【 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.
i. down the rabbit hole.
parking garage
( open to one or two men )
"I'm late!"
Alice shouts as her body pops up from the bed like a corpse with rigor mortis, rigid and alert. The raven-headed girl looks around with her chest fluttering, worrying that she's overslept and is running late for work. She looks down when the emptiness registers and her eyebrows furrow in confusion: Rabbit isn't clutched in her arms like he normally is every morning.
She isn't in her pyjamas either, though the black satin, feathered robe she is wearing could very well pass for the same thing. Alice can't help but chuckle at the absurdity, feeling incredulous and confused, and a little exposed. Why does it almost feel... tantalizing? The thought makes her shiver, goosebumps raising along the exposed, velvety skin of her inner thighs.
Her demeanor shifts back to concern suddenly as her head snaps up, vibrant green eyes blinking in the details of the vehicle (a very beautifully crafted vintage one, but not a horse and carriage like she's used to) that she's woken up inside. Is this a vivid dream or has she begun hallucinating again? It has to be one or the other.
The set of eyes blinking back at her from between the two front seats look like they're wondering the same thing. "Hi," she manages breathlessly, her pale skin darkening with a red sheen as she realizes she's in company. One look out the window confirms this isn't Wonderland, but one look at the watch wrapped around her wrist informs her of everything she needs to know.
"So," she starts again once the reality (maybe) of the situation settles on her, catching her bottom lip in a lick and tug as she looks up from her watch to continue, "Wake up in a... strange vessel half naked and confused often?" Alice's tone is dry and sarcastic, but the curve of a playful smile gives her intentions away.
"I wish I could say it was my first time."
ii. we're all mad here.
phoenix casino hall — just a puff or two ( open to everyone )
Modest despite her striking features, Alice prefers to dress purely for herself. Tonight's outfit isn't flashy or as luxurious as many of the gowns in attendance at the party, but for an orphan who once wanted for nothing until that's all she had left, a simple satin dress could easily make her feel like a thousand bucks regardless.
Her hair is sleek and half of it is tied back with a matching silk bow, her glowing green eyes a bright contrast to the rest of her monochrome outfit. Miniature versions of the same ribbons were tied at the back of her supple thighs, marking where her sheer nylons end just beneath her skirt.
Her nails have been manicured and the rest of her has been thoroughly groomed, a sort of ritual she'd started indulging in at home as a means to take care of her mental well-being more than anything. It didn't hurt that her dedication meant she finally felt ready to jump into whatever suitable opportunities came her way over the course of the night.
"Don't tell anyone, but I'm usually already asleep by now," Alice confesses to the other lost tourist at the Twig bar, both of them there in an attempt to ensure they don't pass out before any of the fun starts. Who cares about getting a mind splitting headache when FOMO is already achingly real? "I'm hoping this works something like cocaine and I won't be knackered for at least another twelve hours."
She looks down at the strange smoking apparatus (cigarettes are a few decades away from existence in her timeline) with a curious smile before she plugs it between her lips, leaning over and into the stranger's personal space just enough to indicate she needs them to light it for her.
Her eyes are piercing when they lift to stare up at them, a sweet lilt to their wideness, begging for their obedience in her indulgence.
iii. curiouser and curiouser!
game rooms — house of cards ( open to everyone )
A game of questions? The thought of answering anything about her past was enough to set Alice in the opposite direction, but just as she pivots to slip away somewhere else, a ghost hand decides they know better.
"Do you mind?" She snips at the magical air, gesturing wildly as she pushes at the invisible force that drops her back off in front of the game room door. She has a sinking feeling that attempting to walk away again will be met with endless resistance, so she sighs in vain and cautiously enters.
Fearing a choice will be made for her, Alice quickly scans the room in search of someone to take pity on her. This was about to be uncomfortable: Who wants a trauma dump while they're on vacation?
She catches the eye of someone who smiles back at her and nearly feels guilty when she watches them approach because of it.
A few minutes later, Alice is strategically drawing the premier card ("Prettiest should go first," they'd said) and feeling very positive when the house stays intact and the question is harmless. If we were a band, what would our name be? "Flat of Letters," she jokes, playing on the wording of the game as she discards the successfully retrieved ace of spades with a mildly embarrassed shrug.
"Go on, then. Let's see what you get."
iv. it's always tea-time.
hangover aftercare
( open to a woman )
Alice wakes up in the wee hours of the morning, then proceeds to try and make out the features of the woman she'd stumbled into bed with the night before. She also tries remembering her name, but the effort to do so knocks her back into her dreams and she falls asleep a mere hour after she'd stirred awake.
It's the smell of breakfast that drags her out of her slumber awhile later. She expects to find her companion having left without a goodbye, but is pleasantly surprised when sauntering into the dining area reveals the truth: She's just been waiting for Alice to join her.
"What day is it?" She asks with a hoarse laugh that transitions into a cough — all the smoking the night before has coated her lungs and throat in itchy residue. She wonders briefly whether the strange package labelled "Hangover Kit" on the island counter has anything in it to help with that.
Alice sits down with a shy smile, unsure of how to verbalize the relief she'd felt when she realized she wouldn't be spending the morning alone. So she doesn't, instead reaching for a scone, cream, and jam.
— Alice is a true switch who enjoys topping, bottoming, subbing, and domming regardless of her partners' genders, so there's not much she isn't into trying. Muse chemistry will always be #1. Full kink list TBA.
— I assume prose generally but am happy to match your preference if it's brackets.
— I love writing cross-canon (though I'll take a Cheshire kitty boy for her if you're offering) and against OCs as well, so don't hesitate to initiate with them!
— If you think you'd have fun playing with her: I need an invite ✨
truly, texas is that sort of girl to not overstay a welcome. lone wolves like her are expected to not do such things, they are not allowed in society to be anything else than what fate was given to them. exiled like one she knows, or her case it was....different. patricide was not a sin the mafiosi took lightly, not even her slaughter of her familiga that night. her choice to run after setting that fire to the manor only cemented that status while nobody cared to know the truth. that a girl like her had grown tired of it all, and that she held no wish to be in this system of wolf eat wolf after her father murdered her grandfather.
but that's not here, it also isn't conversation she's willing to have after a night with a stranger. texas had risen first (as former mafia wolves do) for the sake of quietly leaving, but decided against it. instead she stayed, dressed in a nice button up shirt and black panties only while taking in hand a bit of egg and bacon for herself. she didn't expect company (honestly it's a blur on if they did anything, texas has slept with her fair share during the party) nor did she question being in this room much. she was starving and had a raging headache of her own.
so it's best to eat then worry about anything else later when a single wolf ear, pierced and everything, rises in alice's direction. her mouth was open while those wolf teeth of hers bit down into a thing of toast, how did she sleep? amber eyes fall on alice quietly while she joins in thought. she slept too well. she doesn't always, but it was enough rest for her to feel less like death from the week of partying.
"I slept fine."
quick and easy, but she's a terrible conversation partner on even her best days. not a bad listener, though, or bad for company despite her appearance and demeanor. she's only like others making do with what she has in this hellish resort.
Funnily enough, Alice hadn't held onto the detail that her counterpart wasn't fully human the night before, nor as she waded in and out of sleep earlier in the morning while trying to make sense of Texas' outline in the dark. But the way her ears seem to flick of their own accord is endearing, Alice thinks, as she settles into the space across from her company.
"That's good," the girl responds with lingering hesitation, wondering whether the other is going to continue. When she doesn't, Alice stalls further by pushing a piece of the baked good into her mouth to thoughtfully chew at it.
The last week had felt like a blur; The sensation is eerily similar to the feeling of returning from Wonderland. Disorienting and suspended, like the both of them and everyone else is waiting to see what comes next. For now, however, Alice's grumbling stomach is fully concentrated on the food, so she puts aside any curiosity about that to instead focus on what is literally right in front of her.
She isn't put off by Texas' silence. While Alice is normally quieter herself, the excitement of the events taking place has pulled a confidence out of her that she isn't sure she's ever fully experienced before. All of the clothes, the music, the atmosphere, and the food-- It's overwhelming. You don't really get the chance to live a life of luxury when your entire family goes up into flames as a child and you live the rest of it under the care of an abusive psychiatrist who, unbeknownst to you, is the one that started the fire that killed everyone and has the ultimate goal of obliterating your psyche so you never figure it out.
Alice pushes her messy hair over her shoulders as she tries to devour her breakfast politely, covering her mouth with a delicate hand as she speaks through her chewing. "I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm not here, living like this, anymore. Is it like this for you normally? Where you come from?"
if there was one thing, texas would have been more surprised if she did recognize she stands out among the guests in the resort. lupo aren't the norm. neither are her fellow terran's while she casually eats, the food was a godsend after being forced to avoid what she could across the week. having to eat anything that's spiked with aphrodisiacs at a party like that was not her idea of a good time; that's considerably risky to touch anything that came from staff while pretending that this is normal. she knows it's not (why would this resort be normal?) while keeping her attention half on the food and half on alice speaking. she must be new, then. that's her thought about it.
texas had taken up helping newbies somewhat, they didn't always need it, but she did feel it necessary. not with the things the resort throws at them being anything every bit hedonistic in nature or with the expectations of sex being placed upon the guests with a nasty price. "Parties? None that last for a week," she starts, her manners as a former heiress are showing since she's speaking in between eating more of her toast (that she spread jelly along after a thought it could use it) and thinking more to herself. "....though that was a new one for me that the House went with a week-long party."
she may not be the most chatty of women, but texas is reliable. she even had taken the chance earlier to fix her own hair, tied back in a messy high ponytail to reveal the pink undertones to go with already black hair. natural color, surprisingly. that often catches people off guard somewhat. parts of her body are still sore. not from the party, but from her own activities during that. texas is more or less an interesting case for someone in a resort all about sex as a transaction and pushing about intimacy as being encouraged.
a dislike of being touched by strangers, though even her friends struggle with that. touching her can be a 50/50 on if she responds to affection or stands there awkwardly for them. that and some have taken it as a challenge to see her tail wag and her ears wiggle after learning she doesn't do either. the flick of them earlier was because she heard alice move (familiga wolves train such habits into their soldiers, their children) more than moving personally on their own.
"Home for me is different, anyway."
plus her own personal problems showed her face in the resort, knowing what lies between herself and the other wolf she thought about while eating as she says that. the other lupo that always looms over her shoulders, waiting for the day that cellinia would fall apart. waiting and waiting in her half insanity and half despair.
Nothing or no one is normal about this place, Alice thinks, and that's strangely what makes it so familiar to her. Instability is a common theme in the overarching motif of her life, and the consistency in which it shows up could easily be praised—if mental fracture is a secret admirer's kind of thing.
So, a woman who is also some kind of wolf hybrid? Piece of cake for her, truly. Not even enough to make her hesitate. In actuality, it only causes her head to tilt for a second as she considers Texas' likeness to Cheshire. As far as she knows, wolves descend entirely from dogs and not felines, but both of them possess a self-assuredness that Alice always secretly resents. Texas' stoic energy doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it does make her slide into herself a little more, cautious about coming on too strong.
Alice listens to her speak as she chews around her scone, lathering cream and jam like she hasn’t eaten in days. Before she'd arrived at this place, that was very much the case. After a week of indulging her hedonistic desires, however, Alice finds it easier to forget the barren life she had been plucked from and fall deeper into the game. It isn’t the first time she’s played it, in a sense. This is just yet another version of Wonderland to her: strange and wonderful all at the same time.
“Oh, wait...” Alice’s eyebrows furrow as she registers the implication that this is only her first time experiencing the Golden Peacock. “You’re not new like me?” It hasn’t dawned on Alice yet that this place isn’t necessarily meant to be the glorious reality they make it out to be. She’s still sipping drinks from the mirage water.
She reaches for some juice to wet her mouth, striking eyes studying Texas from her perch across the table. She’s suddenly parched, but it’s her unmet curiosities on the tip of her tongue that cause it and not so much the consistent use it’s seen over the last 168 hours. “How... how long have you been here?” Alice asks with a twang of empathy to her tone, but it conceals a concern that the woman wouldn’t still be here if she had the choice.
“Tell me about home,” she continues as she seeks out the perfectly fluffy eggs and smoky, salty bacon waiting for her next to Texas. In an attempt to show warmth, she offers her companion another piece of bacon, but holds it in a way that suggests she doesn’t intend to let it go. “Want a bite?”
seems like this made texas remember, not everyone has been here that long and has just arrived. her luck turned into this being a new girl, but that's nothing bad. her stoicism might be a bit tricky to work with, but the truth is that she's used to more chaos than some may have expected. cellinia is good at hiding her thoughts and feelings. that's a fact, by no means is it against others while that tail of hers rests calmly at her side. her ears are relaxed over being up and cautious, meaning alice by all counts is fine in her eyes.
she may not wag her tail or move said ears, it did not mean that she was openly hostile towards strangers. or in this case, a woman who seems to not realize what they're dealing with. which means....texas considers that she ought to take this on herself to help again. that's what she's always been doing when she runs into newbies with what little she could do for them. "Five months. I know people who have been here for a year or slightly less than that." this of course was spoken while texas drinks some water herself, much better. she can feel her head easing up from being dehydrated thanks to the sheer amount of days spent nonstop partying. sneaking up into the high rollers lounge could only get texas so far with some rest. she hadn't bothered with twig, but she did reach into her discarded slacks for what looks to be a lighter and a cigarette case with wolves engraved into it.
thankfully they left her an ashtray, staff had realized she was a smoker whenever she was buying cartons of them on occasion. it's a habit that she has yet to break fully, but there are some things that always would be a struggle in her life. while she knows not of wonderland (not the wonderland alice would speak of or anyone of a similar nature might) that didn't mean texas would be judgy about experiences. she has a lot of her own problems that can be attention grabbing in a more terrible sense of the word. siracusa's law of the jungle was twisted, vile. corruption ran deep and the only rule was to not kill without the word of the signora the other heads of the wolves, the familiga there.
"Mm, I'll take some by the way first. Thanks." the bacon which she takes from alice's hand did smell good, she's at her core still a predator from the scent of meat and most things like that being more bound to draw her attention. after popping the bacon in her mouth, texas chews the first thing of real food she's had in a bit after avoiding the buffet save for what seemed to be fine. that worked out for her, somehow. "Home itself is complicated. Depending on which one of my homes you mean, I've had three. The third isn't so bad, the first two are...."
her voice trails off, should she really talk about it? the mafiosi, how tiring it was? maybe she's considering that to be a bad move, while she takes her own share of the eggs and bacon. though the more texas talks, the more it might become clear that she's easier to get along with than she comes off as from her stoicism. she's quiet by nature, but she's fairly easy to talk to despite it. attentive from how amber eyes seem to be paying attention to alice while also chewing on some egg next; they're going to be here for quite some time. she might as well make the most of it.
"The first two of my homes varied more, one was considered a land of progress. People moved there with big dreams, but they all were being used in the name of that. The second....law of the jungle, if that says anything."
The implication isn't immediately concerning, but it does make Alice's eyebrows furrow. She's bound to get wrinkles before she's twenty five because of the amount of time her face spends laced with confusion. It doesn't mean that she will be there for five months, or a year, or more than that. Texas is saying it because that's what this world wants her to think, right? That people want to be here. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, if this was meant to be her psyche's way of giving Alice a break. She conveniently seems to forget that peace has never been its agenda, though. Maybe it's all the Twig she's had.
"You're welcome," she answers in a tone that sounds mildly distracted, but her attention snaps back to the present as she feels the piece of bacon slip from her fingers. There's a soft flush of warmth to her face and neck when it isn't the wolf's teeth that snatch it but her hand instead, the unspoken intention that Alice had wanted to feed Texas getting lost in translation. It's for the best, she thinks as she sits back to take another bite of her scone. Probably shouldn't try feeding a wolf, no matter how domesticated they seem.
She listens while Texas continues, intrigued by the idea that she has more than one place she considers home. "It says more than you know," she quietly returns, thinking of Wonderland and its lack of rules, or the complete disregard for any logical ones, at least. "And the third? You said it isn't so bad. Are you free, there?"
luckily it wasn't that it was lost in translation, texas had thought a pair of sharp wolf teeth coming down might not be the best of ways to start one's day. even if she's careful, there was the fact she's learned not everyone knows about lupo having differences in their bodies. unfortunately for alice, she's about to be the bearer of bad news while also holding out her fork. a fluffy egg white for her in exchange. texas could tell one of them was smoking twig, naturally, that's a perk of having senses beyond the norm of the people she's met. many of them were interested in her tail and ears.
some tried asking to pet them, others made it a game to try and get her to wag her tail or wiggle them when she doesn't do necessarily either of those things. another part that might make her stick out more from the cheshire cat himself, texas not speaking in cryptic riddles aside. "I do feel that way. Sometimes it's harder to confront the past....even if I did return to my second home for a time. The third is....there's plenty wrong with it too, but I like it. The people wandering the streets and the people I care about most are there." but that doesn't mention the other issue, her childhood friend. her friend, who was there now and ready to taunt texas, loom behind her like a shadow that'd never go away. texas did consider for a moment how much is okay to speak about from her own history. alice didn't seem the type to force someone into a friendly chat about old wounds and scars.
it felt as if there were similarities. something there that sticks out in a connection and understanding. she's understood that too well, when she gets this feeling that it means much more. being able to connect is one thing, and it reminds her strongly about how the house pushes together people, encourages them to indulge in hedonism or form these bonds as survival. to have someone that they can rely on. "It was better I left the first two, the first was my birth country and the second was the country my nonno came from and spoke fondly about to me in stories it changed a lot from those tales." if one listens closely, that siracusan word she used is, indeed, italian. similar in structure from what she learned. she learned more words here that she didn't know before in addition to that. such as burdenbeasts and clawbeasts not being terms others used or finbeasts.
"The resort, by the way, is not something to take lightly." she did feel the need to give her a warning, from how alice seems clueless it was better that way. it was also best to clear up any thoughts that might suggest her and others might desire to stay within the resort. nobody wants to with the trade-off it offers. not when it involves needing to have sex to live, really to have sex for just about anything. "When I arrived here....I was put on auction. Later I was told by a friend from the same world as me that the food provided by the House itself is spiked, the drinks are too. The only restaurant that doesn't is the Red Cardinal."
By contrast, Luffy came all too willingly to the party once he'd caught wind of the food on offer, and convincing him to wander the game rooms between bouts of pillaging the buffet table had barely taken more than a gentle ghostly nudge. For what it's worth, he seems totally unbothered by the prospect of the personal questions after Alice accidentally lures him over: he definitely thinks of himself as an open book, even though in actual practice he almost never tells anyone anything about himself. That's more by accident than anything else, though.
It's pure luck that the house stays standing when Luffy brazenly plucks a card off the structure like it's not one wrong twitch away from costing him a large sum of chips. Alice shouldn't worry too much about her chances, clearly.
He grins at her when it's clear the house isn't falling down quite yet, but he's still very enamored with her question. "What kind of music would we play, though? What kind of music do you like? I only know sea shanties." Know is a strong word, of course. He can hum along off-key, but there's only really one he can sing all the way through. He would never let a silly little thing like being totally unqualified stop him, though!
Either way, he flips his own successfully retrieved card (5 of hearts) and reads: "Would you ever kill someone for money?" He blinks, and then shrugs a shoulder, like the idea particularly outlandish to him. Considering his First Mate was a prolific bounty hunter before Luffy bamboozled him into joining the world's friendliest pirate crew, it's not. "Nah, I don't really care about money. There'd have to be a better reason!" Maybe Luffy should be less honest, actually...
His complete lack of concern when snatching the 5 of hearts card simultaneously causes Alice to flinch and her eyes to widen in awe. If she was at all competitive, then she might feel some relief at his display, but instead it sets her on edge just a bit, curious about whether statistics suggest that he is about to lose or—in contrast—that personal experience suggests the universe hates Alice and the house will come crumbling down on her next attempt.
It draws an uneasy but amused laugh out of her regardless, as does his barrage of follow-up questions that she doesn’t expect but thoroughly appreciates being asked. "Sea shanties are whimsical, so I like them," she validates with a courteous nod. "But I love the piano. Chopin is legendary." Alice scrunches her nose as she realizes he likely has no idea who or what she’s talking about. "He’s an up-and-coming composer." The feeling is peculiarly familiar, she privately notes to herself.
The question he chooses takes Alice back, as well, but she straightens up with further curiosity when his answer isn’t demented. Alice prefers to say she’s cautious, skeptical, or careful before she admits she’s shy, but the reality is that she struggles with confident initiation, and those things are easier to swallow than the negative connotation that comes with being timid.
"I agree with you," she says as her arms lift to cross over her chest, as if subconsciously putting space between her and this concept of killing for gain. "I... well, it’d be nice if there was no killing at all." Her mind drifts suddenly, and Alice’s heart races as she hurries to keep it present. "What’s your better reason, though?"
When it’s her turn, she takes some illicit advice from Luffy and yoinks a card from the house without thinking about the logistics first. It turns out Alice has more precise reflexes than she thought, but that isn’t surprising to anyone except her. She consistently undermines her own abilities in comparison to those around her, an additional unsavory side effect of survivor’s guilt. She lets out a little incredulous laugh before she flips the card to read the question.
What’s the most number of times you’ve masturbated in one day? "Bloody hell."
He never thought of sea shanties as whimsical, but he loves whimsical things, so he doesn't object to her classification. "Piano is cool! Can you play it?" He sounds very sincere, mostly because he is, even if he had no particular feelings about the instrument himself before this conversation started. The thing is, he is always in awe of anyone who possesses skills that he doesn't, especially if they're also passionate about them. Plus, he never knew someone could become legendary for that, and it automatically makes her Chopin guy seem pretty badass in Luffy's book. "I've been looking for a musician for my crew," he tacks on, despite the fact that Pianos with all their sensitive wooden and wire components would not pair well with his dinky little caravel-sized pirate ship. That's a minor detail, surely!
And she follows it up with a pretty good question, actually, so she may be spared from any recruitment pitches for now either way. The thing about Luffy's purely vibes-based approach to morality is that he hasn't stopped to think about stuff like that, even though it's incredibly relevant to the lifestyle he has chosen. He taps the card he'd pulled against his cheek a few times, finally dusting off the lonely old braincell rattling around between his ears and giving the whole thing a few moments of consideration. "I guess they'd have to be hurting people who can't fight back, or something." His brow twitches down, like that doesn't feel complete. He doesn't explain himself very often, so he's terribly out of practice when he actually does try. "Or stopping people from being free, you know?" That one's very important to him, though he probably wouldn't be able to articulate why if asked. "It'd be pretty nice if there were no killing, though, you're right." She's smart, clearly! Though that does make him wonder: "What about you? If you had to, I mean." That's not really how this game works!! But Luffy is, as always, very curious and decidedly not a rule follower.
Nosily, he even cranes his neck to see what her card says when she doesn't voice it aloud immediately after. He blinks, a little unsure why that would stop her (he has never once met a social more that he let slow him down even a little bit), but mostly unsure about the implied frequency. He was certainly less interested in that stuff than most boys his age before coming here, and after... "Like, all alone?" Well, with three months living in the resort under his belt, he has a completely delusional idea of the ease—or difficulty, rather—of finding sexual partners outside of the wacky, ribald walls of the place. "Wouldn't that get boring, a bunch of times a day?" So sorry, Alice. He has no manners (or discretion) to speak of.
"Oh," Alice starts, shaking her head with immediate humility. "No, no. I'm not any good at all. I stopped playing a long time ago." She won't elaborate, which doesn't seem to be an issue since the leader of any crew likely wants someone competent in their role, at the very least.
Instead, she segues into where their conversation progresses, offering a nod that's both understanding and obviously agreeable, judging by her expression. She looks thoughtful at first and then impressed as he continues. It doesn't seem like a common belief in this place (which makes sense since it's all in her head, of course) that killing is better left undone.
Her back straightens a bit, intrigued, and she doesn't even notice that he's skipping the game rules to inquire further. His curiosity is both peculiar and charming. It encourages her to answer despite her growing uncertainty about what information might later come back to harm her.
"I kill... I've killed before," she admits, hesitating on the 'people' part of the sentence because, well. She and her mind are only one person. "For freedom. That's my reason, too."
Alice hesitates to show him her card, her own head twisting to look over at him and assess his response. He's a little... odd, she notes, in a way that makes her unsure of what he's going to say or what he's thinking. She laughs— loudly— because what he does end up saying is expectedly unexpected. A man who finds sex of any kind boring? Why do so many of them kill because of or for it if it's boring?
Her head shakes in amused disbelief as she tosses the card aside again, feeling the heat rise over her throat. It isn't often she feels like the pervert in a conversation, but the truth is that Alice's experience favors individuality. Up until a few months ago, the woman would say it was the only experience she had. So, Luffy, apologies in advance for her neurotic tendencies, but—
"My 'record' is something like six," she offers with a shrug meant to allude her nonchalance. She starts to circle the house of cards, studying the stack for her next choice as a means to distract herself from the current topic. Is it working? Does she seem like she doesn't care? Luffy is too earnest to notice her blush, she assumes, so she lets it deepen and conserves her nerves for whatever question is going to come next. "Pick a card, ... What's your name?"
( in truth, he's only here mostly by accident: or rather, at the behest of a bunch of prickly idiots at one of the blackjack tables, one of whom had adamantly taken his cigarette out from between his lips to snub it out on the table. that, of course, had led to a fresh wave of anger, on his part, and though he'd been tempted to light the whole table up in retaliation, he'd been escorted from the game before he could even bother. what's the point of flooding the whole party with booze and drugs and sex, if people like that can complain? it's stupid, so stupid that he's not in the best mood when he slumps in at the bar, elbow to the counter. rather than go for the trendy new drug the resort seems to be encouraging, he asks for two fingers of whiskey: and plants his half-crumpled cigarette box on the table.
the company here is mixed, just like he expected--this new drug the party is sporting seems to be made to endure days upon days without sleep, something that he's not really looking for. a night owl doesn't need an excuse to stay awake; he would be better served finding more alcohol to put him to sleep. still, the woman next to him is striking in her own way--pale skin, sharp eyes, and a dress that looks more fitting for a funeral than some casino soiree, which is why he doesn't just snuff a laugh and look away.
brows lifting instead, he adjusts his seat on the bar stool; one sleek shoe propped up on the rung, the other pointed down towards the floor. he looks about the same, dressed more like he's about to be interrogated than dragged out to the dance floor. )
Cocaine, huh. ( there's humor in his voice, like he doesn't quite know whether that's an actual joke, or if she's serious: then again, what does he know? he's seen worse behavior from the sweetest faces. with a nod of thanks to the bartender, he tilts his head towards his companion, hoarding his glass in towards his chest.
rather than go for a lighter, or a pack of matches, it's his index and middle fingers that lift, catching the end of her cigarette like he intends to tug it free from her mouth; really, he's just using it as a show of dramatics, letting the blue flames of his quirk spark out in a lick of fire around the end. )
They have places here that go that hard, if you're interested. ( with her cigarette lit, he pulls his hand away, takes up his glass instead for a swallow. ) Dunno that I'd recommend you seek them out.
( not that he's saying she looks weak--but even so, it just doesn't seem right to have her gallivanting off to find trouble, when she's already found some. )
( the sudden blue flames catch her off guard, but— for once— alice doesn’t flinch; instead, her lips part slightly around the cigarette, and her brows lift in intrigue. the edge of a smirk forms as she tilts her head, lazily blowing a thin trail of smoke toward the ceiling. if this is all in her head then it could be said that there was nothing to be afraid of, but alice unfortunately knows that only the blissfully ignorant could think to say that. )
“Well, aren’t you theatrical?”
( her voice is laced with amusement and admiration, while her piercing gaze lifts from his hand back to his face. she shifts her weight on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other with polite and practiced ease. her free hand lightly drums against her thigh, an outlet for the nervousness she's always trying to keep under tight control.
his words are a warning, but alice lets out a soft laugh despite it. she holds his gaze for a moment, testing him with the intensity of her stare before her attention flicks back to the cigarette in her hand. )
“I’m not so fragile, you know. I like to think I’ve survived worse than whatever… indulgences this place might offer.” ( her tone remains open, but there’s a thread of something darker beneath it, like a ribbon of silk wound too tight. she brings the cigarette back to her lips, the ribbons at the back of her thighs brushing against the barstool as she leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the counter and both of her mary-jane kitten heels hook around the rung of her own barstool. )
“It looks like you've already had your fair share of danger, too.” ( alice nods toward the crumpled cigarette box and the faint tension in his posture and expression, countering his suggestion. the grafts of wrinkled and maimed skin tied with silver that cover inches of his body are persuasive, too. )
“Who were you running from before you landed here? Or is this just where you go to unwind?”
( there’s a subtle sweetness to her teasing, but her eyes remain locked on him, watching for any cracks in his confident, too-cool-for-this-party demeanor with the same precision she’d use when playing cards. it’s not mistrust—just curiosity, the kind that keeps her sharp and keeps her breathing.
it conveniently also keeps the conversation on someone other than herself. )
( it's funny, in a way, to see his own tricks turned on him. conversation is an easy tool, yet only the most skilled can manipulate words in a way that keeps the focus on someone else, or takes advantage of their own lack of modesty. he's met more people in this resort that like to talk about themselves than not; no matter how useful, it's information, and he's coveted information ever since he'd left the safety of that youth hospital and struggled on his own on the streets. yet this girl is different: this girl wants to turn it back on him, which is so wholly unfamiliar that he almost smiles. almost.
instead, he lifts his glass, pressing it to his mouth for one smooth swallow--when he sets it back down again, he abandons the side of it, moving instead so that he can pry one of his cigarettes away from his crumpled box. )
Got kicked out of the casino for awhile. It's quieter here.
( a curt explanation, but it's enough to prove that he isn't fully unwilling to talk--just that he might be more unwilling to divulge anything more meaningful.
with the cigarette between his lips, he lights it the same as hers: theatrical, but at least it's easer than tracking down a lighter. )
Asking me who I was 'running from' is interesting, you know. ( the smoke dwindles past his lips as he takes a drag, though he directs it towards the bar. ) That mean you were running from someone, before you ended up here?
( just a guess that he hazards out--because no matter what the answer is, it'll teach him something new about her. )
Better tell me your name, so I know who to lie about when they come asking.
( alice lets out a small, amused huff, her breath curling smoke that dissipates into the party's shimmering atmosphere. she watches the flicker of blue flame as he lights his own cigarette, mesmerized for a beat before his question pulls her focus back to his face. her lips twist with wry amusement at his retorted accusation. )
"Running is a strong word for either of us, I guess."
( her response is smooth, but she doesn't deny it outright. instead, she leans back slightly on the barstool, the palm of her free hand pressed against the polished counter as she studies him with a calculating gaze. )
"Let's just say I've learned when it's time to leave." ( her voice softens, more thoughtful now, like a confession that slips through despite her best efforts. but she doesn't let the moment hang too long—doesn't give it a chance to turn vulnerable. instead, she exhales sharply and pivots, tone playful once more. )
"But if you need a cover story for when my past inevitably comes knocking, we should make it interesting. Tell them I'm a duchess on the run after orchestrating a coup at court. Oooh, or a jewel thief with a penchant for high-stakes poker. I feel like I've already met one of them tonight..."
( she grins, tipping her cigarette in a gesture of mock grandeur. beneath the playful veneer, there's a flicker of defiance—a refusal to be cornered or defined by anything other than her own narrative. )
"As for names..." ( she trails off, considering whether to give him a piece of the truth. her lips curve into a lopsided smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. is this the Twig or does she just feel in comfortable, familiar company? ) "Alice. If you're going to lie for me, you'd better do it well. I don't want some half-hearted story that falls apart under pressure."
( she holds his gaze, the challenge unmistakable, before she tilts her head. it's almost intentionally cute. )
"What about you? Should I be preparing my alibi now, or are you the kind of guy who never needs one? I hear it's a slippery slope from getting kicked out of an establishment."
Duchess Alice, then. ( with an exhale of his cigarette, the smoke curling just as his lips do--bemused, his voice continues in a drawl. ) Apologies for being in your company without the proper protocol, my lady.
( what even is a duchess? he assumes it has to be something close to royalty, like below a king or a queen, but he's never learned much about history, and especially not the history of countries outside of japan--how would he have learned any of it? he technically 'died' before he'd gotten into much schooling that would divulge into the details of places other than his home. besides, his focus had been honed on other things, other people, other places for revenge.
the fact that she's not keen to explain herself in a way that matters is both telling and interesting. it's something beyond this, then, something outside of pretty titles or thievery or other methods of law breaking; but even so, it's that concept of 'something wrong' that pervades her lofty examples enough that he takes notice.
it means his smile is lifting, an almost devilish sort of grin, before he takes another drag from his cigarette. )
Stopped bothering with alibis. They don't matter if you never get caught, you know?
( a thoughtful tilt of his head. ) I'm a villain. Are you?
( his eyes narrow, but not in accusation: rather, he's curious, watching her face, brows lifting in playful expectation as he lets out another pulse of smoke. )
You don't look like the type that's gonna stuff diamonds into her panties and run away with them, or demand the banks empty their vaults into your purse. So it's something else. Something worse, maybe.
( her nose scrunches in amused discomfort, not sure she's actually interested in being referred to in such a way now that it's fallen off the other's lips. it feels like something her arch nemesis would've been called before she was queen; one more stepping stone to slip on while on her way to insanity. she exhales another billow of smoke out of the corner of her mouth and away from his direction, shaking her head with that same small smile still wrapped around her mouth. the one he flashes back at her starts to dig into her gut, pulling her nervousness down from her chest to pool more appreciatively between her thighs.
criminal, she thinks when he implies he's too evasive for justice, which only makes that tiny ache blossom more despite the flare of mistrust it also brings.
then the narrowing of his eyes, too focused to be elusive, forces her to lift one of her legs over the other, firmly crossed. she looks away, catches the attention of the bartender, and orders them both a bourbon. when she answers him, her eyes are only visible in the peripheral. she knows better. )
An anti-hero, I guess. But I'm not a hero, either. Just someone trying to survive... Is that worse?
( with their glasses sat down with perfect timing as her sentence finishes, alice picks up her own drink and hops off the barstool with it in hand, ashing and discarding her Twig cigarette in a nearby tray. she sips around the rim of her glass as she let her eyes catch his own fully one more time, lingering in his gaze, assessing how dangerous this criminal would be in private.
her head nods in no certain direction, indicating that it's time to leave. with that, she pivots on her heels and walks away toward whatever exit her eyes can land on first, heart rabbiting in her chest in conflicting hope that he does and doesn't follow her. )
( is it worse? he doesn't seem to think so. maybe, in reality, that's what some of the league of villains should rightfully be called: not everyone relishes in the catharsis of killing, really, and not everyone needs to have their ego fanned out across a whole country of unwilling participants, begging for someone to notice. compared to his own frustrations, some of his companions could even look downright angelic, in the end. an anti-hero, someone with a questionable moral code and even worse decision-making skills; and isn't the whole point of everything that they all survive? he considers it, as he drains his own glass, given that she's ordered another round. when it arrives, he takes it up in his hand: and lifts a brow, as she hops right off the barstool next to him.
he could stay at the bar, linger there, nurse his own wounds. but he's always been keen on nursing them with company--letting words dig in deeper, bubbling blood up under old scars, or delighting in the pleasure of licking old wounds over together. with a glance at the bartender, he shakes his head, snubbing out his cigarette; he makes sure to collect his crumpled box, at least, stuffed into a pocket, and with the bartender's back turned, he palms over the counter for two of those syrupy sweet cherries out of a dish, popping them both into his mouth before he retreats.
he's forming his tongue around them, almost teasing, licking off the sweet taste, before he realizes--and once he's caught up to alice, right at the exit, he drags one of them past his tongue, holding it just past his lips. )
Sorry, my lady. Did you want one?
( his eyes are brimming with amusement. )
Think I'm gonna walk along with you, see if we can't find some of that survival instinct out here. You're not complaining, right?
( her stride is smooth, calculated—until he’s suddenly there, syrupy and smug, cherry balanced at his lips like a dare. it makes her slow, just slightly, a flicker of something sharp cutting through her amusement. but it’s there—amusement. )
Who would've guessed that you had a sweet tooth? ( her voice is dry, teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity to it, too.
she doesn’t take the bait—doesn’t take the cherry either. instead, her fingers brush the bulb at his lips with the lightest pressure, tipping it back towards his mouth and kissing him with it. his lips just barely catch the pad of her fingers before she's quick enough to drop her hand, the entirety of it tingling. )
Keep it. It suits you.
( the door swings open under her palm, the business of the casino and all of its sound finally muted when it closes behind them. her drink, still cool against her fingertips, catches the light as she lifts it, taking a slow sip while her eyes slide back to him—measuring, considering. regretting her refusal, perhaps. )
So. ( the word slips out as smooth as the liquor, idly wondering what it'd taste like mixed with cherry. ) If you’re a villain, what’s your crime of choice?
( she slows slightly at the corner of the hallway, giving him room to fill the silence, and because she doesn't have a clue where she's going. she might actually already be lost. )
( she might be the only person to think that of him: the cherries are syrupy sweet on his tongue, a brandished red that looks almost garish, offset with the horrible hue of his scarring. sweet, but not too sweet, betraying a sour center, and a pit that might just kill a guy: he chuckles, but it's soundless, more breath than anything. and though she doesn't take the bait, she takes something: a soft pressure of her finger against his lips and then back again. he bites down; these cherries have nothing to them, just a gooey center, devoid of the crack of the pit. the stems get plucked back, and rather than demolish them, or drop them to the floor--he reaches towards her, sticky fingers slipping one, and then the other, into the side of her hair.
they won't stay like that. they're not secure, not pinned in, not even tucked behind her ear like a pretty flower; it's more like the sort of thing a boy might do to a girl in the playground, dumping twigs and leaves on her in play, or maybe the outcome of rolling around in the grass with a lover.
his fingers, still a little damp, get wiped on his slacks. )
Mm. ( there's a sharp, almost playful shake of his head, as though she's said something incorrect; he takes a sip of his drink to stretch the silence. )
Nah, it's not like that. I'm a villain because the heroes think I am, not because I'm stealing riches for the poor, or robbing banks, or hoarding jewels or something.
( it's obvious to him that she has no idea where they're going--and he doesn't offer to lead, just winding beside her like the destination matters less than the trip itself. )
Guess my crime is wanting to see society fall apart, because it's fucked up to begin with. You seem like the kind of person that might understand that.
Days into the event and Zoro finds himself in the casino again. The sad truth of it is he's familiar with the place now, and has even gone so far as to explore (snoop around) places where he probably shouldn't have. He hasn't been able to find either his sword or a way out, and those from his own world (who apparently have spent anywhere from a few months up to a year here thus far) seem convinced there's nothing to do but stay.
It's early on, and he hasn't given up yet, but he has no creative ideas on how to escape the casino today. At this point, he's convinced himself there will be an opt-out option at the end of the 168 hours of 'delight' the House has scheduled them for. Perhaps it's delusional, but it's something to hold onto.
He starts the evening off with food and drink. Luffy had foisted a heaping plate into his hands on Day 1, and that was the first time he'd eaten since waking up in this place, initially worried about poison. Not necessarily to kill, but perhaps to make them compliant. After meeting his other crewmates and finding that they've all indulged for months without any apparent issues, he's decided it's a risk he can take.
After the food, and against his better judgement, he finds himself wandering near the twig lounge. He doesn't think it's officially called that, but he's noticed a large number of patrons tend to congregate in that area.
And he'd been incredibly judgmental about it at first, sure, but today he's trying new things. God knows why. (He doesn't believe in god.)
Zoro doesn't really do smoking. Sanji is the actual smoker of the crew, and his habit is so steady that maybe the rest of them qualify second-hand. But he tries it, and having seen Sanji light up enough times (not to mention all the examples currently around him), he manages without too much trouble.
The lighter is still in his hand when someone approaches him. He snorts a laugh at her initial remark; as far as opening lines in this place go, it's refreshingly innocent. Plus he appreciates the humor.
"Heard it could last for days," he says in response. The stranger's eyes are striking, and he has to stare for a moment while she leans into his personal space. He still isn't used to people doing that - usually they're too scared to even talk to him, unless they were looking for a fight. But she does it, and she seems harmless enough that he doesn't mind. She's after the lighter still in his hands, so he indulges her without question, pocketing it afterwards. Yeah, twig bar staff member that's watching - he's keeping that.
The man is approachable in a way Alice isn't sure how to describe. Despite the way his shoulders square his frame with assertion, she doesn't worry that his response will be negative. In fact, when he snorts his amusement at her honest commentary, Alice immediately feels herself ease in his presence. Even if it's barely two seconds of a sound, it doesn't feel like she's being laughed at so much as being innocently endeared. It isn't generally her goal to earn that perspective from others, so Alice is surprised when the tiniest approval licks her insides with warmth like the flame of his lighter does when he ignites the cigarette for her.
"Perfect," she replies on her exhale, the smoke billowing above her momentarily like some kind of rain cloud sidekick. It dissipates as quickly as it gathers, and her body relaxes in response to the initial hit, handing back the lighter with only slight hesitation. She might need it again soon, unsure of how strong a dose is required to reach its full potential. Alice wants nothing more than to procrastinate falling asleep as long as possible lest this strange, indulgent, beautiful dream come to an end.
"I figure I'll go and explore some more after this. I'm really so curious, it feels like the halls never actually end."
Where she expects to feel immediately wired, Alice prefers the way Twig calms her senses, clearing her mind completely. It's as though the drug is designed to eradicate concern so the next four days awake can be "productive." Any small semblance of consciousness that what is about to happen might have real consequences is swept away by the drug and replaced with an assuredness that rivals the other man's confident nonchalance.
A man who isn't leaving, Alice notes from her peripherals. The silence of absorbing the atmosphere together doesn't feel uncomfortable, so she lets it hang there as she continues to quietly smoke and contemplate. She speaks up at what feels like the right time, slowly swivelling on her bar stool to look out toward the crowd first, then back at him. Her eyebrows narrow curiously before she says anything, trying to catch his gaze again. She tilts her head slightly, smoke curling from the corner of her lips, as she offers the cigarette with an inquisitive lift of her brow.
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
Alice Liddell 🐰🎩 Alice: Madness Returns 🔪🩸 New Player
parking garage
( open to one or two men ) ii. we're all mad here.
phoenix casino hall — just a puff or two
( open to everyone )
iii. curiouser and curiouser!
game rooms — house of cards
( open to everyone )
iv. it's always tea-time.
hangover aftercare
( open to a woman )
! wildcard & ooc
ota 19+
aftercare
but that's not here, it also isn't conversation she's willing to have after a night with a stranger. texas had risen first (as former mafia wolves do) for the sake of quietly leaving, but decided against it. instead she stayed, dressed in a nice button up shirt and black panties only while taking in hand a bit of egg and bacon for herself. she didn't expect company (honestly it's a blur on if they did anything, texas has slept with her fair share during the party) nor did she question being in this room much. she was starving and had a raging headache of her own.
so it's best to eat then worry about anything else later when a single wolf ear, pierced and everything, rises in alice's direction. her mouth was open while those wolf teeth of hers bit down into a thing of toast, how did she sleep? amber eyes fall on alice quietly while she joins in thought. she slept too well. she doesn't always, but it was enough rest for her to feel less like death from the week of partying.
"I slept fine."
quick and easy, but she's a terrible conversation partner on even her best days. not a bad listener, though, or bad for company despite her appearance and demeanor. she's only like others making do with what she has in this hellish resort.
no subject
"That's good," the girl responds with lingering hesitation, wondering whether the other is going to continue. When she doesn't, Alice stalls further by pushing a piece of the baked good into her mouth to thoughtfully chew at it.
The last week had felt like a blur; The sensation is eerily similar to the feeling of returning from Wonderland. Disorienting and suspended, like the both of them and everyone else is waiting to see what comes next. For now, however, Alice's grumbling stomach is fully concentrated on the food, so she puts aside any curiosity about that to instead focus on what is literally right in front of her.
She isn't put off by Texas' silence. While Alice is normally quieter herself, the excitement of the events taking place has pulled a confidence out of her that she isn't sure she's ever fully experienced before. All of the clothes, the music, the atmosphere, and the food-- It's overwhelming. You don't really get the chance to live a life of luxury when your entire family goes up into flames as a child and you live the rest of it under the care of an abusive psychiatrist who, unbeknownst to you, is the one that started the fire that killed everyone and has the ultimate goal of obliterating your psyche so you never figure it out.
Alice pushes her messy hair over her shoulders as she tries to devour her breakfast politely, covering her mouth with a delicate hand as she speaks through her chewing. "I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm not here, living like this, anymore. Is it like this for you normally? Where you come from?"
no subject
texas had taken up helping newbies somewhat, they didn't always need it, but she did feel it necessary. not with the things the resort throws at them being anything every bit hedonistic in nature or with the expectations of sex being placed upon the guests with a nasty price. "Parties? None that last for a week," she starts, her manners as a former heiress are showing since she's speaking in between eating more of her toast (that she spread jelly along after a thought it could use it) and thinking more to herself. "....though that was a new one for me that the House went with a week-long party."
she may not be the most chatty of women, but texas is reliable. she even had taken the chance earlier to fix her own hair, tied back in a messy high ponytail to reveal the pink undertones to go with already black hair. natural color, surprisingly. that often catches people off guard somewhat. parts of her body are still sore. not from the party, but from her own activities during that. texas is more or less an interesting case for someone in a resort all about sex as a transaction and pushing about intimacy as being encouraged.
a dislike of being touched by strangers, though even her friends struggle with that. touching her can be a 50/50 on if she responds to affection or stands there awkwardly for them. that and some have taken it as a challenge to see her tail wag and her ears wiggle after learning she doesn't do either. the flick of them earlier was because she heard alice move (familiga wolves train such habits into their soldiers, their children) more than moving personally on their own.
"Home for me is different, anyway."
plus her own personal problems showed her face in the resort, knowing what lies between herself and the other wolf she thought about while eating as she says that. the other lupo that always looms over her shoulders, waiting for the day that cellinia would fall apart. waiting and waiting in her half insanity and half despair.
no subject
So, a woman who is also some kind of wolf hybrid? Piece of cake for her, truly. Not even enough to make her hesitate. In actuality, it only causes her head to tilt for a second as she considers Texas' likeness to Cheshire. As far as she knows, wolves descend entirely from dogs and not felines, but both of them possess a self-assuredness that Alice always secretly resents. Texas' stoic energy doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it does make her slide into herself a little more, cautious about coming on too strong.
Alice listens to her speak as she chews around her scone, lathering cream and jam like she hasn’t eaten in days. Before she'd arrived at this place, that was very much the case. After a week of indulging her hedonistic desires, however, Alice finds it easier to forget the barren life she had been plucked from and fall deeper into the game. It isn’t the first time she’s played it, in a sense. This is just yet another version of Wonderland to her: strange and wonderful all at the same time.
“Oh, wait...” Alice’s eyebrows furrow as she registers the implication that this is only her first time experiencing the Golden Peacock. “You’re not new like me?” It hasn’t dawned on Alice yet that this place isn’t necessarily meant to be the glorious reality they make it out to be. She’s still sipping drinks from the mirage water.
She reaches for some juice to wet her mouth, striking eyes studying Texas from her perch across the table. She’s suddenly parched, but it’s her unmet curiosities on the tip of her tongue that cause it and not so much the consistent use it’s seen over the last 168 hours. “How... how long have you been here?” Alice asks with a twang of empathy to her tone, but it conceals a concern that the woman wouldn’t still be here if she had the choice.
“Tell me about home,” she continues as she seeks out the perfectly fluffy eggs and smoky, salty bacon waiting for her next to Texas. In an attempt to show warmth, she offers her companion another piece of bacon, but holds it in a way that suggests she doesn’t intend to let it go. “Want a bite?”
no subject
she may not wag her tail or move said ears, it did not mean that she was openly hostile towards strangers. or in this case, a woman who seems to not realize what they're dealing with. which means....texas considers that she ought to take this on herself to help again. that's what she's always been doing when she runs into newbies with what little she could do for them. "Five months. I know people who have been here for a year or slightly less than that." this of course was spoken while texas drinks some water herself, much better. she can feel her head easing up from being dehydrated thanks to the sheer amount of days spent nonstop partying. sneaking up into the high rollers lounge could only get texas so far with some rest. she hadn't bothered with twig, but she did reach into her discarded slacks for what looks to be a lighter and a cigarette case with wolves engraved into it.
thankfully they left her an ashtray, staff had realized she was a smoker whenever she was buying cartons of them on occasion. it's a habit that she has yet to break fully, but there are some things that always would be a struggle in her life. while she knows not of wonderland (not the wonderland alice would speak of or anyone of a similar nature might) that didn't mean texas would be judgy about experiences. she has a lot of her own problems that can be attention grabbing in a more terrible sense of the word. siracusa's law of the jungle was twisted, vile. corruption ran deep and the only rule was to not kill without the word of the signora the other heads of the wolves, the familiga there.
"Mm, I'll take some by the way first. Thanks." the bacon which she takes from alice's hand did smell good, she's at her core still a predator from the scent of meat and most things like that being more bound to draw her attention. after popping the bacon in her mouth, texas chews the first thing of real food she's had in a bit after avoiding the buffet save for what seemed to be fine. that worked out for her, somehow. "Home itself is complicated. Depending on which one of my homes you mean, I've had three. The third isn't so bad, the first two are...."
her voice trails off, should she really talk about it? the mafiosi, how tiring it was? maybe she's considering that to be a bad move, while she takes her own share of the eggs and bacon. though the more texas talks, the more it might become clear that she's easier to get along with than she comes off as from her stoicism. she's quiet by nature, but she's fairly easy to talk to despite it. attentive from how amber eyes seem to be paying attention to alice while also chewing on some egg next; they're going to be here for quite some time. she might as well make the most of it.
"The first two of my homes varied more, one was considered a land of progress. People moved there with big dreams, but they all were being used in the name of that. The second....law of the jungle, if that says anything."
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"You're welcome," she answers in a tone that sounds mildly distracted, but her attention snaps back to the present as she feels the piece of bacon slip from her fingers. There's a soft flush of warmth to her face and neck when it isn't the wolf's teeth that snatch it but her hand instead, the unspoken intention that Alice had wanted to feed Texas getting lost in translation. It's for the best, she thinks as she sits back to take another bite of her scone. Probably shouldn't try feeding a wolf, no matter how domesticated they seem.
She listens while Texas continues, intrigued by the idea that she has more than one place she considers home. "It says more than you know," she quietly returns, thinking of Wonderland and its lack of rules, or the complete disregard for any logical ones, at least. "And the third? You said it isn't so bad. Are you free, there?"
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some tried asking to pet them, others made it a game to try and get her to wag her tail or wiggle them when she doesn't do necessarily either of those things. another part that might make her stick out more from the cheshire cat himself, texas not speaking in cryptic riddles aside. "I do feel that way. Sometimes it's harder to confront the past....even if I did return to my second home for a time. The third is....there's plenty wrong with it too, but I like it. The people wandering the streets and the people I care about most are there." but that doesn't mention the other issue, her childhood friend. her friend, who was there now and ready to taunt texas, loom behind her like a shadow that'd never go away. texas did consider for a moment how much is okay to speak about from her own history. alice didn't seem the type to force someone into a friendly chat about old wounds and scars.
it felt as if there were similarities. something there that sticks out in a connection and understanding. she's understood that too well, when she gets this feeling that it means much more. being able to connect is one thing, and it reminds her strongly about how the house pushes together people, encourages them to indulge in hedonism or form these bonds as survival. to have someone that they can rely on. "It was better I left the first two, the first was my birth country and the second was the country my nonno came from and spoke fondly about to me in stories it changed a lot from those tales." if one listens closely, that siracusan word she used is, indeed, italian. similar in structure from what she learned. she learned more words here that she didn't know before in addition to that. such as burdenbeasts and clawbeasts not being terms others used or finbeasts.
"The resort, by the way, is not something to take lightly." she did feel the need to give her a warning, from how alice seems clueless it was better that way. it was also best to clear up any thoughts that might suggest her and others might desire to stay within the resort. nobody wants to with the trade-off it offers. not when it involves needing to have sex to live, really to have sex for just about anything. "When I arrived here....I was put on auction. Later I was told by a friend from the same world as me that the food provided by the House itself is spiked, the drinks are too. The only restaurant that doesn't is the Red Cardinal."
iii!
It's pure luck that the house stays standing when Luffy brazenly plucks a card off the structure like it's not one wrong twitch away from costing him a large sum of chips. Alice shouldn't worry too much about her chances, clearly.
He grins at her when it's clear the house isn't falling down quite yet, but he's still very enamored with her question. "What kind of music would we play, though? What kind of music do you like? I only know sea shanties." Know is a strong word, of course. He can hum along off-key, but there's only really one he can sing all the way through. He would never let a silly little thing like being totally unqualified stop him, though!
Either way, he flips his own successfully retrieved card (5 of hearts) and reads: "Would you ever kill someone for money?" He blinks, and then shrugs a shoulder, like the idea particularly outlandish to him. Considering his First Mate was a prolific bounty hunter before Luffy bamboozled him into joining the world's friendliest pirate crew, it's not. "Nah, I don't really care about money. There'd have to be a better reason!" Maybe Luffy should be less honest, actually...
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It draws an uneasy but amused laugh out of her regardless, as does his barrage of follow-up questions that she doesn’t expect but thoroughly appreciates being asked. "Sea shanties are whimsical, so I like them," she validates with a courteous nod. "But I love the piano. Chopin is legendary." Alice scrunches her nose as she realizes he likely has no idea who or what she’s talking about. "He’s an up-and-coming composer." The feeling is peculiarly familiar, she privately notes to herself.
The question he chooses takes Alice back, as well, but she straightens up with further curiosity when his answer isn’t demented. Alice prefers to say she’s cautious, skeptical, or careful before she admits she’s shy, but the reality is that she struggles with confident initiation, and those things are easier to swallow than the negative connotation that comes with being timid.
"I agree with you," she says as her arms lift to cross over her chest, as if subconsciously putting space between her and this concept of killing for gain. "I... well, it’d be nice if there was no killing at all." Her mind drifts suddenly, and Alice’s heart races as she hurries to keep it present. "What’s your better reason, though?"
When it’s her turn, she takes some illicit advice from Luffy and yoinks a card from the house without thinking about the logistics first. It turns out Alice has more precise reflexes than she thought, but that isn’t surprising to anyone except her. She consistently undermines her own abilities in comparison to those around her, an additional unsavory side effect of survivor’s guilt. She lets out a little incredulous laugh before she flips the card to read the question.
What’s the most number of times you’ve masturbated in one day? "Bloody hell."
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And she follows it up with a pretty good question, actually, so she may be spared from any recruitment pitches for now either way. The thing about Luffy's purely vibes-based approach to morality is that he hasn't stopped to think about stuff like that, even though it's incredibly relevant to the lifestyle he has chosen. He taps the card he'd pulled against his cheek a few times, finally dusting off the lonely old braincell rattling around between his ears and giving the whole thing a few moments of consideration. "I guess they'd have to be hurting people who can't fight back, or something." His brow twitches down, like that doesn't feel complete. He doesn't explain himself very often, so he's terribly out of practice when he actually does try. "Or stopping people from being free, you know?" That one's very important to him, though he probably wouldn't be able to articulate why if asked. "It'd be pretty nice if there were no killing, though, you're right." She's smart, clearly! Though that does make him wonder: "What about you? If you had to, I mean." That's not really how this game works!! But Luffy is, as always, very curious and decidedly not a rule follower.
Nosily, he even cranes his neck to see what her card says when she doesn't voice it aloud immediately after. He blinks, a little unsure why that would stop her (he has never once met a social more that he let slow him down even a little bit), but mostly unsure about the implied frequency. He was certainly less interested in that stuff than most boys his age before coming here, and after... "Like, all alone?" Well, with three months living in the resort under his belt, he has a completely delusional idea of the ease—or difficulty, rather—of finding sexual partners outside of the wacky, ribald walls of the place. "Wouldn't that get boring, a bunch of times a day?" So sorry, Alice. He has no manners (or discretion) to speak of.
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Instead, she segues into where their conversation progresses, offering a nod that's both understanding and obviously agreeable, judging by her expression. She looks thoughtful at first and then impressed as he continues. It doesn't seem like a common belief in this place (which makes sense since it's all in her head, of course) that killing is better left undone.
Her back straightens a bit, intrigued, and she doesn't even notice that he's skipping the game rules to inquire further. His curiosity is both peculiar and charming. It encourages her to answer despite her growing uncertainty about what information might later come back to harm her.
"I kill... I've killed before," she admits, hesitating on the 'people' part of the sentence because, well. She and her mind are only one person. "For freedom. That's my reason, too."
Alice hesitates to show him her card, her own head twisting to look over at him and assess his response. He's a little... odd, she notes, in a way that makes her unsure of what he's going to say or what he's thinking. She laughs— loudly— because what he does end up saying is expectedly unexpected. A man who finds sex of any kind boring? Why do so many of them kill because of or for it if it's boring?
Her head shakes in amused disbelief as she tosses the card aside again, feeling the heat rise over her throat. It isn't often she feels like the pervert in a conversation, but the truth is that Alice's experience favors individuality. Up until a few months ago, the woman would say it was the only experience she had. So, Luffy, apologies in advance for her neurotic tendencies, but—
"My 'record' is something like six," she offers with a shrug meant to allude her nonchalance. She starts to circle the house of cards, studying the stack for her next choice as a means to distract herself from the current topic. Is it working? Does she seem like she doesn't care? Luffy is too earnest to notice her blush, she assumes, so she lets it deepen and conserves her nerves for whatever question is going to come next. "Pick a card, ... What's your name?"
ii
the company here is mixed, just like he expected--this new drug the party is sporting seems to be made to endure days upon days without sleep, something that he's not really looking for. a night owl doesn't need an excuse to stay awake; he would be better served finding more alcohol to put him to sleep. still, the woman next to him is striking in her own way--pale skin, sharp eyes, and a dress that looks more fitting for a funeral than some casino soiree, which is why he doesn't just snuff a laugh and look away.
brows lifting instead, he adjusts his seat on the bar stool; one sleek shoe propped up on the rung, the other pointed down towards the floor. he looks about the same, dressed more like he's about to be interrogated than dragged out to the dance floor. )
Cocaine, huh. ( there's humor in his voice, like he doesn't quite know whether that's an actual joke, or if she's serious: then again, what does he know? he's seen worse behavior from the sweetest faces. with a nod of thanks to the bartender, he tilts his head towards his companion, hoarding his glass in towards his chest.
rather than go for a lighter, or a pack of matches, it's his index and middle fingers that lift, catching the end of her cigarette like he intends to tug it free from her mouth; really, he's just using it as a show of dramatics, letting the blue flames of his quirk spark out in a lick of fire around the end. )
They have places here that go that hard, if you're interested. ( with her cigarette lit, he pulls his hand away, takes up his glass instead for a swallow. ) Dunno that I'd recommend you seek them out.
( not that he's saying she looks weak--but even so, it just doesn't seem right to have her gallivanting off to find trouble, when she's already found some. )
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“Well, aren’t you theatrical?”
( her voice is laced with amusement and admiration, while her piercing gaze lifts from his hand back to his face. she shifts her weight on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other with polite and practiced ease. her free hand lightly drums against her thigh, an outlet for the nervousness she's always trying to keep under tight control.
his words are a warning, but alice lets out a soft laugh despite it. she holds his gaze for a moment, testing him with the intensity of her stare before her attention flicks back to the cigarette in her hand. )
“I’m not so fragile, you know. I like to think I’ve survived worse than whatever… indulgences this place might offer.” ( her tone remains open, but there’s a thread of something darker beneath it, like a ribbon of silk wound too tight. she brings the cigarette back to her lips, the ribbons at the back of her thighs brushing against the barstool as she leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the counter and both of her mary-jane kitten heels hook around the rung of her own barstool. )
“It looks like you've already had your fair share of danger, too.” ( alice nods toward the crumpled cigarette box and the faint tension in his posture and expression, countering his suggestion. the grafts of wrinkled and maimed skin tied with silver that cover inches of his body are persuasive, too. )
“Who were you running from before you landed here? Or is this just where you go to unwind?”
( there’s a subtle sweetness to her teasing, but her eyes remain locked on him, watching for any cracks in his confident, too-cool-for-this-party demeanor with the same precision she’d use when playing cards. it’s not mistrust—just curiosity, the kind that keeps her sharp and keeps her breathing.
it conveniently also keeps the conversation on someone other than herself. )
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instead, he lifts his glass, pressing it to his mouth for one smooth swallow--when he sets it back down again, he abandons the side of it, moving instead so that he can pry one of his cigarettes away from his crumpled box. )
Got kicked out of the casino for awhile. It's quieter here.
( a curt explanation, but it's enough to prove that he isn't fully unwilling to talk--just that he might be more unwilling to divulge anything more meaningful.
with the cigarette between his lips, he lights it the same as hers: theatrical, but at least it's easer than tracking down a lighter. )
Asking me who I was 'running from' is interesting, you know. ( the smoke dwindles past his lips as he takes a drag, though he directs it towards the bar. ) That mean you were running from someone, before you ended up here?
( just a guess that he hazards out--because no matter what the answer is, it'll teach him something new about her. )
Better tell me your name, so I know who to lie about when they come asking.
my busy week is over so sorry for the delay
"Running is a strong word for either of us, I guess."
( her response is smooth, but she doesn't deny it outright. instead, she leans back slightly on the barstool, the palm of her free hand pressed against the polished counter as she studies him with a calculating gaze. )
"Let's just say I've learned when it's time to leave." ( her voice softens, more thoughtful now, like a confession that slips through despite her best efforts. but she doesn't let the moment hang too long—doesn't give it a chance to turn vulnerable. instead, she exhales sharply and pivots, tone playful once more. )
"But if you need a cover story for when my past inevitably comes knocking, we should make it interesting. Tell them I'm a duchess on the run after orchestrating a coup at court. Oooh, or a jewel thief with a penchant for high-stakes poker. I feel like I've already met one of them tonight..."
( she grins, tipping her cigarette in a gesture of mock grandeur. beneath the playful veneer, there's a flicker of defiance—a refusal to be cornered or defined by anything other than her own narrative. )
"As for names..." ( she trails off, considering whether to give him a piece of the truth. her lips curve into a lopsided smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. is this the Twig or does she just feel in comfortable, familiar company? ) "Alice. If you're going to lie for me, you'd better do it well. I don't want some half-hearted story that falls apart under pressure."
( she holds his gaze, the challenge unmistakable, before she tilts her head. it's almost intentionally cute. )
"What about you? Should I be preparing my alibi now, or are you the kind of guy who never needs one? I hear it's a slippery slope from getting kicked out of an establishment."
no worries, take your time! ♥
( what even is a duchess? he assumes it has to be something close to royalty, like below a king or a queen, but he's never learned much about history, and especially not the history of countries outside of japan--how would he have learned any of it? he technically 'died' before he'd gotten into much schooling that would divulge into the details of places other than his home. besides, his focus had been honed on other things, other people, other places for revenge.
the fact that she's not keen to explain herself in a way that matters is both telling and interesting. it's something beyond this, then, something outside of pretty titles or thievery or other methods of law breaking; but even so, it's that concept of 'something wrong' that pervades her lofty examples enough that he takes notice.
it means his smile is lifting, an almost devilish sort of grin, before he takes another drag from his cigarette. )
Stopped bothering with alibis. They don't matter if you never get caught, you know?
( a thoughtful tilt of his head. ) I'm a villain. Are you?
( his eyes narrow, but not in accusation: rather, he's curious, watching her face, brows lifting in playful expectation as he lets out another pulse of smoke. )
You don't look like the type that's gonna stuff diamonds into her panties and run away with them, or demand the banks empty their vaults into your purse. So it's something else. Something worse, maybe.
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criminal, she thinks when he implies he's too evasive for justice, which only makes that tiny ache blossom more despite the flare of mistrust it also brings.
then the narrowing of his eyes, too focused to be elusive, forces her to lift one of her legs over the other, firmly crossed. she looks away, catches the attention of the bartender, and orders them both a bourbon. when she answers him, her eyes are only visible in the peripheral. she knows better. )
An anti-hero, I guess. But I'm not a hero, either. Just someone trying to survive... Is that worse?
( with their glasses sat down with perfect timing as her sentence finishes, alice picks up her own drink and hops off the barstool with it in hand, ashing and discarding her Twig cigarette in a nearby tray. she sips around the rim of her glass as she let her eyes catch his own fully one more time, lingering in his gaze, assessing how dangerous this criminal would be in private.
her head nods in no certain direction, indicating that it's time to leave. with that, she pivots on her heels and walks away toward whatever exit her eyes can land on first, heart rabbiting in her chest in conflicting hope that he does and doesn't follow her. )
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he could stay at the bar, linger there, nurse his own wounds. but he's always been keen on nursing them with company--letting words dig in deeper, bubbling blood up under old scars, or delighting in the pleasure of licking old wounds over together. with a glance at the bartender, he shakes his head, snubbing out his cigarette; he makes sure to collect his crumpled box, at least, stuffed into a pocket, and with the bartender's back turned, he palms over the counter for two of those syrupy sweet cherries out of a dish, popping them both into his mouth before he retreats.
he's forming his tongue around them, almost teasing, licking off the sweet taste, before he realizes--and once he's caught up to alice, right at the exit, he drags one of them past his tongue, holding it just past his lips. )
Sorry, my lady. Did you want one?
( his eyes are brimming with amusement. )
Think I'm gonna walk along with you, see if we can't find some of that survival instinct out here. You're not complaining, right?
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Who would've guessed that you had a sweet tooth? ( her voice is dry, teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity to it, too.
she doesn’t take the bait—doesn’t take the cherry either. instead, her fingers brush the bulb at his lips with the lightest pressure, tipping it back towards his mouth and kissing him with it. his lips just barely catch the pad of her fingers before she's quick enough to drop her hand, the entirety of it tingling. )
Keep it. It suits you.
( the door swings open under her palm, the business of the casino and all of its sound finally muted when it closes behind them. her drink, still cool against her fingertips, catches the light as she lifts it, taking a slow sip while her eyes slide back to him—measuring, considering. regretting her refusal, perhaps. )
So. ( the word slips out as smooth as the liquor, idly wondering what it'd taste like mixed with cherry. ) If you’re a villain, what’s your crime of choice?
( she slows slightly at the corner of the hallway, giving him room to fill the silence, and because she doesn't have a clue where she's going. she might actually already be lost. )
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they won't stay like that. they're not secure, not pinned in, not even tucked behind her ear like a pretty flower; it's more like the sort of thing a boy might do to a girl in the playground, dumping twigs and leaves on her in play, or maybe the outcome of rolling around in the grass with a lover.
his fingers, still a little damp, get wiped on his slacks. )
Mm. ( there's a sharp, almost playful shake of his head, as though she's said something incorrect; he takes a sip of his drink to stretch the silence. )
Nah, it's not like that. I'm a villain because the heroes think I am, not because I'm stealing riches for the poor, or robbing banks, or hoarding jewels or something.
( it's obvious to him that she has no idea where they're going--and he doesn't offer to lead, just winding beside her like the destination matters less than the trip itself. )
Guess my crime is wanting to see society fall apart, because it's fucked up to begin with. You seem like the kind of person that might understand that.
ii. 𝔴𝔢'𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔞𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢
It's early on, and he hasn't given up yet, but he has no creative ideas on how to escape the casino today. At this point, he's convinced himself there will be an opt-out option at the end of the 168 hours of 'delight' the House has scheduled them for. Perhaps it's delusional, but it's something to hold onto.
He starts the evening off with food and drink. Luffy had foisted a heaping plate into his hands on Day 1, and that was the first time he'd eaten since waking up in this place, initially worried about poison. Not necessarily to kill, but perhaps to make them compliant. After meeting his other crewmates and finding that they've all indulged for months without any apparent issues, he's decided it's a risk he can take.
After the food, and against his better judgement, he finds himself wandering near the twig lounge. He doesn't think it's officially called that, but he's noticed a large number of patrons tend to congregate in that area.
And he'd been incredibly judgmental about it at first, sure, but today he's trying new things. God knows why. (He doesn't believe in god.)
Zoro doesn't really do smoking. Sanji is the actual smoker of the crew, and his habit is so steady that maybe the rest of them qualify second-hand. But he tries it, and having seen Sanji light up enough times (not to mention all the examples currently around him), he manages without too much trouble.
The lighter is still in his hand when someone approaches him. He snorts a laugh at her initial remark; as far as opening lines in this place go, it's refreshingly innocent. Plus he appreciates the humor.
"Heard it could last for days," he says in response. The stranger's eyes are striking, and he has to stare for a moment while she leans into his personal space. He still isn't used to people doing that - usually they're too scared to even talk to him, unless they were looking for a fight. But she does it, and she seems harmless enough that he doesn't mind. She's after the lighter still in his hands, so he indulges her without question, pocketing it afterwards. Yeah, twig bar staff member that's watching - he's keeping that.
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"Perfect," she replies on her exhale, the smoke billowing above her momentarily like some kind of rain cloud sidekick. It dissipates as quickly as it gathers, and her body relaxes in response to the initial hit, handing back the lighter with only slight hesitation. She might need it again soon, unsure of how strong a dose is required to reach its full potential. Alice wants nothing more than to procrastinate falling asleep as long as possible lest this strange, indulgent, beautiful dream come to an end.
"I figure I'll go and explore some more after this. I'm really so curious, it feels like the halls never actually end."
Where she expects to feel immediately wired, Alice prefers the way Twig calms her senses, clearing her mind completely. It's as though the drug is designed to eradicate concern so the next four days awake can be "productive." Any small semblance of consciousness that what is about to happen might have real consequences is swept away by the drug and replaced with an assuredness that rivals the other man's confident nonchalance.
A man who isn't leaving, Alice notes from her peripherals. The silence of absorbing the atmosphere together doesn't feel uncomfortable, so she lets it hang there as she continues to quietly smoke and contemplate. She speaks up at what feels like the right time, slowly swivelling on her bar stool to look out toward the crowd first, then back at him. Her eyebrows narrow curiously before she says anything, trying to catch his gaze again. She tilts her head slightly, smoke curling from the corner of her lips, as she offers the cigarette with an inquisitive lift of her brow.
"Do you want some?"
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