I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust
Whatever thoughts and feelings he'd been accumulating around each sprinkle of orgy-evidence throughout the party stopped mattering the moment her tearful message came across the parchment.
He'd had half a hand on the folded paper already, warring with himself over asking her for clarity, still surprised she would do this, or telling her exactly how much fun he hoped she'd have. In the end he chose neither, just kept drinking to help drown the impulse. He said he'd not ruin the night, and that meant not letting the way he felt matter, at least for the time being. He could only accomplish that by avoiding the whole ordeal, so he sequestered himself in a distant and lonely room to avoid all the noise and imagery.
Expecting she's the one who organized the whole, gift, which is maybe why Sunjata, the sex-demigod suddenly needed to pull her away from the party (last minute plans or details, no doubt), it's a surprise then when her strained voice asks for him. He's on his feet so fast the chair he'd been in clatters back behind him. His pulse jumps with an immediate worry, dispersing the smallest thought that maybe she's luring him out there under false pretense. She'd be dramatic plenty, tease and goad and pretend from sun up to sun down, but fucked as he thinks this surprise is, he doesn't for a moment think that thin sound on the paper is anything but genuine. So then, what went wrong?
His mind is racing with the possibilities as he moves through the house, glancing towards the party still unfurling beyond with no hidden measure of distrust now. The crusade to her bathroom castle is one that shows him just how drunk he's become, a steadying hand held out at times to keep the walls straighter. Turns out, slamming back a bunch of different drinks in a short amount of time will catch up to you sooner than later.
Sagging against the door of the bathroom when he finally makes it there, as if he's just undergone a gauntlet and not a drunken march through a mansion, he glances down at the guard dragon. "Spice, let me in," he says overly loud to the little dragon, even as his knuckles rap on the door.
He'd had half a hand on the folded paper already, warring with himself over asking her for clarity, still surprised she would do this, or telling her exactly how much fun he hoped she'd have. In the end he chose neither, just kept drinking to help drown the impulse. He said he'd not ruin the night, and that meant not letting the way he felt matter, at least for the time being. He could only accomplish that by avoiding the whole ordeal, so he sequestered himself in a distant and lonely room to avoid all the noise and imagery.
Expecting she's the one who organized the whole, gift, which is maybe why Sunjata, the sex-demigod suddenly needed to pull her away from the party (last minute plans or details, no doubt), it's a surprise then when her strained voice asks for him. He's on his feet so fast the chair he'd been in clatters back behind him. His pulse jumps with an immediate worry, dispersing the smallest thought that maybe she's luring him out there under false pretense. She'd be dramatic plenty, tease and goad and pretend from sun up to sun down, but fucked as he thinks this surprise is, he doesn't for a moment think that thin sound on the paper is anything but genuine. So then, what went wrong?
His mind is racing with the possibilities as he moves through the house, glancing towards the party still unfurling beyond with no hidden measure of distrust now. The crusade to her bathroom castle is one that shows him just how drunk he's become, a steadying hand held out at times to keep the walls straighter. Turns out, slamming back a bunch of different drinks in a short amount of time will catch up to you sooner than later.
Sagging against the door of the bathroom when he finally makes it there, as if he's just undergone a gauntlet and not a drunken march through a mansion, he glances down at the guard dragon. "Spice, let me in," he says overly loud to the little dragon, even as his knuckles rap on the door.
Kaisel
I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
