O, Canada!

☜ : Does your muse like to top?

    Why yes. Yes anon, she does. 

☌ : Would/does your muse have any special piercings anywhere? Would they get some?

    No, and no. For all that she doesn’t mind them on other people (and in fact, does like people with piercings a decent bit, actually) she’s not the kind who’d get any herself.

✿ : Has your muse ever had sex before?

      Of course, he couldn’t have known, given his country of origin, about the way that an Eisbock’s brewing made for a far stronger beer than average-- and that this particular brand’s alcohol content was higher even than sake. Chuckling warmly and more than a little mockingly, she raises her hand for another stein, looking at the miserable-seeming pirate across from her, chin leaned on her hand.                          “...though really, you probably shouldn’t have been trying to out-drink me                to begin with. If you knew what my family’s like, you’d have never tried.”      A grumble is all she gets in return and Maddie laughs softly, standing with only the barest of wobbles to betray her and moving to sit at the booth side of the table-- both for her own comfort and to give the approaching waitresses room to mover their empty steins before placing down another. Leaning back, she stretches her legs out, elbows on the back of the booth, and taps the pirate’s shoulder with the back of her hand.                          “Oh come on, it’s not that bad. I’m sure you’ve been drunker than this...”       Regardless of whether he has been or not, she’s certain it’s more the fact that shes not nearly as drunk as he is that has him in such a state. Maybe she should have warned him about how hard it could actually be to get a nation drunk, but...       Maybe she’d been more interested in taking him down a peg.      Sighing as the sulk continues though, she begins to feel a bit guilty because of his reaction, and prods him once again, leaning forward to sigh and fuss at him a bit, only to suddenly receive an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against a bare chest, nose squishing slightly and glasses being smeared by his skin.                           “Ain’t too bad at th’ drink for such a stuffy lass, are ya?”                         “Excuse me? I’m not stuffy!”       The word brings Alice to mind immediately, and though she loves her former guardian, feeling as if she’s being compared to her isn’t pleasing in the least. Jerking upright, she flashes him a glare that would be much more potent if she hadn’t swayed slightly upon righting herself, askew lenses making her glower that much less threatening. His arm still around her shoulders, the pirate booms one of those laughs that precludes his saying something incredibly stupid.       Rather than give that ‘something’ a chance to exist, instead her hands grasp the collar of that seemingly extraneous jacket of his and yanks him down as she gets her knees under her and pushes up.       Having been in the process of opening to speak, Motochika’s mouth is easy enough to gain access to, and she takes the advantage without hesitation, mouth moving greedily against his. His surprise is short-lived, however, and in less time than she’d like, Maddie feels an arm around her waist, her balance tipping precariously backward as he hauls her against him. Fingers travel from her waist to her thigh, sliding precariously upward, and her own fingers twist into pale hair, pulling jut a bit as she inhales sharply and presses her tongue forward more insistently.       It’s the waitress, hesitant-voiced and flustered that brings the nation back to her senses, and she jerks back from the pirate, tumbling back flat on her ass in the booth and hurriedly rushing to push down the only barely raised hem of her skirt, red-faced and equally embarrassed.       Getting to her feet, she slams down the money needed for their tab, and only then does she look up at Motochika, cheeks still crimson but expression impressively stoic.                          “Stuffy, eh?”      Whirling on her heel, she leaves him there as her composure breaks, pulling on her coat and pushing her face into her hand once she’s sure she’s well out of sight of the bar. Things like this are why she prefers drinking alone at home. 

      Hands rise to grip the young man’s cheeks, and though she would normally be more hesitant it’s a bit too close to ‘do or die’ for instinct not to kick any sort of hesitation right out of her. Slightly rough fingertips drag back and into his hair, and without much more warning than those four words, she promptly bowls him backward, mouth hot against his. Reaching up absently to tuck her glasses up onto the top of her head, she slips closer, pushing him further against the backs of the seats at an awkward diagonal, pushing a knee up between his legs. Slowly, her mouth moves against him, and as his hands finally come up to her shoulders in silent protest as the shock wears off, she hears ‘eesh, get a room’ from behind them as loud footsteps move toward one of the doors while the train slows to a stop. She gives it one second, two as the doors slip open, and then she parts from him with a gasp, knocking her glasses down into place to try and find her quarry once more.                         “Oh, dammit— Sorry, again! I’ll um, make it up to you sometime,                 sorry, bye!”      With a sheepish and red-cheeked wave, she slips between the train’s closing door to resume tailing that group of thugs in hopes of having something useful to report at the station in the morning.