"Steeeeeelle~"

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

@celestial-sword-dance

Unprompted. Always accepting! | celestial-sword-dance

A cup of tea is offered to the merchant. It's steam is inviting but the color is a tad unusual. The dark, sickly green practically asks for a cartoonish skull and crossbones to be plastered on it. Sunday's smile creases the edges of his eyes for once. He isn't even trying to hide it.

"A coworker of mine introduced me to the flavor. It reminded me of you."

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Prompted | No longer Accepting @celestial-sword-dance

From where he sits, Luocha's eyes look impassively down at the cup offered to him. It certainly didn't take a silver spoon to detect whatever was going on in there, nor did the merchant think Sunday had any reason to hide his intent.

What a childish ploy.

But, he may as well have some fun.

Smiling serenely, Luocha lifts the cup to his nose, inhaling its scent as if it were nothing more than an ordinary brew. His posture remains picture perfect, retaining all the form of an elegant nobleman at afternoon tea. With all the leisure in the world, he takes in the herbal scent, mixed with a tinge of almond, before raising the cup to his lips and taking a long sip with verdant eyes closed.

There is not a hair out of place or even hint of a flinch as the poisoned liquid slides down his throat.

“Your colleague has intriguing taste, I must say,” the merchant hums, gliding off of his chair soundlessly as he makes his way towards Sunday with an all too innocent smile, poisoned teacup remaining within his dainty grasp. He moves with the grace of skater lazily drifting over ice, his tail coat fluttering seamlessly behind him. Pointed heel clicks resound in the air until he pauses directly in front of the winged man, leaning into the Halovian’s space until the only thing between them is their bated breaths, Sunday’s back crowded against the lip of the table.

Then, Luocha opens his eyes, the ethereal glow of Abundance glowing dangerously under golden lashes. His hair mocking angelic light.

“Care to reminisce in the flavor? It’s only polite, after all."

A gloved hand presses flat against Sunday’s chest, a warning, before pushing the grey haired man’s back flat against the table’s surface. Not a drop of tea is spilled from the teacup’s lip.

Looming over Sunday’s body, Luocha climbs over him, his knees splaying over the Halovian’s thighs with his impassive gaze unchanging. He only pauses when he’s able to drape the latter’s face in a silken curtain of gold, ensuring that the man’s eyes could wander no where but him.

Then, the blonde grips at Sunday’s jaw, forcing his mouth open with leathered fingers. Slowly, meticulously, he tips the cup so that honeyed liquid pours into the struggling man’s mouth. Some tea spills messily over the corners of his lips, however, there is a certain precision in Luocha’s movements that indicate that the mess was intentional.

“Oh? Come now, show me your faith and devotion to your Lord,” he coos so sweetly, running a gloved hand gently over the priest’s throat, massaging his larynx to encourage it to instinctively contract, “Surely in THEIR grace, you will find mercy."

The card is more tossed than handed to Ratio. Gallagher tuts sarcastically at his own results.

“Hate to disappoint, but I’m afraid I’m a bit more brawn than brain.”

@celestial-sword-dance

Ratio's Bingo. Closed. | @celestial-sword-dance

Silence follows as Ratio looks over the card with pursed lips. There is little for him to correct, he realizes. What a pleasant surprise. If he wrinkles his nose at the "meat eater" square being left blank, he hopes the bartender won't comment on it.

Yanqing had spent nearly a week sorting out his plan. He had given the order to the Cloud Knights, spoken to the Helm Master, and even had a discussion with Master Diviner Fu Xuan, who had been shockingly agreeable for once. Maybe taking over during the general’s recovery had finally knocked some respect into her. Regardless, everything was in motion, all that was left to do was actually, well, tell the general about it.

Yanqing shook his head and wrists, as if to physically shake the nerves off of him. He was a lieutenant, sure, but he rarely put forward actions without the general’s aid or supervision, let alone without his knowledge. As he closed in on the door to the general’s private quarters, he straightened his back, sucked some air into his chest, and prepared to stand his ground. He would leave no room for objection on the matter.

A quiet but assertive three-part knock announced his presence. When he received no immediate response, he opened the door anyway.

“General?” came the boy’s voice through the widening crack in the door.

After the events of 1.4. Unprompted. Always accepting!

It would seem as if Jing Yuan hadn't heard the boy's knocking. Yanqing would see for a split second, through the crack in the doorway, the general sitting by the window of his quarters with a knee drawn up to his chest. He was seemingly transfixed on a set of three rings held on a chain dangling from his fingers, expression unreadable.

Upon hearing Yanqing speak, though, he snapped his head towards the door, hastily tucking the chain back around his neck and out of sight. In a manner that was all too swift he straightened, his demeanor melting back into its usual relaxed state with an ease that could not have been unpracticed.