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rubilykskoye mods ([personal profile] rubimods) wrote in [community profile] rubimemes2024-02-07 11:31 pm
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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?
drysdale: (easystreet48)

ransom drysdale | knives out ( diabel )

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-07 11:23 pm (UTC)(link)
i. woods;

He goes to sleep a well behaved resident of the Massachusetts Correctional Institution of Norfolk County and wakes up, not for the first time in his life, naked in the woods in the middle of winter. If there had been frost riming the ground while he slept in his cell, he wouldn’t know it, but the time of year doesn’t leave it out of the question. So Ransom’s first thought—

No, that’s not true. His first thought is to wonder if he’s gotten frostbite on his dick, also not for the first time in his life. It’s been over a decade since that fateful ski trip in Aspen, but that kind of thing tends to leave an impression on the male psyche. He checks, and everything’s intact, no numbness or weird tingling. If he feels relief it’s short-lived, it’s not quite dick-freezing weather anyway, his mind already on that second thought and each consecutive one, spinning out scenarios that might have gotten him here, on the outside, sans clothing, with what seems to be an actual fucking tattoo on his left clavicle, but with no sign of a healing process, no lingering headiness from being drugged, though he must have been.

He doesn’t get very far, which is saying something — if there’s one thing Ransom knows, it’s concocting scenarios. All he can be sure of is that he hasn’t been here for too long — the frost had only just begun to melt under his body — and whoever brought him here doesn’t want to kill him (at least not yet) but doesn’t want him getting far, either. He comes up with being hunted for sport, an idea he’s always found hilarious but that he assumes if it were a real thing he would’ve been invited to at some point. He laughs a little wildly, the sound fogging out in front of him.

”WHAT THE FUCK?” he yells with his arms spread, palms up. When there’s no answer he drops his hands to his hips. Or maybe you answer, and he will gladly take someone to blame. Otherwise, he contemplates his direction. Toward where more light penetrates the green gloom is the only way that makes sense if he actually wants to get out of here, but he still hesitates. Ransom is not unaware that, whatever the reason, he’s out, and he currently cuts a conspicuous figure.

He doesn’t want to get caught. At least not until—

Not until he finds Marta.

ii. room;

Ransom could really do without a roommate. His cellmate has been fine, as far as these things go, but he’s missed the luxuries of his previous life, like taking a shit in private. As soon as he’s handed a key and a folded stack of clothes he finds his room and shuts and locks the door behind him. Once he’s finally dressed he thinks about leaving again to eat, hungry but also loathe to sit restlessly inside the four walls of the room, but instead he parks himself on one of the beds, ready to glare at anyone who tries to come in.

Speaking of luxuries. Though it’s still far from his midcentury modern frame and king size mattress — probably gone now anyway, thanks, Mom and Dad — at least it’s not a twin bunk, and shit it feels good to be able to lie down and actually stretch out his limbs.

iii. festival;

Yeah, he never would’ve come up with this. It’s like a kink dungeon meets The Village with some excessively elaborate worldbuilding. Though he hasn’t seen anyone break character, Ransom is not at all convinced that’s not exactly what this is.

A smiling woman hands him a wrist-strap, and he lets it drop over his fingers, holding it up for perusal with wry insouciance. “Wow, special.” He pockets it anyway. He fends off — or more often ignores — any displays or offers to participate from the crowd, but when he comes across the Gluwein he accepts a mug readily. He’s never been much for wine — he prefers beer or liquor — but it’s been over a year since he’s had a drink and cons can’t be choosers. He eats too, but the wine still goes straight to his head.

”I used to have a higher tolerance before prison,” he says aloud, then shakes his head as though to dislodge that bit of oversharing.
whatam_i: (point_out)

ii. room

[personal profile] whatam_i 2024-02-07 11:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Locked doors aren't really a thing that can keep Edward out, after all, locks are just puzzles and he's the master of those. So it only really takes him about five seconds to pick the lock, using a stray needle he found on the ground of the boarding house, but when he opens the door he isn't expecting to find someone lounging in the room and he freezes.

"Oh."

Is all he says, obviously trying to think of an excuse.
drysdale: (greatnews100)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-08 12:14 am (UTC)(link)
Master or not, a needle is a distinct sound from a key. In those five (or so) seconds, Ransom tilts his head at the door, hands threaded loosely on his stomach, watching until the brief scraping resolves into a click and reveals the man on the other side.

"Did you just pick the fucking lock to my room?" he says, the furrow between his brows a mocking sort of disbelief.

Rude, Edward.
Edited 2024-02-08 00:16 (UTC)
whatam_i: (omgsodumb)

[personal profile] whatam_i 2024-02-08 12:18 am (UTC)(link)
There's really no reason to deny it so Edward clucks his tongue softly and looks up at the ceiling.

"Yes. But to be fair, I wasn't expecting anyone to be in here when I did so." He says, as if this is Ransom's fault.
drysdale: (greatnews254)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-08 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"And I don't want anyone in here, so that works out great for both of us. They have keys downstairs," he says while looking away, picking up the book beside him.

Skinny nerd: already dismissed.
whatam_i: (seriously_trying)

[personal profile] whatam_i 2024-02-08 06:57 pm (UTC)(link)
"Where's the challenge in using a key?" He says and strolls fully into the room, his eyes flickering over every corner to see if he can spot any differences between this room and the others he's been in and if there is anything useful in here that he can steal.

"What are you reading?"
drysdale: (greatnews016)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-08 08:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Ransom thinks about bristling at the intrusion, but you do kind of get used to it the black hole of privacy that is the American penal system, and this guy is weird enough that he kind of wants to see how this plays out. He flips the book around so Edward can see the cover, which seems to be some kind of bodice ripper monster smut.

"It was the only thing in here, so I don't know what you're hoping to find."
whatam_i: (edward_pout)

[personal profile] whatam_i 2024-02-08 09:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Edward glances at the cover and makes a face, it's obviously not his cup of tea and after a moment he sighs and sits down on the other bed.

"I was hoping to find something useful." Useful for what purpose? He's not exactly sure but when Ed is shoved into weird situations such as this he will always try and stack the deck in his favor which means gathering information and goods.

"Who are you?"
drysdale: (greatnews243)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-10 12:58 am (UTC)(link)
Not really his, either, but at least it's turning out to be educational, insofar as it concerns how dedicated these LARPers are to their premise. He looks amused.

"Why don't you go first."

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pharmacy: (092)

— festival

[personal profile] pharmacy 2024-02-08 01:57 am (UTC)(link)
"Wow, look out, we got a badass over here," A fellow festival-goer chirps next to him between pulls of his own mostly-full mug of that cinnamon wine. He's almost perfectly at ease in his old-timey get up and festival collar, natural enough to be taken for just a really run-ragged local--except that he doesn't scowl over prison, a word that's already catching some odd looks from the actual locals. "Come on, how drunk are you, even? You look...upright and everything."
drysdale: (greatnews364)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-08 06:49 am (UTC)(link)
"I didn't mean to say that," he says, bemused, which — he also doesn't mean to say. Better to lean into it in order to pass it off, but instead he blurts out, "I've spent more of my life drunk than sober, this feels different," an almost effervescent need to say it bubbling up from his chest. Jesus. Is this what it feels like to be Marta?

He lifts the glass, examining the dregs through the clear mug, but it's impossible to discern anything with the spices floating around. "Have I been roofied?"
Edited (not honest enuf) 2024-02-08 18:36 (UTC)
pharmacy: (097)

[personal profile] pharmacy 2024-02-08 08:44 pm (UTC)(link)
"You haven't been roofied." He grins around the lip of his cup, adds like it's the most obvious thing: "It's drugged. Festival drinks are always drugged, come on. Just be glad it's not a heavy-duty aphrodisiac. Which--" 

He points warningly as he drinks and swallows. "Mmm. You should be watching out for. Unless you like that. Which you might, I don't know your life. Hey, welcome to Rubilykskoye, by the way." Yes, he radiates new blood. One hand crosses towards Ransom. "I'm Quentin." 
drysdale: (greatnews025)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-10 12:39 am (UTC)(link)
It probably says something that he considers drinking it anyway — drugged isn't necessarily a dealbreaker, but Quentin doesn't know his life or need to know his life. He sets the drink down on the nearest flat surface with a sigh.

"Ransom," he offers, shaking Quentin's hand after eyeing it for a second or two. "What does heavy-duty mean? I've never found anything that doesn't just enhance your libido as a secondary side effect."

If he's giving off new blood energy he might as well try to get his head around this place.
pharmacy: (149)

[personal profile] pharmacy 2024-02-10 03:57 am (UTC)(link)
Suspicious ass. Suspicious acting, as he sets his drink down. Suspicion nursing, with as wary as he is of just shaking hands. The question saves Ransom from being teased about it, redirecting Quentin's slightly toasted energy to something more productive. His eyebrows jump conspiratorially. "I mean like...fuck-or-die heavy duty. I mean like you can't--you can't think unless you've got your hands on someone. Like it's impossible to come down for--I dunno, depends on how much you have, but I mean heavy duty enough."
drysdale: (greatnews312)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-10 07:40 am (UTC)(link)
As suspicious of that as anything else. He's a believe it when I see it, and even then kind of guy, and—

"So far it's sounding to me like someone built a castle on an island to play out their elaborate fantasies. Granted," Ransom gestures at the whole goddamn ass castle, "it's impressive, but it's also complete bullshit."
pharmacy: (106)

[personal profile] pharmacy 2024-02-12 03:45 am (UTC)(link)
Quentin coughs up a laugh, mouth hanging open. "W--okay, so what you think this is...a con? For what? For you?" 
drysdale: (greatnews114)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-14 09:27 am (UTC)(link)
"For me specifically? No." He may be an arrogant motherfucker, but he's not actually delusional. He gestures. "But look around you. This is all for someone's benefit, and I'm gonna go with those of us who were kidnapped and brought here against our will. If everyone were really so gung ho about fucking for the greater good they would just get on with it, they wouldn't bother to fucking drug us to get us in on their sex games." He emphasizes that with a single ringing tap of his fingernail against the discarded mug.

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a'ight i see you

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policier: 𝓭𝓷𝓽 (twenty two)

festival

[personal profile] policier 2024-02-08 05:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Javert may have had a little bit to drink himself — not because he has any particular desire to, but because doing so would put him within the good graces of tge townsfolk. He has a dark leather collar on around his neck, bare and open, shirt unbuttoned down to his collarbone, no coat. Certainly more undressed than most others have ever seen him, not for any reason than because it is expected. Because it makes things easier when he has less layers to battle with getting undressed.

The remark has him turning his head, glancing up at the other man who looks nothing like what he would expect. A convict, or something else? Javert eyes him curiously. "Pardon?"
drysdale: (greatnews050)

listen, when i got this notif i burst out laughing before i even read it

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-08 07:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Ransom eyes the man in return, if a bit more sidelong, while he frowns. The expression has an inward bent, but he's happy to turn it outward if the situation calls for it.

"You're pardoned," he says dryly, dismissively. Which should be the end of it, but then he adds, "Aren't you a bit old for that? Looking at you is making me think of my father in a collar."

Honesty doesn't make him any less of an asshole.
policier: 𝓭𝓷𝓽 (thirty five)

lmaooo i couldn't resist

[personal profile] policier 2024-02-11 04:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Old? Javert isn't quite certain what he means, looking down at himself then touching the collar with his hand, the familiarity of it more appealing than anything. He's worn collars before, albeit leather stock designed to keep his shirt collar high against his neck — not anything like this, a dog collar, something demeaning but not entirely unwelcome.

"I was not aware there was an age limit," he answers just as blandly, not caring too much what the other man thinks. "Do you often think of your father when you see an older man?" How terrible that must be for him. Javert purposely tries not to think at all about his.
drysdale: (greatnews299)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-14 08:37 am (UTC)(link)
"More than I'd like, but there's not usually much to differentiate them." Which is true, and Ransom is no stranger to wielding truth like a weapon. But if there's any insult in it Javert already strikes him as a less easy mark than, let's say, his father, and more to the point it wasn't intentional. He looks down at his drink again, sucking the cinnamon flavor off his tongue, but the lingering alcohol don't seem especially potent, and if it's been a while since he had a drink it's also never loosened his tongue about his own business.

Almost philosophically, like he's anointing the ground beside him, Ransom pours out the contents of the mug. "That's disappointing."
policier: 𝓭𝓷𝓽 (fifty four)

[personal profile] policier 2024-02-15 03:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Javert doesn't take any offense to it at all — he is old and unremarkable, not anything he would expect anyone to be impressed by. These are just facts, observations that anyone with eyes can make, and so he doesn't even give it a response. Instead, he simply watches as the other man pours his drink, wasting it all. That seems to bother Javert somewhat, his brow furrowing a bit.

"Too strong for you?" he says, not forgetting Ransom's first remark. "A drink on an empty stomach will do no man no good."
drysdale: (greatnews309)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-16 07:42 am (UTC)(link)
The drink would already be forgotten the moment after (or maybe even before) the glass leaves his fingertips, deposited on the nearest surface — if it weren't for the lingering side effects.

"Sometimes that's the point," he says, amusement mild but smile still sharp. "Pretty sure that's not just alcohol, though. Not that that's necessarily a dealbreaker, but I usually like to know what I'm taking." Briefly, he reconsiders. "Usually."
policier: 𝓭𝓷𝓽 (thirty)

[personal profile] policier 2024-02-20 03:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Javert's eyes sharpen with recognition, not looking particularly surprised that the drinks have been spoiled. He's been on the other side of it on at least one occasion, another that he refuses to admit has anything to do with his drink.

"You don't feel desperate, do you?" He's not sure how to put it, not wanting to sound too crude, but he's curious, eyes watching Ransom closely. "The drinks are mostly certainly tainted with something."
drysdale: (greatnews100)

[personal profile] drysdale 2024-02-23 08:50 am (UTC)(link)
Ransom's brow lifts thoroughly at that. "Desperate? Interesting choice of words. Do you mean horny?" He deals in crude even when he's not forced to speak plainly. Still, it's an honest question, hence his ability to ask it. He can make a guess, given the givens, but he (discomfitingly) doesn't know what he's supposed to expect here, and had seen the recognition in Javert's expression.

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