【 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.
[Sunglasses inside... also, 'relax'? He doesn't know the meaning of the word. The expression on Sunday's face is — worried. His mouth forms a tightly unhappy line, brow furrowed, every muscle in his body the epitome of tension, a stiff-jointed doll drifting in the air — he could not be more fragile-looking, in that moment, if he was made of glass.
His fall from the heights of Penacony was humiliating, but this is a close runner-up. At least everyone below is too high or wasted to notice his distress. Except for this man, it seems.]
What exactly is your idea?
[In a pathetic little attempt at making him more reachable, Sunday extends his foot, only to lose whatever meager sense of balance he'd achieved and flipping backward, hair hanging down over his face.]
Ugh. Just... [???] Never mind. If you're going to try something, please do it quickly.
Alright. [ He starts walking out from under him. ] Hang tight and I'll come to you.
[ Lighter's not really used to fragility — the Outer Ring has always been too inhospitable to foster it. But maybe that's why he's drawn to it, gaze traveling the ceiling until it lands on one of the ornate pillars supporting the fancy molding on this place. That'll work.
His idea unfolds: Lighter takes a running start right at the pillar, body heating as he dips and winds through the crowd with a litheness that betrays his bulk. Now, that's captured the attention of some onlookers. Leaping, he twists, landing feet-first against the pillar and coiling into a crouch. His momentum flares in the same breath as he careens off of it, using that extra height to jump his way right up to where Sunday is. Eyes are on him now, faces upturned.
From there, it's relatively simple. Arms encircle his target, beneath his knees and about his slender back, tugging him to his chest. ]
Sorry 'bout this.
[ A warning that he's gonna pitch them, rolling them midair so his feet are pointed the right way when gravity takes hold. From that deft arc, they finally drop, but Lighter sticks the landing with ease, standing tall with his prize (a guy) in hand.
If you see him flip his hair a little as a ripple of oohs and aahs erupt from the crowd, no you don't. If you see some embers flutter from that gesture, no you don't again.
[Come to him? There's a sinking moment of uncertainty in his stomach, like a heavy stone.
Then movement is a blur below, gold eyes tracing it, following the man's path where he darts gracefully through the room — possessed of sudden strength and dexterity enough to use the pillar as a launching point, propelled into the air — and coming at Sunday fast. He has little time to brace himself for the collision, so he is surprised to find it doesn't hurt, solid arms forming a warm cradle around his body. Lighter will discover that his weight is negligible at first, seeming hollow-boned in the same avian way as the feathers beside his ears, but this is only the nature of the champagne he drank, and as they return to the earth he regains his own solidity.
And it is perhaps the most physical contact he's shared with a soul in the resort so far — Sunday has ducked his head down, wings blocking his face from view, hating the attention pointed in their direction. His voice is quiet, a little tight.]
Please put me down.
[Everyone is looking at Lighter like "that guy is definitely getting laid"... meanwhile, Sunday wants to die.]
[ Lighter knows how to woo an audience, but his damsel is a bit of a tougher sell, it seems. Ah, well. He's not one to really drag someone else around on his dashing, creative endeavors if they're not amenable. Already, the little gathering is dispersing, lulled back to the immediacy of their own vices. And Lighter is nothing if not typically obedient to a stern order. ]
No problem. Here.
[ Bowing slightly, he tips Sunday's back upwards against the breadth of his arm to let him down. Only when he starts to slip his opposite arm loose from under his knees, he finds that the other man lifts into the air again, light as a feather.
On instinct, Lighter hooks his arm back under his knees and tugs him down into his arms. ]
...uh. On second thought, why don't I hang onto you for a little bit?
As soon as he feels himself begin to lift back up, Sunday's gloved hand finds the man's collar, tethering himself reflexively in place until those arms collect him once more. It is a curse of some kind, clearly — an affliction of what he's imbibed that won't wear off so soon. The only person he can blame is himself. And he does, ruthlessly.]
... Let's get out of the crowd. [Another quiet murmur of instruction. There's some mercy to the waning attention on them, but Sunday won't take any chances.] Over there. Those private booths.
[He hasn't forgotten that he was rescued, even if it was done in an extremely flashy way, so with some reticence:]
[ Now rescuer turned loyal steed, Lighter steers easily enough when given a good grip and a destination. Heavy footfalls on luxe marble take him through the crowd — slower and more straightforward this time, but no less adept at navigating through. ]
Don't mention it. It's better than — [ A shock of gasps and laughter erupt from a nearby group of people as another one of the floating patrons goes tumbling down into them. Luckily, it seems like they've all taken to making a bit of a game of it, but it looks. Handsy. ] ...well, you know.
[ Approaching one of the more secluded areas, Lighter considers the door a moment before bending a knee and getting his watch up against the keypad. Though he's pretty sure he's still been branded as a wildcard, it recognizes him as a guest and admits him. He clicks the door open on a dim and inviting space, all lacquer and velvet, gilt trays offering more private food and drinks. He likely will not be trusting those, thanks. ]
Alright, no more prying eyes. [ He bumps the door closed behind him. ] And I wouldn't worry too much about it.
[Sunday is silent the entire way, eyes lingering on the crowd around another fallen guest — the laughter, lightness and indulgence shining through in their actions, fully uninhibited. It is far from the first instance where he's felt other in this establishment. He is so different from what it seems this place encourages, he wonders what sort of cosmic mistake was made in drawing him here.
The man carrying him is kind and obedient, even deferent, as they enter. Sunday is aware what these sort of rooms are reserved for, but he doesn't bring attention to it, and neither does his... rescuer.]
Then until it does, I'll stay here. [It's almost impossible not to be — aware, in an enclosed space, of the arms still strong and steadfast around him.] I don't want to trouble you further, if you could set me down at the table. [He'll just? hold onto the edge for dear life??]
What you did before was impressive. You certainly impressed the audience. May I ask your name?
[ He's prepared to call a spade a spade, but calling something what it is happens to be a bit different from looking it in the eye. Famously, not his strong suit. ]
It's Lighter. [ A straightforward answer. ] I have some experience with winning over a crowd. Not in this context, of course...
[ But what is he used to in this context? Not much. Spotting the table in question, Lighter makes his way over. He does have some reservations about how well this is going to work, but Sunday's grip is convincing enough on his collar that he goes with it. Gently, he leans over into the little nook, slipping Sunday's legs free as underneath the table as he can get them so he doesn't immediately float away again. ]
S'pose if I'm going to keep an eye on you, I should ask your name in return.
[ He's not NPC-coded, so it's probably safe to engage. ]
[Not in this context? The same question is on Sunday's mind, soon left behind in favor of the predicament at hand — Lighter tucks him so gently into the booth that the care feels unnecessary, further lengths any stranger should go to for another. It's awkward; he has to loop his legs around the table's base to keep from lifting up, weightless as a feather. But it is something to hold onto that is not another man's body, so he shouldn't complain.]
You don't really have an obligation to me. If anything, I owe you a debt for your aid in that... embarrassing situation. [It's not that serious?] My name is Sunday.
[Both of us with our weird gacha names.]
May I buy you a drink? Or... some other refreshment? Not the champagne, I'd insist. You wouldn't want to be afflicted too.
[ Once he's sure he's got a good grip on the table, Lighter steps back to observe his handiwork, forgoing the opportunity to take a seat. Loose as the electricity in his body seems, he's still fairly on edge, never knowing where the next source of insanity is going to come from. All in a day's work, he supposes. ]
Honestly, even without the bubbles, alcohol makes me dizzy. [ It's the least of the lore he can offer... ] But if they've got anything sweet on the room service menu, I wouldn't say no to that.
[ With a tip of his shoulders and a sweep of his shaded glance around, he takes in the surrounding room. It's outfitted to the nines, good grief. ]
And don't worry about debts. At least not with me. If we're all stuck here in the same fishy situation, the least we can do is look out for one another. At least, that's how I see it when it comes to obligations.
[Alcohol lore... But, something sweet? In this case, their tastes align. Sunday has not allowed himself the indulgence; if it is in the service of someone else's preferences, however, there's no reason not to.]
That's kind of you. Anyone else would have seen fit to take advantage of the situation.
[He lifts his right arm, where his Watch sits overtop the sleeve of his jacket, and interacts with the electronic menu he finds there in proximity to the code pasted to the table. Technology affords privacy, he's learned in this place. He determines to ignore the bleakly low number of credits in his account after the transaction... What Lighter doesn't know won't hurt him...]
Why? [ Lighter cants his head at him from his position just slightly askew from the table. His sunglasses slip far enough down his nose that his gaze visibly hones, red reflected deep in his pupils. He looks absolutely bewildered. ] Because you looked like you needed it. Why else?
[ He actually knows why else. Or he can take an educated guess, at least. But he annoyingly wants to hear it. ]
[Without the obstruction of glasses, it's easier to see the man's eyes, though he dares meet them only for a moment. Their color surprises him, like looking into the refraction of a sunset somewhere between gold and red.]
I don't need to say it, do I?
[He knows. Both of them know, because they're surrounded — every gilded angle of a cage created on the premise of value. Indecent, entirely physical. Intimate.]
You'll be disappointed if you're interested in my card. I haven't yet been assigned a rank or a suit. [Useless in the context of the Game, as he understands it. Sunday keeps his voice carefully toneless.] ... But even if I did have those things, I couldn't. I — can't.
[ Something seems to weigh on his shoulders when Sunday confirms what he'd been thinking — sure, he wanted to know, but having that knowledge doesn't bring him any comfort. ]
You're in luck. [ Lifting his wrist, he wiggles the watch around on it. ] That makes two of us. "Wildcards"... I guess.
[ Lighter knows he's not someone who reads as altruistic at first blush. And really, it's probably better that way if he's going to get anywhere in a place like this. But sometimes there's places where the smoke thins over the tenderness beneath, where the fires don't rage so hot. Hooking his toe on a nearby chair leg, he drags it over and drops into a seat. ]
[Both Wildcards, cut loose in a new world without anchor, unfamiliar surroundings hemming them in. He has a sense this man is adjusting better than himself, but he also knows not to judge outward appearance first — there is much that can be hidden. Every person is as different as a star, their light unique in its varying distance.
Sunday is conscious of that movement, gold eyes lingering on the ease of how this man uses his own body, dragging a chair over with his foot. Smooth and seamless physicality]
Either, or. I never have, I never intended to — it simply wasn't part of my existence. [Isn't, he should say, but clarifying feels idiotic. Lighter has offered no judgment, but it would still swim somewhere deeper with him, unseen.] Physically, I suppose nothing would get in the way. Yet, does being capable make it any easier?
[ Lighter leans back in his chair, the question causing him to fold his arms somewhat tightly over his middle as he sits with it. Vagueness plays on what's visible of his expression, the sort that takes a little practice to come off as noncommittal as it does. ]
Nope, it doesn't. [ What would seem candid has a sort of unforgiving glint to it, as gilt and burnished as the place looming all around them. His sort of perfection was like that, honed in a similar violence of not really getting to choose. His sympathies do stoke, for whatever good it does either of them. ] It's not easy to just reconcile when your life changes in the blink of an eye... having to stare down your own choices without ever wondering what you'd do in a situation like this.
[ Because why would anyone? It pretty fantastical in its execution, so far. As for the expectation... ]
From what I can tell, the game hasn't even started for us yet.
[Silence falls in gently, without the discomfort that might naturally accompany two strangers who have only just exchanged names. The game has not yet started, and Sunday cannot find it in himself to disagree, however bleakly it paints their time spent in the resort so far. A waiting period — the gray static-charge before a storm, quiet and deceptive.
Before he can summon a response, there's a knock on the door, and a staff member enters carrying a tray of desserts: shortcake, tiny donuts glazed with red sugar, ginger cookies, strawberry cupcakes. These are set neatly on the table, along with... a bowl of peppermint candies, evidently 'on the House'. Sunday eyes these cautiously.]
Please, help yourself. I might be careful of anything given to us for free — I don't know what these are.
[Aphro??? Or something less sinister like the champagne's floating curse? Either way, unfun.]
I suppose I should see if my own ailment has worn off.
[ Otherwise, the spread of desserts is more than Lighter would have thought to ask for himself and it shows on the lay of his expression, even momentarily. Sugar is a good buffer between him and his vices, but he rarely gets to indulge in anything so exquisitely crafted. A few misshapen, chipped candies are usually enough.
But he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he plucks one of the donuts up and pops it into his mouth wholesale. It is, as he expects, near perfect. Chewing thoughtfully, he keeps a watchful eye on Sunday as he stands — thankfully without incident. ]
Looks like you're free to go, if you want to part ways here. Thanks for the compensation. [ He tips another donut in his fingers as if he's toasting it. ] And —
[ It actually comes more easily than his looks might suggest, his parting offer: ]
[Aeons... this handsome sunglasses'd ruffian, truly a knight in shining armor with the swag to match...
Did Sunday actually think that? It's his secret to keep. He casts one last, almost wistful gaze at the plate of desserts but determines to leave them behind, slipping toward the door.]
Thank you, Mr. Lighter. I sincerely appreciate it.
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
no subject
His fall from the heights of Penacony was humiliating, but this is a close runner-up. At least everyone below is too high or wasted to notice his distress. Except for this man, it seems.]
What exactly is your idea?
[In a pathetic little attempt at making him more reachable, Sunday extends his foot, only to lose whatever meager sense of balance he'd achieved and flipping backward, hair hanging down over his face.]
Ugh. Just... [???] Never mind. If you're going to try something, please do it quickly.
no subject
Alright. [ He starts walking out from under him. ] Hang tight and I'll come to you.
[ Lighter's not really used to fragility — the Outer Ring has always been too inhospitable to foster it. But maybe that's why he's drawn to it, gaze traveling the ceiling until it lands on one of the ornate pillars supporting the fancy molding on this place. That'll work.
His idea unfolds: Lighter takes a running start right at the pillar, body heating as he dips and winds through the crowd with a litheness that betrays his bulk. Now, that's captured the attention of some onlookers. Leaping, he twists, landing feet-first against the pillar and coiling into a crouch. His momentum flares in the same breath as he careens off of it, using that extra height to jump his way right up to where Sunday is. Eyes are on him now, faces upturned.
From there, it's relatively simple. Arms encircle his target, beneath his knees and about his slender back, tugging him to his chest. ]
Sorry 'bout this.
[ A warning that he's gonna pitch them, rolling them midair so his feet are pointed the right way when gravity takes hold. From that deft arc, they finally drop, but Lighter sticks the landing with ease, standing tall with his prize (a guy) in hand.
If you see him flip his hair a little as a ripple of oohs and aahs erupt from the crowd, no you don't. If you see some embers flutter from that gesture, no you don't again.
Lighter grins. ]
There we are.
no subject
Then movement is a blur below, gold eyes tracing it, following the man's path where he darts gracefully through the room — possessed of sudden strength and dexterity enough to use the pillar as a launching point, propelled into the air — and coming at Sunday fast. He has little time to brace himself for the collision, so he is surprised to find it doesn't hurt, solid arms forming a warm cradle around his body. Lighter will discover that his weight is negligible at first, seeming hollow-boned in the same avian way as the feathers beside his ears, but this is only the nature of the champagne he drank, and as they return to the earth he regains his own solidity.
And it is perhaps the most physical contact he's shared with a soul in the resort so far — Sunday has ducked his head down, wings blocking his face from view, hating the attention pointed in their direction. His voice is quiet, a little tight.]
Please put me down.
[Everyone is looking at Lighter like "that guy is definitely getting laid"... meanwhile, Sunday wants to die.]
no subject
No problem. Here.
[ Bowing slightly, he tips Sunday's back upwards against the breadth of his arm to let him down. Only when he starts to slip his opposite arm loose from under his knees, he finds that the other man lifts into the air again, light as a feather.
On instinct, Lighter hooks his arm back under his knees and tugs him down into his arms. ]
...uh. On second thought, why don't I hang onto you for a little bit?
no subject
As soon as he feels himself begin to lift back up, Sunday's gloved hand finds the man's collar, tethering himself reflexively in place until those arms collect him once more. It is a curse of some kind, clearly — an affliction of what he's imbibed that won't wear off so soon. The only person he can blame is himself. And he does, ruthlessly.]
... Let's get out of the crowd. [Another quiet murmur of instruction. There's some mercy to the waning attention on them, but Sunday won't take any chances.] Over there. Those private booths.
[He hasn't forgotten that he was rescued, even if it was done in an extremely flashy way, so with some reticence:]
Thank you.
no subject
Don't mention it. It's better than — [ A shock of gasps and laughter erupt from a nearby group of people as another one of the floating patrons goes tumbling down into them. Luckily, it seems like they've all taken to making a bit of a game of it, but it looks. Handsy. ] ...well, you know.
[ Approaching one of the more secluded areas, Lighter considers the door a moment before bending a knee and getting his watch up against the keypad. Though he's pretty sure he's still been branded as a wildcard, it recognizes him as a guest and admits him. He clicks the door open on a dim and inviting space, all lacquer and velvet, gilt trays offering more private food and drinks. He likely will not be trusting those, thanks. ]
Alright, no more prying eyes. [ He bumps the door closed behind him. ] And I wouldn't worry too much about it.
[ He knows the self-blame game all too well. ]
It's not like it lasts forever.
no subject
The man carrying him is kind and obedient, even deferent, as they enter. Sunday is aware what these sort of rooms are reserved for, but he doesn't bring attention to it, and neither does his... rescuer.]
Then until it does, I'll stay here. [It's almost impossible not to be — aware, in an enclosed space, of the arms still strong and steadfast around him.] I don't want to trouble you further, if you could set me down at the table. [He'll just? hold onto the edge for dear life??]
What you did before was impressive. You certainly impressed the audience. May I ask your name?
no subject
It's Lighter. [ A straightforward answer. ] I have some experience with winning over a crowd. Not in this context, of course...
[ But what is he used to in this context? Not much. Spotting the table in question, Lighter makes his way over. He does have some reservations about how well this is going to work, but Sunday's grip is convincing enough on his collar that he goes with it. Gently, he leans over into the little nook, slipping Sunday's legs free as underneath the table as he can get them so he doesn't immediately float away again. ]
S'pose if I'm going to keep an eye on you, I should ask your name in return.
[ He's not NPC-coded, so it's probably safe to engage. ]
no subject
You don't really have an obligation to me. If anything, I owe you a debt for your aid in that... embarrassing situation. [It's not that serious?] My name is Sunday.
[Both of us with our weird gacha names.]
May I buy you a drink? Or... some other refreshment? Not the champagne, I'd insist. You wouldn't want to be afflicted too.
no subject
Honestly, even without the bubbles, alcohol makes me dizzy. [ It's the least of the lore he can offer... ] But if they've got anything sweet on the room service menu, I wouldn't say no to that.
[ With a tip of his shoulders and a sweep of his shaded glance around, he takes in the surrounding room. It's outfitted to the nines, good grief. ]
And don't worry about debts. At least not with me. If we're all stuck here in the same fishy situation, the least we can do is look out for one another. At least, that's how I see it when it comes to obligations.
no subject
That's kind of you. Anyone else would have seen fit to take advantage of the situation.
[He lifts his right arm, where his Watch sits overtop the sleeve of his jacket, and interacts with the electronic menu he finds there in proximity to the code pasted to the table. Technology affords privacy, he's learned in this place. He determines to ignore the bleakly low number of credits in his account after the transaction... What Lighter doesn't know won't hurt him...]
I'd like to ask, then. Why did you help me?
no subject
Why? [ Lighter cants his head at him from his position just slightly askew from the table. His sunglasses slip far enough down his nose that his gaze visibly hones, red reflected deep in his pupils. He looks absolutely bewildered. ] Because you looked like you needed it. Why else?
[ He actually knows why else. Or he can take an educated guess, at least. But he annoyingly wants to hear it. ]
no subject
I don't need to say it, do I?
[He knows. Both of them know, because they're surrounded — every gilded angle of a cage created on the premise of value. Indecent, entirely physical. Intimate.]
You'll be disappointed if you're interested in my card. I haven't yet been assigned a rank or a suit. [Useless in the context of the Game, as he understands it. Sunday keeps his voice carefully toneless.] ... But even if I did have those things, I couldn't. I — can't.
no subject
You're in luck. [ Lifting his wrist, he wiggles the watch around on it. ] That makes two of us. "Wildcards"... I guess.
[ Lighter knows he's not someone who reads as altruistic at first blush. And really, it's probably better that way if he's going to get anywhere in a place like this. But sometimes there's places where the smoke thins over the tenderness beneath, where the fires don't rage so hot. Hooking his toe on a nearby chair leg, he drags it over and drops into a seat. ]
So, is it more of a physical can't? Or mental?
[ Idle curiosity without expectation. ]
no subject
[Both Wildcards, cut loose in a new world without anchor, unfamiliar surroundings hemming them in. He has a sense this man is adjusting better than himself, but he also knows not to judge outward appearance first — there is much that can be hidden. Every person is as different as a star, their light unique in its varying distance.
Sunday is conscious of that movement, gold eyes lingering on the ease of how this man uses his own body, dragging a chair over with his foot. Smooth and seamless physicality]
Either, or. I never have, I never intended to — it simply wasn't part of my existence. [Isn't, he should say, but clarifying feels idiotic. Lighter has offered no judgment, but it would still swim somewhere deeper with him, unseen.] Physically, I suppose nothing would get in the way. Yet, does being capable make it any easier?
no subject
Nope, it doesn't. [ What would seem candid has a sort of unforgiving glint to it, as gilt and burnished as the place looming all around them. His sort of perfection was like that, honed in a similar violence of not really getting to choose. His sympathies do stoke, for whatever good it does either of them. ] It's not easy to just reconcile when your life changes in the blink of an eye... having to stare down your own choices without ever wondering what you'd do in a situation like this.
[ Because why would anyone? It pretty fantastical in its execution, so far. As for the expectation... ]
From what I can tell, the game hasn't even started for us yet.
no subject
Before he can summon a response, there's a knock on the door, and a staff member enters carrying a tray of desserts: shortcake, tiny donuts glazed with red sugar, ginger cookies, strawberry cupcakes. These are set neatly on the table, along with... a bowl of peppermint candies, evidently 'on the House'. Sunday eyes these cautiously.]
Please, help yourself. I might be careful of anything given to us for free — I don't know what these are.
[Aphro??? Or something less sinister like the champagne's floating curse? Either way, unfun.]
I suppose I should see if my own ailment has worn off.
no subject
[ Otherwise, the spread of desserts is more than Lighter would have thought to ask for himself and it shows on the lay of his expression, even momentarily. Sugar is a good buffer between him and his vices, but he rarely gets to indulge in anything so exquisitely crafted. A few misshapen, chipped candies are usually enough.
But he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he plucks one of the donuts up and pops it into his mouth wholesale. It is, as he expects, near perfect. Chewing thoughtfully, he keeps a watchful eye on Sunday as he stands — thankfully without incident. ]
Looks like you're free to go, if you want to part ways here. Thanks for the compensation. [ He tips another donut in his fingers as if he's toasting it. ] And —
[ It actually comes more easily than his looks might suggest, his parting offer: ]
If you're in trouble again, you can come find me.
no subject
Did Sunday actually think that? It's his secret to keep. He casts one last, almost wistful gaze at the plate of desserts but determines to leave them behind, slipping toward the door.]
Thank you, Mr. Lighter. I sincerely appreciate it.
[Then he's gone.]