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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?
    destinysgrave: (🌟 a timed ignition to spark a brawl)

    [personal profile] destinysgrave 2024-08-19 07:17 pm (UTC)(link)
    Kafka's lucky that Stelle is too distracted by the feeling of her gloved fingers on her hip. Anywhere on her body. Kafka drives her insane in the quietest ways.

    "I have a feeling they're about to be busy with something else," she says, only sort of playing along. "We just finished things in Penacony and got a summons from the Luofu because people from the Yaoqing and Zhuming are coming to visit. I think it's about everything that happened with Phantylia, but you know how these things tend to go when the Express gets involved." She gives Kafka a knowing look and moves her fingertips down to Kafka's neck to brush there. "Unless I have Elio to thank for us heading back there after all..."
    l933012000020002010004: (so true)

    [personal profile] l933012000020002010004 2024-08-19 07:37 pm (UTC)(link)
    The smile on her face grows as Stelle talks, and it’s hard not to be endeared. As much as she missed her, it was nice to know she was having her own adventures, having her own life, carving her own path. “You know I can’t tell you that,” she hums, teasing- she already knew Silver Wolf had been on the Luofu earlier, something about one of her game things gaining sentience? So she assumed that she’d let Stelle know there was no script involved, at least.

    Her expression sours after a moment, just a little. “While we’re here, everyone is still back where they were. I don’t know what that means for the future,” she says quietly, and as much as she wants to say it’s all destiny, she’s unsure. This felt… different. Unintended.
    poleaxed: joke; static; tired. (cause you wanna be)

    in the woods somewhere.

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-08-19 07:43 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Joan hears her before she sees her- someone is yelling. Considering how many newbies show up sobbing, showing a little fucking spirit is good. Joan pokes her head around a tree, searching for the source of the sound-- the woman is nearby, clearly.]

    Close? Keep yelling, I'll find you.

    [Joan, a natural born bitch according to several star-rated reviews, mentally pats herself on the back. Look at her, being friendly.]
    clawandfang: (teeth ready for sinking)

    a place to die

    [personal profile] clawandfang 2024-08-19 07:45 pm (UTC)(link)
    Shouting and swearing in the forest is nothing new, but the wash of hot air over his fur is something else entirely. A giant gray-maned wolf - closer in size to a wagon than an ordinary hound - stares at Clive through the brush with mismatched gold-brown eyes before exhaling in an whuff of breath and padding forward without hesitation. Trying to identify the strange source of burning heat that seems to radiate from the... human? man half collapsed against a tree.

    Khoriya has been here long enough that the townsfolk are accustomed to the surly-but-unthreatening massive wolf in the woods, who sometimes walks upon two legs and other times upon four. And he has grown too accustomed to their tolerance - enough so to forget how ordinary people might react to the sight of a wolf's approach.
    sunmon: (pic#17222377)

    summertide

    [personal profile] sunmon 2024-08-19 09:16 pm (UTC)(link)
    It's in your best interest to go along with it.

    [ she comments this offhandedly. easy for her to say, as she's been designated a commander. she looks him over. he's new, by her eye. or at least he hasn't been at the boarding house before today. ]

    The locals don't like it when you disrespect their customs. They take it quite personally.
    telepathy: (pic#16178901)

    lock and key

    [personal profile] telepathy 2024-08-19 09:19 pm (UTC)(link)
    [ mavis looks down at the cuff between them. normally, she'd have a knife on her, yes. but after she'd pulled it on aristaeus for a snide remark, he'd taken it from her. she'll blame him for this later.

    for now, for elizabeth's benefit, she just shakes her head.

    then she lifts their joined hands and leans over to bite down on elizabeth's arm as hard as she can.
    ]
    pharmacy: (012)

    SZYMANSKIY

    [personal profile] pharmacy 2024-08-19 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)
    Oh--fffffuckin Szymanskiys.

    [ He'd only come to the boarding house to check the donation bin before heading to work for the day, hoping to replace a shirt ruined by the acidic ectoplasm of the last duchozweirz manifestation he encountered. The last thing he needs is to be trapped here--but it's not like he would have much of a choice in any case, and in this case in particular, he recognizes too well the rabbity franticness of the woman that grabs his hand. She's survived something. Even if he could leave, he wouldn't.

    [ But Quentin doesn't let her pull him along. Squeezing her hand back, he holds up his other hand for her to wait. ]
    I know. I know, but one second. Come on. [ He points to the front door of the boarding house, always open for anyone that needs a place to stay. They have to secure it. He tugs her towards it till they're close enough that they need to be doing. ]

    There's a shovel in that closet there. You wanna grab it and we'll wedge it in the--fuck shit--

    [ As he points out the closet, the door latch jostles and opens. Quentin slams into it to keep it shut, and the other side erupts in screeching. ]
    reckonings: (089)

    [personal profile] reckonings 2024-08-19 10:43 pm (UTC)(link)
    [ kirsty turns toward the sound of another voice. she's already damning herself by not grabbing, what — a rock, a stick, fucking something, anything for protection. but if she's right, if this is the cenobites, what good would it do? without the box, how do you arm yourself against hell? ]

    Hello?

    [ she calls out, making a point to keep her voice steady as her eyes scan for the source. she swallows, keeps her feet planted. fuck. when a sort of silence gives way, she tries again, louder now. ]

    Who's out there?
    poleaxed: static ; hands (you might be harboring a heartache.)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-08-19 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Joan's vibrant red hair is easy to spot in a summer forest; once she steps in front of the nearest trees, all six feet of her are hard to miss. She's carrying a large scythe-looking weapon, but the head's more of an axe. Her clothes are simple, a poet shirt and workman's trousers. When she spots the other woman, she looks down, shielding her eyes. You never wanna meet someone for the first time and go, hey, nice bush.]

    [No, not even if you're at an orgy.]


    Ah, shit. You can have my shirt, gimme a second.

    [She starts pulling it off.]
    destinysgrave: (🌟 unbranded open backhanded)

    [personal profile] destinysgrave 2024-08-19 11:02 pm (UTC)(link)
    Stelle had been trying to ignore that fact, but it's hard to keep that up when Kafka just kind of... throws it out there for both of them to look at. She frowns a moment later, after she processes the reality check. "I don't either. I don't know if the Express will just keep going, or..."

    She gnaws at her lower lip and glances away. "They wouldn't keep going on without us, right? It's dangerous to leave me alone, and you're." Beautiful. Stunning. The most wonderful woman in the galaxy and anybody would be lucky for just the chance to be this close to her. "One of the most wanted fugitives in the star system."
    rosarianoath: (play it just for me)

    [personal profile] rosarianoath 2024-08-19 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)
    Fuck, she's really going to try it.

    He feels her movement through her shoulder before she makes contact, and when it blow lands, he's already braced for the sharp, quick pain of it. It doesn't do shit to diminish the feeling, but in these moments he always thinks of blacking out at twelve years old, and feels a moronic sort of pride in being able to endure it now. Maybe he'll still throw up later, given how much ale is in him, but for now, he has to white-knuckle through it, even when his vision greys around the edges. For a few beats, he doesn't draw breath. In that instant, he decides he'll give her what she wants, but only for the minimum time he needs.

    He drives back against her, shoulder to her clavicle and one arm going around her back. He reaches with the other hand to scoop her up behind one knee. They're slippery, but he'll do his damned best.
    reckonings: (083)

    [personal profile] reckonings 2024-08-19 11:11 pm (UTC)(link)
    Fucking what?

    [ kirsty asks, impatience cutting around the edge of her words. there's no time for this, and even if she doesn't understand why or what the fuck is happening, she knows that at least. she nearly cuts her losses, then, daring to release his hand, when she feels the pressure of it pressing into her own. curls whip as she turns her head, blinking quickly into his face with confused frustration. ]

    Shit —

    [ she hisses between her teeth, because he's already answered her next question. the door. fuck, he's right. he's right, and this time, it's her turn to be yanked, brought forward by his grip, then turned around just as quickly to gather up the shovel in the closet. ( it's how things work here, isn't it? one minute you're standing still, and the next, you're running for your fucking life. )

    the rippling screech lights the fire it needs to. kirsty scrambles, not wasting another minute in a tear towards the closet. she rips open the door, grabbing for the shovel in both her hands. contents seem to fall to the floor, narrowly missing her, but she pays them no mind, already on her way back to the front in a panic. ]


    Here! Here!

    [ she grimaces as she forces her own shoulder into the door, utilizing their combined strength as a barrier. between them, she passes off the shovel, turning then to secure her palms and pushing. ]

    You got it?

    [ please, say you fucking got it. ]
    poleaxed: fight; smile; angry (the king is gone)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-08-19 11:11 pm (UTC)(link)
    Joan's been scrapping for a long time, and she thinks she knows the rules. When you're going down, take the other guy with you. She uses what she's got of her strength and quickness-- Jesus Christ that hurts-- to grab his head, his hair, to pull him down with her. She smacks their skulls together before she hits the ground, hoping the element of surprise will give her an advantage.
    rosarianoath: <user name=messala> (met a ghost of a king on the road)

    perfect person to ambush with a dire wolf tbh lmao

    [personal profile] rosarianoath 2024-08-19 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)
    Clive is somewhat preoccupied with the way his arm is sprouting black rocky structures, the cracks between glowing red-hot and steaming. The tree under his shoulder smokes, the green wood too wet to properly catch aflame. Clive's chest heaves, his teeth grit, and out of his periphery he sees the wolf. He's not sure if he can believe his eyes when he turns them on the beast. His stomach twists. Fear floods him.

    "Run, boy," he gasps. "I can't control it––"
    rosarianoath: <user name=messala> (still I follow heartlines on your hand)

    [personal profile] rosarianoath 2024-08-19 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)
    He's never been more glad for his military training than when he's dealing with someone without polish or precision, but damn, why does it always hurt more when it's some flailing of limbs? Clive sees stars briefly but it doesn't matter: he's a good bit heavier than her, and he's going down right on top of her. The only thing that keeps him from slamming his full weight down is the arm underneath her, and the momentum drags his skin against hers until he's slid a full foot up the length of her.

    (Distantly, a part of him is embarrassed. The thin fabric of his braies feels like far too little up against a woman.)

    He's just going to pin her with his body weight. Frustrated:

    "To what end, girl?"
    reckonings: (041)

    [personal profile] reckonings 2024-08-19 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
    [ her answer comes in the form of red hair, a height that makes her, well — a little envious. kirsty takes a step back, then, looking her over from head to toe, only to shiver, suddenly remembering her own form again. ( at her side, her fists twitch, unsure of where to go, when every part of her is visible now. ) christ. ]

    What's — [ but where does she start? what can she possibly ask that will satisfy her? what is this place? where am i? who the fuck are you? ] Thanks ... [ she tries first, watching the woman's hands, the sacrifice she's making. when she approaches, though, there is a certain trace of hesitation, lingering in one final look before she makes a grab for the shirt. ]
    poleaxed: angry (nothing's lost if nothing's gained)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-08-19 11:37 pm (UTC)(link)
    Fence taught her how to get out of pins, and she knows it has to do with rolling the hips and redistributing the weight. She hopes Fence isn't in the crowd, because she's not going to follow his advice. It's not that she's too pissed off to remember it; this guy just doesn't deserve that level of respect.

    Which is to say, she kicks him in the balls. "I'm fucking thirty!" No girl here.
    poleaxed: joke; hand (living life when)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-08-19 11:41 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Joan has a threadbare shirt on underneath, really just a sleeveless expanse of fabric. She hands the shirt over, waits to look up.]

    Was somebody bothering you? Sounded like you were looking for somebody. Hope to fuck it wasn't me.
    clawandfang: art by oceanwrath @ twitter (Default)

    🐺🐺🐺 couldn't resist haha

    [personal profile] clawandfang 2024-08-19 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)
    Up close, there's no mistaking it - there is something wrong with the human, and the smoldering heat that rises from his arm sends Khoriya's inner animal howling in primal fear of wildfire. But the thinking mind recognizes the threat that this... mage, no doubt, some human sorcerer who'd lost himself to his own foul magic... poses to the forest, and the township beyond, so much of it built upon wood and thatch.

    "You must." Spoken in a deep, bestial growl - but there's no mistaking it: this wolf is talking. Khoriya stalks forward, tail up and black lip curled, shoulders dropping in anticipation of a lunge. "Control yourself, or I will put you down myself."

    There's no relish to his threat, only cold demand, but Khoriya is thinking hard and fast beneath the veneer of bestial menace. There is a river beyond the next clearing, if he can drive the man a little further. Or pick him up and throw him bodily in, should the opportunity present itself.

    [ ooc: also feel free to have clive scorch him up on accident/on purpose. ]
    l933012000020002010004: (demure contactless)

    [personal profile] l933012000020002010004 2024-08-20 12:09 am (UTC)(link)
    She smiles again, leaning forward and pressing her lips to the corner of Stelle’s lips, close to where she had been worrying. “You flatter me. I think it may be worth operating on the notion that we might be in some kind of… universal flux. I’m not Wolfie, I wouldn’t know specifics, but they do exist.”

    She really did know more than she let on, but in regards to this specifically, she was as in the dark as Stelle was. Her hands trail down, both of them with flat palms against her hips, squeezing soft. “They got along just fine without you before this. And you seem stable enough here… I wouldn’t worry. They’re big girls. And Pom-Pom.”
    Edited 2024-08-20 00:25 (UTC)
    rosarianoath: (we should have stayed)

    [personal profile] rosarianoath 2024-08-20 12:26 am (UTC)(link)
    Clive turns over with a strained grunt, the smouldering trunk of the tree between his shoulder blades, and he struggles to keep his eyes open despite the pain and stress. Enough, at least, to look at this wolf dead in the eyes, breath coming faster and faster. This isn't Torgal, but it might as well be: Torgal would want him to fight.

    But fighting it isn't working, at least no more than pinning his own arm with his knees. He releases it just to slam his hand into a dirt next to him, clawed fingers scrabbling at the earth. Flames surge up from the ground. He thought he could control Ifrit. Why this? Why now? Why pain?

    He holds the wolf's gaze. It's enough to focus on.

    "You'll die well before then," he gasps. "If you won't flee then... at least..." He cuts himself short to gasp, digging a heel into the ground as the rocky structures shoot from his bicep, up to his shoulder. "Warn the village!"
    rosarianoath: (we should have danced all night)

    yeah, but like, are you married?

    [personal profile] rosarianoath 2024-08-20 12:35 am (UTC)(link)
    To Clive's great misfortune, there really is no training to make one less vulnerable to a kick in the nuts. In this way, he is less a vessel that gods act through and more just a regular man. He sags overtop her, and even if this is not a strategic decision he's made, it does at least have the benefit of being too pressed against her to be open to much in the way of continued beating.

    "Fuck!" Later, he will hate himself for swearing in her presence. Presently, he his groaning right in her ear, teeth gnashed.
    reckonings: (021)

    [personal profile] reckonings 2024-08-20 12:36 am (UTC)(link)
    [ kirsty pulls the shirt on, prying her curls loose from the collar as the material settles over her. she releases a sigh, then, one she hadn't realized was waiting, lodged somewhere in her chest. ]

    I just — I thought I knew who brought me here. [ she considers this, drawing in an interest to the weapon the woman had arrived with. a brow quirks and her hands settle at her sides again as she shrugs. ] Turns out the longer I'm here, the more I realize I don't actually know where the fuck here is.
    poleaxed: shock; angry (if the truth forgets about us)

    🤔

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-08-20 12:40 am (UTC)(link)
    This is the point where the ref comes in. Apparently ball-kicking is against the rules in murder-fucktown, and Joan is declared the loser. All this happens while she's pressed under the bearlike weight of this solid gold idiot.

    "Sir," the referee says. (Joan is trying to squirm free and failing.) "Sir, you win. You can do whatever you like."

    Joan goes very still.
    poleaxed: anger; static (is this what you think i do?)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-08-20 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
    Nobody does! [Joan holds her hands up with false joy. She hates having to break the news to new people.] You end up naked in the woods a lot?