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ℑ𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𑁍 [TDM]
Welcome to the Test Drive!
For information on the game premise, setting etc, please utilize the navigation pages below. Questions specific to the TDM prompts or the setting can go to the comment thread. Anything else relating to game mechanics can go in the FAQ.
GAME PAGES
i.
arrival:
Well darlings, don't you panic
arrival:
Well darlings, don't you panic
(warnings:drugs)
It begins with a nightmare, the details of which have already slipped through your fingers. Only the curling echo of its dread lingers in your chest. Something has snapped you out of a catatonic state: the shudder of rain and thunder battering against the window, a cold chill running down your spine, or perhaps the smell of dinner stirring your appetite. Whatever it may be that brings you back to your senses, you find yourself in an old moldering estate lost to a bygone time.
You are not alone. A warm hand touches your arm as someone checks in to see if you're alright before they pull away.
You're in the middle of someone's cozy gathering: a humble gathering spread throughout the entire wing of some manor. The warm glow of lamplights and candles light the way around a cluster of interconnected rooms. Flickering shadows conceal the peeled edges of the wallpaper. The pungent scent of dinner and smoke layers over the dampness of the wood. There is the feeling of forgotten opulence made anew by its current occupants: finely carved and ornate furniture sits askew in some places, threadbare rugs layered over one another, melted candle wax piled on the corners of mantles and sconces.
There are no serving staff, only eclectic guests of mixed status who look no more belonging to their surroundings than you. Like any house party, there are those open to mingling with strangers and will fill you in on your situation. Others turn in on their huddles and cannot otherwise be bothered to include you in their company. You learn you've been at the Lonely Fortress anywhere between a morning and a fortnight. It's not uncommon for new arrivals to take a while to come around. All that matters is you're present, you're alive, and you should try to enjoy the night.
oh fantasy, feed me!
If you're feeling out of sorts, getting some food in you will help. The dining hall is there for those who follow the aroma. Long draped tables are dressed with various tiered plates and platters of a feast fit for a woodland lord. Attendees graze the dressed tables for bits of roast, bites of vegetables, and the occasional sweet or bread roll. Carafes and pitchers scattered up and down the tables hold fortified wines, spruce ales, ciders, and fruit punches. The food is losing its warmth, but even just a nibble will help ground you from the foggy haze you've stumbled out of.
Smalltalk is easy to come by here. If you've just come to, someone might be nudging you to pass the olives. Get to know your neighbor. Eat, drink, mingle.
a jump to the left
If dinner doesn't suit you, the stronger liquor can be found in one of several interconnected parlors where groups of people have collected to socialize and entertain one another. There's gambling in the Smoking Parlor where people bet away favors or trinkets over card games. A haze of herbal smoke swirls overhead, lending to the room's abnormal warmth.
The Velvet Parlor will suit those looking for a more intimate mood. The center floor before the hearth is piled with rugs, blankets, and pillows for patrons to laze over. In a dark corner, a masked man plucks away a druzy melancholic tune on a pear-shaped instrument, lending to a subdued ambiance. Small groups convalesce among couches and pillows as they imbibe in mood dizzying substances meant to soothe frazzled souls. Partaking in these drinks might leave you feeling a bit loose lipped. Join them in drinking games such as two truths and a lie, charades, and truth or forfeit.
a step into the night
If the party isn't to your liking, there are dark corridors aplenty to get turned around in. The Fortress is a maze to navigate at night. No lights beyond the party line the corridors, forcing those to wander by lamp or candle. The further away from the revelry, the colder and damper it gets. The sounds of the storm raging outside howls through the hall, rattling doors, and other unexplainable bumps in the night. The deeper in the dark you wander, the more paranoid you begin to feel. Is there something lurking after you in the dark? Beyond the battering of the rain, the air is eerily still. Occasionally, you may hear the whispers of feverous ritualistic chanting echoing in the dark. No matter how hard you try to follow it, you are unable to find the source.
If your first instinct was to try to leave, you'll find locked gates and a spitting rain. It's not worth traveling in these conditions, so you might as well stay inside for a little while until you can see where you're going.
ii.
fight or flight:
Madness takes its toll
fight or flight:
Madness takes its toll
(warnings: monster transformation/body horror (bug adjacent), violence/gore, aphrodisiacs, sex, potential for dubcon. )
Later into the night, something begins to feel off. Call it a gut feeling, a primal instinct. A loud, monstrous shriek pierces the air that leaves your ears ringing.The lights flicker and snuff out, plunging the fortress into a darkness. All revelry tumbles to a dead stop as one by one the light begins to return. The warm tone of the night shifts cool as a few brazen souls step out into the hall to heed unearthly cries only to never return. Commotion rattles the walls as the monster hunts through the dining hall, leaving a pile of crumpled bodies with the marrow sucked from their bones.
A monster has crashed the party (or perhaps it was summoned). Lonely, human-like cries slither through the halls, beckoning victims into the maw of a ghastly beast by mimicking the sounds their most cherished loved ones. Shaped like a large, overgrown humanoid centipede, it scuttles through the inky dark on dozens of spindly hands, hunting by sound alone. Those who hear its cries may need to fight an unearthly compulsion to return the call and beckon it near.
"Servitor," an old man's grave whisper slips into everyone's minds. "Contain your fear, find sanctuary, do not make a sound. Go now."
rise and scatter
Without a word, everyone retreats as quickly and quietly as possible. Doors are shut, shuddered, and locked. Those who are unable get to safety quietly are followed and spirited away off into the darkness to be crushed and consumed by the unseen creature. People barricade the doors, others open the windows to let the sound of the rain to muffle their noise. Secret passages behind the tapestries are unveiled as small groups pair off to sneak off to find refuge elsewhere.
No one speaks, but their voices slip into each other's minds. The soft murmurings of more seasoned residents urge those capable of hunting the monster to get to the armory and for the rest to split into smaller groups. The monster needs to be driven out and the rest need to prevent the infection of hysteria. Here, comfort is only found in numbers, safety is not guaranteed.
Choose wisely which path you take and who becomes your lockdown partner. Not everyone will make it through the night. Do what you need to survive. Don't speak. Don't panic.
rose tint my world
If you chose sanctuary: be prepared to wait a while in the room you've hunkered down in or risk exposing yourself to the horrors lurking the corridors. Occasionally, you can hear whatever it is hunting; the skittering of legs and the sorrowful cry that tempts the weak-hearted. If you hear a loved one crying out for you, it's not recommended to heed it.
Not everyone fearfully hunkers down to wait the night, though. You may find yourself in mixed company who take on stranger measures to distract themselves. Instead of huddle quietly, waiting for death to stalk them, their comforting beins to devolve into quiet and desperate carnal pleasures. Soft hands paw over worried faces before tucking a candy into their mouths. The sentiment here is clear: don't ask too many questions, just eat the candy and go with the flow. Its properties can be swiftly felt: a relaxant and a mild aphrodisiac. The people in here are trying to fight the spread of panic with the distraction of intimacy. The veil of rainfall drowns out soft unkept moans and labored breaths. If you're unwilling to participate in a light horrorgy, none here will compel you, but it's probably better to find a different corner to quell your hysteria.
a feeling of unnameable dread
If you join the monster hunt: you can pick up a weapon from the armory. The Fortress provides an eclectic collection of premodern arms suited for the most modest of novices to the most sporting of hunters. No firearms, you'll be in close quarters and a bullet won't be very effective against this servitor. You get a torch and either a blunt or bladed weapon. Whatever you take, hopefully you know how to use it.
The servitor is sensitive to light and sound. Some hunters are tasked with luring it away by playing a high-stakes game of marco polo. Others who feel more equipped to defeat it, might find fire to be particularly useful. Be weary of other horrors bumping around in the dark. The night can play tricks on the senses, and just believing something might be lurking in the dark might briefly manifest your horrors into reality.
iii.
respite:
Down the river of night's dreaming
respite:
Down the river of night's dreaming
An announcement of the servitor's defeat comes in the mere hours before dawn. Those who have holed themselves away begin to emerge. Anyone who perished at the hands of the monster will have left nothing behind but smears of blood where they met their demise. You're told their bodies have been taken by the bramble, but little more is divulged. Not everyone here is at your beck and call for answering questions.
The overall mood is somber and exhausted, leaving the once raging storm outside to dwindle down to tranquil trickle of rain. For now, it's to begin winding down the night for a much needed rest and recovery. It's time to clean up for the night, tend to any wounds, and find a place to rest.
Medical supplies are far from any modern counterparts, but the resident herbalist can spare salves, tinctures, and clean bandages along with any tonics to quell any lingering weariness. The first night after awakening can be difficult, riddled with nightmares. If you do not take up the offer of a sleeping tonic, you may find yourself sleepwalking.
Despite the size, private bedchambers are in short supply. Newcomers may find themselves paired up to share quarters or fighting to keep their space to themselves as more filter in looking for a place to sleep. If you're not willing to share a room or a bed, there are plenty of other spots to curl up into and rest for a few hours; however, seasoned exiles warn that those who insist on remaining alone tend to have a rougher night's sleep.
The overall mood is somber and exhausted, leaving the once raging storm outside to dwindle down to tranquil trickle of rain. For now, it's to begin winding down the night for a much needed rest and recovery. It's time to clean up for the night, tend to any wounds, and find a place to rest.
Medical supplies are far from any modern counterparts, but the resident herbalist can spare salves, tinctures, and clean bandages along with any tonics to quell any lingering weariness. The first night after awakening can be difficult, riddled with nightmares. If you do not take up the offer of a sleeping tonic, you may find yourself sleepwalking.
oh no, they were bunkmates
QUESTIONS?
cw: cannibalism question
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CAMEO REQUEST
Be sure to provide a short summary of what you're looking for and a direct link to the comment you're looking for engagement on. Please note that for the TDM, engagement may be limited to 1-3 comments per thread.
Example Requests
Named NPC: Unnamed NPC: Servitor:Environment:
Servitor Encounter!
Goldwyn of Ranvik | original
a jump to the left
rose tint my world
[ ooc: Goldwyn is a fae changeling who grew up to rule a human kingdom. he holds a grudge against the race of men thanks to his ex, but as per fae rules he cannot lie and he will likely offer you a shitty deal. more information here. *i thought a marriage would be a fun way to jumpstart cr. women preferred for this prompt. ]
rose tint my world.
It's a small, triple bead; it forms, terribly and over the course of her attempts to weave. It lingers after she halts, accompanied by a sudden and unfamiliar wave of weakness. Lanfear has not been exhausted in more than a thousand years, even while she slept in her prison.
She has not been manhandled for far longer.
She wipes the sweat from her brow with a swift, ragged movement. Feels the effortless telepathy slip into her mind, and focuses on this, instead. ]
Yes, [she says, irritation kept and bay. Her voice is smoothly sweet, even when not spoken aloud. ] I believe we have.
[Selfish of her, perhaps, to care more of her own predicament than the beast roaming the halls. Quietly, she sizes Goldwyn up: heigh, stature, demeanor. Strong enough, she thinks. Perhaps gullible enough to keep her in one piece for the moment too. ] Did you see that beast? So many legs, I've never seen such a thing - are we safe?
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oh fantasy, feed me! (starting our acotar au)
a court of legs and rats
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rose tint my world.
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tfw u miss stuff skimming prompts hiiii i can totally read and catch how the mind stuff is working
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Oh Fantasy!
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natalie scatorccio . yellowjackets
(blanket cw for potential references to cannibalism per her canon.)
ROSE TINT
“Jesus Christ,” he’d said, and then again, and he would’ve again if a hand hadn’t closed over his mouth. Shhh, they hushed, and handed him some fucking candy.
Hot, heavy, sounds of meat ripping. Just like his had, when that thing punctured his torso. He’d sounded just like that, hadn’t he? Breath cutting off when his lung collapsed or punctured or—
“Fuck,” mumbled when a girl drags her nails over his face, when her mouth crashes against his. He answers it, naturally, thoughts swirling, candy still sticky against his closed palm. He reaches up and grabs at the back of her neck with his other hand, fingers dredging up into her hair, gripping hard. “Fuck, we’re going to die. Again.” He’s talking. He shouldn’t, but he spits his fear into her mouth.
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rose tint (jumps in headfirst with cw: body horror)
YELLS
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oh no, they were bunkmates.
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Oh no they were bunk mates.
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[𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊] aemond targaryen . hotd
a feeling of unnameable dread
He instinctively lets out a shriek when he is grasped, but freezes as soon as he sees that it isn't some beast gripping him. With the Chevalier's heart pounding, he stares wide eyed at the young man. Obediently the Frenchman gulps down any sounds that threaten to splutter out of him and patiently waits until it's clear that he's safe to speak. Albeit quietly. Cautiously he leans forward to speak against Aemond's ear.]
We should hide... [A hopeful presumption. They are a team now. They're going to work together. This stranger is going to keep the Chevalier safe.]
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down the river of night's dreaming
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jump to the left
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its only funny if he loses tbh
it shall be done
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a feeling of unnameable dread. let’s lose the floor.
time for the tutorial level
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a feeling of unnameable dread
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down the river of night's dreaming
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lmk if this is ok! :>
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wildcard!
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Chevalier de Lorraine | Versailles
rise and scatter
wildcard
a jump to the left
No, I'm just going to watch if that's ok. [ a shrug and a strained smile that barely passes as polite. his whole person radiates exhaustion, both physical and emotional. there's an empty seat next to them where he places himself, gesturing at the Chevalier to continue. he's just going to silently judge his every move. see if he can stand it. ] Go on.
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rise and scatter
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rise and scatter
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path — original
And so Path decides to be quite loud, brows arched and eyes wide when he learns all about two truths and a lie, showing signs of someone (something) that might be uncomfortably competitive. ]
I know! I've never had a pet, [ He uncurls one indicator by pressing the opposite indicator on it, ] I'm not afraid of anything, [ Repeating this with the next finger, and at the third finger— ] And … and there are three of me.
[ He looks so proud of himself. He feels so very clever. Surely no one will guess! Surely his day won't be totally ruined if they do! ]
RISE AND SCATTER ( cw: very likely going to be body horror, open to violence/gore because his ass deserves to be kicked )
(Not their hair.) He closes his eyes, satisfied, the line of his smile portraying an entirely different reality. The prospect of a meal speaks louder than the fear for his life, apparently. ]
Hey, [ He speaks up softly, ] How are you feeling?
RESPITE ( cw: body horror, injury, gore )
All across the wound, there are frantic movements of anemone-like flesh tendrils under and through the ruined clothes, noises like a hundred, softly screeching insects in an affronted panic. Path looks pissed, and just as insulted that he isn't healing as fast as he should be. Eventually, he finds a wall to lean back against and just lets himself slide down until his ass is on the floor and his legs are sprawled out.
Local Injured Unauthorized Passenger Is Now Sulking. ]
[ OOC: Path is a very bratty monster from a post-apocalyptic world that eats emotions by sucking on your face with tiny little tendrils that are made of his own flesh. It's very gross. He's dumb and you should bully him.
Path can detect and manipulate emotions to an extent, with the setting's limitations! Let me know if you want to play around with that. Please let me know if you want to avoid the tentacles-made-of-flesh body horror and I'll avoid referencing it/being too descriptive. ]
a jump to the left.
She's lounging close to where the fire is flickering gently, elbow resting against her knee as she picks at something red and easily smooshed between her thumb and forefinger. She sucks the juice from her skin, and offers, teasing: ]
If there are three of you, then where do you keep the others?
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respite
cw: just assume there will be body horror in this entire thread okok
okoko
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rise and scatter
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A jump to the left.
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billy hargrove | stranger things
rose tint my world.
It's so much like - like Lottie ramming her head against the window. The howling and wailing as they strung Travis up, and looked at her like wild beasts. Her head is spinning as she's pulled in, and she wheezes, a little wild: "You have to calm down."
She heard her name, outside. She heard the Servitor whisper her name and it sounded like Shauna. It sounded like her mom. It sounded like her grandma, calling out on Christmas day. She feels sick. "None of this is fucking real, so you have to calm down -"
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a jump to the left
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bunkmates. bilmond feud pt 2 lets gooo
let's fuckinnnnn goooOOOOO
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oh no bunkmates
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0iM3bkkpbI
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ROSE TINT MY WORLD
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Amanda Young 𖦹 Saw
A JUMP TO THE LEFTA FEELING OF UNNAMEABLE DREADOH NO, THEY WERE BUNKMATESWILDCARD
a jump to the left
But then his lips spread into a smile, something pleasant, when he remembers she's speaking to him (and that: pointedly, he can't quite use his blindness as an excuse to ignore the invitation— he's sat right in front of her, nursing whiskey in a too cold glass). ]
Ah, [ A breath, a raise of his brows. ] I don't know. Is it better than charades?
zygène du chèvrefeuille — original
Quick. What's your favorite bug?
A STEP INTO THE NIGHT ( cw: hallucinations )
Zygène is in a trance by the time he's heard speaking in an ancient language, liquid running from the corner of his mouth and down one of his nostrils, consistent and shiny like blood, but perfectly black. ]
My Death. My Death, I am shivering. Condemned? No, it's not my time. Ten years now. Who sees me here?
RESPITE ( cw: injuries — you decide which ones, I'm fine with pretty much anything, just please make sure to warn for others! He will offer his blood, which has effects that are totally optional. OTA if you go with the aphro effects. )
I can fix you, if you'll endure the agony. [ A beat. Head angled slightly, ] Though I may have a solution for that, too.
[ please be more vague challenge ]
[ ooc: Info here. TL;DR godlike being forgor what he is in order to work for a multidimensional being. He's 6'7", doesn't mind pain, does weird stuff with his biology manipulation powers. General CWs for this character: self-harm, body horror, bugs, pseudo-emeto (it's black goo), a lot of blood stuff. Please let me know if you want to opt-out of any of these. ]
respite again hehe
What fix is it if there's agony?
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OH FANTASY, FEED ME | cw: inevitable cannibalism refs
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cw: ALso Bug EatIng IM sorr y ?
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respite.
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lottie matthews | yellowjackets
I. ✈ ØⱧ ₣₳₦₮₳₴Ɏ, ₣ɆɆĐ ₥Ɇ!
II. ✈ ₳ JɄ₥₱ ₮Ø ₮ⱧɆ ⱠɆ₣₮
III. ✈ Ɽł₴Ɇ ₳₦Đ ₴₵₳₮₮ɆⱤ
IV. ✈ ⱤɆ₴₱ł₮Ɇ ฿Ʉ₦₭₥₳₮Ɇ₴
✈ V. ✈ ₩łⱠĐ₵₳ⱤĐ!
respite, bunkmates.
( debatably worse ones, too, but maybe not more surreal. it has the strange, sliding sensation of a dream, except she’s never been in a dream for so long, or with such consistency, or without
(she can hear nothing over the silence)
and anyway, she’s still carrying her shoes. it’s so ordinary. what kind of dream cares what happens to her shoes. god, why does she care what’s happening to her shoes; she sets them down at the end of the bed, frowning at them as if they represent everything inexplicable and terrible that surrounds them currently.
a sleeping tonic is gripped in her other hand. it’s not exactly an unfamiliar idea, but the idea of drinking it in the company of a stranger feels — harder to do in practise than it had been in theory. )
oh fantasy feed me
later than i intended, as we do (to the left)
lee | original
[cw: potential for cannibalism refs, pica]﹥ II: ʀɪsᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sᴄᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ
[cw: none]﹥ III: ʀᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ
[cw: blood, misc tbd]
﹥ ɴᴏᴛᴇs
[Lee is a rider, aka one of the horsemen of the apocalypse that came into existence (recently) when death couldn't handle the loss of life in his universe. She represents famine and eats people in order to regain youth and vitality & produce a white substance she refers to as the spill with regenerative properties.]
coyo | original
respite. this could really go either way.
something is wrong, but she can’t quite place what it is. can’t put her finger on why the languor in her limbs leaves her on the strangest edge, as if she’s a breath held, the instant before disaster. distantly, she wonders why she feels so much like she should be screaming. someone is near her, and lovely, and the promise of the thing she wants most—
anything she wants—
she’s too unfocused to put any real effort behind it when she says, ) No. Hold me, ( in a voice that breaks like low tide, enough pull to know the pull was there, easy to wash away and ignore. her fingers twist against coyo’s skin where they tangle in her skirt, gripping but not pushing,
it would not be the first time she’d initiated sex because she couldn’t ask for what she wanted. in the fugue of dream, she doesn’t know to be ashamed of the wanting. )
!!
surprise bitch!!!!
xoxo
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jem walker | in the flesh
( ota! if you'd like to wildcard pls feel free too, or if you'd like a closed starter just hit me up! )
they were bunkmates
This is Atlas' doing, and it tires him immensely. (It wasn't enough that he lost most of his powers in the absence of Luna; he also seems to be punished every time he uses up what he has left.) Crawling away from where he chose to sleep, he comes closer to Jem, crouches and holds out a hand without touching her shoulder. ]
Hey, hey. You're okay. They're not here.
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a step into the night.
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laszlo cravensworth / what we do in the shadows
The first parlor he explores is disappointing, but he knows a room full of Dionysian hedonism when he sees one and happily makes himself at home in the Velvet Parlor.
He's not about to partake in social games without observing the competition first (is charades competitive? Yes), so he politely takes the musician's place (read: he shoves him out of the way) and listens in on everyone else's conversations as he absently plays whatever on the instrument.
He will decline any offer of drink, but perks up a bit if anyone asks him about what he's playing. "I can take requests, if you'd like. So long as it isn't fucking awful."
𝖆 𝖘𝔱𝔢𝔭 𝖎𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝖓𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 [ potential cw: blood consumption; just let me know if you're into that and i can oblige ]
He starts off exploring the corridors without a lamp but quickly realizes he'd underestimated just how dark the bowels of the Fortress would become—his vampiric eyes give him superior vision in the dark, but even he cannot see in complete blackness.
He is sort of awkwardly idling in a hallway somewhere, trying to decide if he should continue on or try to retrace his steps, when he sees the dim light of someone else's lamp approaching. Quickly, he formulates two different contingencies—either he's going to have to charm the hell out of this person, or he's going to have to kill them and take their lamp. Knowing that a chalk-pale vampire dressed entirely in black has a very poor chance of not terrifying the piss out of anyone who stumbles upon him in a dark corridor, he is strongly prepared for the latter and readies himself as the stranger rounds the corner.
𝖗𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝖘𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯
When everyone collectively retreats into various rooms and cupboards, Laszlo does the same, moving quickly and with a preternatural silence. (If anyone were to actually pay attention to such things in this kind of situation, they may notice that he has no audible footfalls because he's hovering about a half inch off the ground.)
Whether he finds himself crammed in a cupboard with somebody or unceremoniously yanked into a room, he's pretty sure it beats exerting any effort hunting down that shit-forsaken thing out there.
𝖗𝔢𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔢
He pokes his head in various bedchambers, and upon seeing windows, he immediately leaves. Unfortunately, every single one of them has a window. Even curtained, he's not about to trust any hapless bunkmates not to let the sunlight in and fry him to a crisp.
He points abruptly at whoever happens to be walking by. "You there. Which way to the undercroft? I can't sleep here."
𝖓𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰
respite;
Well, no, that just doesn't seem very likely.
He looks over at Laszlo, having no trouble recognizing a fellow vampire, even if Armand himself might look slightly less the part.
"It's this way," he says with a gesture, although not unlike Laszlo, he can also only guess by listening to their footsteps and how the stones echo, searching out the auditory difference between solid ground and a grand, hollowed-out cellar. "Look for a hidden door."
a jump to the left.
A jump to the left.
matt murdock | daredevil
o2. 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭
o3. 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫
o4. 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝
o5. 𝐨𝐡 𝐧𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬
wildcard
[ hi! matt is blind, and also has what is essentially super senses or super echolocation that helps him determine where things are and if people are lying. his whole schtick is paying closely to the sounds he hears, the vibrations, what he can taste on his lips. for this tdm i will only be going off of whatever cues i receive in tags! that being said, feel free to hit me with whatever. these are the only prompts i could come up with but happy to receive anything hehe ]
Oh no, bunkmates!
He does not ask, but she does not wait. ]
What's this, warrior? Glory does not come from open wounds. We must see to this before rot takes it.
[ She pulls on the water from her flask, a rushing, swift draw of magic that brings it up into her off hand as she goes about digging into the rooms to look for something to clean him up with, and bandage him after. ]
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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - a
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oh fantasy feed me
maximilian | original
fight or flight
[ ooc: Maximilian is a knight who swore to protect a witch with his life. he's a good guy! ]
a jump to the left
This place is no different and the vampire is certain that a good meal will set him right again. All these souls fluttering about without a clue. He could pick any one of them, but what would be the joy in it? A pretty young man with a sick churning in his gut, however... ]
You look as though you will wilt at the taste. [ Lestat teases thoughtfully as he tops off Maximillian's glass. The wine inside is richly spiced, even ticklish under his undead nose. With a kind gesture, he offers the glass with a slight flourish. ]I can promise you, it is not so strong as it smells. Let it heal you.
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aegon ii targaryen | house of the dragon 🐉
rose tint my world
oooh nooo (they were bunkmates?)
ooc: more of a what was Aegon up to? because top-leveling is seriously the bane of my rp existence. feel free to wildcard me— i'm up for anything or we can talk and i'll muster up something (pm or
oooh nooo
It's not Aegon's pasty white ass he expects to see when turning the corner. For all the absurd oddities that have plagued him tonight, this is perhaps the strangest. Hale and whole, not a lick of flame marring his skin, scuttling around trying each door with his junk in hand.
Aemond watches him rattle locked door after locked door without saying a word. Perhaps he's mistaken and this is some other pale-haired, pale-arsed boy that he had merely missed in the evening's celebrations.
At last, temptation (or impatience) kicks in and he speaks out. He knows, it's unfortunate that he knows, who it is by ass alone. ]
Lēkia.
[ Stern, scolding in the absence of their mother. What the fuck is he doing out of bed? ]
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rose tint my world
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oooh nooo
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oooh nooo
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alysanne targaryen, fire & blood.
[ inquired in a crisp, prim and proper crownlander accent to those capable of recognizing it, voice soft, yet somehow also firm. the blue-eyed woman with honey-blonde hair that looks nothing like the other targaryens present within the crucible, yet is far more valyrian than either of them could ever hope to be, is the picture of calm and collected. chaos may surround them, yes, but alysanne is no stranger to discord or the need for respite in the midst of turmoil. as both queen and a girl who grew up in the black shadow of maegor's tyranny, alysanne would often play the role of peacekeeper. jaehaerys may have gone in history as the conciliator, but it was her voice that often held the most reason.
this situation they're all in is unlike any other, but existing in a perpetual state of fear and agitation will do no one any favors. idle conversation is needed every now and again, and she is more than happy to provide it. ]
— rose tint my world.
coming upon the room where the are others waiting, alysanne drops to her knees. the voices have gone silent, but her guilt remains. the what-ifs plague her, taunting her, telling her that could have actually been her children, stolen away to this place the same as she, and she'd abandoned them. ] It wasn't them, [ she tells herself, reaching out to grasp the shoulder (leg, hand, whatever's within reach) of the nearest person in a desperate bid to ground herself. ] It wasn't them.
[ and if it was... she would find a way to bring silverwing here and burn this horrid place to the ground. personally. she would be the conqueror's granddaughter instead of the conciliator's sister-wife. ]
— a feeling of unnameable dread.
Perzys ānogār, [ ("fire and blood") she decrees as she affixes a blade to her hip with the sash of her dress and takes hold of a torch. ] How can I help?
— wildcard.
rose tint my world
He'd been in the hall to get sight of the rambunctious beast tumbling around the dark. It sounds big— too large to reasonably fit inside. It reminds him of wandering the bowels of the pit, where dragons close outgrown the tunnels hunch to fit within.
Whatever it is, it doesn't eat like a dragon. Crunching and slurping. The way it moans sounds like his brother, wheezing with his dying breaths burnt and broken in his soft coffin as a caravan of soldiers gently ferried him home from Rook's Rest. As it trundles forward, he falls back with the flow of the crowd. Shuddering the door behind him as the monster picks a noisier room to feed.
Her touch doesn't startle him, but snaps the prince from spiraling thoughts. His hand slides from the door as he turns to meet her hysteria. He doesn't recognize her (how could he?), but he knows the cadence of her voice as well as he can recognize the tailoring of her dress— She is of his realm. In that moment, he thinks of his sister and her troubling dreams, and drops to his knee to steady the woman in his hands.]
Resist it. [ A hand to her shoulder rises to cup her cheek. A kind gesture, mayhaps, but he needs her to focus on him; on not screaming, otherwise it will be their room shorn through next. He needs a weapon, but he needs her to calm down first.] It is but a trick. They are not here.
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— oh fantasy, feed me!
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jaime lannister, a song of ice and fire.
were he in possession of a second hand, he would've held a finger to his lips, but in the absence of he mouths the word silent as exaggeratedly as he can, hoping that they can read lips. then, with faux golden appendage affixed to the end of his right arm where a flesh and blood hand out to be, he reaches for the stranger to help haul them into the hidden passage with him. ]
— a step into the night.
Seven fucking hells! [ he swears, kicking the gate (as if that will do anything more than make his foot smart). ]
— oh no, they were bunkmates.
[ lies. he was the lannister sibling who shared the best out of the three and hadn't had any real true belongings that were his and his alone since he was a boy of fifteen. born into wealth and the pinnacle of the lap of luxury, jaime had been a brother of the kingsguard for too long. he could share space, easily, but being petulant was his default and his ability to trust was tattered and damaged. ]
— wildcard.
bunkmates
I won't bite. I promise.
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a step into the night
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rise and scatter
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cw: suicidal
cw: suicidal
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lestat de lioncourt . iwtv/tvc
He's not certain to be more flattered or offended. Perhaps for the best, he has awoken out of sorts. Hungry, tired, weak. The sort of feeling one only begets from starving in the dirt for too long. A decent meal should get him back to sorts, but he doesn't degrade himself to the cellar looking for rats (as promisingly fruitful this place appears to be, there has to be at least a hundred rats). He needs someone blushing, breathing, and beautiful.
Find him trawling through each parlor, looking for the right sort of pretty thing to catch his eye. He'll know it when he sees it. Be it among the pillows with the moory romantics or at the gambling tables under the slithering smoke, once he finds someone who looks like they'd be good conversation, he is bound to snatch their attention. And when he does, it's only a matter of time before he finds the most natural way to slink into their space. Dry, French, charming. ]
You look like you could use another drink.
Pale with dread, he lingers where he's stopped to listen— an immovable pillar among the crowd that scatters like rats into the dark. How can he move when he can hear the sound of his heart breaking? It's all too easy to convince himself that he should walk towards it instead of running away. If only he could get close enough, would he see their faces again as well?
A hand hooks his arm, and for a moment his body resists the pull like it's made of stone. It snaps him from his spell, blinking away the sting of crimson tears trying to well into the corner of his eyes. A heavy thud ricochets into the dining room as a woman lets out a blood-curdling scream. He grasps the arm that has grabbed him and ushers them both away; nearly too fast for a human to move, but not as swiftly as a vampire of his caliber should.
The swift slap of a shutting door muffles the ruckus from down the hall. Lestat's hands press firmly against the door as he fights a queasiness with his head hung low. He's going to cry, he's not going to cry. ]
Mercy upon us, the devils have come to crash the party. [ The words tumble out of him, bewildered and griefed with amusement. He's not hysterical, you are. ]
Whomever's room he'd taken he ejected with a simple suggestion. Not much of an effort for him, but exhausting nonetheless. He cannot settle for a coffin but he can push all the bedding beneath the bedframe and mattress. The canopy that envelops the bed should add a layer of protection and ideally no sort of accidental visitor. Still not an ideal situation, but he has settled for worse.
Now is the matter of ensuring the windows stay shuttered. He wrangles thick, dusty velvet curtains over the pair of large and looming windows. Despite his certain for locking the door, he hears it open and doesn't look behind him. Let him be perceived as some madman who has torn the bedding onto the floor and is fussing with the drapery. ]
Room's taken, and I'm afraid I have no appetite for company. [ A tired drawl as he limply nudges the foot of a table over the corner of this curtain. It's a foolproof method, certainly. Don't question his art. ]
rise and scatter/wildcard (he's s2e2 for now!)
Fuck.
[ this can't be happening now. he chose a room at random, leaned against the door with all his strength and looked up only to see another door across the room with another vampire closing it. his own actions mirrored back at him compiled with the madness stirred up by the hunt makes him thinks it's not real. just another bad dream. the brief relief he felt for his escape evaporated in less than a second.
he forces himself to look away. the process is more painful than usual when Lestat's luring voice from the dark corridors still rings in his ears, haunting and calling for him. no, he must focus on his own door and keep it shut. no distractions. his whole body shudders when he leans against the door with his open palms and hangs his head like it weighted a ton. he shuts his eyes and opens them again, blinking the hallucination away. piss off ghost. please. ]
im not crying ur crying
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steve harrington. stranger things / dead by daylight.
omg they were bunkmates (cw: death)
her roommate - steve, she remembers his name was - speaks up from the floor (he'd insisted on it and she hadn't felt like arguing) and she leans over the side, perched on her elbows. ]
Yeah. What's up?
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a step into the night.
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a step into the night
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oh my god this IS their notebook moment
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morfydd of the few — oc.
She pushes herself up from a slumped sitting position, her long black hair swinging around her face. It takes her eyes a while to adjust in the low light, and once they have she realises she's been looking at someone by mistake, a blur in the distance coalescing into flesh and eyes and teeth and hands. She looks away, and stands up. There's food, and she's hungry; she makes an inelegant trip to the table, leaning forward against it with her hands clawing the edge for stability before she reaches to drag close a platter of bread.
Someone reaches out to help, and her hand diverts to bat theirs away. ] I need no assistance.
002. a step into the night.
She makes a cup of her hand, and a small red flame flares in her palm, bathing the walls around her in dark red light. It sends a searing pain shooting up the length of her arm, but she's used to pain. It gives her a good measure of how much she must have exerted herself before she came here, at the very least.
But before she can set off into the dark, the door opens behind her and someone else emerges from the room – or perhaps someone comes back down the corridor, having already been exploring. She glances at the other, her face cast in the flickering light from her palm, and wonders why she feels so guilty, as if she's been caught out of bed after curfew. ]
003. a feeling of unnameable dread.
She's not alone. There are others here ready to fight; they have gathered weapons and charged ahead, and as these things coalesce together it feels as though she has returned to something familiar, something she understands. She is here to protect.
She moves slowly but her hands are quick, and she's quiet, hunched low, the red fabric of her dress barely whispering where it drags against the flagstones. She understands by now that there is a method of thinking into someone else's mind, to communicate without speaking, and certainly silence is a benefit. ]
I heard it. [ She thinks in a low rasp; even her thoughts are whispering. ] Not far from here. Back towards the armory.
004. bunkmates.
She collapses onto a bed, shuddering out a breath of mingled relief and pain, curling up a little. Her head shifts on the pillow. She blinks her eyes open, and finds herself face to face with a stranger. ]
005. etc.
a step into the night
None are barred from excusing themselves, but few do seem to be stepping away. When one does, the prince cannot help but follow her like a loose thread unfurling into the dark. There's no way of discerning the woman as friend or foe, a fresh face or one who knows these hallowed halls like the back of her hand. The glow sprouting from her hand proves promising, more sorcery upon a place rife with it.
When he is spotted, he makes no attempt to cower. Instead, he shifts tentatively further into the light— curious and cautious, as one might approach a hound without knowing its temperament. His hands slip together behind his back in polite gesture. She is a witch and no lady, but it's a habit made from a long life lived at court.]
Going somewhere? [ The ask is more curious, but his question doesn't come without some air of waggishness curled under his tongue. He is no catcher, but is she caught? ]
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bunkmates.
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