AUTUMN TEST DRIVE MEME

[rubimods]

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ 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: spiders, animated skeletons, aphrodisiac effects, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, knifeplay, potential dismemberment.

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.

FAQ ✧ SETTING ✧ CALENDAR ✧ RESERVES ✧ APPLICATIONS

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 damp mosses and ferns, the balmy summer air warm and sticking 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 their hiding places. With your feet under you, 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 knee-deep and chilly. Here and there, dotting the autumnal forest, are strange, massive white trees extending into the sky, surrounded by a circle of dead soil. Their sides are smooth and cool to the touch – like bone, for those who know its texture – and they creak alarmingly, threateningly at the press of warm hands.

As you explore, you may encounter caches of clothing left in painted crates or placed in hollow tree trunks. They contain loose shirts and trousers, perhaps even a moth-eaten coat, along with a note that includes a bare-bones explanation for your arrival and a sketched map toward town. You may also 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 to find civilization.

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. Above the town, drifting like a low hanging cloud over the tops of the buildings, is a pavilion swathed in deep red cloth, and to the north, past the end of the main street, are several large blockades barring further exploration. Somewhat strangely, the whole town seems to be in a state of slight disrepair– workers bustle around, filling in a large hole in the town wall, a woman curses and fiddles with the crank mechanism of a well, and children splash through muddy potholes in the cobblestone, chasing a malnourished looking dog. Here, the bone trees have taken root as well, a few rising through buildings, branches extending through cracked roofs, others rooted in the middle of the street.

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.

SETTING: CRIME

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! Once inside, you may notice patchwork repairs have been made, some scorch marks still linger from a fire about a year back, and the place seems somewhat in disrepair

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. The town has recently been through some upheaval, and its people have suffered a great loss, newcomers are told. Everyone is doing their part now to restore it to its former glory.

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!

RECUMITA

The festival fills the streets with dancing locals and all the stuffs of a street market. Despite a stressful summer - the events of which the local seem reluctant to speak of - there's much cheer and reveling over the abundant harvest, and the harvest festival of Recūmita becomes a celebration of unity and community strength dedicated to their fellow townspeople for salvaging this year's crops, the Duchess' magic for protecting them from the horrors beyond the Void, and the Void-Touched who have become such an integral part of their community. Everyone is expected to participate, and everyone is expected to pitch in.

Over the weekend, all regular work is put on hold, except for the necessary festival preparations. The streets come alive with vibrant stalls and stands, offering a wide array of delectable treats and refreshing beverages. From barrels of beer and cups of kvas to mouthwatering roasted meats, delightful squash-based dishes like pumpkin latkes, honey-glazed brussel sprouts on skewers, hot borscht in both pork and vegetarian variations, and tantalizing mushrooms stuffed with leeks, cranberries, and bryndza cheese, there is an abundance of flavors to indulge in. But take care of what you put in your mouth. 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.

The first day of the festival transforms the streets into a bustling night market, where the Rubeans organize an assortment of carnival-style games and communal activities.

- Test your strength and aim in knife throwing contests as willing (or confused, drunken) volunteers line up to serve as live targets, standing against a wall with an apple balanced atop their heads. Hopefully someone explained the rules to you beforehand - pierce the apple, and the target is yours to... pierce... in turn. Miss your shot in three attempts, and they get to have their way with you instead. Either way, it would be in awfully poor form to refuse...

- Challenge your pain tolerance in public displays where individuals whip or cut each other to determine who yields first, with the watching crowd cheering the participants on into a frenzy.

- Impromptu improvisational theater where hapless members of the audience are pulled in to act out bawdy jokes or monstrous tales... and are expected to fully act out their part, whether it means growling and biting the actor while playing 'angry bear' or giving him a good fingering in the role of 'lascivious rake.'

- Hot oil massages are being offered in a large tent, where smooth chunks of volcanic rock have been brought in from the nearby coast and heated to radiate warmth, warding away the autumn chill. Relax in your own curtained room and let yourself enjoy a massage from an enthusiastic volunteer - or take your turn rubbing out tight knots and sore muscles among the Rubeans and Void Touched alike. Of course, these intimate activities often take an enthusiastic sexual bent, so for those trying to hide away in the tent, be careful about ducking into the wrong room.

- For those artistically inclined, a long bench is loaded up with massive sheafs of wheat-stalks, and Rubeans sitting around braiding and weaving them into intricate wreaths and crowns. Join the gossip circle to hear about Yudmila's affair with both of the blacksmith's daughters, Hugo's feud with his next door neighbor, and other small-town tales. When you're done weaving, you're expected to spill a bit of blood upon the wreath and dedicate it to the Duchess Zlatka.

Enthusiastic Rubeans, particularly those involved in integrating the Void-touched, take it upon themselves to enhance the festivities. They recruit local participants and willing Void-touched individuals to partake in impromptu stage performances and competitions, with no need for rehearsals. Come as you are and join the spectacle! Once the performance begins, the passion and excitement behind their efforts become truly evident, as all the performances call for explicitly sexual or violent acts to be performed together.

However, those who refuse to get in the community spirit of shared trust and pleasure may find themselves singled out by the Duchess' stewards for some personal, mandatory education on Rubean culture and traditions. They may be forcibly dosed with potent aphrodisiacs, put on display in the stocks or upon a stage until they plead for Her Grace's mercy... or have satisfied enough of the sexual or sadistic desires of any passer-bys.

Throughout all of this, the general attitude from the local townsfolk may occasionally come across as strangely admiring or overtly hostile. While many of the common people of Rubilykskoye hold mixed personal opinions toward the newcomers to their town, two extremist groups have emerged with opposing viewpoints: some think you are benevolent, beneficent beings with nascent powers sent to lead and guide them and solve their woes. These people, called Blackguards, will do their best to make sure your participation in the festival is one of joy and pleasure. But others, called the Zlatniki, believe that the outsiders coming into their land have corrupted their fellows and seduced their Goddess, and will do their best to twist their native traditions toward cruelty and vindictive sadism when it comes to the Void-touched.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try your hand at knife throwing or serving as a knife-throwing target, get or offer a massage, watching or joining a live sex performance, or eating some aphro food (deliberately or otherwise)!

the fathomless dark

At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches.

In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.

Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.

In addition to the spiders, you may come across strange skeletal creatures out in the deep forests. An enormous gray bear wearing the horns of an elk, studded with sharp bony spikes protruding from its fur. A wolf-sized badger whose entire skull is visible beneath mossy green growths, sprouting human-like bony limbs from its spine that grab and claw at anything that comes near. Each one is distinct, an unholy hybrid mishmash of plants and animals and bone, but viciously aggressive toward any living creature that crosses its path.

FAQ: DEATH RULES

Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?

In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!

HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US

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.

FAQ: MONSTER CURSES & TIMELINES

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

Rubilykskoye's performance troupe is thrown into a state of panic as Emrik, the male lead of their newest opera, has vanished without a trace! Sure, Emrik has a reputation for being broody, jealous and a little too fond of dramatic entrances and exits, but how is the show supposed to go on without him?

But in the scramble to find their leading man AND get set up for their next performance, a heavy beam nearly crashes down upon a stagehand's head, and the female lead narrowly escapes being snatched up by a shadowy figure that croons a tender melody to her shortly before flinging her into a mirror. Emrik has transformed, and his skeletal, bat-like figure now haunts the rafters of the theater, trying to seduce the prettiest members of the troupe with his haunting song while cutting ropes and raining deadly projectiles down upon them from above.

(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?

RULES: CONTENT WARNINGS

Comments

QUESTIONS

[rubimods]

Questions about the prompts? Want to report a death or a crime? Here's a quick way to reach the mods. Please direct regular questions about our app process or the setting to the FAQ.

REQUEST AN INVITE

[rubimods]

If you need an invitation, feel free to post here. Players, feel free to look at this top level to find people you've enjoyed RPing with who could use an invite.

The mods will not be extending mod invites from this top-level. If you would like to request a mod invite because you haven't been able to receive one from a player, please reach out to mod contact with an explanation of how you've tried to seek one from a player and your contact information.

Junpei Yoshino | Jujutsu Kaisen | Wilk

[moondregs]

【 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

[ Junpei knows.

He knows exactly where he is. Before he even opens his eyes. The smell. The sounds. The final confirmation is the sensation of a breeze against his exposed skin, leaving goosebumps where it kisses. In a blink he's scrambling up to his feet as if an electric current has shot straight up his spine, eyes wild and breath ragged.

Familiarity does not bring comfort. Because he knows, it actually makes the entire situation more horrifying than that day years ago when he'd woken up in these same surroundings. The desire to bolt is almost as strong as the desire to freeze in place. How much luck he'd unknowingly had back then, to reach the town unscathed, he thinks.

And ... what version of town will he find if he survives the trek again? ]

【 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧

[ This being the Junpei of now, and not the Junpei of then, getting clothing is not even close to his top priority. This Junpei has been through countless festivals, orgies, and Thursdays in Rubilykskoye. He's far more concerned with keeping his entire self hidden while he scopes out things in the alleyways and dark corners of town than covering his bits. There's no telling if this is even the Rubi he remembers, or if there's some kind of alternate universe fuckery going on like something out of a sci fi movie. The void could have sucked in even those remaining few who were around when he was here last, or kept their outward appearance while turning them into dark shadows of their former selves.

Was he being delirious? Or not imaginative enough? As he observes passersby from behind a haystack, he grows frustrated with his overthinking mind ping ponging from one extreme to another trying to anticipate every possible (and impossible) angle. At least if he'd been the fresh from his universe Junpei of before he'd be dealing with much more basic fear and not the paralyzing fear of knowing too much.

And then. The stupidest thing happens.

He sneezes. Too suddenly and too loudly to cover his nose in time. And there are eyes on him. ]

... damn it ...

(( hello this is tentaclemonster test driving this previous resident to see if he's going to become a current resident once more ))

@ town

[serpentigena]

[ Haystacks don't sneeze. So when one does, he's clearly going to check it out and see who's doing a terrible job of hiding and why — what he doesn't expect is to see who he sees on the other side of it. The one person he'd most wanted to see the last few months, and someone he was very convinced he would be seeing again approximately never, because that's his optimism levels for things like that. The numbers are in the negatives.

It's probably not all that long before he says something, but it feels like a while thanks to the surprise and million thoughts in his head at the moment. ]

When did you get back? You're okay, right? [ Those are the first questions that happen to come out as he has to hold back much of his surprise, confusion, excitement, relief, though they all still come through in the tone. He's also just barely managing not to pull him into a hug because if that happens he will probably not let go any time soon. ]

forest

[datgirl]

You look like you know where you're going.

[ There's a distinct lack of "oh god where am I" fear in his eyes, so Hannah, clothed in only a moth-eaten cloak that she is holding shit with one hand, approaches. ]

Can I join you? I don't want to get lost here.

Nami | OPLA | Diabel

[worldmapping]

Woods;

The first thing that registers as Nami groans back into consciousness is that her clothes are gone. The next handful of realizations dawn on her in quick succession, as she sits up and opens her eyes. She's on her own, with no sign of Luffy or the others, which means the first thing she needs to do is figure out where she is and how she got here.

Clothing should be a priority, but Nami can't bring herself to care about that just yet when there are bigger things to worry about. In the process of making her way through the woods to the little town beyond, she's managed to snag some clean but ill-fitting clothes. Shoes would be nice, but it seems like something she can manage without for now.

When it suits her, Nami can be quite charming. It's alarming, being separated from the others. Maybe if she treats this like just another con, it will help ease her nerves a bit. The town brings with it a whole new set of challenges and opportunities. Nami spends a fair amount of time wandering, making note of any interesting landmarks, exits, and points of interest.

Eventually, she finds herself staring up at the boarding house. Standing at the threshold, she takes a moment to commit the building's appearance and location to memory.

Recumita;

Having been to her fair share of festivals, this one leaves a lot to be desired. Still, Nami does her best to put on a charming face and mingle. If nothing else, this feels like an excellent opportunity to gather intel for when she inevitably reconnects with her crew.

So Nami does what she does best. She helps herself to food and drink the likes of which would put Luffy to shame. The games and contests seem particularly interesting, which is why she makes a point of trying her hand at each of them at least once. Two of the three attempts at the knife-throwing contest end in her favor, despite her initial hesitation. She volunteers once to be whipped and once to wield the whip- and follows all of that up with a nice hot oil massage.

While her artistic talents mostly extend to map-making, Nami makes the executive decision to try her hand at weaving strictly because she's interested in the gossip. Her attempt at a crown leaves a lot to be desired, but she's hoping that her willingness to participate will count for something.

Wildcard;

[What it says on the tin. Feel free to toss something else at me if none of the above sparks joy. I'll match either format.]

recumita

[datgirl]

Hannah, who has experience with arts and crafts thanks to having a ten-year-old daughter, doesn't fare much better, but you know what, she tried.

"I hope they're grading us on effort, not output."

She feels your pain, Nami.

Recumita: knife throwing

[twice_cursed]

[Sure, fine okay. Stupid zadza, stupid place. Still, if anyone makes a good target for knives, it's Balthiel. He's large, so an easy target, and he's also really, really hard to injure. So even if someone misses, they're not really going to hurt him.]

Let's see how good you are.

Hannah Finch | Yellowjackets | Niez

[datgirl]

forest: the hike to town

[ This isn't winter in the Canadian wilderness, but it's still cold when you're naked. Hannah covers her chest with one arm as she makes her way through the woods, avoiding the bone-white trees after the first time she touched one. No, thanks, she's touched enough human bones recently.

The way the light hits the insides of a tree's hollow catches her attention, so she heads for it as fast as the forest floor will allow. This means that 1) anyone nearby will hear the sounds of someone hiking, and 2) they stand a chance at making it to the cache first.

Hannah reaches out with her free hand to investigate the cache, reading the note quickly. ]

Do you think we can take whoever wrote this at their word? And, um, if you're not going to use that shirt, can I have it? It's... pretty cold...

[ and she's not in the mood to show off her breasts unless she can't do otherwise. ]


in town: various

--the boarding house (cw brief allusion of cannibalism)

[ She arrives in time for dinner, and as soon as she's sure they're being served animal meat, she digs in. It takes effort not to wolf her portion down, but it helps that Hannah's stomach had gotten used to scarcity. Still, she looks blissful, licking her lips as she swallows every mouthful.

Her experience in the wilderness camp (0/10, would not recommend) has her keeping an eye on the room, though, paranoid and aware that she's an easy target, being an outsider, a new arrival. When she sees people heading out to claim rooms, she follows, looking for the closest door without anyone nearby and dashing to it and inside.

Whether she's the first or second person there, she'll speak up. ]

Hi. I'm-- I'll take this bed. I'm a great roommate.

[ She is trying desperately hard not to be the third, but if she is-- ]

I don't move around much in my sleep.



--the festivities (includes smutty and touchy options)

[ Who can resist fresh, warm borscht? Not Hannah, who's still in disbelief about the abundance of food here and how freely it's being shared. The thought of aphrodisiacs never even crosses her mind.

A former high school athlete, Hannah is both competitive and confident enough to try throwing knives. As she is years out of practice, it's 50/50 on whether she hits the apple or not. Flip a coin (heads, she hits the apple) or decide what you prefer. She's in a festive mood.

Hannah is also very tense, so a massage sounds lovely. ]

I'll do you first, [ she offers as she pulls back a curtain on an empty massage area. She isn't entirely sure she doesn't mean the subtext on that one. ]



wildcard

[ I'm p much ota! Throw me a starter or hit me up on plurk at punnyinpink (punnyinpink) if you want to hash something out :> ]

hike into town

[twice_cursed]

[Obligate blood drinker Balthiel (vampire is such an ugly word and he's not dead, okay, just...ugly) is out for a hunt, because if you need to drink blood it's better to get it from animals than people you might have to work with later (unless it's Gabriel and that's his fault, honestly). Which is why he's out in the woods when newcomers arrive.

But because he hunts wearing as little clothing as possible (it's really hard to clean blood out of clothes and he doesn't have that many clothing items to begin with) that's probably why she thinks he's in search of the clothing items. He's not. He's fine. Just a normal shirtless dude running around in the cold weather, heat steaming off his skin. Normal. You know. Casual. Totally fine. Nothing weird going on here at all. ]

Yeah, that's all yours.

You need directions into town? You look. Misplaced. [Surely tall half naked dude out in the woods is a friendly and trustworthy guy.]

Joel Miller — HBO's The Last of Us — ⍢Wilk

[kidproof]

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

A:

[ It's the churning in his head that gets him first, mirrored by the bubbling of his stomach and the tense cloying in his chest. This ain't right. Joel didn't spoon his flask in bed the night before, and since settling in Jackson, things have quieted down for him, more or less.

The errant nightmare can't be helped, but he's not on some downhill spiral. He's got the kid to look out for and jobs to do in the encampment for his brother and his soon-to-be nephew.

That kind of busy work settles his nerves, always has, working with wood and the tools kept him grounded and tied him back to his roots.

Finding his bearings is a slow climb, but his sense of alert being what it is, the minute he feels the dried leaves and dirt of the forest bed on his skin, he hard launches himself up onto his haunches like a startled animal.

He wore clothes to bed, too.

Definitely didn't hike into Bumfuck Egypt to die of exposure for no reason, naked as a jaybird. ]

Fuck!

B:

[ When he makes it to one of the painted crates cradled in thick underbrush, Joel is still cagey. He uses a large, old, dead branch to prop it open and jabs hard, roots through it, with a large gap between himself and the source material.

He hadn't seen cordyceps yet, but that didn't mean a damn thing. The shit was getting smarter. Belly down cockroach survival methodology had served it well.

A shirt, some slacks, threadbare and worn from time in the elements, but after some quick analysis, he doesn't see trace elements of spores on it or the rotten wood it was kept in. He flicks some lone wandering beetles off the fabric and slides into it with eyes on all available angles of the tree line.

A twig snaps, and Joel ducks behind the crate he'd just emptied, white knuckling the old polearm-shaped piece of wood at his side, listening with his good ear before making an effort to take a look. ]

SINGLED OUT

( possibility for nsfw )

[ Knife throwing wasn't difficult, but it was pointless as far as spectacles went. Anyone who had the skill could use it with flourish, and using his hard-earned skills for flourish hadn't ever been his way. Joel was a slow burner and was still reluctant to believe this was some kind of different time and place despite the rumor mill and the locals.

Cults weren't uncommon in the end times, and neither were the types that took everything back to medieval times in their rites and rituals. Sure, those things existed separate from the military interference and the QZs, but they still existed. Human depravity was everywhere to be found in excess. Most of it was less overtly sexual, but that existed too, less often spoken of and rarely broadcast.

Joel winds up getting brought into the fray thanks to his demeanor, posture tight, poker face on, and arms folded tight against his chest. When he refuses to perform, his choice being: "go fuck yourselves instead," he is detained and then later taken to the stocks and dosed on more than what the food and drink he came for had to provide.

Even under the influence, he manages to be belligerent. Don't get too close to this one; he's not people-friendly, even while restrained by his feet. ]

Keep walking — All hat, no cattle.

WILDCARD !

[ feel free to hit me with a prompt from any of the above that I didn't use because it all interested me I just went with what flowed. you can also take the above that I've provided and adjust it with your own spin! I'm easy. <3 Go ahead and PM me here or reach me on plurk at doggos with any questions or concerns. I was enabled over here by a couple of your current players ;D and this is tentative but it's still here! ]

singled out; (also I preemptively apologize if I'm getting things WILDLY wrong, I am very rusty)

[jeron]

Hey.

[he shouldn't be doing this. he doesn't know this person, and he isn't amateurish enough to think that spotting a man wandering in initially similar circumstances, with a rough edge, guarantees he's on the right side of things. he could be a plant. he could be a figment of new interrogation tech, a hallucination. anything. but cassian is in a strange world. naked, no less, until he found clothes. and the sex norms were so visibly foreign that he, despite his head warring with his gut instincts, let some leggy scrap of a thing pull him off behind what seemed to be a bait shop ten minutes ago.

at this point, he's sure that was the right move. if the public fornication and glazed eyes all around weren't evidence enough, seeing this one in stocks all but seals it.]

Hey, I can get you out. Commotion's breaking out over there. [he nods down the lane--a disproportionately large man, even accounting for cassian's wiry build, looks to be getting out of his ropes with better-than-human strength, to the slavering interest of the armed people around him.] I can break your bonds. What do you say?

kate denson - dead by daylight.

[basslines]

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

[At the edge of oblivion, Kate Denson wakes up alone, naked, and afraid. One of these things were not true when she left consciousness; she had been, she knows, fully dressed when she had started to bleed out.

The woods are cold. She thinks this with belated awareness, stumbling through with her arms crossed over her bare chest, knees and ankles muddy-brown from crawling her way to upright. The second thing she thinks, is that she doesn't know these woods. This is not the Red Forest; this is not the Mother's Dwelling. There is however, a familiarity to them: something is watching her. She can feel it, hairs rising all the way up at the back of her neck, head whipping from side to side as she stumbles through the underbrush and the frosting leaves.

She hisses, arms drawing tighter: ] Is somewhere there? [and hopes that if there is any answer, it's Claudette's soft baritone, or Dwight's nasally wheeze.]

RECUMITA - cw. flaying, cock n ball torture.

[They tell her that she has to be careful in town. This comes from other void-touched in the boarding house, whispers among roomies about the Duchess, about the Zlatkini.

She still goes to the festival anyway, because you can't really judge someone until they show who they are themselves. At first it's all so painfully normal; the sweets, the mulled wines. It's like being at the Ren Faire, like she's back in her car going state to state, alive and so full of hope.

She's tempted by the hot oil massage; she's entranced by the stage performances. This is mistake number one, real rookie fucking move from Denson. Someone edges her deeper in, tells her to stay, to watch, to learn. This is mistake two: Kate Denson can't say no, even when she can hear the screams.

The third mistake: she's deer-caught in the headlights frozen watching some Rubean strapped up, spread eagle, whip-to-dick, skin flayed on both thighs. She can't look away. She can't fucking blink. It takes her a whole fucking minute to get her legs to walk backwards, heavy-limbed clumsy as she walks straight back into you. Her head feels like lead as she turns, dumb-struck slow: ] Sorry, sorry, I didn't -

NETWORK.

oh. this really is in my head.

uh - hi! sorry, this is rude of me. not really sure what the etiquette is on telepathy here. i think i've been caught up on what's what! so just a couple of questions: does anyone have a pair of boots, size 7? and does anyone know if this is a quill and ink situation or if i can get a ballpoint??

secret third question: how hard is it to get a gun from the hunting lodge(s)?

network

[ghostface]

nah, we use a knife and a wooden slab. makes for a hell of a bingo night.

( now for the only reason he responded to this mental post-it note at all: )

you gotta enlist in the good cause if you want a gun.
technically.

what are you looking to game?

Xenk Yendar | D&D: Honor Among Thieves | Skala

[partybabysitter]

i. Knight In The Woods

[ A strange forest does not inspire immediate dread from Xenk Yendar, but the lack of memories for his arrival, and his present lack of clothes are somewhat troubling. Inconvenient, if nothing else. He pauses to consider his Oath, and the magic normally connected to it. Such divine magic is dim, if not entirely removed from him. A realm beyond the Material Plane seems most likely.

He hums, beginning his exploration without any further hesitation or concern for his nakedness. Following the stream, he eventually encounters a cache with ill-fitting clothes and dresses himself, though he looks a bit like a prince dressed in rags; impeccable and completely serious despite the amount of holes and loose threads in his clothing. Maybe you'll run into him first, or maybe he'll spot you—either way, there's no escaping Xenk's notice once you've caught his eye, sorry. ]

Excuse me. [ He approaches, walking in a very straight line. ] Given your state of dress, I must assume you are also wandering the forest. Do you require assistance?

[ Or, if you aren't wearing obviously salvaged clothes, he'll say: ]

Greetings. Are you a resident of this area? I find myself newly arrived and in search of answers.

ii. Who Puts Up With This Guy?

[ Xenk isn't the type to get into a pointless fight, but does seem to be in an argument with one of the proprietors of the boarding house (now that he's done helping with the dishes.) What he lacks in armor, he makes up for in poise—never let it be said that Xenk Yendar would raise his voice over a simple disagreement. ]

Your people have suffered great tragedy. Knowing what I know, I could not accept your charity. Certainly not with the winter season approaching. Your rooms would be better suited for those who are in greater need.

[ But it's no use. Sooner or later, Xenk will end up coaxed and cajoled into finding a room. There are a dozen reasons why Xenk Yendar makes for a terrible roommate. Perhaps this is already your room, or perhaps you're walking in as he takes a seat on the bed. Either way, his steely gaze turns the moment anyone so much as twitches their toes.

He definitely comes off a little strong: ]

I have very little need for sleep, so you may consider this room yours.

iii. Cultural Exchange cw impact play reference

[ It's not Xenk's place to judge another society's rules, though much of it strikes him as unjust, his Oath currently provides him no benefit. He thus hopes to simply observe the festivities with a keen eye, taking in this new land and its rules.

Unfortunately for him, someone saw his ramrod-straight posture, deeply compassionate eyes and handsome face and saw fit to pull him into an improvisational performance. I don't need to tell you that Xenk is bad at this. ]

No, I shall not take her over my knee. [ He squints, frustrated. ] I am not her father.

[ His flat delivery and stiff movements give the impression of a man who would rather be doing anything else, but also won't give up after agreeing to doing something. But whether it's his "no, but" responses to other people's lines or his refusal to actually play a role, he's not cut out for this. If you'd like to try your hand at acting against him, go ahead—or maybe you'd rather heckle him, either works. ]

Wildcard

[ For anything else, hit me up on plurk a cantito! I'm not sure that I would actually app Xenk but he's always great fun so who knows? ]

cultural exchange;

[juiceofthevine]

You're incredibly bad at this.

[ He's heckling him. Of course he is. What a good fucking role reversal. Someone should give him a tomato. He could throw a tomato. ]

She's not asking you to be her father, she's asking you to be, you know, a man someone might enjoy sleeping with in a way that vaguely reminds them of the unresolved longing for attention they have towards their own paternal figure.

emmrich volkarin / dragon age / niez

[necromantias]

when the road’s washed out we pass the bottle around
» ARRIVAL

( emmrich volkarin awakens with a start.

the initial certainty that he has somehow died steals his breath and leaves him gripped by such terror that for several long moments all he can do is lay there on the ground, still as a corpse. it's quite possible that someone might find him in this state – a nude man laying in the leaves, incapacitated by fear. how embarrassing that would be! eventually, at least. once he's done spiraling and regains composure and the capacity to acknowledge humiliation.

but should no one come along, he’ll eventually come to terms with the fact that he is certainly not dead, nor is he dreaming. something else has happened - a peculiar and fascinating something that would be much better investigated fully-clothed.

fortunately, it doesn't take long to find a cache, and emmrich quickly dresses in what he finds. the too-short trousers and shirt meant for a man at least three times his size are hardly flattering, but they'll do for now.

he keeps going and going until, eventually, he finds a stranger. first things first. )

Oh - good day to you! I don't mean to be a bother but would you be so kind as to direct me towards the nearest shoe shop?

and wait in the arms of the cold cold ground
» RECUMITA
cw: public sex

( when emmrich heard talk of a festival, he was eager to observe the local customs. improv theater seemed like a safe start. a little trite, maybe, but harmless, and a decent window into this community's culture.

smashcut to emmrich staring in abject shock as a woman fellates one man while manually stimulating two others, right there on stage. )

Oh dear. I don't recall the improvisational theater of my youth to be quite so... stirring, ( he remarks, clearing his throat politely. he turns to whomever is sitting beside him with a smile and says, ) Would you like to see what else this festival has to offer? I believe there are games!

( girl get him OUT of here )

the cold cold ground
» AROUND TOWN

( later on, emmrich can be seen getting into what appears to be a dispute with a local shopkeep. he's standing on the sidewalk, looking through the doorway as he tries to get a word in. the shopkeep is loud and angry. it's hard to pick up exactly what's being said, but it's mainly "i'm so sorry" and "do forgive me" from emmrich, and lots of rude and disparaging remarks from the shopkeeper, mainly in regards to the void-touched.

eventually, the door slams in emmrich's face. he can only stand there for the time being, staring in quiet bemusement. )

wildcard
» ...WILDCARD

( hello this is britt ur resident adder. if u wanna do something else lmk here or on plurk. as always, i’m fine switching to prose! )

cold cold ground;

[docktowns]

Look at you. Popular already.

[ Neve steps up next to him, also regarding the door with amusement. Her tone is a little wry, but she does feel sorry for him for all that she's teasing him. ]

Dare I ask what you were trying to buy?

Nancy Wheeler | Stranger Things | Wilk

[callmehbic]

Recumita

Nancy's been to enough state or county fairs to feel a certain amount of nostalgia for the festivities, despite the obvious and sometimes glaring differences. She's been warned on multiple occasions to try to avoid overindulgence, of course, but Nancy is headstrong enough to believe that it's just a case of people being over-cautious. Naturally, she'd smiled and nodded and assured the good samaritan of the moment that she'd be careful.

In the end, she goes and helps herself to the food and wine. It's a little foolish of her, given how wild things have been for the last couple of years. But there's a small part of her that wants to believe that things might be different here. If not different, then slightly less crazy. After all, she's been here for a while now and there's been no sign of Vecna or the upside down.

Ultimately, she should have taken that advice a little more seriously. Because all too soon, the charming Ren Faire vibes melts away to reveal the gritty truth. The contests, while innocuous at first, quickly become twisted. Nancy's never been an athlete, but she's competitive enough to try her hand at the knife-throwing. She even manages to hit the apple about fifty percent of the time.

The stage performances are an amusing distraction, at least, and she even allows herself to be talked into trying it once or twice. It's only when she gets to the public displays with the knives and whips that Nancy has to stop and question the choices she's made to get to this point. But Nancy has never been the type to sit and wait for someone to help her, so she allows herself a minute or two to wallow in the absurdity of this easily avoidable outcome before taking matters into her own hands. Which in this case means trying to politely extricate herself from the entire situation.

Network

At the risk of sounding like a crazy person, does the name Vecna mean anything to anyone? Or Hawkins? Also, who would I need to talk to if I wanted to get my hands on a gun?

network;

[audentis]

You just got here and you already want a gun?

[ he cannot help with any of the rest of that ]

Cassian Andor | Andor | Wilk

[jeron]

recumita;

[travel the galaxy enough, and you'll meet all sorts. pilgrims in the nude. families of fifty. languages you cannot pronounce with human orifices. the galactic empire is the universal threat, and—he's not completely sold on this, but as far as he can tell— the galactic empire isn't here.

cassian is not taken aback by the brazen sexuality of this place, this festival, but he is wary of it. times his bites of bread slowly, tells himself to ride the feeling that comes with it. winds up with a local girl on his lap. pushing her off, after a sweat-hazed interlude that made him think, uselessly, of bix.

the shame is equally useless. what were bix and he to each other, anyway?

but here he is, driven to his feet, too warm, lip split from some recent minor street incident he's already forgotten, and acutely aware that these native 'zlatniki' are best given wide berth. apart from that, his fact-finding capacities are hitting their limit.

he collides against a bar, vaguely aware of the sex show on the stage on the other end of the room. one look at the barman reminds him of his new reality. he turns to the nearest stranger, trying not to fall into the all-too-natural urge to let his gaze linger. not, at least, until he's asked:] You have any water? Just regular water. No stimulants. Nothing against it, I just need to clean my lip.

[he's lying, but it's true. it's throbbing like a bastard.]

fathomless dark;

[you have come upon a man fighting for his life. imperiled foolishly by his own self.

the most reluctant revolutionary nonetheless would prefer not to be ejected from all familiar to him and flung into unfamiliar ecology and culture. cassian is not even the most reluctant revolutionary he knows, anymore. hearsay about the forest was noted but, with respect, seemed like a testable hypothesis. it stands to reason, he scavenged supplies and ventured into the dark, in hopes of finding some path home.

he did not find it. maybe he'll toast to his stupidity if he gets out of this alive.

right now, he's crouched next to a severed spider leg, the blood red carapace leaking fluid. a blade flips in his hand, deft and true, but this time he's too slow. a c-c-click of many limbs moving all at once, and the white silk splatters out. he's pinned to the ashen bark of a tree.

the paralytic mandibles descend toward him. he snarls, boots turning up curly peels of mud as he scrambles for enough purchase to break the web.]

choose your own adventure;

[i may attempt to roll with all punches]

Feel free to hmu at shramp if you have a different notion.

fathomless dark

[twice_cursed]

[It's not that Balthiel deliberately waits for the most dramatic moment to effect a rescue, it's that these damn spiders suck and he's been fighting his own fights with them.

In his case, it's as close as he comes to going to therapy.

Look, self care looks different for Astartes than it does for, uh, normal people.

So just before the mandibles make contact, his hand shoots in, closing his large fist around them and twisting upward to turn the spider's entirely way too many eyed face toward him. He understands predator and prey. Really. He does.

But other Void refugees? Not while he's around. ]

If you're squeamish, you might consider averting your eyes. [His chapter isn't called the Flesh Tearers for no reason.]

Paladin Danse | Fallout 4 | Wilk

[androidvictoriam]

1. get some clothes on, you're embarrassing us

[ Danse had felt naked enough already in that bunker back home, even when every inch of him below the neck was still covered in gloves and boots and stiff high-collared flight suit, stripped of the power armor it had felt like stolen valor to wear. Before then, he'd so infrequently been without that armor that the rank and file used to spread rumors that he slept in it, and they weren't even always wrong.

If there is anyone who's equipped to walk through a forest bare-ass naked and hold his own against whatever threats arise, though, it's probably him. His body is a thing of well-muscled, lab-designed, machine-crafted perfection. Knowing this only makes him all the more mortified to let anyone lay eyes on it now. It was different, when he'd thought his physique was just a product of his own hard work and ordinary human genetic blessing. His had once been voted "Most Slappable Ass in the Barracks" and he hadn't even cared.

A colorful crate might have left him wary of a trap, but when he sees cloth poking from the hollow of a tree, he makes for it like a lifeline. In his slightly desperate and singleminded focus, he hasn't noticed the other hand reaching for it at the same time. ]

You should--

[ He would, back home, have wanted to be chivalrous about this. It would have been churlish to deprive a wastelander of something he had easier, better access to. None of that applies to this situation, and he's having real trouble forcing the offer out or letting go of that fabric now. ]

2. i'll be in the mess hall if you need me (potential foodplay)

[ Of all the appetites that can be sated at this festival, the temptation that finally breaks through Danse's Spartan reserve and decorum and sense of caution is the simplest of them all. Bloodshed for its own sake is something he disdains in a way that smacks of too much protestation; sex is an indulgence it's grown easy enough to tell himself he no longer wants or needs after a decade of dutiful celibacy, both of them pleasures that he's built up a secure and redundant array of coping mechanisms about.

But he's never eaten anything in his life that wasn't horrifically mutated or filled with centuries-old preservatives. As the red-tinged juice from a skewer of rare meat trickles down into his beard, he finds himself moaning aloud, quiet but vibrating from the depths of his chest. He curls his tongue around his thumb to catch a droplet and feels the sensation shoot straight to his cock, making it twitch visibly in his threadbare borrowed pants as his eyes drift shut in bliss. ]

3. has mankind truly fallen this far?

[ The cutting and the flogging are beyond anything Danse has ever gotten on his high horse about at the Combat Zone, and disturbing enough for that to make him pass by with nothing but a side-eye and something muttered under his breath about "cultist nonsense," as if he hasn't arrived here directly from a cult himself.

The knife-throwing, though, touches a nerve with just enough familiarity to make him homesick, and therefore feels all the more inexplicably offensive. Their barbarous "flinging blades at each other's heads," his blessed "skydiving off air traffic control towers without a parachute," etc. ]

What a ludicrously unnecessary risk. Is life really that cheap here just because there's more of it?

[ Nobody's explained the rules to him. About anything, really. ]

4. why would a place of worship fabricate these strange colorful facades (cw: implied prison guard abuse)

[ Be careful what you wish for, he supposes. Danse always has gone on at wistful length about how much he wishes he could have seen a concert, a film, a theatrical production, any kind of performance in its original pre-apocalyptic setting.

And now he's trying to back away into the crowd, arms folded and eyes comically wide, while a woman dressed in strategically-threadbare prison rags implores him to have mercy on her and offers any favor he could dream up if he'll only just look the other way and let her slip out the door. ]

First of all, I haven't joined your law enforcement unit in any official capacity as of yet. I didn't even know that was an option. And more importantly, no knight or guardsman worthy of the title would ever accept a bribe paid in flesh, and that goes double for me.

5. wildcard

[ Hit me with anything you like, or ping me at layonmacduff to talk ideas! ]

1-ish.

[facethefacts]

[ Deacon wouldn't necessarily say that he'd recognize that ass anywhere, but he had just recently seen Danse stripped down to a very skin-tight flight suit, and he doesn't know any other extremely caked-up dorito-shaped men over six feet tall, so as he stalks closer to the figure to confirm their identity, he begins to weave a story in his mind of how they both came to be here.

If they're in this strange forest (that he's pretty fucking sure isn't part of the Commonwealth, by the way), then Nora must be here, too, right? As stripped down and them and lost among the foliage. The question is, who would have jumped them, taken all their gear and clothing, and let then live?

Deacon is soundless as he moves across the forest, his step light as a precaution. He's reaching out for Danse not to snatch the clothing he's reaching for himself, but to silently alert him to his presence in case they're being watched. ]

Shh!

[ His finger presses to his own lips in the universal sign for quiet, just below a face more naked than he's comfortable with it being. Deacon doesn't give a damn that the entire forest can see his body, but his eyes? That's too vulnerable. ]

Could be watchers. [ He whispers, eyes looking up to the tree tops, scanning them for any birds institute drones looming nearby. ]

Abby Anderson, TLOU 2, Wilk

[armd]

arrival

It's either a weirdly detailed dream or she's being hazed — and suddenly she's remembering the WLF. Get you black out drunk, strip you naked, dump you in the forest only to hide nearby and listen to you freak the fuck out once you realise you've got no weapons, let alone a shirt? She's pretty sure she heard of something like happening to a new recruit while she was still sharing barracks, back when the Salt Lake crew first arrived in Seattle, hungry, angry and lost. It's an old memory, one belonging to a much younger Abby and it takes a second for her to shake it out of it and sit up.

She is not at home. But she isn't in Seattle either — and she knows better than to call out for help in a place she doesn't know.

Getting to her feet makes her realise the totality of her nakedness but there's nothing to do but cross her arms tight over her chest and take a few steps, staring around in a circle. Better pick a direction and walk. If she hears anything that sounds like another person she'll get ahead of them quick, calling out to them sharp and anxious, "Don't come over here. I'm serious."

oh no

The clothing cache she has found is full of items made for people that aren't her.

"This is a joke," Abby says, standing cautiously up in trousers that are obviously too short for her — to say nothing of the largest shirt she could find, still far too small on her. Her arms are sort of pinned at her sides. She stands there awkwardly for a moment and then, with a grimace, pulls her shoulders abruptly forward to test their full range of motion — wincing when she hears the fabric rip across the breadth of her muscular back.

wreaths and crowns

She's never done anything like this before but is it any different to unloading and cleaning a gun part by part? You need to be gentle, remember where things go and move precisely; she threads the first wheat stalk in through the next all while carefully watching other people around her work better and faster. Their group is noisy. Abby has gathered that they're all talking about other members of the village and while she doesn't know their names — let alone understand why certain names provoke little gasps of collective interest — it's nice to sit there and quietly absorb the information, a good way to get a little more bearing on this new place she's found herself in.

But when she finishes her weave and tries to add it to the pile, the villagers turn toward her as one, smiles dropping off their faces, all laughter puttering out. They stare at her expectantly and Abby stares right back — even glances over her shoulder quick to make sure she is the one they're looking at.

"What," she asks, dry-mouthed and uncertain.

into the void cw creepy animal body horror

There is a certain part where the air in the woods thickens almost imperceptibly. Abby feels the hair on the nape of her neck prickle over in slow motion. She swallows and the movement feels painfully deliberate, loud. Everything is wrong. Nothing is good. Silence presses on her, ringing in her ears — the birds have stopped calling.

When she curses, the word is unidentifiable, a slurry of sound.

Moving backwards to where the trees are less dense lets a little light back in, dials the pressure down. She no longer feels like she's breathing through syrup. Still catching her breath she asks, panting, "The fuck is that?"

And later —

She ducks down behind a fallen tree, shoving her back hard into the old wood and reaching out quick to, grab her companion, pulling them down hard beside her without a sound. Minutely, she jerks her head to the side. There is something stalking slow and old in their direction. Whatever it is is huge. The edge of its silhouette blocks the dim light and reveals a little more of its nature: one giant antler, sharpened, another dangling, cracked in half. The moose turns its sightless head in one direction, the other, and opens its maw to reveal teeth that stud its tongue.

wildcard

(Get at me. Hit me up on blisters to discuss other options if you like or go ham I'll take anything)

oh no, oh no

[evokethestarsabove]

It's only been recently that Alasdair has expanded his walk back out into the woods at all. He does not care for the bone trees, still, and he is wary of accidently finding himself near the Void.

Still. He's mapping his new home. The woods are a boundary it's important not to ignore. And, perhaps, he feels a bit that he'd like to repay the hand extended to him on his arrival. As long as it's nowhere near dusk.

He hears her comment and redirects his steps, not carelessly loud but purposely not trying to hide his approach. He's close enough to hear the rip and asks, "Do you need any help?" before he's too close. Giving her a chance to tell him to keep walking if she'd prefer, or bolt if that's her temperament, though he hopes he can, in fact, help. At least a little.

Diogo | Original | Niez | OTA

[thirdofline]

Arrival — Boarding House

[ It was cold outside. For a while, Diogo thought he was having a cryo dream. That something got turned around in his mind and that’s why he felt so cold, why he was naked and alone in a strange place. It’s happened before. It’ll probably happen again, given the givens.

But then he started walking and kept walking for a long time, and the dream didn’t fade or change. It just built, detail upon detail, never once stopping.

This part might be real. He doesn’t know what to make of that.

He’s sitting in front of a bowl of steaming food, wrapped in badly-fitting trousers and no shoes. A blanket tucked around his shoulders and a hatchet resting across his knees. He stole the hatchet. The clothes were offered freely.

He stirs slightly if someone comes close, or bumps him by accident. Then, his gaze somewhat distant: ]

Do you know what planet we’re on?

[ There’s a Niez mark on the back of his right hand. He rubs it absently. ]

Rooming

[ Food was offered—a lot of it. They believe in community here, in the sacred hospitality. Or at least some version of it, the rules not unlike Mama Dread’s. It’s been years since Diogo walked the Char road but he remembers the tables, how the lines would gather and take turns serving. Food was scarce in those days and so every bite was sacred. They’d get on their knees and offer a bowl to their brothers and sisters. In that way, all were one. All were equal under the Mother’s blessing.

Here, it’s just loud.

He’s found an empty room to escape the noise downstairs, not caring whether someone’s already claimed it or not, and crammed himself into the corner furthest from the door. He’s sitting on the floor, knees pulled tight to his chest, holding a hatchet loosely in his left hand. He stole it from a wood pile and that’s a sin against these people’s hospitality, but going unarmed felt worse.

He knuckles at his eye when the door opens, but doesn’t get up. ]

Hi.

Knife Throwing

[ Diogo’s already a little drunk when he’s pushed in front of the target and an apple placed on top his head. He’s done this in the past, for training. Sometimes for fun. It might be for fun now, he thinks, a little glassy-eyed, leaning back against the target and smiling indulgently at whoever steps up to the line and takes a blade. ]

Don’t miss, kay?

[ That’d hurt, if they missed. ]

Wildcard

[ Hit me up at mirrorfaded if you’re in the mood for something else. ]

🔪

[wwrench]

Wrench hasn't seen this one before. Means he's probably a newcomer or a native. Either one comes with his own set of dangers, and the fact he's willingly placed himself on the bitch-end of this little game doesn't lower Wrench's hackles in the slightest. He knows what's at stake for the both of them, and not just in the flinging of sharpened blades. No matter how this goes, somebody loses. The better solution might be to aim for center mass and hope the stranger bleeds out before someone can aid him. Wrench has never experienced a resurrection for himself, and he's been led to believe they're an agonizing prospect, but he's not sure anyone's desired outcome will prove much better.

At least he's stone sober. He rolls his neck and steps up to the pitch, grabbing a knife from the wooden block just below. It'd be a tempting thing for a newcomer, Wrench thinks to himself. The prospect of palming a weapon and sneaking away with a bit of protection would've been enough on its own to urge his participation when he was brand new. Likely none of the new ones realize they hardly have to steal to arm themselves.

He takes a steadying breath and weighs the hilt in his hand. There's not much need for communication in this game, which suits him just fine. still, Wrench can't help but send a telepathic message to the man with the apple on his head. The curse mark just below his earlobe glows. Stand fucking still.

And before the man has time to react, Wrench looses the knife. The blade embeds into the wood wall an inch and a quarter to the left of the apple. One try down.

Ellie Williams | TLOU | Wilk

[paucities]

ARRIVAL

[ Ellie wakes up on the woods. Alone, confused, disoriented. Nothing she hasn't dealt with before. Naked? Strange, but not necessarily alien. Surviving has become the one thing she knows what to do, and a temporal lack of clothing isn't going to stop her. Besides, a quick scavenging later has her outfitted with simple, yet serviceable clothes. That'll do for now.

She walks for a while, before slumping against a tree and just. Be there. Alone. With her thoughts.

She needs a minute. ]

---

The fuck...

[ Ellie wanders into town, frown set and body tense. This is wrong, too rustic. Like a tourist town, but for real.

The crisp air hurts her cheeks, and the friendly faces put her on edge. A friendly townie approaches her, blabbering about welcomes and duchesses and a bunch of things she couldn't care less about, but no matter how uninterested she stares at him, he won't go away.

Her patience worn all too thin, Ellie turns to her one sided conversation partner, murder in her eyes.

Someone better stop her from causing a scene. ]

BREAKING AND ENTERING

[ The townies are all smiles and compliments, which sets every single alarm in Ellie's head. They points her towards the Boarding house, and so she goes in the exact opposite direction.

After wandering around town for a while, she finds a particularly secluded house, on a particularly desolate street. Ellie wraps the cape she found in the woods around her hand, looking around one last time before going for it

And lo and behold, there you are, perhaps by chance, perhaps by fate. The moment your eyes lock, she scowls. Great, just great. Her words are more bark than sentence. ]

Fuck off.

[ Now, time to break a window. She does look at you, fully expecting to do as told and kindly fuck off. ]

RECUMITA

[ Fes-fucking-tivities.

Because the town wasn't noisy enough, the weekend brings a new level of celebration, the contagious glee of the townspeople spreading everywhere. Everywhere, but one corner where Ellie sits atop some boxes, leaning against a wall, a tall goblet of beer in her hand (she's tried few, she knows this one isn't spiked with anything suspicious).

She glances over the festivities with a mix of indifference and longing, but remains steadfast on her perch, scowling at whoever tries to get close enough, leave alone sit on the extra space on the boxes around her. She's not interested in friendly talk. Or any sort of talk, really.

---

Later, she's drunk enough to engage in some friendly knife throwing, which she's pretty good at! Her forlorn demeanor makes it evident she's not really enjoying it, but she keeps lobbing knives at the all too happy living targets, so hey, it's kind of a win-win.

Ellie stumbles backwards, balance failing her for the first time since she started drinking. She manages to catch herself before falling on her ass, staying still for a moment to regainher balance. She stops for a moment, before raising the knife in her hand. ]

Fuck it.

[ Ellie squints. Were there always two of the same guy against the wall? ]

HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US

[ The only reason Ellie is there is because there was a promise of music, and while she's been on a long streak of being miserable, she could use a bit of a reprieve, if only to go back strong at punishing herself.

So imagine her surprise when not only the main singer of the troupe (the fuck is a troupe) is missing, but he makes a surprise appearance as a large bat...thing. A monster, the sort of monster that any of then can and will turn, if they lack in either violence or sex. Ellie didn't believe in such a story for a single moment, but seeing it happen in the flesh, so to speak, makes her realize there might be some validity to it.

She'll have to wait until later to come to terms with her new reality, because the bat monster is looking at her with worrying intensity. It begins to stalk towards her, a chittering, unnerving sound coming from what she assumes to be its mouth. ]

Ah...fuck.

[ Ellie steps back slowly, a hand moving towards the place where her holster would usually be. Nothing. Not even the fingers to properly hold a gun. Perfect. She looks at the approaching monster, trying to find a way out, or around this problem.

She's going to need a moment to figure something out. ]

WILDCARD

[ In case you want something else! Ellie is in a Not Very Good Place, and she won't be anywhere else anytime soon, so you know, expect someone doing her best to not engage with others. Contact me at beoluve if you want anything specific! ]

Breaking and entering. Hey worstie

[armd]

Ellie? (It was definitely fate, but Abby does not fuck off.

There's something old and rotten in the way they lock eyes out on the street, familiar in all the wrong ways. Abby goes stiff and still, uncertain. She had been about to call out to her, but this reaction? It's like being snarled at by a dog you know.)

... What are you doing here?

(The state of her, too. The old clothes that don't fit, the fabric wrapped tight around her fist, the squared off jaw and pain tucked in behind her eyes. And she's young, maybe, she seems it, some how. Younger than the last time Abby saw her and small, and deadly calm, the anger simmering just there beneath the surface of her skin stretched out over her bones.)

Yussa Errenis | Critical Role | Skala

[errenis]

Around Town

Odd Errands
Having secured clothes that he finds tolerable, Yussa is out and about a day or two after his arrival. The diminutive elf moves confidently through a town he has never seen; occasionally he stops to ask someone where he might find various craftspeople or businesses: a blacksmith, a mason, herbalists or alchemists, hunters, and a weaver or tailor or anyone else who might work with textiles. He might even attempt to use the strange telepathic network to send out a call for recommendations or to solicit wares more directly.

[ ooc: I would like to write specific starters for these! So if your character has any of the above occupations or hobbies, please pop me a PM or just reply to this TL with their job/where Yussa might find them and I'll write it up! Alternatively, you are welcome to have your character approach him if they might have heard someone was looking for them. ]

The Boarding House: Kitchen Chemistry
Every day since arriving, Yussa Errenis spends a handful of hours in the kitchen. He chooses to be there very early in the morning, or some hours after dinner has passed; if there is anyone lingering over dishes or looking for leftovers, he simply waits until they leave, often while watching them with silent expectation: as if the kitchen is his, and he is merely tolerating an interruption. Other times it seems as though he doesn't notice people coming and going at all.

Tonight, he's taken over the large preparation table with all manner of herbs, metals, and powders laid out. He takes notes on a hastily sewn together sheaf of paper. Without warning, he says a word and all the candles and lanterns in the kitchen snuff out. Yussa takes a pinch of ground white powder and rubs it between his fingers as he makes a quick and precise gesture and speaks a few quiet words. There is a spark from between his fingers, and as Yussa holds out his hand, three globes of light float up into the air, hovering overhead. They glow with a cool light.

"There we go," he murmurs, a smile creeping across his face. A small gesture sends the lights out in a line to illuminate more of the room. Another draws them into a circle, their light concentrated and bright.

Recūmita Festival

When in Rubilykskoye
The festival is good for several things, mostly people-watching and learning more about this strange place in which he finds himself. And far be it from him to refuse the hospitality of their hosts - the food and drink are good and satisfying in a way he's come to expect of the food here (at least the food that's well-made, never mind his own sad attempts in the boarding house kitchen). He's utterly delighted to find hot toddys, some made with tea, and Yussa is more than happy to partake of... a few.

Which may make him far more likely to allow himself to be volunteered as a target for the knife throwing contests. Depending on how many he's had, he might even heckle the person holding the knife, golden eyes bright and face a bit flushed. Well... he did catch the part in the rules that suggest if they miss three times, he gets to have their way with them. So he certainly isn't going to make winning easy.

Hot Oil Massage
Stepping into the tent alone is a relief: the air is heavy with warmth and the scent of whatever oil the Rubeans use for this particular indulgence. It takes almost nothing to convince Yussa to step into one of the curtained rooms so that he might receive a massage. He leaves his layers of clothes on a bench left for that purpose and wraps himself in a towel or sheet, which reveals several tattoos. Yussa sits on the edge of a padded table and rolls his shoulders. He peers over his shoulder when he hears the curtain move again.

"How would you like me?"

Notes/Wildcard

I'll match your style if you prefer to use brackets. Yussa is a 5ft tall elf wizard, a trans man, and open to all partners. Further smut info here. I'm definitely open to a waited too long thread with Yussa experiencing irritability (and possibly aggressive horniness) and partial transformation (stage 1 and 2), let me know if you'd be interested and I'll toss up a starter! Open to wildcards around town and during the festival with the other prompts. PM or ping at givemedragons for questions or further plotting!

Boarding House

[impsychic]

This whole...mentally attached to everyone around them thing is new. He's barely made peace with being able to do it himself, but now everyone's got it? So much for feeling special. Or alone.

Well, that one might be a little true.

He's also feeling a little pissy. Every time he tries to come into the kitchen it seems like this short elf-looking guy is there with the same expression of distaste he'd seen on too many of his 'peers' faces over the years. Annoying. Of course, the one time he comes down when he thinks it might be late enough, there the guy is doing light tricks. Probably wires. Or, fuck him, he's not even on Earth anymore, maybe it was magic.

Whatever it was, Tom decides he's in the mood to be a pest. Just to Yussa's left, one of the herb bundles shifts about two inches closer to the edge of the counter.

ennaris tavane | dnd oc + crau | diabel

[aberratic]

[ ooc: ness is a crau coming from a year in faderift, so she has some knowledge of dragon age canon despite not being a native of that world, but she doesn't know any of the canon characters by anything more than name. she's also a telepath, specifically an aberrant mind sorcerer from dnd, but her telepathy has to be intentionally turned on and i won't do that without checking in first! as a final note, her right arm is amputated at the elbow, and she doesn't have a prosthetic. ]

i. the boarding house

[ this is not ennaris' first time waking up somewhere unfamiliar, alone, realizing she'll never be able to return where she came from... but the familiarity makes it no easier to accept.

getting through the forest and to the boarding house was—well, it was. however difficult she found it, she did it, and that's what matters. she even found a cache of clothes on her way in, unlike some of the others from the forest, so she didn't enter the town naked and afraid.

well. not naked, at least.

she's never been less hungry in her entire life, so ness doesn't linger long at the dinner table, instead going upstairs to claim a room. she was warned that things were in a bit of disrepair, that the town was suffering a major loss, but truthfully it's no worse than the gallows was when she first arrived in thedas. the accommodations here are no worse what riftwatch coud provide. one roommate is better than the three she had in thedas this morning.

she doesn't mean to cry. it's very likely that she won't be the only one to claim this room, and blubbering like a baby is a terrible first impression to make—and yet that's the exact impression she will make, startled into sniffling breaths when someone else opens the door. sat on the bed furthest from the door, wiping her red-rimmed eyes, there's no hiding what she's been doing, but ness clears her throat and does her best to summon up a smile regardless. ]

Sorry, I'm—sorry. Hello. Are you claiming the other bed? It's available.

ii. recūmita

[ she's no more hungry by the time of the festival than she was upon her immediate arrival. it's curiosity, more than the drive for social interaction or interest in food, that brings ennaris out to participate in the revelry—which really is not very much of a revel by her standards, but rapid adjustments in standards will clearly need to be made. devoid of appetite she may be, but lack of participation is simply not an option... so what would she be able to stomach?

she passes over the knife toss, the massages, the improvisation—each too sexual for her comfort, at least immediately. instead, she moves to the displays of pain tolerance, and that, she volunteers for. she chooses a knife for her own implement, held in an inexpert imitation of a surgeon's hold of their scalpel in her left hand. ]

I don't care which you choose, [ she informs her opponent, ] so long as you don't go easy on me. I'm hardier than I look.

[ following the competition, bandaged and sweet with the endorphins of pain, ness moves to the weaving. with only one hand, she's a slow participant but no less committed for it, and she quietly absorbs all the town gossip. there is one tricky bit of weaving—a braid that, no matter how dextrous her left hand has had to become, she can't manage. after multiple attempts, she turns to the weaver next to her. ]

Do you think it'd be taboo to get some help with this? I really do want to finish it.

[ at some point, she's singled out by a native—her refusal to participate in the sex acts has been noted, and is not appreciated. ]

I've been violent, [ she insists, voice high with tension, ] see, I was in the contest—I've participated. I understand what's expected of me, I just need—

[ time, she doesn't get to finish, because the rubean has lost their patience and lunged for her. ness yelps, startled, and dodges their reaching hands, but they're drawing looks, this isn't good— ]

Stop, [ she snaps, and lashes out psychically at her opponent, striking their motor function into complete paralysis. it gives her a moment to catch her breath, to put distance between them, but it will be noticed before too long. ]

iii. the void

[ there have only been so many opportunities of late for her curiosity to get the better of her; ness is due for a catastrophic brush with her own nature.

the void is... psychically interesting. no matter how she probes, she can't feel an edge to it, a form. it's alive but it isn't, aware but not, and even standing at the very edge of the shadowy mist, she's taken by it. if she could go just a little deeper, she could make sense of everything she's hearing, she's sure of it.

one step closer, just one. maybe consciousness will come when she's crossed the threshold. maybe she can understand it better then. she doesn't have to go deep, and surely there can't be anything too terrible right here.

she steps forward. ]

iv. the network

[ ness is not the most adept telepath—mosty self-taught insofar as specifics are concerned, following instinct and logical inference to see where they lead her—but she knows enough to make herself difficult to identify to anyone less versed than she. it's not a perfect disguise—a simple blurring of her form and voice, to make the truth difficult to discern—but it'll have to do. she can't afford to put this off. ]

Hello, fellow Void-touched. I apologize for the intrusion and obfuscation, but I come to you with an unorthodox request—one which necessitates a degree of anonymity. I understand it may cast my sincerity into question, but I assure you, this request is made in absolute earnest.

I am a 21 year-old woman seeking an experienced partner to, in a word, deflower me. Under the circumstances, it seems prudent to get the matter sorted quickly, while it can be my decision and under my control—I have no intention of allowing my curse to be woken, nor any desire to lose control of myself to an aphrodisiac.

Further details regarding my identity can be provided once interest is registered. Genitalia, species, and age are not limiting factors, provided we are otherwise compatible.

[ a short pause, but it seems important to say— ]

Serious inquiries only, please.

WILDCARD

[ feel free to send something else my way if none of the above spark joy! ness will be doing her damnedest to avoid the sexual elements of recūmita, but will participate in violence up to a point if someone pulls her into it—she doesn't want to appear to be resisting participation! ]

I. Boarding House

[evokethestarsabove]

No, I have a room down the hall.

[The man who stopped is in his late 30s, with a neat beard and the hand-me-down clothes that likely suggest he is a fellow Void Touched even if his cursemark is not currently visible.]

Forgive me, I did not mean to embarrass or interrupt you. Your door was partly open and I thought I would see if you needed any help.

[After Thedas, his accent may read as slightly Marcher, though she also has first-hand experience with how little an accent can mean in a place where worlds cross. He lingers in the doorway, not entering without her permission, for all the boarding house is more or less a public place.]

steve harrington / stranger things / ⍢

[wsqk]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

[ the upside down isn't exactly the best place to disappear in. the blue-red bruising of the sky, the crimson lightning, the creatures crawling and gnawing and hungry - but that's not where steve is when he wakes up. the chill of the forest reminds him of the upside down, but there aren't particles floating. the green of the fog rolls in, and as he sits up, he notices that he's naked. nausea falls through his stomach like a cold stone of anxiety - where is he? what happened? - he knows he's separated from the party, but this isn't the best way to find him, either. naked, alone, and out of his mind with the fear that maybe this is some sort of fabrication thought-up by vecna. is he floating in hawkins, white-eyed, this all an illusion to get inside his mind.

after standing, the forest floor mossy under his feet, steve wanders. he has no choice but to remain naked, that is until he comes across what appears to be a crate. a pair of threadbare trousers now covers his legs and pelvis, a t-shirt with more holes than fabric - moth-eaten, flimsy - adorns his torso. the hand-scrawled note catches steve's attention, and as he reads the words: his brows pinch, eyes scanning it over and over for something else besides the information given. it's simple, bare, and steve doesn't like it. this all could still be vecna, and as the nausea takes over again, steve reaches out -

the smooth, white tree shudders, bending, and steve snatches his hand away as if burned. he looks up, watching the trees rustle as if disturbed, and he realizes that this isn't the upside down. this is real, and that terrifies him more than anything else. he stares around, mouth agape, looking for anyone out in the thickets. ]

Hello? Someone out there?

---

𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐀.

[ alright, so knife-throwing isn't so bad. steve is fair at it, the knives surrounding the target, a few pierced through the middle. he can't help but grin at himself, throwing another, then another. again, fair enough, the tips of the blades cutting through the silk-sheen canvas. steve know that he'll need a massage after this, as he hasn't been particularly athletic since high school - though, he has to wonder if running for your life or defending it in the upside down counts.

picking up another group of knives, steve tosses one, nearly missing the middle target. he groans, brows peaking, before he slips another through his fingers and it hits it dead-on. he fistpumps, looking around to see if anyone at all saw that. ]

---

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃.

[ exactly as stated. feel free to throw things my way! ]

recumita

[callmehbic]

Wow.

[This might as well be happening. He might as well be here right now.

Nancy's on the way to the library when she happens to turn her head in time to catch a laughably familiar hairdo out the corner of her eyes. She's not even planning to stop at first, but after her chat with Vex, she's realized that it probably wouldn't be so bad to have someone from home around.

So here she is, arms crossed, brows furrowed, as she considers him.]

What's the last thing you remember before the woods?

Nathanaël Kijek | OC | Diabel

[nathnotnate]

I. The Boarding House

As much as the longtime residents are used to it, the marks of a new arrival are probably hard to miss. The glances around as if still absorbing everything. The hodgepodge of clothes received before bartering or altering them to suit the wearer's tastes. The occasional semi-clandestine examination of the cursemark on his inner forearm. This particular arrival is a young man, early to mid 20s, and wherever he's from, it's cold enough that he knows how to properly layer what he's been given, tucking in various items to maximize their warmth.

If you meet his eyes or sit down next to you, he'll offer a subdued and rueful smile. (It's a nice one, if you're into that kind of thing.) His accent, for anyone from a similar enough place, reads American. "So. Come to sexy Narnia often?"

II. Knife Throwing

He's never thrown knives before. He has thrown a baseball, but his hopes for how translatable that skill is seemed stronger before he was face to face with a live person rather than a painted target. On the other hand, there are people behind him in line and some of the natives seem like they'll react poorly to a polite surrender of the knife without an attempt.

Whether you plan to rescue him by intervening, entertain yourself by watching, or you're the person standing with an apple on your head, you can probably hear him mutter "kurwa mać" low but not very quietly before he takes a deep breath and attempts his first throw.

III. Fathomless Dark

A walk in the woods in the middle of the day had seemed safe enough. He was curious, and even in winter, he should have had plenty of daylight left when he set off exploring.

None of which is any help at all now, as he's running in the dark from what seems to be a wolf-sized badger with an exposed skull. He'd love to stop to tell it that it shouldn't exist, actually, but mainly he's trying to move as fast as he can without tripping, back in what seems like the direction of town. He hopes. You may hear him before you see him, as he's letting out a steady stream of "ohshitohshitohshit" as he runs, involuntary and possibly without noticing that he's doing it.

He's a decently good runner, but if he hasn't picked the right direction or if he doesn't get some help, he could be in some significant trouble.

IV. Wildcard

[Dealer's choice! I'll match brackets or prose. Hit me up at prettiestwhistles if you have questions or want to make OOC plans before diving in.]

ii;

[audentis]

"Hold on, wait a fucking second now—" Meet Hans. He's Nathanaël's target, doing a rather good job of balancing the apple on his head. But he'd caught the curse (Polish?), of course, and Nathanaël's attempts to get himself all set to rights which is really not doing much to give him much confidence in this poor sexual rendition of William Tell.

"My face is far too beautiful to be damaged by someone who doesn't know what he's doing. At least aim wildly off if you're that nervous."

John Constantine | Constantine (2005) (mildly nsfw)

[execrate]

In the Woods

[one of the many weird and unexpected things about having extrasensory perception is that, technically, you can see people naked all the time. it's no different from reading the face of a reversed card. apart from, you know, being pretty fucking rude, if you ask the average californian.

but we are not in california anymore. so it's with a jaded, thousand yard stare that john trudges through the woods. not unmoved by new circumstances, but not particularly expressive about the fuckery. at least, until the cache of clothes and gear veers into view around the bend of the course he's taken—not a path, by any stretch of imagination. when another emerges behind him, he doesn't have to turn around.]

Here. [the threadbare shirt is flung over his shoulder.] It'll fit. Promise.

Recumita

[hell is more orange. that's how he knows the difference. filter overlay. they have photoshop in 2005, sepia tone treatments for conventional film, and of course, fire was invented a very long time ago. but every other person seems to be fucking, publically or semi-, and that's opening hour at midnite's.

a pretty girl who calls herself a blackguard offers to suck him off, but he doesn't like the lines of sight in her proposed corner, so he declines with a kiss. finds himself holding a knife, staring down the straight steel blade, at the face of someone he does not know. the apple gleams atop their head and, courtesy of local drink and food, his dick is getting hard (heh) to ignore. but his hand is steady. so is his gaze, soot dark. what passes for reassuring, if you are in a place like hell.]

Hold your breath. Okay? [he braces. lines up his arm.]

Other?

[please pm or hmu at shramp to figure something else out i am dying]

recumita.

[hedoniste]

( the way that gwenaëlle regards him from beneath the apple is glassily unconcerned in a way that is probably not totally unrelated to how much she’s had to drink. unclear if that’s ‘very much’ or just ‘very strong’ or even, perhaps, ‘colliding with a very low tolerance’. perhaps some exciting combination of all the above.

it doesn’t quite look like confidence in his aim so much as an amiable disinterest in the outcome. sure, random guy she hasn’t been introduced to, throw a knife at her. she’s worn her prettiest dress for it and all. )

Ouais, okay, ( she echoes back, obligingly, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.

she wobbles slightly. )