∎ ETRAYA MODS ∎ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
etrayamods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
etrayamemes2025-05-30 09:20 am
etrayamods) wrote in etrayamemes2025-05-30 09:20 am
Entry tags:
TDM 008
content warnings for this TDM include: gambling references, mild horror themes and suggestive content  ⏵ arrival⏴ Arrival does not happen as Aurora usually plans for it. Newcomers generally find themselves waking up within the hospital, are given a brief overview of their situation, and sent on their way. Now? They wake up immersed in a game within The Gold Saucer. But it doesn't quite feel like a game: whether it's snowy mountains, riding a chocobo as you listened to the wind quickly pass by your ears, or in the middle of a battle with a beast, it feels utterly real. It's only after the game concludes - either by winning or losing - that you find yourself back in the main game area. A bot, dressed as personnel in this lavish playground, approaches each arrival with an earpiece allowing them to communicate with those in their same situation. It also serves to inform them of their goal: collect enough gold saucer points (or GP) by playing the games to acquire a card fashioned to their own likeness from the game counter. Then, they must trade it for someone else's. Seems simple enough, right? Hopefully the cards aren't too expensive...  ⏵ the gold saucer ⏴ The Gold Saucer is an ode to the very idea of fun. It’s huge, labyrinthine, colorful, and lively. Everywhere you look, there’s something to do. At the same time, it’s also impossible to tell what time it is. There are no windows to the outside, there are no clocks. This place is beyond such a thing. There are games everywhere you look, ranging from the pseudo-gambling to sports to pixelated video games in cabinets. Yet no matter which boxing game, pinball machine, or skeeball machine you look at, the same creatures and themes arrive. Cactuars, chocobos, the fiercest Behemoth, the cuddliest Moogle… For those from the realms of Final Fantasy, this will feel natural- homey even. Everyone else will simply understand that there is a fairly strong central theme here about magic, machines, and monsters. It’s hard to tell how long you spend here, and it seems to sit outside of the very concept of time. Still, there are many restaurants, lounges, and vending machines. There are shops and costume rentals. There are even little pharmacies with headache remedies if the partying gets out of hand. And when you grow tired, there is a hotel- though it is made up like a haunted house, you can count on getting some semi-restful sleep.  ⏵ playtime ⏴ At first, stepping through to play any of these games may make participants wonder if they have been teleported somewhere else entirely. But on closer inspection, all the skies above are merely well-constructed interiors with painted ceilings. After all, it always seems to be daytime during these games. Snowboarding - Race to the bottom of the mountain, but avoid obstacles and complete as many tricks as possible! Chocobo Racing- Race on Chocobo-back around a treacherous outdoors race track which can either be taking place in a desert, a swampy forest, or upon an island beach. Work in tandem with your rented bird and against your competition by throwing hazards in their way or utilizing buffs garnered on the track. Different colored birds will yield different advantages. Yellow - Good All Rounder Red - Fast, but hard to steer Blue - Slower, but very easy to steer. Much easier to pick up items from them. Green- Resilient against traps and sabotage Colosseum Battle- Face off against the fiercest beasts around. Pair up with friends or rivals to Collaborate or Compete to do the most damage and deliver the final blow. These battles are synced to the comparative power of the one entering the competition. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt unnecessarily, after all. And indeed, no one will get seriously, gruesomely, or permanently injured in these battles. Those without fighting capabilities can rent weapons outfitted Materia to assist them in their trial. These will allow anyone to cast spells, though not guarantee any better wielding of weapons. There are a hundred rounds, starting with fairly simple Spriggans, ranging all the way up to blood-thirsty Behemoths to challenge even the most battle-hardened hero. Leap of Faith- Players are presented with an obstacle course that stretches a hundred feet into the air upon floating platforms and islands. Both are held aloft by magical crystals. Powers are entirely nerfed, though falling and hitting the ground is strangely painless. Those who collect the most silver and gold statuettes of cactuars placed at random throughout the course will be awarded proportionate GP; though there is a bonus for those that reach the very top first. Triple Triad- Everywhere you look, people are playing this game on little 3 by 3 boards, or any surface with enough space. You will be given a loaner deck to play with. Are you clever enough to defeat your fellows. Fashion Report- Theobold, familiar to some, stands by himself in a little booth with a dressing room and an incredibly expansive walk-in closet. He is a robot of distinguished fashion and strong opinions on those fashions. Do you dare subject yourself to his scrutiny? Come prepare in his wondrous closets to make the best outfit for the chance to win a prize. Please submit your fashion here! There are Arcade Machines and activities galore. If you can think of it, it’s probably there- Just with that Final Fantasy pastiche on it, of course.  ⏵ the beehive lounge ⏴ There are other places to eat at the Gold Saucer, but the vending machines and cafés all pale in comparison to the dinners at the Beehive. For all the rave reviews, there is a dress code at the Beehive, and this is literal. If you step inside and are not currently wearing a dress, you will be ushered into a sideroom and appropriately made over. However, this is only for those trying to go in through the normal doors. Around the side there happens to be an employee entrance, manned by a bot. He will only allow those in who seem like they intend to work— and therefore must be wearing at least one piece of the Bunnysuit Collection to trick the guard. Once you are made over or have snuck in, you are free to relax inside with drinks, dine on a fine meal, watch the dancers, or participate yourself if you feel brave enough. Why would anyone ever dance here? Well, that’s simple. It pays really well. So if you’re sick of games, or terrible at them— you can always come dance for a shift. Though, don't get any unseemly ideas about freeing yourself of your clothing, this isn't that kind of establishment!  ⏵ haunted house ⏴ When you grow too weary or drunk from a day of games, you may be directed to somewhere a little quieter to sleep. Up the elevator, and through the doors reveals a modest walk through some woods until a quaint, victorian hotel appears. It is always nighttime here, and the stars and moon twinkle above. The receptionist, a bot in a rather bedraggled-looking chocobo mascot costume checks you in and shows you to your room. You can sleep here, especially if you can tolerate the hokey haunted decorations strung up around the place. Though sometimes, late at night, there will come a vigorous thumping on the door to startle sleeping patrons awake- Only for the culprit to vanish and be impossible to locate.  ⏵ ticket counter ⏴ The prize counter is manned by a bot and has a sign posted overhead. Most prizes will be handed over inside an appropriately sized wrapped box, as the contents are a mystery.
This TDM may be treated as a mini-Mission. Time will not pass inside of it in relation to the world outside - meaning, this can be happening at any time between late May into early July! This Gold Saucer is a bit of a mix between that of FF7's and FF14's, but it also has some things that neither have as well. Any inaccuracies are entirely intentional, aimed to make this rest within a space of uncanny valley for those who are familiar. While otherwise being a bit of a chaotic fantastical funhouse for everyone else! If there is something unlisted, chances are it will exist if it is in either of the other versions of the Gold Saucer. Characters already in game are welcome to post to the TDM, too! Please mark them as current characters in your header. Threads can be kept as game canon as long as both characters get into the game! Please direct all questions to our mod queries comment! |
no subject
Oh, no I do, but it is either for my fighting prowess- of which I do have pride in- or my handsome features. I think naught have commented on my voice nor my way with words. [ he supposes this might be due to His Majesty being far more poetic, or perhaps by virtue of himself not spending much time around other people- he usually had little patience for them ] Now you though, I'm certain you have heard plenty praise for your voice.
[ Sleipnir enjoys when Mythos agrees with him, the smile suits the other man well, as does the lighthearted tone. In fact he's rather enjoying this entire conversation. ]
More like people are not intense enough for him. He holds people in awe, but so rarely does one capture his attention.
[ Despite having his eyes locked on the other in supplication Sleipnir misses the cue, the change in Clive when he's decided to grapple him- no, grab him- hold him? The question that follows hits Sleipnir as a second shock so much so it knocks a laugh out of him, whooshing on a gust of air. ]
Ha! [ He takes one breath, but the expression on Sleipnir's face is one of incredulity. There may be some unevenness in his breathing; he is trying to control the roar of these feelings; and he may still be clutching the bow a little too hard, but the look in his eyes is steely and harbors a burning fire. The nerve of someone trying to comfort he who is in pain for them. Yes, this anger and sorrow intertwined and burning through his veins, it is for how this world has chewed up and spat out even Mythos. ]
Peace, Lord Rosfield. I merely am not a man above empathy... rare, but it does happen.
[ Sleipnir's voice is firm in his usual floaty tone; the fire burns here too, but not directed at Mythos. ]
no subject
[Which was, admittedly, pretty off-putting. But attitudes like that usually also meant someone who was dedicated to what they did.]
Ah, not really. That is generally not very high on the list of things people compliment me on.
[Truth be told, he doesn’t get a lot of compliments. Flirtation and passing comments, sure, but outright compliments don’t come very frequently. Most aren’t comfortable with that level of directness. The ones he does get from the people he cares about rarely involve his looks at all.]
Awe is a good word for it. Fear is another. I can see why people find him intimidating. He, uh, strikes quite the figure.
[Clive quiets, thinking about the intensity of that steel-gray stare. He frowns a little. Had he been afraid of Barnabas? In a way, but he was more-so afraid for his loved ones. For Barnabas himself, he felt a magnetism, a frustration. And, admittedly, awe. He had never met a better swordsman.]
Sleipnir -
[Clive almost lets go when the other man’s gaze sharpens. He sees the fire in the man’s eyes. Was he… angry? For what? For Clive being concerned about him? If he has to have the ‘it’s not pity’ talk with one more person he might throw something. But no. That isn’t it.]
You’re frustrated. Why?
no subject
I don't know if that is fair to say... Plenty of people are as intense or even more so when in the throes of passion. [ His smile crinkles at his eyes more so here before he shrugs. ] Still, you saw a rarer side of me. Not many can put me on my back like that.
[ But Clive's admittance is a genuine surprise; Sleipnir's eyebrows raise. ]
You are joking! It is one of my favorite things about you, swordsmanship notwithstanding.
[ Perhaps he shouldn't have been drinking during Clive's performance; it's making the wine hit a little harder. ]
Indeed, my liege does. I'm glad you can appreciate it.
[ Fear and awe are what a lot of people feel when they see or think of Barnabas Tharmr. Which is a shame, really, for he is so much more than that. And he should be treated as such. Although, His Majesty is a king and does get treated well... but that isn't quite what he meant either. What was it he meant? Sleipnir is no longer sure. He also wonders when his glass shall be returned to him.
Admittedly Sleipnir is surprised Mythos has yet to let go of him. It's also the first time he has used his name- the back of his mind notes it this time, to be recalled up later and contemplated like a crystal held to the light. What takes the forefront of his mind is the other's observation. Sleipnir isn't used to having someone call out his emotions so readily; it takes a little bit of the wind out of his sails. All the same he huffs a breath out through his nose. ]
I do not wish to be fussed over when my concern lies with you.
[ Now the bartender sets down a renewed glass of wine for Sleipnir who at the subtle clink of glass against wood lessens his grip on the front of his dress, although his gaze does not leave Clive. ]
no subject
[Awkward as it was.].
I, uh, thought that might be the case based on your responses. You are a tough opponent. I can see why you don’t have many peers.
[Clive, mid sip of wine, almost chokes on his surprised laugh.]
My voice is one of your favorite things about me? So you like that I can beat you up and that I sound good. You have weird tastes.
[Clive shakes his head a little, still smiling. What a strange man. He tilts his head a little bit, examining Sleipnir, trying to imagine what Barnabas must look like through his eyes. He stares for a couple of beats and sighs. Nope. He’s got nothing.]
When you look at him, what do you see? Barnabas, I mean.
[Clive lets his hands slide down Sleipnir’s shoulders down to his forearms and then back into his own lap. Clive moves to rest his elbow on the bar and props his chin up with an open palm. The two of them stare at each other in silence, Clive’s expression ponderous.]
So, [He finally starts.] You are put out that I am worried about you while you are trying to be worried about me. Because you -
[Clive lightly taps the area just below the cute big bow on Sleipnir’s dress.]
Want to take care of -
[He taps his own bare chest.]
Me?
no subject
I see no reason to dull my enjoyment for others. That seems a wearisome way to live.
[ He'll raise an eyebrow at the small stutter in Mythos' response, but won't comment until he makes mention of his peers. ]
At this point the only people who can best me with a sword is you and His Majesty.
[ The eye contact here carries a little bit of that weight and intensity from before. Truly he is impressed and enamored with your skill.
Then Clive laughs mid drink causing Sleipnir's own look to become mirthful once more. He gestures as he speaks, movements as languid as his voice it. ]
And what is strange with liking your voice?? It has a rugged intensity, particularly when you are combative, but also when speaking like this.
[ Sleipnir hadn't noticed he'd lapsed into a small silence when Clive's beautiful voice pulls him from his reverie. With his attention blinking back to the other man he can feel the alcohol's spin and perhaps that is why Sleipnir has been so chatty, too much drink. It's certainly why he doesn't hesitate in answering now; a smaller smile tugging at Sleipnir's lips, something softer, or maybe even tender. ]
Everything, my all. [ his blink is slow as his gaze lowers and goes a little unfocused ] I see him. ...His feet, sure and steady, which marched a war across an entire continent. Legs, corded with muscle, sturdy in holding to his duty. His core, ever constant, undoubting and undaunted. His chest, expansive, firm, containing and fighting for a dream which has spanned uncountable lifetimes... His back, beautiful, unbroken, bearing the weight not only of Waloed, but of Ash and all her people: the ones now, those who came before, and of those who come after. Hands, such beautiful hands, which grasp and hold tenderly... yet capable of such skilled violence, the command and dexterity he wields in those fingers... His shoulders ready to push further through, to knock down an enemy or burst through a door; his entire body a weapon of such deadly precision... Neck, unbowed, unbent.
Lips soft... long ago whispered hurts; a strained voice; cries for the lost; screams for it to cease, for it to stop, for it to be done, for peace to reign.... ...Nose and brow: most noble one would think him born a prince. His eyes... ever intent on his mission, our goals, never losing sight of which is most important, yet cradling such suffering within their depths... With hair as soft and silken as it was on the boy I first met...
[ His voice grows quieter near the end and for the first time, if Clive is watching closely, he may witness a well of sadness with unknown depth lurking behind Sleipnir's lashes.
It is an odd sensation, having Clive's hands slip down his arms... When the other fully retreats his arms back to himself Sleipnir will grasp his glass once more and take sip, eyes remaining on his drinking partner of the night. The gaze is probing and daring at the same time.
Once Clive organizes his thoughts into words Sleipnir sets the drink atop the bar, then scrunches his nose when he is accused of being 'put out', eyes narrowing. Not the word he'd use himself. And what is this about 'trying to be worried'? He isn't-
Sleipnir's eyes drop to the finger prodding his chest, then back to Clive's eyes the judgement lingering there, but there might be a hazy pink tint forming on his cheeks. Could be the lighting though. Could be the alcohol. Either way he raises a hand to bat away the invisible specter left behind by the other man's touch. ]
You have it all wrong. I am frustrated [ that word Clive had right ] because the conversation's focus was on you- I am perfectly fine, but you- that- [ he hisses a sigh in the back of his throat ] I am not "trying" to be anything, least of all "worried". Worry implies fear for you. I am- [ his eyes glance between Clives's, searching for better words ] concerned, pained, and upset over you- for you. [ he waves his hand as if clearing the air ] It is not necessarily about my want to, as you put it, take care of you, but rather... [ still searching for better words ] ... rather you [ now he prods Clive's chest ] should have been cared for better already.
[ An exasperated sigh escapes his lips before he grabs for his glass again. That took a herculean effort and Sleipnir is a little embarrassed at the lack of finesse that all came out with. ]
no subject
[For whatever reason, being put in a category of strength with Barnabas both makes Clive feel a sense of pride and also of confusion. Barnabas has kicked his ass both times they have fought. It makes sense that he can beat Sleipnir, but still. He doesn’t feel like he deserves to be in a battle bracket with Barnabas. Not yet.]
There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just not used to the compliment. So thank you for the lovely compliment, Sleipnir.
[Clive takes a sip of his wine, not really expecting to settle into a long description of Barnabas, but oh was he wrong. Wine forgotten, Clive finds himself leaning into Sleipnir’s description, his story. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? A condensation of Barnabas Tharmr. Not in a way that diminishes the man, but in a way that makes him so much more.
Clive closes his eyes, imagining the man as Sleipnir describes him. From the ground up, from his foundation. He can see those unbent back, head held high and proud. What trips him up, at first, is how Sleipnir describes his hands. Beautiful, that can hold something as tenderly as they can bring pain. He tries to see those hands, picture them, and he cannot. Clive frowns and opens his eyes to watch Sleipnir again.
But he isn’t done. Clive’s heart ricochets in his chest. Those lips that have teased him, brushed warm air, threats, and disappointment across his skin. But what makes him want to grab Sleipnir, ask him to stop is the pain. The painful whispers, screaming, cradled and hidden pain. And he sees it in Sleipnir. In the sorrow in his eyes, the softness of his voice. Before him is a man who loves so deeply and completely, to the point where he wears the pain of the man he loves with him.
He wants to look away, hide the questions, curiosity, and conflict in his eyes. Wants to hide that tiny part of him, buried deep down in layer after layer of ash, rubble, and brimstone that longs for something like this, for someone to look at him like this. But he can’t. Not with that sadness still lurking in Sleipnir’s eyes, with that love in them.
Sleipnir’s voice breaks the spell and Clive tears his eyes away, but doesn’t turn. He should look, make eye contact with Sleipnir as he stumbles through his frustration. Until he hears Sleipnir say that he is pained and upset, not over Clive, but for him. His eyes snap back, locking onto the other man’s, searching. For what, he isn’t sure.
’rather you should have been cared for better already.’
Clive grabs his glass and slams the rest of the wine. He tilts his body away but doesn’t turn all the way to face the bar. Waiving the bartender over he orders something harder and takes what was probably the 2nd too many shots of rum of the night. He puts his hand over the glass when the bartender lifts the bottle to offer another pour.]
I… don’t know what to say to that. Why do you even care? What have I done that warrants any of that?
no subject
When Mythos uses his name for the second time it registers much closer to the foreground of his mind. He likes the way it sounds. Well, of course Sleipnir does, he already admitted to enjoying his voice, so of course his name would- Hm. Still, it's cute, and he's a glad to have done something for him others had not. Sleipnir raises his glass to Clive's appreciation and takes a sip.
The reverie of Barnabas is a bittersweet one which both kisses and stings Sleipnir's core. Upon blinking he mentally emerges from it, eyes raising up to meet Clive's. Pain. Suffering. What he has spoken is reflected in his savior's eyes and not for the first time Sleipnir wonders what dances beneath the other's skin. What secrets lie buried beneath blood and bone.
The pain is there again- or is it still?- when Clive's eyes snap back during Sleipnir's stumbling monologue. The alcohol drives a strange urge to hold the man cupped in his hands, shelter him from the wind like a guttering candle. Weird indeed, because Lord Rosfield is not four inches tall and thusly would not fit as such.
His mind lingers on the thought, aided by the man having tilted away from him and Sleipnir feels the candle's warmth being taken with it. The metaphor trips a little when he thinks about how the man seems to be dousing the fire in alcohol- wouldn't that stoke the flame?- when he finally finishes his shot, denies the bartender, and rejoins with Sleipnir once more.
Instinctually Sleipnir thought to respond with how the other is Mythos, their savior, and how of course he deserves it by virtue of this alone... But the man asks what he has done to deserve it. Which is a very different thing. So, instead Sleipnir leans back, body still facing him, and runs his eyes over Clive's face, studying him quietly a moment.
Sleipnir's expression is very concentrated and absent-mindedly he runs his tongue over his teeth while his mouth is closed, contemplating the other, weighing thoughts and directions to take this. He slides his glass of wine to the side and drums his fingers once, twice on the bar top while maintaining eye contact.
Then he looks away as he reaches out to pry the shot glass from under Clive's hand, motions for the bartender to fill it for him instead, and downs it. Then he tosses back a second one and slides the glass back to the bartender. Through all of this Sleipnir has kept his body tilted facing Clive and now his gaze returns there as well. He licks his lips, presses them together, then speaks. ]
... One does not need to do something to earn being cared for, Clive Rosfield. It is something that should be given freely. [ Sleipnir waits a beat for this to sink in, then continues before Clive can interject. ] That people in your life have denied you such for so long... I find myself rather angry with them over it.
no subject
Clive blinks and follows the stolen glass’s trajectory and watches as Sleipnir slams two shots in a row. He almost asks him if he is okay then remembers the sheer amount of offense that the other man took when last he asked. The fact that this conversation was determinedly focused on himself was a little difficult to handle.
He thought about opening his mouth to bid the other man a goodnight when Sleipnir spoke again. Every thought he had came to a screeching halt. It was like every stack of little things in his mind that Clive had been carefully treading around were kicked over all at once, scattering and distorting everything. He turns again, staring rather dumbly at Sleipnir, and the only thing he can manage to whisper out is:]
You used my name.
[The rest of it… Clive was wondering if he was too drunk to have that conversation right now. It felt like a sober conversation. Would Sleipnir have even brought any of this up if they were sober? Would he have entertained this? Clive sighs.]
Emphasis on ‘should be’. And the people in my life now care for me without me having to ask.
[As well as they can without Clive being open about it, anyway.]
no subject
He finds himself agreeing with the emphasis; truly if humans could control themselves better perhaps we could have a kinder world. Hmm. Sleipnir's head is spinning. Those shots must be hitting him. He re-wrangles his thoughts. People in life now care. Bearer to too busy. Too busy to get busy with people who care? Or are people who care not noticing the man's yearnings? Hmmmm. Oh, Sleipnir notices he is humming thoughtfully aloud and so stops. ]
I find this only a little reassuring as you have still been left wanting.
[ He raises his hand to trail one finger, soft yet firm, along the length of Clive's arm. ]
As I said... you're not so busy now.
no subject
A smile quirks the corners of his mouth. The thoughtful sounds the other man was making were surprisingly cute. He finds he is a little sad when they get cut off abruptly.]
Sex hasn't been high on my list of priorities as of late so people haven't exactly been given the chance to try.
[Clive let's himself bask in the attention for a quick second before taking Sleipnir's hand lightly in his.]
Flattering though the offer is, I'll have to pass tonight.
no subject
Sleipnir will lean on his elbow on the bar with his cheek in his hand and make the thoughtful humming noise again; the look on his face is that of a suspicious pout. The man is a shield after all; it's completely possible he is just saying this to defend those who have let him down.
But the look on Clive as Sleipnir touches him... oh, they're both drinking this up. At least they were until it's cut short with a different sort of touch. And by shooting him down? But only shooting down tonight. Oh. That's good. That's very good news. ...But also, he wasn't propositioning Clive... Sleipnir had been suggesting the man use his free time to correct the issue with anyone; he hadn't meant it as a hit-on. But... If he's only getting shot down for tonight, Sleipnir will take it as if it had been the intention all along. ]
Suit yourself. Although, there is wisdom in this- I perform far better when sober. [ he sits up again ] And if I get my hands on you: I want to take you apart piece by piece. Find the spots which cause all the pretty little noises you can make to fall right out of your mouth. See the beautiful expressions you make when I touch and explore your tender spots.
no subject
And all semblance of cuteness gets up from the bar and walks promptly away at Sleipnir's words. Clive opens his mouth just a bit then closes it, listening. He does, however, feel the familiar tell-tale burn of a blush starting at the tips of his ears.]
You are...
[His brain, still trying to wrap itself around the mental image of Sleipnir doing even a portion of these things, fails to provide an adequate response.]
Something else.
[Wow. Good one, Clive.
He pats Sleipnir's knee in as least sexy a manner as he can manage]
I think it's time you and I call it a night. But in not the same direction. Unless where you are staying is the same place I am staying. Then we have to walk in the same direction but we would each still go to our own rooms.
[Clive frowns. Too much drink. He gestures for water.]
And make sure you drink lots of water. And eat something. You don't want a hangover.
no subject
I will stay out for a little bit longer. Clear my head.
[ He circles his wrist in the air, motioning to all of the drinking and the floaty feeling in his head. ]
No need to worry about whether I am intending on joining you or not. As I said earlier, if I wanted you to come with me I'd probably kiss your hand first. And have I done such? No? Then there is nothing for you to over explain away.
[ Although, Sleipnir would probably go with him if he asked. Oh, but too drunk. Sleipnir amends his own thought to 'he would go with if asked only to heavily make-out with him then tuck him in and be on his way'. He wants to be sober so as to ensure Clive has an excellent time, his own drunken desires be damned. ]
Wrap?
[Too drunk. Time to go before he embarrasses himself even more than he already has.]
So if you ever kiss my hand then I know you want to take me to bed. Gotcha.
[Clive stands and gives himself a moment to orient himself before looking back down at the other man. He finds he wants to touch him again, but this time he resists.]
I'll do the same.
[What? Shut the fuck up, Clive. Go to bed.
Clive gives Sleipnir a little wave as he starts walking away.]
Good night, Sleipnir. I had fun.
🎀
When Clive confirms the hand smoochery Sleipnir will chuckle under his breath; it sounds sillier when the man says it aloud. He'll give Clive a playful wink, but when he stands up Sleipnir's hand will raise towards him- ready to balance Clive if he needs it. Which, of course, he doesn't, so, he pulls his arm back in.
When Clive says he'll do the same? Oh. Perhaps it was not a slip of the tongue when he said 'I'll have to pass tonight.' Sleipnir presses his lips together, fighting the smile, but try as he might it's still there. A light blush too, although that could be the sheer amount of alcohol in his system.
Sleipnir brushes his own face with the back of his hand tenderly, as if Clive has already kissed it before saying: ]
I look forward to it. Rest well, Lord Rosfield.
[ He usually doesn't get along well with other people... that the chosen one would be someone like this... Truly, if there was ever a soul to be worthy of the position... Or, is it because Clive is Mythos that he is like this? Someone who... ]