【 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.
[Hawks isn't exactly an early bird, but this morning, he wakes later than usual. While he'd tried to keep a level head at that exhaustingly long party, he'd strayed a little bit past tipsy into buzzed a few times. Lying in a soft, comfortable bed, he fights waking up because he can tell that when he truly wakes, he's going to have to deal with a bit of a hangover - his head feels heavy, which he's sure is going to bloom into a headache, and thankfully that's most of it, since he hadn't really overindulged that badly. No, he'd rather lie in a patch of sunshine in a comfortable bed, curled up on his side, his still slightly singed wings with their awkward feather regrowth folded up neatly against his back, than face a headache.
It's the scent of coffee and the stirring in the bed beside him that finally goads him into shifting and groaning and popping one golden eye open. It turns out that he's facing whoever is in the bed beside him, curled into a loose fetal position, and he pushes up on an elbow, one eye still closed against the vague thrum of pain that starts up in the back of his head when he moves. Usually, Hawks's sexual encounters are discreet and unemotional, and he's expecting for a moment to make his usual lackadaisical excuses and leave, when he realizes that he's pretty sure he didn't actually have sex.]
Fancy that.
[He groans again, softly, sitting up and crossing his legs, stretching out his wings and fluttering them a little bit before tucking them in neatly again, tugging the oh-so-sweetly provided robe over his naked lower half (not that he has much shame about that) and opens both eyes, offering the guy a lazy smile.]
I don't know where we are either, but I'm pretty sure we didn't do anything but sleep. Shame.
[A little chuckle. There's no reason not to flirt a little - Hawks is practically immune to awkwardness, and the guy is pretty with his pale skin and long dark hair and dark eyes. Classical beauty. One of the types of guy Hawks likes to look at.
At the question, he waves a hand.]
Go ahead, so long as you tell me where you got the coffee.
( a slight flicker of narrowed eyes at that shame, as though he doesn't know whether to believe it or believe that it's feigned: but he doesn't say anything about it. with the type of people that are in this resort, at least as much as he saw at that overextended party, there are surely more that give in to the hedonism rather than fight against it. he doesn't have any particular qualms; people are welcome to live their own lives, indulge in their own vices.
case in point--with permission granted, he puts the cigarette between his lips, snagging his thumb on the lighter. )
They brought a pot. ( he says it quietly, mumbled around the cigarette. ) And breakfast, if you trust it.
( true to his word, there's a cart tucked near one of the walls, and on it are a variety of covered plates, little dishes of butter, jam, syrup, salt; there's a pot of coffee and a pot of what must be juice, though he hadn't poured a glass.
as he takes in a breath, igniting the end of the cigarette, he takes care to at least blow the smoke in the other direction. now that he's awake, it's easier to assess the man beside him: man, or devil, maybe, given those wings, but he won't ask just yet. he's at a disadvantage, information-wise, and while his partner seems amicable enough, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. so, instead: )
Are you from here? Or somewhere else? ( that'll answer his question quicker, as he takes another drag, gently thumbs ash off the end of the cigarette onto the tray that's on the bedside table. ) I don't belong here, so I'm wondering if you're the same.
[Truth is, Hawks doesn't see much reason not to give in to the hedonism at least a little. It seems like the point of this place is playing this Game 52, and that's the only method he can think of that might lead to getting out and getting home. Then again, Hawks has never been either shy or a prude about those kinds of things, so it's understandable why the other man might narrow his eyes like that when Hawks flirts.
It's cute, though.
When the other man says that they brought a pot of coffee, though, Hawks slides to the edge of the bed, and stands up, tying the robe roughly around his waist since there doesn't seem to be holes in the back for his wings. While the other guy lights up a smoke, Hawks sets about pouring himself a cup of coffee and doctoring it up with sugar and milk. It's not his ideal, but it'll do to tie him over, and he makes his way back to the bed, settling down in the sheets with legs crossed, sipping at his mug.]
Haven't decided if I trust the food yet.
[A shrug of well-muscled shoulders and he watches the pretty man smoke for a few moments, lips pursed around the rim of his coffee mug and sipping. It's a companionable enough silence, and Hawks closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling the warm chocolatey scent of the dark roast in his cup and enjoying it.]
I don't belong here either. In fact, I had some pretty serious stuff going on back home that I needed to take care of.
[For all that the words are somewhat dire, his attitude and tone of voice are casual, and he sips at his coffee again, gold eyes looking at the other young man over the rim of his cup.]
( smarter than he looks, then, or so he wants to say--but the truth of the matter is, devil or not, this thing next to him moves with a shrewdness that seems to speak to a certain level of knowledge, or even training; his face is kind, and his smile is warm, but there's a wariness there, as though he's practiced at it, as though the lackadaisical nature is both earnest and put-upon. it's sort of oddly fascinating to watch it; he takes another drag of his cigarette, his other arm folded in tight against his stomach--his gaze follows the man, hawks, as he patters around with his coffee, as he eases back onto the bed, as he takes his few sips.
this isn't the sort of situation that he's ever been in before--and never planned to be in it, either. most of the times he's gotten drunk, he's been safe on his own living room floor, or ferried home in a taxi away from an izakaya after a company dinner. waking up to a handsome man naked in his bed is entirely unexpected.
but, if they're sharing names-- ) Hayakawa.
( another soft pass of smoke, thoughtful. ) Hayakawa Aki.
( it's not impolite, and certainly not tinged with any disgust--it's more like he's reading questions off a script, polite, as he lets the cigarette hang between his knuckles-- )
What are you?
( a human? a devil? hybrid? in the end, it likely doesn't matter, in a place like this. but it would give him some peace of mind; he's never seen wings like these, soft, like something's happened to them--there's a slow swallow, and then he tilts his head back against the headboard. )
...It's not out of spite. You look injured.
( if not at his back, then maybe it's the look in his eyes--like he keeps expecting the world to fall down around them. )
[Hayakawa Aki. It's a good name. Hawks lets his eyes linger at Hayakawa's face for a few moments, and then down his throat and body, head tilting slightly to the side, reading his body language as if he could get some kind of insight into him. He doesn't look nervous, that's the first thing he really notices. Hayakawa hasn't acted like this is weird or awkward or anxiety inducing at all, just maintained that calm demeanor, asked questions like he was investigating, enough that Hawks wonders for a moment if he's new here too or if he's been here for a while now.
Wonders if he's used to this, or if he's just that composed as a person. If he is just that composed, Hawks thinks for a moment that it's almost painfully attractive.]
What am I?
[Raising a brow, he chuckles softly, and shakes his head.]
Human being, but I guess you could call me a heteromorph, couldn't you? At least back in my world. The wings are my Quirk. I can fly and control the feathers.
[A little shrug, and the smile fades a little when Hayakawa says he looks injured.]
A little. It's just a light scorching.
[Waving a hand, he tries to brush it off, head still tilted and eyes half-closed, a smile on his face. Tries not to think too much about where he'd been before this, the fact he's not even sure he's alive back home anymore.]
They'll grow back. The feathers. They're already doing it a little, see.
[Twisting, he brushes fingers over his feathers, straightening them a little where they're crooked, shivering slightly at the contact.]
( now that's curious. there's another small pass of smoke past his lips, considering; a heteromorph. that's not a term that they use, which means that--'in my world', hawks had said, hadn't he? meaning that there's multiple worlds. multiple places. that not everyone here is from where he's from, or even close to it.
that realization isn't fully sudden: he'd been considering it as an idle possibility, but now, hawks has made it a reality. with a soft nod of his chin-- )
A human being, then. ( that at least reserves his hatred--and means that he'll carry on like this, polite enough, cool and composed. ) I've never seen one with wings like yours.
( and curious, that they're growing back in--though it's not the first time he's seen something like that, it does make him wonder-- )
What's your occupation? ( he considers apologizing for the multitude of questions, but then decides against it. leaving his cigarette on the ashtray on the bedside table, he takes up his coffee cup again; there's a slow swallow, letting the heat roll down his throat. ) I ask because of your injuries. It seems like you do something dangerous.
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
hangover aftercare
It's the scent of coffee and the stirring in the bed beside him that finally goads him into shifting and groaning and popping one golden eye open. It turns out that he's facing whoever is in the bed beside him, curled into a loose fetal position, and he pushes up on an elbow, one eye still closed against the vague thrum of pain that starts up in the back of his head when he moves. Usually, Hawks's sexual encounters are discreet and unemotional, and he's expecting for a moment to make his usual lackadaisical excuses and leave, when he realizes that he's pretty sure he didn't actually have sex.]
Fancy that.
[He groans again, softly, sitting up and crossing his legs, stretching out his wings and fluttering them a little bit before tucking them in neatly again, tugging the oh-so-sweetly provided robe over his naked lower half (not that he has much shame about that) and opens both eyes, offering the guy a lazy smile.]
I don't know where we are either, but I'm pretty sure we didn't do anything but sleep. Shame.
[A little chuckle. There's no reason not to flirt a little - Hawks is practically immune to awkwardness, and the guy is pretty with his pale skin and long dark hair and dark eyes. Classical beauty. One of the types of guy Hawks likes to look at.
At the question, he waves a hand.]
Go ahead, so long as you tell me where you got the coffee.
no subject
case in point--with permission granted, he puts the cigarette between his lips, snagging his thumb on the lighter. )
They brought a pot. ( he says it quietly, mumbled around the cigarette. ) And breakfast, if you trust it.
( true to his word, there's a cart tucked near one of the walls, and on it are a variety of covered plates, little dishes of butter, jam, syrup, salt; there's a pot of coffee and a pot of what must be juice, though he hadn't poured a glass.
as he takes in a breath, igniting the end of the cigarette, he takes care to at least blow the smoke in the other direction. now that he's awake, it's easier to assess the man beside him: man, or devil, maybe, given those wings, but he won't ask just yet. he's at a disadvantage, information-wise, and while his partner seems amicable enough, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. so, instead: )
Are you from here? Or somewhere else? ( that'll answer his question quicker, as he takes another drag, gently thumbs ash off the end of the cigarette onto the tray that's on the bedside table. ) I don't belong here, so I'm wondering if you're the same.
no subject
It's cute, though.
When the other man says that they brought a pot of coffee, though, Hawks slides to the edge of the bed, and stands up, tying the robe roughly around his waist since there doesn't seem to be holes in the back for his wings. While the other guy lights up a smoke, Hawks sets about pouring himself a cup of coffee and doctoring it up with sugar and milk. It's not his ideal, but it'll do to tie him over, and he makes his way back to the bed, settling down in the sheets with legs crossed, sipping at his mug.]
Haven't decided if I trust the food yet.
[A shrug of well-muscled shoulders and he watches the pretty man smoke for a few moments, lips pursed around the rim of his coffee mug and sipping. It's a companionable enough silence, and Hawks closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling the warm chocolatey scent of the dark roast in his cup and enjoying it.]
I don't belong here either. In fact, I had some pretty serious stuff going on back home that I needed to take care of.
[For all that the words are somewhat dire, his attitude and tone of voice are casual, and he sips at his coffee again, gold eyes looking at the other young man over the rim of his cup.]
I'm Hawks, by the way. And you?
no subject
this isn't the sort of situation that he's ever been in before--and never planned to be in it, either. most of the times he's gotten drunk, he's been safe on his own living room floor, or ferried home in a taxi away from an izakaya after a company dinner. waking up to a handsome man naked in his bed is entirely unexpected.
but, if they're sharing names-- ) Hayakawa.
( another soft pass of smoke, thoughtful. ) Hayakawa Aki.
( it's not impolite, and certainly not tinged with any disgust--it's more like he's reading questions off a script, polite, as he lets the cigarette hang between his knuckles-- )
What are you?
( a human? a devil? hybrid? in the end, it likely doesn't matter, in a place like this. but it would give him some peace of mind; he's never seen wings like these, soft, like something's happened to them--there's a slow swallow, and then he tilts his head back against the headboard. )
...It's not out of spite. You look injured.
( if not at his back, then maybe it's the look in his eyes--like he keeps expecting the world to fall down around them. )
no subject
Wonders if he's used to this, or if he's just that composed as a person. If he is just that composed, Hawks thinks for a moment that it's almost painfully attractive.]
What am I?
[Raising a brow, he chuckles softly, and shakes his head.]
Human being, but I guess you could call me a heteromorph, couldn't you? At least back in my world. The wings are my Quirk. I can fly and control the feathers.
[A little shrug, and the smile fades a little when Hayakawa says he looks injured.]
A little. It's just a light scorching.
[Waving a hand, he tries to brush it off, head still tilted and eyes half-closed, a smile on his face. Tries not to think too much about where he'd been before this, the fact he's not even sure he's alive back home anymore.]
They'll grow back. The feathers. They're already doing it a little, see.
[Twisting, he brushes fingers over his feathers, straightening them a little where they're crooked, shivering slightly at the contact.]
no subject
that realization isn't fully sudden: he'd been considering it as an idle possibility, but now, hawks has made it a reality. with a soft nod of his chin-- )
A human being, then. ( that at least reserves his hatred--and means that he'll carry on like this, polite enough, cool and composed. ) I've never seen one with wings like yours.
( and curious, that they're growing back in--though it's not the first time he's seen something like that, it does make him wonder-- )
What's your occupation? ( he considers apologizing for the multitude of questions, but then decides against it. leaving his cigarette on the ashtray on the bedside table, he takes up his coffee cup again; there's a slow swallow, letting the heat roll down his throat. ) I ask because of your injuries. It seems like you do something dangerous.