rubimods: (Default)
rubilykskoye mods ([personal profile] rubimods) wrote in [community profile] rubimemes2024-06-18 01:02 pm
Entry tags:

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?
    romanholliday: (spicy)

    [personal profile] romanholliday 2024-06-19 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
    [the absolute gall of him, to act as though nothing has happened between them. Lucrezia stares back at him with two blue eyes that might as well be incendiary devices for the wounded outrage they project. then, wordless, she hitches up her skirts and exposes one white thigh for his scrutiny.

    quite a lot of thigh, in fact. the skala curse mark lives well above where a garter might cleave to her.]


    There. [flat, before she drops her skirts and folds her arms across her chest. her voice wavers.] Are you satisfied, now that you have inspected me like a broodmare on her way to auction once again?
    minuteofangle: (120)

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-19 01:35 am (UTC)(link)
    It's been a while since anyone's gotten and kept him on the ground, even temporarily. Gabe slows his breathing down deliberately, refocusing. He's got training and experience but not the mass for this shit; he won't win if it comes to brute strength, not against a taller opponent who's already got leverage and the weight advantage. Not unless he turns this even uglier.

    He still has the knife, though. He always has that.

    Gabe snickers, baring bloody teeth. So what if he gets punched? "Bite me," he drawls, and spits in this man's face.

    Get angry, he thinks. Get stupid.
    nepotist: (pic#16719774)

    [personal profile] nepotist 2024-06-19 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
    [A sad smile pulls on to his lips as he spots the mark. He ignores her sulking and instead unbuckles his own britches, tugging down the right side as best he can to reveal his own curse mark, the same mark in almost the exact same position.]

    Not a broadmare. A skala. [Perhaps it is inherited. He feels some bitter fondness when he considers it.]
    alittletaste: (05.)

    clarice starling | the silence of the lambs | wilk

    [personal profile] alittletaste 2024-06-19 01:48 am (UTC)(link)
    It takes approximately no time at all for Clarice to volunteer to search for the missing hunting party. She's not Search & Rescue by training, but her skills should transfer without too much difficulty; if nothing else, she'll make good backup for the real experts.

    The woods are, to avoid mincing words, creepy as hell. She's noticeably more cautious as she goes, gaze sharp as it sweeps the ever-shrinking pool of light around them.

    a.

    "How're you doing?" It's pure professional courtesy, moving closer to someone looking jittery. "There's no shame in turning back, if you need to."

    b.

    The spider drops suddenly, bigger than a coyote and twice as mean. "Your left!" she shouts, pulling her sword from her sheath. It's awkward to hold, makes her miss her Smith & Wesson.

    c.

    "Fuck," she mutters under her breath, and, "Shit." Louder, directed at the person approaching her with a blade - "Drop your weapon. I'm on your side here. I'm not the one you wanna attack."

    It's a steady, deliberate demand, the voice of a woman who's had practice with trying to deescalate deadly situations.

    d.
    nota bene: animal death

    She can hear screaming, inhuman and terrified, and it cuts straight through her exactly the way it did when she was ten. It's worse than her nightmares were - the immediacy of it, made more believable by the reek of soiled hay and blood in her nose, catches her up short. Clarice freezes, an almost childlike terror passing over her face.

    wildcard.

    [ If you want to do something else, let's do something else. I'm happy to screw around with Summertide or monster transformations as well. Feel free to PM this journal or PP [plurk.com profile] hellzapoppin if you want to discuss any details beforehand. ]
    seaboard: (⌜𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠⌟)

    [personal profile] seaboard 2024-06-19 01:51 am (UTC)(link)
    The man clearly has already had a time of getting to the main road leading into the village, and it would get no better for him - especially as he says his title. Was this Alicent's husband then? Hm.

    She bows her head and dips a curtsey that is respectful, before she rises back up again to meet his gaze squarely. There is a careful and kept blankness to her expression, neither mirth nor grief. "Queen Gilia, Second-Child of the Isle St. Loe, She Who Sings the Ocean to Prosperity and Daughter-Sea." Time to get it over with, then. "I am afraid you are to be in for a shock. Wherever you think you are, I must regretfully tell you, you are not there at all, Your Grace."
    romanholliday: (gossiping)

    [personal profile] romanholliday 2024-06-19 01:56 am (UTC)(link)
    [that unsettling parallel draws her out of her sour mood for a moment. Lucrezia stares at the mark on Cesare's leg and slowly allows herself to sink down onto the edge of his bed, her brows drawn together into a frown.]

    Supposedly we all have them, as I understand it, [she hedges uncertainly, fingers twisting together in her lap.] Nobody's treated me badly for it yet, if that's what you're worried about.
    seaboard: (⌜𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 ⌟)

    [personal profile] seaboard 2024-06-19 02:03 am (UTC)(link)
    The poor girl, it pulls, the awful feeling she had been stuck with when she first came. Shock and loss all mixed together.

    "No, no, my lady. It is a great deal to adjust too. I nearly wept every day I came."

    She cups her cheek to help her dry her eyes, and does what she so dearly wished someone had done for her, then. Kissing her forehead warmly and making sure that the scarf was secure around her.

    "Have you eaten? Everything is worse when you have not, I find. Then I will get you measured up for a gown, shall I? I am a seamstress, here, and another of the Void-Touched, as they call us. We will get you settled in your rooms and comfortable."
    nepotist: (pic#16719837)

    [personal profile] nepotist 2024-06-19 02:03 am (UTC)(link)
    No. [He immediately moves to sit beside her and strokes her hair, presses his face to hers.]

    There are obligations here. If we do not fulfill them, our mark comes into play....There is a beast within you, one that is similar to mine. I have attempted to tame it in the past, to varying success. [He is candid with her when with most he would be guarded. He owes her all the information he has. It is the least he can do.]
    sapphyre: (020)

    d. out of the woods (and into the fire)

    [personal profile] sapphyre 2024-06-19 02:06 am (UTC)(link)
    It's not him Daemon crosses at the edge of the wood, but a Rubean watchman under Aemond's fold. Word bubbles around quickly. The image in his mind's eye isn't enough to satisfy a sudden and unquenchable dread.

    Fuck.

    He needs to see him with his own eye. Breathe the same air. Gods be willing he doesn't cleave his uncle's head clean from his body the moment he does. Were their circumstances swapped, he knows he'd be greeted the same. It would be wise to eliminate him swiftly. If only he wouldn't have to do it from one month to the next.

    Fuck!

    Aemond waits for him at the city gate with two of his men. His hand postured obnoxiously on the pommel of his Valyiran blade still sheathed on his belt. Posed to look lazily menacing, but every inch of him has run cold. Tension lines his shoulders as the pale, naked vision of Daemon lands before him. The prince would seem nearly frozen, violet eye locked sharply on him. As if he could flay him with it alone.

    The question is, does he know who he is? What he did?

    "Uncle." (Derogatory.)
    bequin: (✧ 11)

    beta bequin (warhammer 40k)

    [personal profile] bequin 2024-06-19 02:07 am (UTC)(link)
    ((for anyone familiar with the canon, her blankness is nullified for the TDM. I have a preliminary info post here; anyone wanting to opt-in to play with that, feel free to PM the account or message me on discord (katherine2944) or plurk.))

    I. SUMMERTIDE
    Absent her sash—absent everything—Beta stood with the foils, the diamond mark on her wrist a few inches above where she was testing the flexibility with the stoppered point on her palm. She stepped tenderly over the swept ground. Her feet had calluses, but not walking-on-unpaved-ground calluses, and when they cleared the ring in between matches she glanced over her shoulder to see how it was done and what might be laying in wait underfoot.

    The nudity, though, she was fine with, or was at least showing off being fine with by a high degree of nonchalance. She had begged a leather tie from somewhere, twisting her hair up and off her face. She was pretty, in the sense she had all her teeth and no obvious medical ailments, and between her confidence with the foil and the polite assortment of minor scars and fading bruises, probably knew what she was doing.

    Finally having settled on a foil (she was fast and light and considered her likelihood of victory medium high), she remarked, “Someone is going to lose an eye.”


    II. INNER BEAST
    [ she stares at her hand. she’s been staring at her hand for a few minutes. she should stop. she’s in a public place. this isn’t the place to be having a personal crisis, but there’s webbing between the fingers of her left hand. fine webbing, translucent enough that she can see all the capillaries if she holds it up with the fire glowing behind it.

    as mutations go, it’s minor. fixable. she has a knife. it’s in her other hand, still in the sheathe, more of a practical tool to keep on hand than a specific fighting blade, but it’ll cut through the skin all the same, and then maybe she can stop looking.

    when someone else sits at the table, her head shoots up. she grips the knife, shifts her weight in the seat, all smooth and easy and drilled reaction. then she relaxes, smiles with a flit of her lips. ]


    That seat is taken.

    [ lying. ]


    III. DEALER'S CHOICE.
    ( open to whatever you want to throw at me, or hit me up at the contact info above for a custom starter. )
    ligature: (just a guy!!)

    a!

    [personal profile] ligature 2024-06-19 02:19 am (UTC)(link)
    The man she approaches has been keeping a restrained distance from the rest of the search party, and not only because the idea of enduring more smalltalk makes his teeth itch. It's easier to spot the things that others overlook with a little distance from them.

    Will's first glance towards Clarice doubles-back again once she speaks and he clocks her accent, the vaguely familiar Appalachian cadence of it that he hasn't heard in months. He cracks a pained grimace that might pass for a smile, but still doesn't make eye contact.

    "Oh, I think there's a little. Maybe not from you, but," a nod towards the rest of the party, and an exhale, "from them, probably."
    onlycake: (161.)

    i'm living for the timeline disparity

    [personal profile] onlycake 2024-06-19 02:24 am (UTC)(link)
    [ It feels like sunlight, his righteous anger on her behalf. He'd left her, he hadn't stolen her from her wedding, nothing had been enough for him to act and take her as she'd wished.

    But he's here now and the promise is what breaks her, the promise of justice and revenge and most tempting of all, protection. She lets the tiniest of sobs escape her before surging past his hands and throwing her arms around him, a girl once again.

    She's never allowed herself to show weakness in front of him before, but she's felt so weak without him. ]


    𝕴'𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚, 𝖚𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖊.
    minuteofangle: (025)

    a

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-19 02:26 am (UTC)(link)
    Coming out here in this mood of his and without the gun was a fucking mistake. He could have followed from a distance. Used his armor to camouflage. Kept his secret. Truthfully, he owes the locals nothing - less than that. What does it matter if they get lost in the dark?

    Gabe exhales slow, then pushes his sunglasses back up. He's got a walking stick and a sour look, hanging back from the crowd. "I'm fine," he replies shortly. "I have survival training."
    romanholliday: (they're very close 👀)

    [personal profile] romanholliday 2024-06-19 02:38 am (UTC)(link)
    [she bends reed-like towards him and into his arms because doing so has always felt as natural as breathing. the intimacy between them had always been easy and warm even when everything else around them has gone pear-shaped. Lucrezia closes her eyes and curls her fingers into the front of his shirt; she brushes her nose against his.]

    I imagine you're not speaking metaphorically, [she says quietly while fiddling with the laces on his shirt. she twists it absently around her fingers.] Tell me about these obligations, then. What am I expected to do?
    bequin: (✧ 08)

    ii.

    [personal profile] bequin 2024-06-19 02:50 am (UTC)(link)
    [ this woman had found herself a pair of trousers and a shirt, stuffing the tails down into the front and back and rolling the too-long sleeves up to her elbows. there's nothing quite as discomforting as shoes that don't fit right, but beta chose condition over comfort, and whoever owned this pair before and spilled blue ink over yellow suede had at least two fewer toes than beta did, given the pinching. the tenderness made her wince as she knelt down by lucrezia, but she tucked her feet under her and focused her weight on her knees. ]

    The thorns? [ she guessed. there was running water here, so this planet wasn't a complete feral backwater, and beta had grabbed an ewer and poured half a bottle of whatever the local cheap alcohol was in before thinning it out with what was coming from the tap. she had a candle too, and set it down by lucrezia's hand. it wasn't for the light. ]

    I could not find tweezers, [ she said, but held up a needle. ] I can get them out, if you can be patient.

    [ she'd had a few in her own feet, from the bushes by the little stream right before the treeline broke. the boots probably weren't entirely to blame for her current displeasure. ]
    alittletaste: (08.)

    [personal profile] alittletaste 2024-06-19 03:14 am (UTC)(link)
    She dips her head, a silent acknowledgment that yes, there's probably shame to be found if he looks for it. That's some of what quiets her own qualms, the knowledge that she's here to prove herself to a group of people who don't trust any of the void-touched. Stand by them, show you can share their values, and cross your fingers it'll make any difference in the world.

    Still, even some native Rubeans have turned tail. And there's a stern sort of weariness to this man's expression that still suggests he might benefit from the break. "Do you care what they think?"

    He might. She wouldn't blame him.
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (g9ths07)

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 03:15 am (UTC)(link)
    There are multiple ways to apply violence. Like a cudgel, like a sword, or like a finely tuned instrument. Daemon sees the wildness in this man's eyes, and thinks he knows what is expected. He does the other thing.

    "How would that benefit me?" He pinches the man's nose between his knuckles and shoves his head to the side as one would a ill-behaved dog. "Use the mind you have under that pate. Reason with me. Bargain."

    Daemon is playing with his food.
    alittletaste: (14.)

    [personal profile] alittletaste 2024-06-19 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
    "Great." With a bitten-off sort of T at the end, brusqueness to match brusqueness. You can't fold under snapped answers like that, not if you want to be taken seriously. "You just looked like you needed a minute."

    He still does, to her eye, though being here does a number on a person's trust in her own judgment.
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (WZiTXro)

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
    A queen is a queen, be it from Tyrosh or Pentos. Yet she speaks an unfamiliar babble of nonsense, and Daemon sees an opportunity. He steps forward, a knife's smile on his lips. "Are we in your lands, Daughter of the Sea?"
    bequin: (✧ 14)

    b., has daemon been timing the changes?

    [personal profile] bequin 2024-06-19 03:20 am (UTC)(link)
    His ankles are in reach, probably through just a few millimeters of leather. Beta mentally choreographs the unsheathing of the knife and the twist to cut above his heel and buy herself a few seconds to roll into standing while he bleeds. Sauer would be pleased, but this isn't real, and Beta isn't prideful. Whoever this man is, he is not worth the aftermath.

    The grey sash on her shoulder slides down as she goes from hands and knees to an easy stretch, arms out before her, chest on the ground, knees shoulder width apart, ass up. Not intentionally-- this is for stretching the hips and the lower back, as it was taught at the schola, but Beta is adaptable, and this has the advantage of pulling the archaically fitting trousers tight across her bottom and freeing the secondhand men's shirt out of where she tucked it at the waistband, showing off the skin at her lower back.

    She turns her head, looking up at him over her arm. She can do alluring.

    "From down here?"
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (Gi5Xdav)

    it's very normal.

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
    [Years on, Daemon no longer remembers his impotence. He barely remembers the brothel. He remembers Rhaenyra's body, excited and willing, but it was not this sylph of a thing. Easily broken, this, and yet he knows now of a greater strength, one he thought she once lacked. Perhaps she does lack it now. Perhaps it needs be kindled.]

    [He could kindle it.]

    [Already, the tale spins in his head. What he could do for her, and what could be done to this place. Hardly a kingdom, but resources are resources. Has he not proved an indefatigable foe? And with a younger queen at his side, a maiden made anew...]

    [He could work with this.]
    𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖓𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗. 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖐𝖊𝖊𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖞𝖔𝖚? [For surely she is being held captive, to be forced into this... He wipes her tear away with a calloused thumb.] 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖘𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖉.
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (dYy9kHO)

    https://shorturl.at/OIhrc

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 03:29 am (UTC)(link)
    Daemon sees his wife, her eyes puffy, her pale face red with wracking sobs. He sees the blood oozing out from under her dress again-- that is a nightmare that repeats, one he will not admit to the old gods or the new. He sees- he sees her puny half-brother, that misbegotten thing with the shriveled soul. He sees a mistake to be corrected. His hands itch to reach around Aemond's ivory throat and rip it out.

    That would be insufficient.

    (He never cared for the Strong boy, but he was Viserys' grandson.)

    "These men," Daemon says with a sly joviality, as though he is the one wearing armor, "do they know what you did?"
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (WZiTXro)

    ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
    Daemon can appreciate a willingness to play the fucking game. There's altogether too much flinching going on for his tastes. He does not ask for enthusiasm-- even his bloodlust has its limits-- but this is a competition. Be a good sport.

    (He was never much of an ass man, but a prize is a prize. He looks.)

    "You've already made a good start." Because he's not speaking to a relative, there's something like enthusiasm in his voice. "I'm curious to see where you'll go from here."
    seaboard: (⌜𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛⌟)

    [personal profile] seaboard 2024-06-19 03:38 am (UTC)(link)
    She shakes her head, a pull of something like longing in her gaze for a home she was so long cut from now.

    "No, there is not even a Sea here to console me." Gilia shakes her head. "The ruler of these lands, is the Duchess." May she rot. "The town is called Rubilykskoye." She adjusted her basket on her arm, all her sewing in it.

    "Come. We will get you cleaned up, and you can ask me all you want. You'll probably have as many questions as I did no doubt."

    Best not to frighten him with her gifts first thing, instead she waves him along the road. There went her plans for the morning. So she waves him to come with her.
    poleaxed: anger; joke; tired. (for long enough to get rid of them.)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-19 03:47 am (UTC)(link)
    [This is how Joan goes rolling through the forest floor, shirtless and covered in goo. She eventually hits a tree-- not very hard, thank Christ-- and but it does make her cough and inhale dirt. She's left sniveling while she tries to stop aspirating mulch.]

    My fucking hero. [Joan gags.]