TDM 1.

[exsangui]

Hey guys, it's the first Test Drive Meme! Please note you do not have to app a character to play in here, and this is only game canon if you want it to be-- this is set up to be a freaky dream your character has pre-game, and maybe your character remembers, maybe they don't! It's left purposefully open-ended, because this is dream logic, so feel free to go off the rails if you're feeling creative.

CW: death, blood, (optional) harm to animals. Please warn if your thread has animal harm in it.

Since this is a dream, death is not permanent. Characters 'killed' in this log may find themselves coming back to life at any point, in any way.

𝕿𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕯𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝕸𝖊𝖒𝖊: 𝟏

You awake in a strange dreamscape, without memory of how you got there. You walk through clouds, under a beautiful sky. You see others walking with you.

The sky starts to swirl into a strange shape: a face.



「You are mine, and I am yours. Great gifts have been bestowed. Within you now lives a terrible purpose.」 They say.

Suddenly, you know what vampire abilities you possess. It's as though the face spoke to you directly and whispered them in your ear.

The sky changes, like a storm is coming over sea. You feel grass bloom under your feet. Then cold. Then snow. Before you stands a cold, decrepit castle. Yet cheering can be heard inside: humans cheer and warmth radiates from inside. They beckon you to come in, you're just in time for the feast!

The feast itself takes place in a medieval castle, kept warm by the heavy tapestries over stone walls. Yet the people inside it seem to be clothed in more industrial era garments. They sing and laugh, joking as they serve you copious amounts of meat. Some of it is well-cooked and seasoned. Some of it is still raw and rare. All of it is recognizably fresh, and from an animal.

They chatter happily, about how lucky they are to be here, safe and inside the Lord's castle. He wasn't doing anything with it anyway!

As time goes on, it becomes evident this castle was taken over, hostile, from its previous owners. A rich lord and lady would not allow anyone inside, despite the frost. You begin to notice people around you, smiling and laughing, are very thin from hunger. Many have missing or blackened toes and fingers. Many are covered in blood, and from their joy, it is not theirs.

Several people, once the first few songs are done, ask you to aid the wounded-- they are similarly poor, and far more injured. Honorable injuries, these are, you're informed, got 'em storming this here castle.

The desire to drink from their wounds is overwhelming. Some even seem to recognize it. Come here, they say, it'll put an end to the pain.

If you drink, you will be rewarded. Your head will clear. You will feel stronger, safer, more yourself than you ever have before.

Others may hear screaming from the topmost rooms of the castle. It seems the young children of the dead nobles are still locked inside. They beg to be freed, to be saved. Upon hearing them, the festivities pause. The slightest hint of sympathy toward these children is met with violence.

You are chased from the castle into a verdant, if dark and foreboding, forest.



You walk through what now feels like spring weather, dark and hot and humid. The foliage is thick, the plants hang low, and each trudging step feels endless.

Your hunger grows, especially if you didn't feed on the wounded. Yet regardless, it is harder and harder to stop yourself from feasting on the fat, lazy wildlife that trudges through the underbrush. Deer, elk and boar are most common. They seem to watch you from the treeline with suspicious eyes, and barely make an effort if you destroy them.

IF YOU FED ON THE WOUNDED: You come across a red altar of blood and bone in a forest clearing. It asks you to sacrifice whatever you can give. Is that a memory? A fellow traveler? All you know is that it hungers like you hunger: for blood. If you make a sacrifice of any kind, it will be kept forever, safe and unmoving.

Yet you can hear something in the depths of the altar, as though they've slipped into the center and gotten stuck. If you work very hard to save them, tearing at the blood and the bone, you will soon find the altar enveloping you.

Who will save you? Or was that their sacrifice all along?

IF YOU ONLY FED ON ANIMALS: You come across a forest clearing with strange trees standing ominous and alone. Fawns, small rabbits, and little brown birds sit among the branches.

The sky grows dark. Time seems to pass with horrible foreboding. And then-- the animals attack. All at once, furious bites and pecks and kicks, and there is little you can do against an assault of this kind.

Except, perhaps, run, and hope someone will try to save you.

IF YOU DID NOT FEED: You find your way to strange monoliths at the edge of a field. You feel instantly better once you've left the treeline, but you can't escape the feeling that eyes are on you. And look at that-- a person holding a snake stands at the highest peak.

"Come join me!" they say, but the climb is laborious. It's basically impossible without help. A long, steep climb, but you can make it, and once you do, the person who beckoned you is gone.

Sitting at the top of the monolith, you can see the forest, the castle stretching out in the distance, and even the clouds you walked on to get there. You know this is a dream. You know you'll wake soon.

And you are so thirsty.

NAVIGATION.
img credit reachartwork & ai_curio.

Comments

QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS.

[exsangui]

anyone who catches a typo gets a No Prize.

[exsangui]

Can I rescue the children?
Sure, go for it. As to how, get creative as you like; this is literally a dream.

Can I kill the people hosting the feast in the castle?
Yup.

Can I munch on a PC?
Ask them first. It will sate your hunger.

Can I ask the head in the sky something?
They're not taking calls.

[rhenalfailure]

Since this is a dream how much will 'reality' bend to accommodate our dreaming bats? Are old powers a possibility before they're forever shelved? Are new powers able to reach overachieving strengths?

Asking for an angry friend. The angry friend is Dettlaff.

[reup]

is there other food at the feast besides meat (like bread, potatoes, stuff like that) or is it ALL meat? 👀

ellie | tlou2 | ota | CW for light animal harm / gore.

[goty]

(a.) castle

Maybe it's a peculiarity of her upbringing; she is suspicious of the food they bring her. She picks at it with her hands, trying to find some evidence within the meat. Careful, tentative, she licks her finger, before wincing.

It's clearly been some time since the girl had a good meal, but she remains hesitant to eat, and if you dig in, she'll give a hot, hard, judgmental look.

"You know how you tell if meat's human?"

(b.) wounded

She knows she's not a medic, and so she passes the wounded by. Or, well, she tries. One of them, a frail old woman, grabs Ellie's ankle, and Ellie yelps and almost kicks her before she realizes what's going on.

Throughout, the woman never, ever flinches.

"End it," the woman asks, "please."

Ellie is lost. She looks to the nearest person, searching for some idea of what to do.

The stench of blood is overwhelming.

(c.) forest

The forest is almost a relief. Ellie falls back into form like a hunter finding their grounds. The hunger still pulses within her, and she does her best to listen to it, this time. She spends several hours sharpening a stick with almost maddening concentration, until it's a fine point, a deadly spear.

(d.) boar

The job is done. The boar is before her, all blood and gristle, guts streaming out in an ominous shape. Far from the elation she was expecting in a hunt gone well, she feels only revulsion, yet she can't look away.

"This motherfucker," you might hear her saying as she wipes blood from her face. "Why couldn't he just go easy?"

Not long later, she's retching up nothing.

(e.) altar

The altar is red and lovely and inviting, perhaps too much so. Standing near it, you may hear a voice echoing from the deep. Help me! Wait a little longer, and a bloody hand will emerge from the earth, grasping at anything.

"Please!"

(f.) wildcard

[im down for anything.]

(b.) wounded;

[icasm]

"Honorable injuries," the tall man at her side repeats, putting one hand on Ellie's shoulder lest she be inspired to kick at the woman again; he hasn't realized that was just a startled reaction on her part. "It would be a mercy. She's not going to make it through the night."

His eyes are green and dark, catching the light thrown their way by torches and shadows. Loki lets go of her shoulder. "Can you manage it?" Killing the woman, draining her blood. He won't step in if she says she can.

a

[exsecrabilis]

"No??"

And what kind of question is that, anyway, least of all for a young lady to be asking? The man she addresses, the sort who seems as though he could get forty-eight full hours of sleep and still fall out of bed ruffled and exhausted, fixes her with a gaze both intense and lost.

"Do you know?"

(a.)

[reup]

"I'm pretty sure human meat's s'posed to taste like chicken."

It hadn't occurred to Jesse at all that this food would be anything other than what it looks like. He's definitely no hunter, and he barely even cooks enough for himself to be able to differentiate between animal meats – most of the time it's just fried chicken or tacos or something, but he's seen How It's Made and he knows chicken nuggets aren't really made of that pink goopy shit like it says they are on the internet. It's only after her question that Jesse spares a look at the chunk of meat he's been digging into, at which point he wrinkles his nose, lifts the food to his face, and sniffs.

"Or, like, pork, maybe. I watched a thing on the Discovery Channel." A pause, as he very delicately sets down the slice of meat he'd been nibbling at. "Hey, thanks for making me, like, crazy paranoid, yo."

b

[rietveld]

The boy nearby watches her with dark eyes, expressionless. It's hard to say how he wound up here, himself; he cares nothing for the wounded, whether honorably or no. Blood is blood; people are people. He simply stands,

and when another wounded tries to reach for him, help me, he moves viper-quick, his cane shattering the searching hand.

"Look elsewhere for charity," he snaps, voice nothing but gravel. Then, to Ellie, "Still dithering? From the looks of it, she'd thank you for your trouble."

d

[cynicte]

Nicte watches her, impassive, brought there by the stench of the carcass.

It's almost the same as being Sighted, she thinks. If she could See blood the same way she smells it, she imagines it would manifest as red trails of light winding through the trees. That's exactly how sound clusters in the air. She has no other frame of reference.

"First time?"

Almost teasing. She fed back at the castle.

B

[derletztetanz]

The nearest party flashes Ellie a smile that doesn't much seem to suit the situation at hand. They carry themselves with grace, and it's with that same grace that they stoop to address the girl in hushed, softly accented tones.

"She is looking for mercy," they purr, voice a low rumble that echoes in their chest. "Those wounds are dire. She will not make it, I can tell you that for certain."

Maybe it seems strange, this figure wearing finery and makeup giving such advice with pointed clarity. But still the advice is offered, the smile fading to a grave, intense expression.

"You can ease her passing."

also, e.

[armd]

Abby doesn't know why she does it. Why she reaches out toward the alter and takes the hand that grasps for her. It's slick in her own, wet with blood, and her stomach flips over at the smell.

She recognises the voice, she thinks. Perhaps even more so because it comes through to her muffled and desperate, as if from underwater.

Abby doesn't have the strength she once did. Its been long-since wasted out of her. She shivers and shakes when she redoubles her grip, pulling, trying– one foot bracing up against the edge of the altar for leverage.

"Come on–" Work with her, here.

ryan farrow / oc

[averagemedium]

castle, a;

Everyone around him is laughing, joyful. It should be a good time, it really should, he recognizes that it should, but the warmth and the noise and the crowd in this place feel oppressive. He spends his time keeping to the fringes as much as he can, posture slouched in a desperate attempt not to look as tall as he is, not to grab attention. It doesn't help-- likely he stands out a little more for his overt efforts to shrink away, arms folded around himself more than over each other, and he's just... busy trying to breathe. Was he breathing before this, come to think of it? Does he need to right now? He's not positive he wants to find out, so-- he inhales, exhales shakily. Inhales again, trying to ignore the smell of food in the room.

If anyone else here doesn't appear to be an immediate part of the feast, he gravitates a little closer, eventually. Still tentative, uncertain. "Should we, um. Leave? Would that be rude?"

castle, b;

And then there are the wounded people, later. It's hard to ignore the desire that comes to life at the smell of blood, like something lingering there he just hadn't put a finger on yet, and he has a hand pressed over his nose and mouth, covered by an oversized sweater sleeve.

"I, I can't, um-- it's nice of you to offer, I think, but I really couldn't just-- you should, you know. Keep that. You kind of need your blood a lot more than I do, probably?"

It's still hesitant. He's not sure how true that last part is, right now. The sleeve of his sweater does absolutely nothing to mask the scent in the air, and he has no idea how long he can decline. Maybe he should go.

His feet don't exactly want to move, and he shoots a wide-eyed, sidelong glance at whoever is nearby.

altar;

He's seated in the grass of the forest clearing, knees pulled up to his chest, chin resting on top of them, arms wrapped around his legs, and he seems to be just... watching it. There's no trace of disgust at how it looks. No real hesitation. There's nothing to hesitate for, in his estimation, and he's observing it with a furrowed brow and a distant expression.

It doesn't look like he's using it, for the moment.

b

[exsecrabilis]

The glance is caught and met squarely by an equally uncertain face, which subtly-- in a frightened, jerking motion-- shakes from side to side. They're both feeling it, but shouldn't do it. It's a test of will, clearly, and now is not the time to be weak.

Even if it does smell so wonderful, and is offered so freely.

altar;

[icasm]

Loki approaches through the trees, hands empty and at his sides. He could be quieter, he's aware, but he doesn't exactly want to startle the other person at the altar. He does want to know... what, exactly, he's doing.

"Are you going to just sit there?"

B

[derletztetanz]

"They won't need it much longer," a low voice purrs from much closer than perhaps Ryan is expecting. A blonde stranger, tall, broad-chested, finely dressed and beautiful is right there, a seductive smile tugging the corners of their lips upward. They place a hand on the younger man's shoulder, touch light at first, then firm.

"But you do. And they give willingly. Why do you hesitate?"

Loki (Variant) | MCU/Loki TV | ota

[icasm]

→ a) the castle | insane, inside, the danger gets me high

They invite him in.

First mistake, perhaps. First step, definitely. They invite him in, and Loki gazes at the people, their frostbitten appendages, the blood on their clothes, and their raucous merrymaking and wonders just what he's stumbled upon, here.

There's raw meat on the table in front of him. He can't stop staring at it.

→ b) the wounded | can't help myself

The man in front of him is bleeding profusely from the shoulder. His arm hangs limp at his side.

Loki kneels down, frowning.

"What happened to you?" He asks. Loki can't pull his eyes away from the blood, the deadened hand that will probably never move again. Something about severed nerves. Something about the damage that lingering cold does to open wounds.

"We stormed the castle. They were going to leave us out there! To die." The man raises his chin, grinning. He's missing teeth. He's young, Loki realizes. "I would rather die warm."

Loki is reaching out towards the bloodied shoulder before he thinks to stop himself, but the young man nods his assent, and so his hand comes back to his mouth red with fresh blood.

He knows what he is. Some strange monster that feeds on blood. This young man knows it also, isn't afraid.

He dies warm, unafraid and Loki's mind clears for the first time that night just as he meets the eyes of whoever has been watching him for at least the last several minutes. Loki wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, raising his eyebrows. "Yes?"

→ c) the children | got secrets I can't tell

He hears the children crying.

The party halts, the singing dying down. Several of the 'liberators' sneer, make jokes about the children's impending doom and Loki sidesteps into a shadow. There's a brazier to his left merrily burning away.

In a moment there's a curtain on fire, several people are screaming about the fire, and Loki has begun racing up the stairs.

→ d) the red altar | I love the smell of gasoline

He stares at it for a while, this altar of blood and flesh and bone. Eventually, he leans over it, tilting his head as he listens.

Instead of reaching for whatever, whomever is buried at the center of it, Loki whispers a story into the altar.

He straights, blinking, before looking around. Something has happened, but he doesn't know what.

→ e) wildcard | I light the match to taste the heat

[ hit me with your best shot. it's a dream! let's go. ]

c) assuming this is after nightfall for dirt nap reasons

[designerdevil]

Now, he would be the first to say he doesn't have a particularly great fondness for children. There's any number of reasons for it, but his own feelings on the creatures are not strong enough to win against his sense of justice. He loves a good party, but this one had peeled back layers throughout the evening to reveal something stranger and darker with each one. Bit odd, but so is coming to consciousness to be met with the knowledge that he is not an angel fallen and devil shirking his Dad-given responsibility (though apparently not a necessary one anymore, as he'd been told by the man himself), and in fact something else entirely with different powers.

Lucifer can't argue that on some level the former lords of this castle probably deserve what came to them at the hands of the people engaging in revelry here. They probably did - but children, as repulsive as they can sometimes be, are innocent of the crimes of their parents. Sure, they may have things they are guilty of of their own accord, but as the screams are heard from upstairs all manner of patience he's had for the party's hosts has now run out.

And then the curtains are on fire before he can even act.

He sees the blur of a figure dashing up the stairs, perhaps - he can guess - the person responsible for the fire. Amidst the screaming and people attempting to extinguish the flames in vain as they spread, he sees one of the more fervent of revelers follow up the stairs. And so he too follows, skipping every other step with each stride so he can grab the blur's pursuer by the collar and tossing them aside against a wall with enough force that bone cracks and blood splatters against cold stone. At least his strength seems comparable to what it was before, whistling as if impressed by his own handiwork.

"Need a hand?" he asks, tone jaunty as he casually saunters after the heroically driven arsonist.

(b.)

[reup]

It's horror that keeps him rooted where he is, pure horror, the kind of slack-jawed shock that would look funny if it wasn't so plaintive and genuine, if it wasn't for the blood-soaked gore reflected in his pupils. Jesse's eyes are cueball wide, each breath jagged at the back of his throat. This isn't the first time he's seen a slaughter, but it's the first time he's watched someone drink blood like a dying man drinks water.

First time for everything, a little voice at the back of his mind tells him. He ignores it.

"You—" Jesse takes a fumbling step back, holding out a hand as if it's any kind of shield at all. Fear is easy for him to telegraph, and sometimes he wishes it wasn't like that, but right now he feels like the only sane man in an asylum. "You just fucking ate that guy!"

D

[derletztetanz]

The sound of slow, rhythmic clapping punctuates the story told - and standing nearby, half-obscured by a particularly twisted tree trunk, a tall blonde stranger stands, an enchanted smile drawn across their lips. As they approach, their movements are certain, unafraid...even as their bright blue eyes scan over the altar before returning to Loki.

They stop a few feet away, looking out of place in their finery.

"I didn't think to tell it anything," they chuckle, voice low and clear like waves waiting to drag someone under. "You're clever. And smart, not to reach inside."

Dettlaff | the Witcher | OTA

[rhenalfailure]

I: UNWELCOME

The dream is sluggish as it forms around him. Dense and swimming underfoot, too slow initially to be a perfect mirror of reality, all but rushing to resituate itself as he presses further into its belly. Yet unlike the rest, the details of it feel— foreign. Not his own. He doesn’t recognize this landscape, these people. Their clothes are wrong. The castle rotten in its own bones, as they rot in their own skin. Masses of short-lived flesh gnawed at by sustained cold. Sickly for it still.

And the scent that clings to the air is thick with temptation.

In truth, he’s used to this particular lure. Resisting its call has never come easy, but even as his head swims, he knows how to pull himself away. To draw back from urging— physical, spoken. Dark leather in a sea of bloodied cloth. One clawed hand raised, held half-high in front of him. Warding. Passive. A barrier against anyone coming too close. He makes to leave. He can’t be here.

But then he hears shrieks from upstairs, and his attention twists— sharp.

A moment later, he moves for the nearest stairwell, against all muttered urging from an increasingly resentful crowd.

II: FOR A FRIEND

Heaviness. Like a shroud. Grim and exhaustive. His senses feel too dull to compensate, his mind beating in his skull. He barely has the presence of mind in wandering to mark the shifting silhouette of someone else on the hunt— and for their far lazier prey: a black-feathered bird, resting almost within reach.

His intercession is muted. He steps between both, broad-shouldered, tall and dark and hunched with the drag of his own current state. But his eyes are clear, and his gruff voice low and humming when he speaks:

“Not this one.”

It isn’t sharp. It isn’t cruel. In fact, if not for the way his stare bores without blinking, it might almost sound like a petition.

“Find something else to sate you.”

III: IT ENDS THE SAME

No good deed goes unpunished.

Or blood begets blood.

Or—

Or what.

What is it that mankind expects from cold, dark places. When they stare into hollow eyes in an empty wood and feel their shadowed sins creeping up along their own spine. Dettlaff’s sense of danger has always been different. Men fear monsters. Monsters fear—

Nails scrape over swaths of bloodied bone as he claws with howling, snapping, snarling fury to break free from that altar's drowning hold where it's already snared one of his arms high above the elbow.

If you betrayed him to it— intentionally or otherwise— those short, sharpened talons are lunging for you. Cutting mercilessly through deadened air, jagged teeth snapping. Eyes gone silver with pure, primordial hate.

If you didn’t, there could be something said about wild animals snared in traps. A wolf will still bite while it’s saved, a snake will spit venom— and he bares his fangs now like he means to use them.

Because he will.

wildcardish to iii

[icasm]

Someone is watching Dettlaff as he claws his way out of the altar.

That someone is not standing in the clearing, or even is visible by merely glancing around, and yet. The feeling of eyes on him is pervasive.

Loki was not the one who fed him to the altar; he'd heard the scuffle, to put it lightly, and came to see what was happening before his sense of self-preservation told him to hide. He can't just step into shadows anymore, disappear from view, and thus...

He's up a tree. Watching as Dettlaff rages against the very air. He'd applaud the skill of the escaping, but. The man... monster... whathaveyou might scale the tree and come after him and Loki would rather not discover what the business end of that encounter would be like.

「Whomever put you there has long since left, 」he informs him, without speaking.

Neat trick.

iii.

[goty]

She did this, is the thing. A moment of weakness, listening too much to that thundering voice in her head, louder than her pulse, and she pushed him.

She's familiar with regret. She recognizes it instantly, and grabs for him, goring one of her shoulders in the process. After all the pain, you'd think new hurt would be dulled, but no. It's there, vibrant as ever, making her eyes water, her grip weak.

Now is no time for apologies. She pulls, grateful her shoes are at least sturdy in the mud. "Fucking- work with me!"

jesse pinkman · breaking bad (cw: animal harm/death.)

[reup]

01. Feast

Jesse's been trying not to think too much. Trying, essentially, to keep his head entirely clear, just an empty skull of static. It's harder than he assumed it would be. Don't people do yoga like this all the time, like, head empty, no thoughts? But every time he tries to think about nothing, something forces its way in. Mostly, he can't seem to shake the worry that he won't be welcome in this castle for much longer. There's blood everywhere, enough that it really should be making him queasy, but he's too hungry to be queasy.

"So, um." They can skip introductions, Jesse decides, as he sidles closer to someone who looks just as out-of-place as he does here. He keeps his voice low. "We should be, like, leaving soon, right?"

02. ForEst

Jesse doesn't know when the deer died, just that an urge, sharp and sudden, had entirely taken over him, and he'd sunk his teeth – too many teeth – into its flank and torn through flesh. The body is still radiating heat, but Jesse doesn't have to feel for a pulse to know the heart in its ribcage is completely still.

He's bent forward over the body, red shining around his face and down his front, gasping for breath like he'd just run a mile. His arms pull tight around his midriff, fingers clawing in his shirt and pulling, just for something to hold onto. The bite marks ravaging the deer's body couldn't possibly have been made by his teeth, too huge and feral and savage, but how could they be from anything else?

Jesse wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands, sucking in air, his fingers locking at the back of his head. "I'm sorry," he tells the deer miserably, tears clogging the back of his throat, and with one shaking hand he reaches out and shuts the deer's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry."

03. WildCard

[ whatever you fancy, i'm crowders if you wanna add me/chat! ]

[exsecrabilis]

"As quickly as we can, I hope," comes the response from a rigidly-standing man beside him, who wears what looks to be an old-fashioned police uniform.

"I have doubts we will be allowed to simply walk away."

Der Tod | Elisabeth the Musical

[derletztetanz]

Die Burg - The Castle

Waking up at all had been the first red flag - you have no need for dreams when you do not sleep, and so it's with curiosity that they had approached the entire situation, staring up into the face in the sky with puzzled blue eyes.

Eternal no longer, not as they had been. Beyond that, not even fully human...something else.

Everything is still hazy now as they sit for the feast, too hazy for them to be upset, drumming ringed fingers on the table, attention fixed on the plate of raw meat in front of them. They regard it curiously, tilting their head this way and that. They've never had to eat before. Not really. And they've certainly never been hungry before.

But for the moment, they just...stare. Bemused.


Die Verwundeten - The Wounded

There is no hesitation.

Der Tod strides, confident and assertive, right up to the side of a woman with a bleeding chest wound and a shattered arm, sobbing, delirious with pain.

"Shhhh, Schatzi," they purr, one hand lightly tracing over the the blood with ginger fingertips. "It will be over soon. Do you trust me?" The woman's desperate nod is all the confirmation they need, but it wouldn't have mattered. They know better. They know she would have died anyway.

Stooping over her, the Reaper grins, oh-so-charming, bending closer, closer...bringing their lips against hers in a passionate, deep kiss. She is surprised, she yelps into their mouth...and then, gradually, she goes slack, the hand still perched on her chest feeling her heartbeat quicken and then still in turn.

When Der Tod pulls away, it's with a little groan of relief, wiping the edges of their mouth with their fingertips and then licking them clean. As matter-of-fact as anything, they close her eyes over, and then shut her gaping jaw to obscure the deep puncture wounds in her tongue.

They stand there, savoring the strength and clarity the act brings...and then bringing a hand to their head as a rush of memories that don't belong to them tear through their brain.

"Ah-" Is all they manage before they stumble, unaware that the whole thing start to finish must have been something of a spectacle.


Die Kinder - The Children

They are leaned against a wall, watching light conversation when the din dies a little, the wails from upstairs putting a brief damper on the festivities. A brow shoots up, then so does their glance....

And then they chuckle. Darkly, quietly.

Age is irrelevant if it's their time.

But they do regard you as their gaze falls back downward to the party, gauging your reaction to it all. Inquisitive.


Der Rote Altar - The Red Altar

The Altar whispers, hungry and desperate, and Der Tod stands there to listen. It's a curious thing, isn't it? An effigy of blood and bone, murmuring pleas to passersby. Within, the begging, something trapped, something given already.

Or someone.

Thinking about what they have to sacrifice, they glance around...and then they spot you as you move into the clearing, and extend a hand, smiling, eyes bright.

"...Dance with me?"


Platzhalter - Wildcard

((I'm up for anything really, Der Tod is chaotic as hell. Please do not judge me for my Google translate German ty))

red altar.

[goty]

She listens to the thrumming of the altar, the way it begs, the way it wants. She doesn't want to give it anything, but she's afraid what will happen if it doesn't stop. Will she go insane?

And then there's someone else. A slender hand out, reaching forward.

"I'm not... good at dancing." It's a reflexive answer. She finds she wants to dance, despite it all.