F01 - Blackbook, Grand Opening Pt. II

[Vanta 0]

It had been hard to miss. A deliberate line of bumps and indentations in his skull. Why? Was it wise for her to ask? Would he mind? She wasn't sure. "Oh, I almost forgot."

He turned parting from her temporarily, bending down to reach for their discarded masks. Their appearance glitched; the masks shattered, disappearing. Vantas soft smile fell, it was a sour reminder of their reality. A reminder of her goal. They were still trapped in this prison, and the game had its own ways of reminding them they couldn't truly live. She crossed her arms loosely in protest, disguising the gesture as an attempt to warm herself from the cold. 

Hirru sighed and returned to her side. "Nevermind, I guess we can grab new ones, if need be." He held out his arm, she took it. They walked back to the entrance, the same man from before intercepting their path. 

"Welcome back! I see your masks may have been lost. Do not worry. There are more than enough for a spare, but do be good and keep these safe. It is your choice to not wear them, but it is still our rule to have it.”

He handed them each a black mask, and retreated to the side. Hirru turned, facing her, "Do you want to follow the rules, or do our own thing? You look incredible either way.” she smiled, taking a step closer. Her eyes fell on his mask, she reached up taking it, tying the ends into a neat bow around a loop in his slacks. She did the same with her own mask, tying it at her hip. 

"Just in case we find ourselves needing them, they won't be far, but let's do our own thing." She looked up at him once more, regripping his arm. She took a deep breath as he moved to open the door. They were entering once again, a club filled with music, smoke, liquor, food, and many hungry individuals.

 "Hirru, what happened to your head?" Her words were soft, hesitant, gentle, not meant to be invasive; but genuinely curious with a tinge of concern. She had weighed her options, the worst that could happen would be his evening being completely ruined by the question, him getting angry and leaving her, and her feeling absolutely awful for overstepping.

She didn't think it would really come about, but there was no way to know unless she asked. Worry, curiosity, they weren't bad things. In fact it was usually worse to the keep curiosity bottled within. Knowing this, she took the chance, hoping that even if it was of a sensitive nature, he would understand her heart. 

Edited November 8 by Vanta

[Oscar 0]

Dammed, damned emotions.

The mystery began to unravel. Still ignorant of her story, but the miasma began to clear. He now possessed the what and the why, but not the how. His curiosity could wait. Attention enraptured - enthralled - by the weeping woman held in his arms. Perhaps it had been a mistake, he thought. Charm had been wielded irresponsibly, temptation beckoning without forethought. Objectively, it had been. The goal was never to make someone cry. Only to feel. And the ironic tragedy was that by feeling, he had demolished that dam that walled off her emotion. The waters burst forth, sweeping and drowning. It was no small wonder she was in such a state.

But there was no going back now. All he could do was ride the deluge with her. With any luck, he might be able to ferry her to dry land.

“Irony is -” Oscar said, gingerly grasping her by the wrist. He brought her hand to his face, his lips gracing each digit with the softest of feathered kisses. “Feeling should never be denied.”

Repression was the silent killer. How can one understand what it means to feel if they deny their emotions? How could such a thing be considered holy? Oscar knew too well the evils repression propagated. How people lost themselves without an outlet. How the tension and the pressure and the hate transformed someone into something entirely inhuman. He wore the scars from such decisions. A boy, swallowing it all, made a decision in haste and in hate. Three bullets - each one the nearest of misses. All because he was forced to stifle and deny the very essence of himself.

“Who says you have to stop?”

The words of a fool. He should be trying to let her down slowly. Shepherd her to dry land, allow her the freedom to learn herself. Oscar did not want that responsibility. And yet - what was meant to be a tryst for the evening seemed to be developing into something more. As he gazed into her eyes, all of the words and all of the phrases that he would have used - should have used - in such a situation left him. He shouldn’t get himself involved anymore than he already had. But the mystery was too alluring. Her voice was too sweet. Her eyes too deep. Oscar was drowning. So close to the sun, praying his wax wings did not fail him. Everything told him to dive low, back to the cool ocean breeze. At least to collect himself. But she just had to speak again.

Kiss me.

And he obliged, with zero hesitation. He lunged forward, taking her face between both hands. The Magician’s Pleasure - The Blackbook’s Authority - carried them away from the party. Whisked through space. Muted sounds graced their ears, more felt than heard. Bass thumped beneath them as he pressed her into that downy mattress. Lights low, door closed - a private room. The decor - the walls and the furniture - a haze. Focus narrowed, fixation bringing shadows to his periphery. He bore down upon her, hand sinking into the downy surface as his body engulfed her frame.

Hips met, lips touched. Passion unleashed. Heat building. She burned him. Seared herself onto his skin - onto his lips. He should go. Flee. Hide. Leave her to struggle through her fall.

But he didn’t. He was too cruel to do so. It would have been a mercy. 

Here, now, mercy was the thing that Oscar lacked.

His fingers tangled in her hair, his kisses wild and sinful. His lips graced her jaw, her neck, down to her collarbone. Eyes fixed, unflinching, almost unblinking. His pulse quickened - breath heavy and hot against her skin. They were on a collision course for something beautiful - future complications. Future emotions. Future connection. This would not end at sunrise. He would, full of selfish desire, draw her into his world. The blood and death, war unending. Would it bother her, when she was confronted by it? Would she hate him for making her feel? For all the things he wanted to do to her? All while knowing full well the depths of his own monstrosity?

“Tell me what to do,” Oscar invited, his words muffled against her skin. He took the liberty to leave his mark, a ring of fangs sinking into her flesh.

He didn’t care anymore. Sense and logic had died at the hands of want.

@Winnie

[Adelyte 0]

 

   ♦Lv4 Adelyte

Spoiler Adelyte | HP 80/20 | EN 26/26 | DMG 7 Lv. 4 | T. 1 equipped 2H Warhmmer DMG|DMG -- -- battle-ready inventory 3x Potion (+50 Hp) skills HAMMER | Rank 2 buffs Pretty buff ᕙ(•̀‸•́‶)ᕗ

 

chaos ||
noun : a state of utter confusion or disorder ||

Ever since she was a little girl, Genevieve always invited chaos into her home. Wherever she could be found running around the chateau giggling, it usually meant that someone, somewhere was a victim to her antics. Pranks, usually, harmless ones were her forte. Putting googly eyes on all of the statues and hanging art in the main hall, replacing some of the bottles of vodka behind the bar with water. Once she locked one of her mama's high paying clients in the bathroom.. she got in trouble for that one. Her intent was to never cause any harm or hurt anyone, it was just her form of entrainment that she wanted to share with the world. Usually, though, those on the other receiving end of her pranks just ended up irritated or pissed off. Really, though, it was for her. 

Where kids create imaginary friends to fill the void created by loneliness, Genevieve had chaos. And it had a rather large void to fill. 

There wasn't much of a plan, really. The party she had paid to take her  joined up with to go questing decided that raiding some new nightclub on their opening night seemed like a better idea. Something about eating the rich.. she didn't catch the whole conversation, she was too busy being told to fetch drinks for the rest of them. They messaged some friends of theirs, the group grew larger, and then they decided to strike. All of them dressed the part, dashing two-toned suits, tight fitting cocktail dresses. Just something that didn't stand out too much, help them blend into the crowd. Adelyte, on the other hand, decided to don a more traditional Japanese inspired look; a white and red kimono with gold embellishments and a black bodysuit underneath. 

They slunk into the club in waves, claiming masks at the front door and taking to the crowd. They had decided since someone in the group decided to dress a bit more.. flashy.. that she would be the anchor of the group. Once they saw her walk in, they knew they could get the real party started. 

"Hmmmm.." Adelyte stood there, looking down at the two masks presented to her. "You don't have anything with color do you? Maybe blue? Or pink?" 

Nope, just white or black. She decided on the white. 

It would be easier to paint once she got inside. 

The moment she pushed through the foyer and into the main room, all hell broke loose. Innocent people were tossed to the ground, glass bottles smashed over their heads, furniture overturned. She watched as a martini glass arced over the dance floor, before shattering and leaving a smattering of tiny glass shards on a velvet carpet. Gasps and screams of frightened partygoers, being promised a safe evening of drinks and dancing. 

This wasn't the chaos she welcomed. These were just terrible acts at the cost of others. 

But there was nothing she could do about it. If she tried to intervene, she would just get dragged down with the rest of the group when the owner finally decided to put his foot down.. Let alone anyone here who wasn't about to put up with this kind of bullshit. This was a mistake, she knew that group seemed shady the from the moment they put a price on helping Adelyte with some simple quests. Before she had a chance to leave, a elbow to her chest from someone rushing by knocked her off of her feet. Familiar, from the few moments she had to look at them. Someone she entered with, maybe? Perhaps she wasn't the only one with a change of heart. 

Commotion at the bar caught her attention, and she would turn onto hip to look in that direction. A fight had broken out at the bar.. or, to put it better, the party crashers were facing the consequences of their actions. 
"Wait.. is that..?" Adelyte asked herself as she looked at the toned back and shoulders of a familiar, tan skinned woman bashing one of the men she had paid's head against the bar. Even more bodies tossed into the air, landing close to the exit, as a massive stud of a man made easy work of some of the raiders. She'd probably have heart eyes right now if this were some anime. 

Okay, maybe coming here wasn't a total mistake.. at least now that she was here, she could just enjoy the party. 

Edited November 8 by Adelyte

[Veil 0]

 

The same story, different soul.

Veil had received the invitation, he smirked. It was certain there would be refreshments, food, perhaps even some fun. It didn't take him long to be ready, every movement he made was deliberate, calculated, smooth. He had a ball to attend to, an offer he simply couldn't refuse. He had been denied the pleasure of voluntarily attending much of anything in his youth, so he found an extra wisp of pleasure in knowing that he could decide what the evening would be. 

He arrived on the scene, a man who looked to be a guard approached him, offering a choice; Sainted or Sinful. He met the mans eyes, calculating his options. He certainly wasn't a blatant sinner, but he was far from a saint. He took the black mask, tying it in place. 

The music within shifted- only subtly- but enough. The kind of shift one only noticed if they listened rather than heard. A brush of strings, a deeper thrum of the base. A shadow at the doorway that didn't try to draw attention, yet every perceptive instinct of his surroundings turned towards it anyway.

Veil stepped inside. 

Tall enough to eclipse the soft red light that shone behind him. His mask was black lacquer, matte, expressionless. No feathers, no flourish- only sharp simplicity, it suited him. His presence wasn't loud. It just commanded without trying. 

He waited to join the festivities, enjoying the offered and readily available refreshments. He simply observed. Eyes hooded, a hand tucked loosely into his left pocket. His posture made it clear; he wasn't here to be impressed, he was here to see. 

Eventually he spoke- not loud, but with a resonance that carried,

"So this is the Blackbook."

No judgment. No praise. Just acknowledgement. 

The crowd shifted, not because anyone parted for him, but because Veil simply moved through the space like he had always known it, as though he belonged. 

He noticed her. 

He didn't stare, that would have been too obvious, too eager, he wasn't a man that was caught wanting without cause. She was beautiful, confident. The white mask, her purple skin. A careful distance disguised as freedom. 

She moved as though the music had been made for her. Radiant. Untouchable. Unapologetically living. He took his time approaching her, stepping into her orbit, just close enough for her awareness to brush against his. His height made him a shadow even in the glow of the dance floor. The black mask revealed nothing but the slight tilt of his head as he observed her movement. He waited, patiently, quietly. Every group of dancers, every pair, every shifting step on the floor had a pattern- a tide. Most people simply rode the wave. Veil read it. He watched the subtle break in her spin, the fraction of a pause when the music inhaled before the downbeat. 

That was where he entered. 

One step. A half-turn. A lift of his hand meeting her own. Not claiming, simply falling into place naturally. His other hand found the small of her back- not possessive, just steady- guiding the continuation of her spin into a smooth arc that brought her effortlessly towards him. The contact was minimal, but the poise and control was unmistakable. It felt less like being led and more like dancing with someone who knew the language of her movement without needing to ask. His voice came out evenly, deep, gentle. 

"You wear the mask as though you are someone who is used to being looked at."

No flirtation. Just truth, offered soft and sharp all at the same time.

"Seen but not recognized." a pause, not uncomfortable, just intentional.

"Veil." 

he turned her again, spinning her with ease and practiced rhythm. He didn't demand her identity, he simply offered his own. He understood the meaning of the masks. He didn't care about remaining anonymous, it was a ploy, one that he easily rebelled against. He leaned in slightly, catching her eyes,

"You are beautiful, and you dance wonderfully." He complimented. 

 

@CosmiQueen

 

Veil | HP: 20/20 | EN 20/20 | EVA 0 | ACC 0 

Spoiler

Name: Veil

True Tier: 1 

Level: 1

HP: 20/20

EN: 20/20

 

Stats-

Damage: 1

Mitigation: 0

Accuracy: 0

Evasion: 0

Recovery: 0

Bleed: 0

Battle Healing: 0

 

Inventory- 

(3) Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP)

2,000 Col

(25) Material

 

Edited November 8 by Veil

[Warren 0]

Warren, originally, had zero intent on joining Oscar’s soiree. Helping Abellio pick out his clothes was about as far as he’d wanted to go. He didn’t have anyone to go with anyway. And if he showed up stag to Oscar’s party, the man would never let Warren hear the end of it. It wasn’t as if Warren were setting out to be single, but he just didn’t see the point. Love on the razor’s edge, between people worlds apart with no way to rekindle the flame once they returned home? It just didn’t seem appealing.

Why waste time on tragedy.

But the more he thought about it, he realized that the part would likely go off the rails with a quickness. Warren knew exactly what Oscar was about. All it would take was a pair of pretty eyes or a set of tits and his entire hosting shtick would fly out of the window. And, frankly, Warren had worked far too hard on the drinks for the evening to let Oscar’s skirt chasing fuck it up.

Which left him with the problem of his plus one.

Two names came to mind: Sin - who, no.

And Kyra.

Warren needed two drinks and to chain smoke three cigarettes before he had the guts to reach out to his stalking victim in the middle of the night.

To Kyra:
Hey I need a favor.

---

Such a stupid thing to send.

To Kyra:
There’s this thing tonight. I kinda have to go. But if I don’t show up with a plus one, I’ll never hear the end of it.

---

Why should she even give a damn?

To Kyra:
Think you could meet me at the Blackbook? You’re like… the only woman I know.

---

Warren set about getting himself dressed, remembering sometime in between pulling on his slacks and putting on his left shoe that he had left something unsaid.

To Kyra:
Please?

The vibe at the venue was off. Oscar was nowhere to be seen. The dance floor was chaotic. And was that… pixelated blood smeared over one of the walls? Fan-fucking-tastic. He’d absolutely been right. He saw some familiar faces, but didn’t pay them any mind. The vibe needed to be checked. Corrected. And he really didn’t want to be the one to do it. He could, of course. But in so doing, he would expose a closely-held secret.

But it was either that or watch the party fizzle out early.

Guess I gotta out myself.

He stepped up to the stage. The music quieted. He bore the same limited Authority Lysette and Sin and Abellio did. When he spoke, his voice would project.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m coming in a little late. Looks like we need to slow things down  a little,” Warren said. He tried his best to be alluring. To tantalize with the deep timbre of his voice. But this wasn’t something that came easy for him. Shit, if not for his real life profession, he’d probably be wrist deep in an anxiety attack right now. He gestured towards stage right. A stool was brought to him. He sat. A band member handed him a guitar.

“Bear with me,” Warren said. “It’s been a minute since I’ve done this.”

He plucked a few strings - it was just like riding a bicycle. He gestured to the band. In unison, they began to play. He didn’t have to be good, Warren rationalized. Just a distraction. Fix the mood.

SONG 6: She Knows It

Spoiler

"Name: Warren
True Tier: 4
Level: 33
Paragon Level: 0
HP: 720/720
EN: 104/104

Stats:
Damage: 21
Mitigation: 134
Accuracy: 3
Stealth Rating: -5
TAUNT
REGEN: 29

Equipped Gear:
Weapon/Armor/Trinket: 
  - <<Queen's Guard>> T1 Perfect OHSS | ACC III
Armor/Trinket: 
  - <<Heavy Overcoat>> T3 Perfect Heavy Armor | MIT III
Shield/Armor/Trinket: 
  - <<Nebula>> T1 Perfect Shield | Taunt, Regen II

Combat Mastery:
  - Combat Mastery: Damage R3

Combat Shift:
  - AOE Shift

Familiar Skill:
  - 

Custom Skill:
  - 

Skills:
  - Energist
  - Fighting Spirit
  - Heavy Armor R5
  - Howl
  - Straight Sword R5

Extra Skills:
  - Block R5
  - Forgotten King's Authority

Inactive Extra Skills:

Addons:
  - Focused Howl
  - Iron Skin
  - Rampart

Mods:
  - Impetus

Inactive Mods:

Battle Ready Inventory:

Housing Buffs:
  - Extended Workshop: +2 Crafting EXP per crafting attempt and +1 crafting attempt per day
  - Mega Slime Farm: +10% EXP to a thread. Limit one use per month. Must be used on a player's first post in a thread. Cooldown begins counting down when used in a post.

Guild Hall Buffs:
  - Trading Hall: Reduce LD needed for Salvage by 5 (10+ for Alchemist crystals, 6+ for everything else). +2 EXP per craft. Rank 9 crafters and Rank 4 merchants/performers receive +1 crafting/identification attempt per day. Rank 10 crafters and Rank 5 merchants/performers receive +2 crafting/identification attempts per day.

Scents of the Wild Totem:

Wedding Ring:

Crafting Profession:

Gathering Profession:
"                                                                                                                            

 

[CosmiQueen 0]

wahoo - ph

[Winnie 0]

Each kiss he placed on her finger tips- those feather-soft, devastating presses of warmth- they unraveled her in ways she hadn't known were possible. The gentleness of it all almost hurt. His lips brushing her skin, the way he held her as though she were something breakable, but worth breaking through, the way he spoke like he could see every fracture she hid. He reassured her.... it was more than she could have asked for. More than she ever believed the world would give her. 

Oscar. 

A man whom had broken the dam, shattering the carefully built walls, destroying them second by second, cracking them open with nothing but presence.

She met his eyes, there was something strange there. His want she could feel, but this other hunger, this tinge of emotion, what was it? Had she broken something within him as well? Did she affect him the way he affected her?

She spoke, he obliged.

Without a second thought his lips crashed to hers in a kiss that felt both sweet and consuming, like fire dressed in silk. The air around them changed- a shift in gravity, a twist in space, a hand cradling her as she fell back upon soft, lush fabric. They had moved. 

Her body jolted, a small instinctive flinch at the sudden change. She didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around him, clinging, pulling him closer. Grounding herself in the truth of him. In the reality of his weight, his warmth. She needed that anchor. 

Winnie felt the sharp sting of his teeth claiming her flesh; a bloom of heat racing though her as he branded her. For a second- just one- she didnt recognize herself. Her breath tore in and out of her lungs, her fingers curling into the sheets, into him, into anything that would keep her anchored while her mind spun out. She whimpered softly. 

He wanted direction. He wanted her voice guiding him. The irony nearly made her giggle- this man of indulgence and instinct asking the divine for permission. 

But she wasn't the divine here.

Not in this room.

Not under his hands. 

Her voice came out uneven, trembling from the violent thrill of need and uncertainty flowing within her. 

"I don't know..... what to tell you to do," she whispered, her fingers brushing his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw as though memorizing him. "I don't know how to be anything right now. Not divine. Not holy. Not whatever they made me into to."

She swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his lips. She trembled as he moved, each kiss drawing a reaction she couldn't hide. "All I know is... this feels real. You feel real Oscar. And I- I want that. Even if I don't understand it." 

She shuddered as his lips moved, her body arching instinctively before she clamped down on the sound rising in her throat. Shame flared. Desire tangled with it, hot and confused. There was a part of her that couldn't stand how he broke through her discipline. Other parts that quivered even more fiercely towards the parts of her that welcomed it so freely. 

"Every time you touch me," her breath hitched, his lips trailing her collarbone, "It's like you're peeling something off of me I didn't know I was allowed to lose."

She pressed a hand to his chest-over his heart, feeling the ragged rhythm beneath layers of fabric. "Part of me is frightened at this newness. I know I wasn't created to feel like this. Want like this." 

Her hands curled in his shirt pulling him even closer. 

"But dont stop." 

It wasn't a command, nor a plea. It was something fragile and trembling- permission wrapped in vulnerability. Her eyes lifted to his, luminous and breaking, but fiercely alive. 

"If I shatter," she said softly, voice quivering slightly, "Let it be here. With you. Not alone."

Her breath wavered, a soft broken exhale. She rose just enough to brush soft, fluttering kisses along his jaw. She moved to his ear, voice falling into a sweet whisper shaped from every burning thing inside her.

"Do whatever you want..... just dont leave me in the dark again."

Edited yesterday at 08:34 AM by Winnie

[Lancaster 1]

The magnetic pull of V had his heart lit in a blaze so grand that it threatened to dwarf the evening, and with it overshadow others within its proximity. Flash burning all that were caught within its purview. "A girl as nice as you..." He beckoned with a twist of his hand, curling his fingers around hers just that much tighter allowing her to feel the lines on his toughened skin. The very same that had been pressed into foolish foreheads and cooked dumber minds like a slab of meat to a red hot pan. V swam around and Vincent could tell that her experience was lacking. The way she looked off into the crowd but feigned resilience, pretended confidence. Yet she'd dance around the pyre, offering it the chance to burn her alive. To slide ever so close to truest danger, to allow ones skin to get so close to the flame that it threatened to lap and char at that which it managed to grace. But in such a place, she'd find only a warm hearth and a level of comfort. Compassion through passion but something deeper, a turn of lusts toward fancy and hunger where an appetite set eyes upon a grand meal fit for two. But a smile past her shoulders, the guy was no chef but with a little rationing any portion could be for three.

"Surely bites harder then they let on. Is fine, I can handle a little pain. As long as it comes in a pair." The man whispers into her ear, pressed against every curve and contortion of her frame that folded into the spaces he had. Like dough to a pan, they'd meld and become but a single body. The fragrance from her hair gets caught on his nose, the scent of the alcohol she'd imbibed up to this dance the same. Not the most perceptive, but it worked like sugar in its sweet allure. A friend for his beloved to be sure, one that either of them could see themselves spending time with. In ways that might cause onlookers to become flush. Lancaster chuckles as some would start to notice just how deep they were willing to dive into one another on the dance floor, maybe it was because V was trying to ignore her own resistance and have fun. Or convince herself to by overlooking her own embarrassment. Speculation aside, Lancaster was right in his element and sways with practice more then confidence. Not that he wasn't confident, denoted by the cocky bombastic grin plastered on his face through most of it. V was a fine glass of wine being sipped slow to enjoy the texture.

A dance that lasts until the final seconds, and with a simple trade of hands Mari is thrust into open arms. The man catches her blankly, feeling her body move in an unintentional sway. A whisper into his wife's ear "Isn't she fun, quite a looker too." Vincent bites her lightly earlobe watching V make her retreat with the beat of an eyelash as playful as always. "Just like you, I approve Amari. Can use a decent friend. Now that we are both adequately drunk and riddled with jealously." He'd fold his arms across his beloved's chest pressing all that she was into him, trapping her like she'd him. "Is time to show why I am yours I'm afraid." A raise of his hand toward her cheek keeping that bind that holds her hips to his, it ignites bright orange and traces across her cheek gently threatening to burn her up causing a ring on her finger to glow bright red. A light pivot of his hips, he'd encourage her to do the same while working as her brace through troubled footing. To drop a magnificent match on the gasoline they'd both indubitably poured all over each other.

WC: 646

Vanity Tag: @Mari @Jevi

[Simmone 0]

Like a ravenous animal, Simmone traced her lips across Cascade's inch by inch. Stealing the warmth and replacing it with some of her own, taking a journey and it was made with many soft steps across that flawless peach tone. Each a slight taste of salt to the tongue, and taking a silent observation to the way her skin rose and became tender. A gift that kept on giving with every stroke and kiss across her smaller body, all the while Simmone's eyes glow purple. Abusing skills not meant for this, <<Searching>> and seeking every raise of her breath and <<Detecting>> every tick increase of her that beating in her chest. Simmone had taken the role of a succubus through and through, and Cascade was trapped in the web and was being pulled apart. An explicit focus on every pleasure, groan and pant. All music to the woman's ears as her assault although gentle was unending. "I am daring aren't I? But I don't think that is only my cross to bear~" A slight playful twist to the phrase into her ear as she runs her tongue up an exposed neck, before sliding into the place where those words fell. A sticky slide, Simmone would push her mind to dive deeper into the moment. "So adorable, you talk a big game. But the way you lean and how what you respond with keeps breaking to pieces. I could just, eat.... you.... up."

The woman caught stray glances away from their given stages, the beckoning call to the ether for something to show. A ghost in the dark that Cascade was hoping to see. Another? A fun game all the same, and as she buries her lips against Cascade's she'd aim to scoop out her heart. Savoring every moment until her rescuer would come take her away, offer her rapture and leave Simmone with a fond memory, a fond smell and an unforgettable taste of want.

Vanity: @Cascade

WC: 322

---

Active:
Guild Rank 5 | +5% Final EXP/Col Reward

---

Simmoné | HP: 1060/1060 | EN: 144/144 | DMG: 21 | MIT:20 | ACC:4 | AA  | EVA:1 | REC: 8 | LD:9 | PROSP:1 | QTY: 2

Spoiler

Name: Simmoné, The Black Cat
True Tier: 13
Level: 35
Paragon Level: 90
HP: 1060/1060
EN: 144/144

Stats:
Damage: 21
Mitigation: 20
Accuracy: 4
Evasion: 1
Loot Die: 9
AA
REC: 8
QTY: 2

Equipped Gear:
Weapon/Armor/Trinket: 
  - Lady Luck's Hand - Atropos [Tierless/Demonic/Rapier] AA, ACC 3
Armor/Trinket: 
  - Eloquent Black Serpent - Oshun [T4/Demonic/Cloth] LD 2, REC 2
Shield/Armor/Trinket: 
  - The Black Lotus - Jurojin [Tierless/Demonic/Trinket] QTY 2, LD 1, PROSP 1

Combat Mastery:
  - Combat Mastery: Damage R3

Combat Shift:
  - AOE Shift

Familiar Skill:
  - Profession Familiar

Custom Skill:
  - Double or Nothing

Skills:
  - Charge
  - Cloth Armor R5
  - Energist
  - Lock Picking R3
  - Rapier R5
  - Searching R5

Extra Skills:
  - First Aid R3
  - Concentration

Inactive Extra Skills:

Addons:
  - Dismantling
  - Focus
  - Hyperactive
  - Nimble
  - Precision

Mods:
  - Athletics
  - Energize

Inactive Mods:

Battle Ready Inventory:
  - Crystal of Divine Light | [232246a] x1
  - Flash of Rejuvenation [T1/Perfect/Crystal] Mass Heal [200851][200851-1][200851-2][200870][200871] x
  - Rhino’s Horn | [224901b] x5
  - Teleport Crystal x5
  - Vocal Augmentation - Resonation [Tierless/Perfect/Support/Instant] +15% HP [163578][163582][163583][163743][164301] x1

Housing Buffs:
  - Basic Kitchen: Increase the effectiveness of a single food item consumed in a thread by +1 T1 slot. This can exceed normal Cook enhancement caps. Ex: A perfect T2 MIT food gives 35 MIT instead of 30.
  - Storage Closet: +1 Battle Ready Inventory Slot
  - Living Room: Increases out of combatHP regen by (5 * Tier HP) and decreases full energy regen to 2 Out of Combat Posts.
  - Attic (Storage): +5% bonus col from monster kills and treasure chests
  - Basement: Gain +1 to LD, Stealth Rating, Stealth Detection, or Prosperity to one post in a thread. Can be applied after a roll
  - Guest Room: Players can have one «Amenity» in a «Guest Room» and the «Amenity» cannot be recovered. Players are allowed to change which «Amenity» is in the «Guest Room». Multiple instances of the same «Amenity» do not stack. This buff affects the player and their choice of up to two party members.
  - Master Bedroom: -1 energy cost for the first three expenditures of each combat
  - Master Bathroom: The first time you would suffer DoT damage in a thread, reduce damage taken from DoT each turn by 25% (rounded down)
  - Extended Workshop: +2 Crafting EXP per crafting attempt and +1 crafting attempt per day
  - Dining Hall: Turn 3 identical food items (same quality, tier, & enhancements) into a Feast. A Feast contains 6 portions of the food items sacrificed. Feasts created this way cannot be used outside of the thread they are created. Limit 1 item created per thread.
  - Mega Slime Farm: +10% EXP to a thread. Limit one use per month. Must be used on a player's first post in a thread. Cooldown begins counting down when used in a post.

Guild Hall Buffs:
  - Trading Hall: Reduce LD needed for Salvage by 5 (10+ for Alchemist crystals, 6+ for everything else). +2 EXP per craft. Rank 9 crafters and Rank 4 merchants/performers receive +1 crafting/identification attempt per day. Rank 10 crafters and Rank 5 merchants/performers receive +2 crafting/identification attempts per day.
  - Treasury: +5% bonus col from last-hit monster kills and +10% bonus col from treasure chests.

Scents of the Wild Totem:

Wedding Ring:

Crafting Profession:
 - Appraising[20000exp] R5
Gathering Profession:

 

[Oscar 0]

It was a cosmic trick.

A divine prank.

A joke delivered straight from the Fates’ fetid mouths.

That Oscar would be so vexed. Ordinarily a sinful chameleon - a skinwalker with a velvet touch. He could intuit and become whatever the person beneath him needed. Tailor himself to their tastes, their desires. It mattered little to him how he conducted himself - only that the one he danced with enjoyed themselves thoroughly. How he had made himself into a drug, bit-by-bit. How many lovers - men, women - had come undone at his touch. It was almost poetic that everything he tried to unravel Winnie’s mystery only served to rebound upon himself.

She was mystifying.

Monolithic.

Was she an altar to prostrate himself upon?

An object or worship?

The thought - as it passed his mind - sent a shudder of discomfort down his spine. Electricity arcing. Surging. Correcting.

Not an object, not an altar. Still sacrosanct.

A woman suffering under the pressure of newfound desire and want and affection. He had been so cruel, her undoing. Crashing past barriers unknown, striking at her unarmored heart. It was ironic, how she bade him do as he pleased. There had been a hope there that she would have some idea how to proceed. What she wanted to do, to feel, to hear. How ironic that the chameleon - the Magician - failed to please his audience. With everything he knew and understood. With all of the experience at his disposal, Oscar had not the foggiest idea on how to proceed.

What she needed to feel. What she wanted. Perhaps that was appropriate. Winnie didn’t know either. But she was right - this did feel real.

More substantial. The soft kisses and tender touches were more important than the act itself. He was in no rush. Content to let the fire rage between them, flaring violently each time lips ghosted against skin. His breath was ragged, hot. His heart thundered out of his chest. She had deigned to give him the lead. She demanded all of him. His attention and his affection. Not with word, but with every soft sigh, every sweet whimper and moan.

It was less than what she deserved.
But it was all he had to give.

And so he would do just that. His hands left hers, only for a moment, tugging at his tie - sliding out of his coat. He would let her hands dance down his chest, fumble with his buttons. He guided her hand to his collar, hooking her finger under the fabric of his shirt. He said nothing. Only willed it. It was at times like this that instinct would overcome ignorance. His hands moved to her sides. Fingertips trailing down her rib cage, settling on her hips. Her skirt hiked as he guided her leg to hook around his waist. He advanced no further. Content to explore her lips, her neck, her jaw with his own.

There was no cause to rush. If only time could slow. Not stop. But to stretch outward unto infinity. That the seconds could become minutes and hours. That he might savor the moment longer than he deserved. She begged him not to leave her in the dark. So he would let the fire roil and rage. Illuminating the wants and feelings repressed for so long. He would unravel her mystery after he had unraveled her. 

He would have his answer about who “they” were after he’d finished undoing the damage they had done.

“I won’t stop,” Oscar murmured against her lips. His voice was deep, hoarse. Words forced out only because she had spoken. Because she demanded a reply.

“I won’t leave you in the dark,” he continued. A vow spoken so freely. Even clouded by the haze, he knew well what he was saying. What it meant - to him and to her.

“But you won’t shatter,” he reassured her. He did not set out to break her. Oscar was not so audacious as to demand submission. He wanted only to exist and act in this precise moment. Focused solely on her. The feeling. The heat.

“You are allowed to do what you want,” he said, his voice a husky whisper in her ear. His free hand found hers. Fingers laced together, her hand pushed above her head, pinned to the mattress. “Who you want. As you please.”

[Kyra 0]

From: Warren
Please?

The man never begged. It wasn't as if he never used the word please - he was polite to a fault - but the single word held more of a plea than she had ever seen from him. It was that message, and that reason, that finally had Kyra slipping the bookmark between the pages of her book. She set it beside her on the small couch, then stood and folded the warm blanket that she'd intended to snuggle beneath for the rest of the night. She even paused to look longingly at the mug of lavender tea that sat, still steaming, on the coffee table. It had been a long, long week in the office, and nightmares had plagued her evening hours to the point that the doctor was unable to find any sort of rest. All the lighthearted romantic novels and floral tea in the world couldn't interrupt the horrors that played on loop behind her eyelids. The pounding rain, the booming thunder, and the wind that howled like a wounded animal. The creatures themselves, clawing their way straight out of H. P. Lovecraft's imagination. The swarming pests, the misshapen figures, the vines that had encircled her waist and dragged her back into the darkness. Hours spent playing the most satanic game of tag with the beasts that had killed and would kill again. Players had died. She would have, too, had it not been for Warren.

She didn't owe him anything - he'd made that perfectly clear. He didn't intended to use the rescue against her, a convoluted power-play to earn her favor or forgiveness. And oddly enough, when he'd told her that, she'd believed him. He'd managed to ensnare her in another debt, something she'd promised herself she would never allow again, but instead of holding her leash tighter, he'd simply... let it go.

So as she stood in her closet, fingertips brushing over countless pretty pastels and pristine whites, she didn't stop until she found the black.

--

It washed over her like a baptism. The pound of the bass, the heat of the bodies, the darkness heavy with anticipation and promise, it all left her feeling like a different woman than the one she'd been on the sidewalk. The power of a well-run nightclub, Kyra mused appreciatively. She had visited a handful in her time, though far more had fallen well below the "well-run" threshold, especially during her college years. Tokyo had boasted many of them, and they'd been terribly fun to visit. Until they weren't. Regardless, whoever it was behind this curtain certainly knew what they were doing. Though this side-quest had been meant as a thank-you to Warren, she was beginning to wonder if it might actually afford her a bit of real entertainment. I could use it.

"No thank you," she answered, smiling warmly at the man who offered her a mask. "I fully intend to be recognized tonight."

Her steps naturally synced to the beat of the music as she crossed to the bar, heels clicking smartly against the hard floor. It was a sexy number, as smooth as silk, and perfect for a swarm such as the one that surrounded her. Kyra's head ticked back and forth gently, keeping time as she slid into an opening by a smirking bartender.

"Nice dress," the other woman acknowledged, gaze hovering appreciatively before she asked, "What'll it be?"

Surprised by how much she enjoyed the attention, Kyra's plan to drink a soda went out the window. "Can you do a French 75?"

"Do I look like an idiot?"

Chuckling, Kyra inclined her head. "You certainly do not. I'll have a French 75, please."

So intrigued by the fiery bartender and the mixology process, Kyra missed much of the chaos taking place around her. What she didn't miss was the familiar voice that rose above the noise. Her gaze instinctively tracked to the matching face, but the sight told her nothing that her heart didn't already know. The way his voice rumbled faintly in her chest left no question. She did, however, still wonder why it was he was standing on the stage. The answer came with the first words he sang.

"Shit!" the bartender hooted. "Didn't know he had it in him."

"Neither did I," Kyra murmured, watching Warren work over the rim of her glass. The alcohol couldn't get her drunk - she hadn't taken the necessary quest yet - but a pleasant warmth still spread through her as his eyes raked over the crowd.

Spoiler

Kyra | HP: 80/80 | EN: 26/26 | DMG: 6 

Name: Kyra
True Tier: 1
Level: 4
Paragon Level: 0
HP: 80/80
EN: 26/26

Stats:
Damage: 6

Skills:
  - Projectile Weaponry R3                                                                                                                   

 

[Mari 1]

Something definitely burned within Mari was she watched the two dance - how Lancaster smiled for the other woman, that same half goofy-half cocky grin that was supposed to be hers, and hers alone. The way his hands wrapped around her waist - the devilishly amused glint in his eyes. The two complimented each other so well. Fire and Ice. Red and blue entwined amongst each other, Mari snorted. Like kindling. She was doing her best to allow him his fun, far be it for her to grow too jealous - and yet somehow... Mari was struggling. This was good for him. Really good. Vincent needed to unwind. He needed to be able to interact with others, in a way that didn't result in a knife to his throat. Mari inhaled. She was okay. This was no different to how she danced with Jevi earlier - so this was fine. Mari knew part of her jealousy was because she wasn't being involved. If the three were dancing together - there would be no problem. A shared warmth between the three almost sounded enticing. Jevi had a certain type of magnetism - the kind that drew you in, commanded you to return like the tides, waves crashing against the beach.

This was fine.

Mari never caught the mischievous grin Lancaster threw her - her eyes shifted instead to an unfortunate NPC bearing a tray of drinks - Mari's hand shot out and pulled him down in a harsh jerk - the other saved one cup from the several he carried, and then subsequently spilled. Mari sniffed it and winced. Whatever it was, it had Vodka in it. Still...it was better than - another glance toward the couple. Mari downed the drink. Bitter, tart, and topped off with far too much grenadine. A cup was slammed down upon the table with a little too much force, it cracked in her hand, the sting of pain, the drip of blood. Another glance toward Lancaster -his lips whispering, passions like an oncoming storm. A concerned glance from Jevi, and Mari gave the woman a smile and a nod, lifting a hand to give the woman a small salute with her injured hand in a sign of a blessing. She trusted Vincent, and whilst she didn't know V well enough - she could tell the woman was worried about Mari. "M' Fine~" Mari called out. All in all, Mari enjoyed seeing her man let loose. It was interesting watching him work. 

Mari slumped further back in her chair, exhaling with a sigh. What a womanizer. She'd have to scold him later. What would be a suitable punishment? Mari laughed quietly to herself at the predicament she had thrown herself in, and the thoughts of exactly what such a punishment entailed floated into her drunken mind. All too willing to share her passions, and the flame that was her husband - and yet in the same hand - a possessiveness that rivaled a dragon sitting upon its ill gotten treasures.  Mari shut her eyes. The room span so much. 

Then, there was the warmth of another gripping her by her wrist - soft hands that at first felt unfamiliar then Mari realized they belonged to V. Her eyes shot open as she was dragged upward, stumbling forward. "W-huh?" Mari found the momentum throwing her into V's grip, and there was a moment where the woman's hand lingered on Mari's hip. Any feelings of envy washed away. "You....have a way about you." Mari mumbled into V's shoulder, a soft laugh, a snort. "M' not Shhhure who im more jealushh of... y-you or him." And it was true. The woman had enjoyed V's company, not quite knowing her name, nor why she had continued to keep Mari's company. Normally it was incredibly hard for Mari to hold conversations with people, even guild mates. There was ....an invisible wall between her and the rest of the world. It was isolating. So V breaking that down, it was like a breath of fresh air. 

The mysterious woman gave Mari's shoulders a tight squeeze, turning and pressing her into Lancaster.

Your turn."

Mari turned her head over her shoulder to watch as she walked away. Wait? That was it? She was just going to leave them?

"Isn't she fun, quite a looker too."

A bite against her earlobe bought Mari's attention back to her husband. Mari's arms instantly wove around his waist, using him to steady her constantly swaying world. "Bet you were lookin' at her butt." Mari slurred with a drunken snort and a laugh.  Whatever she was feeling earlier was gone. Replaced with relief, warmth - and yet - another glance over her shoulder. It felt like something was missing in this moment. 

 "-Now that we are both adequately drunk and riddled with jealously.

 

"Haha....Busshted!" Mari admitted, turning to press her lips to the underside of his chin. Vincent held her tighter now, there was no space left between them. He rose a hand to her cheek, it lit up in a soft flame. "Marking me ashh yoush?" Mari asked. Then, her eyes lit up as she stumbled through the same speech she gave him just before he proposed. "B-biting, burns, a speshal kind of brand. Shcream at the world. You're..." She cupped both his cheeks in her hands, a warmth burned at their touch- her own hands looking and acting like burning embers- the faint glow of their passions. Their love. Between each other, and any else who dared tango with the two. "Shei mi...mia ossessione, my love." She stumbled over the words so badly even cardinal could not translate her drunken ramblings.

A press of her lips to his, a light kiss before pulling away. "h-How many will your passhions burn tonight?"


@Lancaster @Jevi

Edited 6 hours ago by Mari

[Warren 0]

Bright lights with a side of passion /

The first verse left his lips, smooth as silk. He felt the crowd turn, silent acknowledgement from lovers and shadowed denizens. An ocean of crimson starlight, the deep red glinting as heads swiveled towards him. It shouldn’t have, but it took Warren by surprise. The trap laid snapped closed. One shouldn’t be surprised that they enraptured the crowd when they set out to do just that. But he was unaccustomed to all the eyes upon him. It was almost enough to make him falter. The guitar in his hands suddenly felt so impossibly heavy. 

Night life, welcome the attraction /

Warren pushed through. He centered himself - invoking images of storms and rain-drenched horrors. Fighting fire with fire, fighting terror with terror. It had been much worse then. The panic, the fear. Those dark, fucked-up what-ifs. That had been worse than this. And if he clung to it like a raft in a stormy ocean, that assembly of crimson werelights was suddenly very far down his list of concerns. 

His chest pounded. Let it.

Sweat beaded at his palms. Fine.

He got himself under control. Through sheer force of will and copious amounts of trauma, he managed to hold it down. His eyes swept over the crowd. He pushed through the first few verses. It was as the music began to swell and the verses continued to the chorus that his sweeping gaze settled upon Kyra at the bar. Not so much settled, really. Came to a screeching halt, eyes locking - holding her gaze over the rim of her glass.

He glitched.

His eyes widened in recognition, eyebrows raised. He flashed her a smile.

She drives the camera crazy /
I think she knows it /
There ain’t no one above her and she ain’t afraid to own it /
The glitz and glamour slay me /
But is it hopeless? /
The goddess of a woman really gets the people going /

Warren realized what he’d done only after he’d done it. And there was no small part of him that wanted to crawl into a hole and die, to hide from his mortification. It screamed in his head. He and Kyra had only just reached some sort of acceptable equilibrium. But they were most definitely NOT at the “serenade with a love song” stage of their association. He tore his gaze away, stepping lightly across the stage. His gaze moved anywhere but where she stood.

It took great restraint to keep himself measured. On beat, locked in. It was uncomfortable how uncomfortable she made him. How uncomfortable he made himself? It was really his fault, after all. And there wasn’t a drop of liquor in his body - not like it would have worked. He realized as he finished his song that he’d done all of that stone cold sober. Perhaps, if he was Abellio - a man with an infamous history of social blunders - he might have been able to play it off. 

Best not to even talk about it.

The crowd applauded as he placed his guitar down. Within their ranks, he saw Lysette and Abellio, the former clinging to the later. She was beaming, excited, bright eyed. Whistling and waving frantically in his direction. Warren gave her a grin, brought two fingers to his lips, and blew her a kiss. He had half hoped that the two lovebirds would retire before he let this cat out of the bag.

C’est la vie.

“Thank you, everyone,” Warren said. The vibe was calmer now. People had settled. A litany of hushed whispers and sinful promises. Good. At least his embarrassment had served a function. “I would like to extend the invitation for anyone to step up on stage. The mic is open. Sing to your heart’s content. And, of course, have a wonderful night.”

Warren departed the stage with another wave of applause. He was rather dreading what came next. As he made his way through the crowd, to the bar, he dueled with himself. Hypothetical conversations, Kyra demanding explanation and Warren sheepishly trying to give a satisfactory answer. His thoughts wound down those paths, each shooting off one another like tree branches. On and on until he reached the ridiculous and unrealistic.

It all came to a jarring crash when he finally stepped in front of her.

His thumbs hooked in his suspenders, seconds passed. Another glitch. Awkward silence hung heavy as he tried to devise a way to pivot. What would he even say? 

The obvious.

“Thank you,” Warren said. “I really owe you one.”

He made no mention of those prior favors. Those chains that he could have tightened but very deliberately fumbled. She owed him nothing - not even this. As far as he was concerned, it was he that owed her. She had saved him from a night of ridicule and jests from Oscar. That was worth more to him than a life saved, as grim as that thought was. But it seemed that his concerns had been unfounded. The Magician - the persona Oscar adopted within the walls of the Blackbook - was not present. Or, at the very least, not paying attention.

So the man’s arcane authority fell to him. He should have simply stayed home.

How could Warren play the part of the tantalizing host when he was struggling to keep his own eyes forward?

He got the sense that Kyra was fucking with him. Or, perhaps it had been some time since she’d gotten herself dolled up and she decided to dive in with both feet. Some combination? Either way, that satin gown and that plunging neckline made it difficult for Warren to remain the gentleman. Difficult, but not impossible. His eyes moved down, drinking her in. His gaze didn’t linger anywhere inappropriate. Flicking back up, his eyes settled on her glass.

“French 75?”  It wasn’t Warren’s first time seeing that particular potion of poor decisions. “That’s a lot of drink for a lady.” His attention moved up, eyes meeting the bartender’s. Warren tilted his head backward, the bartender nodded. She reached under the counter, tossing Warren a glass bottle containing a dark violet liquid. He cracked the lid, took a sip, and settled in next to her against the bar.

Avoid the foot-in-mouth part. Play it cool.

“Bigger balls than I got,” Warren remarked as the bottle left his lips. “But I don’t drink. Especially not something that those hard bastards back in World War 1 said had the kick of a 75-millimeter field gun.” Warren let out a long whistle, shaking his head slightly before giving Kyra a slight smirk.

“I make enough bad decisions sober.” Another sip of his drink. Blackberry nectar, with the slightest something to give it a burn. Balance out the sweet with the spicy. Not palatable to most, but he liked it. And he would never apologize for his own tastes.

"You look..." His mind flipped through a rolodex of adjectives - as if it were trying to pen its own thesaurus. He couldn't quite settle on one, but he spoke anyway. "Stunning. It's a really nice dress."

Open Mic
Take the stage, sing your heart out. The next song is yours.

[Pollux 0]

@Morningstar

Half hour at the bar, sipping wine she couldn't feel, delicately avoiding every masked face and voice she thought she could recognize. Yue Hua's anxiety gradually mellowed as she settled back into the face she had worn for most of her life. By no means was she a pretender. She was a drifter who had, by accident, found a place to roost for just a little while. That didn't complain as she silently overstayed her welcome. And in trying to tap back into her usual habits, Yue Hua was stunned to realize that she had begun to carve out a difference in the first place.

When did she change?

She shouldn't have.

These weren't feelings to examine at a party. From the movements of a few other patrons at the bar, Yue Hua sensed a song change was imminent; she pushed her stool in and set down her unfinished drink, gracefully extricating herself from her current partner. The lights above dwindled, deepening the Blackbook's intimate red. The dancers were a swirl of silks and genteel black, bodies in beautiful harmony, and Artoria had her claws in a man and had allowed him to lead her for three successive songs. As the bar singer crooned the final verse, Yue Hua hurried forward, clutching her skirts in her hands, anticipation chasing troubled thoughts from her mind.

She ended a step out of position, stuck behind a row of onlookers. But Oscar's teleportation trick graciously scooped her up with the rest.

|

Oh.

Yue Hua's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. Her heart sped, and she felt heat blossom from the base of her spine and spread outward, all the way to the tips of her fingers, but not in the romantic way she would have hoped. She was exerting great effort to not laugh or let her jaw drop at the sight of her assigned partner, an action that would surely humiliate them both.

Uh oh.

Living at the guild headquarters meant she was well-acquainted with the appearance of her leader. But lacking the vanities she had never removed in his presence, that familiarity could not run both ways. Instinctively, Yue Hua stooped into a stiff curtsy. Her mind was bereft of ideas on how to proceed and she could only quietly hope that Morningstar, apparently a world famous actor, carried enough charm to make the dance pleasant for them while she was caught up in pretending. 

She raised herself, peering up at Morningstar from beneath her veil, her shy smile clashing with the mysterious impression she had originally hoped to impose with dark colors and laces. "H-hi!" she chirped. Pollux's voice was solemn and flowed like honey, but it was merely a second tongue, a tone she had affected until it slowly became one she could slip into with ease. Yue Hua did not believe the other was necessary now. She extended a gloved hand, an inviting tilt to her head as the first notes of a slow song began to play. "Shall we...?"

Edited 1 hour ago by Pollux