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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?
    poleaxed: gent; emb (i have)

    ii.

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-19 03:55 am (UTC)(link)
    It's a party, it's a festival, these things roll in and out every week and Joan stops paying attention. She drinks cold beer and is developing a taste not only for hops, but certain types of hops.

    Sometimes, this townie shit makes Joan want to scream. The result is less than kind.

    "Oh, God, are you a fish person? We've got fish people now?"
    bequin: (✧ 14)

    [personal profile] bequin 2024-06-19 03:58 am (UTC)(link)
    She looks away, watching the crowd mill about around them. In shifting her position, she finally pulls the tails of her shirt out from where she tucked them; gravity has the hem slid down her back and pool right about where her torso touches the ground. One of the pairs of feet walking by leads up to one of the waiting staff, carrying a tray of drinks.

    "It's hot," she says, verging away from anything that might sound like a whine. "I might be more creative after having a drink."

    Beta spares a hand to pull her hair over one shoulder, angle her chest towards him as her fingers linger on the collar. The shirt's linen and will go translucent when wet. She mostly hopes for her own sake that he picks something low on sugar.
    ligature: (glasses!!)

    [personal profile] ligature 2024-06-19 04:01 am (UTC)(link)
    His blunt delivery of, "Not particularly, no," still manages to land... not pleasantly, by any stretch, but not unkindly, either. Will risks a blink-and-you'll-miss-it sideways glance at Clarice while they traipse along through the underbrush, then squints ahead of them at the back of the search party. After a moment or two, he raises his eyebrows. "Actually, I imagine that's one more thing we've got in common with them. An inability to look outside ourselves."

    A beat, and then he clears his throat, remembering his manners. "I'm Will Graham."
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (Gi5Xdav)

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 04:05 am (UTC)(link)
    If Daemon had not spent his whole life being pandered to, he might get the sense that he's being pandered to. As a prince, it just feels normal. Of course she isn't doing this out of the kindness of her heart. They're both adults, here. She wants something. He wants something, too. If she plays the game, they both... well, they don't both win. They get something.

    Today, she gets mercy.

    "I hate mess," he lies. But his feet are removed from her back; and he curls his hand toward himself, a beckoning gesture. "Come here. Let me see you."
    bequin: (✧ 11)

    [personal profile] bequin 2024-06-19 04:06 am (UTC)(link)
    Beta's had a number of awful, groxshit days. Today is verging on top ten status, edging out that time in the catacombs, which is lower on the list because it ended up being useful and not just an awful maze full of bones and mutants and dire portents. She's in the midst of a crisis of faith and identity and considering taking a knife to herself, and, to this woman, it is a Tuesday.

    Clarity sweeps in, Beta mutters, "Throne," instead of 'go fuck yourself', and swings her feet up over the bench to punch them out into Joan's kneecaps.
    Edited 2024-06-19 04:06 (UTC)
    poleaxed: angry (maybe you agree but i see)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-19 04:13 am (UTC)(link)
    On the days when the locals get too fond of knives, Joan thinks, I wish I had a beer right now. Tonight, when she'll be nursing either a goose egg or a hangover, she'll think, I really fucked that one up.

    But in the moment, she's in her element: a fight. Adrenaline surges. Joan feels the world snapping into place, the way everything suddenly makes sense.

    She gets fucking kneecapped by the creature from the Blue Lagoon.

    "Fuck!" What kind of swear is throne? Is this woman some other medieval freak? They should have group therapy meetings. Joan doesn't need group therapy; she's six feet tall and can see above her emotions. She grabs the other woman on the way down, intending for both of them to slam to the ground. The not insignificant amount of pain this inspires causes Joan to prognosticate in a tone that is way too intense, "bitch, you are transforming."
    sapphyre: (038)

    [personal profile] sapphyre 2024-06-19 04:18 am (UTC)(link)
    He sees a man he once idolized, a second son who carved a name for himself and a reputation of a dragon. His sister's agony, his brother's rage, his mother's crippling fear. He had stumbled into these woods hunting Daemon, who knew it would him a half year to catch up.

    The threat gives little but a flash of indignance.

    "Shall I tell them what you did?" There's warmth underneath the surface, bubbling in wait. A flinch of his eyebrow, challenging him as if he were any other broad chested squire in the yard. He's not afraid of him, he never was. Why would he now? "I cannot say they would side in your favor."
    bequin: (✧ 02)

    [personal profile] bequin 2024-06-19 04:22 am (UTC)(link)
    They are edging out of 'wary' and into 'comfortable'; Beta's happy to play any part required of her, but they usually come with dossiers beforehand. Not like she needs one for this. What he says goes, so it's time to get upright, or at least on her knees.

    She makes a show of the roll of her spine up into straight, like a feline stretch, and then she braces a hand on the ground so she can slide forward into his personal space and sit back on her heels, with her hands on her thighs, palms down. Her eyes are dark and large, and her teeth are white and orderly, but everything else is plain.
    onlycake: (173.)

    only now realizing we didn't cw for incest kjnknk

    [personal profile] onlycake 2024-06-19 04:29 am (UTC)(link)
    [ She lets herself have him for a moment. Just one, teary and shaky, as he promises to stay with her and she takes in one long, steadying breath. Then she knows she must collect herself. She never cries for long and when he wipes her tears away, Rhaenyra puts steel into her expression and doesn't give him any more.

    But she doesn't let go of him either. Not yet. ]


    𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊. 𝕬𝖊𝖌𝖔𝖓, 𝕬𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖉. 𝕬𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙. [ It still hurts to think about, that for a time she had felt safe, if never liked. But it turned out that Alicent's love was no shield at all. ] 𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖒𝖊 𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖊.

    𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝖆 𝖋𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝖘𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊. 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖒𝖊 𝖎𝖓.

    [ Yet she hadn't felt shame about it until just now, until imagining showing Daemon the little cot she'd been calling home, and now she does not wish to go back. ]

    I have no handmaids to dress and mend for me now. [ A little shove for the observation. ] This place cares not for who we are.
    bequin: (✧ 09)

    [personal profile] bequin 2024-06-19 04:32 am (UTC)(link)
    Petty vindictiveness makes Beta care nothing at all about the pain inflicted and more about how half the beer sloshes out of the glass as Joan fumbles. She reminds herself not to forget about that lest she end up picking class shards out of her hair or have to deal with a scalp wound. Triumph lasts as long as not being grappled does, and she goes down without fighting mostly to make sure that she ends up on top.

    Her mind goes back to the heavy stein before anything else; the spread of her fingers hurts; there's not as much mobility and it stings, but she grabs Joan's wrist and risks putting as much of her strength into it as she can to keep it down on the floor.

    It's generally best to ignore what an enemy is saying to you mid-fight, because it's distracting. Beta listens, and gets distracted.

    "Explain. Now."
    ragedagainst: (Charisma)

    Ren Rages-Against-The-Odds | W:TA Original | Wilk | OTA

    [personal profile] ragedagainst 2024-06-19 07:24 am (UTC)(link)
    1 - In the Woods
    [ likely cws; violence, aggressiveness, primal behaviour, telepathy, werewolves (?) ]
    This wasn't the first time that she had woken up naked in the woods and Gaia willing it wouldn't be the last one either. The concern was she couldn't hear her idiots. Ren stooped to wash her face in a puddle of water and try to get her bearings. Woodlands - good. Green enough that there was a good chance this was still Colorado. She ran her hands over her body to check for obvious signs of injury or sedative darts in her arse that might explain her sudden forgetfulness. Thankfully none were to be found.

    ( Check in, you pricks. Sound off. Someone needs to come pick me up. I don't know where I am. ) The first mental demand was calm as she starts to pick her way through the woods and towards civilisation with ease, pushing shoulder length back coal black hair from her face.

    The second telepathic demand was less calm. ( Sound. Off. Now. ) There was no Rowan demanding to know where her phone was. No Ji-Hyun coming in with some dryly sarcastic quip she didn't get but would become apparent a few hours later. No Colin dithering in her ear. ( Chico, babe, I could use an assist here. ) She appealed to their guardian spirit and stopped still as she realised that there was no amused crunch of popcorn in her mind as he watched her anecdotes. "Shite."

    This weren't a dream. This was reality and her pack and spirit were missing. Ren squinted hard. There was no road to suggest this was fairyland. Only one moon in the sky as well. But, a rustle of leaves nearby caught her attention and she snapped into calm practiced aggression, stalking silently closer with a lupine gait, wrestling them to the floor and pinning them there by their throat.

    Their assailant was a naked, tattooed, a muscled amazon of a woman, with a sharp scar that ran from her cheekbone to jaw and a fine collection of them adorning her body, teeth pulled back as she looked down at her captured prey. "Where the fuck am I?" She had them neatly pinned to the ground by the throat and her knee keeping them there.

    2 - Town
    [ likely cws: aggressiveness, primal behaviour, telepathy, werewolves, Ren refusing to put clothes on]

    "Listen love, it's not that I don't deeply appreciate the offer of gettin' eaten out, I just want a fuckin' phone right now. Can w'drop the Ren Faire bullshit and you show me t'the magical technology tent or whatever th'fuck you're callin' it here?" It wasn't often that Ren was taken to polite negotiations while naked. But nobody seemed to be fucking listening to her.

    Her height and physique was attracting attention from those passing by, standing a head above the woman she was talking to as she set her hands on her hips and sighed. This fucking LARPer was getting on her last nerve.

    Ren's hand shot out to grab the first person coming by that happened to look more dishevelled than these Ren Faire actors. Weird that she hadn't seen someone dressed up as a Space Trek Quest character or whatever yet. "Hey-- y'mind doin' me a solid here and showin' me to the exit?"

    3. Summertide
    [ likely cws: violence, fighting for pleasure, blood, dubcon, public sex, nudity]

    A.
    The problem with being a Big Bitch was that it was hard to pretend you weren't good in a fight. Ren had tried to keep to the outskirts of any physical contests at first even though it itched under her skin to compete. But eventually she'd been cajoled into it (and physically pushed towards the marked out rope ring).

    It was fine. Her rage was mostly under control. She could keep a cool head.

    Until she took one look at her opponent and scoffed, turning towards the Rubean in charge. "Oh come th'fuck on. That's not fair on them!" She shouts over the din of the crowd while gesturing towards them in evidence of the clear physical mismatch, even while stripping off her shirt. Fianna usually fought bare breasted and she didn't intend on shirking that tradition.

    And she won. Match after match after match with extreme confidence and surprising dexterity for a woman of her size. Even doing her best to minimise her use of strength and instead grappling people to the floor. Her current prey was pinned beneath her but like the others; "I'm lettin' them go. Find us a proper challenge." She called to the referee, to a dissenting groan from the crowd. "Unless y'want t'put on a show." She would murmur against an ear, grazing it with her teeth.

    B.
    Ren's victory in the wrestling left her parched and pursued.

    Every time she sat down (even now she was wearing clothes) there was some lass or lad shooting their shot or trying to coax her back into the ring and Ren's patience with it was wearing thin. With a tankard of kvass in one hand, she shot out an arm to grab someone passing by around the waist and pull them onto her lap.

    "Sorry, I've got my shag f'the night." A pat on their thigh. "Y'can fuck off now, thanks." She announced to those around her, glancing at her quarry and sharing a roll of the eyes with them. "Give us ten minutes to finish my pint, love, 'nd you can go back t'whatever you were doing with my gratitude." She requested with a sigh.
    Edited 2024-06-19 08:18 (UTC)
    alittletaste: (13.)

    [personal profile] alittletaste 2024-06-19 11:06 am (UTC)(link)
    For a fraction of a second, surprise and recognition pass over her face; she schools her expression as soon as she realizes it's betrayed her, feeling a faint sense of embarrassment at that starstruck instinct. Her only hope is that he was looking away at the time. She doesn't have any illusions about her ability to disguise the microexpressions of her mouth and brows from one of the greatest profilers to pass through the Bureau's doors.

    "Clarice Starling." Everything that comes to mind is something she's not about to say to one of the Bureau's most storied agents. I pictured you differently won't win her any friends here. After a moment, she settles on a sentiment that's bland but undeniably true. "It's a pleasure."

    (He really doesn't look the way she pictured him, though. He's taller than her, but only in the way all men are, not particularly tall for his own sake, with a whiff of the academic to him. If he'd walked into the front of a lecture hall at Quantico and started talking, she'd have leaned in to listen.)
    ragedagainst: (Default)

    in the woods somewhere

    [personal profile] ragedagainst 2024-06-19 11:21 am (UTC)(link)
    [ A northern voice answers through the thicket of bush and tree, thick with accent and annoyance. The body that follows it is of a tall amazonian woman who pushes back a mess of black hair. ]

    Petal, I don't even have fucking shoes let alone a shirt.

    [ Being naked in the woods was nothing new to Ren. Garou lived in a permanent state of potentially being naked at any moment. But this wasn't her fucking home and she was getting progressively more pissed off. For one, she would like to know why her dedicated clothing hadn't come with her to wherever this was.

    She glances the other woman over. ]


    Okay. No shoes, no shirt, I'm guessin' we ain't going t'get serve.
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (g9ths07)

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 12:27 pm (UTC)(link)
    A queen is a queen, be it from Tyrosh or Pentos, unless she isn't. What is Laenor? Certainly noble, certainly well bred, certainly not a prince.

    He knows of Rubilykskoye, he knows of the Duchess. He did not kill that peasant boy for sport. But it's always more interesting-- nevermind tactically viable-- not to show one's hand. He follows the wench. Certainly, she can give her charity, and like one of the tales of the old gods, he'll grant her certain mercies. Maybe favor later, once he's made a name for himself. Maybe a child. Maybe nothing at all. Who really cares?

    "I am more interested in the life of an exiled queen who chooses to live in a hovel." And, you know, getting some trousers, but he's not about to flinch first.
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (g9ths07)

    CW INCEST CW GROOMING FROM HERE ON OUT!!!!

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 12:32 pm (UTC)(link)
    [There it is, the strength he once doubted she had. He'd tried to grow it in her, with force and coy promises both, but she'd always had it. Daemon can admit when he's wrong, and this is one of those rare, few places. Rhaenyra had always been a queen.]

    [He will make her one here, as well. And he will be king.]

    [She is almost frighteningly beautiful here, a memory of a memory. He indulges himself. A kiss, brief and sweet against her lips. A promise and a thrill. (This is not to comfort himself with tantalizing familiarity. She needs this. He is sure she needs this, not him.)]
    We will make them care, wife.
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (Gi5Xdav)

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 12:36 pm (UTC)(link)
    Daemon sees a boy pale enough to be a corpse, and it is only a shame he cannot make him one. Yes, yes, he'll arise in a month's time. Daemon did not torture that peasant boy for sport. Information is the first thing you get when you appear in a new place. That, and reputation. Both served Daemon's needs.

    He grins. He laughs. "This man goaded his drunken brother to kill my wife." He speaks directly to the guardsmen. "The brother is a milksop. I doubt he could feed himself unaided. The true villain is your guard captain, and my wife has been reduced to a child by your Duchess' magic, long may she rule." A brief bow for a monarch he plans to behead. "I will be her champion, and I demand satisfaction."

    The guards take a step back, but only a step.
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (Default)

    cw anti sex worker language.

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-19 12:38 pm (UTC)(link)
    Not quite well-bred, but well fed. A serving maid, perhaps, or a merchant's daughter, fallen on hard times. Those make the best kind of whores, even if she's a little old.

    He pats his knee. "Come here. You will see I am not so cruel."

    Not right now, anyway.
    wyldfire: (Default)

    3A/Wildcardish

    [personal profile] wyldfire 2024-06-19 12:45 pm (UTC)(link)
    Jordana was watching Ren's matches. She recalled the Ahroun had always been a hothead and that only appeared to have been tempered somewhat with age. Regardless, a full moon was always a danger in a ring, which was why she was there. The view was very nice - not that she'd say so - but if Ren lost her shit, Jordana needed to ensure the Veil was protected.

    By the time Ren noticed the Fury was present, Jordana had one foot propped up on the back of some guy that looked to be shackled to Jordana's wrist. She was barely paying him any mind other than using him as a footstool. He, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the humiliation.
    nepotist: (pic#16739372)

    [personal profile] nepotist 2024-06-19 12:56 pm (UTC)(link)
    [He swallows and sighs, distracting himself by tracing shapes into her palm with his fingertips.]

    Violence...or lust. Those quell the beast. If you experience pain, that draws it out. You will learn more in time.
    chuffle: (Daphne - pour the bubbly)

    [personal profile] chuffle 2024-06-19 01:03 pm (UTC)(link)
    The last time I was in Rome-

    [She sits, and indicates, yes, please, a nice glass of wine, thank you.]

    -I spent forty hours trying to hunt down my client and managing to corner him at St. Peter's Basilica and having to drag him out to sign his contracts.

    [She takes a nice sip.]

    I'm sorry I didn't have a nice host.
    seaboard: (⌜𝙲𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎⌟)

    [personal profile] seaboard 2024-06-19 01:07 pm (UTC)(link)
    She keeps her eyes off his bared body, handsome as he is. More like Aemond, then Aegon. Fearsome, direct. A warrior then, and sure of himself too. The kind she knew better, from the look of it, that did his own work in the field. King-Consort indeed.

    Her way remains direct, but polite, enough to look at him directly with her brows lifted.

    "Living in town has its own complications. One I would rather do without, given their... moods, at times." The path along the river is a quiet one, at least. "Thankfully, I was raised sensibly, to take care of my own, so I can have a good living for myself." Perish being the sort of Queen who can't do one sensible thing like make their own food or sew their own garments. "Which means I can keep at least a moderately charming hovel, for instance, than an completely awful hovel."
    Edited 2024-06-19 13:13 (UTC)
    chuffle: (Daphne - I can't tell if you're stupid)

    [personal profile] chuffle 2024-06-19 01:10 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Daphne looks up; she's short for a Khan, blessed (?) by a homid form that is more Native Mexican than anything. But she doesn't seem bothered or intimidated. She does open her mouth a little to breathe in through her mouth, to get the scent of this new person.]

    I'd rather a shirt.

    [She turns to look around, and the line of tiger stripes is just visible in the darkness down her back.]

    Is this something people around here do to strangers, or are you a local?
    poleaxed: gent (than fade away)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-19 01:15 pm (UTC)(link)
    Joan feels like shit, but that's not new. And if she can help someone stave off the pain of transformation, the horrible lonely ugliness of it, she's done her good deed for the day.

    "We turn into monsters," she grinds out, "if we don't fuck enough. Comes on hard for new people."

    And then she kisses this strange woman hard on the mouth.
    minuteofangle: (002)

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-19 01:24 pm (UTC)(link)
    He stabbed this man through the shoulder and spat in his face, and still the fucker doesn't explode. There's control along the training. Not good, Gabe thinks, grunting at the touch and trying to jerk away. Not fucking good. The sunglasses are already slipping down. The fucker's too close not to notice certain things, too quick not to use them.

    Well then.

    Okay.

    Gabe adjusts his grip on the knife and just goes to stab the fucker in the gut.
    minuteofangle: (026)

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-19 01:26 pm (UTC)(link)
    "I don't," he replies shortly. He doesn't want to be here when his tech inevitably dies, but that's a problem quite literally of his own making. "Who the fuck are you?"

    She's new. He doesn't recognize her shape, or her voice.