𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐙𝐄 ▣ AUGUST TDM

[saltburntmods]

AUGUST 2025 TDM: BALANCE

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.

GOODBYE TO SALTBURNT

CONTENT WARNINGS: house fire.

The day starts much like any other — at least in the first few moments of consciousness, chased to morning light by the pounding of a hangover, the sweaty night terrors soaking your sheets, or the scent of breakfast on the rise through the house. Well, it seems someone must've burnt the bacon, now that your nose wakes you up, which is highly unusual for the skilled chefs here at Saltburnt. Flutter your eyes open and see a pillowy cloud of smoke filtering under your door, something that manages to finally alert you to the danger you're in. Out in the hallway, flames lick up the walls, smoke and ash burning your eyes. The next move is obvious: grab whatever you can carry and get out, as quick as you can. It seems that place you've called home for a day or a year is going up in flames.

Outside, flames engulf one wing of the huge manor, invaluable trinkets laid out on the lawn from the help, usually invisible, running in and out to grab what they can spare from the flames. Of course, people offer their helpful services — tending to burns and smoke inhalation, trying to put out the fire from whatever means they have, be it buckets of water stolen from the lake, or magical prowess from the population of guests. Regardless, the fire rages, and only manages to cease when about half of the house has been burnt down to structurally questionable bones, ashy remains, and the occasional falling cinder of burnt wood.

Before the mess, the Balfours stand in a range of different emotions — irritation from Bunny, paranoia from Rosie. The only one who manages to attempt to find a silver lining is Portia, whose plastic smile twitches around her watery eyes, hand cinched in an iron grip around Jonty's. There's a pleading look in her eyes for all of a moment before the patriarch of the family springs (more, dustily sways) into action, calling forth, "Giles!"

The man in question appears, soot-coated and harrowed, yet still immaculately well put together, bowing slightly at the waist. "Sir?"

"The —" he starts, somewhat unsure of himself, before solidifying his resolve. "The camping gear. In the shed."

A firm nod, manners impeccable. "At once, sir."

LIVING OFF THE LAND

CONTENT WARNINGS: nsfw themes.

By mid-morning, you'll find Portia Balfour has taken … liberties with the lawn decor. Aside from a brief intermission spent sobbing at the manor's scorched stonework, the lady of the manor does what she does best (in Portia's very modest opinion): she beautifies. Gone is the sad, sad state of all that empty sprawling green; what stands in its place is an encampment of tents stretching from the gardens to the forest boundary. And not your mother's backyard camping equipment, either — that would be so terribly basic and blase, darling. They're much more exciting than that. Fresh out of the imagination of someone who clearly consolidated ideas from flipping through a Martha Stewart Magazine and browsing Coachella's website, the bell tents (100% cotton, Portia is too happy to share with you) come in a lovely selection of colors. Beige, buff, biscuit, oatmeal, fawn. And Portia's personal favorites: the chartreuse, and a shade that closely resembles bile.

At your look of confusion, or distress, or perhaps distinct horror, Portia announces, with a stiff smile to rival a fresh dosage of Botox: "It's fine. It's fine! I wanted an excuse to finally redecorate, anyway. We'll just— we'll make a retreat out of it, my lovelies."

Well, where else are you going to go? Outside of each tent, Giles and his fellow staff have taken the time to generously assign you and your former suitemate to a shared tent, your names scribbled together in obnoxiously joyful cursive on a bright chalkboard. Just in case your amateur eyes can't distinguish between beige and oatmeal. Of course, mistakes are made. You can't possibly expect the housestaff to remember all of your names, or who you've shared space with before the "Little Setback", as Portia has taken to calling it. Some of you might find yourselves paired up with the wrong partner in the mix-up and reshuffling of housing arrangements, while others — without suitemates, or freshly arrived — find themselves shoved together by Giles' subpar matchmaking skills.

Whoever the two of you happen to be, you'll find that — while the interior is positively spacious — some concessions had to be made. Namely: there is, in fact, only one bed. Or, in your case, only one sleeping bag. Designed to lovingly cradle two bodies in disturbingly close proximity, your organic, artisan cashmere sleeping bag comes with only a narrowed zipper for entry and one built-in memory foam pillow, so you can meditate by listening to your partner's breathing at all times. Portia's private DJ turned ex-fling turned self-proclaimed intimacy coach, Ezio, insists it helps you and your partner connect to the same emotional frequency for maximum bonding. Whatever that means.

Luckily, not all of your belongings were unsalvageable. Giles has painstakingly begun the process of transferring supplies into your tent, from changes of clothes to personal effects to underwear you're 70% sure belong to another resident. Among them, you'll find both a camp counselor uniform that looks like it was pulled off the rack from an adult novelty shop, and a pair of athletic short-shorts and white tank tops for your scheduled summertime activities.

The generosity doesn't end there — with Ezio's advice, Portia has arranged a gift bag for each tent, meant to strengthen ties amongst the House's residents. What better time to connect than in the wake of such a tragedy? Inside, guests will find: a guided erotic meditation track, mood-boosting meditative candles in scents such as Nag Champa and Afternoon Scrapbooking, a set of silk ribbons with slogans reading Surrender and Trust, heated massage oils marked for tension release, an ergonomically-shaped crystal pleasure wand sculpted from Rose Quartz meant for "grounding and release", silicone bands for your, ahem, instrument to help harness your "root chakra", and a guided positions manual for Kama Sutra with Portia's favorites meticulously circled. Happy healing!

No summer camp trip would be complete without activities. Ezio, allergic to wearing anything that isn't a breathable speedo, leads a series of trust-building exercises. A blindfolded obstacle course, set up with chairs hauled down from the attic as well as pool noodles and cardboard boxes, requires one partner to lead the other successfully to the end. Ezio's twist? You can only direct your partner through sincere, heartfelt compliments in the vein of, "you look so pretty when you're confused." If you lose patience and swear, you're forced to mandatorily hug each other — medically effective to reduce your blood pressure! For the detail-oriented, there's the Human Scavenger Hunt. Sitting in meditative circles, you're given a list of clues to find on your partner's body, ranging from locating the part of their skin that's softest to finding their ticklish points. That birthmark on your buttcheek will come to light. For the more athletically inclined, there's the honeyspoon race — with your mouth as the spoon. It's your job to transfer as much honey as you can into your partner's mouth without spilling. Or perhaps you'd prefer less mouth-to-mouth contact in the piggyback race, or a vanilla and traditional game of Tug of War, or even Bunny Balfour's strange rendition of Jason at Camp Crystal Lake. Those of you who can't outrun the killer get helped to a nice dousing of red food coloring you can cleanse off in the communal showers positioned at the treeline, with nothing blocking the rest of the camp's view of your natural assets.

Mealtimes are rigidly run as scheduled by Giles' demand, though the Balfours' menu is rather limited to simpler cuisine this month. Toad in a Hole, Angels on Horseback, Bubbles and Squeak, and what looks to be a charming attempt at S'mores served on digestive biscuits — all dutifully charred over a campfire and served with a variety of fine vintages spared from the worst of the flames. And if you come underdressed for the occasion? "We dress for dinner," Portia remarks from her place at the head of a honey-oaked picnic bench, overlage sunglasses shielding her eyes. You get the impression she's looking down her nose at your choice of wardrobe, anyway. "Black tie. No exceptions."

Eat up, gather your energy; you'll need it for what comes next.

TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK

CONTENT WARNINGS: emeto, slight body horror, potential character death, fuck or die.

While you were all asleep in your spacious tents and unspacious sleeping bags, the maze has shifted form, spreading its sections along the entire grounds of the house. You wake from what should be the end of your glamping spree already lost in a part of the sprawling labyrinth, maybe with your tent-mate, or the person you spent the night with, or someone completely new. You’re only sure of one thing — it seems like you’ve suddenly developed a pesky case of allergies. It starts with an uncomfortable pins and needles sensation that crawls over your entire body as you start to move. Sweat dampens your clothes despite the towering blossoms offering a rather pleasant shade from the sun, and soon your teeth are chattering with chills. So maybe you’ve caught a summer cold, or some of you might be spreading mono from having a pair of too-loose lips. In any case, it’s probably nothing you haven’t dealt with before, and it won’t stop you from finding your way out of the maze.

The natural thought would be to utilize your own skillset to escape, but you quickly realize that using any magical abilities yields no results upon the thick foliage — or at least you think there’s no effect. If you try to use fire to burn down a part of the maze, not only does it not work for you, but now, in a part of the maze opposite to you, there are burning flames that other house guests will have to get past. Being big and bad, in this case, means you’re probably just an asshole now. As you stumble through the maze, you encounter more and more magical obstacles that you might begin to recognize as coming from your own friends. Looks like everyone’s desperate to get out, and you’re only making things worse. (If your character tries to use their magic, please submit it here, so others can play with it!)

Speaking of worse, those allergies are swiftly advancing into a full blown infection from — you guessed it — the foliage of the maze itself. The constant reproducing and shifting is caused by THE BOGWOOD BLIGHT, evident by the dark lesions spotting the plant stems, and white, fuzzy spores clinging to the undersides of the leaves. Your symptoms progress into searing pain as flowers, branches, and thorns begin to grow inside of you, your vomit coming up bloody and thick with masses of dead leaves. Young vines and tiny flowers seem to spool out from your own hair, curling around your throat if you don’t keep up with tearing them out. Hallucinations plague your mind, sharp desire both violent and sexual permeating your senses and threatening to push all other reasonable thoughts out.

It would be easy to succumb to this sickness, to let your base instincts fight or fuck one another until you’re all hopelessly lost and doomed to a certain death in the labyrinth. But there is a way out, for those who can hold on to their sanity and bear through the pain: participate in the trials, and earn your freedom.

These trials? Nothing like the fun and games of a night camping beneath the stars. The verdant landscape of the neatly trimmed maze has become flush with deadly obstacles, and it’s up to you to get past them all. Naturally, your first instinct is to grab your trusty iPhone and reach out to your closest and most trusted companions — but everything you send reaches the recipient in a way that utterly twists your intentions. A simple are you okay? turns into I’m glad to finally be rid of you. Trying to reunite with a loved one throws you for another loop when you finally do find them — three loops, in fact, because you encounter three identical copies of your love, all trying to convince you they’re the real one. In order to reveal the truth and continue your journey along the maze, drive a thorn into one of their hearts. Hope you know your lovers well. Maybe a little physical touch will help?

The maze might break into a small clearing for you, a wide open space with checkerboarded grass filling from one edge of the field to the other — two different tones of the same haunted green pervasive through the labyrinth. Certain spaces are occupied by expertly crafted hedges to resemble all the familiar pieces to a chess board, while the Kings are left empty, awaiting you and an opponent. Take your positions, or wait for a stranger to stumble upon you, if you were unlucky enough to face the maze by yourself, and play the game according to all ordinary rules of chess. Following a checkmate, you have the option of how you’ll claim dominion over the opposite side, or how they’ll claim it over you — a slap or a kiss will suffice, to earn your win. Strangely, physical touch seems to relieve the worst of your allergies. These things do have a way of escalating, don’t they? Best to keep your wits about you.

For those of you prone to clumsiness, you’re probably doomed already, but the viper pits are an easy trap for even the most seasoned of the bunch. Take one step, and the ground gives way beneath your feet, plunging you into a dark, flinty hole in the earth. The injuries you might have sustained on the way down are the least of your worries. Inside the pervasive darkness of the pit, it’s time to face your vipers — that is, your worst fears seem to press in on you, terror blooming in your very bones until your own nauseating dread is all you can feel. Maybe it's actual vipers, or rough waters pulling you down, or a thousand razors cutting your skin — the mystery of the dark is that anything can be inside it, waiting. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to have a friend risk it all to help you out, but you can always just save yourself, clawing to the top while your greatest fears weigh you down.

If you manage to avoid the pits, they’re not the only deadly thing on the ground. Step close enough to smell the honeysuckle and you’ll feel a sharp clamp around your ankle. Vines, slithering out from the foliage, wrap themselves around your body in near shibari style — and these vines like to fondle and grope, ramping up the sexual side of your infection symptoms. The only way to get free? Turn to someone else struggling in the vine trap and get frisky — or let the vines turn from pleasure to true pain as they slowly squeeze the life out of you. Orgasm or die. It's a pretty easy choice, isn't it?

Just when you think it’s the dehydration of too many long days and nights scrambling through the maze that will kill you, you’re lucky enough to happen upon a water source — one of the many beautiful fountains, shimmering ponds, or rustic bird baths dotting the path of the maze. Whichever it is, you’re parched enough to drink deep despite the possibility of bird shit floating around. As you crouch over the water, your reflection stares back at you — only it’s either your most perfect self that you wish you could be, or the worst version of you that you fear you’ve already become. Once you catch your reflection’s eye, you’re caught, unable to stop yourself from being pulled into the water’s depths. The bird bath overflows, the pond turns dark and bottomless, and the gilded fountain statues laugh at your plight as you struggle to keep yourself from drowning. Time to face those ugly truths about yourself — fast.

After your harrowing ordeals, you reach what can only be the end — a narrow pathway lined with thorn-filled hedges, too thick and solid to pry through. The only way forward is onto the path. Luckily, a piece of bright hope shimmers before you — a single strand of golden thread, hopefully leading you out into the world once more. You step onto the path, following the glimmering thread, and it seems like all is well until the moment someone enters the path behind you. The hedges rush toward you, brutally narrowing the space as thorns dig into your flesh and rip fresh wounds across your body. Looks like only one of you can complete this painfully claustrophobic trial at a time, and the other has to watch your slow and bloody suffering, waiting for the moment the walls part and you can rejoin your love without consequence. Better hurry to get there. They’re going to need some patching up once they’re done.

As you escape the stifling thorns, finally emerging on the other side and collapsing with relief to be free and hopefully to get some help for your worsening illness, you realize with a sick drop of your stomach that you haven’t made it out after all. The golden thread has led you into the heart of the maze, where you know the Balfour’s beloved Minotaur statue should be… only it’s nowhere to be found. Instead, there are two statues towering over your pathetic form: Medusa cast in gold, and Midas carved in stone.

MATERIAL GIRLS

CONTENT WARNINGS: potential character death, loss of limbs.

It's been a long, harrowing journey, but you're here now, likely with some friendships or trauma-bonds made along the way, which is what summer camp is all about. Each of the statues before you is decorated with a marble slab at the base, detailing EYE TO EYE below Medusa and HAND IN HAND below Midas. Curiosity eventually wins out against wariness — or maybe the charms of the maze have worn thin on you through the days, frustration guiding your motion. Whatever the case, you weigh your options and choose accordingly between the two, stepping forward and sealing your fate.

EYE TO EYE — Look to Medusa for a few seconds, and a door will appear beside her, granting you free exit from the maze. However, for the following days, you begin to change. It starts at your fingertips, gradually spreading from arm to shoulder to neck, and so on, transmuting your body from flesh and blood to cold, icy stone. Those affected start to lean into their darker side, turning from the hero to the villain, the kind to the cruel. To stop your gravelly fate, amends must be made — forgive someone who wronged you, love someone you hate, clear up a misunderstanding you've let fester inside, make up for some injustice you've committed in your life. Give them the knife and let them start cutting. Beg for penance, and whether or not you receive it is beside the point — the begging is enough to redeem you in Medusa's eye.

HAND IN HAND — Alternatively, hold the hand Midas extends for a few seconds, and a door will appear beside him, granting you free exit from the maze. However, for the following days, you too start to change, following the same pattern of those more Medusa inclined — but gilt instead of stony, turning gold from the outside in. Those affected lean further into their brighter, more pleasant sides, cheer replacing sorrow, your mood uplifted to a potentially overbearing degree. To stop your gilded fate, sacrifices must be made — reveal a deep rooted secret, let go of something you're insecure about, give away something of important value to you. Material good are nice, yes, but do you know what Midas would like even more? Limbs, eyes, flesh, blood, something you're really going to miss.

Regardless of your choice, you're out of the maze, congrats! Act swiftly and all will be fine. Dither and, well — you'll make a beautiful, statue-corpse eventually, and the maze would be happy to have you. Of course, even a successful solution will take time to settle in. Your stony, golden limbs revert as slowly as they crawled up on you, any severed body parts taking days to reform but eventually coming back as good as new, with a small memorializing token — a hand or an eye shaped birthmark to remember what you've lost.

Out of the maze, you can see the work being done on the house, renovations well underway while you were busy messing around. It was so kind of you to give the Balfours the chance to start working on the house — and while it's unlivable for the next while, there are always the tents to keep you warm.

DIRECTORY

taken
activity check
setting

reserves
rewards
rules

applications
hiatus & drop
faq

Comments

sarah | blink twice

[fatblunt]

CAPTURED EFFORTLESSLY; THAT'S THE WAY IT WAS (cw: recreational drug use)

[ even before the island, this isn't a state that sarah is unfamiliar with. she's done her fair share of partying as a form of networking, both on behalf of the show and for herself once the network had decided to drop it (and therefore her). during the time she was covered by the network she'd be careful not to get too carried away with it, limiting herself to a cocktail or two, maybe a line or a few hits off a blunt. she'd gotten a little more careless since she'd been told the network wasn't moving forward with all-stars and had decided to cancel the show; a crisis of well what the fuck am i supposed to do now when cody had decided to talk to her at the coffee shop. and now -

now she's here, waking with her legs twisted in bedsheets, a scream in her throat when she smells the smoke, nearly choking on it. it takes her a second to realize she's not where she'd just escaped. she doesn't know where she is, but it's not the island.

and wherever it is, it's on fire too. ]

Fuck!

[ survival instinct kicks in once the haze of recent memories and nightmares fade. if there's someone in the other beds in the room, she runs up to them, shaking them urgently. ]

Come on, we gotta get out of here. [ she rummages for clothing, tossing them whatever she can find to pull over whatever pajamas they (and she) have on before shoving her feet into shoes, tossing them pairs before running to the door, testing the doorknob before crouching and making her way into the hallway. she bangs on doors with the side of her fist as she passes them, making her way downstairs and out the door, stumbling onto the lawn and hunching over, hands on her knees as she coughs enough to get some of her breath back. she straightens once she can breathe somewhat normally, staring at the burning building she's just escaped, still having no idea what it is or how she'd gotten here. ]

This place sucks.

I FEEL LIKE NO ONE COULD FEEL; I MUST BE DREAMIN' (cw: allusions to nonconsensual restraint)

[ she's in much better spirits once the camps are set up. this is her element; surviving off meager supplies and making it work, participating in challenges, forming alliances. there's not a camera or any need to perform here, or any need to keep in mind how she'll be edited to appear later (even though that thought still rings in her mind, especially when she picks through the offered wardrobe; she ultimately picks the camp counselor-esque outfit, figuring it's less likely to get caught or tied up on anything). ]

A

[ when it comes to the team bonding activities, she ends up thriving, enthusiastically calling out directions throughout the obstacle course. ]

You got this! Crawl under, like you're Catherine Zeta-Jones in that laser maze! Let's go!

[ from then, she progresses to the tug-o-war. the piggyback rides get more consideration, but only because she's strategizing. ]

Okay, it's only for a few yards and back, right? I can do it if you can't. [ she rolls her shoulders back, then crouches down and braces her arms behind her, waiting for whoever she's talking to to get on her back. ] Come on, it's fine.

B

[ after taking a break to clean up at the showers, sarah's seated by the fire, going through the gift basket that's been provided to them. the crystal gets an appraising look as she tests the heft of it in her hand before she settles it back in the basket, clearly intent on keeping it, but the ribbons get gathered at her feet with the intent of her chucking them into the fire. they're not particularly long, but their presence still makes her feel uneasy.

she stands to toss them in before going to gather the materials to assemble herself a s'more, giving a raised eyebrow look to whoever might give her an incredulous look over what she's just done. ]

What, were you hoping to use the 'live, laugh, love' shit to decorate your tent?

YOU KNEW I COULD NOT RESIST; I NEEDED SOMEONE (cw: hallucinations, allusions to drugging and sexual assault)

[ unfortunately, the skills she'd utilized on hot survival babes aren't going to get her nearly as far in the hedgemaze from the shining. sarah's cagey and frustrated as she tries navigating on her own, gritting her teeth against the nausea and pain that are easier to bear than her mind turning on her, forcing her to relive the memories that had been suppressed, the clink, clink, clink of chains knocking against each other echoing in her ears as she feels vines snag in her hair and around her throat. her hands tear through her hair and clutch at her body, just for the reminder that she's wearing something else, of what's real.

she didn't survive the island to die here. she's not going to let it win.

someone stumbles nearby, clearly in the same harried state that she's in, and she turns to them, eyes wild but determined. ]

We need to team up. [ her voice is rasping, but her tone is clear. ] We're getting out of here, but we've gotta stick together.

WILDCARD

[ feel free to choose your own scenario within what i've set out or make up your own! info on sarah and her canon can be found here; please mind the content warnings. ]

must be dreamin (b)

[adorne]

No, but I can think of other uses for them.

[ Despite the ease with which he says it, Oberyn's not talking about things of a sexual nature. That much is evidenced by the crystal from his basket, which he's dragging along the length of a rock in front of the fire to sharpen up. He blows on it every now and then and tilts it in his hand to gauge his progress. ]

In a place where nothing's certain, everything can be seen as currency, do you not agree?

[fatblunt]

[ well, he's not exactly wrong there. sarah raises an eyebrow first at the statement itself, then at the way he's sharpening the gifted crystal. her shoulders lower a bit as she considers him for a few moments, eventually going to back to where she was sitting and spearing a marshmallow on the end of a stick. ]

Currency for what, in this case?

[adorne]

Hard to say, but this is far from the first time the estate has seen an impromptu adventure.

[ Oberyn's wounds had long since healed, but the wights had pillaged, killed, and maimed. His understanding now is that chaos is more dependable than any sort of calm. Oberyn might be half-mad and okay with many of this place's antics and debauchery, but even in death, he would not allow himself to be surprised. ]

These ribbons can be used to make traps, bait traps, tie something up or together, and in the right situation might be a fail-safe as a tourniquet.

[fatblunt]

[ that's a little of what she's concerned about when it comes to the ribbons. but he's got a point, regarding what they can be used for. sarah sets her marshmallow in front of the fire, letting the insides warm before she sets out to char the outside of it, still considering the man and what he has to say. ]

What kind of impromptu adventures to they tend to see? [ she gets the impression that the mansion doesn't burn down that often. ]

[adorne]

Well, there were wights — excuse me, animated corpses that laid waste to the manor in the winter and left many maligned and missing.

The constant seems to be that of parties and pleasure with no perpetuity. A constant one can rely on here when our senses are our own and we are not being sullied or manipulated in some other way.

[ Oberyn reaches forward without aplomb and digs into the bag of marshmallows at her lap to grab a couple for himself. He mimics what she's doing with the stick with one of them, simply out of curiosity, and then pops the other raw into his mouth. ]

[fatblunt]

[ she doesn't like the sound of the last thing he mentions, given what she's just come from. but she's also getting the feeling he's not talking about anything like that, given what else he mentions. ]

Like some shit from the Walking Dead? [ well, what else could he mean by reanimated corpses. it's still something that sounds too unreal to believe, but she still has no idea how she ended up here in the first place. why should she assume anything's outside the realm of possibility?

she leans back as he reaches for the marshmallows, eyes narrowing, not exactly loving that he'd taken the liberty when he could have asked if she'd hand them to him. it feels entitled, like he's used to taking what he wants. she reaches, subtly, for the crystal that's now resting at her feet. ]

How exactly do you mean, sullied or manipulated?

[adorne]

Well, yes, they are dead, and they had been recently animated, and many were walking.

[ He'd nailed one of them to the wall then with a handmade spear, but it only bought him time. The creature pushed its flesh off the pin and continued after him with its horde, too soon for Oberyn to feel justified with any sense of the attack.

He's quite polite, all things considered, for a man raised as a royal, in a world that treated many as if they were indentured to them as highborns. He, himself, didn't treat others the same way, but he is still a prince and some habits die hard. ]

Well, last month we all lost our memories of ourselves. I became a man, of ... well, I expect your time, based on some of the idioms you have used, and then when we came back to what we had forgotten, much of our lives were broadcast for everyone to see.

Quite often, there are additives in the swill and the food. The local flora and fauna can induce a person to lose their inhibitions and do things they otherwise might not. This place has magics all its own with many indeterminable sources and a vastness that I haven't been able to ascertain.

After the wights, I started a class for cultivating and basic weapon training, just to keep others more capable in the face of similar danger.

[fatblunt]

[ right, not familiar with television. that and the way he utilizes the phrase 'your time' say a good amount about him and what else this place is capable of, along with everything else he mentions.

her hand finds the crystal, securing around it and squeezing. he's being up front about what she can expect, so she's not about to use it on him, but she feels distinctly less comfortable hearing about the wildlife and sustenance having adverse effects on people. ]

Smart of you to do. [ kind, too, but she isn't in the mood to tell him so. ] Is there a way to tell what food and drink or plants have those effects?

[adorne]

All it is, is good sense. The more of us capable, the fewer to become casualties. The less the toll overall.

[ A sellsword for hire, a man capable of merciless killing but one well versed in an understanding when it came to survival, all the same. Oberyn finally bites into his marshmallow after blowing off the flame, and he pulls it off the stick with his teeth, paying no mind to the heat or the words that follow. ]

Not as of yet. I will say it happens more frequently where the beverages are concerned, but there have been other elements that go directly against it being food and plant life, and being something woven into the fabric of this realm.

I am a learned man, but I am not wise to many magics, and what is at play here is well beyond my grasp.

[fatblunt]

[ sarah pulls back her stick from the fire, blowing the flame out and leaving the char around it as she prepares a biscuit and the chocolate as she listens, rolling what he tells her around in her mind. he doesn't seem all that concerned about the s'mores, so there's that at least, but maybe there's no way of knowing unless you wait and observe. ]

It sounds like it'd be beyond anyone's grasp. [ definitely beyond hers, though it's not as if that's difficult. she eats a bite of the s'more she's prepared, considering her next question. ] Were any of the reanimated corpses people who wound up that way as a result of something that happened here? What happened to them?

[adorne]

Just as with anything else, it ceased to exist, and the toll of the event once paid its dues left only a stain on the subconscious.

[ Despite the lyrical description, his tone remains derisive and irritated, and Oberyn wiggles his fingers over the words "ceased to exist," irate with the mysticism and the lack of permanence where the constant cyclical trauma was concerned.

His dress shirt from dinner, black tie hanging loose beneath the collar, was open, exposing his chest in the glow of the open flame. He has the sleeves rolled up, still not quite used to the manner of dress for people from her time.

He uses his index finger to point out a scar (among several) on his lower abdomen, and then bears the palm of that same hand forward to the glow, displaying a scar of similar pallor, also new. ]

I got both of these during that siege. Many of the tenants of this estate were barricaded in the library. I left to craft weapons and barricades to help us hold that keep.

captured

[angelhunter]

[ Hap hasn't been shaken awake since the days when a midnight power outage could reset your alarm clock. He shirks whoever's got a hold of him and sits upright. He's dressed for sleep, pants and no shirt; he doesn't remember preparing for bed, a void in his mind into which the stench of smoke freely sluices. And then there's her, the first thing his eyes really focus on in this overwhelming tableau of unfamiliarity. He doesn't know her and he can't have met her, not where he was headed last.

Whoever she is, there's no fault in her instincts. Once she starts to scramble for clothes, Hap tosses off his blanket and does the same. He throws a shirt on, which billows unbuttoned as hastily keeps step with her down the hallway with everything else clutched to his chest. She knocks on doors, compassionate in an emergency — but not stupid enough to waste time rushing in for anybody. He'd leave her behind, if she were. As is, he can feign a little concern and mimic her with heavy falls of his fist.

(He would deign to go that far under less strange circumstances. He's barely pushing through a prickly haze of self-preservation right now, is what he'd tell himself had he the presence of mind. He won't care to look back, once he regains it.)

By the time he's stumbling outside, his free hand is pressing the leg of a pair of pants to his face to filter smoke. Coughing, he drops his bundle to the grass as the ebbing burn clears from his head and lungs. Hap turns a half-step to take in the burning manor, another alien sight. He looks to the woman again, part of him hoping she'll trigger a memory even though he knows that's not possible. None of this is possible. ]

"This place" — [ he quotes, exasperated. Likely none of this is her fault but she's here and he's not his best. ] What the hell is "this place"?

cw: allusions to sexual assault, thoughts of murder

[fatblunt]

[ she hadn't realized until she'd started shaking the person awake that said person was a man, and truth be told, the realization made her pause for a moment, debating whether she should just leave him, before the realizations started trickling in. she doesn't recognize him (which on its own isn't enough), but he's also not dressed in white, he's in a separate bed from hers, and he's just as confused as she is.

in the end, she decides on the risk. if she's wrong, she can always kill him later. ]

Fuck if I know. [ regarding his question, which she doesn't have an answer for. ] Not anywhere I've been before.

[ but the fire and opulence is still a little too familiar for comfort. at least whoever had brought her her had dressed her in regular pajamas, even if they're a little dated. ]

cw allusions to drugging

[angelhunter]

[ Hap huffs, still getting his breath back. He checks on the house again, engulfed in flame. Scanning the surrounding grounds, he gathers he's a long way from Missouri. However, he doesn't sense any jet lag or grogginess that indicating he's been drugged. Or maybe it's that he can't yet. Maybe it will seep in as the adrenaline drains away.

If that's the case, he should make the most of how alert he is — how alert they both are. ] You don't know how you got here?

[ Hap scoops his shoes off the ground and shoves one on, craning his neck to look up at her while putting on the second. ]

[fatblunt]

No clue.

[ the shoes she'd found are a little big, but they'll stay on, which she makes sure of by ducking to make sure they're secure. it was kind of a weird fit, but she's managed to get flared leggings and a velour hoodie on over the pajamas - again, a little dated, but she'll take what she can get, especially if they're not likely to get snagged on anything.

she tries taking stock of how she feels now that she's out of immediate danger - her head hurts throat feels sore, probably because of the smoke. but now that she's awake she feels clear. aware. it makes her feel a little more at ease, though not entirely, because what the fuck. ]

I take it you don't know how you did, either.

cw violence, minorly sexualized

[angelhunter]

I was driving. [ he stresses, a little snappish. He was alone in the car. He has no doubt of that. Another cough scrapes out of his throat as he straightens and wipes his eyes.

If he dreamed of arriving here, of crawling into bed in that shared room, the insubstantiality of those memories had them swept away as soon as he started to panic. The sight of Prairie sprinting after him in the rear-view mirror, her dress torn like paper down one shoulder, clings to him viciously, accusingly. That was real.

It felt as raw as this does. ]

cw: abduction

[fatblunt]

Yeah, and I was about to hijack a private jet.

[ she'd feared, in the moments just after waking, that she'd been taken in again or that she'd never left; that frida's victor had either been short-lived or a hallucination her brain had supplemented for her while she was dying. either felt more possible than what the truth apparently is. ]

So obviously neither of us know what's going on. Let's see if we can find anyone who does.

[angelhunter]

[ He could be clear-headed and perfectly at home, and he still wouldn't be able to tell if that was sarcasm. Hap decides to take her at her word. Circumstances have predisposed him not to feel secure with anything or anyone.

And on the other side of the coin, he wouldn't describe himself as a survivor. That's the first impression events have given him of her. While he won't get too close, it may be smart not to drift too far from her just yet. ]

You knew what you were doing in there. You saved my life, or at least my hand. [ It's been a long, long time since he got a refresher on fire safety. ] Are you a first responder of some kind?

psa this lowkey spoils the ending

[fatblunt]

[ she’s not, and the question earns him a half-hearted laugh as she shakes her head. ]

No. Instinct just kicked in. [ a cable network had floated the idea of having stars of various shows train as volunteer fire fighters, but had ultimately scrapped the idea when no stations would agree to it. ] I thought I was somewhere else at first.

[ the place she’d been about to hijack a jet to get away from, incidentally, which had also been on fire. ]

speaking for myself: you know the movies i watch. i dont think it's possible to spoil it

[angelhunter]

[ Hell of an instinct. Maybe she really was about to hijack a private jet. The inference is that the place she'd been was somewhere she wanted to get away from. Possibly, that somewhere was also on fire.

And possibly the origin of that fire wasn't as mysterious as this one.

His Adam's apple judders with a bone dry swallow. ]

Well, let's — [ he glances down as he buttons up his shirt ] let's go see what we can find out.

oh you can handle it i just meant it gives the ending away (not that i've been hiding it)

[fatblunt]

[ his instincts are right on, not that she's being all that subtle about it. if she were less shaken up about waking somewhere unfamiliar and needing to escape a burning building, again, she might be more wary, but right now she just wants some fucking answers.

so: ]

Yeah, let's. [ she straightens, taking a look around for someone with an air of authority. surely someone surrounding them will have at least one answer to the their combined list of questions. ]

i got you dog don't even trip 👖 ( cw gun violence, murder, fire injury )

[angelhunter]

[ He wishes he could trust those instincts. He's keyed up, paranoid and scrambling. The same state he was in before he got here, and if there was any lull between then and now, he can't meaningfully recall it.

He can't keep reacting. To having a gun pointed at his head, to being made a fool of by the woman he considered his partner, to abandoning the two bodies bleeding out in his bedroom. He needs to move forward, only forward — stop running and catch his breath. Funneling that desperation into purpose, he scans the people dotting the grounds.

Among the bewildered and the injured, he looks for the help. Any sign of a uniform, however nouveau riche. The estate is too large not to have someone looking after it. Spotting a harried man with impeccable posture, Hap beelines towards him. He makes it halfway before someone else collapses into him, clinging on like a thorny branch. Sobbing, she reeks of singed hair. In trying to both steady her and pry her off, he notes the seared skin across her temple, half her eyebrow missing. ]

Don't— [ Hap hefts her up. ] Stand. Stand up.

could not resist

[vdovy]

[ Yelena has already been stunned into a daze when she stumbles around the corner, pursued through the maze by ghosts that evaporate the moment she takes a swing. Her cheek bears a few thin, red cuts from when her own momentum drove her face-first into a hedge. She blinks at the blur in front of her until a woman comes into focus. No one she recognizes. A relief, in here. That means she is not another hallucination.

Angry red slashes still mark Yelena's neck where she was almost garotted by the vines growing from her hair. The memory reminds her to run her hands through her hair, yanking out any new growth. Her voice sound even throatier than usual when she speaks. ]

Okay. Yeah. [ She nods. ] Yeah, good thinking. Which way did you come from?

[fatblunt]

[ sarah nods in turn, relieved to have a partner in these particular trials. it feels beneficial to have someone there who can verify what's real and what's not.

it might end up being for naught if they both get tricked by their own minds, but they can cross that bridge when they come to it. ]

Back that way. [ she gestures behind her, a little to the left. ] Do they have multiple entrances into this thing? We may have come in from opposite sides.