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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
astarion ancunΓn, baldur's gate 3 | current player/character
handfasting!
As the staff tie them off, her smile stiffens. When the knot holds under his fluttering hands, she tuts. ]
Cease your fussing. [ with the bossiness of, well, a queen and a commanding air that suggests she can back up the order, somehow. ] You're tightening it.
[ Is he, or does the ribbon simply chafe as he tugs at their wrists? ]
And do not flatter yourself. [ She scoffs. ] One husband has been enough for a lifetime.
no subject
Am I so unappealing? [ he asks, his tone airy enough to make it clear that he's joking. ] And here I'd thought we had something special.
[ Still, he's already let go of the ribbon, though he glances sidelong at it now. There's not enough leeway under their wrists for him to slide a knife beneath, not without breaking skin, and the knot is mysteriously impenetrable, even to him. Part of him thinks even dismemberment wouldn't be enough to sever their imposed bond. ]
I suppose I should have known better than to think anything to do with this blasted estate would do us the courtesy of being simple.
[ Then, oblivious to the minefield he's wading into: ] Tell me about him, then. Your husband. Glad to be rid of him?
no subject
I am certain you know how you look. [ which isn't so unappealing, if you're into silver-hair or whatever. (She, too, has no idea how loaded such a sentiment is.) ] But you are correct in your assessment of this place and its tricks.
[ When he releases the ribbon, she turns their tied grip gently, managing to shift it so her palm cups the back of his hand. A mysterious thing, loose and then tight once more, as if it does not mind her pulling so much as her escaping. Curious. Delicate fingers try to work their way into the knot, then under the silken fabric to no avail.
At the question, her already too-big eyes widen and flick upward. ]
No. [ The ribbon seems to constrict, suddenly, as if in punishment for the lie. ] Yes, I suppose. [ A little shake of her head, eyes shuttering and curls bouncing. ] Sometimes. [ Still not give, until she adds, softer: ] A lady is oft betrothed for reasons other than her wants.
no subject
A lady is oft betrothed for reasons other than her wants. And yes, finally, sometimes. It leaves him at a loss as to how to respond β once, he might have professed boredom and flounced off, or perhaps taken the opportunity to bombard her with further questions she'd now be required to answer truthfully, but this isn't really the type of misfortune he delights in anymore, if it had ever been to begin with. ]
As tempting as the prospect is, I assume you'd rather I didn't pry any further, [ he says at length, with a nod down at their wrists, his hand pliant in hers. (Someone like Karlach would doubtless offer some secret in return, but he isn't that generous.)
Then, dryly: ] I would, were it not so apparent that you'd be compelled to answer. There's no fun in a rigged game.
no subject
She gives a sharp yank of their hands, trying to unbalance him as she assesses the ribbon, seemingly shrinking and loosening at will. Her eyes flit from her bindings to the the faint redness at her wrist that proves her perception to be reality. ]
And yet β [ Alicent sighs. ] β the consequences of refusing to partake will include prolonged bondage.
[ Possibly among other, worse things, typical of the Balfours. A mandate for her to speak honestly for the first time in an age seems⦠unpleasant at best and damning at worst. With that in mind, she has already performed her duty as wife, under this nebulous contract. ]
So tell me something true, husband.
[ Ever the little queen, features arranged into an expectant mask. ]
no subject
It must be a powerful magic, to know when they are or aren't telling the truth. So the question becomes: how large or small of a truth will satisfy it, and what is he willing to say? Not much, really, though as far as keeping things impersonal goesβ ]
I have a tadpole living in my brain, [ he says, in a tone of voice that clearly communicates the fact that he's aware this is not an appealing quality. ] Prior to coming here, I was en route to be rid of it.
[ The ribbon remains as it is. He frowns. ]
But Iβ well, I'm not so sure I want to be. It's proven helpful.
[ Wait, he's stepped in it, it here meaning potentially personal territory. He seems to realize it as he speaks, the following pause drawing out for a second, then two, as he worries his lower lip.
Softly: ] ... What I most prize is the ability to walk once more in the sun.
no subject
Less logical is his clarification that he wouldnβt mind staying compromised. Her eyes widen a fraction, brows lifting. ]
The sun.
[ Momentarily stunned, unable to follow the logic of his confession. In theory, she agrees, having been restricted to court and keep for years. Quieter, then, thumb brushing over the back of his hand β ]
Were you in captivity before?
no subject
Of a sort. [ His lips purse, then he continues, quietly enough that only someone standing directly next to them could hear, ] I'mβ I'm a vampire. Until the tadpole's interference, I could not walk in the sun, lest I be burned to ash. My memories of it were from my brief living years, two centuries ago.
[ There's more he could say. The specific choice of the word captivity seems to beg he say it. But, hang on, there may be a pivotβ ]
Are you familiar with vampires? I shouldn't presume.
no subject
She nods, mouth parting before she can think of the words to say. Another one? ]
I am.
[ The peak of Danielβs fangs in his mouth, most visible when he kisses her. The new shine in his eyes. The brightness of his presence. He seems even more alive now than he had as a man. In contrast, Astarion appears almost dulled by the revelation. Perhaps age lessens the wonder of survival. ]
You are over two-hundred years old, truly? [ It seems a silly thing to fixate on, when blood-drinking and sun-searing have been invoked, but β ] I had thought my first husbandβs decades on me the greatest possible gap.
[ Ha. ]
no subject
How old was he?
[ Another question, another potential for them to trip into painful territory. Following a pause, he rethinks his line of inquiry: ]
How old were you, when you wed?
[ He expects a painful answer but reasons, at the same time, that it would have been common knowledge, in her realm β royals hardly ever marry without some great to-do β and he's deliberate in not (yet) asking her how she felt about it. She's already alluded to it, anyway. Better to attempt to let a wound scab over than to continue picking at it. ]
cw: child marriage
cw: "
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
fin.
maze;
While he could easily leave, take to the skies, such a display would immediately attract attention, to say nothing of rousing suspicion among their fellow guests. For the moment, his true nature is only known to those who are like him, and Lestat intends to keep it that way for as long as possible.
Still, when he notices a slight, pale figure wandering the maze from the opposite direction, he pauses, rather than immediately moving to brush past, gaze traversing features that are new and unknown. ]
Iβm fairly certain that I would have recalled meeting you before.
no subject
On top of all that, Lestat's beauty is the kind Astarion has learned not to trust, especially after so many years of relying upon his own to entrap and ensnare prey. ]
And I, you.
[ Truth, if also flattery.
He shifts his weight from foot to foot, head cocking slightly as he considers his next words, whether to try to disentangle himself and move on, or see this meeting through.
With a wave at the hedges around them: ] I could be convinced to change direction. I've been told two heads are better than one.
no subject
[ It occurs to Lestat, then, that even he's started to lose track of time now β that the initial notion of romantic wanderings, aimless and unhurried, could soon be taken over by increased feelings of confinement. He doesn't know, at a glance, how long the other man β if indeed he is a man β has been trapped within the winding avenues of this maze, and Lestat could very well be presenting himself as an obstacle.
But then the suggestion of collaboration comes up, and he tilts the head in question, as if considering the idea for himself. ]
I see no reason to avoid pairing up, especially in pursuit of an exit.
[ Besides, if they continue past each other, who's to say they won't end up back in this very spot, having the same conversation? Better to avoid getting turned around altogether, he decides, and lifts his chin slightly in acknowledgment. ]
Why don't you choose which direction we set off in?
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There's a fork a short ways back, [ he says, by way of explanation. ] Maybe the other path will prove fruitful.
[ He waits to keep walking until Lestat draws nearer, adjusting his own pace so they're in step. (A little attention would make at least a few oddities clear β the points of his eyes, the red of his eyes, the faint scent of death as meticulously covered up by perfume. His teeth, too, can't really be hidden, though he hasn't yet smiled so widely that they've become obvious.) ]
May I ask your name?
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[ And Lestat hasn't exhausted the limits of his own patience yet, even as he suspects that this maze may have been designed to do just that. For the moment, he's more curious about his unexpected walking partner, who bears many distinct physical traits that have already captured Lestat's attention, to say nothing of the accent. ]
Lestat de Lioncourt, at your service.
[ He waits until they're in closer proximity to each other before he affects a short bow, arm shifting across his middle in a completion of the polite gesture. The signs of his own existence are easily disguised by comparison, but as soon as he catches a glimpse of those eyes, inhales the subtle aroma of death, his own lips quirk in a knowing curve. ] We've never met before?
[ Of course they haven't β at least not in person β but he's deliberately playing facetious in an effort to get a name in exchange. ]
feast 10,000 years later
Oh.
[ Astarion. White roses in his hair--a sigh of innocence, new starts, undying love--bound up with a complicating twist of black ribbon. Matt's tense expression softens as he regards him. ]
Thanks. [ He slips across the threshold, holding the door open so Astarion can follow. He's not surprised that he'd want to leave, really. Vampires he's known have all kinds of relationships with sustenance, and even the most well-adjusted might balk at eating in front of other people. To say nothing of the harvest prom queen, surprise birthday party vibes of it all. ] You okay?
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Let's just say I've never been one for a surprise party, [ is what he settles on, choosing to continue to walk and put distance between himself and the feast, assuming Matt will follow. There's a more honest answer β that he's thoroughly unsettled, that he still fears that Cazador will materialize here and claim it all some sort of ruse β but he's not so disconcerted as to offer that up without a significant tussle.
And besides, there's another elephant in the room, namelyβ ]
I suppose you've already put together what I am, given how difficult our gracious hosts made it to miss.
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I made some connections, [ Matt allows. A soft sigh. ] I'm sorry they did that. I'm a little more open these days, but I still wouldn't want the Balfours to throw some, like, "Witching Hour Wednesday" party.
[ By way of demonstration, Matt lifts his hand palm-up. He sucks in a breath, a line of ancient prayer shimmering across his mind. And a bouquet of colored light springs up over his outstretched fingers, petaling sparks dancing in midair. ]
If they'd done it right when I first got here, [ he concludes, slightly breathless--a spell like this doesn't take much, just a bit of the air from his lungs, ] I don't know what I would've done. Barricaded myself in my room, probably.
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[ At length, they seem to pass some invisible marker that satisfies Astarion's desire to get away from the festivities, as his steps slow and then finally come to a stop.
Suddenly, he feels foolish. Perhaps he'd reacted too harshly, perhaps he ought to have stomached it and played along. (Perhaps he should have fed while he had the chance. He's largely tried to avoid the mysterious blood that seems t be available at every meal for the estate's vampiric guests, for lack of any apparent provenance, but what that means itβ he still has only fed on beasts.) He shakes his doubts off for the moment, gaze refocusing on the blossom of light that floats above Matt's hand. ]
Do you keep it a secret, in your world? Your abilities, I mean.
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He tries not to wallow in those thoughts.
Matt glances back to Astarion. The vampire seems to be at least mildly amused by the lights, so though Matt lowers his hand, he lets the spell linger. The sparks dance happily through the air between them, seeming to produce no heat. ]
I keep them a secret from most people, yeah. The baseline folks. Which maybe isn't fair of me, because plenty of them would be cool. But my parents wouldn't, so. [ Matt shrugs gently. ] Other practitioners or other preternatural types pretty much get it. Like, my ex was a vampire, and it was very ... a feeling like we were in the same boat.
[ One of the few good things Matt can say about Vincent. ]
I guess he didn't really blend as easily as I could, though. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't have.
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It's easier to have that focal point for their attention β or at least his own β rather than having to speak with each other more directly. ]
Assuming our conditions were relatively similar, no, I suppose not. In my world, magic is commonplace β the practice of it is as much a skill to be learned and demonstrated as, say, blacksmithing or carpentry. But vampirism is ... you can imagine.
[ He thinks, unwillingly, of Gandrel, and of how long he'd kept his nature from the party he'd traveled with, afraid that discovery would likely mean death. ]
You didn't mind what he was?
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[ It's a small spell, sure, but Matt can't help grinning. He so rarely gets to cast with other people--one of the prices of secrecy. There's definitely truth to the notion that preternaturals have a way of finding each other, but for whatever reason, most of Matt's preternatural acquaintances have been ... well, vampires. His smile fades into a more thoughtful expression as he watches the lights swirl around each other. ]
I think I can imagine, yeah. [ Not that it requires imagination to think of vampires cast as perpetual outsiders, treated poorly. It's harder to envision magic being treated any better. At the question, Matt glances from the lights to Astarion's face; the inquiry, perhaps strangely and perhaps not, is a painfully familiar one. ] No. [ Quiet. Almost gentle. ] Of course I didn't.
[ A pause. ]
He wasn't good for me, [ Matt adds, in the spirit of completeness. ] But the ways he wasn't good to me had nothing to do with his diet.
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(Perhaps more significantly, it's something not tied to his physical appearance or perceived desirability. Something he'd call stupid or unnecessary. But the thought is there and then gone.)
The expression turns into something a little more sympathetic as Matt explains his lot further, a sigh sloping the line of his shoulders. He knows, of course, that he's leaving a little out of the picture when it comes to the vampires in his world. He doesn't blame Gandrel for hunting him, not really β even if he'd lured his prey to their (supposed) deaths under his master's orders, he'd still been responsible. ]
Well, [ a pause, then, for consideration, ] I suppose that's the nature of love. Not all the pieces of a puzzle are meant to reside next to each other, and some only seem to fit before you realize they're meant to be somewhere else.
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That's wise of you, [ Matt approves. His smile now is fainter, without the easy wonder inspired by their spells. But it's sincere all the same. He's tempted to wander down a tangent about love--how to him, it's as powerful as the tides, which makes it just as dangerous as any Bitch Queen, its puzzle pieces as apt to slice as to bolster--but he's already struck out on a vulnerable branch this conversation. Bring it back, bring it back. ] I guess all of that was kind of a roundabout way of saying ... it still fucking sucks to be outed when you didn't want to be. But you're not alone around here--uh, obviously there's other vampires, of course--but I mean, you know.
[ He shrugs. ]
Not everyone will judge you.
fin.