rubimemes | TEST DRIVE MEME 001

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TEST DRIVE MEME 001

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:

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, waxplay, character death, and references to children in proximity to sexual situations.

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Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. For the first round, this test drive serves as characters' arrival into game.

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.

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

AWAKENING IN PAJAK WOOD

The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest warmth of the sun. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the daylight has taken on a sickly green tinge. You lie amongst the mosses and ferns, the 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.

Fortunately, you seem to be alone. The birdsong continues 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. Amongst gnarled oaks and moss, you see nothing around. No sign of civilization or sentient life. Movement flickers at the corner of your eye, but it's just a curious animal — brave squirrels or lizards who have come to see what stirs in their home.

Then, like the rippling of the horizon at noontime, the ash-gray soil around you undulates. Sea, not earth. Something else has come to greet you — their grey bodies blended in so easily with the floor, but as you stagger to your feet, you see them. Thousands of spiders roll like waves underfoot. They crawl towards you from the darker edge of the forest.

attack

Individuals who attack the spiders will find the small spiders are easy to kill, but the pheromones released by their corpses draw larger spiders in their place. 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 will attempt to use their webbing to handicap 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.

FAQ: DEATH RULES

hunt

Any aspiring monster-hunters enterprising enough to try to follow the spiders to their nest will move eastward. This way, the forest grows darker and darker — though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset.

In the void, the birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs, but soon it is impossible to see. Even with the brightest magical light does not reach further than a few inches. The air grows heavy and thick, 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. Soon, you cannot move at all.

Turn back while you still can — collapsing out here is dangerous. The void can play tricks on your senses. You may find yourself reliving unhappy memories or hallucinating your worst nightmares.

SETTING: THE VOID

But flee the spiders westward and you will discover that the wood is well-populated with the survival resources that someone might seek — berries bushes and trees bearing stone fruits; sticks and dry leaves to aid in the building of a fire; rocks big enough to fashion into crude weapons; small animals that can be hunted or caught; hike long enough, and you might just find the freshwater stream that runs north-to-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads.

What's more, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist hiking parties, others may still be naked and confused and processing how they have no memory of how they got here. They all stagger vaguely, as you do, with only the sun for a waymarker — and even that won't last long.

Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty, as it's going to be a long hike. If you sneak a good look at your new companions, you may four varietals of marks on their bodies. Maybe someone will even point out that you have one, too.

FAQ: CURSE MARKS

EVERY DAY LIKE THE ONE BEFORE

Hike far enough — or long enough that the sun does go down — and signs of life come into view. The glow of fires and lights, the smooth curve of a stone wall. A town sits at the edge of this wood, a reward to the survivors.

The fifty-foot wall of beige stone protecting the town's perimeter has only a single entrance — an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people into town from the winding dirt road. Attentive eyes may note that the road itself bears the mark of many wagon wheels and horse hoofs, but not cars.

guards

The guards grant entry to anyone who attempts a conversation with them. However, if your character is more likely to attempt to sneak in, overcome the guards, or attack them, please reach out HERE.

Inside the wall lies a quaint, historic town with a population around five thousand. The streets are cobbled, and their signs are 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 bank — 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.

No matter what time you pass through the gate, the streets are full of people. The climate of the bustle befits a night market or a busy friday downtown — plenty of people to ogle at your exposed body. But despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, the locals don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. In fact, the further into town you go, the more you may notice that 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! If anything, they seem to be under the impression that you're naked to participate in the evening's events with the rest of them.

Those still determined to find proper clothing will find that modern clothing stores aren't a thing here. The closest this town has is a tailor's shop, which is closed for religious observance, and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.

Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! The locals will gladly share what they have with those who ask politely — but those items are as revealing as what they're wearing. You might get a mesh bodysuit or drape outfit. Remember not to be ungracious! it's only appropriate for the occasion.

steal clothing

Anyone unwilling to ask nicely for help could break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry. Notably, inside their homes, the people of the town also appear to own some more modest apparel. Be sure to alert us HERE if your character pursues this option.

SETTING: CRIME

And what is the occasion? The locals are excited and flattered by any interest in their ordinary weekly prayer: the folks dancing and selling their wares are all offering their energies to give thanks and ask for their god's patronage! The abstractions are all familiar — fertility, harvest, peace. Smalltalk makes them eager to chat and draw you into those festivities — including some ceremonial wax-dripping on the exposed parts of your body!

Anyone who chats at length with the townspeople will gather that the locals feel it's better for the newcomers to dive into the deep-end because, since you'll be settling in here, they expect you'll want to participate down the line. They seem to be under the impression that the new arrivals are a boon from their god.

In addition, many of the locals' choice of clothes reveal the same four types of marks on their bodies as the folx who were wandering out in the wood!

ROOM AND BOARD

Once you're tired out, the locals will help you find a place to stay. The boarding house is several stories tall and spacious, accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines.

Beyond the overgrown yard is a bright red door, which opens into a spacious cottage.

The house has clearly been empty for some time — dust has gathered on various furnishings — bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. According to the locals, it has remained empty since its last occupant passed away, and that's all they'll say about that!

Each floor of the house has a shared sitting room, but only the first floor has a kitchen — large enough to support feeding the entire household. Here, a few of the townspeople will help out — they stock the kitchen and help make dinner for the new arrivals.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

John blinks, more in bemusement than to hide his eyes, which continue to be a light-eating black void — though the sclera is black in a different way to the iris, which has a slight petroleum iridescence to it, then the pupil normal in the center. Human eyes, in that they have all the right nerves and blood vessels and cones. But also, given how the black extends back into the socket and is visible even when he glances aside awkwardly, clearly not contacts.

"Would you believe me if I told you these are all natural?" he asks, having cottoned on to what is being looked at. The corner of his mouth crooks.

It's been less than a full day and House has already seen plenty of weird shit in this town -- he's almost pleased to discover he can still get interested at another example of what is clearly some very weird shit. When the new guy doesn't punch him, he leans in even closer, tilting his head back and forth to watch the light slip and slide over those fascinating pupils.

"Well, you don't seem to be having difficulty breathing or standing and it's not presenting in the skin, so if it's alkaptonuria, you've either the jackpot or you're a walking time bomb. Could be the world's worst case of scleral melanocytosis." He takes another thoughtful sip of potato vodka. "Tell me, what color is your pee?"

"Asking about my piss before you even know my name," says John, amused and not sure if this is a medical kink thing, but apparently willing to see it through either way. "Clear yellow, though if you want to see it you're going to have to buy me a drink." With a tip of his chin to House's cup. Because he'd need his fluids up to pass water. Yes.

"I don't need to know your name to be interested in your pee."

But House considers the point. He could believe his interesting new companion, or he could see it for himself and confirm. Either way, he's too drunk and too tired and running the cold hard edge of withdrawal too closely to care.

So he leans back again on his cane and offers the cup out like they're lifetime drinking buddies, adding:

"It's almost certainly toxic enough to give you a good buzz."

The movement has John's eyes flick to the cane, and then away again — he doesn't react. Not in a "keeping calm in the face of further weirdness" kind of way, more the "my chair back home is made from human leather" way. Bone canes are normal in goth world!

He takes the cup. "Cheers," he says, pleased, knocking back a gulp like a shot because he can tell well before it meets his lips that it's going to be an ethanol-heavy experience. And: "Fuck," he exhales, handing it back. "They make that themselves here? Tastes like I'm back in uni." (A particular Oxfordian groundskeeper sold marked up moonshine that they'd mix with beer to get fucked up.)

But House is right, while it takes a lot to get John drunk he can feel the warmth permeating him, a burn right down to his stomach. "It's John Gaius, by the way. For my chart."

It's always nice when House meets someone willing to put up with his shit, or at least tolerate his shit up to a certain point. He's already wondering how far ahead this guy's point lies and how quickly they'll get there. Hopefully he'll at least get to figure out the eye thing first.

"Yeah, I think we're one step up from prison hooch." He lifts the cup in a toast to finish it off. "Hail Caesar."

That makes John laugh, low and unnerved. He'd almost forgotten that he'd poached his name from the classics, a cheeky nod to his growing empire as much as it was tribute to Alecto. "Thanks, doc." Guy has no idea how apt that little salute is, which is really piquing John. "It's the toga, right? Really dates me."

And then an abrupt change of topic because talking about the old world makes him feel unsteady, a discombobulation he's already been experiencing a lot of today. "So, you keep a supply of those little cups on hand? Or is this the kind of thing where you follow me into the bushes. I'm easy either way." Like, he doesn't have a piss kink in particular but he's apparently willing to indulge one if that's what this is.

It's the combination of the name, toga and messy Hellenic curls that's doing it for him, but House doesn't need to elaborate. At least the new guy is taking it well, even if he sounds as though he's still not sure if he should enjoy it. House is used to unsettling people; he's not put off by a little unsteadiness.

He glances down into his empty cup, then shrugs.

"I should watch," he decides, then looks around. A nearby alley between two buildings looks promisingly lit, as well as somewhat private. House gestures to it with the cup.

"And Caesar shall go forth and pee against a wall."

"Veni, vidi, uh... urini," says John dryly as he heads to the alley, glancing about only once to make sure Harrow isn't nearby. (Ianthe is less of a concern, she's seen him slink away like this plenty by now.)

The alley has a door to the back room of one of the buildings, but its windows are dark and it doesn't seem trafficked. John keeps his back to it regardless, planting a hand on the opposite wall and flipping up the skirt of his makeshift toga to tuck into the belt, not bothering to play coy about his dick.

Only once he's got himself in hand does he glance to House, still trying to judge whether or not this is going to escalate. Actually using his bladder isn't a problem, John has a fairly absolute control over his component parts — also how he's managed to stave off walking around with a hard-on at all the blatant displays of bodies and overt sexuality. Pee hits the wall with a splash, John exhaling shakily.

The fact that John just goes along with it speaks to the quality of his character as far as House is concerned. He limps along behind him, the bone cane doing a decent job on the cobbles, taking his new friend's example and trying to look circumspect about shadowing a guy into an alley -- not that anyone is really paying attention. All the softcore nudity on display is probably far more interesting to most people. But just in case.

As John gets himself comfortable, House takes up position leaning against the target wall, hopefully outside of the splash zone. He's still got his cup in one hand. He returns John's glance with faintly raised eyebrows, as if to say yes? Get on with it.

"Alkaptonuria. Also known as black urine disease. Give you one guess why." He tilts his head, watching John get prepared, his gaze only lingering on the dick in question for a brief moment.

"Rare genetic disorder, it means your body can't break down homogentisic acid, so it turns up in all kinds of weird places. Which means your pee --" He glances down as said bodily fluid hits the wall, mildly interested. "Should turn black when exposed to the air."

John's pee does no such thing, of course.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not sick," John says, flow tapering off, giving himself a little shake. Even if this is purely medical curiosity, outside a professional setting he feels pricklingly aware of being looked at, for some reason feeling much more exposed like this than walking around naked.

He straightens, adjusting his clothes, covering himself again, breathing measured as he endeavours to stay chill. "I'm not even mortal. Eyes are part of that whole package."

House is disappointed in the pee. He demonstrates this by frowning down at the wet patch on the wall. But he doesn't move from where he's leaning against it, some weight on his cane, his good leg hitched up like he's comfortable just where he is.

"Sure, you're a vampire." It's a vague guess. House goes to drink from his cup and belatedly realises it's empty.

"The thing with alkaptonuria," he continues, waving said empty cup, "it shows up from birth. Mostly. But sometimes it's hard to catch, because sometimes the chemical process takes time. Maybe hours."

Does that mean he's prepared to watch this pee for that long? Possibly.

"Not a vampire. Getting warmer, though." Lightly encouraging, like House has any chance of guessing his whole insane deal. If he has any problems with standing in the alley indefinitely, he does not express them — John has a lot of patience, especially for the rare experience of genuinely new situations, and this is certainly not something that's ever happened to him before.

He smiles: "You really are a doctor, aren't you? Late twentieth, early twenty-first century Earth? I thought maybe you just had a thing for piss."

That gets a shrug.

"It can't be both? And speaking of things not getting warmer."

He glances back down at the pee in question, which is definitely not changing colour and also getting more difficult to see in the fading light of day. The smile is nice, though. Tilting his head back against the wall, he surveys his new friend.

"So, space alien? Not many people say Earth like it's not the only option."

"Nope again," says John, taking a half-step closer to House, friendly smile shifting into something a touch more coy, the eyes in question still so hard to read but gone all liquid intensity. "Unless you count New Zealand as a different planet." Which it does feel like in places, especially the old Lord of the Rings sets.

Really he should give space alien half a point, given he does live in space these days, but he's enjoying making things hard. "If you can figure it out, maybe you'll win a prize."

"You mean it's not a different planet?" House asks, vaguely distracted by the look in John's eyes -- or at least, what he assumes is a look, it's not easy to tell what's going on in those inky depths. "I thought that explained all the funny accents."

As John sways closer, House's eyebrows inch upwards slightly. He's too drunk and too compromised by the pain in his leg to do anything about the pressure on his personal space. Not that he really feels like moving anyway. So he just watches John get closer, pinned to the wall like an insect.

"What kind of prize?" He adds. "I'll take it in the form of small bills."

Oh, money. "Sorry, mate, wallet's in my other pair of pants," he says, which isn't actually true because he doesn't bother carrying money, but he also wants to make the point that waking up without clothes really shorts him on the small bills front.

"I was thinking I'd indulge more of whatever you're into," he says, glancing down between them to watch his own hand lift and tug at a thread of House's poncho. Notes the leg-bone-stick for the first time, tucks that away for later, since while it seemed normal to him at first he's realizing it's actually pretty out of place. Does mean he might have a chance at guessing right, though, which is fun.

"Usually what I'm into has bigger breasts than you do," House replies, glancing down to watch John's hand as well, hearing the soft booze-soaked edges to some of those words and unable to stop himself. That potato vodka is really getting to work on his central nervous system.

"I mean, I'm sure you have pretty good boobs." Not that the toga is really hiding much. "Probably very.. perky."

"Not as good as some of the girls running around in that forest," John says with a nostalgic sigh; he ran into so many hot women that at first he sort of thought he was having a sexy dream. Even if there were spiders in it. "Lottie? With the green hair? Perfect tits, and I don't say that lightly."

Anyway, their interest in women now established and affirmed, John's fingers walk up to where bare skin begins at the collarbone — and pauses two fingers touching as his understanding of House's body expands almost unpleasantly. The puckish coyness to his gaze dims a few shades, stance shifting. Drunk doesn't bother him, but whatever's going on in that leg seems painful.

"Okay doc, let's find you a bed," he says, putting his interest on hold for now.

Filing away that note about Lottie-with-the-green-hair, House keeps his gaze down on John's hand, the pleasant angles and undeniably masculine vascular structures stretched over his knuckles and down to the warm press of two fingertips almost in the hollow of his throat.

House's body is, ultimately, an equal opportunities space. Used and abused to wring out every possible source of dopamine as it is, he responds to the light touch and almost predatory interest with predictable results, which doesn't make it any easier to stay on his feet. He feels his pulse skitter as he clears a suddenly dry throat. His free hand is still holding the empty cup, now brushing up against the warmth of John's body through the rough fabric of his tunic.

"I don't actually need a bed," he points out, assuming the continuation of said interest. "A chair is fine. Or a swing. My safe word is "intracavernosal phenylephrine"."

That makes John laugh abruptly — fucking doctors — a flash of teeth and a crinkle of his eyes. It's so nice to find someone who understands puns are funny.

"None of which are here in this alleyway," he points out, tracing upwards to the notch between House's collarbones, up to the bob of his Adam's apple and then slowly around to his pulse. "C'mon, I can take the edge off better than shitty moonshine. And not just because I'm great with my hands." It's the magical miracle shit, but he's not going to do it here.

The drag of John's fingertips up the side of his neck draws a noise out of House that's somewhere between a thoughtful hum and a groan, not helped by blood rushing rapidly downwards. He doesn't move for the moment, wondering if he can get away with asking John to slap him around a little bit.

"I should watch people pee more often," he says muzzily. Abruptly, he seems to make a decision, or at least finally feels the weight of inertia and pushes off from the wall, giving John time to step back before he straightens up and sets off, limping towards the end of the alley and the busy festival crowd beyond. The fact that he goes a little stooped at first is definitely because he's still adjusting to the bone cane and nothing at all to do with the hard-on tenting out his pants. He's really starting to miss boxer briefs.

"House. Our destination," he adds, to clarify, as he stumps along. "Also my name."

This is nice. This is the easy bit, he thinks, following House (what a name) out into the crowd. You don't know anything about each other, don't know all the worst things you've done or could do, just two people who think the other is hot enough to get somewhere. It's easier with older guys — with the young women he always feels in the back of his mind like he's doing something wrong, like they're perfect and he's mucking it all up.

Probably he should be checking on his lyctors, but he feels confident leaving Ianthe to handle Harrow. Maybe they too will fall in with the spirit of this whole dinky little fucktown thing and work through their unresolved sexual tension, wouldn't that be nice for them?

He hadn't yet looked into accommodations, so once they actually get there, he comments idly: "Getting a real backpacker hostel vibe. Not that I'm complaining, better than another night in the forest."

The space between the alley and the boarding house, skirting through the festival throng, gives House some time to decide that he's going to stop thinking. He's not entirely sure what he's doing, or what he's supposed to be doing, but right now he feels like a little mindless hedonism might not go amiss. It feels like the right kind of night for it, the air full of smoke and the smell of roasted meats, songs and laughter in unfamiliar accents.

They leave most of the crowd behind as they head into the courtyard of the boarding house, then into the house proper, where a few locals and newcomers are lingering in the kitchen and dining room. House doesn't bother to play tour guide; his bone cane taps and skids slightly on the paved floors in the cool dark halls. He makes a mental note to look into finding a way to put a rubber tip or something on it or he's liable to spend half his time here on the ground.

"You say that, you should see the size of the spiders in here," House comments back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in exaggeration. Stuffing the cup he's now apparently stolen under his arm, he throws open the door of the room he's claimed as his own -- ground floor because there's no way in hell he's using the stairs every day -- with a degree of ceremony. There's a sign on the door, charcoal on rough paper: DO NOT ENTER, SPIDER INFESTATION.

"Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's," he intones. The extent of his own occupation so far appears to begin and end with the sign; the furniture inside is still somewhat dusty.

Does that even work, that sign? Well, the room is empty, so it must have, even if it's totally ridiculous.

"Fuck, not more spiders," says John in mock-terror, coming in and looking around. Two beds, but he doesn't even have anything to put down to indicate he's going to stay. Settles for closing the door behind them. Then House can watch as he opens a cut on his own hand — not with knife or teeth, just willing his body's flesh to part and give him a little blood for a ward, knit closed again seamlessly after. It's just a smear of a lock, not even a symbol but enough to keep regular folk out. He doesn't even have the temerity to look sheepish about using blood magic, does it like it's as ordinary as flicking a lock — as ordinary as a cane made from bone.)

Then he turns and approaches, something regal in his bearing that really does evoke the Roman Empire. "Sit," he says. Plans to come claim House's lap like it's his throne.

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