[ 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

[swordhardy]

Cuf’nhet?

[ That was “Cut, on what?” which is mostly incomprehensible with his cheeks fat and mouth full of candied strawberry. The expression on his face is one of blissful obliviousness—but he goes crossed after a second.

Hizen had been … kind of right. The problem isn’t so much cutting himself as the fact that the sugar is sticky, getting half lodged in his throat when he stupidly spoke before finishing chewing. Which is why the daemon blinks, face turning slightly blue as he just … chokes on it.

The look he gives Hizen with his dumb puppy eyes is pretty clear: Oh jeez. Coughing, he sort of just…. leans over.

Can you choke to death in Hell??? ]

[harimaya]

(The fact that Hizen is fluent in "talkign with your mouth full" because the similarities just keep going.)

On the sugar.

(But everything changes. Rokurou's expression goes from carefree and cheerful to distressed. Hizen's posture straightens as he goes alert,)

Oi, I told ya-- (And he's choking. Rokurou is choking and Hizen is quick to reach out and begin to pat him on the back. Hard.) Get it together!

[swordhardy]

Hurkk—hurkkk—...!

[ He gags on the sticky sugar, sounding like a cat about to hack up a particularly nasty hairball. The hard slap of Hizen's hand against his back helps; he blinks, finally coughing up the strawberry with such force that it jets and arcs in the air, flying across the street and landing in some youkai girl's shiny thick hair. She feels something wrong and gropes behind her head, and then spins to blame the poor hapless youkai guy behind her with pale cheeks turned bright red, furious. The guy has no idea why he's suddenly being mauled. It's a whole thing.

But Rokurou's completely forgotten about the strawberry and its destructive fate. He sighs, looking at Hizen with an appreciative glitter in his single visible golden eye. U-uwah....✨✨✨ ]

You really saved me there. I owe you.

[harimaya]

(Wipe that look off your face, Rokurou, Hizen is unimpressed. If anything, he looks annoyed and he just snaps,)

I told ya to be careful! How d'ya expect to survive if ya can't even eat without almost dying?

(He has to lecture him. It's in his nature to scold people. Never mind the fact that some poor youkai is getting throttled nearby and Hizen is definitely trying to avoid eye contact and look innocent.)

[swordhardy]

You’re right… [ he is scolded, and bows his head accepting it before rubbing his neck, ] That usually only happens with mochi.

[ The poor youkai across the way are none the wiser, with one vicious woman throttling a hapless, confused man. Is this love at first sight? Is this the meet-cute we’re going to tell our children about? the poor youkai guy wonders to himself as his eyes roll to the back of his head. Is this the love I wished for!?

Anyway, this isn’t about them.

Even after being scolded, he still looks happy, that imaginary tail still swinging. ]

Do you drink? Let’s get some sake, my treat. Least I can do.

[ ✨✨✨✨✨✨ ]

[harimaya]

It shouldn't happen with mochi either--!

(Does this guy just not know how to eat... does he need to be on a child's diet or something? Hizen doesn't know enough about this guy to really know.

He freezes, taken aback by the sudden offer for drinks. Snatching some candied potato and angrily chomping before he lets this entire moment get ruined and he misses out on something good,)

You're serious?

(The guy almost dies and then asks him out for drinks?)

[swordhardy]

[ Meanwhile Rokurou is already reaching for the sword he left leaning against the wall, carefully strapping it onto his back once more. ]

Of course. I would never jest about sake.

[ Already having forgotten about how he almost choked to death on a candied strawberry in the middle of Tanabata festivities, Rokurou offers a little salute with his index and middle finger pressed to his temple. A more proper greeting, though it’s come a bit late. ]

I’m Rokurou, by the way. It’s nice to meet you. I think we’re really going to get along!

[ Because, naturally, he has to pay this guy back for his help. A bottle of sake alone simply won’t cut it. So, he has plans to stick around for a while. Just like that strawberry affixed into that poor girl’s hair. ]

[harimaya]

(And not a single self-respecting Tosan would ever turn down sake... even the lightweights accept their suffering and indulge when offered.

He looks at Rokurou warily, much like a stray cat trying to gauge if a stranger is safe to follow or not. He'd be lying to say he wasn't curious. )

Just remember you said it was your treat.

(Fine, he'll accept. He's already planning any and all potential escapes, though.)

... Hizen.

(By the way, that's his name.)

[swordhardy]

Don’t worry, I’m a man of my word.

[ He remains cheerful even in the face of that wariness, going so far as to hook a hand in the crook of Hizen’s elbow so he can’t flee doesn’t get lost in the crowd. ]

Stay close, okay?

[ He leads Hizen to an outside bar set up for the festival. The counter is light, a bamboo wash beneath hanging paper lanterns that cast down a soft glow along a line of swan-necked bottles. There are stools lined along the bottom for guests, rustic and basic, lacking the refinement of The Palace or gaudy gleam of the casino.

The “bartender” is a squat, ruddy man with thick eyebrows, extremely round eyes, and a patterned headband pushing his hair away from his sweaty face. From grizzle and wrinkles, one might guess he’s in his fifties. He grunts when they show up, the toothpick in his mouth wagging his way of welcoming them. Painfully plain and with a bartender lacking in bedside manner, the spot isn’t busy at all.

Simple and relaxed, with a gruff man throwing you surly looks—what a good spot, right?

Rokurou plops down on one of the stools happily. ]

We’ll take a bottle of sake, old man!

[ The round eyes pierce from beneath those brows before the bartender says, I’m twenty-three, before turning around to grab one of the better bottles from the rows.

Shocked, Rokurou turns to Hizen, expression baffled. Leaning in, he whispers, ]

N, no… no, he really does look … right?

[harimaya]

(He bristles, much like a cat that doesn't want to be touched but it's not like he can really wiggle free when Rokurou's hold is so firm. Disgusting, terrible, this guy really is the same. He feels like he's found some alternate universe clone of that guy.

At least the spot seems promising. Hizen isn't one for fancy and expensive places. He never feels like he belongs there and always feels uncomfortably out of place. He'd been relieved to leave both the casino and the Palace. Some place like this seems quieter and more his style.

... Fine. He'll give this guy some credit. He knows how to pick a good place. He settles in, adjusting his yukata just slightly after being manhandled.

The bottle and cups come out, the youkai setting them down perhaps a little harder than he should have but Hizen doesn't mind the gruffness. If he wanted to be treated delicately, he'd drink at the Palace. Hizen is already reaching out to help himself. He wastes no time pouring himself a cup first and leaving Rokurou to fend for himself. No, he isn't going to waste his time with cheers or any small talk when he can just start drinking. Sipping and speaking into his cup, )

End up in hell and think everything's older than ya...

(How human. Or at least, that's what he assumes. He looks over the cup at this still-stranger-he-just-met. Eyes narrowing just slightly.)

What're ya? Human?

[swordhardy]

[ He doesn’t mind Hizen taking the lead, happily taking the bottle once the other man’s cup is filled to fill his own. Pressing the rim of the cup to his lips, Rokurou relishes the flavor with a pleased hum. The bartender ignores them otherwise, turning his round eyes onto some glasses that need a wash. ]

That’s not … didn’t you see his …

[ Face??? But he won’t brazenly continue ragging on the man serving them the alcohol, lest they get booted from the bar. So Rokurou just makes a face, scrunching his nose a little before laughing. ]

Haha, nevermind. Me—no, I’m a yaksha.

[ He meets that narrow gaze with his own open one, shoulders relaxed as he continues to sip from his cup. ]

What about you?

[harimaya]

Don't be an asshole

(Leave his face alone!!!

But also, a... yasha? That's what it sounds like, at least and he feels like he needs to re-evaluate this guy again. You really can't judge people by their appearances, huh...)

... Kami.

(A spirit. A god. A phenomenon. Regardless, certainly not human.)

[swordhardy]

[ Okay he will leave his face alone 😔

Given the supernatural nature of this Hell, Rokurou isn’t surprised to learn that Hizen is something other than human as well. He cocks his head and studies the man, even more curious, gaze following along the lines of his arms to the sculpt of his knuckles and fine fingers. ]

So then we’re similar.

[ Not the same… he suspects that Hizen may have more in common with the malakhim than a daemon like him, but that’s just conjecture.

Rokurou takes another few sips of his cup, gaze still lingering before he says, ]

You have lovely hands. [ warrior hands—which just fuels his itch for a battle, ] You’re skilled, aren’t you? Ah, I really want to have a spar… I really love the way of the sword. It’s so much fun.

[ He sighs contentedly, taking another sip from his cup. ]

What style do you practice?

[harimaya]

(Hizen hates being stared at. He tries to distract himself by drinking from his cup and enjoying the smooth taste of sake-- cool and refreshing on a summer evening. He's used to working in the shadows and staying out of sight so having someone focus on him like this... makes him uncomfortable.

What he doesn't expect is what Rokurou says next--)

What--

(He pulls his hand back, covering it just partially with the sleeve of his yukata and holding his cup close to his chest. He's a little t-rex with his other hand at his side, out of sight.

There's a light pink coloring on his cheeks and he feels warm which means he feels irritated, right? He's annoyed,)

Who says shit like that?

(What do his hands even look like? Thin like the rest of him, a little scraped and bruised from a night of bouncing at the casino but otherwise fine. He's a spirit so he doesn't have to worry about scarring or permanently damaging his fingers as long as he's taken care of but they still aren't soft or delicate like someone who's never had to fight. These hands are for holding a sword and he's been in plenty of fights,)

... Don't have one. (He doesn't practice under any specific school. He didn't inherit any known style.) It's mine.

(His style is unique to him.)

[swordhardy]

[ Rokurou chuckles, reluctantly looking away when Hizen makes to hide his hands. He hadn’t been trying to make the man feel awkward—he just said what he was thinking. They’re good hands. He likes the shape of his knuckles and the taper of his fingers. Fine, but masculine. Very lovely indeed.

Still. That reaction’s pretty cute. ]

Ah, is that so? I practice my family’s style. We’re known for using both long swords and dual short swords.

[ He reaches back to touch the pommel of the sword strapped to his back without thinking, a habitual gesture that lasts only a short moment before both hands are back on his cup. ]

I normally use the latter.

[ Which … does not explain why he’s carrying what’s definitely a long sword across his back, from the length of the sheath.

… the sake is really good. He hums happily, taking another sip. This much won’t get him drunk even if he doesn’t have great tolerance, but he can feel the tingle of warmth settling across his skin. The old … young man really knows how to pick ‘em. ]

[harimaya]

(Friends my foot... Hizen barely know the man.

A family style. Interesting, Hizen thinks. Something like that has to be perfected over the generations then, right? They probably have their own school set up or something to make sure the style lives on but if it's for the family, he wonders how open it would be to outsiders.

It could be another unique style. Granted, this city is filled with warriors from so many worlds. He's certain each world must have hundreds of styles he's neever seen before.

He tries to look uninterested-- like he doesn't really care-- but he can't help but follow Rokurou's movements; eyes falling onto the sword at his back. The discrepancy doesn't pass him. Why carry a long sword when you practice with short ones? He doesn't speak his thoughts out loud just yet. He's content to let the silence sit and just enjoy the free sake. It's when his cup his runs empty and he reaches out to refill it that he speaks,)

Don't look like the type that'd use a short sword.

(Red eyes study Rokurou. He's assessing him as a swordsman.

Rokurou is... tall. With even an average-length sword, his reach would be impressive and give him a considerable advantage in a fight. A longer sword would force his opponents to stay back or work hard to get close.

It makes him wonder what sort of style Rokurou has. With his height advantage, he wouldn't have to rely on speed or skill as much as the tantou and other wakizashi spirits. If he could get close enough to his opponents, he could overwhelm them with strength alone. Dual swords would mean two blades to worry about... if he's really skilled, he could be a challenging opponent. Most people want to avoid getting close to fights. Most people only rely on shorter swords out of necessity-- emergencies, self-defense, or assignments that required speed and stealth.

This guy had immediately wanted to spar with him though. Ah, he gets it. This guy.... really likes fighting. Instead of articulating all of this though, he only looks away and says--)

Hm.

("Hm." He thinks he understands. There's no reason to try to read into things anymore. Not until he sees more evidence.)

[swordhardy]

H'oh ... is that so? [ he says this even though he's aware. ] It's true, though. Certain aspects of family's style lean more on speed and footwork than strength so they're quite suitable.

[ He feels the weight of Hizen's assessment like the cool dust of moonlight over his skin. Almost expects another a question or two, even, but they don't come. In the end it's just a simple noise—but Rokurou isn't terribly surprised. From the small amount of time they've been together, he can already sense that this Hizen isn't much of a talker. Brief and direct.

When Hizen looks away, it's Rokurou's turn to steal another glance from the corner of his eyes. Wondering: what's going in inside his mind? But he doesn't ask, instead nodding toward their bartender friend and ordering a few dishes of food to go along with the sake. It's simple bar fare: gyoza, shishito, takoyaki. Despite having nearly choked to death earlier, it seems that the daemon's appetite hasn't been diminished.

The aroma of the grill against what feels like night-cool air is nice. Rokurou finishes his second cup by the time their young-old friend puts out plates of food between them. Time for the third cup, too. ]

I got hungry. [ a simple explanation as Rokurou helps himself to some gyoza, ] Are you? Have some.

[harimaya]

(Really, Hizen wonders what he's supposed to say. He knows he's poor company. He's never been great at talking. When he speaks, he's rude and quick to anger. He isn't like Mutsunokami who can carry a conversation with anyone or Sensei who can pick at people to find out what makes them work.

He just wants to drink and maybe he's better off doing that alone. Ah, he didn't expect Rokurou to begin ordering food. Should he order something too? He has nothing against mooching off others but he hates feeling like he owes people (especially those he doesn't know).

Even in Jigoku-cho where he's met more generous spirits than not, they still want something from him after treating him. Information, his approval, a story, someone they can use... Hizen is suspicious. He's always read the worst into people.

He looks down at the dishes suspiciously when they arrive. Everything looks so good but he doesn't make any moves. Even his cup, now set on the table, has gone empty,)

What d'ya want?

(What had he said earlier? A spar?)

[swordhardy]

[ Noticing Hizen's empty cup, Rokurou grabs the sake bottle and tops him off. A man's cup should never go empty, though this does leave their first bottle just that; Rokurou gestures to their young-old friend for another. ]

Hm? [ he glances back at Hizen while pushing the emptied sake bottle aside, ] Wouldn't mind some dango too, but doesn't look like he has it here. It's alright, these all look good.

[ Because that's what Hizen was asking, right ...... he takes a pepper and chomps on it happily, munching away and enjoying the nicely charred flavor. He doesn't mind the other man's more quiet nature, happy to fill the silence himself or just let the silence be. At the very least, he doesn't try to talk more with his mouth full—he's learned his lesson on that tonight, even if none of these more savory foods are sticky enough to get caught in his throat. ]

[harimaya]

(A full cup is a cup that can't be thrown so Rokurou is lucky he got on that otherwise. He lives this time.

That still doesn't stop Hizen from sputtering. That isn't the sort of answer he expected at all and when he realizes why that is he wants to scream.)

That's not what I meant! I meant what d'ya want?! (He takes his sake cup, raises it to his lips and tilts his head back so he can down it all in one shot. He slams his cup down on the table next to one of the plates,) Ya really expect me to think this is all a treat?

Ya just go around feeding everyone ya meet?

[swordhardy]

[ ???????????? Is dango no good?????? It's—it's fine, he said it wasn't here anyway....

Rokurou's look is aggrieved when Hizen sputters like that, and watches with wide eyes as the man goes and shotguns down that fresh cup of sake. At least the spirit spells the problem out for him—his mouth becomes a perfect O when he realizes the misunderstanding. And then once again, feels aggrieved, because how was he supposed to know that! They were talking about food! (No, they weren't.) ]

When they save me from choking I do. [ and he's realized that this is that benefactor that purchased the very haori he's wearing, which really makes it a double debt. he just didn't bother to mention it, since Hizen already seemed flustered by his attention, ] I don't want anything.

[ Since they have the new bottle of sake, Rokurou reaches over again to fill up Hizen's empty cup. ]

Just your company.

[harimaya]

...

(He looks like he wants to say something. He inhales slowly and then lets out a frustrated sigh. Quickly, he snatches a pair of chopsticks and STABS, a gyoza. Gods, leave him alone for a moment. He needs to eat and he just chomps away, clearly agitated.

Reaching for takoyaki this time,)

Should've let ya choke.

(There's no bite to his words. He's clearly just an awkward spirit.)

[swordhardy]

[ RIP gyoza, you lived and died well.

Rokurou watches and then leans his elbow onto the bar, resting his hand on his cheek. His fingers curl, brushing against the side of his stupid big smile. A few cups in, he's finally starting to feel the brush of tipsiness, given that it goes to his head so quickly. ]

But you diiiiiiidn't, heheh. 🎶

[ Homph. He chomps down onto a gyoza himself, the picture of satisfaction as his cheeks bulge. Not wanting to get yelled at again, he finishes the bite before he speaks again. ]

Have this, have this.

[ Slowly, he just. Totally fills the plate he pushed in front of Hizen with various food things and makes sure his cup is filled with sake before pouring himself another cup. ]

S'pretty good! [ the sake, he means, happily sipping from his cup. ] I like that feelin' too, when you start not feelin' your face. Y'know what I mean?

[ Happily, he slaps his own cheek with a plap and laughs again. ]