nysalogs | . under starless skies . closed

[Solomon's gonna be knocked the fuck out because the Takasugi's being cute after initial entry thanks. He does stir at the added weight on the mattress and proceeds to wake with a start because holy fuck. It's got very little to do with his marred features, more to do with the sudden company.]

Shinsuke-!

[His touches are gentle enough that he wasn't prompted to train a blade to his throat or anything. Deceptively gentle. It's something he's not acclimated to, hence the twitchy awakening. An arm lifts, fingers traveling the length of his jaw. It's covered -- his face is largely wrapped by comparison to his normal makeshift eyepatch. His opposite arm's used for leverage, propping himself up.]

What's the matter?

[He can't smell smoke, no sign of hysteria beyond the cabin walls. No signs of urgency anywhere but in his company.

And even then, it's only in word-form.]

[If Solomon were to throw himself from his bed in alarm, Takasugi would let him fall. His arm hangs at his side, no urgency echoed in his posture. Despite lacking more features than normal, he meets concern with a stare, patience clearly thin.

It seems as if the blonde won't be coaxed so easily from his bed. Does he need to make up for the dramatic awakening with this... appraisal?

There should be no need to explain. To remove the bandages and reveal the wounds speckled over his face. A creature who relies on blood to live should smell the rot.

At least, that's Takasugi's excuse for offering no clarification. Instead he draws back, taking hold of the pale wrist hanging near to pull Solomon from his bedding.

Once he's dragged him to his feet, he'll reassert proximity - holding fast against any protests while caressing scabbed thumb over the smooth, pale skin of Solomon's palm.] It's a full moon.

You wanted me to share in your curse, didn't you? [Wake up bitch, we're getting dragon married.]

[He's searching him -- what happened overnight? What the frick frack happened. There's an odor of rust over rot, the former more poignant to him. It isn't fresh, not outright.

He's yanked out of bed before he can offer a surge of questions, stumbling to full height. Were it anyone else, he'd offer more defiance -- pummeling them wouldn't be out of the question, but something's amiss.]

Wh-?! [Fuck the moon, if all of this is over moonwatching he's out. His gaze drops momentarily, to that thumb, a frown ever-present. Offer, reminder scrambles whatever train of thought he'd been able to patch together--]

You, you want to do that now?!

[They...they hadn't even discussed such an arrangement at length, not to say he's changed his mind, but this is far too informal. He hasn't a suit to wear.]

What is the meaning of all this-?

[Christ on a cracker.]

[His wounds were never fresh. From the moment shards of shotgun slug split his skin, his contusions had begun to rot. Such is the nature of the weapon he'd been fighting against - powerful enough to reduce his blade to rust in a single shot.

And he'd taken several, sacrificed the left entirety of his face for a counterattack. Given his right hand's function for an advantageous position.

Ultimately, he'd lost the fight, and retreated to the victor's house to lick his wounds and nurse the damage he'd done. That was weeks ago, and his state has hardly improved.

If something piques his appetite, Takasugi suffers no hesitation in digging his teeth into meat. But it wasn't his jaw that had snapped - Ysverai's will had soaked into him, coalesced with his impulses and left him crazed.

He's hardly better off now, having stewed in inertia for too many days. It's agitated him to his core, made the temptation of a borrowed power sound sweeter.] They only offer the service under a full moon.

[Tersely - he can't believe the inconvenience of explaining this. Each word threatens to split the irritated scabs that litter his lips.

Hand still wrapped tightly around Solomon's, Takasugi urges him forward again.] I'm tired of waiting.

[He's steadying himself on a shoulder, grogginess at odds with his current circumstances -- with Takasugi's circumstances. He isn't even sure if that's what he'd meant to ask, but all forms of an explanation are appreciated here.

He's concerned with his well-being as much as he's worried about the consummation part of the deal. A hand mops the sleep from his eyes, but ultimately does very little to benefit.]

If you're being serious, I'd like to wear something else.

[Priorities...it's not his fault Takasugi decided to swiss cheese himself with bad ammo.]

Ideally, I'd have purchased something new, but it seems we can't postpone this for later.

[He's catching on.]

[Weight on his shoulder doesn't assure Takasugi that his wait will end any time soon. The idiot is taking his damn time to wake up, and then going on about aesthetics. Takasugi appreciates the atmosphere as much as any other lush, but there's nothing to be enamored with when one party is wearing a face full of bandages.

Even pajamas look better in comparison.

Impatience seizes Takasugi's jaw, the muscle tensing - his lip twitches, but that little displeasure is hidden by the gauze wrapped over his visage.

He shrugs Solomon from his shoulder, abandoning his grip, to pry open the man's closet door. Light flicked on inside, his eye burns, but he can see well enough immediately to grab a white shirt and some black slacks.

Simple, there's nothing to complain about.

He'll toss the ensemble at the man.

Wakie-wakie, bitch.]

[Takasugi might look like the cover of The Curse Of The Mummy's Tomb by R.L. Stein and smell like copper, but if the dude's talking weddings obviously wardrobe takes to priority.

The first garment hits him and flops onto the floor, the second hangs off a shoulder before joining the first at his feet.

On one hand, it's a special outfit because Takasugi picked it out. 💖

On the other hand, this is an awfully boring getup. He's linefacing while draping the trousers over his forearm, followed by the top.]

Do you intend on changing as well?

[He's settling the two pieces of clothing on the bed, unbuttoning his top to replace it with the white one. Tedious.]

[The dull thud of fabric crumpling on floor is a precursor to another potential complaint. If this bastard whines that his clothing is wrinkled to sneak another few minutes of sleep, Takasugi will kill him.

Somehow.

They're both grouchy.

Luckily, they're spared that particular outburst. Instead, Solomon begins to change with only a trite question in his wake.] What I'm wearing is enough.

[Because none of this shit matters. It's not hard to win best dressed when everyone around you is in a hideous monk robe.] I haven't arranged a dinner or a vacation for us either, before you ask.

[It's akin to dragging the man to a courthouse and being done with it.]

[He's awkwardly quiet as he dresses -- awkwardly, pleasantly, whatever. The point is that he's dressing without much else to gripe about at the moment....and only because his mind is muddled. The silence doesn't last, however. It wouldn't have even if Takasugi had remained similarly silent.]

As if there's anywhere to recess on this god awful planet.

[There are plenty of nice spots, but Solomon's a prissy bitch. Only after the last button of his shirt's been tucked into its corresponding slit and the bottom of his shirt's been tucked into his pants will he glance up, huffy but ever-hazy.]

I would like an explanation before we proceed. Your impulses never make sense to me, but this is bizarre.

[Given Solomon's endless well of complaints whenever Takasugi tries to take him somewhere """nice""", that assessment is credible. Anywhere they could go would be met with some form of rebuke, so why bother? He'll hear enough of it at home.

~~How long have they been married, exactly? 25 years???~~]

There isn't anything to explain.

I'm going to share in your curse. You offered the proposition in the first place, or do you not remember? [Was Solomon's mind too clouded by his boner to retain anything other than some spankbank material?

Of course, Takasugi's being intentionally obtuse in his explanation. He won't offer any details of his current state, nor acknowledge that he'd been opposed to the idea in the first place, only to change his mind after getting the shit beat out of him.]

[All significant decisions are made because of something. Takasugi seemed on the fence for so long, he shouldn't be the one to initiate, "force" hands here. There's a huff at that accusation -- it's an accurate comeback.]

You don't seem well, and the fact that you've been neglecting my proposition until now seems suspicious.

[As though this sort of arrangement could be wholly un-superficial.]

I was sleeping, you know.

[He doesn't have time for this bullshit. Maybe, once they're on their way to Wyver, he'll find the mood for banter. Now, however, the fact that Solomon was sleeping holds no weight. He would have roused the man from the dead for this.

Not that Solomon's wrong. Hell yeah this is suspicious!]

Have you changed your mind? [Direct, nothing of the coy drag his words usually carry. Takasugi's lips too, retain their tension, but only in how they curl over his teeth. A way of stretching out aching skin, itching scabs that have only just started to solidify.

It stains his bandages a gross pussy yellow, not visible but certainly pungent in the darkness of Solomon's pristine room.

No wedding photos, then.]

I haven't.

[A stern, quick response. One Takasugi should already know the answer to -- his opinions rarely waver -- he still allows the man room and board, for example, even after he fucked his 12 y/o daughter. He's trite in that way.]

You've pushed yourself too far, haven't you? That's all you needed to say.

[He's just being nosy, really. There isn't any reason to fret where he's still mobile and cognizant. No amount of questioning here and now will reveal the full scope of things, Takasugi's a pain in the ass like that.]

Lead the way, why don't you.

[Less enthused than he would've been if this were more formal...more natural at the same time.]

[To pursue a union of any sort out of desperation leaves a filthy taste in Takasugi's mouth. ~~Or maybe that's the puss.~~ While he recognizes how affronted Solomon is by their sudden elopement...

Even on a normal day, he wouldn't care.

But now, he considers his own concessions to be far greater than those of the creature he's to 'wed'. His face fucking hurts, and the rest of his body aches, leaving his muscles taut in the same way they stretch when he allows Solomon to sup his blood.

You've pushed yourself too far, haven't you? The accusation stays Takasugi's urgency - he watches blonde hair and gentle features sway in the moonlight, and sees a ghost.

Whether the comment softened or sharpened him, Takasugi doesn't know, but he relents to that final demand without arguing the observation. Reaching out with an arm, Takasugi returns to the window he'd come in through.] You can make your observations while we travel.

[There will be plenty of time (let's timeskip) for Solomon to surmise the rot blossoming over his skin. His head lulls to one side, half of his neck weaker than the other. When the bandage over his eye slips, he doesn't feel it, doesn't fix it.

Instead he balances his pipe and a gourd of sake, working his tattered lips free of their dressing only enough to place mouthpiece or brim against them.

Unless prompted, he'll travel in silence. It's a long journey - he cuts through the Gilded Cage to reach Wyver, but there's no shortcut up the mountainside. They'll make it at the cusp of dawn at Takasugi's pace. Close enough? Yes, but the ceremony will surely be rushed.]

[He's quiet overall; their journey could be halved still were he to shift -- even partially to his more monstrous form. He isn't in the mood for it; one, because it would ruin his outfit and two: Takasugi deserves to have to go on a hike for waking him so brusquely and sapping all the romance from such an important proposition.

Even if his current state is concerning, more and more as the moonlight reveals this and that at alternating angles. He very nearly feels bad, expressing such concerns is forbidden, however.

Not because he hasn't a slew of questions or lacks the words, but hyperfocusing on it all even more than he has won't reap the best results. Takasugi's a little bitch, for example. The whole thing feels far longer than it actually is -- hope springs eternal once they cross the threshold of the Gilded Cage, but the last leg of their journey evokes feelings akin to what the crew of the Andrea Gail felt before that last wave murdered all of them.

He opens his mouth to offer the proposal of a lift, but Takasugi's trudging onward on piping up suddenly feels strange. For someone with endless stamina and in perfect health, he has a lot of disparagement for this whole thing, end goal notwithstanding. At least dawn shines graciously over the treetops, illuminates their would-be altar in the vaguest, slightest of ways.

Of course, fucking with an audience would be easier to do at night, but he's pretending that isn't a component of anything but Takasugi's rude ass mind.]

. under starless skies . closed

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject