【 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 the Astral Express where he comes to, though for a moment his surroundings suggest otherwise — like an outdated, compressed version of that railway train among the stars, the vehicle interior is nonetheless luxurious. He can tell it's a place meant for a traveler to rest, mid-transit, and enjoy something to drink. Lay down one's weary head. Await the arrival of one's destination.
Except for the most telling detail amiss, he's completely naked under his clothes. Or rather, his robe, which is not in fact a proper outfit at all (who is Sophia?). When he shifts on the soft seat of the bench, the opening of the front threatens to expose his bare legs, letting in a horrific draft of cool air. And given that he did not go to sleep in anything less than a full pair of slacks, how did this happen? Was he assailed in his sleep?
... An ironic thought.
When Sunday tries the doors, he finds them locked. Of course. So, now, he turns to the other person in the vehicle with him — who he has been ignoring this whole time.]
I'd prefer to believe that you are also an... unfortunate victim of this elaborate setup, and that this isn't your doing. [So straight-faced, so awkward.] However, we are both indecently dressed and should leave. It doesn't seem that this vehicle is moving yet. Do you have any suggestions?
𝐈𝐈. 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐒
[Should you come to find yourself in this exclusive lounge, there will be a man seated at a corner booth, now fully dressed in appropriate attire — but he doesn't look like Sunday. He has all the hallmarks of an NPC: forgettable face, lifeless hairstyle, unremarkable eyes. He's not even really that hot. How is he getting laid? Well, perhaps it's his stunning personality.]
Hello.
[... No, he sounds boring, too. Maybe he'll give you a fetch quest.]
The wait staff kindly provided me with cigars, but I don't smoke. Would you take them off my hands?
[Yet while looking at this man, there is a glimmer of something around his figure, an aura of strange color like the rainbow-light of an oil spill. For those who are more perceptive (magically or intuitively), you may be able to discern that the man is disguising his appearance. Or perhaps you just want free cigars?]
𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄
[How does it feel to spoon with a spindly, virginal man who has never touched another person's body In Sin even once in his life? Also, there are tiny feathers on the pillow. He shed a little in his sleep. Sorry if it's ticklish.
Rudely awake once more, Sunday — climbs gracelessly out of bed, dressed in the wrinkled suit-attire of the night before, horror struck across his face. You would think his sister had been murdered again.]
What is the meaning of this? How did you get in here?
[A glance around will determine that they are in... a bedroom, somewhere. It dawns on him belatedly that he doesn't recognize the location either, but that won't stop his interrogation first.]
𝐈𝐕. 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃
[Sorry I can't take him seriously...... permissions/kinks in his journal, I will have more info up eventually. Feel free to hit me up via PM or my EMP comment to plot something specific!]
[ unfortunately for sunday, mona is rather cranky when her beauty sleep is interrupted. her lashes flutter open slowly, and then she squints for a moment, making a small, disgruntled noise before sitting up in their shared bed.
well, previously shared. he did practically leap out of it. ]
Quiet. [ a grouse, her brow furrowed slightly. ] There's no need to panic.
[ mona's usually long, immaculate hair is tousled from having tossed and turned throughout the night, there appearing to be a number of downy-soft feather sticking out of it. she hasn't noticed this yet, instead huffing softly and giving sunday a glare as she reaches up to sweep her fringe out of her eyes. you'd think that he had walked into her bedroom, in her suite, and rudely awoken her of his own volition, not the resort's. ]
[A woman he doesn't know. If not for his state of dress, he would believe that they — somehow, without his knowledge — committed an act as obscene as this place seems to revel in. But no, everything appears in order, except for their physical misplacement. And the... 'Hangover Kit'?
And, it appears, fresh and ready food. His gaze slides away from the plates with disquiet.]
By your behavior, this must be just another ordinary day to you. Then are you one of those... long-standing guests? [Stop making him look like he's the crazy one.] ... Your hair. You should brush it out.
[It is almost mortifying, actually, to see his feathers on someone else's person.]
[ her initial sharp reply must've gotten through to him, because the stranger in her bedroom deflates just a bit. good. mona is too drowsy to properly deal with someone so flustered. she takes the time to languidly stretch and adjust to the brightness as he glances about, a beautiful arrangement of food and amenities seemingly laid out to accommodate them catching his eye.
when he returns his gaze to her, she meets it with a cool stare of her own. ]
You would be correct. I have been a guest here for, [ she pauses to recount, tilting her head as she settles back on her palms, ] nearly a year, I suppose.
[ a long enough period to not be surprised to wake up to a random man in her bed. ]
( better to be ignored than to have one's gaze fixed upon him at all times. if he is not regarded as a threat or a person of interest, then it can be surmised that his role in this play is a minor one rather than major and thus affording him more freedom to do as he pleases.
which is to tighten the silk robe - thankfully opaque - around his person and carefully inspect the interior of the - vehicle? - he's found himself in. there are no obvious signs of a struggle, no pieces of misplaced evidence that might indicate a crime. only an assortment of sleek bottles left to chill in an ice bucket, and a young man dressed in much the same fashion as he.
and as enlightened as he is regarding their current predicament. which is to say, not very.
the question is expected, though it is only unfortunate that neuvillette has no satisfactory answer to give. nevertheless, he will try. )
Is there an attendant up front? Perhaps we might be able to speak to them.
[It isn't an unreasonable suggestion. Should he consider it fortunate this man with him demonstrates a similar desire to leave? Or perhaps he's simply playing along — Sunday's gold eyes glance back, observing him, trying to talk down the rise of paranoia within himself. He recognizes this discomfort, but it doesn't make it easier to bear.
How fitting, that his first true experience beyond his home would challenge him like this. Trapping him in a small, seemingly inescapable space.]
I'll see. [One hand — it feels strange, wrong, not to be wearing gloves — tugs at the black velvet curtains of the divider and peers through glass.] ... There's no one. We're alone.
[He notices his pulse jump, a panicked little flutter in his throat. He tries to ignore it.]
I may be able to pry open the window, but there isn't much clearance if... either of us wished to try squeezing through.
( he is not a melusine, gifted with their unique capabilities, but he has witnessed enough over the past 400 years to recognize that the young man in the vehicle with him is distressed, unhappy about their current predicament. and who wouldn't be, to be so carelessly abandoned in a locked vehicle with only scraps of fabric to cover themselves with? contorting himself to fit through a sliver of opened window sounds even less appealing, but given the lack of response from the various buttons and dials on the inside, they may have no other choice. unless....
he does not condone violence or the abuse of power, but neither does he intend to sit around here all day waiting to be rescued. neuvillette pulls at the door handle once again. though the door doesn't budge a inch, the lights in the car shift, dimming as slow sultry music clicks on. his eyelids droop in exasperation. )
There may be another option, provided you are amenable to getting wet.
( property damage may be a direct violation of the law but so is kidnapping. surely he can arrange for some sort of compensation if, at the end of the day, all this ends up being a simple misunderstanding. )
[ 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? ]
[There isn't enough contact to disrupt the illusion, but — contact at all is its own novelty, a brush of physical bodies where once he had surrounded himself in perfect distance from the rest of the world. And he is no one here, so it is not improper, even if he wasn't wearing his disguise. No one would recognize him. He'd anticipated the feeling after his departure, and it was not enough to prepare him for its reality.
Sunday takes a breath, masking his unease, and then offers the young man a smile. He's not very good at pretending to be someone else — but if there is no suspicion turned his way, and nothing to compare his behavior to, what could it hurt?]
Truth be told, I was looking to get rid of them. So this is merely serendipity.
[He isn't naive. That question is... a challenge, in some way, though he can't perceive its motive.]
I'm afraid I don't have much else to offer. [Ah. Except — this disguise has status, doesn't it? Or he wouldn't be here.] What would you prefer? I could buy you a drink.
[ Wei Wuxian wakes up spooning with a guy who is way too bony to be comfortable and with a feather tickling his nose. He sneezes, of course, which probably sets off the whole waking up Sunday and getting him accused of being a lockpicker. As Sunday scrambles off the bed, Wei Wuxian just shifts to sit up on his elbows and gives a wide yawn, not really perturbed in the slightest. ]
Me? Climbed in through the window, obviously.
[ Dry, deadpan. It's clear he's joking, but it might... also... not be clear? Either way, he lifts a hand to pick a feather out of his long hair, squinting at it lightly before looking back at Sunday, eyes flicking to the wings on his head. Hm. ]
[A flat expression answers that reply — but, without actual evidence, he can't discard its honesty on delivery alone. Then again, a quick glance at the window confirms what he suspected from the beginning: all of the windows in the resort are fake. There is no outside, a disorienting enough experience for anyone used to their freedom.
But the next question is uniquely humiliating enough to erase whatever sharp retort is on his tongue.]
It is. My apologies. Pay it no mind, you won't find them on your pillow ever again.
[Why does that sound like a threat? Stepping forward, annoyed to find himself unsteady, he — plucks the feather out from between those fingers. ... If Wei Wuxian lets him do it, anyway.]
[ she doesn't recognize him— she can't, with his ability in effect. Still, as a person who has very strong feelings (negative) about propriety for propriety's sake, she can't help speaking her mind. ]
You can appreciate the gesture without using them. And if the giver takes offense, then they should've considered a gift you'd actually use.
[And he doesn't recognize her, either. Yet even if he did, Sunday would likely have kept the disguise — where he stands with the IPC remains an ambiguous place for him.]
Well, as I expect you've seen, there's certainly no lack of luxury items to go around.
[He should probably... pretend, at least a little, to be among the crowd.]
Aren't you one of the elite yourself? Or else you wouldn't be here. Is it not to your taste, despite your status?
[ everyone in this party - and in this world for that matter - is eye-catching in so many ways. and it's because sunday chooses to blend in by being as unassuming as possible that shylock can't help but turn his attention to him. not just because of the prospect of free cigars, but the fact that this curious wizard is able to discern his disguise -- or rather, he could feel that this random npc is anything but random. the vibe he's giving off is angelic, in a way. how adorable.
but, well, if the boy chooses to keep up the act, then so be it. shylock is not one to pry anyway, and he'll even have fun playing along with this charade. such is the whimsy of a western wizard. ]
Certainly. [ he gracefully takes the cigars from the boy. ] Although, is it because it is not to your taste or have you yet to indulge in one yet?
[It may be clear that the approach is unwanted by the discomfort that knits into his posture — less so because of the disguise he wears than other circumstances, because even if he didn't have it, no one would recognize him. It is the social interaction that stands out of his depth, so unlike his role as the Oak Family Head or even as the Bronze Melodia. What people wish to speak of here... it's almost always motivated by sex. Isn't it?
In the physical form he's taken, perhaps he overestimated anyone's willingness to approach him. Certainly the man in front of him could choose anyone else. He keeps his smile as vacant as possible.]
I shouldn't say I dislike them if I've never tried one. But no, they're poor for your health. It should be a rare indulgence if at all. [... all right, now how does he get this stranger to Leave now that he's accepted the gift?] If you'd like to smoke with someone, I imagine there would be no lack of willing individuals in a place like this.
[They put him at a table. Sunday's struggling refusals have fallen on deaf ears since he was brought in by an invisible force, surrounded by revelry and indulgence, left to wilt in the shadows at the fringe of the room. Yet as much as he's tried to stay out of the way, it doesn't take long before he is seen and hauled into a game — pushed down by a shoulder into a chair.
And across from him is... a face he recognizes. The first, among all of these others he's seen, passing before his eyes in a blur of color and intoxication and excessive luxury.]
Mr. Aventurine.
[The name comes tightly, golden eyes fixed across the table, studying the other man through the perfect triangle at the peak of the house of cards. Like a window, he can see the IPC Ambassador's expression, as perfectly composed as any gambler in their element. Sunday cannot even claim that where they are isn't also familiar to him. Isn't the Golden Hour constructed to serve a similar purpose as the Golden Peacock? Perhaps not so obtrusively, but there's a clear parallel to be drawn.
The only difference, Sunday was not here in the chair but somewhere in an office, tucked away, above.]
Is this your doing? ... Bringing me to the table, that is. I understand this is exactly the sort of place you would seek out. [His mouth presses into a line, gaze falling between them. He should choose his words carefully.] What are the rules of your game?
sunday doesn't know aventurine knows what his dick looks like
( it has been a while, and aventurine knows what this means - that the 'sunday' he had met before is not quite the same sunday he meets right now, that the whims and wishes of the house transcend something even the ipc themselves have no control over. a power akin to those of the aeons, something that manipulates time and space; but he does not dwell much over it, knows it's beyond his abilities. it's information he will bring back to the company, once - if ever - he makes it back.
the present time is what matters; a sunday that is rightfully suspicious of him, as he had been once before. it's of no surprise, with how well aventurine fits in, dressed up in a nice suit, straight posture and legs crossed. it does look as though he had planned the entire thing, does it not? )
Hmm~ Those counts as questions, do they not? Though, I guess you don't know. Lucky you, getting free answers. Let's see... ( and here, aventurine reaches for one of the two top cards in the house of cards, for appearances only. he does not yet read the question on it. ) I prefer to play games with willing participants, so sorry to disappoint you, but you will have to put the blame on someone else.
Which means - the rules aren't mine, otherwise I would make them a little more fun. ( read: with proper gambling involved, high risks and high rewards, etc. ) But if you're willing to play, all you have to do is pull a card and answer the question on it. As for what happens if you can't answer it... I guess that's a gamble you'll have to take?
[ Sometimes the quieter places are worse. So Genya discovers once again after 48 hours of being trapped in this hellscape of casino lights; trying to find respite from the party ends up with him muddling around Lovers’ Hideaway with a card pinned to his shirt. Ace of Hearts, putting him in a role that he is woefully inexperienced with.
The staff are hawkishly watching and the prickle of his sixth sense tells him that they’re going to set him up if he doesn’t find a partner soon. Better he select someone that isn’t offensive than end up saddled with a random staff pick.
So, hands shoved into his pockets and expression set into terrifying scowl (he’s nervous), Genya approaches a man who is altogether too pretty to exist but gives off a gentle air. All based off of first appearances, of course. ]
… hey. You wanna pair up?
[ Even if he gets laughed at and rejected, at least he tried… ]
[The young man would be an intimidating sight to anyone else, but Sunday's preoccupation with this — game, as they've called it, takes precedence in his own mind. It is not the first an individual has approached him with ulterior motive, but the question is surprisingly innocuous, in the end. And he understands he'll have to find a partner or risk being ejected back out into the party, where he is exposed to more attention under bright lights, unable to escape or find solitude.
At least here, it's quieter. He should take advantage of this rare peace.
The card pinned to his own lapel reads Ace of Clubs, informing him of a role he's meant to perform; as gold eyes land on Genya, forced to peer a little upward given the difference of height, his expression is coolly neutral (he's also nervous).]
I would be amenable, so long as you aren't expecting... anything untoward of me. [You know. The sex.] I'm a new guest, I should admit. So the nature of these games is taking some adjustment.
( somewhere, elsewhere, the streak of gold marking someone's grand jackpot reminds her of a star shooting across a dark velvet sky —
for a while, she thinks it must be a dream. some kind of dreamscape, at least, with the same luxurious pulses of the golden hour that nearly makes her homesick. except here, nothing will strike her through the heart to pull her in any deeper. and there's no sense of falling off of some high ledge to see if she'll wake up before hitting the ground. no, in fact, one might think that coming to terms with her captivity has taken robin a surprisingly brief amount of time...
... or not.
because robin is the type to beat her wings until it rattles the cage bars and this prison must have been no exception. which is to say, she's never been the type to sit back and wait upon someone else's investigation, which has gotten her in plenty of trouble before and this? )
Hmm... no dice? Or close, but no cigar?
( ... not that... this hostess looks anything like robin with her dark hair and the tiny wings sprouting from her backless costume. guests that have been denied access but are caught trying to sneak in will be conscripted into drink service, but robin had all but begged to volunteer for the job to enter these parts unknown. they will be dressed up in a sexy bird costume and made to serve drinks to high rollers, and sure, the fishnets and the bowtie on the collar piece adorning her throat is a little overkill but...
it's already been a long, long night. watching this un(?)remarkable man foist off his cigars and not enjoy himself rings something off-tune to her, which goes some way to explaining why she's approaching him sometime after the interim, a tray and martini glass on hand to offer him. )
Then, how about a drink instead, sir?
( ... give her a moment to puzzle out if it's the strange air to account for the familiar cathode-ray tube fuzz of harmony she could almost sense dulling her hindbrain. for now, sunday gets a blink and an oddly familiar idol's smile. )
[Oddly familiar is the sense that sneaks up on him as he's approached by the waitress, and he hates to admit at first he is irritated, assuming this member of the staff wants something of him — will ask him to mingle or request to confirm his status as a high-rank individual with proof. He doesn't like to use his abilities carelessly, and less when it might paint a target onto his back in this strange place. Subtlety is the goal of disguise, isn't it?
Yet he struggles with such a thing, having had little prior experience, and he's not very good at acting. His sister would perform better.
The woman's voice chimes like a bell in his ear at this thought, blinking him back to reality. That humor is lost on him, cool exterior resilient to the play on words; he's looking at the martini glass and wondering if it will give him the illusion of blending in. Something in hand, to look busy.]
Please. I appreciate it.
[He reaches out, gloved fingers plucking the stem of the glass from that proffered tray. He doesn't lift it to his lips. His gaze drifts now onto the outfit the waitress is wearing — but it flits away, avoiding the sight of pale skin through dark fishnets, then carefully returns only to examine that pair of weathered wings from a backless dress.]
Don't let me keep you, I'm certain there are other guests who require your... consideration.
[Even these words carry a dull, stinging sense of wrongness, and perhaps that is why he cannot take his eyes away from her, even after he has had his discreet fill of looking.]
[ While Sunday does all the hard work of trying to open the door without flashing his knees (cover them up, slut), Stelle assesses the cozy robe she's woken up in, none too fussed that it's not the pajamas she went to sleep in. It's comfy and cute, and there's free booze! Whoever set them up like this certainly knows how to treat their prisoners.
Even if she could ask for better company...
By the time "Sophia" is turning back to acknowledge her, Stelle already has a flute glass between the fingers of one hand, the other outstretched for a bottle of something that looks like it might be older than the Astral Express itself. ]
Are you sure about that? I might've been the master mind all along. [ She serves her cheek with a feline grin, unable to resist such ample opportunity to rib him. ] Welcome to Amphoreus, Sunday.
[ Helpfully, as she snags the bottle of champagne. ]
[Finding no easy or convenient way out, Sunday sighs, retreating back to the sofa to sit beside her. He looks reluctantly at the bottle, unpossessed of any desire to Get Drunk right now given the circumstances, but as long as Stelle is enjoying herself...
Perhaps there is something to be said of the calm informality her presence inspires. He feels a little less stressed, if more exasperated for it.]
I suppose I shouldn't discount it [you chaotic trash panda,] but I have a feeling that isn't the case. Nor do I believe this is Amphoreus. Do you?
( there is no sleep like that which comes from mental exhaustion, and there’s little that comes to mind as more tiring than an unending, raucous party. to be graced with a bed rather than the cramped backseat of a car has its own appeal as well, an upgrade that the body can find hard to resist. all this to say: ratio is— or was, given sunday’s screeching— sleeping perfectly sound despite the assignment of companion, complete with pajamas and eyemask. does he recall changing into them, or even acquiring them at all? no. are there more pressing matters at hand? absolutely.
though it’s hardly necessary to confirm the identity of the voice he hears, ratio lifts the mask to sight of sunday all the same. there are feathers in his hair, and, though he didn’t touch any substance at the party, the growing tension of a headache behind his eyes. so much for comfort and rest— and this place claims to be a five star resort? )
The same way as you have, or so I can only assume. ( autonomy does not seem to be a priority, here at the golden peacock. already it grates on him.
but there is a small pause, as he considers sunday’s state. never has he seen the man so disheveled. the incongruence from how he normally chooses to present himself— )
I suppose your time in Penacony has graced you with the ability to handle such social events? ( or alternatively: did you have fun last night, bud )
[There are far better prospects — and far worse, in consideration of all possible options (Aventurine) — to find sharing his bed. At least the Doctor is a more reasonable, level-headed individual by his past dealings with the man. His loyalties, on the other hand...
As if loyalty is a matter in question, given where they are. This thought runs through Sunday's head only to find the tired, dead-end reminder that they are no longer in Penacony, and he is no longer the head of anything, and Ratio is — just a man. In his bed. (Is it his bed? He doesn't recall lying down here, worrying in the lack of memory.)]
Don't assume. You must have come in during the night after I had fallen asleep. [Yet the doubt remains, because logic hasn't proven useful here so far. Also, Ratio looks so cozy with his eye mask and pajamas?] Penacony was never... this. It never demanded or forced anything.
[His defense isn't hard-toned, though, and he's quick to move on.]
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
sunday | honkai: star rail
hangover aftercare
well, previously shared. he did practically leap out of it. ]
Quiet. [ a grouse, her brow furrowed slightly. ] There's no need to panic.
[ mona's usually long, immaculate hair is tousled from having tossed and turned throughout the night, there appearing to be a number of downy-soft feather sticking out of it. she hasn't noticed this yet, instead huffing softly and giving sunday a glare as she reaches up to sweep her fringe out of her eyes. you'd think that he had walked into her bedroom, in her suite, and rudely awoken her of his own volition, not the resort's. ]
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And, it appears, fresh and ready food. His gaze slides away from the plates with disquiet.]
By your behavior, this must be just another ordinary day to you. Then are you one of those... long-standing guests? [Stop making him look like he's the crazy one.] ... Your hair. You should brush it out.
[It is almost mortifying, actually, to see his feathers on someone else's person.]
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when he returns his gaze to her, she meets it with a cool stare of her own. ]
You would be correct. I have been a guest here for, [ she pauses to recount, tilting her head as she settles back on her palms, ] nearly a year, I suppose.
[ a long enough period to not be surprised to wake up to a random man in her bed. ]
Are you a new arrival?
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cutest chimken icon i've seen
🥺
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ikemen mona
HELP
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parking garage
which is to tighten the silk robe - thankfully opaque - around his person and carefully inspect the interior of the - vehicle? - he's found himself in. there are no obvious signs of a struggle, no pieces of misplaced evidence that might indicate a crime. only an assortment of sleek bottles left to chill in an ice bucket, and a young man dressed in much the same fashion as he.
and as enlightened as he is regarding their current predicament. which is to say, not very.
the question is expected, though it is only unfortunate that neuvillette has no satisfactory answer to give. nevertheless, he will try. )
Is there an attendant up front? Perhaps we might be able to speak to them.
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How fitting, that his first true experience beyond his home would challenge him like this. Trapping him in a small, seemingly inescapable space.]
I'll see. [One hand — it feels strange, wrong, not to be wearing gloves — tugs at the black velvet curtains of the divider and peers through glass.] ... There's no one. We're alone.
[He notices his pulse jump, a panicked little flutter in his throat. He tries to ignore it.]
I may be able to pry open the window, but there isn't much clearance if... either of us wished to try squeezing through.
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he does not condone violence or the abuse of power, but neither does he intend to sit around here all day waiting to be rescued. neuvillette pulls at the door handle once again. though the door doesn't budge a inch, the lights in the car shift, dimming as slow sultry music clicks on. his eyelids droop in exasperation. )
There may be another option, provided you are amenable to getting wet.
( property damage may be a direct violation of the law but so is kidnapping. surely he can arrange for some sort of compensation if, at the end of the day, all this ends up being a simple misunderstanding. )
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mister "some proficiency with water" nevuillette
LISTEN....it's not very mindful or demure to be boastful 😔
such a proper french gentleman 😔
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high class oasis
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? ]
eyes
Sunday takes a breath, masking his unease, and then offers the young man a smile. He's not very good at pretending to be someone else — but if there is no suspicion turned his way, and nothing to compare his behavior to, what could it hurt?]
Truth be told, I was looking to get rid of them. So this is merely serendipity.
[He isn't naive. That question is... a challenge, in some way, though he can't perceive its motive.]
I'm afraid I don't have much else to offer. [Ah. Except — this disguise has status, doesn't it? Or he wouldn't be here.] What would you prefer? I could buy you a drink.
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https://imgur.com/fOuTvVb.png
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3!
Me? Climbed in through the window, obviously.
[ Dry, deadpan. It's clear he's joking, but it might... also... not be clear? Either way, he lifts a hand to pick a feather out of his long hair, squinting at it lightly before looking back at Sunday, eyes flicking to the wings on his head. Hm. ]
... This yours?
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But the next question is uniquely humiliating enough to erase whatever sharp retort is on his tongue.]
It is. My apologies. Pay it no mind, you won't find them on your pillow ever again.
[Why does that sound like a threat? Stepping forward, annoyed to find himself unsteady, he — plucks the feather out from between those fingers. ... If Wei Wuxian lets him do it, anyway.]
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II. High Class Oasis
[ she doesn't recognize him— she can't, with his ability in effect. Still, as a person who has very strong feelings (negative) about propriety for propriety's sake, she can't help speaking her mind. ]
You can appreciate the gesture without using them. And if the giver takes offense, then they should've considered a gift you'd actually use.
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Well, as I expect you've seen, there's certainly no lack of luxury items to go around.
[He should probably... pretend, at least a little, to be among the crowd.]
Aren't you one of the elite yourself? Or else you wouldn't be here. Is it not to your taste, despite your status?
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high class oasis
but, well, if the boy chooses to keep up the act, then so be it. shylock is not one to pry anyway, and he'll even have fun playing along with this charade. such is the whimsy of a western wizard. ]
Certainly. [ he gracefully takes the cigars from the boy. ] Although, is it because it is not to your taste or have you yet to indulge in one yet?
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In the physical form he's taken, perhaps he overestimated anyone's willingness to approach him. Certainly the man in front of him could choose anyone else. He keeps his smile as vacant as possible.]
I shouldn't say I dislike them if I've never tried one. But no, they're poor for your health. It should be a rare indulgence if at all. [... all right, now how does he get this stranger to Leave now that he's accepted the gift?] If you'd like to smoke with someone, I imagine there would be no lack of willing individuals in a place like this.
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@waged
And across from him is... a face he recognizes. The first, among all of these others he's seen, passing before his eyes in a blur of color and intoxication and excessive luxury.]
Mr. Aventurine.
[The name comes tightly, golden eyes fixed across the table, studying the other man through the perfect triangle at the peak of the house of cards. Like a window, he can see the IPC Ambassador's expression, as perfectly composed as any gambler in their element. Sunday cannot even claim that where they are isn't also familiar to him. Isn't the Golden Hour constructed to serve a similar purpose as the Golden Peacock? Perhaps not so obtrusively, but there's a clear parallel to be drawn.
The only difference, Sunday was not here in the chair but somewhere in an office, tucked away, above.]
Is this your doing? ... Bringing me to the table, that is. I understand this is exactly the sort of place you would seek out. [His mouth presses into a line, gaze falling between them. He should choose his words carefully.] What are the rules of your game?
sunday doesn't know aventurine knows what his dick looks like
( it has been a while, and aventurine knows what this means - that the 'sunday' he had met before is not quite the same sunday he meets right now, that the whims and wishes of the house transcend something even the ipc themselves have no control over. a power akin to those of the aeons, something that manipulates time and space; but he does not dwell much over it, knows it's beyond his abilities. it's information he will bring back to the company, once - if ever - he makes it back.
the present time is what matters; a sunday that is rightfully suspicious of him, as he had been once before. it's of no surprise, with how well aventurine fits in, dressed up in a nice suit, straight posture and legs crossed. it does look as though he had planned the entire thing, does it not? )
Hmm~ Those counts as questions, do they not? Though, I guess you don't know. Lucky you, getting free answers. Let's see... ( and here, aventurine reaches for one of the two top cards in the house of cards, for appearances only. he does not yet read the question on it. ) I prefer to play games with willing participants, so sorry to disappoint you, but you will have to put the blame on someone else.
Which means - the rules aren't mine, otherwise I would make them a little more fun. ( read: with proper gambling involved, high risks and high rewards, etc. ) But if you're willing to play, all you have to do is pull a card and answer the question on it. As for what happens if you can't answer it... I guess that's a gamble you'll have to take?
💀 if you meta about his dick i have to accept your hc
what's funnier, sinfully huge cock sunday or tiny sad sopping wet cat dick sunday
i fear sad wet cat is the most accurate
his dick fate is sealed then
🥹
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i appreciate neither of them rly want to be in the other's presence so we get to finish threads 🙂
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1 or 11, as discussed 💕
The staff are hawkishly watching and the prickle of his sixth sense tells him that they’re going to set him up if he doesn’t find a partner soon. Better he select someone that isn’t offensive than end up saddled with a random staff pick.
So, hands shoved into his pockets and expression set into terrifying scowl (he’s nervous), Genya approaches a man who is altogether too pretty to exist but gives off a gentle air. All based off of first appearances, of course. ]
… hey. You wanna pair up?
[ Even if he gets laughed at and rejected, at least he tried… ]
🥰
At least here, it's quieter. He should take advantage of this rare peace.
The card pinned to his own lapel reads Ace of Clubs, informing him of a role he's meant to perform; as gold eyes land on Genya, forced to peer a little upward given the difference of height, his expression is coolly neutral (he's also nervous).]
I would be amenable, so long as you aren't expecting... anything untoward of me. [You know. The sex.] I'm a new guest, I should admit. So the nature of these games is taking some adjustment.
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ii (slight iv)!
for a while, she thinks it must be a dream. some kind of dreamscape, at least, with the same luxurious pulses of the golden hour that nearly makes her homesick. except here, nothing will strike her through the heart to pull her in any deeper. and there's no sense of falling off of some high ledge to see if she'll wake up before hitting the ground. no, in fact, one might think that coming to terms with her captivity has taken robin a surprisingly brief amount of time...
... or not.
because robin is the type to beat her wings until it rattles the cage bars and this prison must have been no exception. which is to say, she's never been the type to sit back and wait upon someone else's investigation, which has gotten her in plenty of trouble before and this? )
Hmm... no dice? Or close, but no cigar?
( ... not that... this hostess looks anything like robin with her dark hair and the tiny wings sprouting from her backless costume. guests that have been denied access but are caught trying to sneak in will be conscripted into drink service, but robin had all but begged to volunteer for the job to enter these parts unknown. they will be dressed up in a sexy bird costume and made to serve drinks to high rollers, and sure, the fishnets and the bowtie on the collar piece adorning her throat is a little overkill but...
it's already been a long, long night. watching this un(?)remarkable man foist off his cigars and not enjoy himself rings something off-tune to her, which goes some way to explaining why she's approaching him sometime after the interim, a tray and martini glass on hand to offer him. )
Then, how about a drink instead, sir?
( ... give her a moment to puzzle out if it's the strange air to account for the familiar cathode-ray tube fuzz of harmony she could almost sense dulling her hindbrain. for now, sunday gets a blink and an oddly familiar idol's smile. )
scoops you up 🥺
Yet he struggles with such a thing, having had little prior experience, and he's not very good at acting. His sister would perform better.
The woman's voice chimes like a bell in his ear at this thought, blinking him back to reality. That humor is lost on him, cool exterior resilient to the play on words; he's looking at the martini glass and wondering if it will give him the illusion of blending in. Something in hand, to look busy.]
Please. I appreciate it.
[He reaches out, gloved fingers plucking the stem of the glass from that proffered tray. He doesn't lift it to his lips. His gaze drifts now onto the outfit the waitress is wearing — but it flits away, avoiding the sight of pale skin through dark fishnets, then carefully returns only to examine that pair of weathered wings from a backless dress.]
Don't let me keep you, I'm certain there are other guests who require your... consideration.
[Even these words carry a dull, stinging sense of wrongness, and perhaps that is why he cannot take his eyes away from her, even after he has had his discreet fill of looking.]
👅🐣 🥄
🪽😳🪽
... a sunday emoji
now we need a robin emoji 🪽😇🎤
🪽😳🪽🎤
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idk how to not write angst slowburn i'm sorry
... ok, but i'm here for the angst and the smut is just one of the perks
🥹 u get me
birds of a feather 🙂↕
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truly i do not know how to stop tl;dring
looks at this monstrosity........ same
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cw: ok kind of incesty thoughts now :/
cw: incest but it's not just thoughts sorry 1/2
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cw: just incest now i guess 🥹
you ever just want to 🎀 a thread...
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Even if she could ask for better company...
By the time "Sophia" is turning back to acknowledge her, Stelle already has a flute glass between the fingers of one hand, the other outstretched for a bottle of something that looks like it might be older than the Astral Express itself. ]
Are you sure about that? I might've been the master mind all along. [ She serves her cheek with a feline grin, unable to resist such ample opportunity to rib him. ] Welcome to Amphoreus, Sunday.
[ Helpfully, as she snags the bottle of champagne. ]
stelle!!!
Perhaps there is something to be said of the calm informality her presence inspires. He feels a little less stressed, if more exasperated for it.]
I suppose I shouldn't discount it [you chaotic trash panda,] but I have a feeling that isn't the case. Nor do I believe this is Amphoreus. Do you?
[More concerning —]
How did we become separated from the others?
sunday!!!
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did not eat my veggies but i would like one (1) cloaca indulgence please (iii)
though it’s hardly necessary to confirm the identity of the voice he hears, ratio lifts the mask to sight of sunday all the same. there are feathers in his hair, and, though he didn’t touch any substance at the party, the growing tension of a headache behind his eyes. so much for comfort and rest— and this place claims to be a five star resort? )
The same way as you have, or so I can only assume. ( autonomy does not seem to be a priority, here at the golden peacock. already it grates on him.
but there is a small pause, as he considers sunday’s state. never has he seen the man so disheveled. the incongruence from how he normally chooses to present himself— )
I suppose your time in Penacony has graced you with the ability to handle such social events? ( or alternatively: did you have fun last night, bud )
filthy
As if loyalty is a matter in question, given where they are. This thought runs through Sunday's head only to find the tired, dead-end reminder that they are no longer in Penacony, and he is no longer the head of anything, and Ratio is — just a man. In his bed. (Is it his bed? He doesn't recall lying down here, worrying in the lack of memory.)]
Don't assume. You must have come in during the night after I had fallen asleep. [Yet the doubt remains, because logic hasn't proven useful here so far. Also, Ratio looks so cozy with his eye mask and pajamas?] Penacony was never... this. It never demanded or forced anything.
[His defense isn't hard-toned, though, and he's quick to move on.]
You should get up.
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