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Who: Solomon Goldsmith (![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sembant) & YOU.
What: Catch all for this month waddup 4/21.
When: Whenever honestly.
Where: Mostly Olympia. Olympia (if you're doing ur own thing here/unless discussed otherwise).
Warning(s): Gore(?) but nothing yet.
★ 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝒸𝓉
[Solomon's been cordially invited to a nerd's birthday party, which means he should show up prepared. Appreciative of the third-party summons and impersonal enough to indicate he won't be staying the entire duration of. He's already holding a sack of something questionable as he peruses various inebriants. One of the worst things about this planet thus far is that none of the beverages here make sense, and the after-effects can be unpredictable.
Unless you're an old sake-drinking guy.
Currently, he's bent forward, scrutinizing an iridescent bottle of Chermugeac Mousseux -- sounds douchey enough.]
★ 𝓂𝓊𝓇𝓀𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌
[For all of his distaste regarding Wyver -- the smell of it, the look of it, the questionable nature of it in its entirety, Solomon spends a surprising amount of time in Murkwell Hollow. Close associates, re: Diva may be the only person on the gosh dang planet who'd know, or at least have a hunch as to why. Currently, and with purpose, he's kicking rocks (not literally) around the marsh. Same old shtick. Solomon bums around the marsh like a mallrat, irritates the local fake centipede monster(s) and gets his rocks off for the night. Feel free to have him infringe on a mission your character may be on, or catch Solomon in the midst of a heated battle with messed up appendages.
OTA fuck me up.]
sembant) & YOU. What: Catch all for this month waddup 4/21.
When: Whenever honestly.
Where: Mostly Olympia. Olympia (if you're doing ur own thing here/unless discussed otherwise).
Warning(s): Gore(?) but nothing yet.
★ 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝒸𝓉
[Solomon's been cordially invited to a nerd's birthday party, which means he should show up prepared. Appreciative of the third-party summons and impersonal enough to indicate he won't be staying the entire duration of. He's already holding a sack of something questionable as he peruses various inebriants. One of the worst things about this planet thus far is that none of the beverages here make sense, and the after-effects can be unpredictable.
Unless you're an old sake-drinking guy.
Currently, he's bent forward, scrutinizing an iridescent bottle of Chermugeac Mousseux -- sounds douchey enough.]
★ 𝓂𝓊𝓇𝓀𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌
[For all of his distaste regarding Wyver -- the smell of it, the look of it, the questionable nature of it in its entirety, Solomon spends a surprising amount of time in Murkwell Hollow. Close associates, re: Diva may be the only person on the gosh dang planet who'd know, or at least have a hunch as to why. Currently, and with purpose, he's kicking rocks (not literally) around the marsh. Same old shtick. Solomon bums around the marsh like a mallrat, irritates the local fake centipede monster(s) and gets his rocks off for the night. Feel free to have him infringe on a mission your character may be on, or catch Solomon in the midst of a heated battle with messed up appendages.
OTA fuck me up.]
no subject
As clear as the tangled viscera dangling from the creature's claw is the other man's apparent death wish. It's not too strange a sight - Takasugi doesn't fear for his life, nor does he hope for future dawns, But he'd never let his days end in a dismal bog.
The blonde's anger, only flecked by anguish, isn't a surprise; when Takasugi's eye widens, it isn't incredulous, it's eager.
There isn't a creature in this swamp who isn't a monster.]
Ah.
Your suit's ruined. [He makes wry commentary, rather than approach with any intention to help.]
THAT ICON FHSDUGJKSF,D
On the other hand, having a massive spear through his stomach isn't he most pleasant thing he's ever experienced in his life. It's a whitehot pain, enough to floor him, but he's kind of being propped up. That pain sears and branches off in every direction -- he lasts about seven seconds before giving in, allowing a limb to morph and sharpen, whereby he'll cut that near-crustacean appendage right off.
Whereby the creature shrieks out in pain, winding and thrashing about, kicking up the swampass -- his suit's flecked with mysterious swamp shit in the process.
Talk about dramatique.]
So you noticed...
[Remiss, strained. He's backing up into the nearest tree, trying to Yogi Bear the claw out of his middle. It's stuck like a plug and while he could just pull it from the front, he needs some leverage for this to be a success.
Something like that.]
Will you just be spectating?
[The centipede is still freaking the hell out, albeit quietly...]
he is Into It
This time, Takasugi watches Solomon's arm contort, bending against itself until the flesh has reshaped into a crude blade, sharp and grotesque. His smile mirrors the display, a gouge across his face as the man's pristine countenance erodes.
With a sickening split, the creatures severed limb falls away, sending it into coil after coil of pain. For the moment, it poses no threat, the monster just as likely to retreat as to lash out for survival.
Too bad Solomon didn't just finish it off.
But Takasugi hadn't expected him to. When pyres had been burning high in Wyver, he'd expected some fight, some physicality behind the frustration he'd caused by pushing the man away. Then, nothing.
And here, too, nothing, other than muted aggravation.]
Do you need help? [Ask him for it, and he'll oblige.]
he got a semi
Barring the fact that it hurts like a motherfucker.]
Forget I asked.
[He just can't find much appreciation in Takasugi staring at him as he's in the process of being killed. Ish. He'll steady himself with that mutated arm, use his other hand to work the oversized claw out of himself in reverse. It cuts into his palm in the process, which really isn't a problem in comparison to the gaping circle in his abdomen. It inevitably, fortunately, plops out behind him like a big turd.
The wound will slowly stitch itself together (slowly by comparison to the speed of light, at least) while breathing unevenly, mopping his sweaty hairline with a bloodied palm...which renders the act useless.]
i will not confirm nor deny
Removed, it lets blood surge forth, as if alive with its own current.
Even Solomon could die, so far as Takasugi knows.
The man is a monster - from the tip of his carapace blade to the dull gleam in his eyes - but even beasts have a limit.
It'd be disappointing to find such a thing out here, in the middle of nowhere where none of this matters to either of them. But, should that be the case - he'll only have lost a petty annoyance.
As if those aren't his favorite kind.Luckily, it seems he'll get to keep his nuisance around.
Watching the man's flesh weave and mend, Takasugi snorts, nose scrunched against a rancid scent rising from the disrupted waters. He moves, finally, approaching the bloodied mess of a dandy to put a hand on his shoulder.] You really are a mess...
And you still have some cleaning up to do- [A nod towards the creature as it begins to settle, and poise itself for another lurch forward.]
if u wont deny it then it must be true
Isn't that why you came here?
[That's still unclear, actually, but how the fuck's Takasugi tryina sic him on the monster while his organs are still perfecting? He ends up nudging at his companion -- trying to brush him aside. The things preparing to launch (like a cat preparing to pounce) and he'd like a clear shot....]
when can he fuck the monster
He'd come to investigate, and quickly found a distraction.
Something more interesting than an errant shaman to shake down.]
I came here to find a monster.
[And by that count, he's successful.
Maybe once Solomon has flushed the log, so to speak, Takasugi will ask him why he's out here, getting dirty and disemboweled.
Or maybe he'll be satisfied with his own imagined answers - that the man isn't as composed as his demeanor suggests; a beast with fangs to sharpen.]
CAN he fuck the monster????
The thing falls forward after a moment, heavy and lifeless.
He'll draw back before he's caught beneath the weight of it. His arm retracts enough to resemble a cane of sorts. He's pointedly not acknowledging his company at the moment...]
yeah he's gonna dick it down
Those foreign, human qualities, have been devoured by the swamp.
But poise hasn't left him.
Not unrefined; he's simply a man who leaves corpses in his wake.
Takasugi almost looks proud, smiling as he approaches the felled beast. There's nothing interesting about it-]
This thing can take the blame as the source of their concerns.
Sorry, but I'm taking credit for it. [Says the man who has probably never been sorry in his life.]
i believe this was under my NO section
How will you do that?
[Not a challenge, but an actual concern. Removing the thing's jaw as a keepsake (like they do for sharks...did...) may be amusing, though they have a perfectly severed limb just to the side that Takasugi could drag back with him.
Totally acting like he didn't just use his fucked up arm to kill a thing in front of anyone.............]
o sorry do u want furry porn instead
Nor does he care to bring back a blood splattered claw to hoist at the feet of the outpost's clientele.
Nothing so troublesome is necessary.] Mn?
I have an eyewitness account. [That's you, Solomon. He nods to the blonde-] In exchange, a change of clothes. [Really super not worth it, monetarily, but...
He doubts the man can abide looking like shit for long.]
yes or digimon porn
I won't go back wi--
[Wait, change of clothes? He can't help but chuckle; he hasn't seen Takasugi dressed in anything similar to his own attire. What a goofy thing to barter. He may end up biting in the end, considering how exposed his middle is and the lack of sleeve drawn to his cuff. It's all exposed. It's like when you forget to let go of the dynamite in a Looney Tunes cartoon.]
And what clothing have you to offer?
ok but solomons final form looks like a digimon so we r back at square one
And it looks like he's at least piqued the man's interest.]
I don't think you can afford to be picky. [Walking the streets of Wyver looking like you just got regurgitated by a dragon might fit in with the local ambiance, but Takasugi imagines that's the last aesthetic Solomon wants to embody.
But, in the interest of ensnaring his 'companion' further...] It's white, and newly purchased. [Not second hand, and in Solomon's palette.
Pretty generous, honestly.]
damn...u got me
In the meantime: he's listening. Solomon really ought to try darker colors, considering nearly all of his suits have been ruined by the elements so far (90% being of his own doing....), but he's a creature of habit.]
I don't believe you.
[For the record.]
But I am curious.
[Of what Takasugi's idea of an acceptable white ensemble is.]
If you present me with a tablecloth, I won't forgive you.
[Like that time he got tricked into joining a cult and drinking fire blood.]
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His smile grows, even as the rank air of the giant insect's dying body assaults his senses. It leaves his mouth tasting acidic, the back of his throat clenching reactively to the stench.]
You'll need to change first. No one will believe you, looking like a derelict.
[He brushes off the threat - because it isn't one. Takasugi treats Solomon's growing list of grievances like a high score board. He's one of those kids that keeps playing in the arcade until every entry is his stupid handle.
If he had a table cloth, he'd be offering it.
Their long walk to Wyver is mostly silent; Takasugi smokes, and maybe they bicker a bit. Whatever it is, it's awkward.
When they reach his place, it's just as shitty as it was last time Solomon came over. Takasugi doesn't bother holding the door open for his guest - the wood more or less congeals with the wall when it touches it, sticking in place.
He disappears down a hallway that's too dark to make out as anything other than grime on a wall, and return to hold out a (mostly) white towel. No commentary offered.
It's for Solomon to clean up with, but he's left to make his own conclusions.]
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Or maybe he's just used to it -- noseblind, as the Lysol commercials say. Anyway, before heading off and not at all because Takasugi accused him of looking like a scrub, he'll take his jacket off, tie the sleeves together as best he can (it comes out a bit lopsided, considering), and set it over his shoulders like a weird cape...all just to hide the frays of his button-down sleeve.
As for the journey, he's somehow maintaining a two-step-to-the-rear pace. His eyes are largely on the ground, mostly concerned about tripping over tree roots or stepping in a pile of something questionable. The latter remains a concern even as they clear the more woodsy aspect of the place. Of course there's time to argue in between -- things wouldn't bode so well were they to voyage in comfortable silence.
Eventually, the door's recognized as the entrance to Takasugi's place, which is barely more comfortable than lounging out in the open forest. He'll make an effort to shut that door in his wake, inwardly grumble about it not having a lock (just in case) before progressing onward still. He's almost too distracted in surveying the Grime when that gross(ish) towel's offered his way.
...It's a decidedly thoughtful gesture, accepted with hesitance. He'll remove that stupid jacket of his before thinking to wipe himself down.]
I'll need a mirror.
[Said while propping his jacket on the nearest thing, which turns out to be a doorknob. Maybe? He'll start with his arm, but he'll need something reflective if he's to wipe his face properly.]
Thank you.
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When he gathers the towel to bring to Solomon, he casts a forlorn glance to his shower. A moment of intimacy, between Takasugi and the potential for cleanliness (and inevitable disappointment when the pipes do nothing more but sputter and dribble).
Annoying.
He'll light some incense when Solomon takes the towel from his hand, several slats scattered around his abode to dimly smolder.] Follow the hallway, it's at the end.
[This is the most normal exchange they've had.
Weird.
Once a more earthen scent begins to combat the stank of two dudes (chillin five feet apart in the jungle cos they're Not Gay), he moves to crumple Solomon's ruined suit jacket in his fist and deposit it into the trash.
There's no salvaging that.
When Solomon returns, a small parcel sits on the warped table. Still wrapped in simple brown paper, it's almost like a gift. (Inside, a yukata - like this, except for dudes) Takasugi has settled, watching a small smoke tendril drift from the nearest stick of incense as he drinks from a cup of brownish water.]
no subject
All of that's fizzled, evaporated, the mud's the worst of it. It stinks -- perhaps more potently to his own nostrils. Not much he can do about it here; luckily, he isn't so germaphobic (asking to use Takasugi's shower would also be negative progressive??? Centipedes would prob rain down on him.
He makes a valiant return, less-disheveled but evidence of it all lies here and there. His eyes travel between Takasugi and the parcel, Takasugi...furrowed brows.
Could it be his bonus for puking so much during their first mission together? He'll wait for more info before tearing into it since he wasn't raised by wolves.]
Thank you, the towel came in handy.
[Awk.]
no subject
defining character featuretoy, but the loss of control. Takasugi knows pettiness well; it's founded in pride. So when someone else decides your possession is too disgusting to keep, they imply you were too stupid to make the same conclusion.The most menial power move ever.
And Takasugi smirks about it all the same, smile diminishing when small talk weighs on his patience. Solomon didn't come all this way for a towel.]
Open it. [Had he promised Solomon a bonus? He's willfully forgotten. The item on the table was bought in some earnest attempt to see the man in another light. Cloak him in some semblance (ay) of familiarity, since he's been so repellent of Takasugi's other attempts.
The superficial change probably won't be satisfactory, but in the very least, it'll be some kind of victory to see a Westerner forced into Eastern clothes, for once.]
no subject
It isn't emanating any foul smells, so he can be somewhat cautious with it without remorse. Like, what an asshole he'd feel like, for gingerly handling a beheaded animal wrapped up all nice-like. A white-lavender-floral number is eventually revealed much to his surprise, marked by how high his brows sit at his forehead.
It may not be a style he's overly familiar with, but the fact that Takasugi was able to match his tastes so closely is paramount. In general.]
Is this...something from your personal collection?
[He can't imagine Takasugi in it, for some reason. Pls excuse him for having a hard time comprehending that Taka did a cool thing for him.]
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Is there really a need for propriety here?
He'll look back once addressed, eyebrow doing a similar leap when accused of owning something so... white.] I bought it with you in mind.
[Here he tells the entire truth, because he knows it will be harder to digest than any lie he could make up.] I thought you'd like to ruin something else, for a change of pace.
[Doing "something nice" for someone isn't Takasugi's M.O. - he'd planned on giving the thing under the guise of a bribe in a situation just like this. Solomon's propensity to destroy his clothing is a well enough established fact, he can't help but take advantage of it.]
no subject
A lot to think about. Takasugi buying him something so...decidedly fancy is a lot. He's quiet in studying the garment; maybe it's a prank, surely it was intended for someone or something else. Or maybe he's just looking too far into the gesture. Even as he elaborates...this is a borderline doki doki situation.
Dangerous.]
I won't ruin it.
[Hence why he's not even rushing to put it on; he's grimy, still, and smells like a bog...probably. Nothing to do with how this isn't part of his daily uniform. Pinched between his forefinger and thumb at the shoulder, he'll give it a final once-over before folding it over an arm and stepping nearer to Takasugi.]
Thank you.
[If it seems like he's trying to tenderly bonk their foreheads and swipe tenderly at his jaw with a thumb, it's because he is. Takasugi's unlocked an Unfortunate Mood: Sentimental Appreciation.]
Perhaps if you invite me to something tasteful [NOT a gross bar and NOT a cult church.] I'll have the opportunity to wear it.
[He ain't gonna do it for no reason, this is a very specific outfit and he can't be casually bopping around in it.]
what a cute tag u gave me
In the moment Takasugi lets his eyes linger on the way the fabric folds over Solomon's skin, the man promises to deny him that favor.
He regards the dulled sentiment without a smile. Without a response beyond tilting his head along with Solomon's hand. The physicality catches him, too gentle to suit either one of them.]
Oh?
Then what will you wear now?
[Or will Solomon just become the shirtless wonder?]
this is like a fake thread of a dating sim
Perhaps you could lend me your haori.
[Is he even wearing that right now? Bitch he knows you got one. The suggestion comes with a wry grin, like they're two ordinary boys flirting with eachother after accidentally kissing during a successful Superbowl win.]
no subject
Of course, it's over a garment. Superficial thing, the value of the gift - and who had given it - factors in, surely. But not enough to consider what Takasugi's intentions were. Wear the damn thing-
With how sorrowful Solomon's eyes are as he regards the yukata, Takasugi can tell that isn't going to happen.
And, in his obstinance, the bastard demands another favor.
The request is met with a long stare.
A combination of boldness, unveiled selfishness, and the fact that Solomon actually knew that foreign word sway his decision. He turns away wordlessly, a sigh visible in his shoulders so subtly it could be a trick of the light.
(He's got more than one.)
Takasugi returns with a haori, as requested, and another garment. Black, it's not entirely possible to tell what it is. (It's these leggings.) He expects Solomon to wear the whole ensemble, because a haori with white suit pants looks.
Tragic.]
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is this thread actually over holy shit
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