【 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.
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▶ 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!
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The car where Hank wakes up has a line of plush seats curling round the bar, and, regardless of the weird robe, he can work with that.
“So,” he says, looking more at the booze than whoever’s in the car with him. “Guess it’s not you I have to thank for all this, then?”
Hank raises his arm, the sleeve of his robe loose and, god, he feels ridiculous. The robe is a soft cream, with flowers printed along the edges of the fabric. He leans toward the bar — all glimmering, just itching for him to reach out — before pausing to clasp the robe’s front, because of course it doesn’t have any sort of tie holding it together. Of course not.
Dirty Dice
The name of the game gives it away, but really? ‘Slap Ass’ is the result of Hank’s first set of rolls.
“Guess I’m supposed to slap your ass,” Hank says, shrugging in his obnoxiously stiff suit.
What a hell of a way to meet someone new.
“Not like I have to,” he adds hastily. “I mean — right? They’re not gonna make me slap your ass, are they?”
Sex Toy Roulette
The huge wheel with a list of sex toy prizes sounds like yet another horrible idea, but Hank isn’t thinking about that. Isn’t thinking at all, really, beyond the fact that the needle might land on the ominously appealing ‘insta-prize!’
Predictably, the needle does not land on such.
“I’m not wearing these,” Hank mutters, at least having enough grace to pick up his so-called prize: a pair of nipple clamps, connected by a chain. “These are, uh. For you. Obviously.”
He knows what he’s supposed to use these for, in theory, but god. How mortifying.
Wildcard
(I love all the prompts so feel free to hit me up with any of the others! Or you can PM or message me on Plurk Giangio if you want to discuss anything.)
Edited (markdown my beloved) 2025-01-16 03:07 (UTC)
How Gen managed to get away with wearing a suit that almost looks like loungewear is a wonder, but he is technically dressed up for the occasion as he's sitting with his feet kicked up over the leg of the chair he's in, snorting in amusement at the way the man across from him tries to quickly qualify that.
"Nah, they won't. Feel free to give me the win. I'm never going to complain about an easy payout win."
Does he want to have his ass slapped? Not necessarily, but it's just not in his nature not to be just a little obnoxious as he eggs someone on. If Hank isn't feeling it, and given the bony state of Gen's ass he could not be blamed, Gen really won't complain for a second about his easy victory.
“Cute that you think I’m just gonna give you a free win.”
Hank has the dice in hand, rolling them around his palm as if deep in thought.
Mostly he’s thinking about whether he wants to win here enough to do… whatever. Because slapping someone’s ass isn’t going to be the weirdest roll, he’s sure.
“And good to know whoever’s in charge isn’t gonna… y’know. Make me.”
Setting the dice back on the table now with a soft clack.
“But maybe I wanna win,” Hank says slowly, with a confidence he hasn’t felt in years. “So I guess if you’re gonna get your ass slapped — stand up. Bend over. Whatever. Then you can do your own weird little roll.”
Because, knowing Hank’s luck, this will be anything but a simple game.
Gen's foot bounces lightly against the chair leg the minute Hank makes a comment about this place making him do things. Here in the casino section there's a lot of free wheeling and dealing, but most of the games don't seem to make people do anything, even if they punish them monetarily for failing to comply, but he can't make any promises for the type of coercion that's tossed the old guy's way later down the line.
He stops the soft tapping of the back of his heel against the chair when Hank makes up his mind, whether the goading accidentally worked, or the man came to the decision on his own is hard to say, but this time Gen's laughter is barked out instead of a quiet snort.
There's a quiet grunt as he adjusts himself, sliding his legs to the side so he can amble out of the chair. Standing at a nice slightly above international average, Hank won't have to lower himself that much to reach it, which is good, because Gen doesn't look all that eager to properly present himself as he turns around and stretches his arms over his head, fingers interlocked, before resting his hands behind his head and standing there casually facing away from Hank.
"There's no chance in hell I'm presenting myself for you. You can manage it like this."
He is, admittedly, still kind of presenting himself for Hank this way, but not in a way that shoves his ass embarrassingly up in the air. His giant ego can tolerate this.
Hank whistles as Gen actually does what he says — this sure is new — and he even lets himself ogle a little. Who can blame him? He’s gotta know what he’s in for with the whole smacking thing.
“This sure is some kinda place, huh?”
He stands. Moves around the table. Hank does wonder for a brief moment what the hell he’s doing — how easy it is to want to let loose — but now he has one hand on the small of Gen’s back. To steel himself, maybe.
Then, with his other hand, he’s pulling back. Sucking in a breath through his teeth before he just goes for it: smacking this stranger’s ass with a loud slap. Could he have done it more gently? Sure. But he didn’t.
“Jesus.” Hank shakes out his hand before returning to his chair. “The prizes here really worth all that?”
He shouldn't get used to that particular part of it, though there's no shortage of more agreeable men and women here in the resort who will comply without needing a competition to motivate them into action first.
Though even without Gen having a ton of concern for his physical appearance, a little bit of admiration doesn't hurt as a motivating factor either. He's far from the bulkiest guy here, but despite the unprofessional demeanor he is still military, and he has put a lot more effort than he'll ever admit to into training. He's svelte, but there is solid muscle there still, and he'll glance over his shoulder as Hank finally gets up and rests a hand on him.
There's a comment on the tip of his tongue about this place, but it gets cut short by the startled yelp when that hand makes contact. From having holes punched in his body, to a vice captain who will knock him about when he's not pulling his weight, Gen's definitely experienced far worse pain than that. The sting was felt, but was just mild enough to not be... entirely unpleasant, which is a thought he will be shoving deep down and not dealing with at the moment.
No, the problem here is the surprise of it all, because while he was expecting a little tap or even a joking swat to move them along in the game, Hank gave him a lot more than he bargained for. Gen's reaching back to rub his ass, looking mildly disgruntled at how loudly he reacted to that.
“How about you” — Hank pushes the dice across the table — “shut the fuck up and roll?”
Fingers crossed for something that isn’t too out there. But Hank’s already going around and slapping people’s asses, so who knows? Maybe this won’t be so bad.
It feels like some sort of fever dream, although Hank knows that isn’t right. Everything feels too real for that: the lights, the clatter of dice. The sting in his hand after he gave Gen a spank.
No, it’s all too real — whatever this is. But what will the repercussions for his actions be? Only time will tell.
“Figured I may as well give a good slap. Dunno how this place works.”
Gaze sliding down to the dice. Suspicious little fuckers.
“Didn’t want it not to count, y’know. Since you went all that way and presented yourself for me.”
[unlike hank who is giving up awkward and anxious energy from her prospective, jinx slouches back in her seat all nonchalant with a mischievous smirk curling over her face. her eyebrow quirks at his briskly response, and she exhales out a snort through her nostrils.]
D'aww what's the matter, Old Timer? Afraid to touch a girl's tushy? And aren't you supposed to be the one who is all experienced in this sorta stuff?
[what are the odds if she's playing a game with a guy who has never had a partner? not like she is one to talk, of course, but she isn't the type to confess to something that private to a stranger.]
[a brief pause, now really getting a good look over the man before her.]
— sad. Really sad.
[is it rude to pour salt into someone who just opened up to her like this? most definitely, and she realizes this, naturally. so what she does next is exhale out a big sigh then bounces up to her feet with her hands place strongly on her hips.]
Whelp! Looks like it's up to me to be the hero again, and fix your sorry excuse of a life. So lay it on me, Scruffy! Give it all you got.
[and with that being said, the girl pivots to display her backside to him and patiently waits for him to do what the dice instructed. her rear end is definitely... plumpy, at least, so hank will have something to work with. and whoever is making them do this will be pleased if nothing else.]
[Hank considers tossing the question back at her: “you do much ass touching lately?” But he doesn’t, preferring to roll along with their game.]
Oh, you’re a hero all right.
[He pushes back his chair, staring at her ass as he stands. It feels perverted, because it is, but it’s part of the game. Not like anyone would expect him to slap someone’s ass without looking, right?
He really hasn’t touched a girl’s ass in half a decade, though. Feels weird to be indulging with a stranger in public, but hell — when in Rome. Smack asses, apparently.
Hank isn’t really thinking about how hard he’ll do it till he’s standing beside her, hand pulled back. Trying not to ponder her age — don’t make this any weirder than it’s gotta be, Hank thinks — and then he’s finally releasing his hand. Letting it smack against her. Enough to make his palm sting a bit, and it’s not part of the whole “slap ass” part, but his hand lingers. Gives her a little squeeze.
God, he is a pervert.]
Thanks. [A mumble as he shuffles back to his chair.] For fixing my “sorry excuse for a life.” Think that did the trick.
[despite expecting the slap, jinx still jolts slightly at the smack, but it's the extra little something she gets afterward that results in her biting her lower lip. it's a good thing hank isn't able to see that, given he is behind her. but maybe he will notice he gets no disapproval from his notion, considering she says nothing about it. the girl spins back around with a grin, then flops back to her seat — snatching the dice to give it a good shake.]
All in the day's work. And I'd rate that about... eight outta ten. — You didn't squeeze the other cheek.
[jokingly, she gives the dice a toss, and it lands on,"12" and "11".]
Behind the mask, Alivian's eyebrow arches as the gentleman grumbles so, and eyes the nipple clamps directed towards him. For his credit, perhaps, he takes them, and brings them closer to his face for closer scrutiny.
"....Some of the material is unfamiliar to me."
He traces his thumb over the padded clamp, the edge of his mouth tugging slightly flatter. He promptly uses one to clip onto the delicate skin between his thumb and forefinger.
"It's soft...? No, not really..."
It doesn't really hurt, though, despite how harshly it's pinching him.
"You could have landed on worse than this. Are you sure you want me to have it?"
He'll happily spin the wheel for himself, momentarily, but he can't bring himself to leave this topic alone.
Never mind the fact that his face is very slightly pink against the bottom rim of his mask.
“Well, I mean... shit. Don’t gotta be all bashful about it.”
Hank rubs the back of his neck. He didn’t expect someone to be graceful about his reluctance.
“The whole deal is” — Hank says this as if he’s an expert here, which is lightyears away from the truth — “I gotta use them. With someone. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s gotta be me who wears them, y’know?”
He waves his hand in the air awkwardly. Gesturing to said nipple clamps.
“Guess you should do your spin, though. Who knows, maybe you’ll get one of the actual prizes and not a... whatever.”
But then maybe their luck will be doubly bad instead, and they’ll both end up with something weird!
The wolf's ears wiggle a little as he considers them, but then nods.
"It's not a bad prize."
It's his turn to spin, so that's what he does. He watches as the sections tick by, only...
His prize? another set of nipple clamps. This pair with little blue jewels stuck to them as weights. Alivian tilts his head a little as he regards them again, just the same as the first set, and then his lips quirk into a hint of a smile.
“Well, fuck. Guess we’re really in for it now, huh?”
Double the nipple clamps, double the trouble.
“They do kinda match my eyes, huh,” he says, eyes downcast as he flicks one of the gems with his finger.
It’s cute that Alivian noticed his eyes at all, really.
“Would say we could swap — you wear mine, I wear yours — but yours are a lot prettier. Not because of them being the color of my eyes. Mine are just weird.”
Because they have a chain, sure, but also because they’re his. For now, anyway.
“I dunno what they expect you to do though, really. I mean — where? Because nobody wants to see me without my shirt, let me fuckin’ tell you.”
"Both have their uses, to be certain. I imagine the chain is distinctly useful."
But, whoa. If only Alivian's eyebrow lifting could be seen. Alas.
"Your build is common where I'm from, and not so dissimilar from my own."
Cue the wolf unbuttoning the random shirt he picked up upon arrival just to show Hank. His chest was putting pressure on the front of the shirt, and it certainly juts out as soon as it's been freed. Although certainly built in his own way, he does have enough padding to make any muscle along his stomach basically invisible.
The rest of him is lanky, but that's not what he's showing on purpose.
More or less, though, it's candid.
"...I won't pressure you, however. I'm sure you look fine."
Hank grabs Alivian’s arm, tries to steer him away from the obnoxiously spinning wheel — with all these people and their mocking ‘insta-prizes’ — but it feels like there are eyes everywhere.
“You’re not pressuring me.” Voice lower now as he fiddles with the stupid tie the resort staff pulled round his neck. “Just not much of an exhibitionist, I guess. Or I wasn’t.”
This place has got him thinking weird things, like: ‘wouldn’t it be nice to fuck in one of those fancy cars in the parking garage?’ Weird stuff like that. Maybe not being seen, specifically, but the possibility of such.
“And here you are, just pulling your shirt off like...”
Hank doesn’t have words, really. He lets his eyes roam, staring at Alivian’s chest. Soon to be donning those precarious nipple clamps, maybe.
Goddamn.
“Let’s just... find a place. A little more private, y’know?”
The stuff this place throws at them shouldn't feel surprising anymore, but somehow, he's still exasperated by all of it. That much is probably obvious in his expression and the almost resigned look in the blue eyes. As if he knows exactly what kind of obnoxious, lewd crap he can expect to show up on those dice. And, honestly, the main reason he'd even slid into the chair beside this guy is because he knows what it's like to be the new guy.
Everyone needs a payout.
Even so, he's watching those dice intently, lingering on them when the they finally still and they can take in the numbers. SLAP ASS. Not the worst thing he could've rolled, that's for sure.
"Looks that way," he replies with a soft exhale. His hand goes up to his tie, tugs at the knot of it slightly in an attempt to loosen it slightly. But he can hear that hastiness in his voice, the uncertainty in his question, and he's quick to shake his head. "For something like this? No," he replies in an attempt to be reassuring. "But they've got their ways when they really want you to do something."
That said, he shifts to the edge of his chair but doesn't stand. "Your call if you want to."
[ Tharja's been observing the roulette wheel, quietly calculating the odds of actually landing on the 'insta-prize,' and she's not thrilled with her results.
She's even less thrilled to be addressed by one of the unlucky players. With nipple clamps?? Now there's a medieval torture device if she's ever seen one. ]
Are you certain? I'm sure I could come up with a hex or three that will convince you otherwise.
[Hank looks down at the nipple clamps in his hand.
Looks up. Lips pursed.]
Think I might prefer the hex thing, honestly. But I guess I got — [checking his weird little watch to scan over the rules again] — four hours to figure all that out.
[He jerks his thumb toward the terribly inconvenient roulette wheel.]
You gonna try your luck? Or you gonna just... Hex me?
[Hank doesn’t even try to hide his small grin. Which will evaporate if she follows through with her threat, but still. Would rather not have to use said nipple clamps, thank you.]
I always hex first, ask questions never. Now, let's see... No more wasting time, gramps... put on those CLAMPS.
[ Yes, most of her hexes come in the form of rhymes. It's pretty silly. Also, whether her hex actually works is hit or miss (up to you!) since they don't seem to work on some people. ]
He almost feels bad as he unbuttons his shirt. Which wasn’t exactly part of the hex, or whatever, but it just feels more natural than clipping them on over his shirt.
Is it the hex that gets Hank to obey, or is he just being cheeky? A little of both, maybe. Hank’s not sure he believes in magic, but he’s also averse to just baring himself to a woman in public — he’s not that rude.
So maybe there is a little magic at play here.]
Okay, they’re on. Whatever. [Clamped tight over his nipples with the weird chain hanging between them. Hank holds his shirt closed afterward, feeling his chest rub against the fabric. Goddamn.] Happy?
[ In her defense, Tharja knows someone well over 1,000 years old who still looks like a child. Anyway.
Happy? She's delighted! Not only does Tharja not have to wear them, but this is proof (?) that her magic still works here (a little?), and she got to see a nice treat on top of it all. She called Hank gramps, but it wasn't totally an insult after all. ]
[Hank clutches his shirt together more tightly, wondering if to start buttoning up his shirt again. Yeah, that’s probably for the best. He’s already flashed Tharja enough.
Starting at the bottom, now: one button, two. He still has to use the damn clamps with another person, but at this point, maybe he’ll just take the loss. What’s the worst that could happen? Worse than seeing — or being — an old man, running around in nipple clamps?]
Would you believe me if I said they feel terrible?
[“Mortifying” is probably closer to the truth. And while other people are still taking a turn at the stupid wheel, winning their stupid prizes, it isn’t a consolation, really.
Because none of them — that Hank has seen so far — is ancient like him. And obviously, none of them are Hank.
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
Hank Anderson | Detroit: Become Human | New Player
(I’ll match style! CN: alcoholism.)
Parking Garage
The car where Hank wakes up has a line of plush seats curling round the bar, and, regardless of the weird robe, he can work with that.
“So,” he says, looking more at the booze than whoever’s in the car with him. “Guess it’s not you I have to thank for all this, then?”
Hank raises his arm, the sleeve of his robe loose and, god, he feels ridiculous. The robe is a soft cream, with flowers printed along the edges of the fabric. He leans toward the bar — all glimmering, just itching for him to reach out — before pausing to clasp the robe’s front, because of course it doesn’t have any sort of tie holding it together. Of course not.
Dirty Dice
The name of the game gives it away, but really? ‘Slap Ass’ is the result of Hank’s first set of rolls.
“Guess I’m supposed to slap your ass,” Hank says, shrugging in his obnoxiously stiff suit.
What a hell of a way to meet someone new.
“Not like I have to,” he adds hastily. “I mean — right? They’re not gonna make me slap your ass, are they?”
Sex Toy Roulette
The huge wheel with a list of sex toy prizes sounds like yet another horrible idea, but Hank isn’t thinking about that. Isn’t thinking at all, really, beyond the fact that the needle might land on the ominously appealing ‘insta-prize!’
Predictably, the needle does not land on such.
“I’m not wearing these,” Hank mutters, at least having enough grace to pick up his so-called prize: a pair of nipple clamps, connected by a chain. “These are, uh. For you. Obviously.”
He knows what he’s supposed to use these for, in theory, but god. How mortifying.
Wildcard
(I love all the prompts so feel free to hit me up with any of the others! Or you can PM or message me on Plurk![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
Giangio if you want to discuss anything.)
Dirty Dice
"Nah, they won't. Feel free to give me the win. I'm never going to complain about an easy payout win."
Does he want to have his ass slapped? Not necessarily, but it's just not in his nature not to be just a little obnoxious as he eggs someone on. If Hank isn't feeling it, and given the bony state of Gen's ass he could not be blamed, Gen really won't complain for a second about his easy victory.
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“Cute that you think I’m just gonna give you a free win.”
Hank has the dice in hand, rolling them around his palm as if deep in thought.
Mostly he’s thinking about whether he wants to win here enough to do… whatever. Because slapping someone’s ass isn’t going to be the weirdest roll, he’s sure.
“And good to know whoever’s in charge isn’t gonna… y’know. Make me.”
Setting the dice back on the table now with a soft clack.
“But maybe I wanna win,” Hank says slowly, with a confidence he hasn’t felt in years. “So I guess if you’re gonna get your ass slapped — stand up. Bend over. Whatever. Then you can do your own weird little roll.”
Because, knowing Hank’s luck, this will be anything but a simple game.
no subject
He stops the soft tapping of the back of his heel against the chair when Hank makes up his mind, whether the goading accidentally worked, or the man came to the decision on his own is hard to say, but this time Gen's laughter is barked out instead of a quiet snort.
There's a quiet grunt as he adjusts himself, sliding his legs to the side so he can amble out of the chair. Standing at a nice slightly above international average, Hank won't have to lower himself that much to reach it, which is good, because Gen doesn't look all that eager to properly present himself as he turns around and stretches his arms over his head, fingers interlocked, before resting his hands behind his head and standing there casually facing away from Hank.
"There's no chance in hell I'm presenting myself for you. You can manage it like this."
He is, admittedly, still kind of presenting himself for Hank this way, but not in a way that shoves his ass embarrassingly up in the air. His giant ego can tolerate this.
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Hank whistles as Gen actually does what he says — this sure is new — and he even lets himself ogle a little. Who can blame him? He’s gotta know what he’s in for with the whole smacking thing.
“This sure is some kinda place, huh?”
He stands. Moves around the table. Hank does wonder for a brief moment what the hell he’s doing — how easy it is to want to let loose — but now he has one hand on the small of Gen’s back. To steel himself, maybe.
Then, with his other hand, he’s pulling back. Sucking in a breath through his teeth before he just goes for it: smacking this stranger’s ass with a loud slap. Could he have done it more gently? Sure. But he didn’t.
“Jesus.” Hank shakes out his hand before returning to his chair. “The prizes here really worth all that?”
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Though even without Gen having a ton of concern for his physical appearance, a little bit of admiration doesn't hurt as a motivating factor either. He's far from the bulkiest guy here, but despite the unprofessional demeanor he is still military, and he has put a lot more effort than he'll ever admit to into training. He's svelte, but there is solid muscle there still, and he'll glance over his shoulder as Hank finally gets up and rests a hand on him.
There's a comment on the tip of his tongue about this place, but it gets cut short by the startled yelp when that hand makes contact. From having holes punched in his body, to a vice captain who will knock him about when he's not pulling his weight, Gen's definitely experienced far worse pain than that. The sting was felt, but was just mild enough to not be... entirely unpleasant, which is a thought he will be shoving deep down and not dealing with at the moment.
No, the problem here is the surprise of it all, because while he was expecting a little tap or even a joking swat to move them along in the game, Hank gave him a lot more than he bargained for. Gen's reaching back to rub his ass, looking mildly disgruntled at how loudly he reacted to that.
"You really don't hold back, do you, geezer?"
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“How about you” — Hank pushes the dice across the table — “shut the fuck up and roll?”
Fingers crossed for something that isn’t too out there. But Hank’s already going around and slapping people’s asses, so who knows? Maybe this won’t be so bad.
It feels like some sort of fever dream, although Hank knows that isn’t right. Everything feels too real for that: the lights, the clatter of dice. The sting in his hand after he gave Gen a spank.
No, it’s all too real — whatever this is. But what will the repercussions for his actions be? Only time will tell.
“Figured I may as well give a good slap. Dunno how this place works.”
Gaze sliding down to the dice. Suspicious little fuckers.
“Didn’t want it not to count, y’know. Since you went all that way and presented yourself for me.”
A smirk, then: “Coulda done it harder, y’know.”
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dirty dice.
D'aww what's the matter, Old Timer? Afraid to touch a girl's tushy? And aren't you supposed to be the one who is all experienced in this sorta stuff?
[what are the odds if she's playing a game with a guy who has never had a partner? not like she is one to talk, of course, but she isn't the type to confess to something that private to a stranger.]
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[Of course Hank’s gotta end up playing this weird game with an absolute firecracker who has the gall to call him “Old Timer.”
Hank, admittedly, gawks for a second.]
You know what? [He thinks about lying, but no: honesty all the way here.] Haven’t touched a girl’s ass in half a decade.
[And somehow he manages to look into her eyes as he says:]
Experienced? Sure. Out of practice? Definitely. So I guess I can smack your ass, or...
[Hank shrugs. Feigns a sad, frowning expression. Lips pursed.]
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[a brief pause, now really getting a good look over the man before her.]
— sad. Really sad.
[is it rude to pour salt into someone who just opened up to her like this? most definitely, and she realizes this, naturally. so what she does next is exhale out a big sigh then bounces up to her feet with her hands place strongly on her hips.]
Whelp! Looks like it's up to me to be the hero again, and fix your sorry excuse of a life. So lay it on me, Scruffy! Give it all you got.
[and with that being said, the girl pivots to display her backside to him and patiently waits for him to do what the dice instructed. her rear end is definitely... plumpy, at least, so hank will have something to work with. and whoever is making them do this will be pleased if nothing else.]
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[Hank considers tossing the question back at her: “you do much ass touching lately?” But he doesn’t, preferring to roll along with their game.]
Oh, you’re a hero all right.
[He pushes back his chair, staring at her ass as he stands. It feels perverted, because it is, but it’s part of the game. Not like anyone would expect him to slap someone’s ass without looking, right?
He really hasn’t touched a girl’s ass in half a decade, though. Feels weird to be indulging with a stranger in public, but hell — when in Rome. Smack asses, apparently.
Hank isn’t really thinking about how hard he’ll do it till he’s standing beside her, hand pulled back. Trying not to ponder her age — don’t make this any weirder than it’s gotta be, Hank thinks — and then he’s finally releasing his hand. Letting it smack against her. Enough to make his palm sting a bit, and it’s not part of the whole “slap ass” part, but his hand lingers. Gives her a little squeeze.
God, he is a pervert.]
Thanks. [A mumble as he shuffles back to his chair.] For fixing my “sorry excuse for a life.” Think that did the trick.
[“Scruffy...?” The nickname is oddly endearing.]
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All in the day's work. And I'd rate that about... eight outta ten. — You didn't squeeze the other cheek.
[jokingly, she gives the dice a toss, and it lands on,"12" and "11".]
Grind on knee?
Sex Toy Roulette
"....Some of the material is unfamiliar to me."
He traces his thumb over the padded clamp, the edge of his mouth tugging slightly flatter. He promptly uses one to clip onto the delicate skin between his thumb and forefinger.
"It's soft...? No, not really..."
It doesn't really hurt, though, despite how harshly it's pinching him.
"You could have landed on worse than this. Are you sure you want me to have it?"
He'll happily spin the wheel for himself, momentarily, but he can't bring himself to leave this topic alone.
Never mind the fact that his face is very slightly pink against the bottom rim of his mask.
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“Well, I mean... shit. Don’t gotta be all bashful about it.”
Hank rubs the back of his neck. He didn’t expect someone to be graceful about his reluctance.
“The whole deal is” — Hank says this as if he’s an expert here, which is lightyears away from the truth — “I gotta use them. With someone. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s gotta be me who wears them, y’know?”
He waves his hand in the air awkwardly. Gesturing to said nipple clamps.
“Guess you should do your spin, though. Who knows, maybe you’ll get one of the actual prizes and not a... whatever.”
But then maybe their luck will be doubly bad instead, and they’ll both end up with something weird!
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"It's not a bad prize."
It's his turn to spin, so that's what he does. He watches as the sections tick by, only...
His prize? another set of nipple clamps. This pair with little blue jewels stuck to them as weights. Alivian tilts his head a little as he regards them again, just the same as the first set, and then his lips quirk into a hint of a smile.
"They match your eyes."
Sorry, Hank.
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Hank’s jaw drops. Eyes thinned.
“Well, fuck. Guess we’re really in for it now, huh?”
Double the nipple clamps, double the trouble.
“They do kinda match my eyes, huh,” he says, eyes downcast as he flicks one of the gems with his finger.
It’s cute that Alivian noticed his eyes at all, really.
“Would say we could swap — you wear mine, I wear yours — but yours are a lot prettier. Not because of them being the color of my eyes. Mine are just weird.”
Because they have a chain, sure, but also because they’re his. For now, anyway.
“I dunno what they expect you to do though, really. I mean — where? Because nobody wants to see me without my shirt, let me fuckin’ tell you.”
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But, whoa. If only Alivian's eyebrow lifting could be seen. Alas.
"Your build is common where I'm from, and not so dissimilar from my own."
Cue the wolf unbuttoning the random shirt he picked up upon arrival just to show Hank. His chest was putting pressure on the front of the shirt, and it certainly juts out as soon as it's been freed. Although certainly built in his own way, he does have enough padding to make any muscle along his stomach basically invisible.
The rest of him is lanky, but that's not what he's showing on purpose.
More or less, though, it's candid.
"...I won't pressure you, however. I'm sure you look fine."
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“Oh, Jesus fuck. I mean...”
Hank grabs Alivian’s arm, tries to steer him away from the obnoxiously spinning wheel — with all these people and their mocking ‘insta-prizes’ — but it feels like there are eyes everywhere.
“You’re not pressuring me.” Voice lower now as he fiddles with the stupid tie the resort staff pulled round his neck. “Just not much of an exhibitionist, I guess. Or I wasn’t.”
This place has got him thinking weird things, like: ‘wouldn’t it be nice to fuck in one of those fancy cars in the parking garage?’ Weird stuff like that. Maybe not being seen, specifically, but the possibility of such.
“And here you are, just pulling your shirt off like...”
Hank doesn’t have words, really. He lets his eyes roam, staring at Alivian’s chest. Soon to be donning those precarious nipple clamps, maybe.
Goddamn.
“Let’s just... find a place. A little more private, y’know?”
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mfw I realize the whole thing italicised and not just the first "I": D: oh well, no biggie <3
we love italics in this house 👏
cw: choking/death mention (<3)
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cw: mentioning of terminal illness
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cw: character has a knot
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dirty dice
Everyone needs a payout.
Even so, he's watching those dice intently, lingering on them when the they finally still and they can take in the numbers. SLAP ASS. Not the worst thing he could've rolled, that's for sure.
"Looks that way," he replies with a soft exhale. His hand goes up to his tie, tugs at the knot of it slightly in an attempt to loosen it slightly. But he can hear that hastiness in his voice, the uncertainty in his question, and he's quick to shake his head. "For something like this? No," he replies in an attempt to be reassuring. "But they've got their ways when they really want you to do something."
That said, he shifts to the edge of his chair but doesn't stand. "Your call if you want to."
Roulette old man appreciation hours
She's even less thrilled to be addressed by one of the unlucky players. With nipple clamps?? Now there's a medieval torture device if she's ever seen one. ]
Are you certain? I'm sure I could come up with a hex or three that will convince you otherwise.
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[Hank looks down at the nipple clamps in his hand.
Looks up. Lips pursed.]
Think I might prefer the hex thing, honestly. But I guess I got — [checking his weird little watch to scan over the rules again] — four hours to figure all that out.
[He jerks his thumb toward the terribly inconvenient roulette wheel.]
You gonna try your luck? Or you gonna just... Hex me?
[Hank doesn’t even try to hide his small grin. Which will evaporate if she follows through with her threat, but still. Would rather not have to use said nipple clamps, thank you.]
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I always hex first, ask questions never. Now, let's see... No more wasting time, gramps... put on those CLAMPS.
[ Yes, most of her hexes come in the form of rhymes. It's pretty silly. Also, whether her hex actually works is hit or miss (up to you!) since they don't seem to work on some people. ]
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[Hank has to gawk at her for a second.
Gramps? She’s not wrong, but...
He almost feels bad as he unbuttons his shirt. Which wasn’t exactly part of the hex, or whatever, but it just feels more natural than clipping them on over his shirt.
Is it the hex that gets Hank to obey, or is he just being cheeky? A little of both, maybe. Hank’s not sure he believes in magic, but he’s also averse to just baring himself to a woman in public — he’s not that rude.
So maybe there is a little magic at play here.]
Okay, they’re on. Whatever. [Clamped tight over his nipples with the weird chain hanging between them. Hank holds his shirt closed afterward, feeling his chest rub against the fabric. Goddamn.] Happy?
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Happy? She's delighted! Not only does Tharja not have to wear them, but this is proof (?) that her magic still works here (a little?), and she got to see a nice treat on top of it all. She called Hank gramps, but it wasn't totally an insult after all. ]
Ooh yes, I'm just tickled pink. How do they feel?
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Uh.
[Hank clutches his shirt together more tightly, wondering if to start buttoning up his shirt again. Yeah, that’s probably for the best. He’s already flashed Tharja enough.
Starting at the bottom, now: one button, two. He still has to use the damn clamps with another person, but at this point, maybe he’ll just take the loss. What’s the worst that could happen? Worse than seeing — or being — an old man, running around in nipple clamps?]
Would you believe me if I said they feel terrible?
[“Mortifying” is probably closer to the truth. And while other people are still taking a turn at the stupid wheel, winning their stupid prizes, it isn’t a consolation, really.
Because none of them — that Hank has seen so far — is ancient like him. And obviously, none of them are Hank.
Big difference.]