F01-OP Blackbook, Grand Opening

[iris 0]

iris watched as the corners of sin's mouth lifted, preparing a response. then—

— cut to black. 

and iris' first instinct was the twitch of her head towards the ceiling, wondering what had caused the technical flaw, the mishap of the night. 

(perhaps, had they been paying attention to the host, at least iris would’ve known; sin looked like she was familiar with how the song and dance went as it were, by her hunch.)

but in the dark, something took the breath out of her. a warm figure, firmly pressing up against her, drawing a gasp out of her tightened throat. and the pull thereafter, fingers clawing at her hips—

iris had panicked in the interim, eyes searching the dark fruitlessly. she whined, feeling tenderness planted in detached repetition, painted along her neck. but the familiar scent of the player upon her informed her, in lieu of a lack of vision, that she was in good hands. her heightened awareness, betrayed by the absence of light, only further exacerbated the sensation between contact of skin upon skin; that touch was the only thing that made sense in this new reality. and, behind iris’ careful frontal disposition, her subconscious was quickly succumbing to it.

only when those lips breached her jawline did iris realize she was being hunted.

“I don’t want to talk about our old jobs unless it’s mine."

sin's voice was low, almost to a growl, and the tug of her hand in iris' hair addled her mind further than any intoxication granted by cardinal ever could. her stomach churned with want, desire, obedience, and she leaned back, exposing even more of her throat than she had ever intended.

iris found her teeth gnashed together in between exhilarating breaths. then, they parted, sudden, just as sin's teeth sunk into her. the pressure alone however slight was enough to draw an unseemly sound, almost like a plea, from the lamb feasted in the dark. never mind the fact that the witnesses nearby could hear her. she nearly stumbled, going lax against the counter behind her, her lower body pushing back to steady herself, sinking further into sin's warmth. iris’ only recourse not to fall and break away from contact was to grip back at the body pressed against hers: searching, reaching, clawing at linen and cloth. at the end of it, when sin had decided she was done working with her fangs, was iris left on her own, weakened and breathless.

iris felt them draw apart. and in that gap, sin had left a vacuum: cold air stung iris’ skin, compounding on what little accumulation of spit and sweat that clung tight to her frame, the reason behind her knees unsteady, mind spiraling. iris didn't know what to do. had she been present at an event any more elegant, she would've akin herself to an alice trapped in wonderland.

(yet, with the way sin's fingers slipped underneath her chin, nails grazing the point under her jaw where she was weakest, she was the first thing that iris saw. so iris contemplated further on that thought.)

straight-laced as sin might've seemed, iris seemed all the more guilty, with parted lips of surprise formed from the void, painted upon flushed cheeks, the image of a willing participant. she shut them, mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes glazed, gaze shimmering with an uncertain feeling her new secret in the renewed light. was it forged from embarrassment? fear? it was only when sin shot her a smile however careful, yet carefree in presentation, that iris would start to develop an answer.

“I have an office here," sin had said, before her voice turned breathy, and iris started to feel her fingers trace the spots where her lips had been on her skin. "And it’s such a shame." each drift, each slide of a phalanx from sin’s fingers kissed a sore spot along iris’ neck and jaw, beckoning back the memory and intensity of their wishful thinking in the dark. ‘bambi’ drew slow breaths then, fingers fidgeting, eyes shifted away from sin to the crowd in certain contemplation bereft of seduction. 

(not that her logical faculties were working, even without visual stimulation.)

"Nothing on the desk, nothing in the filing cabinet. Such a lovely chair though."

(and her legs might've shaken at the thought of finally being granted some respite through this mortifying ordeal...)

"What do you think, Bambi?"

iris' giddied eyes shot back to sin, neck pinched to a side to allow sin's fingers to run across her skin further.

"Want to be the first woman I dance for? Maybe be the first thing that ever comes across my desk?”

never mind the puzzle pieces that clicked at the back of her head about what kind of occupation sin really belonged to beneath the facade of a prince, a knight. her fingers slipped past iris’ cheek to brush against the rib of her ear, and iris paused long enough for her touch to linger. then, her own pulled upwards to reach around sin's wrist, and iris turned her head, slow, pressing her lips against sin's palm.

her eyes, beyond their lidded fluttering, pooled only with a hazy, innocent desire.

(tonight had already been much of a roller coaster, and iris would be damned if she couldn't bring it to a satisfying conclusion, no matter how out of her depth she knew she felt underneath it all. if she were to be asked in the future about her condition, her protests would be thus: she had tried playing it safe only for it to end with poor results. how much better would it be to throw caution to the wind, just for once? if she would have no one else to listen of commandments from tonight, she would play the role of the girl on the run, chasing that white rabbit, for all she cared.)

"if you are willing," iris replied, meek, eyes towards sin as though begging for salvation whilst in prayer. 

"it would be my honor."

[Jomei 0]

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[Plum 0]

As the final notes of the song swelled, their steps slowed into a gentle rhythm, completing one last turn, one final brush of fabric and heat between them. Plum's breath came light and uneven, her smile still luminous but subdued as she tried to recuperate. It was the kind of quiet moment that made the rest of the world disappear, the only thing mattering being their movement, music, and the faint press of his hand at her back.

When finally they pulled away, she blinked up at her partner, ready to offer some teasing remark about their unexpected little tryst, but he had already reached a hand toward his face and, in one fluid motion, broke away his mask. 

At first, of course, there was no flash of recognition across the woman's face. She thought perhaps he was simply being bold in sharing his identity - not that the handsome stranger would have any reason to hide behind the mask. But when her eyes focused on the name that appeared, a trickle of understanding turned into a roar. 

"The host," she practically groaned, embarrassment steadily rising to her cheeks in a flush of pink. Well, at least the shade matched her gown.

Oscar smiled something fleeting -genuine?- a spark that almost made her forget to feel flustered for not having realized sooner. And then before she could think to speak again, he leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead, promising a chance for her to find him again, later. She wasn't sure whether to laugh it off or chase the moment before it slipped through her fingers, and she found herself hesitating as he turned to go. She pushed back her bangs.

"I'll hold you to that, then." 

He retreated into his role as host and entertainer, leaving Plum just another masked face in the crowd, but one who studied the man with an intense curiosity from the sidelines. A collective murmur rose over the crowd when the lights flickered, then went out completely. For a heartbeat, Plum could see nothing but the afterimage of that tall silhouette burned behind her eyelids. 

Then the chandeliers flared back to life - and the dance floor had shifted. Standing at her side now was a new man: white-haired, with a white mask to match. It was hard not to take notice of his unusual arm, but Plum made every effort to remain subtle when she snuck her prying glances at it. Mostly, though, she fought to regain her composure and refocus her attention on her new companion. It would be quite impolite to take up one partner while still searching the crowd for her previous. 

"I suppose tonight will be just full of surprises- hello."

Her kind smile returning, she held out her hand, ready to resume the game.

[Telrenya 0]

Bright brown eyes scanned the room behind the safety of a porcelain white mask, as if maybe, through some expert observation or careful intuition, she might come to recognize any of the other players that hid behind theirs. It was all for naught. She must have stopped thinking about it, given her surprise when Oscar’s brief announcement caught her attention and she realized she’d seen his face before. ’The host, I suppose.’ She silently mused, bringing her glass to her lips once more. He commanded the room’s attention without effort, it seemed, and presented himself with all the elegance of a tried and true masquerade aficionado. To say she was impressed was an understatement.

But the calm, collected atmosphere that blanketed the room vanished with the lights. Telrenya’s breath caught in her throat as the shadows seemed to sweep her off her feet. Taking her by the arm, placed on the small of her back–she swore her feet didn’t leave the ground, yet it was as if she was held close by the darkness itself, carried seamlessly through the crowd.

The light returned to her, delivered along with a gentle lurch forward, like her sense of balance was being returned to her. In fact, her hands had already come up to brace in front of her, pressing against something that she quickly realized felt incredibly comfortable. Smooth satin under her fingers gave way to soft wool as her hand slid down and her chin pulled up to discover her new surroundings. Telrenya stood inches apart from a stranger with one less wine glass than she’d started with, hands gently pressed against the chest of a masked blonde man wearing a sharp tuxedo and a black bow tie. Her eyes traveled up to find his face. Her breath stayed caught in her throat.

Realizing it was a person she’d (admittedly gently) bumped into eventually jump-started the synapses of her brain and she pulled away in a hurry, holding her hands up in front of her like they’d been frozen in place. ”So sorry!” She forced out, a polite yet unnerved smile plastered on the visible lower half of her face.

The music continued to play, the beat and the lyrics tantalizing those that stood among the ballroom to give themselves up to it. Telrenya could feel the weight in her throat as she swallowed. The awkward moment would pass. She would encourage her own shoulders to loosen a bit, and her hands found each other in idle rest in front of her stomach. ”A pleasure to meet you, though.” Mysterious women didn’t trip over little things.

A name! Masked or not, mysterious women did have names. ”Stella.” There was a clear hesitation leading up to the word, but it could have easily passed for a regained composure. The name slid easily past her lips once she’d settled on it, at least. As it did, she held out a hand in invitation. ”If you’d like to dance?”

[Edict 0]

“Maxwell? I’m—”

A moment of hesitation. Should I be giving out my name here? The whole point is to avoid notice. Who could be watching, and how?”

—Edict. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Maxwell was a fascinating character. He seemed eager to throw himself into understanding Edict; and what was strange, something in Edict said he stood the best chance of not ending up with the rest of his partners that had tried. Never having met the man before, he felt they shared a kindred core. Edict could not explain it. It might have been the inscrutable way Maxwell had reacted to talking about the NPC he had pitied. Was Maxwell laughing at him for humanizing the game? No, that was just the anxiety talking. He seemed likely to humanize them too. One thing they had in common, so far. This *is* the loneliness talking, he reminded himself.

Maxwell had just lodged a question that caught him off guard—not for the reasons he expected.

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"this happens to be a godless space. and, for full disclosure, i won't be expecting anything out of this, either. honest. ... so what do you say?"

“Godless? Maxwell, all of Aincrad is godless. We’re all ones and zeroes down here, some more than others. God is found in the space between understanding, and Aincrad is nothing but numbers. Believe in a higher power, or don’t—either way, you won’t find it here.”

Rancor overtook his propriety as he spoke. Maxwell had unknowingly unleashed a tirade lodged in his throat for as long as he could remember.

“Earlier, you asked if guilt motivated my choice of mask. It didn’t. Guilt is regret on someone else’s behalf. Religious people pin that regret to a god, but atheists perform the same ablutions, choosing anyone they have given authority to. Here, the only higher power is Cardinal, and it is the opposite of a god. It is a machine.”

Edict waved down a waiter. He’d decided that perhaps he would need the gin after all. “So if you want to call hating this ‘game’ a sin, if that’s what you call the sick fucking joke pulled by a lonely otaku—I bet he’s forgotten all about us by now, by the way—Sure, call me a sinner. The mask fits. But what standard are you going to judge me against?”

Edict reached up to rub his face, and surprised himself with the feel of the smooth darkness that met his hand. He’d already forgotten about the mask. Feeling the heat underneath, he counted backwards from three before continuing.

Three. Breathe in. Two. Breathe out. One.

Breathe in…

Edict snatched the fresh glass from the approaching waiter, and continued the conversation with a light and airy tone. “Sorry! Normally, you have to catch me with red HP in a desecrated church before you get that dialogue option. Let’s chat about something else.”

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my company's not entirely unwelcome then? or, at least," and demian's gaze went to the dance floor, "until the night grows a little older."

“What did I do to give you that impression? You’re great company. You already sat through my best ‘god is dead’ monologue and didn’t bat an eye. (I’m assuming he won’t but I’ll change to capture the correct reaction. Edict will say anything to keep talking.) Personally, I’m considering kissing you just to make sure you don’t run away from me. Cardinal may have rendered a verdict, but I still get to pronounce the sentence myself. And really, what does Cardinal know? Aside from everything.” Edict shifted, moving infinitesimally closer to Maxwell. “Any good theory demands a certain amount of data to be reliable, doesn’t it? Part of the data that the game missed was that I end up infatuated with the first person who makes eye contact for a little too long.” His eyes moved past Maxwell, then Edict deliberately tore his gaze from the crowd to focus on his new partner.

“So what do I say to testing the waters? Big fan, personally. Give me a little eye contact and I’ll forget just about anything else.”