i. which way to the bacchanal [ Between this and Otherworld, events around the manor lately have been much more Matt's speed.
Even the toga thing he finds hanging in his wardrobe (along with the Dread Christmas Tie, which he still hasn't been able to get rid of) is a welcome change. It's a fresh sea green, it covers his whole ass, and though there's still a harness involved with this look, it's more subdued. And he likes the motifs on it–roses, pearls, and seashells, like he's some kind of Venusian acolyte.
He makes offerings before all the gods' busts (including, bemusedly, John's), but lingers especially by Venus. ]
You must be having a great time with us, callipygos, [ he notes wryly, dropping rose petals one by one into her sacrificial fire. As they catch and burn, their scent rises to fill the entranceway. ] "Aphrodite, subtle of soul and deathless, Daughter of God, weaver of wiles, I pray thee neither with care, dread mistress, nor with anguish slay thou my spirit."
I know, I know … Greek. But I think my Latin would be genuinely blasphemous.
[ Matt can be found in the baths, his toga in a soft pile in favor of swim trunks. He's usually reading one of the older-looking library books, though occasionally he tempts fate by texting. The emerald lotus tattoo over his heart is clearly visible, along with a tattoo most people here haven't seen: a severe-looking circle inked in blacks and grays, its interlocking shapes lettered in Latin, Sanskrit, Aramaic, Greek. Most of the words seem to be names of God.
He's also got his own nametag attached to a collar around his throat: MATT. If he catches you looking his way, he'll tap it with a fingertip and offer a teasing smile. ]
Unless you think it'd look better on you …?
ii. veni vidi vici (cw: bestiality, graphic sex) [ The woods are assuredly not safe tonight.
Nevertheless, following the chaos of the Wolfman's escape, Matt is out among the ragged trees. He's still wearing his toga from the party, which fortunately has pockets in which he's stowed lube and a honey-dipped handkerchief. In his hands, he appears to be playing with a cat's cradle, the strings of it glowing with golden light. The configuration sheds pollen-like motes as he manipulates it, sparks that trail behind him as he walks. There's a headiness in the air around him, a liquid warmth. ]
My tongue hath honey at the tip, [ he recites in a steady murmur, ] and sweetest honey at the root: Thou yieldest to my wish and will, and shalt be mine and only mine.
[ It's not complicated, the thought behind this casting. Matt intends to soothe the savage beast. Maybe if he kisses this monster, he'll find him melting back into a man. Maybe unlike the cake, it's not too late.
Fast forward: You're walking in the woods. Perhaps you're hunting the wolf yourself. Maybe you're hoping to find a quiet spot to lick your wounds, or to clear your head after the evening's terror. But suddenly, you hear the creature's horrible sounds from up ahead, and someone's cries of pain.
At least … they could be pain.
Following the noises, you'll quickly see lights glowing in a clearing, eerie and golden. And as you find a break in the trees–
Uh.
Inside a ring of intricate golden symbols, the Wolfman is on his back, snarling and whining in bestial delight. Astride him is, of all people, Matt, his toga rucked up to his waist. The beast grips his thighs, which are slick with lube but clenched as tightly as he can get them around the Wolfman's rigid cock. As Matt rocks up and down, he pants: ]
Good boy … good boy … mm no don't scratch–
iii. veni vidi vici (later) [ We don't need to rehash the exact circumstances under which Matt got scratched up by the Wolfman. And we don't have to talk about why those claw marks are primarily on his thighs. He has bigger things to worry about right now! Namely:
Listen, he doesn't kinkshame. Under most circumstances, he'd take a sharpening of his desires in stride. You get moods, you know? But given the timing, and what happened before with the cake, and the way some other guests are acting … he's suspicious. So he puts a ward up in his room, intending to stay sequestered for as long as it takes things to settle down.
But he does need to eat.
Normally he's pleased to see fellow guests, or at the very least pleasant. But when he spots you in the hall, en route to the pantry, he gives a tight-lipped frown. ]
Sorry. I don't think I'm good company right now.
iv. prompts for existing characters [ Head over here for some prompts for folks already in the game! Time to actually use my open log for something.
matt jamison | oc | current character | please god heed the cws
[ Between this and Otherworld, events around the manor lately have been much more Matt's speed.
Even the toga thing he finds hanging in his wardrobe (along with the Dread Christmas Tie, which he still hasn't been able to get rid of) is a welcome change. It's a fresh sea green, it covers his whole ass, and though there's still a harness involved with this look, it's more subdued. And he likes the motifs on it–roses, pearls, and seashells, like he's some kind of Venusian acolyte.
He makes offerings before all the gods' busts (including, bemusedly, John's), but lingers especially by Venus. ]
You must be having a great time with us, callipygos, [ he notes wryly, dropping rose petals one by one into her sacrificial fire. As they catch and burn, their scent rises to fill the entranceway. ] "Aphrodite, subtle of soul and deathless, Daughter of God, weaver of wiles, I pray thee neither with care, dread mistress, nor with anguish slay thou my spirit."
I know, I know … Greek. But I think my Latin would be genuinely blasphemous.
[ Matt can be found in the baths, his toga in a soft pile in favor of swim trunks. He's usually reading one of the older-looking library books, though occasionally he tempts fate by texting. The emerald lotus tattoo over his heart is clearly visible, along with a tattoo most people here haven't seen: a severe-looking circle inked in blacks and grays, its interlocking shapes lettered in Latin, Sanskrit, Aramaic, Greek. Most of the words seem to be names of God.
He's also got his own nametag attached to a collar around his throat: MATT. If he catches you looking his way, he'll tap it with a fingertip and offer a teasing smile. ]
Unless you think it'd look better on you …?
ii. veni vidi vici (cw: bestiality, graphic sex)
Nevertheless, following the chaos of the Wolfman's escape, Matt is out among the ragged trees. He's still wearing his toga from the party, which fortunately has pockets in which he's stowed lube and a honey-dipped handkerchief. In his hands, he appears to be playing with a cat's cradle, the strings of it glowing with golden light. The configuration sheds pollen-like motes as he manipulates it, sparks that trail behind him as he walks. There's a headiness in the air around him, a liquid warmth. ]
My tongue hath honey at the tip, [ he recites in a steady murmur, ] and sweetest honey at the root: Thou yieldest to my wish and will, and shalt be mine and only mine.
[ It's not complicated, the thought behind this casting. Matt intends to soothe the savage beast. Maybe if he kisses this monster, he'll find him melting back into a man. Maybe unlike the cake, it's not too late.
Fast forward: You're walking in the woods. Perhaps you're hunting the wolf yourself. Maybe you're hoping to find a quiet spot to lick your wounds, or to clear your head after the evening's terror. But suddenly, you hear the creature's horrible sounds from up ahead, and someone's cries of pain.
At least … they could be pain.
Following the noises, you'll quickly see lights glowing in a clearing, eerie and golden. And as you find a break in the trees–
Uh.
Inside a ring of intricate golden symbols, the Wolfman is on his back, snarling and whining in bestial delight. Astride him is, of all people, Matt, his toga rucked up to his waist. The beast grips his thighs, which are slick with lube but clenched as tightly as he can get them around the Wolfman's rigid cock. As Matt rocks up and down, he pants: ]
Good boy … good boy … mm no don't scratch–
iii. veni vidi vici (later)
[ We don't need to rehash the exact circumstances under which Matt got scratched up by the Wolfman. And we don't have to talk about why those claw marks are primarily on his thighs. He has bigger things to worry about right now! Namely:
Listen, he doesn't kinkshame. Under most circumstances, he'd take a sharpening of his desires in stride. You get moods, you know? But given the timing, and what happened before with the cake, and the way some other guests are acting … he's suspicious. So he puts a ward up in his room, intending to stay sequestered for as long as it takes things to settle down.
But he does need to eat.
Normally he's pleased to see fellow guests, or at the very least pleasant. But when he spots you in the hall, en route to the pantry, he gives a tight-lipped frown. ]
Sorry. I don't think I'm good company right now.
iv. prompts for existing characters
[ Head over here for some prompts for folks already in the game! Time to actually use my open log for something.
Also sorry to everyone that Matt's making things worse. PM or plurk me at