ℑ𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𑁍 [TDM]

[gorelord]

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

premise
setting
faq
rules
glossary

i.
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

(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

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.

oh no, they were bunkmates

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.

Comments

natalie scatorccio . yellowjackets

[sourgirl]

(blanket cw for potential references to cannibalism per her canon.)

well darlings, don't you panic

(ooc; pick a game and they can be playing it or just be snapping her tf out of it.)

[Mari's rotten berry wine had gotten better with time, but Nat could never get past the unpleasant coating it left in the corners of her mouth. Overly tart, wild Canadian blackberries or whatever the hell it was the forest provided. It didn't need to be stronger with everything else that got put with it.

The cup in her hand swirling isn't rotten berry wine. It tastes like honey and cinnamon. Too sweet, and the sting rags her throat. Her mouth puckers, glowering down at her cup as she shoves past a shudder. The metal cup strains in her hand, not the crushable plastic phone she remembers clutching at the icy peak in the middle of who the fuck knows.

Someone asks her a question, her head snaps up.] What? [ She definitely wasn't there now.

Nat blinks, shifting among a pile of flat floor pillows. No ratty airplane clothes, instead a dress that looks like it's been sewn out of a tasseled curtain. Her eyes scan the room, shell-shocked to be thrust in the middle of civilization— or some version of it.

Numbly, she takes another drink and whips her attention to the circle of people she's sat herself with. Spotlight panic sets in as her attention whips about to find who it was that spoke up. ]

Sorry. [ Still distracted. She stifles a cough. What The Fuck is going on? She's fine. She good. Let's go. Her cup creaks, she's squeezing it so hard. ]

What did you say?

rose tint my world

[What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck?

Adrenaline wracks her nerves like a bell. A blink of time between escaping the corridor where she can still hear someone's bones get crunched and pressing her back to the cool wall of an unfamiliar room. Instinct had kicked in, slipping in and following the person moving ahead of her to wherever they would go. Just anywhere but fucking there.

Her hand flexes around something small in her hand. Take it if things feel scary. She remembers someone saying and flat palms the candy into her mouth. Another sweet thing that tickles the insides of her cheeks. She cracks the lozenge under a molar, crunching away feverishly as other people in the room begin to come together. Her head turns curiously a moment. Her heartbeat still thrashing against her ears as the sweetness of the candy pushes a warmth into her cheeks that starts to travel down her spine.

Something calls her name, so faint she's not sure if she imagined it. She flinches, snapping herself out of it and musters herself back from the wall.

N̷a̸t̴a̸l̷ie̸.

A dry swallow forces down the remaining shards of candy as she moves forward. She doesn't care what she needs to do, she want to hear it anymore. She doesn't want to have escaped only to die.

Her hands like claws drag the nearest face against hers. No words, not even a thought. Just a hard and desperate kiss.]

oh no, they were bunkmates

(ooc; can be a roommate or have her sneak into yours!)

[ She doesn't remember falling asleep, only realizes she's back in the wilderness again. She can feel the crunch of the leaves and the squish of the mud giving under the weight of her feet. The smell of the earth and a faint sweetness of death. The smooth handle of a knife in her hand and the body before her ready for butchering.

She doesn't know she's in an old moldy castle, standing at the side someone else's bed. She stares ahead, expression numbed and unremarkable in the shaded by the dark of the room. Her thumb anxiously flexes along the handle of a table knife in her hand. She says nothing, hears nothing.

To her, she stands before a corpse. An offering, a gift, a meal that she should be grateful for. Her chest draws in a long and deep breath that wheezes in her chest. Abruptly, her hand slaps down on the corpse's shoulder as she readies her knife to cut in.]

wildcard/etc.

(anything can be bracket or prose, idc. happy to wildcard it up bbs, let me know what you're thinking with a ping wherever you can reach me or coffinmate. i have no permissions post for her but if you know me you know i'm fairly down to clown and fyi her canon point is end of s3..! )

ROSE TINT

[otherbitches]

Behind him, somewhere, a body was run down, run over and Billy can still hear it. Wet and sodden, crunching and ripping. At dinner, he’d laughed uncontrollably — this is fake, this is unreal, he’s on a mall floor bleeding out somewhere. He’s in bed, drunk after a night at the quarry. He’s dreaming, he’s dead, it’s unreal. Behind him, the body had screamed as it died, before the sound cut off when it's insides met air.

“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.

[sourgirl]

Maybe she died in the crash. Maybe this was just one long nightmare as her body faded strapped to a seat. Maybe this was hell, and it's what she deserves for all that she's done and had to do. But she lacked the strength to believe in something so impossible. The body she presses up against is no more a hallucination than the dozens of sharp fingers that pried a man open. Real, living, breathing.

Nat can almost taste his panic, tangy and bitter on his tongue. A loud thud ricochets down the hall, she flinches in tighter. Images of torn flesh, the sickly sound of a death rattle flood her mind again. He's no more safe than she is, none of them are. The words that slip out of him immediately cause her head to shake back and forth rampantly with denial.

"No." Her lips tremble into a hard frown against his, clawing fingers seep into his hair and tighten to peel him back just far enough away to look him in the eye. "We're surviving." In the dark, all she has to give is a wild look pierced with tears. "We're surviving, got it?" She can't afford to think like this and neither can he. He needs to get his shit together. If she's learned anything from the wilderness, the only way out is through.

Another thud wracks her system and her mouth is on him again. Arms enclosing around his shoulders to bring him close. Her voice slips into his mind, begging him to get his shit together. Please..

[otherbitches]

Her fingers tangle in his curls, pulling tight, making his hair follicles burn. It cuts through the frenzied panic. When she pulls back, his blue eyes meet hers, green and wet and full.

"That thing is going to—" he shudders, groans when her mouth presses against his and shuts him up. Somewhere, the thing bumps in the night. He can hear it echoing, sounding like a million points of bony contact as it scrambles, rattles nearby. It's coming closer.

Now, she's in his head, and it's not as bad as all those other fuckers thinking they can get inside his head. She says please, and he thinks: That thing is going to get inside us. Don't let it.

Maybe it won't, not if they get inside each other first. He feels frantic, but he doesn't need to be drugged to press his tongue against hers. His hand drops to the small of her back, and the other drops the sticky candy and drags her hip closer.

[sourgirl]

Like any of this is up to her, like most things thrust into her lap. When people decided who she was, what she should be. When everyone else couldn't look the truth in the eye and do what needed to be done, with trembling hands she could only seem to help others in the ways no one had tried to help her.

You've got to focus. She's telling herself as much as she's telling him. Climbing into his lap draws the hem of her dress over her knees. It feels safer with his arms around her, a flimsy barrier to the shitshow they've turned their backs to. Her protecting him, him protecting her.

Warmth through down her body, slagging her movements as the candy soaks into her system. Panic rears, brief and fleeting, at the stupidity of doing this to herself. She pushes forward, shoving her hand down in the space between them to fumble his belt undone.

A thump and a thud rocks farther away. She focuses on his breath, melding in with the others and the rain. The movement of his body beneath hers and what she finds reaching down the front of his pants. Focus on me.

[otherbitches]

Billy focuses on her, this weird, haunted girl who's slid into his lap to be a steady, comforting weight. His hand runs up her thigh, curls against her ass where the dress rides up. Around them, somewhere, more bodies drop. They don't really know anything about this place. Billy doubts anyone does, even the ones that pretend they do. So what's going to happen to them then? He can't fuckin' have one of those things under his skin again.

Focus on her. His palm tightens against her ass, drags her forward as she undoes his buckle. Focus on her and somehow keep it quiet, keep it contained. Around them, other bodies fold into one another, wet sounds and soft sighs and grunts.

Billy tastes sugar as he sucks on her tongue, as his hand pushes her shirt up higher, palming her stomach and then the curve of her pretty tits. They're going to die, but Billy has a girl in his lap, and even without any candy, he knows what to do.

He pushes away her bra, her wrap, whatever's there, thumbing her nipple. He thinks: You got a name?

[sourgirl]

Each little doubt seeps away with every drag and pull of his hands. Each point of contact drives a warm pulse beneath her skin. She wants more as much as she wants all of this to be over, but the only way out is through.

"Natalie," she utters under one breath directly into his mouth.

This boy seems sweet enough. Funny, how tough guys seem to be until there's something harder than them to break them down. His kisses seem more desperate than hers, but it's the warmth pooling between her legs that sends her fingers desperately crawling to grasp the cock in his trousers. Her body arches towards his, crawling deeper into his lap as she fumbles her underwear aside to line him up.

Does she need his name in return? Probably, but she doesn't ask. Maybe it's better she doesn't know, maybe later she'll just want to forget it anyways. She kisses him again and guides herself onto him. To have him around her, within her, consuming her. Like it's the only possible way they'll both be safe.

[otherbitches]

Natalie.

He is desperate, and he fills himself with her breath in his lungs. Her name slips like paper into his back pocket, to be found later or forgotten. It's less clear if he'll be able to forget this: pure terror cut by the hot heat of her body.

His thumb teases her nipple before his head ducks down, forehead pressing against her collarbone. He rocks against her, mouthing at her breast, sucking in a mark before moving to her nipple.

rose tint (jumps in headfirst with cw: body horror)

[gorge]

[ Giddy, detached from the horrors, Path watches and waits, enjoys the high of emotions around him so much that he's practically docile when the candy is placed in his mouth and simply sits on his tongue. It's just as easy for Natalie to grab his face, fingers and lips against his skin that finally snap him out of one trance and present him with another.

Gradually, pieces of flesh split from his face to sway like tendrils underwater (red and raw underneath the now living layer of skin, but there's no blood), searching for food — her emotions — by trying to attach to her face while Path starts to press back into the kiss. ]

YELLS

[sourgirl]

[ They should be running. To where? She doesn't know. Is anywhere safe? She chooses to believe it's right in the moment. It's about doing what needs to be done to survive. Her body presses closer into his, arms wrapping around his shoulders as though his body can block out the memories of torn flesh and breaking bones. Maybe once she forgets and pulls away, everything will be normal again.

When everything feels off, she can't seem to find the right side up again. The candy seems to help, so does what feels like the tender touch of fingertips on her face. She doesn't know any better. Her arms lock around him tighter. ]

[gorge]

[ The candy is swallowed whole, tight in his throat as he forces it down, consumed by the one thing that matters anymore — real food. Tendrils stick to her skin, gentle yet invasive, sucking up all the adrenaline, any emotions that have made her heart sink or her stomach turn. The ones that were weaved by the sweet relaxant are the last to reach his many tongues (his many mouths), like honey coating the last bite of something wonderfully acidic.

Path makes a little human noise, mind split between the meal and the kiss. Both hands are on her back when he sighs, mirroring her intent to add his eagerness; his lashes are wet with tears, his skin is getting warm. It's the latter than makes him wonder why. ]

[sourgirl]

[ The shrieking begins to fade from her mind. The world itself is dull and fuzzy. The drugged candy's doing, maybe. No, something else is off. She feels inclined to push it off and push deeper into this moment shared between them. But she's never been able to fully turn her back, let things lie when something in her gut is screaming. She isn't afraid anymore, but something else isn't right. She can feel it looming over her shoulder. He can't eat her gut instinct, but maybe it takes rot to know rot.

Something moves along her face, pulling it in the same way his hands pull at the small of her back. See, if she had any panic left in her, she'd be reeling over the face hands not being where the hands hands are. What's left to feel? Betrayal, disgust.

Her hand slaps against the center of his chest and shoves him off of her. ]

[gorge]

[ A grunt, then the many tiny noises of his many mouths un-sticking from her face, and Nat gets to see the number of tendrils all moving independently at once, anemone-like and frantically searching for the interrupted meal.

Path's human mouth is open, but his frown doesn't become evident until all those little lines of flesh become a mask again, a seamlessly human face staring back at her with a similar tone of betrayal. He looks like he's been crying, flushed around the eyes and nose, cheeks shining with tears. It just means that he'd been eating well. ]

What was that for? I wasn't done.

[sourgirl]

[ Details in the dim light are hard to determine, but she's pretty sure his face just reassembled itself like a fleshy puzzle. Between that and the marrow slurper running rampant in the halls, she's uncertain if this is just normal or if he's an invader too.

A hand comes to wipe the lingering feeling of wet tendrils on her face. Talk about a sloppy kiss. ]

What did you —[ Cutting herself off to lower her voice. ] what the hell do you think you're doing?

[gorge]

Kissing you? [ Eating you. He rubs his palm on his cheek like he's wiping off the tears, but he's just checking if there was something still out of place. Nope, smooth, totally normal skin. ] You started it. Are you angry? You sound confused.

[ All emotions he could be eating, too. ]

oh no, they were bunkmates.

[hedoniste]

( it’s so rare that gwen sleeps well, these days.

white noise machines, music, another person breathing; in her dreams, the sound of all those gunshots is still deafening, and she is still deafened by it. her restless slumber is easy disturbed — rarer that it not be — but natalie is so quiet, approaching, that it’s only when a hand lands on her that she jolts into what feels in that moment like full wakefulness. )

Stop—

( reverberates between them with power flexed from within her, her eyes huge and fixed in the dark, the force of it like hitting a wall, indiscriminate, stop what? attacking? moving? breathing?

blood drips from her nose. )

[sourgirl]

[ Just like that, the walls of the wilderness fall away again and she is plunged into a cold and creeping darkness. Natalie rattles, body lurching back as clarity punches through her like a bullet. A full, guttural gasp wrenches her system as she realizes again where she is and isn't.

The knife in her hand clatters onto the floor, rigidly mortified that she's not in bed or even in her room. More so, that she is still here in this strange and horrible place somewhere far away from home or anything else ever known. ]

Sorry, I'm sorry—! [ She fumbles, easing away with her empty hands raised before her. Trying not to lose her absolute mind. ] I don't know how I got here. I don't want any trouble—

[hedoniste]

( gwenaëlle swipes the blood urgently from her lip with a thumb, agitation in the jerky movement as she tries to shake that off and sit up properly,

less fear than there might have been, under the circumstances, but not none. her heart hammers in her chest and she is as afraid of herself as she was a moment ago of natalie, how easy it would have been to— to—

not so afraid she doesn’t take advantage of the stranger’s stillness to slide sideways, snatch up the knife from the ground and palm it backwards, flat on the bed, blade aimed away from either of them. it’s not a threatening gesture, but she’d be more comfortable if natalie couldn’t easily reach the knife without going through her. )

You were sleep-walking, ( she says. ) I can—

I can help with that, maybe.

( or make it worse. but one of them is panicking and it isn’t gwenaëlle, sharpened to a point, the scream in the back of her throat swallowed to deal with later. )

[sourgirl]

Fuck—[ She rubs at the corners of her eyes, hands still shaking. she was so close, she thought this woman was someone else. More vivid than any other dream she's had. It's easy for her thoughts to spiral, antsiness leaking out of her as she wobbles across the room to seat herself in a chair away from Gwen and the knife. Her hands perch themselves at the top of her knees, taking a deep breath while she tries to steady the stammering of her heart. ]

What, like a Valium or something? [ She gestures with no hope in the world that Gwen might be able to conjure up one. Why she should even be offering to help in the first place because, ] I just tried to gut you like a deer.

[ Not actually like a deer, but she's not saying that part out loud. She doesn't deserve a valium, she deserves to be tied to her bed. ]

[hedoniste]

No.

( ordinarily, entirely possibly, it’s not as if she doesn’t usually have a medicine cabinet full of things she has valid prescriptions for from a bought-and-paid for staff doctor. in the absence of literally everything she ought to have at her fingertips,

and given that she would be handling this very differently in that scenario,

no, the solution she’s offering is — questionable in an entirely different way. maybe worse. definitely more like what she thinks she deserves. )

Believe me, it’s not a selfless offer, ( is a fraction drier. )

Oh no they were bunk mates.

[vaimanat]

[ The living corpse is readying for bed, slowly taking out the braid of her hair from its pins to fall down to her hip.

But the touch jolts her - a strange sudden touch when she has no maids. Her eyes dart up in surprise, turning and snatching for the hand. ]

Young Maid, what seek you here? Has the monster chased you here?

[sourgirl]

[ A hand encloses around her wrist, she halts in her daze as her eyes trail up to meet Gilia's. Tears well up and cascade slowly down her face. The living corpse that speaks to her isn't Gilia, to her it's someone else entirely. ]

I'm sorry. [ She mutters, her mind still trapped in the wilderness. She's yet to wake up. ] You didn't deserve it. You were the best of us.

[vaimanat]

[ Oh... oh dear. The girl was quite in a state. Gilia rose up, keeping her hand gentle on her wrist, but did not disconnect it.

Standing, facing her, she brought her hand up to catch her cheek. Brushing a thumb to help ground her. Familiar as she is with religious raptures, she does not go to snap her from the haze. Instead her rasping voice hums a soft low series of notes with thoughtfulness. ]

You are kind, and ought not carry such pain. What's done is done. We must not grieve too long, else it consumes us. [ the words of comfort her mother once gave her. Did her mother lie too? But she says it with a practised tone of comfort she used on her own children. ] But if you must, let us not do so alone. Will you stay with me?

[sourgirl]

[ Thoughtful words, but will she believe them? Spoken to her from a corpse of a man that she couldn't save, that she condemned. Gilia's words feel too good to be true, too good for a soul that's already done so many corruptible things.

Nat's expression contorts softly, the grip on her knife tightening. ]

I can't... [ She admits shamefully. ] We need to prepare for the feast. To honor you.

[ He arm jerks against Gilia's grip, attempting to free the blade so that she can make the first cut. ]