[ 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]

[ Does he know what she's thinking? No. He can barely guess, her expression inscrutable, but it doesn't stop him from keeping up the smile and playful attitude. He doesn't dislike this kind of mature and mysterious girl, after all. It's charming. ]

Oh? Then I'll have to work hard to make you like me more.

[ Is she going to whack him for being stupid? He has no clue, but the daemon keeps his ground against the bar when she leans in and looks at him like that. Hello there~ ]

Also luckily for me, I'm pretty persistent.

[nerine]

I'll get you that drink.

[Marianna draws back without so much as a pause. Abrupt? Perhaps. She's moving to the shelves behind her to acquire several bottles and then from behind the counter to get a glass and fill it with some large spheres of ice.

It's a mixture of vermouth, gin, and some Campari; one of her favorite cocktails, the Negroni.]

Have you ever tried this one before?

[Her composure could almost be called impeccable. She pours the liquors over the ice and stirs the glass carefully before garnishing the cocktail with an orange slice.]

It's my go-to when I feel like drinking. I'm not that affected by alcohol, but there is something soothing about it for me.

[She notably, is not sliding the glass over to him yet.]

[swordhardy]

[ Ah....... was that good or bad? He didn't get whacked, though, so he'll count it for a win. Maybe she's just not into dark haired guys? Even if he'd argue that his face (the half he shows, anyway) is still good. He takes after his mother and she was a handsome woman, thank you very much.

Relaxing his guard, he watches her put together the drink eagerly. He actually had been about to ask for her to mix up one of the drinks she likes to make the most, but she seems to be doing so without his having to ask—happy, Rokurou rests his hands on the counter, waiting for the glass to slide his way.

... ... ... uhhhhhhh.

After a minute of it sitting there just out of reach, taunting him, he blinks. ]

If that's the case, I'm excited to try it.

[ And he waits for another thirty seconds of motionless taunting before leaning forward on the bar to reach for it. ]

1/2

[nerine]

[Without a word she takes the glass away Rokurou can reach for it.]

Hold on. I have to fulfill the second part of your request.

[The second part being...

Marianna brings the glass to her lips taking a few smooth gulps. She sets the drink down, pushing it to the side.]

[nerine]

[With her lips, glossy with liquor, she leans forward fingers grazing Rokurou's chin to let him receive a kiss on the seam of his mouth.

At this distance, he wouldn't hear her raising heartbeat or feel the adrenaline and recklessness she needed to tell herself, "Oh, what the hell?" It's like old times for her, just giving away her touch, more out of a selfish need to see if she could have any type of sensation.

Because in a way, she hasn't grown up and it's been a long time coming.

The drink creates a veil of sorts, one of sweetness, orange oil, hints of clove, vanilla, bitters, and everything else in between.

She doesn't push any further though and after several seconds she wordlessly pulls away to see his reaction.]

[swordhardy]

[ —he figures out what she's doing about three seconds before she's done it. Lips that taste of citrus and vanilla, hint of bitters and dash of sweetness, a blending mix of cool and warmth. They're flavors that meet his mouth in a cacophony of color behind his eyelids, eyes having closed when she leaned in to close the gap between them.

They open again when she draws back, meeting her gaze while licking his lips of the remainder of that flavor. His fingers brush beneath his chin, tip gazing along his bottom lip in appreciation. ]

... Mn, they're right. I'm completely healed.

[ Actually, he's feeling a bit uncomfortable sitting on this stool now—that was a sexy move, okay? Women can be terrifying but they can also be hot as hell. It's pretty unfair. ]

[nerine]

[In comparison to him, she's composed, only reaching up with the back of her hand to wipe away a trail of the drink that had slid down from her lip to her neck.]

Glad to hear it. You asked so nicely after all, I reconsidered.

[The reply is lighthearted and airy. Her heartbeat is irregular, and the blood in her veins circulates and dances. The deep and conceited answer she's gained was that yes, it was her sure sign of being alive and something with feeling.

The short of it is, he did kind of cheer her up in some roundabout way by giving her that opening.

If she notices him sitting uncomfortably in his seat, Monts is taking the cruel route of pretending not to notice. Instead, she pushes the cocktail glass towards Rokurou where there's a faint impression on her lips from where she tipped it into her mouth.]

For you, if you'd like. It's not enough to get you drunk unless you'd like to order more.

[swordhardy]

[ It's fine, it's fine, he's just going to subtly readjust himself on the stool so it's all good. He's a hot-blooded man, but he isn't going to angle for a thing more than that kiss. Even if his adrenaline's spiked, the arena is right there—he can go work off energy by punching someone in the face. ]

Today really is my lucky day. [ listen. a kiss from a pretty girl will put any guy in a good mood. he'd been a little cranky about how his opponent had treated their fight like a girl's locker room scratch off, but now that's been forgotten. ] A kiss and a drink. Seriously, can't get better.

[ So, he accepts it happily, giving the ice in the glass a shake before taking another sip. ]

Have you bet on any of the fights? Or games?

[nerine]

[Monts laughs merrily at his expression of contentment. It's nice to be around a man like this sometimes. She'll put away the bottles and do some busy work as she continues to chat with him.]

Good! You should feel that way because I don't give those away often.

[It's true, that was the first time she decided to just go for it for the first time in a long while.]

Hm. I could! But believe it or not, I'm a responsible type of girl. I feel like I'm pretty close to moving into a better place so I gotta make sure I have enough to be frivolous later.

[swordhardy]

[ Ah, her laughter is a nice sound. That’s the best part of it all; she usually strikes him as being so serious… or maybe not quite serious. As though there’s always something quietly on her mind. Plan to brighten her up a bit—success! ]

That so? So strong in the face of … well, all this.

[ The atmosphere is hard to deny. Loud, exciting, filled with gambler’s thrill. But her decision is no doubt the smarter one. The house doesn’t like to lose, and while he hadn’t paid too much attention in those dealer classes offered by the clan, he had understood that Shuten knows how to make its money back. ]

Hey, if you want to play something, play with me. We can bet something other than money.

[nerine]

Oh?

[Turning to face him, she looks intrigued by his offer. For her, she usually won't play games or make bets where she'll lose or be worse off even if she won. But Monts is at least entertaining the thought.]

What are you suggesting we bet then? That is if I play with you.

[swordhardy]

What else? The classic … favors! Loser has to do whatever the winner says.

[ If this sounds like the kind of dumb thing you’d do in highschool, that’s because it’s exactly the kind of dumb thing you’d do in highschool. ]

If I win … youuuu have to clean my apartment. How about it? Care to risk a few hours of scrubbing my floor?

[ While he watches on from the couch drinking lemonade, relaxing, and micromanaging, naturally. ]

[nerine]

[The audacity of this man...]

Well, I guess that's an appropriate thing for you to win and for me to try to avoid. As for me...

[Thinking, thinking... She snaps her fingers and smiles.]

If I win, you have to help me move heavy furniture and items into my new apartment whenever I move in!

[swordhardy]

Hah, I'll take that bet.

[ The terms are fair. He nods, satisfied upon their agreement, though now he's moved onto other thoughts. What's the game? There's an obvious one right in front of them, prompted by the lingering taste of citrus on his tongue. ]

We could have a little drinking contest, that's probably the easiest thing given where we are. [ tapping his chin, ] But I'm open to other ideas.

[ Even dumb made-up games. His standards are very low; as long as there's a competitive edge he'll throw himself into it. ]

[nerine]

[She did just say she wasn't too affected by alcohol, but he's gotten her curious about how high his tolerance is. And she knows the perfect drinking game.]

I'll take the drinking contest! I even have a little twist that might be intriguing for you.

[Monts goes to the mini-fridge to take out several green bottles of soju and a large bottle of beer. Jigokucho really does have everything, for nearly every indulgence. As she takes out the cups, she explains the game to Rokurou.]

So this one, I learned from old friends back home. It's called, "Titanic."

[She points to the alcohol and the cups.]

Basically, I'll fill a glass until it’s half full of beer, and place a soju shot glass inside. Then, I'll fill the shot glass with soju till it’s close to sinking. We'll take turns pouring a small amount of the soju into the floating shot glass, and the one who causes it to sink – has to drink it all.

[oh boy]

And we can keep going until one of us gets wasted or gives up. That'll be the loss. What do you say?

[She's gotten her healing factor back. Alcohol poisoning has never been an issue with her back home when she partied a lot more so why should it be an issue now?]

[swordhardy]

[ Girl I hope you're ready to carry him home princess-style, this man is overestimating himself in regards to his tolerance. But a game is a game and a bet is a bet, there's no way in hell he's going to back down, especially since he loves getting drunk anyway.

He watches and listens as she sets up the game. It's not one he's ever heard of before, so his attention is rapt. He's no slouch when it comes to three things: swordsmanship, alcohol, and stupid competition.

And this? Is a fascinating game. His eyes are glittering when he glances between the cups and Monts like he's a sugar-addicted toddler in a candystore. Most drinking games where he's from are straightforward, made up of "how much can you drink before you get violently fucked up" without the bells and whistles. ]

I've never heard of this before. I didn't even know a shot glass could float in beer ... who would've thought it. [ ah, yes, his answer, ] You're on!

[ He rubs his hands and leans in, eagerly eyeing her bartender witchcraft. ]

We're just drinking the soju when it sinks, or also the beer?

[nerine]

It depends on what you fill the shot glass with! All liquors have different characteristics after all.

[She won't get into the science of it because she's not some nerd. What matters is that she's setting up the game for them]

And we're drinking both, Rokurou. When the soju sinks into the beer, that makes it a cocktail.

[Monts pours the beer and then soju. The latter is plopped into the larger glass and it floats precariously. She smiles at him, pretty, playful, and mischievous; a peak example of her faction.]

That's what makes it risky after all. Try not to knock out too early, okay?

[swordhardy]

[ He does understand that liquors have different characteristics... but yeah. No. They ain't science nerds. Some book person can explain it another day, because right now they have a game to play. He stretches and then leans forward, face filled with determination. ]

Hah, you're too confident.

[ And as they play, turn after turn, even when she loses a round and has to drink it becomes more and more apparent why she's so confident. When he's feeling tipsy she doesn't look bothered. When he's feeling drunk she doesn't look bothered. When he's feeling really drunk and slurring his words, telling a tale of the time he tried to catch a fish with his bare hands only to grab some random guy's foot, she doesn't look bothered. Though, at that point, he isn't sure, because she has four eyes and two mouths and keeps spinning around the bar so much he can barely follow.

What happens when a stubborn lightweight faces off against the Stone Cold Steve Austin of drinking games? It ends up with one of them sliding off their stool and plopping pathetically onto the floor with a snore, fully unconscious.

And it ain't Stone Cold Steve Austin.

Night night ............... someone's going to be hung over as hell in the morning. ]