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etrayamemes2025-05-30 09:20 am
etrayamods) wrote in etrayamemes2025-05-30 09:20 am
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TDM 008
content warnings for this TDM include: gambling references, mild horror themes and suggestive content  ⏵ arrival⏴ Arrival does not happen as Aurora usually plans for it. Newcomers generally find themselves waking up within the hospital, are given a brief overview of their situation, and sent on their way. Now? They wake up immersed in a game within The Gold Saucer. But it doesn't quite feel like a game: whether it's snowy mountains, riding a chocobo as you listened to the wind quickly pass by your ears, or in the middle of a battle with a beast, it feels utterly real. It's only after the game concludes - either by winning or losing - that you find yourself back in the main game area. A bot, dressed as personnel in this lavish playground, approaches each arrival with an earpiece allowing them to communicate with those in their same situation. It also serves to inform them of their goal: collect enough gold saucer points (or GP) by playing the games to acquire a card fashioned to their own likeness from the game counter. Then, they must trade it for someone else's. Seems simple enough, right? Hopefully the cards aren't too expensive...  ⏵ the gold saucer ⏴ The Gold Saucer is an ode to the very idea of fun. It’s huge, labyrinthine, colorful, and lively. Everywhere you look, there’s something to do. At the same time, it’s also impossible to tell what time it is. There are no windows to the outside, there are no clocks. This place is beyond such a thing. There are games everywhere you look, ranging from the pseudo-gambling to sports to pixelated video games in cabinets. Yet no matter which boxing game, pinball machine, or skeeball machine you look at, the same creatures and themes arrive. Cactuars, chocobos, the fiercest Behemoth, the cuddliest Moogle… For those from the realms of Final Fantasy, this will feel natural- homey even. Everyone else will simply understand that there is a fairly strong central theme here about magic, machines, and monsters. It’s hard to tell how long you spend here, and it seems to sit outside of the very concept of time. Still, there are many restaurants, lounges, and vending machines. There are shops and costume rentals. There are even little pharmacies with headache remedies if the partying gets out of hand. And when you grow tired, there is a hotel- though it is made up like a haunted house, you can count on getting some semi-restful sleep.  ⏵ playtime ⏴ At first, stepping through to play any of these games may make participants wonder if they have been teleported somewhere else entirely. But on closer inspection, all the skies above are merely well-constructed interiors with painted ceilings. After all, it always seems to be daytime during these games. Snowboarding - Race to the bottom of the mountain, but avoid obstacles and complete as many tricks as possible! Chocobo Racing- Race on Chocobo-back around a treacherous outdoors race track which can either be taking place in a desert, a swampy forest, or upon an island beach. Work in tandem with your rented bird and against your competition by throwing hazards in their way or utilizing buffs garnered on the track. Different colored birds will yield different advantages. Yellow - Good All Rounder Red - Fast, but hard to steer Blue - Slower, but very easy to steer. Much easier to pick up items from them. Green- Resilient against traps and sabotage Colosseum Battle- Face off against the fiercest beasts around. Pair up with friends or rivals to Collaborate or Compete to do the most damage and deliver the final blow. These battles are synced to the comparative power of the one entering the competition. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt unnecessarily, after all. And indeed, no one will get seriously, gruesomely, or permanently injured in these battles. Those without fighting capabilities can rent weapons outfitted Materia to assist them in their trial. These will allow anyone to cast spells, though not guarantee any better wielding of weapons. There are a hundred rounds, starting with fairly simple Spriggans, ranging all the way up to blood-thirsty Behemoths to challenge even the most battle-hardened hero. Leap of Faith- Players are presented with an obstacle course that stretches a hundred feet into the air upon floating platforms and islands. Both are held aloft by magical crystals. Powers are entirely nerfed, though falling and hitting the ground is strangely painless. Those who collect the most silver and gold statuettes of cactuars placed at random throughout the course will be awarded proportionate GP; though there is a bonus for those that reach the very top first. Triple Triad- Everywhere you look, people are playing this game on little 3 by 3 boards, or any surface with enough space. You will be given a loaner deck to play with. Are you clever enough to defeat your fellows. Fashion Report- Theobold, familiar to some, stands by himself in a little booth with a dressing room and an incredibly expansive walk-in closet. He is a robot of distinguished fashion and strong opinions on those fashions. Do you dare subject yourself to his scrutiny? Come prepare in his wondrous closets to make the best outfit for the chance to win a prize. Please submit your fashion here! There are Arcade Machines and activities galore. If you can think of it, it’s probably there- Just with that Final Fantasy pastiche on it, of course.  ⏵ the beehive lounge ⏴ There are other places to eat at the Gold Saucer, but the vending machines and cafés all pale in comparison to the dinners at the Beehive. For all the rave reviews, there is a dress code at the Beehive, and this is literal. If you step inside and are not currently wearing a dress, you will be ushered into a sideroom and appropriately made over. However, this is only for those trying to go in through the normal doors. Around the side there happens to be an employee entrance, manned by a bot. He will only allow those in who seem like they intend to work— and therefore must be wearing at least one piece of the Bunnysuit Collection to trick the guard. Once you are made over or have snuck in, you are free to relax inside with drinks, dine on a fine meal, watch the dancers, or participate yourself if you feel brave enough. Why would anyone ever dance here? Well, that’s simple. It pays really well. So if you’re sick of games, or terrible at them— you can always come dance for a shift. Though, don't get any unseemly ideas about freeing yourself of your clothing, this isn't that kind of establishment!  ⏵ haunted house ⏴ When you grow too weary or drunk from a day of games, you may be directed to somewhere a little quieter to sleep. Up the elevator, and through the doors reveals a modest walk through some woods until a quaint, victorian hotel appears. It is always nighttime here, and the stars and moon twinkle above. The receptionist, a bot in a rather bedraggled-looking chocobo mascot costume checks you in and shows you to your room. You can sleep here, especially if you can tolerate the hokey haunted decorations strung up around the place. Though sometimes, late at night, there will come a vigorous thumping on the door to startle sleeping patrons awake- Only for the culprit to vanish and be impossible to locate.  ⏵ ticket counter ⏴ The prize counter is manned by a bot and has a sign posted overhead. Most prizes will be handed over inside an appropriately sized wrapped box, as the contents are a mystery.
This TDM may be treated as a mini-Mission. Time will not pass inside of it in relation to the world outside - meaning, this can be happening at any time between late May into early July! This Gold Saucer is a bit of a mix between that of FF7's and FF14's, but it also has some things that neither have as well. Any inaccuracies are entirely intentional, aimed to make this rest within a space of uncanny valley for those who are familiar. While otherwise being a bit of a chaotic fantastical funhouse for everyone else! If there is something unlisted, chances are it will exist if it is in either of the other versions of the Gold Saucer. Characters already in game are welcome to post to the TDM, too! Please mark them as current characters in your header. Threads can be kept as game canon as long as both characters get into the game! Please direct all questions to our mod queries comment! |
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Clive shakes his head, trying to dislodge the strange thoughts, but as his path behind Barnabas meanders, so too does his mind. What was Barnabas like before all of this? Before the doomsday, become the perfect vessel, give yourself to my god stuff. Was there a before? There had to have been a before. There was always a before. No one was the same from birth until death. That was a part of the beauty of being alive.
It was as Clive was absently tracing these thoughts in his mind, watching the gentle sway of Barnabas’ body as he walked, that the man he was practically stalking turns around. Not quickly, but deliberately. Clive’s breath catches for just a moment when they make eye contact. Caught.
But still, he does not hesitate. Clive meets Barnabas’ sharp gaze unflinchingly with his own of piercing assessment. He has already come this far, no point in stopping now. He needs to know why he didn’t want to end this man. It burned in him like every flare of anger before.
Clive stops when he is within arm’s reach. He drops his bag on the ground with a gentle whumph.]
You should have seen me earlier.
[In the satin red backless dress that cut into a deep V, cinched at his waist. In the bunny suit that left very little to the imagination. In almost a parody of the last time they met here, Clive reaches out and takes Barnabas’ collar. He takes a second to enjoy the softness of the fabric before smoothing it out, one hand rubbing the stitched seam of the opening of his shirt, grazing the lone scar on his chest before dropping his hands. Clive tilts his head.]
Besides, you’re one to talk, with your shirt hanging open like that, it is practically indecent exposure for Waloedi clothing.
[Having a very passionate seamstress at the Hideaway was teaching Clive a lot of things about clothing and the cultures that surrounded it. Much to his surprise, it was really interesting.]
no subject
The pulse of excitement, a single beat that feels like quickly cooling fire through his veins, is tantalizing beyond compare... yet he remains ever calm as he is meant to be.
As the Almighty wills it so.
Though there is warmth from Mythos' proximity as he grabs at Barnabas' collar, bringing attention to how his choice of attire leaves not only his scar but a portion of his chest exposed for the world to see.
Does it distract, him? Barnabas does not dare to hope so, but a small part of him feels the twist of curiosity in his mind as he regards Mythos, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.]
Waloeder.
[He corrects, but the mistake is understandable, given Mythos's state. Barnabas chooses not to respond to the comments about his state of dress, but he does allow himself to linger on his words, and the image of Mythos eying his exposed flesh. A suggestion of a tingle dancing down his spine that the vision.]
Come... I will guide you to the resting quarters.
[Mythos is not in any shape to fight, and they are not in the place to do so, regardless. Even so, it would not do to have the vessel making a mess of itself. Besides, for whatever reason, Mythos' lack of inhibitions brought him to Barnabas, and he is ever so curious to pull upon that thread.
Barnabas slowly tilts his head toward the direction they should go, though he makes no move to place a hand on Mythos, as the man had done to him moments ago.]
no subject
Clive’s gaze flicks down to Barnabas’ mouth when he smirks and he furrows his brows slightly. The urge to punch him spikes in his chest but he knows that it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Not right now. He was too drunk. It would be embarassing and pathetic and, for whatever reason, he did not want to seem embarrassing or pathetic in front of this man. And that pissed him off, too. It was easier to be angry, but still a part of him picks at the edge of the scab that had been Dion’s words. Joshua’s words.
Clive takes a slow breath and looks back up to the icy steel of the other man’s eyes. He unclenches his hands. He hadn’t even realized when he had closed them.]
Waloder. My apologies.
[And the apology was genuine. He takes a step closer and feels his heart thump hard in his chest. So much in him screamed that this was dangerous and yet he moves even closer. ]
Lead the way.
[It might not be wise to go somewhere alone with the man, but his curiosity is getting the better of him tonight. He stays near the king as they walk, trying to take in the person underneath all that Barnabas had represented so far. Without the smell of his own blood coating his nose and throat or the sharp sting of salt from the ocean, he was able to capture one more thing about the King of Waloed: his scent.
It was cold and crisp, like the smell of a freezing sword on the first truly cold day of winter. It was early mornings when he had the world to himself, where everything was quiet and nothing mattered but the blade in his hand and the clear blue sky. Clive tilts his head a little closer and breathes deep.]
Has anyone ever told you that you smell like winter?
no subject
No.
[Barnabas answers simply.]
I would not say many have had the privilege to partake my scent... nor the foolishness to speak upon it.
[Allowing a beat to rest between them, a few steps punctuating his response, he allows his eyes to drift to Mythos for but a moment, then he cast them ahead once more.]
Does it... stoke the flame of your hunger?
[The thought of Mythos taking in the smell of him, his hunger tantalized by his would-be prey...it is an intoxicating thought. Or it would be, if such could pierce the miasma of aether which smothers such a feeling, such... excitement. It claws at it all the same, digs against the fog of it all, his mind tantalized by the thought of those claws boring through it all, those claws making him bleed from the inside out...
Yet, for now, he keeps himself controlled, as he should be. An image of perfect obedience, like a prized stallion his spirit broken. Attractive in its domestication, in feigned dignity, yet in truth such submission requires the sacrifice of that very dignity.
Barnabas would sacrifice it a thousand times over if he must, if that is what He required of him...]
no subject
I imagine most people don't have the privilege of getting very close to you. Would you punish someone for getting so close, for commenting on something so personal?
[While Barnabas glances, Clive stares. There is something so suspiciously casual about how Barnabas speaks of something so visceral. He wonders what it would take to break that veneer of calm.]
Hmm.
[Clive reaches over and plucks a loose hair off of Barnabas' collar, brushing the edge of his ear lightly before pulling back and examining the dark strand. He twists it between his fingers, marveling at the smoothness of it.]
You would like that, wouldn't you?
no subject
[Though, the simple comment and proximity would not bring them death, nor less anger Barnabas, it does not mean such acts were welcome. Mythos, however, is different. No one in Waloed would chance to offend the king, even if he was not like to kill for such a pointless reason.
The brush of a finger to his ear sends a muted sensation through him, a weak tingle of excitement that struggles against the weight of his Lord's merciful tranquility. His remains stoic, unfazed to any observers, but if one were to look into his eyes they might see the faint glimmer of something within their ashen depths.]
I am not a slave to desire, Mythos. I but labor to bring about the salvation of all. Should you embrace your nature...then yes, I would find it most agreeable.
[Barnabas is doing his best to ignore that Mythos has one of his hairs, twisting it between his fingers like he is. He must, or else his mind will wonder towards thoughts of those fingers on him, his hands upon him... grabbing, squeezing, tearing at him...
The corridor for the haunted hotel is in sight at least, and so such troubling thoughts will find their end soon enough, or so he reasons.]
no subject
[Clive continues to play with the hair between his fingers. His mind wanders to what it might be like to touch more of Barnabas' hair. He looks over at this assumedly late-night walking companion, debating the merits of potentially losing a finger to his curiousity.]
But I'm not. So I'll take that chance.
[At least ire would be something.
Clive traces the single hair along his own cheekbone and shivers a little at the tickle. Not wanting to discard it, but not knowing what else to do with it, he tucks the hair into his shirt.]
You know I'm not the agreeable type. And you know what?
[Clive says a silent goodbye to any one of his fingers and reaches out to tuck some of Barnabas' hair behind his ear, lingering for a moment to savor the silken texture before grabbing Barnabas' earlobe and twisting.]
I think you would be bored if I were.
[Clive thinks of the rare spark in Barnabas' eye from earlier when Clive confronted him on the stairs. He thinks about Barnabas lording over him at the bottom of the ocean, at the facial expressions when they fought the first time, and he is suddenly very certain of this.]
no subject
They need not be people for this, they need only be obedient extensions of God.
These thoughts are swiftly interrupted by that finger tucking his hair behind his ear, an act so gentle and intimate that his breath freezes in his throat. Though he attempts to continue on without reaction, he is not allowed such grace.
His own actions are immediate, swift as shadow, he grasps Mythos' wrist with a firm hand, pulling him forward with enough force to slip behind him. Pinning his arm to his back as he presses Mythos' front to the nearest wall within moments, taking full advantage of his drunken state to do so.
Though he likewise presses against him, to pin him there with the weight and strength of his body, a knee pressing between his legs. Barnabas' mouth draws close to his would-be savior's ear as he hotly yet quietly whispers, hunger lacing his words:]
You are in no state to take me.
[Barnabas, subtle as he can, breathes deep of him, his gaze darkening...]
no subject
This time, though, it feels different.
He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his blood singing through his veins, satisfaction bringing a smirk to his face even as he is being pushed against a wall. He knows that he doesn’t have the stability to fight Barnabas. He isn’t a fool. So why does the drive to find what can pick Barnabas apart burn so strongly?
At the full-body press of Barnabas against him, his mind finally catches up with his body. He shudders at the feeling of the other man’s breath washing over the sensitive skin of his neck, the dangerous depth of his voice at the edge of control. There. There it is. The composure, cracking. Another unbidden shiver runs through him.]
Maybe not.
[Clive knows he can’t get the leverage he wants, not with one arm twisted behind his back and Barnabas’ leg forced between his, but inaction his not an option. There is nothing gentle about how Clive threads the fingers of his free hand into Barnabas’ hair this time. He grips the other man’s hair and pulls]
[Clive’s voice, when he speaks, comes out the low heat of steadily burning brimstone.]
But when has that ever stopped me?
cw: mild nsfw
No... In this moment, all that matters is the heat of Mythos against him, the hard press of their bodies, and that intoxicating scent... The hint of fire to the natural musk of him.
It is enough to drive any red-blooded man wild, but Barnabas is not quite that, now is he?
Still, he cannot deny the emphatic swell of heat he feels stir within him, and how it battles with his blessed ataraxia... how it is not only heat that begins to swell, particularly with that hand in his hair, the arousing pull of it, and Mythos' defiance... That much is apparent with how he presses against him.]
Mythos...
[It is said in a scolding tone, yet there is a thread of something else within it. Want, perhaps? Desire? Barnabas would deny such, and he has to deny him here too. Thus he uses that hold on Mythos' arm to twist it painfully behind his back further, pulling him back before slamming him against the wall again with his own body.]
This impetuous nature will avail you naught. I am not wont to reward a boy who rebels so. In time... you shall have me, but not this night.
[However much his body might want it.
With that, however, he releases Mythos' arm.]
cw: mild nsfw
It had been some time since Clive had someone pressed so firmly against him that his body was not hiding its secrets. Nor, he could feel, was Barnabas’. Clive’s heart beat wildly, hard enough that he wondered if Barnabas could feel it on his chest.
And as much as he hated that damned name, the way Barnabas said it made him want to rip it out of his mouth in a way that was far less familiar than usual.
For a moment, he is grateful for the flash of pain from the renewed twisting and being shoved back against the wall. It gives his mind the briefest moment of reprieve, even when his body is so acutely aware of every inch of a man he arguably should not desire even remotely.
When Barnabas’ words wash over him, another pulse of warmth runs through him. At the release of pressure, Clive whips around and presses a hand flat against Barnabas’ chest, cobalt eyes alight. He could feel the sparks of flames just under his skin, and he felt like he could combust.]
Don’t disappoint me.
[He leans in.]
And make sure not to make promises you can’t keep.
[With a final shove to his chest, Clive pushes away from temptation. He gives the other man one more slow, torturous look over before turning away towards the hotel and the stairs that will lead him to his room.]
Good night, Barnabas.
cw: mild nsfw
The cold of his absent just as chilling as the cold the shadow has ever gifted him, and this he knows better than most. Still, the ghost of warmth feeds the longing, feeds that yawning gape within him, and as his grey eyes watch Mythos as he walks away, his own arousal does not flag as much as it might have otherwise.
Much as the metaphorical steel, he too is hard.
An unfortunate and troublesome state, something truly beneath one such as him, but even further is its inappropriateness when one considers the object tantalizing him so. Blasphemous, and for it he should feel shame... Yet still his eyes linger even as Mythos is gone from view, Barnabas ignoring any eyes that might be cast his way, nor less any that might notice...his situation. Fortunately, with how he's turned towards the wall, it is less obvious, but still.
Their chance to stare slips by quick, however, as smoke-like aether whips around him and in a swirl he vanishes, retreating to his shadowy vigil where he might be afforded some respite.]
Once both Barnabas and Clive are gone
Upon glancing within his smile grows. What an excellent token to remember this night with.
Extensibly Sleipnir wonders if His Majesty might have use of him tonight. He would not mind if it were to be so.
Then, bag in hand, off down the hall to his own room he goes. ]