#ic: karson.

[niratias]

@escapedartgeek continued

"You were shivering," the stranger comments from behind a medical mask which tents oddly on his face. He's got a baseball cap pulled down low- black and ungranted. It hides his hair entirely, leaving only the faintest impression of very pale skin and two unusual eyes. He could wear contacts. He doesn't bother. He so rarely looks at anyone long enough for the mismatched purples to be noticed.

When the Khazen shift, there are certain features each individual struggles with the most. For Karson, it's the eyes, and on top of that juggling his battle scars- something he, as a Hound, is required to carry for life, even though they altered his face and body quite severely beneath the many layers of clothing he wears like armor.

Giving one up for a striking stranger is unusual, but he's done similar before. It's hard to tell what expression he's making beneath that facial covering, which is probably also the point.

"Are you well? I don't mean to impose. You just seem...shaken." His English is impeccable, but there's the faintest trace of an accent, undefinable by earth standards.

[niratias]

@lightning-arias || Nettle continued

Karson has learned to not stare as Nettle's form shifts and changes. Truth be told he watches because he finds that beautiful- himself a shapeshifter, himself a man of many bodies. They're beyond anything he's known before. It's natural he's a bit starstruck, isn't it?

"I haven't." He's well-travelled, but not in this particular starsystem. That means he's not quite sure what threats are ahead. He can rely on his abilities as as seasoned Hound to see him through, and he has no concerns about Nettle. They're far more powerful than he could ever even dream to be. "Are we close? I'm not particularly tired, if we want to make some progress today before it gets dark outside."

The planet is tropical, which means his attire is ill-suited. He's not a Fire, though like all lower caste elements, he does prefer the heat to the chill Stones and Waters insist on. It makes the Order's temples miserable for hangers-on like himself.

He finishes unloading his gear and slings the pack over his shoulders, glancing to them for instructions or insight. He's come to trust them completely.

[niratias]

Smash or pass for the laughs (mimzy style)

"Smash, at least casually. Usually she wouldn't be my type, but listen- we've got history, and she sees me in a way nobody else down here does." Mox can be swayed, given the right reasons to consider his options...

"Pass. I don't go for entertainer types." Palmer isn't the type to go for ANYONE, truth be told, and he could be far more rude, but he's keeping his thoughts about the merits of Mimzy's line of work and passions to himself, thank you very fucking much.

"Mmn..." Karson's not convinced. "Dinner first. I feel like I'm getting into more trouble than I realize, otherwise."

smash or pass: chaos edition

[niratias]

@temporalobjects || Roy & Uta

There's an auction to be held, featuring a bevvy of artifacts, art objects, and items taken from the personal collection of an eccentric millionaire known for leaning into the occult, conspiratorial, and offbeat. It's the sort of event with listings bound to draw people from around the world, photos scarce and descriptions vivid, location provided by invitation only to prevent outsiders from seeing something they shouldn't. The items in question have been held in vaults and safety deposit boxes for quite some time. After the passing of their collector, they were kept in place, sorted through, and appraised by the appropriate staff handling the estate. There's no need to sell them off to pay off any remaining bills. The estate is certainly large enough to handle it. At the same time, storing them would further drain those funds, and surely there are those would appreciate them.

The dead can't take their wealth along with them, after all.

Evening. Light rain. A series of vans is pulled up to loading bay docks at a nondescript warehouse that serves as a shipping hub for fragile, expensive, and one-of-a-kind items. It's the last batch of them to leave for the auctionhouse tonight.

Among these final items is what appears to be a lacquered box with an ethereal glow- the kind one might expect of uranium glass. The artwork on it is scratched and faded, the characters of a language presumably so old to have been forgotten to time. It's packed neatly on top of padding, though its crate has yet to be sealed for loading...

[niratias]

[ SUCK ]: sender has receiver suck their cum off their fingers. - karson

Karson nearly whines as he's gently pushed back, the buzzy touch of Zora's fingertips still singing through his neural pathways, their connection white-hot, iron-tinged, battery-to-the-tongue charged. Kissing them is like sucking on a penny, like being jolted into a thousand tiny pieces, like coming alive all over again.

To trail his lips down their abdomen, to kneel and worship at their feet, clever tongue, flick of the thumb, press of fingers against the supple flesh of a thigh...

His fingers dip inside, curling, seeking-

But they've told him to stop, and he does. They're kneeling between his spread legs, their hand against his cock, and he's gripping them by the shoulders, too-sharp nails gently dragging against skin.

They send him crashing over the edge with a swear in his own tongue- a near-musical rumble, a call to unfamiliar gods, and he's bucking into their hand with want, with desire, his lips against their shoulder, their throat.

And then those same fingers are against his lips. He holds eye contact, shaken, electric, alive.

His lips part for them and he tastes himself and he thinks that he might just come undone entirely...

humiliation kink

[niratias]

@the27percent

The primary language at this particular spaceport is proving exceedingly difficult for Karson to read. He's been making little shifts to his physical form to try and pick up on it faster, and even that's only helping with rudimentary speech. Usually, if he makes a shift, those cultural bits snap right into place. It must be something about their basic composition, much as how the Khazen's language cannot be replicated by the average Organic tongue.

"...Don't suppose you have any idea which way we're going to get to the aquarium, do you?" He looks to Atieno, eyes squinted into an apologetic grimace.

[niratias]

@djdivius

Karson digs his fingers into the torn vinyl of the booth for a long moment, enjoying the little sparks of electricity the motion generates. He's not enjoying this party whatsoever, and the fact he's been mistaken for talent isn't helping. It's a masquerade. A mask should be normal. It's not his fault most people went for sex appeal instead of going all-in.

That Moog is getting tortured to death. He's watching the stage with abject horror. He wants to blow the peddleboard, too. Maybe fry the Macbook that is doing most of the work. He's visibly flinching as the no-name local DJ butchers this and mimes at doing the job. He looks to Coffi like he's waiting for permission to cut this set off. He's not high enough for this shit.

[niratias]

"Call it off." ( Thought this one might be interesting for whomever you'd like [; )

"I can't." Karson sounds almost regretful. His posture reflects the same frustrations. "I don't have that kind of sway with my superiors." How many times have his earthling companions had the exact same reaction to the reality of his presence on this planet?

This sun is marked for consumption. This planet will, therefore, face destruction. Some of its denizens might be spared, sure, but the life afforded them isn't one to covet. Better to perish with the sun, with the rest of the extant life, if you're unable to escape to elsewhere.

"I don't even know the timeline. It could be years, it could be decades, it could be centuries. We don't operate on your timetable. Don't use those words in the first place. All I can promise you is that if I'm able to give warning, I will...for all the good that might do."

three word prompts