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rubilykskoye mods ([personal profile] rubimods) wrote in [community profile] rubimemes2024-06-18 01:02 pm
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SUMMER TEST DRIVE MEME

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

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

CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: nudity, D/S mechanics, public sex, aphro, death, missing persons.

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 emerging from a temporary retreat from the wintry weather. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, is running actively again as the weather warms back up from the recent snowstorm.

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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


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


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



THE FESTIVAL OF SUMMERTIDE

Summer is in full swing, which means it's time to take advantage of the warm weather! Around the town, various games are being played, some sport-based and some more concerned with creativity, problem-solving, sex, or 'fun'. Each round begins with a prayer to the Duchess. Not bowing your head in prayer may get you a few stares from locals, or worse-- opponents may be extra motivated to defeat someone so disrespectful to her Grace.

Each Thursday, buildings are festooned with wreathes of wildflowers, tables are laden with food and drink, and everyone is given colored sashes to wear over their clothes. Festival goers are not allowed to enter the main events unless they wear a sash, and to get a sash they must reveal their curse marks. Those marked with the curse of Wilk receive blue sashes, Diabel get red, Skala receive green and Niez are as ever adorned with grey.



Summertide, the locals are eager to explain, is a festival about adapting to the needs of others, and accepting things as they are. What perhaps isn't explained nearly so well is the expectations placed upon festival goers. Each event has a goal to be achieved, balanced on the point of competition or participation.

Tables overflow with refreshments, especially drinks and chilled fruit to cool the summer heat. Rubeans traditionally spice their foods with aphrodisiacs, something that is so culturally normal to them that they don't feel the need to mention it.

  • An outdoor feast starts the festivities, with commanders, who are expected to give orders, and followers, who must follow the whims of commanders, whatever they decree. Who commands and who follows is decided by the curse-marked sash participants wear. But there's a twist-- every three hours, a horn blows, and the roles switch at random; commanders become followers and vice versa. Many festival-goers, now in a position of command, are eager to get petty revenge on the followers now at their mercy.


  • Fencing! For health reasons, any cut must be properly cleaned, and kept free of contaminants; for this reason, fencers are expected to compete fully naked. Otherwise, you might get some cloth in your cuts!


  • Wrestling! Wrestlers are well-oiled for the matches, making it hard to keep your grip on a slippery opponent. The winner of the match is declared when they have their opponent pinned... and at that point, the winner can do anything they like to the loser until they can get away, if they even want to.


  • A game going on throughout the town, regardless of whether someone consents to participation, is something the locals call Lock and Key. The rules are explained after you are grabbed and tied by your wrist (or ankle, whatever was available) to someone else: the locked binding tying you two together is blessed to be unbreakable until you each draw one another's blood... or find the key, stashed somewhere in the town. Good luck!


  • Anyone who refuses to play along will be ejected from the festivities, and made to run through the crowd while being whipped with thin wooden sticks.


  • Throughout all of this, some of the implementation of these games may occasionally come across as either overly cruel or overly kind. The common people of Rubilykskoye are of two minds when it comes to the treatment of newcomers: some think you are beneficent, sent to fix their problems and free them of your woes. These people, called Blackguards, will do their best to make sure your participation in the games is not marred by cheating, excessive violence, or pain. But others, called the Zlatniki, think little of the outsiders coming into their lands, and will do their best to twist their native traditions toward cruelty and vindictive unfairness when it comes to the Void-touched.

    writer's block?
    If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try participating in events, having your characters go against opponents, be drafted into the games against their will, or watching others perform!


    NIGHT OF THE HUNTSMEN

    Rumor moves through town quickly: two nights ago, a hunting party went out into the wood, and no one has seen them since. Anyone who wants to prove their worth to the community is encouraged to join the search parties going out to look for them; in Rubilykskoye, those who provide food for the community are highly prized, especially when they brave the woods to do so.

    You see, the woods aren't entirely safe. Near the town, it's nothing to be alarmed by, and of course the search parties find nothing there. They must delve deeper, and that's where you end up. 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.


    Many peel off, going back to the town proper. The searchers become fewer and fewer. Maybe some of them are going back home, but maybe they're getting lost. Eventually, you walk around a large tree, and you're alone. It's just you and 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?

    Yet the further you go, the more convinced you become that the missing hunters are near by. You're sure you can hear them on the wind, their voices calling out between the trees. Did you just see something out of the corner of your eye? You have to find them. You have to make all this darkness worth it.

    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! Feel free to find the bodies of the missing hunting party-- or hallucinate that you did.


    RELEASE YOUR INNER BEAST

    Something's wrong here.

    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
    Early one morning, alarm bells are rung. The people of Rubilykskoye are quick to explain while boarding up their windows and locking their doors: The Szymanskiy brothers have all transformed! Their inner beasts - duchozweirz, the natives call it - take the form of creeping, skeletal horrors. The beasts hunt and to kill, ripping their prey apart, but that's not all they can do.

    Those who are lucky enough to escape one of the Szymanskiy triplets will leave feeling... changed. The psychic residue these monsters give off cause the afflicted to seek out danger with reckless abandon; they will run toward the monster, into fights, and refuse safety when offered. They must be restrained in a secure location to wait for the pheromones to wear off.

    (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?
    poorlittlesange: (a very normal one)

    [personal profile] poorlittlesange 2024-06-28 09:55 pm (UTC)(link)
    It is not so painful of a truth, in all honesty. But he can anticipate the discomfort, because his own when he arrived was immense. Agitating Lan Xichen prematurely, however, isn't his objective, and so Jin Guangyao is quick to put on a wan little smile for his benefit.

    (It's sincere enough; however, given the subject they were just discussing, calling it warm would be a stretch.)

    "I am fine." He's fine now, anyway. "Please, Er-ge," he goes on, reaches out to touch his arm again, "be at ease."

    Where to even begin? He purses his lips, silent for a thoughtful second or two. Then: "Have you found your curse mark on your body, since your arrival? Is it like mine?" Deftly, he rolls up the sleeve of his sword hand to reveal the black wilk mark spidering up the inside of his wrist.

    (The location of that mark doesn't have any significance to Jin Guangyao himself. It probably will for Lan Xichen.)
    baiyueguang: (got my thinkin ribbon on)

    [personal profile] baiyueguang 2024-06-28 10:05 pm (UTC)(link)
    If Jin Guangyao's intent was to put him at ease, it backfires spectacularly.

    There is a tightness in Xichen's throat as he stares down at A-Yao's sword arm; still intact, still lovely and pristine as ever.

    He runs his finger over the mark, just to feel that pulse of life under his friend's skin once more. It grounds him, warms him, settles some of his nerves.

    "Mine was not too hard to locate," he says, pushing aside his curtain of hair to reveal the skala mark on his forehead. "Though I haven't had an opportunity to ask many follow-up questions. The hunters -"

    He hangs his head, and withdraws his hand, letting it settle in his lap.

    "I suppose there is nothing that can be done about it now."
    poorlittlesange: (knife talk)

    [personal profile] poorlittlesange 2024-06-28 10:23 pm (UTC)(link)
    (Colour blooms in two high spots on his cheekbones, and Jin Guangyao curls his fingers a little to keep them from noticeably shivering under Lan Xichen's exploratory touch. This is--certainly more demonstrative than his sworn brother has behaved towards him previously, and while Jin Guangyao has grown accustomed to more overt displays of physical affection during his time here, nothing could have prepared him to receive it from Lan Xichen.)

    Gently, but with certainty, he says of the hunters, "They will be recovered by the Duchess's spiders, in time," gently squeezes his hand on Lan Xichen's forearm one more time, and then withdraws his touch. His gaze lingers on the location of that skala mark, and it is so easy to picture the Lan forehead ribbon wound there instead.

    "The curse marks." He shifts his wrist, drawing his sleeve back across the mark to hide it from view again. "Naturally, they indicate that we are cursed, us and the Rubeans alike. Each month, we must take steps to..." Heaven and hell, this is difficult. Jin Guangyao makes a delicate gesture with one hand. "...sate the demands of the curse, or risk transforming into the very creatures you and I were tasked with eradicating in the jianghu, as cultivators." So far, so good, right?
    baiyueguang: (All three braincells are firing)

    [personal profile] baiyueguang 2024-06-28 10:34 pm (UTC)(link)
    He does not say "easy enough", even if it's the first thought in his head. A-Yao would not be telling him this if simple cultivation techniques could keep such a curse at bay.

    He watches the other man's face now, reads the discomfort in his features, and Xichen's worried furrow makes a return.

    "A-Yao," and his tone is plaintive and gentle all the same, "what are you not telling me...?"
    poorlittlesange: (mmmmphghrhg (':)

    [personal profile] poorlittlesange 2024-06-28 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
    If nothing else, Jin Guangyao's expression is not bleak and despairing as it might have been if he'd been broaching this subject with Lan Xichen even four months ago. Instead he looks--awkward, certainly, the way he does when he knows he's about to raise a delicate topic of conversation, and can't quite decide how his words are going to be received. But beneath that he looks a bit guilty, too, as though he knows his words will hurt, eventually, for all the reasons that have already gone unspoken between them for years.

    He breaths out and steadies himself. "You must sate these demands--zadza, is what the Rubeans call it--every month through violence, or..." His words taper off, and he raises his eyebrows deliberately. "Through intimacy."
    relished: (bWUgbso_sways)

    hannibal lecter | hannibal | niez

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-28 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
    ( 𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒 )
    [iron and saltwater, warmth and fresh clothing, fresh cuts of flesh simmering, then it is all tall, looming trees and dirt sticking to skin. he swallows his disorientation, disgusted not with his surroundings, but at whatever or whoever had decided to bring him here unclothed. he wastes no time in slipping through the forest and town to find the boarding house. light on his feet, ears and eyes peeled, barely registering the crisp air against his skin -- if he feels it, at all. he finds it disrespectful, to leave so many stripped and confused with little explanation. there's nothing to be done about it in the moment, so he aligns himself with a set of goals for himself.

    he dresses himself first, as well as he can. the selection isn't up to his standards but he makes do. shoes, pants, button-up long sleeve shirt and a sweater. he's new; fresh, yet he exudes an assertive, confident air. there is no panic in his eyes -- there is little to be found on his inscrutable expression. he catches whiffs of the cooked pheasant, of old wood and fear.

    he doesn't like the idea -- in fact hates the idea -- of having to share a room with someone, but right now is about survival. change will come later. if any doors are left ajar, he'll press on them gently (expertly) to open and inspect the room.

    or, perhaps he's already inside of a bedroom, and someone is finding him. maybe one bed is already taken, maybe he's in luck and both beds are empty. either way, he'll look in their direction with a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
    ]

    Hello. I hope you don't mind, I wanted to find a place to rest before dinner came to an end.

    [he says it so naturally, even looks like this bedroom is where he belongs as he picks up the bedsheets to feel their fabric. nothing about him says uncomfortable.]
    𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑒 ( 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 )
    [he doesn't so much as feel obligated to go to the festival as he does want to, simply to know the space he's been thrust into. too often has he paused within earshot of people chatting to listen for information. he doesn't like feeling like this, like he knows nothing. the festivities are somewhat familiar -- almost pagan in nature. people will notice he does not bow his head during the prayer; the act would be one of submission, and Hannibal does not easily submit.

    the feast does not go unappreciated. a banquet, fruits and vegetables all bright colors of summer arranged in such a way that it reminds him of Europe and its paintings, the lush and unforgiving temptation that draws everyone in. so he partakes. not near the center of the table, but closer to the edge; easier to step away if need be. the food itself is good enough, but there is a blossoming warmth in his gut that he recognizes, heat rising up to his ears.

    aphrodisiacs. yet he couldn't taste them, couldn't pick them apart from the rest of the meal. he'd noticed something, a different layer of flavor that he couldn't place. all scents blended together from the summer's day, food and drink. he hadn't paid attention to the smell of pure, overwhelming heat that pours off of people like a sillage.

    it's then that he's assigned the role: follower. cutlery hovers, hands above the table, eyes locked on the commander.
    ]

    Choose your next words carefully.

    [the tone could be interpreted as playful, even his eyes have a practiced glint; he's seen the games around him, yet there's something about him that suggests otherwise.]
    ( 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑒𝑦 )
    [he's seen it happen around him, tricksters with sly smiles clinking metal around limbs to unsuspecting victims. he's careful to avoid it from happening to him, yet he feels he's delaying the inevitable.

    days go by, soon a week. it feels the second he steps out of the boarding house that he's assaulted by cool metal against skin, tight around his left wrist. he's not particularly angered by it, nor is he dismayed by the rules.

    it's an interesting little game. summertide has hedonism written all over it. he clicks his tongue, peering at whomever has been unlucky enough to be tied to him.
    ]

    Well, well. Shall we do this the easy way, or the hard way?
    ( 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑑 )
    ( or write your own adventure, literally so ota. )
    baiyueguang: (not gonna cry)

    [personal profile] baiyueguang 2024-06-28 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
    Xichen carefully schools his expression, but there is a flash of dawning horror when Jin Guangyao explains. They both know why either option would be, well, a hurdle for Xichen.

    There are The Rules, of course. The Wall of Discipline looms over Xichen even so far from home. But he has been known to bend or break the rules when he deemed it necessary. There are many, many rules Xichen would break for A-Yao, had the other man only ever asked.

    (Not anymore, of course. He has no right to even think of his friend in such a way when he betrayed so, so much.)

    "I imagine by violence, sparring alone would be insufficient. And by intimacy, A-Yao does not mean just a hug or holding hands."

    There are other implications there too, ones Xichen knows if he dwells on for any length of time, he may crumble into dust.

    Maybe...

    Maybe being some beast and disappearing into the wilds would be easier.
    poleaxed: smile; hands (my my hey hey)

    lock & key.

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-29 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
    [Joan, a six foot tall redhead, was making her way out of the boarding house herself. She was visiting a friend. She looks over at her new best friend with a kind of flat sincerity-- unimpressed, but mostly at the cuffs on their wrists.]

    I think you're the first person to ever ask permission to stab me.
    minuteofangle: (014)

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-29 01:57 am (UTC)(link)
    [ Gabe tilts his head, toggling his tech to track Noth through the crowd, but he stays. He waits it out. And when Noth comes back, Gabe takes the offered beer with a sigh. ]

    Probably. I'm gonna fuck some guys first, I think.
    ligature: (working on a thing)

    boarding house

    [personal profile] ligature 2024-06-29 02:00 am (UTC)(link)
    [he doesn't sleep at the boarding house anymore, but Will Graham is a creature of habit who does not enjoy leaving work half-finished. and he's not yet finished calking the baseboards of some of the newly vacant rooms in the boarding house yet.

    that is what he is doing when Hannibal investigates one of the seemingly unoccupied rooms. Will is crouching beneath one of the windows, toolbelt hanging off his hips and his back to the door. distracted, and accustomed to interruptions, he doesn't bother looking up from applying the elk bone putty to the cracks in the lumber when he hears the door creak on its hinge.]
    Fifteen more minutes, [he says, blunt but not unkind, without looking over his shoulder,] and I'll be out of your hair.
    poorlittlesange: (so different now from what it seemed)

    [personal profile] poorlittlesange 2024-06-29 02:17 am (UTC)(link)
    "No," Jin Guangyao agrees quietly, eyes hidden beneath the veil of his eyelashes, "I do not."

    The other implications hang heavy in the unspoken words he doesn't share, in the cautious way he eventually risks meeting Lan Xichen's eyes. It's rather obvious, of course; Jin Guangyao sits before Lan Xichen, hale and healthy, not sporting any evidence of monstrous transformation. The home around them is one that he has clearly made himself comfortable in over the last several months. (There are some personal effects around this guest bedroom, too; a woman's comb on a vanity by the window; a man's coat that is far too long for Jin Guangyao's slight frame.)

    He studies Lan Xichen's expression carefully. Gently, he offers, "Er-ge may ask me any questions that he wishes."
    Edited 2024-06-29 02:17 (UTC)
    relished: (pic#17186617)

    not me mistsakenly putting niez instead of diabel🤪

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 02:30 am (UTC)(link)
    [they're standing level-headed, though he does tip his chin just slightly in amusement. there is a little glimmer in his eyes; it's nice to see someone finding humor in the situation.]

    I can do my best to make it painless. Can you say the same?

    [passionate about anatomy and previously in the ER as a surgeon, he's got plenty of tricks up his sleeve. he could also be over-complicating it.]

    Or perhaps, all it requires is a prick of our fingers.

    [only one way to find out.]
    poleaxed: hand; joke; emb (we are so alone)

    i saw nothing.

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-29 02:36 am (UTC)(link)
    Nothing here's painless.

    [Joan gives the guy a tug of the wrist.] C'mon, let's find a someplace private. I don't like an audience when I leak fluids.
    relished: (Kz63yqE_sways)

    !!

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 02:53 am (UTC)(link)
    [he smells him before he sees him. none of that aftershave. days, if not weeks without it, yet he'd been with Will barely hours ago. it's only when he exhales that he realizes his breath has caught in his throat like a dagger, shallow and dangerous. the teacup, shattered and warped back into one piece again.

    he watches silently, gaze fixed, and says nothing. two quiet strides and the door is closed behind him, so delicately it hardly makes a sound. it's easy to fall back into stalking prey, yet however poised he is, there's a languidness to him. he allows Will his space and doesn't loom.

    thirty long seconds pass and he commits this moment to memory; it's rare to catch him off-guard. he almost drags it to a minute.
    ]

    Will. [innocence that hangs in the air between them breaks, tension snapping back like lightning. it's only his name, but it holds so much weight. so he leaves it there between them as an opening for a reaction.]
    boneblood: (3apa204)

    [personal profile] boneblood 2024-06-29 03:03 am (UTC)(link)
    I'll be there, then. See you shortly.
    relished: (MA3kBGt_sways)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 03:11 am (UTC)(link)
    Neither is life.

    [he remains still when she tries to pull him along, eyes flicking down to their wrists and back up to her rather pointedly. they may be locked together but it didn't mean she has to tug on him. he falls into step with her once his point has been made.]

    What are you planning on using?
    minuteofangle: (117)

    Lock and key

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-29 03:20 am (UTC)(link)
    [ On and on the games spin. The locals kick up a festival every time the mood strikes them or the seasons change enough to make them think of calendars, anniversaries and rituals and all the holidays he used to celebrate with his parents and hopes one day to offer his daughter in turn.

    Not this one, though.

    There’s a moment where Gabe goes rigid, tension coiled so very tight in his shoulders as he tilts his head, cycles his tech, and takes measure of the man he’s now tethered to. A tall man—not a local, not with that accident.

    Then he smiles wide and tilts his head back so the sunglasses won’t slide down his nose and reveal the hollow nothing behind them. It’s a good mask. He can’t make eye contact anymore but Gabe practices it constantly. ]


    That kinda depends on you, I think. You in the mood to bleed? [ he drawls. ]
    ligature: (angel got his wings alright)

    [personal profile] ligature 2024-06-29 03:38 am (UTC)(link)
    [months, in fact. he's been here since February, and the scents of the forest have intermingled with the fibres of his clothes, settled into his hair. a bit of wet dog, too; of course he would continue his habit of picking up strays.

    he drops the little metal spatula and container of calk the second he hears that voice--that voice--and stumbles upright, leggy as a yearling deer on ice. when he whips around to face Hannibal, it's impossible to separate the terror from the hope, the longing, in his eyes.]


    Hannibal.

    [his eyes dart to the closed door, then back to Hannibal's face. for a moment he struggles to find the words, continues coming up empty, and so can only say, stupidly,] I, uh. Didn't know this was your room.
    relished: (O8QUCzv_sways)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
    [a soft, even thrumming in his ears; his heart beat. he takes one more step toward him, slowly closing more distance between them. a careful dance. there's been time between them, that much he knows. he sees into Will as he always does, then a reflection back at himself.

    his movements are relaxed in contrast, all controlled. there is no hiding behind the veil any longer, yet he can't disguise how much he is searching into the very back of Will's head. he knows that look, yet it feels new to him in this moment.

    he offers reciprocity, an acceptance, in return.
    ]

    [accent thickened by emotion, he goes along with it,] Neither did I.

    [tension is wavering. he remains where he is because it is a dance. if Hannibal closes in too quickly, one of them may end up dead. he doesn't know if something has changed. Will's expression doesn't lie, but he needs to be sure, so he cuts straight to the point.]

    How long have you been here?
    relished: (cYTOwWz_sways)

    gross its u

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 04:54 am (UTC)(link)
    [sunglasses. leaves less room to read, but the tone and body language says more than enough. the sudden latch is more of a vague annoyance he's prepared to be rid of.]

    I'd argue very little people are in the mood for it. Are you?

    [they hadn't specified how much blood would be needed. it could be anything from a prick to a gash. he doesn't mind either and it's faster than wandering around town aimlessly for a key they may or may not find.]

    The kitchen will have something we can use, if you don't mind.
    ligature: (what a breakup scene)

    [personal profile] ligature 2024-06-29 05:02 am (UTC)(link)
    [Will doesn't move as he advances, pinned in place by both the force of Hannibal's regard and... yes, call it desperate curiosity, to see what he'll do. his hands remain loose at his sides, and in the forearm length sleeves of his kaftan shirt it's doubtful he is sporting any concealed weapons. the tools on his utility belt are simple and straight forward, and he could certainly kill with that hammer.

    he does not want to kill Hannibal with that hammer. he does not want to hurt Hannibal, not like that. he wants--he wants--]


    A little over four months. I think, [he admits, unsteady and artless. he stares at Hannibal's inscrutable face and, at last, cracks an agonized grimace of a smile, before it flickers and fades away like a guttering candle.] I looked for you.

    [at this closer distance, the scar on his forehead is visible through a forelock of dark curls; it's at least two years old at this point.]
    relished: (2UYExgd_sways)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 05:57 am (UTC)(link)
    [the lack of movement reassures him. it still leaves some control in his court. if he had been stepping away, that would have set off alarm bells. he doesn't sense any anger, doesn't see him restlessly reaching for tools on his belt. four months of this strange town and it's no wonder he smells different. he looks different, too.

    'i looked for you'.

    barely two steps more and Hannibal has encroached on most of Will's personal space, leaving a foot between them, and that's being generous. there is nothing sweet about this, no endearing reassurance when the gap closes and he cants his head to not only meet Will's eyes, but to really look at him. to note the age of his scar, the lines around his eyes. one hand is tucked in his pants pocket, the other waiting on a possible chain of events-
    ]

    I found you.

    [and by what chance of fate to have their paths entangle once more? he doesn't believe it's fate. his words hang in the air like pointed stones. if he'd been asking for permission, it was with every step forward and there had been no resistance. his left hand reaches up, trails up along Will's arm with a steady pressure until it reaches the point between neck and collarbone. thumb gently presses into his throat, fingers graze toward the nape of his neck. somehow love accompanies his every touch.

    there is no normal here, no peace of mind or lack of threat. it's what the two of them had gorged themselves on all this time; a need, a hunger, a longing. he draws the contact out, pressing their foreheads together briefly. added assurance, or a test.
    ]
    minuteofangle: (018)

    😈

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-29 01:32 pm (UTC)(link)
    Oh, around here? You’d be surprised. Be thankful we’ve still got our clothes on.

    [ You can always tell when someone’s new. The truth of this place seems like a joke at first. Something vaguely amusing and more than a little ridiculous that they can surely logic their way out of. Meanwhile, Gabe just shrugs and flicks out the little knife he keeps hidden up his sleeve.

    To be polite, he offers it out hilt first to the stranger. ]


    Hi. So nice to meet you. You try and stab me with this thing and I’ll be really u happy. On the arm, please, and don’t mess up my tattoos.
    baiyueguang: (they say grief is a holy thing)

    [personal profile] baiyueguang 2024-06-29 01:41 pm (UTC)(link)
    "A-Yao is both concise and informative as ever," he says slowly, as he had been taking in the small details. Possessions that fit neither A-Yao's physique or are quite to his personal tastes.

    A lover. Or lovers.

    Xichen shutters his expression, hating that the feeling that first crawls up from his all-consuming numbness is irrational jealousy. He forces it back down because he cannot fault A-Yao for surviving, or thriving. Isn't the latter what he always wanted most for the other man...?

    A-Yao has had to manage on his own, and as ever, exceeds all expectations and built a life here.

    Xichen cannot help but feel like an intruder; his friend's killer, sitting in his home.

    "How often must one partake in either act...? And to what extent?"

    If he can get by on killing dangerous monsters in the woods, it would be little more than business as usual.
    Edited 2024-06-29 13:43 (UTC)
    poleaxed: angry ; static (saved)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-29 02:14 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Joan likes to think she's a pretty good study of others, and his annoyance is clear. Don't tug. It's a small fucking ask, even if it means the guy's weirdly touchy, if also, you know, overly eager to stab people.]

    [He'll do great in this place.]


    I keep a knife on me ever since- well, it's just a good idea. [She pulls it out of the holster at her waist, a clean and sharp thing she clearly takes good care of.]