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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
louis de pointe du lac | interview with the vampire | existing character
dinner;
The humans may not realize the death that cloaks the room, the smell that slowly begins to permeate through the space, but Lestat can β and judging by what he can bear witness to from the other vampires, they are the only ones who are not immune from what is really transpiring here.
He's seated himself near to Louis, on the side opposite from Armand, but rather than hungrily feasting, giving in with ravenous abandon, he studies the display. He knows better, now, than to drink from anyone sight unseen now, pays careful attention to anything that might taste different in the blood, but he'd promised not to let himself go hungry, for Louis' sake as well as his own. ]
Well, we seem to be the guests of honor.
[ Lestat isn't as visibly affected by the spill of fresh blood β not yet, at least β but he does clasp hold of the woman's wrist, tugging to draw her closer into his space. ]
With all the apparent privileges that includes. [ He closes his lips around that slender digit, sucking it clean of blood before letting it slip free. ]
no subject
[ not funny at all, now that the feast has started and the bodies writhe on the table. his eyes follow the movement of lestat's hand, the way he sucks the finger clean from the blood, the way the woman giggles cutely at the gesture. the smell of blood on the air does make him feel a little woozy - a little lightheaded for the hunger of it all. ]
They know what we are - everyone here, the Balfours. Makes you wonder what else that family knows about us.
[ but there's the insistent woman again, purring louis' name and offering what is now a larger, open wound on her wrist. he hadn't seen her cut it open, hadn't seen her do anything other than arch her back prettily for them, and he tilts his head a little, snatching at her arm and giving it a delicate sniff, as though the blood alone could tell him what the source of all this ways.
the crowd around them seems uneasy, of course, a jittering of hysteria beginning to rise like the heat of morning in summer. slowly, to a boil. ]
They're tempting us.
no subject
[ While his outward demeanor doesn't change β he'd sucked from that finger as idly as someone else might pluck an hors d'oeuvres off a passing tray β Lestat's capacity for discernment is drastically more primed, particularly when it comes to the other occupants sitting around the table. The fact that the vampires have all been corraled together, distinctly separated, has him more uneasy than what's been spread out in offering.
Death hangs all around them, but none of the bodies hold the smell of it yet β to drink from a corpse would be critical for a vampire, for there is always that precipice they cannot tip over, the moment when an unforgiving shadow reaches up to grasp hold of them and drag them down into the abyss. Lestat has not met many feral vampires in his time, those who have not been taught to be discerning about feeding from the living as opposed to the dead, but would their hosts know the difference? Or is this display meant to expose them in some other way? ]
There is nothing strange about the blood.
[ At least based on what he can discern through taste, which often clues a vampire in to any number of things, from level of intoxication to more serious illness. But his gaze lingers on Louis, rather than the woman insistently offering her wrist to him, his head inclining slightly. ]
The question now is: will you succumb?
no subject
he hears her say something like oh don't just look at me with those green eyes but it's his eyes that stay focused on lestat, the green of them narrowing, pupils blowing out at the offering. ]
They'll see.
[ and it sounds so foolsih when it leaves his mouth - of course they will. that's the point. those sitting around the table with flowers in their hair are all marked. he wonders, though, if it's the blood in their veins that will protect them from those who fear them most.
the fruit he'd eaten early, rich with blood, makes it impossible to ignore the wrist, the way the blood slithers down her arm and drips into the space between them. he reaches for it, delicate, and bows his head to her wrist, fangs descending and sinking into the flesh until the soft, wet sounds of a vampire feasting can be heard under the din.
it's only a few long drinks he takes before he pulls away, wiping at his mouth and pushing the wrist back at the other vampire. it brings warmth into his cheeks. ]
Why are they all seeing something different? [ it's said a little hazily, the blood rushing hot and sweet through him. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
handfasting
Oh, definitely. A million ideas.
( good ideas? that's questionable. her hand sinks down into his, interlacing their fingers. )
We should hit all the wedding traditions, see if that works. Let's find a champagne bottle you can stomp on.
no subject
he snorts at her idea, looking at her incredulously and curling his fingers against hers. ]
Might as well smash some plates while we're at it. Find you a bouquet to throw.
no subject
I didn't even get my henna done.
( somewhere her zoroastrian ancestors are screaming about tradition. thankfully, parisa has given them plenty to scream about over the years, and since parisa has shown no real signs of becoming a particularly respectable persian girl, they've probably gone hoarse by now. sighing over dramatically she laments, ) I suppose we should just skip to the honeymoon, then. What do you think βΒ Mykonos? The Maldives?
( she does languidly walk them to the alcohol portion of the feast tables, looking for an appropriate bottle of wine. )
no subject
Gotta be somewhere bright and warm so you can enjoy yourself, but it's still comfortable at night, considering.
[ sunlight and all. ] Mykonos - I've been a lot of places but not that one. Could be fun. Plenty of beach and clear water. Sun yourself all day, but make sure to lure a pretty one for me, alright?
[ half a joke, half not. he shouldn't talk so blatantly and crudely about his appetite, but something in the spirit of tonight has him feeling a little lighter. playful. he plucks up a bottle as they approach, turning it - some near fifty year old red. ]
Gonna have to work together to get this cork out. Unless you're hiding some other secret talents I don't know about.
(no subject)
(no subject)
b - hallucination
She is not afraid of the visions, of the scents, of the prickle of eyes on the back of her neck. She can protect herself, and she has her own fangs to bite and tear if needed.
Eyes drawn to one of the 'masters' of the moment, she hears the voice in her mind and feels it run down her spine as she gazes at him. It's not the first time she has felt so captivated, dark, deep eyes fixated on the man as she makes her way over, almost inclined to step down on her knees and crawl to him as a wolf rather than a person.
Head tilted, she gazes at Louis, pale skin highlighted against her dark black dress. ]
I do not care if you bite me.
no subject
he tilts her head, unable to help the way hunger thrums in his veins, the scent of blood all around making him feel like he hasn't fed tonight, even though he has. maybe it's something in the food - in the sticky-sweetness of it, laced with blood. strawberries and iron, savory meats and iron. he regards her, tilting his head a little. ]
And why's that?
[ amused, leaning an elbow on the back of his seat, peering up at her curiously. ]
no subject
[ Why should it bother her? Lauralae might not know the way all the vampires here are connected, but she understands the need for something, a primal burning inside. She can see it when she notes the scent of blood, the way that flesh feels on her fingertips, the metallic burn of it on the tongue. She cannot fault them for something that she too relishes, when her touch is far more mortal than theirs might be.
Her fingers flex, she watches Louis, drinking in his features in a way not dissimilar to how he might devour a creature, interested and inspired all at once. Curious, wondering, and perhaps a little feeling of being impressed. ]
It would not be the first time, for me. I do not think I taste bad.
pool ur gonna get Sick of Me
Louisβs voice β warm, relaxed, calm β makes Koby jump a little, scrunching even more, until the vertebrae in his spine actually creak in protest. Some of the tension ebbs away when he registers who it is, replaced with an embarrassed, sheepish half-smile.]
Glow in the dark? Really? Like β algae or something? [He leans over, wrinkling his nose at the bucket of paint in visible doubt.]
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he sits on the edge of the chair, looking at the way koby hunches over. he's surprised by the scars - while he's had some idea that there was more to koby than met the eye, he'd not expected this. he doesn't say anything about them, though - no need to when koby, save for this moment, has otherwise appeared comfortable in his skin.
he knows the feeling, in a way. how it can seem like eyes pin you in a crowd for being different, acting different. he spent the whole of his early life running from who he was and he's only just now starting to think about who and what he is all over again. he sets the little tubs of paint in a blank spot on the chair, grabbing the first one - a neon pink color. ]
It charges in the light, so when it gets dark, there's something in the paint that makes it glow. A little like the algae, I guess.
[ he opens the container and cups his hand over it. it glows faintly, and he tips it so koby can see - but he'll have to lean over, expose himself to do so. ]
cw: mentions of past unsafe surgery how do i even warn for this, also blood
Whatever the complexities, he's soothed enough to straighten up minutely, lower his crossed arms enough to lean a little closer and examine the container of paint. Since he's filled out a bit more, the scars aren't as vivid and garish as they'd seemed when he was scrawny and underfed, but they're still very visible, running one beneath each pectoral, broad and shiny and jagged. Very jagged, actually, an extremely inexpert job, narrow in some places, wide and crooked in others, ridged and smooth and knotted scar tissue, like the wounds had healed unevenly over time. It's worse where Koby moves the most, closer to his arms, his abs, like he'd pushed himself, torn the stitches open -- the cause of the uneven healing, likely.
He's momentarily distracted by the paint, eyebrows arching at the odd glow beneath the cup of Louis' hand.] Oh, it -- does glow, doesn't it? Huh. [Sitting back up, arms back to their place crossed over his chest, like a reflex, though he's also already turning to offer the bowed ridge of his spine.] And it's safe to use? You're sure?
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[ louis shrugs a little, dipping a finger into the paint curiously. he's keenly aware of the way koby hunches in on himself, the way he covers his body and tries to seem less, when he has no reason to. he knows the feeling - trying to seem like something you're not, covering up something that's impossible to hide and has no reason to stay in the dark.
he rubs the paint between two fingers, looking either way at it before, in a flick of vampire speed, he smudges some on koby's cheek with a sneaky, knowing grin. ]
Mm, don't seem to be turning into anything crazy yet. But you're looking a little green around the gills.
[ so funny, considering some of the paint is actually green. vampire dad jokes. ]
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cw: dysphoria, transphobia just in caaaase, also unsafe surgery/blood~
itsy bitsy teenie weenie
Enjoying the freedom of the moment, right? The lack of judgement, for someone willing to show some tit. She likes the aura of that, even if plenty else might be questionable. She's in the middle of painting blue smiley faces on her breasts when Louis pops in to offer reaching harder places for her, and she grins, her one visible eye twinkling with amusement. Making friends in this place seems like the smart choice, and she's pretty fond of having them.]
As long as you're not drawing anything I'd smack you for later.
[... That's admittedly a pretty short list.]
feast Β΄γ»ΰ½γ»`
(they say the people of skagos eat the flesh of their kin, wretched and wild. the stories frightened her as a girl. the reality chills her now.)
instinctively, she reaches for her children, but the strangers at her side only shake and shriek. they aren't here. her fingers clasp the lip of the table instead, gaze flickering to the head of the feast, where at least one of the honoured guests has begun to indulge. vampires, a term only recently added to her lexicon. blood-drinkers. killers of men. they saved daniel, but that's no guarantee they'll spare her.
she looks for him first, her confidant, her friend β only louis' voice pulls her focus, and she searches the table for his familiar face. ]
You have less teeth than the beasts I know.
[ a flash of the dragon's maw in her mind's eye, an endless gullet lined with razored teeth, big enough to swallow the long table whole. the same calm she felt facing meleys' fire comes to her now, helping her to stand on wobbly legs. if she dies, her suffering ends. if she burns, aegon may yet live, shielded by her charred flesh. ]
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he finds alicent in the crowd and chaos, green eyes searching her expression, watching the way she reaches for something that isn't there. he can see a glimpse of something with many teeth and wild eyes in her mind, the way she stands like a stalwart ballast in a vicious storm. her people, her family, are lucky to have her. ]
I got less teeth than the beasts I know, too.
[ the battlefield of writhing bodies in blood and food turning to dust - they don't need to be among this. louis can feel the temptation of it all, armand's blood coursing through his veins, burning hot from feeding on blood-laced fruits and snacks. he rises from his seat slowly. surveying the chaos around him. ]
Let me make sure you get away from this safely. If you trust me.
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a feverish panic overtakes her neighbours but alicent remains still. in the memory and in the now, her already too-big brown eyes round and wet, looking upon one who might spare her. the princess rhaenys, frightening but fair, atop her scaly steed. louis, friendly but frightening, red-mouth and crowned in flowers. ]
I trust you more than our hosts.
[ and that shall have to be enough. she flits past unimportant questions like how she can hear him or what led to this wretched display in the first place. her attention flits from louis to the door she came through. ]
Which way?
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which way, she asks, and he's gone from her sight across the frenetic table. seconds later, he is behind her, a gentle hand coming to he elbow, his fangs gone but his pupils still blown, his mouth still red. and carefully, across her mind - ]
Let me pull you inside. Double doors to the veranda. Make it look like we're up to something else.
[ cover, careful not to tempt the wild and decaying things on the table. not to tempt any other vampire at the feast with live prey in their eyes. there's a power that radiates from him - a warning to any who might turn their eye - and strangely? alicent will find that no one around them regards her. eyes that might once have been on her turn away, unseeing. ]
Come with me, your grace.
[ said aloud in a low, rumbling whisper, taking one step and holding his hand to her, pleading. ]
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feast;
None of that, even the bags of blood hogging up space in Kobyβs fridge, are the smoking gun he would need to actually make the accusation, but itβs been sloshing about in his head along with his conversation about vampirism with Lexi, the craziness of the wolf man, and every other bit of weirdness and oddity thatβs occurred since he was brought here. Itβs enough that when Louis and Armand are seated at the front and crowned along with the two admitted undead people-eaters, Tim knows what it means before the seemingly willing body-platters are revealed to be food themselves.
Heβs frozen to his seat, shocked and afraid at the brazenness of it all, as if this were some new normal that they all just need to get used to. He canβt. He wonβt. Tim feels the panic rising in him, the need to get far, far away from here seeping into his veins, but he doesnβt realize that heβs staring until the voice in his head β somehow β snaps him out of it. ]
Iβm fine where I am, thanks.
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it's tim who stares at him across the way and the thoughts echoing in his mind sober him despite the churning of blood in his veins. he has no way to run or hide from it all, to hide what he is and play it off like some lapse in memory. oh, no. they've been brought to the table and made kings of it all and stomaching the horrified look on the faces of those he cares about?
well.
tim's voice in his mind, the way he stays still in his seat, the bodies writhing on the table before them. ]
I won't hurt you. I couldn't tell you, I couldn't tell anyone.
[ he should get up and go to him but he stays seated. well, until one of the writhing bodies on the table reaches for him, the man's hands bloody from the food and the carnage beginning. louis is there in a flash, inhuman speed and strength, grabbing the hand and wrenching it away from tim, sending the mindless bait on his way. ]
You shouldn't stay here. I don't... I don't know the nature of some of the others at the table. Not all from the same place.
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The other ones could.
[ Lexi and Astarion. It's not great that there are man-eating monsters here at all, but their being up front about it is at least something that points to their honesty, and implies that they don't intend to eat Tim and all his friends at the earliest opportunity. ]
What is this, Louis?
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he holds his hands up in mock surrender, keeping his distance, his eyes wide as he considers tim. half his mid is on the movement around them, the bodies and panicked patrons alike. the vampires who are less likely to hide their hunger. even he can feel the pull of the veins thumping beneath tim's skin. ]
Don't know what all this is. Something the house has done - none of us knew.
[ he sighs. ] The ones that can reveal themselves - their worlds are different. Dangerous for me to reveal myself and it's in my bones, as much as your faith is in yours.
We need to get you out of here.
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