𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 ▣ MAY TDM

[saltburntmods]

MAY 2025 TDM: AMUSEMENT

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."

WILLKOMMEN, BIENVENUE, WELCOME

CONTENT WARNINGS: potential nsfw, public indecency.

Making a peculiar appearance at the breakfast table is a violet-backed starling, flitting in above your heads and making several turns before landing atop a silver tray with a mechanical whir. Upon closer inspection, the bird isn’t actually alive at all — or at least isn’t composed of flesh and blood. It’s an automaton of glittering parts, its amber gaze seemingly aimed directly at you, regardless of where you stand. Held in its tiny talons is a rolled up flyer, which the bird drops to the table, where it unfolds for the closest person to read at the chirping starling’s behest.

The flyer advertises the BASKERVILLE FAMILY CIRCUS EMPORIUM, boasting the best traveling show in the world, complete with carousel rides, ferris wheels, animal attractions, boat rides, world class acrobatics, and a full market of classical antiquities and other merchandise. PORTIA comes in at that moment, takes one look at the gilded letters of the purple and gold advertisement, and snatches the paper away, the bird taking off through the manor with a loud chirp as it escapes through a window.

From then, the Balfours act cagey and whisper secrets among themselves, a tension gripping the odd family as the day passes with no sight of the bird. Once you return to your room, you will find a copy of the Circus Emporium flyer tucked by your pillow — this time with an additional section for you to fill out if you’d like to take control of a booth yourself to show off your own marketable skills or sell your own wares — singing, dancing, cooking, magic tricks, the sky’s the limit! The Baskervilles apparently accept talents of all kinds, though the matter of compensation seems to be conveniently tattered beyond legibility from all flyers. In addition to the flyer, nestled in your bed is a tiny heart locket in your preference of silver or gold. Opening the locket will reveal a glittering gem of a random color amidst clockwork gears, slowly turning.

There isn’t any time to heckle the Balfours for answers, because the next morning everyone wakes to the sounds of construction outside, where a crew clad in purple works to set up the huge traveling emporium — tents go up with the motif of glass hearts decorating every tent wall, ceiling, and doorframe, rides are built, booths line the gardens, a Ferris wheel lights up the maze. Everyone is confined indoors while animals are brought in, clowns cartwheel across the grounds, and the smell of sugary, fried fair food sizzles in the air. By nightfall, the manor is alight with music and performers, and the doors pop open for an invitation to traverse the Circus Emporium, the Baskerville Ringleader himself ushering all in with a smile. If you’ve signed up for a booth, you will find one with your name on it along with any supplies you might need to be a successful entrepreneur for the long night — which certainly feels long. Almost unending, as the events go on and on and on. Some of you more vapid-headed types might not even notice that your newly acquired locket is now nestled around your neck and cannot be removed, regardless of how hard you try.

But never fear! There’s plenty to see and do. The lakes have been set up with romantic boat rides with a flowered archway with a wooden, very exaggeratedly drawn SANJI, lips pursed in a desiring kiss, surrounded by pink and red love hearts around his head like a crown. This, naturally, leads into the TUNNEL OF LOVE; once inside, your most hidden feelings sprout forth, both the good and the bad, unless you lock lips with your boat partner. The towering FERRIS WHEEL fits up to four in a car, and the higher you go, the more breathless you might feel, the air thinner and your body hotter, and you might need someone to quickly relieve that building pressure inside of you before you reach the ground. Plus, it has a reputation of getting stuck once you reach the top. The sweet MERRY-GO-ROUND, equipped with glimmering ponies, unicorns, seahorses, and dragons might give you more than you bargained for when the building euphoria causes you a personal (and public) moment of solo orgasmic bliss.

Too embarrassed to be yourself after all that? There are a number of shopping booths, including no shortage of clothing and styled looks as inspired by some of your very own — most mannequins on the lot seem to resemble SHADOWHEART or ASTARION in some way or another, from stylishly cut wigs, to decorative (see: cheap, mall quality) armor for your perusal. Alternatively, visit one of the DRESS-UP BOOTHS where a helpful Baskerville employee will provide you with a costume or makeup change, where you can wear as much or as little as you want. One particular booth hosts outfits ranging the gamut of stereotypical porn attire, from schoolteachers to handymen, and has an adjoining studio room for filming videos of a certain persuasion. Help me, step bro, I'm stuck in the washing machine!

Throughout all the circus, starling automatons circle overhead, perching on rooftops, in the corners of rooms, even on your head although they never bite. Delightful, isn't it? Their glassy gaze is strangely unsettling, almost like they're watching you, very closely.

PICK A CARD, ANY CARD

CONTENT WARNINGS: potential nsfw, various kinks.

Not everything at the circus is cotton candy, however. If you visit the HOUSE OF MIRRORS, don’t be surprised if your reflection goes rogue and whispers a private shame back at you, maybe even within earshot of the person standing beside you. The ANIMAL SHOWS boast ferocious beasts who are part lion, tiger, and bear (oh my), and people locked in cages, dressed and painted as animals, performing mesmerizing dances that compel you to volunteer for a cage yourself if you watch for too long. Maybe you’d like to put on a sexy show for your friends? In the ACROBATICS TENT, watch world class performers contort their bodies into magical shapes, floating high above your head. There’s even a practice area outfitted with aerial ropes and silks, harnesses, and more intimate objects that seem like they’ve been pilfered from the Otherworld if you’d like to engage in a little acrobatic bondage play.

Additionally there is a TAROT CARD BOOTH, as displayed by one MADAME PATCHOULI, a withered old woman who loves to talk about her grandkids. Come get your fortune foretold in either a 3-card or single card spread, watching the matron's gnarled hands shuffle and deal the cards, outlining your fate. Of course, there is more to the cards than meets the eye, and they are foretelling, expressing some interesting bodily and emotional changes depending on what you draw.

CLICK TO TEST YOUR LUCK

for three card spreads, characters will transition from one effect into the other on a timeline dictated by the player (i.e., in one day, in a week, over the course a month). for a single card pull, just grab your PRESENT card and have fun! all effects wrap up at the latest by month end.

SHARING IS CARING

CONTENT WARNINGS: sexual black mail, nonconsensual sex tape making, snuff films, potential character death.

The Circus Emporium hosts a large film festival at the end of their stay, a large projector screen set out inside the main tent, firstly displaying some art house cheesy films, before the mood in the room shifts as more people gather. The nature of the film shifts too, from intentional to candid, where you might catch glimpses of a person you know caught in frame, cotton candy between their fingers, enjoying the circus. Sweet, right? It seems those starling automatons were not only observing you, but actively filming you and — well, as you're reflecting on your time spent in the circus, the visual changes again. It wasn't all giggles and sugary treats, was it? The camera cuts, to flashes of bare skin and throaty moans, and oh god, is that you up there?

Even as an observer, you can feel your body heating up as if the flames of second or firsthand embarrassment are caressing your own skin. As the show goes on, these strange heat symptoms slowly start to get worse — specifically, they move to your chest, where your heart begins to beat erratically and then struggles to beat at all. In fact, your heart feels like a heavy, agonizing weight in your chest, somehow growing more fragile by the moment. A constant cadence echoes through your skull until you abruptly realize the locket hanging around your neck, now burning hot, is ticking like a clock — or a bomb? — and the gem inside has cracked, tiny shards falling into your palm, slowly draining of color.

The horror of what’s happening seems to come to you as naturally as the locket’s presence around your throat — your heart is slowly and painfully glassifying in the burning, shameful heat of your body, and when the gem fully deteriorates and the clockwork locket ceases to tick, your heart will become a beautiful, glittering stone inside your chest, effectively killing you. The Baskerville employees look devilishly pleased at this turn of events, because apparently the idea of all the guests of the manor succumbing to their literal broken hearts fills them with a wicked joy.

If you run outside to escape the terrible voyeurism, Portia and Jonty can be caught having a rather heated tiff with the Ringleader, Portia clutching the locket wrapped around her own neck with a pained expression. After a moment of back and forth insults, you might catch Portia and Jonty exchanging words of their own before sharing a rare and surprisingly passionate kiss, cheeks flaring and hands wandering, before they both disappear into a tent in a tangle of limbs and lavish clothing. It would be rude to time them, but upon emerging, their lockets are broken off their necks, wearing expressions of relief, Portia with a slight limp to her step.

Your own symptoms worsen the longer the night goes on, the pain in your chest dizzying, your throat growing raw and bloodied as you begin to cough up fragments of glass. If you stayed in the movie tent, the videos change to live performances of people — your friends, your enemies, the people you have yet to meet — choking and dying on screen. The ticking sound pierces your mind like a lance, again and again. The only solution? it seems you must snub out some sliver of purity within yourself and give a significant first to a partner — be it a few meaningful words you haven't yet shared, or a raunchy sex act you've never considered before. Your locket can’t be removed until you de-virgin some part of yourself. And if you don’t? Well, at least you know your heart will be a beautiful trinket.

DIRECTORY

taken
activity check
setting

reserves
rewards
rules

applications
hiatus & drop
faq

Comments

neon tetra | new character, current player

[duracells]

WELCOME TO SALTBURNT

a. [ on the (very long) list of weird things neon has experienced, waking up in a strange room, in a strange mansion, in a year different from the one he went to bed in? that ranks pretty low. is it concerning? sure. but a quick and bleary look around the unfamiliar room tells him enough - this definitely isn't the institute's doing (a nice, soft bed over a high security prison cell? not their work), so there's nothing to worry about.

or, well. not much to worry about, in the grand scheme. neon can take his time, at least. he rolls over onto his side, lazily pawing at the bedside table for his phone, and when he finds painkillers instead, he doesn't question it and swallows them dry. no phone here though, so neon shift back over onto his back and starts to turn onto his other side to check the other nightstand - surely he'll have a text or two from home explaining everything - only to find... you! a stranger in his bed.

neon startles a little, body jerking once with a slight flinch as he hisses a not-so-subtle: ] Jesus, what the fuck—

b. [ or maybe your room is the adjoining one, and you run into him in the shared bathroom, where he's standing at the sink with one arm crossed loosely over his chest, toothbrush in his other hand.

neon pauses at the sound of the door opening, foam at the corners of his mouth, toothbrush pressed to his molars. he pauses, takes the toothbrush out of his mouth, and then leans to spit into the sink. he raises his brows, but doesn't look up otherwise. ] Oh, okay. No knocking, got it.

WILLKOMMEN, BIENVENUE, WELCOME

a. [ while wandering past a short row of vendors peddling a variety of fried treats, someone in a brightly colored jester-like costume takes neon by the wrist and puts something on a stick into his hand with a wide smile. neon, caught slightly off guard, blinks at them and laughs kind of awkwardly, shaking his head and waving his free hand dismissively. ] Oh, uh. No, that's okay, I can't‐

[ but the vendor releases him and disappears back into their little booth before neon can even finish declining, leaving him standing there with a fried and skewered... something, dusted with powdered sugar. he clicks his tongue quietly, mouth twisting slightly downward at the quick interaction, and then he turns and offers the treat to the nearest person. ] Hey, uh - do you want this? There's nothing wrong with it, I promise. [ a beat. ] I think.

b. [ when you can't really die, at least not permanently, the fear of dying kind of loses all of its power, so even though the ferris wheel was constructed in less than a day and probably definitely doesn't meet OSHA standards, neon finds himself in one of the little capsules anyway. he tells himself it's for research purposes, which isn't that much of a lie - from the top, he'll be able to get a better view, and maybe put together a better idea of where he is and why - but part of it is just for the fun of it, even though he doesn't think it'll be that much fun. it's a ferris wheel. it moves at like, half a mile an hour. hardly much of a "ride".

neon's not so selfish to try and get a pod to himself, even though he seems to be the first person to step into this particular vessel, but at least he has the decency to push all the way across the seat to one side, all the way to the window while he waits for anyone else who might board.

his knee bounces a little, but otherwise, he's quiet. one could probably get away with pretending he isn't even there, if they wanted. ]

WILDCARD

[ neon can also be found at drip in the mornings or early afternoon getting tea (which he finds tolerable, but never seems 100% impressed), ouroboros gym where he's not a gym bro by far but seems to have a decent idea what he's doing (and also a little bit of a sleeper build), the bodega where he's definitely not just there to visit the cat, lounging on a cloudy two-seater in the planetarium where he's probably a little high, etc. or, if you have any ideas and want to float them my way, i'm down for pretty much anything! just shoot me a pm and we can chat. ]

NOTES

[ neon tetra is from the same universe as cellar spider (longlegs) and saber tooth (masticated)! he's got some info here, but basically he's just a battery for powered people and he thinks that's kind of lame. if you'd like neon to be able to manipulate your character's powers and a scene presents an opportunity for that, let me know! otherwise he'll just be a regular guy :). ]

WELCOME TO SALTBURNT : B

[deadnerve]

[Devon cannot confirm nor deny that he woke up in the adjacent bed, or that perhaps he's just been rolling through rooms rooting for valuables - hard to say. He does look tired and gaunt, unwashed and still a little blood-crusty around the edges, hence the bathroom visit. But he just silently faces down Neon for a moment, raising both hands simultaneously to flip him off.]

Move.

[So he can use the sink to snort coke, yes.]

[duracells]

[ somehow, when neon glances up from where he's bent over the sink to catch a glimpse of whoever just barged in in the mirror, he's not surprised in the slightest to find devon's reflection staring back at him. he is, however, maybe a little relieved to see a familiar face in a sea of unfamiliar everything, but nothing in his expression suggests as much.

he turns on the faucet, uses a cupped hand to catch some of the water, and rinses and spits, taking his sweet-ass time. when he's finished, he swipes the edge of the sink with a dry palm as casually as possible - you know, so the coke won't stick - and then steps aside, using the same hand to gesture obnoxiously at the sink with another sweep, like someone welcoming in someone of high status.

neon snorts under his breath, and idly gives devon a once-over with his eyes. he seems okay. gross, but not dead or dying which is about as much as he can hope for on any given day. ]

You look like a scab.

[deadnerve]

The picket lines love me.

[And speaking of lines, he's going to just non-discreetly make a few - rummaging through pockets for the stash of drugs he's already acquired. He's very conversational about it, though, because despite how annoying the shit out of Neon is a pastime - so is just... chilling with him, too. (He thinks. Hopes?)]

So, that's your room?

[duracells]

[ devon is the kind of person who can drive neon nuts just by fucking breathing, but he's also one of a very people neon would never turn away for anything. he'd punch him in the throat just as quickly as he'd make space for him in his bed after a rough mission or a long day of pushing his body to its limits. make room for him to snort coke off the edge of the bathroom sink while telling him he looks like absolute garbage. you know - balance.

neon watches devon's hands for a beat, and then he shrugs, glancing toward one of the doors leading out to the bedroom he came from. ]

Until someone kicks me out, I guess. [ who the fuck knows. not him, for once, which is honestly kind of bothersome. he turns away from devon toward the bath tub in the center of the room, and reaches to turn both of the faucets on. he sits on the edge of it as it starts to fill up, and tilts his head toward the opposite door. ] That one yours?

[ that would be just his luck, wouldn't it. ]

[deadnerve]

It could be, unless you bribe me enough to fuck off.

[As fun as it might be to annoy the shit out of Neon by being in close proximity, it might be beneficial for them to have a buffer of space. What he gains in annoyance he loses in privacy - and there may come a few times that Devon gets up to something he doesn't want anyone cutting in on or interrupting. He leans to snort the first of two lines, finger to his nose even after he straightens up - rubbing, sniffing and giving his head a little shake.]

Want a hit?

[duracells]

[ whatever devon's price is, neon's sure he can't afford it, but he does take a second or two to consider the pros and cons of having devon as a neighbor. on the one hand, it'd be easier to keep an eye on him, easier to find him and be found, but on the other hand, well - devon does have a habit of getting under his skin on purpose. a little distance wouldn't be so bad. in the end, neon just kind of shrugs about it, and leaves it alone. if devon wants to settle next door, that's fine. if he wants to fuck off, neon's not gonna stop him.

he shakes his head at devon's offer, not because he's a pussy, but because it's early (to him) and he's only been awake for like. less than an hour. he'd like a clear head for a little longer than that. ]

All yours, buddy. [ he twists slightly, leans to dip his fingers in the couple inches of water at the bottom of the tub, testing the temperature even though he's sure it doesn't really matter that much. neon flicks some of the water from his fingertips in devon's direction like someone teasing a cat, and then dries his hand on his jeans. ]

[deadnerve]

Ssssuuit yourself.

[And Devon will dip down for the second line with the reckless ease of a guy not afraid of ODing - because he's not, knowing if his healing factor doesn't bring him back from the brink, Mama Raíz will. He's probably doing Too Much for the morning, it's true, but he's in a happier mood when he waltzes across the room toward Neon and reaches out to put his hands on his shoulders like he's the cat in threat of being picked up. Through laughter:]

Do you know where the fuck we are?

welcome, b

[longlegs]

[ As much as she loves Theo and he loves Cellar, the couple often get around to hook up (then wake up) in many rooms other than their own; walking into the shared bathroom in her bra and shorts is far from a novel sight, and she's more predisposed to casually greet the unsuspecting neighbor-stranger more often than not while she takes care of her dental hygiene, be it brushing or flossing. It's the former she has in hand, stopping in her tracks as soon as their eyes meet in comical confusion-caution-curiosity. That's… well, it could be. But it could also not be. Or it could be the version that hasn't met her yet. Cellar has heard about all kinds happening to and around her friends here, so what's her solution to avoid outright heartbreak and embarrassment? Just stick to the embarrassment. ]

… At least tell me you remembered my oreo blizzard.

[duracells]

[ the brief moment or two of silence makes neon curious enough to cast a quick upward glance into the mirror mid-rinse, unsure of who or what he'll find looking back at him, but when he sees that it's cellar standing in the doorway behind him, neon immediately straightens up and turns, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index. he smiles a little lopsidedly, and he's polite enough to keep his gaze above her collar bones. ]

Cellar. [ there's mild relief threaded in his tone. neon's not terribly worried about whatever's going on here, but it's a little concerning that he can't really... remember anything, about how he got here. no mission briefing, can't recall wolf spider slicing into the fabric of space and time. that he's not alone makes him feel slightly better. that it's cellar here with him is just an added bonus.

neon winces a little, baring his teeth and wrinkling his nose a little as he puts his hands together, palm to palm with the toothbrush caught between them. asking forgiveness for the lack of a frozen treat, even if he's not sure he actually owes her one. ] Please don't be mad?

[longlegs]

[ She pretends to frown, arms crossed with her toothbrush sticking out in one hand, hip cocked to one side. Eyes narrowed, lips pursed then twisted, the bluff breaks almost as soon as she puts on the act; there might as well be sunshine breaking through gray clouds when she grins, a little noise of uncontained delight and tap tap tap on the tile as she rushes over to close the distance, arms thrown around Neon to swing a little from side to side. It probably matters to her that she's half-naked now as much as it would have back home, except their mysterious kidnappers have kicked down and stomped on any semblance of professionalism that might've made her at least wait to put a shirt on first. No such luck for Neon today, just that bra. ]

You're here! Holy shit, Neon, I'm so happy it's you!

[ World's most earnestly selfish girl is happy to see a friendly face. Can anyone blame her? Yes. Oh well. She'll let him go eventually. ]

Oh, shit, sorry. [ Toothbrush. Half-naked. Whatever. ] Are you okay? When'd you get here? Is it just you?

[ girl chill ]

[duracells]

[ the ruse may be brief and short-lived, but neon buys it anyway. in general, he doesn't like feeling a disappointment (which is something he experiences more often than he'd ever admit), but to disappoint cellar is maybe one of the worst crimes he thinks he could commit. not the worst, but up there. throw him right in prison.

it's her smile, bright and beautiful, that fills him with quiet relief, and when cellar all but dashes toward him with her arms outstretched, neon catches her easily and envelops her in his arms, using her momentum to pick her up an inch or two off the ground and spin her in a half circle before setting her down again. her enthusiasm is a little... weird, all things considered, but he doesn't question it.

he seems to have the realization about her state of dress at the same time she does. neon clears his throat and doesn't make a big deal of it, but like before, he keeps his gaze above her shoulders, distracted by her line of questioning. ]

Uh, Devon's around... somewhere. [ slippery little bastard. neon turns and sets his toothbrush in a little cup on the edge of the sink. ] I think we might have missed a briefing.

[longlegs]

Wait — Devon's here too? No way!

[ The kind of shock that goes hand-in-hand with a smile. Is it awful of her that she keeps being excited about people from home landing in this kinda fantastic, kinda horrible place? Sure. But they're people she likes, and she'll gladly reach for anything and anyone who makes her feel a little less alone. ]

Okay, okay, uh… let me go get dressed real quick? I'll tell you what's going on. There's no briefing for this one, Neon.

[ And she's talking like there's an implied oh boy. ]

Oh, you should probably know that Saber's also here. He arrived a while ago. I arrived a longer while ago.

[ Clothes, Cellar. She points at Neon, flees for a second, throws a t-shirt on, makes her hair a little more presentable in front of one of the mirrors, and enters Neon's side of the suite with her sneakers in hand. ]

[duracells]

[ the shock is perhaps another small red flag that something isn't exactly right here, because 9 times out of 10, if devon's been assigned to a mission, neon is probably there too. not always specifically for him, because he's there to be utilized for the team collectively, but it's typically a given that where there's one, the other is somewhere nearby.

neon's a little confused, but he nods slightly even though things aren't adding up. saber being here is something he doesn't really care about, if he's honest, but - a while ago? weird choice of words. he saw cellar, like, what - a day ago? saber maybe a few days back? neon shoos cellar off, ruffling the back of his hair as he leaves the en suite and returns to his own bedroom. when cellar returns, shoes in hand, neon's mid-perusal of one of the nightstand drawers. he looks up, pushing the drawer closed, and glances at the sneakers hanging from her fingers. ]

Coffee while you fill me in? [ probably tea in his case, but he assumes they're leaving, so. might as well. ]

willkomen, a

[masticated]

[saber doesn't even register who it is (only seeing the food being held out) until he's got his hand around neon's wrist and he's leaning down to take a bite of the fried treat. yum! one cheek full as a chipmunk's he pulls away, talking with his mouth full and sugar sticking to the corners of his lips.]

Hey, idiot.

[wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowing,]

Hold that for me. What the fuck are you doin' here? [feigning kindness and patting neon on the back. a bit too rough, there.] Hah, just kidding. I know you don't know. You get the spiel yet? Stuck here, we die but not really, blah blah blah?

[duracells]

[ the second the last word leaves his mouth, recognition strikes and neon feels immediate regret, but saber's too quick so he just stands there with his wrist in his hand, watching him take a bite of fried dough and whatever else like some kind of animal, expression bored and unimpressed. he doesn't even bother trying to pull his wrist free, but definitely not happy about it.

or maybe he's just not happy to see saber. who can say.

the clap to his shoulder rattles him a little, but he endures, and while saber blabs about whatever, neon tosses the doughy treat into the nearest trash bin out of spite. fuck that.

neon dusts his hands off and offers a tight smile. ]

Yeah, I got it. They used bigger words though. [ gotta get a little jab in there somewhere. ] 'Spiel''s not bad. I didn't know you knew that one.

[ :). ]

[masticated]

What the fuck - oh come on, you little prick.

[whipping his head around as they pass by the trash, his expression shifts from derisive to downright disgusted. that's a waste of food. and disrespectful. and why the hell did neon even offer it if he wasn't going to hold on to it? make it make sense. whatever, he's making him stick around. with one arm around his shoulders, he makes it look like it's a camaraderie. two guys reunited. neon should know better than that. any contact with saber is usually threatening, no matter how innocent it looks.]

Very funny. Y'know, [he grabs a cigarette out from his breast pocket to hold between his teeth. lighter comes next, flicked until the flame sticks.] mom's not here to protect you. She ain't here to punish me anymore, either. Watch your mouth.

[duracells]

[ neon knows saber well enough to recognize animosity masked as friendliness, but he plays along anyway because honestly, what else is he going to do? being alone in an unfamiliar place is arguably less safer than being with... an associate. probably. then again, saber tooth is a little bit of a psychopath, so maybe that's backwards.

for a brief moment, he considers winding his arm around saber's waist, just to piss saber off, but he decides he likes his shoulder right where it is in its socket, so he just crosses his arms over his chest instead.

saber's threats fall a little short. neon turns his head to look at him, only slightly annoyed by the powdered sugar still caught in the corners of his mouth. ] Oh, you think the multidimensional space god doesn't know exactly where we are at all times?

[ whether or not raiz actually keeps tabs on them at every waking moment is unknown to him, but he wouldn't put it past her to know exactly where to find all of her fun little toys when she needs them. neon laughs a little under his breath and shakes his head. ]

I bet she's keeping a tally. But if she's not... [ he shrugs, glancing up at saber again. internally, he's quaking a little, but he's gotten pretty good at pretending shit doesn't bother him. ] Guess she's not here to protect you either.

[masticated]

She does, but I've been here for four-ish months. Cellar's been here longer, but Raíz hasn't taken a peek. [except for that one time that a raíz lookalike showed up for a hot second. and it was very, very hot. he grins:] Even if she's watchin', she likes what she sees, but...

[trailing off a thought that makes him think too hard about their situation and taking a drag from his cigarette, his tongue darts out to catch the last of the sugar (he saw you looking, neon).]

No she's not. I don't need much of that, though. Haven't died yet! Killed somebody though, that was somethin'. Guess they were already dead. Zombies don't really count, the twink had it coming. You ready to kill here, kid?

[duracells]

[ four-ish months doesn't sound right, but it wouldn't be the first time any of them have dealt with the distortion or manipulation of time between planes - if that's even what's really going on here. neon only half listens to saber as he yaps, bored and unimpressed, but the mention of murder draws him back in.

saber having killed someone here doesn't surprise him at all. the implication that neon will have to kill someone at some point does make him pause though. in his 8 years working for raiz, neon has never gotten his hands dirty like that, at least not directly. that's not what his powers are there for, and he wouldn't take someone else's life unless it was absolutely necessary. saber has always seemed like the kind of guy who'd do it just for fun. what kind of place is this?

neon wets his lips and rubs the back of his fingers back and forth under his chin for a second, through his thin beard. it's self soothing, for anyone who might recognize something like that. he shrugs. ]

I - guess. If push comes to shove. [ he sounds nonchalant, but that's just because he hasn't been made to make a decision like that yet. neon licks his thumb and index finger and reaches up to pinch the edge of saber's cigarette with his fingertips, snuffing it out. it burns a little, but neon endures out of spite. ] Don't call me kid.

welcome, a

[swayed]

You snore. Not a lot, just a little bit.

[ He finds Neva on his back, one hand between his nape and the pillow, the other on his stomach over the sheets. Green eyes fixed on the ceiling before Neon helpfully lets him know that he's been noticed, Neva turns his head to make him the focus instead, one moment taken to assess what and who he's looking at, before he's back to resting the back of his head on his palm, staring up. ]

Do you even know what you took just now? I don't recall seeing regenerative healing on your file. That could've been dangerous.

[duracells]

[ of all people for neon to wake up in a bed with, neva is probably one of the last he'd be happy to see. they're not close by any means, but like neon has with everyone back home, he's kept an eye. one files, on mission briefings, and he was there that one time someone in the house tried to slit the guy's throat - not as direct witness, but it was one of the only times he'd ever seen cane corso so shaken up and pissed off at the same time.

but it seems nevas been peeking at files too, which kind of annoys neon even in his hypocrisy. he shifts back onto his back, closing his eyes and pressing his fingertips against his eyelids until he starts to see neon yellow behind them. neon sighs. ]

It was Advil Liqui-Gels. [ was it? they were the same shape and color, but neon didn't actually stop to look for the brand printed on them, he'd just assumed, so he can't really say for certain. he drags his hands down his face. ] Hi, Neva.

[ his greeting sounds strained, irritated. like he's faking being friendly, but not trying to hide his annoyance. ]

Why are you in my bed.

[ is... it his bed? ]

[swayed]

[ He makes a face, eyes closed, brows arched and lips parted with an ah, nodding once. Playfully ironic, glad that Neon can be so specific, if not confident, while he'll withstand the hangover and let the staff keep the extra pills for themselves. Its symptoms tend to lose their impact when you've had the full introduction to most levels of pain under Saber's tutelage. And after you've actually died a time or two. ]

So it is your bed? I wasn't sure if these rooms were assigned. [ Pursed lips, thinking. Good to know. Getting a little more animated, simply having a conversation with a friend, ] I thought: what if someone walked in and asked why we're in their bed? You know? What would we do then?

[duracells]

[ staring up at the ceiling, neon takes a few seconds to just - process. he already knows he's not at home, not in the mansion; it's too quiet and none of the rooms are this... dated, not even the ones that are unoccupied, waiting for raiz's greenest agent. neva is in bed beside him, which is strange for many reasons, but most notably because last neon knew, he was kicking it somewhere in arizona (?), and only around when needed for a mission. neon has no memory of - well, anything for the last twenty-something hours, it feels like. just home, and then - here.

he should probably get up, at the very least. ]

I don't know, [ neon says somewhat dismissively, sitting up and tossing the sheets away. he kicks his legs over the side of the mattress and scrubs his hands over his face again. maybe it's not such a great idea to turn his back to neva - maybe neon should shut him down before he tries anything invasive, but he's a little distracted and metaphorically off balance. he turns his head to one side to glance at him over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye. ] Apologize and leave, probably.

[swayed]

Would that be enough, do you think?

[ The casual contrast to all the workings in Neon's head, who now has to worry about an unfamiliar environment, a wide gap in both context and memory, and the man who may or may not have been responsible. Neva's 'listeners' usually start recollecting as soon as they're out of their trance, information trickling in like details from a dream, fuzzy and skipping around in timeline, ultimately forming a picture where they were a piece more than a participant. This time, it's all dark for the both of them. Neva may be smiling, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

Neon sits, Neva props himself up on his side on his elbow, fingers fidgeting with the same levity of playing with a strand of hair. If someone were to walk in now, they'd wrongly see a couple, not an unlikely pair. ]

I guess it wouldn't matter for long, right.

[ For the same reason Neon is considering whether to shut him down. ]

There is a bath, a shower. New clothes in the dresser. They fit you, I think. Your style, too. I remember.