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draino2024-09-07 10:00 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-09-07 10:00 am
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π πππ'π ππππππππ ππππ πππππππππ ππππ β£ SEPT TDM
SEPTEMBER 2024 TDM: LUGHNASADH
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, using Β« 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, some who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "Breakfast will be out in a minute," they say. What's that?
EDIT SEPTEMBER 2024: For those who have attended breakfast with the Balfours before, a change in routine might come as a shock, given how rarely they stray from form. However, as of September, CARMY BERZATTO has taken over Head Chef position, alongside his cousin RICHIE JERIMOVICH and always the bridesmaid never the bride, SANJI. In place of the self-serve style breakfast, there is an elevated menu, including: a self-serve juice bar, with pitchers of various juiced fruit and vegetables, shaved ice, coconut water, green and black tea syrups, potted microherbs, sliced whole berries, and finger limes. There is also, naturally, liquor and champagne available. Guests can make their own drinks, or ask the allocated staff member to serve them one of the "specials" if they're feeling adventurous.
πππ πππππ: one runny boiled egg shelled and recoated in edible gold leaf, seated on a throne of fried bread soldiers, plated with whipped butter and italian parsley.
ππππ ππππππππ: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
ππππ πππππππππππ: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
πππ ππππππ: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
ππππ π πππππππππ: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
πππππππ ππππ: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
πππ ππππππππππ: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
β momofuku's "cereal milk" β
β fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss β
β a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping β
β a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling β
β poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection β
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.
"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, some who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "Breakfast will be out in a minute," they say. What's that?
EDIT SEPTEMBER 2024: For those who have attended breakfast with the Balfours before, a change in routine might come as a shock, given how rarely they stray from form. However, as of September, CARMY BERZATTO has taken over Head Chef position, alongside his cousin RICHIE JERIMOVICH and always the bridesmaid never the bride, SANJI. In place of the self-serve style breakfast, there is an elevated menu, including: a self-serve juice bar, with pitchers of various juiced fruit and vegetables, shaved ice, coconut water, green and black tea syrups, potted microherbs, sliced whole berries, and finger limes. There is also, naturally, liquor and champagne available. Guests can make their own drinks, or ask the allocated staff member to serve them one of the "specials" if they're feeling adventurous.
That said, these are world class chefs, so the gold is really in the menu:
THE EGGS
πππ πππππ: one runny boiled egg shelled and recoated in edible gold leaf, seated on a throne of fried bread soldiers, plated with whipped butter and italian parsley.
ππππ ππππππππ: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
ππππ πππππππππππ: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
πππ ππππππ: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
ππππ π πππππππππ: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
πππππππ ππππ: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
πππ ππππππππππ: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
THE SWEETS
β fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss β
β a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping β
β a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling β
β poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection β
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.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
ITSY BITSY TEENIE WEENIE
CONTENT WARNINGS: drugs, alcohol, nudity, potential for nsfw.
POOLSIDE PLAYLIST courtesy of Robin
It's an innocent enough, offhand suggestion from the mouth of one (1) DIARMUID about wanting to learn how to paint, and honestly, the house couldn't agree more: a party is necessary. As August winds down, it's important to go out with a bang, and what better way than through an explosive end of summer pool party? To say goodbye to the waning summer nights, the manor is throwing a pool party with an artistic neon twist. Per the growing complications of everyone's relationship status in this new age of bisexuality, polygamy, and pegging, glow-in-the-dark bracelets with matching solo cups have been set out with the appropriate labels βΒ TAKEN, SINGLE, OPEN, and IT'S COMPLICATED, depending on your interest. Lounge by the water in your cutest bikini or trunks or nothing at all and engage in some very relaxing full-body painting using the supplies provided β that is, the paint is supplied, though brushes and sponges are few and far between. Better just to use your own body to paint your masterpiece. Put yourself on display as a model by the pool, or engage in a brutally competitive game of chicken fights, wherein the loser loses their clothes and the winner gets to keep them.
Not your style? Sneak off somewhere more private like the twinkling gardens illuminated with multicolored tiki lamps, lakeside decorated with bio-luminescent rocks, or the (perfectly safe, wolfless, we promise) maze to indulge in your inner desires. You might find that certain colors glow beneath the moonlight and unlock desires youβve kept tightly under lock and key. It's hard not to feel impulsive or unrestrained under the full moon's light, with your body paint as armor. People might appear more attractive to you under this witching light like a magic spell cast β but really, you havenβt had any trouble with that, here. Have you?
If youβre thirsty, the house has tasked RICHIE, CARMY, and SANJI (dressed as cabana boys) with an extensive poolside drinks menu, since theyβve been so helpful with breakfast. Thanks, boys. Ask them for anything. In fact, ask them for everything. They're here to serve.
As the night closes out, turn your eyes heavenward for a spectacular fireworks show. Many apologies to those of you who suffer from PTSD; you can head inside for an early night and cover your ears with a pillow, but do be careful not to suffocate yourself, unless you're into that. The fireworks shimmer and shatter, and those watching closely might start to see hidden messages written in the stars for you, though is that your eyes playing tricks? Better ask that friend youβre snuggled up with. As anxiety weighs a little heavier on your heart, you might feel compelled to confess a few secrets on this last night of summer, big or small, something loving or not. Seek out that destructive habit, or take some steps toward healing. Let the fireworks drown out the noise.
POOLSIDE PLAYLIST courtesy of Robin
It's an innocent enough, offhand suggestion from the mouth of one (1) DIARMUID about wanting to learn how to paint, and honestly, the house couldn't agree more: a party is necessary. As August winds down, it's important to go out with a bang, and what better way than through an explosive end of summer pool party? To say goodbye to the waning summer nights, the manor is throwing a pool party with an artistic neon twist. Per the growing complications of everyone's relationship status in this new age of bisexuality, polygamy, and pegging, glow-in-the-dark bracelets with matching solo cups have been set out with the appropriate labels βΒ TAKEN, SINGLE, OPEN, and IT'S COMPLICATED, depending on your interest. Lounge by the water in your cutest bikini or trunks or nothing at all and engage in some very relaxing full-body painting using the supplies provided β that is, the paint is supplied, though brushes and sponges are few and far between. Better just to use your own body to paint your masterpiece. Put yourself on display as a model by the pool, or engage in a brutally competitive game of chicken fights, wherein the loser loses their clothes and the winner gets to keep them.
Not your style? Sneak off somewhere more private like the twinkling gardens illuminated with multicolored tiki lamps, lakeside decorated with bio-luminescent rocks, or the (perfectly safe, wolfless, we promise) maze to indulge in your inner desires. You might find that certain colors glow beneath the moonlight and unlock desires youβve kept tightly under lock and key. It's hard not to feel impulsive or unrestrained under the full moon's light, with your body paint as armor. People might appear more attractive to you under this witching light like a magic spell cast β but really, you havenβt had any trouble with that, here. Have you?
If youβre thirsty, the house has tasked RICHIE, CARMY, and SANJI (dressed as cabana boys) with an extensive poolside drinks menu, since theyβve been so helpful with breakfast. Thanks, boys. Ask them for anything. In fact, ask them for everything. They're here to serve.
As the night closes out, turn your eyes heavenward for a spectacular fireworks show. Many apologies to those of you who suffer from PTSD; you can head inside for an early night and cover your ears with a pillow, but do be careful not to suffocate yourself, unless you're into that. The fireworks shimmer and shatter, and those watching closely might start to see hidden messages written in the stars for you, though is that your eyes playing tricks? Better ask that friend youβre snuggled up with. As anxiety weighs a little heavier on your heart, you might feel compelled to confess a few secrets on this last night of summer, big or small, something loving or not. Seek out that destructive habit, or take some steps toward healing. Let the fireworks drown out the noise.
FRUITS OF LABOUR
CONTENT WARNINGS: body horror, gore, cannibalism.
Saying goodbye to summer means welcoming in the new season, and as August nights turn into September mornings, the landscape of the grounds changes from verdant greens to egg yolk yellow and sunburnt orange, a gradient of autumnal colors. To that end, a week long festival erects outside to enjoy the last of the year's good weather β a generous harvest bounty fills up tables and tables of ample displays, full of ripened fruits and fresh baked breads, baked potatoes roasted in the coals of a bonfire, sausages, wheels of cheese, marshmallows, cider and apple juice, tomato soup, apple and blackberry compote, rhubarb crumble, all richly decorated in sunset hues. Among the servings, anyone with a birthday in August or September will find themselves a individualized cake, perhaps with some motif to define them, otherwise just with the harvest decorations of gourds, leaves, wheat, and fruit. Alongside that, a new smaller maze has been made from hay bales on the lawn. During the day it's just a silly and fun maze, but at night it takes on a new form and characters can easily become lost and find themselves in a maze that seems to go on forever, with the ominous lowing of a bull somewhere in the distance. Luckily, everyone is released at daybreak, maybe a little traumatized, but all in one piece.
What would a festival be, without some games to indulge in? Around the celebratory grounds, there are four pumpkins painted gold, hidden around the festival. Anyone who finds one is entitled to a boon from your very generous hosts (join the race HERE). Hunting not to your tastes after the last few goose chases? No worries, there's plenty still to do β from apple bobbing, jumping over bonfires, throwing discus/shotput, horseshoes, and more, it's a festival jam packed with games and prizes to be won, from little jars of handmade jam from France, to stuffed chicken plushies, to tin cans with the labels ripped off, full of ... well, it's anyone's guess, really. Crack it open and find out!
In honor of the handfasting ceremony, characters are selected at random and tied together at the wrist, much to everyone's amusement. Once knotted, the ribbon will not give way under any physical or magical duress, meaning you'll be stuck together until the tie undoes on its own. It could be day, a night, two nights, or more, but it seems like the ribbon is waiting for something in particular βΒ a genuine heart to heart, maybe? Consummating the marriage? Hopefully you like the person you're tied to, because you're going to be spending a lot of time with your temporary spouse, in immediately close quarters.
At the end of the week, there's a final end of summer ceremony, wherein the vampire ARMAND is given special homage for being an especially adored guest, donned in floral regalia and ordained with crowns of flowers, much to his growing malcontent. In fact, he and all the vampires present in house seem to be given the regal treatment from the staff with less grand flower crowns of their own, honored at the head of the festival's final gluttonous table, lined with naked, giggling bodies covered in autumnal produce, sprouting mushrooms, blooming flowers, and distinctly meaty dishes β steak and kidney pie, blood sausage, pumpkins stuffed with zebra meat. It's only after you drink the wildflower tea and locally (Very, Locally) crafted beer that things start to feel a little off. The happy bodies used as serving platters look sometimes, between one blink and the next, like masticated corpses, the gourds and fruits set more deeply in the cornucopia their opened chest cavities make. Despite that, there's no real sense of death in the air β get a better look, and you might find the veins of the dead work more like the vines for the plants, giving them life.
The question becomes: which is the hallucination? The smiling faces or the blooming corpses?
Though hysteria rankles through the crowd the more people come to terms with the visions they're seeing, given the population at the head of the table, it's a fairly easy riddle to crack. Can vampires eat the cursed food? In short: yes, they can. Sorry we made you eat people again.
Saying goodbye to summer means welcoming in the new season, and as August nights turn into September mornings, the landscape of the grounds changes from verdant greens to egg yolk yellow and sunburnt orange, a gradient of autumnal colors. To that end, a week long festival erects outside to enjoy the last of the year's good weather β a generous harvest bounty fills up tables and tables of ample displays, full of ripened fruits and fresh baked breads, baked potatoes roasted in the coals of a bonfire, sausages, wheels of cheese, marshmallows, cider and apple juice, tomato soup, apple and blackberry compote, rhubarb crumble, all richly decorated in sunset hues. Among the servings, anyone with a birthday in August or September will find themselves a individualized cake, perhaps with some motif to define them, otherwise just with the harvest decorations of gourds, leaves, wheat, and fruit. Alongside that, a new smaller maze has been made from hay bales on the lawn. During the day it's just a silly and fun maze, but at night it takes on a new form and characters can easily become lost and find themselves in a maze that seems to go on forever, with the ominous lowing of a bull somewhere in the distance. Luckily, everyone is released at daybreak, maybe a little traumatized, but all in one piece.
What would a festival be, without some games to indulge in? Around the celebratory grounds, there are four pumpkins painted gold, hidden around the festival. Anyone who finds one is entitled to a boon from your very generous hosts (join the race HERE). Hunting not to your tastes after the last few goose chases? No worries, there's plenty still to do β from apple bobbing, jumping over bonfires, throwing discus/shotput, horseshoes, and more, it's a festival jam packed with games and prizes to be won, from little jars of handmade jam from France, to stuffed chicken plushies, to tin cans with the labels ripped off, full of ... well, it's anyone's guess, really. Crack it open and find out!
In honor of the handfasting ceremony, characters are selected at random and tied together at the wrist, much to everyone's amusement. Once knotted, the ribbon will not give way under any physical or magical duress, meaning you'll be stuck together until the tie undoes on its own. It could be day, a night, two nights, or more, but it seems like the ribbon is waiting for something in particular βΒ a genuine heart to heart, maybe? Consummating the marriage? Hopefully you like the person you're tied to, because you're going to be spending a lot of time with your temporary spouse, in immediately close quarters.
At the end of the week, there's a final end of summer ceremony, wherein the vampire ARMAND is given special homage for being an especially adored guest, donned in floral regalia and ordained with crowns of flowers, much to his growing malcontent. In fact, he and all the vampires present in house seem to be given the regal treatment from the staff with less grand flower crowns of their own, honored at the head of the festival's final gluttonous table, lined with naked, giggling bodies covered in autumnal produce, sprouting mushrooms, blooming flowers, and distinctly meaty dishes β steak and kidney pie, blood sausage, pumpkins stuffed with zebra meat. It's only after you drink the wildflower tea and locally (Very, Locally) crafted beer that things start to feel a little off. The happy bodies used as serving platters look sometimes, between one blink and the next, like masticated corpses, the gourds and fruits set more deeply in the cornucopia their opened chest cavities make. Despite that, there's no real sense of death in the air β get a better look, and you might find the veins of the dead work more like the vines for the plants, giving them life.
The question becomes: which is the hallucination? The smiling faces or the blooming corpses?
Though hysteria rankles through the crowd the more people come to terms with the visions they're seeing, given the population at the head of the table, it's a fairly easy riddle to crack. Can vampires eat the cursed food? In short: yes, they can. Sorry we made you eat people again.
DIRECTORY
daenerys targaryen | game of thrones | new character
[Her eyes take in the revelry as she awkwardly stands at the front of the party, not yet entering into it. Her face is flat, visions of Qarth in front of her, and the bounty they had, but what they sought to take from her. It is too late though, isn't it. There are no screeches up above her. There is no sounds of dragons. She cannot feel her children, Drogon in particular, like he has not imbedded himself into her bones. Her anger boils at the skin as she tries to remain calm.
What is she to do here? Seemingly she is alone. There is no Missandei, Ser Baristan, nor Tyrion himself. Not that she has been able to find on the grounds of the estate she cannot leave (and she has tried-- storming the gate with the fury of a small, white haired woman yelling all of her titles). Daenerys could have skipped this, could have tried to come up with some reason for staying in her room, but she figures she does need allies in such an unknown land. So instead of heading toward the pool, her eyes are drawn toward the garden instead, the way the rocks illuminate their path onward. She does not realize that the maze is meant to draw one in.
But she searches out a companion nonetheless, hopefully one with a similar blue bracelet, though pink or green would not be minded.]
Can you tell me of this place? [What else may be known that isn't so readily told upon first arrival. She finds herself slipping in a little closer, unaware what might be in garden itself.]
( handfasting ceremony )
[She knows the old ceremonies, not just of the Seven, but the stories her brother the Beggar King would tell her of her family. This is no Targaryen ceremony, and before she gets a chance to pull her own arm away, it is banded with another, and she looks near put out. This is not what she wishes for, to tie herself to another?]
Unhand me. [She tries to pull away, only yanking on their arm. Sure, she may have taken a lover in the past to clear her head, but men have made their wants known, to look upon a woman, a Queen, and try and see her as beneath her. Sex is for desire, but marriage? What need would she have when her dragons are her only children now?
The thought here is ludicrous, but pulling away is to no avail. She won't yank on the other person, though she looks more annoyed than not.]
Would they chain us here then? [Daenerys is meant to be the breaker of chains. She will not ask what it is they would have them do. Perhaps on some level she knows, but now they are tied at this feast, and she is stuck.]
( autumnal massacre )
cw: hallucinations, gore, very vague mention of miscarriage
[The sight is one she is not entirely unused to. A bloodbath happens when her enemies have crossed her before. But she has had men, dragons, armies. What she isn't expecting is to blink, to see the bodies of the severed vegetation-- only they are no longer plants, but the chest of a body carved out, the innards spilling.
She doesn't know what a vampire is, but she has idea enough of the undying. Is that the same, she does not know, but the mother of dragons doesn't flinch, just curls her nose. She's lost in the visions, like dreams she once had of dragons and armies. She watches them feast, but she does not feel as if there are victims, something in her not actually enraged at what she sees. Curious at the undead perhaps, but not enraged.
The Stormborn stands then, perhaps far more reckless than she should be, but she wants to feel the blood in her hands as the horse heart she once ate to prove who she was, a khaleesi with the blood of a khal in her as her child's heart beat. But as she nears it, she feels a very real touch to her shoulder, something that is more solid than the beat that seems to fade within her again.
You should run.
Whether those are her thoughts or words from another, she is unsure, but she's pulled from the thought, looking back to find the vampires feasting on flesh once more.]
autumnal massacre.
Even so, this seems an inauspicious occasion. Unsteady legs carry her to her feet, then along the table, stopping only to let the more frantic among them pass. A glimpse of Targaryen silver distracts her. Rhaenyra. No, her children. She reaches out, unthinking. ]
We should not stay here. [ expression startled, more by this unfamiliar face than the events surrounding them. ] This place has done harm before.
[ Alicent lifts her other arm, emerald sleeve falling to her elbow. A jagged scar marks her otherwise unblemished skin, stitched shut. ]
no subject
It is not a good feeling, but she will not be weak either, not outwardly anyway. She has no real way to defend herself, but she will not go down so easily either if what they are seeing is true. It is like some instances it is nothing-- the vegetation of a bountiful harvest before a winter, and then the next moment, the bloody remains of a corpse.
It is jarring, enough to still her when the visions switch again. She is nearly shook when a darkhaired woman approaches to her side, making her turn. The woman does not look familiar to her though.]
Take me then. [Now is not a good time to ask questions, and it certainly could be a trap. A Targaryen, the last of her name, could still fetch a price, but she does think they are far beyond that now.]
no subject
Perhaps that's why Alicent reaches out, seizing her by the arm with a reassuring squeeze. Her mouth quirks, faint but there. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees one of the bodies atop the table writhe, extending their bleeding wrist to a lurid mouth. ]
Come, I know the way.
[ And she does, already guiding them through the chaos. Another couple nearly jostles Daenerys, but Alicent shields her on instinct. Their fellows represent less of a threat than the honoured guests, to be sure. Even so, a crowd can be as deadly as a dagger when unrestrained. ]
no subject
She does let the woman lead her on though, because it is better to find a safe place than only guess at where she should go. Others are running alongside of them, the horrors still fresh behind them as the creatures feast on gourds and chest cavities alike.]
Do you know what it is? What it is happening?
[She certainly feels more defenseless without dragons and men devoted to her, but she will take some reprieve in this woman. Daenerys just needs to know to make her own decisions, what to do from here. Is this some sort of attack?]
no subject
[ a bitter truth, metallic on her tongue. it's the only answer she can give while they weave through the crowd. she does not know if the scream she hears is imagined or true, only that it is better to never find out. once they make it some distance from the feast, she slows and hushes, ]
Our hosts have a taste for tricks. [ she does not speak ill of them lightly, when they hold power over her and all who inhabit the manor. ] The food may be flesh, or it may not, but they anointed the...powerful among us for a reason. And those at the head of the table do feast on blood to survive.
[ not a wholesale condemnation of them, when she has not had time to assess their complicity (and so many of them stoke fondness in her chest). ]
no subject
Her eyes are rounded at the explanation-- beings that are powerful consuming the blood and flesh as brazenly. Daenerys pushes beyond the people as they try and get to the house again.]
Would we be safe inside then? Or is their hunger not yet sated?
no subject
I do not think they will pursue us to our rooms.
[ they have a table of willing prey, after all. ]
[ carefully, then: ] Many of those honoured tonight have been amiable before now. I would wager this display was not made at their request.
no subject
She turns, eyes going to the other woman when she explains that this is not their usual behavior.]
You know them then? This not their usual appetite? Something in the night, the party itself must have changed. [Which does go back to their hosts intentions. Dany likes it less and less.]
no subject
they slip back into the house, the horrors of the feast echoing behind them. ]
I cannot know for certain what was intended β but if we are divided, especially from the strong among us, we are made weaker.
[ the humans outnumber vampires enough to cause trouble for them. that must play a part in this strange display. discord benefits those in power. ]
The party tempted them by design.
[ inviting them to be monstrous and frightening, words she has never applied to daniel or louis. a trap, ensnaring human and vampire alike. ]
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No, they must stay here. And she is right. They are protected even less, and Dany does not have her dragons, her armies, those sworn to her.]
So then it is our hosts doing. [Eyes drift up the wall and look around, seeing the house in a new light. It is not as if she has trusted it to begin with. Qarth has showed her that much, but she dislikes it more.]
Then they would break the guest rites to be entertained? To see us slaughtered?
[They 'why' is left unsaid, but hangs in the air anyway.]
handfasting;
Fuck.
[ Is all that comes out the moment they're chained together, arm jerking when she pulls, and he instinctively holds his hands up in a hopefully non-threatening gesture, but it only serves to yank her hand in turn. ]
Trust me, would if I could.
cow: mentions of pregnancy loss
She sizes the man up, taller and stalkier, but built. He clearly is as thrilled as she is about this, so she takes pity albeit tinged with an annoyance she canβt quite quell. He is attractive though in whatever strange clothes he wears.]
It seems our captors have made a point of this then. For us to be together. [She has already been wed before, carried his son. The babe is gone, her Khal is gone. And here she stands in similar fashion.]
We should at least get to know one another. [As this sort of scenario is not new to her.]
My name is Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, and the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and Queen of Meereen. [Thatβs not even half of her titles. She just stops there for now.]
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[ He's not oooooverly pissed about it now that he's getting a good look at her, not gonna lie. Pleased? No. Happy about it, of course not. But being 'cuffed' to a hot chick, well. It could be worse - he just prefers everyone in the know in situations like this. Nothing like being tied up by a chick in a zorro mask and slapped around, amirite? ]
...That's a lotta names. [ that he's never gonna remember. ] Dean Winchester, hunter of monsters. You got a nickname?
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Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. The others are some of my titles. [She looks back at him plainly. She thought that was obvious. But he mentions monsters, and it conjures up more stories her brother would tell her when they were children.]
Mayhaps we should go somewhere to get acquainted since we are now⦠together. [She would not yet call her his, to subjugate herself to a man she does not know, but her tone is soft, to imply that sort of personal intimacy between man and wife even if she is unsure of the legitimacy in a place like this.]
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Daenerys. [ Two blinks and that'll be shortened because that's what Dean does, but for now he says her full name, tasting it on his tongue. ] Uh, sure. That's a good idea - you uh, you want a drink? I could sure use one.
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She goes back to looking at him and then the festival, and she gives a nod.] It may make this easier.
[The legitimacy still has questionable validity, but it is real enough to bind them, so she will take it for what it is, and getting to know him is at least in order.]
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[ Whatever βthisβ may be - heβs kinda hoping a checkers tournament, cause banging chickβs who donβt wanna isnβt on his to do list. Ever. ]
Okay, uh, how about we get something, then head inside away from all this damn noise? These people are giving me a headache.
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[While it would be highly unlikely that she would just marry so simply, she also doesn't want to just be out here now like this. Better to try and figure this out together, on what to do, what it might mean for them now. She is not worried if it may be more long lasting than thought, but they can worry about that.]
Should we get a bottle to go? I have a room to myself. [No roommate that she shares the bathroom with if they need space. Which may now become more his anyway now that they have been brought together.]
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Thatβs a good idea. Bottle each, even.
[ He doesnβt have a shared bathroom space either just yet, but he has a feeling sheβs probably be more comfortable in her own space. ]
Letβs get the hell outta here.
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The second they get back inside the manor though, she is already exhaling.]
I am sorry it has come about this way, [She admits quietly. It is not the first time she has been married off, though this one was unexpected when the ceremony she thought was for the bounty, the harvest, and she was simply chosen with this man she had never seen before.]
You should know though. It is not my first. At least I was not traded this time. [Her brother's doing. This is somehow is less invasive than her first, and that does mean something. Even if she could never bare the man children. Something else that may have to come out if this is truly legitimate.]
cw; ...supernatural, drugs, idk
[ And while what she actually says is short, only a few sentences, there's a lot in there for him to parse. He looks mildly horrified at the word 'traded', and he's debating on asking about that or letting it go because it damn sure seems like something that's fairly traumatic and possibly something that shouldn't be talked about. ]
My brother got roofied and tricked into getting married once, [ he offers, like that's even remotely close. ] This, uh - obsessed chick made a deal with a demon for some kinda weird love potion and thinking on it, that was super questionable and she should probably be in jail.
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My brother traded me for an army to take back his rightful place. But both he and my husband have been dead for several years. [Drogoβs death being far more traumatic than her brothers. By the time Viserys was killed, it had been a long time coming clearly.]
This place is not the first time I have been in a foreign place with foreign customs though. It isβ¦ unexpected to be bound together with a man I did not choose, but I suppose we find ourselves similarly in this position. That alone isβ¦ oddly comforting. [Sheβll crack open her bottle to that.]
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That's...shitty.
[ That's putting it mildly, but what else do you even say? 'Sorry' is trite as hell, and Dean knows that kind of crap isn't reassuring. ]
Yeah, that's true. We're both kinda stuck. Literally. [ He's going to open his own bottle, toss the lid away and hold it up, tipped in her direction. ] Uh, happy wedding day?
cw: vague allusions to sa
There must be a way to separate us. We cannot be chained together forever. It must be some part of their wedding night ritual.
[She has heard of some of the traditions in Westeros, of the wedding party taking the clothes off of the bride. Obviously it was different for her being married to a Khal, but they had their own night, and it was not one she would relive. Though she does not regard Dean at all to be the same way as the men of the Dothraki.]
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