[ the tension holds as Getou considers the sincerity of the offer — or, more accurately, if the offer is offer enough. sorcerers are usually keen to reveal their abilities because being known means being calculated against, a battle panic that makes them stronger when curse energy is responsive to emotion. he sees the merits of other ways, of hidden ways, had he been capable of avoiding infamy simply by being attached to the name Gojou Satoru. maybe this is a new opportunity; just because one way benefits him doesn't mean another can't also. ]
[ mind made up, the space between them is crossed. the creature(?) climbs up him like stiff silk: a bicep now, a wide stripe over the connecting pectoral. around the time he hooks one well-muscled arm in Tyki's, the headless head of the thing sits on the side of his neck, a bleached bone-print on lively, melanated skin. he isn't as sun-soaked as his new companion, but neither is he pale enough that the tendril could be lost on him. ]
[ Getou guides him out of the inkspot on the floor; it recedes back from whence it came like the ground simply soaked it all up. he's amicable in spite of the tight grip he has on that arm, using his free hand to give smiling little waves to onlooking guests, dismissing prying eyes as they turn towards the halls. somewhere more private is the goal, but beyond that, he isn't picky. ]
You should know, [ is how he continues their conversation, warm skin hyper-aware of every slip and slither, how it grips and squeezes, a secretive shuffle beneath concealing fabric. there's no evidence of how conflicted he feels about the sensation on his face or in his voice. ] I have a couple thousand of those at my disposable, of various shapes and sizes and abilities.
[ which means... any number of the supernatural elements at play in the hotel around them — eyes watching from paintings, creatures coiled in the corners, the possessed dragon statue that runs the length of the hallway and sometimes has a scintillating shift of scales — could belong to him. of course, with that threat out of the way, Getou resumes his faux(?) enjoyment of the situation, practically humming along as he crowds Tyki into a (still-populated) elevator, hitting the button to the very highest floor. ]
Since you interrupted my day, you'll pay with your own time. I've been wanting to see the gardens since I heard of them, and it should prove... [ a canted look to the side at the man only barely taller than him. ] ...private enough.
[ translation: he's throwing a fake date into this already chaotic situation. enjoy. ]
no subject
[ mind made up, the space between them is crossed. the creature(?) climbs up him like stiff silk: a bicep now, a wide stripe over the connecting pectoral. around the time he hooks one well-muscled arm in Tyki's, the headless head of the thing sits on the side of his neck, a bleached bone-print on lively, melanated skin. he isn't as sun-soaked as his new companion, but neither is he pale enough that the tendril could be lost on him. ]
[ Getou guides him out of the inkspot on the floor; it recedes back from whence it came like the ground simply soaked it all up. he's amicable in spite of the tight grip he has on that arm, using his free hand to give smiling little waves to onlooking guests, dismissing prying eyes as they turn towards the halls. somewhere more private is the goal, but beyond that, he isn't picky. ]
You should know, [ is how he continues their conversation, warm skin hyper-aware of every slip and slither, how it grips and squeezes, a secretive shuffle beneath concealing fabric. there's no evidence of how conflicted he feels about the sensation on his face or in his voice. ] I have a couple thousand of those at my disposable, of various shapes and sizes and abilities.
[ which means... any number of the supernatural elements at play in the hotel around them — eyes watching from paintings, creatures coiled in the corners, the possessed dragon statue that runs the length of the hallway and sometimes has a scintillating shift of scales — could belong to him. of course, with that threat out of the way, Getou resumes his faux(?) enjoyment of the situation, practically humming along as he crowds Tyki into a (still-populated) elevator, hitting the button to the very highest floor. ]
Since you interrupted my day, you'll pay with your own time. I've been wanting to see the gardens since I heard of them, and it should prove... [ a canted look to the side at the man only barely taller than him. ] ...private enough.
[ translation: he's throwing a fake date into this already chaotic situation. enjoy. ]