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draino2024-09-07 10:00 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-09-07 10:00 am
Entry tags:
๐ ๐๐๐'๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ โฃ 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 โ 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 ยซ NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEยป 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 isnโt, stay in bed and wallow โ eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe itโs normal for you. Maybe it isnโt.
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 โ have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenโt 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.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐: 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.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
โ momofuku's "cereal milk" โ
โ fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss โ
โ a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping โ
โ a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling โ
โ poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection โ
If you want to leave, youโll 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 heโs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereโs no reason why you canโt 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 doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt 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 doesnโt dissipate, though โ 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, itโs 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 โ have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenโt 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
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐: 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.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
THE SWEETS
โ fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss โ
โ a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping โ
โ a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling โ
โ poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection โ
If you want to leave, youโll 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 heโs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereโs no reason why you canโt 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 doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt 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 doesnโt dissipate, though โ 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, itโs 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 โย 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 โ 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 youโve 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 โ but really, you havenโt had any trouble with that, here. Have you?
If youโre thirsty, the house has tasked RICHIE, CARMY, and SANJI (dressed as cabana boys) with an extensive poolside drinks menu, since theyโve 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 youโre 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 โย 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 โ 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 youโve 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 โ but really, you havenโt had any trouble with that, here. Have you?
If youโre thirsty, the house has tasked RICHIE, CARMY, and SANJI (dressed as cabana boys) with an extensive poolside drinks menu, since theyโve 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 youโre 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 โ 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 โ 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 โย 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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 โย 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 โ 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 โ 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
pearl โข original โข new character
๐ฒ๐ฝ๐ผ๐ ๐ซ๐ฒ๐ฝ๐ผ๐ ๐ฝ๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ท๐ฒ๐ฎ ๐๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ท๐ฒ๐ฎ
๐ต๐ช๐ด๐ฎ ๐ฒ๐ท๐ฝ๐ฎ๐ป๐ต๐พ๐ญ๐ฎ
๐๐ฒ๐ต๐ญ๐ฌ๐ช๐ป๐ญ
itsy bitsy :)
he misses his wardrobe.
always with a drink in hand, this time filling his own blue solo cup with a dubious cocktail, he's enjoying the view. then a bracelet suddenly crops up into his peripheral, attached to a slender arm, and a beautiful woman.]
It means you're available, but not exactly single.
no subject
How is that different from complicated? [ she lifts the pink bracelet. ]
no subject
Oh, complicated is kind of [everything is complicated, what is he saying] - say you're in a relationship, but the terms haven't been defined yet, or you're married and you're not in love, or it's unrequited. That's complicated.
no subject
she flicks the green band away. open does not suit her purposes. she isn't certain that complicated suits her purposes either but yet, it is complicated. everything is complicated. ]
I think perhaps I'm more used to the simplicity of married or marriageable.
no subject
[that word again. he's not the person she should be asking. he's had his fair share of sharing, getting used to it, all while having eyes for someone else the entire time.]
I don't think anyone will care if you wear two bracelets, if that helps.
no subject
[ the ones half melded into her body have left her with little desire to wear anything else around her wrists. she gestures at his cup, blue, curiosity lighting on what is generally a solemn expression. ]
You are single? Or you like the color blue.
no subject
[not like there are bracelet police forcing them onto wrists. all heavily encouraged and insinuated, of course, but it's why he only picked up the cup. plus he needed something to drink out of.]
I'm single. [he brings it to his side, no longer within her line of sight. like he's hiding it. a trace of a smile plays on his face.] Why? Just asking?
no subject
[ pearl doesn't smile easily, the natural downturn of her lips makes her look somber more often than not, but mirth dances in her dark eyes. the echo of humor in the easy way she leans forward, chin tilted up toward him. ]
no subject
Would it?
[he glances to the lounger she's on, pausing to create a bit more tension between them as he looks down at her.]
Is it bold to ask to join you?
no subject
[ drawing her legs toward her reveals both space for him to sit and, perhaps to the delight of their hosts, even more bare skin. her attempts to cover up are not fruitful, but she doesn't try very hard. she's all legs. like a child's drawing of a person, a head with legs.
she'd be a poor accidental sailor if she didn't find boldness an asset. ]
Especially since we're not yet acquainted. I'm called Pearl.
no subject
August.
[the space is as much as an invitation he needs to sit down beside her, easing into her space as much as she allows, cup gripped loosely between his legs. he enjoys the subtleties, captivated by her poise.]
It's nice to meet you, Pearl.
no subject
[ it's a small thing, her smile, and as fleeting as a cool sea breeze.
she'd been able to see the magic threaded around him before but now that he is closer the miasma sharpens, threads of rust red, blood and chocolate, blacks that might be red but she would have to be so much closer to tell. delicate blues and greys like the calm sea after a storm loop here and there, spun around the shades of red, pale, nearly swallowed up by the sea of blood threads. curiosity claws at her chest; what on earth can this man do?
her focus was lost somewhere on his chest and her dark eyes flicker up to his face with a soft exhale, another fleeting lift of her lips. ]
May I share your cup?
no subject
he feigns surprise, makes sure that when he hands the cup to her his fingers linger over hers.]
It's bitter. If you don't like it, I'll get you something else.
no subject
it might be bitter but she doesn't think it can be that bad. ]
Why is it bitter? [ she doesn't pull her hand away to taste the drink, enjoying the touch of his hand. ]
no subject
his voice lowers, as if he doesn't want anyone else to hear. a whispered indecency.]
Because I don't like it sweet.
no subject
she finally (reluctantly) draws her hand from his to bring the blue cup to her lips. the tilt of the cup breaks their creepy, intense eye contact as she sips his bitter drink. she prefers a warm ale or a dark wine. her tongue darts out to slide across her lips as she lowers the cup back into his hand, licking up the drink that clings to her. ]
I had feared you wouldn't like me, but if your taste in drinks is any indication that may be unfounded.
no subject
Why wouldn't I like you?
[he takes a large enough swig from his drink to suck a small ice cube into his mouth, rolling it along his tongue before holding it between molars. completely unseen, of course - he holds it between his teeth until it melts, not daring to crunch down on it.]
no subject
[ and she learned about indoor plumbing today. he strikes her very much as a modern man. ]
And that is in lands I'm familiar with. Here I may well be stranger.
no subject
[he brings the cup up close to her mouth, a gentle encouragement. god, his stare is almost harsh in its intensity.]
I can help you. You talk like you need a lot of catching up on.
no subject
literally will pay one of you to take a chill pill. ]
How do I talk?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
welcome
[ It's useless as an answer, but it's also the truth. Amanda stops where she is, a little way down the corridor, with her arms hanging limply by her sides. She blinks. ]
Oh, you're talking to the painting. [ Flatly, but with the tone of someone who's asking completely seriously and interested in the answer: ] Are you delusional?
no subject
[ slow, curious. her head is still fuzzy. the girl stands there like a wraith. it's unsettling. pearl's hand clasp in front of her, all elbows. ]
I wasn't expecting the portrait to talk back to me. It's nice to meet you, Amanda. I'm called Pearl.
no subject
[ She's not saying it back. It's just the principle of the thing. ]
So why are you talking to it? Are you one of those 'thinking aloud' people?
no subject
Whatever potential dangerous aura Pearl might have felt at the idea of a stranger approaching might be eased considerably by the fact that Sayo trips a little on her own two feet, just before stopping at the edge to look down at Pearl with curious, round eyes.]
G-goodness! Did you fall in there?
I can find a stick for you to grab into, if you need it...!
[A motherly concern, and even stranger, a genuine worry that Pearl's in trouble she hadn't meant to be in.]