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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
no subject
Can't be anything except lost; it's like the house in here.
[ He's been testing it, measuring his steps, recording his turns, listening to the sound of the animal in the distance and the occasional register of a heartbeat, trying to find landmarks. But like the navigators found in the manor's shifting corridors, it's moving around him, impossible to 'solve'. So he's back to just wandering, hands tucked deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.
He rocks back and forward on his feet, looking at Matt and his magic light. Hard to know what to do here: there's a reason why he texted most of the other people in his life about the brand new development rather than approaching them directly. If he's honest with himself, and it's much harder to be anything else these days, there's a reason why he didn't text Matt. ]
Hey, so, uh... recovered from. That stuff?
[ Getting stabbed, going to hospital, he mostly has these details third hand, a combination of Koby's sparse updates and what was on the network, though the latter he'd decided not to engage with to remove the possibility of Matt embarrassing himself. ]
no subject
All that recedes to the background in the face of the stunningly vague phrase, "that stuff." Matt is okay and everything's okay, but nonetheless, he finds his eyebrows arching in disbelief. ]
You mean being stabbed?
[ That comes out a little crisper than he means it to. Matt doesn't know what to do with his hands, he realizes. The light spell doesn't need any gestures from him to stay aloft, so there's no need to keep his palm raised. He ends up echoing Daniel unconsciously, sticking his hands in his pockets, though he has no cool leather jacket. Just one of Alia's pink sweatshirts and a scarf of Jack's, tied in the preppiest possible ascot configuration. ]
I'm fine. [ That's softer. ] They took pretty good care of me in the clinic. And Armand healed the rest.
no subject
[ Disregard anything the narrative said last tag about where Daniel got this information, apparently it was directly from Armand. In the aftermath, obviously.
He steps a little closer, watches the blood sliding around Matt's body, fascinated by this new insight into him - but doing his best not to read his mind, a mental form of keeping his eyes unfocused. Despite Daniel's life-long hard-on for information, the mind-violation shit is his least favourite part of the gift. ]
You got any spells for cutting through these hedges? Can't shift on us if we just walk in a straight line.
no subject
I wouldn't underestimate the hedges, [ he notes, eyebrows arching with the annoyance of a guy who's been wandering around here for awhile now. ] Watch this.
[ Matt lifts a hand, palm facing the nearest maze wall in a stop-sign gesture. He sucks in a breath, mind lighting with a flicker of the earth became an altar, heat was Agni--and as his breath hitches and cheeks heat, a column of bright orange, extremely hot fire erupts from his hands and into the hay bales.
It would make logical sense for this entire maze to go up, frankly. This hay looks dry. Instead, though the bales seem to catch and crackle, the fire dies down leaving them no worse for the wear. Matt huffs a slightly unsteady sigh. ]
no subject
Daniel knows his body, his precious new body all hale and strong, would not react so blithely. ]
Wow.
[ Trying to remember what he sounded like when he was impressed with Matt's magic instead of afraid of it, and sound like that again. Matt's blood seems to have heated along with the fire itself, which is a lovely distraction, the way it blushes his cheeks and trips in his pulse, and Daniel is drawn back forward again despite himself. ]
Can't walk out, can't break out, so we're effectively caged. Wish I had signal.
no subject
Though of course, it makes sense to be freaked out by a sudden column of flame. ]
Sorry, [ he breathes. The fire fades, leaving bright sunspots swimming in his vision and the color still heightened in his cheeks. ] Felt like the most effective demo. [ He starts to turn back towards him, smiling sheepishly. ] And before you ask, I don't have a spell for a magical hand-axe or ...
[ Daniel's closer than he expected to find him. Matt laughs on a flutter, concluding, ] Anything.
[ In the flame's wake, Matt blinks to readjust his vision. Maybe Daniel has the right idea, wearing sunglasses at night. Even if he can't remember him favoring them before now. ]
You're not bored with me already, are you? [ he asks. Aiming to tease, potentially coming across as bitter. ]
no subject
[ He has more experience with this than he would like, hedging and half-assed explanations. Ghosting and pretending he doesn't know why the other person's pissed - granted that was all with women, and the driving force behind his absence was privately wrestling with his sexuality in a way that sometimes emerged as a kind of chauvinism. This is different.
It's very different. Usually he's not so physically trapped, and the junkie wired feeling is from drugs rather than a fixation on the blood as it slides through Matt's veins.
Tomorrow, everyone at the harvest feast will know what he is. Tonight, though, Daniel is willing to offer his new secret willingly. He slips his sunglasses up to his hair, candle-lit eyes still holding an eerie reflection of Matt's doused flames. Reaching to take Matt's hand, let him feel the new coolness of his skin - the inhuman stillness, sorry about your Parkinsons kink. ]
I should have said something.
[ He awkwardly didn't. Matt isn't entirely wrong in sensing a level of avoidance, since Daniel hadn't felt as confident in his reaction as he had say, Parisa, Koby, Alicent. His supportive flutter of humans. ]
no subject
Oh.
[ In soft surprise, as Daniel pushes up the dark shades to reveal eyes that gleam in the dark. Daniel reaches for Matt's hand, and Matt realizes that at least some of the disconnect he's been feeling between them, the distance--even if he didn't understand it until now--is because Daniel is different. Physically different. His eyes with their new ember gold, his cool and untrembling fingers. Matt frowns at him, gaze raking over him from head to foot. ]
No ... that's okay. [ After how hard he tried to give Daniel the runaround their first few months here, Matt can't exactly complain. ] Ah, it's a big adjustment where I come from, and that's ... where I come from it's not anywhere near the kind of shift it is for you.
no subject
[ Just - he feels like he needs to make that really clear, that this wasn't done to him, there isn't a vampire going around attacking people like there was a werewolf. (Well. Not this early in fall, anyway.) ]
Otherwise I would have been hanging out in the hospital clinic with you, pissing off Greg.
[ Is he the only person who calls Doctor House by his first name? Possibly. But that's - really not the point right now. His eyes are darting rapidly, studying Matt's reaction, trying to keep his concern about it off his face. ]
But uh, yeah, the - blood stuff is kinda all tangled up with sex stuff, so I wanted to make sure I had some self-control.
cw: allusion to dv/sa
Matt's own expression is a touch fretful, as he wonders how to broadcast being cool without saying something cringe-inducing like I approve of your choices (not that you need me to) or some of my favorite hookups have been vampires. It's not until "blood stuff/sex stuff" that he's surprised into a smile. ]
Ah ... yeah, I've heard that. [ A point of commonality between vampires where he comes from and where Daniel does. Matt shakes his head, making no attempt to draw back. ] It's okay if you're still adjusting. I mean--it's okay with me. I think I can handle it.
[ After a moment, the only real question occurs to him: ] How are you feeling?
no subject
[ A little contemplative, a little embarrassed, but it's true. He's cured and in love, what else could the answer be? ]
I mean, it's an adjustment. I get sleepy during the day, all my favourite foods taste like chalk, I can read minds β I try not to.
[ Hasty addition that he's being polite, here. Even if sometimes just looking at Matt too long means he gets to "hear" stray thoughts like some of my favourite hookups have been vampires. ]
I'm kind of out of control strong, something about Armand's blood β but I can't fly yet or we'd be outta here.
no subject
You try not to? [ he echoes. A slight smile, almost teasing. ] Why, does it not feel as good to learn secrets if you didn't investigate them out of somebody?
[ Okay, okay, Matt knows there are privacy and consent issues. And given the work Daniel's done writing about surveillance, Matt bets he has a really interesting take on mind-reading. But coming from a world where psychics have been known about for hundreds of years, he's a bit more cavalier. Matt doesn't want the contents of his thoughts to be read like a library book, but at the same time, telepaths aren't always in full control of their abilities. They do their best, like anyone else.
Before he can probe deeper into matters of comparative telepathy, Daniel says the word fly, and a metaphorical lightbulb pings on over Matt's head. ]
Levitation, [ he says. ] I can do that. I mean, I can't do it right now without components, I'd need, um--a partner.
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Though he has been choosing his victims by how interesting he thinks it's gonna be when their memories pour into him along with their blood. ]
A partner like...
[ He might not be reading Matt's mind, but he can read his heartbeat, lifts an eyebrow and feels that laugh turning into a slightly cheeky grin. ]
Sure, whatever you need. Whatever gets us out.
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Though Daniel seems to catch on right away. Smart man. Matt can't help answering that grin with a smaller smile of his own. ]
I don't know if it'd get us out, [ he cautions, taking a step closer. His heartbeat picks up to match, pit-a-pat for the proximity. ] But if you're down to experiment ...
[ As it were. ]
Can I kiss you?
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Sure.
[ A little gruff. His pupils are huge, iris shaded a light orange around them; this is not quite his first time kissing a human since he turned, he managed to kiss Alicent without ripping her throat out, but it was - a close thing. So he almost looks like he's bracing himself for it, forcing himself to take slow, even breaths, to think of Matt's lips and skin rather than the tiny blood vessels that make his lips pink, the throb of it through him.
Daniel's lips are harder, somehow, than they were the last time they did this; cooler, firmer, less human. He's careful not to drop his fangs, but when he puts hands on Matt's body there's a strength there that he's still learning to control, all of him held back, coiled tight. ]
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As for the kiss, Matt meets Daniel's lips slowly, almost tentatively. But as soon as their mouths meet, he can't help it: His lips fall slightly open, a warm sigh escaping. His heart speeds.
And he makes a soft oh, amused, at Daniel's grip. His fingers land light as an insect's wings on his shoulders. ]
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A slow, deep kiss, taking no quarter when it comes to licking into Matt's mouth. Hands rucking his clothes as they slide tight and hard up his waist and back to his hips. If Matt is barely a moth's brush, Daniel wants him pinned to the board. Wants the blood not just synced between them but flowing, shared. Wants to β
No. Breathing. Easing up a little, though not breaking the kissβ just trying to wrestle back control so he doesn't sink his razor fangs into the pulsing, blood-fat muscle of Matt's tongue. ]
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Matt takes a half-step forward, swaying into him. His chest lifts, brushing Daniel's chest as he sucks in another greedy breath--
And as Matt inhales, the pair of them begin to lift off the ground. Heels first, toes trailing slightly behind. As if some warm, invisible breeze is raising them up with cloud-fingered hands. ]