【 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.
[wake... wake... wake... pulse... pulse... flicker. his eyes flutter once, twice, and open completely. this... what the hell is this? last he remembers is darkness, pulling his flesh apart, fading away into his own contented death. this isn't death. ugh, his bones creak, protesting movement as he forces his body to respond. feels like his head's disconnected from his spine. it drops forward and he catches his forehead on the heel of his palm, fingers gritting into the flesh of his brow until tiny crescents dent his skin. pain bites through his nerves, sparking familiarity in his body. there we go. something more normal. focus, look around, and- what is that? that being his own flesh. bared to the air around him. nerves prickle on the sensation of carpet against his rear, feet, and thighs. well that's a damn way to come to. naked and lost in a garish display of lights, leather, metal, glass... what is this place? quickly judging a lack of standing space, he tugs his legs under him and kneels on the floor. one hand planted on the seat beside him, he lifts himself despite his own groaning muscles. back kinked, spine burning, but his heart's beating. what do you know.
first thing's first: get some answers. darkness swirls around his fingers and legs before surging along his body in a rush, leaving him no longer stark exposed, now clad in an organic bodysuit and helmet. that feels better. it's only then he notices he's not alone. another person? carelessly flopped across leather and furred seats? dumped on the floor like forgotten supplies? even propped in the chair in front of the wheel? wherever you are in the car-]
Wake up. [-he promptly kicks his current "roommate" in the shoulder. hard.]
168 HOURS
1) [so damn bright in here. everything glitters, from gold reflecting warped images of anyone walking past it to gemstones capturing the world in multi-faceted mirrors. crisp soft carpet underfoot, wood as strong as metal, opulence slathered everywhere as if this place sought to recreate the wealth of castles from ancient worlds. such decadence and wanton show of gaudy flamboyance. gross. yet amid crystal chandeliers and laughing voices, darkness exists. thick and tangible seeping through the air, a presence watching and demanding with only itself in mind. kind of exciting if you think about it. something's pulling strings here and that's enticing. guess it can't hurt to have a look around. maybe indulge.
what'd they call this? a black tie event? hilarious. they got him in a black tie at least. suit and everything. maybe you noticed the small commotion at the door earlier, with a few staff members now lying on the floor motionless in crumpled heaps. hey, he warned them. tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, material slips off his arm and hand, shucking the entire thing with a few easy motions. no one said he had to stay in the dress once past the door. only to enter. leaving a trail of dress clothes behind him, now clad in his usual organic bodysuit and helmet, he approaches one of the tables and drops both hands on the surface. menacing in his lean over its colors surface, game lines and designs reflecting in the curve of his opaque helmet-like mask.]
What're we playing?
2) [roulette? never heard of it. seems simple enough to play though. for idiots. but if you've got nothing to lose, what the hell? wrapping his fingers around the handle, a strange leathery grit of his suit and gloves sounding with his biceps, he wrenches the wheel to the side as if the giant table weighs nothing. some spin, this one roars, whirling about on its axis so fast, colored sectors blur together into one messy trough. look at it go. round and round, taking far too long to slow down into a final countdown. he dumps his elbow on the table and prop his metal jaw liner in his palm, empty hand tapping his fingers on the table as the wheel begins to slow. one by one it comes down to the wire, flicking pegs through the flipper with a wiggling twang each time. until finally the needle's left bent against the previous peg in a straining curve. is it gonna pull back and slide into the current slot... or will friction make it- ... toing!
and promptly finds himself with an item in his hand, warped mirror of it curving in the shell of his helmet. he turns it over in his hand once or twice, head canted ever so slight.]
What's this trash?
[alternatively... he tenses as noise and lights flare around, cheers break out, curses rise, and that little needle plunges into an insta-prize. he lifts his head from his hand, seeming unsure of what's going on right now. the roulette manager offers an arm to gesture him forward, only to have him remain where he is. head turned, a growling drone rumbles from the featureless helm covering his head-]
Is this part of the game?
3) [he's a quick learner. apparently people have so much excess in this place, they're happy to gamble it away on trivial, stupid games. and he's happy to collect it from them. starting from nothing means no one has anything on him. whether that's cheating at the roulette wheels or spying on people's hands in card games. he's taken a break from those excursions though, instead sitting across from another person with the table between them and a stack of cards built into a house atop it. it'd be more fun to knock the entire thing over, but apparently that's not the point of this game. man this would be so boring if it wasn't for the questions on the cards. must answer it honestly, huh... ha ha. right. if he feels like it. a papery 'fwick' flips the card between his index and middle finger.]
Ah crap. You keep getting the weird ones. "Do you wear your real face or a mask?"
MORNING AFTER
[goddamn... he's felt pain like this before. splitting his head open, pounding in his brain, stomach twisting in a lurch with bile in his throat. normally there's blood too, dripping past his eyes and leaking down his nape. luckily, the latter isn't the case. great way to be woken up: a boulder on his head. fumbling one arm, flop flop flop, he finally manages to slap his hand and forearm on the stone crushing his skull and scrapes it off. white flops to the side, pillow tumbling off to the mattress, or floor, wherever. he barely remembers what happened last night. once more, forcing his arms to move, joints popping in his elbows as he rolls himself fully onto his front. one attempt... another one... and slowly ratcheting himself up at the shoulders. spine arching with a rizzle of cracks feeling oh so good before his head instantly begins to swim. crap, if he pukes, it's gonna be sick.
maybe you're just now waking up, or you've been awake, but either way, there's this creature in your bed, clad in an organic bodysuit and helmet, muttering something about throwing up. yeah, good morning.]
WILDCARD
[shooting off generic starter prompts. but if you wanna plug in something new or different, send me a PM or ask below. do you want to catch vanitas cheating at casino games? do you want to meet him somewhere else around the golden peacock? want to assume you've met him and send him a text for a texting thread? sure! he's brand new to sex physically, but mentally he knows about it and is anything but a prude, so any of these prompts (or yours) can become nsfw.
also, and this is important, vanitas creates and controls monsters called unversed, so he can and will use them to get what he wants. his age is a weird mess in canon due to time shenanigans, but if you still wanna get freaky... monsters. just saying.]
[ and a good thing he's done it slowly too, or he might've caught Getou yanking his hand back from the 'gift basket' that's been placed in the room with them. more specifically, one item in the basket... ]
[ it comes with a ruffle, but Getou recovers quickly, an affable smile and compassionate pinch of his brows. ]
Rough night? Haha... [ his first comfort: asking establishes they didn't spend it together, in spite of Getou's absolute state of undress, a sheet hiked up around his hips. that's it. from what he's been able to glean, they've been sequestered away in one of the private rooms somewhere between the casino hall and the game rooms, who can say. this does, however, leave him to infer that his bedmate miserably waking up next to him is most likely a new arrival or they'd probably be in a formal hotel room. ]
[ his next comfort in the form of two bottles held out to Vanitas, the Pepto-Bismol and the water. ]
Here, these'll help. There's some aspirin too. [ perfectly content to make himself useful, the young man — tan, muscular, mussed dark hair down to his shoulders — has clearly done his own processing in private and now focuses outwardly. ]
[movement. he turns his head with a leather-like sound grit under his neck. there's someone else in here. second time this week he's woken up with another person next to him. this place is fond of shoving people together, isn't it. who's this guy? a kind smile, brows furrowed only so. posing off a picture of amiable nature. if he was gonna throw up, that urge is literally swallowed down his throat on sheer refusal and wary caution.]
You could say that. [if this guy could stop the world spinning, he'd like to get off. dropping to an elbow dents material around his bone before he twists his body around in a roll to his back and sits up. one hand presses at his helmeted head, massaging the glass even if it means nothing to his physical inside. paused, barely lifted in a twitch upward as two small bottles reflect in his mask's surface.]
Aren't you helpful. [he swipes both bottles, but makes no effort to drink either.] Do you normally steal into other people's beds?
Would you like me to be the kind of person who steals into other peoples' beds?
[ and quick with it too. he is the kind of person to be contrary just for the sake of it, judging from a sly smile, but it seems to pass after a moment of grievance. Vanitas, just like him, didn't exactly ask for this predicament... so he hands over the aspirin too, putting a pack on the lush silk and fur blankets that have made a bed into more of a nest. ]
You'll find this place has a will of its own that supersedes anyone else's. It's downright supernatural.
[ another beat, debating. then, he points at Vanitas and knocks against his own head, indicating his helmet. ]
A bit like that. [ well, "supernatural" is a word for skintight pajamas made of darkness, anyway. ]
[food and drink he's never experienced churns inside his stomach, liquor vestiges pound in his veins and head, and now he's given this to assist? along with a man who apparently needs validation on what sort of person he should be.]
Huh. You should really decide your character before opening your mouth.
[as if he believes this strange would "be" anyone another person wants him to be. perhaps if he offered it devoid of emotion and baiting tempt, a vapid idiot or power mad greed would take him up. swinging his legs from the bed, he plants them and rises, dragging the fabric around his waist off after him. tattered edges slap the backs of his thighs and he smoothly tosses one bottle into the other hand. frees up a hand for something else.
oh look. now he's giving information. a bare turn of his head suggests he's paying attention at least.]
I figured that out a while ago. [when he attempted to leave. even the corridors of darkness remained locked to "within" this thing.]
So, didja come in here on your own, or are we bedmates supernaturally?
[ fair accusation barbed beneath the command, but he doubts sharing the reason for the indecision comes from a gut-deep pity would be particularly welcome, nor does he feel keen to reveal the kindred. it's abating the more time he spends in this presence, anyway. ]
[ once alone in the bed, Getou throws himself diagonally over it, hair flipping over the pillow Vanitas had barely managed to use, arms lifted above his head to fiddle with his watch, at half-attention; he seems to be using it as an excuse to mull over his answer once again. ]
I followed you, [ a confession made without eye contact, a stillness that's controlled deception. his blunt nail clicks on the watch's surface, and he wrestles with the old liquored dryness on his tongue. ] You were the most interesting thing in the room.
[far too many masks exist in his world and mind for him to consider anyone wearing their true character. only a few exist without such a concealment, and most of those aren't even aware of their naked heart. an easy way to tell actually. this guy's kindness... he can sense genuine feeling, albeit with undercurrents making it hard to trust.
he followed him? someone has time on his hands. sarcasm contracts his lungs and he lifts his arms in a haphazard shrug.]
How flattering. Your life must really suck if I'm the interesting one.
[a man covered in darkness and masked manages to steal the attention of this guy amid a feasting of glamorous faces and perfect smiles, each one having the time of their lives out there among wealth. sounds like he has some abnormal focuses. dropping his arms, he turns his back to the wall and props himself to it, a dark shadow cutting into light.]
So what now? Gonna tell me what you want or do I gotta start guessing?
[ …there’s a slow rise to the attention, breaking away from the text message full of colorful emoji and a rapidly descending window, bubbles of speech still rolling through as it blinks back to sleep. he’s up on his elbows with his chin tucked to chest, observing the space between his former bedmate and the door through which they’d once both been spirited away. it feels a bit like getting a second chance to audition. he can respect that. ]
It’s not been great lately, [ confessed without guile, arid and exhaustive. “now what” is a question that’s been plaguing him in a far grander sense than this one conversation, this one exchange… but he thinks he’s getting a better idea of how to navigate this one. ]
You have a bad attitude and a worse… vibe, [ blunt, but vague. Vanitas has figured out this place’s supernatural elements, it seems, but the terminology from one world to the next has been different in ways both inexplicable and a headache he doesn’t want on top of the hangover he’s still fighting. it’s easier to show… and so Getou lifts a hand, and the picture of the wall behind it splits like an invisible blade had cut through the air. ]
[ it stretches open like a violated wound, blackness spilling from it in miasmic whisps as a fly-like creature emerges, fluttering wings and confused, curled eyes, hovering in the air as the interdimensional slice heals itself, three beings now existing in the room. by all technicality, it’s a spirit, a ghost; the resort’s supranatural meddling has made it visible even to those who wouldn’t have once been able to see it… but he doubts that’s the case here. ]
[could've left. nothing's holding him in this room save for a sliver of morbid curiosity giving this man one more chance to open up and come clean with a useful bunch of words. he's got no reason to believe his "interest" in him stems from a shred more than haphazard dumping by whatever this place is. if there's any expectation of activity in the room, it can fuck off. he's calling the shots right now and no one or nothing is impeding his decision.]
Don't whine at me about your life. [cutting him off as a guillotine before the stranger gets any stupid ideas his existence is of interest to him. he's got better things to do. likely not a risk, but heading it off regardless.]
Sorry to break your dreamy expectations. My aim's a lot better. [in case this guy wants a demonstration on with his lower jaw. "bad attitude". is that the worst he could come up with? irked thoughts aside, he twitches his head back in curiosity as getou vivisects the wall behind him. no, not the wall specifically, but the space it occupies. as if opening a portal of sorts. likely meaning once it shuts, everything will seal back up as if it never was. dimensional manipulation on a small scale...
he's proven correct soon enough. disgusting little creature, buzzing around as a monstrous mutated fly. called here, brought out of storage, transported? likely not a created being though. it was summoned from elsewhere.] That's a neat trick.
[behind his opaque mask, a flicker of surprise crosses his visage. calling him out? someone really was watching him from before. or he's presumptuous.] Wasn't aware I had a spy.
[darkness drifts up from his shoulders, akin to midnight mist floating over a bog. licking contours and bending in wisps as it dissipates in the air before sluicing down his arm and leg and pooling in the floor below. only takes a second before a twitching, slinking creature with mean sliced red eyes quivers onto spiky legs and crouches beside his shin.] Gonna have a cockfight?
( a sudden thunk of hands on the edge of the table where he's seated has him straightening, as though he's been caught doing something that he's not supposed to: but it's not the staff, ridding him of his inappropriate drink, or callously insulting his neat suit, or otherwise attempting to remove him from the premises. instead, planted right next to him at the end of the table is someone he's never seen before--a shiny black helmet, a skin tight body suit, and a sea of dress clothes left in his wake.
it's an unpleasant feeling, rippling off the stranger; nothing quite like cursed energy would feel, or taste, but something different, something he doesn't quite understand. still, it amuses him: interests him, in a way that has him grinning, one elbow propped up onto the edge of the table.
he's got his legs crossed, a glass of vodka and cranberry juice balanced precariously on the table between him and the stranger; he tilts his head up at him, letting the six eyes calculate and adjust, scanning over the stranger despite his head covering. )
Blackjack, do you know how to play~?
( warm, and amused, he points at the table where the cards are laid out--the dealer looks between the two of them, and with a wave of his hand, he tells the dealer to deal the stranger in for the round. )
Tell you what, if you lose this round, let's lose the helmet, too. It's sca~ry~.
[gets quite a round of reactions from the table. many of them staring at him like he's some kind of monster or shock value thrust into their happy little lives. maybe he is. chatter falls to silence, unnerving looks as if they're not sure what to make of him or do with him. and after he simply invited himself to their table of his own curious heart. all the more reason to lean in further to their peace, shoulders rounding in bunched intent he has none for leaving. they know he's staying. screw whether it creeps them out. better for him that it does.]
Cold table.
[everything reflects in his helmet, pretty colored lines neatly arched on green table felt, gambling chips of differing hues melting to ovals, all their faces warped in stretching disfigurement towards domed apex and truncating at the metal jawline. he reaches forward across the surface for one of the cards, only to pause when someone finally gathers nerve enough and answers. hand hovering, he tucks his head towards his shoulder back, face aiming for a young man with white hair and strange eyes. calculating. seems he's not a normal human. a strange energy lingers on him, as if it's unsure whether light or dark.]
Never heard of it. [everyone's got cards and chips... looks like he's gonna need both. plastic clacks as he grabs a fistful of chips from the pot and retreats with a strange leathery creak, straightening up beside the white-haired guy.] But I'm a fast learner.
[any shock or protest seems to die down when his new teacher waves at the dealer. seems he's got some sway... quickly arranging the chips in front of himself to match his new teacher's, same placement, arrangement, stacking, and all, he accepts the cards dealt to him.]
Ha ha ha. Liar. You like it. [no deal.] Let's play.
( the kind thing, he figures, would be to explain the rules. talk about the different chip values, or the fact that now this stranger is likely deep in the red--that the watch on his wrist has likely already neatly calculated the amount that that fistful cost him, chips scattered onto his side of the table. but what would be the point of that? he can't take advantage of a situation if he's always playing nice, and besides, he'd been the one that advocated for the strong not needing to take care of the weak--or the other strong, as it were. he doesn't have to help this powerful stranger.
doesn't have to make things easy for him, either. to hide his smile, he picks up his glass, taking a sip from it in a way that says how unaccustomed he is to the taste--if he finishes the whole thing, he thinks the headache will be just enough to prevent him from having any more. )
You make me sound so nasty. ( --comes the complaint, as the dealer sets the cards in front of them, and deals out to the other players. with the gentle clink of ice shifting in his glass, he sets it down; lips pursed, he looks at his card, then at the stranger's card, and taps the table for a hit. ) Maybe I like the face you have underneath better.
( a warm, almost teasing smile--and he taps the table again, knowing that the card total on his side will be an even twenty; he stops there.
with an expectant swing of his head, cheek tucked towards his own shoulder, he looks over at his new friend's card, waiting patiently to see how he plays. that'll determine whether he decides to declare another personal bet or not, and gives him the opportunity to lean further in his direction, crowding his corner of the table. )
[games, huh. he remembers them. only so much as watching ventus learn and play them with his stupid friends. never often enough to learn them himself. too busy getting his body torn to shreds by an damn geezer. he's not looking to make up for lost experiences in this place. this is simply something to do. unaware of what's happening in the watch or notching in his account, he settles in for the round. whether or not he expects this guy to teach him the rules goes unsaid.]
Most people are. [as bored as if he were stating the weather. even when they try to hide it. thinking of ways to advance themselves, concerned with their image or status, using others to their gain, always so eager to battle for their own, people are nasty. pretending to be otherwise makes them worse. he takes the card dealt to him and flips it up, but in a way only he and the other guy can see. obviously the intent is to keep the cards concealed until revealing later. he gathered that already. if the signal's to take another, then he looks to the dealer expectantly.]
It's not my face. [his voice runs mean, spiteful as much as it's flippant.] Mine's uglier.
[without any knowledge of the rules, he simply exposes a total of 13. nothing near 21, but certainly not enough to challenge the dealer with any confidence without taking another card and hoping for less than a 9.]
'It's not my face.' ( he repeats it in a poor imitation of the other's voice--a little too deep, a little too quirky--and then laughs. ) What do you mean? Where's yours~?
( his attention pivots, distracted, jumping from the cards, to the smooth, shiny surface of the helmet, and then back to the cards again. it would be risky to take another, but then there's no way that his new companion here will get higher than the dealer. and sure, he can see the value of the next card, and sure, he could tell his friend--
--but where would be the fun in that? his shoulders slump, an exaggerated sigh, before he shakes his head. )
Looks like you lost. ( the dealer, after all, has a total of nineteen--which means that he's the highest at the table, and wins back his bet, and a little more. the chips push onto his side, and rather than keep them all neatly arranged, he pushes a smaller pile over to the other man. ) We'll get 'em this time.
If I win again, you get rid of the helmet. ( he's just making his own arbitrary decisions, as the dealer gathers the cards up again, but he's come with a charming smile to match, as if it has any sway. ) And if I lose, then I'll give you whatever you want.
( a slow hum of breath, and his fingers slide his bet forward for this round. ) ...Within reason.
You're asking a lot of questions. [initially lifting his voice in interest, he sinks sinks towards warning annoyance at the end, not without some thread of amusement run through it. as if toying with the idea of answering.
silence covers the table, other players waiting with a mix of apprehension and mild impatience they've been saddled with a new player in need of training. her fifth finger tapping ever so on a wine glass, his lifted glass to the lips in hopes it would distract from eyes rolling upward, a mild bobbing of a foot under the table. all of it seeping across felt surface and wandering through colored chip stacks as he waits for his new teacher to pass verdict on his hand. it means nothing to him, but taking more time from these imbeciles is far more entertaining.]
Damn. Looks like I need another round. [another round of digging it into these faces. wishing he'd leave, irked he stays, and incensed even further as he drops both elbows on the table to prop his metal-clad jaw line on one fist, free hand flopped forearm flat. one by one, he flicks the chips towards the dealer, sending them sliding or rolling cross the table. by the third one, her visible neck pulses a tendon in effort to restrain her indignation. fun.]
For me? Aw. What's the catch? [and claps a gloved hand over the chips, sealing them as his own regardless of catch. his charming smile malforms in the helm's curvature, bug-eyed visage ballooning over a wild crescent. again with the helmet.] You're really stuck on that, aren't ya.
[two fingers plant atop a pair of chips, skating his bet onto the green. no agreement. no rejection.]
All we gotta do to win is take out that guy. [a callous toss of his hand indicates the dealer.] Right?
( he's not ignorant to the mood around them--on their half of the table, with his own body the barrier between his new friend and the rest of the players, there's an air of amusement, threaded through the hum of danger; beyond him, on the other side, there's impatient, irritation, and a little trickling of fear, all mixed together. even the dealer isn't immune to it--and it seems he might be the only one here who is.
mostly because he's used to causing the same sort of reaction: so he doesn't really care how anyone else perceives them, comfortable to offer another grin, stretched out in the side reflection of his companion's helmet. )
With cards, sure. ( warm and amused, his sunglass-covered gaze shifts back to the dealer, who stiffly begins to lay out the cards now that their bets have been placed. ) Anything else and we'll go to peacock prison.
( his smile says that wouldn't be the worst thing--but it's a tease, a flourish of his hand as he indicates for the dealer to hit, though with another measuring glance of his gaze from beyond his sunglasses, he calls early. sometimes the cards work with him and sometimes they work against him; he might be able to see what they are, but he can't change their order.
breezily, as if he didn't just agree to another bet-- )
If you take off your helmet, we can get a drink. Drinks make these games better, you know. You'll like it. ( his whole body tilts, bumping his shoulders up against the stranger. ) Go for it. Get two more cards. You'll win.
( it's quiet, murmured behind a hand--before he dramatically clears his throat, playfully covering his mouth with his palm to muffle the sound, as though that had been the intention the whole time. )
[fear. danger. ire. a lotta dark emotions at this table all because he showed up. isn't that the normal? ever the company no one wants. he feels their tension, a trill runs his spine as someone's skin crawls from his presence, and it makes him want to stay if only to shove the stain of his existence onto their happiness all the more. watch it mess with them till they choke. serve them right. they don't know a damn thing about him, but if that little brat was here, they'd accept him without a second thought.
fingers drum in rhythm atop pretty green felt, chin remaining propped in hand. then there's this guy beside him... he doesn't seem bothered by his presence at all. rather interested in it. from the way his brows lift above his glasses to the smile curving cross his lips. someone used to danger and the unknown, or an idiot who thinks friendliness can overcome anything? who knows. kinda pisses him off, but it won't hurt to use someone playing the fool.]
That'll be painful. [piqued and suggestive, one finger running the rim of the card he received. easy to put his inference together. not sure what peacock prison is, but you get it for killing here.] "We"? You're a funny guy.
[doesn't sound like a big price to pay, if his his affable manner and flippant smile are believable. peeling strong plastic back reveals his suit and rank. again, it means nothing to him, as he gathers they're trying to best the number the dealer has in his hand, but what number that is remains unknown. tilting his hand shows the other man his card. low number.]
You don't say. [assuming he knows his preference. like a mountain of rock, a small bump doesn't budge him at all. whether it's solid strength or he's somehow braced is up for question.] Hey dealer. Another. [take the advice, win the game, right? with a breathy flick, the card comes and he draws it in like a predator with prey. revealing it nets a solid twenty, something his coach knows. but when indicated, he flips the cards over and fans them out. the looks of irritation and disgust on their faces steeps one half of the table in foul disposition, barely held together by their plastic masks.]
Tough luck, losers. [and sweeps the entire pot to his side.]
[ Vanitas is not the only one who'd prefer to be knocking down the cards. The whole reason Xue Yang came over was because he saw one of the structures tumble and wanted to get in on that, only to be heavily disappointed when learning the rules... but oh well, he was already here.
At the question Xue Yang bursts into laughter, his wide smile showing off his prominent canine teeth. ]
Yeah, but it'd be just plain stupid if you got it instead. "I wear a mask!" [ He gives an amused snort. ] Boring.
As for me? Real face. If you piss me off, you're gonna know it. I don't suck up to people and pretend I like them. That shit makes me sick.
[ Luckily he only needs to answer the question honestly, not truthfully, since he doesn't have the self-awareness to do the latter.
Xue Yang then reaches for the stack himself. The motion looks lazy and casual, but there's a moment of precision as he actually takes hold of the card and slips it out of the structure, not disturbing the rest of them even the slightest amount. ]
"Are you more likely to betray someone or be betrayed?"
[no one said they couldn't knock the entire tower to pieces in a joint effort. no winner. no loser. but it's more fun to make someone lose. whoever built the cards up spent so much time making sure it was perfectly balanced. what an idiot. deliberately building something for the purpose of seeing it get demolished. guess that's part of the game's allure. and the questions.
a peal of laughter displays elongated fangs, reflected in a weird deformed warp in his helm. reminds him of a hyena.]
What do you know? [a dismissive flick sends the card to the "used" pile.] I could've been born this way.
[dropping his elbow to the table, he props one metal-lined jaw on the palm, fingers lazily drumming at his mask.]
Easy there, cutie. Wasn't asking for a full psyche bio. [truth? lie? neither matters. he could be making every word up and there's no way to tell. too much work to bother trusting. but he spills out some interesting drivel regardless.
impossible to tell if his eyes are moving while watching, his helmeted head stone still as xue yang's hand mirrors in its curve. precise with his motions while display neither struggle nor tension. he's used to doing meticulous work. nary a tremble as his card slips free. a single shit of his knee could brought the entire thing down...]
Someone might call it betrayal. I like to call it looking out for me.
[can't betray someone you were never on the side of in the first place. hell whether they think the same. he reaches for the tower again, going for the topmost card like normal. not a very risky player. that or he likes asking questions more. and sliding it off... flick.]
That's always the answer around here, right? Not like there's much else to do unless you're fucking with the ghosts. Guess I do that sometimes too, but usually it's sex.
[ He reaches out again, but before he can take another card from the middle of the structure, he pauses and redirects his reach. The next card he grabs is also from the top; if that's how this guy is playing then Xue Yang can play it like this too. If the two of them quickly pick off all the stable cards from the top row, that'll force his opponent to go for riskier cards faster.
Xue Yang looks at it and his grin abruptly turns to a pouting scowl. ]
"Do you prefer hot or cold weather?"? Who the fuck would care about hearing that answer?
[ Uninteresting or not, it's the question on the card. ]
Looks to me like there's a lot to do. [he lifts a hand and contemptuously flings it back in gesture to a sprawling casino behind them, full of games, drinks, food, people, and more. And he's only been in this room. even more out the doors, they say.] Guessing people stop thinking with their brains after a while, huh.
[tone of voice dipping to something curious as much as insulting. idiots are useful. oh? he's going for the top card. seems the game's off for now in exchange for playing question answer. nice. he'd have lost his patience for keeping the house up sooner or later. brand new and all, he has nothing to lose for seeing it crumble. one by one, disassembling it.]
Ha ha ha! And I thought I kept drawing the sucky ones. [slam! he deliberately drops his arm back on the table. jostling the cards with a jump. for a few seconds, they wobble, but hold. make it more interesting. watching the man's elation turn to frustration over his query is fun. maybe he should let him go again...]
Dunno actually. All I ever experienced was dry and monotonous. By the time I left, I couldn't feel a thing. [indicating himself with a few taps to the sinew-like suit constricting every inch of his body.]
What's it like? Hot or cold. [that's the question on the card, isn't it.]
Oh, you're pretty new here, huh? [ Xue Yang shrugs and makes his own gesture. ] The ones you usually see in this room aren't... [ He trails off for a moment, searching for the right word as his grin fades a little. ] people. Sure they aren't ghosts, but they might as well be. Anyone still sane spends any busy nights fucking to try to get out of here. I'd bet all my chips that it's staying in here too long that makes you really wind up brainless just like the rest of them.
[ What "too long" is he can't say for certain, but Xue Yang has never bumped into someone in this area who could hold a conversation beyond the proclivities of the hotel, outside of the times when there's something new happening. Best he can tell, this casino is a holding area where the hotel waits for those who've degraded to reach some specific point, even maybe to outright die.
The jostling catches his eye, but when that fails to make the stack fall, he looks back to his opponent. Studies him, because he's surprised to hear that there's such a thing as a covering that removes the ability to feel hot and cold completely. That "boring" question suddenly became a lot less so. ]
Yeah? Nothing at all, huh?
Hot makes you feel like there's too much. Anything you got on? Too much clothing. You wanna take it off, then take more off even when there isn't more. Peel off your skin so you can cool down. That sorta thing. Cold's like the opposite. More and more clothes, and you want to stick more onto yourself to warm up.
Uh-huh. [sounding completely nonplussed about it.] Hm? [his tone perks into curiosity as the man across from him drops a few interesting notions. he leans away and turns his head to swallow the room, taking in all these strange sight and sounds from people who technically don't exist? all but ghosts.] How'd they die? [darkness, emptiness, neither of those exude their pungent shivers from these laughing bodies and gambling faces. they eat and drink without a care, drenched in fancy clothes and money. staying here causes their rot... he wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.] Pathetic.
[abandoning the crowds, he returns his attention to the table, finding nothing too dramatic about the news. wouldn't be the first time he's encountered a world which poisons the brain. likely these idiots aren't even aware of their own slide towards compliance and desperation. good to know at least. why are these kinds of questions not on the cards?
his opponent's(?) steel-hued eyes seem to bulge within the claustrophobic glass of his helmet, swollen masses under equally receding forehead and mouth. until he lowers or raises his head, causing his face to bulge respectively as he takes his time studying his figure. curious guy, isn't he.]
Nothing at all. [he's tone mixes resignation with satisfaction.] Sounds like weight.
[pressing down and crushing, refusing to move despite scrambling beneath to shove its suffocating pressure off. or the opposite, where everything feels like it's unraveling and a single breath's enough to break apart forever. hot and cold.]
What are you? You're not taking anything off or putting anything on.
Best I can tell they've been like this since I got here.
[ Xue Yang has nowhere in particular to focus on on that helmet, so his eyes have settled on a spot that seems about right for where eyes inside of it would be, and lock onto the reflection of one particular light fixture. When that head moves, he needs to find another one.
The top half of Xue Yang's clothes are all but hanging off of him, more because of the itchiness than any temperature issues, but he hasn't made any motion to adjust them one way or the other. His pants are reasonably in place though. ]
Temperature doesn't really bother me. I wear what's practical. [ Sometimes practical is "having the space to store what he needs" and sometimes it's "whatever other people are demanding so he can get on to more interesting things than being hassled".
He gestures to the card structure. ] You gonna grab another one or just keep trying to lose on purpose by shaking it?
[he sounds both disappointed and interested. a trapped location, drowning prey in indulgence until they know nothing more than it, with no reason given. what a messed-up place. and now it has him within its grip. there are worse places to be.]
Heh. What kind of idiot would lose on purpose? [even if this game's a stupid waste of time. another card's picked off the tower, but this time, instead of the top, he takes it from one of the lower sides, risking the structure's stability when it shivers for a moment. then holds with another card's brace.]
"What scares you the most?"
[going for the jugular apparently. he leans back in the seat, flipping the card around between his index and middle fingers in a steady flicker of white. nothing requires the other man to answer, but he's been a fair sport so far. who says they can't go a little deeper?]
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
Vanitas ℣ Kingdom Hearts
GOLDEN PEACAR168 HOURSMORNING AFTERWILDCARDmorning after!
[ it comes with a ruffle, but Getou recovers quickly, an affable smile and compassionate pinch of his brows. ]
Rough night? Haha... [ his first comfort: asking establishes they didn't spend it together, in spite of Getou's absolute state of undress, a sheet hiked up around his hips. that's it. from what he's been able to glean, they've been sequestered away in one of the private rooms somewhere between the casino hall and the game rooms, who can say. this does, however, leave him to infer that his bedmate miserably waking up next to him is most likely a new arrival or they'd probably be in a formal hotel room. ]
[ his next comfort in the form of two bottles held out to Vanitas, the Pepto-Bismol and the water. ]
Here, these'll help. There's some aspirin too. [ perfectly content to make himself useful, the young man — tan, muscular, mussed dark hair down to his shoulders — has clearly done his own processing in private and now focuses outwardly. ]
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You could say that. [if this guy could stop the world spinning, he'd like to get off. dropping to an elbow dents material around his bone before he twists his body around in a roll to his back and sits up. one hand presses at his helmeted head, massaging the glass even if it means nothing to his physical inside. paused, barely lifted in a twitch upward as two small bottles reflect in his mask's surface.]
Aren't you helpful. [he swipes both bottles, but makes no effort to drink either.] Do you normally steal into other people's beds?
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[ and quick with it too. he is the kind of person to be contrary just for the sake of it, judging from a sly smile, but it seems to pass after a moment of grievance. Vanitas, just like him, didn't exactly ask for this predicament... so he hands over the aspirin too, putting a pack on the lush silk and fur blankets that have made a bed into more of a nest. ]
You'll find this place has a will of its own that supersedes anyone else's. It's downright supernatural.
[ another beat, debating. then, he points at Vanitas and knocks against his own head, indicating his helmet. ]
A bit like that. [ well, "supernatural" is a word for skintight pajamas made of darkness, anyway. ]
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Huh. You should really decide your character before opening your mouth.
[as if he believes this strange would "be" anyone another person wants him to be. perhaps if he offered it devoid of emotion and baiting tempt, a vapid idiot or power mad greed would take him up. swinging his legs from the bed, he plants them and rises, dragging the fabric around his waist off after him. tattered edges slap the backs of his thighs and he smoothly tosses one bottle into the other hand. frees up a hand for something else.
oh look. now he's giving information. a bare turn of his head suggests he's paying attention at least.]
I figured that out a while ago. [when he attempted to leave. even the corridors of darkness remained locked to "within" this thing.]
So, didja come in here on your own, or are we bedmates supernaturally?
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[ once alone in the bed, Getou throws himself diagonally over it, hair flipping over the pillow Vanitas had barely managed to use, arms lifted above his head to fiddle with his watch, at half-attention; he seems to be using it as an excuse to mull over his answer once again. ]
I followed you, [ a confession made without eye contact, a stillness that's controlled deception. his blunt nail clicks on the watch's surface, and he wrestles with the old liquored dryness on his tongue. ] You were the most interesting thing in the room.
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he followed him? someone has time on his hands. sarcasm contracts his lungs and he lifts his arms in a haphazard shrug.]
How flattering. Your life must really suck if I'm the interesting one.
[a man covered in darkness and masked manages to steal the attention of this guy amid a feasting of glamorous faces and perfect smiles, each one having the time of their lives out there among wealth. sounds like he has some abnormal focuses. dropping his arms, he turns his back to the wall and props himself to it, a dark shadow cutting into light.]
So what now? Gonna tell me what you want or do I gotta start guessing?
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It’s not been great lately, [ confessed without guile, arid and exhaustive. “now what” is a question that’s been plaguing him in a far grander sense than this one conversation, this one exchange… but he thinks he’s getting a better idea of how to navigate this one. ]
You have a bad attitude and a worse… vibe, [ blunt, but vague. Vanitas has figured out this place’s supernatural elements, it seems, but the terminology from one world to the next has been different in ways both inexplicable and a headache he doesn’t want on top of the hangover he’s still fighting. it’s easier to show… and so Getou lifts a hand, and the picture of the wall behind it splits like an invisible blade had cut through the air. ]
[ it stretches open like a violated wound, blackness spilling from it in miasmic whisps as a fly-like creature emerges, fluttering wings and confused, curled eyes, hovering in the air as the interdimensional slice heals itself, three beings now existing in the room. by all technicality, it’s a spirit, a ghost; the resort’s supranatural meddling has made it visible even to those who wouldn’t have once been able to see it… but he doubts that’s the case here. ]
I thought maybe we had that in common.
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Don't whine at me about your life. [cutting him off as a guillotine before the stranger gets any stupid ideas his existence is of interest to him. he's got better things to do. likely not a risk, but heading it off regardless.]
Sorry to break your dreamy expectations. My aim's a lot better. [in case this guy wants a demonstration on with his lower jaw. "bad attitude". is that the worst he could come up with? irked thoughts aside, he twitches his head back in curiosity as getou vivisects the wall behind him. no, not the wall specifically, but the space it occupies. as if opening a portal of sorts. likely meaning once it shuts, everything will seal back up as if it never was. dimensional manipulation on a small scale...
he's proven correct soon enough. disgusting little creature, buzzing around as a monstrous mutated fly. called here, brought out of storage, transported? likely not a created being though. it was summoned from elsewhere.] That's a neat trick.
[behind his opaque mask, a flicker of surprise crosses his visage. calling him out? someone really was watching him from before. or he's presumptuous.] Wasn't aware I had a spy.
[darkness drifts up from his shoulders, akin to midnight mist floating over a bog. licking contours and bending in wisps as it dissipates in the air before sluicing down his arm and leg and pooling in the floor below. only takes a second before a twitching, slinking creature with mean sliced red eyes quivers onto spiky legs and crouches beside his shin.] Gonna have a cockfight?
168 hours: 1.
it's an unpleasant feeling, rippling off the stranger; nothing quite like cursed energy would feel, or taste, but something different, something he doesn't quite understand. still, it amuses him: interests him, in a way that has him grinning, one elbow propped up onto the edge of the table.
he's got his legs crossed, a glass of vodka and cranberry juice balanced precariously on the table between him and the stranger; he tilts his head up at him, letting the six eyes calculate and adjust, scanning over the stranger despite his head covering. )
Blackjack, do you know how to play~?
( warm, and amused, he points at the table where the cards are laid out--the dealer looks between the two of them, and with a wave of his hand, he tells the dealer to deal the stranger in for the round. )
Tell you what, if you lose this round, let's lose the helmet, too. It's sca~ry~.
( his grin seems to say that's a lie. )
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Cold table.
[everything reflects in his helmet, pretty colored lines neatly arched on green table felt, gambling chips of differing hues melting to ovals, all their faces warped in stretching disfigurement towards domed apex and truncating at the metal jawline. he reaches forward across the surface for one of the cards, only to pause when someone finally gathers nerve enough and answers. hand hovering, he tucks his head towards his shoulder back, face aiming for a young man with white hair and strange eyes. calculating. seems he's not a normal human. a strange energy lingers on him, as if it's unsure whether light or dark.]
Never heard of it. [everyone's got cards and chips... looks like he's gonna need both. plastic clacks as he grabs a fistful of chips from the pot and retreats with a strange leathery creak, straightening up beside the white-haired guy.] But I'm a fast learner.
[any shock or protest seems to die down when his new teacher waves at the dealer. seems he's got some sway... quickly arranging the chips in front of himself to match his new teacher's, same placement, arrangement, stacking, and all, he accepts the cards dealt to him.]
Ha ha ha. Liar. You like it. [no deal.] Let's play.
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doesn't have to make things easy for him, either. to hide his smile, he picks up his glass, taking a sip from it in a way that says how unaccustomed he is to the taste--if he finishes the whole thing, he thinks the headache will be just enough to prevent him from having any more. )
You make me sound so nasty. ( --comes the complaint, as the dealer sets the cards in front of them, and deals out to the other players. with the gentle clink of ice shifting in his glass, he sets it down; lips pursed, he looks at his card, then at the stranger's card, and taps the table for a hit. ) Maybe I like the face you have underneath better.
( a warm, almost teasing smile--and he taps the table again, knowing that the card total on his side will be an even twenty; he stops there.
with an expectant swing of his head, cheek tucked towards his own shoulder, he looks over at his new friend's card, waiting patiently to see how he plays. that'll determine whether he decides to declare another personal bet or not, and gives him the opportunity to lean further in his direction, crowding his corner of the table. )
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Most people are. [as bored as if he were stating the weather. even when they try to hide it. thinking of ways to advance themselves, concerned with their image or status, using others to their gain, always so eager to battle for their own, people are nasty. pretending to be otherwise makes them worse. he takes the card dealt to him and flips it up, but in a way only he and the other guy can see. obviously the intent is to keep the cards concealed until revealing later. he gathered that already. if the signal's to take another, then he looks to the dealer expectantly.]
It's not my face. [his voice runs mean, spiteful as much as it's flippant.] Mine's uglier.
[without any knowledge of the rules, he simply exposes a total of 13. nothing near 21, but certainly not enough to challenge the dealer with any confidence without taking another card and hoping for less than a 9.]
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( his attention pivots, distracted, jumping from the cards, to the smooth, shiny surface of the helmet, and then back to the cards again. it would be risky to take another, but then there's no way that his new companion here will get higher than the dealer. and sure, he can see the value of the next card, and sure, he could tell his friend--
--but where would be the fun in that? his shoulders slump, an exaggerated sigh, before he shakes his head. )
Looks like you lost. ( the dealer, after all, has a total of nineteen--which means that he's the highest at the table, and wins back his bet, and a little more. the chips push onto his side, and rather than keep them all neatly arranged, he pushes a smaller pile over to the other man. ) We'll get 'em this time.
If I win again, you get rid of the helmet. ( he's just making his own arbitrary decisions, as the dealer gathers the cards up again, but he's come with a charming smile to match, as if it has any sway. ) And if I lose, then I'll give you whatever you want.
( a slow hum of breath, and his fingers slide his bet forward for this round. ) ...Within reason.
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silence covers the table, other players waiting with a mix of apprehension and mild impatience they've been saddled with a new player in need of training. her fifth finger tapping ever so on a wine glass, his lifted glass to the lips in hopes it would distract from eyes rolling upward, a mild bobbing of a foot under the table. all of it seeping across felt surface and wandering through colored chip stacks as he waits for his new teacher to pass verdict on his hand. it means nothing to him, but taking more time from these imbeciles is far more entertaining.]
Damn. Looks like I need another round. [another round of digging it into these faces. wishing he'd leave, irked he stays, and incensed even further as he drops both elbows on the table to prop his metal-clad jaw line on one fist, free hand flopped forearm flat. one by one, he flicks the chips towards the dealer, sending them sliding or rolling cross the table. by the third one, her visible neck pulses a tendon in effort to restrain her indignation. fun.]
For me? Aw. What's the catch? [and claps a gloved hand over the chips, sealing them as his own regardless of catch. his charming smile malforms in the helm's curvature, bug-eyed visage ballooning over a wild crescent. again with the helmet.] You're really stuck on that, aren't ya.
[two fingers plant atop a pair of chips, skating his bet onto the green. no agreement. no rejection.]
All we gotta do to win is take out that guy. [a callous toss of his hand indicates the dealer.] Right?
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mostly because he's used to causing the same sort of reaction: so he doesn't really care how anyone else perceives them, comfortable to offer another grin, stretched out in the side reflection of his companion's helmet. )
With cards, sure. ( warm and amused, his sunglass-covered gaze shifts back to the dealer, who stiffly begins to lay out the cards now that their bets have been placed. ) Anything else and we'll go to peacock prison.
( his smile says that wouldn't be the worst thing--but it's a tease, a flourish of his hand as he indicates for the dealer to hit, though with another measuring glance of his gaze from beyond his sunglasses, he calls early. sometimes the cards work with him and sometimes they work against him; he might be able to see what they are, but he can't change their order.
breezily, as if he didn't just agree to another bet-- )
If you take off your helmet, we can get a drink. Drinks make these games better, you know. You'll like it. ( his whole body tilts, bumping his shoulders up against the stranger. ) Go for it. Get two more cards. You'll win.
( it's quiet, murmured behind a hand--before he dramatically clears his throat, playfully covering his mouth with his palm to muffle the sound, as though that had been the intention the whole time. )
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fingers drum in rhythm atop pretty green felt, chin remaining propped in hand. then there's this guy beside him... he doesn't seem bothered by his presence at all. rather interested in it. from the way his brows lift above his glasses to the smile curving cross his lips. someone used to danger and the unknown, or an idiot who thinks friendliness can overcome anything? who knows. kinda pisses him off, but it won't hurt to use someone playing the fool.]
That'll be painful. [piqued and suggestive, one finger running the rim of the card he received. easy to put his inference together. not sure what peacock prison is, but you get it for killing here.] "We"? You're a funny guy.
[doesn't sound like a big price to pay, if his his affable manner and flippant smile are believable. peeling strong plastic back reveals his suit and rank. again, it means nothing to him, as he gathers they're trying to best the number the dealer has in his hand, but what number that is remains unknown. tilting his hand shows the other man his card. low number.]
You don't say. [assuming he knows his preference. like a mountain of rock, a small bump doesn't budge him at all. whether it's solid strength or he's somehow braced is up for question.] Hey dealer. Another. [take the advice, win the game, right? with a breathy flick, the card comes and he draws it in like a predator with prey. revealing it nets a solid twenty, something his coach knows. but when indicated, he flips the cards over and fans them out. the looks of irritation and disgust on their faces steeps one half of the table in foul disposition, barely held together by their plastic masks.]
Tough luck, losers. [and sweeps the entire pot to his side.]
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168(/3) hours
At the question Xue Yang bursts into laughter, his wide smile showing off his prominent canine teeth. ]
Yeah, but it'd be just plain stupid if you got it instead. "I wear a mask!" [ He gives an amused snort. ] Boring.
As for me? Real face. If you piss me off, you're gonna know it. I don't suck up to people and pretend I like them. That shit makes me sick.
[ Luckily he only needs to answer the question honestly, not truthfully, since he doesn't have the self-awareness to do the latter.
Xue Yang then reaches for the stack himself. The motion looks lazy and casual, but there's a moment of precision as he actually takes hold of the card and slips it out of the structure, not disturbing the rest of them even the slightest amount. ]
"Are you more likely to betray someone or be betrayed?"
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a peal of laughter displays elongated fangs, reflected in a weird deformed warp in his helm. reminds him of a hyena.]
What do you know? [a dismissive flick sends the card to the "used" pile.] I could've been born this way.
[dropping his elbow to the table, he props one metal-lined jaw on the palm, fingers lazily drumming at his mask.]
Easy there, cutie. Wasn't asking for a full psyche bio. [truth? lie? neither matters. he could be making every word up and there's no way to tell. too much work to bother trusting. but he spills out some interesting drivel regardless.
impossible to tell if his eyes are moving while watching, his helmeted head stone still as xue yang's hand mirrors in its curve. precise with his motions while display neither struggle nor tension. he's used to doing meticulous work. nary a tremble as his card slips free. a single shit of his knee could brought the entire thing down...]
Someone might call it betrayal. I like to call it looking out for me.
[can't betray someone you were never on the side of in the first place. hell whether they think the same. he reaches for the tower again, going for the topmost card like normal. not a very risky player. that or he likes asking questions more. and sliding it off... flick.]
"What keeps you up at night?"
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[ Xue Yang laughs. ]
That's always the answer around here, right? Not like there's much else to do unless you're fucking with the ghosts. Guess I do that sometimes too, but usually it's sex.
[ He reaches out again, but before he can take another card from the middle of the structure, he pauses and redirects his reach. The next card he grabs is also from the top; if that's how this guy is playing then Xue Yang can play it like this too. If the two of them quickly pick off all the stable cards from the top row, that'll force his opponent to go for riskier cards faster.
Xue Yang looks at it and his grin abruptly turns to a pouting scowl. ]
"Do you prefer hot or cold weather?"? Who the fuck would care about hearing that answer?
[ Uninteresting or not, it's the question on the card. ]
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[tone of voice dipping to something curious as much as insulting. idiots are useful. oh? he's going for the top card. seems the game's off for now in exchange for playing question answer. nice. he'd have lost his patience for keeping the house up sooner or later. brand new and all, he has nothing to lose for seeing it crumble. one by one, disassembling it.]
Ha ha ha! And I thought I kept drawing the sucky ones. [slam! he deliberately drops his arm back on the table. jostling the cards with a jump. for a few seconds, they wobble, but hold. make it more interesting. watching the man's elation turn to frustration over his query is fun. maybe he should let him go again...]
Dunno actually. All I ever experienced was dry and monotonous. By the time I left, I couldn't feel a thing. [indicating himself with a few taps to the sinew-like suit constricting every inch of his body.]
What's it like? Hot or cold. [that's the question on the card, isn't it.]
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[ What "too long" is he can't say for certain, but Xue Yang has never bumped into someone in this area who could hold a conversation beyond the proclivities of the hotel, outside of the times when there's something new happening. Best he can tell, this casino is a holding area where the hotel waits for those who've degraded to reach some specific point, even maybe to outright die.
The jostling catches his eye, but when that fails to make the stack fall, he looks back to his opponent. Studies him, because he's surprised to hear that there's such a thing as a covering that removes the ability to feel hot and cold completely. That "boring" question suddenly became a lot less so. ]
Yeah? Nothing at all, huh?
Hot makes you feel like there's too much. Anything you got on? Too much clothing. You wanna take it off, then take more off even when there isn't more. Peel off your skin so you can cool down. That sorta thing. Cold's like the opposite. More and more clothes, and you want to stick more onto yourself to warm up.
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[abandoning the crowds, he returns his attention to the table, finding nothing too dramatic about the news. wouldn't be the first time he's encountered a world which poisons the brain. likely these idiots aren't even aware of their own slide towards compliance and desperation. good to know at least. why are these kinds of questions not on the cards?
his opponent's(?) steel-hued eyes seem to bulge within the claustrophobic glass of his helmet, swollen masses under equally receding forehead and mouth. until he lowers or raises his head, causing his face to bulge respectively as he takes his time studying his figure. curious guy, isn't he.]
Nothing at all. [he's tone mixes resignation with satisfaction.] Sounds like weight.
[pressing down and crushing, refusing to move despite scrambling beneath to shove its suffocating pressure off. or the opposite, where everything feels like it's unraveling and a single breath's enough to break apart forever. hot and cold.]
What are you? You're not taking anything off or putting anything on.
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[ Xue Yang has nowhere in particular to focus on on that helmet, so his eyes have settled on a spot that seems about right for where eyes inside of it would be, and lock onto the reflection of one particular light fixture. When that head moves, he needs to find another one.
The top half of Xue Yang's clothes are all but hanging off of him, more because of the itchiness than any temperature issues, but he hasn't made any motion to adjust them one way or the other. His pants are reasonably in place though. ]
Temperature doesn't really bother me. I wear what's practical. [ Sometimes practical is "having the space to store what he needs" and sometimes it's "whatever other people are demanding so he can get on to more interesting things than being hassled".
He gestures to the card structure. ] You gonna grab another one or just keep trying to lose on purpose by shaking it?
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[he sounds both disappointed and interested. a trapped location, drowning prey in indulgence until they know nothing more than it, with no reason given. what a messed-up place. and now it has him within its grip. there are worse places to be.]
Heh. What kind of idiot would lose on purpose? [even if this game's a stupid waste of time. another card's picked off the tower, but this time, instead of the top, he takes it from one of the lower sides, risking the structure's stability when it shivers for a moment. then holds with another card's brace.]
"What scares you the most?"
[going for the jugular apparently. he leans back in the seat, flipping the card around between his index and middle fingers in a steady flicker of white. nothing requires the other man to answer, but he's been a fair sport so far. who says they can't go a little deeper?]
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