ボクと魔王

9. Does your muse like to sing? Would they do a duet?

Oh. Oh Linda loves singing more than anything else and drags anybody she can into a duet, whether they know the lyrics or not, she has the ABSOLUTE time of her life singing circles around them and pulling them into haphazard little ballroom dances the entire time. Kisling and Bull are her only willing participants, though. For now.

Kisling is also prone to jaunty little tunes in his time, being a firm believer in 'keeping up morale' and such. Rosalyn has wanted to hit him over the head for singing 99 Bottles of Beer one time too many, but he means well!

15. Is there a type of music relaxes your muse?

Recorded music is surprisingly hard to come by in their world, what with being stuck in an era of record players and vinyl discs, with very few of the things to go around.

...So Stan, of course, hater of silence that he is, steals and hoards the things as he finds them. The genres matter very little to the shadow, seeing as he can't read, so he never knows what to expect from these anyways. Provided the contents aren't 'schmoopy lovey-dovey MUSH', as he puts it, the sheer noise itself is welcome in it's entirety.

"Ok. Sensing some emotional turmoil..."

*BRK-KRK-KRK!*

Rex winced as the stick shattered against the top of his skull. Although he braced himself so he wouldn’t get shaken too badly, he still rubbed his head a little before taking the new pool cue and using a block of billiard chalk on the tip, as he reacquainted himself with the game. He’d played it before a couple of times.

“Ack. Alright, ya miserable bastard: Then I’m gonna tap into my inner pool shark to school your ass on behalf of my mystery sponsor.”

♫

It’s a bold proclamation, but it’s less a claim of true skill as much as a theatrical sputter to start helping Stan cool down a little. Rex took to the cue ball and made his first shot.

“Pow!… Look at ‘em go.”

Just waiting to see what reactions he could garner over time…

“Keep talking to me like that and this cue stick is going where the sun doesn’t shine, you little worm...”

There’s something to be said for Rex and his soulfulness though. Even in his dreary state the Zaniness gets a roll of the eyes and the briefest of amused snorts. Why had Rex done that with the chalk though, Stan wonders, before grabbing a block of the stuff to mirror the guy. Perhaps it’s a secret technique, he thinks as he watches the balls click and clack this way and that.

In all truth, all Stan remembers of this game is that you’re supposed to get the balls in the holes- except for the white one, that one gets you laughed at if you do that, he’s learned. So when Rex manages to sink a fair share of the things into the pockets, it stokes something of a competitive flame in the old menace.

So, he stalks into place silently, and takes his sweet time taking aim - we’re talking squinted eyes, steadied legs, the works - and once the demon’s finally satisfied with his angle, he pulls the cue back with a deep breath. Stan LUNGES the thing forward... sending the stick through the velveted surface of the table and launching the remaining balls somewhere into the depths of the recc room.

He straightens himself up, a hand on his hip and his expression quite blank.

Hm. The lack of an answer, at least for the amount of time it lasted for, almost made Chimizo believe that perhaps no one was actually here, and that his inclination of another being in the room was all in his head. But the reaction to his quip was merely delayed, which drew his attention to the source.

Of all places, the specter suspected Stan would appear somewhere shadowed by the crackling fireplace, but this did not stop him from feeling an ounce of amusement as soon as those glowing eyes popped open by the lone seat. Silly as it was, however, the lack of energy in the shadow’s voice and actions was actually rather sad.

Chimizo could not help but raise a brow at his rambling. Has this really been such a problem for so long, he deemed it unworthy of conversation? Or perhaps it was just his pride refusing to admit he wanted it to be addressed, which… the ghost could actually understand, admittedly. Try as he might to be more receptive and less stubborn, it still irked him sometimes to reach out.

He was supposed to be the one supporting them. Not the other way around.

A little taken aback, he would have asked why he would laugh, had Stan not interrupted himself. His statement did pose a question, yes, though he was not going to let it distract from the matter at hand.

“I… will as well, considering I haven’t explained anything about myself to him.” How would he know, anyway? They just met, and the butler most certainly had not gone his house on multiple occasions without making his presence known.

Shaking his head, he added, “That aside, I didn’t come here to ridicule you, Stanley. To do so in your own home would be uncouth of me.” Not like any of his banter towards him was ever serious. He had no real reason to detest the king, as their track record suggested.

There was another beat of silence as the demon chewed on those words; words the ghost had shared with him before, not so long ago, even...

“Then you’d be the first.” he scoffed. It was less that he didn’t believe in Chimizo’s good manners and more that he’s simply far too used to being poked at for a cheap laugh. The old man’s not one for cheap laughs, Stan had to remind himself with an inwards sigh.

It took more willpower than he’d ever care to admit just to make a proper appearance and leave the armchair’s shadow, but at the very least he managed to show his face. His broad claws lay upon the backrest, tapping idly at the leather with Stan himself still behind the chair whilst he addressed his guest.

“You’re a very private soul, Chimizo. Colour me jealous because I’m very much not. I spill my guts to anybody that gives me the time of day one time too many.” Blame it on the years of villainous monologuing. He was continuing to be a downer, certainly, however the demon was simply trying to give Chimizo a conversational ‘out’. An excuse to abscond from the topic, this particular room, or the castle in it’s entirety.

"Hmn... the crows have been on strike since we ran out of scraps... and I just don't feel like the lightning's really 'me', anyways..." It's hard to speak through constant yawning; give him a minute, Rex, it's been one of those overdue naps where you practically merge with the bed.

"Bwuh- WHAT?"

The sweetheart with an enigmatic dark past

You're always polite and kind with others. That makes people feel comfortable around you and many would consider you a close friend. However, you seldom feel connected with those around you. You feel like they don't know you, the real you, and they never will because you'll never allow them. It takes a great amount of time and trust for you to show yourself as you truly are, because you repress most of your feelings and desires, and mask them with a calm and collected personality. It just seems easier that way, safer. But remember that if you bottle everything up, it will explode one day, maybe in ways you aren't proud of.

“Oh, okay– just like in the Addams Family. And yeah! Right, totally.”

Rex nodded in response to James’s words, before being surprised by the room ahead. In truth Rex has probably only been in a few rooms of the castle before, and only remembered a couple out of the greater labyrinth, like the one in which a family size bag of potato chips burst forth in a shower of grease-dipped, thin-cut tubers.

More awake now, Rex paid James a nod (visibly delighted by the method of departure), before approaching Stan. He was trying to think of what to say or do on approach. The sight of all these various tools of entertainment were the stuff of dreams for the cosmic contender. The hoard of trinkets were also of interest, as cool baubles and curios were wont to do when beheld by those who found wonderment in them as these two did.

“Ah, uh. Stan! You…ol’… sinister so-and-so!!”

Rex peeked over at the shot Stan was lining up, hoping he hadn’t interrupted it. James speaking hopefully tipped the shadow king to their arrival and this wouldn’t be a startling surprise. Maybe he could join in at the table? Or whatever it was Stan wanted to discuss or do. Rex was game.

“I got your invitation and started making tracks, right away. Sweet rec room ya got here!”

Rest assured, Rex hasn’t interrupted much of anything. In all truth, Stan doesn’t even know how to play pool, he’s just sort of going through the general motions of it. After all, how complicated can it be, you’re just hitting some balls into a hole with a stick, is what he figures.

“‘Invitation’...?” the shadow mumbles to himself, wondering for a moment if he called on Rex and managed to completely forget all about it in such a short time frame. When he puts the pieces together he grunts with half-hearted disdain. He suddenly swings at Rex, the cue stick swishing overhead before crashing down on the man’s crown and splintering into who knows how many pieces. All done while Stan is nothing but straight-faced; think of the most neutral expression you can conjure, and that was him there and then.

“You were invited by no will of mine, boy.” he mumbles, tossing the half-a-stick left in his hands off to the side somewhere. The shadow makes a short venture to fetch a new one, and abruptly jabs Rex in the chest with it, right where the heart would be on a human. Despite the nature of the gesture, he’s actually waiting for Rex to take it from him. “But I don’t care. You’re here now and that’s your problem, not mine.”

While it was undoubtedly part of the job description, James must have the patience of a saint to be so used to Stan’s antics, so Chimizo thought. It was true that he himself did not mind it too much, either, but being patient was also part of his (secret) job description. They already had quite a bit in common, it seemed.

There was a small huff of a laugh at the confirmation, followed by a short nod of agreement. “As long as it doesn’t involve being outdoors, I don’t mind it particularly as much.” Ask him the year previously, and his opinion would have been much different.

His brow raised very slightly when ‘slap fights’ were mentioned. “Well, let us hope it won’t devolve into that. I did promise him a spar at some point, but I’d rather it not be under such circumstances…” A wrist rolled in the air, “…nor for it to be lackluster or initiated for no good reason.” Such as being in a sour mood.

He paused once they took a stop at an intersection in the halls. This castle really was as intricate as they come – and haunted, it would appear. The low complaints of the paintings elicited a humored snort, as he too could understand their indignation. Causing mischief was a fun past time for all spirits, no matter how well-mannered they may be for the most part.

“Ahh, worry not. Perhaps you’ll have your chance in the near future.” The fellow specter felt the need to reassure them before carrying on, lightly bowing to James in thanks for holding the newly revealed door and entering.

There was no surprise in the choice of décor in this particular room, especially considering the presence he could feel within the space. Even if he could not see him, Chimizo already knew this was where Stan was residing even before he heard his name spoken. Did it have something to do with his cosmic senses, Stan’s actual power, or was it something else? He was unsure.

Lifting a hand, he shook his head as if to say ‘it’s alright, I understand,’ in response to the glance. If this was the norm, there was no helping it.

“Very well,” Chimizo waved James off, lowering his arm as soon as he disappeared. Despite the offers, he did not feel so inclined to sit down, and instead placed his hand at his side, tilting his head as he scanned about the space, searching for any signs of movement in the shadows.

Briefly, he was silent, but he was soon to speak up as he implored, “Now, what could possibly be the matter? Did the winter chill snuff out your flames, or is there something more to it than that, your royal highness?”

He did not expect an answer in its entirety. However, in his experience, prodding oftentimes worked.

Chimizo’s question was left to linger in the room for a short while, answered only by the crackling fire and the telltale ticking and tocking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the room.

Far be it from Stanley Hihat Trinidad XIV to succeed at turning down a conversation, however.

He slowly opened his eyes - something in itself that may have came off a tad comical, seeing as he’s in the shadow of the armchair  - and cast his bleary, listless gaze the ghost’s way. There’s no grumble, though. No humming and hawing and none of the usual going off on some unhinged tangent for Chimizo’s heinous crimes of being mildly sassy with him first thing in the afternoon.

“You.” he finally hissed. “Of course you make an appearance, wretched old thing that you are.” His heart wasn’t really in it, the demon himself not even bothering to raise his voice let alone make an proper appearance, but it was a start. “There’s always more to it. There’s always more to it and there’s never any worth to saying any of it. It’s spilt milk. It’s milk that’s been spilt for so long it’s beyond spoiled.”

He’s not actively trying to be cryptic; as much as the shadow may have an ego in his better moods, he doesn’t expect anybody to play therapist for him, let alone Chimizo. “Boohoo. Woe is me, etcetera. Have your laugh, see if I ca-”

six of them……