[Wriothesley weighs those words for a moment before he replies.]
I'll meet you at your room. I'll knock twice then once more so you know it's me.
[As if Rufus would be expecting anyone else, but Wriothesley is someone if not thorough in making himself identifiable to someone whom he was meeting up with.]
I don't need the resort sticking their nose into my business right now.
[And really, he's not worried about the security of his own room — Tseng wouldn't let him live anywhere without having sufficiently swept it for surveillance, and he also checks himself on the regular, accustomed as he is to Shinra-grade "supervision" on the part of his father. Of course Wriothesley doesn't know that, and whether Rufus decides to tell him is as yet anyone's guess.]
I look forward to hearing just what business you're bringing.
[Wriothesley doesn't answer the text back, and just heads up from his Rank 7 suite and up to the floor with the Rank 10 suites. There's no reason to say more when they'd be able to discuss anything upon him arriving. He does exactly what he says in text, knocking twice and then once more after a pause.
Arms folded over his chest, while Wriothesley's expression is something neutral, small things betray him. Tension in his shoulders and there's something stormy in his gaze as he waits for Rufus to answer the door.]
[The Tens floor should, by all rights, be a comfortable — even luxurious — place to live. The suites are big, consisting of multiple rooms, and full of sufficient amenities for any average person to feel supremely taken care-of. Which in turn means that for Rufus, it's a couple notches below what he's accustomed to, but...well, it'll do. For a while, anyway, while he bides his time.
The knocks comes just as his guest said it would; even so, he's cautious to check for a visual before opening the door to permit entrance. He's dressed down a little from what he usually walks around the resort in, having foregone his suit and coat for a dark high-neck sweater and crisp white trousers, and a pair of comfortable house slippers instead of his typical boots.]
You're punctual.
[And agitated, clearly. He beckons Wriothesley inside and closes the door behind him, careful to keep his expression even and not try to catch a breath of him as he steps past, just in case he happens to be wearing that ocean-scented cologne.]
And willing to pay to get something out of me, so let's have it.
[Wriothesley had grown used to being in the suites meant for the rank 10s. It helps that he consistently ends up crashing at someone's room just as much as he sleeps in his own. The layouts do differ from room to room, he's finding.
The man looked, well, tired. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke lingers on his clothes. He's dressed in slacks and waistcoat and would look well kept if not for small signs. The slight wrinkling of his dress shirt underneath that implies he hadn't bothered to press it and the way he didn't even bother to button the top most button of his waistcoat.
He nods his head in greeting as he steps inside.]
I wasn't about to make someone wait when it was I who asked for their time. How unbecoming if I did. [He gives a cursory look around, mostly out of habit to quickly access the space. Paranoia runs deep after all.
He purses his lips before turning to look at the other.] I just don't want to think for a little bit. [And while things like drugs could easily get him that, he also was someone who liked a clear mind. It was a frustrating dichotomy.]
You're free to let me know what you would like as payment and we can find a compromise that works for the both of us.
[What a trajectory the world is on, when someone is evidently coming to Rufus Shinra as though he's a fucking therapist. It'd be a lie to say that the stated purpose of the visit doesn't startle him a little; given the...everything that's gone on between the two of them up until this point, he would've assumed that whatever request Wriothesley was bringing with him was somewhat more tangible, and considerably less vulnerable. (Surely, surely, this man has had his fill of being vulnerable around him, reduced to a shaking mess in a collar, reduced to lazy smiles and linked arms —)
And yet — there's something to the way he frames it, I don't want to think. The chance to switch one's mind off is the siren song of the overworked and overburdened, resigned to the necessity of whatever it is they carry, yet desperate to put it down in the short term just to ensure they can survive it a little longer in the greater one.]
You're asking for a repeat performance.
[He'd made him drink the green potion. He'd put him on his hands and knees and dragged noises out of his throat and again and again it'd always been the same, I want to be good, I want to be a good boy.]
Well. If we're negotiating a bargain, then my compensation is going to be contingent on my obligation. So let's be clear — just how much control are you willing to cede to me?
[He smiles faintly, tilting his head at the slightest angle.]
There must be something you won't let me do to you.
[Wriothesley shrugs in response.] It doesn't have to be a repeat performance. It doesn't have to even be sexual. I just want a moment. [A moment can mean anything. To Wriothesley, he just wants to feel like he can breath easy even if it's for a minute.
He had pointed it out to Tseng once. Sometimes there was something freeing about submitting to someone and letting them hold the reigns. It had already happened once between them. Why not another time?]
A business man, huh? I appreciate that. [It makes it easy for someone to be concise and to the point. He likes that.] You're right though.
[Wriothesley is someone who knows his limits pretty well.] I refuse to have my hands bound. I don't want any kind of drugs. No permanent physical alterations. [The last one was kind of just a precaution. He doesn't think that it would come up, but it was better to be honest than for things to go too far and for him to be dragged back into reality.
But Wriothesley didn't have a lot of things he refused. As long as he felt like he didn't feel completely at Rufus' mercy, giving up control was different than feeling like he lost control, and he didn't like using substances.] I don't think there's anything else.
[There's something unusually resonant in the way he says that — I just want a moment. Not a favor, not an experience, not even an orgasm. Just...a moment, when he can shut his mind off, and not have to think, and leave himself entirely in the care of someone else's direction.
It's a startlingly compelling notion, not least of which because Rufus of all people can appreciate just how much trust is requisite for an ask like that. He certainly wouldn't be so quick to put himself up at anyone's mercy, mostly because he's long since learned to never expect mercy from anyone. And yet...
And yet, there's something to it. Something just compelling enough that he thinks, maybe he wants to explore a little more of this — albeit from the safety of being the one on his feet, and not the one on his knees.]
Then keep your money. I'm not rendering a service like a whore.
[Though the premise really isn't that far off from the sorts of things that go on in Wall Market, dreams sold to paying customers and carried out by charming little honeybees. Not that he's ever been let anywhere near such places, but still.]
But I will do it for loyalty. In a place like this, an ally is worth their weight in chips — so those are my terms.
[He can't help the bark of laughter that escapes his lips. It's something tired but there's something genuine about the laugh. Something he really needed because he definitely struggling with the concept of loss here. It isn't like this is the first time nor the last, but a handful of people whom he had kept close were now gone so quickly caught him off guard. Enough to knock him off his feet.
Rufus' words were amusing though. At least said to him, whom had easily offered services of all kinds while in prison from credit coupons. That, at the end of the day, he was still seeking some sort of service from Rufus. It might not be sex, but the concept was there.]
Monsieur. You already had that.
[Loyalty isn't quite the right word, he thinks. At the end of the day, they still have their own goals and plans. But Wriothesley, despite what hiccups of their relationship, did like Rufus. Sure, he basically barked for the man, but the man seemed to respect him enough not to treat him like shit after. Hell, if his relationship was bad with them, he wouldn't be here in their room asking for their time.
As it is, he didn't intend to not at least treat the other as some respectable business associate.] It's a deal then.
If I already had it, then shouldn't I get to ask for something else?
[There's a note of dry irony in the remark, even as he finally moves into Wriothesley's space and brings his hand up to frame his face, aiming to rest his palm lightly against his cheek. In large part, it's an attempt to see if he can get away with it at all, or if he'll be deflected away; call it an opening foray to test the waters of this agreement they've just struck, to see how willing Wriothesley is to bend — and how hard he's going to have to work to put him under.]
But since you're an ally, let's let it wait until afterward — and you can offer me what you think all this was worth to you. For now, I think it's time you stopped using that clever mind of yours.
[He leans a little closer, his voice taking on a more velvet tone — lulling, deep, and easy to listen to.]
Nod, or shake your head, but no words. You're not going to need them for a while.
Isn't it what you wanted though? [His tone is mostly playful. Rufus should have considered asking for something else. Honestly, though, Wriothesley's loyalty is a vague concept if the both of them were being honest. What actually entailed in something like that was murky water.
Whatever it meant, there was something that was consistent. If Rufus ever needed a helping hand in anyway, Wriothesley would not leave the man wanting.
And Rufus apparently didn't intend to leave him wanting either. Wriothesley shivers and he opens his mouth to respond before snapping his mouth shut. A half-lidded gaze before he nods in silent affirmation.]
[Ah, so that landed, did it? Interesting — he really does want to just...stop thinking, evidently. And that's something that Rufus will dwell on later, will turn over and over in his head as he contemplates it from all angles, but for right now settling into the helm of control is easy and as natural as breathing.]
You're not as cute without your tail, puppy. I wonder if you're still as obedient without it.
[Just a moment, he'd said, and it didn't have to be anything sexual. Just a means of getting outside of his thoughts, then — yes, all right, Rufus can certainly work with that.]
Let's see how much you remember. Sit.
[He makes a slight, almost imperceptible motion with his hand — evidently, it's habitual for him to give nonverbal commands along with spoken ones, for some reason — and yes, seems to indicate that Wriothesley ought to lower himself down to the ground right there in the midst of the carpet.]
[What Wriothesley probably needed rest. Not sleep. Rest. Just some time to catch his breath and maybe relax and not feel like the weight on his shoulders felt so heavy. And he can maybe get that right now. He's not the Duke or the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide or even Wriothesley.
Hell, right now, he's apparently just some dog taking orders. And he was alright with that.
He doesn't hesitate to obey, getting down to his knees until he's seated in front of Rufus. He looks up at the other and waits for Rufus' next order.]
[There's a different air to this than the last time; it's a subtle change in atmosphere that Rufus isn't oblivious to. But that only makes sense, really, when the last time was about tensions running hot and the fervent burn of desire, and this variation on the theme is meant to be quieter, slower.
It's that thought that guides his decisions of how to move next, of how to exercise the level of control Wriothesley seems to want without injecting an overtly sexual component into it. It's that notion that has him thinking of what he has available around the room, and what he can best make use of with it.
What he decides on, ultimately, is another of those quick hand commands — though he doesn't speak it aloud, this one most likely interprets to stay — and briefly leaves the room in the direction of his bedroom before returning with the soft plush tie from his luxury bathrobe.]
Close your eyes.
[He flicks the squarish end of the cloth against the tip of Wriothesley's nose, letting him feel its sleek caress — and buying a second for him to indicate whether this is out of bounds, if for some reason he doesn't want to be blindfolded.]
[Wriothesley doesn't say anything nor questions Rufus' actions as they leave the room for a moment. He sits there, perfectly still, waiting obediently for the other to return. Despite having a nature that wasn't tamable, Wriothesley knew how to be an obedient dog.
He closes his eyes at Rufus' words and waits. There's a stiffening of his shoulders as Wriothesley seems to be making out what he was feeling and what the implication meant. Eventually, the man lets his shoulders relax, hands settling on his lap.
Relaxed. Accepting. He waits for Rufus to tie it around his eyes.]
[When no reluctance comes, he carefully ties the long, narrow strip of cloth around Wriothesley's head, leaving the knot to sit at the back of his skull while the soft expanse of it fits snug but not tight against his eyes. A little sensory deprivation can go a long way toward enhancing obedience, he muses to himself, reaching to free the ends of Wriothesley's bangs from the trap of the makeshift blindfold and let them return to dangling comfortably instead.]
[The fabric is thick enough that even as he opens his eyes, all he can see is blackness. The strange things about senses is that when you are denied one, your other senses try to make up for it. It makes his mind want to focus on other things. The rustling of fabric or the other man's breathing. Wherever every touch lingers on his body, leaving him warm.
A shuddering breath and he finally nods in response.]
[There's a strange sort of lull that comes over the room, in the moments that follow — it's not just Wriothesley that's been coaxed into the rhythm of this, into the warm drowsy cadence of forgetting about everything else. There's something to the submissiveness and silence that's starting to ensnare Rufus, too, in the tempting allure of a softer sort of dominance, absent the adrenaline rush and jagged edges.
Before he quite realizes it, he's sunk down onto one knee, letting him draw closer to where Wriothesley remains still and crouched on the carpet; it lets him lower his voice, feeding into that remark — yes, it's quieter like this, soft and easy and quiet, and there's something so powerfully compelling about that.]
A good dog can heel without a leash.
[He runs the pad of his thumb over Wriothesley's lower lip, as if to add a tactile element to the moment to help keep him grounded against the risk of drifting off on his thoughts.]
So let's go for a walk.
[It's a healthy-sized apartment, after all, with multiple rooms. Plenty of space to work in a little following.]
[With his sight taken, the only thing he can focus on is the sound of Rufus' voice and the feeling of the man's gentle touch. It's easy for his mind to latch onto it. Rufus speaks softly, like each and every word is just for him. And isn't it? Who else is here but them?
And he finds his body crave those sweet touches. The man's attention. Affection. Real or not. He leans into it, searching for that hand.
If he hadn't asked for this in the first place, he might balk at Rufus' words. Instead though, he obeys the other like a good pet. He crawls on all fours, ears straining to listen for the blond's steps and to follow after them loyally.]
[There's one thing, significantly, that Wriothesley won't overhear as they move through the suite: there's no rattle of a lock or whisper of hinges that might be indicative of the main door opening. This game is about release, not about humiliation; he's not about to be paraded around where others might see, their activities kept safe in the confines of his own four walls.
And there are tells, as he walks, that make it possible to track — but with the carpets being plush as they are, and Rufus in house slippers, it's definitely something that Wriothesley will have to focus on to attend to. He leads him smoothly, methodically, around the living room a few times — as much to throw off his sense of direction as anything else — before guiding him in the direction of the bedroom, making his footfalls a little more pronounced as they get close to the doorway.]
[Itβs good of Rufus to know not to let this go passed closed doors. Had Wriothesley felt like his trust of the scene been pushed too far, it would be unlikely that the man would ever put himself in such a situation with Rufus again. He didnβt want to be dragged into the public eye when his mental was in such a precarious spot. He wanted respite.
Heβs not quite used to the layout of Rufusβ room, even if he had took in the space carefully. Paranoia and wariness making him want to always be aware of whatβs around him. Like this though, itβs easy for him to slowly lose track as he tries to focus on where Rufus is going.
He notes the slight change in how they walk and knows the other must be leading him somewhere specific now. He doesnβt hesitate to follow.]
[ previous birthdays have always been easier to arrange, mostly because tseng has always had some level of access to rufus' living space. not so, here. he can't get in to rufus' room without rufus there to open the door, and asking him to do so would rather defeat the purpose of a birthday surprise, wouldn't it?
so instead, tseng settles for what he can manage. a cinnamon roll wrapped first in wax paper and then in tinfoil to keep it warm and moist; a thermos of coffee, although rufus is surely capable of making his own, but on your birthday it's nice if you don't have to. and in a small black box wrapped in dark grey ribbon, the actual gift: two golden coins, the same size and weight as gil would be, embossed with darkstar's likeness on one face so rufus knows which side is heads.
these all get put in a plain black gift bag and handed over to a staff member to be delivered to rufus at 10am sharp, along with a note from tseng, folded in half and tucked inside: this probably isn't how you wanted to spend it, but happy birthday, nonetheless.
[Everyone knows his birthday in Midgar, it feels like. It'd be difficult not to, when for years upon years it's been treated as all but a national holiday — ironic, really, in how even something as personal as that was never really about him, but about what his father could leverage toward his own benefit. The summer of 1977 had been one victory after another for Shinra: the first anniversary of Midgar's completion, the birth of the next generation of the company, the day Reactor One was approved to come online for the very first time.
And those were just the ones that the general population was permitted to know about.
Everyone knows his birthday in Midgar, but naturally most of his memories of the day itself are sour ones. Sour, that is, except for one tradition that never seems to fade — how even in confinement and disgrace, there would be at least a text and some understated kindness, inconspicuous and easily-overlooked by everyone except its intended recipient. Rufus would forget his own birthday before Tseng overlooks it; as in all things, Tseng is steadfast and predictable and consistent.
But even so, he's still just a little bit surprised when the knock at his door turns up, late enough in the morning that he gets to sleep in and luxuriate extravagantly in his bed, but early enough that he hasn't yet had time to wonder or doubt whether some sort of message will show up at all. That the bag and its contents come in nondescript black and shades of gray are classic Tseng: sleek and unassuming, and he's almost instantly curious about what could be inside as he takes the bag from the staffer and returns inside with an almost dragonish desire to covet the experience.
He finds the food first; not surprising, when the thermos is an obvious shape and the heat of the roll draws his notice. It's gooey and sticky and a little bit mashed from the trip up, and there's no one around to see or scorn Rufus as he pulls it apart with his fingers and shoves a piece into his mouth, licking the remains of the sugar away and sucking on them for good measure.
The box — what must be a gift — is small and light. Jewelry? Some sort of accessory? Cufflinks, maybe, or a watch chain. A keychain would suggest a sense of humor about the day out of Tseng that he has his doubts about, but still, not entirely unheard of.
He shoves another piece of roll into his mouth, wipes his hands, opens the box — and finds himself instantly at a loss, clutching the box in frozen fingers as he tries his damnedest not to drop it.
What gets him isn't, in and of itself, the coins — though the thought inherent in the gift absolutely gets him. It isn't that they're the perfect weight, the perfect size. It isn't that he can pluck one up and roll it effortlessly down the backs of his fingers and it feels just right, this tiny piece of familiarity that he'd been willing to sacrifice just like everything else, on the altar of his time spent here, and yet now all of a sudden he doesn't have to.
What gets him is —
It's the fact that someone had to make these. That Tseng had someone make these. That Tseng went out of his way to put Darkstar's image on these coins, for him, and made the likeness so exacting that he knew what it was from the moment he laid eyes on it. That she's not here, and he aches for how much he wishes she was, but now he has this. Now he has her, just this little bit of her, just like always.
Still idly toying with one of the coins, he opens his coffee and sips it, feeling the heat of the still-warm liquid go all the way down his throat and pool in the pit of his stomach, a physical echo of the warmth already buzzing over his nerves as he silently processes the reality of his gift.
Eventually, and perhaps not unexpectedly, he reaches for his watch.]
How should I spend it instead?
[No preamble, but he doesn't really need one. The confirmation of receipt is all inherent in the way he initiates the conversation as though they're already partway into it to begin with.]
[ it's only when his watch buzzes with the message from rufus that tseng realizes he was waiting for something like this, a confirmation that rufus had received the gift. he'd never needed a confirmation in years previous, again because of his access to rufus' living space and his ability to ascertain that the gifts would be left in places rufus would certainly find them—but now, relying on a staff member to get the bag where it's meant to go, he finds himself relieved by the message that clearly indicates the gift was received.
the relief immediately turns to... something, not quite anxiety, but perhaps some strange kind of anticipation once tseng has read and understood the question. how should rufus spend his birthday? one answer, which tseng can't bring himself to say; another answer, which calls back to something tseng said during that fateful morning in his suite's master bath, although tseng can't know for sure whether rufus will interpret it how it's meant. ]
[It's funny, how rapidly his birthday gifts find use, as he sends his message and awaits Tseng's reply. Funny how without even thinking about it he's picked one up and started rolling it down the backs of his fingers, flipping it off the last knuckle, catching it in his palm to start over again.]
[ not referring to rufus as sir in every text feels strange, but the birthday gifts have always been a gray area between them professionally, so it would feel even stranger to lean on that professionalism now. ]
[You could have anything you want, Tseng had told him, his secret that went without saying. What's more difficult to parse is whether he'd meant it as a statement of fact or as a reassurance against doubt; it seems unlike Tseng to even entertain the notion that Rufus might have doubts, much less imply an awareness of them, and yet — sometimes, it almost seems as though Tseng is the one harboring doubts of a variety Rufus can't always pin down.
Maybe doubts is the wrong word. Reservations might work better. Tseng, after all, has always seemed more uncomfortable with the state of their respective ranks than even Rufus has himself, has always been deferential and perfect except in those times when Rufus has managed to sink claws in and tear holes in his collected exterior.
Maybe he's waiting for Rufus to say the word.
The problem is, Rufus isn't altogether certain of what might come of it if he does.]
And if you didn't like what I wanted, would you tell me?
[ tseng reads the message twice to be sure he's understood it, and even then he finds himself at a loss. it seems almost like a trick question, one where tseng isn't sure what the right answer is. it's funny, because it isn't as though tseng is unfamiliar with the concept of informed consent, his sexual proclivities being what they are—it's just strangely difficult for him to reconcile to his and rufus' relationship. ]
I would tell you if you wanted to know.
[ is that what rufus wants? for tseng to be honest when his wants and desires conflict with rufus' requests? ]
[ perhaps strangely, it is this text that sows the seeds of tseng's eventual dawning realization that he and rufus are not understanding each other: why would tseng hate the idea of spending time with rufus? didn't tseng tell rufus, not that long ago, that spending time with him was one of tseng's small joys? ]
[It's still reasonably early in the day, yet. Plenty of time for any number of things to happen. Plenty of Tseng's day to monopolize, and he should probably feel some measure of...well, something about that, and he doesn't.]
Both.
[And slowly, slowly, he finds himself at the awkward, tentative crux of it.]
[ like a date, tseng's traitorous brain supplies. he does not say it aloud, nor does he text it to rufus, because he values his life and also his dignity; instead, tseng sends back, ]
Then come here at 1 PM for a late lunch, and I'll take you out afterward.
[ late lunch, because he knows rufus was asleep until 9:30 easy, and probably only actually got out of bed when the staff member rang his doorbell at 10:00; now, having only eaten breakfast not long ago, it'll probably be until 1:00 before rufus is even hungry again. ]
[Blessedly, Tseng doesn't remark on the construction of his sentence, of how close take me somewhere, out treads to simply being take me out which itself comes painfully, intolerably close to ask me out. But once he's able to compartmentalize the method from the outcome, he can't deny that the prospect of it is appealing — and more than appealing, what he finds he genuinely does want for his birthday.
It's a day that's never really been his own, has it? Always tangled up in things bigger than him, always with his father's fingerprints on it. This is the first birthday he's had since the old man died; as new beginnings go, the prospect of doing something solely for himself, in the company of someone he likes to be around, is...surprisingly compelling.]
I don't dislike that idea.
[Hopefully the teasing comes across, even in text. Maybe a little bit of the relief will, too.]
[ what a thing, to be teased by rufus. not that rufus doesn't have a sense of humor, tseng knows he does, but so often he witnesses it in other contexts, sharper barbs directed at people who don't always know to listen for the acidic note of humor under the words. it's much more rare to hear rufus make a joke he means entirely in good humor, and even rarer still for that joke to be directed at tseng.
it feels... good. a little disorienting, but good. ]
It wouldn't be a very good gift if I didn't.
[ sorry about your control freak tendencies, rufus, but tseng is driving now. ]
[Tseng is, notably, an objectively better driver than he is, if only because of that one maneuver where he cut a single careless angle and grazed the curb just enough to lose a point for it. Not that anyone's keeping score. Or still thinking about it after more than a decade.
This prospect, though, of handing over all the details to Tseng and merely showing up to enjoy the ride is...interesting. Familiar, on some level. Novel, on another.
He rubs the backs of his knuckles absently along the line of his jaw, thinking of a nick that by now has long since healed.]
You'll tell me what to wear?
[If the cadence of his questions is starting to give the impression of resembling a game, that's only because that's exactly what he's doing.]
[ it is definitely a game, that much tseng can tell, although he's still trying to suss out the rules of it. yet another curious feeling: to play a game with rufus, rather than just bearing witness to the games rufus plays with others. ]
I'll give you guidelines. I'm not as intimately familiar with the contents of your wardrobe here as I would have been back home.
[ he has swept rufus' wardrobe once or twice, but since they arrived here buck naked, tseng is sure rufus is still in the process of rebuilding his collection of clothing. who knows what he might have acquired since the last time tseng checked the drawers for bugs? ]
[It's odd how guidelines seems to ping that odd thrill of handing over control even more so than a stricter demand would. Maybe it's because he's used to demands, and is already primed to resist and chafe at them. Guidelines is...softer. More patient. Offers less of a penalty for failure, and more of a promise of approval for adherence.
Or maybe he's just reading too much into it.]
It's about what you would expect. A few suits. A few more casual things. More black than back home.
That one's a necessary hazard of this place. I don't wear white when I visit the Naked Yolk.
[ black at naked yolk, tseng thinks, but cum wouldn't stain white nearly as obviously, and then he puts his entire face into both of his hands for a solid minute to recover from having that thought unbidden. ]
Dress comfortably, in something that accentuates whatever you think are your best features.
[ privately, tseng hopes this means pants that hug his ass and something that matches his eyes; he will, however, accept whatever it is that rufus decides on. ]
[It takes two false starts before he finally manages to formulate his ultimate reply; the first one starts with What do YOU think are my best f and the second makes it halfway to Then shouldn't I match you, because you're my b, and then he sets his watch aside and drinks his coffee and chews on his cinnamon roll until the compulsion to be an absolute fucking disaster leaves his body like an exorcism.]
I saw something at the Nest recently that I liked. Can I charge it to your room?
[It won't escape Tseng's notice, he knows, that he asked. Not just stated an intention and expected acquiescence. The fun of guidance is the reward of approval.]
What hints? If you want me to look good, it must be because someone's going to be looking at me.
[Though, actually. One thing does occur to him, and for all that it will sound like he's immediately breaking the rules the instant Tseng has set them, there is still an element of practicality to it.]
Though you should at least tell me if I'll need a coat. Otherwise I won't wear one.
But if I really wanted to get more favours out of you I'd tell you that I ran out of material and needed more Β°Λβ§β(β°βΏβ°)ββ§ΛΒ° Since that isn't the case, have you considered that I maybe just want to get smoothies with you just because?
[ She's been bitchy and annoying enough to him (and others) over text to know when there's a tonal shift. It's the main reason she doesn't continue to be a brat now. ]
I'm just trying to understand you.
I've seen people who interact and surround themselves with other people but that doesn't mean that they have friends. Not having people you can count on like that seems lonely to me.
[ In a place like this where sex isn't necessarily synonymous with feelings, platonic or not, doesn't sit right with her. The next message comes after a beat of silence. ]
[Ah. Well. Hm. In another time and another place and another life, this would've been the point when he did a hard pivot straight out of this conversation, but...
But, well...
It's that thing again. The idea that everything about this place is, on some level, dissevered from the people they were before they came, and the people they'll be when they return. This is a liminal space. What are the risks, really, for it?]
I don't. Have friends at home, like you said.
I'm fine with what I do have. Friends have just never been a part of it.
That's hard to say without knowing what your world is like, don't you think?
You're right. It is. So it's really rude to leave my invitation to smoothies at the Nest unanswered. Maybe you can tell me more about where you've come from, I can deliver your commission to you, and maybe we can both weigh in on the fate of our friendship.
[The whole way to the Nest, Rufus tells himself that he's showing up for the sake of the commission, and not just because This Girl™ keeps hassling him about the concept of friendship. It's definitely just for the commission. And to buy her a smoothie because she's a Three and that's no way to live. It's definitely just that. It's not for any other reason.
Except that he does show up, and he isn't late, and he does look cute (because he knows how to dress himself, thank you very much) in a crisp sport coat and white slacks and a dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned, and his favorite pair of aviators pushed up onto his head like the proper rich boy on forever vacation that he is.
It isn't difficult to track her down. He refrains from waving, but does offer her a nod as he approaches.]
[ Rufus there isn't even any sunshine in the Nest. Why do you need sunglasses?
That aside, she does think that they complete the look. Sometimes you need a little accessory to tie everything together. Case in point, the bow tied around her ponytail that quite literally is tying the athleisurewear look she's chosen together. In a pink tennis skirt and white cropped jacket, she looks like she's just finished a tennis match or practice.
(In reality it's neither. She's just making use the things she's scrimped and saved for - and the closets that she's been allowed to borrow from.)
While he doesn't wave, she does, immediately perking up at the sight of him as she waits just outside the Nest for him. ]
Special? I didn't realize we were starting the nickname trial early, Ruru.
[BECAUSE THE SUN NEVER SETS ON COOL, HILDA, THAT'S WHY. Also, gods bless her for looking like an actually put-together person despite the terrible circumstances of her destitute rank. There's absolutely no excuse for most of the higher-ranked people around to just walk around being badly-dressed eyesores when this is what a Three is capable of.
He makes a mental note to buy her something, just idly. She's not the only one who can't be seen hanging around with unfashionable people, after all.]
It's a practice run. I'm not much of a nicknamer, so I'm working up to it.
[He glides to a halt just near her, clearly ready to go flex his authority on some unsuspecting minimum-wage smoothie workers. This rich bastard.]
[ IF YOU HAVE TO SAY IT LIKE THAT, CHANCES ARE YOU AREN'T VERY COOL, RUFUS.Β
Just because she's basically a peasant by rank, she's not about to let that dictate how she dresses - even with a limited number of chips at her disposal. And as if she would be seen walking around in the equivalent of gas station clothes. Even if came to that, she probably would have found some way to get a hold of some scissors and thread and make it look somewhat more presentable before wearing them off the rack.
Listen, he can be a rich bastard if it means he buys her a smoothie. But that will not stop her from pouting at the straightforwardness before holding out a little pink gift bag stuffed with tissue paper and tied with - you guessed it - a white bow. ]
Obviously. Did you really think that I'd forget?Β Even if I had, it's not like we'd have to go very far to get it from my room.
That was an implicit invitation for you to brag about your skills, P.
[How he's settled on "P" as his next attempt at a nickname is, frankly, very stupid, but hey: at least he's settling into the attempt at trying. He takes the bag when she offers it, examining it thoughtfully; part of him clearly wants to dig in and see the finished product for himself, while the other part appears to be conscious that destroying her hard work at gift-wrapping is probably not likely to earn him any points.]
Why not take another swing at it, and remind me how brilliant and talented you are?
[ The nickname earns him a little head tilt of confusion. "P" is a choice considering she has no idea what it could stand for. It's not like there's a "p" in her name. Maybe he could be referring to the colour of her hair or her eyes. The other option is that he's trying to turn "Pauper" into a cute nickname.
Asking for more details will have to come later it seems. For now she can't help but give him another look as faint patches of pink rise to her cheeks. ]
Don't you think you should look at it first before I start bragging about how great I am at a hobby?
[ While the smile that she offers him in return is undoubtedly just as sweet as most of the smiles that she offers up to others, there's a hint of nerves that run through her as he says it.
The fashion here is undeniably different than what she's used to in FΓ³dlan. And while some of it is for the better, fashion is such a subjective thing. Without knowing who this is for or knowing much about them aside from them keeping their hair up, she had little to go off of in terms of colour preference and style. In other words it could be an absolute failure.
And while she's certain she can handle a little attitude from Rufus, she's always avoided the sting of disappointment like the plague. There's no stopping this now though. When Rufus opens it he'll find not one but several items all packaged with equal care. They'll look familiar if only because he had been there to purchase them and watch her pick everything out. Understated, elegant silver barrettes glint in the light. A set of three dark metal pins polished to shine with varying colours of resin (dark blue, a dark green and pearly white) are also nestled in a differnt package. ]
I didn't know how thick their hair would be but all of them held up mine just fine so it should work for them too as long as they know how to use the hair pins.
[Once upon a time, Rufus could've had any accessory from any jeweler from any store on the face of the planet at a snap of his fingers, and if what he'd wanted hadn't existed, people would've fallen over themselves to produce it for him in just about as little of time. He remembers, distantly, the things his mother had worn — lavish necklaces, glittering earrings, hairpins that dripped of precious stones. Expensive things that flaunted the wealth his father could afford to give her, that made sure everyone could see it.
These are not like the things his mother used to wear. They're subtle, and elegant without being ostentatious. They're intriguing but not memorable. They're lovely but not distinctive.
They're perfect. Perfect for what he wants them for, perfect for the recipient he has in mind. Tseng deserves something special but would want something unremarkable; Hilda, magnificently, has managed both.]
You're good at this.
[Rufus doesn't really do admiration. The approval in his tone is about as close as it's possible for him to get.]
These are exquisite. A fine return on my investment in you.
[ Her nerves persist up until the moment he says something. For all the years she's spent trying to read those around her, whether it was actively or passively, she finds it difficult to read him as he turns over the pieces in his hands with a scrutinizing eye.Β
Despite her best efforts, the little sigh of relief that sheΒ letsΒ out from under her breath is probably audible enough for him to hear. Or maybe it isn't considering how exasperated she sounds in the next breath. Some part of her recognizes that he's being kind. And that in some other world, his world specifically, this is what someone would equate to praise when it comes to Rufus.
That doesn't mean she can't be a little bit sassy back. ]Β
You could just say, "thank you," you know. I'm not some business deal.Β
[ Although that's exactly the sort of deal they'd struck, wasn't it? Attitude gives way to mild embarrassment. ]
I'm glad you like them though. Hopefully your friend will like them too.Β
[ Is there an emphasis on 'friend'Β in the hopes that she'll find out more about this unknown receiver? Maybe. ]Β
Aren't you? I hope that's not a suggestion that you'd like to terminate our business relationship.
[He wags one of the boxes at her, in indication, before replacing it back in the bag.]
Particularly not when I can already see myself putting in another few orders, since this is the quality I'm getting back.
[Is he stalling a little bit to delay the bait he knows she's laid in the water? Absolutely. And normally he'd just dodge the subject altogether, but...well, call him crazy, but there's something about the fact that Hilda isn't afraid to give as good as she gets, and banters with him instead of being perpetually deferential, that makes him relax where he might otherwise stay guarded.
And besides, bragging about the guy he thinks is cute is...an interesting prospect.]
They're for someone I know from home. He's done a lot to make sure my adjustment to the resort went...smoothly. [A pause.] I've never — actually gotten him anything, before. This will be the first.
[ As much as she doesn't love the idea of being referred to as some kind of business transaction, that doesn't mean that she's about to give up a creative outlet. She lets out a noise that sounds a lot like a strangled laugh. ]
Not so fast. Just because I enjoy making things and you happen to have the chips and willingness to spend on the materials doesn't mean that it has to be called a "business relationship". Why can't it just be mutually beneficial?Β
[ And if he enjoys being her so called art supply sugar daddy, who is she to say no? But no, Hilda! Stay the course. He's clearly just stalling. Isn't he? Her own reassurance/reminder to herself is soon answered and some of her previous embarrassment from before fades. ]
The first time, huh? How long have you known him?Β
[HE CAN'T PUT "ART SUPPLY SUGAR DADDY" ON A BUSINESS CARD HILDA, FOR ONE THING IT WON'T FIT]
...I suppose we first met when I was seventeen.
[He's quiet a moment, but this time it doesn't feel like stalling so much as reminiscing silently; his eyes go a little distant with memory, like he's trying to figure out how to frame the recollection.]
I wasn't afforded much autonomy, but I did manage to persuade certain people with pull that I would benefit from learning a set of practical skills. Self-defense, crisis response, things like that. And he was the poor rookie saddled with the unenviable job of babysitting the VIP.
[He pauses, throwing a sideways smile her way.]
I'm sure this will come as a complete surprise to you, but occasionally it's fun to be difficult for the sake of attention. I certainly was. But he wouldn't give it to me, and it just made me want to act out more, to see if I could get a rise out of him.
[ Why not? Just get rid of "CEO of Shinra" and make his name a little smaller - you could totally make it work! She'll even do mock-ups for free.
Unfortunately she does knows exactly what he means by being difficult if it means entertainment for herself. But she isn't going to let onto that despite her huffing a little and looking away for a brief moment when he smiles at her. She had always made it a point not to be disarmed by anything anyone did. Particularly men. But when Rufus smiles, however small, she can tell that it's genuine as he recounts his history with someone that really does sound like a friend.
Even if she has that moment of clarity that whatever Rufus presents himself as someone who isn't this cool, collected individual isn't the whole truth she still manages not to miss a beat. ]
Oh, it's more than a bit. Spoiled, pigheaded. I've heard it all and most of it is entirely true.
[Though of course, most of the time he's heard it in tones that weren't teasing, and in ways that weren't complimentary, and his natural response had been to ignore them and rise above it, lofty and self-centered and dismissive. The fact that Hilda will banter with him, even if it's occasionally at his expense, is...
So strangely welcomed, really.]
And I did, but not before he got one of out of me first. That's when I knew I liked him — when I realized that we were alike. People being what we had to be, outwardly, but with...very interesting secrets.
[ It takes being on the receiving end of such insults to know how to skillfully turn them into something where levity can be found in them.
The way she had gracefully floated through life had meant that very few of those insults actually made their way to her; it was a combination of most people liking her, people wanting to curry favour with Holst (or who straight up feared the repercussions if word ever got back that they were bad mouthing his precious baby sister), or her acting blissfully oblivious to comments like that.
She acted the part of a spoiled brat because it was and is an effective means of having people purposefully think little of her. How else was she supposed to shirk responsibility? How else could she guarantee a life free of hard work and all play except for maybe the horrors of childbirth?
The fact that he's willing to poke fun at himself makes her lips curl a little higher. So he did have a sense of humor.
He must really be something if he got a rise out of you. [ He's too cool with his (indoor) sunglasses!! ] Although it can't be that difficult - I just have to spend more time with you. And if there are secrets involved that's just more incentive.
Oh, is that how it is? That's a clever way of inviting yourself into my company more often.
[But he can read a hint, and so he heads with her in the direction of the cafe — and the disparity in treatment, even implicitly, is frankly astonishing. Where Hilda gets sidelong looks and scrutinizing gazes from the resort staff and assembled residents, they all seem to sit up a little straighter and take notice when he sweeps in at her side. A funny little bubble of protection, almost, that he casts just by existing in the vicinity.
Not that he notices, really. That type of treatment is entirely what he's used to — perhaps even with a little less groveling than he might otherwise expect.
Still, with him in the lead, the trip up to the counter is fairly short — as people who might've been thinking about getting in line prudently decide to wait until the Ten has been served — and he gestures for Hilda to put in her order on their arrival.]
Whatever she likes. Charge it to my room — and it had better come out correct.
[ There's no point in denying it. If she wanted to be subtle about it she would have been. And she gets the impression that someone like Rufus appreciated some level of straightforwardness. Her intentions are clear as they had been before this but she's got enough of a read on him now to know that friends isn't a concept so easily grasped when you are used to reading into potential ulterior motives or doing it out of personal duty or responsibilities handed to them.
She allows him to take the lead up to the counter, ignoring the way they scrutinize her with barely veiled distaste and at Rufus like he's very nearly hung the stars. The forced ignorance isn't something she's used to quite yet though there have been moments where she's found herself appreciating it. But she would be lying if she said that she doesn't appreciate being taken seriously even if it comes at the expense of having to be with a higher ranking guest. Rufus' demand is met with a sidelong glance from her but she wastes no time ordering, punctuating it with a sweet smile of thanks that is only hesitantly returned out of fear by the staff behind the counter. She waits for him to finish ordering before they seat themselves and launches right back into questioning him. ]
Is your friend the only one that you know from home?
[Truth be told, there's something eminently enjoyable about having Hilda at his side when he throws his weight around like this; it's one thing to be fawned over, and certainly he'd have his objections to it if he were ever deprived of that particular birthright of his. But what's even more fun is the power play of knowing full well that the resort staff doesn't want to extend the same courtesy to his companion that they're delighted to offer him. Getting what he wants is always sweeter when he knows full well his opposition doesn't want to give it up.
And Hilda, too, seems to grasp that game, if her winning smiles are any indication. When they sit, he opts to play it up just a little, sliding one hand across the tabletop to rest just the tips of his fingers over her own, like a warning to the staff that his influence covers her as figuratively as his touch does literally.]
He's the only one that matters. Evidently there have been a few others around; none that would be all that eager to spend time with me.
[He pauses.]
One was a girl. You might've gotten along with her.
[ At his touch her gaze flits down towards their fingers. And while he'll be able to see the slight twitch of her eyebrow and the lift of the corner of her lips in amusement what the staff sees is someone who leans in across the table. Her foot slides forward, touching briefly against his shoe. To them it could be seen as affectionate or possessive, but to her it's entirely conspiratorial in nature.
She's played enough of these games to know understand the subtleties being laid before her. And this, while silly and frivolous, is no less enjoyable. For a moment she can forget that she's here. She can leave the sounds of war that haunt her dreams. This is just a pleasant day spending time with someone who may or may not be her friend. ]
What makes you say that? Our nose for mischief? Our sparkling personalities?
[ It's been some nebulous time after their little romp as monsters and while Hilda can say for certain that she hasn't been avoiding him (Why would she? Nothing about their run in had bothered her at all. Why would it?), she isn't sure that the same can be said about him.
Which is why she sends a very silly and probably stupid text. ]
So...are we ever going to talk about the daddy thing?
[He's not upset, honestly; upset isn't really the word for it. Conflicted might be a better one. Tumultuous. But he understands lying for the sake of the bit, and why she might've done it in the moment. Even knowing — even having seen his doppelganger, even knowing that. What mattered was keeping her safe and it'd worked.
It's just. He's really not sure how he feels about it.
But luckily, he's been working on precisely that already, since coming to the resort. Since starting to open up to himself about his preferences, and about not forcing things he doesn't like, and about settling into embracing things he maybe does like. So he's a lot less prickly than he could've been, otherwise. Just conflicted. Just thoughtful.]
[ Try that again with a little less defensiveness now, Hilda. ]
...I'm sorry. It was the first thing that came to mind and I have no idea why. In any other circumstance I would have asked. And it just goes to show that not all of my impromptu plans work out the way I'd hope.
[ Truthfully she doesn't know how she feels about it either. It had started out as a survival mechanism with a joke at its core, but it's difficult for her to deny that she had enjoyed it in some form. But whether that had to do with calling Rufus that, the knowledge that they may have had vampires watching them, or that it was Rufus himself is still something she has to parse out. ]
[He leaves her on read a little while, not out of any real intention to make her squirm but mostly just because he's trying to think through what he actually thinks about all that. Coming from just about anyone else, he might not have believed the assertion that it wasn't in some way targeted, but — if she'd done it on purpose, she would've expected a bad reaction, wouldn't she have? Knowing what she knows. That doesn't line up with the way she'd actually done it, urgent for a rescue she couldn't have been sure would actually come.]
I'm only surprised. Given what you've seen prior.
[She is, after all, one of the few — one of the only — people aware of that glimpse of his childhood. Of how loaded a concept it is, and why he might be struggling.
But she says she's sorry, and if there's one thing he's learned about Hilda by now, it's that she wouldn't say it twice without meaning it at least once.]
I'm more curious why you ran to me. Was I just the first one you saw?
[ But also leaving her on read? Not cool (even if it is deserving). While she should be used to waiting between responses for letters was perfectly normal, it doesn't make her any less impatient or nervous for the response that awaits her.
She isn't exactly sure why. Sure, they're friends and they get along well; but while she values his company the resort is large enough where she wouldn't feel the need to rely on him solely for companionship whether that's physical or not. And yet in the silence that stretches she finds herself hoping that that isn't the case. That a silly (stupid) slip of her tongue in a moment of stress won't be the downfall of something that she cares about.
The relief she feels when he finally responds is difficult to ignore but it's his question that prompts her to pause in return as she revisits the haze of that day both literally and figuratively. ]
I'm not going to lie and say that you weren't the first person I saw because you were. But if I'm being entirely honest, I wasn't even entirely sure that it was you because it was impossible to see in there. When I realized it was you I stayed because I knew I could trust you.
[ "I feel safe around you," is what she means to say but she can't quite bring herself to type it. ]
[ From what little she knows about him and his position in his world she can't say that that's surprising to hear. Just because it isn't surprising however, doesn't mean that reading that doesn't make her chest tighten.
[But then, after a moment that's at least shorter than his previous pauses, but feels more like a moment of hesitation than a lengthy one of pondering consideration: ]
I don't think I'd like that. If you didn't trust me. I would rather you did.
You were right to stay when you did. I wouldn't have let anything hurt you.
[That's not what she means, and he knows it. It is what he's going to say to fill the space while he tries to figure out what else he's supposed to say to that, in addition.]
If you're testing the waters, I'll say that you wouldn't be the first I've had an...arrangement with. For things like that. I understand having a taste for it.
[He is, possibly, fucking this up. Nothing to do but keep trying, though.]
I'm not sure if that's what you're asking for. Or if you're asking for anything at all.
If you want to play games, then we can play games. But if you're serious, then be serious.
I want to know
[But the thought goes unfinished, at least for a little while, as he tries to push away instinct and compulsion in favor of something more tenuous, setting aside his own natural way of looking at the world to try to see a different one. He's not one to go looking for friends. She wants to be one of his. And he's not altogether sure how her view maps with this idea, and that's a problem.]
I don't know what you're asking. So the reason I'm not answering is because I don't want to risk being wrong.
Framing it as asking whether I want you is a touchy subject. Do you want this to be about feelings? Or do you want a transaction, however mutually beneficial?
I just want to know what's on the table. I'm asking as a...friend.
What! Who said I was playing games? You're the one that was texting cryptically before this.
[ She stares at the screen and his unfinished thought, annoyance prickling at her skin even though she knows that he's right. Playing games, dancing between the undefined spaces in-between had always been her preference. It was easier that way. It kept her unattached and by extension kept those that might want something from her or her brother at an arm's length.
But there's nothing like that here. What does he stand to gain from the youngest daughter of a noble house in a land far from here? What does he stand to gain except maybe a friend? The word stares back at her and it takes her a moment to reply. ]
Feeling as in romance? Or the general feelings of care that people usually develop when they're friends with someone?
I wouldn't know anything about that. People don't generally care about me.
[The first draft of that comment had been a little different, in truth. He'd started by writing I don't usually have friends, before turning it into I've never had friends before, before finally settling on this. Each new iteration is a little more vulnerable. Each new iteration is a little closer to pulling away the layers of obfuscation, and getting down to what she really needs to hear.]
I buy loyalty. Or trade for it. Or blackmail for it. Usually when people say they want me, what they mean is they want something I have or something I can provide.
No one enjoys being around me. I'm not being obtuse. I'm asking questions because I'm just trying to understand your perspective. It's not one I've ever experienced firsthand before.
Not even your friend here? The one you had me make something for?
[ Because what was his admission at the smoothie shop if not that? Debating the relationship status of the giftee however isn't quite the topic of conversation at hand. ]
As much of a romantic as I can be, I don't have those types of feelings for you.
[ It goes left unsaid that she thinks it would be foolish of her to develop those sorts of feelings so quickly and in a place like this. Her fate remains unknown at home and even if she knew that with certainty, the instinct to dance away from those feelings would take precedence like some kind of survival instinct. But even if they aren't talking about romantic feelings, Hilda knows in the back of her mind that if this is going to go anywhere she has to stop skirting around topics that she is so want to do. ]
But I enjoy being around you. You're kind of funny and whether or not you admit you care about those you consider yours in whatever capacity that means. I'd enjoy being around you even if you didn't buy me things for my art projects or whatever that was in the Smoked Egg. I like being your friend even if you don't think of us that way yet, and as long as you're not trying to blackmail me or take advantage of my kind, generous heart, that probably won't change.
And if this is just about the sex - I am attracted to you. And that was the case before all of that vampire business happened. ...Does that make it a little more clear?
[Not that he really wants to get into the specifics of why it's different, right now, but. There was still loyalty bought and traded there, after all; how necessary it'd been is another question entirely.]
Cards on the table: I don't want you to fall in love with me. You would wind up hurt, and I don't want that. And I don't want you to take it personally or brush it off with coy little games. If those sorts of feelings were a risk, then I would want to stop this before it ever got that far, so you wouldn't get hurt.
I know that's not very charming of me. But I'm open to a great deal more, contingent on assurances that you're not going to be in a position to get hurt.
[ She doesn't believe it's different even with the rules that they're beholden to here. But they're unpacking something else at the moment and there will be plenty of time later on to pester him about it.
And speaking of unpacking things - her initial reaction is to puff up her cheek in a huff. Being told what to do has rarely sat well with her. Growing up spoiled means that she's used to things going her way. And while that annoyance certainly lingers she realizes as she reads those words that there's care behind them. ]
First of all, it's pretty bold of you to assume that I or anyone else would fall in love with you. Second of all, you can't just tell someone not to fall in love with you. That's now how it works.
And lastly - how are you certain that you're not going to get hurt? Not by me necessarily but by anyone else in here.
[ She remembers the little boy. He sticks out all too starkly in her mind even if it's something Rufus would much rather she forget. ]
Weren't you the one who was just pushing back against my assertion that people don't care about me? Now you're offended that I assumed someone might? Make up your mind.
You said not to be cryptic. I don't know how you expect me to make it plainer. I'm not going to take a course of action that runs the risk of hurting you. If that's too cryptic, then I'm at a loss.
Ugh - you're so annoying! That's not what I was getting at at all.
I'm not upset that you're looking out for me. In fact I'm really flattered that you care that much about me at all and I don't want you to get hurt either. But there's a difference between telling me that you care and sounding like an arrogant ass while doing it!
I sound like an arrogant ass in everything that I do. Because I am one. Just like you're a high-maintenance brat who always has to have things her way. (I'm that, too, for what it's worth.)
I do like you, you know. And I liked playing with you, and I'd do it again. But like you said, you're a romantic, and mere fondness isn't an acceptable substitute for what you deserve. You do deserve someone who makes you feel as special as you are.
I wouldn't say that about someone I didn't care about.
i'm so sorry for how late this is π feel free to drop!!
[ Though she suspects that he does. He's admitted as much. But she feels like she has to say something even if it is incredibly weak in the face of both the truth and something incredibly sweet.
She doesn't quite know how to feel about those two things. Layer a conversation about feelings and boundaries and it's safe to say she's very much outside her comfort zone. ]
If it's worth anything, I care about you too. I consider you a friend. But I also enjoyed what we did. Given the nature of this place, it wouldn't be awful to do that again with someone that I do like but you're right in that a conversation about where we stand is important because our friendship means a lot to me.
I can't guarantee that feelings won't come up but if it looks like it's veering towards romantic ones, it would be best to stop. ...What do you think?
Christ. No, sorry, I've been working on Feiyu and one of its tentacles got a little too enthusiastic with the face of my watch. My apologies for the interruption, Mr. Shinra.
Not consciousness, no, although I'll admit that it mimics life well. It has randomising gears inside it, so it can move about unpredictably as a living creature might, but it doesn't make decisions about what to do.
I'll bring it to you, or our somewhere if that's your preference. It has a tendency to escape and hide under sinks, though, so please do try not to let it out of your sight.
You can bring it by my suite, and stay for a drink while you're here.
I'm curious if you could replicate a toy like this, as well. Preferably on a quicker turnaround than several months — could you do it in three or less, for example.
I could. Feiyu itself is a replica of a predecessor called Katsu.
The first iteration took me years, so the fact that Feiyu only took months is something I'm rather proud of. Truthfully, the challenge is less in the actual building than it is in the sourcing of components. As you may imagine, the Nest is hardly chock-full of sellers of clockwork cogs.
The appeal of clockwork to me has always been the experience of envisioning a final product and then putting together the small pieces that form it. Whether I'm making a pocket watch or building an octopus, the principle is the same, in that I start at the end and work my way back. The companionship is enjoyable, of course.
"Fei" is "one who flies", then. "Cao" is what, plumbing?
Turning a vision into reality, I see. I asked because I was curious whether your interest in them diminished once complete, or if the interest was in having them, complete.
In full candor, I suppose I'm also a little jealous. I'm down one companion, myself, while you've managed to recreate one of yours.
[ A pause. Well, Rufus already knows about the clairvoyance, so... ]
Sometimes it does. Sometimes I build things and I forget what they're for--futures that end up not coming true, most likely. But when I build things for myself, there is enjoyment both in the process and in the result.
I'm sorry about your companion. A person, or a creature?
[And he files away the bit about forgetting to come back to it at a later point, but he's posed enough questions of Keita by now that it's probably fair to field a few in return first, lest this start to sound like an interrogation.]
I was hoping so, as it's much easier for me to offer to build a clockwork animal than a clockwork person. If you're so inclined, that is. And of course I would need your input on the design.
There are plenty of futures where you don't kiss me. More than futures where you do, I think. I'll make sure to keep count as best I can.
[ Although Keita will of course no longer remember the futures he forgets (duh), he can usually sense the impressions of them, like phantom pains in a missing limb—the awareness that something once there is now gone. ]
Will understanding how I define "pleasure" and "company" help you come to a decision?
As for your question, it will, but mostly in how they dovetail with my attempts to determine your current state of companionship. Low supply drives high demand, after all.
Spoken like a true businessman, but regardless of "supply," I don't care for pity. I meant the pleasure of your company in the sense of the opportunity to get to know each other. If that doesn't interest you, I also take payment in chips or parts.
Hello, Rufus! This is Mercedes, we spoke on the network earlier this month about making some personalized items for Darkstar. I just finished a sample—I apologize for the wait, the recent athletic events around the resort took up some of my time.
[ attached is a picture of the neckerchief in a deep violet pattern. there are round carabiner clips sewn in at the ends to attach to darkstar's chain collar, and along the bottom is a neatly embroidered shinra in red thread. ]
If it's to your liking, I'd be pleased to give it to you at your convenience, but do let me know if there's anything you'd like me to change or add!
I admit I hadn't thought of that yet, this has always been more of a hobby for me so I've never considered taking payment. But if you're open to it, we can meet for tea and call it even?
Now, now. I appreciate the value of good work, and besides, I can't have Darkstar walking around in accessories worth no more than a mere cup of coffee.
Let's meet for tea and work out an arrangement. I'm aware these types of crafts often call for specific materials; perhaps I can help facilitate a steady stream of them for you, to aid in your future endeavors.
I'm still familiarizing myself with all the facilities, but I heard that Birdbucks is quite good, if that's all right with you? But if you have other recommendations, I'd be more than happy to try!
[And indeed, in short order he makes his way down to Birdbucks, walking with an ease and a pleasure he hasn't been treated to in a very long time — because at last, the familiar velvety padding of Darkstar's footsteps is back at his side, the soft jingle of her collar a reassurance as they make their way through the corridors of the resort. It aches a little, to think of how long it's been since he had this, how he'd undoubtedly suppressed the loneliness of not having his most faithful companion at his side all that time, and now is only just starting to realize in retrospect how much he'd missed it now that he has her back again.
It draws looks, of course, that he's bringing a live animal into the food concourse, but that's just one of the benefits of a Jack rank — a stern glare and a wordless dismissal does wonders for brushing off anyone who might dare to comment. And so he secures a table to await his guest, trusting the presence of Darkstar to be more than enough of a signal of who his associate will be looking for when she arrives.
In fact, to make things easy, he waves over an attendant and has them waiting on standby, at the ready to take down orders as soon as they're both present. It's clearly not something that's typically done, but again — what's the point of a Jack rank if you're not going to use it?]
[ darkstar is indeed more than enough of a signal once mercedes arrives. the picture she remembers from rufus' network post also included a bit of himself, so she spends a few moments looking around before spotting his companion, her expression lighting up with recognition. the other guests seem to give them a wide berth, still making the occasional curious glance, but mercedes pays them no mind as she makes her way over. ]
I'm sorry to keep you waiting! It's wonderful to meet you in person, and Darkstar as well.
[ she may have had to ask one of the staff for directions, but she's getting better about remembering where things are. ]
Oh, and before I forget! Here you are. [ she passes over a gift bag to rufus, inside is the neckerchief as promised. ] I thought you'd like to put it on her yourself to see if she likes it. Of course, I'm happy to make any further adjustments as well if needed.
[It's telling, perhaps, that when Mercedes first starts to make her approach toward the table, Darkstar's attention snaps directly to her — ears pricked, red eyes vigilant and piercing. A normal dog would not have a prehensile tentacle extending off her spine; the tip of hers pricks up a little as if poising in readiness to counterbalance against a lunge.
And yet Rufus doesn't even need to touch her to keep her in place, or does he need to offer a single pacifying word; she's evidently capable of drawing her cues entirely from his affect and demeanor, and since he seems inclined to let the stranger approach, she does as well.]
Of course, have a seat. [He flicks a glance to the attendant.] One tab, on me.
[And he motions for Mercedes to place her order as he takes the gift back, digging in after his prize.]
As I thought, the craftsmanship is impressive. I'm sure she'll enjoy this.
[ a normal dog wouldn't have a prehensile tentacle extending off her spine, and a normal (?) person would likely be more hesitant about taking a seat next to her. but there's no sense of nervousness as mercedes gets settled, careful not to touch darkstar or get too close. she's clearly working to protect her master, after all, it'd be rude to disturb her.
even with her rank ten status, she's never gone out of her way to have the staff cater to her more than what was really necessary, and so she's a little surprised at their readiness to take her order. they recommend a drink from one of the food stalls, a strawberry flavored smoothie that is as sweet as it sounds; she remembered enjoying something similar during the sporting events, and decides to take their recommendation. ]
I'm glad to hear it. [ from their previous conversation, rufus seems to have a discerning eye. she gets the impression that he doesn't hand out compliments easily. ] If there's anything else you'd like to have made, I'd be more than happy to give it a try! I've a lot of time on my hands... well, aside from the games this place likes to throw at us.
π€ cloaca and dagger hell, if this works for you!!
[ she hadn't actually been sure if this place was real, though a part of her had only just barely doubted its existence, even if it's the kind of place she never would have slipped into back at home. an anonymous sex club β if anyone really knew that tifa lockhart, good girl of the community, was stepping into, she's sure it'd have been the talk of the slums for all that they loved the gossip. but that home is beneath rubble these days, half the people trying to find shelter in wall market or sector five and the other half simply gone. and here she is, alive, caught up in a whole other world with her mind too hazy to think about what's really important. how could she focus on the real mission to protect the planet when her body feels on fire as it does?
the disguise is a little silly, with her hair wrapped up in a bun and tucked beneath a stylish hat, sunglasses to hide the familiarity of her crimson eyes. it might still be a little too obvious and maybe even strange considering that there's plenty of people here that may not even know who she is, but this choice she's making β it's something that only the impulses of her skin have drawn her towards, a desperation that her own stubbornness has refused to tell her own friends about out of the embarrassment of that clawing need inside.
the inside feels rather simple in its lobby, just a polite receptionist who doesn't even ask her name and simply guides her to the dressing room. it's hard to tell how much the disguise will actually hide who she is, since the white bunny mask still shows plenty of her face, long black hair falling over her bare shoulders. the black unitard is especially revealing, breasts large enough to nearly spill out the top, with those straps really putting in the work to hold up her cleavage. when she walks, the fishnet stockings stroke against her legs, somehow making her even more anxious, heat pooling between her thighs, as the want encourages her towards the back rooms.
it doesn't take look from there for the men to rally around her, sly cocky smiles unhidden even with their masks, those boasting expressions that say she should join them in one of the private rooms before they even extend the invitation. these men, all strangers, tight shorts and leather pants giving a full display of their hardened cocks underneath, the sultry echo of their voices playing it cool in just how badly they want to fuck her β
her back's against the wall before she even has a chance to respond, knowing this is exactly where her usual politeness isn't ideal to voice rejection as at least three or four men trying to talk over one another on who can have her. no, this is a natural fight or flight situation, her mind trying to urge her to simply leave when she doesn't actually want to be there, fists curling like she might land a punch on the first one of these men that might dare to lay a hand on her, but her body β she needs it, needs it, the lust so heavy beneath her skin that she practically freezes in place for the first time since she could remember. ]
i am so sorry for the lag, i've been working like 12 hour days this week
[When Rufus comes out to Cloaca and Dagger, he wears black. It's one of the benefits of being so heavily associated with a signature color; people grow to associate the clothes with the man, which makes it all the easier to escape his own identity by simply choosing something different. The sleek canine-inspired mask he tends to prefer for situations like this can't hide the intense blue of his eyes, nor can it completely conceal the telltale wisps of his ice-blond hair. But there are many blond men in the world, and many with blue eyes, and Rufus Shinra wears white, not black.
And Rufus Shinra would never be caught dead in a place like this, but here he is.
Speaking of being caught, he quickly becomes aware of the pretty dark-haired thing who gets cornered by the gaggle of clubgoers; it's something he's learned to watch for since beginning to frequent the seedier side of the Peacock, less out of altruism and more because it's a very convenient way of making new "friends". Most people who find themselves in a rough situation appreciate a timely rescue, and there's plenty he can get out of a person when they're feeling appreciative.]
There you are.
[He says, making his way over with confident strides and bypassing the crowd of strangers as though they aren't even there to begin with, keeping his eyes solely on the girl. Such lovely long dark hair — eerily familiar, though maybe he's just biased with fond memories of Tseng.
Regardless. Unlike the other men and their grasping fingers, he offers his own hand palm-up.]
You should've told me you wanted me to hunt you down, little rabbit, and I would've found you much sooner. Now come on; our champagne is waiting.
no worries at all! i'm more than happy to backtag through it
[ this isn't like her at all, but then, tifa hasn't yet understood how to find a better balance of these emotions, the waves of alternating sensations heating through her body when she doesn't anticipate it, overwhelmed by the heat of it all that even the fabric of that unitard feels like it's pressing too tightly into her skin, nipples already visibly well taut against it, even when it's impossible to really distinguish arousal against panic.
but what she does know is that she doesn't want to be here, not with these invasive men, which is why she feels the heels already beginning to attempt to shuffle to the side to find an opening of escape β when the other man, all in black, suddenly appears.
her own gaze is instantly one of confusion, even behind the coverage of the mask, staring at his held out hand with the quickly raised question of whether he might somehow have her confused for someone else, or β no, is he ... helping her?
there's no recognition of him, nothing except the voice that sounds a bit ... no, it couldn't be anyone she knows. not in this place. and in the light of her panic, there's no room for much thought and she quickly reaches out to grasp his hand, stepping swiftly in his direction to take hold of his other arm. ]
I was waiting so long, I was worried something happened to you. [ she has no confidence in her acting abilities, but she can get away with this much at least, she thinks. but no reason to linger. ] We should go. I'm really thirsty for that champagne.
[ and she practically begins to tug him on her own, at least enough to get out of the space of those men, not wanting to look back on the chance that they might somehow see through it and try to keep her there. ]
[This is far from the first time he's rescued someone like this, and it likely won't be the last; what it means for the moment is that this dance is a familiar one, the way he draws her in and adjusts the angle of his body to obscure her from the gazes of the other men as she starts to tuck comfortably against his side. Outside of Cloaca and Dagger, it's often been as easy as that — other guests of the resort seem naturally inclined to recognize his rank for what it is and give him a wide berth, and the force of his presence is more than enough to facilitate the escape.
But here, anonymity is king, and audacity only goes so far. As they start to walk away, a few of the men start to raise their objections, one even reaching after as if to try to catch the girl before she can get away —
And Rufus deftly parries it, pivoting and pulling the girl behind him in a single smooth movement, hiding her altogether behind the shield of his own body as he stares the other partygoers down one by one.]
Your business with her ends now. Find someone else to fuck. [A pause, brief.] Why not each other? You all seem willing enough.
[One of the men starts forward, just one step; briskly, Rufus shoves him back, and the others quickly change their minds about following suit. Still, it's high time for a smooth retreat, and so he wastes no time collecting the girl once again and hastening her away from the mob, at a pace quick enough to put distance between them and the scene, but casual enough that it doesn't look like running.]
You should be more careful in a place like this. It's too easy to get cornered like that.
[ it doesn't escape her, the weighted importance of this rescue, how uncertainty she'd been of the outcome if he hadn't arrived, and suddenly her mind drifts to a certain blond that she once asked to promise that he'd save her were she ever in trouble. but she's not so distracted that she wouldn't be able to tell that the blond man who guides her into the secure safety of his body isn't cloud.
yet, there's something almost knightly about his actions, heroic in his confidence and willingness to pull her away from danger that she feels her body warm from it all, either touched with a fondness for the kindness or β slick wet for the overwhelming desire of him, as the small diamond marked behind her ear seems to glow a brighter red the closer she finds herself tucked to his side.
she drowns out the sounds of the men behind her, curling her body in closer as the man moves with such well-timed ease, skilled in the movement of his feet. tifa's lips remain parted with the surprise but isn't able to find another word to utter until she's guided swiftly away, following his steps as she turns her head to look up at her mysterious savior. ]
I didn't exactly want to be here to begin with, I just β [ her breath catches, feeling the heat making her a little dizzy that she almost stumbles before catching herself, head turning away that the crimson glow of her mark behind her ear is visible to his eyes. ] Thanks for helping me, but I should β I should probably leave.
[So, she's a diamond, then — and more than that, she's one with her suit at least partially activated. For a second, a fleeting memory comes back to him, another dark-haired woman and another similar rescue, now faded into the past with her departure from the resort. A shame, really. It wasn't just that she'd been beautiful; she'd been inexperienced, and it'd made her reactions all the more enthralling for it —
Not the time for that. Memories can wait, when there's a living breathing woman here instead who's barely able to keep on her feet, and it doesn't take much to guess why. Diamonds is such a compelling suit, the way it takes the body and turns it into a weapon for good or for ill alike.]
No, I don't think you should.
[There are all sorts of alcoves around Cloaca and Dagger, shadowed and acoustically dampened; he tugs her into the nearest one before pulling her against him, her back to his chest, in a way that he'll maintain is entirely to help keep her balanced while she wavers unsteadily on her feet.
The fact that she ends up supported against his body, with the bar of his arm wrapped snugly beneath her breasts and his hips pressed flush against her ass, is entirely coincidence, and not nearly temptation at all.]
You seem unsteady on your feet. Are you feeling all right?
[He asks, casual, like he doesn't already know better.]
[ currently, under the circumstances, she has little awareness of where the exit even is, not entirely sure if he'd been leading her to it or β no, he isn't, is he? she feels the tug that pulls her to that secluded alcove, her mouth parting to voice a protest against his suggestion, that she really should get out of here, but he steadies her once more to his body, the press of his arm secure around her front that she can feel the warmth of his arm practically nudged beneath the heavy gravity of her breasts, reminding her again of that urgency for them to be freed and touched.
she swallows against the desires, because they shouldn't be happening now, with this stranger, this man who'd simply come to her rescue β but isn't it what she wanted, why she had come to this place in the first place?
with the closeness of his hips behind her, she's sure the slightest movement would grind her ass against him, and the heightened awareness makes her all the more eager to remain still. ]
I'm ... just a bit dizzy. I think I'm just a little overwhelmed being here. [ she knows that isn't true, and something tells her that he probably could see through it too. after all, he's here too, isn't he? she tenses, his chest so firm against her back that she almost aches to stretch across it, to feel these arms move and brush over the rest of her. ] Does this happen to everyone here? The ... need of it? Wanting it this badly?
Would it make you feel better if it did? I've felt like that once. Wanting...attention.
[Of course, hearts manifests somewhat differently than diamonds — he knows that full well, too. For the latter, the cravings are more possessive, more animalistic; his own suit feels like a duller, more gnawing ache to be seen and praised and noticed.
But as out of it as she is, the wordplay won't make much difference; he'd rather not lie to this woman when she's in such a state, unless it's ostensibly for her own good. Call it an odd little notion of personal honor, a rare line he's not willing to cross.]
It won't fade on its own, I'm afraid. It'll only get worse...until you do something about it.
[With his free hand, the one not wrapped around her to help hold her steady, he drags the tips of his fingers against the fishnet encasing her thigh — a reasonably polite touch, for all that it's also a suggestive one.]
Wouldn't it be better to have it like this? You can pretend I'm anyone you want — or no one at all. Just easy, uncomplicated relief. All you have to do is say yes.
[ except that still wouldn't be enough, would it? even if tifa knew this was some kind of regularity amongst everyone in the resort, it wouldn't change that it was happening to her. the letter she had first received when she initially arrived had suggested as much, something helpful to encourage her, they said, but whatever it was, it seemed to be achieving its intentions and much more.
until you do something about it.
the answer's always been obvious, and the very reason she'd found herself here. because who could she ask β cloud? things with him were already in a complicated enough downward slope, could they really keep entangling themselves down a road like this? and she's far too ashamed to even bring it to aerith, despite knowing the other girl has been here longer than she has. has aerith been down these halls too, seeking out strangers to touch her?
fingers only lightly brush her thigh, the strings of the fishnet nudging to her skin and can sense the roll of its simple arousal reach her cunt, her breath shuddering for more of his caresses. ]
You won't know me, right ... ? And I won't know you? [ it's almost a rhetroical ask, since she already knows what this place is meant to be. all she does know is the sturdy reliance of this stranger's body behind him and the appreciation of his timely rescue, along with the heat that stirs for his hands, fingers, mouth, cock β anything he can give her to chase that relief.
tongue stroking across her dry lips, she breathes out her answer. ] Yes.
People don't come here to be known. I won't ask, and you don't have to tell me.
[Though of course, he'll retrieve her card after this, and that will lend a clue to her identity, depending — but that's a problem for later, when right now he's got far more pressing, more engaging business on his mind.
His fingers curl into the flesh of her thigh, a more possessive drag than the touch that came before; it's a warning of sorts, and the only one he offers before that same hand shifts over to the narrow strip of fabric that forms the only barrier against the wet heat between her legs.]
Let's pretend I'm your first. I'd like that.
[He tugs her a little more firmly back against him, tipping her off-balance so more of her weight is braced against his body, so that her hips naturally hitch up a little higher to better accommodate him as his fingers dip in to stroke her cunt through the fabric of her leotard, first just parting her folds before sliding higher in search of her clit.]
It's a shame about these masks. I'd like to make you come from my tongue — but there's plenty we can do, don't you worry.
[ maybe she should find relief in that, that her identity won't be revealed through this β because she certainly doesn't consider the collecting of cards at all, not something she's even thought of as any kind of achievement to chase β that maybe she could simply bask in the relief she can find through this, something that could at least make those symptoms of her mark to ease away and let her breathe normally again.
but what she finds is that the secrecy itself is something enticing on its own, that the mystery of the man standing behind her only adds to the heightened anticipation of his stronger grip before his touch dips lower to where she aches it to be.
with his tug, her neck stretches back, head nestled against his shoulder, with the ears of her mask curved back out of his way. her hips jut forward instinctively, a soft gasp expelled from between her lips as her fingers rub through the fabric, already soaked through with each and every one of her cunt's yearning reactions through the night.
he might not actually be her first, not even in this resort, but it's easy to play the part if only because she doesn't even need to try. not when she's still so uncertain in how to really chase what she wants, to feel any sense of confidence in knowing what she needs. ]
It's already so β [ so good? so wet? so much? her fingers clutch around his arm, not to push away or guide but simply to find purchase for herself to hold steady. ] Do ... do you want me to touch you too?
Oh? Don't you think it's better like this? You don't have to do anything at all.
[That's not to say his own cock isn't starting to ache, of course, or that he wouldn't very much enjoy feeling her fingers curled around it, or the warmth of her mouth enveloping it, or the squeal on her lips as he buried inside her. But there's a delicious sort of power in the prospect of controlling her pleasure entirely, with absolutely no reciprocation — her body his toy to play with, her reactions all his to tease out.
It's hardly generosity. It's just fun to watch someone so lovely fall apart beneath his hands like this.
He lowers his head a bit, using the elongated nose of his mask to brush at the thin strap of her leotard — pushing it over her shoulder so that it dangles precariously down her upper arm, and compromising the integrity of the top just that little bit more. Her breasts will hold the fabric in place well enough, certainly, but letting the strap slip adds the illusion of danger, of even more exposure in this semi-public atmosphere if she's not careful about how she squirms.]
Such a sweet little bunny. Should I make you hop?
[It's all the warning she gets before he finds her clit and rubs it firmly through the soaking cloth, hoping to make her jump from the sudden burst of sensation.]
[ part of his words before had mentioned the want of attention. she's not quite sure if that really aligns with these uncontrolled sensations, and yet there's something peculiarly arousing in the way he intends to focus entirely on her. likely, it's due to the way she's become quite expectant of men's desires for her, the number of brutish drunks at the bar who'd offered large tips for her to blow them behind the building or to let them to slide their dick between her tits β all easily rejected before she effortlessly kicked them out on their asses with plenty of broken ribs to join their bills.
whatever the man's actual intentions behind it, the movement of his fingers applies pleasure towards her, adding to the heavy slick that soaks through the flimsy unitard with every stroke.
she watches the purposeful fall of that strap, its reliability in holding her up now loosened as her breasts slacken more against the fabric still trapping it. cheeks burn flush, aware that they're still not quite private here, and yet feeling undeniably turned on by the danger of it, by the part of here that doesn't care for once for too much decency.
but his fingers catch over her clit, the friction of fabric stroking over that sensitive bundle of nerves and the sudden overwhelming spike of pleasure does indeed have her jolt back against him, hips jutting out forward with a sharp thrust against his hand. her breasts give a light bounce in the reaction, fabric from the unstrapped side dipping lower that her nipple nearly begins to peek over it. ]
Ah, pleaseβ [ the plea leaves her lips in a small whimper before she can restrain herself, hips giving a slight squirm. ] It feelsβkeep touching me like that, please.
[Now there's a pretty sight, he thinks with his blue eyes sharp behind the security of his mask, and the prospect of a little catch of personal entertainment besides: can he make her squirm and wriggle enough that her breasts fall out of her top? She's certainly endowed enough that it's plausible, and he wouldn't mind seeing it. There's something particularly erotic about dishevelment, of having taken something put-together and pristine and left his own personal mark on it.]
Shhh. Someone's going to know what you're up to, if you keep talking like that.
[It's entirely a ruse; these alcoves are designed for liaisons of exactly this nature, dampening the ambient sounds so that people can't be overheard unless they go out of their way to try. But it's just one more layer to the thrill of danger she must be feeling: unsteady on her feet and her top threatening to fall and her body craving the touch of a man she doesn't know.]
You're this wet already, and I'm not even inside you.
[It's not just that the fabric is soaked, either, but that it's slick, sliding all the easier against her sensitive folds with the benefit of lubrication to help guide the way as he rubs and strokes and stimulates her.]
[ if he purposely means to add concern for her, it certainly succeeds as she catches herself on her words, curling her lip inward to press her teeth down over it as if that might be able to silence away the soft noises that work through her throat. it's a strange feeling, not wanting to be caught, and yet feeling the thrill in knowing that they could. it's not like she wants to be seen like this, in the arms of a strange man, her breasts nearly spilling out the top of her unitard as she grinds against a steady palm, but there's something nearly feral and anxious for the stimulation that it's hard to keep herself caring for subtlety. ]
I'm not usually ... like this.
[ because how could she be that wet when she's barely been touched, wondering if this lies in one of those things that simply is, all because of this mark on her skin, heightening want and and drip of slick from her needy cunt.
he applies that wet friction with the pressure of his fingers to the unitard, fabric grinding firmly over her folds and clit, her hips rocking against his strokes, intoxicated by the satisfying rub that jolts pleasure through her. her hand holds onto his wrist to brace herself, the angle of her arm as a result allowing the only reliable strap to now loosen at an angle at her shoulder, still hanging on but not having quite the same grip now that the other strap falls free.
but it's just enough, the top hem of the unitard dipping a bit more as she arches her shoulders more against his chest to jut her hips forward for his hand, the heavy round curve of a breast empowering that weak fabric to dip over it, the tight peak of her nipple exposed freely to the open air. her breath hitches when she notices, fingers squeezing at his arm, movement of her hips weakening but not entirely stopping. ]
[And the best part is, it's impossible to tell whether she really means it or is just playing up the chastity angle; either way, it's all the better because it adds up to him being the exception, and therefore exceptional.
Beneath the circle of his supporting arm, she writhes — and sure enough, just as he'd hoped with breathless anticipation, she spills out of her top from the natural rocking motions her body is making against his stroking fingers. And oh, isn't she a sight, with her breasts so firm and her nipples so peaked, just begging to be pinched at and pulled.]
And so what if they see? Isn't that why you're wearing a mask?
[But it's the perfect opportunity to adjust the arm he's got around her, shifting it upward so that it's angled across her breasts instead — not just affording her the most laughable illusion of modesty, but giving him ample excuse to cup one of them in the palm of his hand, thumbing and circling the raised nipple as he does.
It's a distraction, to say the least, and one he intends to make use of; while he temporarily seeks to draw her attention to the touch to her chest, his other set of fingers finally pry the fabric of the unitard away and stroke her directly, rubbing only long enough to get thoroughly coated with slick before sliding low in search of her entrance.]
[ she can't say for sure if the excess of her wetness is entirely credited to him, but she doesn't doubt that he's a great contributing factor at this point, that his technique has succeeded plenty in easily riling her, as shyness becomes abandoned for a greedier chase of pleasure. no, she certainly isn't like this, typically a little more reserved when it comes to sex, and yet embracing the fulfillment of these carnal urges now with a complete stranger and feeling all the more lustful for it.
because he's right, isn't he? the mask if meant to shield her identity, just as unknown of a patron as all the rest here. even the fullness of her now exposed breasts shouldn't necessarily be traced back to her, not when the horizonal scar on her skin, tucked beneath the swell of those mounds, remains covered by the bunched fabric of the unitard.
his arm is only a minor barrier in censoring the view but her worries subside the moment his thumb massages over her nipple when he gropes her breast, the point tightening stiffly from his attention, practically begging for the pinch and tug of his fingers.
breathless, she tries to speak, ]
Are you sure no one's gonnaβah...
[ another soft moan spills from her lips, as she earns the direct touch of his fingers to her cunt, the heat of his skin a satisfying blaze that tosses her head back against his shoulders, lips parted with a steady panting as she maintains the forward arch of her hips for him to guide his fingers low.
she thinks of what he'd told her before β he could be anyone she wants or no one at all. in this moment, she's not entirely sure which of those she'd prefer, but she closes her eyes all the same, letting herself abandon tifa lockhart, to feel the anonymity of the mask, to pretend this is the first. ]
Do you ... do you like me like this? [ she whispers between her heavy breaths, the shyness of asking plenty authentic on its own. but she tries it all the same, urged by the stimulation that pulls her away from herself. ] So messy for you...?
Hush. Just relax and enjoy it like a good little girl.
[It's pressing his luck, he knows, but this isn't just about her pleasure; he's more than hard enough in his slacks to be aching for attention, and he's already generously ignoring it for the sake of getting off on pleasuring her instead. He's allowed, surely, to pepper in a little dirty talk to make things enjoyable — especially if this stays about her satisfaction entirely and he's left to contend with his on his own.
Still, she's so responsive that he'd be hard-pressed to say he really minds. Her nipples peak so rapidly that he briskly shifts from thumbing at them to pinching and tugging, layering the constant rubbing between her legs with short flashes of sharper sensation, intent on keeping her thoughts scattered and her focus unbalanced.
While she's distracted, he tips his head to the side and catches the muzzle of his mask against his own shoulder, pushing it up and onto his forehead to free his mouth, leaving room to nuzzle in and drag his tongue over that red little diamond behind her ear. She wants her anonymity, of course, and so does he — but maybe they'd both be willing to gamble it a little for the sake of something worth even more.]
I'd like — [He begins, breathless, dripping with temptation dangled ripe for the taking.] — to make you come like this, just like this, and then get between your legs while you're still shaking from my fingers and lick you until you scream.
[He circles his fingers around her entrance; it's the only brief warning she gets before he's pressing his fingers up and into her, wet and ready and needy, fucking her fast and rapid with the cadence of his promises.]
I'd like to ruin you for everyone else who comes after this. Until it drives you mad, wondering who I am, wondering how to find me just so you can have this again.
[ tifa barely knows the definition of relaxing, usually always up to something to feel herself useful to feel like she's dedicating herself to helping someone, so the very concept of being still while someone devotes this level of attention to her is unheard of. any man calling her a good little girl would typically result in a full set of knuckles knocking out their teeth, given the usual context of it, but right now, the low promise of his voice paired with his devoted fingers, pinching the sensitive points of her nipples and exploring the slick drip of her cunt, has her whimpering a moan that sinks her back further against his body.
it's so much, with so much applied touch to her body, the mark behind her ear nearly beaming with its brightness as he grants it that arousing lick, her lashes fluttering as a result. she's so dizzy, the sight before her hazy as she drowns within those sharp pleasurable aches from tugged nipples and the exhilarating rubbing between her legs.
his promises to her ear arrive so unexpectedly, lips parting to find words before the sound leaves her mouth as a sudden sharp cry when he briskly drives his fingers fast inside of her. ]
W-waitβIβ! [ she can't even protest at this pace, throwing her head back again as she pants with short moans on every pounding thrust of those digits, one arm stretching out to press her hand flat to the wall simply for purchase as the other grips at his forearm, just to keep herself steady against his rocking hand.
she can't rock against him like this, not when he's fucking her so fast and deep that it takes all of her to hold herself in place. though she can barely focus on each individual word he speaks to her, she seems to understand them all the same, too acutely aware that she's never been pleasured like this before, so overstimulated and attentive, her mark leaving her all the hungrier for this ferocious pace. ]
Oh, fuck, Iβit feels so goodβyou're ... gonna make me comeβ [ even her voice sounds pleading, lost in the drive of his attention, of his buried knuckles, quick and relentless. she needs this, to satisfy that itch that's been given to her, but she wants it too. ] Please, please, please, don't stop, don't, I'mβ
[ she doesn't even need to rub at her clit to nudge her over that edge, already so soaked with pleasure that it doesn't take much rubbing of where she needs him to touch, as her thighs tense, legs quickly around his thrusting hands as she arches her back to his chest with jutting hips, as she climaxes with a tight squeeze around his fingers. ]
[It's such a rush, the power and the eroticism alike; there's something absolutely enthralling about the way this faceless woman comes undone from nothing more than the way he handles her, begging and shaking and clutching at anything she can find for purchase as her arousal bursts into climax around his clever fingers. And for a single fleeting moment he thinks of that gaggle of overeager men who'd surrounded her earlier, how they'd made their bid to have her but he's the one who came away with the prize, this gorgeous disheveled woman stimulated senseless in his arms.
Her cunt clutches tight around his fingers, a sharp squeeze that stills his motions from how firmly her inner walls trap them, but he's still got his thumb free enough to find her clit and rub around the edges of it, wagering that direct stimulation would be far too much but the indirect variety will prolong the aftershocks of her pleasure.
And if he's a little hoarse from the sight of it, his own desire bleeding into the ragged words that escape his throat — well. Treated to a marvel like this, who could blame him, really?]
Close your eyes. Close them and don't look —
[— he says, urgent, as he slips his fingers free and pivots them so that he's in front of her with her back to the wall, holding her there with one hand against her stomach while he rips off his mask with the other. It doesn't matter; there's no chance of seeing his face, not when it only takes him a moment to bury his face in her bosom and start to kiss his way down, pausing only long enough to suck at each breast in turn before sinking down onto one knee between her legs.
Yor had been pretty like this, he thinks fleetingly — not to be uncomplimentary to this anonymous woman by thinking of another while he's fucking her, but rather just in a rare moment of nostalgia. He'd liked her, and there's so much reminiscent of her in this woman now, the power in her thighs and the sweetness of her curves, and maybe that's his own Hearts suit to blame for the twinge of fondness and ache, but he'll deny it the whole way down if he's ever asked.
(Damned dark-haired beauties. He really does have a type.)
But fuck it, fuck it all, he pulls one of her legs up to hitch over his shoulder and wraps his arm around it to steady her in place, his other hand drifting between his own legs almost as an afterthought. Just a little stimulation, he just wants that extra little edge of pleasure to feed the rest of it — as he replaces the concealment of his mask with the way he buries his face between her legs, mouth to her soaking folds, making good on his own dirty talk in his drive to be memorable.]
[ she can't say she recalls coming quite this hard in recent memory, but she also wonders if she could recall ever coming this hard ever, because why she's definitely had her share of good orgasms, it's hard to say how often she's had it this heavily stimulated, every limb quivering as he keeps his fingers pressed within her, teasing grazing touches around her clit. something about the continued mystery adds to that heat, this unknown man that seems to pick up with ease how best to touch her, how to utterly destroy her instantaneously with the smoothness of that husky lustful voice at her ear and his serving hands.
when he speaks again, it takes her a brief moment to blink herself back to steadiness, everything still incredibly hazy from her climax, but she's so enchanted with him in this moment, that all it takes is a simple request for her to follow her, abandoning usual doubt and skeptical trust to place herself in this man's hands the way she already has tonight.
he guides her to turn around and she does so, her eyes already shut, eyelids visibly closed within the eye sockets of her mask, as she presses herself back to the wall, thankful for the support it gives her to keep standing straight. without being able to watch him, she gasps softly as he mouths at her breasts, the suction of those lips drawing out sharper breaths that still haven't quite steadied themselves. and yet despite the elevated pleasure she's already received, she doesn't feel done, as if she's been given a plate of something so fulfilling that it only seems to make her hungrier, her mark glowing persistently as it demands more, more, more.
and he provides exactly that, the heat of his mouth pressing to her cunt, so deliciously arousing and desired, as her fingers reach down to his shoulder and guide their way to the back of his head, now free of its mask. she can feel the soft strands of it β blond, she recalls, from what peaked out in limited view before β and she combs her fingers through it, almost affectionately, even with the curl of her grip that tugs lightly at his scalp. ]
Oh, fuck, fuck, it's soβ [ she pants for breath, one heel firm to the ground as she balances her other leg atop his shoulder, using the wall at her back to keep herself upright. she can feel it, the soaking sloppy mess from her climax, now heavy on his tongue. ] You keep ... making me so wetβit's so much ...
ok but the spiderman pointing after this is going to be so fucking funny
[Rufus Shinra wouldn't let just anyone touch his hair, would make certain anyone afforded the privilege was well aware of the rare opportunity it was. But he's not quite Rufus Shinra right now, even maskless, and the fact of the matter is he likes the feeling of fingers carding through the strands — odd affection he's almost never received from anyone, living or dead. It's charming, though, how she's grasping for some sliver of agency in her own pleasure now that he's affording her enough of an opportunity to try for it; though he's very overtly the one setting the pace, he doesn't resist much should she try to pull his head here or there to get his tongue in the places it feels best.]
Mmmmm.
[She's so slick and so soft, and notwithstanding all the other more despicable pursuits he's ever committed his mouth to advancing, he's undeniably skilled at this one. The undulations of his tongue are less aggressive than the pace of his fingers had been, more focused on stirring up sensation than overwhelming her with arousal — understandably so, when she's fresh off one orgasm and likely overstimulated for it.
But he's a delicate touch, both with the heel of his hand pressed against the bulge in his trousers and with the way his tongue circles and flicks at her clit, the way it parts her folds and dips down to test at her hole before flattening again for a lengthy lick back up again.
When he comes up for air, it's brief, and as much to get a word in edgewise as to refill his lungs for the next pass.]
Too much?
[He chuckles, more on the side of teasing than of taunting, but she does seem to like it when he talks to her with that edge of dark filth, so —]
Should I stop?
[The bastard.]
it's gonna be so beautifully disastrous, i can't wait
[ she doesn't so much as guides him with her tightening grip as she simply seeks something to latch onto, to keep her steady when her knees are already threatening to give out, when her thighs are still quivering from her last orgasm and yet readily seeking the chase for another. there's also something plenty arousing in feeling the motion of his head against her hand, how she can follow its movements as he explores the tasting of her.
the pace is so drastically different that it's almost jarring, in a way that isn't unpleasant, not as it seems to strangely help in grounding her, when his explorative tongue wanders with a patience that's almost torturously slow, rounding her clit with an awareness of its sensitivity that doesn't lets her breathe while still stretching out that lasting pleasure that doesn't seem to rest.
and then he stops, so abruptly, while she's sounding out another moan, that she has to will herself to avoid opening her eyes on instinct. she even gives a persistent shake of her head, before realizing that he might not even be looking towards her. ]
Don't.
[ with the convenience of those strands of hairs caught between her fingers, she briefly holds him as she blindly curves her hips forward, until she can feel the lips of her cunt teasing against the lips of his mouth, just the slightest flutter of contact as that damp pink skin smears its slick surface to the corner of his mouth and cheek. ]
Youβyou wanted to make me scream, didn't you? Make it so I can't forget, okay? [ her fingers loosen only so she can gently scrape the tip of his nails lightly to his scalp, thriving on these touches as her eyes remain shut, with honesty slipping from her lips with the boldness of this arousal. ] And ... and you won't either. Make me come so hard again that your tongue never forgets how I taste.
[And that's the first, most dangerous tell of his true identity — a favorite filler phrase of Rufus Shinra, spoken in the very same tone albeit with a significantly different context than his usual. Something she might think on later, perhaps; for the moment, he's humming his approval at the way her fingernails drag through his hair, alternating between pressing his mouth back against her and tilting aside to kiss at her thigh to keep her arousal holding at a plateau even while they exchange words.]
What a shame you can't scream my name. But I won't hold it against you.
[He noses at her thigh again, buying himself another moment to stretch and work his jaw in preparation, then ends her reprieve and returns to her cunt with renewed vigor; where before he'd tongued and teased, now he works his mouth firmly against her, paying lengthy attention to her clit as he sucks and laps at her.]
[ if there's any hints or crumbs sprinkled of the man's identity, tifa isn't in the midst of picking up on it, not while she isn't even seeking to find out who the man currently on the knees in front of her is, almost preferring that she not find out, since it means she stands a better chance of remaining a mystery herself. because she's not sure she ever wants to be found out, to be known for being this hungry for satisfaction, begging and pleading and moaning as shamelessly as she does now, basking in the luxury of anonymity.
though she does guiltily wish she could watch him, feeling the way he noses against her thigh as he paints momentary intermission kisses there, ticklish at the skin between the tight nets of her stockings. but it's all for the best, since she's not sure she could stare at him without instantly shying away at the way he buries his face to her cunt. ]
Is there ... something else you want me to call you?
[ or something else for her to shout in place of a name she doesn't wish to know. not that it matters since sounds will slip from her lips regardless. when his mouth returns, she's caught off guard by the increase in fervor, in the full devouring from lips and tongue. the leg atop his shoulder tightens, heel digging in at this back, as her hips respond to his mouth, writhing at the succulent attention to her clit.
as she keeps a hand clutched to his hair, the other rises to one of her free breasts, grabbing a palm full of the soft flesh and giving it firm squeeze as she pants soft moans again with each of her breaths. ]
[He could push his luck, perhaps. It wouldn't be the first he's demanded his partners call him one thing or another in bed, usually less for his own experience of hearing it and more for the thrill of getting them to say it. But that's more about the person he's provoking than it is about the words being said, and the thrill doesn't strike him as quite as potent when they're both anonymous.
Still, it's worth a moment's thought. Mostly because she sounds so pretty when she's panting and clinging to him like she'd fall if she didn't. Personalized appreciation has its allure, after all, particularly in a place like this.
And fortunately, there's an easy, natural code for them to fall back on, right close at hand.]
Wolf. Miss Bunny and Mister Wolf. [He rumbles a chuckle, low.] Since I'm enjoying your taste, and all.
[And eating her alive. That's certainly a part of it, too.]
[ in any other conversation, she would despise the metaphor, to shake with frustration at being seen as nothing more than prey against a predator, as if to highlight all of the weaknesses she's worked tirelessly to strengthen defenses in front of. but the costumes they wear here has certainly set their current roles into place, and there's no denial that it's him that's getting a full feast in eating her up, giving him plenty to lick up from between her legs.
annoying in other settings perhaps, but here β in tifa lockhart's place really is a bunny being made to bounce for the wolf that feeds so deliciously into her. the comparison regrettably turns her on more, index and thumb pinching tightly at her nipple. there's a satisfying freedom in pretending to be someone she's not β or to chase the cravings she's often too reserved to approach. difficult to say now. ]
Then ... eat me up, Mister Wolf. [ her back arches, hips rolling forward as her fingernails scrape lightly along the back of his head. her own cheeks flare red, bright with the lust that aligns with those animalistic desires of her own suit, made all the more appropriate with the assigned names of their game, emboldening her words to play along. ] Make β make this bunny come with your hungry mouth.
[He laughs again, and not unkindly; he's hardly about to complain at her willingness to play along, much less the way she's taken to pleasuring herself right along with his efforts. It certainly warrants a quick, appraising glance up to enjoy the view. It makes him wonder, idly, how much wetter he could make her from replacing her fingers on her breast with his own. She must be sensitive, to like it so much. He could bite them sore and then find her tomorrow just by looking for a pretty dark-haired woman squirming about from the chafing of her own clothes.
Now isn't that an attractive thought. Not particularly anonymous, but attractive — and worth contemplating when it was he'd gotten so concerned with his own ability to find her again. That would imply wanting to have this again, or more —
And so what if he does? She'd look just as lovely bouncing like a bunny on his cock.]
Heh. Then don't forget to scream for me, Miss Bunny —
[And since it'd be a little unwieldy to try to get a hand up and play with her breasts while he resumes his work, he opts instead to fit his fingers back up against her, first to hold her wide open while he runs his tongue the whole length of her cunt, and then to sneak back and press up into her again while he focuses the attentions of his mouth onto her clit.
His fingers slide so easily into her, loose and soaking wet as she is; he crooks them into a come-hither gesture once her walls are wrapped snugly around them, looking for the spot inside of her that will set her off at the same time he's stimulating her outside as well.]
[ it's a silly little game of playing pretend and she wonders if she might regret getting herself so tied up in it, if tomorrow comes and she'll feel the weight of shame for venturing somewhere so indecent, that she'd let herself be touched in a place so exposed, that she craved so hungrily to come over and over for a man whose name or face she doesn't even know.
but tomorrow is tomorrow, and right now, tifa remains in a swirl of suit-compelled lust, panting lewdly like an animal in heat, the animal that she seems to be with the ears upon her head and the wolf that eats greedily at her cunt like he truly might devour her for a meal.
with the inward slip of his fingers within her, returning to where they've seemed to find familiarity tonight, tifa gasps a sharper breath, as those digits thrust with such ease as if they belong there, taking her apart bit by bit. ]
Mmm, that'sβ! [ as his lips latch onto her clit, she tilts her head back, eyes half-lidded as she stares up into the ceiling, still keeping her gaze strayed away from her devoted provider of pleasure, clinging to the comfort of that lasting mystery, even as her mind races with the curiosity to know whose tongue does so well to such at that sensitive swollen bud, whose fingers curl to massage the depths of her cunt to guide her towards that peak.
another gasp with a sounding cry likely heard through the club. ]
Right thereβ I'm going to ... M-Mister Wolfβ! [ she calls out that false name with mewling whimper, as the climax takes command once more, hips squirming as she comes around his fingers for the second time tonight, even more slick against his knuckles than the first time, and leaving an equal mess against his lips and she rocks to feel that heightening excess of stimulation that begins to weaken her limbs where she stands. ]
[ the words they exchanged over truth or dare stay with her during the days that follow, slipping back to the forefront of her mind like an involuntary memory set to a routine reminder, how difficult it is to forget the way she'd been cornered. most of her wants to remain angry about it all, but there's a sadness in it too, from the parts of her that wishes she hadn't been pulled in by all the violence, by the ever extending chaos that's become that much harder to reel back in.
she still doesn't believe that rufus shinra can do anything for her, that peace is a possible option between them β especially not when barret is here now too, where anything beyond the surface truce they've agreed upon, could only result in some unintentional feud. but tifa is still prone to offering more chances than most, even in this.
one step. that's at least the most she can try for. ]
your offer to have a drink with you β is it still open?
[Well. Now this is an unexpected text to receive, isn't it? The cynical part of him can't help but think, so much for wanting nothing to do with me, and yet there's another side still that's too cognizant of an opportunity to squander this one when it presents itself. There's evidently something going on that he's not aware of — AVALANCHE has categorically been far more hostile to his overtures than they ought to be, even given old animosities. There's more here that he's not aware of; maybe this is one way to find out some of what's going on under the surface.]
It is, with a caveat. If you're coming to my penthouse, you should know that Darkstar is here. If that's a concern for you, then we'll need to meet somewhere else.
No. She's well-trained and won't attack without an order. However, I know you and your friends have had prior negative experiences with her, so I want to be candid about her presence.
This is her home, for the time being. I'm not going to exile her from it, even to accommodate a guest. I hope that's not a problem.
it's not a problem. it's not much different than having had negative experiences with you too.
[ and yet that isn't stopping her from risking herself in his space, alone at that. but tifa's plenty stubborn, even in throwing herself into situations that may be over her head, the same way she'd slipped into don corneo's place with the intention of going about it on her own. the difference is, cloud isn't here (anymore) to jump in and save her this time, and somehow she doesn't want to bring aerith or barret into this either. this feels like something she needs to figure out for herself. ]
just direct me to where i'd find it and tell me when the best time would be to stop by.
[ and sooner than later might prove to be better since it means that she won't be tempted to find some excuse to back out of this. already, tifa's finding herself wondering if she's stepping into what may prove to be a bad idea, but she simply takes a break as she prepares to dress herself for this meeting. a part of her really doesn't want to dress too nice for it, but she ends up in a stylish red sweater and short black pencil skirt, conscious to keep the newer jagged scar that stretches between her breasts diagonally towards her collar hidden to avoid sparking any kind of conversation around it, lest it entice his curiosity.
heading to the elevator in the hope that he's granted her that accessible permission to reach his floor, she takes it up, taking one more deep steady breath as she approaches his door and knocks. ]
[Most people have probably never seen Rufus in something other than his iconic white coat; perhaps it comes as some surprise, then, when he answers the door considerably more dressed down than he usually tends to appear, in breezy white linen trousers and a black collared shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled to the elbow, the collar and first button undone and a folded-up pair of aviator sunglasses clipped through to hang from the lowest point of the V they make. Darkstar is, as promised, looming at his side, more beast than dog — and yet laced through her usual chain collar is a length of crocheted yarn threaded with bells and tied off in a ribbon bow, clearly handmade and very much not what one might expect of the resident killbeast.
It's almost offensive how effortless he looks, and how well he blends in with his surroundings behind the door: framed by walls of nearly-white lit with fixtures that cast a yellowy glow and a stunning marble floor inlaid with gold, sleek and polished in an Art Deco style. The Queen floor treats its guests like royalty, and this suite is no exception: it's a veritable palace beyond, dripping in grandeur and luxury.]
Miss Lockhart.
[He motions subtly with two fingers on the hand that isn't holding the door; Darkstar, recognizing the command, sits obediently and without hesitation.]
[ when he opens the door, tifa's reminded of a question he'd ask her during the game that she'd nearly completely forgotten about in light of their other heavier topics: am i your type? in the moment, it'd seemed quite ridiculous and practically offensive considering the state of their relationship, but standing here now, looking at him in a more casual attire outside of his traditional white coat, with the effortless way his blond hair falls over part of his face with the rest of it eased back β he is handsome, and certainly in the kind of way in which, were it not for their history, this very well could have been some kind of date she'd been looking forward to.
instead, her shoulders remain tense, fingers threaded together in front of her, as her eyes draw onto the dog-beast that had been warned to be at his side, her nerves sharp until her gaze falls upon the knit add-on of the collar, gentler in its appearance than she would have expected. ]
Mister President.
[ she gives a casual nod of her head as she keeps her back straight, stepping in slowly into the suite, already a bit unnerved by the decor that reminds her just how much she doesn't belong here, while simultaneously recognizing how much he does. rather than focus on it, however, she turns, gesturing with her head to darkstar. ]
Didn't expect that to be in your tastes. [ referring to the handmade accessory around her collar, of course. ] Crocheting isn't your side hobby, is it?
[He huffs a soft laugh, evidently not expecting the title — but it tracks, what else would she call him? It's not as though they're on casual speaking terms, much less friendly ones — and closes the door behind her once she's inside. Darkstar, true to form, remains unmoving and quiet, though she does track Tifa carefully with her glowing red eyes as she makes her way in.]
No, not at all. I had some things commissioned when she arrived; a few of my acquaintances here have a passion for craftwork, and it gave me an excuse to furnish them with materials.
[He pauses, a little reflective.]
I suppose I don't come off as the type to keep pets, do I. But I've had her a long time, and missed her when she wasn't around. It's nice to have her with me again.
[ even if she did refer to him by name, it almost feels too familiar, just as the way he refers to her seems to set some kind of proper boundary, as if the politeness of it is meant to veil some kind of smugness β though she imagines that's entirely due to her own preconceptions of him, all of which have been left questioned in the past few days in light of their recent conversations.
this, too, is just another addition to the ways she's being brought to seeing him in a different kind of light. ]
I guess I just assumed she was just some kind of guard dog to you. I didn't expect her to be ... well, a pet like this. [ not so much strict security as it is a possible friend he keeps around. ] But pets are nice to have around. Makes things less lonely. I used to have a cat growing up β Fluffy β it'd probably brighten everything right up if she were around now. So ... I get it.
[ her lips quirk into a bit of a smile at the memory before she remembers where she is, who she's with, as she then presses those lips together to feel that awkwardness seep through her again, arms holding to hold her elbows. she looks at darkstar again, less dog and more something else entirely, and yet seeming strangely domesticated with that customized collar, leaving her plenty curious. ]
I ... don't expect she can be pet, can she? [ more specifically by her, all things considered. ]
That was the original intention, believe me. But I'm sure you can imagine I didn't have many...friends, growing up. And she's always been good company.
[There's a touch of irony in the way he says that; whether his lack of friends is from his winning personality or his lofty position is anyone's interpretation, of course. But either way, it's true; D's always been the one thing he's known cared for him unconditionally. People could be fickle in their attentions and their motives. She never is.
But Tifa's request actually gets him to raise his eyebrows, more surprised than anything else. He wouldn't have expected her to be so...willing to take a chance, particularly not on a beast he knows she's seen in combat. But he'd be lying if he tried to pretend like it doesn't work a thread of odd warmth into the otherwise cool situation; he is, after all, a dog person.]
...Do you want to? She'll behave. D, come here.
[So he says, without hesitation, and lowers his hands in a loosely cupped position — and, recognizing the command, Darkstar trots right over and places her muzzle in them, ears smoothed back with contentment, though she still never takes her eyes off Tifa.]
[ i don't have a choice whether or not to be lonely. though she'd only read the words from him, she could practically hear them in his voice now, and while she isn't keen towards wanting to feel any kind of pity towards him, all things considered, she understands that need for console, the way she sought it from fluffy after losing her mother.
maybe that's why she even surprises herself when she asks the question, half expecting the answer to be a no regardless. but she's always had a weakness for animals, thanks to fluffy, and even if she tends to be more cat person than dog, it's difficult to feel some kind of softness in the direction of the creature, with the lighthearted bow around her neck. ]
Um, yeah, I mean β only if it's okay.
[ she feels a bit strange now that she's asked it, but she watches rufus gesture for darkstar, her eyes meeting the dog's that in turn watches her. and with that simple gesture, she really does seem like a pet like any other, gentle against her owner's hand, despite gentle never being a word she'd associate with rufus. and yet, in that moment, it seems almost ... ordinary. she doesn't even notice a bit of tension ease from her shoulders.
carefully, she takes a few steps closer, slowly easing her out her own hand, not yet reaching but simply offering it forward. ]
Hi. [ she says to darkstar, her voice light as her body leans down a touch. ]
It's fine. Don't get startled by her tentacle — most people don't expect that.
[Which is to say, when assessing a dog-shaped creature, people tend to account for ears, muzzle, tail, and feet — and might miss the thick, muscular appendage that extends from the base of her neck, and which at that very moment is twisting up to coil loosely around Tifa's wrist.
What's curious, though, is that Darkstar seems to need no additional reassurance to allow Tifa to draw closer; there's no particular agitation in her stance, nor any seeming inclination to bite. The way she's watching her seems more out of interest than vigilance or suspicion; as she does with all the new people her master entertains, she draws her cues from him, and he's already given her all the information she needs to stand down and accept the attention.
Very much not like a typical dog. Rufus wasn't exaggerating when he mentioned she was well-trained.]
Tseng hates it when she gets up on the furniture. She's spoiled, I suppose.
[He's not really sure where that comment comes from, idle and amused. Just something to fill the silence, maybe.]
Oh β [ and tifa seems to be counted amongst those people who don't expect the tentacle, eyes widening a bit when the tentacle encircles her wrist, watching carefully for a moment to study its movements as she keeps her own body still.
but as she observes, she does seem to gather darkstar's relaxed posture, surprisingly unthreatening in a way that really is drastically different from the creature that seemed more monster than anything at rufus' side. yet now, all tifa can see is a faithful pet, comfortable in the space of someone she trusts, even if that someone happens to be rufus shinra.
unexpectedly, it relaxes tifa too. ]
Well, look at her. With such good behavior, she deserves to be. [ with her visual attention directed away from rufus for the moment, she doesn't even notice the change in her own voice, casual and light in its tone, as she chuckles softly, slowly letting her hand reach out the rest of the way to finally slide against darkstar's muzzle, fingers stroking with a gentle touch there and along the top of her head. ]
[It's odd, he supposes. After all the deep-seated frustration and vitriol of their prior conversations — some of it completely deserved, he's come to reflect — Tifa sounds completely unlike what he would've expected from her on a visit like this. That little yelp of surprise strikes him curiously, too; it nags at him, like it's a sound he's heard before, though he can't immediately place how or where.
Strange. But any noise of exclamation might sound like any other, he supposes. It's probably nothing.]
That's one of the benefits of this rank; she's got plenty of room to move around. She always comes to see who's at the door, however. I'm sure that's not surprising.
[He scratches fondly under her chin, and at last Darkstar closes her eyes, evidently willing to release her focus long enough to bask in the attention of two sets of hands petting at her.]
I expect when I dismiss her, she'll follow us as far as the bar, then go onto the private beach instead. If you were worried about her looming while we have our drink — speaking of, shall we?
[ it's not at all what tifa expected either, since she imagined she'd have had all her defenses up from the moment she stepped into his suite. yet, leave it up to the opportunity to pet a domesticated animal to lower down her guard, as the welcoming of pets from darkstar's willingness to enjoy not just one but two offering hands is enough to bring about a bit of fondness as tifa looks to the animal with a smile.
when rufus speaks up with the reminder of her original intentions in coming here, tifa's hand slows, a flushing warmth creeping up over her cheeks as she realizes her own distraction, imagining the oddity of it from his perspective. ]
Right, yeah. [ with a final nuzzling stroke to darkstar's head, tifa withdraws her hand, straightening up as she finally brings her attention back to rufus, feeling a bashfulness creep over her face as she tries to revert back to an intended focused confidence. ] She's free to go where she wants, so I don't really mind. But, yeah, um, lead the way.
[At first pass, it might seem as though that command is intended to have Darkstar remove her tentacle from Tifa's wrist, but it quickly becomes apparent that's not it at all; she promptly gets up to her feet and gives herself a good shake, making her chain collar and its bells jingle faintly as she's given leave to relax herself, and the way she disengages from Tifa and settles into position at Rufus's flank makes clear — that whole time she'd been under command, and from nothing more than that wordless two-finger gesture. Conspicuous, too, is that now her nails click softly against the marble floor as she trots, where previously she'd moved lithe and silent like a panther across the expanse.
After a moment to let Tifa fall in on his other side, Rufus leads the way confidently through his penthouse, past a room with a high arched ceiling and curved walls clearly designed to make favorable acoustics for the grand piano housed within, and further down past an atrium-style room that appears to be β of all bizarre things β a miniature personalized stretch of beach complete with mock-ocean. At last, he turns into the room opposite the beach down the same hallway: a comfortable sort of recreational leisure room done up in blues and tans instead of stark white, with a full bar, a billiard table, and a range of seating from chairs to loveseats to divans.
The bartop, by now, looks lightly lived-in; a bottle or two of Rufus's whiskey label of choice have been left out on the counter, as has an empty glass with a napkin underneath, but for the most part the selection on the shelves behind is robust and untouched, and he motions idly to it with one hand.]
[ as tifa watches the resulting movements at the command to release, she comes to realize just how in tune darkstar has been to every word and even every motion that rufus has signaled. even without the turks positioned at his side, security and defenses low, tifa doubts she could ever actually lay a finger on rufus if it every came down to some spontaneous instinct to attack him here in his suite; she'd probably have darkstar's teeth sunken into her neck in seconds if he managed to draw her attention for it.
probably lucky that none of her intentions in being here consist of any kind of stealth assassination attempt, as tifa stares after darkstar in momentary awe before she draws her attention back to following after rufus. it's with easy curiosity that her eyes peer around the space, lingering for longer than a beat on the grand piano in that expansive room. it isn't her first time in a queen's suite, having seen plenty of other complex designs, equally equipped with their own faux beaches, but she has a more difficult time imagining rufus living within it, absentmindedly trying to picture him leisurely relaxing within it.
it's when her eyes fall onto the bar that a subtle brightness slips onto her face again, already tilting her head to get a look at the various drinks available on the shelves before rufus even welcomes her to it.
looking at him briefly, as if to reaffirm his okay, she steps forward and rounds the counter to slip behind the bar, stepping into it with easy familiarity, the way she can almost find herself within seventh heaven's walls again. fingers trace over bottles to map out the selection, mindfully counting brands she recognizes from home and some that might be more unique to this place or other worlds.
spinning around, her lips purses into something almost like a light smirk as she brings her hands down on the counter. ] So, does that mean I get to make yours too?
I believe we've discussed that you're not here to poison me, so why not? Make whatever you think will appeal, and I'll judge you on whether or not you were right.
[As predicted, Darkstar does in fact peel off from them once they enter the lounge. At first, the sound of her nails clicking as she trots across the hall heralds her departure; shortly thereafter, the sound of splashing water can be distantly heard.
Rufus, meanwhile, goes directly to the pool table and starts to rack the balls with rapid precision, content to have something to do for himself while leaving Tifa the space to do as she likes with the bartop.]
Without sarcasm, Miss Lockhart: is it your intention that we talk to each other at some point, or are we keeping this visit to drinks and billiards only?
[ because if there's a skill that tifa feels herself fairly adept at, it's being able to get a good read on a person's drink preferences. plus, it helps to prevent the returning of the tension in her shoulders now that she's this far into rufus' suite, at least feeling herself in a space that at least suits the kind of air that she's used to, even if it lacks the rambunctious noise of a busy night within seventh heaven, filled with the locals piling in for their nightly drinks.
she's turned back to the bottles as rufus steps away, distracting herself with the labels once more to make calculations in her head about which ones to mix, when his question catches her attention and she stills, gaze unfocusing from the bottle in front of her, feeling the threat of tension working its way back into her muscles.
of course he'd ask eventually. she just hadn't been sure if she'd really be prepared for an answer. ]
To be honest ... I'm not really sure. [ she doesn't turn to look at him, busying herself instead with the shelves, finding it easier this way. ] It's not like I'm here to make any kind of extended deal or anything. And I won't lie, I still have my doubts about ... you. [ it's not spoken with any sort of malice, but the honesty is there, to him, just as it is a reminder to herself. ] But β well, you said before you wanted to give me an opportunity to get to know you, so ... so I'm here. And that's all I've really got right now.
Well. Unfortunately, I can't be anyone other than myself — though I could pretend my name was something different, I suppose.
[He arranges the balls neatly, then goes over and finds his preferred cue before lining up and making a clean break, more for the sake of hearing the balls clack against each other than anything else. He'll set them up again when Tifa is finished with her own work; for the time being he's more than content to amuse himself with something to do with his own hands, appraising angles and taking shots on the table to pass the time.]
Let's see. We've discussed my dog and your cat. You've told me about your father and — well, who doesn't know mine. [He says, dry as bone.] There's a girl here who's been trying to get me to "make friends" with people. Suddenly I wish I'd paid more attention to her ideas about small talk.
[ though she wishes he were someone different, she imagines that if he were, this really wouldnβt be as complicated as this. because who more than the very president of the company thatβs long since controlled all the tides of her life would be as difficult to endure as company? maybe itβs worse because rufus isnβt necessarily downright cruel in the way he presents himself. not that sheβs finding reasons to like him, really, but β¦ being around him hasnβt been so much of a punishment per se, either. itβs almost more infuriating because of it.
taking a few bottles in hand by their necks, she brings them to arrange over on the counter, lining them up to consider in her head how she intends to mix them. ]
Yeah, you could probably use some pointers.
[ then again, she wonders how someone who doesnβt know him would regard him, considering her own tension comes from so much thatβs been carried since before theyβd even met.
her fingers pause in opening up a bottle at the mention of her mother. sheβs quiet for a moment before answering with a small shake of her head. ]
No, not off-limits. Just β¦ well, she died when I was really young. Sheβd been sick and it hit me pretty hard when I lost her. [ sheβs caught staring at her hands for a moment before lifting her head and putting on a small smile. ] But she was the most beautiful person I ever knew, inside and out. She taught how to play piano before she passed, and so I kept that up to try to hold onto her.
[ she turns, distracting herself again by looking around for glasses. ]
You know, with all that the worldβs talked about you and your father, I never heard anything about your mother. What happened to her?
[He's had a long time to learn how to hide his tells, and it's not as though her question about his mother comes unexpected; it's the obvious thing to ask him in return, after he'd all but opened the door by asking after hers. But he's still quiet for a little too long anyway, regarding the lay of the billiard balls a little too long, thumb rubbing idly against the cue he holds between both hands as he seems to dwell over how he wants to answer that question under the guise of evaluating his next shot.]
Similar. A car accident when I was young.
[And yet the memory of the punishment room in the resort's basement comes back to him, the lamplit elevator, Mummy knows best, you still need your mother —
No. That was nothing but phantoms and tricks. He doesn't even remember the sound of her voice, so any sort of charade could easily pass.]
I'm told I look like her, from people who knew her firsthand. She was responsible for me until I was about eight, and then after she died, tutors took over.
[He pauses, then seems to shrug his mood off and glances up, smiling wryly.]
She had me learn piano, too. That must just be a habit of mothers.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
text; un: cerberus (Backdated a bit to July 21st)
I'll pay you for your time.
This is Wriothesley.
no subject
Though I assume it's not just my time you want.
no subject
Payment can be whatever you wish within reason.
.
I prefer not to discuss matters on devices that are easily tracking our everything.
[Regardless if it actually matters or not given how the house obviously knows what they're up to most of the time.]
no subject
Unless you'd rather rendezvous at one of the resort's...amenities, like before.
no subject
I'll meet you at your room. I'll knock twice then once more so you know it's me.
[As if Rufus would be expecting anyone else, but Wriothesley is someone if not thorough in making himself identifiable to someone whom he was meeting up with.]
I don't need the resort sticking their nose into my business right now.
no subject
[And really, he's not worried about the security of his own room — Tseng wouldn't let him live anywhere without having sufficiently swept it for surveillance, and he also checks himself on the regular, accustomed as he is to Shinra-grade "supervision" on the part of his father. Of course Wriothesley doesn't know that, and whether Rufus decides to tell him is as yet anyone's guess.]
I look forward to hearing just what business you're bringing.
-> Action
Arms folded over his chest, while Wriothesley's expression is something neutral, small things betray him. Tension in his shoulders and there's something stormy in his gaze as he waits for Rufus to answer the door.]
no subject
The knocks comes just as his guest said it would; even so, he's cautious to check for a visual before opening the door to permit entrance. He's dressed down a little from what he usually walks around the resort in, having foregone his suit and coat for a dark high-neck sweater and crisp white trousers, and a pair of comfortable house slippers instead of his typical boots.]
You're punctual.
[And agitated, clearly. He beckons Wriothesley inside and closes the door behind him, careful to keep his expression even and not try to catch a breath of him as he steps past, just in case he happens to be wearing that ocean-scented cologne.]
And willing to pay to get something out of me, so let's have it.
no subject
The man looked, well, tired. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke lingers on his clothes. He's dressed in slacks and waistcoat and would look well kept if not for small signs. The slight wrinkling of his dress shirt underneath that implies he hadn't bothered to press it and the way he didn't even bother to button the top most button of his waistcoat.
He nods his head in greeting as he steps inside.]
I wasn't about to make someone wait when it was I who asked for their time. How unbecoming if I did. [He gives a cursory look around, mostly out of habit to quickly access the space. Paranoia runs deep after all.
He purses his lips before turning to look at the other.] I just don't want to think for a little bit. [And while things like drugs could easily get him that, he also was someone who liked a clear mind. It was a frustrating dichotomy.]
You're free to let me know what you would like as payment and we can find a compromise that works for the both of us.
no subject
And yet — there's something to the way he frames it, I don't want to think. The chance to switch one's mind off is the siren song of the overworked and overburdened, resigned to the necessity of whatever it is they carry, yet desperate to put it down in the short term just to ensure they can survive it a little longer in the greater one.]
You're asking for a repeat performance.
[He'd made him drink the green potion. He'd put him on his hands and knees and dragged noises out of his throat and again and again it'd always been the same, I want to be good, I want to be a good boy.]
Well. If we're negotiating a bargain, then my compensation is going to be contingent on my obligation. So let's be clear — just how much control are you willing to cede to me?
[He smiles faintly, tilting his head at the slightest angle.]
There must be something you won't let me do to you.
no subject
He had pointed it out to Tseng once. Sometimes there was something freeing about submitting to someone and letting them hold the reigns. It had already happened once between them. Why not another time?]
A business man, huh? I appreciate that. [It makes it easy for someone to be concise and to the point. He likes that.] You're right though.
[Wriothesley is someone who knows his limits pretty well.] I refuse to have my hands bound. I don't want any kind of drugs. No permanent physical alterations. [The last one was kind of just a precaution. He doesn't think that it would come up, but it was better to be honest than for things to go too far and for him to be dragged back into reality.
But Wriothesley didn't have a lot of things he refused. As long as he felt like he didn't feel completely at Rufus' mercy, giving up control was different than feeling like he lost control, and he didn't like using substances.] I don't think there's anything else.
no subject
It's a startlingly compelling notion, not least of which because Rufus of all people can appreciate just how much trust is requisite for an ask like that. He certainly wouldn't be so quick to put himself up at anyone's mercy, mostly because he's long since learned to never expect mercy from anyone. And yet...
And yet, there's something to it. Something just compelling enough that he thinks, maybe he wants to explore a little more of this — albeit from the safety of being the one on his feet, and not the one on his knees.]
Then keep your money. I'm not rendering a service like a whore.
[Though the premise really isn't that far off from the sorts of things that go on in Wall Market, dreams sold to paying customers and carried out by charming little honeybees. Not that he's ever been let anywhere near such places, but still.]
But I will do it for loyalty. In a place like this, an ally is worth their weight in chips — so those are my terms.
no subject
Rufus' words were amusing though. At least said to him, whom had easily offered services of all kinds while in prison from credit coupons. That, at the end of the day, he was still seeking some sort of service from Rufus. It might not be sex, but the concept was there.]
Monsieur. You already had that.
[Loyalty isn't quite the right word, he thinks. At the end of the day, they still have their own goals and plans. But Wriothesley, despite what hiccups of their relationship, did like Rufus. Sure, he basically barked for the man, but the man seemed to respect him enough not to treat him like shit after. Hell, if his relationship was bad with them, he wouldn't be here in their room asking for their time.
As it is, he didn't intend to not at least treat the other as some respectable business associate.] It's a deal then.
no subject
[There's a note of dry irony in the remark, even as he finally moves into Wriothesley's space and brings his hand up to frame his face, aiming to rest his palm lightly against his cheek. In large part, it's an attempt to see if he can get away with it at all, or if he'll be deflected away; call it an opening foray to test the waters of this agreement they've just struck, to see how willing Wriothesley is to bend — and how hard he's going to have to work to put him under.]
But since you're an ally, let's let it wait until afterward — and you can offer me what you think all this was worth to you. For now, I think it's time you stopped using that clever mind of yours.
[He leans a little closer, his voice taking on a more velvet tone — lulling, deep, and easy to listen to.]
Nod, or shake your head, but no words. You're not going to need them for a while.
no subject
Whatever it meant, there was something that was consistent. If Rufus ever needed a helping hand in anyway, Wriothesley would not leave the man wanting.
And Rufus apparently didn't intend to leave him wanting either. Wriothesley shivers and he opens his mouth to respond before snapping his mouth shut. A half-lidded gaze before he nods in silent affirmation.]
no subject
You're not as cute without your tail, puppy. I wonder if you're still as obedient without it.
[Just a moment, he'd said, and it didn't have to be anything sexual. Just a means of getting outside of his thoughts, then — yes, all right, Rufus can certainly work with that.]
Let's see how much you remember. Sit.
[He makes a slight, almost imperceptible motion with his hand — evidently, it's habitual for him to give nonverbal commands along with spoken ones, for some reason — and yes, seems to indicate that Wriothesley ought to lower himself down to the ground right there in the midst of the carpet.]
no subject
Hell, right now, he's apparently just some dog taking orders. And he was alright with that.
He doesn't hesitate to obey, getting down to his knees until he's seated in front of Rufus. He looks up at the other and waits for Rufus' next order.]
no subject
[There's a different air to this than the last time; it's a subtle change in atmosphere that Rufus isn't oblivious to. But that only makes sense, really, when the last time was about tensions running hot and the fervent burn of desire, and this variation on the theme is meant to be quieter, slower.
It's that thought that guides his decisions of how to move next, of how to exercise the level of control Wriothesley seems to want without injecting an overtly sexual component into it. It's that notion that has him thinking of what he has available around the room, and what he can best make use of with it.
What he decides on, ultimately, is another of those quick hand commands — though he doesn't speak it aloud, this one most likely interprets to stay — and briefly leaves the room in the direction of his bedroom before returning with the soft plush tie from his luxury bathrobe.]
Close your eyes.
[He flicks the squarish end of the cloth against the tip of Wriothesley's nose, letting him feel its sleek caress — and buying a second for him to indicate whether this is out of bounds, if for some reason he doesn't want to be blindfolded.]
no subject
He closes his eyes at Rufus' words and waits. There's a stiffening of his shoulders as Wriothesley seems to be making out what he was feeling and what the implication meant. Eventually, the man lets his shoulders relax, hands settling on his lap.
Relaxed. Accepting. He waits for Rufus to tie it around his eyes.]
no subject
[When no reluctance comes, he carefully ties the long, narrow strip of cloth around Wriothesley's head, leaving the knot to sit at the back of his skull while the soft expanse of it fits snug but not tight against his eyes. A little sensory deprivation can go a long way toward enhancing obedience, he muses to himself, reaching to free the ends of Wriothesley's bangs from the trap of the makeshift blindfold and let them return to dangling comfortably instead.]
It's quieter in the dark, isn't it, puppy?
no subject
A shuddering breath and he finally nods in response.]
no subject
Before he quite realizes it, he's sunk down onto one knee, letting him draw closer to where Wriothesley remains still and crouched on the carpet; it lets him lower his voice, feeding into that remark — yes, it's quieter like this, soft and easy and quiet, and there's something so powerfully compelling about that.]
A good dog can heel without a leash.
[He runs the pad of his thumb over Wriothesley's lower lip, as if to add a tactile element to the moment to help keep him grounded against the risk of drifting off on his thoughts.]
So let's go for a walk.
[It's a healthy-sized apartment, after all, with multiple rooms. Plenty of space to work in a little following.]
no subject
And he finds his body crave those sweet touches. The man's attention. Affection. Real or not. He leans into it, searching for that hand.
If he hadn't asked for this in the first place, he might balk at Rufus' words. Instead though, he obeys the other like a good pet. He crawls on all fours, ears straining to listen for the blond's steps and to follow after them loyally.]
no subject
[There's one thing, significantly, that Wriothesley won't overhear as they move through the suite: there's no rattle of a lock or whisper of hinges that might be indicative of the main door opening. This game is about release, not about humiliation; he's not about to be paraded around where others might see, their activities kept safe in the confines of his own four walls.
And there are tells, as he walks, that make it possible to track — but with the carpets being plush as they are, and Rufus in house slippers, it's definitely something that Wriothesley will have to focus on to attend to. He leads him smoothly, methodically, around the living room a few times — as much to throw off his sense of direction as anything else — before guiding him in the direction of the bedroom, making his footfalls a little more pronounced as they get close to the doorway.]
no subject
Heβs not quite used to the layout of Rufusβ room, even if he had took in the space carefully. Paranoia and wariness making him want to always be aware of whatβs around him. Like this though, itβs easy for him to slowly lose track as he tries to focus on where Rufus is going.
He notes the slight change in how they walk and knows the other must be leading him somewhere specific now. He doesnβt hesitate to follow.]
( 8/13, morning )
so instead, tseng settles for what he can manage. a cinnamon roll wrapped first in wax paper and then in tinfoil to keep it warm and moist; a thermos of coffee, although rufus is surely capable of making his own, but on your birthday it's nice if you don't have to. and in a small black box wrapped in dark grey ribbon, the actual gift: two golden coins, the same size and weight as gil would be, embossed with darkstar's likeness on one face so rufus knows which side is heads.
these all get put in a plain black gift bag and handed over to a staff member to be delivered to rufus at 10am sharp, along with a note from tseng, folded in half and tucked inside: this probably isn't how you wanted to spend it, but happy birthday, nonetheless.
no "sir," this once. ]
no subject
And those were just the ones that the general population was permitted to know about.
Everyone knows his birthday in Midgar, but naturally most of his memories of the day itself are sour ones. Sour, that is, except for one tradition that never seems to fade — how even in confinement and disgrace, there would be at least a text and some understated kindness, inconspicuous and easily-overlooked by everyone except its intended recipient. Rufus would forget his own birthday before Tseng overlooks it; as in all things, Tseng is steadfast and predictable and consistent.
But even so, he's still just a little bit surprised when the knock at his door turns up, late enough in the morning that he gets to sleep in and luxuriate extravagantly in his bed, but early enough that he hasn't yet had time to wonder or doubt whether some sort of message will show up at all. That the bag and its contents come in nondescript black and shades of gray are classic Tseng: sleek and unassuming, and he's almost instantly curious about what could be inside as he takes the bag from the staffer and returns inside with an almost dragonish desire to covet the experience.
He finds the food first; not surprising, when the thermos is an obvious shape and the heat of the roll draws his notice. It's gooey and sticky and a little bit mashed from the trip up, and there's no one around to see or scorn Rufus as he pulls it apart with his fingers and shoves a piece into his mouth, licking the remains of the sugar away and sucking on them for good measure.
The box — what must be a gift — is small and light. Jewelry? Some sort of accessory? Cufflinks, maybe, or a watch chain. A keychain would suggest a sense of humor about the day out of Tseng that he has his doubts about, but still, not entirely unheard of.
He shoves another piece of roll into his mouth, wipes his hands, opens the box — and finds himself instantly at a loss, clutching the box in frozen fingers as he tries his damnedest not to drop it.
What gets him isn't, in and of itself, the coins — though the thought inherent in the gift absolutely gets him. It isn't that they're the perfect weight, the perfect size. It isn't that he can pluck one up and roll it effortlessly down the backs of his fingers and it feels just right, this tiny piece of familiarity that he'd been willing to sacrifice just like everything else, on the altar of his time spent here, and yet now all of a sudden he doesn't have to.
What gets him is —
It's the fact that someone had to make these. That Tseng had someone make these. That Tseng went out of his way to put Darkstar's image on these coins, for him, and made the likeness so exacting that he knew what it was from the moment he laid eyes on it. That she's not here, and he aches for how much he wishes she was, but now he has this. Now he has her, just this little bit of her, just like always.
Still idly toying with one of the coins, he opens his coffee and sips it, feeling the heat of the still-warm liquid go all the way down his throat and pool in the pit of his stomach, a physical echo of the warmth already buzzing over his nerves as he silently processes the reality of his gift.
Eventually, and perhaps not unexpectedly, he reaches for his watch.]
How should I spend it instead?
[No preamble, but he doesn't really need one. The confirmation of receipt is all inherent in the way he initiates the conversation as though they're already partway into it to begin with.]
no subject
the relief immediately turns to... something, not quite anxiety, but perhaps some strange kind of anticipation once tseng has read and understood the question. how should rufus spend his birthday? one answer, which tseng can't bring himself to say; another answer, which calls back to something tseng said during that fateful morning in his suite's master bath, although tseng can't know for sure whether rufus will interpret it how it's meant. ]
Any way you want.
no subject
And if I know what I want, you'll give it to me?
no subject
[ not referring to rufus as sir in every text feels strange, but the birthday gifts have always been a gray area between them professionally, so it would feel even stranger to lean on that professionalism now. ]
no subject
Maybe doubts is the wrong word. Reservations might work better. Tseng, after all, has always seemed more uncomfortable with the state of their respective ranks than even Rufus has himself, has always been deferential and perfect except in those times when Rufus has managed to sink claws in and tear holes in his collected exterior.
Maybe he's waiting for Rufus to say the word.
The problem is, Rufus isn't altogether certain of what might come of it if he does.]
And if you didn't like what I wanted, would you tell me?
no subject
I would tell you if you wanted to know.
[ is that what rufus wants? for tseng to be honest when his wants and desires conflict with rufus' requests? ]
no subject
[He stares at his watch. Draws a slow, steadying breath. Shoves a piece of cinnamon roll into his mouth for good measure.]
I want to spend it with you. As...company.
no subject
Would you like to come over? Or should we go out?
[ after a moment, he sends another: ]
I do not dislike that idea.
no subject
Both.
[And slowly, slowly, he finds himself at the awkward, tentative crux of it.]
You should take me somewhere. Out.
no subject
Then come here at 1 PM for a late lunch, and I'll take you out afterward.
[ late lunch, because he knows rufus was asleep until 9:30 easy, and probably only actually got out of bed when the staff member rang his doorbell at 10:00; now, having only eaten breakfast not long ago, it'll probably be until 1:00 before rufus is even hungry again. ]
no subject
It's a day that's never really been his own, has it? Always tangled up in things bigger than him, always with his father's fingerprints on it. This is the first birthday he's had since the old man died; as new beginnings go, the prospect of doing something solely for himself, in the company of someone he likes to be around, is...surprisingly compelling.]
I don't dislike that idea.
[Hopefully the teasing comes across, even in text. Maybe a little bit of the relief will, too.]
You'll surprise me with our destination?
no subject
it feels... good. a little disorienting, but good. ]
It wouldn't be a very good gift if I didn't.
[ sorry about your control freak tendencies, rufus, but tseng is driving now. ]
no subject
This prospect, though, of handing over all the details to Tseng and merely showing up to enjoy the ride is...interesting. Familiar, on some level. Novel, on another.
He rubs the backs of his knuckles absently along the line of his jaw, thinking of a nick that by now has long since healed.]
You'll tell me what to wear?
[If the cadence of his questions is starting to give the impression of resembling a game, that's only because that's exactly what he's doing.]
no subject
I'll give you guidelines. I'm not as intimately familiar with the contents of your wardrobe here as I would have been back home.
[ he has swept rufus' wardrobe once or twice, but since they arrived here buck naked, tseng is sure rufus is still in the process of rebuilding his collection of clothing. who knows what he might have acquired since the last time tseng checked the drawers for bugs? ]
no subject
Or maybe he's just reading too much into it.]
It's about what you would expect. A few suits. A few more casual things. More black than back home.
That one's a necessary hazard of this place. I don't wear white when I visit the Naked Yolk.
no subject
Dress comfortably, in something that accentuates whatever you think are your best features.
[ privately, tseng hopes this means pants that hug his ass and something that matches his eyes; he will, however, accept whatever it is that rufus decides on. ]
no subject
I saw something at the Nest recently that I liked. Can I charge it to your room?
[It won't escape Tseng's notice, he knows, that he asked. Not just stated an intention and expected acquiescence. The fun of guidance is the reward of approval.]
no subject
You can. I won't look at the receipt until after.
[ so he won't spoil the surprise for himself. it might be rufus' birthday, but who says tseng can't benefit just a little bit, himself? ]
And I'm not giving you any hints, so don't ask.
no subject
[Though, actually. One thing does occur to him, and for all that it will sound like he's immediately breaking the rules the instant Tseng has set them, there is still an element of practicality to it.]
Though you should at least tell me if I'll need a coat. Otherwise I won't wear one.
no subject
I'll see you later today.
un: idlemaiden | text
[ His treat, naturally. ]
no subject
[He is under no illusions that this is actually going to stop her but for the sake of form he's obligated to be a pillar of salt about it anyway.]
Second: is it really finished, or is this just another excuse to get favors out of me? :)
no subject
What! I'd never.
But if I really wanted to get more favours out of you I'd tell you that I ran out of material and needed more Β°Λβ§β(β°βΏβ°)ββ§ΛΒ° Since that isn't the case, have you considered that I maybe just want to get smoothies with you just because?
no subject
[While it may be a criminal offense to look this good, don't compare him to any other kind!!]
...I hadn't, actually. Most people don't contact me unless it's with an agenda.
no subject
...Do you not have friends at home?
no subject
I'm not obligated to have a nickname, am I? Otherwise I might have to insist you get one as well.
[lowkey sidesteps the friends question.......]
no subject
I love a good nickname. Would that make us friends if you come up with one for me?
[ Get back here you stupid tall, handsome man - ]
no subject
[WATCH HIM SERPENTINE]
no subject
no subject
[Text may not convey tone all that well, but here's the thing: it's actually a genuine question.]
no subject
I'm just trying to understand you.
I've seen people who interact and surround themselves with other people but that doesn't mean that they have friends. Not having people you can count on like that seems lonely to me.
[ In a place like this where sex isn't necessarily synonymous with feelings, platonic or not, doesn't sit right with her. The next message comes after a beat of silence. ]
I guess I don't want that for you.
no subject
But, well...
It's that thing again. The idea that everything about this place is, on some level, dissevered from the people they were before they came, and the people they'll be when they return. This is a liminal space. What are the risks, really, for it?]
I don't. Have friends at home, like you said.
I'm fine with what I do have. Friends have just never been a part of it.
no subject
It's hard for her to believe that people, Rufus included, would just be fine with not having friends. But she'll let him have it for now. ]
So if you didn't have friends what did you have?
no subject
I have a dog.
[That sounded slightly less stupid in his head than it looks in retrospect in text.]
And power. Influence. Wealth and status. That sort of thing.
no subject
A dog.
You think all of those things and a dog are fulfilling enough that you donβt need other things in your life?
[ Sheβs not trying to be judgey butβ¦ ]
no subject
no subject
Or is this a, "I'm so powerful and influential that everyone who offered me friendship probably has an ulterior motive," situation.
no subject
Friendship is a two-party proposition, isn't it?
no subject
You're right. It is. So it's really rude to leave my invitation to smoothies at the Nest unanswered. Maybe you can tell me more about where you've come from, I can deliver your commission to you, and maybe we can both weigh in on the fate of our friendship.
no subject
All right. I'll bite. Smoothies at the Nest it is.
no subject
no subject
Except that he does show up, and he isn't late, and he does look cute (because he knows how to dress himself, thank you very much) in a crisp sport coat and white slacks and a dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned, and his favorite pair of aviators pushed up onto his head like the proper rich boy on forever vacation that he is.
It isn't difficult to track her down. He refrains from waving, but does offer her a nod as he approaches.]
Hello, special.
no subject
That aside, she does think that they complete the look. Sometimes you need a little accessory to tie everything together. Case in point, the bow tied around her ponytail that quite literally is tying the athleisurewear look she's chosen together. In a pink tennis skirt and white cropped jacket, she looks like she's just finished a tennis match or practice.
(In reality it's neither. She's just making use the things she's scrimped and saved for - and the closets that she's been allowed to borrow from.)
While he doesn't wave, she does, immediately perking up at the sight of him as she waits just outside the Nest for him. ]
Special? I didn't realize we were starting the nickname trial early, Ruru.
no subject
He makes a mental note to buy her something, just idly. She's not the only one who can't be seen hanging around with unfashionable people, after all.]
It's a practice run. I'm not much of a nicknamer, so I'm working up to it.
[He glides to a halt just near her, clearly ready to go flex his authority on some unsuspecting minimum-wage smoothie workers. This rich bastard.]
Did you bring my item?
no subject
Just because she's basically a peasant by rank, she's not about to let that dictate how she dresses - even with a limited number of chips at her disposal. And as if she would be seen walking around in the equivalent of gas station clothes. Even if came to that, she probably would have found some way to get a hold of some scissors and thread and make it look somewhat more presentable before wearing them off the rack.
Listen, he can be a rich bastard if it means he buys her a smoothie. But that will not stop her from pouting at the straightforwardness before holding out a little pink gift bag stuffed with tissue paper and tied with - you guessed it - a white bow. ]
Obviously. Did you really think that I'd forget?Β Even if I had, it's not like we'd have to go very far to get it from my room.
no subject
[How he's settled on "P" as his next attempt at a nickname is, frankly, very stupid, but hey: at least he's settling into the attempt at trying. He takes the bag when she offers it, examining it thoughtfully; part of him clearly wants to dig in and see the finished product for himself, while the other part appears to be conscious that destroying her hard work at gift-wrapping is probably not likely to earn him any points.]
Why not take another swing at it, and remind me how brilliant and talented you are?
no subject
Asking for more details will have to come later it seems. For now she can't help but give him another look as faint patches of pink rise to her cheeks. ]
Don't you think you should look at it first before I start bragging about how great I am at a hobby?
no subject
[And he'll take that for the cue that it is, unraveling the bow and dipping his hand into the bag in search of the item she's prepared for him.]
Though I assume I will be.
no subject
The fashion here is undeniably different than what she's used to in FΓ³dlan. And while some of it is for the better, fashion is such a subjective thing. Without knowing who this is for or knowing much about them aside from them keeping their hair up, she had little to go off of in terms of colour preference and style. In other words it could be an absolute failure.
And while she's certain she can handle a little attitude from Rufus, she's always avoided the sting of disappointment like the plague. There's no stopping this now though. When Rufus opens it he'll find not one but several items all packaged with equal care. They'll look familiar if only because he had been there to purchase them and watch her pick everything out. Understated, elegant silver barrettes glint in the light. A set of three dark metal pins polished to shine with varying colours of resin (dark blue, a dark green and pearly white) are also nestled in a differnt package. ]
I didn't know how thick their hair would be but all of them held up mine just fine so it should work for them too as long as they know how to use the hair pins.
no subject
These are not like the things his mother used to wear. They're subtle, and elegant without being ostentatious. They're intriguing but not memorable. They're lovely but not distinctive.
They're perfect. Perfect for what he wants them for, perfect for the recipient he has in mind. Tseng deserves something special but would want something unremarkable; Hilda, magnificently, has managed both.]
You're good at this.
[Rufus doesn't really do admiration. The approval in his tone is about as close as it's possible for him to get.]
These are exquisite. A fine return on my investment in you.
no subject
Despite her best efforts, the little sigh of relief that sheΒ letsΒ out from under her breath is probably audible enough for him to hear. Or maybe it isn't considering how exasperated she sounds in the next breath. Some part of her recognizes that he's being kind. And that in some other world, his world specifically, this is what someone would equate to praise when it comes to Rufus.
That doesn't mean she can't be a little bit sassy back. ]Β
You could just say, "thank you," you know. I'm not some business deal.Β
[ Although that's exactly the sort of deal they'd struck, wasn't it? Attitude gives way to mild embarrassment. ]
I'm glad you like them though. Hopefully your friend will like them too.Β
[ Is there an emphasis on 'friend'Β in the hopes that she'll find out more about this unknown receiver? Maybe. ]Β
no subject
[He wags one of the boxes at her, in indication, before replacing it back in the bag.]
Particularly not when I can already see myself putting in another few orders, since this is the quality I'm getting back.
[Is he stalling a little bit to delay the bait he knows she's laid in the water? Absolutely. And normally he'd just dodge the subject altogether, but...well, call him crazy, but there's something about the fact that Hilda isn't afraid to give as good as she gets, and banters with him instead of being perpetually deferential, that makes him relax where he might otherwise stay guarded.
And besides, bragging about the guy he thinks is cute is...an interesting prospect.]
They're for someone I know from home. He's done a lot to make sure my adjustment to the resort went...smoothly. [A pause.] I've never — actually gotten him anything, before. This will be the first.
no subject
Not so fast. Just because I enjoy making things and you happen to have the chips and willingness to spend on the materials doesn't mean that it has to be called a "business relationship". Why can't it just be mutually beneficial?Β
[ And if he enjoys being her so called art supply sugar daddy, who is she to say no? But no, Hilda! Stay the course. He's clearly just stalling. Isn't he? Her own reassurance/reminder to herself is soon answered and some of her previous embarrassment from before fades. ]
The first time, huh? How long have you known him?Β
no subject
...I suppose we first met when I was seventeen.
[He's quiet a moment, but this time it doesn't feel like stalling so much as reminiscing silently; his eyes go a little distant with memory, like he's trying to figure out how to frame the recollection.]
I wasn't afforded much autonomy, but I did manage to persuade certain people with pull that I would benefit from learning a set of practical skills. Self-defense, crisis response, things like that. And he was the poor rookie saddled with the unenviable job of babysitting the VIP.
[He pauses, throwing a sideways smile her way.]
I'm sure this will come as a complete surprise to you, but occasionally it's fun to be difficult for the sake of attention. I certainly was. But he wouldn't give it to me, and it just made me want to act out more, to see if I could get a rise out of him.
no subject
Unfortunately she does knows exactly what he means by being difficult if it means entertainment for herself. But she isn't going to let onto that despite her huffing a little and looking away for a brief moment when he smiles at her. She had always made it a point not to be disarmed by anything anyone did. Particularly men. But when Rufus smiles, however small, she can tell that it's genuine as he recounts his history with someone that really does sound like a friend.
Even if she has that moment of clarity that whatever Rufus presents himself as someone who isn't this cool, collected individual isn't the whole truth she still manages not to miss a beat. ]
So you're telling me that you're a bit of a brat?
[ She's teasing him of course. ]
Did you get a rise out of him eventually?
no subject
[Though of course, most of the time he's heard it in tones that weren't teasing, and in ways that weren't complimentary, and his natural response had been to ignore them and rise above it, lofty and self-centered and dismissive. The fact that Hilda will banter with him, even if it's occasionally at his expense, is...
So strangely welcomed, really.]
And I did, but not before he got one of out of me first. That's when I knew I liked him — when I realized that we were alike. People being what we had to be, outwardly, but with...very interesting secrets.
no subject
The way she had gracefully floated through life had meant that very few of those insults actually made their way to her; it was a combination of most people liking her, people wanting to curry favour with Holst (or who straight up feared the repercussions if word ever got back that they were bad mouthing his precious baby sister), or her acting blissfully oblivious to comments like that.
She acted the part of a spoiled brat because it was and is an effective means of having people purposefully think little of her. How else was she supposed to shirk responsibility? How else could she guarantee a life free of hard work and all play except for maybe the horrors of childbirth?
The fact that he's willing to poke fun at himself makes her lips curl a little higher. So he did have a sense of humor.
As he answers more about himself and this mysterious not!friend she takes several sidesteps towards the cafΓ©, a silent gesture that maybe this would be way more enjoyable with smoothes in front of them. Her eyes gleam playfully at the mention of secrets. ]
He must really be something if he got a rise out of you. [ He's too cool with his (indoor) sunglasses!! ] Although it can't be that difficult - I just have to spend more time with you. And if there are secrets involved that's just more incentive.
no subject
[But he can read a hint, and so he heads with her in the direction of the cafe — and the disparity in treatment, even implicitly, is frankly astonishing. Where Hilda gets sidelong looks and scrutinizing gazes from the resort staff and assembled residents, they all seem to sit up a little straighter and take notice when he sweeps in at her side. A funny little bubble of protection, almost, that he casts just by existing in the vicinity.
Not that he notices, really. That type of treatment is entirely what he's used to — perhaps even with a little less groveling than he might otherwise expect.
Still, with him in the lead, the trip up to the counter is fairly short — as people who might've been thinking about getting in line prudently decide to wait until the Ten has been served — and he gestures for Hilda to put in her order on their arrival.]
Whatever she likes. Charge it to my room — and it had better come out correct.
no subject
[ There's no point in denying it. If she wanted to be subtle about it she would have been. And she gets the impression that someone like Rufus appreciated some level of straightforwardness. Her intentions are clear as they had been before this but she's got enough of a read on him now to know that friends isn't a concept so easily grasped when you are used to reading into potential ulterior motives or doing it out of personal duty or responsibilities handed to them.
She allows him to take the lead up to the counter, ignoring the way they scrutinize her with barely veiled distaste and at Rufus like he's very nearly hung the stars. The forced ignorance isn't something she's used to quite yet though there have been moments where she's found herself appreciating it. But she would be lying if she said that she doesn't appreciate being taken seriously even if it comes at the expense of having to be with a higher ranking guest. Rufus' demand is met with a sidelong glance from her but she wastes no time ordering, punctuating it with a sweet smile of thanks that is only hesitantly returned out of fear by the staff behind the counter. She waits for him to finish ordering before they seat themselves and launches right back into questioning him. ]
Is your friend the only one that you know from home?
no subject
And Hilda, too, seems to grasp that game, if her winning smiles are any indication. When they sit, he opts to play it up just a little, sliding one hand across the tabletop to rest just the tips of his fingers over her own, like a warning to the staff that his influence covers her as figuratively as his touch does literally.]
He's the only one that matters. Evidently there have been a few others around; none that would be all that eager to spend time with me.
[He pauses.]
One was a girl. You might've gotten along with her.
no subject
She's played enough of these games to know understand the subtleties being laid before her. And this, while silly and frivolous, is no less enjoyable. For a moment she can forget that she's here. She can leave the sounds of war that haunt her dreams. This is just a pleasant day spending time with someone who may or may not be her friend. ]
What makes you say that? Our nose for mischief? Our sparkling personalities?
un: idlemaiden | text
Which is why she sends a very silly and probably stupid text. ]
So...are we ever going to talk about the daddy thing?
no subject
[He's not upset, honestly; upset isn't really the word for it. Conflicted might be a better one. Tumultuous. But he understands lying for the sake of the bit, and why she might've done it in the moment. Even knowing — even having seen his doppelganger, even knowing that. What mattered was keeping her safe and it'd worked.
It's just. He's really not sure how he feels about it.
But luckily, he's been working on precisely that already, since coming to the resort. Since starting to open up to himself about his preferences, and about not forcing things he doesn't like, and about settling into embracing things he maybe does like. So he's a lot less prickly than he could've been, otherwise. Just conflicted. Just thoughtful.]
It seemed to do the trick at the time.
no subject
[ Try that again with a little less defensiveness now, Hilda. ]
...I'm sorry. It was the first thing that came to mind and I have no idea why. In any other circumstance I would have asked. And it just goes to show that not all of my impromptu plans work out the way I'd hope.
[ Truthfully she doesn't know how she feels about it either. It had started out as a survival mechanism with a joke at its core, but it's difficult for her to deny that she had enjoyed it in some form. But whether that had to do with calling Rufus that, the knowledge that they may have had vampires watching them, or that it was Rufus himself is still something she has to parse out. ]
no subject
I'm only surprised. Given what you've seen prior.
[She is, after all, one of the few — one of the only — people aware of that glimpse of his childhood. Of how loaded a concept it is, and why he might be struggling.
But she says she's sorry, and if there's one thing he's learned about Hilda by now, it's that she wouldn't say it twice without meaning it at least once.]
I'm more curious why you ran to me. Was I just the first one you saw?
no subject
[ But also leaving her on read? Not cool (even if it is deserving). While she should be used to waiting between responses for letters was perfectly normal, it doesn't make her any less impatient or nervous for the response that awaits her.
She isn't exactly sure why. Sure, they're friends and they get along well; but while she values his company the resort is large enough where she wouldn't feel the need to rely on him solely for companionship whether that's physical or not. And yet in the silence that stretches she finds herself hoping that that isn't the case. That a silly (stupid) slip of her tongue in a moment of stress won't be the downfall of something that she cares about.
The relief she feels when he finally responds is difficult to ignore but it's his question that prompts her to pause in return as she revisits the haze of that day both literally and figuratively. ]
I'm not going to lie and say that you weren't the first person I saw because you were. But if I'm being entirely honest, I wasn't even entirely sure that it was you because it was impossible to see in there. When I realized it was you I stayed because I knew I could trust you.
[ "I feel safe around you," is what she means to say but she can't quite bring herself to type it. ]
no subject
[There's not a lot of people who would try to be his friend, though, are there. And yet.]
And do you still? Trust me.
no subject
She replies with no hesitation. ]
Yes.
Does that bother you?
no subject
[But then, after a moment that's at least shorter than his previous pauses, but feels more like a moment of hesitation than a lengthy one of pondering consideration: ]
I don't think I'd like that. If you didn't trust me. I would rather you did.
You were right to stay when you did. I wouldn't have let anything hurt you.
no subject
[ And because it feels like they're in this strange space of admitting things they might not otherwise normally admit - ]
There aren't many people that I would trust in a situation like that. I'm glad it was you.
[ There's another pause here, her fingers hovering over the send key before she bites the bullet before she can second guess herself. ]
And I enjoyed being with you. Like that.
no subject
[That's not what she means, and he knows it. It is what he's going to say to fill the space while he tries to figure out what else he's supposed to say to that, in addition.]
If you're testing the waters, I'll say that you wouldn't be the first I've had an...arrangement with. For things like that. I understand having a taste for it.
[He is, possibly, fucking this up. Nothing to do but keep trying, though.]
I'm not sure if that's what you're asking for. Or if you're asking for anything at all.
no subject
[ She's mostly just giving him a hard time. Mostly. She knows how this place works. ]
If I were, would you want "anything at all" with me?
no subject
I want to know
[But the thought goes unfinished, at least for a little while, as he tries to push away instinct and compulsion in favor of something more tenuous, setting aside his own natural way of looking at the world to try to see a different one. He's not one to go looking for friends. She wants to be one of his. And he's not altogether sure how her view maps with this idea, and that's a problem.]
I don't know what you're asking. So the reason I'm not answering is because I don't want to risk being wrong.
Framing it as asking whether I want you is a touchy subject. Do you want this to be about feelings? Or do you want a transaction, however mutually beneficial?
I just want to know what's on the table. I'm asking as a...friend.
no subject
[ She stares at the screen and his unfinished thought, annoyance prickling at her skin even though she knows that he's right. Playing games, dancing between the undefined spaces in-between had always been her preference. It was easier that way. It kept her unattached and by extension kept those that might want something from her or her brother at an arm's length.
But there's nothing like that here. What does he stand to gain from the youngest daughter of a noble house in a land far from here? What does he stand to gain except maybe a friend? The word stares back at her and it takes her a moment to reply. ]
Feeling as in romance? Or the general feelings of care that people usually develop when they're friends with someone?
no subject
[The first draft of that comment had been a little different, in truth. He'd started by writing I don't usually have friends, before turning it into I've never had friends before, before finally settling on this. Each new iteration is a little more vulnerable. Each new iteration is a little closer to pulling away the layers of obfuscation, and getting down to what she really needs to hear.]
I buy loyalty. Or trade for it. Or blackmail for it. Usually when people say they want me, what they mean is they want something I have or something I can provide.
No one enjoys being around me. I'm not being obtuse. I'm asking questions because I'm just trying to understand your perspective. It's not one I've ever experienced firsthand before.
no subject
Not even your friend here? The one you had me make something for?
[ Because what was his admission at the smoothie shop if not that? Debating the relationship status of the giftee however isn't quite the topic of conversation at hand. ]
As much of a romantic as I can be, I don't have those types of feelings for you.
[ It goes left unsaid that she thinks it would be foolish of her to develop those sorts of feelings so quickly and in a place like this. Her fate remains unknown at home and even if she knew that with certainty, the instinct to dance away from those feelings would take precedence like some kind of survival instinct. But even if they aren't talking about romantic feelings, Hilda knows in the back of her mind that if this is going to go anywhere she has to stop skirting around topics that she is so want to do. ]
But I enjoy being around you. You're kind of funny and whether or not you admit you care about those you consider yours in whatever capacity that means. I'd enjoy being around you even if you didn't buy me things for my art projects or whatever that was in the Smoked Egg. I like being your friend even if you don't think of us that way yet, and as long as you're not trying to blackmail me or take advantage of my kind, generous heart, that probably won't change.
And if this is just about the sex - I am attracted to you. And that was the case before all of that vampire business happened. ...Does that make it a little more clear?
no subject
[Not that he really wants to get into the specifics of why it's different, right now, but. There was still loyalty bought and traded there, after all; how necessary it'd been is another question entirely.]
Cards on the table: I don't want you to fall in love with me. You would wind up hurt, and I don't want that. And I don't want you to take it personally or brush it off with coy little games. If those sorts of feelings were a risk, then I would want to stop this before it ever got that far, so you wouldn't get hurt.
I know that's not very charming of me. But I'm open to a great deal more, contingent on assurances that you're not going to be in a position to get hurt.
no subject
And speaking of unpacking things - her initial reaction is to puff up her cheek in a huff. Being told what to do has rarely sat well with her. Growing up spoiled means that she's used to things going her way. And while that annoyance certainly lingers she realizes as she reads those words that there's care behind them. ]
First of all, it's pretty bold of you to assume that I or anyone else would fall in love with you. Second of all, you can't just tell someone not to fall in love with you. That's now how it works.
And lastly - how are you certain that you're not going to get hurt? Not by me necessarily but by anyone else in here.
[ She remembers the little boy. He sticks out all too starkly in her mind even if it's something Rufus would much rather she forget. ]
no subject
You said not to be cryptic. I don't know how you expect me to make it plainer. I'm not going to take a course of action that runs the risk of hurting you. If that's too cryptic, then I'm at a loss.
no subject
I'm not upset that you're looking out for me. In fact I'm really flattered that you care that much about me at all and I don't want you to get hurt either. But there's a difference between telling me that you care and sounding like an arrogant ass while doing it!
no subject
I do like you, you know. And I liked playing with you, and I'd do it again. But like you said, you're a romantic, and mere fondness isn't an acceptable substitute for what you deserve. You do deserve someone who makes you feel as special as you are.
I wouldn't say that about someone I didn't care about.
i'm so sorry for how late this is π feel free to drop!!
[ Though she suspects that he does. He's admitted as much. But she feels like she has to say something even if it is incredibly weak in the face of both the truth and something incredibly sweet.
She doesn't quite know how to feel about those two things. Layer a conversation about feelings and boundaries and it's safe to say she's very much outside her comfort zone. ]
If it's worth anything, I care about you too. I consider you a friend. But I also enjoyed what we did. Given the nature of this place, it wouldn't be awful to do that again with someone that I do like but you're right in that a conversation about where we stand is important because our friendship means a lot to me.
I can't guarantee that feelings won't come up but if it looks like it's veering towards romantic ones, it would be best to stop. ...What do you think?
un: witness / text
[ A message from the great beyond. Or the octopus. ]
no subject
You're more incoherent than usual today, Mr. Mori.
Not all tied up, I hope.
no subject
no subject
And just who or what is "Feiyu", precisely?
no subject
no subject
Is it a toy, then, or have you managed to imbue it with some form of consciousness?
no subject
I'll show you, if you like?
no subject
I'd be very interested in that, actually.
no subject
I'll bring it to you, or our somewhere if that's your preference. It has a tendency to escape and hide under sinks, though, so please do try not to let it out of your sight.
no subject
I'm curious if you could replicate a toy like this, as well. Preferably on a quicker turnaround than several months — could you do it in three or less, for example.
no subject
The first iteration took me years, so the fact that Feiyu only took months is something I'm rather proud of. Truthfully, the challenge is less in the actual building than it is in the sourcing of components. As you may imagine, the Nest is hardly chock-full of sellers of clockwork cogs.
no subject
Do the names mean something? Feiyu and Katsu.
no subject
no subject
Is it the practice of building them that appeals to you, or the novelty of their companionship once built?
no subject
The appeal of clockwork to me has always been the experience of envisioning a final product and then putting together the small pieces that form it. Whether I'm making a pocket watch or building an octopus, the principle is the same, in that I start at the end and work my way back. The companionship is enjoyable, of course.
no subject
Turning a vision into reality, I see. I asked because I was curious whether your interest in them diminished once complete, or if the interest was in having them, complete.
In full candor, I suppose I'm also a little jealous. I'm down one companion, myself, while you've managed to recreate one of yours.
no subject
[ A pause. Well, Rufus already knows about the clairvoyance, so... ]
Sometimes it does. Sometimes I build things and I forget what they're for--futures that end up not coming true, most likely. But when I build things for myself, there is enjoyment both in the process and in the result.
I'm sorry about your companion. A person, or a creature?
no subject
[And he files away the bit about forgetting to come back to it at a later point, but he's posed enough questions of Keita by now that it's probably fair to field a few in return first, lest this start to sound like an interrogation.]
A creature. My pet, actually.
no subject
no subject
And what would you like in exchange for that? Don't say you'll do it for nothing.
no subject
no subject
And of "pleasure", I suppose.
no subject
no subject
I'm going to assume you still remember a future where I don't kiss you as a result of this conversation. I am, after all, still deciding.
I would expect that by the time our discussion ends, you'll have forgotten around half of those possible outcomes. Keep that in mind as we talk.
no subject
There are plenty of futures where you don't kiss me. More than futures where you do, I think. I'll make sure to keep count as best I can.
[ Although Keita will of course no longer remember the futures he forgets (duh), he can usually sense the impressions of them, like phantom pains in a missing limb—the awareness that something once there is now gone. ]
Will understanding how I define "pleasure" and "company" help you come to a decision?
no subject
As for your question, it will, but mostly in how they dovetail with my attempts to determine your current state of companionship. Low supply drives high demand, after all.
no subject
no subject
What pleasure do you think you would find from my company? Even the people I'm on good terms with haven't hesitated to call me an awful, arrogant ass.
no subject
no subject
But I've listened to the things you've said before. The way you've described how you interact with the world. My offer wasn't about pity.
More a sense of camaraderie, maybe. Companionship in short supply.
no subject
Come to my suite when you're free, then. If you don't find me intolerable, we'll see about the rest.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I'll be by. To spend time with you and Feiyu both.
no subject
All right, I'll look forward to it.
un: martritz / text
This is Mercedes, we spoke on the network earlier this month about making some personalized items for Darkstar.
I just finished a sample—I apologize for the wait, the recent athletic events around the resort took up some of my time.
[ attached is a picture of the neckerchief in a deep violet pattern. there are round carabiner clips sewn in at the ends to attach to darkstar's chain collar, and along the bottom is a neatly embroidered shinra in red thread. ]
If it's to your liking, I'd be pleased to give it to you at your convenience, but do let me know if there's anything you'd like me to change or add!
no subject
This is exquisite. You seem to have captured perfectly what I'm in the market for.
There is, of course, still the question of your compensation.
no subject
I admit I hadn't thought of that yet, this has always been more of a hobby for me so I've never considered taking payment. But if you're open to it, we can meet for tea and call it even?
no subject
Let's meet for tea and work out an arrangement. I'm aware these types of crafts often call for specific materials; perhaps I can help facilitate a steady stream of them for you, to aid in your future endeavors.
no subject
Is now a good time for us to meet?
no subject
[OOC: Sorry about the long delay, I was on vacation for most of it!]
no worries and welcome back!!
But if you have other recommendations, I'd be more than happy to try!
no subject
[And indeed, in short order he makes his way down to Birdbucks, walking with an ease and a pleasure he hasn't been treated to in a very long time — because at last, the familiar velvety padding of Darkstar's footsteps is back at his side, the soft jingle of her collar a reassurance as they make their way through the corridors of the resort. It aches a little, to think of how long it's been since he had this, how he'd undoubtedly suppressed the loneliness of not having his most faithful companion at his side all that time, and now is only just starting to realize in retrospect how much he'd missed it now that he has her back again.
It draws looks, of course, that he's bringing a live animal into the food concourse, but that's just one of the benefits of a Jack rank — a stern glare and a wordless dismissal does wonders for brushing off anyone who might dare to comment. And so he secures a table to await his guest, trusting the presence of Darkstar to be more than enough of a signal of who his associate will be looking for when she arrives.
In fact, to make things easy, he waves over an attendant and has them waiting on standby, at the ready to take down orders as soon as they're both present. It's clearly not something that's typically done, but again — what's the point of a Jack rank if you're not going to use it?]
no subject
I'm sorry to keep you waiting! It's wonderful to meet you in person, and Darkstar as well.
[ she may have had to ask one of the staff for directions, but she's getting better about remembering where things are. ]
Oh, and before I forget! Here you are. [ she passes over a gift bag to rufus, inside is the neckerchief as promised. ] I thought you'd like to put it on her yourself to see if she likes it. Of course, I'm happy to make any further adjustments as well if needed.
no subject
And yet Rufus doesn't even need to touch her to keep her in place, or does he need to offer a single pacifying word; she's evidently capable of drawing her cues entirely from his affect and demeanor, and since he seems inclined to let the stranger approach, she does as well.]
Of course, have a seat. [He flicks a glance to the attendant.] One tab, on me.
[And he motions for Mercedes to place her order as he takes the gift back, digging in after his prize.]
As I thought, the craftsmanship is impressive. I'm sure she'll enjoy this.
no subject
even with her rank ten status, she's never gone out of her way to have the staff cater to her more than what was really necessary, and so she's a little surprised at their readiness to take her order. they recommend a drink from one of the food stalls, a strawberry flavored smoothie that is as sweet as it sounds; she remembered enjoying something similar during the sporting events, and decides to take their recommendation. ]
I'm glad to hear it. [ from their previous conversation, rufus seems to have a discerning eye. she gets the impression that he doesn't hand out compliments easily. ] If there's anything else you'd like to have made, I'd be more than happy to give it a try! I've a lot of time on my hands... well, aside from the games this place likes to throw at us.
π€ cloaca and dagger hell, if this works for you!!
the disguise is a little silly, with her hair wrapped up in a bun and tucked beneath a stylish hat, sunglasses to hide the familiarity of her crimson eyes. it might still be a little too obvious and maybe even strange considering that there's plenty of people here that may not even know who she is, but this choice she's making β it's something that only the impulses of her skin have drawn her towards, a desperation that her own stubbornness has refused to tell her own friends about out of the embarrassment of that clawing need inside.
the inside feels rather simple in its lobby, just a polite receptionist who doesn't even ask her name and simply guides her to the dressing room. it's hard to tell how much the disguise will actually hide who she is, since the white bunny mask still shows plenty of her face, long black hair falling over her bare shoulders. the black unitard is especially revealing, breasts large enough to nearly spill out the top, with those straps really putting in the work to hold up her cleavage. when she walks, the fishnet stockings stroke against her legs, somehow making her even more anxious, heat pooling between her thighs, as the want encourages her towards the back rooms.
it doesn't take look from there for the men to rally around her, sly cocky smiles unhidden even with their masks, those boasting expressions that say she should join them in one of the private rooms before they even extend the invitation. these men, all strangers, tight shorts and leather pants giving a full display of their hardened cocks underneath, the sultry echo of their voices playing it cool in just how badly they want to fuck her β
her back's against the wall before she even has a chance to respond, knowing this is exactly where her usual politeness isn't ideal to voice rejection as at least three or four men trying to talk over one another on who can have her. no, this is a natural fight or flight situation, her mind trying to urge her to simply leave when she doesn't actually want to be there, fists curling like she might land a punch on the first one of these men that might dare to lay a hand on her, but her body β she needs it, needs it, the lust so heavy beneath her skin that she practically freezes in place for the first time since she could remember. ]
i am so sorry for the lag, i've been working like 12 hour days this week
And Rufus Shinra would never be caught dead in a place like this, but here he is.
Speaking of being caught, he quickly becomes aware of the pretty dark-haired thing who gets cornered by the gaggle of clubgoers; it's something he's learned to watch for since beginning to frequent the seedier side of the Peacock, less out of altruism and more because it's a very convenient way of making new "friends". Most people who find themselves in a rough situation appreciate a timely rescue, and there's plenty he can get out of a person when they're feeling appreciative.]
There you are.
[He says, making his way over with confident strides and bypassing the crowd of strangers as though they aren't even there to begin with, keeping his eyes solely on the girl. Such lovely long dark hair — eerily familiar, though maybe he's just biased with fond memories of Tseng.
Regardless. Unlike the other men and their grasping fingers, he offers his own hand palm-up.]
You should've told me you wanted me to hunt you down, little rabbit, and I would've found you much sooner. Now come on; our champagne is waiting.
no worries at all! i'm more than happy to backtag through it
but what she does know is that she doesn't want to be here, not with these invasive men, which is why she feels the heels already beginning to attempt to shuffle to the side to find an opening of escape β when the other man, all in black, suddenly appears.
her own gaze is instantly one of confusion, even behind the coverage of the mask, staring at his held out hand with the quickly raised question of whether he might somehow have her confused for someone else, or β no, is he ... helping her?
there's no recognition of him, nothing except the voice that sounds a bit ... no, it couldn't be anyone she knows. not in this place. and in the light of her panic, there's no room for much thought and she quickly reaches out to grasp his hand, stepping swiftly in his direction to take hold of his other arm. ]
I was waiting so long, I was worried something happened to you. [ she has no confidence in her acting abilities, but she can get away with this much at least, she thinks. but no reason to linger. ] We should go. I'm really thirsty for that champagne.
[ and she practically begins to tug him on her own, at least enough to get out of the space of those men, not wanting to look back on the chance that they might somehow see through it and try to keep her there. ]
<3
But here, anonymity is king, and audacity only goes so far. As they start to walk away, a few of the men start to raise their objections, one even reaching after as if to try to catch the girl before she can get away —
And Rufus deftly parries it, pivoting and pulling the girl behind him in a single smooth movement, hiding her altogether behind the shield of his own body as he stares the other partygoers down one by one.]
Your business with her ends now. Find someone else to fuck. [A pause, brief.] Why not each other? You all seem willing enough.
[One of the men starts forward, just one step; briskly, Rufus shoves him back, and the others quickly change their minds about following suit. Still, it's high time for a smooth retreat, and so he wastes no time collecting the girl once again and hastening her away from the mob, at a pace quick enough to put distance between them and the scene, but casual enough that it doesn't look like running.]
You should be more careful in a place like this. It's too easy to get cornered like that.
no subject
yet, there's something almost knightly about his actions, heroic in his confidence and willingness to pull her away from danger that she feels her body warm from it all, either touched with a fondness for the kindness or β slick wet for the overwhelming desire of him, as the small diamond marked behind her ear seems to glow a brighter red the closer she finds herself tucked to his side.
she drowns out the sounds of the men behind her, curling her body in closer as the man moves with such well-timed ease, skilled in the movement of his feet. tifa's lips remain parted with the surprise but isn't able to find another word to utter until she's guided swiftly away, following his steps as she turns her head to look up at her mysterious savior. ]
I didn't exactly want to be here to begin with, I just β [ her breath catches, feeling the heat making her a little dizzy that she almost stumbles before catching herself, head turning away that the crimson glow of her mark behind her ear is visible to his eyes. ] Thanks for helping me, but I should β I should probably leave.
no subject
Not the time for that. Memories can wait, when there's a living breathing woman here instead who's barely able to keep on her feet, and it doesn't take much to guess why. Diamonds is such a compelling suit, the way it takes the body and turns it into a weapon for good or for ill alike.]
No, I don't think you should.
[There are all sorts of alcoves around Cloaca and Dagger, shadowed and acoustically dampened; he tugs her into the nearest one before pulling her against him, her back to his chest, in a way that he'll maintain is entirely to help keep her balanced while she wavers unsteadily on her feet.
The fact that she ends up supported against his body, with the bar of his arm wrapped snugly beneath her breasts and his hips pressed flush against her ass, is entirely coincidence, and not nearly temptation at all.]
You seem unsteady on your feet. Are you feeling all right?
[He asks, casual, like he doesn't already know better.]
no subject
she swallows against the desires, because they shouldn't be happening now, with this stranger, this man who'd simply come to her rescue β but isn't it what she wanted, why she had come to this place in the first place?
with the closeness of his hips behind her, she's sure the slightest movement would grind her ass against him, and the heightened awareness makes her all the more eager to remain still. ]
I'm ... just a bit dizzy. I think I'm just a little overwhelmed being here. [ she knows that isn't true, and something tells her that he probably could see through it too. after all, he's here too, isn't he? she tenses, his chest so firm against her back that she almost aches to stretch across it, to feel these arms move and brush over the rest of her. ] Does this happen to everyone here? The ... need of it? Wanting it this badly?
no subject
[Of course, hearts manifests somewhat differently than diamonds — he knows that full well, too. For the latter, the cravings are more possessive, more animalistic; his own suit feels like a duller, more gnawing ache to be seen and praised and noticed.
But as out of it as she is, the wordplay won't make much difference; he'd rather not lie to this woman when she's in such a state, unless it's ostensibly for her own good. Call it an odd little notion of personal honor, a rare line he's not willing to cross.]
It won't fade on its own, I'm afraid. It'll only get worse...until you do something about it.
[With his free hand, the one not wrapped around her to help hold her steady, he drags the tips of his fingers against the fishnet encasing her thigh — a reasonably polite touch, for all that it's also a suggestive one.]
Wouldn't it be better to have it like this? You can pretend I'm anyone you want — or no one at all. Just easy, uncomplicated relief. All you have to do is say yes.
no subject
[ except that still wouldn't be enough, would it? even if tifa knew this was some kind of regularity amongst everyone in the resort, it wouldn't change that it was happening to her. the letter she had first received when she initially arrived had suggested as much, something helpful to encourage her, they said, but whatever it was, it seemed to be achieving its intentions and much more.
until you do something about it.
the answer's always been obvious, and the very reason she'd found herself here. because who could she ask β cloud? things with him were already in a complicated enough downward slope, could they really keep entangling themselves down a road like this? and she's far too ashamed to even bring it to aerith, despite knowing the other girl has been here longer than she has. has aerith been down these halls too, seeking out strangers to touch her?
fingers only lightly brush her thigh, the strings of the fishnet nudging to her skin and can sense the roll of its simple arousal reach her cunt, her breath shuddering for more of his caresses. ]
You won't know me, right ... ? And I won't know you? [ it's almost a rhetroical ask, since she already knows what this place is meant to be. all she does know is the sturdy reliance of this stranger's body behind him and the appreciation of his timely rescue, along with the heat that stirs for his hands, fingers, mouth, cock β anything he can give her to chase that relief.
tongue stroking across her dry lips, she breathes out her answer. ] Yes.
no subject
[Though of course, he'll retrieve her card after this, and that will lend a clue to her identity, depending — but that's a problem for later, when right now he's got far more pressing, more engaging business on his mind.
His fingers curl into the flesh of her thigh, a more possessive drag than the touch that came before; it's a warning of sorts, and the only one he offers before that same hand shifts over to the narrow strip of fabric that forms the only barrier against the wet heat between her legs.]
Let's pretend I'm your first. I'd like that.
[He tugs her a little more firmly back against him, tipping her off-balance so more of her weight is braced against his body, so that her hips naturally hitch up a little higher to better accommodate him as his fingers dip in to stroke her cunt through the fabric of her leotard, first just parting her folds before sliding higher in search of her clit.]
It's a shame about these masks. I'd like to make you come from my tongue — but there's plenty we can do, don't you worry.
no subject
but what she finds is that the secrecy itself is something enticing on its own, that the mystery of the man standing behind her only adds to the heightened anticipation of his stronger grip before his touch dips lower to where she aches it to be.
with his tug, her neck stretches back, head nestled against his shoulder, with the ears of her mask curved back out of his way. her hips jut forward instinctively, a soft gasp expelled from between her lips as her fingers rub through the fabric, already soaked through with each and every one of her cunt's yearning reactions through the night.
he might not actually be her first, not even in this resort, but it's easy to play the part if only because she doesn't even need to try. not when she's still so uncertain in how to really chase what she wants, to feel any sense of confidence in knowing what she needs. ]
It's already so β [ so good? so wet? so much? her fingers clutch around his arm, not to push away or guide but simply to find purchase for herself to hold steady. ] Do ... do you want me to touch you too?
no subject
[That's not to say his own cock isn't starting to ache, of course, or that he wouldn't very much enjoy feeling her fingers curled around it, or the warmth of her mouth enveloping it, or the squeal on her lips as he buried inside her. But there's a delicious sort of power in the prospect of controlling her pleasure entirely, with absolutely no reciprocation — her body his toy to play with, her reactions all his to tease out.
It's hardly generosity. It's just fun to watch someone so lovely fall apart beneath his hands like this.
He lowers his head a bit, using the elongated nose of his mask to brush at the thin strap of her leotard — pushing it over her shoulder so that it dangles precariously down her upper arm, and compromising the integrity of the top just that little bit more. Her breasts will hold the fabric in place well enough, certainly, but letting the strap slip adds the illusion of danger, of even more exposure in this semi-public atmosphere if she's not careful about how she squirms.]
Such a sweet little bunny. Should I make you hop?
[It's all the warning she gets before he finds her clit and rubs it firmly through the soaking cloth, hoping to make her jump from the sudden burst of sensation.]
no subject
whatever the man's actual intentions behind it, the movement of his fingers applies pleasure towards her, adding to the heavy slick that soaks through the flimsy unitard with every stroke.
she watches the purposeful fall of that strap, its reliability in holding her up now loosened as her breasts slacken more against the fabric still trapping it. cheeks burn flush, aware that they're still not quite private here, and yet feeling undeniably turned on by the danger of it, by the part of here that doesn't care for once for too much decency.
but his fingers catch over her clit, the friction of fabric stroking over that sensitive bundle of nerves and the sudden overwhelming spike of pleasure does indeed have her jolt back against him, hips jutting out forward with a sharp thrust against his hand. her breasts give a light bounce in the reaction, fabric from the unstrapped side dipping lower that her nipple nearly begins to peek over it. ]
Ah, pleaseβ [ the plea leaves her lips in a small whimper before she can restrain herself, hips giving a slight squirm. ] It feelsβkeep touching me like that, please.
no subject
Shhh. Someone's going to know what you're up to, if you keep talking like that.
[It's entirely a ruse; these alcoves are designed for liaisons of exactly this nature, dampening the ambient sounds so that people can't be overheard unless they go out of their way to try. But it's just one more layer to the thrill of danger she must be feeling: unsteady on her feet and her top threatening to fall and her body craving the touch of a man she doesn't know.]
You're this wet already, and I'm not even inside you.
[It's not just that the fabric is soaked, either, but that it's slick, sliding all the easier against her sensitive folds with the benefit of lubrication to help guide the way as he rubs and strokes and stimulates her.]
no subject
I'm not usually ... like this.
[ because how could she be that wet when she's barely been touched, wondering if this lies in one of those things that simply is, all because of this mark on her skin, heightening want and and drip of slick from her needy cunt.
he applies that wet friction with the pressure of his fingers to the unitard, fabric grinding firmly over her folds and clit, her hips rocking against his strokes, intoxicated by the satisfying rub that jolts pleasure through her. her hand holds onto his wrist to brace herself, the angle of her arm as a result allowing the only reliable strap to now loosen at an angle at her shoulder, still hanging on but not having quite the same grip now that the other strap falls free.
but it's just enough, the top hem of the unitard dipping a bit more as she arches her shoulders more against his chest to jut her hips forward for his hand, the heavy round curve of a breast empowering that weak fabric to dip over it, the tight peak of her nipple exposed freely to the open air. her breath hitches when she notices, fingers squeezing at his arm, movement of her hips weakening but not entirely stopping. ]
W-wait β someone might see.
no subject
[And the best part is, it's impossible to tell whether she really means it or is just playing up the chastity angle; either way, it's all the better because it adds up to him being the exception, and therefore exceptional.
Beneath the circle of his supporting arm, she writhes — and sure enough, just as he'd hoped with breathless anticipation, she spills out of her top from the natural rocking motions her body is making against his stroking fingers. And oh, isn't she a sight, with her breasts so firm and her nipples so peaked, just begging to be pinched at and pulled.]
And so what if they see? Isn't that why you're wearing a mask?
[But it's the perfect opportunity to adjust the arm he's got around her, shifting it upward so that it's angled across her breasts instead — not just affording her the most laughable illusion of modesty, but giving him ample excuse to cup one of them in the palm of his hand, thumbing and circling the raised nipple as he does.
It's a distraction, to say the least, and one he intends to make use of; while he temporarily seeks to draw her attention to the touch to her chest, his other set of fingers finally pry the fabric of the unitard away and stroke her directly, rubbing only long enough to get thoroughly coated with slick before sliding low in search of her entrance.]
no subject
because he's right, isn't he? the mask if meant to shield her identity, just as unknown of a patron as all the rest here. even the fullness of her now exposed breasts shouldn't necessarily be traced back to her, not when the horizonal scar on her skin, tucked beneath the swell of those mounds, remains covered by the bunched fabric of the unitard.
his arm is only a minor barrier in censoring the view but her worries subside the moment his thumb massages over her nipple when he gropes her breast, the point tightening stiffly from his attention, practically begging for the pinch and tug of his fingers.
breathless, she tries to speak, ]
Are you sure no one's gonnaβah...
[ another soft moan spills from her lips, as she earns the direct touch of his fingers to her cunt, the heat of his skin a satisfying blaze that tosses her head back against his shoulders, lips parted with a steady panting as she maintains the forward arch of her hips for him to guide his fingers low.
she thinks of what he'd told her before β he could be anyone she wants or no one at all. in this moment, she's not entirely sure which of those she'd prefer, but she closes her eyes all the same, letting herself abandon tifa lockhart, to feel the anonymity of the mask, to pretend this is the first. ]
Do you ... do you like me like this? [ she whispers between her heavy breaths, the shyness of asking plenty authentic on its own. but she tries it all the same, urged by the stimulation that pulls her away from herself. ] So messy for you...?
no subject
[It's pressing his luck, he knows, but this isn't just about her pleasure; he's more than hard enough in his slacks to be aching for attention, and he's already generously ignoring it for the sake of getting off on pleasuring her instead. He's allowed, surely, to pepper in a little dirty talk to make things enjoyable — especially if this stays about her satisfaction entirely and he's left to contend with his on his own.
Still, she's so responsive that he'd be hard-pressed to say he really minds. Her nipples peak so rapidly that he briskly shifts from thumbing at them to pinching and tugging, layering the constant rubbing between her legs with short flashes of sharper sensation, intent on keeping her thoughts scattered and her focus unbalanced.
While she's distracted, he tips his head to the side and catches the muzzle of his mask against his own shoulder, pushing it up and onto his forehead to free his mouth, leaving room to nuzzle in and drag his tongue over that red little diamond behind her ear. She wants her anonymity, of course, and so does he — but maybe they'd both be willing to gamble it a little for the sake of something worth even more.]
I'd like — [He begins, breathless, dripping with temptation dangled ripe for the taking.] — to make you come like this, just like this, and then get between your legs while you're still shaking from my fingers and lick you until you scream.
[He circles his fingers around her entrance; it's the only brief warning she gets before he's pressing his fingers up and into her, wet and ready and needy, fucking her fast and rapid with the cadence of his promises.]
I'd like to ruin you for everyone else who comes after this. Until it drives you mad, wondering who I am, wondering how to find me just so you can have this again.
no subject
it's so much, with so much applied touch to her body, the mark behind her ear nearly beaming with its brightness as he grants it that arousing lick, her lashes fluttering as a result. she's so dizzy, the sight before her hazy as she drowns within those sharp pleasurable aches from tugged nipples and the exhilarating rubbing between her legs.
his promises to her ear arrive so unexpectedly, lips parting to find words before the sound leaves her mouth as a sudden sharp cry when he briskly drives his fingers fast inside of her. ]
W-waitβIβ! [ she can't even protest at this pace, throwing her head back again as she pants with short moans on every pounding thrust of those digits, one arm stretching out to press her hand flat to the wall simply for purchase as the other grips at his forearm, just to keep herself steady against his rocking hand.
she can't rock against him like this, not when he's fucking her so fast and deep that it takes all of her to hold herself in place. though she can barely focus on each individual word he speaks to her, she seems to understand them all the same, too acutely aware that she's never been pleasured like this before, so overstimulated and attentive, her mark leaving her all the hungrier for this ferocious pace. ]
Oh, fuck, Iβit feels so goodβyou're ... gonna make me comeβ [ even her voice sounds pleading, lost in the drive of his attention, of his buried knuckles, quick and relentless. she needs this, to satisfy that itch that's been given to her, but she wants it too. ] Please, please, please, don't stop, don't, I'mβ
[ she doesn't even need to rub at her clit to nudge her over that edge, already so soaked with pleasure that it doesn't take much rubbing of where she needs him to touch, as her thighs tense, legs quickly around his thrusting hands as she arches her back to his chest with jutting hips, as she climaxes with a tight squeeze around his fingers. ]
no subject
[It's such a rush, the power and the eroticism alike; there's something absolutely enthralling about the way this faceless woman comes undone from nothing more than the way he handles her, begging and shaking and clutching at anything she can find for purchase as her arousal bursts into climax around his clever fingers. And for a single fleeting moment he thinks of that gaggle of overeager men who'd surrounded her earlier, how they'd made their bid to have her but he's the one who came away with the prize, this gorgeous disheveled woman stimulated senseless in his arms.
Her cunt clutches tight around his fingers, a sharp squeeze that stills his motions from how firmly her inner walls trap them, but he's still got his thumb free enough to find her clit and rub around the edges of it, wagering that direct stimulation would be far too much but the indirect variety will prolong the aftershocks of her pleasure.
And if he's a little hoarse from the sight of it, his own desire bleeding into the ragged words that escape his throat — well. Treated to a marvel like this, who could blame him, really?]
Close your eyes. Close them and don't look —
[— he says, urgent, as he slips his fingers free and pivots them so that he's in front of her with her back to the wall, holding her there with one hand against her stomach while he rips off his mask with the other. It doesn't matter; there's no chance of seeing his face, not when it only takes him a moment to bury his face in her bosom and start to kiss his way down, pausing only long enough to suck at each breast in turn before sinking down onto one knee between her legs.
Yor had been pretty like this, he thinks fleetingly — not to be uncomplimentary to this anonymous woman by thinking of another while he's fucking her, but rather just in a rare moment of nostalgia. He'd liked her, and there's so much reminiscent of her in this woman now, the power in her thighs and the sweetness of her curves, and maybe that's his own Hearts suit to blame for the twinge of fondness and ache, but he'll deny it the whole way down if he's ever asked.
(Damned dark-haired beauties. He really does have a type.)
But fuck it, fuck it all, he pulls one of her legs up to hitch over his shoulder and wraps his arm around it to steady her in place, his other hand drifting between his own legs almost as an afterthought. Just a little stimulation, he just wants that extra little edge of pleasure to feed the rest of it — as he replaces the concealment of his mask with the way he buries his face between her legs, mouth to her soaking folds, making good on his own dirty talk in his drive to be memorable.]
no subject
when he speaks again, it takes her a brief moment to blink herself back to steadiness, everything still incredibly hazy from her climax, but she's so enchanted with him in this moment, that all it takes is a simple request for her to follow her, abandoning usual doubt and skeptical trust to place herself in this man's hands the way she already has tonight.
he guides her to turn around and she does so, her eyes already shut, eyelids visibly closed within the eye sockets of her mask, as she presses herself back to the wall, thankful for the support it gives her to keep standing straight. without being able to watch him, she gasps softly as he mouths at her breasts, the suction of those lips drawing out sharper breaths that still haven't quite steadied themselves. and yet despite the elevated pleasure she's already received, she doesn't feel done, as if she's been given a plate of something so fulfilling that it only seems to make her hungrier, her mark glowing persistently as it demands more, more, more.
and he provides exactly that, the heat of his mouth pressing to her cunt, so deliciously arousing and desired, as her fingers reach down to his shoulder and guide their way to the back of his head, now free of its mask. she can feel the soft strands of it β blond, she recalls, from what peaked out in limited view before β and she combs her fingers through it, almost affectionately, even with the curl of her grip that tugs lightly at his scalp. ]
Oh, fuck, fuck, it's soβ [ she pants for breath, one heel firm to the ground as she balances her other leg atop his shoulder, using the wall at her back to keep herself upright. she can feel it, the soaking sloppy mess from her climax, now heavy on his tongue. ] You keep ... making me so wetβit's so much ...
ok but the spiderman pointing after this is going to be so fucking funny
Mmmmm.
[She's so slick and so soft, and notwithstanding all the other more despicable pursuits he's ever committed his mouth to advancing, he's undeniably skilled at this one. The undulations of his tongue are less aggressive than the pace of his fingers had been, more focused on stirring up sensation than overwhelming her with arousal — understandably so, when she's fresh off one orgasm and likely overstimulated for it.
But he's a delicate touch, both with the heel of his hand pressed against the bulge in his trousers and with the way his tongue circles and flicks at her clit, the way it parts her folds and dips down to test at her hole before flattening again for a lengthy lick back up again.
When he comes up for air, it's brief, and as much to get a word in edgewise as to refill his lungs for the next pass.]
Too much?
[He chuckles, more on the side of teasing than of taunting, but she does seem to like it when he talks to her with that edge of dark filth, so —]
Should I stop?
[The bastard.]
it's gonna be so beautifully disastrous, i can't wait
the pace is so drastically different that it's almost jarring, in a way that isn't unpleasant, not as it seems to strangely help in grounding her, when his explorative tongue wanders with a patience that's almost torturously slow, rounding her clit with an awareness of its sensitivity that doesn't lets her breathe while still stretching out that lasting pleasure that doesn't seem to rest.
and then he stops, so abruptly, while she's sounding out another moan, that she has to will herself to avoid opening her eyes on instinct. she even gives a persistent shake of her head, before realizing that he might not even be looking towards her. ]
Don't.
[ with the convenience of those strands of hairs caught between her fingers, she briefly holds him as she blindly curves her hips forward, until she can feel the lips of her cunt teasing against the lips of his mouth, just the slightest flutter of contact as that damp pink skin smears its slick surface to the corner of his mouth and cheek. ]
Youβyou wanted to make me scream, didn't you? Make it so I can't forget, okay? [ her fingers loosen only so she can gently scrape the tip of his nails lightly to his scalp, thriving on these touches as her eyes remain shut, with honesty slipping from her lips with the boldness of this arousal. ] And ... and you won't either. Make me come so hard again that your tongue never forgets how I taste.
no subject
[And that's the first, most dangerous tell of his true identity — a favorite filler phrase of Rufus Shinra, spoken in the very same tone albeit with a significantly different context than his usual. Something she might think on later, perhaps; for the moment, he's humming his approval at the way her fingernails drag through his hair, alternating between pressing his mouth back against her and tilting aside to kiss at her thigh to keep her arousal holding at a plateau even while they exchange words.]
What a shame you can't scream my name. But I won't hold it against you.
[He noses at her thigh again, buying himself another moment to stretch and work his jaw in preparation, then ends her reprieve and returns to her cunt with renewed vigor; where before he'd tongued and teased, now he works his mouth firmly against her, paying lengthy attention to her clit as he sucks and laps at her.]
no subject
though she does guiltily wish she could watch him, feeling the way he noses against her thigh as he paints momentary intermission kisses there, ticklish at the skin between the tight nets of her stockings. but it's all for the best, since she's not sure she could stare at him without instantly shying away at the way he buries his face to her cunt. ]
Is there ... something else you want me to call you?
[ or something else for her to shout in place of a name she doesn't wish to know. not that it matters since sounds will slip from her lips regardless. when his mouth returns, she's caught off guard by the increase in fervor, in the full devouring from lips and tongue. the leg atop his shoulder tightens, heel digging in at this back, as her hips respond to his mouth, writhing at the succulent attention to her clit.
as she keeps a hand clutched to his hair, the other rises to one of her free breasts, grabbing a palm full of the soft flesh and giving it firm squeeze as she pants soft moans again with each of her breaths. ]
no subject
Still, it's worth a moment's thought. Mostly because she sounds so pretty when she's panting and clinging to him like she'd fall if she didn't. Personalized appreciation has its allure, after all, particularly in a place like this.
And fortunately, there's an easy, natural code for them to fall back on, right close at hand.]
Wolf. Miss Bunny and Mister Wolf. [He rumbles a chuckle, low.] Since I'm enjoying your taste, and all.
[And eating her alive. That's certainly a part of it, too.]
no subject
annoying in other settings perhaps, but here β in tifa lockhart's place really is a bunny being made to bounce for the wolf that feeds so deliciously into her. the comparison regrettably turns her on more, index and thumb pinching tightly at her nipple. there's a satisfying freedom in pretending to be someone she's not β or to chase the cravings she's often too reserved to approach. difficult to say now. ]
Then ... eat me up, Mister Wolf. [ her back arches, hips rolling forward as her fingernails scrape lightly along the back of his head. her own cheeks flare red, bright with the lust that aligns with those animalistic desires of her own suit, made all the more appropriate with the assigned names of their game, emboldening her words to play along. ] Make β make this bunny come with your hungry mouth.
no subject
Now isn't that an attractive thought. Not particularly anonymous, but attractive — and worth contemplating when it was he'd gotten so concerned with his own ability to find her again. That would imply wanting to have this again, or more —
And so what if he does? She'd look just as lovely bouncing like a bunny on his cock.]
Heh. Then don't forget to scream for me, Miss Bunny —
[And since it'd be a little unwieldy to try to get a hand up and play with her breasts while he resumes his work, he opts instead to fit his fingers back up against her, first to hold her wide open while he runs his tongue the whole length of her cunt, and then to sneak back and press up into her again while he focuses the attentions of his mouth onto her clit.
His fingers slide so easily into her, loose and soaking wet as she is; he crooks them into a come-hither gesture once her walls are wrapped snugly around them, looking for the spot inside of her that will set her off at the same time he's stimulating her outside as well.]
forgive me for how ridiculously late this is ;;
but tomorrow is tomorrow, and right now, tifa remains in a swirl of suit-compelled lust, panting lewdly like an animal in heat, the animal that she seems to be with the ears upon her head and the wolf that eats greedily at her cunt like he truly might devour her for a meal.
with the inward slip of his fingers within her, returning to where they've seemed to find familiarity tonight, tifa gasps a sharper breath, as those digits thrust with such ease as if they belong there, taking her apart bit by bit. ]
Mmm, that'sβ! [ as his lips latch onto her clit, she tilts her head back, eyes half-lidded as she stares up into the ceiling, still keeping her gaze strayed away from her devoted provider of pleasure, clinging to the comfort of that lasting mystery, even as her mind races with the curiosity to know whose tongue does so well to such at that sensitive swollen bud, whose fingers curl to massage the depths of her cunt to guide her towards that peak.
another gasp with a sounding cry likely heard through the club. ]
Right thereβ I'm going to ... M-Mister Wolfβ! [ she calls out that false name with mewling whimper, as the climax takes command once more, hips squirming as she comes around his fingers for the second time tonight, even more slick against his knuckles than the first time, and leaving an equal mess against his lips and she rocks to feel that heightening excess of stimulation that begins to weaken her limbs where she stands. ]
text β un: tifa ( days after truth or dare )
she still doesn't believe that rufus shinra can do anything for her, that peace is a possible option between them β especially not when barret is here now too, where anything beyond the surface truce they've agreed upon, could only result in some unintentional feud. but tifa is still prone to offering more chances than most, even in this.
one step. that's at least the most she can try for. ]
your offer to have a drink with you β is it still open?
no subject
It is, with a caveat. If you're coming to my penthouse, you should know that Darkstar is here. If that's a concern for you, then we'll need to meet somewhere else.
no subject
should i be concerned? it's a drink, not a fight. unless there are strict orders to bite anyone who gets within a few feet of you.
no subject
This is her home, for the time being. I'm not going to exile her from it, even to accommodate a guest. I hope that's not a problem.
no subject
[ and yet that isn't stopping her from risking herself in his space, alone at that. but tifa's plenty stubborn, even in throwing herself into situations that may be over her head, the same way she'd slipped into don corneo's place with the intention of going about it on her own. the difference is, cloud isn't here (anymore) to jump in and save her this time, and somehow she doesn't want to bring aerith or barret into this either. this feels like something she needs to figure out for herself. ]
just direct me to where i'd find it and tell me when the best time would be to stop by.
no subject
no subject
[ and sooner than later might prove to be better since it means that she won't be tempted to find some excuse to back out of this. already, tifa's finding herself wondering if she's stepping into what may prove to be a bad idea, but she simply takes a break as she prepares to dress herself for this meeting. a part of her really doesn't want to dress too nice for it, but she ends up in a stylish red sweater and short black pencil skirt, conscious to keep the newer jagged scar that stretches between her breasts diagonally towards her collar hidden to avoid sparking any kind of conversation around it, lest it entice his curiosity.
heading to the elevator in the hope that he's granted her that accessible permission to reach his floor, she takes it up, taking one more deep steady breath as she approaches his door and knocks. ]
no subject
It's almost offensive how effortless he looks, and how well he blends in with his surroundings behind the door: framed by walls of nearly-white lit with fixtures that cast a yellowy glow and a stunning marble floor inlaid with gold, sleek and polished in an Art Deco style. The Queen floor treats its guests like royalty, and this suite is no exception: it's a veritable palace beyond, dripping in grandeur and luxury.]
Miss Lockhart.
[He motions subtly with two fingers on the hand that isn't holding the door; Darkstar, recognizing the command, sits obediently and without hesitation.]
Come in. Make yourself at home.
no subject
instead, her shoulders remain tense, fingers threaded together in front of her, as her eyes draw onto the dog-beast that had been warned to be at his side, her nerves sharp until her gaze falls upon the knit add-on of the collar, gentler in its appearance than she would have expected. ]
Mister President.
[ she gives a casual nod of her head as she keeps her back straight, stepping in slowly into the suite, already a bit unnerved by the decor that reminds her just how much she doesn't belong here, while simultaneously recognizing how much he does. rather than focus on it, however, she turns, gesturing with her head to darkstar. ]
Didn't expect that to be in your tastes. [ referring to the handmade accessory around her collar, of course. ] Crocheting isn't your side hobby, is it?
no subject
No, not at all. I had some things commissioned when she arrived; a few of my acquaintances here have a passion for craftwork, and it gave me an excuse to furnish them with materials.
[He pauses, a little reflective.]
I suppose I don't come off as the type to keep pets, do I. But I've had her a long time, and missed her when she wasn't around. It's nice to have her with me again.
no subject
this, too, is just another addition to the ways she's being brought to seeing him in a different kind of light. ]
I guess I just assumed she was just some kind of guard dog to you. I didn't expect her to be ... well, a pet like this. [ not so much strict security as it is a possible friend he keeps around. ] But pets are nice to have around. Makes things less lonely. I used to have a cat growing up β Fluffy β it'd probably brighten everything right up if she were around now. So ... I get it.
[ her lips quirk into a bit of a smile at the memory before she remembers where she is, who she's with, as she then presses those lips together to feel that awkwardness seep through her again, arms holding to hold her elbows. she looks at darkstar again, less dog and more something else entirely, and yet seeming strangely domesticated with that customized collar, leaving her plenty curious. ]
I ... don't expect she can be pet, can she? [ more specifically by her, all things considered. ]
no subject
[There's a touch of irony in the way he says that; whether his lack of friends is from his winning personality or his lofty position is anyone's interpretation, of course. But either way, it's true; D's always been the one thing he's known cared for him unconditionally. People could be fickle in their attentions and their motives. She never is.
But Tifa's request actually gets him to raise his eyebrows, more surprised than anything else. He wouldn't have expected her to be so...willing to take a chance, particularly not on a beast he knows she's seen in combat. But he'd be lying if he tried to pretend like it doesn't work a thread of odd warmth into the otherwise cool situation; he is, after all, a dog person.]
...Do you want to? She'll behave. D, come here.
[So he says, without hesitation, and lowers his hands in a loosely cupped position — and, recognizing the command, Darkstar trots right over and places her muzzle in them, ears smoothed back with contentment, though she still never takes her eyes off Tifa.]
no subject
maybe that's why she even surprises herself when she asks the question, half expecting the answer to be a no regardless. but she's always had a weakness for animals, thanks to fluffy, and even if she tends to be more cat person than dog, it's difficult to feel some kind of softness in the direction of the creature, with the lighthearted bow around her neck. ]
Um, yeah, I mean β only if it's okay.
[ she feels a bit strange now that she's asked it, but she watches rufus gesture for darkstar, her eyes meeting the dog's that in turn watches her. and with that simple gesture, she really does seem like a pet like any other, gentle against her owner's hand, despite gentle never being a word she'd associate with rufus. and yet, in that moment, it seems almost ... ordinary. she doesn't even notice a bit of tension ease from her shoulders.
carefully, she takes a few steps closer, slowly easing her out her own hand, not yet reaching but simply offering it forward. ]
Hi. [ she says to darkstar, her voice light as her body leans down a touch. ]
no subject
[Which is to say, when assessing a dog-shaped creature, people tend to account for ears, muzzle, tail, and feet — and might miss the thick, muscular appendage that extends from the base of her neck, and which at that very moment is twisting up to coil loosely around Tifa's wrist.
What's curious, though, is that Darkstar seems to need no additional reassurance to allow Tifa to draw closer; there's no particular agitation in her stance, nor any seeming inclination to bite. The way she's watching her seems more out of interest than vigilance or suspicion; as she does with all the new people her master entertains, she draws her cues from him, and he's already given her all the information she needs to stand down and accept the attention.
Very much not like a typical dog. Rufus wasn't exaggerating when he mentioned she was well-trained.]
Tseng hates it when she gets up on the furniture. She's spoiled, I suppose.
[He's not really sure where that comment comes from, idle and amused. Just something to fill the silence, maybe.]
no subject
but as she observes, she does seem to gather darkstar's relaxed posture, surprisingly unthreatening in a way that really is drastically different from the creature that seemed more monster than anything at rufus' side. yet now, all tifa can see is a faithful pet, comfortable in the space of someone she trusts, even if that someone happens to be rufus shinra.
unexpectedly, it relaxes tifa too. ]
Well, look at her. With such good behavior, she deserves to be. [ with her visual attention directed away from rufus for the moment, she doesn't even notice the change in her own voice, casual and light in its tone, as she chuckles softly, slowly letting her hand reach out the rest of the way to finally slide against darkstar's muzzle, fingers stroking with a gentle touch there and along the top of her head. ]
no subject
Strange. But any noise of exclamation might sound like any other, he supposes. It's probably nothing.]
That's one of the benefits of this rank; she's got plenty of room to move around. She always comes to see who's at the door, however. I'm sure that's not surprising.
[He scratches fondly under her chin, and at last Darkstar closes her eyes, evidently willing to release her focus long enough to bask in the attention of two sets of hands petting at her.]
I expect when I dismiss her, she'll follow us as far as the bar, then go onto the private beach instead. If you were worried about her looming while we have our drink — speaking of, shall we?
no subject
when rufus speaks up with the reminder of her original intentions in coming here, tifa's hand slows, a flushing warmth creeping up over her cheeks as she realizes her own distraction, imagining the oddity of it from his perspective. ]
Right, yeah. [ with a final nuzzling stroke to darkstar's head, tifa withdraws her hand, straightening up as she finally brings her attention back to rufus, feeling a bashfulness creep over her face as she tries to revert back to an intended focused confidence. ] She's free to go where she wants, so I don't really mind. But, yeah, um, lead the way.
no subject
[At first pass, it might seem as though that command is intended to have Darkstar remove her tentacle from Tifa's wrist, but it quickly becomes apparent that's not it at all; she promptly gets up to her feet and gives herself a good shake, making her chain collar and its bells jingle faintly as she's given leave to relax herself, and the way she disengages from Tifa and settles into position at Rufus's flank makes clear — that whole time she'd been under command, and from nothing more than that wordless two-finger gesture. Conspicuous, too, is that now her nails click softly against the marble floor as she trots, where previously she'd moved lithe and silent like a panther across the expanse.
After a moment to let Tifa fall in on his other side, Rufus leads the way confidently through his penthouse, past a room with a high arched ceiling and curved walls clearly designed to make favorable acoustics for the grand piano housed within, and further down past an atrium-style room that appears to be β of all bizarre things β a miniature personalized stretch of beach complete with mock-ocean. At last, he turns into the room opposite the beach down the same hallway: a comfortable sort of recreational leisure room done up in blues and tans instead of stark white, with a full bar, a billiard table, and a range of seating from chairs to loveseats to divans.
The bartop, by now, looks lightly lived-in; a bottle or two of Rufus's whiskey label of choice have been left out on the counter, as has an empty glass with a napkin underneath, but for the most part the selection on the shelves behind is robust and untouched, and he motions idly to it with one hand.]
Have at. I doubt you'll find it wanting.
no subject
probably lucky that none of her intentions in being here consist of any kind of stealth assassination attempt, as tifa stares after darkstar in momentary awe before she draws her attention back to following after rufus. it's with easy curiosity that her eyes peer around the space, lingering for longer than a beat on the grand piano in that expansive room. it isn't her first time in a queen's suite, having seen plenty of other complex designs, equally equipped with their own faux beaches, but she has a more difficult time imagining rufus living within it, absentmindedly trying to picture him leisurely relaxing within it.
it's when her eyes fall onto the bar that a subtle brightness slips onto her face again, already tilting her head to get a look at the various drinks available on the shelves before rufus even welcomes her to it.
looking at him briefly, as if to reaffirm his okay, she steps forward and rounds the counter to slip behind the bar, stepping into it with easy familiarity, the way she can almost find herself within seventh heaven's walls again. fingers trace over bottles to map out the selection, mindfully counting brands she recognizes from home and some that might be more unique to this place or other worlds.
spinning around, her lips purses into something almost like a light smirk as she brings her hands down on the counter. ] So, does that mean I get to make yours too?
no subject
[As predicted, Darkstar does in fact peel off from them once they enter the lounge. At first, the sound of her nails clicking as she trots across the hall heralds her departure; shortly thereafter, the sound of splashing water can be distantly heard.
Rufus, meanwhile, goes directly to the pool table and starts to rack the balls with rapid precision, content to have something to do for himself while leaving Tifa the space to do as she likes with the bartop.]
Without sarcasm, Miss Lockhart: is it your intention that we talk to each other at some point, or are we keeping this visit to drinks and billiards only?
no subject
[ because if there's a skill that tifa feels herself fairly adept at, it's being able to get a good read on a person's drink preferences. plus, it helps to prevent the returning of the tension in her shoulders now that she's this far into rufus' suite, at least feeling herself in a space that at least suits the kind of air that she's used to, even if it lacks the rambunctious noise of a busy night within seventh heaven, filled with the locals piling in for their nightly drinks.
she's turned back to the bottles as rufus steps away, distracting herself with the labels once more to make calculations in her head about which ones to mix, when his question catches her attention and she stills, gaze unfocusing from the bottle in front of her, feeling the threat of tension working its way back into her muscles.
of course he'd ask eventually. she just hadn't been sure if she'd really be prepared for an answer. ]
To be honest ... I'm not really sure. [ she doesn't turn to look at him, busying herself instead with the shelves, finding it easier this way. ] It's not like I'm here to make any kind of extended deal or anything. And I won't lie, I still have my doubts about ... you. [ it's not spoken with any sort of malice, but the honesty is there, to him, just as it is a reminder to herself. ] But β well, you said before you wanted to give me an opportunity to get to know you, so ... so I'm here. And that's all I've really got right now.
no subject
[He arranges the balls neatly, then goes over and finds his preferred cue before lining up and making a clean break, more for the sake of hearing the balls clack against each other than anything else. He'll set them up again when Tifa is finished with her own work; for the time being he's more than content to amuse himself with something to do with his own hands, appraising angles and taking shots on the table to pass the time.]
Let's see. We've discussed my dog and your cat. You've told me about your father and — well, who doesn't know mine. [He says, dry as bone.] There's a girl here who's been trying to get me to "make friends" with people. Suddenly I wish I'd paid more attention to her ideas about small talk.
[He pauses.]
You never mentioned your mother. Off-limits?
no subject
taking a few bottles in hand by their necks, she brings them to arrange over on the counter, lining them up to consider in her head how she intends to mix them. ]
Yeah, you could probably use some pointers.
[ then again, she wonders how someone who doesnβt know him would regard him, considering her own tension comes from so much thatβs been carried since before theyβd even met.
her fingers pause in opening up a bottle at the mention of her mother. sheβs quiet for a moment before answering with a small shake of her head. ]
No, not off-limits. Just β¦ well, she died when I was really young. Sheβd been sick and it hit me pretty hard when I lost her. [ sheβs caught staring at her hands for a moment before lifting her head and putting on a small smile. ] But she was the most beautiful person I ever knew, inside and out. She taught how to play piano before she passed, and so I kept that up to try to hold onto her.
[ she turns, distracting herself again by looking around for glasses. ]
You know, with all that the worldβs talked about you and your father, I never heard anything about your mother. What happened to her?
no subject
Similar. A car accident when I was young.
[And yet the memory of the punishment room in the resort's basement comes back to him, the lamplit elevator, Mummy knows best, you still need your mother —
No. That was nothing but phantoms and tricks. He doesn't even remember the sound of her voice, so any sort of charade could easily pass.]
I'm told I look like her, from people who knew her firsthand. She was responsible for me until I was about eight, and then after she died, tutors took over.
[He pauses, then seems to shrug his mood off and glances up, smiling wryly.]
She had me learn piano, too. That must just be a habit of mothers.