【 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.
( he has to stop thinking of them like curses. they're not curses, but they look just like them: strange shapes, odd shapes, things that shouldn't be able to move, shouldn't be able to bounce around or slide across the floor, here and there, as though they still have agency. is his opponent creating them to puppet them around, or do they simply work under his command? do they have any kind of free thought? well, if they are like curses, then likely not: they respond to chaos, more than anything else. a single-minded desire for destruction, maybe, fueled by his companion's anger. or is it hatred? it's hard to tell what the mix of emotions is: is he enjoying himself, or is he miserable? or is it both?
they seem to splatter out into nothingness when they're destroyed; they don't really leave behind actual bodies. even in the mess that he's created, the mass of destruction that's now a lump of tables and chairs and glass and splintered wood, he doesn't see any of these creatures squirming around, trying to escape. it's like all of the ones that he's pulled away from guests and doors have just ceased to exist; but again, he can't feel any cursed energy from them. it's peculiar: and he loves peculiar, loves to reason and puzzle things out himself, but his friend here isn't really giving him the time to.
he teleports out of the mess, before it all collides, before it crushes him--and he had expected just as much, but the easy win, denied from him, earns a click of his tongue in dismay. )
I suck at making friends. ( he says, matter-of-fact, as he brushes off his sleeves, taking a few steps back to put more space between them; unlike vanitas, he doesn't have a weapon at his disposal other than himself and his techniques, and he wants to stay out of range of that odd, key-shaped blade as much as he can. it won't do anything, not with his infinity around him, but even so: there's something about it he doesn't like.
the six eyes easily size up the new additions; similar to the others, really. other techniques can't get through limitless, so whatever it is these creatures can do...he's not particularly concerned, but that doesn't mean he isn't still on edge.
he's really going to have to either knock this guy unconscious, or kill him. that should stop the onslaught of new creatures, and give the remaining humans in the room time to escape out the doors; even now, there are still some people working their way out of the area, and the noise is so loud that he has to tune it out. people yelling, screeching, shifting furniture, crunching on glass as they run; the golden peacock speakers are still playing music, despite the destruction, and it's all a little overwhelming.
one hand lifts--fingers poised, his eyes awash in that bright blue, but it's a trembling, flickering ball of red that launches out from his fingertips; rather than at the new arrivals, he sends it spiraling towards vanitas himself, hoping that at least he'll block it with that key-like blade: otherwise, the force of the cursed technique will likely shred away at his clothes, whipping through skin and bone, if he has any of it underneath. the power of that repelling energy pushes, urged on by his own irritation--dragging vanitas back, off the table, through the remains of a few behind him, back further, splintering through pillars and beams and anything that might stand between him and the wall at the back of the room. it's only once he's collided into it that he drops his own hand; a quick teleport has him in front of vanitas and whatever rubble he's caused with the collision, jaw locked.
he doesn't reach for him: he can't, not if he wants to keep infinity up. he's solely focused on vanitas, now--the six eyes tell him a little about those monsters he left behind, but he's discarded them as useless. not worth his focus. he may or may not be right about that. )
Are we done yet? ( his head tilts; one of his hands lifts, but it's only to wipe at his own nose, like the amount of cursed energy he's hitting again and again might be inspiring some kind of nosebleed--it doesn't, which means his healing is working as intended. ) You're not winning this, no matter how many friends you want to bring to the party. Accept defeat gracefully, or you'll accept your own death with less grace than the last person I killed.
( of course, it's said with the smear of a smile--but it doesn't meet the tremoring superiority in his gaze. )
[curses? could be. a blight upon the face of all worlds, spawning hatred and fear in everyone who looked at them. he's heard oaths and foul words spat at them, disdainful looks levied over shining spear heads, pleading rage in tearful faces thrown behind running shoulders. each one of those wretched emotions siphoned off into his unversed and growing their strength. a tragic hilarious irony so few of his victims ever understood. good question on gojou's part. he creates them. he puppeteers them when necessary. he orders them to serve his every word. when he isn't flippant enough to give a command and let them follow it however they please. they are what he feels, hordes of fledgling emotions under his control. running rampant with destruction, darkness, and negativity. the best part of all, whenever they're slaughtered by those do-gooder types, their power, experience, pain, feelings, all of it flows right back into him, increasing his own strength as he loads them into his proverbial gun once more.
yet unlike so many others he's faced, this bastard here refuses to give into despair and anguish. frustration and panic left void, or at least well-covered by his confidence and determination. his unversed aren't able to draw much power from gojou. good thing such a source of terror saturates the rest of the room. a few fighters pop up here and there, surprising, but he can handle them once he rips out this idiot's heart. doesn't matter if gojou realizes the truth. one man can't face down an infinite army growing stronger with each death. he'll crush him beneath sheer numbers if that's what it takes! a fitting end. consider it paybacks for trying to pulverize him in a black hole.]
Lucky you. [behind his mask, he narrows his eyes, paying close attention to slivers of space around gojou's form. splintered table matter, green felt, dust and debris, none of it actually touches him. as he thought. a field of some kind. until he finds a way through it, he won't be able to make physical contact with him. irritating. no way to drive his keyblade through his chest or fire a lock into his heart to shut off his power. gonna be a battle of attrition.
amid cacophonies of battle, he lowers his arm and swings his keyblade from his shoulder. a flock of chrono twisters beat their little wings, flip their hourglass bodies, and churn the sands within as time-based magic builds up inside. maybe he can't touch gojou, but he should still be affected by the space around him. red light blooms from the man's hand straight towards him, a ball of crimson light. even from this far away, he feels its power pulsating in the air. muscles tense, his body shifts to a defensive position and he instantly drags one of his unversed between himself and that ball. an orb of molasses slow force bursts from its body, time slogging to a crawl in its small space-- and gets plowed right through!] What the-?!
[unaffected? no, it simply pushed past the energy like oil and water! pain rips into his left side, caught halfway from his own attempted dodge. snarling in rage, he slams his keyblade's butt into crimson force, unable to pry himself free of its speed. clawing at his suit, ripping into his muscles and sinew, saturated with gojou's irritation (ah, he finally shows some), his body's dragged along for the ride. stone and wood slam into his back, shatter over his bones, debris clatters on his helmet and arms with every layer he's driven through. a shower of glittering coins burst from the slot machine exploding along his spine, painting a lurid gilded shower as his entire figure crushes into the wall. cracks radiate from his outline, head arms legs torso, something wet spits into the surface of his helmet's interior. can't tell if it's blood, bile, or saliva. probably all three. something's busted inside. ribs snapped. skin feels fried down his left half... well that fucking hurt.
and look who it is. blinking into existence before him once again. this dumbass can teleport too. he doesn't even have to lift his head: the crater of plaster and concrete entombing his masked skull's already seen to that. smoke rises from his left side, his suit melted onto his own flesh and muscle, what of it hasn't been ripped and peeled off his bone. damn, not a lot of people can hit him that hard. this guy's strong. and the stronger he is...]
Hn HAHA Ha ha!! [hurts to laugh, hurts to breath, hurts all over, and it's amazing. feeling this agony again. like that damn old man all over again. chest heaving with his laughter, gravel crumbles about his head, dropping grit onto his collar and lower. not gonna come closer, huh? understandable.] You're still holding back. Afraid of committing?
[ignoring those unversed was a bad idea. pages rustle, a murmured chant, darkness and magic flow as the mimic master flings its arms upward amid an ascending column of light. its heavy-bound book spews reams of pages in spiraling bands, surrounding its body in a fluttering shield. and either side of gojou's body is made privy to two of those hovering pages, now bearing his own likeness, suddenly shrinking into cocoons of light and birthing copies of himself. same eyes, same face, same smile. same blue glow and red light on their hands as both of them abruptly fire gojou's own technique at him from close range. admittedly these "fakes" are fragile, running on little hp when attacked, but the unversed's copies are just as powerful as the original. and with gojou showing his techniques already, it's well versed in using them. to say nothing of everyone else remaining in the room who now have to contend with two gojou's with zero qualms about firing their power into the crowds, heedless of innocents they hit while attacking the original.]
Never was good with grace. [rip! chunks of wall tear as he hauls one arm from its imprint. what more fitting battle than to sic this smug self-righteous superior somebody with his own power. fighting style, thought process, arrogance, all mirrored the mimic master hides within its shield of pages. fully able and ready to create another pair of fakes.] Flaunt yourself more. It'll only make them stronger. [rip! another arm as he begins breaking out of his outline. and straightens up as he leers at the other man caught in a battle with his own ego made manifest. the irony's hilarious with this stupid hero.] Go kill yourself.
[metal gleams as he lifts his keyblade in his good arm.] Curaga. [green light, a whirl of leaves and drooping flowers, and burnt skin fleshes out again as his bones seal and his torn muscles knit. healing himself good as new once more. ever the pragmatist, he was never gonna give gojou a fair fight.]
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
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they seem to splatter out into nothingness when they're destroyed; they don't really leave behind actual bodies. even in the mess that he's created, the mass of destruction that's now a lump of tables and chairs and glass and splintered wood, he doesn't see any of these creatures squirming around, trying to escape. it's like all of the ones that he's pulled away from guests and doors have just ceased to exist; but again, he can't feel any cursed energy from them. it's peculiar: and he loves peculiar, loves to reason and puzzle things out himself, but his friend here isn't really giving him the time to.
he teleports out of the mess, before it all collides, before it crushes him--and he had expected just as much, but the easy win, denied from him, earns a click of his tongue in dismay. )
I suck at making friends. ( he says, matter-of-fact, as he brushes off his sleeves, taking a few steps back to put more space between them; unlike vanitas, he doesn't have a weapon at his disposal other than himself and his techniques, and he wants to stay out of range of that odd, key-shaped blade as much as he can. it won't do anything, not with his infinity around him, but even so: there's something about it he doesn't like.
the six eyes easily size up the new additions; similar to the others, really. other techniques can't get through limitless, so whatever it is these creatures can do...he's not particularly concerned, but that doesn't mean he isn't still on edge.
he's really going to have to either knock this guy unconscious, or kill him. that should stop the onslaught of new creatures, and give the remaining humans in the room time to escape out the doors; even now, there are still some people working their way out of the area, and the noise is so loud that he has to tune it out. people yelling, screeching, shifting furniture, crunching on glass as they run; the golden peacock speakers are still playing music, despite the destruction, and it's all a little overwhelming.
one hand lifts--fingers poised, his eyes awash in that bright blue, but it's a trembling, flickering ball of red that launches out from his fingertips; rather than at the new arrivals, he sends it spiraling towards vanitas himself, hoping that at least he'll block it with that key-like blade: otherwise, the force of the cursed technique will likely shred away at his clothes, whipping through skin and bone, if he has any of it underneath. the power of that repelling energy pushes, urged on by his own irritation--dragging vanitas back, off the table, through the remains of a few behind him, back further, splintering through pillars and beams and anything that might stand between him and the wall at the back of the room. it's only once he's collided into it that he drops his own hand; a quick teleport has him in front of vanitas and whatever rubble he's caused with the collision, jaw locked.
he doesn't reach for him: he can't, not if he wants to keep infinity up. he's solely focused on vanitas, now--the six eyes tell him a little about those monsters he left behind, but he's discarded them as useless. not worth his focus. he may or may not be right about that. )
Are we done yet? ( his head tilts; one of his hands lifts, but it's only to wipe at his own nose, like the amount of cursed energy he's hitting again and again might be inspiring some kind of nosebleed--it doesn't, which means his healing is working as intended. ) You're not winning this, no matter how many friends you want to bring to the party. Accept defeat gracefully, or you'll accept your own death with less grace than the last person I killed.
( of course, it's said with the smear of a smile--but it doesn't meet the tremoring superiority in his gaze. )
no subject
yet unlike so many others he's faced, this bastard here refuses to give into despair and anguish. frustration and panic left void, or at least well-covered by his confidence and determination. his unversed aren't able to draw much power from gojou. good thing such a source of terror saturates the rest of the room. a few fighters pop up here and there, surprising, but he can handle them once he rips out this idiot's heart. doesn't matter if gojou realizes the truth. one man can't face down an infinite army growing stronger with each death. he'll crush him beneath sheer numbers if that's what it takes! a fitting end. consider it paybacks for trying to pulverize him in a black hole.]
Lucky you. [behind his mask, he narrows his eyes, paying close attention to slivers of space around gojou's form. splintered table matter, green felt, dust and debris, none of it actually touches him. as he thought. a field of some kind. until he finds a way through it, he won't be able to make physical contact with him. irritating. no way to drive his keyblade through his chest or fire a lock into his heart to shut off his power. gonna be a battle of attrition.
amid cacophonies of battle, he lowers his arm and swings his keyblade from his shoulder. a flock of chrono twisters beat their little wings, flip their hourglass bodies, and churn the sands within as time-based magic builds up inside. maybe he can't touch gojou, but he should still be affected by the space around him. red light blooms from the man's hand straight towards him, a ball of crimson light. even from this far away, he feels its power pulsating in the air. muscles tense, his body shifts to a defensive position and he instantly drags one of his unversed between himself and that ball. an orb of molasses slow force bursts from its body, time slogging to a crawl in its small space-- and gets plowed right through!] What the-?!
[unaffected? no, it simply pushed past the energy like oil and water! pain rips into his left side, caught halfway from his own attempted dodge. snarling in rage, he slams his keyblade's butt into crimson force, unable to pry himself free of its speed. clawing at his suit, ripping into his muscles and sinew, saturated with gojou's irritation (ah, he finally shows some), his body's dragged along for the ride. stone and wood slam into his back, shatter over his bones, debris clatters on his helmet and arms with every layer he's driven through. a shower of glittering coins burst from the slot machine exploding along his spine, painting a lurid gilded shower as his entire figure crushes into the wall. cracks radiate from his outline, head arms legs torso, something wet spits into the surface of his helmet's interior. can't tell if it's blood, bile, or saliva. probably all three. something's busted inside. ribs snapped. skin feels fried down his left half... well that fucking hurt.
and look who it is. blinking into existence before him once again. this dumbass can teleport too. he doesn't even have to lift his head: the crater of plaster and concrete entombing his masked skull's already seen to that. smoke rises from his left side, his suit melted onto his own flesh and muscle, what of it hasn't been ripped and peeled off his bone. damn, not a lot of people can hit him that hard. this guy's strong. and the stronger he is...]
Hn HAHA Ha ha!! [hurts to laugh, hurts to breath, hurts all over, and it's amazing. feeling this agony again. like that damn old man all over again. chest heaving with his laughter, gravel crumbles about his head, dropping grit onto his collar and lower. not gonna come closer, huh? understandable.] You're still holding back. Afraid of committing?
[ignoring those unversed was a bad idea. pages rustle, a murmured chant, darkness and magic flow as the mimic master flings its arms upward amid an ascending column of light. its heavy-bound book spews reams of pages in spiraling bands, surrounding its body in a fluttering shield. and either side of gojou's body is made privy to two of those hovering pages, now bearing his own likeness, suddenly shrinking into cocoons of light and birthing copies of himself. same eyes, same face, same smile. same blue glow and red light on their hands as both of them abruptly fire gojou's own technique at him from close range. admittedly these "fakes" are fragile, running on little hp when attacked, but the unversed's copies are just as powerful as the original. and with gojou showing his techniques already, it's well versed in using them. to say nothing of everyone else remaining in the room who now have to contend with two gojou's with zero qualms about firing their power into the crowds, heedless of innocents they hit while attacking the original.]
Never was good with grace. [rip! chunks of wall tear as he hauls one arm from its imprint. what more fitting battle than to sic this smug self-righteous superior somebody with his own power. fighting style, thought process, arrogance, all mirrored the mimic master hides within its shield of pages. fully able and ready to create another pair of fakes.] Flaunt yourself more. It'll only make them stronger. [rip! another arm as he begins breaking out of his outline. and straightens up as he leers at the other man caught in a battle with his own ego made manifest. the irony's hilarious with this stupid hero.] Go kill yourself.
[metal gleams as he lifts his keyblade in his good arm.] Curaga. [green light, a whirl of leaves and drooping flowers, and burnt skin fleshes out again as his bones seal and his torn muscles knit. healing himself good as new once more. ever the pragmatist, he was never gonna give gojou a fair fight.]