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draino2024-11-09 08:00 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-11-09 08:00 am
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πππππ, πππππ, πππππ β£ NOV TDM
NOVEMBER 2024 TDM: RENAISSANCE
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."
2 GIRLS 1 CUP
CONTENT WARNINGS: nudity, potential for nsfw.
Over the past few days, a bit of construction has taken place on the grounds of the Saltburnt estate, and while it's difficult to piece together what exactly is being built, it's clear to see: whatever it is, it's massive, taking up a huge percentage of the grounds with multiple included structures. On the outside it seems almost like a neighborhood is being sprung up βΒ new houses for people to live in, maybe? New shops, disconnected from the manor at large? All is revealed on opening day, when upon entry all are greeted with cheery hellos from jauntily clad persons shouting, "Huzzah!" and "Hail and well met!" For the more medieval and fantasy inclined among you, it might feel like stepping somewhere familiar and homey. To the rest, you know β you've just walked into a Ren Faire. Costumes are expected.
Not sure what to wear? Those born between SEPTEMBER to FEBRUARY are dubbed part of the Unseelie Court, which is associated with darkness and decay, generally dressed in deep, dark colors. Those born between MARCH to AUGUST are part of the Seelie Court, which is associated with stars and sky, in lighter, brighter colors.
On either side of the split path, you're assaulted by the scents, sights, and sounds of any ordinary Ren Faire. Vendors pawn off garlicky mushrooms and full turkey legs, or flower crowns and juggling sticks in exchange for a kiss, a secret, a lock of hair, or something of equal nonsensical value. Step inside a shop and see sellers offering crude jewelry and satchels of loose leaf tea, fudge sold by the ounce and porcelain ocarinas. Essentially, if it's kitschy and thematic, you can find it here, being sold to you by people in costume who refuse to break character.
Shopping not quite your style? Fear not! If you're lucky in your wanderings, your might spot the Unseelie Queen ALICENT HIGHTOWER or her counterpart and opposed Seelie Queen LAURALAE carried on palanquins towards the very back of the faire, where the real heart of the show takes place in a small stadium for entertainment purposes βΒ a tourney for distinguishing yourself as the best among your peers in the manor. Prior to the tourney, all characters are given a favor of some kind ( an embroidered handkerchief, ribbon, garland, or piece of jewelry ) to give to a person of their choosing, be they a competitor or not, to show their support. Strangely, this favor seems to link them through an empathetic, sensation-based bond, so they feel everything their chosen competitor experiences. Mutual favors result in a mutual bond.
The challenges are set: ARCHERY/KNIFE THROWING, SWORDFIGHTING/HAND-TO-HAND, and a BARD'S TOURNEY. In addition to the more ye olde flavor of competition, there are also challenges for COUPLE TENNIS, HORSE POLO, and CHESS. And, in true Saltburnt fashion, there is also a somewhat lewd display of voyeuristic NUDE WRESTLING, where the first person to have an orgasm loses. (You can sign up for these competitions HERE.) To every challenge there is dubbed a winner, who in the old Westerosi tradition gets to crown a chosen "maiden" with the title THE QUEEN OR KING OF LOVE AND BEAUTY and an extravagant wreath of flowers, their victory dedicated to the lucky lord or lady. These wreaths are both fashionable and functional β while wearing them, no one can resist following whatever queenly command your character gives. Additionally, winners will receive prizes courtesy of Saltburnt, all to be determined upon victory.
Whichever queen has the most winners at the end of the tourney is crowned HIGH QUEEN OF THE FAE. The Queen is paraded around and celebrated by all, and while tribute is not necessary, it certainly is appreciated!
Over the past few days, a bit of construction has taken place on the grounds of the Saltburnt estate, and while it's difficult to piece together what exactly is being built, it's clear to see: whatever it is, it's massive, taking up a huge percentage of the grounds with multiple included structures. On the outside it seems almost like a neighborhood is being sprung up βΒ new houses for people to live in, maybe? New shops, disconnected from the manor at large? All is revealed on opening day, when upon entry all are greeted with cheery hellos from jauntily clad persons shouting, "Huzzah!" and "Hail and well met!" For the more medieval and fantasy inclined among you, it might feel like stepping somewhere familiar and homey. To the rest, you know β you've just walked into a Ren Faire. Costumes are expected.
Not sure what to wear? Those born between SEPTEMBER to FEBRUARY are dubbed part of the Unseelie Court, which is associated with darkness and decay, generally dressed in deep, dark colors. Those born between MARCH to AUGUST are part of the Seelie Court, which is associated with stars and sky, in lighter, brighter colors.
On either side of the split path, you're assaulted by the scents, sights, and sounds of any ordinary Ren Faire. Vendors pawn off garlicky mushrooms and full turkey legs, or flower crowns and juggling sticks in exchange for a kiss, a secret, a lock of hair, or something of equal nonsensical value. Step inside a shop and see sellers offering crude jewelry and satchels of loose leaf tea, fudge sold by the ounce and porcelain ocarinas. Essentially, if it's kitschy and thematic, you can find it here, being sold to you by people in costume who refuse to break character.
Shopping not quite your style? Fear not! If you're lucky in your wanderings, your might spot the Unseelie Queen ALICENT HIGHTOWER or her counterpart and opposed Seelie Queen LAURALAE carried on palanquins towards the very back of the faire, where the real heart of the show takes place in a small stadium for entertainment purposes βΒ a tourney for distinguishing yourself as the best among your peers in the manor. Prior to the tourney, all characters are given a favor of some kind ( an embroidered handkerchief, ribbon, garland, or piece of jewelry ) to give to a person of their choosing, be they a competitor or not, to show their support. Strangely, this favor seems to link them through an empathetic, sensation-based bond, so they feel everything their chosen competitor experiences. Mutual favors result in a mutual bond.
The challenges are set: ARCHERY/KNIFE THROWING, SWORDFIGHTING/HAND-TO-HAND, and a BARD'S TOURNEY. In addition to the more ye olde flavor of competition, there are also challenges for COUPLE TENNIS, HORSE POLO, and CHESS. And, in true Saltburnt fashion, there is also a somewhat lewd display of voyeuristic NUDE WRESTLING, where the first person to have an orgasm loses. (You can sign up for these competitions HERE.) To every challenge there is dubbed a winner, who in the old Westerosi tradition gets to crown a chosen "maiden" with the title THE QUEEN OR KING OF LOVE AND BEAUTY and an extravagant wreath of flowers, their victory dedicated to the lucky lord or lady. These wreaths are both fashionable and functional β while wearing them, no one can resist following whatever queenly command your character gives. Additionally, winners will receive prizes courtesy of Saltburnt, all to be determined upon victory.
Whichever queen has the most winners at the end of the tourney is crowned HIGH QUEEN OF THE FAE. The Queen is paraded around and celebrated by all, and while tribute is not necessary, it certainly is appreciated!
RING AROUND THE ROSEY
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential for nsfw.
The Ren Faire fixture runs adjacent to the tree line of the forest, which one can enter through a booth manned by THE GREAT WIZARD ARCHIBALD, who warns you to be prepared to enter the Realm of the Fae beyond his backdrop curtain, before handing you a flower and a pair of antlers (or a head piece from your fauna choice) for your journey to the beyond. Upon entering, you are greeted by a forest that bears no resemblance to the woods you've grown to expect in your time at the manor, everything more exaggeratedly lush than it had been even a day or so prior. Plump fruits with slightly glimmering skins grow fat on the vine, every leaf on every tree vibrant and healthy despite the changing of seasons, gone orange and red with the cold. Despite that, it's surprisingly balmy in the forest, everything illuminated by glimmering fairy lights and strung up lanterns. Flowers bloom under your feet, alongside perfect little red mushrooms, everything so idealistic it almost borders on discomfort.
Despite any reservations, there is a wild compulsion to everyone who enters the forest. The flower the wizard gave you is pungent enough to dizzy your head, leading you to the instinct of frolicking β or if you're not the type to frolick, then wandering βΒ through the woods, to find some counterpart to your particular flower in a very innocent (or not so innocent) game of cat and mouse. Once you find them, a simple kiss will serve as enough to claim your prize and ease the compulsion. Unless, of course, you want to give a little more. It couldn't hurt, right?
Wander further through the seemingly never ending woods, drawn on of the beauty of faerie, and find yourself at a somewhat rundown chapel surrounded by foliage, the roof and walls broken down with age, invaded by exploring plant life that crawls and vines through every crack and opening. While the stone altar of indeterminate denomination seems like it hasn't been seen for hundreds of years, let alone cleaned, there's the distinct impression you are walking on hallowed, sacred ground when you move to inspect it. Those clever among you might note different runes etched on what appears to be a wooden tabernacle on an ancient pillar at the back of the chapel. Looking into it, there's a word from an unknown language carved inside, complimented with a cheat sheet bit of yellowing paper which reads F. M. K., with further explanation: FRIENDS, MARRY, KINK.
What could it mean? Well. You and whoever you entered the chapel with, or whoever enters next, are stuck until further notice unless you complete one of the proffered options. FRIENDS, it's time you bury the hatchet, let bygones be bygones and accept our faults moving forward, together, to the future. MARRY, let's seal our bonded union with the trees as our witness, in a church of our own making. KINK, if the altar can't be used for the former, it can certainly be used for the latter. Nothing vanilla will do βΒ kink up or shut up.
Once completed, you're free to leave and roam around the forest at your leisure. If you wander far enough you might hear a distant, organic sound whirring and clicking from the trees, but don't worry. Whatever is watching you probably doesn't bite.
The Ren Faire fixture runs adjacent to the tree line of the forest, which one can enter through a booth manned by THE GREAT WIZARD ARCHIBALD, who warns you to be prepared to enter the Realm of the Fae beyond his backdrop curtain, before handing you a flower and a pair of antlers (or a head piece from your fauna choice) for your journey to the beyond. Upon entering, you are greeted by a forest that bears no resemblance to the woods you've grown to expect in your time at the manor, everything more exaggeratedly lush than it had been even a day or so prior. Plump fruits with slightly glimmering skins grow fat on the vine, every leaf on every tree vibrant and healthy despite the changing of seasons, gone orange and red with the cold. Despite that, it's surprisingly balmy in the forest, everything illuminated by glimmering fairy lights and strung up lanterns. Flowers bloom under your feet, alongside perfect little red mushrooms, everything so idealistic it almost borders on discomfort.
Despite any reservations, there is a wild compulsion to everyone who enters the forest. The flower the wizard gave you is pungent enough to dizzy your head, leading you to the instinct of frolicking β or if you're not the type to frolick, then wandering βΒ through the woods, to find some counterpart to your particular flower in a very innocent (or not so innocent) game of cat and mouse. Once you find them, a simple kiss will serve as enough to claim your prize and ease the compulsion. Unless, of course, you want to give a little more. It couldn't hurt, right?
Wander further through the seemingly never ending woods, drawn on of the beauty of faerie, and find yourself at a somewhat rundown chapel surrounded by foliage, the roof and walls broken down with age, invaded by exploring plant life that crawls and vines through every crack and opening. While the stone altar of indeterminate denomination seems like it hasn't been seen for hundreds of years, let alone cleaned, there's the distinct impression you are walking on hallowed, sacred ground when you move to inspect it. Those clever among you might note different runes etched on what appears to be a wooden tabernacle on an ancient pillar at the back of the chapel. Looking into it, there's a word from an unknown language carved inside, complimented with a cheat sheet bit of yellowing paper which reads F. M. K., with further explanation: FRIENDS, MARRY, KINK.
What could it mean? Well. You and whoever you entered the chapel with, or whoever enters next, are stuck until further notice unless you complete one of the proffered options. FRIENDS, it's time you bury the hatchet, let bygones be bygones and accept our faults moving forward, together, to the future. MARRY, let's seal our bonded union with the trees as our witness, in a church of our own making. KINK, if the altar can't be used for the former, it can certainly be used for the latter. Nothing vanilla will do βΒ kink up or shut up.
Once completed, you're free to leave and roam around the forest at your leisure. If you wander far enough you might hear a distant, organic sound whirring and clicking from the trees, but don't worry. Whatever is watching you probably doesn't bite.
DIRECTORY
astarion ancunΓn, baldur's gate 3 | current player/character
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she's met all the vampires here except one and she's been watching him for most of the day. not in a creepy way (absolutely in a creepy way) or like a stalker (except for that one time she literally hid behind a maypole,) and she's definitely not being weird or dramatic about it (she's eighteen so everything she does is a little bit weird or dramatic.) she's just... scoping him out.
and then she's next to him at the stall, super casual, totally unplanned, trying on bracelets when her vendor asks for a secret and his asks for a kiss. ]
I don't have any secrets. [ she looks over at astarion, gestures between their vendors. ] I'll give yours a kiss if you give mine a secret?
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Don't kiss him, my darling, [ he tells her, waving a hand in the vendor's direction as he turns his attention to the bracelet on her wrist, ] save your affection for someone more deserving of it.
[ But he does lean across the little display to whisper something into the other man's ear β something about the Nine Hells. Whatever he says, it's enough for the man to nod, indicating to Caroline that the bracelet is hers. And if Astarion shoots the other vendor a sharp look as they step away, so what?
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stalkernew friend: ] βBut I appreciate the offer. No secrets at all? Really?no subject
I'm historically bad at lying so it's easier to be an open book. It's not my fault if people don't ask the right questions.
[ she looks up and her expression is open, clear, a sunny smile. she truly is so unsuited for the unseelie court, a summer princess if there ever was one, despite being a fall baby. ]
Thank you for my bracelet. I'll make it up to you! If we can find someone who will take something other than kisses or secrets. Like, money.
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[ Not least because pickpocketing would easily resolve the issue of "nobody here has any income." But his overall annoyance melts away easily enough, his gaze following the turn of her wrist. Historically bad at lying is useful to know, and not a self-assessment he's really inclined to question considering her disposition. ]
But I think I can resolve your debt a little more quickly. How about this: you tell me why you've been following me around the faire, and I'll consider us even?
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vendor, wildcard-ish.
Naturally, he doesn't realise Astarion is here (wherever here is; England, according to the butler he chatted into submission) until he spots his signature coiffed head at the fair. A relief, in truth, when he thinks of all his companions as friends, regardless of whether the feeling is mutual. He nears just in time to hear the vendor request a kiss as payment for a woven bracelet. ]
Goodness! [ unable to keep himself from speaking, as he leans over Astarion's shoulder. ] That's terribly forward of you β and suggestive of an unsustainable business model. Hours of crafting in exchange for a single kiss. I'm aware coin has little value among prisoners, but you're outsourcing materials, are you not? Or have those been provided by the house β
[ "Price's changed," directed at Astarion with audible pain in his voice, "Silence." Gale looks to Astarion, one finger held to his lips, unable to hide his smile. This counts as a win, no? ]
screaming
For maybe the entire duration of Gale's one-sided argument with the faire vendor, Astarion seems as stricken as a cat suddenly put on the spot, hackles raised, his entire body tense, his eyes wide as he turns slowly, slowly to look at the man next to him, total disbelief plain upon his features.
Enough time has passed since Astarion's arrival that he'd mostly consigned himself to being the sole member of their little party to enjoy (for whatever value of that word may apply) what Saltburnt has to offer. Hoping otherwise seemed pointless, when this all seems dictated by chance, and nowβ now, he feels flooded with relief and shock and gladness, all of which finally breaks into a smile when he sees Gale smiling back at him. With a single glance back at the vendor, he plucks the bracelet from the table, mouthing come on in Gale's direction as he trips away (though the number of times he looks back makes it fairly clear he's still not sure he isn't just hallucinating β and that he's afraid Gale might simply disappear again in the meanwhile).
Once they're out of earshot (an amount of time that gives him the space to think of what to say): ] You're late.
π₯Ή
He follows, regardless, a bewildered sort of smile on his face until Astarion speaks again. A quieter corner of the market, where the nearest vendor has taken their break. ]
Iβm late β [ π‘! ] Oh, for the faire. Quite. I dallied in the library and missed the opening parade. [ with a sweep of his arm, he shows off the light blue of his robes. Seelie. Seriously, then: ] Have I offended our queen? [ already recovering β ] Not to worry, I shall beg forgiveness by dedicating my performance to her in the bardic lists.
[ in which heβs doing magic, obviously. ]
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[ But more importantly, and with a slight, snittier shift in tone as he puts his hands on his hips: ] Besides, I mean you've been dreadfully late in arriving here at all β I've been here three months already.
[ Not that he really thinks any of them have any control over when they arrive β or when they leave, which is somehow an equally frightening prospect β but that's beside the point. ]
And how will you beg my forgiveness, hm?
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mental sleight of hand check succeeded
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vendors;
Compared to naked, oil-slicked wrestling, a chess match may not be that thrilling, but it means he'll be able to enjoy looking good in his clothes for at least a little while longer.
Astarion's small theft doesn't escape his notice, but it does pique his curiosity, and it seems to follow on the heels of very specific favors being requested. He's leaning against the side of one shop, when the other vampire exits, waiting to catch him though not anticipating it'll be unawares. ]
Who would I tell? [ He unfolds his arms, pushing out of his lean, even as he asserts himself more into Astarion's space. ] Your sneaky lifting ranks quite low on the list of sins already committed in this place.
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Portia, maybe, [ he says, with a noncommittal shrug. ] Though I think you're right, I doubt she'd even hear what you were saying at this point, so long as I wasn't resorting to murder.
[ Still, he holds out the trinket he's stolen once more β a small paperweight, only slightly larger than a letter seal, a lily's bloom preserved in resin. ]
Let's call it a gift, then, rather than a bribe.
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[ Lestat isn't necessarily one to brag β oh, who are we kidding, he loves to brag at every available opportunity β but a part of him is resistant to the idea of mentioning Portia's fondness, especially when it's pointed in his direction. On the other hand, the notion that their hosts are fallible, that it is somehow possible to steer them in certain directions, is an advantage worth exploiting; he's simply biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity.
He reaches out, in the moment, and plucks the paperweight out of Astarion's hold, but only so that he can examine it in the light, turning it this way and that to admire the lily preserved within. ]
A gift, but one clearly intended for someone else. [ Back into Astarion's hand the paperweight goes, Lestat's lips curving knowingly. ] Isn't that right?
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They're hardly strangers to each other, now, and yet Astarion still finds himself often thrown off-balance by the complete confidence that Lestat projects, the uncanny ability he has to seemingly look directly into the core of whoever has captured his attention. It's enough to make him question himself β had he meant this for someone else? ]
And who would you name as its recipient, dear Lestat?
[ He does his best not to let his voice waver or falter, though his gaze falls to the smile on Lestat's lips. ]
Who should be so lucky?
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π!
knife-throwing;
one in particular? makes a grin bloom across his lips.
a vampire playing mortal games hardly seems fair, but he doesn't say anything for or against it. just admires his form, the way astarion seems to exist lightly and easily among the crowd of both familiar and unfamiliar faces.
he hasn't spoken to him since the game, since they were pitted against one another by a blue mask. and so he waits for the finishing throw before approaching. he steps up just behind him, looking down the way at the target. ]
You got a good eye. Something tells me you've practiced.
[ or he's built for such fine, dexterous skills but he doesn't say it out loud. ]
What's the prize for winning? Know yet?
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Out of necessity. The targets I'd hit at home wereβ well, rather more active and violently inclined.
[ Granted, Louis' secondary guess is correct, too, but that's neither here nor there. (Astarion assumes Louis has had to deal with some of the same thing, though continuing the conversation in that direction hardly seems necessary. It's a day for celebration, after all, not for lingering on darker thoughts.) ]
As for the prize β you know, I haven't the faintest idea. Something nice but not useful, I'd guess. It's hardly as though this place ever really fulfills our wishes, not without a catch.
[ He nods, then, as he steps away from his spot, an implicit invitation for Louis to walk with him. ]
How've you found the fair, my dear?
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[ well, the tricks of it. that nothing is ever what it seems and nothing ever, ever comes without a cost. it's unfortunate, and the previous little game of the mansion has left him weary, a little reserved. he's stuck to armand and daniel in the aftermath, but has come to wander out.
but astarion steps away and he falls in line with him, hands in his pockets, head up and looking around at the activities. ]
Nice change of pace - people needed the smiles and laughter I think after everything we went through. You doing alright? Made it out of the games unscathed, yeah?
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Archery
You did wonderful! The was the bow, hm? I've only ever seen them in books. You make it look so easy!
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I have had a lot of time to practice, [ he says, though in a tone of voice that can't really be described as self-effacing. He knows he's done well, and he's pleased about it. ]
I'd offer to teach you, but I don't believe we're being allowed to keep any of the weapons, such as they are, once the fair is done.
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I didn't quite look much--Do you win a prize for this? Maybe you could ask to keep the bow. Archery is a 'gentlemanly pursuit' from what I've read. I'm sure you could convince the house it's needed.
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vendors
The sweet girl running this stall promises one lock of hair is nothing in exchange for her wares, and Dorian plays along with her brief, harmless flirtation until he catches a subtle flick of the wrist and a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye.
He meets the eye of the thief as they both step out of the stall, and sees that the metal was just glass reflecting light: a small sun-catcher in the shape of an eight-pointed star.
It's not terribly well-made, but it is charming, in its way; as is the thief, well-dressed and hair coiffed just so. ]
Surely there are better uses for such clever fingers.
[ Dorian takes the trinket with a smile, all the same. ]
Though really, they can't complain about theft if they won't take coin. And I'm in the miserable process of growing my hair out, so I don't have a single lock to spare.
yelps
Do you think a judge would accept the argument that it's not theft? What they're asking for is hardly of any material value; surely paying nothing at all amounts to the same.
[ Even he's aware that this won't really hold up in court, but it's not like that's about to make him start feeling guilty.
Plus, it's not like he's about to part with his own hair β does it grow? Nobody knows! ]
Growing your hair out, hm? Did you determine your current look to be too dashing, or not dashing enough?
no one deserves to queen out at a faire more than them tbqh
And familiar is welcome enough, so long as he isn't lulled into a false sense of ease. Dorian lets go of a hearty laugh at the final question, a knowing twinkle in his eye as he responds. ]
I'm always precisely as dashing as I want and need to be. [ He waves a hand. ] Just trying to stay one step ahead of the fashion until I'm so covered in wrinkles I don't care anymore.
[ Dorian doesn't yet pocket the star, his thumb rubbing idly along one sharp edge. ]
The real question is whether I owe you for this, and what forms of payment you accept.
that's god's honest truth
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knife throwing.
she's especially impressed at astarion's performance that she skips over to him after he is done, her darting legs swaying around an already shortened blue dress by way of tied strings, before she hops in front of him with a wide smile. ]
You do quite well with the throwing. Much precision! Are you able to teach it?
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He sweeps a bow, as princely as he can manage it β which is, for the record, quite well β the white stole about his shoulders fluttering appropriately dramatically. ]
Thank you, my dear Bella β and happily, though it may have to be with kitchen knives.
[ Weapons being somewhat difficult to come by, here. ]
Have you been well? It's been a little while.
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I have special knives in the clinic too. Used for poking.
[ for the autopsies, though throwing them around is probably not the best of ideas. not that she'd think so. ]
I am quite good, as there is much excite in the Faire. I was given a dress β [ she grabs at her skirt, giving it a side-to-side swoosh. ] And then allowed to play much of the games. Though I have won nothing but I have seen the talents of many and it is quite admirable. Far better are the games than the one of the werewolf, as no one has come out dead. [ always a plus. ] Are you having the fun as well?
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