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draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
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ππ ππππππ πππππππ ππ πππ π ππππ β£ JULY TDM
JULY 2024 TDM: LECTISTERNIUM
Welcome to SALTBURNT, a panfandom smut/thriller game based off the film Saltburn, where characters are encouraged to indulge their deepest desires. The money never runs out and the liquor never stops pouring, so you may as well indulge from the bounty. Of course, things are rarely what they seem, and the manor itself seems to have a consciousness of its own. Throw parties, trash the house, engage in youthful merriment, but remember β dangers come out at night, and no one, no matter how rich you are, is safe from demons lurking in the shadows.
Threads can be considered game canon, provided the players agree. Players can also start fresh upon acceptance into the game. In game characters can post to the TDM directly, so all posters can use the title Β« CHARACTER NAME | CANON | NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEΒ» in the header. There will be a spot below for new characters to link their toplevels for easy access. Alternatively, prompts on the Test Drive can be used for in game logs.
WELCOME TO SALTBURNT
It's the hangover more than the light streaming in through half drawn curtains that wakes you up, your brain rattling in your skull, your mouth dry and cottony, your stomach churning with whatever it is you drank last night. If self preservation is your strong suit, you might turn over in bed and see a few painkillers laid out for you on a silver dish, accompanied by a glass of water. If it isnβt, stay in bed and wallow β eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe itβs normal for you. Maybe it isnβt.
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room β have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenβt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.
If you want to leave, youβll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heβs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereβs no reason why you canβt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnβt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canβt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnβt dissipate, though β this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itβs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast. Itβs self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room β have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenβt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.
If you want to leave, youβll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heβs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereβs no reason why you canβt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnβt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canβt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnβt dissipate, though β this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itβs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast. Itβs self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
WHICH WAY TO THE BACCHANAL?
CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol, nudity, potential for nsfw.
Itβs been a balmy, warm summer in Saltburnt, with long, amber-hued nights making the house glow from the outside in. After the last party, things have managed to keep mostly calm and largely unassuming in the intervening weeks, with the focus kept on indoor activities β a scavenger hunt, a sex club, avoiding the outside trauma of cannibalistic cakes for as long as it seems to have taken the family and house staff to settle and, tangentially, forget. However, seemingly overnight a new structure appears on the outside grounds, under block construction fixtures and with loud building going on throughout the following day and night, tirelessly worked on. By the next day, however, the structure gets revealed β a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youβll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods β six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) β as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereβs also a thirteenth altar, with a statue depiction of the guest of honor: one John Gaius, who has been ascended to Roman godhood for the party. Offerings have the potential of gifting little boons to those who worship, like increased luck or a small amount of foresight. Feel free to make up your own, as influenced by the gods that you sacrifice to as you like.
Beyond the foyer, the space opens up into a sizable atrium that doubles as a dining hall, full of colorful, cushioned couches made for lounging while you eat. There's an endless supply of food brought in throughout the day, ranging from a traditional three course Mediterranean meal served with honey-sweetened spiced wine, to a more modern adaptation for pickier eaters with fried chicken and Red Bulls, to more adventurous eaters with flamingo tongue and fried doormice. Pistachios are served by the bowlful, fat figs littered on every tabletop, all alongside water flavored with rose petals. Also among the feast are several artistically decorated cakes, each featuring the name of any guest with a birthday in June or July. In addition to the meal, guests are encouraged to lay out plates in honor of dead loved ones, a more time honored tradition of Roman history, although here it has the benefit of being complimented by actual roaming skeletons (courtesy of John) who give animated attempts at play eating the food left for them.
Further into the temple, there is an overlarge, public bathing room for guests to enjoy, the bath carved into rock while the ceiling stays open air, for a visual on clear blue skies or a starry sewn tapestry. Modern heating has been applied to the water to make it steam and bubble, effectively creating a giant hot tub for patrons to slip into, in whatever state of undress they're comfortable with, though nude is greatly appreciated. When in Rome, as they say. Along the back wall is a more intimate stage for small parties, bedecked in a range of instruments and a karaoke machine, for a talent show, or just entertaining a few guests. Velveteen cushions sit in a circle facing each other, for Socratic circle style speech and debates, with a random grab bag of topics to choose from, that range from who is the best NSYNC member? to what is the meaning of life, really?
There is a second story to the structure, although there are no rooms. It's a roofless veranda that looks out on the backyard of the temple, wherein a concave dirt patch has been baking in the sun, for gladiatorial fights and the people observing them.
Itβs been a balmy, warm summer in Saltburnt, with long, amber-hued nights making the house glow from the outside in. After the last party, things have managed to keep mostly calm and largely unassuming in the intervening weeks, with the focus kept on indoor activities β a scavenger hunt, a sex club, avoiding the outside trauma of cannibalistic cakes for as long as it seems to have taken the family and house staff to settle and, tangentially, forget. However, seemingly overnight a new structure appears on the outside grounds, under block construction fixtures and with loud building going on throughout the following day and night, tirelessly worked on. By the next day, however, the structure gets revealed β a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youβll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods β six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) β as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereβs also a thirteenth altar, with a statue depiction of the guest of honor: one John Gaius, who has been ascended to Roman godhood for the party. Offerings have the potential of gifting little boons to those who worship, like increased luck or a small amount of foresight. Feel free to make up your own, as influenced by the gods that you sacrifice to as you like.
Beyond the foyer, the space opens up into a sizable atrium that doubles as a dining hall, full of colorful, cushioned couches made for lounging while you eat. There's an endless supply of food brought in throughout the day, ranging from a traditional three course Mediterranean meal served with honey-sweetened spiced wine, to a more modern adaptation for pickier eaters with fried chicken and Red Bulls, to more adventurous eaters with flamingo tongue and fried doormice. Pistachios are served by the bowlful, fat figs littered on every tabletop, all alongside water flavored with rose petals. Also among the feast are several artistically decorated cakes, each featuring the name of any guest with a birthday in June or July. In addition to the meal, guests are encouraged to lay out plates in honor of dead loved ones, a more time honored tradition of Roman history, although here it has the benefit of being complimented by actual roaming skeletons (courtesy of John) who give animated attempts at play eating the food left for them.
Further into the temple, there is an overlarge, public bathing room for guests to enjoy, the bath carved into rock while the ceiling stays open air, for a visual on clear blue skies or a starry sewn tapestry. Modern heating has been applied to the water to make it steam and bubble, effectively creating a giant hot tub for patrons to slip into, in whatever state of undress they're comfortable with, though nude is greatly appreciated. When in Rome, as they say. Along the back wall is a more intimate stage for small parties, bedecked in a range of instruments and a karaoke machine, for a talent show, or just entertaining a few guests. Velveteen cushions sit in a circle facing each other, for Socratic circle style speech and debates, with a random grab bag of topics to choose from, that range from who is the best NSYNC member? to what is the meaning of life, really?
There is a second story to the structure, although there are no rooms. It's a roofless veranda that looks out on the backyard of the temple, wherein a concave dirt patch has been baking in the sun, for gladiatorial fights and the people observing them.
VENI, VIDI, VICI.
CONTENT WARNINGS: violence, body horror, gore, animal attacks (specifically wolf), potential body transformations.
You may have noticed in this particular party, a special leniency when it comes to costumes. Where usually semi-strict dresscodes are enforced, tonight it's more of a free for all for good reason: everyone dressed in a Roman inspired outfit (very loose is A-OK) will be seen as Roman royalty, while everyone not adhered to theme will be the royalty's slaves, servants, and workers. It's all for fun and more BDSM in practice than anything serious, but party poopers are expected to tend to their much more fun counterparts, especially once the gladiatorial fights commence. In addition, John, Furiosa, Hawk, Embry, Zoro, Matt, Nami, Chione, Hao, Koby, Alina, Tim, Alia, and Louis for their dedication to Otherworld have been gifted a single metal tag with their individual names on them, to give to collared friends of their choice for claiming purposes.
In any case, collared and claimed and laymen people are offered huge palm leaves for fanning, or grapes and pistachios and figs to hand serve their betters. Below, the gladiator fights take place all day β a somewhat humble dug out arena that's been lined with soft sand, accented in the back by an enclosed stone structure, no bigger than a single horse stall, where occasionally one can hear huffing and grunting coming from a too high to reach barred window. Anyone can take on a challenge, personal or for fun, and engage in a sparring match. The rules are simple: best of three rounds that end in a submissive pin or tapping out, wherein the loser loses their clothes after each fight. First go their clothes, then go their underwear. Fighting in the nude is an age honored tradition, of course, and we love our history.
That said, the stone building is a somewhat foreboding sight to anyone observing. As time goes on the structure begins to rattle, and as the sun starts to set, the integrity of the building becomes more and more questionable. By the time the last fight is over, a final challenge is announced to the public β a creature of great mythos, versus the entirety of the estate. From the rattling building, a 7ft Wolfman is guided out with gold, rattling chains wrapped around his impressive neck and wrists. Many onlookers applaud the spectacle, wrongly presuming it to be a play act for the party. However, the chains inevitably snap from those holding them, and the Wolfman gets set loose throughout the estate, running with supernatural speed on all fours throughout the temple and beyond.
Scared? Maybe you should be. The Wolfman is hungry, and indiscriminate with who he eats. It seems the only thing dissuading his appetite from certain people is the metal name tag some were given, like dogs recognizing their separate masters. Still, people will get attacked. A scratch or bite from the Wolfman will result in a similar transformation taking place, a necessary hunger set in your bones where vice and sin seem to infect you, become as necessary to you as breathing or sleeping. Indulge, and become more and more of a beast β abstain from all immoral acts, all wickedness for nine days, and the infection will cure itself.
If you find that too difficult, there is one other solution. Only 23 separate cuts will kill the Wolfman, who divides himself in odd ways with every penetration β less like he's being stabbed and more like he's being carved with every inflicted wound, the two halves of himself sliced apart. The 23rd and last attack completely separates the wolf from the man. It leaves a desiccated human corpse in its wake, and a full blooded wolf scampering off into the dark depths of Saltburnt proper, lost in its many rooms.
It'll probably be fine! Despite that hiccup, the Pantheon stays up for the month to encourage an ongoing celebration, the party inside ranging from feral, half-made Wolfpeople frenzy to a fragile relaxation depending on the state of the Wolfman. Thank you as always for bewaring the ides.
You may have noticed in this particular party, a special leniency when it comes to costumes. Where usually semi-strict dresscodes are enforced, tonight it's more of a free for all for good reason: everyone dressed in a Roman inspired outfit (very loose is A-OK) will be seen as Roman royalty, while everyone not adhered to theme will be the royalty's slaves, servants, and workers. It's all for fun and more BDSM in practice than anything serious, but party poopers are expected to tend to their much more fun counterparts, especially once the gladiatorial fights commence. In addition, John, Furiosa, Hawk, Embry, Zoro, Matt, Nami, Chione, Hao, Koby, Alina, Tim, Alia, and Louis for their dedication to Otherworld have been gifted a single metal tag with their individual names on them, to give to collared friends of their choice for claiming purposes.
In any case, collared and claimed and laymen people are offered huge palm leaves for fanning, or grapes and pistachios and figs to hand serve their betters. Below, the gladiator fights take place all day β a somewhat humble dug out arena that's been lined with soft sand, accented in the back by an enclosed stone structure, no bigger than a single horse stall, where occasionally one can hear huffing and grunting coming from a too high to reach barred window. Anyone can take on a challenge, personal or for fun, and engage in a sparring match. The rules are simple: best of three rounds that end in a submissive pin or tapping out, wherein the loser loses their clothes after each fight. First go their clothes, then go their underwear. Fighting in the nude is an age honored tradition, of course, and we love our history.
That said, the stone building is a somewhat foreboding sight to anyone observing. As time goes on the structure begins to rattle, and as the sun starts to set, the integrity of the building becomes more and more questionable. By the time the last fight is over, a final challenge is announced to the public β a creature of great mythos, versus the entirety of the estate. From the rattling building, a 7ft Wolfman is guided out with gold, rattling chains wrapped around his impressive neck and wrists. Many onlookers applaud the spectacle, wrongly presuming it to be a play act for the party. However, the chains inevitably snap from those holding them, and the Wolfman gets set loose throughout the estate, running with supernatural speed on all fours throughout the temple and beyond.
Scared? Maybe you should be. The Wolfman is hungry, and indiscriminate with who he eats. It seems the only thing dissuading his appetite from certain people is the metal name tag some were given, like dogs recognizing their separate masters. Still, people will get attacked. A scratch or bite from the Wolfman will result in a similar transformation taking place, a necessary hunger set in your bones where vice and sin seem to infect you, become as necessary to you as breathing or sleeping. Indulge, and become more and more of a beast β abstain from all immoral acts, all wickedness for nine days, and the infection will cure itself.
If you find that too difficult, there is one other solution. Only 23 separate cuts will kill the Wolfman, who divides himself in odd ways with every penetration β less like he's being stabbed and more like he's being carved with every inflicted wound, the two halves of himself sliced apart. The 23rd and last attack completely separates the wolf from the man. It leaves a desiccated human corpse in its wake, and a full blooded wolf scampering off into the dark depths of Saltburnt proper, lost in its many rooms.
It'll probably be fine! Despite that hiccup, the Pantheon stays up for the month to encourage an ongoing celebration, the party inside ranging from feral, half-made Wolfpeople frenzy to a fragile relaxation depending on the state of the Wolfman. Thank you as always for bewaring the ides.
DIRECTORY
monkey d luffy | one piece (la) | new character
(Contrary to popular belief, Monkey D. Luffy does have a brain and right now it's hurting with the rest of him as he wakes up. His head is banging and before he can even begin to get his thoughts straight someone throws open the curtains, assaulting his tired vision with blaring sunlight.
Wait.)
Breakfast?!
(Luffy pauses from pulling himself up into a sitting position, hand going to the side of his head. Why did his voice hurt? How did that even happen?
It takes a few minutes for the pirate captain to fully wake up and he's equally curious and confused enough to start looking around. That, and the promise of breakfast is all too alluring when served alongside a mystery. Never let it be said a sore head stopped him from eating. The room is decadent, luxurious and completely wasted on Luffy as he looks around, and eventually he leaves the room, sniffing the air and following the smell of breakfast to the dining room.
Upon arriving he snags the nearest chair, wide-eyed and alert in stark contrast to ruffled hair that proclaims a rough night before. It can't hurt to have something to eat before finding his way out of here.)
There's food right? Tell me it's all you can eat.
WHICH WAY?
(The all you can eat is obviously saved for later, much to Luffy's delight as he's looking around the pantheon that has appeared. There had been something about some Gods in the first area, but Luffy hadn't particularly followed it very well. Gods? Planets? Way over his head. Eventually he winds up at the feast, delighted to have found it as he grabs several plates of food with barely a second glance, talking as he does so.
Can this place survive an appetite on par with several swarms of locusts? Time to find out.)
I don't get the thing about Gods. You just give them stuff and they do things for you? Also I hope when I die people keep feeding me, that's a great idea.
VENI, VIDI, WHAT?
So I just get handed a load of grapes and I have to feed them to someone else?
(That doesn't compute much as Luffy eyes the grapes in one hand before turning a bemused gaze to the large leaf in the other. Naturally he didn't turn up dressed for the event this time and thus has been singled out to play the part of servant. It's a concept Luffy isn't keen on accepting; he's the captain, surely there's been a mistake here?
The leaf gets a small, amused wave before he shrugs, voicing his thoughts out loud without a care in the world.)
I don't even know who Roman is.
WILDCARD
(Down for anything, if anyone wants to fight let me know, am happy to write a starter for that. Also Luffy is probably on his third escape attempt over the gate, so anyone is welcome to have seen that happening. PM for contact.)
welcome
Don't make a mess. You're β
( you're. nami cuts herself off, eyebrows knitting before she swerves in her seat to stare at him, mouth agape. )
Luffy, you're β ( angrily, because nami generally expresses emotions through anger, she slaps his shoulder. ) What are you doing here?
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Perhaps Nami is simply on edge with the sudden change of scenery? Luffy can't blame her in that respect, waking up on land in someone's mansion isn't the best of situations to be in when things feel so hazy and he tilts his head in brief thought. How did they get here again...? )
Starving. ( Back to the conversation at hand, Luffy is all business as he nods. ) That's what I am. What is this place anyway?
veni, vidi, what?
[It's very telling how many times Koby's imagined having conversations with Luffy -- what would he say about this, what would he think, what absurd ideas would he have, how would he make those absurdities into reality -- that it doesn't register at first that this is a real conversation. His response is mumbled as he flicks through papers, handwritten notes about the goings-on, about the new people he's seen floating around. Keeping tabs on everything.
It's a full ten, fifteen seconds before Koby looks up, before it clicks that he'd spoken aloud, that he'd spoken in response to someone. And even then, even looking at Luffy doesn't make it real yet. Because again, he's imagined it so often. So, so often. So Koby just stares for a long, long moment, papers slipping from his hands.
Finally, softly:] Luffy? You're -- here?
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(Luffy doesn't need to be told twice about the grapes, already getting to work on eating some of them as he ignores the part about it not being the point. If someone else wanted grapes then they could surely get their own and he peers over Koby's shoulder, trying to make sense of the papers being looked through.
Luffy pauses only to look back at Koby as the pink-haired marine suddenly has a realisation. The whole place is surreal, strange and makes little sense in so many ways. Seeing Koby means whatever adventure is happening is one that Luffy won't be experiencing on his own and that thought is enough to bring a grin to his face.
He watches the papers floating to the ground, snagging one of them but missing the rest. )
Yeah! Where else would I be?
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And then -- it's like they're back in the tangerine grove, except this time Koby's the one who lurches forward, who hugs Luffy clumsy and unpracticed and too tight, nearly sending them both toppling into the pool. He doesn't know how to explain -- you weren't here, you haven't been, and I didn't think I'd ever see you again, and I had figured out how to live with that, I think, but maybe I was wrong.
So he just says again:] You're here. [Wobbly, teary, because he's Koby.]
no subject
It might not be salt water, but it's standing water all the same.
The hug is completely welcome and Luffy hugs back just as tightly, taking note of how Koby's voice wavers when he speaks. He knows Koby is one finding their footing in the world, but the way those two words come out is enough to have Luffy curious as to why the marine seems wobbly over things moreso than usual. )
Woah, course I am. ( Luffy pulls his head back, keeping hold of the grapes in one hand as the other shoves Koby playfully by the shoulder. ) I mean it's weird that we all just turned up here and — ( There's a pause as Luffy squints. ) — what are you wearing?
no subject
We've been here for -- more than a month, Luffy. Me and Nami and Zoro and Sanji. [The names flow effortlessly, which is odd, considering that Koby doesn't actually know Luffy's crew. He hadn't known their names before, but now...] And before that we were -- someplace else. [But no, that doesn't fit here, not in the sun with Luffy holding grapes and sidestepping the deep pool. Later. If he asks. Or maybe he'll have Nami tell the story, she's better at it.
Besides, the question -- Koby glances down at his clothes (or lack thereof; a toga shouldn't count as real clothes, in his opinion) and clears his throat, face turning red.] I'm not...really sure. This place sort of, uh. Supplies clothes based on what's going on. [Mmm, embarrassing! He's slouching now, trying to get the fabric to cover more.] You still have your hat, though. That's good.
no subject
There's just one big, major problem in what Koby has mentioned and Luffy can't help the questioning tone in his voice when he next speaks.)
A month? But I just saw you all, you haven't been gone a month I would have noticed. What kind of captain would miss the absence of their crew for an entire month? (No, it makes no sense and Luffy adamantly makes his mind up that there's an error somewhere. The alternative is too surreal to consider and the thought that everyone had been somewhere else without their captain for so long is an unsettling one.)
They just give them to us? That explains a lot. (The wardrobe had been a mysterious place full of outfits for other people, not Monkey D. Luffy who had found his usual attire stashed in the back.) Didn't work out too well for the last person who tried to take it. Is the gate the only way out of here?
no subject
It's...sort of complicated to explain, but time is...strange here? People remember different things, they come from different times, even if the worlds are the same. [He could launch into a detailed explanation of the multiverse, maybe offer to show off his research and notes and reports, but Koby decides to walk back towards the nearest couch instead. One step at a time. HiS hand half-lifts, hovers at Luffy's arm for a moment, like Koby's almost afraid touching him will break whatever spell has him here. Then he moves it away.]
So it makes sense that no time has passed for you. Or...that we were taken first? [Koby sits with a huff, pushing his glasses up with a knuckle.] What I mean is, I know -- we know that if you'd had a way to come find us, you would.
[Then, with an eyeroll:] They give us all sorts of things. Hold onto your hat, my Marine uniform got used for a scavenger hunt and who knows if I'll ever see it again. [A heavy sigh, fingers tapping on his knees, unconsciously fidgety.] Luffy, there isn't a way out of here.
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If we're from different times then what's stopping us telling each other when we get back? ( How would that even work? Luffy isn't even sure, shrugging it off for now as he watches Koby's every movement. It's good to see the other again, no matter the circumstances, and despite nervous movements and the occasional fidget here and there? Koby seems alright and taking the kidnapping situation quite well. )
Different times... ( Luffy repeats it more to himself, wondering what else this place is going to throw out there as he tentatively touches his hat at the idea of it going missing. And whilst Koby takes a seat, Luffy paces to and fro, smacking his palm with a fist as he thinks out loud, seemingly unconcerned by how dangerous the situation could truly be. )
That's not right. Trust me Koby, if there's a way in then there's a way out. We just gotta find it. ( A pause before Luffy looks back to Koby, the first glimmer of concern creeping into his expression. ) Everyone is okay? Did anyone here try to hurt you guys?
no subject
[That's not a terrible thought, actually. Because -- well, Luffy asks the question, there's that glint of worry, and Koby wants so much to answer immediately in the negative, to reassure that concern. Luffy shouldn't look like that, should never be anything but bright and beaming and facing down monsters without a care in the world.
But Koby hesitates too long, and that's enough of an answer. His hands curl around his arms, hugging his knee tighter.] Not -- here, no. We were...somewhere else before this. For...much longer. [It sounds even more insane, but:] We went right from there to here. It was -- bad, there. Really bad. [Worse for some than others, but that isn't Koby's story to tell.]
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cw: brief mentions of cannibalism.
cw: cannibalism mention, but Vague
still a vague cw, and also omg everything is cake
but is it a lie that's the question
(no subject)
questions.
Do I have to fight them? Can't I just hang out with some tiny elephants?
no subject
For the pirate captain, it's pretty okay though ultimately it'd be better on a ship.
The question gets a thoughtful brow furrow as Luffy checks the back of the slip of paper to see if there's any additional information.)
Huh good question; and just how big is their idea of a duck? Let's see, how about you fight them and the ones who don't want to fight can hang out?
no subject
[ Would it? Daniel seems to think so. He rolls a little and stretches to reach the bag of questions, pulling out a new slip, since they seem to be agreeing on the elephants. ]
Okay, how about this one: Is it okay to put pineapple on pizza.
[ Looking at Luffy, not sure whether he'll need to explain what those are β earlier he ended up explaining American democracy to someone from a realm of kings and queens. ]
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(Luffy isn't sure, but he can honestly say he's seen menus with duck on them, but not elephant. It's pretty telling if you ask him.
He glances over at Daniel as the other asks their question, giving it the utmost consideration and thought as he mulls the answer over.)
Haven't tried it, but I would! And if someone put it on there then it means they thought well enough of the pineapple to share it with another person. So it can't be that bad, right?
veni, vidi - one sailor to another
[ quentin hadn't dressed up for the event, either, or certainly not enough to avoid whatever servitude they tried to impose on them. He'd played nice for a little while before he shucked any and all responsibilities he'd been impressed to take up. he fanned someone earlier for a few seconds, made eyes at another, until he could slip away. it's on his way out he finds luffy.
he sighs, voice a lilting thing, not unlike what some might call English in another world. ]
Roman is the guy who set all this up, if I had to guess. But your guess is as good as mine.
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(Nope, it makes very little sense to this pirate captain. If Gods worked like that then everyone would have what they wanted, they could just donate something or other and get better things. Imagine gifting a God something and getting the most mythical of treasures? It wouldn't be worth the effort....
Quentin gets a glance over, Luffy unable to contain his curiosity over someone new and interesting. This guy sounds like he knows what he's talking about and the young man nods, punching his fist into the palm of his hand in the age old motion of determination.)
When I find him I'll have something to say. Who throws parties at a time like this?
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[ he sighs a little, shaking his head and looking around at the swathes of people kneeling at the feet of some, in the laps of others, doing a myriad of other lewd things. it's tempting, to distract himself and let some crooked willed person have their way with him, but - ]
From what I've gathered, all they do is throw parties. This Roman must enjoy himself - but I agree. There will be words. Are you new here? I've just arrived this morning and it is certainly not where I put my head down to sleep last night.
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Me? ( Luffy looks around, ignoring the other partygoers wrapped up in each other as he singles out a plate of grapes. There's zero hesitation as he reaches out to snag them, not needing to use his stretching abilities to do so. Yeah just got here, woke up in a weird room and had to go looking for my clothes. Someone hid them right at the back of the closet. )
( Rude. )
Monkey D. Luffy. That's my name, remember it cause you'll be hearing it when I become king of the pirates.
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[ they can talk about waking up here, clothes, and all that much later. he tilts his head, curious, and also doesn't hesitate to pull a few grapes from the sprig luffy has in his hands. he pops one in his mouth, grinning a little as he chews, amused. ]
And what pirates are those? The ones I know - they'd never be caught wandering on land. Their sea legs don't let them.
[ that and any vessel without naval approval gets taken and burned in the port for all to see as a warning. ]
But by all means, become a King.
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But, until then he has this place to navigate and the young man folds his arms, conceding the point about wandering on land.)
Not like I had much of a choice coming here, they didn't think to bring my ship. Unless you actually mean that pirates can't walk on land? (A small laugh.) Then you know some really weird pirates.
And I will. (Said without an ounce of hesitation or doubt.) You know many?
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[ but he does miss the rushing sounds of the sea, the breeze, the freedom. this place, comparatively, is better than where he was at home. but a what cost? ]
I know a few pirates here and there - struck some deals along the way. They don't loot us, I point them in the direction of bigger, better loot. Seemed fair enough.
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Though if there had been a larger body of water, Luffy wouldn't have argued against an optional route out of this place.)
Yeah it normally works that way. Back home a lot of the problems come when the Navy tries to stop things, but I know villages that have deals with pirates. (Like his own village, the pirates had never seemed to give the place a hard time.) Want to share your name?
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[ he snorts at himself and glances up when one of the serving staff (skeletons??) walks away, leaving a tray behind. he grabs it instead and holds it between them - this one is full of little breads and cheeses, which is far better than grapes. ]
Our Navy just protects the borders, makes deals with ports, does what the Regent tells us to. Easy enough. Our waters are clear so we transport goods most of the time. Very exciting.
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