𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄 ▣ SEPT TDM

[saltburnmods]

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 — 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 « NEW CHARACTER/IN GAME» 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 isn’t, stay in bed and wallow — eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe it’s normal for you. Maybe it isn’t.

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 — have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Haven’t 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

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐘: 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.
𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐊𝐀: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐘𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐘: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
𝐎𝐄𝐔𝐅𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐒: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
𝐄𝐆𝐆 𝐌𝐂𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐇: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.

THE SWEETS

❖ momofuku's "cereal milk" ❖
❖ fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss ❖
❖ a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping ❖
❖ a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling ❖
❖ poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection ❖

If you want to leave, you’ll 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 he’s as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, there’s no reason why you can’t 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 doesn’t want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they can’t 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 doesn’t dissipate, though — 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, it’s 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 — 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 — 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 you’ve 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 — but really, you haven’t had any trouble with that, here. Have you?

If you’re thirsty, the house has tasked RICHIE, CARMY, and SANJI (dressed as cabana boys) with an extensive poolside drinks menu, since they’ve 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 you’re 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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

taken
activity check
setting

reserves
rewards
rules

applications
hiatus & drop
faq

Comments

koby | opla | current character

[kobes]

i. itsy bitsy teenie weenie

[It's still very strange to swim inside, in Koby's opinion, but when the party ramps up (right on schedule, he notes, jotting it down into the ongoing calendar he's keeping before heading downstairs), he's there, of course. The cycles of Saltburnt mean that there'll likely be new, confused, fearful arrivals, and Koby can't resist the urge to help out. If you're one of those, he'll be there, smiling and gently earnest as he guides you away from the crowd and squeezes your shoulder, reassuring:] It's all right, I know. It's a lot. It's a lot, isn't it? Just focus on breathing, you'll be okay. It'll be all right.

[Despite it being a pool party, and Koby being an adept swimmer (unlike some people; looking at you, Luffy, if you get too close to the water be prepared to be dragged back to a safe voyeur-chair), he's wearing cut-offs and a loose button-down, rather than any appropriate swim attire. He's used to swimming in the godawful-early parts of the morning, without an audience, so he'll stay put in his lounge chair, reading placidly (some biography of Abraham Lincoln he's definitely read twice before) and periodically glancing up over his glasses at any shirtless guy who walks by. Feel free to catch him thirsting, he's not subtle. Bracelet-wise, he'd agonized for a while over which color was appropriate, hovering his hand over green and purple for a while before just snatching a pink one and retreating to his chair. Everything here is complicated, right? Don't ask him about it, though, he'll die and/or unconvincingly lie about it matching his hair.

Eventually, though, Koby stands up -- to refill a drink, to go say hi to someone, something, and something happens. Maybe he swerves to avoid one of Portia's oblivious, spraytanned friends, maybe he slips in a puddle of pool water, maybe one of the aforementioned friends decides to hipcheck him, who knows. However it happens, he loses his footing and topples, fully clothed, into the pool with a terrific splash.

Bursting out of the water, gasping, Koby glares (squints, his glasses are at the bottom of the pool now) up at the women, treading water for a moment before swimming over to the shallow end. His shirt is sodden, clinging, white fabric made translucent, and as soon as his feet touch the smooth tile, Koby is standing upright and peeling it off. And -- yes, he tends towards baggier clothes, and gives the impression of being very small and breakable, but he works out every damn morning and it's started to show. If you aren't one of the people who regularly sees him shirtless, it may come as somewhat of a shock that doe-eyed, crybaby, library-nerd Koby has abs.

Heedless of his own swole era hard-launch, Koby sloshes to the side of the pool, dumping his shirt there and looking up at the nearest person with a put-upon, grim smile.] Hi. Can you see my glasses from up there? Just point me in the right direction and it'll get them. They're purple, they should be easy to see.

ii. fruits of labour | cw: mention of past blood drinking/cannibalism, panic attacks

[Festivals should be joyous affairs, should be carefree and celebratory and a chance to relax after a long, hot summer. But the change in leaves, in scenery sends sparks of panic down Koby's spine, remembering not the market days in the village of his childhood, nor the festivals in the many ports Alvida's ship had passed through (viewed through a porthole, round and barred, from the dank, chilly, loneliness of the hold).

Instead, he thinks of the village, of the stop in-between then and now, and how when they'd arrived, it had also been harvest time. And then the weather had turned, colder and colder and colder, and everything had been ice and snow and desperate, mindless, all-consuming hunger. For a boy used to mild, tropical climates, the endless devastation of a snowy winter remains alien, strange. What will Saltburnt bring when it's too cold to go outside? What if the bone-deep hunger for (meat, flesh, blood) returns?

It's that thought in the back of Koby's mind when he attends the various festival events -- the scavenger hunt especially takes his attention, the need to be good at everything rearing it's head once more. He takes it intensely seriously, of course, and if distracted will be visibly impatient for whoever he's talking to just get on with it.

The maze, too, is approached and challenged, Koby certain that his newfound ability to sense people will help -- he'll just fixate on someone's presence outside the maze and follow that to the end. Except once he's in, too close to nightfall, having been distracted by some dumb festival game, it's like that carefully-honed sense, practiced daily, flexed again and again like a newfound muscle is just: gone. Completely gone. Like it was never there.

Having relied too heavily on this solution, Koby hadn't fully scoped out the maze externally like he should've, hadn't made careful notes or kept an eye on who (if anyone) had made it out successfully, so he could grill them for tips. Instead he's stuck making educated guesses as night falls, gnawing his lower lip bloody, fidgeting and picking at his nails the way he hasn't done in a long, long time. If he stumbles into anyone, he offers a pained, glassy-eyed, near-panicked look, jerking his chin up towards the sky.] The sky is all -- off. I've been trying to orient myself with the stars, but they're wrong. [A laugh, high, shaky, a little unhinged.] I didn't know they could do that. I didn't know they could change the stars.

iii. wildcard

[feel free to wildcard anything with koby -- also definitely open to confessing secrets, handfasting, the festival at the end of the week, etc. permissions, ping me at ceedawkes for any other ideas!

pool party;

[perfectionner]

[ Lestat typically prefers to inhabit the pool when it's mostly empty — or alongside another for intimate company — so he's not swimming, at least next to some of the other guests who might be taking advantage of the refreshing, cool water.

Instead, he lingers around the edge of the pool, wearing a light linen shirt and a matching pair of trousers, his blonde hair air-dried into waves and cropped short and one of the green bracelets around his wrist. To those who have glimpsed him in person, he seems much heartier than his last notable appearance, but for the ones he has only spoken with over their phones, they won't know the difference.

After spotting one young man reading in a lounge chair, Lestat proceeds to approach, fingers lightly clutching a glass of something secured from one of the designated cabana boys earlier, and then drops into the open chair beside the reader, extending his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankle. ]

It must be a good book, if it's holding your interest that strongly.

[kobes]

[Koby's somewhere around the Gettysburg Address -- a high point of the book, once he figures out annotating and highlighting, it's Over -- but the voice makes him startle a bit, looking up through glasses that have slipped down his nose. He clears his throat, pushes them back up with a knuckle, taking in the unfamiliar man for a moment.

Then he offers a smile, carefully cautious, trying (and failing) to place the accent.] It's one of my favorites, yeah. I've read a couple other biographies, but this one's the best. He doesn't exist in my world -- Lincoln, I mean. So I like, um...reading about him.

[He has a crush on a dead president, don't make fun of him.]

[perfectionner]

[ It's still a rather surreal feeling — even for Lestat, a vampire who has so often challenged himself to see how long he can withstand the creeping sunrise — to be sitting out beneath the rays that seemingly cause no harm to him at all.

The real question, he thinks, is precisely how long something like this will last; he's under no illusions that he won't throw back his bedroom curtains one morning and be met with excruciating pain from the same light he turns his face up towards now, allowing himself to bask in its warmth like a cat seeking a treasured patch of sun. ]

I don't often pay attention to American politics. [ Though he has made an effort to avoid ending up on the wrong side of the law — or the IRS, for that matter. On paper, Lestat de Lioncourt is a tax-paying citizen; beyond that, he cares little for human affairs. ]

Though if memory serves, Lincoln was... among the more well-liked in his position. [ For a variety of reasons, even if his tenure had been radically cut short. Yet something in that response pokes at Lestat's curiosity. ] Does your world not contain presidents at all?

[kobes]

No? Why not? [Interesting – the accent isn’t like the ones Koby’s heard thus far, lilting and nearly musical in a way that reminds him of different seas, different islands. At this point, though, he anticipates that anyone he meets is from a similar world to the one Saltburnt dwells in – an Earth, with continents and history and governments very unlike the ones he knows. The languidly lounging blond man must be from one of said continents (not America, which seems overwhelmingly popular).

Tucking the front flap of the dust jacket into the pages to save his spot, Koby sits up a little straighter, shifting so he’s cross-legged, book in his lap.] He was, overwhelmingly, but – not by everyone. His security seems alarmingly lax, too, especially so soon after a war. [Koby thinks he probably could’ve done a better job. He could’ve saved Lincoln and earned his eternal gratitude and then they would’ve become best friends and...]

Ah, no. We have the World Government and the Marines and then various pirate Warlords and Emperors and things. Nothing democratically elected, really. [He drums his fingers on the book for a moment, thoughtfully.] Democracy seems to have…pros and cons to it.

maze

[theminotaur]

[ abigail has been trying to get into this maze since day one. she is a midwestern girl, corn mazes are her bread and butter. tim talked her out of it the first time, but the wolfman has been taken care of so there is nothing to stop her now. plus, she knows there is a gold pumpkin in here.

there has to be.

instead of finding a pumpkin she narrowly avoids walking directly into koby, jumping out of the way so she doesn't collide with him. ]

You're supposed to stay to the left in mazes and that doesn't work either.

[ abigail is not panicking yet. mostly because she is fairly certain that if she screams, louis will find her. and, you know, midwestern girl. you can't panic in a corn maze. ]

[kobes]

-- ah, sorry. [It's mumbled automatically as Koby skitters to one side, jumpy as a frightened forest creature, gnawing furiously at a ragged fingernail as he looks up at the sky again. He's not full-on freaking out, but it's close, evident in his tense body language, the way he doesn't quite focus on Abigail right away.

But he finally swallows hard, forces his arms to cross over his chest so he stops biting his nails. He's not alone, at least, not anymore, for better or worse.] It doesn't, no. I don't think we're -- supposed to get out. I keep hearing --

Do you hear it too? [Stopping himself before explaining, because it sounds insane, because it is insane. If she's hearing the low, distant bellowing sound, like an angry bull, she'll know what he means.]

[theminotaur]

The minotaur.

[ abigail is a proponent of personal space, or more accurately she is a proponent of people staying out of her personal space until she chooses otherwise, which she does now with koby. her little hand reaches out to pat his arm.

there there. ]

I don't think he's really a monster.

[kobes]

The who? [The touch makes Koby spook a little, like a nervous forest creature, but he drops his bitten nails and focuses on Abigail, on the warmth of her small hand against his arm. The word is weird, taking him a moment to place, flicking mentally through the (frankly copious) amount of books he’s read over the past several months.

Finally:] The minotaur. From the story? You think –

[He breaks off, swallowing tightly, thinking about that legend, about what happened to the people in it. Still, he trusts Abigail – a bond forged in the fires of snail-feeding – so he doesn’t immediately try to argue.] You don’t think he’s a monster?

pool, of course;

[longitudinal]

( cw: probably even vaguely smutty stuff at some point sooooo... )

[ having heard tale of the parties beginning to crop up round the manor grounds, quentin gets dressed for the pool and heads that way. it's crowded, enough that he can't quite pick out all the faces even as he is directed toward a table with drinks and bracelets.

he's just setting down his green cup and bracelet when he hears a very, very familiar voice accompanied by the plop of wet fabric. turning, he blinks down at koby, shirtless in the pool and though he's touched and mapped that body a thousand times before now, seeing it in the open light of the pool area with sun streaming in from outside? well. he needs a moment, and squats at the edge of the pool.

oh, he does see his glasses. he'll dive in and get them in a moment for him, but for now he reaches to brush a flop of wet, pink hair out of his face. ]

Captain, seems you've fallen overboard. Let me help, hm?

[ he peels off his own dry shirt, leaving him in form-fitting, black swim shorts, the only thing the house has given him. it's elegant, practiced, the way he dives into the pool, disappearing under the surface with barely a splash. when he resurfaces? it's right behind koby, body flush, and he passes his glasses over his shoulder to him. ]

[kobes]

[There's a brief moment of squinting, up against the light, through the fringe of his soaking wet hair, before Koby's weary, put-upon expression melts into one of immense fondness, recognition. He grins up at Quentin, laughing and leaning on the side of the pool, still catching his breath.]

It seems so. Man the lifeboats. [It's bemused, and Koby's more than ready to continue the light banter, to maybe rise up out of the pool like a soggy mermaid and steal a kiss, but now Quentin's peeling his shirt off and instead of that, Koby's making a very undignified sound like he hasn't seen this man shirtless multiple times. He's still staring when Quentin dives into the pool, graceful and elegant, and he's only just thought about turning around when there's the warmth of a wet, broad-shouldered body pressed to his back.

Craning his neck to one side, Koby accepts the glasses with a sigh of relief, turning them over a couple times to check for cracks -- not a one, thank goodness, he doesn't know how he'd get a prescription pair here. Then he perches them in his damp hair, turning around in the space between Quentin and the side of the pool to grin up at him. One hand reaches up, smooths back his sodden curls, thumbs over his cheekbone familiarly, affectionately.] There they are, safe and sound. How can I ever thank you enough, kind, heroic stranger?

[longitudinal]

Even in this strange pool with it's chemical-laden water, he already feels a little more at home, a little more like himself. Even more so with Koby bodied between him and the pool wall, an easy and doggish grin pulling across his lips.

"I'm sure I can think of something," he teases, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss against Koby's mouth, letting one arm fall into the water so he can smooth a hand up his bare side.

"You really should think about taking your shirt and glasses of before you jump in next time."

Another tease, because he'd seen it of course. But when Koby pets back his hair, there's no denying the way his eyes flick to the little bracelet around his wrist. He doesn't say anything yet, just dips to kiss him one more time before he splashes a little water at him.

[kobes]

There's a momentary kick up in Koby's heartrate at being kissed in public, in the daylight, with most of the other house guests around them. It's not that he assumes Quentin would want to hide this, except -- except there's a level of pride to it, a level of soft, sweet casual affection that Koby's not used to experiencing so visibly. Kiss him in the dark, in the secluded safety of their rooms, in the heated press of Otherworld, that all makes sense.

But kissing him here, pressed up against the side of the pool, warm and wet and close, smiling against his mouth like nothing's strange, nothing's new, is -- more than Koby had let himself hope for. More than he'd thought to ask, from Quentin, from anyone. It's like being chosen, being seen, and it makes something old and scarred-over in his chest ache a bit, makes the bracelet bracketing his wrist feel too tight, suddenly. Maybe it doesn't have to be complicated. Maybe it can be simple, this time.

It certainly feels like it, with the pulse of the music and the light splash of the too-clean water and the warmth of Quentin's hand finding the dip of his waist. "I'll think about it, next time I jump in." Koby smiles, tugs at a long, loose curl, then chases after that kiss until he's splashed. Then he gasps, mock offended. "How dare you. Insubordination and mutiny." And he splashes Quentin right back, a little flick of water, grinning so wide it's impossible to maintain the facade of being offended.

i. itsy bitsy teenie weenie

[lessnosey]

[Koby is in the middle of ushering some poor soul and letting them know everything's alright, when suddenly there's something suspiciously shaped like two index fingers jabbing into Koby's back — ]

I'm here to take all you got, stranger.

Don't bother fighting back against one of the best pirates alive.

[Ha! He's doing a little goof. Saw Koby and immediately got too excited to reintroduce himself to their marine pal like a normal person. Behold, when you turn around — Usopp the bold and brave and beautiful, wearing the most yellow trunks and a pair of those swimming goggles with the nose protector around his neck.]

[kobes]

[The big, cool, suave, chill marine guy makes a squeaky, gasping sound that is definitely not dignified or cool whatsoever, practically jumping out of his skin and/or falling into the pool again. There's a brief thought of maybe if I turn around really fast I can punch whoever it is, but, thankfully, the fact that it feels less like a weapon and more like fingers has Koby whirling around first to check.

And then he breaks into a very delighted grin -- more delighted than is warranted after only meeting Usopp once or twice, but. We'll get to that later.]

It's -- you're here! Usopp! [Wow, he even knows the guy's name -- it's been spoken enough times by the rest of the Straw Hats, like a prayer, like a ward against everything cold and dark and dangerous.] When did -- you just got here? Have you found the others yet?

[lessnosey]

I'm here!

[He looks chuffed about it, too. Totally doesn't know this place has some hideous underbelly of potential horror, but that's fine. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it! For now, it's only the coolest manor he's ever been to. After Kaya's, of course!]

Just got here before the party, really. I ran into Nami, but I know everyone else is around here somewhere; Sanji's probably in the kitchen somewhere... and knowing Zoro, he's probably lost out in a maze or something... but man! What are the chances? This place must think we're all pretty awesome.

itsy bitsy

[dead_tongue]

[Some people are just natural peacocks. Even in the world's smallest briefs, Ignatius Melville radiates look at me I'm a fancy boy!

It's a talent.

One he catches Koby appreciating. So Iggy smiles, revealing imperfect teeth, and pads over.]

Hi, cutie. Love the glasses. Have we met? I've never been here before, but it feels weirdly familiar all the same.

iggyyyyy~

[kobes]

[Oh, no, perceived. Koby blinks a few times, rapidly, dragging his eyes away from the (so tiny, so tiny) little swim shorts and trying to meet the guy’s eyes instead. He manages a strained smile, resisting the urge to hide behind his book.]

Uhm – no? No, I don’t – I don’t think so? [It comes out in a squeak, which is horrific, he’s going to drown himself in the pool.] I don’t – I mean. I haven’t seen you around? Before?

kobyyyyy!

[dead_tongue]

[Iggy stands there, shameless, hips forward, one hand playing with his curls. He's still smiling.]

No? Well. Then I guess I'm lucky to be meeting you now.

[He looks Koby over, deliberately obvious.]

What are you reading?

amazing.

[unapparent]

[ in daylight, alicent has explored the maze with embry at her side, a lighter endeavor than she's engaged in since she was a girl. it helps that embry takes nothing and no-one seriously, any nerves lost in her stifled laughter.

not so, now. the hedges seems to shift in the fading light, shadowy and ill-defined. she followed koby inside precisely because of the sinking feeling in her stomach. he isn't one her boys, but he must someone's. her unease bears fruit when they turn a corner that looks suspiciously familiar for the third time, her teal skirts dirtied by the ground, and his voice pitches higher. ]

Perhaps it is not the stars we saw from the manor, but an imitation. [ a painting that gives the impression of depth and distance, manipulated at the balfours' whims. she prefers that to giving them godly power over the very skies. with a tip of her head to the side, she places a delicate hand on his shoulder and squeezes. ] Let us lower our eyes to what we can touch.

[ if helaena were here, she might utter one of her strange musings. we find our way out by diving in, or the like.

alicent angles toward the hedges, reaching out to snag her fine sleeve on a pointed branch. as she jerks her arm back, she manages to leave a shred of fabric behind. ]

[kobes]

[It’s an odd irony – Koby is nobody’s, nobody son, nobody’s to worry about, an orphan from a long line of orphans. But when they turn this most recent corner, and his voice pitches into despair, there’s an instinct driving him to step closer, to seek – something. Comfort, maybe, an embarrassing and shameful sort of urge. This is the sort of situation where he should take charge, should remain confident and calm and be the level-headed one. He’s supposed to be an authority, a soldier, not a frightened child.

Alicent’s voice is soft, soothing, and her hand on his slumped, hunched shoulder prompts him to stand a little taller, lifting his chin and taking in a deep breath.] Maybe. Or maybe this is the illusion, but – either way, one of them isn’t real. [Koby lets out the breath, closes his eyes for a beat, centering himself. Pushing the anxiety, the fear down into a little corner, a box which he shuts and seals away.

When he opens his eyes, it’s with a thoughtful, keen glance at the shred of fabric, immediately putting the pieces together.] Marking our path is smart – how attached are you to your dress? The skirts will slow you down, but we can use them to mark our way out, then you can run if we need to... [A hesitation, then, apologetically:] I can cut it shorter, but – only if you’re okay with that.

[unapparent]

[ The tear thrills, for how something so small, so insignificant would incite scandal in the court: The Lady Alicent in a state unbefitting a queen, muddied and unkempt as a serving boy. It calls to mind Rhaenyra's girlhood rebellion, tearing pages from the Septa's books with abandon. A young Alicent would gasp and squeal in horror. Gods, what was the point of it all?

Before her, Koby straightens under her palm, rising the barest inch above her. The keen light in his eye speaks of hope and promise, buoyed by his musings. They may yet find their way in the dark before they need to run.

Another squeeze, and she leans forward, voice conspiratorial. ]

I have more dresses than I shall ever be able to wear, Koby. [ Dropping her hands to her skirts, she lifts them obligingly, so he might tear from the bottommost layers, above her stockinged ankle. ] And they are only things, compared to you and I. Let us shred this one to ribbons, if needs must, and make our way out with haste.

wildcard 🔥🔥🔥

[semicharmed]

[ The pool party was fun, with its abundance of paints and expression, its opportunities to inscribe beautiful things onto equally beautiful canvases. But Matt finds that amid the carnival atmosphere of the harvest festival, his mood has started to sour.

Some of it is time going by. Summer felt like an eternal moment, unchanging amber globule of sweat and sex and discovery (and sometimes cannibalism). The chill in the evening air reminds him he won't be starting over anytime soon. No school, no internship, no harnessing his magic to serve the city he lives in. He's still trapped. On a simpler level, the changes to the grounds remind him that something's coming. And if past is prelude, it'll probably be something bad.

When the bonfires are lit, Matt wanders among them, but not to partake. He finds himself looking to the base of the fires, superstitiously afraid he'll catch a glimpse of charred bone or familiar clothes.

What he notices first is paper.

Matt blinks, staring as the pages glow orange, then blacken and curl. A moment later, he looks up to see-- ]

Koby?

yesssssss

[kobes]

[It’s dusk, the bonfires more for show than any practical reasons – though the gardeners do feed them with trimmings and branches from the hedges, heaving them in great bunches to make them spark and flare higher towards the twilit sky. Koby’s been careful about his task, carrying a stack of files through the numerous bonfires – not in the least bit uncommon for him, by now. Nearly everyone’s seen the earnest young man cart huge armfuls of books or papers or files around the estate, which almost has him able to hide in plain sight.

Still, he’s cautious whenever he comes to the base of a fire, smoothly pulling a carefully-sized portion of papers from the file on top of his stack, not so small that it’ll float away on the breeze, but not so thick that it won’t burn easily. Koby tosses the portion of notes – some typed, some handwritten, diagrams and maps and lists – into the flames, lingers long enough to ensure that the writing isn’t easily visible, then moves on. He has it down to a science.

Once he’s further away from the crowd, Koby feels more relaxed crouching down and pulling out the paper, tossing it into the coals of one fire and pausing to catch his breath. It’s here that Matt finds him, making him stand upright, like he’s about to bolt, clutching his much-diminished stack of files to his chest.]

Oh. Matt. Hi. You – startled me.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's a bit startled himself. At least, his eyes are wide in the fire's orange gleam, flickering between Koby and the burning pages. Koby clutches his remaining papers to his chest, and Matt's gaze follows the movement before landing on Koby's face. ]

What are you doing? [ he asks.

On one level, it's obvious. And Matt's in favor of infosec in theory, if rarely in practice. But he cherishes his own notes and occult scribblings, even his stupid doodles like the one he'd sent Alina. He can't imagine parting with them like Koby's doing, unless the act of burning them was some sort of ritual in itself.

The fire is too warm to linger by; Matt steps back, pushing the sleeves of Alia's pink sweatshirt up past his elbows. ]