𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 ▣ NOVEMBER TDM

[saltburntmods]

NOVEMBER 2025 TDM: INDULGENCE

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

CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a.

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, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.

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. It’s self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.

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

TREAT YOURSELF

CONTENT WARNINGS: pressing of hard limits (examples including suffocation & drowning)

On the questionable hideous backside of the manor is a strangely modern addition — new to Saltburnt is MALICE, an all-inclusive spa experience available to meet the needs of any guest who requires an additional pick-me-up. Upon opening a set of heavy doors marked only with an M., cool air bundled with the delicate fragrance of white tea and artemisia immediately envelops your skin. Gleaming marble floors glitter across the lobby, staff dressed in identical red stepping forward to serve you your choice of fruit-infused sparkling water, each glass tinted with the barest hint of color — finger lime green to boost your energy levels, dragon fruit pink to warm your cheeks (and other areas), golden starfruit for a shimmering veil of calm to settle upon your troubled mind. The lobby itself is open for mingling, live piano music providing a backdrop as you decide on your services, with gentle massages available for your shoulders and feet as you wait, and staff members on standby to offer complimentary manicures for those ragged cuticles. It seems they’re willing to do anything to provide both comfort and preserve good taste — they’ll silently come forward to shine your shoes, lint roll your clothes, or offer a selection of creams for any hands they deem too dry.

A glistening spiral staircase leads to the upper floor, where full services are rendered in various rooms — and there are so many to choose from. In fact, Malice seems like a timely addition for the guests who’ve been away from the luxuries of the manor and might be feeling a little rough around the edges, both in body and mind. You can undress into your choice of robe, slip, or breezy linen set, both fluffy and silken options available in several pastel colors, with matching slippers. A steamy bath house beckons anyone looking for a warm, relaxing soak, creamy soaps and sweet oils lined up neatly for your use. If that’s not hot enough, the sauna is right next door, where you can feel free to sweat out your inner demons by any means necessary. Still not right for you? The hot tubs and jacuzzis provide a stunningly high view of the gardens, an especially beautiful sight when glimmering at night, the perfect scene to enjoy a heated soak — or the expertly percussive jets beneath the water. Order a drink from the staff, sit back, and relax, with or without a partner (or two, or three).

Once you’re done with a soak or a sweat, head to the expansive massage area, broken up into various rooms and spaces to meet individual needs. A deep tissue massage from the highly trained staff will have your muscles purring, but for those in search of something more, there are options aplenty. A hot stone massage to release that muscular tension you’ve been carrying, or maybe you’d prefer ice? Or wax? Choose from a curated selection of scents for your aromatherapy experience, each fragrance stimulating an urgent desire to be touched in a new place. The massage oils only enhance the experience further, the warm glide of it awakening and emboldening you to pursue a pleasure you’ve been dreaming about for too long. A discreet package called A Sacred Time for Two allows you and a guest of your choice to experience a massage together, either from the staff, or left to your own devices in a private room. Speaking of private rooms, there’s an even more illicit package available to those in the know — The Sacred Eye, which will allow you to watch any massage of your choice through an enclosed, one way mirror. The show gets good once inhibitions are lowered to indulge in private desires, so you’ll certainly want to consider it.

For those who really went through it under the Shepherd’s questionable care, there are a variety of skin enhancements on the menu. Come in for a cooling facial or full-body exfoliation that will leave you polished, gleaming, and unnaturally desirable to those who might have never looked at you before. For those seeking a bit more sensory deprivation, a warming marine body wrap and eye mask will leave you cleansed and refreshed, inside and out. And don’t be shy — the staff has seen it all, including the jagged scars you’ve been carrying from your recent ordeal or any earlier traumas. The first scar treatment can be done in house, and you’ll be sent along your way with a glass jar of the creamy, tingling ointment to be applied daily over the next several weeks — with the understanding that your results will be poor if you apply it yourself. Make sure you find a trusted set of hands to smooth over your scars each night for the most effective results.

The staff is happy to provide all these services and more, making you as comfortable as possible and catering to all special wellness requests. Enjoy the offerings — you’ve earned the luxury of solace and leisurely relief, after surviving this long. And for those of you who wander deeper into Malice, there are a few more experiences to be had, though these are not for the faint of heart.

Welcome to the Iron Rooms of Malice, where wellness takes on a much fiercer meaning. The services in the Iron Rooms are for those looking for a deeper, more profound relief than an orgasmic massage or an intense sauna session can provide. No room is the same as the next, because each room is tailored to the guest that checks in — and the moment you cross the threshold, a signed release automatically populates at the lobby’s reception desk, absolving Malice of any harm, mental, physical, or emotional, that you might sustain. Distantly, you think you hear faraway screams, moans, scratching and banging. Still, your need propels you forward, a deep, wrenching ache to shed your identity, to tap into something darker, something that washes you clean in a way that the previous spa rooms couldn’t. But cleansing requires a price, and the Iron Rooms will demand payment.

Entering is a shock to the system, the room personalized for you and only you — that is to say, the room takes the form of one of your hard limits or deepest fears, wrested to the surface and made manifest before you. If you dread restraints, gags, or deprivation, you’ll find any variety of these waiting for you, your limbs powerless as you’re bound or roped, your sight hidden behind a blindfold. If drowning plagues your nightmares, you’ll feel the sensation of rising waters, the room shaking as the walls grow closer, shimmering with the rush of the sea waiting to swallow you. If you fear death, the room becomes your own coffin, sealed with iron, the air running out despite your efforts to tear your way free. Whether you’re surrounded by gunfire and smoke, chained to a hospital bed, screaming in a cage, enduring the brush of lips from a person long dead, or suffering blows that leave you bruised, your fears and limits are yours to face. Yours to take on. And yours to master, in whatever way you can survive.

The cleansing comes when you divest yourself of your fears, even for just a moment, to reach the relief you’re searching for within the walls of Malice. Ask for the aid of a loved one or even a stranger to listen to your undisclosed confessions, or to help you push even further to find the agony of pleasure in your fear, tapping into your darkest desires and stretching yourself to your deepest, most intimate limits. The screaming and scratching you heard earlier? Maybe some people are still trapped in their fears. And yet, also to be heard are the sounds of ecstasy, of moans and sobs of euphoria, of overwhelming pleasure and relief. The room will shift to your needs, if your intentions are true. But the longer you cower, the worse your fear will grow — and the Iron Rooms will hold you captive until you face the truth.

REDRUM

CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

As you take your time to recover, the Balfours move full steam ahead to catch up with the social season — it’s so tacky to miss certain holidays on account of some crazed man’s murder games, after all. The announcement of the very prestigious COUPLES COSTUME CONTEST comes with the expectation of mass participation, or else endure Portia’s cold stares for the rest of the month. It doesn’t matter if you’re actually a couple, since the overall sordid state of romance is both expected and understood. It does matter if you’re fashionable. Dynamic. A visionary with the ingenuity to think Canadian tuxedos are the height of fashion. Luckily, the Halloween gods have smiled down upon you, or Bunny just threw a fit until Portia and Jonty relented to his demented ideas, but you reap the benefits — there’s a never before seen Spirit Halloween popup towering in the lawn. Shop to your heart’s content as you put together a costume fit to win. It’s all on the Balfours’ tab, after all. (Submit to the couples costume contest here, where a winner will be randomly selected!)

In the evening, a portion of the manor is transformed into Saltburnt’s very own haunted house, despite the complaints of certain guests that “we’ve already lived through enough horror.” It seems that’s your own fault, and has nothing to do with Portia’s party agenda, which leans into the Victorian romantic gothic aesthetic (someone told her was very trendy at the moment). Dress to impress as you traverse the maze-like rooms of the manor, drenched in crushed velvet and cobwebs, flickering candles leaving each space in perpetual gloam. With no expense spared, there are attractions in every room.

Adorning the walls are paintings of Balfour ancestors whose eyes seem to not only watch you, but undress you, warming your body with a phantom touch beneath your clothes. As if it wasn’t uncomfortable enough to have the feeling of a stranger groping you, you don’t know what’s hiding around each corner — a shambling mummy, a guy wearing flannel and wielding a chainsaw, a bespectacled doctor holding vials of poison that will leave you paralyzed. Of course, these are paid actors that the Balfours have hired for the festivities — aren’t they? They’re not actually trying to kill you. Right? Jonty was the one who was supposed to make sure the background checks actually checked out. In any case, you really don’t want to find out what happens when one of them catches you, so hopefully you wore shoes you can run in. Fast.

And there are so many places to run. Some of you stumble upon a heavy door, dragging it open to escape the freak chasing you, only to be thrust into an unruly crowd of even freakier-looking people. In the center? A makeshift ring, with two banged-up people inside. Congratulations, you’ve found The Pound, a fight club where you can pummel the monsters of the haunted house. Go ahead and get in the ring and take out some of those frustrations on the nearest reanimated corpse or Frankensteinian monster. For those who keep running, you might burst into a hot house of psychedelic plants and mutated butterflies. Ingesting or even touching some of these flowers, leaves, or thorns can leave you dizzy, flushed, touch-starved, and with an extreme desire to confess a secret — or else you’ll overheat and lose consciousness. What happens in the hot house stays in the hot house.

If you’re looking for a more refined and less bloody experience, visit the tea room for a crimson cup and a plate of sugar-dusted ladyfingers. As you settle into your chair, steel touches your ankles and wrists as manacles slither over you and clamp shut, trapping you to your seat and sapping you of your strength, your eyelids drooping. When you look up again, you recognize the person sitting right across from you, trapped in the same position — a friend, a lover, an enemy, or anything in between. Two staff members dressed as clowns stand beside you, teacups in hand, ready to serve you your sips since you’re presently rendered immobile. You want to leave? You are the room’s entertainment, and the scene you set will be judged in terms of performance value. Air some dirty laundry, have that argument you’ve been meaning to bring up, confront your killer or the person you love with the truth of how you feel — just make sure it’s honest and juicy.

The haunted house, thankfully, doesn’t seem to extend to the garden, where you can make an escape for popcorn, gummy worms, and your choice of fresh cranberry-apple punch with rum or straight blood orange whiskey. Grab a blanket and stretch out on the lawn with a cuddle buddy or three for an evening of scary movies projected onto a giant inflatable screen, or take a nighttime stroll through the maze, which, oddly enough, is growing corn now. For those of you who really don’t know how to sit still, you can go bobbing for apples, explore the art station for face or body painting (does it tingle a little?), or carve a pumpkin to display along the garden’s edge. Portia will not entertain any protests that it’s “too soon” for pumpkins — it’s tradition, after all. If you're in the mood for a cozier kind of quiet, hay rides loop along the grounds from sunset to moonlit midnights, each wagon lined with a soft quilt for couples to huddle under. The driver promises absolute discretion for mouths that steal kisses and hands that wander beneath blankets, riding slowly along the lantern-lit paths to give you all the alone time you need with your sweetheart.

Sparkling with fairy lights and decorated with lace is the extremely popular pumpkin spice latte booth, where you can order something ready-made or take a stool to concoct your own personalized latte. Behind the booth, there’s a more illicit version of bobbing for apples going on, where some of the drunker guests are bobbing for the shiny fruit squeezed between a pair of breasts. Feeling a little more rambunctious as the night carries on? Some guests have gotten ahold of cartons of eggs and have decided to pelt the southernmost wall of the manor, well out of Portia’s eyesight in a form of protest. That, or just to honor the trick part in Trick-or-Treat.

SHE THINKS SHE'S MADE OF CANDY

CONTENT WARNINGS: nsfw prompts (including lactation & a/b/o themes).

No season is complete without a grand finale, this time in the form of a rave as the Otherworld welcomes you home. You’ve had a difficult time of it lately, and after all that suffering the heedless debauchery of the Otherworld feels like a welcome reprieve even for the most anal of guests. The theme? A MOONLIT GRAVEYARD. The expanse of the ceiling glitters with stars, the tables switched out for coffins, tombstones for chairs, the bar a slab fit for a body awaiting its time at the morgue. You have death trauma, you say? There’s no better way to get over that than to push yourself right into it, falling into the indulgences that the Otherworld has to offer. The dress code? Dead sexy. As soon as you come in, you’re greeted with crystal bowls of bright candy, a holiday indulgence that feels irresistible, even to those lacking a sweet tooth. Pick your poison (or three)!

CANDIES OF THE MONTH

For an interactive game, feel free to click on whichever of the below candies appeals to your character, and reveal a (horny) side effect. Alternatively, click them all and find whichever side effect most appeals to you! Be warned — you are never going to get these stains out.

SKITTLES MULTICOLORED CUM DIP DAB GLITTERY CUM LOLLIPOPS FLAVORED CUM ACID DROPS COMPULSIVE/MULTIPLE ORGASMS REFRESHERS BIG LOADS/SQUIRTING

ROCK CANDY GLOW-IN-THE-DARK CUM BUBBLEGUM STICKY CUM JELLY BABIES LACTATION BUTTERSCOTCH SELF-LUBRICATING BUTTHOLE WINE GUMS SCENTED CUM

Whether you’ve stuck to your favorite or doubled or tripled up, you’ll feel the effects of these special treats within minutes, all of them with the bonus impact of lowering inhibitions. Not a dancer? You’re suddenly feeling a lot more compelled to grind it up on the dance floor with anyone who asks, or even with those who don’t. The starry rave lights reveal an increasingly more colorful room as the night goes on — mouths smeared with glitter, clothes wet with glowing stains (very difficult to remove). It’s time to let go. To release — literally. It’s called catharsis, and you can thank the Otherworld later. To assist with your sudden load problem, you’ll find a bucket full of vibrators labeled ONE PER PERSON, PLEASE, and another stuffed to the brim with condoms — specifically, candy corn flavored. Please use responsibly. A person can only be filled so many times, you see.

In addition to the unholy amount of bodily fluids on the dance floor, you’ll notice several doors available to you, very much likened to the doors of a mausoleum. It’s anything but dead behind them though — they each lead to a themed playroom for you to roleplay your fantasies. Enter a doctor’s office staffed with scantily clad nurses for a thorough examination, become one of Dracula’s many panting brides in the highest tower of his castle, or stroll through a pet adoption agency where you’re the one collared and leashed in a cage, eager to perform so that someone might see your value and take you back to theirs tonight. Join the roundtable of horny wizards as they cast sexy spells to get you off, or take the stage in a see-through leotard as you perform a solo show for the audience. One room to the side bursts with racks and racks of costumes and floor to ceiling tri-fold mirrors for you to don any identity you please. There are rooms to tickle every part of the imagination, if you’re brave enough to enter.

If there's one thing Saltburnt is good at, it's throwing a party you'll never forget, and taking good, good care of you afterwards. When you're exhausted and coated in bodily fluids, disinterested or incapable of moving back to your room, take advantage of the temporary TROLLEY SYSTEM of Otherworld — that is, cheesily decorated golf carts with cobwebs and streamers, designed to drive you to and from your room. For a limited time only, so take advantage while you can!

DIRECTORY

taken
activity check
setting

reserves
rewards
rules

applications
hiatus & drop
faq

Comments

Harry Goodsir | The Terror | current character

[mygoodsir]

treat yourself

[Harry Goodsir has never seen anything quite like Malice. Although he'd spent months in the manor, prior to that he'd spent years icelocked in the Arctic. The recent turn in the commune was closer to the familiar in many ways, but mostly eclipsed by the sheer horror of everything. Perhaps unsurprisingly, as a result he embraces the spa with relief and a naive wonder.

Hair: cut. Whiskers: shaved. Body hair: left alone, thank you very much.

He can be found, frequently, in the hot tubs and jacuzzis. He doesn't appear to be on the lookout for anything but conversation when he peers across the steamy water at whoever may be sitting there.]

Isn't it lovely? The view is spectacular. And they've sparkling water that tastes quite fruity.

[He is so earnestly impressed by this fact that one could be forgiven for laughing.


At some point, he discovers the skin enhancements. Wearing a fluffy bathrobe and slippers, dark curls tucked up under a towel, he's got some sort of mud mask on as he examines the wall of creams and potions on offer. He picks up some of the scar cream and examines it a long while before glancing over. His voice is soft and nervous.]

Do you think they're unseemly? Scars, that is. I've always felt they are reminders made flesh. ...I suppose that's actually a good reason to be rid of them. Do you think it's better to erase it all?

welcome (exhibit)

[In your wanderings through the manor, it's possible you come across a half open door on the second floor, on the western side. The sign on it reads, "The Goodsir Natural History Museum" and peering inside reveals a fair sized room with high ceilings. There are display cases aplenty full of rocks, plants, shells, mounted insects. There are also some large Victorian aquariums and terrariums updated with modern filters and rain systems.

The man himself is busy at a table, making notes in a journal while a small stereo plays Tuvan throat singing at low volume. Harry looks up, blinking behind his spectacles.]

Oh! Hello! Do come in, don't be shy. This is a place meant to be experienced.

Do you like crabs, by any chance?

skin enhancements

[viver]

[ She hugs him from behind, slipping her arms under his, wrapped around the front. Her robe is open, skin brushing against his fabric; she nuzzles him to take in the scent on his neck. ]

No, I don't. Scars are wounds that loved you enough to stay.

[ Straightening her back, she brushes her thumb up his spine, close to his nape, touching the small hairs peeking from under the towel. ]

[mygoodsir]

[Harry shivers at the touch.]

I feel this month there will be many wishing to forget that particular form of love.

[He half turns to smile at her.]

Hello.

[viver]

Hello.

[ Smile warm, glad to see him in a better mood. ]

They will. It's a pity, I think.

[ Several of those scars are remnants of their deaths, something they wish to forget instead of celebrate. The end that comes to all, the embrace of her other half when it's time, so terribly misunderstood. Sully has had trouble with the temporary nature of death in this little universe; Zephir has had trouble believing any of them are truly alive. ]

How are you feeling, papillon?

( welcome / exhibit )

[deadnerve]

Depends what kind.

[Ha ha. He wonders if Harry'll even get that joke, or if it'll just land like a nothing-comment. He comes into the room with a curious look around, hands in the pockets of his hoodie - he's definitely crawled back into comfort the second he got 'home'. He nods toward the many-ariums.]

What else is in there too?

[mygoodsir]

Oh! We've a spider crab, two hermit crabs, and a shore crab! [...yeah, he didn't get that joke, sorry Devon.

He shuts his journal and comes around, beaming, moving to usher Devon toward the tanks.]

I've some snails, too.

[deadnerve]

Uhh, what's the difference between them?

[Half curious, half just giving Harry to lead to talk about his crabs because stupidly enough, Devon likes to listen to him talk. He'll move toward the tanks, leaning to peer in:]

I don't see...

🦀

[littlepebble]

[ Val sneaks in undetected while Harry gives a tour to someone else. It's easy enough - she's small, and his attention is occupied. She listens, charmed by the man's enthusiasm, his knowledge of the plants and animals around them outmatching anyone else she's met in this giant, gilded house. She decides that he deserves a treat. Or a trick, as the occasion might have it.

When Harry says goodbye to his visitor and turns around, there is a giant crab behind him, the size of a labrador.

It does a headstand on its front claws, poorly. ]

[mygoodsir]

[Harry turns and jumps, hands lifting in an automatic defensive posture. The crab is impossibly large and he can't control his first instinct to back away.

But it doesn't appear hostile. He's familiar with aggressive crab behaviour, after all.

So Harry lowers his hands and leans in a little (but not too close!) to examine the creature. His pulse is still racing, but his curiosity wins out as always.]

My goodness! Are you... Paralithodes Camtschaticus, I believe... Beautiful! Just beautiful. Ah. We need... goodness, where did you come from?

[littlepebble]

[ The crab speaks. ]

I don’t know what that is, but it sounds very prestigious. [ Alas, she is not from Earth, and so despite her expert knowledge on all things animal, the Latin naming conventions mean nothing – but he is correct. The monstrously oversized king crab speaks with a woman’s voice, as if she hadn’t transformed herself at all. ] I listened to your tour. You are quite knowledgeable for a human. I should like to be your friend, Mr. Goodsir.

[ She creeps closer to him, holding out one claw, a bizarre approximation of a handshake. ]

welcome 🥹

[temujackie]

[ A girl in a backwards baseball hat can't see a sign that says "The Goodsir Natural History Museum" and not check it out. That would be illegal.

Melissa only pokes her head in at first, not sure what to expect, but the sight of Harry taking notes would make her feel comfortable walking in even if he didn't catch her lurking and say something himself first. ]

Hi. Wow, is this new? And yeah, I think crabs are... cool, I guess. [ Well, if she's being honest, she's never given that much thought to crabs, but if she really stops and thinks about them... they are cool, aren't they? ]

[mygoodsir]

Melissa! Yes, yes, brand new.

[He gets up and comes over, pausing a second before giving her an awkward but sincere hug. (It goes against etiquette, but he's so happy to see her.)

He steps away enough to gesture at the tanks.]

I dearly love crustaceans. Marvelous, marvelous creatures. Look!

[He steps to one tank and points.] Hermit crabs. They've an asymmetric abdomen, the exoskeleton of which is soft - that's why they need to find shelters. Usually calcified snail shells. Wonderful little fellows. I've named them Virgil and Dante.

Oh, ah. My manners. How are you, my dear?

[temujackie]

[ The hug is a little bit of a surprise, but not a bad one. Melissa returns it, grateful, before turning to look at the tanks with him. ]

Oh, they sell those at the beach. I always felt bad for them in the tiny cages. [ These tanks are much, much nicer. Virgil and Dante lucked out.

She keeps looking in at the hermit crabs, gives him a little shrug of the shoulders. ] I'm good. [ It would be almost sincere if she hadn't crashed out and punched Dom in the face after telling him they couldn't be friends anymore. ] How are you?

welcome

[lotan]

[ Eden is leaning against the glass of one of the aquariums, enraptured by the little fishies and critters going about their lives, gasping every now and then a particularly big one comes around. They love these animals so, they stir a special place in their brain, usually reserved for grander, far more mythical creatures. And they're cute.

To Harry's question, they spin around, smiling. ]

I love crabs. Fierce little sideway warriors.

[mygoodsir]

[He beams, because this is a special interest of his that he's used to people finding unusual.]

They are! Fabulous creatures. Here, we've a lovely spider crab if you'd like to see her.

[He moves to point the animal out, at ease in a way he usually isn't with strangers.]

Her colouration is very vibrant.

Oh, my manners. Harry Goodsir. I don't believe we've met.

[lotan]

An evolutionary marvel, for sure.

[ They moves as close as they can manage, watching with wide eyes how the many appendages move in concert, eyes scanning its surroundings, and surely noticing them.

But as Harry introduces himself, they turn around, slowly, a soft smile on their face. ]

Eden, a name I have chosen for myself. You curate this place, yes? Show me more.

welcome

[internship]

[ Despite being a life-long New Yorker, and therefore not that intimidated by most big, new places, Gwen spends her first few days getting very turned around in the manor. In her defense, it's like the entire layout shifts without warning--and she's trying to find her way to the library when she stumbles upon the museum.

This does remind her a little of home, actually. Gwen's hands are laced behind her back as she peers at a pretty malachite formation in one of the display cases, and she straightens with a smile when Goodsir addresses her. ]

Oh, I don't dislike crabs. Carcinization is really interesting.

Are you the, um--curator?

[mygoodsir]

[The way his eyes light up is nearly comical. His voice remains soft, but it becomes more lively.]

Do you know much about carcinization? I'm afraid it's a concept that was introduced after my time. I've read a little about it but never had anyone who actually understood it to speak to.

Oh! I suppose I am, yes. [A very proper bow.] Harry Goodsir.

[internship]

After your time? [ With just the slightest squint as Gwen tries to parse what he means, though she's still conversational, strolling past another of the rock displays. ] I interned in a cross-species genetics lab, so we definitely looked at crabs. Some people think crab-like carapaces are the end-point of evolution, but I'm not so sure I want to get all, you know... [ Gwen makes a claw shape with her hands, ] pinchy.

[ Her nose scrunches a little, and she--curtsies? Because that seems like the right thing to do, in response to a bow. ]

It's nice to meet you, Mr. Goodsir. I'm Gwen Stacy.

treat yourself

[medication]

[ After her body wrap, Lisa is curious about everything on offer. If time weren't a factor, she'd try it all. But there are only so many hours in a day and she doesn't want this day to end. The saunas and jacuzzis would surely make her sleepy. Massages, too. Maybe there's a nice, zesty lotion that could perk her up after.

Juniper berry and lemon, orange and lavender, bergamot and grapefruit. She's spoiled for choice.

Holding a bottle up to her nose for a sneaky sniff, Lisa lowers it when addressed. He's not asking about that though. Peering at the cream in his hand, she wonders how well it works. ]

Oh, [ a breezy filler syllable, like she's surprised his question was really a question and not him thinking out loud, ] yes. Definitely. Some scars are too terrible to live with.

[ Lisa closes the cap on the bottle in her hands. All of a sudden she thinks the tang of it will make her sick. ]

cw: suicide ref

[mygoodsir]

[It's terribly rude, but he laughs briefly.]

Oh. I'm so sorry. You've not actually said anything funny, it's just... you're right quite literally.

[The scars running up his wrists are just barely peeking out from the sleeves of his robe.]

My apologies. Ah. What's that you've got?

[medication]

[ Lisa laughs nervously, through a tepid smile. It widens with relief when he apologizes, and she dismisses him with a shake of her head. She's not sure what she thought, for a second there. Just that he somehow gleaned some awful detail of what — who — she really meant from what she said. Silly. ]

It's just— [ she shows him the label: lime zest and water lily. ] I was looking for something bright, but now I think citrus might be too sharp.

welcome (exhibit)

[tedandroses]

[OOC: Late as hellll tagging around, so don’t feel obligated!]

[This place is batshit. Waking up somewhere and not knowing where or why (let alone feeling, somehow, that they’ve done it before??) would be crazy; similarly, being in a house dripping with not just luxury but this sort of tangible feeling of inherited wealth, on its own, would be —-mm, slightly infuriating, but, mostly, wild.

The combination — and the other parts, the weird sensation of the hallways changing, the underlying fear about why she’s here — it’s producing some kind of cognitive fizzle: part dazed, a little outraged, a hundred percent desperate to know more. Teddy can’t stop looking at things.

This room, though. When Teddy peers in, it feels calming, inviting. Even the architecture, the furnishings: they don’t have the same showy feel: maybe expensive but in a way that has a purpose, which is clearly to showcase natural wonders or wonder at everyday specimens, something that immediately clutches at Teddy’s chest and turns him into a child on a field trip.

They smile at the welcome from the man at his desk, warmed and still a little embarrassed.]

Thank you. It’s — wonderful. [Teddy looks around, smiling, spoiled for choice as to where to start; then grins at the question with a little laugh.]

Um. I reckon you mean as a species, and not as food…? [Or the slang term.] And, in that case, yes? I haven’t seen very many kinds up close, though — I’ve never actually been very near the ocean.

Do you have crabs here?

[mygoodsir]

Well, you may enjoy them to eat, too, only I do ask that you don't eat these particular ones.

[His voice is soft, the accent working to further the impression of an academic in a very stereotypical way.

Harry stands and approaches - a slight man in a cardigan over a vest and shirt. He gestures to one of the tanks.]

We've a lovely spider crab in here. She's quite impressive, I think, very large and bright.

Are you new to the manor?

[tedandroses]

[Teddy laughs, a soft huff more than anything voiced.

They’re a little self-conscious of their own accent and dialect, in the wake of his: pleasant and more readily regarded as educated. The overall nerdy professor vibe, though, puts Teddy at ease. They love digging into things — whether their own passions or listening to someone else’s — and generally they click with academic types, if they’re not too terribly elitist. And so far, the man seems welcoming.]

I wouldn’t dare.
[She puts a hand to her chest in an amused but solemn gesture of oath-swearing:]
Your crustaceans are safe with me.

[Teddy’s eyes widen a little, mouth making a silent ooh, and he crosses, with the flash of a smile and a thank-you nod, toward the tank to take a look.

As she nears the tank, Teddy instinctively stills a little, quiet and scanning for the crab. When she spots her, she lights up, whispering:] Oh! Hi there, darlin. Look at you.

[Teddy flushes a little, laughing under their breath and glancing up at the man. More normally:] She’s incredible.

[They nod at his question, taking a breath and letting it out with a wry expression] Very, yes. It’s. …a lot…? By rights I should be in West Virginia.

I’m — Teddy, by the way. [They offer a hand, slightly uncertain of the gesture.]

Have you been here long?

[The room and its collection would suggest so, but it’s possible it predates him. Or maybe he arrived with everything but the room. Teddy’s barely able to exclude possibilities right now.]