𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 ▣ JAN TDM

[saltburntmods]

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 — dangers come out at night, and no one, no matter how rich you are, is safe from demons lurking in the shadows.

Threads can be considered game canon, provided the players agree. Players can also start fresh upon acceptance into the game. In game characters can post to the TDM directly, using « NEW CHARACTER/IN GAME» in the header. There will be a spot below for new characters to link their toplevels for easy access. Alternatively, prompts on the Test Drive can be used for in game logs.

WELCOME TO SALTBURNT

It's the hangover more than the light streaming in through half drawn curtains that wakes you up, your brain rattling in your skull, your mouth dry and cottony, your stomach churning with whatever it is you drank last night. If self preservation is your strong suit, you might turn over in bed and see a few painkillers laid out for you on a silver dish, accompanied by a glass of water. If it isn’t, stay in bed and wallow — eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe it’s normal for you. Maybe it isn’t.

You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room — have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Haven’t you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, some who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "Breakfast will be out in a minute," they say. What's that?

EDIT SEPTEMBER 2024: For those who have attended breakfast with the Balfours before, a change in routine might come as a shock, given how rarely they stray from form. However, as of September, 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

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐘: one runny boiled egg shelled and recoated in edible gold leaf, seated on a throne of fried bread soldiers, plated with whipped butter and italian parsley.
𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐊𝐀: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐘𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐘: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
𝐎𝐄𝐔𝐅𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐒: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
𝐄𝐆𝐆 𝐌𝐂𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐇: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.

THE SWEETS

❖ momofuku's "cereal milk" ❖
❖ fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss ❖
❖ a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping ❖
❖ a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling ❖
❖ poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection ❖

If you want to leave, you’ll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as he’s as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, there’s no reason why you can’t just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesn’t want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they can’t make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, though — this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?

Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, it’s all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast.

"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."

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 — 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 — 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 — 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!

1 KISS SOMEONE ELSE 5 spill a deep secret 9 Put on a private show for an audience 13 Fuck without getting caught 17 Talk about your childhood

2 Do a body shot 6 Snort a line with someone 10 Have a public orgasm 14 Answer one question honestly 18 Go down on someone

3 Suck tiddy 7 Make someone cry 11 Apologize to someone 15 Ask someone out 19 Confess to your crush

4 Talk dirty to someone 8 Give a lap dance 12 Send a naughty message/picture 16 Swap partners for the night 20 Confess a private shame

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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 doppelgänger? 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 púca, 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 — 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

taken
activity check
setting

reserves
rewards
rules

applications
hiatus & drop
faq

Comments

Halsin | BG3 | current player, new character

[lightandjoy]

ELF YOURSELF — cw: none

[ In some ways, it's beautiful. The house is a strange place, the people inside are a mystery, but outside -- it's not unfamiliar. Frost on the grass and the hard stems of the roses, flowers wrapped in their winter dreaming, but the trees are old. Very old. And they welcome him, in their way.

Halsin doesn't know why or where he is. That doesn't matter; he accepts that he'll have to find out, soon, and find out what's going on. How he can get back to his important work, driving the shadow curse out of the ancient lands and healing their burned flesh. He'll get around to that. But at the moment, he has a headache like he's spent the night drowning himself in Tiefling wine, a sour taste on his tongue and a grimy feeling that only clean air and a cold dawn can erase. The bear in him wants to use this time to gather food for winter, to dig a den and prepare for hibernation; it makes him sleepy, as well. A walk will help.

He walks slowly across the lawn, bare feet leaving wet impressions in the frost. He doesn't mind the cold, though it bites through to his skin. The clothes he was left in his room aren't his usual preference -- a silk shirt and loose trousers -- but they fit, at least. For now, he's not going anywhere in particular, just taking in the grounds. Pausing by a young sapling or a holly bush gives him a chance to look back over his shoulder, an excuse to offer a crooked smile. ]

Good morning.

8-BALLS OUT — cw: none

BEFORE MIDNIGHT — [ Being inside stone walls isn't something that Halsin enjoys for too long, not to mention being in the middle of a crowd of noisy, confusing people, dressed in clothes that feel too thin and flimsy -- when he'd asked for good leather, he'd ended up with a pair of trousers that feel as though they might fall apart when glanced at too hard. But he does enjoy a party, especially one that seems to be encouraging partygoers to give in to their natural urges. He's happy to sample anything offered to him, though he turns down the white powder after his first sniff, finding that it just gives him a headache.

He's easy to find in the crowd, easy to convince into a drink or a spot on the dancefloor -- though the Archdruid hasn't exactly got the moves for Mambo No. 5 just yet. Still, at least he's willing to try. ]

AFTER MIDNIGHT — [ Halsin isn't expecting the spell that ripples through the party. He's given himself over to local custom and is caught in a kiss, big broad hands buried in someone's hair and curved around their backside, not understanding what's happened until his companion pulls away and he finds that the house's magic has gone to work. Not for the first time, he reaches back for his staff and finds only empty air.

Nudity in and of itself doesn't phase him in the slightest; he's more concerned by the fact that they seem to be caught in someone else's weaving. Magic rises like sparks from his hands as he looks around for the perpetrator, raising his voice. ]

Whose spell is this?

WILDCARD

[ OOC: Hit me with whatever, or nudge me via PM or laetificat for plotting! ]

go elf yourself (✿ ◠‿◠)

[extent]

[ nick spends a lot of time out on the grounds. even on the particularly biting, miserable days he's still prone to wandering outside, often underdressed and seemingly unbothered by this fact, and this morning is no exception. it's particularly cold in a way that bites, a mist rising from his breath long after the cigarettes have been abandoned, but there's something about the cold and the quiet that's--serene. quite beautiful, really.

walking out of the treeline, back towards the perfectly manicured lawns and the well-kept grounds of the estate, nick rubs idly at the tips of his fingers and wanders, no real urgency in his trip back to the house. he might have gotten distracted by any number of things, but today it's the man on a trajectory to cross paths with him, and nick turns slightly, waves. ]

Morning. [ with a smile, a bright and curious look on his face. there's just only ever a handful of people out at this time, and most of them are the overexuberant fitness types that want to run laps in the freezing cold, or the types that prefer the dark, and have only just scurried away to bed--

or the types like nick, whose sleep pattern knows no rhythm, who hasn't slept yet this morning only because he'd become distracted out in the woods. ] There's probably a scarf around here somewhere, if you're cold.

[lightandjoy]

[ There are enough strangers around this strange place that Halsin isn't surprised by the boy's appearance, though his clothes are odd and the Archdruid is, admittedly, still getting used to seeing people walking about with no armor and no weapons at all. It's not an unpleasant thing to adjust to -- this is clearly a place of peace and, judging by the gardens, generous harvests.

At the mention of a scarf, he glances down at himself and the shirt buttons in real danger of pinging off if he breathes out too hard. The silk certainly leaves little to the imagination. ]

I think I'd need more than a scarf. But I'm all right, no need to worry. The cold doesn't trouble me. [ He studies the boy thoughtfully, noting his own unseasonable dress. ] Or you, it seems. Are you sure you shouldn't be looking for a scarf?

[extent]

You'd think so, and yet.

[ a prime example of why nick never would have been able to maintain any real kind of illusion about being a witch. magic is just too wrapped up in everything he does, who he is, and subtlety has never really been nick's strong point anyway.

nick wanders his way over closer to this new, curious stranger. he hadn't been looking for company, admittedly, but nick is hardly one to pass up a conversation. particularly not when said strangers look like some combination of a woodsman and a telenovela heartthrob, but that's only part of the reason why he offers out a friendly hand in greeting. ]

Are you new? I'd remember seeing you around. I'm Nick.

[lightandjoy]

New enough to still be feeling the after effects.

[ Halsin lifts a hand to briefly touch his temple with a wry grin; he'd been assuming the lingering hangover is as much a side effect of a summoning as anything else. But he's happy to lower it to take Nick's hand in his, all big broad fingers and the scars of a long and difficult war. ]

Halsin. A pleasure to meet you, Nick.

[ He squeezes Nick's hand rather than shaking it, and lingers when he feels a familiar green warmth in him, like touching a tree in its early years, or letting sunlight pool in his palm. It's not so different from the feeling of being around his fellow druids and the harmonies of their worship.

His smile grows wider. ]

I see we have some things in common.

after midnight

[wines]

[ If you asked Dorian, big, burly, and tree-hugging is decidedly not his type: but that's a lie borne of denial, and half a bottle of champagne has a way of making his tongue looser and more honest.

So said tongue is rather enthusiastic about this midnight kiss, his hands squeezing Halsin's hips, a soft groan escaping his lips as Halsin cups his ass. Really, the only thing that pulls him away is the ripple of shocked murmurs - and a few whoops of delight - from the rest of the party. His hair is mussed, eye makeup well and truly smeared, lips reddened as he eases off of Halsin and takes the measure of the room.

The nudity doesn't bother Dorian, either; his own reaction time is slowed by the alcohol in his system, but he's unsurprised by the sparks of magic at Halsin's fingertips. This place is full of mages of all sorts, apparently, and so far as he's seen no one considers that a problem: much like his home, but nothing like where he's recently come from.

Dragging a hand through his hair in an attempt to control the mess, Dorian sighs, not particularly in the mood to have to fight demons or the like without his staff or his clothes. ]

Not mine. I'd suspect a Desire demon, but this is considerably less subtle than their usual style.

uwu

[lightandjoy]

[ They'd barely traded greetings, much less names, but the kiss lingers grape-sweet and tempting on Halsin's lips, and he's reluctant to let his new companion get too far away, even when dealing with strange magic. One hand returns absently to Dorian's now naked hip, the golden glow fading from the other as he frowns at the surrounding crowd -- most of whom seem all too happy to return to their interrupted activities. ]

A Desire demon.

[ He considers the idea thoughtfully. It doesn't require much explanation. After a moment, he drops his gaze back down to Dorian. His thumb moves in a pensive arc over the mage's side. Somehow the lack of clothes makes his disheveled appearance and smudged makeup even more alluring. ]

By rights, we should investigate. [ Unless.. ]

[wines]

Should we?

[ Surely there's someone better equipped for investigation than they are, at present. Dorian can reflect on his bad choices tomorrow: tonight, he's warm with alcohol and relieved of his clothing, and there's a handsome man with a broad palm at his hip. The only thing he's interested in investigating is what else those hands can do.

The party's descending rather swiftly into further debauchery around them. Dorian takes note of the (ugly, by his measure) ball that's dropped in their midst, sweeping a palm up Halsin's chest and inclining his head towards the message they're meant to read. ]

Perhaps if we explore the local customs further, we'll get a better sense of what's going on.

[lightandjoy]

Mm.

[ Any shreds of resolve left to Halsin are dealt a mortal blow by Dorian's hand sliding up over his skin. Far be it from him to interfere with someone else's ritual -- for all he knows, he reasons to himself, this is a normal occurrence, just part of the turning of the year. It already resembles some of the more ancient druidic rituals.

He leans down to kiss the top of Dorian's head, nuzzling into the scent of his hair as he tilts a look over at the giant contraption. Between the milling crowd, he sees the words written there. ]

"Answer one question honestly." An interesting instruction. [ His other hand settles on Dorian's body, callused palms roaming idly over his warm skin. ] Would you like to go first? Ask me anything.

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

[tortured]

[ Minthara has never been Halsin's biggest fan. They spoke little even when forced to share quarters during the first night of her rescue, and she has often had the impression he held her actions under the Absolute against her. She took no action against him, of course, despite this lack of respect; they both had come to Baldur's Gate with the same goal, and Minthara was no stranger to alliances with those she did not like or trust.

Here, however, there is no threat of the Absolute. Even her tadpole has quieted, despite her distance from the artefact that their party leader kept. But still, she approaches the large elf. The circumstances of the manor are less than ideal: she too is bemused by the leather they dress her in, the absence of weapons, the loudness of the music. It is, deep down where she will not admit it, a relief to see a familiar face, even knowing he is not perhaps a friendly one. ]

What are you doing?

[ Sharp, apparently unimpressed by his dance moves. ]

[lightandjoy]

[ Between his weight, his elven physiology (and a touch of orc), and the healing magic in his veins, it takes a considerable amount of alcohol to get Halsin truly drunk. Thankfully, it's a free bar, and the champagne is stronger than he anticipated, so by the time Minthara of all people steps out of the crowd to glower at him, he's merry enough to continue dancing in the face of her scorn.

Not that it's much of a dance. More of a sort of shuffling and waving his limbs around to the beat, bouncing on the balls of his feet, copying some of the young people in the surrounding crowd. With a careless grin, he leans over so he can pitch his voice above the music. ]

Obeying local customs! [ He shimmies his hips. ] I think it's quite convincing.

[tortured]

No.

[ Arms folded, unimpressed. She isn't even going to elaborate on what part isn't "convincing", because what the fuck does she know about local customs: she's dismissive of the whole thing. If she cared what anyone here thought she might have to be embarrassed for him. ]

Have you no rhythm? At least move to the beat.

[ She claps her hands sharply, five times, in time with it. ]

[lightandjoy]

[ Thankfully for both of them, Halsin in his current state is unlikely to be offended, even by the scowling face of someone who stands so ideologically opposed to him that he's barely tolerated her presence for the last few months. Her disapproval just spurs him on, making him want to prove her wrong -- or maybe just put a smile on that sour face.

He laughs at her clapping, putting his arms above his head as the beat throbs. ]

Strict in every way! Even spiders spin crooked webs sometimes, Minthara.

elf yourself

[semicharmed]

[ Matt comes staggering out of the hedge maze. He too is barefoot, though unlike Halsin, he minds the cold a lot. Not as much as he minds the headache, the roiling in his gut, and starting the day retching ectoplasm, but it's a close call. ]

Fffffuck, [ he groans, exasperated. He reaches for a nearby tree to steady himself, fingers gratefully grazing the cold bark. ] Come on you guys, put shoes on me before you take me out here.

[ Someone's talking to him. A real, living person, quite possibly. Matt's bleary gaze zeroes in on the huge guy by the holly bush. ]

Ah. Hi. [ Fuck, his teeth are chattering already. Does he have the energy for a spell ...? ] How's it going?

[lightandjoy]

[ It's not unexpected that a house of peace will also find itself becoming a place of excess; Halsin has noticed the lack of weapons in the staff and guests, the air of ease and indulgence. He's not surprised to have walked past some in a state of disrepair, trying to sleep off their night before, and he's not surprised when a boy comes stumbling out of the hedge maze. ]

Here.

[ No hesitation about it. Halsin's moving towards him even before Matt finishes asking his question, blue-white light flowing around his hands to coalesce in his palms. Warmth, healing, bright sunlight on a summer day. Halsin reaches up to cup the boy's face, fingertips spanned over those aching temples. ]

Breathe, young one.

[semicharmed]

Huh--

[ That's as far as Matt gets, an inchoate mumble, before the sight-slash-feeling of that light stops him short. Even if he had the energy to sprint away, he's much too curious to think of it.

And so, broad hands touch down warmly on his face. Breathe is an easy instruction to follow. The easiest, really, even with the cold seeping in through every pore. Matt inhales, an automatic four count: one, two, three, four. This energy offers a glowing counterpoint to the icy morning air, soothing the drumbeat hammering his brain. Matt's eyes dip closed.

On the exhale, he sighs, ] This is magic?

[ He can't think what else it would be. But people here conceive of their abilities in all sorts of ways. ]

[lightandjoy]

Yes. The magic of the Oak Father.

[ Halsin's hands span Matt's face, jaw in his palms, thumbs moving slowly beneath his closed eyes, gently stroking the fragile skin and bones. Pain is natural, but this pain feels poorly given, like a gift that weighs too much. He keeps his hands on Matt for a moment more, then drops them, taking a small step back to give him some room. ]

You should be careful sleeping it off out here. It's too cold.

elf yourself

[agoniser]

[ Honestly, there’s no place on the estate that feels fully comfortable for Marazhai. It’s all rather alien to him, since the way people lived here was so far removed from Eldar life, to say nothing of Drukhari in particular. Commorragh was a place of extremes—nothing was natural and even the homes of nobility were strange, non-Euclidian structures.

Yet even so, Marazhai tends to occupy more of his days outside rather than inside, even with a cutting chill. It’s just a comically practical thing, though. At least outside he’s not having to duck through doorways or force himself to twist into furniture that’s not made for his proportions at all. It’s why his mornings tend to start outside before he goes to deal with the frustration of breakfast.

He’s surprised to see someone else out, and barefoot, of all things, because by comparison… Marazhai is extremely bundled up. It’s seemingly overly so for the weather, but that’s what happens when you have truly negligible body fat. Halsin beats him to the greeting, but just barely, so he nods to accept it. ]

A cold one, cousin.

[ His smile is sharp, but not disagreeable. The immediate impression is that it’s just the way his are, considering his tone is warmer. Though, granted, some of that warmth comes from private amusement that this is one of those elves (or so he assumes) that he cannot call “little cousin” so readily. ]

You do not seem bothered by it, though.

[lightandjoy]

[ The gardens are lovely in the winter ice and fog, clearly tended by loving hands, for all they're tamed and cut back from their natural wildness. Halsin would prefer to wander through tangled undergrowth and sprawling untidy profusions of flowers, but he can still appreciate the fine healthy growth of the hedges and the deep slumbering roots of the fruit trees.

He's crouched by a deep bed of lavender, little more than sticks and some pale leaves in the January frost but still full of the promise of summer, when he hears footsteps nearby. His greeting comes a little more hesitantly once he gets a proper look at who he's talking to -- it's not often that he has to look up at someone, especially another elf, and he blinks in surprise. ]

No. [ Recovering, mostly, as he straightens up. His breath plumes on the cold air, underlining his tall cousin's point. ] I don't expect to be warm, so I'm able to embrace the cold. [ He nods towards Marazhai's clothing. ] You seem to be well wrapped.. cousin?

[agoniser]

[ He huffs out a note of a laugh that seems to say “if only”. Marazhai may be completely, stubbornly convinced of Eldar superiority, but admittedly… Their biology is somewhat lacking when it comes to anything but mild temperatures. It’s something they can endure more readily than, say, humans, but it doesn’t make it more comfortable. ]

Unfortunately so, yes. These humans are so primitive that cloth and leather is all they can manage, and the latter… [ He scoffs ] They are fond of it for sensual garments rather than anything practical.

[ He misses his armor every day, truly. Sure, Drukhari craftsmanship means that it’s all attached via hooks into his skin, but at least he would be warm. He won’t complain about it further, though, since his gaze drifts to the lavender that Halsin had been inspecting. He considers asking about it, but holds off as his attention turns back to him. ]

I have not seen you around the estate. You are newly arrived?

ADDITIONAL PROMPT: BEAR TIME

[lightandjoy]

[ Although Halsin isn't troubled by the cold, it nevertheless makes its impact on him; he is, after all, as much a part of the natural world as anything else, and, as he's fond of pointing out, nothing in nature happens in isolation. In his soul, the bear wants to eat and sleep through the winter days, so Halsin finds himself asking for thirds at meals and yawning over his food.

He's learned, over the centuries, that it's easier to cope with such impulses if he takes his animal form as often as he can, settling the restlessness in his body in his Wild Shape. It's been a while since he hibernated properly -- a habit he finds himself missing these days -- and he knows he can't do it in this strange place, where he needs to stay aware of his surroundings, but he can at least let the bear out to wander around a little.

As the chilly days and nights of January continue, bear sightings in the woods and grounds -- and, occasionally, bedrooms -- of the manor will increase. The cave bear isn't a small animal, as tall as a man at the shoulder, and Halsin doesn't try to hide, though he does make an effort not to scare the Balfour's deer herd and the local wildlife. He can be found curled up to sleep beneath the trees or in empty bedrooms, pacing slowly through the undergrowth in search of food, or taking a dip in the lake. Feel free to approach -- he won't bite unless asked very nicely. ]

[dead_tongue]

[Bears don't live in England. This much Iggy knows - his father told him once that England killed off pretty much everything but foxes and hedgehogs - so he realises that something odd is going on when he spots the beast.

Iggy's seen black bears before because they're native to Vancouver Island, and he's always wanted to see a Spirit Bear - a rare subspecies. This bear is neither of those, nor is it a grizzly. Odd again.

Most odd of all, however, is the fact that it's sleeping in a bed.

Feeling a bit like Goldilocks, Iggy backs up slowly. He'd swept into the room because he been told to by a ghost, but now retreat seems in order. Careful retreat. Silent retreat.

He backs up into the side of a dresser, bumping it and making trinkets and perfume bottles chatter. Then he hits the wall and knocks a picture off if it, the frame crashing down and the glass shattering.]

Oh goodness no!

[Iggy looks up at the bear, frozen.]

[lightandjoy]

[ Between the amount of bedrooms and the strange, changing halls, it's possible for even a veteran tracker to get lost on his way back to his own suite. Thankfully, not all of the bedrooms have been claimed, and it's not difficult for said veteran tracker to find somewhere for a nap. As sometimes happens, he dreams of the forest and a clear cold stream, salmon in his jaws -- and wakes up as a bear, to the sight of a skinny boy knocking over a picture frame.

The bear, currently taking up the entire bed and even overflowing it a little, blinks sleepily at Iggy. He slips out a red tongue to lick his chops and yawns, showing off long yellow teeth. Gold light starts to flow out from his eyes and claws, rippling through his fur as it shrinks and fades and becomes a big elven archdruid wearing a sweater and brown corduroy slacks, lying on his belly. He still looks sleepy. ]

I'm sorry if I scared you. The bed is very comfortable, I couldn't resist. Is this your room?

84 years later

[rationalism]

[ the first book that grace asked from the library was a book where the main character has a deeply touching and very intimate relationship with a bear. she's read it more than once. it's surprisingly poignant!! a woman finding herself and finding love and acceptance and herself in the arms of a bear.

look, she won't say it's aspirational but. that's only because no one has asked.

she's heard whispers of a bear, but people were also whispering about a dragon and she's pretty sure that's straight bullshit so she gives neither idea much thought while she's tipsily trying to find an empty room to snooze in because she does not sleep in her own bed.

she opens one door, finds the bed empty, closes the door and walks over to it. she peels off her sweater and awkwardly hops out of her converse as she goes. one shoe goes wide and she hears a soft grunt. ]

Oh, shit, sorry, I didn't think anyone was in— ohmygodbear.

[ grace doesn't usually have the fight instinct, flight is more common. now... now she is frozen. it's a bear! terrifying!

it's a bear snoozing in front of the slowly dying fire in the fireplace inside a chintzy fucking manor and the absurdity of the juxtaposition has broken her fucking brain. ]

[lightandjoy]

[ It's embarrassingly easy to get lost in the manor, even for an experienced tracker. Halsin has at least managed to figure out how to avoid most of the snarls of halls and stairs by sticking to the more well-used corridors, but he's still occasionally found himself thinking he was on the second floor when he's actually on the ground, or wandering for an hour through endless passageways and bedrooms.

At least there are plenty of places to rest between excursions. Halsin had only intended to warm himself by the fire for a short while, but he'd found it all too tempting to lie down and stretch out on the rug, and had slipped into a deep green dream of hibernation -- so perhaps it's not surprising when he wakes in the bear's form.

The bear doesn't rouse all the way, still heat-soaked and sleepy. He yawns widely, unrolling a pink tongue and showing long yellow teeth, then shifts heavily onto his side. One paw lifts, as if to beckon her closer. Want a cuddle? ]