draino | 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄 ▣ SEPT TDM

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𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄 ▣ 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 — 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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

i. itsy bitsy teenie weenie | cw: eye trauma

[Though Alia definitely prefers her swims in the lake outside, with nothing on at all, all water is sacred and to be cherished, and she can't pass up the opportunity for a cute outfits. Plus she enjoys being waited on, peeking over the tops of her sunglasses to smile sweetly at all the cabana boys, nudging out one pink-painted foot to nudge at their thighs. In fact, she isn't that picky -- if you pass by her, she'll reach out one small hand and catch your arm, tugging gently and smiling with all her teeth.] Bring me another drink. [It's not a request, but there's no lilt of the Voice in her words either -- she's just tipsy enough to assume everyone will obey her just because.

But then, grinning even wider, impossibly, uncannily:] Bring me another drink and I'll tell you about my rites and visions. [There's an offer nobody can refuse, right?

Later, when the sky darkens, the fireworks start, and something in Alia goes tense, tight, remembers -- the stone burner, the sky bright with blood, Paul's solemn, serious, loving blue-in-blue eyes seared away, seared blind, the beginning of the end, the first step down a sheer cliff, the descent deadly and unstoppable -- and she backs away, shoulders tense, body rigid, head shaking hard, thinking: blood on the sand, a man staggering away, the tether that held her solid stretching, stretching, snapping.

Turning, Alia grabs for whoever's closest, uncharacteristically vulnerable, hiding her face against their chest, whole body trembling as the confession spills out:] I failed him, I failed, he loved and loved and the universe punished him for it and I couldn't stop it...

ii. fruits of labour

[The pool party truly seems to be the last hurrah of summer, and there's a chill note in the air for the festival, so Alia pulls on something a bit less revealing and sets off to see what trouble she can get into. Games tend not to amuse her -- she prefers more physical matches of strength, rather than chance -- but once it's pointed out that she can win stuffed animal prizes...

Well, Alia ends up standing, hands on her hips, at the dart-throwing booth, arguing with the vendor, likely due to the fact that the small, plastic bullseye has a very large crysknife sticking out of it's shattered center. Alia scowls, waving a hand towards the knife.] I hit the mark. Isn't that the point of the game? You hit the mark, you win. I win. Give me the plush chicken or I'll stab you. You think that was my only knife?

[Later, Alia will be distracted enough by the strangely addictive taste of the lush fruits spread along the banquet table that she won't notice that she's been tied to another person. It isn't until she reaches for a handful of deep purple plums and finds someone else being dragged along that she pauses, frowning over at her newly-fastened partner.]

Hm. Do we need to consummate the marriage before we're untied, I wonder? [She says it lightly, grabbing the plums with her free hand and biting into the rich, purplish-red flesh. Juice drips down her chin, vivid as blood, falling to puddle on her chest.] I can't imagine there isn't a catch like that.

iii. wildcare

[permissions here, feel free to ping ceedawkes with any other ideas! open to multiple hits on handfasting and firework confessions, too~

Edited 2024-09-07 23:33 (UTC)

[ quentin has just hoisted himself out of the pool near the deeper end, coming to stand upright and head back to get another drink when he feels the hand on his arm and he turns, blinks down at pretty little blond thing with a wide smile. it takes him aback enough that he laughs, brows raised. ]

Oh, who am I to refuse the lady of the sands?

[ it's been a while - he'd talked to her briefly on the network, he knows, and had koby keenly point her out one day some time ago. ]

Or the offering of rites and visions. I hope the vision is a good one, one with me in it perhaps, your drink, and other fantastical things. What were you drinking? Or should I surprise you?

[Alia’s wide-set eyes blink then, at last, curious and long-lashed like some strange forest creature, before her smile widens even more, somehow, every tooth on display. She holds it for a moment, the soft ripple of her consciousness reaching out, gentle as seafoam, to touch his, to form around him and identify who he is. She probes gently, not invasive, not cruel, like a child examining creatures in tide pools, fingertips prodding lightly at the tendrils of anemones and the smooth carapaces of crabs.

Then she leans back, curls her lips back over her sharp, sharp teeth, pursing them to sip at the dregs of her pink, carbonated drink.]

My visions are as changing as the dunes, but I think, perhaps – if you surprise me with your libations, your fortunes will blow in on favorable winds. [Another slurp, rattling the ice, then offering the cup.] Yes, I’m quite certain. A surprising tribute from a surprising man, and I shall tell you all I see.

With an umbrella. [A decisive nod.] A surprise with an umbrella in it, if you please.

[ the press of her on his mind is a strange, unsettling sensation at first - but it's gentle, prodding, kind, warm. the magic in him innately flares against something of like kind, and yes - in his magical eye he can see her. find her. a ripple of ocean from a world with only sand.

he tilts his head down at her, brow pinching, bewildered and curious. ]

You'll tell me all you see with an umbrella? [ an easy tease, a silly grin pulling across his lips and he shrugs, taking her empty cup and rattling the ice once before he drains whatever's left in the back of it with a cheeky wink. ]

I'll return shortly.

[ he doesn't lie - he's back after too long with a drink of his own and one for her. The one brought for her is brightly colored, like it might be fruity, but instead has a deep, rich burn, like cinnamon on the back of the tongue smoothly rolling its way down. and oh yes, there's a little pink umbrella perched in it, with some fruit left to float. ]

I hope I don't disappoint.

[Alia finds that small, glimmering spark immediately, snatches it up like a scrap of gold amongst the sands, turning it over in her mind and caressing it’s bright surface. Like calls to like, Alina had said once, and she believes it, believes there is something resonating beneath her breastbone that sings in delight whenever it finds a similar soul.

So she tucks back into her seat, watches the broad-shouldered shape of the man cross to the bar, make a selection, explain it to the bartender and ensure her requested umbrella is plopped into the bright liquid before his return. Alia’s mind reaches out eagerly as he does, fearless and warm, curling purring around the shape of his thoughts like a satisfied cat.]

There’s no faulting your service, at the very least. [She teases it, accepting the drink and sipping at the vivid pink, eyes immediately brightening at the unexpected warmth of spices curling over her tongue. An approving hum, and Alia reaches out her free hand to gesture at the nearby seat.]

Sit, sit. I’ll tell you my vision of the sea, of the starchild that fell to it’s waves. Sit.

[ the pressure of something in his mind unsettles him, unmoors him in a way that someone with vertigo might feel, someone who hasn't yet gotten his sealegs beneath him. it makes him think of tatiana, the way her illusions and mirrors would warp his vision and his mind whenever she practiced on him. whenever they dreamed of escaping together.

he smiles through it all though, easy and pliant, enjoying the humid heat of the pool room and the cool drink. ]

You asked, I couldn't disappoint.

[ another grin as he takes up the seat beside her, dark eyes watching her, curious. ]

Visions of the sea? I'm jealous. The sea is a beautiful thing to be able to imagine.

I am most pleased. [Warm, lofty, another sip of her drink making Alia relaxed, looselimbed. It’s the closest she’s felt to imbibing the spice of home, and it has her speaking more candidly, more freely than perhaps she might’ve.]

I have them often – my home is desert, all sands, and no water to be found besides hidden pools and crags and what we can reclaim from the air and our own bodies. But I dream of the sea, home and here.

[Alia turns her strange, wide-eyed gaze on Quentin, the press of her mind careful, still, just skimming off the top of his emotions, his thoughts, plucking what she may from that.] I had a vision of a spark of light, a starchild, who fell to the sea and was found by a ship. The stars missed him so much, they gave him some of their light to dwell within him, while he was trapped on the waves.

[Meaningfully, Alia seeks out that spark within Quentin again, nuzzling against it like a purring cat.] I was just wondering what such a gift from the stars might be. Can you guess?

alia atreides | dune | current character

pool; ur stuck with me ig

a gift!!

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