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draino2025-01-04 08:00 am
saltburntmods) wrote in draino2025-01-04 08:00 am
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๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ โฃ JAN TDM
JANUARY 2025 TDM: IMMORTALITY
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 โ 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 ยซ NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEยป 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 isnโt, stay in bed and wallow โ eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe itโs normal for you. Maybe it isnโt.
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 โ have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenโt 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, the menu has been redone by some guests in the manor. 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.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐: 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.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
โ momofuku's "cereal milk" โ
โ fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss โ
โ a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping โ
โ a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling โ
โ poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection โ
If you want to leave, youโll 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 heโs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereโs no reason why you canโt 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 doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt 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 doesnโt dissipate, though โ 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, itโs 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 โ have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenโt 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, the menu has been redone by some guests in the manor. 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
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐: 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.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
THE SWEETS
โ fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss โ
โ a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping โ
โ a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling โ
โ poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection โ
If you want to leave, youโll 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 heโs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereโs no reason why you canโt 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 doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt 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 doesnโt dissipate, though โ 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, itโs 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."
8-BALL
CONTENT WARNINGS: drugs, nsfw.
In all 700 (and change!) years of Saltburnt's existence, never has the new year been rung in with anything less than a bang. Similarly, the manor is a bustle of activity in the post-Christmas week, setting up predominately in and around the Operating Theatre. Formally, all guests are welcomed to celebrate on the 31st of December leading into the new year by a fancy, handwritten invitation, delivered individually by Giles. BLACK TIE, the invite says. LET'S MAKE IT A GOOD YEAR, DAWG.
Upon arrival, it's plain to see the Operating Theatre has gotten a glow up since last visited. The amphitheater stairs serve as a dramatic entrance to walk through, the main floor usually designed for holding cadavers for dissection instead replaced with a dance floor. Everything is black, white, and as silver as surgery tools, the room seemingly a great deal larger than when it was last observed โย though, maybe that's your eyes playing tricks on you. Don't worry about it!
Celebrate instead, ringing in the new year with loud, Eurodance music and American rock, bodies dancing together for one last hurrah of 2006. In true Saltburnt fashion, there's a snack spread on the organized operating tables โย Vietnamese spring rolls, glass noodles, Prosecco jello shots to go with the tall flutes of champagne passed around on silver plates. Additionally, there are some silver platters circling the venue full of tall mounds of white, powdery cocaine, already spliced into lines for convenience. The name of the game is indulgence, as ever, getting one's worst habits out of the way to make room for better, healthier choices in the new year.
For the last hour of the year, a mock time ball in the shape of an magic 8-ball is set up in the center of the room, slowly inching up as time ticks down. At 11:59, the ball reaches its zenith, much more rapidly moving the other way as the countdown starts. Once the countdown drops to the 10s, everyone in the room is pairing up in couples (or trios?) to kiss at the strike of midnight, loudly chanting the last five numbers in chanting succession, 3, 2, 1, and happy new year!
Several things happen at once, following your kiss, or the strike of midnight if you're more of a lone wolf. Firstly, everyone's clothes disappear, left completely naked in the theatre. Any fabric they might think to dress themselves in will miraculously disappear once they put it on, and any attempts to escape the room are likewise barred, doors unopenable for the time being. At the same time, the 8-ball which reached the bottom of its stand rolls over, presenting its windowed side to all who look upon it โย and all who look upon it will see one of 20 different instructions.
For a fun game, roll a d20 and see what you get!
Naturally, the doors only permit you to leave after achieving whatever challenge the 8-ball gave you, where you can run nakedly back to your room and find some clothes, saying goodnight to a wonderful year. Any and all party poopers uninterested in taking part will be let go an hour or so post midnight โย approximately when it stops being funny.
In all 700 (and change!) years of Saltburnt's existence, never has the new year been rung in with anything less than a bang. Similarly, the manor is a bustle of activity in the post-Christmas week, setting up predominately in and around the Operating Theatre. Formally, all guests are welcomed to celebrate on the 31st of December leading into the new year by a fancy, handwritten invitation, delivered individually by Giles. BLACK TIE, the invite says. LET'S MAKE IT A GOOD YEAR, DAWG.
Upon arrival, it's plain to see the Operating Theatre has gotten a glow up since last visited. The amphitheater stairs serve as a dramatic entrance to walk through, the main floor usually designed for holding cadavers for dissection instead replaced with a dance floor. Everything is black, white, and as silver as surgery tools, the room seemingly a great deal larger than when it was last observed โย though, maybe that's your eyes playing tricks on you. Don't worry about it!
Celebrate instead, ringing in the new year with loud, Eurodance music and American rock, bodies dancing together for one last hurrah of 2006. In true Saltburnt fashion, there's a snack spread on the organized operating tables โย Vietnamese spring rolls, glass noodles, Prosecco jello shots to go with the tall flutes of champagne passed around on silver plates. Additionally, there are some silver platters circling the venue full of tall mounds of white, powdery cocaine, already spliced into lines for convenience. The name of the game is indulgence, as ever, getting one's worst habits out of the way to make room for better, healthier choices in the new year.
For the last hour of the year, a mock time ball in the shape of an magic 8-ball is set up in the center of the room, slowly inching up as time ticks down. At 11:59, the ball reaches its zenith, much more rapidly moving the other way as the countdown starts. Once the countdown drops to the 10s, everyone in the room is pairing up in couples (or trios?) to kiss at the strike of midnight, loudly chanting the last five numbers in chanting succession, 3, 2, 1, and happy new year!
Several things happen at once, following your kiss, or the strike of midnight if you're more of a lone wolf. Firstly, everyone's clothes disappear, left completely naked in the theatre. Any fabric they might think to dress themselves in will miraculously disappear once they put it on, and any attempts to escape the room are likewise barred, doors unopenable for the time being. At the same time, the 8-ball which reached the bottom of its stand rolls over, presenting its windowed side to all who look upon it โย and all who look upon it will see one of 20 different instructions.
For a fun game, roll a d20 and see what you get!
Naturally, the doors only permit you to leave after achieving whatever challenge the 8-ball gave you, where you can run nakedly back to your room and find some clothes, saying goodnight to a wonderful year. Any and all party poopers uninterested in taking part will be let go an hour or so post midnight โย approximately when it stops being funny.
NEW YEAR, NEW ME
CONTENT WARNINGS: homophobia, misogyny, implied grooming, cultural insensitivity.
New year is a time for new beginnings, and it's no surprise that many resolutions involve the bettering of one's self. Exercise and eating healthy are all usual suspects, but what if you could take a little something that did it all for you, effort-free? New Years Resolutions the easy way โย try ReSculpt, an organic supplement using exotic kinds of sea kelp, as provided by Portia's personal life coach SHAMAN LEAF, for making a better you. Fat melts away and wrinkles smooth out, complexions clear and muscles strengthen, all with the help of this miraculous product! Simply apply the topical ointment on yourself, and watch a new and improved you emerge โ even those of you who wouldn't choose it willingly can take part, as it's stocked in every bathroom, in the shape of an ordinary lotion bottle.
Of course, it doesn't only effect your looks. The road to a better you requires a full makeover, changing you from the inside out. Be the son your father always wanted, or the wife your husband deserves โ become a better partner, a better housewife, a better soldier, a better friend. Whatever any of that means to you, whether changing your style or the people you're attracted to, this magical lotion seems to clear it up and straighten you out, turn you into a true, decent member of polite upperclass society. Even Portia in the days following New Years appears younger, nearly like a girl in her teens thanks to the power of ReSculpt. On your journey to self-improvement, you might feel inclined to sign up for Shaman Leaf's 12-step guide to proper English behaviors, including lessons in etiquette, fine dining, lovemaking with respectful hands-on accompaniment, and a suggested sizable donation on towards Shaman Leaf's travel fund. All of it concludes in a graduation for the enlistees in the form of a debutante ball.
Not to worry if you didn't take the course โ all are welcome to witness the caterpillar become the butterfly in this re-introduction to society in one of Saltburnt's many exemplary ballrooms. As opposed to the more carefree party that welcomed in the year, the debutante ball is steeped in the premeditated societal structures of an aristocratic family, everything proper and regal by design, complete with huge, expensive dresses and expertly tailored, starch-collared suits. Luckily, ReSculpt will see to everyone conforming to the expectations of society, without complaint. Unluckily, the side effects seem to kick in at the debutante ball.
Step one: paranoia. Is this who you really are? What happened to the person you were a few days ago? Where did everything that made you who you are go? Dread creeps in, a discordant note, a cold breeze. Step two: touch repulsion. The dances at the ball are all respectful, leaving plenty of room for Jesus, flirty little wrist touches and soft, careful hands โ and you're disgusted by wanting more, confused by it. Consumed by it? Scared of it. The sick touch of skin on skin is as offensive as it is arousing, like gripping ice cubes in your hand and flinching at the numbing, burning pain. Step three: hallucinations. You turn in a dance and the hand that slips into yours is more bone than flesh. The ballroom itself seems to grow more decayed than decadent, ghosts and horrifying faces spliced between the crowd, all looking at you, angry and disturbed. Is that face looking back at you your own? Can your friends tell you from a doppelgรคnger? Who even are you anymore?
And finally, step four: rehab. As it turns out, Shaman Leaf is not actually a good guy. That is, he's not a guy at all but a pรบca, here to unleash a humble amount of chaos and then quickly skedaddle while the iron's still hot, escaping with mischievous shapeshifting behaviors through the closest door, galloping to the forest. Though his exit from the premises doesn't clear up the effects of ReSculpt, it's nothing a little week spent very fashionably in rehab can't clear up. Going cold turkey is the only way to remove it from your system โ and you do want to remove it from your system. A depleting supply will force you into withdrawals regardless, in the form of continued paranoia and hallucinations, acting hot and cold with touch, alternating between your true self and ReSculpt self, fevers, nosebleeds, puking, and blacking out. A good detox for the new year.
New year is a time for new beginnings, and it's no surprise that many resolutions involve the bettering of one's self. Exercise and eating healthy are all usual suspects, but what if you could take a little something that did it all for you, effort-free? New Years Resolutions the easy way โย try ReSculpt, an organic supplement using exotic kinds of sea kelp, as provided by Portia's personal life coach SHAMAN LEAF, for making a better you. Fat melts away and wrinkles smooth out, complexions clear and muscles strengthen, all with the help of this miraculous product! Simply apply the topical ointment on yourself, and watch a new and improved you emerge โ even those of you who wouldn't choose it willingly can take part, as it's stocked in every bathroom, in the shape of an ordinary lotion bottle.
Of course, it doesn't only effect your looks. The road to a better you requires a full makeover, changing you from the inside out. Be the son your father always wanted, or the wife your husband deserves โ become a better partner, a better housewife, a better soldier, a better friend. Whatever any of that means to you, whether changing your style or the people you're attracted to, this magical lotion seems to clear it up and straighten you out, turn you into a true, decent member of polite upperclass society. Even Portia in the days following New Years appears younger, nearly like a girl in her teens thanks to the power of ReSculpt. On your journey to self-improvement, you might feel inclined to sign up for Shaman Leaf's 12-step guide to proper English behaviors, including lessons in etiquette, fine dining, lovemaking with respectful hands-on accompaniment, and a suggested sizable donation on towards Shaman Leaf's travel fund. All of it concludes in a graduation for the enlistees in the form of a debutante ball.
Not to worry if you didn't take the course โ all are welcome to witness the caterpillar become the butterfly in this re-introduction to society in one of Saltburnt's many exemplary ballrooms. As opposed to the more carefree party that welcomed in the year, the debutante ball is steeped in the premeditated societal structures of an aristocratic family, everything proper and regal by design, complete with huge, expensive dresses and expertly tailored, starch-collared suits. Luckily, ReSculpt will see to everyone conforming to the expectations of society, without complaint. Unluckily, the side effects seem to kick in at the debutante ball.
Step one: paranoia. Is this who you really are? What happened to the person you were a few days ago? Where did everything that made you who you are go? Dread creeps in, a discordant note, a cold breeze. Step two: touch repulsion. The dances at the ball are all respectful, leaving plenty of room for Jesus, flirty little wrist touches and soft, careful hands โ and you're disgusted by wanting more, confused by it. Consumed by it? Scared of it. The sick touch of skin on skin is as offensive as it is arousing, like gripping ice cubes in your hand and flinching at the numbing, burning pain. Step three: hallucinations. You turn in a dance and the hand that slips into yours is more bone than flesh. The ballroom itself seems to grow more decayed than decadent, ghosts and horrifying faces spliced between the crowd, all looking at you, angry and disturbed. Is that face looking back at you your own? Can your friends tell you from a doppelgรคnger? Who even are you anymore?
And finally, step four: rehab. As it turns out, Shaman Leaf is not actually a good guy. That is, he's not a guy at all but a pรบca, here to unleash a humble amount of chaos and then quickly skedaddle while the iron's still hot, escaping with mischievous shapeshifting behaviors through the closest door, galloping to the forest. Though his exit from the premises doesn't clear up the effects of ReSculpt, it's nothing a little week spent very fashionably in rehab can't clear up. Going cold turkey is the only way to remove it from your system โ and you do want to remove it from your system. A depleting supply will force you into withdrawals regardless, in the form of continued paranoia and hallucinations, acting hot and cold with touch, alternating between your true self and ReSculpt self, fevers, nosebleeds, puking, and blacking out. A good detox for the new year.
DIRECTORY
lohse ๐ถ divinity original sin 2 ๐ถ current player, new character
8-BALL WRECK HIS SHIT LOHSE
He looked down briefly at himself first at the notion of a breeze, and upon finding himself very exposed, his breath hissed out in an expression of annoyance. After all, this was yet another sign of the cursed nature of this place, wasn't it?
He kept his face very pointedly on the faces of everyone around, but Lohse's near-scream (yelp?) caught his attention, and he's ever the chivalrous, as he turned to look around, as if there was a threat. ]
Ah, are you alright miss? [ He turned, as if he could block the rest of the party from her with his bulk. ]
Do you need assistance?
(panics bisexually)
And everyone is very, very attractive, honestly. Sheโd realized that at breakfast as she just looked around, but now, oh, Divines, she doesnโt know where to look! Sheโs not sure sheโs ever felt her face feel so red before. She turns away sharply as she feels like someone just caught her staring at their shaved pussy (itโs a novelty, okay!), but only so that she almost runs right into Heinrix. ]
Oh- [ She gasps out a little note of surprise, but itโs half because her eyes linger on his chest first, start to drift, and then, nope, snap up to his eyes so quickly that itโs suspicious. But she recovers quickly with a laugh. ] Oh, no, Iโm- Iโm fine! Or, well, not any different than anyone else, it looks like.
[ Her voice is airy and friendly, like thereโs a laugh always right behind her words. This is absolutely to conceal the mantra on repeat in her head at the moment of do not look at his dick, do not do it Lohse, ]
Doooooโฆ [ She draws out the word like sheโs unsure of where she was going with this question before she started speaking, but she gets there. ] Do parties here usually go like this? Just, you know, poof, everyoneโs a nudist?
[ She has not even noticed the mysterious 8-ball fortune yet because sheโs too afraid to get caught looking around, but sheโll get there. In fact, itโs lucky number 8. ♥ ]
no subject
For his own reasons. It truly has nothing to do with being naked, and more to do with... well. Where did the clothing go? What's happening with them? ]
I have not experienced this yet. However, I was told that they would have all sorts of... effects.
I have held off from consuming anything for that reason, but it seems it is not always the food or drink that will cause us to be subjected to their whims.
[ Whose? He doesn't know. ]
I wonder where our clothing went?
[ He doesn't hold a hand over himself, he is not ashamed, and yet... His eyes are focused on her, not yet on the 8 ball. He'll look later, maybe when he's trying not to focus on anything in front of him ๐ ]
no subject
Well, you could help yourself to the food and drink if you wanted now, since no one told me anything about that. Iโve been your taste tester without even knowing it, chief.
[ Granted, if she had been warned, she absolutely would have stayed away from it, but she just hasnโt been that suspicious yet. Breakfast was probably the best food sheโs ever had, and what, is she going to turn down free drinks?
โฆMaybe in the future, sheโll reconsider it, but so far, she feels fine. Maybe just a little embarrassed for being overly trusting, now that heโs pointed it out, so she brushes some hair behind her ear. Looking him in the face so intently is starting to feel increasingly awkward, so she goes to her tried and true method of avoiding awkwardness: do not stop talking. ]
Clearly, someone just figured out using Nether Swap the way the pervert that made it up intended! Last time I saw the spell, I was just thinking itโd be funny to move my fussy friend around [ she means Fane ], but this is, um, one way to use it! So, hey, good news is that just means all our clothes are in a big pileโฆ somewhere.
no subject
[ He sounds far to hopeful for that. It's not that Heinrix is ashamed, or thinking that he couldn't walk around confidently naked, but there were principles to follow. He hadn't chosen this, and that makes this sting just a touch more than he would have liked. He doesn't cover anything, because he doesn't think he should โ but the fact of it still remained... he should like to have chosen or denied this of his own volition.
He wonders, if perhaps that is the intent of this mansion. To take away the agency of its residents, bit by bit, until they are mere slaves of its whims, waiting and ready to debase themselves and give into debauchery whenever whomever controls it crooks their finger. He wondered if some were already, and his eyes scanned the room, to see if any were... already willing and able.
His eyes moved back to her, and there's a bit of a smile. He didn't quite see the ball yet. ]
Well, I suppose regardless, this is quite the way to introduce myself to someone. I think you have seen more of me than most in this mansion already.
[ He reached out a hand. ] Heinrix van Calox, at your service.
And if you need a fussy friend to move around sometime, feel free โ although perhaps without the involuntary disrobing.
no subject
[ She shrugs, since itโs the best guess sheโs got, and she knows itโs almost entirely bullshitting. Itโs fine, though, since her thoughts on the matter arenโt nearly so serious as his. Sheโs just glad to see him smile, and that makes joking around worth it.
Thoughโฆ She canโt help but purse her lips playfully as he continues. Thereโs just so much in such short succession! Joking about their collectively nudity, how she looks at his hand as he extends it and gets an eyeful, and, oh, thatโs flirting for sure! She giggles warmly, since this situation is just ridiculous in every respect, and though sheโs still a bit flustered, she decides that thereโs nothing to do but to just roll with it as she looks back up at him.
To immediately tease him, of course.
With a faux-scandalized gasp, she puts on an expression of deep, over-the-top, clearly-not-real offense. ]
Mister Van Calox. Why, if I didnโt know any better, I would say youโre trying to get me to remove my hands!
[ She holds her breasts just a little tighter, very much intentionally pushing them up, but then relaxes after holding the pose for a moment. Lohse does indeed release her breasts so that she can take his hand and shake it. Her handshake is strong and easy, just as gregarious as she seems to be. ]
Heh. Just kidding. Iโm Lohse! Just Lohse. [ She releases his hand from the handshake with a nod. ] Always looking for friends, too. Better to band together when youโre in a weird situation, right?
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Lohse. [ Her grip is firm and warm. If this were in better circumstances, he would entertain the idle thought that flitted to mind about her grip.
He doesn't though, he only smiles, a brush of shy kindness. ]
Indeed. After all, this is the first time I've had my clothing so forcibly removed. We'll need to band together if we're supposed to find them. Perhaps the rest of the party would appreciate it as well.
[ Like they'll get to that stage. ]
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It seems so.
[ A glance; the young redhead seems to be taking it better in stride than the people who are clutching to cover themselves, or overwhelmed by embarrassment. She has ignored whoever it was she was supposed to kiss at midnight in favour of studying those who are quick studies themselves: one man turns and murmurs an apology to another man, and is immediately allowed to leave, his task fulfilled. Others attempting the barred doors are having less luck. Pragmatic as ever, Minthara sees no harm in finalizing her own task so she may leave before - well, her experience with orgies are mostly those thrown by Drow, where the excess goes past sex and drugs and into slaves and blood. As much as she's learned this evening, she is in no mood for what she is certain comes next.
Which is why she approaches Lohse, trying (poorly) to soften her demeanour somewhat. ]
Is the ball the property of a Lucian? It instructed me to answer an honest question. Should you ask one of me, I should be happy to assist in your instructions in return.
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She laughs, half for the familiarity of the impression, and half for the question she asks. ]
Iโd certainly hope so, at least for his sakeโฆ I donโt know much about becoming the Divine, but youโd hope you get to keep your testicles, yeah? Itโd be a shame to go through all that trouble, then, whoops, all gone!
[ She giggles, since being so blunt about the state of Lucianโs genitals is probably sacrilegious, but sheโs never been all that devout in the first place. Itโs fallen even lower since she became a candidate to become the next Divine, of all peopleโฆ But if becoming Divine means becoming all smooth in your genitals, maybe Fane is the best choice, actually. ]
A question, thoughโฆ? What is— No, wait, thatโd be a waste of a question. [ She starts to ask what โitโ is, just because Lohse hasnโt quite figured out the trick herself yet. Considering she sees option 20, sheโs assuming (hoping) that isnโt instructive for her. ] Hereโs a good one that we used to get to know people new to the troupe back in the day! Whatโs a surprising โfun factโ about you? You know, the kind of thing that wouldn't usually come up in conversation? That kind.
[ ooc ; 20 is just what I rngโd, but if youโd like to go a spicier direction let me know! Happy to do that or stay more gen. ♥ ]
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For this reason, she takes her question very seriously, taking a moment to rub her chin and consider. There truly is something of Sebille about her, even if the two of them would try and kill each other if they ever met. ]
I do not like to swim. I find submersion in water detestable.
[ There. She studies Lohse with a faintly creased brow, as if to make sure that's a sufficiently adequate answer, a fun enough fact. ]
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You know, I was thinking more โI have a pet chicken named Peeperโ, but, well, I get it. Ever since I almost drowned a little bit ago, but I think anyone would hate water after that, right?
[ Honestly, she tries not to think too hard about anything thatโs happened to her over the past few months, but escaping a ship being attacked by a giant bloody Voidwoken is something that lingers with her despite those efforts. Itโs why sheโs quick to push for something a little lighter. ]
Cโmon, something silly! Or less serious, anyways.
[ Now, granted, she doesnโt have high expectations here already, but. Thatโll make it even better if she comes up with something, surely. ]
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[ Straight-faced. Clearly this counts as a fun fact, because there's a clown in it. Clowns are always silly, especially in death.
Aware that this might be a little too bloodthirsty for new acquaintance, she clarifies: ]
A shapeshifter who was disguised as a clown, at any rate. The real clown's body was scattered throughout the city, having been the focus of multiple blood rituals.
[ So funny! ]
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Which is to say that Lohse is surprised and doesnโt hide it, but her immediate reaction probably isnโt as sharp as might be expected, and it lessens even further with the clarification. Lohse isnโt exactly bloodthirsty (unless her extra passenger is in charge, anyways), but her judgement on such things has definitely loosened significantly in the past few months. Itโs the sort of thing thatโs firmly in the category of things she tries not to think about too much.
So, she brushes that self-reflection aside in the way she always doesโjoking around. ]
Oof. [ big oof, even, but alas she is too Ye Olde Fantasy to meme ] I feel bad for the clown, obviously! Thatโs terrible! โฆBut I almost feel bad for the shapeshifter, yeah? I mean, imagine if you could change into anything, and you pick a clown? That has to beโฆ I donโt know. Embarrassing? Sad? Especially sad if thatโs how you get killed as!
[ She laughs, and because she thinks thatโs about the best she thinks she can get from Minthara, she nods and gives her assessment. ]
Alright. It has clowns, so thatโs fun. Iโll call that a pass! [ A pause, and then: ] And, um, what am I passing you for, exactly? I know you said โitโ instructed you, but whatโs โitโ?
(: hehe
Unlike a certain someone else, she has no qualms about raking her eyes over Lohse. From the top of her ginger head to the tips of her toes, openly admiring the curve of her breasts and hips, the taper of her waist, the all-over freckles... Mia gladly ignores the 8Ball's fortune for now ( it's an 18! ), in favor of approaching the other woman. Mia's own body is slender and slight and scarred, her face alternating between scarred and branded; a dour, dark-eyed expression and hands that curl so naturally around a weapon.
Her mouth curls, unkindly: ] It could be. It's definitely not the first [ or last ] time that we'll end up baring it all.
good luck lohse
That so? Right. Well thenโฆ
[ Itโs not quite shy, but itโs almost playful how Lohse permits herself a little more of a look in return. Itโs like playfully elbowing someone, a โhey, you got a peek, so now itโs my turnโ. The immediate impression is definitely a (much smaller!) Sebille, but seeing all the scarsโฆ Well, the sharpness of that smile doesnโt bother her, thatโs for sure. Hers is just warm in return, even if it doesnโt fully reach her eyes. ]
Usually I say hi before I see someone naked, so. Hi! I'm Lohse.
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With her own hands on the angle of her hipbones, she staggers her stance as if demanding to be seen, viewed, looked over. Inviting the eyes on her, and having little issue if she's not their type. This is her afterlife, after all. There's more fun to be had, than drama. ]
That's okay by me. Usually, I get right down to it. So, "hi". [ She purrs the greeting. ] I'm Mia. You wrap your head around what's happening yet?
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Ha! Not a damned clue, other than, you know. The obvious.
[ She gestures with one hand towards herself, and gives a theatrical little step and half-bow. The nudity itself doesnโt bother her nearly so much as the suddenness, but at least no one else seems to care? That said, Miaโs question does get her to look around for a bit of a hint, and though she catches a few people getting to their various tasks, it takes a second for her to look back to the ball...
And her expression immediately twists up quizzically, because it doesnโt occur to her immediately that itโs instructive. After all, lucky number 13 is asking a lot. ]
Itโs not like any other party Iโve been to, thatโs for sure.
8-ball let's gooo
So now Matt's naked, seriously buzzed off prosecco jello shots, and surrounded by a bevy of guests in similar straits. His first move is to cover himself: not his groin, but his scar, the snakelike thing that winds from hipbone to navel. His second is to jolt towards the sound of that squeak. He finds that its source is a redhead, her face flushed almost brighter than her hair. Matt's gaze follows a spray of her freckles, then another, as if expecting the little dots to form some familiar shape as they swirl down her neck, over her collarbone, towards the swell of her--
His eyes snap back to the woman's face. ]
Hi, [ he says, with more than a touch of deer in the headlights. Her laughter is infectious, making him smile, but he's a little overwhelmed underneath it. ] Sorry, were you--?
I haven't seen anybody named Lucian.
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Sheโs at least not too self-conscious about how some eyes sweep her way (again, everyone being in the same situation helps with that), but as her eyes drift towards Matt, they basically do the same thing. The fact that his hands go elsewhere is surprising, which makes her automatically take a peek, and then laugh in jovial mortification as sheโs caught. ]
Hi! Sorry!
[ Heโs cute too! Everyone is cute, this is not fair. She can almost hear her extra passenger laughing at her, but as usual, she stubbornly blocks that out most of all. ]
Iโm not looking for him, donโt worry! Itโs just a figure of speech, since Iโm pretty sure actually seeing the Divineโs balls would be, umโฆ
[ Sacrilegious, maybe? Look, sheโs not going to worry about it too much. She laughs again in how flustered she is, half at herself and half at the absurdity of the situation. ]
Well, you know, this is one way to make a first impression, yeah? Usually it takes longer to get me out of my clothes!
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It's usually shorter for me, [ he says, his tone self-deprecating. ] So I guess we're, uhhh, canceling each other out.
[ Despite his best intentions, his eyes flicker around the room. He can't resist. Everybody here is so gorgeous? Still, his gaze lands naturally back on Lohse, his eyes squarely on her face this time. Come on Jello Shots, you can do this! ]
Damn, [ he notes. ] Even at like, full-blown orgies, I don't think everybody's been naked all at once.
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...Now, granted. None of her performances ever involve taking off her clothes, so she's still feeling embarrassed and flustered, but seeing it mirrored with a little more ease in Matt at least helps it feel a bit less awkward. So, she laughs. She has a nice laugh that's warm and bright, even with the circumstances. ]
Right. Together, we're perfectly normal. This is perfectly normal.
[ She takes a breath like she's steeling herself for something brave, but that's for show. Mostly. Lohse commits to a bit, so she removes the hand that's covering her breasts so that she can offer it for a handshake with a cheeky grin. ]
I'm Lohse. Nice to meet you, Mr. Orgy Expert.
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Howโd you know my last name? [ he accuses as he shakes, unable to suppress a grin. ] Ah โฆ just Matt is fine. Pleased to meet you, Lohse.
[ He casts another glance around the space. By the doors, a pair of nude and gorgeous coeds are yelling something about how theyโre locked. ]
Typical, [ Matt sighs. He looks down at his bare wrist. ] I donโt care if they keep the black tie, but I better get the rest of my things back. Some very handsome people gave me that stuff. [ His next scan of the room catches on the 8-ball, where now, he notices, a phrase has surfaced. Send a naughty pic/text.
Hm. ]
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[ She responds to the rhetorical question playfully as she withdraws her hand, and her expression makes her thoughts clear. Theyโre absolutely united on the surreal nature of this and how a handshake just seemsโฆ absurd. But, you know, why not, right? It makes as much sense as anything else so far.
As Matt looks around, Lohse takes a moment to do the same. Her gaze scans the crowd curiously, and sheโs amazed to see most people just taking this in stride. Theyโre carrying on conversations like this is a normal thing that happens, and is that just what being in this place has in store? Like, that doesnโt seem too bad, at least compared to her normal day to day, but itโs still odd.
Not that she has much of a chance to think too hard about it, because her eyes go very wide for a moment as she catches sight of someone fulfilling their 8-ball command, unbeknownst to her at the moment. She just sees one woman sucking on anotherโs titty and with a quiet โOh, Sevenโ her attention snaps back to Matt. She sees him looking at the 8-ball and follows his gaze—
โฆSpill a deep secret? Sheโs good, thanks.
Thereโs a bit of a halting pause as her smile falters, but she catches up quickly. ]
L-Lucky you! [ Yeah, that stutter was because of the titties. Totally. Definitely not the 8-Ball. ] Mine were justโฆ There. They were nice, like, probably the nicest things Iโve ever worn, to be honest with you, but theyโd be better as gifts. Weโll have to find yours for sure.
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And maybe my phone, [ he adds, after slightly too long a pause. ] Uh. Thisโll probably sound strange, but Iโm wondering if this is one of those times where thereโs a sort of scavenger hunt, or a task to complete, and then theyโll let us go.
[ He tries to wrap his tongue around how he envisions this proclivity of the manorโs, its tendency to rattle them like soda in a can to see what kind of fizz the pressure makes. But all he can think is that plenty of people here come from places that have neither soda nor cans in them, and anyway, maybe heโs already said too much. Matt points to a relatively unoccupied corner of the room. ]
Maybe we can start there?
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cw: allusions to past dv
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