( immediately, it's obvious--from the slick leather seats, to the narrow hood, to the pane of glass that lets in the bright, golden light from the garage, this is not a place he recognizes, and more than that, he's alone. the vehicle is a slim thing, and he's jammed into the passenger seat, seatbelt unhooked, driver's side empty; some kind of sports car, he'd wager, and not the kind of roomy, standard issue sedan that might fit the company. groping a hand forward, he feels for the ignition: empty, no key in sight.

pointedly, he's not dressed for the occasion, either, given that all that's left of his uniform is--well, nothing, and instead there's a thin black robe belted around his middle, the sleeves gaping at his elbows. if this is another one of those stupid pranks that denji and power find so fucking hilarious, he'll kill them on sight, but even as he opens the car door, the silence of the garage is nearly deafening, so much so that it feels wrong to slam the door shut behind him.

barefoot, he takes in the surroundings: plenty of cars, but not plenty of people. which means there could be others here, trapped like he'd been, or others waiting to attack. with a grated sigh, he moves across the cold floor, immediately edging towards one of the larger vehicles; this one looks almost large enough to be some kind of limousine, and he peers at the tinted glass of a window before he's immediately rapping his knuckles against it. whoever is inside is about to get the loudest, most persistent awakening ever. )

Open the door. ( matter-of-factly, as he knocks again; his hair is loose around his ears, hanging down towards his neck. ) Roll down the window. Do you have clothes?

( an odd thing to have to say, but desperate times, as they say. )

( he's comfortable, dressed in a suit--comfortable, with his hair properly tied up, his shirt pressed, his slacks neatly hemmed. like this, it's easy to think that he's on some kind of bizarre mission, and a part of him still can't give up on the idea--like this is some kind of unconventional devil power, akin to getting trapped on the eternal eighth floor. without his weapons, he's relying on instinct here, and the distant thought in the back of his mind: if he called the fox devil, would they even come? or is he cut off from all of that, here?

so he's comfortable skulking around the edges of the party: a party that he'd been forced into, a party that's supposed to run for some 168 odd hours, which seems like insanity, but he's seen worse. he's comfortable getting a drink from the bar, tracking down cigarettes and a lighter, comfortable watching the other guests flicker and flit around like this is the high life, some kind of grand gesture by this entity they call 'the golden peacock'.

he is, however, less comfortable with the idea of some 'sex toy roulette'. uncomfortable enough that he's barred from leaving the area until one of the attendants there can finally force his hand to turn the wheel, assuring him that it won't land on anything too nefarious. uncomfortable enough that when it does land on something nefarious--

well, that's why he's seated at the bar now with a rather classic rabbit vibrator next to him on the bar top, as though he's given it a seat of its own. as he gulps down a mouthful of whiskey, his gaze goes sidelong, narrowed, at whoever might be staring at his 'date': )

Do you want it? Take it. ( he knows the warning: he's got another three and a half hours to 'use it in a sex act' or else. ) I don't care about a penalty from a place like this.

( it's less that he's got the drive to gamble, and more that he thinks an area like this, with higher stakes, is more likely to have higher payouts--meaning more information, at best. he's pored over the perimeter of the party multiple times, but he still hasn't laid eyes on anything that really makes sense, or any indication of where they really are. somewhere darker, sharper, more serious: that has to give him some clues. the problem is, most of the games here, outside of the standard casino fare, are the same as the games outside of it; he pointedly is avoiding high stakes sex toy roulette, after his prior experience.

card games are always rigged to help the dealer win, so he's not going for that to start, either. he has only a meager amount of chips and he's not going to waste them--but the 'house of cards' seems easy enough, for someone with a delicate sleight of hand. most people in here are drunk, horny, or anxious over losing more than they bargained for--which means they'll likely topple the tower before he even gets a turn.

with a cool gaze, he waits for the staff to escort him to a table--he doesn't offer his new companion a greeting, but rather, gets right down to business-- )

What would you like to bet? They said-- ( there's a tilt of his head back in the direction of the staff. ) --it wouldn't be just chips, this time. If you lose, what are you giving me?

( he's used to offering all manner of self destructive things, on his part: his skin, his hair, years off his life. for this one, however, he waits to see what his partner will offer first. the staff did make it clear that most of the time, it should be sexual in nature, but he's not adding that detail. )

( he's been awake for hours, with a stranger in his bed.

is it even his bed? it's hard to say, in a place like this, where nothing seems to have been provided, and there's no exit, either; so it's his bed, for now, his room, for now, and his partner, he supposes, for now. they haven't woken up, yet, which has given him a chance to, at the very least, scour the room for details, pour a cup of coffee, and obtain a pack of cigarettes, and it's once he's settled back under the sheets that he feels the person at his side stirring from where they're buried into the pillows.

it doesn't bother him, really. he'd like it if they had more clothes to wear, but the only thing he'd been able to find had been two matching bathrobes: one of which he's wearing, and the other which he draped over the end of the other side of the bed. as he takes a sip from the coffee, savoring the taste, his gaze slides, watching his partner come back to consciousness. )

I don't know where we are. ( he says it quietly, as though it'll likely be the first question asked. ) ...And I don't know what we did.

( his best guess is going to be 'nothing', given the way his body feels--or doesn't feel--but he doesn't trust a thing in this place. as he sets his coffee cup down on the side table, he bumps out a cigarette from the pack...and then thinks better of it, twisting to look at his companion again. )

Do you mind if I smoke in here? ( there's no balcony for him to go onto. )

i'm open to pretty much any of the prompts, so if nothing speaks to you, feel free to hit me with a wildcard! preference for brackets and present tense, but ota in terms of age and gender for aki. he's about 20 years old, and canonpoint is end of s1 of the anime, to make things easy. if you have any questions, feel free to send a PM!