【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system. We have arranged for a selection of basement suites to temporarily house new arrivals until reservations have been processed. We hope you'll join us in giving our new guests a warm and loving welcome.
We have an exciting announcement! The house will be hosting a carnival for all guests to celebrate the Golden Peacock's birthday. Please look forward to food, games, and attractions in the Cloud-Dwelling Garden. The carnival will be available for guests to enjoy for seven days. Happy birthday week, Golden Peacock*!
We hope you are as thrilled as we are! And, as always, we hope you enjoy your stay.
*Please note that this is an arbitrarily chosen date for the Golden Peacock's birthday, which is unknown. 】
▶ 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 and this TDM acts as the game's July event. The carnival will run July 15th - July 22nd.
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▶ 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.
[ There would be something almost comforting, almost relieving in hearing of his shared tastes. If someone born to normal people can end up with an instinctive taste for blood, if they can have desires considered immoral and taboo even without the outside factors to influence them, then doesn't that mean he isn't too different after all? Yugamu has never been to school, never truly mingled among others his age besides the moments he's stalking targets, but other people have. And yet others can end up just like him, the squish of viscera beneath their fingers more beautiful than any song. How nice it would be to find someone who agrees—who finds the depths of his chest cavity to be just as lovely as he does theirs.
Certainly, all his efforts have been in vain so far. All the speed-dating and flirting has yielded little results besides exhausted glances and clicks of the tongue, when not outright disgust. But the world is vast, and he is young. And aren't they here right now, finding common ground, even if it wobbles beneath their feet? It's a terrifying and exciting prospect, one which tugs his heartstrings in different directions with equal measure. Even when Makoto's eyes flash with something confused, he can see the reluctance in the shine. Even the look on his face is painfully adorable, the way he's clearly attempting to shut himself up only dragging a low laugh from the depths of Yugamu's throat. ]
Maybe not yet. [ He simply shrugs it off, quite literally. ] But the pill is gateway to the scalpel, man. If you're not too careful, you might get addicted to those tender cuts...and I can make them real tender.
[ The tone is almost lascivious, punctuated by that smile. Were he not so fixated on those expressions, he might not have caught that glint; but he does. And it's certainly not a reaction he normally gets.
Back at the academy, it usually comes in three flavors. The shock, the disbelief, the denial. In the case of Takemaru, flabbergasted anger. Hiruko's method, ignoring him completely. So many different, fun variations, and he thought he'd seen them all. There is something in the proud way he seems to stare, that lift of the chin making him shiver. Perhaps it'd seem like a threat or a warning, if it weren't for the fact he seems to be, uh...a little excited by it, staring back with that telltale overzealous demeanor crawling back over him again. It cuts like the cold of Hiruko's glare, but in a different way.
What a specimen Makoto is. He needs a good set of jars, he thinks, with such elegantly written labels.
The man in question is speaking, and Yugamu is listening. Even then, it takes him a moment to properly digest that offer, the intensity of his gaze snapping for an entirely different reason. With each word that hand crawls further up, and Yugamu will admit to hyperfocusing on the way that finger presses to that slender column of flesh, gaze locking onto that pretty ring of stitches before his fingers even brush it.
Yugamu considers himself to have a modicum ofself control. He's a professional, not some mass-murdering hussy. But then those fingers push, manic blues locked straight onto that tender flesh as it splits, the gleaming red behind gesturing at him like the seducing hands of a wayward lover. If he was breathing heavily before, now he's practically panting, the elegant curve of his smile giving way to trembling lips and a mouth poised to overflow. ]
Just when I think you've shown me it all, you just keep surprising me! And to think, the next thing you'd show me is your cute insides! How much is some? [ Not a dissection, like; he has no scalpels, no anesthetic, no string to sew him up with love and care. But that wound itself offers endless possibilities, stream of words tilting out of his mouth faster than the drool itself as he leans in. ] Is that an unhealed wound, or something else? I'm just dying to know what could cause it...or at least how it feels. I have so many things I could do— Do you have particular feelings about things going in there?
[ If someone happens to give him a weird look as they pass, it's not of his business. He even continues to stare transfixed as that hand pulls away, shuddering at that utterly tantalizing smear still on his skin. If he were any more worked up, he might even lick it.
But right, they have a deal. Blues drag away from that mark reluctantly before following Makoto's finger, peering at the soft and spongy little plush lungs a few feet away. Tantalizingly small enough to squeeze, almost like the real thing if he reaches in just right. Really, he's just so... ]
Do you like dangling things like this in front of me? [ The speed at which he manages to dial down the erotic hysteria is probably baffling, but he does it all the same. ] So nefarious. But I can't say no to a deal like that.
[ And if he learns more, gets to satisfy his curiosity and excitement in equal measure, then that's simply a bonus to getting to caress that wound. ]
( makoto likes to think of himself as real, tangible evidence as to why “nature” can end up winning out in the debate of “nature versus nurture;” had he not been innately saddled with fascinations, fixations, and perversions seemingly from the very beginning, he doubts that he would have ever found himself in the situation he’s in now. even knowing that, though, there’s nothing in him that possesses the desire to be “normal”—if he had been given the hypothetical option to rid himself of his taboo kinks and desires and try a second run at his own life, even knowing how much he’d suffered because of it, he simply wouldn’t be able to agree to it. ultimately, it is those desires that have helped shape who he is, so to excise or erase them would essentially be doing the same to the core of his being. a thing about becoming an immortal being largely against one’s will is that it teaches you that there are indeed far worse things than death. he hadn’t even been in hell for a month before J had introduced him to one: the paralytic fear of being casually threatened with being dismembered and tossed into a place he’d never be looked for or found, all to waste away all of eternity in powerless impotence and solitude. that was one. another, he’d been introduced to here in the Golden Peacock, when a vision of himself from the future had thrown him into a picture frame to languish for a solid week as he cavorted about the resort in his place: the existential terror of having what he is altered so much that who he is now ends up disappearing entirely.
he is still too much in his transitional period between “self-loathing” and “tacit acceptance” that he can’t quite muster a feeling of abject pride, but he can at least feel protective about himself. he doesn’t want to lose who he is, he doesn’t want to change to be someone else, and he wants to avoid harsh scrutiny and judgment for all of that whenever possible. it’s these tenets that guide his instincts towards obfuscation and being secretive; they are useful enough with most people, as most people aren’t the type to be so openly accepting. of course, having known yugamu for all of fifteen minutes… makoto feels fairly convinced at this point that there’s likely nothing he could tell the guy that’d shock him that badly. or, if it did, he’d at least have the right to feel pissed off at perceived hypocrisy…
his gaze narrows further, and since the deal is quite binding on his end, he has to further iterate, ) Say whatever you want, but the deal was for one test.
( at the moment, makoto feels confident enough in just discarding what he’s saying out of hand simply because he feels educated enough in the subject to unilaterally decide that he just doesn’t have that sort of relationship to pain. but, well… no one had ever really bothered such tenderness with him, and he sure as fuck had never done the same in return. who can say… he might very well end up eating his as-of-yet-unspoken determination.
really, even with everything that’s happened up unto this point, makoto still manages to feel a little bit taken aback by the response to his revised “offer.” this isn’t the first time he’s offered such a thing—even for those that don’t have a definitively sexual interest, morbid fascination could still go a long way—but it’s certainly the first time he’s had to field such unrestrained, barely-controlled erotic eagerness. it ushers in a brief moment of uncertainty, the kind that comes along with the worry and concern that one might have bitten off a little more than they could chew, but for the most part… well, it’s hard to say how he feels about it. he finds himself blushing when yugamu calls such a reveal “cute,” bizarrely more flattered by that than any other previous bandying of compliments. he blinks, quietly withstanding the profusion of questions and enthusiasm and even remaining that way for a few moments afterward, trying to figure out where to even start.
the last question is probably the most pertinent. )
Um… Well, yeah, but. As long as you don’t sever anything or pull anything out, it’d probably be fine. I… just might need help sewing it back up. ( because he does carry around sutures to deal with something like that, just in case. really, he’s just concerned with being able to leave this place and walk back to his room without much issue. everything else is negotiable. ) It doesn’t heal. Probably because this body is just one that I’m using… My neck’s been like this for a few years now, so I doubt it’s going to change.
( he knows the physical mechanics of what J had done to him, but whatever had happened metaphysically in order to change him from a human into a demon, he’s still not sure. ironically, because of the way that demons function in his universe, it’s probably his inherent belief that this body was something “separate” from himself that kept the wound from healing and from him assimilating it completely. but he doesn’t know enough about the nature of demons to have sussed this out yet.
the offer had been suitably tempting, though, so it looks like they’re both getting what they want out of this. makoto almost seems surprised that it had settled so easily, but a small smile chases along after that. he laughs. ) Only if it works. ( anyways. ) Let’s go, then.
( it probably isn’t worth documenting each and every step they take around all of the game booths; at some point makoto does have to get some sort of bag to carry the plushies in, as he truly does seem determined to get one of each of the macabre little things that he can find. eventually, whether because they start to run out of unique organs to collect or he simply starts to run out of room to stow them away in the bag, he pauses. frowning, contemplative. )
We should probably try to find something that can deal with the blood… ( a comment that might seem like it comes apropos of nothing, but he knows full well that opening the stitches on his neck is going to make him bleed quite a bit, and he doesn’t want to have to leave this place looking like a horror show. the enormous bag full of plushie offal and viscera, like some sort of edgy, grimdark santa’s sack, is already bad enough…! )
[ It's true, really; it takes a lot to shock someone who's family history consists of kill counts and torture chambers. Perhaps it's the thing that would shock him that would seem out of place; for all his visceral fantasies and bloodstained history, Yugamu is a frighteningly earnest person in some regards. He'd love to cut past the flesh and muscle, hold someone's beating heart in his palms and feel each pulse against his skin, but he'd want it to be wanted. For someone to look at him with eyes full of adoration, acceptance, a mutual bloodlust filling their eyes that linger on their life quite literally in his hands. Maybe they'd even take the scalpel to him next, and they could press chest to chest, hearts beating in tandem with no skin between them.
A heavy fantasy, he knows. But he's satisfy himself with the little things; a bit of gore, a wayward test, the sight of someone's fingers digging into the soft flesh of their neck and splitting it so sweetly— ]
You're the boss. Just so you know, though, don't blame me if just one ends up not being enough for you.
[ Pain and pleasure are one in same, especially in tandem. Someone coming at you hard and fast may be unpleasant, but there's something special in measured doses, careful and calculated, going bigger and bigger to increase the tolerance like you would a drug. Association fallacy, in a way. The scalpel may have been disagreeable as a child, cutting into flesh to alter and improve, but now it's practically his best friend...in more ways than one. Yugamu has confidence he could do the same to someone else, given enough time, although he can understand the hesitation. Not everybody is born the same, and he's a rather extreme example.
The quiet as Makoto struggles to keep up with the string of questions and enthusiasm is adorable by itself, but the way his skin flushes just so as if unused to the attention...he was right. He's just so, so cute, in the way a cute animal instills a form of cuteness aggression...albeit, the aggression is definitely more pronounced. He wonders if any other parts of him would peel and rip so easily like his pretty neck, and absolves to figure that out as soon as possible.
Probably...later, because he'll be a bit occupied, but it's food for thought—far too much, if the way his eyes light up even further at the confirmation are any indication. ]
You're walking around with someone else's body? All that time, and it's never healed? [ But, ah, the wound would make sense? He's never really seen this sort of thing before, but it also beggars the question in the back of his head ( if he sewed someone else's head to another's body, how would they come back in the revive-o-matic? messed up, a strange fusion, two brains—? ). Considering what he's seen here, who knows? Just the thought has him practically shuddering in place. ] Oh, I could sew it up, alright. You've got such pretty skin, the fact I'd get to get inside it and put a needle in it after is really just the cherry on top...!
[ He wants to know, oh, he wants to know! What makes him up, how much can he push, is a few stitches all it truly takes to keep a head attached in a way that isn't a broken attempt at Frankenstein's monster? If he had the capacity to do that, he'd be abusing it like crazy without an ounce of shame.
But, they've made a deal. Yugamu has to force his thoughts to calm down, whatever excitement only lingering on his features in the form of a dusting of pink flush. If his hands shake too much, how is he supposed to make good? ]
I wouldn't count me out just yet. [ He grins back, a little sharper. ] After you!
[ And Yugamu is a man of his word, if albeit messy ones. His senses are sharp and his reflexes even sharper, which makes winning against some of the more heinous attempts at cheating a breeze. The organ-bag they've acquired has gotten rather fat, and he finds himself sneaking glances everytime they get a new one in a mild form of admiration for the accuracy, even in stuffie form.
Yugamu is leaning against something, idly flexing his fingers. They've gotten quite the workout tonight, all that throwing. ]
A simple towel with do, although some water will help. [ They could find those around here...maybe from the water balloon booths? It'd be a shame to wash off that blood from such nice skin, but it would not be the best sticky fluid to wander around covered in. Still, Yugamu is peering at Makoto with that look in his eyes, gaze moreso locked on those tantalizing stitches before they flicker up when he deigns to speak. ] Although, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to take your shirt off to save some of the trouble. Not that I'd be checking you out or anything...
[ If there was a more obvious lie in the world, they've yet to find it. ]
( it’s just a shame that makoto’s stubborn nature would likely work against them both, in that regard. he’s a peculiar and prideful creature; if asked, he would attempt to explain himself in strict and inflexible terms, but the truth is far more vague than that. as much as he would bristle at the prospect of being placed in the role of recipient of any of his macabre and sadistic kinks, adamant that his only place should be in performing them instead, he’d still been the young man who had been flustered into outright arousal when J had teased him with the prospect that what he’d truly wanted all along during the course of their contract had been for someone to do everything that he’d done to J to himself instead. he’d argue against it until his dying breath. he’d snarl and spit and dig in his heels—and he’s not exactly wrong, because it’s true that there’s something in him that feels a natural aversion to the thought of it. but makoto’s perversion is so pervasive that, again, it works against him: he’s so innately turned on by anything he perceives as “subversive” that sometimes it even seems to include those lines that he would really prefer not to cross.
whether or not he got to a point of willing curiosity to allow those lines to be crossed at some point is more up for debate. as it is… he remains prideful and bull-headed. it takes a lot for him to entrust so much control over him to anyone, considering it’s mostly only been used against him in the past.
yugamu brings up a good point that makoto hasn’t really thought a lot about himself. ) I—I don’t think it’s “someone else’s” body… ( this is hard to explain while he’s attached to it. it tends to lose some of its anatomical detail when he’s not attached; quite frankly, he has no idea what it is. he doesn’t know how this whole thing works. maybe if he’d remained in hell longer, he’d have figured it out, but he doesn’t have too many answers as it is. ) J just… ordered it from somewhere.
( like from hell’s version of Amazon, or something.
well, at least the guy is willing to help sew him back up, though makoto has been improving at doing it himself. he doesn’t like the idea of always being dependent on others in that regard. he doesn’t really enjoy it now, either, though he does think the chips he will save from how many attempts it might take him to win any of these games is a sound enough deal. he might have gone completely broke in order to fill the bag as full of plushies as it ends up. as it is, he has more than enough to buy the items that yugamu suggests outright—a decorative towel, commemorating the carnival… a bottle of water… he turns to face the other young man with narrowed eyes at his last suggestion. his knee-jerk reaction is to reject it outright, though… considering it further, he glances down at his shirt, remembering how many chips it had cost. ugh. it’d be so much work to get extensive blood stains out, and it might not even work.
he mutters in low, bitter undertone, ) I would like to avoid ruining this shirt, if possible.
( a quick burst of breath leaves him in an annoyed sigh. he shoulders his bag once more, gathering everything else he’d gotten from the carnival, and turns away from the crowded, well-lit avenues that served as its primary arteries. )
Come on.
( he doesn’t even lead them fully out of the area set aside in the Golden Peacock for the carnival, though the music and noise of the crowd has long since dulled to a distant hum by the time makoto believes he’s found a space out of the way enough that it’d be shielded from curious, prying eyes. he sets his bag of prizes down against a wall before reaching up to begin undoing the buttons on the front of his shirt. he strips it off, folds it, and sets it down on the bag with perfunctory casualness; really, it’s not that the partial nudity fazes him, but it’d just been that he tends not to want to give others what they want from him unless he was gaining something from it. in this instance… not ruining his shirt and having to walk around like he’d just emerged from a haunted house as its victim was enough of an incentive. )
Okay, ( now it’s his turn to lean against something, towel folded and held in his arms against his chest. despite the wound on his neck, his pale skin is otherwise perfectly unblemished—not that it’s never been blemished, mind. it’s just another weird quirk of this body. no matter what happens to it, it tends to return to this state, given a day or two. now, usually makoto would think to split open his stitches himself as an act of temptation, to elicit darker natures out of others… in this instance, though, he very much doubts that’s necessary. he leans his head back against the wall, baring his throat, eyes lidding heavily. ) I assume you’d be interested in doing the honors…? ( he blinks, thinking for just a moment before adding, ) Just don’t break too many of them… Like, this, ( he raises one forefinger to highlight a section perhaps two or three inches wide, ) should be okay.
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peacockstop2025-07-15 09:00 pm
no subject
Certainly, all his efforts have been in vain so far. All the speed-dating and flirting has yielded little results besides exhausted glances and clicks of the tongue, when not outright disgust. But the world is vast, and he is young. And aren't they here right now, finding common ground, even if it wobbles beneath their feet? It's a terrifying and exciting prospect, one which tugs his heartstrings in different directions with equal measure. Even when Makoto's eyes flash with something confused, he can see the reluctance in the shine. Even the look on his face is painfully adorable, the way he's clearly attempting to shut himself up only dragging a low laugh from the depths of Yugamu's throat. ]
Maybe not yet. [ He simply shrugs it off, quite literally. ] But the pill is gateway to the scalpel, man. If you're not too careful, you might get addicted to those tender cuts...and I can make them real tender.
[ The tone is almost lascivious, punctuated by that smile. Were he not so fixated on those expressions, he might not have caught that glint; but he does. And it's certainly not a reaction he normally gets.
Back at the academy, it usually comes in three flavors. The shock, the disbelief, the denial. In the case of Takemaru, flabbergasted anger. Hiruko's method, ignoring him completely. So many different, fun variations, and he thought he'd seen them all. There is something in the proud way he seems to stare, that lift of the chin making him shiver. Perhaps it'd seem like a threat or a warning, if it weren't for the fact he seems to be, uh...a little excited by it, staring back with that telltale overzealous demeanor crawling back over him again. It cuts like the cold of Hiruko's glare, but in a different way.
What a specimen Makoto is. He needs a good set of jars, he thinks, with such elegantly written labels.
The man in question is speaking, and Yugamu is listening. Even then, it takes him a moment to properly digest that offer, the intensity of his gaze snapping for an entirely different reason. With each word that hand crawls further up, and Yugamu will admit to hyperfocusing on the way that finger presses to that slender column of flesh, gaze locking onto that pretty ring of stitches before his fingers even brush it.
Yugamu considers himself to have a modicum ofself control. He's a professional, not some mass-murdering hussy. But then those fingers push, manic blues locked straight onto that tender flesh as it splits, the gleaming red behind gesturing at him like the seducing hands of a wayward lover. If he was breathing heavily before, now he's practically panting, the elegant curve of his smile giving way to trembling lips and a mouth poised to overflow. ]
Just when I think you've shown me it all, you just keep surprising me! And to think, the next thing you'd show me is your cute insides! How much is some? [ Not a dissection, like; he has no scalpels, no anesthetic, no string to sew him up with love and care. But that wound itself offers endless possibilities, stream of words tilting out of his mouth faster than the drool itself as he leans in. ] Is that an unhealed wound, or something else? I'm just dying to know what could cause it...or at least how it feels. I have so many things I could do— Do you have particular feelings about things going in there?
[ If someone happens to give him a weird look as they pass, it's not of his business. He even continues to stare transfixed as that hand pulls away, shuddering at that utterly tantalizing smear still on his skin. If he were any more worked up, he might even lick it.
But right, they have a deal. Blues drag away from that mark reluctantly before following Makoto's finger, peering at the soft and spongy little plush lungs a few feet away. Tantalizingly small enough to squeeze, almost like the real thing if he reaches in just right. Really, he's just so... ]
Do you like dangling things like this in front of me? [ The speed at which he manages to dial down the erotic hysteria is probably baffling, but he does it all the same. ] So nefarious. But I can't say no to a deal like that.
[ And if he learns more, gets to satisfy his curiosity and excitement in equal measure, then that's simply a bonus to getting to caress that wound. ]
Shall we go, before someone else snatches it up?
no subject
he is still too much in his transitional period between “self-loathing” and “tacit acceptance” that he can’t quite muster a feeling of abject pride, but he can at least feel protective about himself. he doesn’t want to lose who he is, he doesn’t want to change to be someone else, and he wants to avoid harsh scrutiny and judgment for all of that whenever possible. it’s these tenets that guide his instincts towards obfuscation and being secretive; they are useful enough with most people, as most people aren’t the type to be so openly accepting. of course, having known yugamu for all of fifteen minutes… makoto feels fairly convinced at this point that there’s likely nothing he could tell the guy that’d shock him that badly. or, if it did, he’d at least have the right to feel pissed off at perceived hypocrisy…
his gaze narrows further, and since the deal is quite binding on his end, he has to further iterate, ) Say whatever you want, but the deal was for one test.
( at the moment, makoto feels confident enough in just discarding what he’s saying out of hand simply because he feels educated enough in the subject to unilaterally decide that he just doesn’t have that sort of relationship to pain. but, well… no one had ever really bothered such tenderness with him, and he sure as fuck had never done the same in return. who can say… he might very well end up eating his as-of-yet-unspoken determination.
really, even with everything that’s happened up unto this point, makoto still manages to feel a little bit taken aback by the response to his revised “offer.” this isn’t the first time he’s offered such a thing—even for those that don’t have a definitively sexual interest, morbid fascination could still go a long way—but it’s certainly the first time he’s had to field such unrestrained, barely-controlled erotic eagerness. it ushers in a brief moment of uncertainty, the kind that comes along with the worry and concern that one might have bitten off a little more than they could chew, but for the most part… well, it’s hard to say how he feels about it. he finds himself blushing when yugamu calls such a reveal “cute,” bizarrely more flattered by that than any other previous bandying of compliments. he blinks, quietly withstanding the profusion of questions and enthusiasm and even remaining that way for a few moments afterward, trying to figure out where to even start.
the last question is probably the most pertinent. )
Um… Well, yeah, but. As long as you don’t sever anything or pull anything out, it’d probably be fine. I… just might need help sewing it back up. ( because he does carry around sutures to deal with something like that, just in case. really, he’s just concerned with being able to leave this place and walk back to his room without much issue. everything else is negotiable. ) It doesn’t heal. Probably because this body is just one that I’m using… My neck’s been like this for a few years now, so I doubt it’s going to change.
( he knows the physical mechanics of what J had done to him, but whatever had happened metaphysically in order to change him from a human into a demon, he’s still not sure. ironically, because of the way that demons function in his universe, it’s probably his inherent belief that this body was something “separate” from himself that kept the wound from healing and from him assimilating it completely. but he doesn’t know enough about the nature of demons to have sussed this out yet.
the offer had been suitably tempting, though, so it looks like they’re both getting what they want out of this. makoto almost seems surprised that it had settled so easily, but a small smile chases along after that. he laughs. ) Only if it works. ( anyways. ) Let’s go, then.
( it probably isn’t worth documenting each and every step they take around all of the game booths; at some point makoto does have to get some sort of bag to carry the plushies in, as he truly does seem determined to get one of each of the macabre little things that he can find. eventually, whether because they start to run out of unique organs to collect or he simply starts to run out of room to stow them away in the bag, he pauses. frowning, contemplative. )
We should probably try to find something that can deal with the blood… ( a comment that might seem like it comes apropos of nothing, but he knows full well that opening the stitches on his neck is going to make him bleed quite a bit, and he doesn’t want to have to leave this place looking like a horror show. the enormous bag full of plushie offal and viscera, like some sort of edgy, grimdark santa’s sack, is already bad enough…! )
cw: gore mention
A heavy fantasy, he knows. But he's satisfy himself with the little things; a bit of gore, a wayward test, the sight of someone's fingers digging into the soft flesh of their neck and splitting it so sweetly— ]
You're the boss. Just so you know, though, don't blame me if just one ends up not being enough for you.
[ Pain and pleasure are one in same, especially in tandem. Someone coming at you hard and fast may be unpleasant, but there's something special in measured doses, careful and calculated, going bigger and bigger to increase the tolerance like you would a drug. Association fallacy, in a way. The scalpel may have been disagreeable as a child, cutting into flesh to alter and improve, but now it's practically his best friend...in more ways than one. Yugamu has confidence he could do the same to someone else, given enough time, although he can understand the hesitation. Not everybody is born the same, and he's a rather extreme example.
The quiet as Makoto struggles to keep up with the string of questions and enthusiasm is adorable by itself, but the way his skin flushes just so as if unused to the attention...he was right. He's just so, so cute, in the way a cute animal instills a form of cuteness aggression...albeit, the aggression is definitely more pronounced. He wonders if any other parts of him would peel and rip so easily like his pretty neck, and absolves to figure that out as soon as possible.
Probably...later, because he'll be a bit occupied, but it's food for thought—far too much, if the way his eyes light up even further at the confirmation are any indication. ]
You're walking around with someone else's body? All that time, and it's never healed? [ But, ah, the wound would make sense? He's never really seen this sort of thing before, but it also beggars the question in the back of his head ( if he sewed someone else's head to another's body, how would they come back in the revive-o-matic? messed up, a strange fusion, two brains—? ). Considering what he's seen here, who knows? Just the thought has him practically shuddering in place. ] Oh, I could sew it up, alright. You've got such pretty skin, the fact I'd get to get inside it and put a needle in it after is really just the cherry on top...!
[ He wants to know, oh, he wants to know! What makes him up, how much can he push, is a few stitches all it truly takes to keep a head attached in a way that isn't a broken attempt at Frankenstein's monster? If he had the capacity to do that, he'd be abusing it like crazy without an ounce of shame.
But, they've made a deal. Yugamu has to force his thoughts to calm down, whatever excitement only lingering on his features in the form of a dusting of pink flush. If his hands shake too much, how is he supposed to make good? ]
I wouldn't count me out just yet. [ He grins back, a little sharper. ] After you!
[ And Yugamu is a man of his word, if albeit messy ones. His senses are sharp and his reflexes even sharper, which makes winning against some of the more heinous attempts at cheating a breeze. The organ-bag they've acquired has gotten rather fat, and he finds himself sneaking glances everytime they get a new one in a mild form of admiration for the accuracy, even in stuffie form.
Yugamu is leaning against something, idly flexing his fingers. They've gotten quite the workout tonight, all that throwing. ]
A simple towel with do, although some water will help. [ They could find those around here...maybe from the water balloon booths? It'd be a shame to wash off that blood from such nice skin, but it would not be the best sticky fluid to wander around covered in. Still, Yugamu is peering at Makoto with that look in his eyes, gaze moreso locked on those tantalizing stitches before they flicker up when he deigns to speak. ] Although, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to take your shirt off to save some of the trouble. Not that I'd be checking you out or anything...
[ If there was a more obvious lie in the world, they've yet to find it. ]
no subject
whether or not he got to a point of willing curiosity to allow those lines to be crossed at some point is more up for debate. as it is… he remains prideful and bull-headed. it takes a lot for him to entrust so much control over him to anyone, considering it’s mostly only been used against him in the past.
yugamu brings up a good point that makoto hasn’t really thought a lot about himself. ) I—I don’t think it’s “someone else’s” body… ( this is hard to explain while he’s attached to it. it tends to lose some of its anatomical detail when he’s not attached; quite frankly, he has no idea what it is. he doesn’t know how this whole thing works. maybe if he’d remained in hell longer, he’d have figured it out, but he doesn’t have too many answers as it is. ) J just… ordered it from somewhere.
( like from hell’s version of Amazon, or something.
well, at least the guy is willing to help sew him back up, though makoto has been improving at doing it himself. he doesn’t like the idea of always being dependent on others in that regard. he doesn’t really enjoy it now, either, though he does think the chips he will save from how many attempts it might take him to win any of these games is a sound enough deal. he might have gone completely broke in order to fill the bag as full of plushies as it ends up. as it is, he has more than enough to buy the items that yugamu suggests outright—a decorative towel, commemorating the carnival… a bottle of water… he turns to face the other young man with narrowed eyes at his last suggestion. his knee-jerk reaction is to reject it outright, though… considering it further, he glances down at his shirt, remembering how many chips it had cost. ugh. it’d be so much work to get extensive blood stains out, and it might not even work.
he mutters in low, bitter undertone, ) I would like to avoid ruining this shirt, if possible.
( a quick burst of breath leaves him in an annoyed sigh. he shoulders his bag once more, gathering everything else he’d gotten from the carnival, and turns away from the crowded, well-lit avenues that served as its primary arteries. )
Come on.
( he doesn’t even lead them fully out of the area set aside in the Golden Peacock for the carnival, though the music and noise of the crowd has long since dulled to a distant hum by the time makoto believes he’s found a space out of the way enough that it’d be shielded from curious, prying eyes. he sets his bag of prizes down against a wall before reaching up to begin undoing the buttons on the front of his shirt. he strips it off, folds it, and sets it down on the bag with perfunctory casualness; really, it’s not that the partial nudity fazes him, but it’d just been that he tends not to want to give others what they want from him unless he was gaining something from it. in this instance… not ruining his shirt and having to walk around like he’d just emerged from a haunted house as its victim was enough of an incentive. )
Okay, ( now it’s his turn to lean against something, towel folded and held in his arms against his chest. despite the wound on his neck, his pale skin is otherwise perfectly unblemished—not that it’s never been blemished, mind. it’s just another weird quirk of this body. no matter what happens to it, it tends to return to this state, given a day or two. now, usually makoto would think to split open his stitches himself as an act of temptation, to elicit darker natures out of others… in this instance, though, he very much doubts that’s necessary. he leans his head back against the wall, baring his throat, eyes lidding heavily. ) I assume you’d be interested in doing the honors…? ( he blinks, thinking for just a moment before adding, ) Just don’t break too many of them… Like, this, ( he raises one forefinger to highlight a section perhaps two or three inches wide, ) should be okay.