[ 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

[playfoul]

[ Yuri does so delight in teasing, and Rokurou makes for an easy target. The expression on his face as he pulls his gaze away is simply adorable. ]

I didn't think so. Though I might not mind being stolen away.

[ He hums, a hand on his chin as the man settles down next to him. Yuri knows he has him under his thumb, enjoys riling him up and seeing a demon behave, but that's not to say he's disinterested in seeing his fangs.

Threading his fingers with Rokurou's, Yuri pushes his hand back down, leaning over his shoulder and murmuring. ]

Just sit tight and relax, champion. I'll take care of you.

[ He settles back and tuts when he examines the mess that is Rokurou's back. Yeah, let's get those scratches cleaned up so he can better appreciate those broad shoulders and toned lines of his body. Taking the towel, Yuri dabs the crusted blood away, careful around the opening of the wounds. Light pressure here, a firm touch there. It's not his first time looking after injuries. With Rokurou's love for knocking himself out, he would fit right in with the rogues in Abyss. ]

[swordhardy]

[ I’ll take care of you—words he doesn’t often hear. In fact, Rokurou can’t help but to wonder briefly if he ever has. Part of his code is taking care of others, his duty to protect those that can’t protect themselves, and his position as a tool beneath his old lord was to be used without anything in return. It feels rather strange.

Rokurou huffs gently from his nose. Strange, but … nice.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on the brush of Yuri’s hands over his back. He remains relaxed as that damp towel moves over his wounds, even bowing his head slightly, curving muscles and spine. As much as he loves a good fight, gentler touch like this …. he also really likes. ]

Thank you.

[ A soft word with a tilt of a smile playing on his lips. Then, resting his elbow on his knee and propping his elbow on his chin. Eyes lidded this time, ]

So are you a medic too, or just all around talented?

[playfoul]

I'm what I must be, and talented is one of them. It pays to be adaptable. The underground I know isn't as inviting as this one.

[ Yuri might not look it, the scars that mark his skin are nothing compared to a daemon's with a battlelust, but he's seen his share of battles.

If he could summon healing magic to his fingertips, Rokurou would be patched up already, but it figures the goddess' blessing can't quite reach this godless place. Not that he minds taking his time like this, rinsing off the towel and working down the other's back. His fingers trace an old scar already healed over. ]

You look like you live to brawl. Got any stories to go with these?

[swordhardy]

[ He studies the other man while those fingertips skim, mulling over his words. What Yuri says is quite sensible—Rokurou is much too stubborn to be so flexible, so he has a great deal of respect for those who are. I'm what I must be. What's happened in the past to make Yuri so?

He wants to ask. Lips part but his voice stops on a breath instead, one that comes out slow and airy when one of his old marks is traced over. Goosebumps flush, and the daemon swallows. ]

Hmm ... most of them don't come from fun stories. [ like rowdy bar brawls or arena fights. those one on one battles that he's had the pleasure of indulging in more recently. ] I spent most of my life serving under a lord. My family would do anything he ordered, which included missions that ended in success or death, no other options.

[ He chuckles, gaze lingering over his shoulder to look at Yuri. ]

Fighting—that's pretty much all I'm good for. But if I can be useful to adaptable guys like you, I don't mind it at all.

[playfoul]

Now that doesn't seem right. Why would you stay under that sort of arrangement? Your skills are worth more than that.

[ Yuri's known some awful lords and still they find new ways to appall him. A regular sellsword would have packed up and left. Surely one of Rokurou's caliber would have no shortage of employers. Now that he's witnessed the warrior in action, he's certain one of Rokurou could easily rival ten of his rougues. So why? ]

Don't lump me in with one of your lords, now. I've had enough dealings with their kind that I'd detest resembling them in any way. [ His hands come to a pause and he meets Rokurou's gaze. ] I'd offer you better.

[ Yuri doesn't think of anyone as expendable. Despite what he might have said in this fun little back and forth they have going on, it turns his stomach to think of using someone that way. ]

[swordhardy]

I know. [ he smiles, laugh lines crinkling gently at the corner of his golden eye as their gazes meet, ] You’re nothing like him. You’re someone I’d want to help, willingly. I like your style.

[ They may not have known each other long, but it isn’t hard to tell that Yuri’s been looking out for those who can’t stand up for themselves. Like those poor kappa—little guys really got the shit end of the stick during all that turf war business. ]

As for him, it was ancestral debt. My whole family has served his for generators, over an old life debt. I don’t serve him anymore—but I did, up until he threw me in jail for failing to finish an order.

[ But that’s a story he doesn’t really want to tell. Which is why he hums and leans back against Yuri’s hand, ]

Even if I was cast aside, I can walk my own path now. It feels pretty good.

[playfoul]

Has anyone told you your lord's an asshole? Good riddance.

[ Because hey, what the hell. Yuri gets loyalty, but this goes beyond good old Faerghan chivalry into absurdity, expecting someone to fulfill an age-old debt they didn't incur. Needless to say, it pleases him to hear that he's nothing like the man. ]

If you've got nothing better to do, stick around. I'll show you what I'm about. You can decide if it's worth your while, which I'm sure it will be.

[ He's bold enough to say. Everyone deserves to live freely. It's to that end that he does the things he does, and there must be appeal to it if more than one rogue has walked into Abyss fighting petty scuffles and found a greater purpose to put their sword to.

He pats Rokurou on the back. That's as good as he can do, but he's sure the tough guy will live. ]

Turn around for me.

[swordhardy]

[ Pffttt. The noise sputters from between Rokurou's lips, snort almost coughed out when Yuri calls the old boss an asshole. Yeah. No loss there. While he has some regrets regarding that whole matter ... there's nothing he misses about the past, not really. The only thing is that he's a commitment-minded man, enjoying having something to apply himself to despite how wayward he's been since.

An obedient patient, Rokurou shifts on the edge of the tub to face Yuri proper at the man's behest. The scratches aren't bleeding anymore, mostly tinged red from broken blood vessels and split skin with crusting dried blood. ]

Don't mind if I do.

[ But Rokurou isn't paying attention to the state of his chest. His gaze lingers on Yuri, drifting along fine fingers and wrists. ]

What about you? [ dark lashes flutter as the daemon glances up, single golden eye molten as that gaze moves to the other man's face, ] I've said a lot about me. I wanna know about you. [ lips slanting, ] It can be anything, like ... what's your favorite color? Or food?

[playfoul]

Is mysterious not one of my charms?

[ Yuri shoots back an unrevealing smile. If he's cagey about himself, it's out of habit. In his line of work, the less people knew about him, the better.

Slowly, though, he's coming to trust Rokurou. He wouldn't have shown him the shelter otherwise. So instead of deflecting the question and leaving it at that, Yuri rinses off the towel, speaking over the running water. ]

These last few years, I lived underground. Nothing luxurious like what they've built here. The Abyss was a scrap of a town no one would think to tour. My gang wasn't rich, or influential, but we made enough to keep the place afloat.

[ His gaze sweeps over Rokurou's well-defined chest. Way to mangle it when he finally gets a chance to appreciate it. Bringing the towel to skin, once more Yuri begins working carefully around the wounds. ]

[swordhardy]

[ The towel moves over his chest and Rokurou watches the motion—not for anything other than looking at Yuri’s hand. He listens, only making a soft noise under his breath when the man pauses. That’s something he can relate to. Titania had been a kind of abyss, a prison on an island out at sea in isolation, housing the most dangerous criminals whether they were human or daemon.

His gaze slides over Yuri’s fingertips, his knuckles. It’s a shame the towel is in the way. The feel of his palm would be much better. ]

I think it sounds pretty good. What are they like? Your gang.

[playfoul]

They're a rugged lot who like to drink and brawl for the hell of it. I think you'd get along.

[ Yuri shifts closer as he works, swinging his legs around and settling onto Rokurou's lap. So that he can better tend to his wounds, of course. If his robe has hitched up in the process, that's just circumstance. ]

Feel better yet?

[swordhardy]

[ Legs..... long legs.............for a leg man, this is like putting a steak down in front of a hungry dog. Rokurou's very distracted from asking more questions about Yuri's gang, glancing down at the legs settled across his lap. ]

Huh? [ he blinks stupidly, realizing Yuri said something else—the daemon clears his throat and pretends like he hadn't just been blatantly staring at Yuri's thighs and the upward creep of his robe's hem, ] Yeah.

[ He scratches at his temple for a second and then laughs, feeling that same rush of buzzing warmth. Seriously, he isn't the bashful type at all, but Yuri makes him feel like a dumb teenager again. ]

But I felt great the moment I saw you. These cuts really aren't anything, anyway.

[ He reaches down into the water to wet his hand and wipe it over his face where the sweat's begun to dry. About to comb all of that thick mane back out of his face, he pauses, recalling past reactions of those who've seen his full face. The blight's never bothered him, but he doesn't want Yuri to be grossed out by him or something like that. Most people in the last city he was in, and some in this one, are either horrified or frightened when they see what's beneath the cut of fringe covering his right eye.

For others, it's pity. He doesn't want that from Yuri either. ]

I know you're not the faint-of-heart type. [ that's a given, ] But you're not put off by ... marks, are you?

[playfoul]

[ Yuri rolls his eyes, both at the corny remark and at the way Rokurou looks utterly dumbstruck. It's not like he hasn't been oogled before, but this demon has it pretty bad. ]

Why do I even spoil you. You're a knucklehead through and through.

[ No more gentle treatment, Yuri delivers a purposeful jab and raps his knuckles against that broad chest of his. Hey, eyes up here.

Oh well, the whole thing had been a front anyways. He tosses the bloodied towel out of sight. It's probably ruined, and he'll need to slip the maid of this establishment a few coins.

At the question, Yuri only shrugs. He had been suspecting something was up with Rokurou's eye. ]

I've lived through a plague. Try me.