Then my mind's-eye gets to sinkin' into the ocean

Thal flips her hand up for the boys to see, basking in the groans that greet her pocket aces. "I told you boys: I don't lose." She flashes them a wicked smile, sliding the pot towards her as their hungry gazes follow. 

It hadn't been hard to pick out the serious players form the idiots. For one, she stared them down until they flinched, giving away their tell so she can bleed them of their worth. For the other, a loosed button at the top of her black silk blouse is enough to have them fumbling with their cards. The rest had just been fun and games, a wink here, a secret card there. No one is the wiser when she pockets the coins, rising graciously from her throne at the front of the table. 

"Well, as fun as this has been, I need a refill, and since you lot can't tell the difference between a club and a spade, I definitely don't trust you idiots to know a bourbon from a whiskey." The man in question turns a bright red, his mouth gaping like a fish as he lets out some grumbling argument about being blind in his left eye. She shrugs her shoulders and doesn't bother to catch the rest, a chorus of laughter and unhappy players singing in her wake. 

Her tail flicks in a seductive wave of farewell as she saunters across the bar, the tight black of her pants doing nothing to hide the pendulum sway of her hips punctuated with the silver glint of danger and daggers. An earlier sweep of the bar had been so disappointing that she'd given in to other entertainments, but she hasn't given up all hope. This place is supposedly famous, and yet she's been sorely unimpressed by everything but the alcohol selection. Unless something has changed in the last hour, she expects to be similarly disappointed by the patrons at the counter. Still, she props her elbows on the counter, giving them all a good view of her ass and boobs when she leans confidently forward. "Halovian whiskey," she says, head tilting in the low light so that her blonde hair ripples down her back, drawing attention to the dark horns that glint in the low lighting, half warning and half invitation for anyone brave enough.

we care so much until we don't

Thalassa

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

He hears the ruckus long before it actually comes to a head – though he isn’t directly active on the floor right this second. He drifts throughout it, though, checking on things here and there, until he’s reached the bar this time to write down his inventory. Her approach isn’t unnoticed, nor is it unnoticed by the variety of clientele at the bar currently. But it seems her attention isn’t on those within the House of Midnight that seek out the same as her.

She hasn’t yet gone for his workers, either, he notices. But the Halovian whiskey is poured into a glass easily, Sunjata dismissing the bartender from her specifically so he can see what it is exactly that she’s looking for. So he turns to her once he’s made the drink, sliding it across the smooth wooden top of the bar before he leans against it toward her.

A crooked smile tugs on his face – scarred and lopsided that mirror the other scars on his body alongside the tattoos that paint his suntanned skin. Grey eyes framed by long lashes and thick freckles spread across his nose give her a good long look. “You know, you don’t have to try quite so hard. I do have workers that’d be happy to show you a good time, unless they don't strike your fancy?” If it wasn’t clear before, it should be now that the Archon, the Heartless, stands before her, his dark brow raised in a playful gesture of his question as he juts his stubbled chin toward a few workers mingling about through the crowds.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste

Thal immediately notes when the original bartender doesn't return. Her eyes slide to the glass of whiskey offered by a scarred hand, trailing up to a face that some might call handsome while others flinch. She doesn't hide the way her eyes trace the scarring while her hand settles over the glass, curiosity prickling at her thoughts as she runs her finger casually over the rim of her drink. He's distinct enough that she knows him from descriptions alone, rumors on the sea about the owner of their favorite brothel and his role as Archon, but she's surprised to find that she recognizes him too, recalls seeing him briefly at Flora's. She assumes it must have to do with leaders running in the same circles. 

A smirk spreads across her face, not bothering to deny what she came here for. The mischievous glint of a fang peeks out as she flicks her tail. "It's no fun without a little chase." What kind of girl doesn't love the game of pursuit, of feeling the push and pull of the power dynamic as they move closer towards the capture? Sometimes, she even likes the game more than the sex later, finding her recent escapades more disappointing than the last. 

Angling her head like she has a secret to share, Thal lowers her voice to draw him in, smug and darkly humored as she says, "And I don't pay for something I can get for free." She flashes him a smile that spells trouble as she finally raises her glass to her lips. Her eyes don't break from his as she does so, lingering with feline curiosity for whether he'll find offense in her words or attempt to prove something, or perhaps he'll be content to leave her to her fun.

we care so much until we don't

Thalassa

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

“So I’ve heard.” Sunjata hums with amusement, keeping that lopsided grin aimed at her as he watches her take him in. He lets her, with zero qualms of the way her eyes trace over him, the way that he’s close enough now that his scent would likely be wafting toward her in a version of whatever she wanted him to smell like, whatever she found the most attractive. It’s a small piece of Frey’s magic looped through him and infuses with the rest of the brothel.

As she angles and her voice drops lower, he does lean in. Her comment bringing a warm laugh from him, her smile of trouble pressing to the crystal glass of whiskey as she takes her sip and he keeps that eye contact. “And how’s that working out for you so far?” He asks, head tilting a bit more as he watches the liquor slip down her throat, still leaning into her space across the bar.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste

Her head tilts, blonde hair falling over a shoulder to dangle enticingly over the cleavage peeking from the low cut of her black blouse as he leans closer across the bar. She notes the distance he covers, trying to ascertain exactly how tall he is to manage such a feat. His proximity casts a new light on the darkly charming crookedness of his smile, the scent of cloying smoke, a salt-kissed breeze, and something she can't quite pinpoint mixing with the whiskey she raises casually to her lips. 

When she lowers it, there's a measuring look in her eyes, a quirk to her mouth that's reminiscent of laughter. "Too early to tell." She lets her gaze scan the patrons of the bar like she hasn't already dismissed each and every one of them, intentionally lingering on a few so hope might flash through their eyes before she turns disappointedly to the next. Licking a drop of whiskey from her lip, Thal sharpens a smile that drags back to Sunjata like a blade delicately across skin. "There aren't many that can stomach my appetite."

we care so much until we don't

Thalassa

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

She’s pretty and playful in a way that screams the edge of a sharp blade. The kind that he understands a majority of the customers and clients might be a bit wary of – worried she might bite off more than they can handle. Himself, though, he’s seen and done quite a few things in bed, as reversible and switchable as someone in his position was likely to be.

She sips from the whiskey and she tells him that it was too early to tell, and his gaze follows her to watch as she gets people’s hopes up only for them to fall the second she moves on. Snorting, he catches her gaze again and straightens up a smidge, close to his full height but still leaning against the counter toward her enough that their conversation was still friendly and close without prying ears. “That so?” He asks, snagging a glass for himself and pouring a knuckles worth of the whiskey into it before lifting it to his lips – his fingers partially shifting toward the blackened tips of claws. “Rough? In charge?” She gives off the vibe, if he’d had to guess. Though it wasn’t so much his job to try and guess what his clients wanted. It was just his job to indulge them in whatever they wanted.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste

His snort snags her attention again, gaze lingering appreciatively when he straightens. It's not often that someone impresses her with their height. When your best friend is half giant, most men's usual statures look miniature in comparison; but this man might actually give Asta a run for his money - horns excluded. 

"Mhm," she confirms, the small belief that there might just be someone worthy beginning to spark in her eyes. It only rises as she watches his subtle flex, claws wrapped tight against the glass he holds. She doesn't call attention to it, eyes skimming to her own drink as she smirks half to herself, peeking up at him through the coy tilt of her head. "Is it fun any other way?" Her tail flicks once then slows, like the back and forth rhythm in a rough struggle for power, the give and take, the push and pull, the fine line between pain and pleasure. It reflects in the stormy blue of eyes as she tips her chin up, neck exposed just enough to suggest she might let him play with her if he asks nicely.

we care so much until we don't

Thalassa

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

He does rival Asta for his height – a point that the butcher would absolutely have something to say about, because Sunjata can harbor horns of his own as well, which is something that Thalassa might have a moment of unearthing from him if they continue this little tango. So at his question, hearing her confirmation, the Heartless’ scarred corner of his lips quirks up a touch.

She peeks up at him as coy as can be, and while she reasons the answer and her tail flicks similarly to a cat that might have found some prey, Sunjata only has his own sultry smirk to offer back to her. “Depends, I think.” He starts off with a dramatic inhale, the tip of one claw clicking against the glass as he thinks. “You’d have to find someone that doesn’t hate handing over the reins.” He reasons, if she liked to be in charge. His silver gaze dropping to see the expanse of her neck, before they flick back up to meet her face.

But he pauses, then, the smirk remaining as he leans back against the bar toward her, an indulgent stretch of his own. “Or someone flexible enough.” He points back at her, his head tilting, earrings dancing against his tattooed neck with the movement. “You want a tour of the rooms?” His brow lifts, an offer extended out so it seemed less like she was securing a room if she wanted to be confident and cocky about not paying for anything. And for Sunjata, well, at this point in time he just wants to feel something else aside from the hollowness of his chest where his heart should be.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste

Horns or no horns, she likes what she sees so far. As he talks - his accent curling deliciously over the words - Thal casually adjusts her stance against the counter, spine arching like a cat as she hums. The melodic sound isn't dismissive or disagreeing but perhaps suggesting there's more to her tastes than finding someone willing to submit to her whims. There are plenty of spineless fools she can drag into her bed, and yet, she's standing here, eyes fixed on someone she hopes won't be as easily intimidated with what she's looking for. 

Her grin sharpens as he leans forward. Although she isn't fully convinced he'll be able to scratch the itch she's been unable to reach, at least he's promising. Between the vicious scars, sharp claws, and body ink, he's screaming 'bad boy' in all ways but one. 

Tilting her head, Thal angles her glass towards him with meaningful correction. "Confidence is sexier than flexibility." Something he might consider if she's going to give him a chance. As he lays out the offer, she lets the question hang in the low din of the bar like it might go unanswered while she takes a long sip from her glass. It's perhaps punishment for waiting so long, or for bothering to phrase it as a question, but she doesn't immediately jump, running her eyes over him once more to determine if he's worth her time. 

Finally deciding that he is, Thal flicks her tail, chin tilting up as she meets his silver gaze like the ocean meeting the horizon. "Lead the way."

we care so much until we don't

Thalassa

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

Her correction has him snorting, shooting her an amused look despite the way it hangs lopsided on his face from the scar that drags up in a macabre smile of its own. He’s in her space before he responds, though, leaning toward her. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got both.” Confidence in this entirely given he’s chosen by the sexual aspect of Frey. Flexibility, too, though that isn’t blessed by the god he serves. It just so happens to be his preference at the end of the day.

His question about touring the rooms is weighed and he wouldn’t be upset with the answer either way. So as she looks him over, debating with herself if he’s worth the time, he knows better than to say anything else to try and convince her. She’d come to her own conclusion whether it involved him or not, but as she finally meets his gaze, ocean blue meeting the stormy sea, Sunjata’s smile twists toward a small smirk as he nods.

Taking the last bit of whiskey – it’s a lot and would definitely inebriate any other man here – it hardly does much for the Heartless aside from the initial burn of his throat. But he pushes off from the bar and hands it back over to the bartender with a nod, stepping outside of it to meet Thalassa. He guides her to the stairs, up to the second floor where rows of rooms sit, some doors closed, some doors open. He picks one at the very end, bare and plain inside as he steps in and turns to her.

“So, you can make these rooms whatever you want them to be.” He starts the explanation, letting his gaze drag along her figure. “Floor’s yours.” He opens it up for her to start changing the room – curious for what she might come up with, what kind of things he might learn from her with the shift rather than their initial wordplay.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste

She gets a lungful of smokey salt air as he leans forward, the words he utters sparking a smirk of approval. He still has to prove it, but she might just believe it from the easy way he enters her space, the way he doesn't shy away from the challenge. She likes that. 

With her agreement cast between them, Thal watches him down the last of his liquor, following suit with equal skill and ease - even if it has slightly more effect on her smaller stature. She waits for him to push off, eyes trailing before she moves with a casually prowling grace after him. There's no talking or gentlemanly niceties about the way he leads, just a quiet confidence of where to go and how to act, like he's done it a million times before. The silence is almost better, the smallest bit of anticipation beginning to settle in her gut while she pretends to be interested in the various doors.

But when Sunjata steps just inside a door on the second floor, Thal's attention is fully on him. She slows her stride to something unhurried and darkly sultry. As she walks past, her eyes linger on him, a low blaze glowing as she flashes a dangerous smile. "Anything, huh?" Her tail brushes against him, just a fleeting, suggestive invitation as she moves into the space, turning her back to him as she takes it in. 

At first it flickers, color rippling uncertainly around the room. It shifts to blue then red then a deep black, shadowy outlines solidifying and fading away like it can't quite decide what to be. The sound of ocean waves and crackling flames clash softly in the distance, a crack of lightning punctuating the low din of chaos in a roaring crescendo before it all settles into a potent silence. The shadows darken when the low light of sconces appear along the brick stone walls. The smell of smoke and ash permeate the thick heat of the air, but there's no fire to be seen, a salty breeze brushing the tips of her blonde hair without any windows to break the rough textures of the walls. A lone desk and chair sit beneath one of the few sconces, a wardrobe in the back flickering in and out of the light, a small nightstand one each side of the room's focal point: a single bed filling the center of the room, inelegant and sturdy like all the other furniture in the room, fit with deep red sheets and a large black chest at the end, hiding what she can only assume contains the depths of her darkest imagination. 

Raising an eyebrow, Thal steps farther inside, boots silent against the wooden floorboards, tail moving in sync with the swing of her hips, deciding with a subtle dip of her head that the space would work. Then she turns, pinning Sunjata with a torrent of blue that dares to ask whether she has to make the first move.

we care so much until we don't

Thalassa

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

“Anythinggg.” Sunjata purrs, shooting her a crooked smirk as she steps in and walks unhurried, the sultry sway of her hips, the dark blue eyes that linger on him, the way her tail brushes against him. All things that spark the game they’re playing. He doesn’t make a move until she’s changed the room, though, watching as the room and world around them morphs and changes like it can’t decide what it wants to be. It’s an interesting thing to witness, the rapid changes until it begins to settle – pieces and portions pulled apart and drawn in until its finally settled on an amalgamation of her thoughts.

He appreciates the cracking lightning alongside the fire, the ocean waves in the distance. It reminds him of Torchline in a way, though darker and more ominous. It’s all his cup of tea, though, the salty breeze ruffling through his hair as he looks around and takes it in. The wardrobe and nightstands, the bed decked out with red sheets and a large black chest. She steps further inside and it captures his attention when he’s done taking in the room. “I like it.” He murmurs – not like it matters whether he did or didn’t.

She pins him with those blues, though, a challenge within it that he meets with one of his own – deciding that maybe two can play at this game. She’d seemed to enjoy the claws at the tips of his fingers, so he lets more of that draconic shift out as he steps toward her. Scarred black dragon wings unfurl from his back, stretching out wide before tucking back in, each one topped with a claw that points to the center. Horns curve out from his head, too, a spiraled black approach similar to a ram’s if it were on a dragon’s skull, his fingers still tipped in black and sharpened ever so slightly.

The sound of rustling wings is heard over the crackle of the flame by the time he’s crossed the distance, not lowering his height any as he reaches out for her to tug her in. “I thought this might suit the room, but I can go opposite if you want a more feathery appearance.” He cocks his head down toward her with steel eyes, wondering if she wanted him to keep that devilish appearance or if she were more into an angel vibe. Either way, his wings are sensitive as he's sure she'll find out, regardless of which shift he puts on display.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste

She doesn't need his approval, doesn't much care for it unless it's directed at her; she lets it hang unanswered as she turns to him, placing the first challenge at his feet. 

The response he gives immediately affirms her decision. Dark horns coil out from his head, spiraling into tips that curl to a point with a certain devious quality. Wings unfurl from his back, scars dotting the black membranes just as they paint his skin, telling stories of danger and destruction that were certainly felt on both ends. The claws from before glint in the low lighting to hint at exactly what kind of fun they can have together. 

Thal holds her ground as he steps forward, her darkened eyes trailing up from the tips of his boots to the tips of his horns before landing squarely on his eyes, anticipation blooming warm in her gut. He tugs her into his lower body, her back arching just enough to praise the choice. But his inquiry is met with a dangerous glint in her expression, impatience growing beneath the spark of dark amusement as she reaches up to fist her hand into the collar of his shirt. She gives a sharp tug down, guiding him towards where her fangs flash around the low threat of her voice. "What gave you the impression I wanted anything soft?"

we care so much until we don't

Thalassa

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

She holds her ground as he partially shifts and approaches, leaving the offer on the table to switch to something else if this isn’t to her liking – but the way her eyes scan over his body and her back arches just right against him, her hand at his collar to pull him down and he goes quite willingly with the rustle of his wings as they flare and stretch out, one wrapping around her to tug her in closer even as his head drops to her own.

“Nothing about you screams “soft”, but you never know.” He answers with a huff of a laugh – but he’s pleased with her own answer nonetheless, his calloused and scarred hands dancing up her sides as he dives down toward her neck, lips finding a place there before the brush of his teeth. He parts shortly after, slipping the shirt from his head and his wings with practiced ease and leaving it wherever it was before. He turns her initially toward the plush bed, the dim light stretching across his body now in full view for her to take in.

All the scars and tattoos that tell varying stories – the most prominent being the lightning scars that creep toward his heart and down his right shoulder and arm to his hand, the wing tattoos that spread over his shoulders in a dark navy hue, the scar above his hip in a sharp line that spells out a crude NW. He pauses long enough for her to take him in before he's surging toward her again, this time a bit more greedy and pushy about guiding her back.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste