inbox for golden peacock

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@nami

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@swordhardy

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[ A simple Clubs boy like him – Rokurou's assessment of himself makes her laugh loud enough to be heard through the wall. ]

So you're taking it as a challenge? Good. [ Whatever, he is, and always has been, a babe. Nami hasn't forgotten how weird but fun it was getting carried through the resort thanks to his impatience.

The question dulls the smile on her face, and for a moment she's quiet, eyeing the wall as she debates his meaning, and her answer. ]

Haven't started to turn to stone, at least. [ It's tidy to assume he'as king in a general sense, and therefore, easy to answer.

Shifting in her chair, she reaches out and presses the button before resting her chin on her hand, swirling her drink as she watches the wall as though she were conversing with him directly. ]

What about you? This place isn't giving you too much shit, I hope.

[swordhardy]

[ He can’t see her, can’t judge her emotions by the expressions on her face, so he is left with the tone of her voice and phrasing. The pause is telling; Rokurou leans forward on his couch, as if closing the distance between them in this meager way will help somehow. Obviously, it doesn’t, meaning even less with a solid partition between them. ]

I’m glad you haven’t.

[ Too many people from their initial lot have gone missing or shown up in… that state. Many of those people have been passing fancies for him, someone who accepts that meetings and connections are as fleeting as autumn leaves. The idea of Nami ending up like the rest of them, however, sits uncomfortably in his chest. He doesn’t say anything about it. It’s easier not to acknowledge. ]

It’s always giving me shit. [ on his end, he’s also reached to press his button, no question about doing so. of course he wants to see her. ] But it can’t beat the shit I give myself, so it’s not winning yet.

[ That’s a way to keep optimistic, right? Willing to brush feelings under the rug (emotions are bad and inconvenient), he groans with regret—]

Ugh, I should’ve said I was Rokuko. Could I have tricked you into thinking I was a woman? [ perfect chance, missed!! ] I’m bummed now. I think you should come over here and console me.

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[ While she may not call herself out on her own prowess when it comes to giving herself shit, Nami's self-aware enough to meet Rokurou's gaze with a wry grin. They don't talk often, and they, especially, don't talk about subjects as esoteric as the seemingly endless stretch of time they've both been subject to the House's endless cavalcade of horny bullshit while others disappear, or otherwise turn to stone.

Glossing over it works, with him, with herself, with anyone – the casino makes everybody miserable in its way, after a person has been under its relentless sway for long enough, the losses just start to pile up, while the stakes climb so high that chips don't matter, and eventually absent friends are the only thing that does.

But, as keen as Nami is to continue never broaching subjects like time, and loss with Rokurou (who is, as always, hopelessly dreamy) when she meets his eye, there's only one thing Nami can think to say; ]

I'm glad you haven't either.

[ And though her gaze softens in heartfelt fondness, it heats up again in a matter of heartbeats, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she rises to her feet and begins to amble over to his side of the pods. ]

Tricked me? You know I have heard your voice before, right? [ She stops just within arm's reach and lets a hand touch his cheek lightly. ] Be flattered, it's too sexy to miss.

[swordhardy]

I am flattered.

[ Nami closes the distance, crossing the pods into his little territory and offers her hand; Rokurou tilts his head against her palm, affectionate, rubbing his cheek into the curve of her fingers like a housecat. A rub that he turns his chin into, brushing the curve of his lips against her in a feather-light kiss. ]

But I would have disguised my voice. Really committed to it, you know?

[ He leans back on his little couch after that, pointedly patting his lap, offering a cheeky grin and an air of expectation— ]

Care to sit? I still think you should console me.