TDM 06

[goldmods]

【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.

On behalf of the house and resort, we would like to advise all Game 52 players to exercise caution around the Golden Peacock for the next few weeks. The veil between 'what is' and 'what has been' grows thin and the threads of fate have tangled in unexpected ways. We are currently observing how these two phenomena behave when they occur simultaneously and act in concert.

We advise that all guests monitor their physical states until the veil thickens once again and the threads of fate return to running parallel. If you find yourself undergoing any strange transformations, please report to the Broken Wing clinic for observation. We will do our utmost to make sure you are comfortable during this time.

You may also notice other strange phenomena around the Golden Peacock while the veil is thin. Please continue to exercise caution. New wayward spirits have joined us during this time. While spirits are crossing, it is possible for guests to get swept along into the ghostly realm.

As always, please let us know if there is anything we can do to improve your stay. 】

HEADS

BASEMENT SUITES

SQUEEZING IN

► Thanks to a classic move called “overbooking,” new arrivals are being checked in to the rooms that have the most overall vacancies — the basement suites. Despite their small size and narrow twin beds, characters are stuffed up to three in a room. Don’t worry, that’s why the staff have thoughtfully removed the doors of every new arrival's room. It's easier to stuff inside that way, isn't it? More space for everyone!

► Characters still wake up naked save for a robe, as is standard for the Golden Peacock. This round’s robes are warm autumnal plaids made of thick flannel to help keep warm through the supernatural chill. Some of these robes are more elaborate than others, with seasonal patterns like apples or pumpkins.

► Existing characters currently living in a basement suite may find one or two new arrivals taking up residence in their room. The staff appreciate your understanding and willingness to share during this influx of new guests and spike of supernatural activity! There's safety in numbers. It's to everyone's benefit, really.

ICY HALLWAYS

► The normally dirty and forgotten hallways of the basement suites are in even worse shape than usual. Yellow stains ripple down the walls, the floor is coated in dust, and there are suspicious globs of something in the corners. Their standard chilly temperature has taken a sharp plunge to freezing. Guests without any resistance to cold will find it challenging to walk around the hallways without bundling up. For those that don't have the proper clothing, the staff suggest sharing some body heat and fucking to make do. They probably shouldn't have removed all those room doors, huh...

► Don't even talk about going out and about without shoes! Stepping in one of those gloopy puddles may unexpectedly trigger a fever or other similar illness. As time passes and the supernatural grows stronger, these goopy masses will crawl the walls and drip from the ceiling. As they grow stronger, so will the physical reaction to touching them. Guests may experience any of the CLUBS effects when the sludge is especially potent.

► When walking in any of the basement suite hallways, characters may hear the ghostly whispers from the maintenance levels. They are stronger than usual and can be heard on even the rank 3 and rank 4 floors. What's more, these whispers, if directed at a particular guest, can be heard by everyone in the vicinity. Whispers may provoke, accuse, and guilt characters by targeting their insecurities or regrets. These whispers will slowly turn to screams the closer the date creeps toward October 31st.

COMMUNAL BATHROOM GHOULS

► The ghouls in particular start becoming audacious as supernatural influence strengthens. A pesky group of water ghouls have marked the basement communal bathroom as their territory. Characters who seem particularly vulnerable or aren't paying attention to their surroundings may find themselves cornered by water ghouls in the showers. The ghouls are relentless, pushing and shoving and pulling hair for shits and giggles. Those on the lower end of the rank scale will suffer the worst harassment, and they may even go out of their way to harass wildcards and 2s.

► Some especially raunchy water ghouls have taken to haunting the toilets, showers, and baths. The toilet ghouls have especially long tongues, which they stick out to get a lick of some unsuspecting ass. The bath ghouls, the most attractive of the lot, pretend to be guests and try to lure new arrivals and low ranks into a clandestine affair. The shower ghouls hide and outstretch their arms to shamelessly grab and squeeze whatever their grubby claws can touch.

► Despite the bravado, these water ghouls are not very strong and can be easily dealt with. They will run if someone overpowers them. They will flinch and hide if someone screams too loudly. And, most importantly, they're absolutely terrified of dry towels. They're supposed to be wet, damn it! Don't threaten them with being dry. Aiming a hair dryer at them is enough to get them curled on the ground in agony.

TAILS

BROKEN WING CLINIC

THE MORGUE

► Did we mention that we had some overbooking? Some unfortunate new arrivals won't be waking up in the basement suites with their peers. These guests, with a stroke of bad luck, will find themselves waking up in the morgue of the Broken Wing clinic. The morgue has never seen a real dead body before — so when waking up on morgue tray sliders, they thankfully won't be assaulted by any rancid smells.

► New arrivals waking up in the morgue will be covered with a white sheet. They will also be dressed in a standard white hospital gown, each of their big toes tagged with a cause of death. These causes of death, however, all seem to be a bit unusual. They range from 【 DIED AFTER SIX CONSECUTIVE ORGASMS, ABSOLUTE KING 】 to 【 DIED OF LITERAL EMBARRASSMENT, WHAT A DORK 】... it's not like the doctor expected you to see them!

► Some especially unlucky guests will find that the door to their tray slider is locked. The keys to all of the tray sliders, as well as several mortuary tools, are available around the room for those that are kind enough to lend these poor souls a helping hand! It's just a matter of finding them. The desk and tool areas of the morgue are shockingly messy, as if the doctors and nurses left in a rush. Wonder why that is?

ABANDONED CLINIC

► Exploration of the clinic will yield some interesting results. Despite reception advising that those affected by the veil thinning should report to the clinic for observation, Broken Wing is completely void of any medical staff. The hallways are in ruin. Cabinets with medical files are empty. The beds have no patients. Even the air is musty. Broken Wing appears to have been abandoned for a long time.

► A small stroke of good luck — even if the doctors are gone, medical and general supplies can still be found scattered throughout the clinic. Guests can utilize staff clothing if they don't want to run around in those open-back hospital gowns. Over the counter medicines and bandages are available. Guests that may have had their eye on the harder prescription stuff can take this opportunity to scrounge through the clinic's pharmacy, now that there is no pharmacist to guard the goods.

► As exciting as a clinic free for all is, guests should be careful...

WALKING UNDEAD

Loud noises echo from the clinic's basement. Thud, thud, thud — heavy footsteps resound through the otherwise eerie silence. Muffled voices come in strange breaks, as if the speakers are having difficulty moving their mouths. Slowly, from around the corners and up the stairs, a group of long-standing guests drag their bodies awkwardly toward the sounds and warmth of any "living" guests in the clinic. Blue lips gape. Their skin is waxy and strange. They stare with red and yellow eyes. Then, slowly, they begin to drag their bodies forward...

► Zombified long-standing guests have been lurking in the clinic. These zombies are hungry for flesh in all meanings of the word. Some want one, some want the other, and some want both. Though they move slowly and have little control over their dead appendages, they are relentless, and will chase any non-zombie guests through the clinic.

► However, these zombies will not leave Broken Wing. Leaving the clinic is akin to a safe getaway. Those that want to fight will find that these zombies are fairly traditional: destroying their heads will kill them.

► A bite or scratch from a zombie is a potent aphrodisiac. The guest that is bitten or scratched will similarly begin to hunger for flesh... mostly in the horny way, but if you want to play it in the hungry way, we support you. Guests will not transform into zombies from a bite or scratch. The aphrodisiac will continue to burn through their system until sexual satisfaction is achieved. Going without "the cure" with result in fever, hallucinations, chills, muscle pain, and other extremely uncomfortable symptoms.

MAIN LOBBY

THE VEIL THINS

A STRANGE MOON & ENDLESS NIGHT

► Darkness pervades the main lobby despite clocks claiming that morning hours have come. The grand chandeliers and fixtures are not working, so staff hurry to light lanterns around the central hub and connecting hallways. A strange full moon floats in the center of the lobby. This moon hovers silently, always staying close to the high ceiling, and never changes its phase even when passing days begin accumulating.

► Those that bask in the pale light of the moon for too long may begin to feel an itch of strangeness... this itch will go away once farther from the moon. Once a guest basks in the moonlight, they might feel the overwhelming urge to continue doing so. It's inexplicable how this gentle moonlight feels like it can help them become their true self.

► An endless night will continue to accompany the moon. This night covers the entire main lobby, front reception, the elevator bank, and several hallways that deposit into the lobby. While the endless night is in play, all affected areas will feel the cool breeze and unique weight of a genuine deep night. Unlike the weather and time simulations offered in the garden and vale, this night is poignantly real despite happening indoors.

THE ROOKERY SETTLES DOWN

The Rookery, the elusive wandering night market, settles down beneath the moon in the main lobby. Construction of wooden stalls takes no time at all, offering a proper shopping experience compared to their usual tents and makeshift sheets. The sellers of the Rookery are more lively than usual, their ghostly faces illuminated by the light of the moon. They aggressively boast about their wares and try to hook customers over to their booths.

► Worthwhile treasures to be found in the Rookery. Truly useful items worth haggling for.

WOODEN MASKS: Charmed wooden masks that allow the wearer to blend in seamlessly with the supernatural. Come in fox, wolf, and tanuki styles.

MAGIC TALISMANS: An assortment of talismans with elemental capabilities. A snap of fire, a dash of light, a flash of ice, and so on. Useful in a pinch.

WARDING INCENSE: A lovely scent of Jasmine that keeps the ghosts and annoying exes away. Calms even the ghosts in the basement and maintenance levels.

ZOMBIE PILLS: Another cure for the symptoms to the above Zombie bite, found under our TAILS prompt above. Will completely cure the bitten party. Unfortunately, these pills must be administered rectally.

GHOST BELL: Helps the living find a wayward ghost. Particularly useful for finding those that have been separated from their bodies when getting mixed in to the ghosts crossing.

HOLY WATER: Burns the flesh of demonic and monstrous entities. Also clears the skin of any blemishes.

► Cursed treasures to be found in the Rookery. Scam artists boldly lie about how these items are blessed despite knowing full well that they're not.

BLACK CANDLE: Burn this candle and make a wish, it will come true. In actuality, the wish will be fulfilled but in the worst way possible, a la the classic monkey's paw. It also smells bad, like cheeto feet.

BLESSED TUNIC: A tunic that will ward off any attacks from the living or the dead. In actuality, this tunic does keep people away ... but only because it makes the wearer smell pungently of body odor.

VIAL OF POWER: A draught guaranteed to improve your strength and make you more appealing, sexually. In actuality, all this liquid does is make the drinker gassy. Best guarantee is that you'll fart every three steps.

LUCKY PENNY: A significant increase in luck! Technically true... but in actuality, the luck is bad luck. Small things, like stubbing your toe or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

A REAL SOLID GOLD RING: An exquisite piece from the ancient ages, made of pure gold that holy virgin priestesses wore when bathing in celestial light. Fake ass ring made of tinfoil. Makes your finger green.

1000 YEAR OLD WINE: The most delicious wine to ever exist! Coveted by emperors and gods alike! Tastes okay, and the alcohol content is high, but changes the drinker's voice into an embarrassing high pitch that cracks often. Also, can potentially make your ass hair grow long. Like, really long.

► Plenty of junk, knickknacks, and used clothing can also be found for reasonable prices. The sellers in the Rookery prefer to trade but will take chips since they're in such a good mood thanks to the influx of yin energy.

BACK HALLWAYS & STAIRS

OUT OF SERVICE

A LONELY GHOST (EASY MODE)

► While the moon is full in the main lobby, the elevators are out of order. Staff will ask guests to kindly use the stairs and, due to the urgency of the situation, allow them to use the special back hallways usually exclusive to staff. Back hallways have the ability to traverse great distances in the stretch of an average hallway. The downside is that these back hallways and all the stairs around the main lobby are plunged into the darkness of the moon's endless night. While there are candles, their light doesn't travel very far.

Well. That isn't the only downside.

► Though there are numerous wayward spirits passing through, one stubborn ghost sticks around to haunt the hallways and stairs. The lonely ghost takes on the appearance of a charming young man or woman before approaching guests to ask, "Am I pretty? Will you kiss me?" A negative response will result in continued persistence and sobbing while a positive result will result in frenzied joy.

► No matter the form the lonely ghost is taking, when it steps forward to try and initiate a kiss, its mouth will trisect open and unfurl several slimy tubes. Even with this hideous transformation its eyes will glitter with adoration and hope as it leans in for a passionate smooch... it can't help that it was born this way! It just wants love too!

► The ghost will chase would-be lovers through the hallways, a la Scooby Doo. However, escaping the lonely ghost isn't difficult, and it will change targets when it spots someone else to pursue.

A LONELY MONSTER (INTENSE MODE)

...drip... drip... drip...
► In the deepest corridors and the darkest corners lurks another creature. It scuttles across the ceiling, dripping slime from its maw and curled tentacles, waiting for unsuspecting guests to pass by with delightful anticipation. This tentacled monster is more aggressive than the lonely ghost, looking to snatch up anyone it can find and steal them away to its sticky nest. This monster is greedy and willing to snatch up as many guests as it possibly can.

► This tentacle creature is extremely fast and aggressive. It will chase its prey through the hallways with incredible speed. Its flesh is difficult to pierce, though not impossible. Bloody it up enough and it'll scuttle away to tend to its wounds before heading back out again looking for prey.

► However, this monster isn't looking to eat its captured victims. No, no, no. Stop crying, beloved captured prey. It just so happens to be this monster's breeding season. The lonely monster will use its tentacles to pleasure its captured prey and, potentially, lay its eggs inside particularly suitable guests. Don't worry — if you like tentacles but not so much the eggs, this monster is particular about the mother(s) of its monster cubs. It won't take anyone. Only those that especially catch its eye.

► Not that there will be any monster cubs. Unfortunately, this tentacle monster really needs another tentacle monster to properly raise a family. Any guests imbued with eggs will be left to shit them out. Thankfully, they're on the small side.

THE ELEVATORS

Wait... weren't the elevators out of order?

► Throughout the next few weeks there will be clear signs and posts around the elevator bank that the elevators are not currently in service and that guests should use the back hallways and stairs. However, at random times, the elevators will appear to be fully functional. Their doors will slide open in front of guests, emitting an inviting glow out into the darkness. The door will remain open until someone steps inside.

► Any guests brave enough to ignore all of the classic horror movie signs that these elevators are possessed as hell will be locked inside once the door closes. A childish giggle rings inside before the elevator plunges into darkness and everything jerks wildly. Elevators will play the classic tower of terror prank of plunging for several floors before spitting guests out in a random location. If the ghost is feeling particularly cheeky, it may spit its prisoners out somewhere they would really hate to be.

MONSTER MASH

ITCH BENEATH THE SKIN

OUT OF BODY EXPERIENCE

► Guests that spend too much time amongst the wandering spirits or who end up swept along with a group of them hurrying into a wall may find themselves knocked out of their bodies and forced into ghost form. Their bodies will collapse while their spirit is swept away into the resort.

► While in spirit form, guests can do everything a ghost can! They can walk through walls, possess or haunt their friends, and even infiltrate the dreams of other guests. Whatever ghostly tropes you would like to lean into, including the Patrick Swayze love experience, are at your disposal.

► The longer they're away from their body, however, the harder it will be to readjust to the flesh. There's also the small issue of staff picking up any "dead" bodies and shipping them over to the morgue. If they spend too long playing outside, wayward spirit guests may have to head over to the morgue to find their body (please see TDM prompt Arrival, Tails for details on why this sucks for them).

MOONFLUENCE

► The moon grows stronger after several days of gathering strength in the main lobby. Those that have basked in its light, even if it was only for a short while, may begin to feel that itch again... only this time it does not abate. The sensation becomes maddening, rippling beneath the flesh without restraint. Then — suddenly — it breaks free.

► Guests are transforming into monsters of all kinds under the influence of the moon. There is no limit on the type of monster that guests can transform into. Some guests may transform into vampires and weres while others may turn into dragonkin and tentacle monsters. The moon does not discriminate. Players are welcome to turn their characters into any kind of creature or monster they would like.

► Transformations do not need to be complete. Guests may have half or partial transformations. Transformations also vary in duration; a guest could potentially turn into several monsters over the course of the moon's rise in the main lobby. A guest could be a werewolf for an hour and shift into a vampire the next. Of course, a guest could also remain a werewolf for the entire duration of the moon's influence. This moon really loves some chaos.

► Any guests undergoing monster transformation may also utilize any of the DIAMONDS effects. In typical Golden Peacock fashion, transformations can also automatically come with intense arousal to get these guests into the freaky monster fuckin' spirit.

THE VALE

OVERGROWN WILDS

INFLUX

► In an effort to keep the monster situation under control, and to avoid mass destruction of the Golden Peacock, staff are attempting to corral any transformed guests into the vale. Of course, there's no way for them to get nearly half of the transformed guests in there, but some of the monsters seem to enjoy the more natural ambiance the vale provides.

► As more and more guests transform into monsters, the staff have little choice but to place advertisements for monster hunters. The job is easy enough: anyone who has not been transformed qualifies and the job description is to drag monsters into the vale for containment. Monster hunters will earn a medium payout for every transformed guest they toss into the vale. Monster hunters that fuck the monster before tossing them into the vale will receive an additional large payment.

► Transformed guests that turn back to their normal form will be allowed to leave the vale. Not that the staff can actually do much to stop them from leaving when they're monsterized, to begin with...

TERRAIN

► The vale has been shifted into night mode for the next few weeks to accommodate the newly turned monster guests. A full moon hangs overhead, though unlike the monster moon in the main lobby, this moon is digitized on the overhead panels for the sake of ambiance.

► A thick fog perpetually runs through the forest and weather simulations such as rain and snow rotate on a timer to provide a realistic experience. Every type of weather common during autumn/winter rotates through the vale.

► Caverns, caves, alcoves, and other earthy terrain stretches across the base of the vale. Tall trees with giant gnarled roots provide shelter. Bioluminescent mushrooms light the way in the darkness of simulated night. A long river runs through the vale. There are also several small ponds where these rivers lead to, as well as a couple of small waterfalls.

PACK MENTALITY

► Monsters of the same type may experience a resonance, or pack mentality, triggering any of the HEARTS effects between them. For example, canine-based monsters may feel unexpected fondness toward each other and be inclined to create a pack or share a den. Feline-based monsters may feel affectionate and groom one another. Aquatic-based creatures may feel that lightning shock of love at first sight. You get the idea!

► Resonance that triggers a Hearts effect can occur between monsters of different types but it's less common. Like calls to like, and monsters of the same or similar types will be naturally drawn toward one another.

SMOKED EGG

DEN OF THE BLOODTHIRSTY

THE COVEN

► Some of the civilized monsters refuse to be caught in the vale. Particularly, a coven a vampires has flooded into the Smoked Egg and transformed it into a den of debauchery. Gone are the gauzy curtains and pillows, replaced with stark red and black upholstery that lends itself to the vampiric aesthetic. The smoke, however, remains a haze over the lounge. This smoke is imbued with a relaxant to help loosen up any "prey" that wanders into their den.

► As far as prey goes — any creature that isn't a vampire applies. Prey will be doted upon and coaxed with the hopes of being fed upon. All those who come to the Smoked Egg will be encouraged to dip into hedonism with the coven and join in the sensual vampire orgy. Clothing in the lounge is optional, with many couples making love right in the open where other guests can watch.

► Guests that have turned into vampires, or were vampires to begin with, will be warmly welcomed by the coven. All vampires are capable of turning other guests into vampires through siring — this ritual involves exchanging blood between the master and sire, and will create an empathic bond between them. Vampires of the coven are happy to teach newly turned vampires how to do this trick if they don't already know. While guests can still shift from a vampire into another monster under the moon's influence, or return to a normal human, this empathic bond with their "creator" could potentially remain indefinitely.

VAMPIRIC LUXURIES

► The bar is stocked with numerous blood-based cocktails. Some blood has been collected in bottles, while other drinks are made from the blood of live and willing donors. The cocktails run the gambit of accompanying effects — players may select any SPADES effects for drinks at the vampiric bar.

► Though the core coven that have taken up residence in the Smoked Egg seem to be exhibitionists, there are numerous back rooms for those that prefer some privacy. Rather than traditional beds, however, guests will find luxurious coffins. There's nothing quite like fucking in a coffin, is there? Especially an upright one!

► We can't forget the vampire's pride and joy: the blood pool. This pool is filled with 100% bona fide blood, perfect for a round of fucking or just some relaxation. This pool is kept at a warm temperature because cold blood just isn't as good. Non-vampire guests will be encouraged to add some blood to the pool. It's the least you can do after being waited on hand and foot, after all.

BALANCE RETURNS

TIME TO TAKE THAT PTO

THE HOUSE TAKES A VACATION

► Between getting pummeled by guest shenanigans earlier in the month and then managing an invasive monster moon, the house is exhausted. Even near-omnipotent manifestations have a bottom line. Since the house isn't really going anywhere it's more accurate to call this a staycation, but either way, it's not taking any calls for a while.

► A general notice will flash on the electronic bulletin boards that due to overwork, the usual staff have also been granted paid time off by the house. Given how haggard the receptionists, bellhops, and cleaners all look after cleaning the Peacock from head to toe after overwhelming monster mischief, it's a much needed break. The Golden Peacock, after great efforts, is restored to semi-normal from most monster-caused damage. Some reminders remain, like those scuff marks that won't come out no matter how hard the cleaners scrub.

► During this time, the house will not be causing any mischief and harassing guests. It's a time of decompression for everyone. Right about now it's sitting back with a glass of whiskey and wondering why these recent guests have been such a handful compared to years past. It's almost like they don't want to lose themselves in hedonism and debauchery!

THE B-TEAM

► Of course, the house won't leave the Golden Peacock totally unmanned. The guests still need tending to! During this rest period, temps and back of house staff that don't typically work front of house are filling customer service roles. You know what that means: minor inconveniences abound.

► The B-team is nowhere near as good as the usual staff. Simple mistakes are more common during this time. Deliveries are sent to the wrong suites, the wrong dining service arrives, the towels aren't washed, and the front desk knows literally nothing outside of the basic function of checking guests in. It's not even worth asking when the house will be back, let alone asking for some other manager. But after the chaos of the past month, maybe these small annoyances aren't all that bad?

► The house will be back! ... Later. For now, the Golden Peacock is quiet, even the most party-hard guests fatigued from the past year of fun. What's to come? You'll just have to wait and see.

OOC NOTES

INVITES | RESERVES | APPLICATIONS

▶ BLANKET CW: aphrodisiac; biting; blood; body horror; coercion; death (referenced); dubcon; fear; furries; ghosts; horror themes; monsters; noncon; orgy; oviposition; scratching; tentacles; transformation; vampires; wounds; undead; xeno; zombies

▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.

▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's October event. Changes to the above locations will ICly be present from October 15th - November 3rd. All supernatural phenomenon will increase in strength over time, culminating in peak activity on All Hallows' Eve. The days following Halloween will relax, leading into eventual normalcy. Some locations are spared the supernatural frenzy, so players can play as normal if they wish to avoid these tropes/prompts. Players may assume that the supernatural come and go in the above specifically incorporated locations.

▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.

▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header.

▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort!

▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!

▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate. This TDM in particular has the potential to get real wild, so we want to emphasize this request!

▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.

▶ Go forth and let your freak flag fly!

NAVIGATION • LOG • NETWORK • OOC • MEME

Comments

Geppetto's Puppet ("Pinocchio") | Lies of P | Returning Player

[thisclockworkheart]

(Back on my bullshit. I missed you.)

Main Lobby - The Veil Thins
cw: none; the general-use social option

Owed in no small part to the Blue Fairy's gift (or curse, depending on one's perspective), Geppetto's puppet was accustomed to an altered perception of time, of being out of step with the world around him. Each time he died — to misadventure, at the hands of rampaging puppets, murderous Alchemists, and maddened monsters created by their experiments — time rewound, yet the memories remained.

He doesn't know what to make of the dissatisfied ache in his breast, lacking a name to give the complicated longing and defeat that's a little like coming home and leaving it at once. Doesn't know what to make of this unshakeable chill that has settled over his body, joints stiff as unoiled, neglected machinery. He shudders, though he hasn't been jolted by electricity, or anything else that should cause it - an echo of a more human response to this pall that blankets him in cold.

The surreality of being thrust from inertia into the riot of life that is the Resort has him rooted in place, his freckled face unbothered despite the stark transformation of the once-bright lobby cloaked now in darkness. He searches the faces around him. Some of them seem to float through the dark, brightened by the moon and the warm pools of light spilling from lanterns hung here and there. Curiouser still is the orb shining its milky luminescence over the lobby - and curiously comforting. Like a flower turns its face to the sun, he tips his chin up towards the moonlight, dark lashes sweeping frecked cheeks as he basks in its gentle radiance.

He can't distinguish between this and the real thing. It's ironic, considering what he was built for — to be indistinguishable between an autonomous imitation and its real, more deserving source. It's a thought he brusquely shoves away, and with it the reminder of the pervasive cold clinging to his limbs.

"Lovely," he speaks aloud, eyes closed, "Why has it changed?" Opening them, he reaches for the arm of the person nearest him. The fingers that alight there are cold, rust-pocked steel. So is the rest of that arm, a bulky prosthesis that ends where his shoulder should give way to a bicep. The lobby's transformation can mean many things, but he suspects...

"Did they announce another Game already?"

Monster Hunter
sfw/nsfw - hunting monsters or rescuing others from monsters; cws: violence, power dynamics, painplay, monsterfucking

It's not long before the thinning veil between this world and the other triggers spasms of the inexplicable. People are changing, he hears. Monsters prowl the resort. A familiar refrain; the puppet has no weapon and, if he's honest with himself (occasionally), his deteriorated condition doesn't lend itself well to the mantle of protector he shoulders. Habits are hard to break. He has ever made the choice to wade out into danger at great personal risk. The Blue Fairy's gift sees him made whole again each time he dashes himself to pieces against the edifice of catastrophe. It's a different tableau painted with the same palette.

Until he receives instruction with a twist he doesn't and perhaps should have expected. The titters of laughter when his brow wrinkles with confusion shattered his preconceived notion that he was doing anything noble. Helpful? Yes, technically, staff insists, the transformed could be safely confined and, like most things at the resort, might be mollified with a different kind of helping hand! What if it's one of your friends out there? Out of their minds. Wouldn't want one of them to do something they regret, would you? There's a good boy.

Pinocchio is aware that it's a simple matter to convince him to do something dangerous. He marches into the dark, aware that this familiar work is more lonely without Gemini's weight on his hip, his light, his easy joviality.

Dappled in lantern light and shadow, he cuts a haunting figure, stalking through the night with a grace that belies his springs and gears, the lingering cold and stiffness that cloyingly sticks to his joints. He spares himself a thought to maintenance, to the challenges he faces trying to do to himself what once would have been performed by his creator. It isn't impossible, it's just...

Something moves in the dark, arresting his thoughts. In response, he freezes, his attention contracting to the moment. Light has caught the glassy blue of one eye, unearthly and luminous in the dark. It's the penetrative stare of a doll, the curve of a face meticulously crafted to someone's aesthetic ideal, the threat of violence in the broken-off pole he brandishes in one human-seeming hand.

His chin tucks towards the dip of his collarbone, exposed by the plunging neckline of the lace-edged shirt he arrived in, a delicate ensemble of dark, high-waisted breeches that flatter the masculine contours of his lithe frame. The puppet doesn't look like a match for monsters. Some of that is by design.

"You should be in the Vale. Be good and come with me," he declares into the dark, "You needn't do so quietly, so long as you come," he adds, readying the pole with practiced ease.

Wait.

The pole lowers again, uncertainly; the saccades of his eyes (and the muted chatter of buried clockwork) belies the processing of his unintended double entendre. Whether he has the opportunity to clarify his statement before he risks: a.) losing his quarry, b.) being attacked, or c.) any number of possible interruptions remains to be seen.

(ooc note - down for rescuing people from monsters, or to write a battle with one turning into smut, feel free to hmu to negotiate parameters. worth noting that due to some remaining clockwork and metal parts, he is susceptible to electricity and weighs about 300 pounds. you can throw him around but it'll take strength. he's a scrappy and capable fighter even with the "just woke up from the statue pile" debuff.)

Other Options/Wildcard
sfw/nsfw with discussion

1. As oil runs through his "veins", Pinocchio is unlikely to be of interest to vampires, though I'd be delighted if someone simply thought he smelled like machine oil because of that steel prosthetic left arm and doted on him. He dresses up nice, plays a mean piano, and can waltz; I'm down bad for the whole wooed by a vampire, dark elegance and debauchery thing. Would love negative fallout when it's discovered that Pinocchio isn't good for eating. If this interests you, let's talk!

2. Although I already have plans for his rescue from tentacles. I'd be down to write another scenario involving him and another character, but ideally due to influence (suit effects, aphro, what have you) since Pinocchio's usual way of dealing with monsters is... killing them. No one's ever asked themselves if they'd be down to make out with a puppet while they're both railed by tentacles, but it's on the table. Breeding kink and messiness is a given here. I'd played here for months and never wrote this. Shame on me.

3. Happy to write more (gen or otherwise) starters if you'd like something not listed above. He is the protagonist of a dark retelling of the famous Pinocchio story, set in a Belle Epoque-era fictitious European city made prosperous on the backs of enslaved puppets, only to fall to a catastrophic disaster.

takes you out at the knees... again.

[silicone]

[ he doesn't know how any of this happened, but he definitely, definitely has made it hard to get himself caught. so when he's found slinking towards the conservatory, his tail bristles defensively, lashing in front of him, rounded leopard ears pinning back. his eyes, a light brown, turn to slits in the light as he hisses and pins back against a wall.

the pole being brandished at first doesn't help, it's seen as a weapon by his instincts, and he bunches his shoulders, backing up - he feels trapped and he doesn't like it, growling with a foreign noise deep in his throat, teeth white like pinpricks of moonlight in the flashing of the lantern.

he doesn't want to fight, he just wants to be left alone. it isn't until he hears the other's voice, however, that the tension that fills him - hunched shoulders and claws unsheathed from his fingertips - begins to melt and his own voice softens. the pole goes down and as the light brings further familiarity to pinocchio's face, eiden's eyes go wider. ]

P...? That you?

[thisclockworkheart]

Eiden..?

[ He tells himself, at first, that this startled ache blooming in his chest is surprise at his transformation, not the realized longing of a long absence from a man he considers a friend. The stern caution on his face softens into fondness, which has more to do with it being Eiden and not those feline traits he's taken on. That is to say, they help because he's always been fond of cats. ]

I almost— [ The pole is flung at the ground as he holds open his hand, eyes wider for his dawning recognition. He can't explain why he wants to close the distance between them and embrace him, not when it hasn't been but days(?) since he last saw him. (Right...?) ]

[silicone]

[ i almost -

eiden is a forgiving creature. ]

It's really you...?

[ eiden doesn't need a reason. the moment the pole clatters downwards, that his hands are extended - he's beastly, but the scent of someone familiar, long-missed, fills his lungs. even in the light, his pupils dilate wide in the desire to fall straight into those hands. in truth, eiden is wild-looking in the brighter light - sharper teeth, sleeker movement - crouched on hands and feet.

but he practically unfurls in the recognition of it all.

he closes that distance - there's no self preservation for him. he could be trapped easily with familiarity, with affection and love. he's a house cat trapped inside of something greater and more vicious. even if he's careful with his claws, one might snag as he pushes in to hug him almost immediately, rubbing his cheek against his with a low growl. a repeated pressing motion, cheek, chin, press, rub, his. ]

You came back - [ just like me? he clutches a little more. ]

[thisclockworkheart]

[ He's had worse than a little snag from claws. So much worse. But a greeting like this one? Rare — and so welcome that it surprises him how much he aches for it, a smile pulling at the often somber corners of his mouth, his stinging eyes starting to brim. The growl, the rubbing... he is so struck by the behavior and its resemblance to Spring that a laugh erupts out of him, brief and boyish.

Eiden's nothing like Spring, the orange tabby that resided in the hotel that provided refuge to the survivors of the Krat Disaster, but he's fond of them both, and that fondness translates into the weight of his hand as it rubs up and down the length of Eiden's back, before curling around him in an embrace.

It feels good. Warm. He has the strangest feeling... that he's been yearning for this for a long time. Yearning is too soft a word for the howling, hungry desperation, frozen in marble, immortalized in gold. A question sinks his smile as he turns his face to look at Eiden, his eyes flitting over the wild and savage gaze, presently tempered by familiarity.

In the next moment, he answers it. ]

...I've been gone. [ His grip threatens to bruise, an embrace has turned into a cling. A creeping dread steals over him, fresh awareness that he's missing time. He's never missing time. ] How long?

[ Without waiting on a response, he pushes his hand up to cup Eiden's cheek, calling attention back to his transformation - and indulging in a rub, to comfort them both. ]

[silicone]

[ the cheek rubbing is distracting, lighting up all kinds of nerve-endings he didn't even know he had. he likes having his face held in general, but this feels electrifying, and he growls again, soft, a low rumbling that isn't a purr, just a sign of satisfaction, that he likes that, he rubs against his palm, teeth glancing against his skin, wet.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, being gripped so tightly, his tail lashes and curls around the other, refusing to let go. as he finally speaks, his brows knit unhappily. ]

Mmh... little over two months...

[ he remembers it, finding wriothesley already in the other's room, which had been cleaned up quite promptly, as though he'd never been there. it'd been... well. a lot. ]

You okay? ...Are you hurt?

[ asks the "monster" who is already pinning ears back again, this time from the sheer overwhelming feeling of p being back, the fear that maybe either of them will get swept back. it's pure instinct now, a rough tongue sliding over the other's palm gently, a small wince to follow as if to apologize for the sudden behavior. ]

[thisclockworkheart]

[ What happened in those two months? His eyes squint and his lips press, a soft chattering of gears and the labored, bassy thudding of his mechanical heart seems to grow louder to his own ears. The more he questions that span of time, the harder the beat. He's shaking.

Are you hurt? The warm scrape of a rough tongue brings him back to earth, his complete lack of a reaction to being licked exposes his fluster in ways his mask of calm cannot.

He doesn't answer him. Not directly. It should be an easy thing — he has lied countless times, has chosen gentle untruths out of kindness — but he doesn't know which would be worse, to reassure him all is well when it isn't, or to articulate what remains shapeless and disconcerting? Better to distract; Eiden seemed appreciative of the attention to his cheek and as his lashes curtain his subtle distress, he lowers the lantern to drop it at his side, taking his face in both hands. ]

I'm supposed to keep you safe with the others who changed. But listen to you... [ Fondness warms his voice. Again, the same indulgent rub that inspired a rumble of satisfaction. ]

You're sweet in any shape, Eiden.

locked to Wriothesley - The Vale - nsfw; cws: dubcon, roughness, tentacles, monsterfucking

[thisclockworkheart]

He's successfully brought other quarry to the Vale and he intends to leave when he falls into another's trap. It isn't that his immortality has made his life a trivial thing, and thus inattention is more affordable. His focus is elsewhere. Mistakes happen.

(It's true what they say. To err is human.)

Something fleshy and rope-like hooks around his ankle. He stumbles, wheeling around, and as the first tentacle coils up the full length of his leg, another wrenches the pole from his hand when it knocks him back. Buffeted as a third joins the assault, the puppet drops heavily to the ground. A root digs painfully into his back. It helps clear the fog of confusion but does nothing for the curls of mist that enshroud where his weapon has landed. Reaching out with his steel hand to search for it, he feels something warm and almost... greasy slide up his other arm, inside of his shirt sleeve, and unfurling across his bare chest.

Something hard bumps into his metal fingers and there's no time to grasp it, the tentacles drag him bodily into the nearby pool, and his weight sinks him into their surprising depths. His heart hammers with panic. He was not built to swim, his breath is only an imitation. He will not drown, but this still kicks up some primordial fear, an echo of someone else's memory.

His steel arm is a dark, rusty shadow clawing towards the receding surface, bubbles streaming from a mouth held open in a shout. The supple trunk of a questing tentacle emerges from the deep collar of his shirt, rubbing across his lips before brusquely crowding into his mouth, heedless of the cold, metallic grip that seeks purchase on the slippery shape. Another is pushing down his back and into the waistband of his breeches. He feels more than sees the purr of seams starting to give way, the pop of buttons dislodged by their curious meandering.

Pinocchio shouldn't have the instinct to choke as the meaty shape rubbing over his tongue nudges deeper toward the back of his throat, but he spasms as if he is, startled, aware. He recognizes this hunger. He understands the shape of it, the intent. Even creatures like this understand that there's a currency here that can buy anything - anything but their freedom. He knows how he looks, he has been told in a hundred different ways that he is beautiful by human standards, which makes the transaction easier.

Right now, he would pay anything if someone, anyone, could raise him out of this. The thick shapes coiling his body pull and squeeze and push at his bared skin, his sight blurs as his eyes squeeze against the strangeness of the sensation, the cognizant dissonance of this situation and the shape trying to fuck into his throat and everything they stir up out of his ticking heart.

His desperation becomes a wish.

There are no stars here to wish upon. But something comes.

A dark shape barrels into him, wrenching him loose of his assailants. He kicks, tangling in the tatters of his clothing, and sinks.

[armwriostle]

[Had he been tossed into the Vale by a hunter or had he willingly entered it on his own? He doesn't remember, honestly. Control slips from his fingertips like grains of sand, his mental slowly aligning itself to something more hungry and feral. The man is far from recognizable, three wolfish heads snapping and snarling as his body contorts and changes under the moonlight. Still, there's a familiarity in the salt-and-pepper fur, scars are ever so similar to the easygoing warden, and steel blue giveaway the identity of the wolf now prowling the woods. Despite the changes though, Wriothesley had mostly just kept to himself, stalking about the Vale, more like a protector than some hungry beast. At his core, he had always been more of a beast who looked over his kin, wanting to protect than to hunt.

At least, that is until he picks up a scent that curls around his senses and evokes a nostalgia that makes something in him snap. Oil that reminds him of the careful ticking and turning of clockwork. He runs through the wooded areas, tracking down the scent in which he hasn't picked up in months. For it to appear now makes something in his heart snarl with a possessiveness wanting to cling onto it so that it won't disappear again.

When he finds the scent has ended at the pool of water, he doesn't hesitate to dive into the water's depths. Chilled water fills his lungs, but his body instinctively shifts to accept it. What Fontainian would let themselves drown?

The jaws of each head snap and snarl, biting at the creature until it abandoned it's current prey for something easier. One of the mouths close around Pinocchio's shoulder to start dragging the puppet out of the waters, strong legs and arms moving through the water as though the wolfish beast was meant to live in the depths.]

[thisclockworkheart]

[ Testament to his familiarity with water, with his strength, he wrestles the puppet onto dry land. Water pours from his mouth as he heaves himself upright, clutching to the familiar, masculine bulk of his rescuer. Familiar, because he recognizes him. Has come to know the contours of his body.

His shoulder shrieks with agony. The puppet is used to pain.

Pinocchio knows the frame of his friend, even transformed. Knows his scent. Recognizes this ever-reliable instinct to protect others and his affinity for water. There is no one else it could be, when Pinocchio has just enough time to think, hunched over his bowed shoulders, his elbows digging into the soft earth beside the pool. ]

Wriothesley—

[ A watery gasp.

The puppet reaches for one of the three heads that crown his friend, pushing one hand into his salt and pepper fur. He isn't sure which set of eyes to look into when he turns his head, and swivels to look at them all, stunned to silence. The transformed may not have sprouted three heads, but they certainly underwent horrific bodily transformations, and Pinocchio has never known them to be anything but fatal or permanent.

If this had been an unknown, this wouldn't gut him so. He knows this. It matters because Wriothesley has always mattered, and this makes him a little closer to something human. Something that also... matters.

And he never wants to give up on a friend the way his creator-- but... the way he is now, will Pinocchio's tolerance only prolong suffering? He has to ask. He has to know that it's still him, that his friend is cognizant, that he can still be saved. ]

Is it... still you? Wrio—

[armwriostle]

[The man already had a bulkier frame as a human, but they tower over the smaller man even more like this. He pins Pinocchio down against the earthen floor, eyes sharp and gleaming. All three heads stare down at Pinocchio. If one weren't familiar with Wriothesley, the stare might come off hungry and dangerous. Instead, there's merely something akin to careful studying as the beastman seems to be looking over the other carefully.

When the other reaches out to bury their fingers into wet fur, Wriothesley's tail starts to wag and there's a content sound in the back of one of the heads' throats.

It's then that the three heads start to nose and sniff at the smaller man, pressing his snouts against wet skin, lapping up water with his tongue, and seemingly taking in the puppet's entirety.

Familiar. His.

His.

Ears swivel and turn and the two heads on the side lift a little to take in their surroundings while the head in the center continues to sniff and lick at Pinocchio's face. Eventually he lifts his head with a growl. Yes, this was familiar and his and he couldn't let anyone take what was his away from him again. It's with a snarl then that he moves to lift Pinocchio up to whisk him away to find somewhere hidden and secluded. He won't lose what's his again.]

[thisclockworkheart]

[ By all appearances, Pinocchio is unharmed. Drenched, yes, and taking Wriothesley's startling transformation into a three-headed beast of a man with perhaps remarkable resilience. This is more familiar territory, staring down dangerous eyes. Pinned down, what usually comes next is pain, but no spear nor blade is punched through him.

His behavior, as he's nosed at, sniffed (metal, machine oil, water, and the sweet, cloying residue smeared on him by those tentacles), is so surreal that Pinocchio startles with a baffled laugh. It acts as a valve, venting off the stress still singing through him — those things are still in the water, they might come after him again, but this time he isn't alone, and Wriothesley is safe.

Changed, but he's always been safe.

He doesn't have time to ask any number of the questions that have bubbled up in the last few moments, as he's caught up and carried off. There's little to do but cling so that his loping pace doesn't have his heavy limbs swinging and banging into his bulky frame, craning to look where they're headed. Wriothesley moves swiftly; even if he chafes being moved under another's power (just puppet things), what complicates it is his trust. And his desire to put as much distance between himself and that awful pool. He couldn't have made this trek so quickly on his own. ]

This is far enough— [ He feels the air around them getting closer, they've entered a tunnel, he thinks. A cave? The Vale is full of places where anything might hide. Is this where he's been riding out the transformation? Or just trying to find somewhere safe? ]

[armwriostle]

[Hidden away from the prying eyes, the only way anyone would come here is if they saw the mouth of the cave and came in. It isn't complete privacy, but it was what can be afforded while stuck in the Vale.

He puts Pinocchio down gently, only to crowd the man's space again. This time, the way he licks the other seems to have more intent. The lingering residue of the tentacles bothers him. It gets under his skin and itches in a way that frustrates him. He doesn't want anyone or anything's lingering scent on Pinocchio. No, he intends to drown this man in his own scent and let everyone know that they can't just so casually touch the other. Use them. He won't let that happen.

The three heads run their tongue over any exposed skin, clawed hands pulling at tattered clothes to expose more of the smaller man to him. Wriothesley's ears twitch and swivel, and his gaze seems to be aware enough that he seems to be there, even if the only sounds he makes are low growls and huffs.

Enough of him is aware, but it seems like speaking verbally is still out of reach. All Pinocchio can figure is that the man is mostly there, but the influences of the resort had taken ahold.]

monster hunter

[pyrolyzed]

Pinocchio's call into the dark is answered with a moment of silence ... followed by a short exhale of a laugh. Then the rustle of movement.

"Fine, fine. You got me."

And Fuuta comes slinking out of the shadow of a nearby cluster of trees. Yes, he's been caught red-handed, and yes, he was following this guy for just a little bit, but -- like, not maliciously? It's just that his transformation's made his eyesight a lot better in the dark, and it had been kind of novel, being able to stalk through the darkness and watch this weird-looking guy make his way down the hall.

But now that the gig is up, he's fine with facing the guy head-on. He doesn't look that dangerous anyway.

A thick, black, reptilian tail swishes idly behind him as Fuuta just looks Pinocchio over for a moment, his visible eye glowing faintly in the dim lighting. Between the tail and the jagged horns protruding from his skull, it's obvious he's been transformed into something dragon-aligned; further confirmed when a stray ember slips from his lips alongside his next words.

"You don't look like the type to make dirty jokes like that, though. Is that why you're bothering with all that dumb monster-hunting stuff? 'cause you're looking for some action?"

[thisclockworkheart]

Action.

He has been playing the Game long enough to trace the context, but not long enough to inherit a natural-born human's sense of 'decency', nor sense of shame (that is, by the sorts of standards his creator would approve). The brief saccades of eyes shining in the dark, more interested in his risk assessment than salvaging any illusion of propriety. He is a thin veneer of 'gentleman' painted over a feral weapon, the vehicle of his creator's ambition.

"No thank you," he retorts, a little more brat than cheeky, "I already ate."

The wisp of ember glowing as it drifts from the other boy's lips should concern a puppet. He's been burned before, he doesn't fear it, but he doesn't exactly invite a repeat performance, either. Planting one end of the pole to the ground, he leans against it.

"If you can convince them, though, I can be persuaded to split my reward." How does he feel about lying? Is the risk worth half a large payout? To his credit, the puppet doesn't think he's offering so much as being provocative, and two can play this game.

[pyrolyzed]

He promptly scoffs at that, another ember sparking on the exhale.

"'Split the reward?' That'd sure work out good for you, wouldn't it. I do all the hard work of persuading them, and you get to walk off with a fat paycheck while I gotta sit in that holding pen like some sort of animal. What do you think I am, some kind of idiot?" Fuuta speaks emphatically, each word growled out with thinly-veiled aggression and punctuated by a swish of that tail behind him; it whips to one side as he continues. "And besides, I'm not going with you. They can come get me themselves if they wanna lock me up so bad."

The prioritization of 'risk assessment' is mutual. He'd also been eyeing that pole, looking Pinocchio over to try and gauge how much of a thread he'd be, but -- he really doesn't look that dangerous? Not with those frilly, fancy-boy clothes. Trying to run could get annoying though, and he's not raring to draw any more attention from stray hunters with a chase, so.

Time to try and argue his way out of this.

"It's unethical, you know. What you 'monster hunters' are trying to do." He doesn't bother with the gesture, but his air-quotes around the phrase still come through loud and clear, followed by a click of the tongue. "Trying to hand us over to the staff so they can lock us up for ... what? What're you saying I even did, huh? You're hunting down an innocent man, you know that?"

[thisclockworkheart]

"Have you seen the Vale?" he scoffs, disguising the way his words smart. The thought he might be profiting off doing something not entirely dissimilar from the injustices and indignities visited on his own kind... that gets under his skin. "I doubt anyone is truly stuck there.

"It's another game," like the Hunt.

It is, but not for everyone.

Dark lashes sweep his cheeks, freckled face seemingly unbothered. The lantern light betrays the skip of his eyes to the side as if thinking twice. Once, he was disturbed by the readiness of other players to go along with things he had thought strange and exploitative. Has he become like the people he used to doubt?

"...At least, when it comes to someone like you."

That's a rather mysterious and vague statement to make; he straightens, leaning the pole across his shoulder, and already the tone has shifted. It shows in his posture, a conciliatory drop of the act of cocky defiance. Still stands like he's one breath from a fight, feet spread apart and shoulders squared, but for the moment, he appears to be engaging in this with sincerity.

"For the ones who have lost their minds to the change, I..." he pauses. The puppet is, perhaps, a little more haunted by his own encounters with monsters — in another time, another place — than he realizes. He lifts his chin, voice firm. "I don't want them to do something they regret."

[pyrolyzed]

Oh? So the guy's up for talking this over, at least. He'd been keeping that pole at the forefront of his mind, too aware of the fact that a strong whack over the head would probably still take him out, transformation or not, but his tail flicks when Pinocchio's stance eases off a bit.

Even better is that pause. It's the sort of thing that he normally might miss, too headstrong and brash in his attempts to win arguments, but his senses feel sharper right now; Fuuta's gaze flickers bright when he senses that blip of hesitation, some animalistic instinct telling him to keep it in mind, and he barely lets the other finish speaking before shooting back a retort.

"And how's that your decision to make?"

The moonlight's effect had already given him a confidence boost, but the fact that he's being listened to instead of promptly dismissed only makes him more belligerent. Fuuta shifts his weight on his feet, removing one hand from the pocket of his hoodie to waggle a finger in patronizing fashion.

"Listen up -- what people decide to do is their responsibility. I dunno who you think you are, but it's not your job to be telling anyone 'you should do that' or 'no, you can't do that.' If they do something that they end up regretting, then that's their problem. You gotta be responsible for your own mistakes, you know. And --" Yes, he's still yapping away, hand gesture and all. The puppet truly doesn't deserve this, sorry. "-- what if someone's about to do something that works out for them, huh? What if you end up stopping someone from doing something good while all this is going on. Unless you can see the future, how d'you know you're only stopping the bad things?"

[thisclockworkheart]

Hostility is something Pinocchio is used to. Anyone who could identify him as what he was — instead of what he appeared to be — was swift with a drawn weapon and a hateful epithet. Devil's Puppet. Those who had survived the Disaster were fearful, angry, desperate. The very things that made Krat prosperous had brought it to its knees, an ignoble, bloody fate. Fuuta's belligerence seems to wash over him harmlessly, though this is an easy lie.

He doesn't feel compelled to be understood, because so few bothered to challenge their notion that puppets are unfeeling, unthinking automata, built only to serve. But more than that, he's interested.

Perhaps Fuuta's confidence is usually this high. Perhaps it's an effect of his transformation, perhaps he's become strong and with it, more bold. More likely, he speaks with the passion of past experience, and equally likely, he has underestimated a puppet deliberately designed to be.

But... lectures.

"Stars above!" he interjects with a disbelieving flash of teeth. It carves a boyish dimple in one cheek, "I thought you'd be scary, not a nag."

The levity, too, is a gentle obfuscation of a bloody truth; if he went mad like his frenzied, manufactured brethren, he would wish on every star there was someone who could stop him. But... not every player of the resort's Game has hailed from a world with stakes so high. It's not just a lie, either, but a provocation; he's trying to get a rise out of him.

the lobby!

[snakelace]

“A game?”

He blinks, not at all fazed at the sudden touch from a stranger—he’s far too used to that sort of thing by now, though the cold shock of metal on his skin certainly is…new.

How odd…this man speaks as if he knows of the resort’s machinations, but somehow he’s unaware that the last game had already occurred some weeks before…

While he’s mulling that thought over, he wastes no time in scrutinizing that most fascinating arm underneath the moonlight. Prosthetics aren’t entirely unheard of where he’s from, though he doesn’t always get to see one up close very often. It brings to mind Daan and the ruined stump of his arm, a prosthetic made of stone sitting on a table between them…

He quickly shakes his head. The stranger had asked him a question, hadn’t he?

“My apologies. I’m certain this is another thing entirely.”

[thisclockworkheart]

Such striking eyes. He's seen a human with eyes with inhuman pupils like this once before, but that was during the Hunt, and they were all different then. It doesn't escape Pinocchio's notice that they're trained on his prosthesis. It's why his expression of open curiosity gradually closes, becoming cautiously guarded.

The limb is stained by rust and seeming disuse, the leather cuff belted up under his shoulder cracked and worn. The doctor's scrutiny isn't enough to coax him into tucking the potentially offensive limb behind his back, but it's enough that his fingers slip from his arm to hang at his side.

The man's braided hair is the verdant color of spring, and his delicate face is paler where the milky moonlight paints it. He sounds as pleasant as he looks, and his apology appears to ease some of the wariness in the puppet's stare. What else could it be? dies on his tongue. I'm certain, he had said, which makes it sound like perhaps the stranger doesn't know, either. His guess is as good as any.

He conveys his understanding with a nod.

"It's my turn to apologize for letting my curiosity overcome good manners. Pinocchio," he offers, sweeping his metal arm under his bow in a genuflect. "It's kind of you to indulge my question."

[snakelace]

“Oh my, how charmingly polite.”

He doesn’t often get this kind of royal treatment—which of course means that Pinocchio’s managed to summon his mischievous side in the midst of this moonlit madness currently afflicting the resort.

At least it takes Baizhu’s attention away from that arm? He’ll cycle back to that eventually anyway, if only out of concern for this poor stranger’s health.

“I’m Baizhu, a doctor. I suppose it’s only fair for me to apologize for staring.”

If he had a nickel for every one-armed weirdo he’s encountered in this place…

[thisclockworkheart]

Geppetto had insisted on giving him an understanding in basic good manners (basic in Kratian society, at least), though more for the sake of blending in than anything else. He never meant for his creation to properly integrate with humans, but charm enough to disarm? To underestimate? Absolutely.

"A doctor," parrots the puppet thoughtfully, "Like Daan, then," he recalls aloud the man that Cloud had been so taken with. The two of them are the only doctors he's ever really known, now; since any ailments he might experience aren't, he thinks, something the staff at the Broken Wing can deal with. (Not that he's ever checked.)

It isn't very nice to compare people, but Pinocchio finds himself doing so anyway. Baizhu seems less serious, less weary than Daan, though he can't say that he knows either of them better than the other.

The metal joints of his fingers clunk and clatter as he makes a fist and then opens it, gaze diverted towards the limb briefly, "I'm used to it," his arm lowers again, albeit with a shuddery kind of flex that looks uncomfortable at best, painful at worst, though he doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. "Why do your eyes look like that?"

Without the benefit of Gemini's guidance, he has no conscience to advise him that asking so directly is rude, and potentially hurtful. He can regret it later.

[snakelace]

He smiles wistfully at the mention of Daan. He hadn’t been able to check up on that one in some time, though professional courtesy does dictate that Daan can take care of himself and shouldn’t be needlessly fussed over.

This man with the rusty arm, though? He’s wide open.

“How cute.” A chuckle, as Pinocchio just revealed himself to be the painfully honest sort. But the question hardly offends, and might even amuse the other party who bears his true eyes.

“I can tell you that it’s a long and fascinating story, if you don’t mind my asking after your arm as well.”

[thisclockworkheart]

Are they acquainted? That smile seems to suggest they might be. Pinocchio could ask, though that might mean delaying him on his way to wherever he's going — except that it sounds suspiciously like an invitation, the compromise Baizhu offers him after taking his prying question with no unremarkable amount of good humor. It helps that he has a pleasant laugh, too.

Pinocchio makes no attempt to disguise the way he weighs this opportunity against his previous interest in the artificial moon hanging low over the lobby, turning his face towards the milky light for a speculative moment.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, "I know a place we can talk. The Red Cardinal."

More importantly, it's an eatery reliable for not spiking its food with substances meant to lower inhibitions and encourage players of the Game to exchange cards. He's spent months in this place, plenty of time to understand how nearly every aspect of life in the resort seems to be hell-bent on cleaving players together. Not that he's got it entirely right — that's just the low-hanging fruit, the deeper machinations remain beyond his limited view and understanding of what others are capable of.

"Would you care to accompany me, doctor?"