TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[penancemods]

ARRIVAL

You remember a dream.

Or maybe nightmare is more accurate.

It was full of hellfire nipping at your skin and a sensation of being pulled down no matter how much you struggle or cry for help. There's a voice that feels like it's coming from all around you at once. Contrasting with the nightmare unfolding around you, it's smooth as silk. It makes you want to listen with every bit of attention you can muster in the moment.

"Judgement has come upon you, but not to worry. It can still be undone."

The voice promises you redemption for your sins. It promises you a better life and everything you could ever want, if only you just stop struggling so much.

And so you do.



Everyone wakes up in the same room initially. The room is done up in red with a cushy bed, a window, an old TV in the corner on a desk, and a few Hieronymus Bosch paintings lining the wall. There's a bathroom to clean up in and any belongings will be sat around the room to be gathered later. There's a duffel bag provided for your convenience.

After feeling a sensation of falling or dropping onto the bed, characters wake up feeling like they've just slept for a week. Their body will feel heavy and stiff, they'll have a massive headache at first.

They'll quickly notice the list of their sins written with their blood on a bedside table on an old piece of parchment. This will mean the list is tied to them and can't be changed or tampered with. They'll also receive their device to connect with others and the network. It won't be anything terribly fancy. As a matter of fact, it looks like a very old Blackberry type phone.



Once characters are ready to leave the room, they'll head down long, winding halls. They're dimly lit and ominous feeling. They may encounter fellow sinners or demonic staff that will direct the newcomer down to the lobby to get their actual room key to settle in. They may be pushy, they may border on courteous. It really just depends on the mood of the staff at the time and how they're treated in return. Eventually, everyone comes to stairs that lead downward.



Once down to the lobby, you'll notice the front desk manned by a demon who looks bored out of its mind. To the side of him is the door to the kitchen where guests may help themselves. To the right is a small duty free shop that seems to have a surprisingly normal, expected stock of items. Look around a bit further, there will be a tiny bar tucked in through a corner door. It seems pretty well-stocked and best of all, self-serve if you want to get away from your demonic hosts for a bit. Of course there's some seating, bar games, and a jukebox tucked in the corner if you'd rather stay and socialize a bit.

Please note that all the songs on the jukebox are appropriately hell-themed. Hopefully Sympathy for the Devil is universally loved.



STAND YOUR GROUND

Prompt I

The hotel is undergoing some improvements already! Thanks to the new arrival of sinners, hell has a burst of energy and growth available to it. One demand of the demonic staff was the addition of elevators. It gets tiresome having to take the stairs all the time. They'll eagerly implore you to help them test out this new system, even going so far as shoving you right in the nearest available elevator with whoever else is in the vicinity.

Unfortunately, things aren't quite up to par just yet. Press a button and you'll find your elevator gets jammed between floors with very little chance of escape. Oh, oops. This is entirely the hotel's fault and will be fixed as soon as possible. In the meantime, enjoy your company and try to relax a bit.

It's definitely a high priority repair for staff, promise.

Prompt II

Maybe you were looking for the hotel gym to work off some stress or maybe you just took a wrong left somewhere, but instead of what you were expecting, you stumble across what appears to be a very well stocked torture room. There are tables with straps to hold down victims, chains falling from the walls and ceilings to bind them upright, and absolutely every possible torture device you can think of. There's even an iron maiden proudly displayed in the corner. Besides that, there's the normal supply of whips, knives, and any other equipment someone could want to inflict the most delicious pain available.

You're free to check it out or give it a go. You're also free to back out of the room very slowly, but with the knowledge this space will probably come into play at some point.

Oh, and a tip: the gym is to the right of this room.

REACH UP HIGH

Prompt I
Warnings: cutting, blood, torture.

After settling in, it really is only a matter of time until your demonic hosts expect some participation. You can try and shirk the responsibility, of course. But eventually, you may find yourself trapped in a room just off the kitchen that's curiously full of knives. You can try the door, but even with super human strength or every lock picking skill in the book, you won't be able to open it.

It becomes apparently what you're supposed to do soon enough when someone else is eventually shoved in with you. Both of your lists of in will appear in the room on a nearby table with two handy knives. You can choose to guard these or not care at all that they're on display.

"Know that honesty is a good place to start on your road to redemption. Sure, it can be terrifying at first, but that's why you've been given a partner in this journey. Pick up your knives and carve one of your sins into the other's flesh. Help them in their journey to be candid with everyone they should meet here!"

The voice echoes all around you again, just like in the nightmare, and once again there's the pull to give in. This voice really does seem like it has your best interests at heart.

"If you need a bit of encouragement, we'll be giving it shortly."

It isn't a lie or idle threat either. The longer you wait to do what's been requested of you, the more shallow cuts that will appear on both of your bodies. Are you really prepared to endure this pain when giving in would be so much easier?

And more than that, are you willing to let another suffer along with you?

Eventually, the cuts will stop if you suffer them long enough, but you'll have failed this challenge and sustained more damage than if you'd just gone along with it. Satan will also be very disappointed in you.

Prompt II

Well, that last punishment was a bit heavy, wasn't it? Or maybe you somehow skipped out on it all together. Fortunately for you, there's a less horrible one to get potentially wrapped up in along the way. You'll hear that all too familiar voice ringing in your ears as you explore the halls of the hotel or poke your head outside.

"Do one genuinely kind deed for someone and we'll consider it a step in the right direction for you."

This can be helping one of your fellow sinners out with a task or helping them find something. It can be a shoulder or a listening ear towards someone who needs it. You can even offer to help the staff clean up a bit around the hotel, or help a poor hell beast pup out of the hellfire around Penance. Careful though, even they have pretty sharp teeth and an aggressive attitude. It doesn't matter what you do as long as it helps someone else out.

Oh, and one more thing! The longer you resist, the more aches you'll notice. It'll start with a mild headache and escalate from there. You can wait it out, of course, and pills may help you cope with the pain if you really can't be bothered to do one nice deed. Although Satan is still very disappointed in you.

FOLLOW ME DOWN

Prompt I
Warnings: Alcohol and drug abuse, potential non-con/dub-con.

With all the new sinners arriving, this feels like a call for celebration! The bar will be lit up with activity. Food and drinks will be readily available and provided by hotel staff (although they might not always know what humans eat. What do you mean you don't like fried kitten?), music will be blaring, and overall, there will be an energy to the atmosphere that's absolutely contagious. Even if you aren't typically inclined to linger at these sorts of events, there will be a certain pull.

One drink won't hurt, right? Nor will one more after that.

There will also be every sort of party drug available that might tickle your fancy. There's no harm in experimenting, is there? You're already in hell.

And you've presumably done your atonement for the day, yes? So cut back a bit.

Ask the staff demons very nicely and you may even get less scrupulous drugs. Things that will convince your fellow damned souls to tell the truth or perhaps even things that will make someone so enamored with you, they won't take their eyes off you. How dare they give you the cold shoulder earlier, right?

There are also tables set up for all sorts of gambling and various bar games to entertain yourself with.

Relax and enjoy your first night in hell. Coming here and facing your sins is the hard part, so surely you deserve to have a little fun, right?

Prompt II
Warnings: sex, aphrodisiacs, potential kinks.


Much like the hotel improvements inside, all these new sinners seem to have given hell the ability to open a new building just outside the hotel. It happens to be quite a happening sex club from the looks of it. Everything is bathed in obnoxious neon lights when you first enter the establishment. There's plenty of space for dancing, and poles for those so inclined. Mood music fills the air, along with something a little too sweet.

As tacky as it is, something may pull you to stay.

Whether experienced lover or total virgin, once pulled in, you may not want to leave for a while.

There are back rooms people can go for a bit of private fun, full of every type of toy and restraint that you could possibly desire to play with. There's also a rather large room with a massive bed that seems to be fit for any orgies you may want to try to arrange. Hell's not judging and may be encouraging a bit.

There are aphrodisiac laced food and drinks available around the club as well, but these will most likely be marked. If one slips through, ah well. Why else are you here if not for a bit of fun? The drugs will only help that out.

Of course outside, this club is clearly marked for what it is and anyone who would rather avoid it are free to do so.

MISC.

Thank you for checking out penancerp's first TDM! Please note that all prompts are opt-out and players are more than welcome to come up with their own ideas while exploring the hotel and hell outside.

All that we ask is that you remember to put clear warnings on any potentially triggering content! Warn for sex, including underage or incest, violence, abuse, non-con, etc. Please put these warning in a visible place, either by the prompt itself or in the subject line. This isn't just a suggestion but a requirement to participate in the game.

Now that all that's out of the way, we hope you have fun! Feel free to ask questions under the appropriate comment before or on the FAQ page. Since this is the game's first TDM, we are also very interested in hearing any suggestions you have or ways to improve the game experience.

Since this is a big event, Lucifer himself will be taking a few questions via his device for anyone so inclined down below.

As a final note, don't forget that reserves are open now until May 1st as well!


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Comments

[inbello]

Ronan's simmering rage boils over too easily at the best of times, and this is hardly the best of times. He's angry specifically at Kavinsky for his useless suicide, for making it his fault, for fucking with Matthew, for dying. Ronan has enough trouble with death already. He also has trouble with letting go of things, and with forgiveness. No one ever said he was a good Catholic, after all. Though forgiveness is for saints and Jesus and whatever, not for half-feral dream boys.

The bottle doesn't hit him, because he's quick enough to move, but not quick enough to prevent Kavinsky from touching him. If there are sparks, like there always were, he refuses to acknowledge them, like he more or less always did.

The look over the bottle is what does it, though. He wrenches his hand out from under Kavinsky's and swings with his other hand, as easy as breathing but as hard as being left behind. He doesn't care where he connects, he just wants to feel something. This is how he accomplishes that, at least for now.

[mitsubishievo]

Stars popped into his vision. Ronan's knuckles were sharp and hard, and the side of Kavinsky's head was not the best place to be hit. The bottle dropped out of his hand and shattered, unlike Ronan's beer bottle on the counter, at their feet.

There was no beat or pause or hesitation. Kavinsky lashed his hand out for Ronan's throat, expression vicious and sneering. He was fucked up all to hell, drunk and high on his own shit and whatever Hell had to provide, but there was a clarity in moments like this. There always had been.

[inbello]

Ronan feels something similar to relief at Kavinsky's reaction, immediate and visceral. Fighting is so much easier than talking, than dealing with Kavinsky's predictable insults and his own internal bullshit. There's no Gansey to get between them here, and Ronan is grateful, both because he'd never want Gansey to be in literal Hell and because he doesn't want to have to stop.

Kavinsky's hand is on his throat pretty quickly, but he's spent so many years fighting anyone that he could fight, that doesn't matter. He swings again, better thought out this time, if only barely, hoping to connect with the other boy's face. He doesn't care if they beat each other senseless; this is familiar and he can lose himself in it.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky was never a fighter, not in the way that the older Lynch boys, boxers, had been. He knew how to scrap. He knew how to have bruised-knuckle, scraped knee tussles in back alleys and dirt patches and drained quarries. He was a fighter in that he refused to give up, back down, surrender. In that he grinned through pain and played dirty and cruel.

But this time, Ronan telegraphed his movement a little more than the first. Kavinsky leaned in toward him, fingers tight on his throat. The punch or Ronan's arm or something struck across his shoulder, but it was nothing at all.

He pressed in close, nose almost touching.

"If I kill you down here, you think you come back? Or will I have to dream you back like my last dog?" He was quiet a second, then grinned all over again. "You wet yet?"

[inbello]

Ronan is still close to the bar, and fumbles with his other hand for the bottle he'd left on bar a minute ago. He could feel the tightness on his throat, not yet tight enough to make him see spots.

"You couldn't kill me in a million years," he rasps.

He leans back away, though he can't go far with Kavinsky's hand on him. He doesn't bother trying to wriggle out of grasp, though; instead shoving his face back forward to headbutt the other boy. Ronan was like a rabid dog when provoked, after all, and that didn't make it too good of an idea to get close like this. If Kavinsky hadn't known better, that wasn't Ronan's problem.

Despite his fury and all the pain he thinks he ignores regarding what happened the last time he saw Kavinsky, and despite the fact that he did stand to lose this fight, his grimace morphed into a grin. Maybe Kavinsky's taunt wasn't too far from the truth, not that Ronan would have admitted that.

[mitsubishievo]

Couldn't and wouldn't were kissing cousins in Joseph Kavinsky's world. He was more than capable of adding Ronan Lynch to his list of murders, physically and mentally, and assertions like that had a tendency to make him want to prove things. But he would not, not tonight anyway. And maybe, in Hell, there was no staying dead anyway. Which of course meant that Kavinsky couldn't dream him back, yet another orbiting body around him like Prokopenko.

Kavinsky swore when Ronan's head collided with his, getting his eye socket mostly. His nails dug into Ronan's neck only briefly. Then he shifted quickly and swung a bony-knuckled fist across his jaw. They were close enough that it was an easy swing, but too close for him to get much force behind it.

There was a small crowd starting to form, looking at them, watching them. Kavinsky wasn't surprised by that. Maybe Ronan would buckle and they'd give them a show. He met Ronan's toothy, terribly grin with one of his own.

[inbello]

Of course Kavinsky's fist connects, and Ronan can't easily roll with it because he's still got a hand on his throat. But there's not a lot of power behind it, and Ronan can stand a few hits. Declan has gotten some good ones in, after all. That kind of thing just eggs him on.

Ronan doesn't even register the crowd, really, because he's so focused on Kavinsky. He's mad that he missed that swing, still mad about all the other shit, mad about being in fucking hell.

Finally, he shifts his weight, either jerking Kavinsky with him or wrenching him off, he doesn't care which. His other hand finally finds the bottle he was looking for. He wraps his fingers around the neck and swings it at Kavinsky, spraying beer all over. He was still all manic grin and blazing eyes, Ronan at his worst and finest.

[mitsubishievo]

Ronan had always been a bomb, and now was no different. Kavinsky let himself be bucked off, releasing his hold on his neck and narrowly avoiding the swing of the beer bottle, though he can't avoid the spray of beer.

Now that they're separated, circling like fighting dogs, Kavinsky almost expected Ronan to stomp off. That was the thing he'd learned, wasn't it? Ronan was against him, which he hated and hadn't expected. Not when they were the same creature, not when they understood what this was. What was the good of Dick Gansey and that little cadre holding his leash? They would never understand what this was.

Kavinsky did. Kavinsky understood it more than anyone else ever could.

"You get it out of your system, Lynch?" He spread his arms wide, grinned that toothsome grin of his, the one he'd worn on the roof of the Mitsubishi as he stared down the dragon. "Or you need to keep hitting me?"

[inbello]

Ronan hates that look. It makes him believe the story, that this is hell and there's no escape. He recognises that grin, because how could he not? He'll think of it for the rest of eternity, since apparently there's no more life. Whatever.

He coughs, but he can breathe well enough. He isn't gasping; it wasn't that long. Maybe it wasn't long enough. He's still furious, at K and at himself, but he can't name the reasons and doesn't want to think of most of them anyway. The crowd that still hangs around in case this continues now gives him pause. If he goes for it again, he gives Kavinsky what he wants. He tells himself that's the last thing he wants to do, and almost believes it.

He settles for chucking the beer bottle, knowing it's an easy dodge. "Go kill yourself again where I don't have to fucking look at you," he growls.

[mitsubishievo]

It was an easy dodge, moreso because it was hardly the first time some pissed off piece of shit had thrown a bottle at him. Most of Ronan's anger seemed to have fizzled out and turned into something different, quieter and more internalized. It was still a brooding, simmering horror. That was just how these boys were made.

Kavinsky's grin stayed in place. He let Ronan have his space, for the moment. Mostly because he didn't want to get punched in the head again.

"You don't mean that," Kavinsky said and hummed a laugh. "I bet you'd like to watch. You did the first time."

Like might have been a strong word. But Kavinsky had looked at him, right at the end, and Ronan hadn't looked away. There was a part of him that wanted to see. There was a part of him that had feared in that moment. It put a seed into Kavinsky, dark and black and encouraging. There was only with him or against him, but Ronan had never really been against him.

[inbello]

Ronan narrows his eyes at Kavinsky. He's often the personification of that "if looks could kill" adage, but maybe a touch more so than usual in this moment.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't know what delusional bullshit you tell yourself. Maybe it's your stupid drugs." It's easy to blame drugs for anything and everything Kavinsky does, so he settles for it. He knows what he did hurt, of course. He isn't sorry. Gansey mattered more to him. He hadn't meant to crash the Pig, after all. The race was rigged, and he hadn't known. He'd used Kavinsky, but Kavinsky used people all the time. Ronan was really heavy into internalising both guilt and regret, but he's still too pissed off to acknowledge that he's shitty in his own way.

[mitsubishievo]

It was hardly a biting retort. Now that the bulk of the fight had passed, people weren't looking so much. Kavinsky wished it had been more of a fight. He could use that in his life right now. The visceral violence of it, being watched and judged, all of these things were things that Kavinsky thrived on in one way or another. He knew Ronan was the same, in some ways. It was why he was the way he was; it was why they clashed, and could mesh so well.

They should have meshed better. They could have. The knowledge of it burned in Kavinsky. They might use each other, but they were both creatures that could work with that. They would make themselves better by making each other worse, and Kavinsky couldn't see the problem in that.

He flipped Ronan off, rather good-naturedly. He returned to the bar and grabbed a new bottle, uncaring of what it was or the quality of it. He lounged against the bar, watching Ronan, as he opened the bottle and drank straight from it.

[inbello]

Ronan, without anything left to throw other than words (and he's not as good with those as he is with his fists, in the end, especially when he's amped up), and without anything to drink, decides not to wait around for the bartender to give him something else. It's a big party, and there's other shit in this stupid ass hotel anyway, even if he can't actually go anywhere.

What he wants to do is drive off his anger, but that option has been barred for the foreseeable future, so his rage has nowhere to go.

He clenches his jaw to keep from saying anything else stupid and turns to walk off into the crowd of people, most of whom are back to dancing now instead of paying attention to their fizzled out fight.

[mitsubishievo]

The quick fizzle and Ronan's turn away were hardly what Kavinsky wanted out of this. Maybe he should know that Ronan wasn't going to lean into this. This was going to take more work than it had in the first place, luring Ronan along until their break occurred.

There was no Gansey to run back to. It was still with him or against him, and Kavinsky still didn't understand how Ronan could possibly be against him. Think of the things they could do together, could make, could be? They were two sides of a wicked coin, and Kavinsky itched for something whenever he saw him.

He let Ronan get lost in the crowd for a moment, and then slipped away from the bar to stalk him through the crowd. The bar was loud and enthusiastic, constant movement, not unlike any substance party he'd ever thrown. But even with all the other unfamiliar bodies, he could find Ronan like true north. How could they not be destined for each other when he was constantly drawn in?

When he was close enough to Ronan, in the knit of bodies, he shoved the bottle he was still holding at him.

"Quit being a little bitch, Lynch."

[inbello]

Ronan didn't leave the club, which was against his better judgment. But did judgment even matter in hell? He figured it probably didn't. He wanted to lose himself in this, but it wasn't really his scene, and he'd made such a thing about walking away from the bar now that he didn't want to go back.

He wasn't even surprised when Kavinsky found him again. He was still mad, because he was just mad all the time, but his seething rage had diminished for the moment. Probably.

"Fuck off," he snarled, but he took the bottle anyway, because while he was making bad decisions, it was easy to just make worse ones. "What, you want me to actually beat your face in?"

It wasn't entirely an idle threat, but it lacked a lot of the bite it could have had. He took a drink and kept the bottle. Hey, K had given it to him, hadn't he?

[mitsubishievo]

"You won't," Kavinsky said. It might have been a little goading, because Kavinsky was perfectly capable of going from zero to fuck up your day in a blink of the eye, but Kavinsky was fairly confident that the drink was a peace offering for the moment. They'd gotten most of it out of their systems. For now.

He didn't try to get the bottle back, though he crowded into Ronan's space a little more than was entirely necessary. A smile turned up his lips slightly.

"You know," he said, voice almost speculative. He'd been dead for less than a day, but he was feeling generous at the moment, in this place where they were both trapped, in this miring landscape that was a worse cage than Henrietta had ever been, but also somehow better, so much better. "I forgive you. I really didn't think you'd pick Dick over me, but I mean? I guess you didn't in the end, did you?"

[inbello]

Ronan didn't back up. He let Kavinsky stay near him because backing up would be weakness, and he hated the very idea. It bothered him, because of course it did, because that was the point.

His jaw clenched at the comment about Gansey. He was well aware that Kavinsky was jealous of Gansey; wasn't that part of how that fucking stunt at the fourth of July party had come about?

He could feel himself get angrier again, and he was aware that if he started swinging here, he'd be as likely to hit someone else as he would to hit Kavinsky. He didn't entirely care about bystanders most of the time, but he wasn't not looking to hurt anyone else right then, either. So he didn't do it.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I don't even remember dying."

It was true. Of course it was true; Ronan didn't lie.

"Why would you ever think I'd pick you over Gansey?" he said, pouring as much nastiness into it as he could muster. Fists weren't the only weapons available, after all.

[mitsubishievo]

"Neither do I," Kavinsky said, a rare honesty. It was the absolute truth, too. He didn't remember dying, but he knew he had. There was no other option, the dragon bearing down on him, heat rapturous and raw on his skin and then all this. The steady descent and disappearance into this place that was nothing like the church had told him it would be like.

Ronan spat venom, but Kavinsky only grinned. He put a hand on Ronan's chest and trailed it up, pausing briefly on his neck once more. It wasn't a threat this time. It was a promise.

"We're the same thing," he said. His thumb swept up to Ronan's jaw, but he wanted to have his hand higher, to touch his mouth with more of that filthy promise. Ronan looked ready to bite; he preferred his fingers intact. "It's not all magnets. Like craves like."

[inbello]

Ronan is much less sure how to handle a moment of honesty. Even after all the time they spent together in dreams, with how well he actually does know Kavinsky (whether he admits it to himself or not), faced with it like that is just hard.

He doesn't answer at first, and he goes stock still under Kavinsky's hand. His pulse races, probably obvious there at his throat.

Then his eyebrows furrow and he lets anger choose his reaction and he bats Kavinsky's hand away. He keeps the bottle, though, just to be petty.

"Fuck you," he says, and his words are all acid again, though there's no further insult attached for the moment.

[mitsubishievo]

Even if Ronan was quick to get Kavinsky's hand off, he felt it, that thrilled flutter, that bit of warmth. Kavinsky thought, again, of putting his fingers on Ronan's mouth. Ronan hadn't pulled away, really, and so Kavinsky counted it a victory.

He winked, grin sharp and bright as a knife. His tongue darted, briefly, across his lower lip. "Any time, sugar. Any time."