【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
Due to a high volume of check-ins, temporary accommodations have been made in our parking garage for all new arrivals. We aim to have all guests moved into their reserved rooms as soon as possible. We deeply apologize for any inconvenience!
All are invited to There Is No Tomorrow, a Phoenix Casino soiree to celebrate our beloved guests. The festivities will begin at 1800 hours on January 20th and end at 1800 hours on January 27th. Please look forward to 168 hours of delight.
In an effort to raise happiness and encourage better guest relationships, attendance is required. The house will assist guests that are too shy to appear of their own accord. Please note that black tie attire is mandatory. As always, we hope you enjoy your stay! 】
PARKING GARAGE
ANY CAR IN A STORM
PHOENIX CASINO HALL
WELCOME TO THE NEXT 168 HOURS
Phoenix Casino is a-flutter with activity and packed to the beak with guests. As a famously ever-changing space, the staff would be remiss if they didn't deck the crown jewel of the Golden Peacock out. The casino glitters from top to bottom, shining brighter than diamonds, rubies, sapphires, opals! Party-goers are shiny and glamorous with picture perfect makeup, fluttering gowns, and sharp suits. Card tables are packed and the slot machines are a-ringing as guests play, play, play! Prizes, luxury, booze, attractive people, it's the place that everyone wants to be at.
Those people being dragged inside by some invisible force...? Silly, they were so excited to come that their bodies moved before they realized what was happening. Those are struggles of joy and definitely not the casino's infamous ghost hands dragging unwilling guests to the party at the behest of the house. Look, they're literally hurling their bodies at the card tables with unrestrained glee!
All clocks indicating day hours and night hours have been removed from the casino. Once a guest has entered, their Watch will jam, making it impossible to keep track of the time. You don't need to worry about that tonight.
▶ 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 January event.
▶ 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. This month we also have an ongoing ATP / EMP where players can connect. Please feel free to utilize this for all of your peafowl needs!
▶ 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.
▶ 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.
[It isn't easily that she feels punished for being assured. Sure, her smart mouth got her into trouble when she was young - before the sleepy, diligent life of overseeing a shrine took hold. Even back then, she'd usually been able to know in advance how things would go. She laughs, and there's even a thread of surprise in it.]
Nothing's stopping you from abstaining. Best out of four... it'd only put you at a mild disadvantage.
[Her legs are crossed under the table. She shifts, unfolding them to cross them in the opposite order in what is either a deliberate or self-conscious fidget. Winning and teasing are two very delightful things; why wouldn't she offer her gentle support to this other woman in a way that could hand her both? Miss Red looks... well, much too red; she's too shy to just be thrown into things like this. And as escalations go, this one has hit the table as if the dice were miniature bombs.]
[ in like a lion, out like a lamb. the glitz and glam had shooting star-rocketed right out of him, going going going until gone. dizzying arrays of sparkling lights, energizing smoke, tingling champagne, and the rollercoaster ride of big wins and bigger losses exchanged for this gem of peace and quiet tucked away in some room or another. earned but not deserved, his broad and strong form gone to sweet curve in the thin white sheet draped over him Genya disturbs as he shoots up like he’s been shot at, positing dark skin and darker shadows where he’s bare and intimate against not just the fabric… ]
[ but Genya’s skin, too, warmed and rouged with the print of where his cheek had been on a deep, x-scarred chest. if that doesn’t bring familiarity back from the deep recesses of absenteeism, perhaps the elegant-but-messy fall and curl of hair freed from its usual bun cascading down the pillow and around his face would be easy to envision wet and limp in a bath’s humidity, as an assist. ]
[ for Getou, he doesn’t immediately rise, though the sudden flux of cool air where once a body was pressed and a sheet embraced them both comes with a vocalized alert: a gasp and moan that are just suggestive enough as he turns into it. a stretching hand reaches over the dent of heat next to him that the slayer’s body has left behind, plaintive yearning that comes out in instinct not so easily displayed in the daylight… ]
[ only to still again, mouth peacefully agape and that handsome face relaxed, defenseless. if once he was a devil on Genya’s shoulder, does the absence of his antics make for something beguiling and haloed? to let the opportunity pass? only Genya can decide. ]
[ bluff called, line drawn. Getou doesn’t quiver an inch as the caress of it moves over his scalp — but privately, in the confined starch of a suit and jacket, every hair on his arms stands at attention, flesh pebbling with interest. honey of his own falling away with dilating pupils sweetens his gaze all the same, but the only one who’s allowed to smell it on him is standing in front of him. ]
[ not for long. ]
[ the toy lowers, following the division it had started, sensation becoming fuller as it presses the valley closer to what beats below, split of diaphragm, a thick trunk of abs divided in half. it hits the navel, lower, and flips then as it meets the seam of slacks. dancing between fingertips, the paddled end boasting a closure he amuses himself by fastening around the belt looped around him with an arrangement that takes him entirely too little time to figure out… and he’s all smiles when he turns and gives his makeshift leash a tug from the feathered end. Quincy’s hips are forced to follow suit first — much to the chagrin of a groaning gaggle of disgruntled gazers. ]
[ like a panther proud of the canary in its teeth, he parades his catch down Slut Alley, simultaneously taking the arguably most attractive men in the room off the menu, one from each category. bad luck for anyone who isn’t either of them. the jealousy lasts until Getou guides him through a silvery curtain and a dazzling, studded door; pleasures and attentions are quick and fleeting, appetites voracious. faultless, when he feels his own beginning to percolate between opportunity, interest, and a few glasses of bubbly. is this really the extent of his self control? his time spent as a statue has made him soft, quick to catch cold. ]
[ back pressing to the door to shut it after they’ve both passed the threshold, he traps Quincy into the decadent, disco-silver room. mirrors adorn the ceiling and the two side walls, encasing them in quicksilvery reflections; candles at the bedside tables flicker into hanging ornaments of mirror and crystal, sending orange-warm pockets of sunbursting scattered throughout the room. it’s warm in all ways, intimate… a decadent malaise that makes him feel empowered, indulgent, indolent. he smiles. ]
Well? [ goading, lashes and voice dropped low, youthful but gritty and purred. ] “If it’s what I want…” I wanted you alone, more.
[ bright eyes glimmer with the many embered reflections, eager and mischievous, greedy. ]
Hm. [ Mayou's eyes widen a little in mild surprise - she'll be damned if she's heard of an Age of the Gods before, that's totally new. ] Maybe our definitions are different. That's unlike anything I've ever heard before.
[ Holding a hand tilted upwards at roughly chest height, Mayou continues to talk, letting the innate magic layered over her like a second skin accumulate in her cupped palm. ]
By "elemental" I mean an embodiment of the classic elements; wind, water, fire, so on. Natural forces of the world. [ Gauzy mist clings to Mayou's fingers - thin, winding wisps for now, slowly thickening as it pools in the shallow basin of her hand. Give it a couple minutes and it'll be a lot like she's holding a chunk of dry ice. ] Name-wise, not really? It's like taking a cup of water from a river and thinking they're distinct, you know? Doesn't quite work that way.
[ only a hum as they move past it — that’s the sorcerer way, isn’t it? ignore the cold that hasn’t diffused from his spine, the inability to get warmth plumbed deep and cloying. the vain hobby he’s picked up is a distraction from it, moving, talking, keeping warm. run fast enough, move enough, granite-ice won’t start forming shards against his skin. the shrug he gives is a little helpless, mostly noncommittal. his ego is the easiest of his vices to fill. ]
At least until something more interesting came along.
[ it is easy to forget, in spite of her usual summer uniform of skirt and tights, that something inexplicable to him exists beneath them. it’s not a discredit to her; she isn’t especially unfeminine or unattractive, only that she was saddled with a gaggle of teenage boys as her most direct peers who all have their bullshit to deal with, and her intolerance for it is justified, understandable… ]
[ it just doesn’t fuel the connection to something deeper. now, though, Getou’s looking at her like it’s only the second time, soft on that blush pink that brings out the reddish undertone of her hair, the spiced citrus of her eyes. ]
And you? Sticking with the “retreating wallflower” thing? [ a fanged little grin suggests mischief: grow with me instead. ]
[ is it more or less alarming that his response to that question is another diffusing laugh, he wonders. there’s no finding Sunday culpable for his suspicions; the fault lies in Getou alone, reminded frequently. leaned onto an elbow supporting his jaw to face his companion in the booth, he drinks up the lost affability and generosity with some amusement. ]
I haven’t figured that out yet. Should I threaten you? [ this is just curiosity with a rough touch, a proclivity for seeing something interesting and engaging with it, for better or worse. if Sunday is keen to the spirits’ presence, Getou doesn’t know it, basking in the perceived ignorance. ]
[ one hand reaching out, he fingers a cigar out of the box, still treating it with the casual ease with which they’d started all of this. a touch at his inner breast pocket reveals a lighter — he’s always got one on him. to cut the cigar comes with a little more complication, but two fingers swirl with blue-black energy, compressed tight and forming an edge that lops off the very tip of the cigar between his lips. he doesn’t really know why it’s necessary, but he performs the thing admirably nonetheless, and the glow of sickly, sunken blue is exchanged for bright, warm orange. ]
[ heat fills his lungs as he draws, and it feels like life itself. burns and stings and acridly dries his throat, but he’s tasted worse and he’s been colder. ]
No do-overs, sorry. [ She snags her champagne and rolls the stem between her fingers, maybe-probably-definitely giving him a smug smile that's distorted by the rim of the glass. ] That ship has sailed.
[ Unless the dice say otherwise of course, but the chances of that combination happening again are vanishingly small. Curse the consequences of his own actions, huh? Bummer. Buuuuuuuuut in the interest of continuing... ]
The sooner my turn comes around, the sooner you might get a second taste, don't you think?
( little does reno know it's raunchy enough, when aventurine's one weakest spot is exactly his ears. something to be said about his luck, perhaps, though it's not anything so bad. reno will just have quite the surprise, and aventurine doesn't mind being as transparent with his pleasure for the sake of a game.
so aventurine straightens up, and puts his hair behind both ears. reno gets to have a choice, if he'd like. not that any of it makes such a difference - one ear has a stud earring, and the other a nice feather earring that matches his outfit. )
[ Mayou's easy dismissal comes paired with the rustle of blankets as she lifts her head properly - despite the nauseating migraine still hammering away at her skull - looking pale(er) with dark circles under her eyes. Still, Mayou's got a shrewd sharpness to her gaze, shunting away the miserable hangover for the time being. ]
I'd rather you tell me more about this cure. What is it? Medicine? Some obscure spell?
[ If it's legitimate, she's going to tack a 'teach me how to replicate it' in the stipulations, of course. It'll be a cold day in hell before she passes up a chance to expand her skillset. ]
[Akira may be a bit too comfortable with changing in front of a stranger, but when it comes down to it? he has nothing to hide. besides. . . modesty isn't going to serve him well in a place like this. he'd never survive if something as simple as swapping outfits sent him into a flustered fit]
[he pauses mid-rolling up his sleeves at Scott's question, taking a long, exasperated moment to stare off into the distance. Donkey Kong?? when was the last time his companion went to an arcade???]
. . . nnnnope. [he pops the 'p' for emphasis] Nevermind. Don't worry about it.
[ The new and improved(? tbd) dice are impressive. She's not sure if it's going to make things better, or worse, but once Ragna turns up and tears her attention away from the die she's examining with all the shrewdness of a seasoned gambler and con artist – she likes her odds.
Greeting him with a smile that starts in the corners of her mouth, Nami lifts the other die off the table when he asks, and shrugs her assent. ]
I'm not sniffing your ass.
[ He's familiar, they go far enough back that she doesn't think they need to bother with hellos when it's likely they'll catch up while the game goes by. Their eyes meet and for just a moment the corners of hers crease, amused and quietly fond as ever, before Nami's attention goes back to throwing the dice. ]
Lick. Thigh. [ Raising her eyebrows, Nami shifts in her chair, propping an elbow up on the armrest before resting her chin on her hand. This is easy money, which is in her top three favorite kinds of money. The House is the House, ever-eager when it comes to shoving people together, a concept they're no strangers to, but at least this time they're not under the influence of pollen or elevator gas. Time has left her comfortable enough to give him a bit of shit, as she does with all her favorite people. ]
You're not going to wait until I pick the thigh, are you?
Okay up front? If either of us rolls that, we sniff a cheek and we're out.
[ If nothing else, at least Nami's longstanding partner in this game was sensible. That, and stupid as the prompt may sound, he's trying not to laugh about it all the while. He trusts her. More than trusts her at that. ]
Lick and thigh, huh? [ Following suit as she props an elbow up, he lounges equally, an arm spanned out over the back of the booth's cushioning as they muse the easy money that's coming from this. The truth was, whoever reached four victories was the victor. With Nami rolling first? She stood the best chance of winning. ...Maybe he needs to hope she rolls a shitty combo after all. There's an extra large payout on the line, after all. Still, at least as far as the Grim Reaper was concerned, he wasn't in an uncomfortable spot financially-speaking. This? Was an added bonus.
A bonus that he was keen on seeing through to the end. ] I think the bigger question is am I going to make you lick a thigh over my pants or not?
[ Thankfully? He keeps a neat and tidy wardrobe. Perfectly clean pants ripe for a tongue swiping. But...the core of his chest was already tingling where the diamond suit tattoo presides. Ever since Nami, a familiar face, sat down with him? The atmosphere shifted. And he finds himself eyeing the curtain just within reach that would give them any much-needed privacy.
You know. Just in case those pants of his were coming off round 1. ]
( it shouldn't be a surprise that, after so many months here, wriothesley's already been hard at work. he's always been resourceful, proactive. and it's with no small amount of interest that neuvillette sets down his teacup with a small clink and quietly follows wriothesley through the short hallway of his suite and towards the master bedroom.
as with his office in meropide, the signs of a life lived are present here as well. the prints on the wall, the waters outside the window, the knick-knacks and parts that scatter across the suite as a whole. neuvillette takes his time in looking, head slowly turning this way and that, though he is careful not to touch anything, keeping his hands to himself.
the mention of secrets has a smile ghosting across his face. )
Dear Sigewinne, it seems our mutual acquaintance the Duke has stumbled across yet another secret he's unable to solve.
( the words are quiet, recited more to himself than anything else. an unpenned letter never to be sent. )
Though I suppose it's just Wriothesley here, as I am simply Neuvillette.
( the role of iudex means nothing here, just as the fortress of meropide is simply another name of a place to be passed around. there seems to be little use for formalities in a place that incentivizes intimacy on a regular basis. although—he cocks his to one side, a slight upward raise of one eyebrow in question. )
Unless you still request that others refer to you as 'Your Grace'.
Whoa, whoa, easy there! What, you think a guy like me can’t fight? Come on, bro, lighten up.
[ He realizes what Fuuta is looking for and also scans the area for the rest of his clothing. ]
Look, man, you can think and feel about wrestling all you want, but that isn’t everything about me, believe it or not. There’s plenty of monsters I deal with everyday back home. I won’t hesitate if any of’em come after me.
[ a beat, and then: ]
OR you, for that matter.
[ He could gloat all he wants in regards to killing Grendel’s mother, but for whatever reason he leaves that achievement out of this conversation. ]
[ Well. Fair point. The guy does look like he could probably rip a car in half with his bare hands; the crawlers from before would probably easy enough for him to fend off even if he's 'just' a wrestler.
It's that, and that easy offer of help that has Fuuta staying his tongue until he finally does find his jacket scrunched up into the base of a large decorative plant. Fuuta sighs as he fetches it, unscrunches it, and slaps the dust off it before folding it over an arm. Then he tromps right up to Beowulf. ]
Show me your Watch.
[ Said as he points at the other's wrist, then holds out his hand, like he's waiting for a dog to do 'paw.' ]
[could've left. nothing's holding him in this room save for a sliver of morbid curiosity giving this man one more chance to open up and come clean with a useful bunch of words. he's got no reason to believe his "interest" in him stems from a shred more than haphazard dumping by whatever this place is. if there's any expectation of activity in the room, it can fuck off. he's calling the shots right now and no one or nothing is impeding his decision.]
Don't whine at me about your life. [cutting him off as a guillotine before the stranger gets any stupid ideas his existence is of interest to him. he's got better things to do. likely not a risk, but heading it off regardless.]
Sorry to break your dreamy expectations. My aim's a lot better. [in case this guy wants a demonstration on with his lower jaw. "bad attitude". is that the worst he could come up with? irked thoughts aside, he twitches his head back in curiosity as getou vivisects the wall behind him. no, not the wall specifically, but the space it occupies. as if opening a portal of sorts. likely meaning once it shuts, everything will seal back up as if it never was. dimensional manipulation on a small scale...
he's proven correct soon enough. disgusting little creature, buzzing around as a monstrous mutated fly. called here, brought out of storage, transported? likely not a created being though. it was summoned from elsewhere.] That's a neat trick.
[behind his opaque mask, a flicker of surprise crosses his visage. calling him out? someone really was watching him from before. or he's presumptuous.] Wasn't aware I had a spy.
[darkness drifts up from his shoulders, akin to midnight mist floating over a bog. licking contours and bending in wisps as it dissipates in the air before sluicing down his arm and leg and pooling in the floor below. only takes a second before a twitching, slinking creature with mean sliced red eyes quivers onto spiky legs and crouches beside his shin.] Gonna have a cockfight?
[ Easier to talk about, to craft out of hypothesis and hope, than to put into practice. He's no different, even if he's always just done what he's needed to in a bid to see a situation through. It's not always perfect.
Gaze cutting over, there's a wider and more pronounced sheen of red, quickly subdued by the cant of his head downwards again. He doesn't want to be dishonest, but he doesn't want to bring more attention to the confession than what's due. He swallows that information down, tucks it close to the hollow of his heart. At his shoulder, the subtle weight of her presence seems more pronounced despite the way his thoughts suspend, weightless between his ears. ]
Yeah. [ A tightness wound about the truth of it like a tether, even though his hand is still prone in hers. ] I can't say I've had a lot of good experiences, mind you. But I'm not completely in the dark.
[ He shifts his shoulders against the headboard. ]
[ It looks like Fuuta is about to take his leave, and Beowulf can’t help but look down at him as he makes those demands. Yeah, sure, look at his watch. He doesn’t care. ]
Jeez. You’re bossy.
[ Beowulf removes his watch, and right when it looks like he’s gonna hand it over— ]
[ Red squirms for a moment. She is not unfamiliar with sex, of course - it's really the thought of it happening in front of other people. Of having a complete stranger there. It's... well. It's the point of the game, isn't it? She sucks in a breath and then sits up a little straighter. ]
[ It’s true that while Beowulf is arrogant, he’s actually a good person— dense, but good. He gets such an enjoyment out of seeing other people pleased, like his fan base, that some of that behavior has definitely rolled over into his sex habits. If Ishmael is wanting an esteem boost, he’s a good choice for that.
Being provided with more flesh to touch, he also keeps momentum, massaging her cunt— exploring each crease with his fingers. He allows the touching for awhile before he starts to change the position. ]
Any reason why you doubt yourself?
[ He’s not sure what it’s like to have a low confidence; he’s always been full of himself. ]
Follow with me, now.
[ Beowulf lifts Ishmael, just slightly, and closes his thighs together. There’s some shifting around, but essentially he’s going to fuck her thighs, and she should see the tip of his cock peeking out from under her pussy. Both of his hands settle on her hips as he rocks, slushing bath water in the tub. He will get to fingering her in a moment. ]
[ his answer doesn't surprise her very much, even if the curve of her eyes soften with concern. not pity, but a shared understanding of what it's like to... be taken from without a choice; to have your hand forced, maybe, while the hits just keep coming. she can't fix it, she can't change his past to prevent him from happening, but she wishes she could.
her fingers squeeze his briefly. ]
I'm sorry you had to experience that.
[ at the very least, he has more to work with than she does. ]
[ Oh my god Beowulf, you can't just low-five a guy built like a bundle of celery stalks? Fuuta yelps and recoils on reflex, then gives an indignant little huff, embarrassed at having been seen flinching like that. ]
Y-yeah, sure. Okay. Dunno what you even think you learned about me ... [ Said grumpily even as he fiddles with Beowulf's Watch for a few moments, then holds it back out. ] ... since you didn't even ask my name. It's Fuuta. Kajiyama Fuuta. [ Leaning in to point at where he's added himself to Beowulf's so-far-very-sparse contacts list. ] There. I added myself.
[ He retrieves the coffee he'd tucked into the crook of his arm during that task, taking a sip in an attempt to feign casual as he continues. ]
I'll leave all the monsters to you, then, but you look like the type to have trouble adjusting to some stuff here, so -- I'll leave you my contact just in case. Just don't call me with useless stuff. Only if you like actually need help with something.
It's alright. Most of it happened a long time ago.
[ It hasn't faded the scars, but the ache of it all has lessened with time, with more reasons given to him to keep going. Pressed, red and resplendent, into his hands. At least until he isn't needed anymore — and therein lies the selfishness, a reason again pressed so gently into his grasp. Concern loosens his expression rather than furrows it, matched in that moment. ]
If you're having trouble, I want you to come find me.
[ mona nonchalantly licks her finger of excess butter and does away with the knife. ]
Oh? Is it an unusual question?
[ beside her, sunday looks thoroughly lost, but she isn't perturbed in the slightest. rather, this is all going as planned. it would just appear that she'll have to elaborate a little to get him onto the same page. a master should be benevolent, so this isn't of issue.
she nibbles into her biscuit while flourishing her free hand. a watery disk stretches into existence, its surface containing an arrangement of symbols and small texts that would take an average astrologist a minimum of two weeks to decipher. mona, however, doesn't struggle to view them at all; her finger scans them with ease. ]
You are very interesting, Sunday. Someone with your capabilities at my side would benefit me. [ at least she's honest. ] Of course, I would do my utmost to advise you, too.
[ when she glances at him, his features are dappled in reflections of hydro. ]
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