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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
no subject
You enter the forest, you get a flower. You find your... match, you kiss. Or more, if you're so inclined. Only then can you leave. Well, that should be enough. Don't want to further trouble you with it.
[ He's nothing but an effective meat shield. Sure, Melli's the sort of person that would even grow to like him, but the little wolf likes the stones that lead into his family garden. She's easy to like, and likes easily, and that has lead people to believe they can push her around. Not overtly, mind you, but in small ways. Insidious ways. He's put a stop to most of them, and now he's not going to become one himself. ]
Friends, weapons, influence. There's a court system here, it seems. More your speed than mine. [ He half turns, eyeing him the edge of his view cautiously. ]
We can make this work.
no subject
[ she's all of twenty, to be sure, but melli's aware that she sometimes has the piques of a teenaged girl. call it among the pitfalls of being raised so separately from the rest of the commons; her only familiar friends were her cousins and same-aged uncles and aunts. when it's not relatives, it's tutors and peers from the lesser families, people her parents want her to be friendly with for the sake of the kingdom. demara has its share of sycophants, just as anywhere, and melli is the only child of the most illustrious family among the ten.
so when she says she's engaged, she says it with the bluster of a girl who knows it's supposed to be upheld, but not entirely why. honor, dignity, propriety, she understands them as concepts that sit mildly on her tongue. she's never had a reason to challenge any of the things her cousins and aunts had taught her about men. wear your skirts to your knees, always tuck the hem under your thighs, and never wear your shirts tight or sheer.
hair half-up, unless you're being presented, then it's all the way up. never all the way down; you're not a common girl. little rules that make up for a bigger picture. she doesn't help when she plants her hands on her waist in indignation. melli softens at the remark, however, and moves to fold her arms at her chest instead. ]
Do I have to give the flower back now? You already gave it to me, I'm already attached. [ she moves as if to touch it where it rests on her head, even though she can feel it perched against her hair. ] Maybe it's a test. See if we're worth letting go, or something.
no subject
[ There's bitterness in his voice. The fact a fundamental part of her identity has been chosen for her so much in advance is appalling; in his mind, Melli should be free to eperience life just like everyone else. To fall in love and out of love, to laugh and cry.
And sure, a part of him wants it to be with him.She's trapped in a gilded cage, and not a very pretty one, if he says so himself.
Still, he manages a loopsided smirk at her question. ]
I gave you a flower, little wolf. It's my present to you. And rest unassured, nothing in this place wants anything other than have things go wild.
[ For now he'll just cling to the memory of his fingers tangled in her hair. ]
You ready to walk back? I reckon we're not as close to the entrance as it seems.
no subject
[ she doesn't understand much, does she? sometimes her cousins would laugh about something and she wouldn't know why, even when they explain it. this is a trend, or that is an in-joke; she's never part of the crowd that laughs, almost always sitting on the outside. it's her privilege, father would say, to not have to worry about what the rest of the world is thinking.
speak it, and it shall be so, father had always taught her. the world will obey.
melli doesn't need the world to simply obey. she needs for it to listen, and to speak with her too. she wants to know what motivates the commons, what drives a great number of them to rebel their greatbeasts, against the great families.
she understands that the system is broken. with great hope, she means to change it for the better once she claims rule over the houses. but until thenβ until then, she's a sheltered, somewhat spoiled girl who needs a minder. someone already tried to kill her, after all. ]
I can walk. Will you hold my hand? Or let me hold on to you, at least?
[ she's not dressed for the woods, well-trimmed as the shrubbery and foliage might be. dress shoes on plain grass; her mother would shake her head at the foolishness. ]
I promise I won't trip you, this time. [ in her defense: dress skirts. they get rather long. ]
no subject
[ He fully turns around, facing her, arms crossed across his chest as he stops to think how to formulate a sentence that has the least amount of expletives needed to make it make sense. John is well aware of her innocence, so to speak, and how people also tended to take advantage of it. To make coarse remarks of her, wrapped in seemingly kind words. Another thing he has worked to put an end to, sometimes by force. ]
Because the rich and the powerful, the lords of the land...they enjoy exerting that power. Sex and the like, they're a very obvious, very direct way to do so.
[ He lets her digest his words for a moment. Innocent as she might be, Melli is smart and (he thinks) mature enough to understand. He knows that, in her own way, she wants to understand. Another thing he feels he needs to protect. ]
To trap us here, to add a layer of banality, of carnal desire underneath it all... that's someone powerful toying with us, or their idea of making us a favor. Hell, it might even be someone affecting their surroundings without meaning to. I expect to see the same theme everywhere.
[ He walks up to her and offers not his hand, but his forearm, so that she can keep her footing. It's something they have done a number of times already. Much as he would like to hold to her hand, he knows it's not befitting of his station to do so, and that ultimately, this is better to help her sort the terrain. ]
But if you do trip us, I'll throw you over my shoulder and run.
no subject
[ she protests as she does, but takes his proffered arm all the same and lets him guide them out of the woods. melli does understand, in theory, what john means. there is a soft power in intimacy, and a lurid interest in the carnal; sex sells, as they say. it's why scandals among the great houses serve either as a detriment or a blessing. a pain in ayla's ass when she has to mop up someone's messy one night stand for the palatable news cycle, but a blessing when it distracts from something far more horrible.
hunger among the smaller islands. the raiding parties along the coastline. the separatists who keep attacking the city borders, demanding to be free from the grasp of the ten houses.
it's not that she doesn't sympathise. melli does, genuinely. but how can she destroy the very system that made her? without the costhens, without the tributes β if the gods decide to move away and take the greatbeasts with them, then they're all left defenseless and blind. she will become nothing, too.
melli tightens her hold on john's arm as they keep walking, and tries her best to avoid worrying her lip as she's used to do. ]
Why the forehead? Are foreheads... are they supposed to be attractive?
no subject
A sack of potatoes, maybe. I'm still pushing to get you proper training, but if we make good progress on the side I'll be less worried about having to move you around when danger invariably comes. Until then, I'll do my best to think of your comfort.
[ It is her other question that has him turn around, eyeing her quizzically. Sometimes even he can't help but be surprised. ]
The alternative, the one the forest wants, was a kiss on the lips.
[ His tone is careful, measured. ]
A proper lady shouldn't have her first taken in such undignified manner... at least that's what the pompous farts lording above us all would say, I assume.
And besides, you deserve...better.
no subject
[ the walk is pleasant, truthfully. melli likes to walk about, especially surrounded by nature. if her wolves were here it would be no different; she could run her hands along their fur, pulling the hairs into tufts until the wolves either get annoyed or huff at her in amusement. sometimes the wolves would butt their nuzzles against john, or lick his whole face, or shove him out of the gardens entirely. she can't blame them, her wolves; they were raised alongside her, are as much family to her as her own mother and father.
in a way, the greatbeasts under their protection are family, too.
melli takes a deep breath and lets it out in a girlish sigh, twisting her mouth into a disappointed line. ]
Well, what was your first like? Was it better? How can you know what's better or not when you haven't even had a first?
no subject
[ She's relentless in her pursuit of knowledge. Admirable, really, but John feels woefully inadequate to instruct her on most things that she questions him about. Just how many of these conversations have they had so far, and will be expected to have in the future? There's only so much he can try to explain, and he's not going to bullshit his way into appearing smarter than he is.
The worst are the ones where she straight up inquires about him. His life, his experiences. John has spent the entirety of his life keeping his life as private as possible, but a single stare into those eyes, filled to the brim with willpower, and he can't help to share things he wouldn't with anyone else. ]
Technically I was dead drunk the first time, so I don't remember. The first I do remember, though, was quite awkward. Took me some tries to get the hand of it. There's...saliva, teeth and then there's the tongue to work with.
[ He sighs, clearly exasperated. ]
Normally I'd say "it's better if I just show you" but...this isn't me trying to teach you self-defense.
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he's her sworn guard, isn't he? sons and daughters from the other families break boundaries with their counsel or guard, as she knows, but her position is different. she's the bloodmaiden. the whole kingdom will look to her for guidance one day, and she can't be anything less than impeccable.
maybe if she wasn't engaged to someone she's known all her life, she woulnd't be so conflicted about the rhetorical. ]
You could just describe it to me. How it feels like, what you do, uhm.
[ she feels ridiculous before she's even done saying her suggestion. ]
You could just show me. Kiss someone else and show me that way, I mean. ββYou don't have to if you're uncomfortable! I just thoughtβ I don't know what I thought.
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I don't-- I don't just kiss people. [ He actually manages to sound more hurt than annoyed at that. ] It has to mean something; otherwise you're just mashing meat with meat and exchanging spit.
[ And she would watch!? It's a good thing he's not one to blush.
Still, he gives her a funny look. It's not like she hasn't asked him about many things her peers would frown upon, and it isn't like he hasn't indulged in at least some of them. He wants to get mad at her, to have something else to feel, but he can't muster the emotion. ]
Some things you just learn by doing, little wolf.
sometimes it helps to click post comment
[ she holds close to john, clinging to his arm with both hands now, though she's careful not to press herself against him too closely. he's warm. it's annoying how warm he is, like he's a dragon nesting on a clutch of eggs. maybe a dragon heating up his hoard? probably a better analogue, melli thinks.
at least the house is starting to appear on the periphery, with its grand roof and nice-looking windows. it looks like most of the houses on wolf's end, where the wolfanger home looms on the hilltop.
she misses home already. misses her wolves, her warm clothes, her parents. ]
Have you kissed many people? Does it help? Is it like training, too?
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[ It's the best he can say without discounting her own way to relate with it.
His other hand goes to lie over hers, an assurance they're walking together. Assurance for her or himself, he isn't entire sure. She's strong, imposing even, at times. But she's also so small...so delicate. He doesn't know how to reconcile his feelings.
As for the rest... ]
Just...enough, I think? I don't keep count. [ He's not an idiot; John's well aware he's very desirable, at least appearance wise. Other cadets would sometimes argue that he could have any woman he wanted, and that might as well be true... but such things have never been at the forefront of his mind. ]
If you're talking about technique...once you get someone, there won't be a lack of opportunities to practice.
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[ can john hear her disbelief? none of this was part of her education. it was impressed upon her that she should be dutiful in marriage, and to be fair she did have some sex education as part of her lessons, but there was no talk about technique or practice or any of these things. sex just happens, according to her tutors. there was no talk about feeling "real" or "nice" or any of the things that people seem to be obsessed about when it comes to physical intimacy.
then again β melli's only cared about being the best that she can be since she was a child. she took her duties seriously. she is the bloodmaiden, and she is the high priestess; she needs to uphold the tradition of the ten houses and make sure the gods continue to favour demara over the other lands. without their favor, there are no greatbeasts. without the greatbeasts, their country will likely cease to exist very quickly.
maybe if she had been born a second daughter, or to another house that won't inherit the title. maybe then she could be a little risky with her behavior. unfortunately, she is who she is, and she can only try to imagine what it must be like.
john isn't all that bad to look at, too. very handsome, really. if she were the typeβ- no. ]
Isn't that a little disrespectful, not remembering who you've kissed? [ would you forget me too, then, if you ever kissed me? like she's ever saying that out loud. ] What if they remembered you, and...
Oh, I don't know. The most I've ever done is hold hands and sit next to people. Sometimes Hevry braids my hair.
Do you want to? Try braiding it, I mean? That should be safe.
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[ And there's that too. She's been tempered to the point of brittleness, he fears. That the pressure of being a human being would ultimately crush her, because she's surrounded by sycophants that want her to be not just perfect, but also easy to manipulate.
Her little chide gets a grunt out of him. ]
Maybe I do, fine. But kissing isn't the only thing there's to intimacy, I hope you're aware.
[ He gives her hands a little squeeze, not really noticing. Now he feels bad about the feelings welling inside of him. What he wants, and what she can imagine someone would want. Would he be content to simply hold her, staying in a singular, completely pure and innocent moment? Probably. But he realizes that anyone who earns her trust might take advantage of her. Is he doing that? The mere thought terrifies him.
Hevry. The name snaps him back to reality. Even John, who isn't one for gossip, has heard the stories. The princeling that hasn't earned anything, yet has been given everything. It doesn't help that he's actually friends with the other one "royal" that seems not to be a nitwit...Hevry's older brother, no less. He would vouch for Argin a million times over Hevry in the matter of who should marry Melli.
He doesn't want anyone marrying Melli, of course, but short of throwing her over his shoulder and running away to other country, there's little he can do. And she would never forgive him, anyway.
They step out of the woods, and John shoots a dirty look at the tent where the wizard guy should still be in. Well, nothing to do with him now. ]
Well, we hold hands, sometimes. And sit together. My mother used to braid my hair, when I was little. And I hers.
Doesn't beat kissing, but it's a close second.
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it's a wonder her parents haven't assigned a personal guard to her all these years. but then again, she was as protected and sheltered as any of her mother's poison plants. as dangerous as she is precious, her mother would say.
melli doesn't feel dangerous, but she feels precious. preciously guarded; overbearingly so, most of the time. at least with john, she can go places now. sometimes they can just sit in the council gardens and watch the sun set before they make their way back to wolf's end. ]
Everything's always been a test. This could be a test, too. From the gods, to see if we'll find our way back.
[ why are they still talking about this? why are they still talking about kissing? it's not like he's interested. she's a full ten years younger than he is, and that means he's had more experience than her. he has technique, or something. he doesn't even count how many he's kissed! there's no way he'd evenβ but if she askedβ but that would be breaking the rules, right? she's technically her boss. she'll be everyone's boss one day.
maybe... maybe if...? ]
If I weren'tβ If we were strangers. If we just met. If we didn't know each other and you just met me, would you kiss me? Would you consider it? Hypothetically. Just hypothetically!
[ she should probably take her hands away from him now. probably should let go. she should! she isn't. oh, this is a disaster. ]
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[ He has some more choice words, but he knows this isn't a topic he should take lightly. Not with her. ]
They're powerful, aren't they? They'll be fine without you holding their hand for a moment.
[ Hypothetically?
Just what is she implying? John feels they're skirting around this topic. It puts him on edge. He has few precious things. Ruining one wouldnt do him any good.]
You'd still annoy me to no end, that's for sure.
And... I'd probably want to? Hypothetically. But I'm too much of a coward.
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Especially since I kind of put you on the spot, didn't I? By asking?
[ this is getting away from her. it's fine. first times always have meaning, even if it's not the meaning she thinks she wants it to have. the important thing is that she trusts him. she can trust him to have her back and to look out for her when even she can't see ahead of her. that's worth more than a crush or an infatuation.
the gods will understand. it's not like she's asking him for a baby or to promise her a marriage.
just a kiss. just one to see what it's like. hevry's kissed other girls; why can't she kiss one other guy too? ]
You have my blessing. As a reward for your courage. You should kiss me.
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[ And then the tone of the conversation changes. And how. They're outside of the woods now, standing on a field, the big mansion on the distant. It almost feels like it's spying on them, somehow.
She's being serious now. She's being serious, and it's doing a number on his heart. She's saying the right things, but he can't help but doubt. It's a doubt that has nothing to do with her; he's just not the kind person that has had life just give him things.
Everything's been a struggle. Why wouldn't this be the same?
But she's making him waver. She's making him hope.
Still, he has to make it right. It has to be right.
He draws closer, a hand going up to cup the side of her face, softly. Is she leaning into his hand, or is it just in his mind? He's not sure. ]
No.
[ He smirks, being dangerously close to lose himself in her eyes. When he speaks, it's in a low, husky tone. ]
I want to kiss you. I want you to want this, Mellinora. Tell me you want this.