【 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.
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[The basics of gambling. In his knowledge of the Dreamscape, from its very foundation to the top of that scaffolded web of memoria, the Golden Hour is perhaps its crowning jewel. He understands the luxuries and indulgences sought there by those who come to rest their heads in the Dreamscape, but it was never a Moment he personally enjoyed. It was too bright, too noisy — necessary for him to be there as a presence of the Family but only bearable from its edges, at a distance.
Yet the question surprises him, and there's a show of it on his face, a slight wrinkle at his brow. Once, he might have answered differently, but...]
No. The only person you seem content to endanger is yourself.
[He doesn't sense a threat from this man now, though the murkiness of whatever exists in its absence is... harder to ascertain. Sunday reaches for his own card next; he doesn't avoid that eye contact, but his own gaze is coy, cast at Aventurine through lashes.]
( and that's all the information sunday needs, isn't it? that for all of his suspicions and distrust, for the animosity between the ipc and the family, it's not like aventurine would ever put sunday in a position of danger. a game of cards is just that - a game, one that doesn't include the 'death' of a participant. nothing like penacony.
aventurine hums at the question, pretending to think of an answer. he smiles all the same, as though none of this really bothers him. whether it does or not, well... maybe sunday can try to put a bet on it, one day. ) Is that your own personal question, or are we finally playing the game?
( he's joking!! and deflating. but because aventurine is aventurine: )
I'll pass. ( sunday is not getting that answer out of him, but he would have done this regardless of the question; the purpose of it is to show sunday what happens if he's not willing to play or, at the very least, to answer the question. their watches ring with a notification, a transfer from aventurine's account to sunday's of a thousand chips.
how lucky. )
And that's the answer you wanted. All gambles pay off, Mr. Sunday. Are you more willing to play now?
[How very like Aventurine to avoid the question. Has he forgotten that Sunday doesn't need a game at all to learn the truth he wants? Yet even with the Harmony once more on his side, in his own repentance for his transgressions against THEM — he feels no desire to wield that power. The opportunity is here; they are close enough, and he has the words in his mind, affixed like a knife in his hand. But he doesn't.
He tells himself this is because of their changed circumstances. Penacony is not here, and neither are his obligations as Oak Family Head. And then there is that nebulous debt to the IPC itself.]
... [His Watch rings out; he checks it carefully, frown forming a deeper groove on his mouth when he sees the increase to his account. Not your filthy gambling money.......] I see.
[So if he refuses to answer, he'll lose what meager currency he possesses. Aventurine's deposit will allow one denial, to return those chips.]
( and so, he's willing to play. good. the fun thing about this game truly is that sunday has little room to lie - not that aventurine is so out to corner him. he does not pick the questions, after all, but he enjoys knowing sunday only has room to avoid answering if aventurine himself does not answer his questions.
it's a particular kind of control that he enjoys wrestling out of sunday. isn't it so dearly reminiscent of their time in penacony, between the four walls of dewlight pavilion?
aventurine looks down at the card he had picked first, the smile on his face remaining all the unreadable, before his eyes land on sunday, again. )
Perhaps Aventurine will be able to tell in the downward curve of his mouth, the tightness in his features. However he might have maintained his composure before, it has become more challenging beneath the pressure of these changed circumstances. How coolly implacable Aventurine remains only further grinds that dissonance into the dirt.
If he passes on this question, then he will forfeit Aventurine's chips back. But he will not be able to avoid the next question without over-drafting his account — and so he must rely on Aventurine doing the same. Choosing not to answer. Yet there's no way to confirm what card he will draw, and certainly the gambler is thinking this all out as well, so he will know the advantage he holds over Sunday, if he plays it strategically, planning every step ahead.
As far as questions go, perhaps it is somewhat innocuous, but it still — forfeits something. A deeper, interior piece of himself revealed to this man's scrutiny.]
... [Not his mother. Not that life before, so long ago it feels unreal. Not Robin.] Learning the piano. I was proud of myself that first time I memorized a song and could play it flawlessly to completion. Prelude to a Dream, Concerto No. 2 by Ansel Sterling. It took so much practice, my hands ached.
[He keeps his voice even, not looking up from the tower of cards. So careful in selecting next — how long can they go until it collapses? His fingertips are deft, and though the structure seems to shiver, it remains standing.]
( he does see it all, the ways in which such a question seem to mean so very much to sunday that he does not wish to loosen his hold of it. in a way, aventurine understands. it is less about remembering bygone days, or giving it up entirely - it's who sits at the other end of the table. it's the show of vulnerability that he's sure sunday wishes not to expose to aventurine.
so this is where they sit, still. a particular caution that might be ever in their acquaintance, as a head of the family, and an envoy of the ipc. )
You must've been busy with your duties to the Family to play it again. ( a throwaway comment, in part, as aventurine stares down the house of cards as sunday ponders which card to remove next. ) It would be unfortunate if you forgot it.
( and aventurine means it, whether sunday wants to believe his words or not. )
Hmm~ Bedtime routine? I just put on pajamas then hit the bed. What's left to do?
( the thing is - it's not an entirely truthful answer, but one that aventurine experiments with. his watch rings with a notification again, that more of his chips have been forfeit and sent over to sunday. figures that the house doesn't want half-truths to a game built on questions and answers, huh.
aventurine does not so much address it - let sunday wonder why he'd lie about such an innocuous question -, carefully reaching for another card. the better question is - how long would either of them forcibly make the house fall? )
Do you pour milk before your cereal, or after?
( ough. do they have cereal in penacony. probably huh. clockie themed cereal... )
[There's a piano in the one of the lounges set up for this party. He had walked past it several times in his circuitous efforts to escape social interaction; sometimes it was occupied, and sometimes the bench stood empty, sleek white keys shining under the spotlight above. He hadn't touched it, but he considered what would happen if he did. The thought only went so far.
Sunday's mouth remains a thin line at the other man's commentary. When he realizes Aventurine has not answered honestly, there is — a wrinkle at his brow. Why? Such a simple, ordinary question shouldn't require deceit. Is it to conceal something he does not want Sunday to know, or does he just not care for the outcome either way? Perhaps he has plenty of credits to waste.
It's impossible, even now, to read this man's motivations.]
I don't eat cereal. [Bitch!! Okay, but he knows not to leave it at that.] ... Of course, if I did, I would pour the milk first. Then I can decide how much cereal must be added.
[can't believe you made me invent hc for sunday eating cereal like a freak. Anyway, he doesn't reach for a new card yet.]
( control freak even with his cereal. truly never change, mr sunday.
to the question, aventurine laughs, insincere: ) Is that what you think I'm doing?
( and aventurine just smiles, in response, a sign he will not elaborate. losing on purpose would be the worst truth to sunday, wouldn't it? it could mean too many things, several of them none too pleasing. it could be that aventurine is being considerate, that he's willing to give sunday a headstart, chips in his account to help with his initial stay in the golden peacock. but he knows well sunday would not wish for that sort of pity, let alone the help of a man who once he stood in opposition with.
it's nothing so deep. though the sentiment is one aventurine isn't so against, he's not blind to the shaky ground they stand on. yet he's fine with that assumption, won't prove or disprove. sunday can figure it out himself, one day. )
I'm playing a game, Mr. Sunday. Nothing more nothing less. Does that displease you?
[The way Aventurine is becoming the person he has the most Complicated feelings about at record speed...
It's not an answer that satisfies, really, any part of his question. There's deflection, then the deliberate way Aventurine turns it around to point at himself — at his own reaction. Downplaying the decisions that are certainly calculating behind those eyes, beneath that perfect poker face.]
It displeases me so much as I don't wish to be playing this game at all.
[Do you hear him, House?]
You answered one of my previous questions wrong. About your bedtime routine. What could you possibly be concealing?
it's not surprising his deceit bothers sunday this much. it's not the fact aventurine refuses to answer, but that he has lied about something so utterly harmless. why continue to put up walls, especially over the most miniscule of things? the sunday he sits in front of - he lacks the same sense of authority as he once had. a bird with clipped wings, a fallen angel.
so why continue to mask his words behind untruthful words, when sunday no longer stands as an enemy?
is the truth something worth telling sunday? that there had been no true deceit, that aventurine's enemy is no longer the family, but the house - in spite of their ironic similarities. that's the answer in itself, isn't it? )
You assume I lied to you, Mr. Sunday. ( mister, to put a particular distance between them again. ) But were you aware half-truths also count as 'lies'? A game can only be played to its full potential once the players know all the rules. Otherwise cheating becomes possible, don't you think?
Half-truths. Nothing he can't understand when toeing that line of honesty, how much one might be willing to surrender to an individual of unknown confidence — but what is the reason to conceal something so minor, so negligible? Perhaps because of its personal nature. It suggests a look into Aventurine's life, those little intimacies that populate a routine committed every day. In that light, it's no wonder Aventurine would not tell him.
He's silent at first. Truthfully, his head is starting to ache, although that has occurred in this place more often lately and may not be directly attributed to this moment.]
It's still my turn, isn't it?
[A game to its fullest potential. Will they be expected to continue on until he's as masterful at taking risks as the man across the table from him? He has no particular inclination for that. Rather, he's learned something new since last he saw this man — how to break rules.
Sunday reaches out, selecting a card with gloved fingertips. It's a precarious spot near the foundation of the house. And before he's even pulled it loose of the structure, there's a trembling, a flutter — the cards are spilling to the table like weightless feathers. His Watch rings, notifying him of a large transfer of chips: all of Aventurine's and then some more, from his own meager supply. He doesn't look.]
( this too is a gamble. the sunday he knows - the sunday he remembers - would not have readily given up victory in any game he plays. he would have taken this opportunity, this further insight into the rules, to truly shape a path only he walks.
but this sunday does not. this sunday gives in and gives up, and what it tells aventurine is only that he no longer spreads his wings over others, casting a captive shadow nigh impossible to escape from. this sunday accepts defeat, embraces it, empowers it, as autonomy and freedom both. this sunday expects a level of honesty from a man who has lost before, and was humbled for it.
victory is never a taste aventurine enjoys either. the chips he does not need. assumptions that attach to his name, and though little does he care, it's bittersweet, isn't it? that it might just create more rumors about the avgin, all because of him. that it reinforces stereotypes.
aventurine sighs, and rises from his seat. )
Tell me one more thing, Mr. Sunday. How does it feel, to lose? Is it freeing?
You're no longer at liberty to ask questions, Mr. Aventurine.
[His voice is quiet between them, barely enough volume to carry over the crowd and clamor around them, a casino made busy with wealth running through the blood of its veins. He remains seated, and his gaze is slower to pick itself up from the table to meet the shocking brightness of the gambler's unnatural dual-toned eyes.]
Do you wish for me to give something away for free? Or is it truly your own curiosity? To understand how it feels to lose.
[Only one of them failed, after all. He researched this man's background for a reason — and in the fallout, in the encounter with another senior member, he was made aware of Aventurine's survival. So "death" had not reached him with finality.]
I'll tell you another time. In light of everything that has happened, including my own loss just now... it feels good to deny you this.
[lmao]
i appreciate neither of them rly want to be in the other's presence so we get to finish threads 🙂
( why wouldn't it be his curiosity, when aventurine is so infamously known for always winning, and never losing? and it's not the kind of curiosity that is mocking; it's from a genuine desire to know, to understand, to taste something he had longed to achieve. for all of his victories, he has lost so much, but is that, too, the same feeling of loss that sunday feels? is it different, when aventurine is surrounded by wealth and ostentation, but he severely lacks an anchor to ground him to earth, while sunday might have lost everything he had built, dreams and hopes and ambitions, but at the very least -
at least he has robin, doesn't he? his own anchor. )
Then should I congratulate you, Mr. Sunday? On your victory over me.
( because what is the weight of a loss, when he has that card over him? when he holds something of higher value?
aventurine only continues on smiling, before he turns on his heels, and waves a hand at sunday. )
Enjoy the feeling while you can. I'll be looking forward to our next game.
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
i fear sad wet cat is the most accurate
Yet the question surprises him, and there's a show of it on his face, a slight wrinkle at his brow. Once, he might have answered differently, but...]
No. The only person you seem content to endanger is yourself.
[He doesn't sense a threat from this man now, though the murkiness of whatever exists in its absence is... harder to ascertain. Sunday reaches for his own card next; he doesn't avoid that eye contact, but his own gaze is coy, cast at Aventurine through lashes.]
Do you have any regrets?
his dick fate is sealed then
aventurine hums at the question, pretending to think of an answer. he smiles all the same, as though none of this really bothers him. whether it does or not, well... maybe sunday can try to put a bet on it, one day. ) Is that your own personal question, or are we finally playing the game?
( he's joking!! and deflating. but because aventurine is aventurine: )
I'll pass. ( sunday is not getting that answer out of him, but he would have done this regardless of the question; the purpose of it is to show sunday what happens if he's not willing to play or, at the very least, to answer the question. their watches ring with a notification, a transfer from aventurine's account to sunday's of a thousand chips.
how lucky. )
And that's the answer you wanted. All gambles pay off, Mr. Sunday. Are you more willing to play now?
🥹
He tells himself this is because of their changed circumstances. Penacony is not here, and neither are his obligations as Oak Family Head. And then there is that nebulous debt to the IPC itself.]
... [His Watch rings out; he checks it carefully, frown forming a deeper groove on his mouth when he sees the increase to his account. Not your filthy gambling money.......] I see.
[So if he refuses to answer, he'll lose what meager currency he possesses. Aventurine's deposit will allow one denial, to return those chips.]
Very well. It's your turn, next.
no subject
it's a particular kind of control that he enjoys wrestling out of sunday. isn't it so dearly reminiscent of their time in penacony, between the four walls of dewlight pavilion?
aventurine looks down at the card he had picked first, the smile on his face remaining all the unreadable, before his eyes land on sunday, again. )
What's a memory you hold close to your heart?
no subject
Perhaps Aventurine will be able to tell in the downward curve of his mouth, the tightness in his features. However he might have maintained his composure before, it has become more challenging beneath the pressure of these changed circumstances. How coolly implacable Aventurine remains only further grinds that dissonance into the dirt.
If he passes on this question, then he will forfeit Aventurine's chips back. But he will not be able to avoid the next question without over-drafting his account — and so he must rely on Aventurine doing the same. Choosing not to answer. Yet there's no way to confirm what card he will draw, and certainly the gambler is thinking this all out as well, so he will know the advantage he holds over Sunday, if he plays it strategically, planning every step ahead.
As far as questions go, perhaps it is somewhat innocuous, but it still — forfeits something. A deeper, interior piece of himself revealed to this man's scrutiny.]
... [Not his mother. Not that life before, so long ago it feels unreal. Not Robin.] Learning the piano. I was proud of myself that first time I memorized a song and could play it flawlessly to completion. Prelude to a Dream, Concerto No. 2 by Ansel Sterling. It took so much practice, my hands ached.
[He keeps his voice even, not looking up from the tower of cards. So careful in selecting next — how long can they go until it collapses? His fingertips are deft, and though the structure seems to shiver, it remains standing.]
What is your... bedtime routine?
[Okay???]
no subject
so this is where they sit, still. a particular caution that might be ever in their acquaintance, as a head of the family, and an envoy of the ipc. )
You must've been busy with your duties to the Family to play it again. ( a throwaway comment, in part, as aventurine stares down the house of cards as sunday ponders which card to remove next. ) It would be unfortunate if you forgot it.
( and aventurine means it, whether sunday wants to believe his words or not. )
Hmm~ Bedtime routine? I just put on pajamas then hit the bed. What's left to do?
( the thing is - it's not an entirely truthful answer, but one that aventurine experiments with. his watch rings with a notification again, that more of his chips have been forfeit and sent over to sunday. figures that the house doesn't want half-truths to a game built on questions and answers, huh.
aventurine does not so much address it - let sunday wonder why he'd lie about such an innocuous question -, carefully reaching for another card. the better question is - how long would either of them forcibly make the house fall? )
Do you pour milk before your cereal, or after?
( ough. do they have cereal in penacony. probably huh. clockie themed cereal... )
no subject
Sunday's mouth remains a thin line at the other man's commentary. When he realizes Aventurine has not answered honestly, there is — a wrinkle at his brow. Why? Such a simple, ordinary question shouldn't require deceit. Is it to conceal something he does not want Sunday to know, or does he just not care for the outcome either way? Perhaps he has plenty of credits to waste.
It's impossible, even now, to read this man's motivations.]
I don't eat cereal. [Bitch!! Okay, but he knows not to leave it at that.] ... Of course, if I did, I would pour the milk first. Then I can decide how much cereal must be added.
[can't believe you made me invent hc for sunday eating cereal like a freak. Anyway, he doesn't reach for a new card yet.]
Are you losing on purpose?
no subject
to the question, aventurine laughs, insincere: ) Is that what you think I'm doing?
( and aventurine just smiles, in response, a sign he will not elaborate. losing on purpose would be the worst truth to sunday, wouldn't it? it could mean too many things, several of them none too pleasing. it could be that aventurine is being considerate, that he's willing to give sunday a headstart, chips in his account to help with his initial stay in the golden peacock. but he knows well sunday would not wish for that sort of pity, let alone the help of a man who once he stood in opposition with.
it's nothing so deep. though the sentiment is one aventurine isn't so against, he's not blind to the shaky ground they stand on. yet he's fine with that assumption, won't prove or disprove. sunday can figure it out himself, one day. )
I'm playing a game, Mr. Sunday. Nothing more nothing less. Does that displease you?
no subject
It's not an answer that satisfies, really, any part of his question. There's deflection, then the deliberate way Aventurine turns it around to point at himself — at his own reaction. Downplaying the decisions that are certainly calculating behind those eyes, beneath that perfect poker face.]
It displeases me so much as I don't wish to be playing this game at all.
[Do you hear him, House?]
You answered one of my previous questions wrong. About your bedtime routine. What could you possibly be concealing?
no subject
it's not surprising his deceit bothers sunday this much. it's not the fact aventurine refuses to answer, but that he has lied about something so utterly harmless. why continue to put up walls, especially over the most miniscule of things? the sunday he sits in front of - he lacks the same sense of authority as he once had. a bird with clipped wings, a fallen angel.
so why continue to mask his words behind untruthful words, when sunday no longer stands as an enemy?
is the truth something worth telling sunday? that there had been no true deceit, that aventurine's enemy is no longer the family, but the house - in spite of their ironic similarities. that's the answer in itself, isn't it? )
You assume I lied to you, Mr. Sunday. ( mister, to put a particular distance between them again. ) But were you aware half-truths also count as 'lies'? A game can only be played to its full potential once the players know all the rules. Otherwise cheating becomes possible, don't you think?
no subject
Half-truths. Nothing he can't understand when toeing that line of honesty, how much one might be willing to surrender to an individual of unknown confidence — but what is the reason to conceal something so minor, so negligible? Perhaps because of its personal nature. It suggests a look into Aventurine's life, those little intimacies that populate a routine committed every day. In that light, it's no wonder Aventurine would not tell him.
He's silent at first. Truthfully, his head is starting to ache, although that has occurred in this place more often lately and may not be directly attributed to this moment.]
It's still my turn, isn't it?
[A game to its fullest potential. Will they be expected to continue on until he's as masterful at taking risks as the man across the table from him? He has no particular inclination for that. Rather, he's learned something new since last he saw this man — how to break rules.
Sunday reaches out, selecting a card with gloved fingertips. It's a precarious spot near the foundation of the house. And before he's even pulled it loose of the structure, there's a trembling, a flutter — the cards are spilling to the table like weightless feathers. His Watch rings, notifying him of a large transfer of chips: all of Aventurine's and then some more, from his own meager supply. He doesn't look.]
There. Now it's finished.
[Did Aventurine expect to lose?]
no subject
but this sunday does not. this sunday gives in and gives up, and what it tells aventurine is only that he no longer spreads his wings over others, casting a captive shadow nigh impossible to escape from. this sunday accepts defeat, embraces it, empowers it, as autonomy and freedom both. this sunday expects a level of honesty from a man who has lost before, and was humbled for it.
victory is never a taste aventurine enjoys either. the chips he does not need. assumptions that attach to his name, and though little does he care, it's bittersweet, isn't it? that it might just create more rumors about the avgin, all because of him. that it reinforces stereotypes.
aventurine sighs, and rises from his seat. )
Tell me one more thing, Mr. Sunday. How does it feel, to lose? Is it freeing?
no subject
[His voice is quiet between them, barely enough volume to carry over the crowd and clamor around them, a casino made busy with wealth running through the blood of its veins. He remains seated, and his gaze is slower to pick itself up from the table to meet the shocking brightness of the gambler's unnatural dual-toned eyes.]
Do you wish for me to give something away for free? Or is it truly your own curiosity? To understand how it feels to lose.
[Only one of them failed, after all. He researched this man's background for a reason — and in the fallout, in the encounter with another senior member, he was made aware of Aventurine's survival. So "death" had not reached him with finality.]
I'll tell you another time. In light of everything that has happened, including my own loss just now... it feels good to deny you this.
[lmao]
i appreciate neither of them rly want to be in the other's presence so we get to finish threads 🙂
at least he has robin, doesn't he? his own anchor. )
Then should I congratulate you, Mr. Sunday? On your victory over me.
( because what is the weight of a loss, when he has that card over him? when he holds something of higher value?
aventurine only continues on smiling, before he turns on his heels, and waves a hand at sunday. )
Enjoy the feeling while you can. I'll be looking forward to our next game.
( and he's gone. goodbye... )
no subject