RP Open Post

[goddamngrenades]

Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything.
PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, whichever
Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with
Tag and go, baby!

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[pastdoesntdefine]

There's something that might be kin to disappointment as she stares at him, her gaze sharpening somewhat while her facial features don't so much as twitch a hair. Even her tail refrains from movement now she's focused her attention on him.

A very pretty face, but apparently one with less substance between the ears than his words had implied last night.

There's a rather lazy gesture towards the device he'd left configured on the other side of the room. "Assuming your device still works, I am sure that it will reveal all."

[goddamngrenades]

He inches around, skirting the sofa and the demon on it till he gets to the camera. Rewinds. Hits playback and-

"Huh."


Okay it worked.




Shit.


"....this wasn't supposed to work."

[goddamngrenades]

"It'd be a shorter list, yeah." He shrugs and looks from D to Carolina, trying to place whatever the whatever is between them. It's not just employer and employee, there is something going on here.

"Sentimental Value." he'd met- okay well he'd SEEN this girl here while he was flicking a lighter backstage before his first show when he wasn't sure if this was gonna work and she'd been jamming to the preshow music that was still something he put together and she'd been so damn HAPPY. It kind of helped him get his act together and put on a good show. Worked out pretty well. "Did my first real performance here."

[goddamngrenades]

Now that's a good sound. A fucking great sound and he needs to wring more out of them- he's always appreciated vocal partners. "Or what?"

Not that he needs more incentive than Wash's fumbling he hooks an arm around his shoulders and leans back, dragging the zipper down and rolling his hips in a way that can't be anything but full of obscene promise.

[beforeblue]

"Or something I'll think up when I have brain cells again," Wash mutters. Christ, had York always been this much of an asshole, or was it just when he was about to get laid?

The way he rolls his hips is definitely deliberate and makes Wash groan, full of frustration and need, but at least the pants are coming off.

[pastdoesntdefine]

"You said that already."

Spoken from directly behind him.

Her wings are still folded about her body, and now her arms are folded across her chest, expression nonchalant. "You did not even use traditional materials for the summoning, though you certainly set the glyphs and ward markers correctly."

"Is there a history of magecraft in your family?" That would perhaps explain things.

[goddamngrenades]

"holyshit-" He jerks and whirls, hands going up, palm out- not an attack and not entirely a cringe. This isn't supposed to be his life this isn't supposed to work he has SEEN these movies he's gonna die. He's gonna die and it's gonna suck. "Look pig's blood is surprisingly hard to come by in this day and age- I mean after last semester's reenactment of carrie at one of the sorority parties."

A beat.

"I wasn't involved I just heard the screaming." The question throws him more than a little but- well. "...there was this one aunt that was a little weird. Never spent a lotta time around her but maybe?"

[goddamngrenades]

"Not anytime soon-" He snorts a laugh and works his jeans off little by little before stepping back in close and tight, grinding their erections together. Not slick enough so there's catching and dragging but it's hot and real and still pretty fucking good. "Jesus-"

[beforeblue]

"You are so goddam co-" He doesn't finish the sentence because then York is grinding against him, rubbing their dicks together. It's a little rough, but feels too damn good for him to do much more than press his face against York's shoulder, mouthing at it.

[pastdoesntdefine]

It's not romantic, that much he might be able to tell. There's formality here, with an odd undercurrent of affection. Rare enough in Delta to begin with. She pats his arm lightly, which makes him relax. She'll do it. She'd said she would, hadn't she? And maybe it wouldn't be as bad as D was worried about...

She knows Ererra - not as well as she once did, but it hadn't changed that much. And she'd seen quite a few bands play in that time. "Huh. And you've been in the business how long now?"

[pastdoesntdefine]

She doesn't flinch, lifting an eyebrow at the hand gestures and the run on sentences. "We have an accord," she reminds him, tail lashing as faint irritation rose. "You are the one who called me here. Invited me to stay. One sealed upon drinking." As the empty cans and bottles can testify.

She pauses, eyes him again, then sniffs. "You are fortunate, really. Had you summoned a succubus or lesser demon of gluttony, you won't be here to have this conversation now. And frankly, I rather prefer two decades of dinners to the usual requests of slaughter and assassination."

Though she doubted she'd have much reason to find intrigue here.

An aunt? It did tend to carry strongest in mortal females.. "Through your paternal or maternal line?"

[goddamngrenades]

Who's smug? York's smug. Smug and slithering the rest of the way out of his jeans, nudging Wash back against the bed because it's so much more comfortable when they're horizontal. And, you know, have lube. Lube would be good. He's got some on the nightstand- wishful thinking mostly.

[goddamngrenades]

"Five- no. Eight? Delta help." Numbers and York don't get along lately. Something about concussive blasts and head injuries but that's what he's got Delta for. Sure some things aren't as clear as they used to be but he can still perform, still have fun, still make people happy. That's all he really needs.

Okay and beer but. Beer. Come on.

"I think around eightish years?"

[goddamngrenades]

"Like a crank call! you know you phone someone you don't know and spin a line of bullshit if they answer but you don't ever expect someone to actually. You know. Answer." But he'd called and she'd come and she's HERE and they have an accord? Man he should've listened to weird aunt Rose.

"Mom's mom and she's gonna be pissed." He scrubs his face and slumps back over on the nearest sofa. "Something she used to tell me that didn't make any sense but woah, now it does. 'Don't cast in your cups.' Which I think means 'don't do magic while drunk.' So yeah. She's gonna be mad."

So angry. Okay. He summoned a demon.

on accident.

While drunk.

"You mentioned dinner. What do you eat? If it's like, newborns I can't help but if you like pizza that I can do."

[beforeblue]

The smuggest. Wash is not about to resist being pushed backwards until the backs of his legs hit the bed. The bed is exactly where he wants to be right now. He sits down, using the opportunity to look York over, able to take his time to enjoy it this time. Appreciate all the lovely skin and the slide of his jeans coming off. "You look good."

[pastdoesntdefine]

"Seven," is the correction, even as Delta moves around the table to collect some papers. Things to sign formalizing a one-night-only contract.

"That's a while," Carolina comments offhand, before shaking her head. "Well, you've got D supporting you, so that means you must be good. And with any luck, tonight won't be the end of that seven year streak."

She extends a hand, business-like. "Carolina. I suppose I'll be your bodyguard for this evening."

[pastdoesntdefine]

"No, I do not know." The answer is incredibly blunt. "Nor do I eat babies. While humans might like to pass judgements and such prejudice against those who inhabit other planes, I would expect my summoner to at least be respectful."

And given how her eyes start to glow, it's rather clear York's erred on the side of rudeness, apparently. "Are all mortals foolhardy idiots such as you?" Accompanied by an acidic glare as the man flops down on the sofa. Whoops. There's a note of..something, in her voice. Disappointment, perhaps, or something close to it. "You really have no idea what you've done, have you."

Let's pay no attention to the black kitty cautiously trotting over, sizing up an ankle, then rubbing up against it without so much as a care in the world.

[goddamngrenades]

Okay, demon has a point. He's being a dick. A needless dick. He's hung over and confused and cranky but that's no excuse for being an ass. So he shoves his headache and his muddled memories to the back of his skull.

"Your summoner's been pumped full of bullshit pop culture when it comes to demons since he was...four? And is kind of an asshole. Not that it excuses being- speciesist? racist? There's an IST going on here I just don't have a word for it but that doesn't excuse the fact that I was an ass and am still being an ass, I'm sorry. I'm- kind of out of my depth here. Please sit? Can I get you some coffee or something?" Being of infernal power in his livingroom and he's being a jackass. Only York.

Okay so discount pop culture. Crazy Aunt rose was, apparently, not crazy. What'd she say?

Most of what he remembers involves faries and rings of stones and wee folk and something called a Morrigan that gave him nightmares for a month but he's got fuck and all on hand in his memory banks for demons. Or summoning.

"Most mortals are, yeah. We ride on self-delusion and booze. And- yeah. No idea what I've done. Wasn't entirely sober hence doing it in the first place. And using ketchup- that's gonna take forever to get out of the carpet. Way to go, past me. usually when I get drunk and do something dumb I'm the only one stuck dealing with the fallout so. I'm sorry you got caught up in this."

[goddamngrenades]

"Seven." He nods. Right. Why'd he think it was eight? Must've been clubbing here eight years ago, nothing else is really sticking. It's a good thing he's got D to keep the numbers part of the business straight. Being on stage and being charming in person, that he can do. Balance a checkbook? Not so much.

"Really? I mean- you obviously are good if D's called you but I still don't think I need more than just the usual security around the stage tonight. Like you're here you're paid and i'm glad but I still don't see what the fuss is about?" He takes the hand as offered all the same, squeezing.

*INSERT PACRIM THEME HERE*

[tactical_alert]

"Again."

The potential pilots turn, like practicing ballet, twirling their sticks and landing in a graceful attack pose. Or it should be graceful. Apparently some of these wannabe rockstars haven't kept up their training. Malcolm makes a few noncommittal marks on on his clipboard and orders them: "Again."

The twentieth time must be the charm, right?

"All right, pack it up," he says sternly, though a sigh still escapes him. "Let's let someone else take some time on the mat. And they might be able to show you how it's really done. Remember: your partner will be on your level in more ways than you know. Do you want to go out there looking sloppy and getting yourselves killed, or do you want to be honed and focused and kill some kaiju?"

He used to be like them. Eager and fresh and impatiently waiting his turn in a jaeger. But it's not for everyone. It is, in fact, for a very small sliver of people. Maybe that'll be his next lesson.

[goddamngrenades]

Get back on the horse, D said. It'll be good for you D said. Well technically it was better than diving into the bottom of a bottle and staying there though the temptation still lingered. One day. He let himself have one day a month to do that- it used to be one day a week. Baby steps. If they live long enough it might be once a year. But for now, once a month.

At least he had the sense to not have that one day a month right before he's supposed to hit the mat again. He's done it before in private, with Drew or Connie or David but it's not the same when it's out in public like this. Where the recruits are watching, are whispering as he shrugs out of his hoodie, scarring all along his left eye and side marking him as a survivor.

And as a failure- but they think he can't hear that.

"So. What forms?" This guy's not new- he's just been stationed elsewhere. This place is new- new faces, new procedures, new jeagers. New memories. Nothing to remind him of her. Of falling.

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm does not initially pay this fellow much attention, between the wannabes moving on out or lingering, and him jotting on his clipboard. At the question, he glances at the injured former pilot, flips a page, and hums. As if he doesn't already know who's scheduled at this time.

"That depends, Mr. Murray," he says formally, "on what you're already trained in. We could start with something new, or we could brush you up on the basics of what suited you best before."

[goddamngrenades]

"Honestly?" He'd- well he hadn't hated what he'd done before. it was good. It was vicious. It was quick on the feet and all lightning jabs that went for joints and the vulnerable underbelly. It was a quick laugh and a sharp spike of bone deep pleasure after every kill-

It was also so knotted up in her that he hasn't managed to do it right since. More than missing the sight in one eye he's just- missing half of him. "Something new would be good. Been awhile since I picked up new techniques, some of what you were showing them looked pretty effective."

[tactical_alert]

"All right," he says, setting the clipboard aside by his shoes, "let's see if we can teach the pilot something new."

They're supposed to be trained in multiple arts of the kill, but nobody can master them all. You just have to find someone that moves with your flow, mirrors and perfects your preferred style. "Files indicate that you're more of a boxer type, yes? We can try to incorporate something with more flair, if you'd like. Grace, even. But, ah, we'll see how we settle then, hm? We will have to work on your defense especially."

[goddamngrenades]

Shoes- right. God it's weird to be barefoot on this map and have people hovering to watch him with- whoever this guy is. The trainer. He's good, D said. Efficient. Impersonal. Keeping their trainees on their toes and their pilots alive and that's all well and good but something has him just a little more tense than he really should be when he settles in place on the mats.

Maybe it's the audience. In fact that's what he's gonna blame it on. This guy's doing his job. "Gotta cover my bad side, right."