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[Giving and Receiving, though giving might be tricky with his teeth...]
(reply from suspended user)
[giving or receiving~]
[bit late and your PM is off so just poking here--if you're cool i'd be down with Mondo working for Riddler and giving his boss some help or just as much Mondo teaching the supervillain that the title doesn't mean he's stronger than a ~common gang member~ or just about anything else.]
[ can be one or two brothers, but whoever takes on both has to share! ]
(maybe keep your fox, it can praise me too but say yaaaaaa yaaaaaaaaa kanesama ;))
[ Kanesada has too much pride when it comes to things such as this, so this is why he enjoys to indulge into them. Having people listen to him and do as he says, he's sure he can probably tempt fate when it comes to the caged fox either way. A smirk plays along the tachi's features as he runs his fingers through white locks of hair, naturally it's soft and something he should have seen coming from someone like a fox. ]
I contemplated and I believe that you'd look pretty graceful if you were down on your knees before me?
[ The question posed as sapphire stare into the other's own light eyes, a chuckle leaves from his lips and quickly does he grip at the hair he had praised to himself. It's only done so he can slowly bring Nakigitsune down to his knees, his free hand hooks to the top of the uchigatana's mouth guard and slowly pulls it down so he can see his lips. The same ones that will do as much work as possible. ]
You know.. I never really heard you talk much, how about you say how grateful you are that you can be able to do something like this to someone like me? I guess the God's are in your favor, huh?
[ His index finger now trails along the other's bottom lip. ]
I'm waiting.
[ Kanesada has too much pride when it comes to things such as this, so this is why he enjoys to indulge into them. Having people listen to him and do as he says, he's sure he can probably tempt fate when it comes to the caged fox either way. A smirk plays along the tachi's features as he runs his fingers through white locks of hair, naturally it's soft and something he should have seen coming from someone like a fox. ]
I contemplated and I believe that you'd look pretty graceful if you were down on your knees before me?
[ The question posed as sapphire stare into the other's own light eyes, a chuckle leaves from his lips and quickly does he grip at the hair he had praised to himself. It's only done so he can slowly bring Nakigitsune down to his knees, his free hand hooks to the top of the uchigatana's mouth guard and slowly pulls it down so he can see his lips. The same ones that will do as much work as possible. ]
You know.. I never really heard you talk much, how about you say how grateful you are that you can be able to do something like this to someone like me? I guess the God's are in your favor, huh?
[ His index finger now trails along the other's bottom lip. ]
I'm waiting.
( yes? I'm terrible? )
(( feel free to ignore me if you're not into this ship or pm me for an edit. ))
[ Stockholm isn't a city in Thedas, and psychology isn't exactly a known science, so Samson doesn't have a name for the process he's undergone during his days as a captive of the Inquisition. At first the elf's so-called mercy made him want to spit, but now, after weeks with his own shit rooms and all, he's started to appreciate getting to keep his life. The main reason for the change is Rutherford.
It's not that they're friends, and honestly he's not sure if he'd say they ever were. Rutherford sees the possibility of his own future in Samson, and Samson knows it. But the reverse is true too. Rutherford's life with the Inquisition is like a third path, one Samson had never even thought was open to him, not even when he was begging for skag in the lowest parts of Lowtown and wishing for a better life. He finds he wants Cullen to succeed in overcoming the way life drags at him, at them all.
Plus, he's started to think that Rutherford is the only one who understands him. He might have no sympathy for the way desperate need stacks Samson each day he goes without the red, no tolerance for his tantrums or crazed clawing at his own face, but he was charged with a responsibility and when he carries it out it's obvious he knows exactly what Samson is going through.
So that's probably a little how they got here, pressed close in the dark. ]
Keep breathing. Nice and easy, Commander, that's the way.
[ It's just a gruff croak, his skeletal hand locked so tight with Cullen's that the knuckles have blanched. Doesn't seem like much, but it stopped the screaming. They'd been yelling for a while, and no one came to let them out, so it's better to save their breath. Quite literally: he doesn't think the door is so sealed that they have limited air, but he doesn't know for sure. If whoever through them in here forgets to mention it, well. This oppressively small space already has them knocking up against each other, there's not much room for oxygen.
Samson presses closer, weight bodily over Cullen like an anchor. They shared a room once: he knows the sort of nightmares that live behind those cool blue eyes. ]
[ Stockholm isn't a city in Thedas, and psychology isn't exactly a known science, so Samson doesn't have a name for the process he's undergone during his days as a captive of the Inquisition. At first the elf's so-called mercy made him want to spit, but now, after weeks with his own shit rooms and all, he's started to appreciate getting to keep his life. The main reason for the change is Rutherford.
It's not that they're friends, and honestly he's not sure if he'd say they ever were. Rutherford sees the possibility of his own future in Samson, and Samson knows it. But the reverse is true too. Rutherford's life with the Inquisition is like a third path, one Samson had never even thought was open to him, not even when he was begging for skag in the lowest parts of Lowtown and wishing for a better life. He finds he wants Cullen to succeed in overcoming the way life drags at him, at them all.
Plus, he's started to think that Rutherford is the only one who understands him. He might have no sympathy for the way desperate need stacks Samson each day he goes without the red, no tolerance for his tantrums or crazed clawing at his own face, but he was charged with a responsibility and when he carries it out it's obvious he knows exactly what Samson is going through.
So that's probably a little how they got here, pressed close in the dark. ]
Keep breathing. Nice and easy, Commander, that's the way.
[ It's just a gruff croak, his skeletal hand locked so tight with Cullen's that the knuckles have blanched. Doesn't seem like much, but it stopped the screaming. They'd been yelling for a while, and no one came to let them out, so it's better to save their breath. Quite literally: he doesn't think the door is so sealed that they have limited air, but he doesn't know for sure. If whoever through them in here forgets to mention it, well. This oppressively small space already has them knocking up against each other, there's not much room for oxygen.
Samson presses closer, weight bodily over Cullen like an anchor. They shared a room once: he knows the sort of nightmares that live behind those cool blue eyes. ]
[ No doubt his legion of minders-- pardon, advisors--would have plenty to say about this. Their opinions about everything else he does are many and varied and offered at every conceivable opportunity whether he wants to hear them or not. But he's the blighted king, isn't he? He can do what he likes, and all the fussy old busy-bodies can complain until the goats, sheep, and other assorted farm animals come home. And since this is Denerim, it's unlikely to turn into an agriculture center any time soon.
Which is why Alistair has no compunction about dragging his newest advisor, though he uses the term loosely since he actually likes this one, into the throne room long after everyone else has likely gone to sleep. He may have had a few too many glasses of wine, but heavy is the head that wears the crown. Or is it heavy is the crown that sits upon the... whatever, it doesn't matter. He doesn't need to be philosophical about it. He hated the whole king business back during the Blight and he hates it now. Sometimes, the wine helps. So does the company, when it's pleasant.
Tonight, it's pleasant. And it can probably set the whole place on fire. ]
You know what would really make them mad? [ Alistair waves a hand at the throne, glancing over at Dorian with a grin remarkably close to those he used to wear so easily. ] If we burned it down.
[ Although now that he's looking at him, a better idea swims up through the pleasant wash of alcohol overlaying his brain. ]
Or if you sat on it.
Which is why Alistair has no compunction about dragging his newest advisor, though he uses the term loosely since he actually likes this one, into the throne room long after everyone else has likely gone to sleep. He may have had a few too many glasses of wine, but heavy is the head that wears the crown. Or is it heavy is the crown that sits upon the... whatever, it doesn't matter. He doesn't need to be philosophical about it. He hated the whole king business back during the Blight and he hates it now. Sometimes, the wine helps. So does the company, when it's pleasant.
Tonight, it's pleasant. And it can probably set the whole place on fire. ]
You know what would really make them mad? [ Alistair waves a hand at the throne, glancing over at Dorian with a grin remarkably close to those he used to wear so easily. ] If we burned it down.
[ Although now that he's looking at him, a better idea swims up through the pleasant wash of alcohol overlaying his brain. ]
Or if you sat on it.
Mm... Say, Makoto...
[How exactly Makoto came to have an overly-affectionate ball offur fluffy white hair laying belly-down between his legs is of significantly less importance to Kogitsunemaru than nuzzling the still-clothed abdomen of the poor teenager, understandably enough. It's been a lazy enough day that he'd skulked into Makoto's room and flopped down in front of him, initially doing nothing more than making himself comfortable in the other's lap. Now, though, as he presses his nose against the fabric of Makoto's shirt, he's making it clear that just sitting around isn't exciting enough for an insatiable creature like himself.
Idly swaying his legs up and down, the tachi brings out the smoothest smile he can manage, just for the occassion.]
I've been behaving exceptionally well lately, haven't I? [Leering up with narrowed eyes, Kogitsunemaru's fingers rub small circles against the curve of the boy's hips. He's always well behaved; saying it now is entirely deliberate.] Foxes are quite fond of treats now and then, you know.
[Not to be subtle about it or anything.]
[How exactly Makoto came to have an overly-affectionate ball of
Idly swaying his legs up and down, the tachi brings out the smoothest smile he can manage, just for the occassion.]
I've been behaving exceptionally well lately, haven't I? [Leering up with narrowed eyes, Kogitsunemaru's fingers rub small circles against the curve of the boy's hips. He's always well behaved; saying it now is entirely deliberate.] Foxes are quite fond of treats now and then, you know.
[Not to be subtle about it or anything.]
[m/f preferred, m/m for cast or gamemates]
[Giving or receiving, as long as he gets to control it.]
[Interested in a possibly somewhat defiant mortal?]
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