for his lone survivor.

when he's close enough to catch dwight by the eye through a thin thicket of trees, he stops, all tentative uncertainty, swaying his weight from one booted foot to the other. )

Sorry, don't mean to intrude on — ( he passes a scanning glance over the campfire, as if to say whatever the fuck this is. he knows what the fuck this is: old habits, dwight carving a safe space made from flame and tinder into the unfriendly dark. ) I've seen you out here a few times. I thought you could use some of this shit.

( he lifts the bundle. )

You mind, man? ( his heel knocks a nearby boulder, a handful of feet away from dwight's position. ) I can leave it here if you want.

[hatchways]

( enough days have passed for whatever initial disorienting and jarring feelings dwight had to his abrupt change in environment to sort of ease into a mild, if not necessarily low, simmer. he still feels like his anxiety is viciously eating away at him, like if he isn't careful, he'll suddenly snap out of this impossible dream straight back into the sick reality he's known for the past seven fucking years. but it hasn't happened yet, so... so he isn't entirely sure how to feel about that.

in fact, besides anxiety and wariness, he isn't feeling much at all — no hope, no excitement, not even sadness or anger.

he feels numbed and he feels... conflicted about how to feel, if that makes any sense. should he be shouting with joy? should he be crying in relief? or should he be beating himself up over not being there for all the people who he has left behind in the fog?

he doesn't have an answer to that. he isn't in the right state of mind to do a deep dive into it, when he's still trying to figure out how he ended up here.

the entity couldn't have grown sick of him and just randomly tossed his ass out, right? like did he become such a major thorn in her side that she needed to get rid of him asap or has he become so intrinsically broken that she no longer finds value in him? or could this be an actual outlandish case of cross-dimensional kidnapping that even the entity was too weak to stop? he's heard the theories floating around town, but he doesn't know what to believe.

dwight decided pretty quickly that the boarding house wasn't for him on day one. it was too crowded and tight, and it did nothing more than to provoke his nerves. so he picked a nice area out in the woods — not too far away from town to make it difficult to run for help, but still far enough away to get some peace and quiet. the campfire he had set up felt safe and familiar, and he knew that no offer of free room and board could possibly set him at ease as effectively as the soft crackle of an ongoing flame.

the woods aren't completely devoid of people. others live out here, too. dwight has even seen one or two people pass through in the distance. so when he hears the sound of footsteps and some guy he's never seen before shows up, he isn't startled or surprised. he's just wary because, well, he's always wary.

he doesn't say anything at first, his eyes glancing up at his face and then down to the bundle of supplies in his arms. but soon enough, his expression softens and a grateful smile settles over his face. ) No, you're not intruding. Thanks. ( he stands up from where he was seated against a log. ) That's, uh... ( he motions at the things he's carrying. ) really nice of you. You didn't have to come all the way out here just to give them to me.

( but that seems to be the nature of almost everyone in this town — kind, helpful and generous. )

Uh... ( he takes a careful step forward, holding out his hands. ) You can just hand them to me. ( a slight furrow of his brows. ) I don't think I've seen you around before...? I'm Dwight. What's your name?

[ghostface]

( normally danny isn't allowed the pleasure of looking dwight directly in the eye without fear or anger or disgust distorting his face into a funhouse mirror, certain features exaggerated by the harsh glare of a flashlight or scrubbed away entirely beneath clinging shadows. here, with soft afternoon light dappled through the treetops anointing his brow like a golden crown, he's kinda cute.

danny steps forward, piling the clothes and supplies into a neat ( too neat, fastidiously neat ) arrangement over his extended arms. one hand slips beneath the bottom layer — a knitted wool blanket — and awkwardly grips dwight's hand for a brief squeeze and shake. )

Danny. ( his mouth tilts at one corner, a lop-sided smile that echoes up to his eyes. doe brown, dusky-lashed. ) You just seemed kinda lonely out here, is all.

( what, with him choosing to isolate in the middle of the fucking woods rather than hole up with the rest of them, back in the boarding house. to be fair, danny hates it, too, but not for the same reasons. his eyes roam dwight's lived-in campsite, as if taking it in for the first time. )

How long have you been slumming it in the wilds, man?

mistakes

[sunmon]

Hey— What's your problem?

[ it's sputtered out as he shoves past, away from the bathroom, where alina has shoved herself into the line. she steps aside, even though it means knocking into someone else, and glances from dwight back the way he'd come.

it gives her a glimpse into the bathroom and at the sight inside that had made him promptly decide that it wasn't for him.

and honestly, she should have expected that, so alina is aware that's on her. it's just that it manages to sneak up in the most absurd ways, turning anything innocuous into, well. that.

she pulls back out of the line also, scoffing, and follows dwight over to a quiet corner, hands tucked into her pockets. ] Are you alright?

[hatchways]

( he barely hears the outraged exclamations as he bumps and pushes past a bunch of people, desperate to put some distance between him and whatever the hell is going on inside that closed area. honestly, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to unsee it, which is particularly bad right now.

luckily, the crowd has created a gap between the rest of the festival and that... that sexual rendezvous point.

c'mon, fairfield. think. maybe he can go out into the woods. it's quiet, private and it'll allow him ample more room to take care of whatever the fuck he needs to take care of. glancing off into the direction of the forest that borders the town, dwight's attention is promptly pulled back by a voice coming from behind him. )

No. ( his response is immediate, his body angled away from her. he glances over his shoulder at the woman behind him. ) I'll be—... I'll be okay though. ( probably. he yanks at his collar with a finger, trying to ignore the ever surmounting heat. ) Think I just ate something wrong.

[sunmon]

So it wasn't just the ... surprise ... waiting in the bathroom?

[ she asks it gently, her nose crinkling as she tries to tread cautiously around the topic. ]

Because I think that'd upset a lot of people. If that were what was going on.

wildcard

[pharmacy]

[ It's taken him a few days. To be devastated by being swept to some new hellscape, to realize it's real, to sleep to sleep to sleep. To see the first strange, bright smattering of electricity crackle around the ankle he twisted so badly on arrival--signs of the changes that everyone here has promised him. A few days to realize where he can find relief from the changes before they fuck him up. He needs time.

[ But Quentin is good at community. Community is so, so good for him. Given a week, he's volunteering at the Boarding House to cook and serve. It gives him something to do, not to mention a vantage point on locals and new citizens alike. It's not a permanent situation; one of the volunteers tells him they'll put in a word for him about an apprenticeship. But it's great for now. Especially when, clearing the long table, he sees a familiar face.

[ To be far, seeing Dwight feels...bad at first. Like fear. Like sadness. Like he's gonna shit his pants or something. (Are they both trapped? Is it the same place or something new? Is someone coming for them now?) When that second passes, Quentin drops the accoutrement he's collected to the table and vaults over it--shoves through a small incoming cluster to crash into Dwight Fairfield and wrap his arms around him ferociously. It's not neat. They crash into a wall. ]

[hatchways]

( in true dwight fairfield fashion, he has opted to set up a camp out in the woods rather than accept the free room and board offered by the town.

there isn't anything wrong with the boarding house, of course; any normal person would be thrilled to have a roof over their heads, after experiencing such a bizarre form of kidnapping(?). but dwight hasn't slept in a bed for seven years. he has grown used to the comfort and safety that a campfire symbolizes in an otherwise nightmarish hellscape. he has grown used to the cold, hard ground and, more importantly, the spaciousness of the wilderness.

dwight knows how to navigate a forest to escape a killer; he doesn't think he'll have as much luck in a cramped boarding house full of strangers.

he isn't a fool though. just because he isn't living at the boarding house doesn't mean that he won't accept the complimentary meals they provide. he swings on by for breakfast, lunch and dinner, even if he doesn't always stick around long to intermingle with the residents here.

today, he only plans to grab and go. he has been busy exploring, trying to curate a mental map of both the town and the woods surrounding it. it's important to familiarize yourself with a new territory, practically survival 101. so, he's cramming some loaves of bread and some fruits into his backpack, when he suddenly catches from the periphery of his vision, a figure vaulting over a table and rushing at him. he doesn't react in time, perhaps a troubling testament to how quickly the boarding house became a "safe location" to him. as he's tackled?? hugged??? out of the freaking blue, dwight stumbles and collides straight back into the wall behind him, his breath knocked clean out of him. he feels a pair of arms wrapped tightly around him, momentarily confounded by what the fuck is happening until he catches a familiar scent.

angling his head to get a better look at him, dwight almost immediately feels the tension leave his body at the sight of quentin. but with it comes a simultaneous sharp drop to the pit of his stomach, chilling and cautious in nature as his eyes instinctively moves to scan the interior of the building.

if they're both here, who's to say that someone — or something — else isn't as well? )

Hey Quen. ( his voice is gentle, light, as he tries to right himself, still pressed up against the wall. he returns his hug, giving him a few soothing rubs on the back. ) Hey, it's good to see you too. You doing okay there? ( because he's sort of hugging him to death rn. )

[pharmacy]

[ One arm around his waist, the other around his shoulders, Quentin palms the back of Dwight's neck to keep him close to the cleft of his jaw for an extra few seconds. No scenting, but he revels in a few deep breaths before clapping Dwight between the shoulder blades. He only backs up as far as his hands on Dwight's shoulders, wide, wet eyes appraising him thoroughly. ]

Holy shit. What the fuck, did you just land? Where have you been, I've been here for--days, man, I was starting to think I was just onto the next one! Fuck.. [ Both palms drag over Dwight's cheeks, then finally withdraw to push through his hair. ] What are we doing here? Where's everyone else, are they here? 

MISTAKES WERE MADE

[ramure]

[ Lottie doesn't exactly have a firm grasp on the situation she's in either, but there's something instinctive and simple about helping someone in need. It's grounding for her, too, to see someone else unbalanced by this world and its strangeness and when she's bumped into she doesn't flinch. She'd seen him charging through the crowd a moment earlier and had turned to follow like a moth after light, so she's behind him and ready when he backs out.

Now, she takes hold of his shoulder with one hand and presses her other palm to his chest. She holds it there, hard, and bores big dark eyes straight into him. ]

Hey.

[ Gentle, commanding, absolutely confident. There's a steely softness to her expression, like calming down is non-negotiable. ]

You're okay.

[hatchways]

( it isn't like he's new to the concept of gloryholes, but it's still pretty fucking jarring to walk into one when you're already feeling unwell.

he needs to get away as quickly as he can. he needs to find somewhere far away and, more importantly, private. his cheeks are flushed, but he's pretty sure it's for an entirely different reason now. trying to map out the best route to the forest, dwight is completely startled when he feels someone grab him by the shoulder and spin him around. he feels a firm hand pressed to his chest, before he even manages to look down and meet a pair of assured eyes.

amazingly, he can't help but to listen to her. the confident, no-nonsense tone in her voice is honestly a comfort in and of itself.

he can feel the beating of his heart mellow out, yet to his detriment, it doesn't do much to calm the other parts of himself. at that deplorable thought, dwight instinctively reaches up to take a hold of her wrist as he tries to angle his body away. )

Uh... Thanks. I'm okay. It's just... ( he glances behind her shoulder back to that tightly packed area. ) I was just startled, that's all.

i'd love to continue, my player plot ate my focus!

[ramure]

[ He's calming down, that's good. It's going just like it had with Travis when he'd started to panic, and then -- she realizes just how much it's going like it had with Travis. She looks back up at Dwight with more control over her reaction this time than she had in the cabin with Natalie right beside them. She focuses on his heartbeat, trying to sync her own with it.

Lottie lets him take hold of her wrist and she closes her other hand around his, holding him tightly. She breathes deeply as if to show him how, to remind him, exhaling with him. Then, without coyness or embarrassment: ]

It's nothing to be ashamed of. They aren't.

[ She spares him a smile, small but real, sorry for him that his body can't hide his responses as easily as some others might. She would hate to be so obvious herself. ]

Though it is all... fucking crazy, isn't it?