【 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.
[ A spark as glimmering stone makes over opaque flint. A spark, but not something that catches fire. Only something that reflects, serene as moonlight instead.
If only he could do more than sieve, maybe this would be a different story.
Kizuna adjusts to the presence of her body against his as if he was meant for it, steps backwards into the thrum of people carving the way for the billow of lace as it fans with his movement. Already swaying, contemplative in its half-twirl — he's borrowing a little bit from the resort's staff, those who know how to dance and meant to unearth wallflowers from their little gardens. Out of their heads into their feet, as they say.
He can't promise he's the same, but he is a fair multitasker. His heartbeat measures beneath the exacting draw of her fingertips. ]
It seems I've taken you too lightly. [ For once, Kizuna actually seems to consider a threat in earnest. ] Allow me to apologize.
[ Craning low, his nose brushes the smoke of her veils, he smiles inwards, pointed, before lifting his head and glancing aside towards the dancefloor. ]
After this dance, would you consider being my date for the night?
[After all, he has made him pay the price twice over now. It seems, Matoba thinks with some indulgence, that their previous entanglements have left an impression. Good. If that means that Kizuna will think twice before brushing too close along the razor edge of Matoba's conscience, if that means that the memory of the snarl and heat and ruthless claws digging in past his defenses will come to him before he tries to reach too deeply, then he is doing his job- as one who must live the life of a shield to others, as one who must repel any attempt at ingress.]
[Today not a shield. Just a mask. Drawn in towards him, Kuromine Misa's footsteps are light and graceful as they manage to follow after in an approximate mirror of the intended movements. It's apparent there isn't a lot of experience in this area, but enough to guess without becoming tangled up in two left feet, an innate nimbleness helping above all else. Her hands come to rest on his upper arms for balance, glancing downward at their steps to read and match the pattern, then drawing back upward to focus every attention on her opponent.]
I like deference in a man. [A pretty smile curves her mouth as they meet, eye to glimmering eye, through the veil. Bitch.] Since you've showed some manners, I'll accept your offer.
[Not one who takes his plans being derailed lightly, Matoba supposes that this isn't the worst way he could be discovered. His intent on using this face to do some "sightseeing" among the fresh wildcards must be set aside for now, but in its place he finds an opportunity. How is this little heartbreaker coming along in the den of heartless spirits?]
[Their movements coalesce into a slow sway, hypnotic in its lulling rhythm, but not enough to dull the knife of KuroMisa's tongue.] I wonder what you could want with me? [She muses softly as they turn, clock-work,] When there are so many other hearts to wear on your sleeve.
Hmm? [ His opportunistic satisfaction with the way the situation has shifted isn't lost on him, the way it melts and morphs with Misa's laced, prowling intent. ] I'm not allowed to choose one? That seems unfair.
[ The words are soft and knowing, incongruent with the way Kizuna has shown himself to be so easily run under by the intrusion of others. Especially to Matoba, who has dug into him with claw and nail, unwilling to accept branding him as a matter of ambiance and rather choosing to do so instead. A warning and a tether, a tug on the leash of a creature loathe to wear one at all. His palm weighs hers as he holds it aloft, leading them through the equally hypnotic closeness of the dancefloor.
His unfairness is one mirrored — it's beneficial to him also, to choose one among the myriad.
Choice. To be here, willingly accepting the touch of a man who has marked his soul as one would circle a destination on a map so thoroughly that the paper welts beneath it. ]
Doesn't it also seem heartless? [ A loaded question, affectionate on his tongue. ] Snatching you away just to leave you behind... my attentions aren't that fickle.
[But freedom exercised without intent was a waste. Kizuna certainly seems to work hard to exude the presence of a wasteful man, and yet Matoba doubts that this was a choice made purely on whim. Serendipity it might have been, and so the question here is not 'why', but what form the convenient threat of his next whimsy will take. Matoba, bred by cutthroat survival, expects retribution at every turn.]
[Their kindnesses are incompatible, after all.]
No, I don't think you fickle. [KuroMisa's head turns slightly beneath the veil, and a slight scoff flutters the fabric. Kizuna's hand closes over hers and instead of applying a grip of her own, she molds her hand to his and allows it to be the device by which she's led, a concession to his cloying affection. Infectious and genuine. Ugh.] I think you foolish.
[A few steps sway their bodies in unison, quiet in which she resets her pattern of attack.]
But I'm glad to see you haven't ruined yourself yet. It'd be very boring if you had. [Her voice lowered and more private, footwork falls into place, an easy rhythm.] Are you finally learning to watch where you step?
[ It's something of a novelty to him, wearing many faces and many more hearts. To have incompatibility schism where they meet, leaving room for any number of oily, kaleidoscopic things to well between the cracks. Ingenuity, mercilessness. A predilection without a name. But here they are, all the same. Pressurized, pulled upwards, dredged... so that Kizuna may look on his own terms rather than lay himself at the bottom of Matoba's well. For now.
Her voice traps itself between them and Kizuna knows the shape and color of the emotion that births it. His body turns them clockwise, obedient to the beat, hands spinning them like a compass with a broken magnet. ]
I've had good guides through. [ — is what he settles on, nervy and mellow. ] But our surroundings don't exactly lend themselves to not making the same mistake twice, do they?
[ Restraint is a virtue; man would risk it all for a higher payoff. The nature of gambling, of addiction. ]
[A blunt determination, but kind in its own way. Everyone has taken to finding someone to use in order to survive here; whether that weakness is in body or spirit. Matoba, too, has chosen his bad habit.] If you are making that mistake so many times, then I would think that you are either enjoying it, or you are letting your guard down to an extent that needs correcting.
So...? [They whorl, a movement that sends skirts floating dream-like between them before they settle again, a shroud over the shape of her body.] Which is it that you will blame, my knight in shining armor? Are you a glutton, or a fool?
[Behind the veil, her smile splits- pleasure, cruelty, and warning gleam all at once. Already knowing the answer,]
[ To know the answer and still coax its shape out of the darkness with an expert touch — traced, cut, coiled, denying that it is a nascent thing... truly, he's a fearsome man. That he wears the visage of a dream in this encounter, piled in chantilly-layers of lace, smokey-hued and opulent, juxtaposes the danger with an allure that's difficult to slip free from.
Not that he wishes to be anywhere else. ]
You may not know this, so I'll share it with you.
[ Kizuna mirrors that talent for answers pulled from the deep, a half-step enough to pull himself in close to her, cheek to cheek against the gossamered ink of the veil. ]
[Murmured, a little thoughtful, a little disdainful. But KuroMisa doesn't pull away from the brush of Kizuna's warmth against the veil, a mere whisper that separates them from diving too deeply, too irreparably into the abyss.] Mm. A promise like that is leaning closer towards gluttony, I think. If you're so hungry, then what manner of partner would I be not to indulge you?
[Fingertips laced between Kizuna's press in against the weak points between sinew and bones, a snare that promises to be inescapable. But this prey won't try. That has become abundantly clear: he would welcome even destruction with open arms, trying to find what he seeks. What he seeks is something Matoba understands only conceptually, too denying to acknowledge it in himself, but it's to the man's fortunes that the pride that drives Matoba's mistakes flares in the face of it, confident in his ability to press himself up against the mirror and refuse it his reflection.]
[As he has done. So he will, again.]
[Pressing against the mirror once more, silky fabrics fold against Kizuna's heat in an embrace that brings their dance to a taut crescendo. The hand that isn't a snare smooths down from his shoulder, tracing him, and coming to rest daintily over that too-precious heart.]
A date's not much without a meal, is it? I'll warn you: I have expensive taste.
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
no subject
If only he could do more than sieve, maybe this would be a different story.
Kizuna adjusts to the presence of her body against his as if he was meant for it, steps backwards into the thrum of people carving the way for the billow of lace as it fans with his movement. Already swaying, contemplative in its half-twirl — he's borrowing a little bit from the resort's staff, those who know how to dance and meant to unearth wallflowers from their little gardens. Out of their heads into their feet, as they say.
He can't promise he's the same, but he is a fair multitasker. His heartbeat measures beneath the exacting draw of her fingertips. ]
It seems I've taken you too lightly. [ For once, Kizuna actually seems to consider a threat in earnest. ] Allow me to apologize.
[ Craning low, his nose brushes the smoke of her veils, he smiles inwards, pointed, before lifting his head and glancing aside towards the dancefloor. ]
After this dance, would you consider being my date for the night?
[ Warned once, he offers again. ]
no subject
[After all, he has made him pay the price twice over now. It seems, Matoba thinks with some indulgence, that their previous entanglements have left an impression. Good. If that means that Kizuna will think twice before brushing too close along the razor edge of Matoba's conscience, if that means that the memory of the snarl and heat and ruthless claws digging in past his defenses will come to him before he tries to reach too deeply, then he is doing his job- as one who must live the life of a shield to others, as one who must repel any attempt at ingress.]
[Today not a shield. Just a mask. Drawn in towards him, Kuromine Misa's footsteps are light and graceful as they manage to follow after in an approximate mirror of the intended movements. It's apparent there isn't a lot of experience in this area, but enough to guess without becoming tangled up in two left feet, an innate nimbleness helping above all else. Her hands come to rest on his upper arms for balance, glancing downward at their steps to read and match the pattern, then drawing back upward to focus every attention on her opponent.]
I like deference in a man. [A pretty smile curves her mouth as they meet, eye to glimmering eye, through the veil. Bitch.] Since you've showed some manners, I'll accept your offer.
[Not one who takes his plans being derailed lightly, Matoba supposes that this isn't the worst way he could be discovered. His intent on using this face to do some "sightseeing" among the fresh wildcards must be set aside for now, but in its place he finds an opportunity. How is this little heartbreaker coming along in the den of heartless spirits?]
[Their movements coalesce into a slow sway, hypnotic in its lulling rhythm, but not enough to dull the knife of KuroMisa's tongue.] I wonder what you could want with me? [She muses softly as they turn, clock-work,] When there are so many other hearts to wear on your sleeve.
no subject
Hmm? [ His opportunistic satisfaction with the way the situation has shifted isn't lost on him, the way it melts and morphs with Misa's laced, prowling intent. ] I'm not allowed to choose one? That seems unfair.
[ The words are soft and knowing, incongruent with the way Kizuna has shown himself to be so easily run under by the intrusion of others. Especially to Matoba, who has dug into him with claw and nail, unwilling to accept branding him as a matter of ambiance and rather choosing to do so instead. A warning and a tether, a tug on the leash of a creature loathe to wear one at all. His palm weighs hers as he holds it aloft, leading them through the equally hypnotic closeness of the dancefloor.
His unfairness is one mirrored — it's beneficial to him also, to choose one among the myriad.
Choice. To be here, willingly accepting the touch of a man who has marked his soul as one would circle a destination on a map so thoroughly that the paper welts beneath it. ]
Doesn't it also seem heartless? [ A loaded question, affectionate on his tongue. ] Snatching you away just to leave you behind... my attentions aren't that fickle.
no subject
[Imagine that. Such a foreign freedom.]
[But freedom exercised without intent was a waste. Kizuna certainly seems to work hard to exude the presence of a wasteful man, and yet Matoba doubts that this was a choice made purely on whim. Serendipity it might have been, and so the question here is not 'why', but what form the convenient threat of his next whimsy will take. Matoba, bred by cutthroat survival, expects retribution at every turn.]
[Their kindnesses are incompatible, after all.]
No, I don't think you fickle. [KuroMisa's head turns slightly beneath the veil, and a slight scoff flutters the fabric. Kizuna's hand closes over hers and instead of applying a grip of her own, she molds her hand to his and allows it to be the device by which she's led, a concession to his cloying affection. Infectious and genuine. Ugh.] I think you foolish.
[A few steps sway their bodies in unison, quiet in which she resets her pattern of attack.]
But I'm glad to see you haven't ruined yourself yet. It'd be very boring if you had. [Her voice lowered and more private, footwork falls into place, an easy rhythm.] Are you finally learning to watch where you step?
no subject
Her voice traps itself between them and Kizuna knows the shape and color of the emotion that births it. His body turns them clockwise, obedient to the beat, hands spinning them like a compass with a broken magnet. ]
I've had good guides through. [ — is what he settles on, nervy and mellow. ] But our surroundings don't exactly lend themselves to not making the same mistake twice, do they?
[ Restraint is a virtue; man would risk it all for a higher payoff. The nature of gambling, of addiction. ]
no subject
[A blunt determination, but kind in its own way. Everyone has taken to finding someone to use in order to survive here; whether that weakness is in body or spirit. Matoba, too, has chosen his bad habit.] If you are making that mistake so many times, then I would think that you are either enjoying it, or you are letting your guard down to an extent that needs correcting.
So...? [They whorl, a movement that sends skirts floating dream-like between them before they settle again, a shroud over the shape of her body.] Which is it that you will blame, my knight in shining armor? Are you a glutton, or a fool?
[Behind the veil, her smile splits- pleasure, cruelty, and warning gleam all at once. Already knowing the answer,]
Shall I take pleasure in correcting you?
no subject
Not that he wishes to be anywhere else. ]
You may not know this, so I'll share it with you.
[ Kizuna mirrors that talent for answers pulled from the deep, a half-step enough to pull himself in close to her, cheek to cheek against the gossamered ink of the veil. ]
Your pleasure will always be my pleasure.
no subject
[Murmured, a little thoughtful, a little disdainful. But KuroMisa doesn't pull away from the brush of Kizuna's warmth against the veil, a mere whisper that separates them from diving too deeply, too irreparably into the abyss.] Mm. A promise like that is leaning closer towards gluttony, I think. If you're so hungry, then what manner of partner would I be not to indulge you?
[Fingertips laced between Kizuna's press in against the weak points between sinew and bones, a snare that promises to be inescapable. But this prey won't try. That has become abundantly clear: he would welcome even destruction with open arms, trying to find what he seeks. What he seeks is something Matoba understands only conceptually, too denying to acknowledge it in himself, but it's to the man's fortunes that the pride that drives Matoba's mistakes flares in the face of it, confident in his ability to press himself up against the mirror and refuse it his reflection.]
[As he has done. So he will, again.]
[Pressing against the mirror once more, silky fabrics fold against Kizuna's heat in an embrace that brings their dance to a taut crescendo. The hand that isn't a snare smooths down from his shoulder, tracing him, and coming to rest daintily over that too-precious heart.]
A date's not much without a meal, is it? I'll warn you: I have expensive taste.
no subject