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TEST DRIVE MEME 004
⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ 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: spiders, animated skeletons, aphrodisiac effects, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, knifeplay, potential dismemberment.
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
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: spiders, animated skeletons, aphrodisiac effects, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, knifeplay, potential dismemberment.
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.
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 despite the growing chill.
wildlife encounters
The longer you hike, the more unsettling sights await you: animal remains, some partially stripped of their flesh or discarded entrails left exposed to the cold. As you continue on your way, you might even swear you catch a glimpse of what appears to be a fully-formed skeletal creature observing you from a distance. Surely, that’s just your mind playing tricks on you... These creatures may be unsettling, but they show no signs of aggression to folks who keep their distance.
In the forest, 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.
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. It's already full of people who appeared in the village just as you did today.
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!
RECUMITA
The festival fills the streets with dancing locals and all the stuffs of a street market. Despite the challenges posed by the snow-in-summer, farmers are grateful to announce that the situation is not as dire as initially feared. As a result, the harvest festival of Recūmita becomes a celebration of unity and gratitude to their fellow townspeople for salvaging an almost-frozen harvest, the Duchess' magic for protecting and reviving it, and the 'Void-Touched' who braved the Void to strengthen her.Over the weekend, all regular work is put on hold, except for the necessary festival preparations. The streets come alive with vibrant stalls and stands, offering a wide array of delectable treats and refreshing beverages. From barrels of beer and cups of kvas to mouthwatering roasted meats, delightful squash-based dishes like pumpkin latkes, honey-glazed brussel sprouts on skewers, hot borscht in both pork and vegetarian variations, and tantalizing mushrooms stuffed with leeks, cranberries, and bryndza cheese, there is an abundance of flavors to indulge in.
The first day of the festival transforms the streets into a bustling night market, where shopkeepers organize an assortment of carnival-style games. Test your strength in arm-wrestling contests or challenge your pain tolerance in contests where individuals whip each other to determine who yields first, whether to pain or pleasure. In one corner, Terry's Rubean student sets up an unsanctioned fighting tournament, while in another area, a path of hot coals awaits the daring souls who wish to traverse it. Instead of traditional pie-throwing stands, knife-throwing stands attract participants who willingly become targets.
Enthusiastic Rubeans, particularly those involved in integrating the Void-touched, take it upon themselves to enhance the festivities. They recruit local participants and willing Void-touched individuals to partake in an impromptu stage performance, with no need for rehearsals. Come as you are and join the spectacle! Once the performance begins, the passion and excitement behind their efforts become truly evident, as all the performances call for explicitly sexual or violent acts to be performed together.
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
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.
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.
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.
Rubilykskoye's performance troupe is thrown into a state of panic as they make a shocking discovery: Vyanchaslav, their unofficial manager and conductor, has vanished without a trace! Vyanchaslav plays a crucial role in the troupe, overseeing small inter-troupe matters and having the final say on casting and rehearsal time. He is known for his reliability, making his sudden disappearance all the more perplexing, especially right before a major event.
The last time anyone saw Vyanchaslav was in their usual rehearsal space, just before a crucial run-through of their upcoming performance. His absence during that rehearsal was highly unusual, and it left the troupe members worried and confused. They are now frantically trying to piece together what might have happened to him.
As they search for Vyanchaslav, they notice a faint sound lingering in the air – the distant whine of a fiddle. However, there is something unsettling about it. As they follow the source of the sound, the room grows darker, and an eerie chill runs down their spines. Those who draw close enough to properly hear Vyanchaslav's song will feel inclined to dance themselves til their feet bleed, til their lungs give out. That is, provided they don't cut a devil's bargain with him first, selling something else to the devil in exchange for their freedom.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
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.
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
Rubilykskoye's performance troupe is thrown into a state of panic as they make a shocking discovery: Vyanchaslav, their unofficial manager and conductor, has vanished without a trace! Vyanchaslav plays a crucial role in the troupe, overseeing small inter-troupe matters and having the final say on casting and rehearsal time. He is known for his reliability, making his sudden disappearance all the more perplexing, especially right before a major event.The last time anyone saw Vyanchaslav was in their usual rehearsal space, just before a crucial run-through of their upcoming performance. His absence during that rehearsal was highly unusual, and it left the troupe members worried and confused. They are now frantically trying to piece together what might have happened to him.
As they search for Vyanchaslav, they notice a faint sound lingering in the air – the distant whine of a fiddle. However, there is something unsettling about it. As they follow the source of the sound, the room grows darker, and an eerie chill runs down their spines. Those who draw close enough to properly hear Vyanchaslav's song will feel inclined to dance themselves til their feet bleed, til their lungs give out. That is, provided they don't cut a devil's bargain with him first, selling something else to the devil in exchange for their freedom.
(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?
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?
no subject
[Gale doing his best to imitate Astarion, it's impossible to get the quality, but the cadence and the gestures are nearly spot on.]
Gale, you insolent little pup, why didn't you tell me! You best sleep with one eye open lest I bite your ear off in retaliation.
[It's exaggerated for his own amusement, but the sentiment is there and he offers Astarion a sidelong glance with a playful grin. Mostly he's trying to lighten the mood.
Fortunately this little excursion is different from the last, they are not trapped on a ship, but that doesn't mean there are not consequences for being here.
Of course there are.]
For the most part? [Gale muses to himself, shifting now to cradle Astarion's arm in both of his hands.] I have a little remedy that should take you the rest of the way, if you don't mind.
[Oh, right.] I'm not feeling any nausea, of course.
[Then they'll finish up here and move on to the business of clothing.]
no subject
[So there, know-it-all. He knows Gale is trying to bring some levity to the situation, and maybe that's why he feels he has permission to not see the bright side of things for a moment. Astarion knows that were it Gale brooding, he would be doing much the same in an attempt to snap the mage out of it. Just because he can recognize a kindness does not mean he's capable of accepting it. Not easily.
He glances at Gale when the other man takes his arm. With an affected sigh (which Gale perfectly mimicked a moment ago), he gives his permission.]
Go on then.
no subject
[His vampire companion needed to survive, after all, if they were going to make it out of here and back to their previous trajectory. Of course this was a last resort, if Astarion was able to find something else to whet his appetite out there that wasn't absolutely toxic then he was welcome to that instead.
It was also a distracting topic, after all both of them couldn't be brooding at the same time. One of them had to keep their head and direct their little duo.]
It's so terrible, isn't it? [Turning Astarion's arm he located his companion's pericardium 6 and began massaging gently, applying just enough pressure to be firm.] Having someone here to completely relieve your nausea.
no subject
Hopefully it doesn't come to that. [The words are clipped, the way he often speaks when there is a subject he'd prefer to avoid. Then he sighs.] But thank you, I suppose.
[He doesn't want to think about how they might feed Gale's particular needs. He still wears a pensive frown as the mage finds a point and applies pressure. Astarion resists the urge to jerk his arm away when the massage starts. There's a brief moment of tension before the muscles relax again. His frown shifts to--puzzlement. Whatever Gale is doing, it's working.]
Yes, absolutely terrible, [he says absently, just distracted enough - or curious enough - to not bother feigning being affronted.] What are you doing?
no subject
[A brief pause and then a brisk nod of his head as though trying to convince himself of something true.]
It works.
[It's at the very back of his mind, the orb, his own little hunger that was unavoidable and inevitable and somehow even more dangerous. It helped to focus on a different problem, on other people and their immediate needs. It was too much to think about his own demise neverminded the blast radius and how far Astarion would have to be to avoid it.
No, best not to even think about it.]
It's a pressure point, I don't know all of them, but I know the ones that help relieve the worst minor inconveniences. This one here helps with nausea and nervousness. [And there's plenty to be nervous about at the moment.]
no subject
He turns his attention back to what Gale is doing to his arm. It seems to be a far better place for both of them to focus.]
Remind me to ask for a massage before flinging myself into some stupid danger or another. Since it seems to keep happening with alarming regularity.
no subject
Then it could very well be that Gale was unobtrusive enough that a performance was hardly necessary and it rarely worked, despite how irreverently charming the rogue was. He enjoyed Astarion's company either way, if nothing else he brought something memorable to the table.]
Is that your way of saying it's helping or that it feels good?
no subject
Yes, [he admits after a moment.] It's helping. But now I know that you can do it - you've brought this on yourself.
[Astarion's mind drifts back to those words - I need you. It wouldn't be difficult, would it, to find out just how much Gale means that. He pulls his arm free - gentle, but unyielding - when the nausea seems to have passed entirely.]
We should get moving. I don't know if you saw any of the animal carcasses I did, but we don't want to find whatever made them.
no subject
Taking advantage of the magic that my hands are, how diabolic of you. [As if he's not completely aware of the fact that Astarion isn't above such things.] I don't intend to spoil you, you know, a bit of nepotism maybe.
[There's a strange spark of reluctance that lasts only a moment, but when Astarion determinedly frees himself Gale is aware of the unsettling fact that he might have been projecting. Astarion's smooth cool skin felt oddly electric to him, it felt good to touch him, even it it was clear of any intention save for wanting to help the other man.
It's hardly a passing thought to him, or to anyone with eyes that Astarion is objectively attractive, but he reminds himself as well that his life was that of a hermit for quite some time and his contact with others had been limited -- so this was just a remnant of abstaining tickling his primal brain and little else.]
Thanks for the reminder. [Gale didn't need to revisit the garlands of entrail flung about the forest and the animals that had been riddled with holes, or the odd sensation of eyes on him that didn't belong to Astarion.
Gale would probably suggest walking in the stream, if for no other reason than to cover their tracks, but doubted either one of them could tolerate it for long. The air was cold enough, exposing his extremities to the chill of the stream would not end well, and moving water was not a vampire's friend if Gale recalled. Though he wasn't sure if Astarion experienced the cold the same way. A lower body temperature did not necessarily mean he couldn't feel it, but did it bother him?
A question for another time.]
We might be lost, but we already know a few things: one, we don't want to stay here, two, that direction [he pointed] is north -- you can tell because of the moss, and three we're better off following the drainage down hill [pointing again to the flow of the stream]. Since we don't know when or if we'll run into another source of water it's probably a good idea to stick close regardless of direction.
[Another lesson from yours truly, but feel free to lead on.]
no subject
[Despite the salacious comment and matching expression, Astarion absently rubs the place Gale was touching him, as if there might be some warmth left that he might feel. It hasn't been very long at all since he's been touched, but he cannot remember the last time it was done without expectation. Which is not to say Gale expects nothing, he won't assume that. He will never assume that. But that's something to think about later.
Astarion looks downstream, and there is silly part of him that would like to walk in the stream simply because he can. To prove that he still can, the same way that he would like to stay in the sun. Because he can.]
Right.
[He waits, then sighs.]
I'll go first, shall I? [Of the two of them, Astarion thinks he might be able to sense something coming first. He's seen Gale take a hit, but it's probably best not to risk it.
He steps away from the stream to walk along the bank, far enough to avoid to avoid the risk of slipping on wet stone or still-frosty ground. He feels a prickle across his back and rolls his shoulders to dismiss it. He doesn't often undress even to the waist in camp, but he has, and so it's likely not the first time Gale has caught sight of the scars across his back.]
no subject
[Astarion could certainly see a further, hear better, smell things he couldn't...all of the benefits of a predator whether he wanted them or not. In this case it would be a boon to the both of them.
Apparently he's not the only one thinking this as Astarion volunteers to take the lead with only a singular long-suffering sigh. An improvement.
Gale simply offers Astarion a slight bow and a gesture of his hand.]
By all means, I'll cover the-- [rear, he was going to say rear, but no] --salient.
[Yes. That works.
And with the appropriate choice of words out of the way Gale treks behind Astarion, not too far, but with just enough space between them not to interfere with autonomy. Of course the spaces between the silence meant that Gale had little else to do than case their surroundings, cover their tracks, and watch Astarion...not that he hasn't seen the rogue's back he has, but with the understanding of his companion's sensitivities he's never really had a good look before.
Cazador's work, he's aware of that by now, and it must have been hard work to scar Astarion to the extent regeneration or healing had no effect on it...there was something about this particular scarring that couldn't be normal. Of course there was other scarring, internal scarring, but these were all sensitive subjects and Gale would not be the one to address it unless it needed addressing.]
no subject
Though, in all fairness, his scars probably won't cause an apocalyptic detonation.
As they travel, Astarion is torn between wanting to fill the silence and maintaining it. He can hear better if he isn't distracted by the sound of his own voice, and it's likely they'll benefit from drawing as little attention to themselves as possible. But maybe the distraction would help take their minds off the cold, or their exposure, or the nature of their current plight(s).]
I don't care if it's a bloody burlap sack, [he mutters after having to cross a little tributary flowing into the widening stream they've been following.] I'm putting on the first scrap of fabric I find. Even the damned mindflayers didn't take those away.
[Complaining won't get them anywhere, but it will make him feel slightly better.]
no subject
It's incredible what the mind could do to protect itself, avoid and minimize seemed like an excellent plan of action in the event that one does not have the tools to unload their own burdens.
He likely wasn't alone in this either
While he might have said to Astarion that he enjoyed their little walks together in silence, that wasn't entirely true and honestly Gale did not know what to do with so much quiet. Obviously he enjoyed and engaging conversation, not just to hear himself speak, but it changed the atmosphere as well. Something was better than the thoughts buzzing around in the bone arena of his skull and occasionally rubbing his arms for warmth now that he was staggeringly aware.]
Oh, you're not enjoying the healthy breeze? I can't blame you though, if we were meant to be naked then wicker chairs wouldn't exist. If you've never experienced a spur from a wicker chair in your rear end...well you're not missing anything terribly exciting.
[Anecdotes for the sake of anecdotes.]
Though if it does become unbearable we may just have to build a fire.
[He's hesitant to draw anything to their location, but there are no good alternatives.]
no subject
[Astarion wants to be annoyed by the anecdote. If either of them is guilty of talking just for the sake of talking, Gale is just as bad as he is. But it's--comforting. Normal. Which is how he knows this place is really getting to him.]
I honestly can't remember ever sitting in a wicker chair. And I can't decide if it would be better or worse to stop.
[They have no shelter, no clothes, and little else to work with. Astarion can hunt, probably, but he'd still prefer not to go chasing game naked. Even he draws the line at some risks.]
no subject
[And now he has to think about the impact of the cold on those parts that most object to it while pointedly not looking down to see if said parts were not cowering the way he suspected they were.
Alternatively he was also focused on the piece of precious metal in his ear, naked didn't apply to symbolic jewelry apparently and every time it touched his jaw he could fill a shock of chill ringing against his skin.]
If we have to risk stopping then we might just, though it would be nice to find an overhang or outcrop. I'd hate to have to watch my back and my front.
no subject
He looks back at Gale. All right, he doesn't know which he hates more: knowing as much as he does about camping or feeling a modicum of concern for a companion. But it's difficult not to notice how cold the other man looks. And the way he jumps now and then when his earring touches his skin. Gods damnit.]
Let's find somewhere to rest, [he says at last.] Locking up with cold won't do either of us any good.
[Astarion's attention turns from following a path along the stream to finding something that might work as shelter. It takes a while, but as the stream descends down a hill, he finds them a rocky outcrop to get under. It's not much, but it will provide some cover.]
no subject
Hah, you don't have to make a special effort on my behalf. [His voice is congenial, but he's clearly speaking through clenched teeth. He is doing his very best to grin and bear it with the frame of mind that if Astarion can manage so can he, despite certain physiological disadvantages.
It's only too apparent that Astarion is making the effort and that's...well...it's something, but that means he's more focused on finding shelter so Gale takes up the role of watchman, attuning his limited senses while every now and then collecting hard branches and whatever kindling they happened upon that was dry. Fortunately he had plenty of time to gather wood for burning as finding shelter wasn't a simple task, but Astarion managed it.]
Well done! [Dry enough and protection from behind and above, he really couldn't ask for more and they both needed a reprieve, any more time out here and he really would start locking up.] I think I can manage a fire quickly enough, you've done the hard part.
[It gives Gale the opportunity to chance some magic and Astarion can relax, or pace, whatever was his preference. It's not much, but conjuring some fire was promising at least, good or bad it was something and he could heave a sigh of relief.]
no subject
He settles with his back against the rock wall, one leg drawn up like it might provide modesty. Astarion hesitates, but makes himself speak eventually:]
When you finish with that, sit over here.
no subject
Or a tie to home, someone that he could relate to and understand in a shared experience beyond this one. Perhaps he meant it when he said he needed the rogue.]
Quite an invitation. [But one he took regardless after tossing some kindling on top of the cheerful little fire. Easing down at Astarion's side, just close enough to brush arms, he mimicked the other man's sitting position, one leg curled up, one stretched towards the fire allowing the heat to travel up his leg.]
I'm not going anywhere. [Of all the things he could say to soothe the rogue, put his mind at ease, this was what came to mind.] So you're stuck with me, not entirely sure that's a positive for you, but good taste is acquired.
[His head is tipped in Astarion's direction still trying to maintain what he could of his positive energy. It was made easier now that his trembling wasn't wracking his entire body.]
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Darling, I promise when I ravage you it will be on a mattress. Or at the very least a nice bed of moss or something.
[That said, Astarion closes the scant space between them so that he's pressed up against Gale's side as much as he can be. He isn't as warm as Karlach, but he isnt' entirely lacking in body heat, either. Enough to be convincing for most people, anyway. And while he might be able to endure this (he has, and worse, but he won't think of that now) there is no point in making Gale suffer it. Not when he needs those hands steady to make somatic gestures. Not when he needs to speak without chattering teeth to cast whatever he can. He needs Gale.]
Let that keep you warm a while and ponder my good taste.
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What required very little consideration was the fluttering in the pit of his stomach and how frustrating it was that the rogue was able to inspire such a reaction so effortlessly. Though he could attribute it to exhaustion and his defenses being much lower than they would have been.]
When makes it seem as though you've given the ravaging more than just a passing thought. Do you have a confession that you would like to make, because I'm all ears?
[Well turnabout is fair play and if this is Astarion trying to yank his chain he can play along. The good humor is welcome at least, so is whatever warmth they can siphon, both from the fire and from one another, for the time being. Opening one arm he drapes it over Astarion's shoulder, this and the softest bit of earth they could find would do, though there was a part of him that wished he had enough energy to create a small pocket of reality, a bed, a warm room...just for a night.
But this would do.]
You are incorrigible to the very last drop.
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Please, as if you haven't. I would wager everyone in camp has thought of it at least once. Even Lae'zel. [Astarion's very confident in that bet, in fact.] But for your edification, yes. I've thought of how I might bed almost everyone. In the same way that I wonder how you all might taste.
[Some he's thought about more than others, but that's neither here nor there. He sleeps half as much everyone else in their merry company of weirdos and so that means he has time to kill while everyone else is resting up.]
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It's too bad there isn't a broom at hand to sweep up the shattered pieces of my youthful dreams.
[Could he possibly be more evident in his gibing? It's hard to tell, but he is doing a good job feigning hurt while suppressing a chuckle.]
For clarification my thoughts have been filled with only one being until recently. [Though how recently does seem a bit vague and it does sound awkward in retrospect.] A very cheeky person whose endeavored to keep me incredibly busy, it's hard to think about anything else at all.
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Astarion lifts a brow and shifts back just enough to get a better look at Gale's face. And then he looks affonted.]
You aren't suggesting I'm demanding, are you?
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Those charms were all the more striking when his face was closer to his line of sight than he's ever been. The draw is almost magnetic, as if those glossy red eyes have some kind of pull, how sharp and piercing they could be, but they could also be wide and inquisitive.]
I thought I was stating it outright. [His tone was lower, more graveled than normal, and it took him a moment to realize he was close enough to taste Astarion's breath. It took him another moment to realize this might not be entirely appropriate and he had to blink away the fog in his brain, drawing back at the last second only to feel the back of his head bump against the rocky wall.]
Tch...ach...sorry, that was entirely inappropriate.
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