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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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 one readily answers the pristine (by comparison, at least) newcomer's initial query, but the scarred man throws his arms open in drunken jubilation when the beast's demise is cordially announced.
He laughs, breath rancid and teeth blackened - but at least he still has some. His companions aren't so blessed. Maybe that's why he's their leader?] Tani doesn't look like much, but he can sure surprise you!
[He'd used his moniker, thanks for the consideration, Solomon.] You look too frail to be wandering in the swamps - take care, buddy. There won't always be someone to save you! [One of the men makes some sort of mean middle school homo comment about Solomon, to which another... and Takasugi... snickers.]
No need to linger any longer than you'd like. [A coin purse thuds in front of Takasugi; he takes it without delay and stands.] I'm afraid I'm also occupied, so I'll be departing as well.
[The leader scoffs, something about not knowing how to have a good time, but ultimately turns back to his buddies with no more than a gruff wave.
Which leaves Takasugi and Solomon to leave as a pair. Stepping out into the night, Takasugi chooses lighting his pipe over initiating conversation. After all, Solomon 'has somewhere to be'.]
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It's fortunate that he's never been one to feel the need to prove himself, seek revenge or backstab on a whim. The ball's really in his park, which is the only reason he'll give Takasugi a hard stare for that chuckle.]
That isn't something you need to tell me.
[His work here's done; it's something he could have achieved with a phone call. He's departing, a few brisk steps ahead of Takasugi, pointedly overlooks holding the door for him.
And once outside, he'll appear as unaffected as he'd been during the roast.]
Take care not to spend it all in one night. [His reimbursement, obviously.] You may not be able to handle a second hunt.
is this thread actually over holy shit
Aromatically.
Yet there he stood, taking the brunt of an insult at the second grade level. There's nothing to say to a simple slur when a gaggle of
mean girlssweaty men are chortling, complete with audible tartar in their throats, at your expense.Takasugi's been in Solomon's position enough times to be tickled by some sweet sweet Schadenfreude at the man's expense.
Having a door swing towards his face can't dampen his mood-
Pace more confident than Solomon's - he knows where he's going, after all - Takasugi raises a hand, dismissive.] Enjoy your night, Mr. Beast Hunter.
[From butcher to poacher, Solomon's really making a life for himself.]
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