DANCE WITH ME AND SHAKE YOUR BONES ;

“oh that’s very fun, and i must say the craftsmanship is exquisite too.” he cooed over a sewn and stuffed version of a particularly dangerous plant, apparently handmade, though he’d have never guessed if it weren’t for the sewing supplies on the table.

he could have picked the girl out of a crowd of hundreds, if needed; certain types drew him like a moth to flames, people hounded by life since their first days, mortals who had survived immeasurable strife and suffered for it. what didn’t kill them may not have made them stronger, but they were certainly strong all the same. he could never put a pin precisely on what he honed in on, posture or tone or some sixth sense there was no human name for, but it didn’t matter. perhaps it was simply a demon’s instinct, to know the weakened and needy.

but tonight’s forray into the back reaches of the library, empty but for the two of them, was not going to end in a contract. perhaps simple observation would do. mukuro pulled over a pencil and notepad left on the library table for public use, and quickly sketched out a little plant of his own, the end result an almost cartoonish rendering-- this not helped by the fact that the plant he had drawn had a fully unraveled tapered ‘tongue,’ and realistic pointed ‘teeth’ that were truly sharp.

“I don’t mind if people don’t like me.”

     ➵          WELL NOW, IT WOULDN’T BE THE FIRST TIME he’s been welcomed by a stranger adorned in blood and wreaking of vice– but who was he to judge, and so swiftly without sufficient reason? he would reserve his opinions for the time being, arming himself with pleasantries and a smile, just as he would anyone else. he brandished not his words as a knife, but his warmth a suit of armour; guising his heart in steel until one day, he may see that metal melted away by the kindness of others, and set it free. only his golden deers shall realise his true and unwavering faith.

       until then, he was guarded in spite of his demeanor, and took every uncertainty in his stride.

            ❝  oh? now that’s got me curious— but there’s no need to apologise. i’ve obviously interrupted something.  ❞ he replied, unperturbed by the mess of red cascading in rivulets off the other’s hands as he rinsed it all away, ❝  and besides, that’s none of my business.  ❞

       he was sure to become acquainted with that ‘ business ’ in time, claude had no doubt about that, given they were apparently sharing a living situation. in that case, it couldn’t hurt to get to know one another, right?

       quirking a brow, the heir of riegan shrugged a shoulder.

             ❝  i’m no king, but i won’t say no to a nice cup of tea.  ❞ he offered a hand, with the silent hope he wouldn’t get a handful of blood in return, ❝  claude. the pleasure’s all mine.  ❞

calm, collected, not a hair out of place for mukuro’s unique display, let alone the massive displacement he had likely recently experienced... this one was good. a fantastic start, the easily-spooked wouldn’t last long in this house ( not that mukuro much cared to adjust to that, his thin veneer of polite society had already been fully shed by boredom ).

he finished scrubbing the worst of the blood off his hands and dried them thoroughly, turning back to claude and not hiding his mild surprise at seeing a handshake offered in return; he took it graciously. “you’re a smart one, claude. be as curious as you like, though, my exploits are nothing if not a damn good show.”

mukuro returned his attention to the offered tea, selecting one of his more expensive blends all the same and setting it to brew, speaking over his shoulder as he gathered the cups. “all you need to know is that half of the house,” he gestured vaguely to his left, “belongs to myself and chrome. you’ll meet her eventually, but who knows when, she has a talent for hiding. lovely girl, though, she looks just like me but shorter, more lovable, less bloody. if you harm a single hair on her head, you will live to regret it. and then you won’t live anymore!” surely the threats, spoken cheerily, would have little effect on the man who had already suffered mukuro’s entrance-- but it was a necessary threat all the same.

“You can’t just tell people to do that.”

perhaps it wasn’t the best first impression-- or perhaps it was, all things considered. it was about time mukuro started breaking them in early. having gotten a taste for hunting in the mistwood, this evening he returned to the condo with a bloodied trident, but instead of chrome awaiting him, there was a stranger in the living room.

“what a lovely night for a new face,” he purred as he closed the front door behind him, unabashedly giving the man a once-over as he passed towards the kitchen. “i’m mukuro, i’m from hell, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.” his tone was playful, and he leaned his freshly-used trident against the wall in the kitchen, so maybe the murder vibes could be softened a bit even as he reached to shake hands-- and immediately withdrew it when he realized his hands were in as bloodied a state as his weapon. “sorry, forgot where i was! don’t worry, it wasn’t a person.” instead, mukuro turned to the kitchen sink and started to wash off the worst of the gore, humming lightly.

too late to make a 69 joke huh

he could feel his instincts dulling with every passing day. like muscles atrophied in prison, the peaceful environment was waging a quiet war on that which made mukuro deadly. even when he wanted to cause trouble, he was limited well within mortal bounds and then some, weapons hard to come by, law enforcement nothing to write home about, and the worst creatures that slithered here along with him were equally ineffective. it was not just mukuro weakened, but everything. peace was the only option.

that, he had decided, that war, was the worst of his time here. it was beginning to pull at him the same it had in his fifth life, and he would be damned if the path of humans took him again.

that was what had lead him to the edges of what the island allowed, branches they had been called, and further still to the aptly-named mistwood. to think it had taken him so long to approach something so clearly suited to him, and he wasn’t disappointed either, the sense of something lurking familiar and... dare he say comforting.

the last one didn’t go according to plan bc im dumb so STARTER CALL, CAPPED AT TWO. CASTMATES and FE3H CHARACTERS (bc i’m busy over on sylvain but wanna introduce yall to a demon) can go over! fair warning that these may include PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS, which is to say, jumping right in as if they’ve already done the meet and greet bit. this will be within reasonable bounds if used.

It seemed pointed barbs and serrated tone weren’t enough to chase this one off.  Normally, most reacted with the usual air of disdain and offence, fleeing after but an ill-thought response. In the past, such things would never have occurred; he’s laugh and degrade them for the simple idea of even approaching him. Times had changed for the worst.  

“What a presumptuous assumption. I was not named after a ritual of any sort. I predate all of them.” A low scoff. Humans, how utterly nearsighted they were to assume he came after and not before it all. History had done him poorly, indeed. “Know me, for I am that summoning in the flesh.” Borrowed, broken flesh, but flesh still.

“Your idea of flirtation is as chaotic as you are,” was all Goetia had to offer to that comment. He had prepared himself for a very long afternoon, filled with empty rhetoric and mind-numbing conversational topics. But, if this Mukuro Rokuda spoke truth, perhaps it wouldn’t be a complete bore. Perhaps there was treasure in this trash heap after all.

At least this was one sharp. So far, they’d proven were a better talker then half the city.“A bold claim. Few transverse the ways of Hell without something rotten sprouting within or without them.” It certainly explained the scent, the feeling of something black moving across the landscape. How coy. “Though asking for a demonstration of such power seems far-fetched at this point in time, given the nature of this place. Thus, I must take you at your word, Mukuro Rokuda. Unless you do wish to indulge in theatrics and show me what you’ve taken for yourself.” Good faith, from a creature such as Goetia? Never.

know me, how dramatic! mukuro was more thoroughly enraptured with every sentence, the dramatics were always better when they felt so natural. this was not a person who said ‘know me’ because it sounded cool, but because he actually felt he deserved to be known!

something rotten, he said, and mukuro quite liked the sound of it. that tar that clung to him in every life, so deeply entwined in his being that to remove it would be to leave nothing behind, no bad or good to continue on living. hell was a part of him, but he was not a part of it, and that was as good as it got.

“oh, how i wish i could honor a request for theatrics. alas, you have the right of it-- a demonstration will have to wait.” he was not going to call up a damned hamster in the face of ‘a summoning given flesh.’

looking at the city like this, leaning against the window sill with a glass of wine in hand, estinien can almost pretend he was back at eorzea, watching the nightly revelry of villages unfold from his vantage point up in whatever cliff he fancied camping at for the night. 

almost.

spirale certainly lacks the freedom eorzea offers to its wily wanderers. there is none of the shimmering blues of the rhotano sea, the towering trees of the east shroud, the dry heat of the sagolii desert or the expanse of white and biting cold of coerthas. even the garleans, whom are ever present with their warmongering and boasting a terrifying number of advanced weaponry, are nowhere in sight. a blessing of peace for the comfort of home, yet meant to confine than to protect — estinien could never feel at ease trapped like someone’s little bird. he has had enough playing the role of a puppet.

his thoughts are teetering to unpleasant memories when the door to his condominium opens, and estinien turns to find a young man heading straight to the kitchen, apparently inebriated enough to address him as princess of all available titles among the other things he started prattling about. “ have care, young man. not everyone appreciates a drunkard, a thief, and a trespasser visiting them this late in the eve. ” he says as he places his glass down on the table, sitting on the couch’s arm rest with his poor excuse of a lance within arm’s reach. 

one might argue that he’s being overly cautious, but while he could pardon the mistake made through the haze of intoxication, a man who knowingly steals and stays at one’s house without invitation can hardly be trusted to behave. still, he keeps his arms crossed, head tilted and eyes narrowed with nary a twitch to reach for his weapon. “ if you are done drinking someone else’s water, you are free to go. unless you would rather have a lance in your gut, i surely would not mind. ”

the mood in the room and the man attached to it was entirely too dour for mukuro’s tastes on the dourest of nights, but when he was intoxicated and having a good time it was downright inexcusable. “alright, tall dark and moody, you can, as the kids say, chill the fuck out.” he rolled his eyes and took another swig of water, eyeing the wine to see that he didn’t even have an excuse to be so uptight. drinking and still being pissy? what a waste.

“people are moving in and out so frequently and without warning, what does it matter if i don’t have this exact number assigned to me? what sense of privacy is there to protect? i’m not trying to get into your bedroom, you’re not that pretty.”