rubimods: (Default)
rubilykskoye mods ([personal profile] rubimods) wrote in [community profile] rubimemes2024-02-07 11:31 pm
Entry tags:

TEST DRIVE MEME 005

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ 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 any 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, aphrodisiac and truth serum effects, public nudity, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, social pressure, and animal sacrifice.

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.

FAQSETTINGCALENDARRESERVESAPPLICATIONS

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 reemerging after a long winter. 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, will lead people towards the first signs of civilisation, the cabins of those who choose to live beyond Rubilyskoye's formidable walls.

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.

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.

finding roommates
Don't spend too much time asking questions in the common areas. 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. Maybe you'll get lucky and run into someone who has decided to move out? (Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements; at this point, many characters have used activity rewards to move to accomodation outside the boarding house.)


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 a breakfast of thick grain porridge and caramelised bananas from the new peaks; these NPCs can also answer any questions about the situation. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. Gossip about new arrivals spreads quickly, and Rubeans who run businesses or train trades 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, being offered work, asking questions over breakfast, or staking your claim on a bedroom!



HEARTS FESTIVAL

New arrivals to Rubilykskoye will find themselves strongly encouraged to participate in the current zadza purging festival, and will be assigned either a collar in leather or iron based on their Niez or Wilk mark, or a wrist-strap or manacle that suits the attachment of a leash for those with a Diabel or Skala mark.

Characters are encouraged to embrace this temporary designation as a sign that they will be good citizens; those who object or ignore their designation may find the NPCs try to helpfully guide them, express displeasure at "Void-Touched" who won't assimilate, or in rare cases exert social pressure, coercion, violence or shunning to ensure compliance.

Throughout town various NPCs have set up tents and booths to host myriad performances, workshops, demonstrations, and food stands for their celebration. The foods were made using some of the new flora that have brought back from the peaks. Characters can get their hands on the following heart-themed foods from the second day of the festival onwards:

  • HEART-SHAPED COOKIES: eating these intensifies body heat, making characters a great cuddle buddy for the cold weather and likely to strip down, feeling overheated even in a snowdrift

  • BEEF HEART STEW WITH DUXELLES: eating these fills those who consume it with confidence, making them more solicitous and dominant

  • LIME-GLAZED GOAT HEART SATAY: eating these intensifies sensation, making characters more sensitive to both pain and pleasure

  • CINNAMON GLUWEIN: drinking a cup of this hot beverage will make characters especially honest

The nature of the booths set up for performances, workshops, and other goods focuses around the festival's dominance and submission themes. These persist throughout the day regardless of the hour or the audience, so very few people can be found consistently at their places of work during the day this week. In addition:
  • Skala and diabel NPCs may offer to share their partner(s) with the Void-touched, or ask to share theirs.

  • PIOTR, a farmer, brings tools over from the farm including bridles and saddles, which can be found at a booth near some hunters who've made anal plugs that end with real animal tails, as well as muzzles.

  • The cages from the Moot Hall have been moved into the streets, and people are allowed to move freely in and out of them. One of them has been covered in curtains to function as a glory hole booth.

  • Some niez and wilk NPCs line up near the main event stage and kneel to offer themselves as human furniture.

However, characters may also come across some carnival games operated by NPCs who are eager to help the Duchess find her heart! Some involve slaughtering livestock by removing their hearts—rest assured, these livestock were already on the menu, but their ritual sacrifice will now involve the cutting out of their hearts. Cut out an animal's heart yourself, or just attend the show! Many of the townspeople will get into it, painting their faces with animal blood or drinking from it.

writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try reacting to being assigned a dominant or submissive role, scenes where your character is starting to feel the effects of the food, watching (or participating in) a performance, or joining in on a gory animal sacrifice. NPCs that are usually welcoming may strongly pressure even new arrivals to participate in their cultural festivities.


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.


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.

someone else transforms
Poor Merta Chesnokov, the usually stalwart older woman who mans the Apothecary, has been beset by unusual requests in addition to her regular demands, not to mention sweating blood. The festival, a rash of skala blood flu, and a little extra town chaos in January, has brought a high demand to her little shop. Now there's also a local fashion springing up for teas and herbal remedies sourced from the recently revealed tropical mountains.

After another failed tisane test drive, and the third customer asking for a new kind of aphrodisiac to add to their festival food, she was seen tossing down her work knife with uncharacteristic frustration, and taking an "early lunch" that she didn't return from that night. Though her children, friends and employees reach out to her, there's no sign of her until you stumble upon her in the woods.

Merta overboils with her suppressed fury as her body distorts and her flesh blackens and crusts. Her attempts to hold off her transformation have failed, and Merta turns into a Smoldering Skink, a large repillian creature whose thick scales hold back her magmatic insides. The noise she makes is an unhearthly hissing scream like a boiling kettle, and she attempts to vent her pent-up stress by wildly attacking everything in sight. Immediately, the surroundings catch aflame! There will be a small fire eating at the dead wood of a long winter if it's not put out, but your first priority might have to be fielding a stampeding lizard with massive teeth and burning hot scales...

(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?
desiderata: (eikons133)

[personal profile] desiderata 2024-05-10 05:12 am (UTC)(link)
He murmurs, "Wouldn't say no to that," mostly as an aside. He rarely refuses a strong drink.

"Nick," he offers, though it's bemused as he turns that one over. Then decides it's safe to ask, "What are you?"

He doesn't ask the question unkindly, but sometimes kindness is necessarily in the eye of the beholder.
minuteofangle: (025)

[personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-05-10 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
That won't last around here, [ Gabe informs him, not unkindly. He is a practical monster. But there was a time once, when he was a different man, that Gabe looked after the youngest members of his squad. When he occasionally even spared a thought for strangers. ] Sex and violence is their whole thing.
geomagnetically: made by me » credit if used ((comics) - 391)

[personal profile] geomagnetically 2024-05-11 12:23 am (UTC)(link)
“Nope. I'm a mutant; fancy way of saying I was born with powers.” An oversimplification, but good enough for now. “Mine are magnetic in nature.”

“I mostly mean I've been several places that look earth-ish but aren't, so I don't know if this place is pulling fast ones on us or not.”
geomagnetically: vigils @ dw ((comics) - 466)

[personal profile] geomagnetically 2024-05-11 12:28 am (UTC)(link)
“A mutant — Homo Superior if you want the scientific yet egotistical classification.” She doesn't take the question rudely, but that's because she's heard that question asked rudely before (many times), so she knows what being an asshole about it is like. “Are you from a place with superpowers and magic and ... that kind of stuff?”
sunmon: (pic#16525575)

[personal profile] sunmon 2024-05-12 01:18 am (UTC)(link)
All covered in mechanical pieces. Alina tries to imagine that. Gears like the inner workings of clocks. It's hard to picture. But that's not really the point, either, is it? Picturing the blue girl is entirely secondary.

She nods her head to the stranger, accepting his statement—not internalizing it, perhaps, but accepting it as honest.

"Thank you." This, too, is honest. Even if she thinks he might feel otherwise if she gave her story. She draws a deep breath, sets that aside, and says, "I'm Alina. Given your apparent knack for finding trouble, I'm not surprised you need a blue clockwork girl to swoop in and save you."
eejits: (fluthered)

Proinsias Cassidy - Preacher (DIABEL)

[personal profile] eejits 2024-05-12 07:19 pm (UTC)(link)
boarding house

[ Where he'd come from, having a bed to one's self was a luxury. The boarding house limiting two bodies to a room is more than he could hope for and asked no questions when a room became assigned to him (had he mixed the directions to his room up? very possibly). All that matters is that he's here now, and despite being quiet as a ghost deep into early morning as to not disturb his new roommate, eventually comes the time for them to wake up from their remarkably deep slumber.

By then, Cassidy has taken over half the room. Whatever contents that may have indicated laid someone else's claim to it have been shuffled around. He's wearing a shirt that clearly he swiped off the floor without any regard as to who it belonged to. He sits, legs crossed, on the bed facing the other. A pile of cookies rawdog the blanket with crumbs next to a little tobacco rolling station he's set up in front of his ankles. ]


Morning, comrade. [ He greets. The word comrade sounds so bastardized on his tongue. It feels like the right choice here. He doesn't look up again from his tasking.] Jesus-Mary-Joseph, has anyone ever told you that you snore like a bloody broken chainsaw?

[ He snorts to himself. As though his own snoring isn't equally vexatious. They'll learn that soon about him. ]

I ain't nobody's doctor, but seriously, mate, you ought to do a sleep study or something.

Ah —[ He forgot his manners, wiping tobacco and cookie crumbs from his fingers onto his pants that are three sizes too big. He extends himself and his arm out as far as possible, smile beaming wide. ] The name's Cassidy. Your new roommate.

festive mood
(cws: references to bdsm, mood altering foods, blood/violence, ritualistic sacrifice.)

[ Cassidy has seen plenty in his long life, flung into the darkest and dankest corners that that the world has had to provide. Imagine his giddy delight to see the type of riff-raff folk get up to, drinking and debauching like it's a horny catholic parade. Blood is in the air, delighting and souring his stomach. He wanders from street to street, booth to booth with an ambling curiosity. Eager to find something sink his teeth into.

He drinks whatever he can get his hands on. Most alcohol doesn't do much to settle his spirit, but he adheres to it out of habit. The more he dabbles, the stranger he feels, must be something with the local fauna. He stumbles into a crowd to watch couples on stage ritualistically pulling hearts out of each other's chests.]


It's like a bloody Berlin club, this place. [ Cassidy taps the body next to him with the tip of his elbow. His remark, equally amused and alarmed over the scene before him. Whatever he ate seems to have quelled him a bit, hell maybe he's feeling a little tingle. That's new. They haven't talked once but considering they arrived to watch the stage together, to him that's as good as mates.] Any wonder what slipping some cash under the table will get you here, eh? When the real snuff stuff out in the open like.


the network

so what's the timeline on sunscreen here? seeing as we've got a motley crew of criminals, geniuses, witches, vagabonds, and whatnot. not to mention the evil queen or whatever have you living at the top of the hill, i'll be damned if she's a right lady bathory rubbing who knows whatnot on herself.

let met start again, i have a very sensitive skin condition, you see. and you better see the looks they'd be giving me down at the hostel asking for a better hat like i'd be asking for your first child.


[he's ranting. it had nothing to do with the hat. maybe, probably. better get back on track-]

the point i'm making, ladies and lads, does anyone know where a guy needs to go to get an umbrella around here but i'll settle for a creepy cult mask even though it hardly does a lick for me charms.

etc.

tl;dr: he's an irish vampire. wildcard me up baby. feel free to dm or pink [plurk.com profile] coffinmate
rezni: (027)

[personal profile] rezni 2024-05-12 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)
"Is it a comfort if I say we all arrive in a similar fashion?"

There are variations, of course. The season, of course. More pressingly, the embrace or lack thereof awaiting in the village.

Nikolai breaks off a crust from his sandwich. Lets the implied affirmative settle before asking, "Have you found anyone familiar here to welcome you?"

Idle curiosity. How many of them have been fortunate enough to have one or two people from their home, and how many go months without anyone they recognize appearing? The correlation there is of passing interest.
exposeur: (anyone but me is just your enemy)

irina sturges — boy parts — diabel

[personal profile] exposeur 2024-05-12 09:09 pm (UTC)(link)
001. boarding house.
Fuck off.

[ Irina is cross-legged on a bed that she's decided is hers, and she's looking to protect it. Not just the bed, but the whole room if possible – the idea of sharing doesn't fucking appeal, especially not with a stranger. Lip curled, she regards everyone who even tries to enter the room with barely concealed disgust. She's dimly aware, somewhere at the back of her mind, that this is a stupid thing to hold onto, that she could do worse than bunk with a stranger until she can find her own way, that it's going to make her seem like a bitch if she clings to this space as stubbornly as she is. But every other fucking thing is so far from what she understands to be true that she feels it's at least a little bit justified. So, bitch it is. ]

There's other rooms. Find one.

002. hearts festival.
We should go up there.

[ There's an empty bowl of beef heart stew somewhere and Irina can still taste it a little, but it hasn't actually struck her that that's the reason for her sudden desire to get up on a stage. Might not ever strike her. Irina's not the shy type, and although she's usually doing this sort of shit behind closed doors and also with a camera in hand, she's also very willing to go with the flow. She can see butt plugs with animal tails, which strikes her almost as if it's a personal invitation, like they know her usual subjects are sometimes adorned with fluffy tails and rabbit masks, and she's thinking of home, and it sounds like such a good idea to her. ]

C'mon. I'll be nice. [ She reaches for the hand of the person she's talking to, and flashes a smile that's just shy of warm, and just shy of nice, but it's definitely pretty. It's a pretty smile. ] We can take it slow.

003. network.
[ This mind-connection thing was explained to her as kind of like texting but with your brain, so the words come out that way, white text inside blue bubbles like she's using iMessage. ]

are there cameras here?

like proper cameras?

or are we too early for that

004. wildcard.
[ feel free to throw another prompt my way! also, please heed the content warnings. ]
Edited 2024-05-12 21:17 (UTC)
exposeur: (anyone but me is an antipathy)

festive mood.

[personal profile] exposeur 2024-05-12 09:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ There's a dull flash at the base of Irina's skull as she watches. The tang of iron in the air, the filthy allure of the display; it's an animal's heart, an animal sacrifice, but there's something raw and rough about the people taking part in it that she can feel a twinge in her gut anyway. The way they're smearing blood on each other's faces, drinking it; it's orgastic, there's no doubt about it. ]

Hmm. [ It comes out quiet; she's clearly distracted by her own thoughts. Irina blinks to right herself, and then has to tilt her head up to meet the eyes of the man talking to her. Skinny. A bit rough looking, a bit sad looking. If she was going to photograph him, she'd cover his face. Not because he's ugly, but because she'd want the focus elsewhere. It takes her a second to filter back through what he said to come up with a response, but when she does there's no hint of distraction. ] I dunno, though. Bit performative, isn't it?
eejits: (eejit)

[personal profile] eejits 2024-05-13 02:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Performative? [ Cassidy repeats, skeptical. ] Have you talked to some of these people? They've been drinking the kool-aid front and center.

[ Arguably, there are some probably in it less than the others, He'd agree. Looking between her (then doubling back again when he realizes he's standing next to a smoke show) and back towards the stage. His arms fold a bit higher on his chest, ignoring the way his mouth seems to salivate and observing the show as though they were face-front before a Pollock.

A pause before one arm lifts and gesticulates a hand outward.]
I personally think if you're going to rub blood on your tits like that, it's got to be at least 50/50 personally invested. Right?
dead_tongue: (ffffft)

iii

[personal profile] dead_tongue 2024-05-13 06:06 pm (UTC)(link)
"Sweetie, I'm about to depress you," is the reply, delivered in tones of genuine sympathy.

"There isn't one. We literally have one guy trying to grow the stuff. He's been successful, but there has seriously only been like, one crop. We've been making do with herbal alternatives and trades when the Minstrel comes through for as long as I've been here."

Iggy, veteran chain smoker and vaper, sighs. "I miss modern luxuries."

But then, because he isn't heartless, he looks around with exaggerated slyness.

"...come outside with me."
desiderata: (eikons022)

[personal profile] desiderata 2024-05-13 07:43 pm (UTC)(link)
"A place . . . ?" he echoes. Could she mean— Heaven? Sheol? He supposes one needn't go so far to satisfy at least part of that equation; it's just a strange question. "Magic, sure, in a sense. What's the difference between magic and the spiritual?"

He's being pedantic and rhetorical, and he shrugs slightly, annoyed at himself. Plenty of hunters are content to call it magic.

"I'm from Chicago." If that helps.
pharmacy: (098)

[personal profile] pharmacy 2024-05-13 07:44 pm (UTC)(link)
there's at least one around that someone got by magic
you might be able to borrow it if you need it bad enough
or if the owner likes you lol

ghostlocked: not the normal kind where you get old, i mean like, today (hmm • didja know that ur actively dying?)

i

[personal profile] ghostlocked 2024-05-13 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)
When Harlan spots Nick trudging through the forest, he immediately ducks behind a tree. Every time he runs into anyone out here, it's been a bad fucking time for him. If he's not literally getting slapped around by angry newcomers (thanks Ren) then he's getting swallowed up by the Void or fielding shots from hunters... Nature is a terrible place.

He watches Nick for a few minutes, clumsily skulking along behind him. He keeps a fair amount of distance between them; he's not exactly sneaky and if he gets too close, the other guy is likely to hear him. Besides, if Nick wanders out of sight, that's not really Harlan's problem. He'll end up in town like everyone else, or he won't, and Harlan isn't losing sleep over it either way.

Before long, though, stalking the dude gets boring. He doesn't seem all that bothered to be stomping around in the woods naked, which is a good sign. If he does try to attack, Harlan will have a decent head start running away, and he's got the benefit of shoes.

"Hey!" He steps out from his hiding spot a little ways uphill from Nick, holding up a backpack. "Do you want some clothes?"
geomagnetically: made for me; please don't take (commission ❱ 307)

[personal profile] geomagnetically 2024-05-13 09:13 pm (UTC)(link)
“Like your world, or universe, place of origin. But as for magic and spiritual, I guess that depends who you ask. Some people could say magic comes as gifts from gods or a god, others might say it's a skill that comes as part of a trait of a species. Then you could get into a whole debate about if it's inherent to a species, doesn't that mean it comes from a higher power that created the species, but that's wayyyy the hell above my paygrade; I just have a PhD in geophysics, not religious studies.” She'll let the Pope and Rabbis and Imams sort that one out.

“Chicago's a nice place. Good food, plenty of things to do, actually sassy people in the midwest.” As a sass, she appreciates fellow sasses.
desiderata: (eikons124)

[personal profile] desiderata 2024-05-13 11:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, he's not depressed. He's stressed. Even in the bush he could expect a steady supply of cigarettes, so it probably says a lot that the same can't be said for where he's found himself now.

But he can't think too hard about that right now or he's gonna rattle apart at the seams.

"I wouldn't call it modern—" Nick mostly mutters, but shuts his mouth at the instruction. He hesitates — his parents certainly didn't raise him ignorant of the dangers of going off with strangers, no matter how human they may seem. But it would hardly be the first time over the last decade and change, and sometimes with less to go on than he's got now.

Nick wraps his arms around himself and follows.
dead_tongue: (say cheese)

[personal profile] dead_tongue 2024-05-13 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
In Nick's defense, this particular stranger probably weighs a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet and has a glass jaw - Iggy is possibly the least dangerous creature in Rubilykskoye. There are aggressive chickens that are more threatening.

He swishes his way outside and a few feet from the entrance before diving into his robes. He pulls out a hand rolled cigarette and some matches, offering both over.

"Only because I remember offering to blow people for one of these when I arrived," he says with a friendly smile.

"It's rough out here for a bitch. What's your name, sweetie?"
desiderata: (eikons079)

[personal profile] desiderata 2024-05-14 12:36 am (UTC)(link)
Unfortunately for the dignity of Harlan's attempts, Nick doesn't so much need to rely on hearing to know he's not alone. It's nothing special, just experience hunting and being hunted, in forests similar to this one to the jungle. He sighs when he notices it, a breath that precedes another, a whispered, basic prayer for protection. Another to give him a more precise awareness of the distance and direction between them. Not much else he can do until he knows what he's dealing with.

And maybe it'll be nothing, even if it's something. You don't bother me, I don't bother you.

It does mean that when the call from uphill comes, Nick looks directly at Harlan, wary but unsurprised. He hesitates, then calls back, "I don't think they'd fit!"
paracosmic: (dance ❦ out of breath)

babydoll | sucker punch | niez

[personal profile] paracosmic 2024-05-15 07:15 pm (UTC)(link)
𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘞𝘖𝘖𝘋𝘚 - 𝘛𝘖𝘞𝘕; cw for mentions of abuse/SA, lobotomy
[she cried when she woke up on the forest floor. for a second she believes the lobotomy had been done and this new place is a new world she created, until everything begins to feel too real. she had been ready, prepared to fall at the hands of Blue for the sake of Sweet Pea, had properly braced herself. she remembers his grip on them, on all of them. she wanted the doctor to do it. she allows herself that grief.

Babydoll managed to force herself through the town after bee-lining out of the forest. she can still feel the pine stuck to her fingertips and the soles of her feet. the town, while she'd noted the locations, had been a blur. she walks so quickly that even in her hyper-vigilante state she bumps into someone here and there, rushing an "i'm sorry" out of her lips. but even she can recognize that she needs to slow down, that the only ones acting out of the ordinary are herself and other equally naked arrivals. so she decides to cool it and swallow her pride and embarrassment. she tries for attention from the nearest person,
]

Excuse me, but I really need some clothes. Can you help me?

[her voice is sweet, soft -- laced with worry. she stands at 5'1" with a small frame. it's no wonder she's feeling extra vulnerable, she can hardly make it through the town without being overlooked.]
𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘚 𝘍𝘌𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘝𝘈𝘓
[Babydoll didn't want to wear the collar. the first thing she does is gently push the suggestion away, until she begins to feel eyes on her that make her feel like a pariah. the last thing she wants is to stick out, so she eventually relents and fastens the collar around her neck. she doesn't quite understand all of it, but she does understand that this is meant to signify submission.

she hates it.

she finds herself wandering through the festival, feeling as out of place as she looks. someone takes pity on her and insists a small bag of heart-shaped cookies into her hands. she does look for her friends, for any sign of familiarity, but she sees no one. she can be found all around the festival, pausing in front of some attractions, looking especially horrified as some offer themselves to be furniture.

eventually she does succumb to finding comfort in the sweets, savoring the sugar-coated cookies. warmth blossoms to her cheeks in a soft flush soon after, though she doesn't put two and two together. she assumes she's nervous.
]
𝘞𝘐𝘓𝘋𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘋
( ooc: feel free to encounter her literally anywhere, when she's def all cookied out, or make up your own scenario! maximize trauma/problems/etc, be weird, come to me. feel free to pm me if you're unsure about something :) )
somatosensory: 🇴​🇹​🇴​🇰​🇴​_🇩​🇦​🇰​🇪​ (nnb)

— in the woods.

[personal profile] somatosensory 2024-05-15 09:12 pm (UTC)(link)
( is it that time of the month already?

aristaeus is in town collecting building supplies; most of lev's crew is still out at the edges of town, working on the hostel, with aristaeus tapped to handle this duty because even the most ardent of the zlatniki were hesitant to tell all six foot five inches of him “no”.

he'd been heading over to the stables, hoping to negotiate to borrow a wagon, when she approaches him. )


Shit. ( dark brows flicker upward in surprise, before he composes himself with a quick nod. then, he's peeling off his jacket and holding it out to her.

it's a heavy leather thing, well-worn and loved, but most importantly it'll come up to at least mid-thigh for her and with the fleece lining should be enough to stave off the worst of the chill. )
Here.
paracosmic: (fear ❦ don't catch up)

[personal profile] paracosmic 2024-05-15 11:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[she didn't expect to have to tilt her head nearly all the way back to make eye contact, but here she is. so focused on finding someone, anyone that would listen to her, that when Aristaeus offers her his jacket she's momentarily silenced.

but she doesn't waste any time. she pulls the jacket on delicately, closing it up around her. she's feeling some form of comfort -- finally -- and, somewhat sheepishly, she smiles.
]

Thank you so much, um-?

[asking for a name feels odd, but also necessary. she fidgets, the jacket's arms much longer than her own, skin warming to the fleece. she feels like a child who's been taken in from the rain.]
Edited 2024-05-15 23:50 (UTC)
littlemissfutility: (Default)

beth greene | the walking dead | niez

[personal profile] littlemissfutility 2024-05-16 12:57 am (UTC)(link)
[ nb: references to mental health issues, sexual assault and consent issues, murder/death. ]

↬ in the woods somewhere.

Before she notices anything else, she realizes she's cold, lying on hard-packed dirt studded with rocks and roots, dew clinging to her skin. And then she wakes and realizes there's nothing between her side and pine needles beneath her. She's cold because she's exposed, she's exposed because...why?

She scrambles up to a sitting position but can't get further; every muscle is taut, her lungs shriveled in her chest, listening for something that'll explain this. Someone brought me here someone took my clothes off someone's hands on my ribs - But there's no explanation. No one's coming. All there is to find out here is the forest, and the crazy, naked, stupid girl huddled inside it.

How long she sits there, trying to remember how to breathe, she doesn't know, but eventually, she takes a shaky breath. Eventually, she stands up, brushing dust and fallen leaves off her skin. And then she goes hunting for the heaviest branch she can find. She might have woken with nothing this morning, but that doesn't mean she's going to stay that way.

↬ You might find her out there in the woods, a pale figure skulking along between the trees, huddled and hunched, clutching a bough like it's a baseball bat. She startles visibly upon seeing or hearing you, fingers going white at the knuckles.

↬ Or you might encounter her at the edge of the village, where she's trying her best to stay among the trees. She's scouting out the options, whether it's possible to sneak into a house and take what she needs.

Either way, what she says is the same. Just over a whisper, eyes wide and a little wild, raising her stick high - "Stay back."

↬ in town; hearts festival.

Eventually, someone explains what's going on. She gets weird, old-fashioned clothes to put on and finds a job. The whole thing, monsters and sex and beet soup, basically sucks - but it's not like there's anything waiting for her at home. There's a scar under her chin, near where her creepy tattoo is, and another one under her hair at the back of her head. Only an idiot would wonder if there's a chance she lived through it.

(She keeps a scarf around her neck whenever possible, the kind of lightweight thing that's probably actually supposed to be a kerchief over her hair. A scavenged bit of leather serves as a bracelet on her wrist, covering up a scar, too. There's nothing she can do about the thin lines around her eyes, unfortunately, except hope people don't ask about them.)

It's not great, any of it, but she can live with it. And when there's a festival,

↬ collars.

"No. No." She's already backing away from the person holding a metal collar out to her. When they offer a leather one instead, she shakes her head. "I'm not wearing that."

It's not the right answer, evidently - the woman comes around her little table and up to her, reaching out to put it around her neck. And then, in another second, she's on the ground, and Beth realizes it's because she pushed her.

Hard.

And the people around them don't look happy about it.

↬ food.

It's not that she won't eat heart, if it comes down to it - but there's so much food here, you don't actually have to. And if you don't have to, Beth's not going to.

Instead, you'll find her with one of the cookies - sweet in a way that's still a novelty to her - and a little cup of something that sounded like "glue wine" but can't actually be that. (Right?)

And eventually, growing way too warm and way too comfortable, stupid things start slipping out of her mouth. "Oh. You're...really cute."

↬ wildcard.

[ Please feel free to PM me if you have any questions or want to do something specific! I'm happy to write bespoke starters - I just didn't want this to turn into a novel. ]
Edited 2024-05-16 00:58 (UTC)
somatosensory: ꜱᴏʟᴀʀᴀɴ (Default)

[personal profile] somatosensory 2024-05-16 01:25 am (UTC)(link)
Aristaeus.

( he pronounces it "air-uhs-tee-us": a smooth, rolling cadence without any noticeable accent. people often shorten it. but, while he doesn't mind nicknames for convenience, he leans toward the full pronounciation for sentiment's sake.

he has so few things left of his home, after all. )


Did you come from the woods? ( it's too early in the month for her to have come from the castle, and the duchess tends to send her victims subjects out with at least a tunic for modesty's sake. )
pharmacy: (064)

collars

[personal profile] pharmacy 2024-05-16 01:42 am (UTC)(link)
Beth looks around to find wary glances cast all around her, and when her gaze sweeps back, there's one dishwater-blue look fixed intently on her. Quentin holds one hand up towards Beth (it's okay, it's okay) and the other up to the nearest-by Rubean shaking their head. "She's new," He guesses without a second thought, "It's okay, I got it. Here--"

He kneels at the side of the woman Beth shoved, shoots an urgent look up to Beth. Straight into her head, he urges, Help her up, get her hands. Show them it was an accident.
littlemissfutility: (Fd6K1rE)

[personal profile] littlemissfutility 2024-05-16 02:07 am (UTC)(link)
Beth swallows, time slowing under the heat of the crowd's gaze. It feels like everyone's deciding how to react, and they're deciding fast. But that neverending, where's-my-knife defensiveness gets cut through in an instant when someone speaks. It's startling, even more so when his voice slides into her mind, but he's not wrong.

So she crouches down slowly, reaching out to help. And it's not like she wants to leave her there, she's not trying to be an asshole - but closing her hands around the woman's feels like saying everything's okay.

It has to be, she tells herself, forcing herself to swallow again. They'll stop watching if everything's fine. It's just that it won't be true.

It wasn't, she thinks back at the guy who cut in to help. This part is new to her, the weird psychic-powers thing, and she doesn't completely have a handle on it. Thinking directly at one person, though, feels straightforward. (God, please don't let anyone else hear it.) I'm not wearing one of those.