【 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.
“Just skin, huh. Not sure you’ll be singing the same tune in a minute.”
Or maybe he will, and it’ll be Hank all flustered. Wouldn’t that be rich?
Still: privacy. He feels the need to be alone as if his tie is getting tighter, tighter round his throat.
“The fuck?” Hank tries to open one of the exit doors, only for it to be... locked. Of course. The weirdos want their little toys to play and party all night long.
One of the resort workers even starts heading their way, to which Hank groans and raises his hand to flip them off. He’s trying to play the game, okay! He’s trying.
“I get it,” he says, after the resort worker tells him with a creepy plastic smile that they ‘absolutely cannot leave, no sirree.’ “You want us to stay and party, or what the fuck ever. But I’ve got these doohickies” — raising his shameful nipple clamps — “and I would like to use them. In peace. Okay? Or is that too much to fucking ask?”
It apparently is too much to ask, because the doors remain locked, or stuck, or whatever. So Hank is left muttering under his breath about all these ‘motherfucking cocksuckers’ as he leads Alivian through unfamiliar halls. Hank has no idea where the hell he’s going, but it’s somewhere, all right.
And finally — finally! — Hank spots a bathroom. Better than nothing. Inside, the lights glow gold. Four stalls stand opposite another four, and all around...
... oh! it's texas!! she does a double-take while peering through the windshield of this, her ears instantly prick. after a lifetime of training she might not resist her tail from moving, though she's in the driver's seat and it wouldn't be obvious and. it's just a surprise seeing texas here, wherever here is. texas talking to her only slightly less as if she's getting her teeth pulled. also she could definitely think of a decent number of things she'd like to shove down texas' throat-- ]
Texas, imagine seeing you here! [ she revs the engine as if in enthusiastic hello. ... then rolls the window down entirely, turning down the music a little reluctantly but if she would for anyone, she would for texas.
and also now she can lean out the side of the window. dressed only in that robe, semi-sheer, and it'd leave little to the imagination as she beckons at texas remarkably cheerfully. ]
I can't be anyone other than me, you know. What an unreasonable request you're making.
Come on in and we can go for a joyride! [ time to pop open the passenger door. stolen limo joyrides, like old times. ]
Well. With the garage a bust, Alivian follows Hank... wherever they happen to go. Even just a hallway with fewer people feels like a reprieve for his sensitive ears.
Alivian pauses as they find the decadent bathroom, his pale face immediately turning bright-ass pink.
"...Fuck."
It feels like the only appropriate word right now.
He'd really rather not his mirror kink be outed right now, but the word slips out regardless.
"Well. This is awkward."
His mouth tightens into a bit of a line, but he strides in nevertheless, glancing at one of the many mirrors as if he expects something to peek out from the corner of his gaze.
"Though less awkward than in direct public. We, uh..."
He's not sure how to feel at the moment, so he fishes for words, ears pinning back and tail lashing low.
"I, pardon me, have never, uh... dabbled. With a partner. So... if we do, I will... I will try not to disappoint."
(ah. he was wondering when or if he might see someone familiar, it seems that the gods chose to answer that. karna of course is more appalled that they're sharing the same space, that's his usual when dealing with ashiya douman of all people. he's dressed up in an equally nice suit like the other servant. this clown, of all people that he would avoid while in chaldea. perhaps he should consider leaving. on second thought, it might fall on him for responsibility in this building.
he's been here longer as a servant than the clown has, even if it's been three months almost. three months since his life returned to him in full. no longer a servant fully for his stay, but a man of flesh and blood. wonderful. he might as well make the most of this to ensure that the much larger man doesn't start to cause trouble within the walls of this debauched resort. the words seemed almost like barbs, barbs meant for something not karna.)
Arrogance is one, yes. I am more annoyed by liars, though, if it is constant.
(yes, that is indeed karna making a reference to his discernment. he will not hold punches were he to risk it.)
[ well, he cleans up nice, at least. from being trapped in a car in nothing but a robe to only able to find lost and found dredges, he’s finally able to work his way into a fine wardrobe for a suit and tie and a little gel to tie his flyaways back. it’s enough to get into the party without coming out looking like a disco ball. ]
[ oh look at that, people are floating. this wasn’t new to Getou well before he knew of Golden Peacock, and just seems to watch on with amusement as those who’ve indulged their libations float and drift blissfully… at least, until there’s a cry ringing out across all the other noise and a body quick to hit the floor! ]
[ ever the hero, he hangs close by and catches those who get caught off guard by the bubble bursting, so to speak. maybe he’ll catch you bridal-style! or maybe he’s speaking to someone at that exact moment, so you’ll land on a flying pink mantaray. either way, there’s someone to thank for your near miss! ]
You alright?
DIRTY DICE
[ there’s a… fond? laugh that spills out of him when he lands at a table with Dirty Dice, a bit of giddy joy that’s just a little more than the situation calls for, something too easily read as mischief or perversion. he watches the other players at the table take their turns, unblinking, accustomed to the display in spite of his wildcard status. “suck thigh”, “tickle elbow”, yes yes. ]
[ when the dice are pooled up in the center of his big palm, he tosses them across the surface of the table, watching it clatter off of snacks and drinks. when it lands, the command says simply: SLAP EAR ]
[ there isn’t even a heartbeat’s worth of time to digest the command before he’s smacking the person sitting right next to him upside the head with such a clap that it turns every head for several tables nearby. ]
…Your turn. [ he’s all smiles~. ]
SPIN THE WHEEL’S KING FOR A DAY
[ the only thing worse than a sore loser is a mean winner. he’d spun the wheel and, as luck would have it after some of his very worst, it’d landed on #5: an insta-prize. he’d been given the rundown of available options with a game show host’s enthusiasm – and that level of fanfare has yet to cease as he’s carted around on a palanquin by a slew of half-dressed workers. little does he know just how well he’d get used to living a life of worship. ]
[ impossible to know how long he’s been here or how much longer he will be, best to make the most of it. there’s plenty he’s dined on already: sweet and strong drinks, spicy smoke, succulent meals and saccharine desserts. he’s more prone to being disciplined than hedonistic, but sometimes there’s a new years party and young adult hormones and their rebellion encourage playing with fire, and enough worship will go to anyone’s head… especially when it wasn’t especially small in the first place. ]
[ some lower rank guests are pawing at the edge of his palanquin as it makes the rounds – anything for royal attention. he had a golden fan he’s using to smack the backs of their hands like some stuck-up royalty, but it’s more dissuading than an outright ceasefire. it isn’t long before, the role as he plays it, he’ll get someone else to do it: ]
You, there– [ a wave wave wave of his fan that’s less a greeting and more of a command: come here. ] Get rid of these rats for me? I’ll reward you~.
[ to offer the same prize those little rodents crave is just spiteful. ]
HOUSE OF CARDS
[ he approaches the table and does little more than lock eyes with another guest – but their watches connect, and they get labeled Player 1 and Player 2 before anyone can possibly protest. it isn’t that Getou’s so keen to win (though he certainly doesn’t hate it) as much as he’s increasingly aware that the House will dole its punishments and penalties as it pleases. ]
[ finally, takes a bow to his opponent – ] Please treat me kindly. [ – before he draws a card with little difficulty and reads the prompt. ]
What should the golden rule of any society be?
[ …it’s hard to say what he’s thinking or feeling, through that soft grin. hard to know if it touches his eyes while he has them closed pensively, but when he looks up again there’s something tired in his eyes, like he’s looking at a mountain he’s just never quite been able to scale: ]
I’m not sure I’m able to answer this right now… [ and that’s the crux of the thing, isn’t it? getou suguru has never been indecisive in his life. ] But I think perhaps… people who are weak should simply stay out of the way.
1 OR 11 (DOMINANT)
[ ace of hearts. the game manager tucks the card in his breast pocket as to put it on display for others – and if that weren’t enough, hands him a feather wand: good for sensations of all kind. still, he can’t say he’s unsatisfied with his allotment, learning his way around the new tool with a few beats against his palm. ]
[ there’s no point in being particular, not when he’s the one in control, or at least that’s how he thinks on it. may as well get used to it and see who’s up to play ball… so really any submissive who crosses his path will get a feather tap on the shoulder. ]
Hi. [ it’s good to be polite! ] Wanna get on your knees for me~?
[ it’s still a bit embarrassing, but he’s got a fox-sharp curiosity and playfulness about the whole thing. ]
OTHER –
[ open to wildcards! feel free to PM; kinklist on journal. i was here previously and am happy to continue cr or start fresh, whatever you prefer! getou is 18. ]
(sarcastic as ever, but the sight of lappland was unexpected. how long had it been since texas was brought there? it was august of last year, and now it's....five months. five horrible months. she's fortunate that she made some manner of friends, but that doesn't change the resort is miserable. who wants to be forced to fuck or be turned into a statue? nobody should want that, but there's insanity as a norm in this wack ass resort. that's likely what the emperor would have said. still, she needs to deal with lappland and antics.
she got pulled away from the party for now. that didn't mean it'd be a constant, while texas thinks to herself briefly that aak is going to be unhappy. he said he didn't want to deal with lappland being there due to her prognosis being further along than broca's. which means more work for him in the basement that he hasn't exactly dared to move from this entire stay of cellinia's.)
Sadly there isn't much for a joyride.
(a sigh, she can deal with it, but she'd rather lappland not cause trouble for the other people. the valet seems more concerned about the possible trouble this can bring. particularly from lappland's wild streak, given that it seems they made a good move to call her down there.)
Do you even know where you are if you got dragged in like I did?
(yes, this is her suggesting that she's been missing for quite some time. she's not even sure if lappland noticed that due to their parting at the time. she'll still get in the passenger seat, there's just another problem.)
You should also get clothes, unless you rather stay rocking that robe the whole time.
It’s cute how Alivian flushes — and maybe especially the way he says ‘fuck.’
“And it wasn’t awkward before?”
Hank’s moseying on over to the sinks. Washing his hands because... why not? And because it’s easier than talking. Wiping his hands off on an eerily golden washcloth, embroidered with all sorts of ‘Golden’ this, ‘Peacock’ that.
But then Hank looks up, staring at Alivian’s reflection in the mirror.
“You’ve never... like, at all?”
It’s easy to feel confident in this place — which is a little terrifying, really. It’s powerful: the way the concept of ‘winning’ wraps around him. Consumes him.
But now, as he looks at Alivian, that certainty falters.
[ he'd laid eyes on her at some point in the party: an outgoing girl of eccentric beauty, cotton candy curls and heavy eyelashes. the kind of person everyone finds attractive, a little like him. he'd been meaning to make his way over to her eventually, let the energy of the room push them together slowly — ]
[ but by the time he's caught sight of her again when he has a free moment not speaking to anyone or enjoying the general hedonism, she seems to have... crashed out, singing a song of such wretchedness, well, how could it not tear at the heartstrings? ]
[ eventually, Getou takes a seat at her side, a hand modestly on her back, offering it a few gentle pats. ]
There, there... You really have a lovely singing voice, but it's hard to make out around the sobs. [ is this... meant to be helpful? he seems to think so. ]
[ so many people with animal ears here lately... maybe that kind of prosthetic's all the rage lately? no one tell those freaks at nagel und hammer that this pocket dimension exists else their heads will be rolling.
anyway, it seems as though ishmael had arrived in opportune time. if someone were dared to pleasure her for a reward, she'd do anything to get out of it. ]
Well, judging from these dice, we might be able to get some duds. Like, "slap neck". [ though that can be deadly in certain circumstances so maybe that's a bad idea?? ] Either way, you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with and vice versa. I thought people here are used to it by now.
mfw I realize the whole thing italicised and not just the first "I": D: oh well, no biggie <3
"The mirrors are just-- a lot. Not that-- not that I'm against indulging."
He sighs, bringing one hand up as if to shield his face from the mirrors, even though his expression is already hidden. His ears remain half-pinned.
"...Back home, I am someone distinctly undesirable. I don't expect you to feel any differently about me just because we're debating fooling around."
He pulls out one of the nipple clamps from his pocket, eyeing them.
"...Just don't call me a "dog" and we're good. That's all I ask."
He doesn't expect to be treated nicely. Not when the only reactions he's gotten from others are fear, hatred, derision, and plenty more negativity where that came from.
[there's something truly intriguing about people who are more humanoid, more emotionally attached than they are. the fact that this one speaks so quickly in response to the heavy question is its own curious thing, almost endearing in its own right. but it still makes them hum softly, fingers splayed across their lap amid the shimmery fabric they're wrapped in.]
It's a bit vague, isn't it? Who are you trading your memories with? How many? Which are they of? And do you actually receive theirs? [they laugh, bright and soft.] Really, that's the kind of deal any Fae would be falling over themselves to take.
[ she's not the only one who feels a little out of place, but at least ishmael's better at hiding her trepidation. she's sitting well far away from the more well-established crowd and just... chilling with tea in hand, though can anyone really be chill in this situation?
oh well. ]
No one's forcing you to, right? But I guess I can't blame you for feeling that way. [ siiiiiiip. ] This place is too fancy, even for me.
“Jesus. Of course I’m not gonna call you a ‘dog.’ Nice segue, by the way.”
Hank turns, palms gripping the edge of the counter behind him. Looking at Alivian directly now.
“Yeah, the mirrors sure are a lot, but so is...”
The whole not having had sex thing. Not having dabbled. And yet here Hank is, all high and mighty on... what? The allure of sex and a currency that he doesn’t even know what he can use for yet? So far everyone’s seemed pretty damn keen on their chips, but what if it’s not worth it? Hank is playing right into their hands, sure: the weirdos upstairs. He’s a puppet dancing merrily on his strings — because what else is there? Hank has nothing, neither here nor back home.
This, though, gives him pause.
“Why’d you let an old men lead you to the bathroom, huh?”
His voice is soft. Almost sad. An odd sort of tenderness he doesn’t offer most people.
[ what a prim and proper gentleman. not going to lie, going toe-to-toe with a guy like him on a simple game of what's essentially just truth and... truth? is a little intimidating, but ishmael's faced worse things and people at sea that at this point, she's got nothing to fear anymore. probably. she's got nothing to hide for the most part anyway.
and thus, she'll volunteer. ]
It's fine, I'll do it. [ she caaaarefully pulls out a card from the stack and reads the question off of it. ] "What’s the strangest rumor you’ve heard about yourself?"
Even without eye contact, the direct look makes him stiffen up. His mouth presses into a line, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, absently, he toys with a little bit of his silver fur, as if that explains some of it. It doesn't. But the fact that their hair colors are similar has not escaped his notice.
"Because my hunch was - and still is - that you're trustworthy enough to to lead me into a bathroom. And, secondly, if I felt you were a threat, I would have already tried to dominate you before walking away."
Absently, he taps at his throat.
"My words can have power. If need be, I can make some people do whatever I tell them to." A beat.
"I have not done such a thing to you. Although you only have my word."
It isn't that he doesn't recognize the tenderness. It's more--
"...I could argue you deserve better than me. Someone you-- you can look in the eye, safely, while indulging in intimacy."
His ears pin further into his hair.
"If you try to take my mask off, you'll probably drop to the floor and have to struggle not to choke on your own spit. All while fighting feelings of panic that won't cease until I put this mask back on. And if I can't, I could accidentally kill you."
[ so dull and boring Getou almost missed him, stumbling into this referee as a modge podge of hustling guests goes whizzing by, as they are so wont to do in Golden Peacock. nothing spills; he checks both of them to the dry. though he hasn't dislocated Sunday's illusion, his concept of it trickles into awareness, how the shift of color so looks like the dragon scales of a spirit he once possessed. ]
Sorry, sorry— [ oh. a box of cigars. ]
[ in spite of always carrying a lighter on him and indulging now and then, he wouldn't formally consider himself a smoker. a whole box is entirely too much for his "been to second base but never struck a home run" virginal lungs. still, Getou knows gifts in Golden Peacock ought not to be turned down so easily — and for the ones that should, something even more interesting is happening. ]
That's odd compensation for an accident. What else will you give me if I ask? [ and the underlying question, on the other side of the smiling teeth of anyone who asks a thing like that: and what can I take if you won't? ]
let it be known that she will in fact TRY her best
....at least this time there also wasn't an auction.
(please. if the freaks from nagel und hammer knew, they might have even tried to jump her and other stand-outs within this debauched resort. she's not the only one that looks unusual, her and other terran's look out of place. people here don't have the same appendages that they do. no ears, no tails, nothing of similar note for the most part. although her eyes do somewhat glow in the dim lights in this room (wolves and their night sight) they're within. she can see the die clearly, they'd be fortunate if they didn't have to deal with anything crazier.
but, they also did need to play this game. chips were worth the effort. chips, a little something extra for a wildcard to work with. ishmael would need it if texas doesn't complete the game first. not that she intends to lose (this isn't something that should be lost on purpose) or else they might have some trouble.)
Depending on what we get, then. You'll know if I dislike something because I do bite.
(she's....joking. kind of. probably. no, no she is not joking.)
Dragged into that damn casino for days... He could have fought it more than he did. After freezing winter traps, inverted ranks making things crazy, realizing he would definitely not be home for Christmas or New Years, there was something about half-losing himself in the ritz of this damn place that overruled better judgement. Not all of it though, leaving him with far more a headache from too much food and focus than alcohol. Eyestrain, jaw ache, neck kink, a heady combination driving him right to bed with no memory or care of what happened as he slept.
Also the reason he doesn't rise at his usual early hour. Movement beside him, shifting and nudging at his body. For a moment, all he bothers with is a brief curl of his back, one arm twitching as if to warn whatever's touching him to back off. Again, this time more prevalent, and quickly rouses him as he realizes someone's in the damn bed with him! Bakugo jams an elbow into the mattress and flips around in a ready twist, free hand curled and primed to explode-
... holy shit. "What the fuck?!"
He's up in a flash, both hands shoved against the mattress and lock armed in a rising arch. Staring at the man across from him with a mixture of slack-jawed shock and wide eyed anger. He's- ... goddammit, no! Everything swims, his vision's bleary, feels like his brain's suddenly swollen and knocking the inside of his head. Headrush and headache simultaneously. Growling, Bakugo tries to shake the pain and stupor out of his skull, only half-succeeding as he glares up at the winged man with one eye clenched shut.
"You're back." Resigned, irritated, and even relieved. Though he hates himself for feeling that last one. "Hawks."
“The thing about hunches” — Hank squeezes the counter before pushing himself forward — “is they’re usually bullshit.”
He doesn’t mention how his hunches are often right. But that’s his job, anyway — to be able to read people — and he’d rather not unleash his ever-present contrarian to argue semantics. Not now.
“And who knows? Maybe I’m not trustworthy. Maybe nobody here is, because power corrupts. Money and sex and winning. All these flashing lights and little ding-ding sounds telling us how we’ve won — but what are we winning, really?”
Hank doesn’t quite close the distance between them, but he’s bridging the gap. Mirrors looming around them, tall and glaring. Soon to reflect all of Hank’s insecurities right back at him.
“I’m not the good guy here.” Pausing to tuck his hands in his pants pockets. Rolling back on his heels. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter.”
A sad smile, then: “Could be worse, yeah? Could’ve ended up with someone worse than this sad old fuck.
“And I’m not gonna take your mask off, so you don’t gotta worry about all that.”
It’s not at all the same, but usually Hank keeps his shirt on during sex. Lights off. So he gets wanting to hide parts of himself — feeling like he needs to, even. Protecting himself and others. Not that anyone would die if they looked him in the eye, but hell if it doesn’t feel that way sometimes.
“So I guess the question now is: you want the clamps with the chain, or the pretty ones — all blue like my eyes?”
(while one wasn't used to this, the other is too used to it. aerith's movements did catch the knave's attention and cause her to frown. a fish out of water in the face of a party, then? that's nothing shocking. some weren't used to these things and, almost certainly, arlecchino can admit that she wouldn't fault the other woman for needing a break from the persistent barrage. drugs aren't her own thing. she's avoiding twig for that reason (not her kind of indulgence) since it didn't seem like a good idea. which left the champagne the two of them were drinking.
her own suit was nothing to sneeze at. it looked fantastic down to those dagger heels she's wearing, how she can move in them was a bigger mystery to the party guests. they didn't care enough to ask, though. that was better in the long run for her whenever noticing aerith coming over at her own direction. her turn, then? right. she'll help this woman learn to navigate better before the night ends, perhaps. they had plenty of time in that regard once she takes a sip of her champagne with a cordial smile.)
I take it that we both are new?
(rule number one of high society, always be cordial enough that pleasantries remain pleasantries. barbed words and sharp tongues were better left for fools that were being idiot enough to push their luck. that is a given, but not one necessary in this exchange they'll be having.)
Shit. Some of that temptation makes his breath catch. Beyond that, however, he takes a definitive step closer to Hank in turn, as if he might try to use his meager 3" height bonus to his advantage. He doesn't, but it almost feels like that.
"Sir-- with all due respect..."
Another step closer.
"If you don't want to use any of those on yourself, you can always use both sets on me. I'm not going to make you reveal yourself, either."
A beat.
"We don't have to be "good guys" to do some good. And I'd rather more or less go with my own gut that you're a decent person, than have to deal with any punishments, which could be unappealing."
He swallows, throat bobbing. His voice softens, hesitant, even as it bounces off the walls like it's some blaring announcement.
"Although.. that's probably my desperation talking more than anything. I've only ever had my own hand, and toys I acquired for myself. And the knowledge that I'd probably die young thanks to my current condition."
A beat, and he makes a point of tilting his head to look Hank over - down, and then up. He works on opening up his shirt again, but this time, he shrugs out of it, tossing it onto the sinks-lined counter. In the better lighting, the glinting of silver fur is much more prominent on his body.
His voice drops a little, syllables woven with soft growling.
"You, are not unappealing. Will you show me what pleasure with you looks and feels like?"
“Maybe I want to ‘reveal myself.’ You ever think of that? Maybe I just wanna not think about it for a while. Despite” — Hank raises his voice now to whine — “all of these goddamn mirrors.
“And I don’t gotta take my shirt all the way off. That sounds... kinda nice.”
As does getting this resort-furnished suit all sweaty: a nice little ‘fuck you’ to the guys in charge, although they seem richer than god so Hank doubts they’d care.
But still.
“Nice of you to offer. Willing to take on my burden, and all that.” Hank starts unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. One hand tugging at his too-tight collar, loosening the tie. “Maybe I wanna feel it, though. Feel what you do.”
Because he does. It’s just hard to say that, despite everything — both this place and himself — he’d like to try.
“Never thought hearing someone call me ‘not unappealing’ would sound so sexy, but I guess here we are.”
He eyes Alivian’s chest: the slope of his waist. The curves of his pecs. He wants to touch — and he will.
“Oh, I can show you all right. Just tell me what you want. Or...”
Is that a stupid question? It’s probably a stupid question. If Hank hadn’t had sex before, his answer to that would be ‘everything.’
[ the crack of cold marble on the backs of his fingers, shedding the effigy of himself like a stone husk, is all he remembers between the moving mosaic of color and an alarming thunk that had not been enough to truly wake him. hours more he slept, shivering in a womb of darkness like somehow it isn't the first time. he'd shed one cocoon, only to wind up in another — ]
[ harassed by the sound of jiggling metal and a far-off voice. he reaches out and finds the space he's in to be solid before a full stretch of every limb, blinking eyes filtering in some faint light from beneath, or behind, he isn't sure. naked as the day he was born, the texture beneath is fabric, but his hands land on metal. a domain? a cupboard? a strike of his fists and the noise sounds more familiar. a vehicle? ]
[ it's this thrashing that will alert Kizuna that while the backseat might be empty at the moment, there's a stowaway in the trunk, clambering to discover his new destination — and a face vaguely remembers through a distorted reflection he didn't necessarily want to see again. amidst the rising confusion, panic, and bone-chill that comes with once adorning the halls, ]
Let me out. [ and as the temperature climbs, the trunk fills with that fire of cursed energy that would've obliterated any normal car. ]
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
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