![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
open
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.]
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
A feat. Something impossible. He's sure this won't go without future compensation...which is fine. He doesn't mind repaying him for the lending of a few garments. Strangely thoughtful. Must be something in the air.]
Thank you.
[The flowery garment finds a place at the table prior to him accepting the haori (etc). It's slipped onto his shoulders with little effort, left to dangle off his shoulders as he shifts the tights around and around in his grip; he's already determined that these are (leggings) but perhaps if he keeps fussing he'll...find another way to wear them.
He does not, however, and while his pants are whole, he shouldn't overlook the fact that Takasugi brought him a full outfit? A polite, silent urgency for him to look proper in his new getup.
He clears his throat a bit, finds some grime to focus on as he undoes his pants...this is bullying.....]
I apologize for the trouble.
[As his trousers drop to his ankles, revealing some classic BLACK boxer briefs.]
Had I known, I would have been more subtle in my endeavors.
[Less-nervous chatter, more about being humbled by Takasugi in whatever gross way. Provide him with [1] kawaii robe and he's more likely to get all bean-spilly than he is with a drink in hand. It's not like he can auto-heal from this. His pants are off, and those leggings find a place at his waist; it's a snug fit, but it isn't uncomfortable.]
How does it look? [As though THIS was the intended outfit for the night etc. He looks like an asshole wearing too-high leggings and his haori's been left open to make it all even more unappealing. Let's not forget how porcelain he is, white as a ghost and scarless for all of his struggles. Boring.] I've not worn anything like this before.
no subject
He counters expectations, rather than demands themselves.
Is that a higher tier of being contrary, or an excuse to cooperate? There's no telling.
Yes to both.Solomon, too, undermines assumptions, though always in the most asinine of ways. For example, just dropping trou right in the middle of the room. Ridiculous, yet even the tritest challenge Solomon levies against his expectations seems to be enough to capture Takasugi's attention.
He refuses to parse why.
His eye searches Solomon as he changes, gliding across pristine, pale skin. He isn't in particularly notable shape, nor does he bear a single scar. His body is as plain as the rest of him - and like the rest of him, Takasugi can't tear away.]
Heh.
[He stares, smile turned derisive. Solomon has taken the position of idiot foreigner and made it his own. Like a tourist who thinks they're blending in, despite high socks and a tucked in Denny's shirt.
The embarrassment doesn't stop here; it gets more intentional.
Takasugi crosses the small space between them, closer and closer until their chests are flush. He reaches into the haori, jerking one side across, and then the other, knuckles grazing skin. From the table he pulls a simple cord. Wraps it and his arms around slender waist, tugging it tight and tying the thing into an ornate knot.]
There.
[He steps back, but not enough. His breath makes strands of blonde hair not clumped with sweat sway.] Is this enough?
no subject
Even once he's finished, they remain lifted as he regards the knot from above (he hasn't a full length mirror to model in front of...sooo...), impressed. Cute. Ha ha. Takasugi's weirdly talented and nice, who would've thought. Nevermind that he's still standing far too close. For a creature that's only regarded intimacy as something clinical -- appealing only from a genetic standpoint, one may think it'd be easy for him to shrug it off, nudge Takasugi away so that he can press on with whatever it is he does after gallivanting in the shitty diarrhea swamp. It isn't, and he does not. Is this enough -- no. Of course not. How deliberate of him, or desperate of himself, to be seduced with a few simple touches in a fucking Motel 6.
He's gotta feed, that's all.
A hand settles over the thought-to-be-blind-spot-lol of Takasugi's face, outstretching enough to cup the side of his chin in a palm, fingertips bumping the edge of those bandages without disturbing them.]
You know I don't care for the Shaman, but they're capable of producing a pact with their witchcraft.
[Hey Takasugi you gave me a cool clothing item and you're good at tying fishermen knots do you maybe wanna get hitched. He tilts his head, deliberately dragging the bridge of his nose down the opposite side of his face, settling in the crook of his neck.]
You and I could share in this curse, in other words.
[Is that how it really works? Who knows. Factually, Solomon's parting his lips over a stretch of throat, canines boring in with little effort and little consideration.]
no subject
It would never be enough.
Whether taken with the edge of a blade or with centuries of apathetic wandering, neither of them would ever know what could even constitute 'enough'. So much drives them apart, but their appetites...
That's something Solomon can't seem to restrain, despite himself. In moments like these, with his hand guiding Takasugi's head aside and his lips warm against his neck, he becomes his hunger.
Quite a bit of Solomon has been left behind, blood dissipating in fetid swamp water. Of course he needs to replenish himself, and what runs hot under Takasugi's skin is a tempting source of nourishment. An easy excuse-
Lips parted, Takasugi groans. Relaxes his shoulder, his jaw. It's not going to be enough. Solomon could drain him dry, and they'd be no closer than they are now, festering between the jungle and each other's heat. A shiver descends from the crown of his head to his feet, body adjusting to the loss of blood.
Comfort clashes with his nerves, dulled then suddenly urgent.
Takasugi raises his hand. Clasps the back of Solomon's neck, tense fingers digging into the warm skin. Holding him in place, pressing him closer.] I don't want those bastards coming between us.
If you want me to share your curse, do it yourself. [Diva has mentioned the ability to turn people, though she'd bemoaned the Natha's interference with it. Appealing to them isn't something Takasugi intends to do, but Solomon has the social graces to weather such embarrassment.
Maybe he'll be rewarded if he does.]
no subject
He won't drain him, even like this. He's experienced a (typically fatal) injury, but he won't act so desperate. The weight at his neck...painful (meh) but encouraging, he's at odds with it all. Having to resist something so natural is a pain in the ass, not to mention he's making this whole thing too goddamn romantic. It's not like they'd be part of it, it's not like they'd even know. He'll put an end to his suckling all at once, lest Takasugi go limp in his grasp before his donger can reach full length.
Which it's in the process of doing. No, feeding doesn't usually get him so excited, it's all the surrounding events ever because he's a corny teen girl deep down inside.
Uneven breaths find the wetness at his throat, his tongue innocently handling any additional streaks of red.]
That isn't something I can do.
[And it isn't about responsibility and not wanting to deal with that. When he does lift his head, his face is still tidy, though his lips carry more of a pout, swollen, redder than usual. A sloppy line of scarlet embellishes a corner -- he's not aware of it yet. His teeth aren't so pristine at the moment either.]
Someone would have to come between us, be it those men or Diva.
[He's unaware of the futility behind their second option, though he should assume as much with how willing the Natha are to interfere. It's an embarrassing admission, but something about his current circumstances lay honesty bare, like being post-coital. He gata calm down.]
no subject
But there isn't any other name for it.
The warmth of the man's neck is enticing, his hands chilled. All of him, despite the putrid Wyver heat, feels too damn cold. When Solomon disconnects, he shivers - but he doesn't allow himself to be swept up in the man's embrace.
Instead, Takasugi sways backwards. The table saves him, palm hitting the edge of it harshly before anchoring his weight against it. Head lulled, he catches a glimpse of Solomon's state of arousal - those leggings doesn't leave anything to the imagination.
He chuckles, before lifting his heavy head to meet Solomon's gaze.] Unfortunate.
[Solomon's inability to turn him. And the boner.
Takasugi pushes forward, fingers remaining against the rough wood of the table while his other hand rises. With his thumb, he smears the spot of blood that remains on Solomon's face across his lip.
So he can lick himself clean - though he'll never look it, lips stained a gory red stark against his complexion.] I'm not interested in sharing this with anyone else.
[His reason for denial is something more like not knowing the extent of what would be exchanged between them should they undergo a Pact.
But there's some honesty in his excuse - he'd hate for what little they've wrought from each other to be taken for another purpose.
He sucks at sharing.]no subject
The inability to transform others is something of a gift -- in literally every instance but this one. He'd like not to bare responsibility for turning everyone he's ever fed from. He's prepared to contest that remark, but he's swept into silence with that thumb; a fleeting silence, one that lasts a sweep of the tongue, a pull draws the digit between his lips for another moment.]
Aren't you selfish. [If the thumb lingers, he'll be speaking around it, nibbling it insistently.] Don't act as though we've killed others for less.
[Still, he has zero plans to force Takasugi into this; it isn't like he has anything specific to gain...which...is so odd...his fascination with the warrior is a very clear result of his worsening psychosis.]
no subject
He runs his thumb along teeth, pricking the pad of his finger against fangs smeared with translucent blood, diluted by saliva. As idly as Solomon's nipping.
When he draws away, he drags the digit where the line of red had been, leaving it stained pink. Just as messy as before-] You're no better.
[An admission Solomon had extended himself, though we means less than the implication behind his comment.
Allow the pact, and then kill the Shamans? Takasugi chuckles, hoisting himself to half sit on the table. The wood groans under his weight.] For now, I need you to report to my benefactors.
[An abrupt subject change, because he doesn't hate that idea. But Solomon can stay desperate. For months, Takasugi has been suffering a craving for intimacy - the first step to mutual understanding is letting Solomon fester in that same desire.
Or maybe he's just being petty.]
no subject
I'm aware of that.
[He isn't so prepared for relevancy, however. Takasugi reminds him of the point, and while he's quiet, there's an air of disappointment.]
Of course. [A hand wraps around the more narrow part of his leg, closer to his knee. There's a little squeeze involved...affection...gross...but he won't turn this into a big thing. Parting affection.] I'll pretend you haven't been bribing me all night to that point.
[That hand draws away and he'll take a step in reverse, indicating his departure; it's a process, he's european.]
Take care.
[When you tell someone to take care but u really mean stop agreeing to do stupid shit for weird guys.]
no subject
Not in the romantic sense, but the manner in which a fabled magician enchants wild beasts.
If only he could discern what had made this touch different from the rest. Something to dwell on, to attempt to replicate with more invasive actions than he'd ventured in the past. Now that one's been rewarded, there's no stopping him.
Solomon's hand on his thigh seals the conviction.] Don't wrinkle your nose at their stench.
[A 'take care' of his own, the warning the most consideration he's given Solomon probably ever.
And that's the extent of it. Takasugi doesn't offer directions, instead watching the man leave and waiting several moments before departing himself. He doesn't follow the blonde's path, not for aversion to stalking but because he'd surely be noticed.
Instead, he simply makes his way to the bar his commissioners reside in. It smells like a stable, but they smell worse. Even the alcohol tastes like straw - Takasugi doesn't order any as he waits, listening to a tall tale spun by a man with a scar across his shoulder.
When Solomon arrives, Takasugi greets him with eye contact and a wave.] Yo.
He's here- [The men around him turn, fixing Solomon with crooked, but grateful smiles.]
no subject
But it's extra. He'll depart with a longing glance, his present tucked under an arm. Into the night he goes....
And it takes him probably like, a full half hour or more to arrive at the same destination. He's pinned close to the entryway as he's met with Takasugi's cycloptic gaze, then made focus by a handful of individuals.
This is worse than bar hopping with the Mad Max krew.]
..Ah.
[He'll spare some accusatory words later. Something about being stalked, something about Takasugi not trusting him. For now, he'll make his way to the group. Somehow, the hardwood flooring feels soggy beneath his feet; maybe a result of how saturated the air seems to be -- body odor and what, shit?]
To whom do I speak about [...is Taksugi using his real name with these people? They should have discussed a thing for sure.] the swamp creature? I watched this man, [A vague motion with his chin.] eliminate it. I've somewhere else to be, if that's all you need.
(no subject)
(no subject)
is this thread actually over holy shit
(no subject)