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IC CONTACT
WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, MUGEN. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 011.19.669.05 ∞ has joined 011.19.669.05 |
WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, MUGEN. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 011.19.669.05 ∞ has joined 011.19.669.05 |
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You're gonna have to remind me.
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You see, there are two branches of the same family, fighting tooth and nail for some inheritance they just can't divide... and it's been going on for decades. [Go to the point, Koshōshō.] Isn't it sad, that such a big, lovely castle would be left abandoned because of it? You almost want to involve yourself to remedy that.
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[Mugen shrugs his shoulders, and he's still staring off, focused on nothing in particular. Someone's playing hard to get and it's not Koshōshō.]
Why should I care?
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Not that she can think any of that right now, because there's something else on her tongue.] You see, the position of judge for this dispute has been passed on several times. Now, it's just been passed to a well-known businessman's scholar son, and it just so happens that someone else has a goal that aligns with ours.
[Or rather, hers, but still.] Our target may not cooperate with us, but if we take him out quietly to make a statement against this family, the right will be passed down to the person offering the pay. If everything goes well, of course. And the biggest, grandest structure in this whole island is the only thing to gain...
[Do you get it? Do you???]
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None of that shit means anything to me, either. I got this thing about rules. I don't got any use for 'em, and I don't want 'em takin' up space in my head, so I try not to learn any of 'em by accident, you see.
[His understanding of inheritance ends after 'people die, people related to them get stuff'. Though he has the bare gist of what she was trying to convey figured out; this broad's lust for luxury has been obvious since day one.]
So you want their castle, and if I waste this dude it's gonna help you somehow?
[Seriously. He doesn't know why she doesn't just go and sit her ass down in it right now, if it was supposedly abandoned.]
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That's basically the gist of it. [As if she couldn't come off more desperate for help, she grabs his hand and puts her head next to his shoulder (making sure the twigs of her bush-hair don't jab his eye out or something).] I'm sorry, I know I'm asking for a lot, but I've got no one else to turn to! I could make an excuse for how you can walk on two legs, then.
[...Yeah, she was planning to have you crawl on all fours. Just so you know.]
Just don't speak, and we can see how it goes! Pretty please?
[Why isn't she a catnip nymph. Being a walking flower shop is useless rn. Fucking hell.]
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though she's a little off her game today tbhHaving what was literally a bush, complete with dozens of prickly stems and all that, nestled into his shoulder admittedly wasn't the most comfortable feeling. It's not as if he was ever going to complain about an attractive woman pressing up against him or anything, especially when they implied that they were getting ready to do a whole lot more than that, but the mood here is decidedly not that hot.
She's... what? Begging him? Really, straight up begging him?]
What!? I can walk on two legs because I'm not a freakin' animal! [And not a dog, either, like she and this party dude apparently think, but whatever. After an awkward moment, he lets out a sigh that seems to regret its own existence.]
When's this whole thing supposed to go down?
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She's been off her game since Fetch killed her dead, but no one needs to know that.That's what it seems to be, anyway. She'll be walking back and forth behind him, encircling him, chasing him, begging till he does what she needs. In her defense, it's a lot less expensive than any other kind of encouragement.]Tonight. [And she came to him only now!?] They're always throwing sudden parties like this, expecting everyone to be free... but we can put an end to that, alright?
[Pretty please? With a cherry on top?]
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Oh, a catfight. Sexy.][But good god woman. With this novel and incredibly annoying behavior now on the table, he's forced to weigh his options. Wear the leash for a few minutes, or suffer through, well... this for the rest of the day, and quite possibly the rest of the foreseeable future.
He drags a hand through his hair, and his next question is wary, as though he half expects her to pull him down by the front of his shirt and latch a dog collar around his neck as soon as he asks.] Do you have what you need?
[As in... yeah. Let's just get this the fuck over with.]
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But hey, Koshōshō's got no complaints.] Lovely! Thank you so much, dear. I've got everything already.
[Including... the leash... in fact, she reaches to grab a few. Some with her vines. You have a few choices, to say the least.]
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Four hundred. [He repeats, crossing his arms again and giving the smallest tip of his head to one of the spiked collars. That should've been a no-brainer. Stupid chick. At least it looked somewhat menacing, and the dark leather'll blend in with his neck fur, hopefully. As for that pink piece of work covered in all those flowers, maybe if he glares at it hard enough, it'll burst into flames.]
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Four hundred. [But she'll drop the flowery one, saving that for another day. (Why.) She won't clamp it on his neck right away, so he still has some time to enjoy freedom.]
Let's head out, then! Just don't say anything while we're inside the party. [Snarling at them should be a borderline case.]
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How come they trust you to walk in there normally? You're a monster, too. [No comment on that 'don't talk' stipulation, of course, because he ain't promising shit in that regard. She doesn't need to know that, though.]
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[And that's all she says about that. That's true, at least. They know her-- know her harmless persona, how she can make flowers bloom prematurely and sing songs about the beauty of the forest. That kind of shit.
When they walk out of the door, she immediately stretches out her hand.]
Hello, taxi!
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[A yellow car stops at the curb promptly, no sooner than the complaint's out of his mouth, in fact.
While she's working her magic, he stands back until it's time to pile in behind her. Knowing that cab services exist hasn't swayed his preference for using his own two legs to get around, but he's got the routine down for these things by now, at least. He takes up a lot of the seat thanks to his lanky limbs, that, and his inclination to kick back and take up a lot of space in general.
As tolerant as the driver might be of Mugen's fragrant companion, he doesn't miss the opportunity to wrinkle his nose at the musky beastman making himself comfy next to her. In return, the manticore pulls on a scowl that the driver will be forced to catch glimpses of in the rear-view mirror for the rest of the ride. He figures he should embrace this time to make sure his stink eye was in top shape, if anything.]
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But so they don't get tossed out halfway, Koshōshō finds a lot to talk about. About the mountains, about the incidents before, how horrid, how bloody, and how fortunate they all are to live in this part of Bavan where all the 'more dangerous' don't go. (The one who says that is the most dangerous of them all.) She also talks about wages, about housing, about how the water was absolutely filthy last Friday, the technician for the water plant ought to be sacked--]
Oh, we're here!
[If Mugen somehow manages to live through that, they'll step out of the taxi to stare at a mansion.
Welcome to hell, Mugen. She's already got the collar ready.]
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But both legs of the conversation are distracting enough that the collar's out of his mind by the time they're on the pathway leading up to the over the obnoxiously fancy building.
Mugen gives a long, low whistle.] How friggin' loaded are these people? And why the hell're they botherin' to feud over some gloomy old castle when they've got this place.
[I mean, damn.
The thought that he's going to be walking through those doors and eating up their food in a matter of minutes is getting him psyched. It's too bad that as soon as he turns, he's met with the offensive sight of the thing dangling from the nymph's hands. Mugen freezes.]
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Oh, the castle is much bigger than this mansion. [And Koshōshō says that so offhandedly, it's like she knows that fact personally.] And it's a historical landmark, I suppose.
[Speaking of which.
Koshōshō pops the collar open, and gets out of the taxi with a wink which might be directed at either men (did she even pay-!?). Once Mugen is out, she's going to slap the thing right across his neck.
At least she doesn't have a string to actually leash him... maybe.]
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Well...?
[There's really not much else to say. Honestly. How bad does it look?]
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She's smirking.
But hey, she isn't laughing.]
Absolutely perfect! You can barely see it against your fur, except for the spikes. Let's walk in, then. Oh, bouncer--!
[Koshōshō waves at some stereotypically foreboding-looking man at the entrance, not at all fearful of his appearance.] I've brought the manticore our host so desperately wanted to meet. Open the doors, dear!
[You can spit on him, Mugen, she'll permit that.]
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Anyone?
Anyone at all?
But spitting's reserved for special occasions, y'know, like when he's faced with the kind of delicate pussy who'd be especially appalled to come into contact with something from his mouth, the booze-guzzling, scrap-eating vagrant.
Nevertheless, as they pass, Mugen brushes the bouncer hard enough with his shoulder to skew the lapels of his suit. Just a minor grievance not quite worthy of justifying him trying to manhandle the awaited guest of the man who signs his paycheck, right?]
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When was the damn light bulb invented? Because they're probably this fucking expensive and this is probably not at all cost-efficient. But the marble floors are shining with the artificial light, and not a single candle can be seen.
There's gawking, of course, but the people here at least more civilized than people who yank on her vines. They just stare a lot more.]
It's me, darlings! Could you please tell me where our dear host is? Oh, there you are!
[The crowd will part like the Red Sea once Koshōshō gets moving. Just shake the old guy's hand, Mugen. Come on.]
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[Look at that hand, look at that creepy, liver spotted sack of skin. Dust is gonna puff out of this guy's joints, if his heart doesn't stop first.
Mugen lets himself hunch a little, teeth peeking from a slight snarl playing across his face. Too wild to speak would mean too wild for manners, right? You wanted a dumb beast you've got one, because he is paying that hand zero mind.
He'll stare him dead in the eye, though. Stare downs are always free.]
[You shake the hand, woman.]
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Koshōshō's composure only slips for a slight eye twitch, before she steps forward first. Yes, she'll shake that hand.] Good evening! This is the manticore I was talking about. He's a bit shy.
[Yeah, right.
The fact that she knows no one will buy that just makes everything a bit more funnier and bit more pathetic.]
Come here, Mugen!
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As he sidles up closer to Koshōshō at her word, Mugen drags his gaze over their decrepit host and accompanying party-goers like a scythe. It's the next best thing to actually cutting them in two when his hands were tied like this.
He'll keep following her, but that's all he'll do. Damnit.]
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