[ OPEN ]

[swordhardy]

Who ⬤ Rokurou & you! Totally OTA.
What ⬤ August 2022 Event — Tanabata.
When ⬤ All throughout the event & afterward.
Where ⬤ Sai no Kawara; various locations.
Content Warnings ⬤ Fighting, violence, alcohol, blood, wounds, sex, language... will update as necessary.


〈〈〈 GAMBLING PROBLEM 〉〉〉
⓵ ― GET UP, COME ON, GET DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS
FIGHTING, VIOLENCE, BLOOD, WOUNDS; CAN LEAD TO NSFW BECAUSE HE'S FIGHTHORNY

[ The crowd cheers, jeers, and stomp their feet as fighters stretch along the outside of the arena. Bets come in rapidfire, with money slapped across the table as eager observers eye up the fighters and make snap judgements before every paired up fight begins. More and more cash flashes as people surge in from the card tables, winners high off beating the house and more than willing to relish in a little bloodlust. The unfortunate losers, they're just as eager, and more trusting of their judgement when sizing up fighters and throwing in their very last dollar to try to earn it all back in what feels like a safer bet.

The rules are simple for this set. No weapons, and the match ends when someone gives up or when one's pinned flat on their back for ten seconds. You can fight however you like within those parameters. It favors the brawny and those who specialize in hand to hand combat, but that doesn't stop Rokurou from hopping into the ring eagerly and cracking his knuckles when his number's chosen from the pool. He might be a swordsman with a heavy preference for fighting with swords ... but it's been a while since he let loose. A little skin on skin contact don't sound bad.

Clad in only a pair of trousers, the daemon rolls his neck and pulls his hair back before pointing at his pool-chosen (or maybe you knocked that loser aside and hopped in because you wanted to) opponent. With a vicious smile that shares his teeth and a predator's gaze, ]

I'm not interested in weaklings. If you break easy, you better just get out of the arena right now.

⓶ ― SKIN TO SKIN, BLOOD AND BONE, YOU'RE BY YOURSELF BUT NOT ALONE
BLOOD, AFTERCARE, CAN ALSO GO SPICY WHY NOT IT'S MANSLUT SUNDAY

[ Off to the side of the area is another stretch of bar, space a little quieter than the ones amongst the casino. Rokurou's perched on one of the stools with a dewy glass of ice water beside him and a mess of red-stained tissues scattered behind his elbow. His nose is a mess, blood smeared across his upper lip, and a shiner hues around the circle of his visible eye. Mottled purple and blue blend across his skin; shirtless, a couple of angry scratches crisscross with old faded scars, some white, some pink. Crusting brown dries beneath his fingernails, leading to scratched up knuckles.

Clumsily, he dunks a fresh napkin into the cup and wipes down his abdomen to wipe the scratches focused around his hipbones. Water smears red into diluted pink, edges of the cuts smoothed down and eased by the cold. ]

Scratching during a match ... cheap move. [ the water tints pink with another dunk of the napkin, then slaps his skin again closer to his belly button with just the slightest shudder of breath against the muttering, ] Like fighting a damn cat.

[ The daemon rolls his neck and looks up, catching the eye of someone who's come to the bar—and with a lopsided smile, asks, ]

Hey, how's my back look? I think they got me there too.

[ Rokurou leans, drawing forward his thick mane of dark hair to share broad shoulders and sharp shoulderblades ... and yes, more irritated tallies along the handsome slope of his spine and ribs. More blunt patches of green and yellow bloom across tanned skin and muscle, some fresh, some fading, not all from today. He's a wild artist's canvas, with beads of red dripping down from wounds over the smudging of bruises. ]

⓷ ― FIRE IN MY LUNGS, CAN'T BITE THE DEVIL ON MY TONGUE
ALCOHOL

[ The night's dragged on and plenty of people have already lost their cash to the house. Rokurou's among those numbers, having spent enough for the night that he's no longer looking to wager more money ... but adrenaline is high and the fun isn't over yet. A group of people have set up a makeshift game of their own closer to the bar; it's a corner where the drinks are flowing and the games are less structured, and all of the betting is everything but cash. Anything goes. Hell, once some people get drunk enough, they even go back to the tables to gamble away what's left of their money anyway—it's a win/win for the house, ain't it?

The two top game choices are arm wrestling and drinking contests. The daemon's set up for the latter, grabbing freshly washed glasses from the waitresses's tray, slamming them down onto the table with relish. Two bottles of amber whiskey come along with it. Cheap stuff, but it'll get the job done.]

Whoever falls off their chair first is the loser. [ he slides the second bottle forward with a flick of his fingers; they probably didn't even need the cups when they each get their own. ] As for what we're betting... how about a secret? A good one. Something we haven't told people around here.

〈〈〈 PLEASURE PALACE 〉〉〉
⓸ ― YOU LET ME VIOLATE YOU, YOU LET ME DESECRATE YOU
NSFW (16+); APHRO

[ The palace drips decadence. More than Rokurou's used to, more than suits his taste, and he can't afford any of the expensive drinks lining the gilded sidecars. But the atmosphere of the palace is easy and pleasant in spite of its incredible richness, and there are drinks that are a little cheaper than Tenkohime's specialty. Incense lofts through the woodpanel rooms, a soothing scent laced with an undercurrent that settles deep into the bones and belly. Heat begins as a slow simmer, though Rokurou can't tell the difference between what's in the air and what's in his glass—his drink goes down smooth, honeyed warmth that coats his throat. His naturally olive tone doesn't share color or flush easily, but he's feeling the tingle of tipsiness along his fingers and toes. A lightweight that enjoys the feeling, the daemon leans into the sensation with a pleased sigh.

The cushions of the couches and chairs are plush and draped with velvet blankets. Pillows glint, lined with gems. Voices are hushed, glasses tink, soft laughter echoes down long hallways. Gaze lidded, the daemon smiles at someone nearby (Tamamo or not) with a slight squint. A friendly look as he rests his chin in his hand, pinky and index finger toying with his bottom lip idly. ]

Aah, sorry. I'm staring. [ though he doesn't sound very apologetic about it— ] You're just really cute.

⓹ ― YOU LET ME PENETRATE YOU, YOU LET ME COMPLICATE YOU
NSFW (16+); INSTASMUT OPTION, WE HORNY

[ The night drags on. Sake stains Rokurou's lips, warms his tongue. The bruises from his earlier bouts in the area throb and his cuts sting, bones ache, a beat that urges on the restlessness that tremors along the mapline of his veins. Blood rushes through his body, a crescendo of urgency from the half of him that lacks humanity, a beast hungering for carnage. Alcohol dulls his hard-kept reason; everything becomes overwhelming to a creature with heightened senses. He craves the painpleasure of stimulation. The dig of nails into his flesh or teeth into his skin. Gentle, rough, the hard clench of thighs or tickle of tossed hair. The restless itch stirring knows but one word: more, more, more, more.

Instinctually, he follows after a scent of strong desire. Something that calls out to him, a taste in the air that draws in a hungry monster like a bug to a flame. There's no hesitation when he winds his arms around a figure, pressing his strong chest up against another's back. He inhales that delicious scent, tilting his head against the back of their neck while the palms of his hands slide forward to tease along the other's stomach in a slide of flirtatious fingers already threatening to go south. His sharp teeth graze over skin but don't bite yet, though the urge to pinch flesh between his canines and print a heavy red mark spikes.

Predator wanting to trap its prey, he rasps against the shell of an ear. ]

Shit ... I really wanna devour you.

〈〈〈 GOSSIP 〉〉〉
⓺ ― A SUNNY PLACE FOR SHADY PEOPLE, A CROWDED ROOM WHERE NOBODY GOES
HOT GOSS, LOOSE LIPS

[ The band plays and people are relaxed, chattering amongst themselves ... a little louder than they might normally. Ruddy cheeks and bright eyes, it's easy to catch wind of something interesting even when you're not trying to. Rokurou tips his glass to his mouth and takes a swig of sake while overhearing someone who looks rather rich talking about how he's started seeing some really popular courtesan on the side, something about how they're deeply in love now ... and catches a glance of the person he's speaking to's incredulous expression. Guess someone's got the wrong idea about what paying for company means.

The daemon snorts, sliding his glance away before dropping himself comfortably down onto one of the couches. He lays his sheathed sword across his lap, resting fingers on the black casing. Rumors of the wolf girl going against her family have been one of the biggest, and it has him tapping his fingers against Stormhowl in quiet contemplation. ]

Families are difficult, huh...?

[ A mutter to himself, but like all of the other murmured voices around, it's easily caught even below the sound of music. ]

〈〈〈 TANABATA 〉〉〉
⓻ ― BABY, WE BUILT THIS HOUSE ON MEMORIES

[ Social butterfly by nature, Rokurou weaves through the crowd of festival-goers with ease. A flutter of purple kimono follows his motions, haori a royal shade draped across his broad shoulders instead of his usual lilac kimono. Eyes scanning, he watches the people that pass and stop; the good feelings in the air are electric, joy stretched across mouths and shining in eyes obvious at every turn. The swordsman sighs, gently endeared, though he doesn't decide to join in with the groups holding hands and happily playing games before heading to write wishes deep in their hearts down to offer up.

He only stops when he sees what seems to be a wallflower—someone else alone, or someone looking out of place. Goodnatured, he approches with a tilt of the head, cascade of black hair falling forward as he offers a friendly grin. Always one with a soft spot for quiet types and out of place introverts, or even those that just look a little lonely in a crowd, he flutters close like a moth drawn to moonlight. ]

Mind if I hang out over here? It's pretty crowded. [ smile lopsided, he offers out his right hand; there's a paper dish with delicious candied sweet potatoes inside, ] If you're hungry, I got an extra dish for free. How about it? Not much better than candied sweet potatoes.

[ He has his own second plate in the other hand; of course, the second dish hadn't been a mistake at all, nor had it been free. But that's a secret he keeps to himself, wanting to spread the good feeling a little bit. It isn't like his words are a lie: there really isn't much better than candied sweet potatoes. ]

⓼ ― IF I CAN'T BE CLOSE TO YOU, I'LL SETTLE FOR THE GHOST OF YOU

[ Underground, lights dapple the earth overhead creating a tapestry of sky. Constellations move, graceful gestures of arced limbs set back against melding purple and blue. The ambiance slows, the din becoming a gentle wash of whispers while papers flutter after being tied to slim bamboo and branches. Lanterns cast a gentle golden glow, stars among the people, weaving between trees and wishes.

A young man stands among them, uncharacteristically reserved as he reaches up to brush the back of a rough knuckle against one of the papers carefully hung among the field of hopes. Inky hair falls around in his shoulders, loose, moving gently as he tilts his head up and studies the false stars overhead. Dropping his hand away, the daemon leaves the wishes alone—in the end, he hadn't written what he really wanted to. Men like him, men who have sinned too greatly, have no right to ask the heavens for anything.

After a slow exhale, he finally smiles. It's a slight tilt, almost tired, not the normal shit-eating teeth gnashing grins he likes to wear. An ache persists in his chest, below blackened ribs and somewhere in a charred heart—a kick, a pulse of something that's long since been turned to smoldering ember and ash. Idly, the hand drawn away from the branches to rub over his chest. Uncomfortable, the feeling furrows a stitch between his brows for a moment before it smooths over. No stranger to restlessness, he tilts his head to find a target of distraction with glittering mismatched eyes. Pinning red and coin-bright gold. ]

Say, what do you think happens to people who've left the city?

〈〈〈 WILDCARD. 〉〉〉
⓽ ― WANT SOMETHING ELSE? WILDCARD ME, OR ASK FOR A CLOSED STARTER.
Rokurou can be found pretty much anywhere around the Palace of Sai. Feel free to mod any of the above prompts if you have an idea (especially for previous CR), or we can toss 'em together in another way. You can hit me up on plurk at bigwoof or PM.

Comments

4

[perfectdistance]

[Now that he's finished with his shift in the kitchens, he's dressed to the nines. A deep blue suit with delicate metallic detailing, a tie in a lovely pattern. If Tenkohime wants them to make a good impression, that's what he'll do.

A watchful gaze considers the man in front of him. He's not exactly on offer the way the front of house workers are, but after a good few drinks himself, his smile and demeanor is inviting.]

If you're gonna stare, you should offer some conversation.

[swordhardy]

That's fair.

[ At least the ability to talk isn't something he lacks—especially when tipsy, the daemon's a natural chatterbox. Even if he's finding the other man's face rather distracting, he can still keep face and sip his drink like it isn't so appealing. Ice shifts in his glass as he drains another swig, running his thumb across his lip to swipe up a droplet. ]

Rokurou Rangetsu, at your service. [ an introduction with a tilt of the head; dark hair falls with the gesture, ] Been having a nice night?

[perfectdistance]

[Nero takes him in and settles on very handsome. He wouldn't mind spending a little time with this guy. If he's chatty, even better. If he fills the silence, then Nero can just listen to him and not have to talk too much about himself.

Though there are plenty of other activities they could get up to that don't involve much of that. Better to at least get to know this guy a little before pulling him away for a tryst.]

Nero Turner. So far so good. My shift didn't have any major snags. [Besides the guy who was asking for a cleaver.]

2

[sweetsong]

[ it's the scent of blood that catches robin's senses, but that's not surprising. the fights that've been going on have been anywhere from quick routs to long, drawn out bouts. some have been carted off, some have been tended to right in the arena before getting dragged out by their heels, and then there are those who win. or won. or somewhere in between.

and though robin didn't watch the entire thing, he knows... it's very obvious to him that rokurou certainly proved himself in front of the crowd. he totally won lost souls or youkai some money with a fight.

but it's blood. fresh, that has robin's mouth a little dry. ]

Rokurou?

[ he looks at his back and winces. dang. he can tell which ones are fresh and which ones aren't. robin's quick to draw out a clean white cloth from his coat, dabbing it against his tongue, and gently press it against some of those scores right below those shoulder blades. ]

... I'm guessing you left whoever you fought in worse shape, huh?

[swordhardy]

[ He allows Robin to move his hand over his back with that clean cloth, bowing his head forward to offer the vampire more room. His touch is light, so the daemon barely feels it aside from the initial twinge of irritation from the slight pressure. Either way, he doesn't much mind it. ]

Worse... well, I guess. I think I'm more scratched up. They really liked using their nails. [ he sends the other man a smile, looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes, ] But it was fun. I don't mind this kind of thing.

[ That said, there's a lot he can't reach in the way of his wounds. As much as he tried he couldn't bend his arms to reach the middle of his back—even as flexible as he is. Even if he could, it's not like he can really see the damage either. ]

Don't worry, it looks worse than it feels.

[ Idly, he raises a hand to rub a thumb beneath his nose, swiping a fresh trickle of blood away. ]

[sweetsong]

Mmm... nails? Or claws?

[ he's not sure what makes this whole experience fun for rokurou, but robin's not that blind to the goings on in tamamo. some really enjoy that kind of pleasure that comes from pain. he's not going to try to understand it; he's not here to judge people for what they like and what they don't, but... ]

Are you sure? I can probably grab some ice. [ a beat, then: ] And a drink, if that's... what you want...

[ he continues to reach up and around. the last thing he wants to do is hurt this man, who he hasn't forgotten about. he's strong. likes swords. likes drinking.

there's something cloying about the smell. masculine. probably tasty---- no, no. he has to get those thoughts of his head. ]

... I'm sure I can work something out with the bartenders here.

Gossip

[apshot]

[ The thing about Bakugou is that, despite how loud and brash he is? Apparently he's got a skill in stealth. An unwanted skill. There are times where all he is looking to do is find a quite place that's tucked away. When he does, he happens to come across people talking and conversations happening that don't need to include him. Things that are definitely not meant for his ears.

And that method is working here too, even if it's about shit that he doesn't actually care about. Cue the glare on his face when someone finally notices that he's around and takes a seat. ]

Ain't any of my business.

[ Because it's a family matter. He doesn't need to comment on that sort of thing. ]

[swordhardy]

[ Ah, what a sharp looking blonde. Rokurou cocks a brow and then smiles, easygoing despite the edge of that glare. Given that most of his "friends" have a similar disposition, he isn't deterred. You'd have thought he was happily invited into conversation with how he tilts his head and hums. ]

Yeah, you're right. [ casually agreed; really, it is none of their business except Ringo-chan's, right? ] But I was thinking in general, you know? Everyone's dealing with something.

[ As if that isn't the most obvious thing—but hey, he's a yaksha from a weird as hell clan, so some things come a bit belated for him. It's a thought he has while still tapping his fingers on the sheath of his sword. ]

[apshot]

[ It's not like Bakugou himself isn't used to the opposing type. The kind of person that is just going to have words to say no matter what. A type that isn't really put off by the blonde's words or phrases.

He snorts at the reply. ]

No, it wouldn't be any of my business anyway. All people have personal shit to deal with. They don't need people sticking their noses into it unless invited.

[ But even then, Bakugou probably wouldn't do much even if asked. He thinks that most people should be able to manage. At least the people who can, should. There's probably someone out there that he'd intervene for or on the behalf of...

Just hasn't met anyone in that situation as of yet. ]

2

[playfoul]

Did you get knocked on the head too hard, champion?

[ The man's back is a mess as much as his front. Goddess, he looks worse up close than when Yuri had been watching from the sidelines. After the match, he had collected a nice sum from the betting table and found Rokurou dabbing at his wounds in a sorry corner of the bar. Yuri takes a napkin between his fingers, expression furrowing. ]

What are you doing here? You'll want that cleaned and bandaged properly.

[swordhardy]

[ Despite his sorry state, he still flashes Yuri a million dollar grin. What do some scratches matter when you've just caught sight of your crush after a win in the arena? ]

The line at the medic station was too long. It's alright, I've patched myself up from much worse than this before.

[ It isn't a brag—it's just a fact, and he says it as simply as one. There are plenty of old faded marks across his arms and chest, some white and long enough to have been long healed over wounds that were much deeper than someone's nails could do.

Which is why he tries to give a reassuring look, smile easing into something softer. No need to furrow those pretty brows like that. For a guy like him, a beating like this is only natural. ]

Were you watching?

[playfoul]

That was quite the finishing blow. A real knockout.

[ Which is to say, yes, he had been watching the bloodsport. Knuckeheads like Rokurou will be just fine, but that doesn't mean Yuri can't indulge him a little. Though he can think of something better than these napkins, which he crumples and tosses aside.

He circles to Rokurou's front, hovering but not touching. See, there's also the little problem of Yuri wearing a pristine, million-yen designer outfit borrowed for the night. Real gorgeous. Unsuitable for wound cleaning.

But nothing a bit of resourcefulness can't solve. ]

I had a few bets riding on you. The winnings which just happen to be enough to afford a room with a nice bath. How about we get you freshened up?

5

[sharpestsword]

[ Julieta came here for a reason and it doesn't take long for her to find someone who feels the same way. Or rather to be found. The festivities have her feeling adventurous and this handsome stranger with his hands on her already seems like he might just have what she needs. She tenses in anticipation of those teeth at her neck. If he pushes her clothes aside he might find some faded marks there already but there's always room for fresh ones. She winds her fingers in his hair with the other hand at his wrist and works to slip out of his clutches while rubbing against him in a teasing manner. ]

Ah, I should have realized it would be dangerous out here all alone.

[swordhardy]

[ Fingers work into his hair, earning a soft noise from his throat—his Adam’s apple rolls with the vibration, a guttural noise as his own fingers ply beneath her clothing to fondle along her skin.

His breath hitches, heightened senses teased when she rubs against him and then tries to draw away. Hunger has him grabbing onto her harder, refusing to let her slip off.

But he does turn her, pushing her back against the nearest wall. Greedy, his hands press into her hips to pin her there while his teeth sink in against the side of her neck. The bite is hard but not enough to draw blood. ]

Trying to get away?

[ His tongue lashes over that fresh mark. ]

[sharpestsword]

Nn– I have work to do. And you... could get yourself into trouble feeling up an officer.

[ With a tilt of her head she directs his attention to her badge which identifies her as a Lieutenant of the Department of the Enma. She presses her fingers to his lips as if that would be enough to silence him, slipping right in between. If nothing else she might convey the suggestion of discretion. Finding a room would be ideal as much as she might not want to wait either. She pushes back against his grip testing his strength. ]

8

[peninhand]

[ Monika had been lost in her own thoughts when she heard his voice. Interestingly, thoughts that were fairly similar in nature to the question he'd just asked. This place, the realities they call came from and their contract... This place was called her, but what they were supposed to get out of it- Too good to be true, huh? ]

Oh, um... [She stuttered, taken aback, before speaking in a more natural and controlled voice.] Well, I wager they're back to their homeworlds.

[ That was the most logical explanation. Which was worrying in itself, for those of them who had really unfortunate homeworlds. ]

The question is whether or not they got what the contract promised. [She tilted her head.] Since no one's come back to tell the tale, for all we know the payment is just a lie.

[swordhardy]

[ Rokurou hums gently, not minding her optimistic view. It isn’t something he believes, necessarily, but he’d like to. That person—deserves to go back to where they belong. They certainly never belonged in Hell.

As for the less optimistic take on the contract payment, he laughs. Another soft sound, one with a hint of natural rasp. ]

They’re kind of like these, right?

[ He reaches up again to brush his fingertips against some of the papers knotted onto branches, as though the Tanabata wishes are the petals of flowers. They may as well be—they’re just as pretty, and just as ephemeral. ]

You’re not supposed to tell people what you’ve wished for, right? We probably wouldn’t know even if they did come back.

[ But he doesn’t seem too concerned about the clandestine nature of the contracts. He looks back to her, offering another smile. ]

Are you worried about it?

[peninhand]

Mhm.

[ She nodded. They really were little more than wishes. Dreams they clung onto. They felt more real because they were penned in ink and had something of an official allure to them. But in the end, they just hoped it would come to be true. ]

I... [That was a little bit personal, wasn't it? She laughed awkwardly and looked away.] Let's say this would make my life considerably harder if the contract proved to be a lie, ahaha!

[ Harder in that she was more or less dead. Not to mention she wasn't even real. The contract was everything for some people, and she was one of them. Which made him wonder-- ]

What about you, um, sir...?

[ She didn't have his name. ]

7

[brokebitchmountain]

[ Rokurou will definitely find Zhongli perusing the festivities by himself. While he's not exactly a loner or introverted the ex-archon is more inclined to people watch than anything. Being a god that has overseen his own people for 6 thousand years makes some habits hard to break.

He does blink at the strange man with a glance, nodding as he speaks. ]

It's a testament to the overall mood and happiness of the people currently here. It would be worrisome if it were empty and the mood foul. Festivals like this one are the best at achieving a collective feeling of camaraderie. But I thank you for the offer of food. I've never had candied sweet potatoes before.

[swordhardy]

[ Handsome sir, you’ve said many words just now, but the most important come at the end. Rokurou looks absolutely appalled that someone could reach age … probably 30 (lol) without having indulged in the delight that are candied sweet potatoes. This poor man—that’s a travesty. Rokurou’s almost scared that the next he’ll hear is the guy has never had a good sake, either. ]

You must have wished for something good to happen for your Tanabata wish, right? Because here I am. [ he gestures to the plate he’s given over, ] These are addictive, especially with a good drink.

[ Don’t mind him staring with eye sparkles, waiting to watch Zhongli experience this candied delight like a hawk. Eat it, eaaaatttt ittttt. ]

[brokebitchmountain]

[ Zhongli often says lots of words but feel free to ignore them. He does enjoy the company and talking which is something Rokuro will eventually figure out. Zhongli frowns for a second before he looks back at the area with wishing trees. ] I have not...actually written a wish down. Perhaps it was you then?

[ Well whatever the case may be he'll take the offered plate and try one of those candied sweet potatoes. It's a second or two after he's done swallowing that he lets out a small huff and a nod. ] They're quite good. The balance of sweet and earthy flavors is perfect and the crust of sugar gives some exterior texture to the otherwise soft interior of the potato itself.

[ He'll look back at Rokuro with a faint smile. ] I thank you for sharing these with me. You said that they pair well with a good drink? What type are you speaking of?

7

[harimaya]

(The festival is better than the casino but Hizen is still not much for social events. He keeps to himself, dressed in a plain black yukata with a red patterned obi. Ever present are the bandages he keeps loosely wrapped around his neck, his sword, and his scowl. He has a candied strawberry from a nearby stall and he's perfectly content to just watch people. It's what he's good at, after all. All of those centuries of only being able to watch and listen to those around him paid off and made him skilled at spying.

When someone approaches him, he stands a little taller-- more alert, like someone ready to defend his space if he has to.

Escaping the crowd? He narrows his eyes. Hadn't he seen this guy just flittering about the crowds just a moment ago...?)

Do what you want.

(He shrugs. Whatever, as long as he isn't being bothered, he'll let Rokurou share his space at the edge of the crowd. What really catches his attention tho are--)

Ah.

(Now he looks alert in a different way. He's surprised. Pleasantly! He hadn't noticed any stands selling sweet potatoes,)

Where'd ya get it?

(He's curious! Maybe he'll get more for himself later?! Wow, this is one of his faves. Second only to rice.)

[swordhardy]

[ With that agreement, the daemon makes himself comfortable. He tugs off the large sheathed sword he keeps on his back to lean it upright against the wall and adjusts his haori, feline satisfaction in the squint of his eyes as he relaxes in their now-shared space along the side of the crowd. ]

All the way down at the end. [ he is clearly pleased that his newfound companion understands that candied sweet potatoes are extremely important, ] There are a couple of small stalls all bunched up together, so they’re easy to miss. There’s some shioyaki there, too.

[ He gives the other man’s strawberries a curious look—candied fruit … it’s been a long time since he had any of that. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. ]

Ah, those look good too. Where are they fro…

[ He doesn’t even finish his thought before spying Hizen’s sword. That has his imaginary tail whippibg as fast as helicopter blades, eyes brightening. ]

You’re a swordsman?

2

[nerine]

... Question.

[Monts had taken notice of Rokurou looking worse for wear. She happened to be helping out behind and on the opposite side of the bar and various other areas that any Tamamo could contribute outside the Pleasure Palace. She had changed out of her casual yukata into a light green dress, a silk number that shifted colors slightly under the dim lights.

She's behind the bar when Rokurou sits down in all of his bloody and injured glory. Reaching down, she produces two more rags, both white but not for long and slides them across to him.]

Do they have a saying in your world where they call people like you, "gluttons for punishment?"

[swordhardy]

[ Girl, don’t call him out like this. What else can Rokurou do but give her a sheepish little grin? Which is what he does while reaching out to grab one of those clean cloths, since the crappy bar napkin he had been trying to use is already bloodied up. ]

Yes … but doesn’t “passionate and strong” sound better?

[ He blots the rag over some of the bloodier scratches on his arm; there’s a slight twinge of pain with the pressure, but it doesn’t really bother him much. The cuts themselves are already beginning to heal anyway, less and less blood staining the rag as he wipes. Really, most of it is just cleaning away what happened during fight, and some of the smears aren’t even his blood. ]

Aaah, you’re a bartender. Aren’t you supposed to praise me and give me free drinks for a job well done?

[ Wishful thinking? Probably. But you miss all the shots you don’t take. ]