TO TELL THE TRUTH, THERE WERE OTHER REASONS ♤ he'd asked the professor to accompany him to the casino, and few of them had anything to do with the man's blood pressure on a ballroom dance floor. he had no illusions about the man's opinions on games of chance and gambling dens——if the way he wore the epithet he preferred for him so much on his tongue like the taste of something bad——but it was a place he enjoyed and so had more than enough reason to bring a buddy to.
and more important, it was a place accessed by any myriad of winding stairways and private elevators, some with an appropriate amount of privacy. their conversations didn't necessarily need to be as airtight as they had been on the planet of festivities, wound through layers of improv and obfuscation, relying primarily on context clues and impromptu cues. but in his line of work, it never hurt to be safe.
". . . what are the chances this is what the higher-ups have been wanting me to wait for, you think?"
it's the first thing he says after a long bout of silence, where only their footsteps had paid them company to echoing walls and voided corridors. his stride slows, head turning for auroral eyes to settle on the taller man as he draws abreast, smiling and impenetrable as some of the nonchalance drops out of his tone. "you also received it, i'm guessing——a voice, a vision? if i had to wager, i'd say those other four we were just with up there did too." / @incitomniaveritas
When the offer is made it doesn't particularly cause any immediate reactions from Ratio. He is not the one offered in the first place so he just finds himself analyzing it all, and as a whole: the person, the customs around them, how they stick out, the person, the treat... and he quickly finds he shakes his own head, still unsure of it all. But he can see the tides turning in who he was previously speaking with, the halovian he had met with, might take interest in this dessert...
Ratio's face, bare of any alabaster or mechanical contraption, is still as stoney as ever. Watching with an inquisitive knuckle below his chin, he questions the pale-haired man. "Are you so sure, Mr. Sunday?"
"Well, not terribly, Doctor, but I have to admit, I'm rather intrigued all the same." To be honest, Sunday appreciates Ratio's hesitance to try something new, his suspicion and lack of trust towards that which might potentially be harmful. It's a quality important to survival, a wisdom borne of avoiding things that trigger untoward fates for those who are either ignorant or too willful to pursue their own best interests. In the same vein, the Halovian does not consider himself someone willing to jump into a situation without knowing as much as possible about it first—except, of course, in this newfound state of existence it seems that's exactly what's required of him. He hears no minor-key hostility or ill will from the gentle song the old woman emits, which is... not much evidence in her favor, but if she actually wanted to do either of them harm, there are far more insidious ways of doing so than offering tainted sweets. And... he can't help but feel a bit of yearning for home upon seeing the cute little donuts that remind him of Halovian burgers. What a dilemma; he has to approach this carefully....
(Robin would probably offer him something like this. Had offered him similar things in the past, in fact. Much as he did his best to regulate his intake, sweets had always been a weakness of his. There's no Dreammaster here, bearing down on him with quiet judgmental "concern" over his eating habits and how they might affect his service to the Order... and besides, the spirit of this holiday appears to lie in giving and accepting treats to and from others. It might be rude to refuse.)
With a smile and words of thanks, Sunday takes the proffered pastry, sending the doctor a meaningful glance. "If anything goes wrong, it'd be better for me to take the fall as opposed to you doing so and me being potentially unable to reverse any side effects. I trust you'll figure out what to do in such a case, doctor." And with that, he bites into the donut, sweet frosting and soft pastry lighting up his heart in delight. Another bite—oooh, is that cream filling? And berry jam too, so delicious! He's had something that tasted exactly like this before, right? When was that... oh, yeah, he asked for donuts for his birthday instead of a cake! And Mom made him the donuts and they were so yummy... he almost got frosting all over his face though (but he didn't 'cause he's a big boy now!) from eating so many. Mom said he could only have three 'cause he's still a hatchling and that's a lot of sugar for a bird his size. Oh, but maybe the pretty purple owl-man here might want some? He looks like he could eat a whole bunch and not get sick!
Bright big gold eyes stare up at Dr. Ratio before tiny hands break the donut in half and offer the unbitten piece to the man. "Here, mister! It's really yummy, my Mommy makes the best donuts!"
(The tiny Halovian, of course, does not register the heap of oversized outfit in which his little body now swims, too preoccupied with sharing his treat with the doctor before him.)
Even with their paths crossed upon the false world not a few months prior, their brief stint together was minute and they sparingly saw each other. At least to Ratio's knowledge the gentleman and himself had not crossed paths, and he finds himself gravitating to his presence. While the festivities of the month were ongoing he was in tune at least to customs aboard, in many places and civilizations offering treats or goodies was not out of the norm—but the same underlying issues of such flippant passing out can lead to any number of issues. And Ratio can list them all, but he shan't to keep this brief.
Before he can offer to talk to the youthful gentleman over a drink, the interruption happens with Ratio becoming more hesitant for the acquaintance he had attempted conversation with. "Is this person offering you a sweet because they know of you? "
trick or treat roulette | [ 8 ] SOUL SUCKER
It was a relief to see the man who Venti had seen (but regrettably not spoken to) in the Empyrean hotel appear alive and well in the real world. It was even greater to see him glance at Venti in recognition and walk over to say hi! Things were so much better when you didn’t have to worry over whether to prematurely condemn someone to death.
Ah, but first - candy! He accepted another one with a smile - a lollipop this time.
“Well, I have lots of friends from far and wide,” Venti said, turning back to the man. “It’s a shame we didn’t have a proper introduction! The name’s Venti, a humble bard of Mondstadt. Name any tune and I’d be happy to play it for you!”
The lollipop was shaped like a ghost. Venti put it in his mouth. Hm, berry flavor!
It was suddenly very quiet.
He could see, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t feel. Venti plucked the lollipop out of his mouth - or rather, tried to, but it felt like moving through putty. Everything was so heavy.
“What - ” he gasped. Even his voice sounded muffled and wrong. “What happened…?”
Kiss Meme | Accepting!
33. A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking
WARNING: ALCOHOL AND DRUNK NPCS
It is definitely not Caelus' definition of a good time to be down on Penacony ( he's still recovering mentally ), much less near the Golden Hour. It's a tad too noisy for him at the moment, especially with all the people cheering and talking so damn loud that it nearly gives him a headache ( which how the hell does that even work if he's in the Dreamscape- ). But, Caelus is not a man who instigates fights nor is he a "party-poop-er", so he obviously won't do or say anything to the locals. They all just want to enjoy their time on the planet of festivities ( much like how Caelus [ and the Astral Express ] were initially going to- ) and who is he to deny them their entertainment.
And the Nameless is just about to get up from his seat at one of the stalls when some individual comes up and sits next to him- and rather closely. Too close- Caelus doesn't know them back up- No, restrain yourself, you're not a heathen. Caelus does take it upon himself to scoot his chair away a few inches while they just.. stare at him. It's weird. Do they know him? Do they know.. what he is? Are they here for information? Want to steal him and probe at the Stellaron? What do they want-
Apparently they don't get the hint- don't notice the near murderous ( or more accurately defensive fight-or-flight ) aura leaking out of the silver- as they lean closer with a stupid looking smile. Now, Caelus has never been drunk ( because he's not allowed to [ according to his family- especially if no one is around, or with him ] ), but even he can tell that something about them is off.. and that they reek of what Caelus assumes is alcohol of some kind.
They ask him his name ( Caelus [ because he has manners, though he probably should have lied- ] ), what his hobbies are ( gaming and baseball ), and what kind of person he's into ( he isn't dignifying that with an answer ). The Nameless tries to keep his expression as polite and friendly as he can, not wanting to ruin the Astral Express' good name ( probably why he should have lied about his name ), but man is it difficult when they keep giggling and try to get too friendly with him.
If this were someone he knew, or more someone he liked and trusted, it wouldn't be an issue- hell, Caelus would be the one climbing over them! Alas, this is just some NPC who wants his attention for some reason or another. He's already helped enough of you people, why can't you leave him be- he's already witnessed enough of you dying he can't handle any more-
His hand itches something fierce, the call of his bat mere seconds away from being called forward so he can knock some sense into this rando with some extra OOMPH, but he restrains himself just long enough for a hand to come to his shoulder and a watching the individual's face shift from flirty to annoyed and confused it entertaining enough. Funnily enough, Caelus doesn't flinch from the touch, nor does he turn that itch to call his bat around at whatever fool thought it'd be okay to touch him- because somehow, without even seeing or hearing the familiar timber of a dear companion, Caelus can just.. sense that it's safe, that he doesn't need to keep his guard up at this new arrival. Interesting.
❛ Is there something we can help you with? ❜
Comes the familiar voice, something a little darker lurking under the annoyed but firm tone. The NPC seems very off-put by Vertias' arrival, glancing back and forth between silver and indigo as if struggling to come to terms with something. They don't say anything in response, though seemingly get more agitated the longer Vertias stares them down ( Caelus doesn't need to look back to see the glare, but he knows it's probably good based on the person's flickering expressions ).
❛ If not, it's best you take your business elsewhere. ❜
The underlying threat goes unspoken, the air charged with something electric ( hey Caelus hasn't unlocked that element type yet! ) and angry. The person then stands, sharp and aggressive and they take a step closer towards the Professor ( probably trying to fight for aura dominance. what a beta ) with glass in hand. Caelus can already tell where this is about to go, and as much as he'd love to see it play out, he really just wants the noise level to vanish now that it's escalated to this insane degree.
Caelus similarly stands upright, taking a single step to get between the two- but it's too late. The person had swung their arm wide, dumping the rest of the cups contents onto the indigio's torso ( Caelus also getting splashed in the crossfire, though obviously not as thoroughly ). Geez. Now it was Caelus' turn to glare at the person- if they were trying to "hit him up" then they definitely aren't going to get anywhere with him now.
His bat is summoned, but is once again halted as Vertias ( gently, as Caelus wasn't the target ) shoved the silver aside to grab this drunkard by the back of their collar. The individual is easily lifted up ( duh have you SEEN those arms?! the man's Built Different ) as Vertias swiftly walks over towards the nearest trashcan and dumps the person into it head-first.
Oh Caelus is going to have to apologize to the can later, but he has to admit the wild flailing and desperate, annoyed hollering is delicious. He finds himself snorting out a laugh before he covers his mouth with his hand, watching in pure amusement as the Professor makes his way back towards the Nameless. Caelus doesn't comment on how smug the man looks as he "wipes his hands clean".
Before Caelus thanks him properly for the assistance, the silver takes the taller man to get something new to wear- something not thoroughly soaked. It's nothing too crazy, just a simple fashion store nearby that Caelus all but pushes his companion into- insisting he'll cover whatever cost comes up as his way of thanking him.
Once a few outfits have been picked out to try on, they find an empty little room for Vertias to get his vest(?) and gloves off. Caelus joined him, obviously, as he wants to see what the outfits looked like, and didn't want to make the man come in and out and in and out for each one. But.. but woah.
He's completely caught off guard when the indigo removes his gloves, only to see the nicks and calluses that remained hidden underneath. Brows furrow in concern, and only tense further when the man becomes topless- not because Vertias is just that gorgeous, but because of all the scars Caelus finds.. and the more he looks, the more he sees. Not all that different from what Caelus' own torso looks like-
Feet move the Nameless before he can even breathe a word, a warm and careful hand moving to trace along a few of the more prominent marks he can see. Just as his feet had taken him unawares, Caelus finds himself leaning closer until he can press worried lips against a scar near the Professor's shoulder blade- so painstakingly soft that it shocks even Caelus just how gentle he could be.
He is more concerned about being up in Vertias' personal space than having touched him so tenderly and had kissed the taller man's back. The Nameless takes a few steps to the side, hand trailing down a few more scars before Caelus pulls his hand back to himself ( now a little embarrassed by his own touchy-feely-ness ).
❛ ..Can you tell me about those?
I wanna know your story- every single one that you have to tell. ❜
On this very day, one mature individual arrived at the door in anything but greeting her. The door swung open with a creak from its shifting weight, revealing a room clad in far too many adornments and fineries for his taste. The look upon his pale face was stoically dower, the kind of face you'd see upon a statue that pensively ponders eternally, but the Kennedy of eyes will see his eyes sharpening in their ring of gold. Short of leaving in a gale of white and fury on his heels, he does know manners and isn't so offended he would not stand with repose as a fellow guest comes through the lavish door. Even with an untouched glass in his hands, he is careful with the door as well.
Her heels click with an almost reverberant nature and she strides with all things unfamiliar—wanton about her attention, if he was a man with no purpose—about her having his eyes train upon the trims. But he is not tempted by nostalgia or branch names, neither does he care for status or rubbing elbows as he simply keeps an air about him—his mind wanting to leave.
He is sure she sees him and if recognition happens, he doesn't let it sit in. His headache is already growing again. Into her hands he gently offers up his untouched glass of water, and he calmly states, “Miss Jade, it's good to see you're in good health, but I have much to do and cannot catch-up. You understand how precious time is for projects of the Intelligencia Guild, so I must bid farewell to you."
If Jade was to pay attention to every pebble that came across her path, she would have long grown mad. After all, not every path she trod on is designed for her, and she would not concern herself with a road untraveled. Dr. Veritas Ratio is a more significant than some mere stone- though he fashions that alabaster head at times- but he was someone to be spoken to on work hours, and not out.
Perhaps, if the Lady desired, she could lure him into her storefront with some prodding at his past- or perhaps she could not, but such an endeavor would hardly prove to have gains worthy of her time. Those of the Intelligentsia Guild would be called upon by other methods; easier, and more profitable.
He hands her a glass (plain, the water still bubbling), which she accepts with a gloved hand. His greeting is much the same- bland and sharp all at once, and she smiles, a business smile, no edge and no light.
“A shame.” She lies, “Perhaps some other time.”
As he sweeps past her, and she, past him, she calls for a glass of wine in its stead.
To even expect the early night to be filled with anything but the rubbing of elbows and digging into the whispers of people all around, you'd have to acknowledge the dive into the society as well. No matter your morals by day or the clean business you do with the vendors or hawkers there is always a crack amongst the pristine surface, a rather noticeable one when one is easily observed outside of personal assignment. But the chin wagging aside and the hours drawing dimmer the safety of the more savory crowds of the commonplace, eventually night falls. Eventually that mask is dawned and his time for familiarity is over, lips sealed in silver.
Bent down is his ear to the whisper of the room, the whispers of talk across the small crowds he gathers is just what he needs to hear as the donation goes through. While not his personal expenses and a dubious feel to the reception itself, he does personally send wishes to the case beyond its reach. Whether tied to the venue or not, he would best be servicing them then flashy in white, clicking pumps across a ballroom floor, a man on a mission.
The minor amounts of people who do stay to get their dance portion of the contract paid in full, he is not tempted at first glance by any person of interest. Shirking this gentleman and that gentlewoman, he was in-line with the term wallflower if he wasn't just off of the dancefloor itself, with his figure taut and his mood dampening the spirit.
Music flowing, dancers exhausted and rejuvenated alike, and charity abound gives him little will to move with them. A shuffling of people rearranged who is within his vision, and if he believed in fate altered by forces beyond his understanding, he'd have cursed whoever it was that familiar frame had taken his attention. Familiar blonde hair with a familiar craning down of his neck, a seldom lost grin upon his face in a mockery of Thalia, to his dulled Melpomene.
For the ears that listen, he is kind to the blonde acquaintance.
"I take the IPC have sent their best for this to go smoothly, Mr. Aventurine, but I had no thoughts you'd sooner entertain this simple professor with your presence over other matters." He is as formal as his placid formal expression, one familiar and hopeful to remain unbroken by the end of this conversation. "This charity dance is the final hurdle of my night but I can't seem to... find my someone, if I may put it so plainly."
He didn't want to touch them, he didn't want them to touch him if he could help it. He hadn't thought this part would be so hard, it never had been so hard before or anytime he could recall—but the risk of their hands was too much. But familiar hands, although unknown to him now and full of another contract, he could handle.
He gives a formal bow at the hip, not a hair out of place even as it falls. "Might I ask for your hand in dance, if I may be so bold?"
NAME A SERVICE FREE, ROB IT OF ALL ITS PRICE ♤ and it's fascinating what kind of people will show up. even those who swore up and down it wasn't to their taste were often hard-pressed to turn down a good opportunity, and so far, the getaway that empyrea offered was maybe only second-best to the planet of festivities itself, lacking only the freedom and wonder of a submerged dream. for better or worse, here people still had to behave themselves.
charity balls, fundraising dinners, kickoff celebrations——at some point in his life, these had gone from unfathomable to the everyday. imagine, if you will: the child beggar in tattered clothes and dirty skin reborn like a venus from the seafoam, only in this story the seafoam, if you look closely enough, glimmers with the gold upon gold only money can buy, not the rainbow detritus of countless shellfish. still, he's a pearl, blond hair no longer matted but perfectly coiffed, scented with just enough of that underlying cologne to be alluring: a touch of patchouli, passing notes of iris and ginger. he's no longer fit to be presented to kings, but he has become one, standing sovereign of an empire greater than any built on dynasty, yoked on the tripartite steeds of shortage, demand, and desire.
he walks this ballroom, or the thousand familiar iterations of it, like a king, perches champagne glasses effortlessly between his fingers like a king, savors food and conversation alike like one too. he idly wonders things like: just how long is that bureaucrat in the purple vest going to bluster before he realizes no one is listening? and if someone wanted to try to poison me, how close would they have to get to the kitchens?
and, back on the thought of free services and its unlikely patrons: just how long does ratio intend to stand there, staring down everyone who passes by? or so he assumes is going on behind the plaster face, anyway. for all he knows, the professor could be taking a nap.
in any case, a pleasant chuckle greets his approach ; he's not unaware how rare it is, to be sought after by someone so committed to their own misanthropy. "isn't that a little uncharitable to yourself, professor? when have i ever ignored you?" those auroral eyes gleam soft ; there's a flexibility to them like that of a bending snake: just as at ease sharp in almost-luminescence as they are so harmlessly sweet as to be nectar. unmoving, they watch the doctor's formal bow, taking in to savor, once more——just a little bit ; he doubts he'll likely see it soon again——the other's polished request, turned proverbially palm-up. ' i can't seem to find my someone, ' he'd said. and what made him eventually conclude that it might as well be him?
"of course. though, come to think of it. . . you never did tell me you knew how to dance." the last sip of champagne is finished, the glass set off to the side for some passing staff to pick up later ; in the corner of the sprawling ballroom, the orchestra starts up the first lilting notes of a gentle waltz. "did all your academic degrees include that too? or was it just music theory?"
smiling comedy and dour tragedy in crisp, pressed colors take easily to the center of the ballroom floor——each behind his own mask, a necessary tool of the world. this is how aventurine prefers it.
🎲 Platonic or romantic, the purple-haired scholar can remember a game of pool as another talks grandly, and maybe he can agree with a beauty in humanity.
🌹 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊: 25 - 𝖆 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙'𝖘 𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖙
Dr. Veritas Ratio, when at work, shines brighter than the brightest stars in all the galaxies, his devotion to his craft and his specializations evident. The laurel amidst his night-hued hair twinkles like a constellation as he paints out equations and diagrams in the air with his stylus while he lectures. What is Argenti to do but be completely taken by such a vibrant, knowledgeable man? He can follow along the doctor's explanations with ease even though they dip into obscure and difficult topics... really, whoever inspired the man to become a teacher had the right idea!
At some point, the redhead migrates to a terminal and bends over to type in something for a cross-reference to the phenomenon that started this conversation. "I'm certain I've witnessed it in multiple places before... I was traveling in this system the first time I noticed it. Ah, yes! There are multiple papers on it from this university and that atmospheric research center. Oh, and here are some from the neighboring system as well." Argenti pauses, then refines his search query in the hopes of pulling up as many instances of the phenomenon as possible. "Perhaps if we look at all the systems this has been found in, we'll be able to form a correlation between the locations and the occurrences. Of course, as you said, this may not tell us exactly what causes it, but at least we can narrow down the factors involved!" In his excitement he rises and turns to face Ratio, not expecting him to be standing right beside him. His movement path, and their positioning, means that Argenti's lips brush against the other's, and the knight freezes upon registering this.
Their lips still touch. He's caught in a delicate moment, the choice of whether to continue forward or break backward before him. The air itself holds its breath held while he hovers over a decision.
After an eternal instant, he presses into the kiss, but only for a moment. Backing away and breaking the connection, he glances away, face aflame. "My apologies... I, erm... I didn't mean to invade your space so suddenly... and so intimately. If you'll forgive me and we can go back to our discussion? You can ignore what just happened if it helps...."
(Kissing him felt like the birth of a star.)
"... Or if you wished to... repeat it? On purpose? For gathering data, of course!"
🎲 Platonic or romantic, the scholar who studies what it takes to be human finds himself in a like-minded presence, perhaps.
Kiss Roulette Ask Meme: 3 - A kiss on the forehead
In the limited amount of time she'd known the young man, Lisa couldn't help the mix of familiar emotions that had begun to rise since their conversation had began.
Or rather, her thoughtfully listening to the inner workings of a man who seemed so infinite in intellect. . .
. . . But somehow still so young in mentality.
It's not fear that she feels squeezing at her heart in that moment, not quite. Fear is colder, all-encompassing, and almost sharp.
More of a fear for him.
Fear for this bright individual, beyond bright, so engrossed in his own pursuit for answers in a world too merciless to care how deep one delves for said answers. Uncaring of those simply wanting to know. To understand.
Memories of why she left the Akademiya in the first place start coming back to her.
It's worry.
The fear of watching another succumb to the dangers of an unknown truth that may best be left untapped by mortal minds, regardless of how much they may want to know. The kind of concern that inspires the need to protect.
But what could she possibly do to protect someone like him. . .?
Lips form something of a sad smile as she moves to sit her hands upon broad shoulders, lifting herself onto her tip-toes as she reaches up to press a kiss to his exposed forehead.
At least something like this could be considered a protective charm in some way, right?
". . . You're smart. You'll figure it out eventually, Dear. . .~"
