MINGLE ∞ LOG — April 2026

[thediadem]

Mingle ∞ Log

Block Party

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Jump ⇅ :: Prompts

Introduction

As Pavilion folks continue to enter the Sanctum, the streets begin to grow more colorful. A little ways up from the Reef, and several blocks below the swankiest northern tip of the Sanctum, a block party breaks out entirely on a whim: someone sets out a table selling their (admittedly, looted) wares, others join in, and soon enough, a small street fair has emerged.

Nearby, a shuttered nightclub has opened its doors again, though not in the way you might think: its owners are long gone, meaning a bunch of people have simply set up inside, playing music and letting through anyone who wants in.

No IDs, no security, though there are a handful of Enforcers and other intimidating figures who might toss out someone spoiling their fun. Don't cause too much trouble, or you'll end up in jail for the night.

The block party and the club will happen at the start of April, and last for about a week or so.

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Prompts

The party takes up the entire block, so it's hard to miss even if you're not explicitly attending. Tables are primarily filled with clothing, books, bumper stickers, and handmade paintings. The nightclub itself is only across the street, so patrons of both are frequently crossing between the two areas during the evening. The street fair will give you a chance to find nicer clothes for club at a lower cost than usual. Even if you're not interested in clubbing, you can still gather a few pieces for a special occasion.

Nearby, a boombox intermittently blasts a jaunty little tune, which may be familiar to some and entirely foreign to others.

Street Fair

The street market is a fairly typical affair. You've got food, crafted goods, and other knickknacks sold on tables set up in tight aisles along the block. It's a good place to find cheaper items that boast the higher quality typical of the Sanctum. Sure, most of this stuff was stolen out of people's homes, but if you don't buy it, somebody else will. Besides, the wealthy folks can probably afford to replace a few watches, can't they? Don't forget, you can put your purchases on a tab so paying up on the spot isn't required.

• Dressing Up. If you plan on going to the club later (or just to a nice dinner), you'll probably want to look your best. Luckily, many of the clothes on sale are of a fancier variety, featuring cocktail dresses, slacks, button-up shirts, and polished shoes and heels. You can also purchase jewelry, perfume, and makeup. Sellers will advertise their wares as "from the Fringes." You can choose to believe that or not. If you aren't the fashionable type, perhaps you can get some advice from a friend. Alternatively, you can be someone's personal shopper to help them get ready for the evening party, a job interview, or a date.
• The Painter. At the end of the row, a man will offer to paint a portrait of you and a friend for the low price of what you're willing to pay. His work is beautiful and his disposition draws you in. If you agree, he will finish the painting with surprising speed, within minutes. The portrait is, at first, innocuous, but the next time you look at it, it will no longer feature you and your friend. Instead, it will feature whoever you and your companion most miss in your hearts. Their faces possess an eerie smile, as if they know something you do not. Perhaps it's best to burn this thing.
• Furry Patrons. A family of raccoons has decided to join the party. At night, they're especially difficult to spot aside from their glowing eyes behind some bushes or within the crowd. They'll sneak up to steal your plate of food, corner you with their fuzzy children and beg for scraps, or follow you relentlessly. Yes, even to the bathroom.

The Nightclub

Built on the bones of an industrial warehouse, the Onyx Lounge was abandoned a week before the riots. One day, the owner simply vanished. In hopes that he might return, no one in the Sanctum took it over, but it's clear by now he isn't coming back...and Pavilion residents don't have the same attachment to this man they've never met. As a result, they've filled the floors during the block party, taking turns DJing and serving drinks behind the bar.

Though the kitchen isn't operating, you can bring in food from the street fair outside and enjoy it with your drinks. The club is divided between the seated lounge areas and the larger dance floor. Without anyone to enforce VIP sections, you're free to sit and go where you want, and chat up strangers to your heart's content.

• Bartending. Since there's no official bartender, anybody can take on the job. Attendees have agreed on an unspoken rule to tip the bartender, seeing as there's no menu and no prices for any of the drinks. If you do a good job, or people simply find your charming, you can earn some cash for your "shift." You can leave whenever you like: eventually, somebody else will come around. At times when no bartender is available, you can help yourself. Or perhaps, that's exactly what you were doing when someone came up and ordered a drink? You can tell them you aren't working here, of course, but why not go along with it? Liquor stock is unpredictable. Get creative if you're out of an ingredient!
• Scaly Sips. Mixed in with the regular liquor are bottles brought back from a nearby diffusion zone. Glowing a vivid orange or pink, consuming drinks made of this stuff will cause you sprout colorful scales over your body in small patches. The more you consume, the more scales you grow. This is not the problem. The problem is that when the scales wear off, your skin itches terribly. The scales begin to loosen. Eventually, you're compelled to tear your scaly layer of skin off like a shedding snake. While not painful, the process is nonetheless alarming. But the skin beneath will be baby-smooth, at least.
• Roller Derby. Technically, the club is not a roller-skating rink. That hasn't stopped people from taking advantage of a pile of old skates found next door. Throughout the night, you'll run into inebriated individuals whizzing by at dangerous speeds. You, too, can join in on the fun by strapping some skates to your feet while downing several shots of tequila. Try not to run anyone over.

The Drunk Tank

In the Sanctum, becoming too rowdy in public will get you arrested quicker. You'll be dumped into a cell full of other troublemakers and drunkards like you. In the morning, a friend can come collect you and pay a 200 joolie fine in the morning (though officers may also accept liquor or other goodies in lieu of money), or you can scrounge up the money yourself. Your cellmates are likely to be other Pavilion fluxdrifts. They might annoy you, you might annoy them, or you might make a new friend by sunrise.

Overall, it's more of an inconvenience than anything, but you'll still have to put up with:

• The Bear. Having ventured up from the Pavilion, this giant of a man has gained a reputation for 1) getting tossed in here every weekend; and 2) his wall-shaking snores that seem to better deter troublemakers more than any threat of arrest does. Nobody wants to spend the night with him. He's rarely seen awake, cannot be budged while asleep, and wears mismatched socks featuring pancakes on one foot and tulips on the other. He stinks of booze and sweat.
• Rodents of unusual size. The shockwave has loosened the pipes and caused holes in the wall that rats have rapidly taken advantage of. Some are normal, but a few appear to have grown to the size of a small dog. It would be comical if they couldn't fit through the bars in your cell, but they can, and they have a taste for nibbling or licking exposed fingers (and toes, if those are out for some reason). Officers at the precinct are just as fed up with the rodents as their prisoners. Despite your predicament, you might get some entertainment out of watching them chase these wily creatures around.

Questions? Ask here

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Comments

MINGLE ∞ Questions

[thediadem]

If anything is unclear, please ask!

[anelli]

Hi! Are we able to get tables at the street market to sell "hand-crafted" wallets and other ill-gotten goods?

aria forzane | ffxiv

[recitations]

( cr meme comment. open & closed starters below. )

→ street fair ( open )

[recitations]

→ the painter

[ It's fascinating to see the party emerge overnight — part of making the Sanctum her home ( as much as "home" can be here ) means she stays in the city for longer than she normally would. Take long walks around the streets, for an hour or two or more, until her feet start to ache but she's got a little mental map of the buildings and the blocks in the vicinity. So — one night, she sees the little gathering of vendors selling knick-knacks. Picks up a silly looking paperweight more as a thanks for the conversation than anything. On her way back, the gathering's grown. By the time she makes a point to return the next night, it's a whole event.

And she really can't think of why she wouldn't want to stick around.

So. It doesn't matter who she was walking with when the painter calls them over — a familiar face or otherwise — there's a glance back at her companion before she engages. "A few minutes," he promises with a smile and a gesture towards the rest of his creations, "to make it a night to remember." She grins, and digs the joolies out from her pocket. ]

My treat.

[ a. ( ooc. open to new cr! i would prefer if existing cr checked with me before tagging this one, just because it can be a lil volatile — thank you! )

She's not expecting much, to be clear: not a commentary on the artist's abilities in the slightest, but more the fact that they're only standing around for the promised few minutes. Aria's not much of an artist herself, but — surely a painting takes more than 5 minutes to complete. Right?

The man hands them the painting face down. She flips it back around with a hint of a smile on her face — and it takes effort to keep the smile there. Her posture stays lax. The man standing next to her is at a full head and shoulders taller than her, but the resemblance is absolutely there. She can feel something in her chest twist.

There's only a beat's worth of hesitation before she holds the painting next to her companion's face. ]

— I don't think I see it. [ Weird!!!!! ]

[ b. Or, alternatively — they get the painting back. She's glancing over her ( new ) friend's shoulder to see how it turned out. Her brows furrow a little more immediately; that's not her. She's never seen the person in her life, which is every reason to be suspicious. She glances up at the painter. Then over to whoever's standing beside her. Her tail flicks, just a little. Hmm.

If they look even remotely rattled: ] Ready to go? [ Might be good time for an exit. ]

Giorno Giovanna | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

[anelli]

( Plotting Comment Here + open and closed starters below!)

Street Market; Selling ill-Gotten Wares

[anelli]

[Hey there! Have you just moved into the Sanctum and are looking to make your new home feel like home? Of course you are! That's why you're browsing the street market, right? Wedged between two tables manned by rather burly looking dudes is this smiley-teenager. His table looks well-thought out with his checkered pink tablecloth and little risers made from overturned cups to display his wares. Any shoppers that happen by are welcomed with a polite "ciao" followed with a "let me know if you have any questions. I'm open to offers on items too."

There's an array of items. Most of them appear to be expensive and slightly broken. Little watches with their hands broken off, or jewelry missing a clasp. Once purchased, if you take your eyes (and hands) off the item, they seem to 'mysteriously' vanish without a trace. There's also wallets and other assorted knick-knacks that appear in tact. These too seem to disappear out of their new owners pockets or bags. Leaving only the tiniest mouse-chewed hole, too large for the item to fit through but that hole wasn't there in the first place!!

There is also a small variety of live-plants for sale. They look healthy and well-taken care of but they'll shrivel up a day or two after you bring them home.

If you make him an offer, he'll likely agree to it. So go on, make him an offer! A name-brand watch for 10 joolies or a decorative cat statue for 25 joolies is quite a steal! Or maybe you're an unhappy customer who's come back to complain that the item is gone. Sorry. There's no refunds allowed buddy. It's not his fault you misplaced your item.]

((Feel free if you've been a previous pick-pocket victim of Giorno's to notice your now empty wallet on the table or maybe a small item if he did not steal your wallet. Please see Josuke's Top level if you are purchasing a broken item.))

david haller, legion

[unquiets]

( cr meme, cw + opt-out, powers + opt-in )

bartending, open.

[unquiets]

ONE.

( david doesn't really party, not like this, and he's here not because he wants to have a good time, per se, but because he's still new to the diadem. david's definition of a good time is, technically, quieter, more intimate — sure, the interior of the club isn't that different to the sort of spaces he's curated at home, but this isn't his.

he hasn't dressed up, not specifically — the (vertically) striped pants that finish at his ankles and the on-display (horizontally) striped socks (in wholly different colours to his pants) are what he usually chooses to wear, as are the boots; the oversized top is — well, it's not striped, at least, or patterned, so that's a win.

early on, he might be found behind the bar, mixing together a drink with the sort of indiscriminate efficiency that suggests a lack of interest in what and more of a familiarity with how (as in 'how quickly will this...'). it's not, as it turns out, for him — booze had primarily only ever been a vice for david as a teen and, mostly, when lacking in other options — and whatever it is ends up being a neon red. it's placed on the bar with a soft thunk, the sound of glass against wood muffled by condensation, and his fingers remain wrapped around the glass as he waits, expectantly, for payment.

his smile is soft, gently curved, and if he's left waiting too long, it'll be accompanied by a mildly disappointed, disapproving, )

Don't be a dick.

( does david look like a man who can hold his own in a scuffle? not especially. does that stop him from sliding the drink back towards himself and taking a sip when it becomes clear that payment is not forthcoming? also no. his gaze doesn't leave his quote-unquote customer, not for a moment. )

TWO.

( or perhaps you happen to be queueing at the bar when it's busier, and willing bartenders are few and far between. there would be a wait, but fortunately for you (or your position in the ill-defined queue), david presents you — and then the person next to you — with exactly the desired drink, without being asked for. isn't that convenient!

(how well it's made is a different matter entirely.)

it'll be offered with a, )

You need this.

( bookended by a smile that's sincere enough, albeit lightly conspiratorial, as if you're both in the same joke. he doesn't linger for a chat, though, although he does appear to lose patience with bartending very quickly. regardless of how many people are waiting, regardless of whether it seems like he could end up with a reasonable amount of joolies by the end of the night (or just by the end of 'longer than the amount of time he does commit to doing this'), he'll duck out to the other side of the bar without a word or warning.

as soon as he realises he's stood next to someone he's served, he'll gesture towards the drink and aks, )

How is it?

verso | clair obscur: expedition 33 | closed

[recreatable]

[ closed starters below, hmu at birdlaw or the cr meme for one!! ]

kimiko.

[recreatable]

Shadowheart | Baldur's Gate 3 | OTA

[sharranselunite]

[ Message me on plurk or discord @ theskyisnew if you want anything or reply below!]

OTA Prompts

[sharranselunite]

STREET FAIR

Shadowheart is in a good mood when she shows up at the street fair. She likes shopping, and most of her experience with it in the past is buying potions and scrolls, and sometimes new armor and weapons. But rarely something more casual. She has already secretly sold her stolen items she didn't want to keep, and some of them are in display where she can see them, smirking to herself as she goes by.

She can be found most frequently in the fashion area trying on clothes. Examples of what she seems interested are a bit futistic or classic. She is already shopping in something new that she 'found.' She seems to have no real problem swapping out her clothes right there, going down to her underwear, and then replacing it with the new look. Catch her looking at herself in the mirror, clearly pleased about what she sees, but tapping a finger to her lips. "What do you think?" she might ask a stranger. Not because she cares about their opinion so much as she thinks random ideas may be helpful.

On the same hand, if your character is trying out new clothes, Shadowheart might observe them from the side and offer advice. "That's not the right color for you," she says helpfully, or "I doubt you can walk in those heels." One might call them insults, she considers them useful honesty! She also tries on all the makeup, making her eyeshadow basically a rainbow of colors as she sees which ones she might want. Find her putting on new ones, perfecting her eyeliner, or trying new lipsticks.

She will try all kinds of food, some not so attractive as others. Shadowheart tries very hard not to be caught having a soft spot for the raccoons and feeding them and their babies willingly, but if someone calls her out, she'll huff and toss her braid over her shoulder. "It's so they'll stop stealing it from me."


THE NIGHTCLUB

Shadowheart approaches the nightclub feeling a few ways about it. She's picked a simple but pretty cocktail dress as white as her hair, along with heels, and she feels like attempting this is worth doing. But she hesitates outside of it, crossing her arms against her chest as she hears the beat inside. Maybe convince her to go in or chit chat outside the club.

Eventually she does go in, but Shadowheart doesn't go on the dance floor. She ends up getting a drink for herself and going somewhere to people watch. She can be found with her back against the wall with a martini in hand, observing people dancing, and you may be able to spot her foot occasionally tapping but nothing more than that. Maybe she needs to be invited to dance?

If you are bartending, she'll come up to the bar, looking contemplative. "What can you get me outside of ale or wine?"

furiosa | mad max

[imperatour]

[ dm me or hit me up on plurk beehaw to plot out anything specific! otherwise, open and closed prompts below. ]

open prompts.

[imperatour]

i. furry patrons

[ Have you ever seen a grown woman fight with a family of raccoons? Well, now is your chance. While her plate is set aside and Furiosa is briefly distracted, an opportunistic critter reaches his grubby hands up to the bench and pulls her plate off the bench it's perched on. ]

Hey!

[ She barks, her voice a loud, startling clap as she lunges at the creature. She grabs a fistful of his tail, yanking him up into the air. He swipes at her, feral and hissing, so naturally, she hisses back.

But these are very social raccoons, though. Hunt in pack raccoons. More creep out from the shadows, emboldened to defend their son/brother/cousin. And Furiosa is fierce, but she is one woman with one arm, her usual prosthetic still broken and in need of repairs. They circle her hissing, and as much as she stomps her feet or squares up like a big predator, they don't seem to be interested in yielding. This is a rescue mission now.

Of course, she can probably end this fight by just releasing the original raccoon, but that's a no-go now. ]

ii. the drunk tank

[ Apparently having a public brawl with a family of raccoons scares the Sanctum citizens and gets you arrested on suspicion of public intoxication. It's fine. This isn't her first night in jail. She keeps to herself, claiming a top bunk where she lays on top of the sheets with her eyes closed although apparently she is not sleeping. ]

Don't.

[ Don't what?? Just don't. ]

iii. wildcard

feel free to hit me with anything else here in the mingle or out and about in Panorama. Some options:

⚙️ At her apartment that she shares with Kimiko and Lucy
⚙️ At a motel in the blocks where she stays overnight with Frank.
⚙️ Sleeping in her car parked in a sheltered spot out of view.
⚙️ Running a garage in the scrapyard
⚙️ At the nightclub, likely being dragged along by a gaggle of incredibly pretty NPCs
⚙️ Getting a painting done for heartbreaking results
⚙️ Anything else your heart desires!

Jack Kline | Supernatural | OTA

[godjr]

[ Contact me on plurk or discord @ theskyisnew!]

Street Fair/Block Party

[godjr]

Jack is absolutely delighted to attend a block party, something he's never heard of but sounds very fun. There are a lot of people there, and he's recently moved to the Sanctum, so everything feels new and fresh. As per usual with Jack, he ends up with food stacked in his hands of all varieties, sometimes having a little too much to carry, and he might need help. He always seems to be chewing or sipping something as he goes around, wide eyes taking in what he can see.

He stops at the fashion area and frowns, reaching out to touch a button-up blue shirt. It reminds him of what he'd have to wear when he and his fathers' pretended to be FBI agents, although there are no fake suit jackets to go with it. Jack himself is casually dressed in jeans, a simple white shirt, and a flannel pull-over, so he doesn't look the type to dress up. Still, he lingers there, looking through the options, frowning contemplatively. "Do you need to dress up to go to the nightclub?" he asks someone unprompted, concerned.

At another point, Jack is looking through the makeup and jewelry, very serious as he looks at each piece and sets it back down. "Do you think this would look nice with red hair?" he'll ask the nearest person, picking up what is very gaudy and gold and not at all what someone would probably want. But he has no style. "It's for my mother. I don't know what jewelry or makeup to get her." Jack classically wants to get her something special.

Jack can be found later in the evening sitting on the ground, indifferent to if it's dirty, sharing some meat with a family of raccoons nearby. They sit close to him, unafraid, enjoying their treat.

nashua whelan | oc — closed.

[nashua]

( Open to PMs for plotting! But she's not going to be around that much longer so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

frank.

[nashua]

[ Wandering through the fairground streets, Nash pushes her sunglasses off her face and past her hairline, her curls shoved back as a consequence. She needs a haircut, probably; at home, it had been kept a tidy shoulder length, but in Panorama the choice was either cut it herself, go without, or drop a stupid amount of joolies on a task that would take ten minutes. For now, going without. Putting it off for later.

But the space between here and there has become thicker lately, more oppressive. Waking up and seeing in black and white for a few seconds. Sabine hovering more than usual, gentle and uncomfortably beautiful, an apology about the corners of her gaze. What does this have to do with a haircut? Nothing. Just that Nash's glad to be outside, warm; not alone, not having to examine any of this strangeness if she doesn't want to. Frank barely puts up an argument at all these days when she drags him places he doesn't strictly need to go.

Tearing a funnel cake in half, she offers him the larger piece. Murmurs, around a mouthful of warm pastry, ]

Did you know Matt's back? Guess he was just in Acreage this whole time.

[ There isn't any going home, after all. He was either dead, which he wasn't, or he was tucked away somewhere. Not that Nash sounds especially convinced by her own assertion. ]

Lu Feng | Little Mushroom | OTA

[lufeng]

Bartending
Lu Feng was not interested in clubbing. What he was trying to do was find some essentials for the apartment he was newly renting with An Zhe, and perhaps find some nice pieces of clothing to expand both of their wardrobes just a bit as well. What he was not prepared for was his stroll through the market to be interrupted by someone strong-arming him into taking her place at the bar while she got her way-too-dunk girlfriend home. Perhaps there was no designated bartender position, but this volunteer really, really wanted someone to hold the spot for her until she could get back.

Besides, the tips were good, and someone so handsome could definitely pull it off, even if he didn't have any experience, easy peasy! Of this, she seemed sure! (And even if he couldn't, all the better for her to make a triumphant return!)

So, here he was. A man who likely never had a drop of alcohol in his life. Behind the counter, coolly looking over the recipe cards tucked away on his side of the bar. Hm. Well. Okay. Cool green eyes met the thirsty patron coming up to the bar with an easy, "What will it be?"


wildcard
[Lu Feng may also be found partaking in such activities as:
Shopping for everyday necessities at the various tables
Sampling food being offered, even if it's a little weird
Dodging raccoons sorry guys he doesn't share his meals with animals
But outside of the above prompt his ass is not at the club
You can hit me up via pm or sandshrew if you want to plot something, or just throw something at me to roll with. I'll match styles if you want to do brackets instead of prose wink wonk]

bartending!

[randown]

[ Reggie was supposed to be done bartending.

That was the whole point of walking away from the bar. He had done his impromptu shift, played emergency mixologist for a room full of bad choices and flashing lights, and had every intention of spending the rest of the night as a civilian. Maybe with a drink. Maybe with enough distance from the counter that no one could ask him where the gin was.

Instead he circles back for exactly one reason, which is that the room feels wrong.

Not dangerous, necessarily. Just off by a degree. The kind of off you notice if you've spent enough years around stages and sets and corporate events where everybody had assigned positions and disaster usually started when one person wasn't where they were supposed to be. He looks behind the bar and, sure enough, that is not the same bartender situation he left.

Now there's a guy there who looks too composed for this to be going well and too unfamiliar for this to be routine, cool-eyed and reading recipe cards with the kind of focus people usually reserve for bomb disposal.

Reggie comes up to the bar and rests one forearm on it, looking him over with open, tired curiosity. ]

You know, I just got off this exact shift, so I'm saying this with love.

[ A beat. ]

You do not look like a man who should be holding the line between this crowd and liquor.

lottie person | snotgirl

[oomfies]

💵 1) 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒'𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓫𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼

[ Squeezed in between two peculiar looking stalls is a woman with hopes, dreams, and a pair of skinny jeans to rival the gods. Displayed tastefully around her is a portion of the collection she's amassed— both her personal pieces (more modern, mid-2010 co-ords and tops) versus things she's thrifted through her travels (yes, she's inventing DePop).


a) Are you bumming at her stall? Helping her? Or maybe the worker manning the little 'shop' beside her own?? She poses the same question regardless, nibbling the end of her own pencil in thought as she thumbs the corner of her notebook. ]

Hii! Sorry.. How do we find these people to make them pay?

[ You know, the tabs? ]

b) [ On that note— ] Stop moving!

[ Some of her older pieces she's trying to pawn are kind of, hm, sewn terribly. So how does she fix it, and make sure it fits well in person? You, silly! The spaghetti strap dress she's got you in fits snug, but feels a little uncomfortable. Is it the fabric? Or the fact she's trying to sew you in to fix the stretch? ]

Must. Stay. Still!

[ When she's not trying to do capitalism, she's walking through the alley, picking up things and buying or building up her tab. Feel free to say hi! Or optionally ask her to not stand so close to you. ]

🍶 2) 𝓃𝑜 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓭𝓸𝓸𝓻?!

[ Lottie doesn't club. But Lottie networks. This might as well be a new age influencer party, so after leaving her new interns to (maybe, unwisely?) man her stall, she gets ready* in the bathroom to go... Out. And she's out, alright— both in impractical heels and secured with the best boob tape a tab can buy.

For the most part, she spends the night tactfully approaching people (do you look smart, or good at numbers? Hot?? There she is!) and exchanging "business cards" (numbers), or sitting plainly by the bar on her phone (the iPhone, playing the same level of Candy Crush over and over because she can't load new ones). If she does see someone she knows, she'll wave. If she has your number, she'll go: ]

i see u! lol

🦝 3) 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂

[ There's a phone number written on the outside of the restroom door, the only one with a family of raccoons lingering directly outside of it. One number looks kind of smudged, but it's legible enough to be dialed, or messaged. Whichever one you do will be promptly answered with a trip to her voicemail and a frantic text. ]

help
please
ASAP

𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓭
[ or hit me with whatever! these are the only prompts i could come up with but i'm open to anything. if you want to plan anything in specific, i have a plotting comment over here. happy to write closed starters as well ❤️ ]

u know

[diametrically]

[ Despite popular belief, Cassian actually doesn't mind dressing up. He just either hadn't an opportunity to do so (a planet known for scrapping and salvaging doesn't really offer many opportunities to dress up the way a politician on Coruscant might) or didn't have the credits for it. Similar themes have followed here.

But that was before Lottie guilted him into showing off some of her "wares" though. Turns out ignoring their telepathic connection and bleeding black blood all over her car is enough for him to bend his usual rule about people not dressing him up. Thankfully Lottie had had startling foresight, dressing him in very tame, very normal black button down which had been enough to signal to others around him that he was going to be a bartender that evening.

It had been annoying at first. Until he started making some pretty decent tips. And he realized that it was a very good way to pick up gossip. At least it is as long as he ignores the buzz of his phone. To someone else that has slid up to the bar he nods at them. ]

What can I get you?

Josuke Higashikata | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

[kureijii]

Open & Closed prompts below. Plotting comment, akivili, or DMs if you have questions! Discord by request.
Josuke is currently playing host to our resident parasite and will be acting strangely, "talking to himself", and possibly pissier than usual!
blanket content warning: parasitism, possession

Street Fair—

[kureijii]

Broken Items limit to two strangers (plotting welcome!)
[ So you stopped by an pretty great looking stall earlier. A shame that some items were a bit broken - so often missing pieces – but quality items are hard to come by in the Diadem! Some of these things you think you can fix yourself, or maybe you were content with the state the item is in. Whatever the case, you decided to purchase it and stepped away from the stall. The blond is well out of sight by the time anything fishy can happen.

Careful when you do plan to set that item down. An astute person might notice a pulse of golden light catch their eye before the item zips off, "repaired" back to its missing parts. Seems like you have something of a chase ahead of you? Or, maybe all you catch is that the item disappeared, and a suspicious young man with a very flashy haircut passing by. Perhaps he saw what happened? It never hurts to ask, even if he doesn't look too friendly. ]

( open to getting caught, PVP, whatever – feel free to reach out to me for this one )

Fashion Disaster
[ Although Josuke was fortunate enough to pick up quite a lot of clothes from an interesting diffusion zone a few months back, he's already starting to feel like he doesn't quite fit into them right. He's still not great at the whole living-on-his-own thing, and figures his clothes must have shrunk in the drier. Can't really repair that. So he's out here, looking at the nice clothes that the Sanctum has to offer, wondering if any of these would look nice for a date. Er, not that he has a date coming up...! In his hands, you might notice he has a fetching button up and is trying it on over a tank top. Thoughts? He'd probably appreciate a second opinion, since he wants to impress someone.

If you're trying something out, Josuke might steal a curious peek at the outfit you have in hand. Or on your person! One way or another, he grins a little, feeling sociable, forgetting the bad day he's been having, and offers a nice compliment: ]

Hey, that outfit looks pretty great on you! — NOT!

[ Josuke slaps his hand over his mouth. CLARENCE, YOU ASSHOLE! Josuke turns pink as a peach. ]

a-train | the boys (tv)

[randown]

i. the street fair (shopping)

[ The thing about looted clothes is they always smell like somebody else's confidence.

He flips through a rack of jackets on the street, the damp spring air smelling of bad decisions and overpriced cologne. This whole block party feels like a funeral where everybody decided to raid the closets instead of burying the body. Silk shirts. Cufflinks. Watches that used to belong to people who thought a locked door meant something. A-Train knows the type. He used to be the type, or at least he used to get paid enough to rent the lifestyle.

He pulls out a jacket. He checks the lining. He shakes his head. It is strange, being back in a crowd that does not care he is in it. Strange, and loud, and lonely in the specific way only a party can be when nobody is asking you for anything. ]

You know, half this stuff is tailored for guys who skip leg day.

[ He says it to whoever happens to be browsing the rack next to him, his voice dry and casually critical. He shifts a hanger, dismisses a shirt that looks too much like something the Deep would wear to a club opening, and glances over.

There used to be people whose entire job was making him look right. Expensive enough. Casual enough. Heroic enough. The exact right sneaker for the exact right photo op. Now it's just him and a rack of looted button-downs and a city that does not care whether he knows what he's doing, which is good, because he mostly doesn't.

Still, the club is across the street and apparently the social rule here is that if you can look a little better than usual, you try. He stands there holding up a black jacket in one hand and a dark green shirt in the other, expression skeptical in the specific way of a man who has spent years in styling sessions and resented all of them.

If you're nearby, congratulations, you now have an opinion. ]

Be honest.

[ He lifts the jacket slightly. ]

Does this say "night out," or does this say "guy trying too hard at a nightclub he definitely cannot afford"?

[ A beat. ]

And if the answer is both, lie to me better. You having any luck, or are we just picking through the leftovers of a bad weekend?

—

ii. the street fair (the painter)

[ He makes the mistake of sitting down for a portrait. It seemed harmless enough. Fast, which he respects. Cheap, which he requires. But then the painter hands him the finished canvas and the air in his lungs turns to sand.

The picture is not of him. Not anymore. The face looking back at him from the canvas belongs to Popclaw. The faces in it are not strangers. They are the people absence has sharpened. Family. Maybe Nathan. Maybe his nephews. Maybe others, depending on the angle his grief takes when it gets dressed up. The smiles on their faces are wrong in the way dream-smiles are wrong. Too knowing. Too calm. Like they have gotten somewhere before he has. Whoever it is, they are smiling a smile that knows exactly where he goes to sleep at night.

He stares at it. The street noise fades out into a low ringing hum. When he finally speaks, his voice is terrifyingly flat, stripped of all performance. ]

Where did you get this.

[ He does not look up at the painter. He looks at anyone standing near him, holding the canvas so tight the wood frame creaks in his grip. ]

I said, where did this come from.

—

iii. the nightclub (bartending)

[ A club without a VIP section is just a room full of people waiting to realize they aren't special.

He stands behind the abandoned bar of the Onyx Lounge because standing behind a bar gives you a reason not to dance, and not dancing means not having to pretend you are having a good time. The music is loud, the floor is sticky, and the whole place has the frantic energy of people drinking stolen liquor to forget the world outside the door.

One minute he's just looking at the bottles and the next somebody has ordered a drink from him and put money in front of him like this was inevitable. He could correct them, probably. Could say he's not on shift, not employed, not qualified, not emotionally prepared. Instead he shrugs, grabs the nearest rag, and leans into it because debt is debt even on another planet and because there is something darkly funny about this version of his life.

The bar is stocked in the unpredictable way everything here is. Real liquor. Weird diffusion-zone liquor. Bottles with labels he recognizes and bottles that look like they were named by somebody hallucinating in neon. The music is loud enough to turn all decisions into medium-bad decisions. He is making drinks based mostly on instinct and public confidence, which if he's honest is how he's made most things in his life work.

He lines up three mismatched glasses on the counter. He is not a bartender. He has never poured his own drink in a club in his life. But he knows how to hustle, and apparently in Panorama, looking like you belong behind a bar is the only qualification required to charge people money.

He slides a drink across the counter. It glows a faint and radioactive pink. He does not know what is in it. He does not want to know. ]

That's fifty. Or whatever we're doing here.

[ He leans his elbows on the bar, watching the crowd. The old instinct to scan for cameras, for Ashley, for anyone clocking his behavior is still there, a phantom limb twitching in a room where nobody gives a shit. It makes him restless. ]

I'm gonna be honest with you. I don't know what I just poured. If you start glowing, that's on you.

[ He taps his fingers against the wood, a rapid and uneven rhythm. His gaze tracks over the crowd, catching on someone adjusting their collar, someone laughing too loud. ]

Just know that if this goes badly, I was never officially behind this bar.

—

iv. the nightclub (roller derby)

[ This is offensive in a very particular way.

Not the skates themselves. Fine. Whatever. People want wheels on their feet and bad ideas in their bloodstream, that is not his business. What gets him is the speed of it all. The fake speed. The sloppy approximation. Drunk people lurching past on old skates like momentum is something you can bluff your way into. Somebody clips a chair and nearly eats floor and still comes up laughing like they touched greatness for half a second.

A-Train watches from the edge of the dance floor with a drink in his hand and annoyance working through him in little neat circles.

Because he could do this. Easily. Better than any of them. That's the insult. He could lace up, get out there, thread through every body in the room and never spill a drop. He could blur through this room, cut between these drunk idiots, spin the floor into a smear of neon and noise. He knows he could. The heart in his chest beats steady and strong, a stolen engine that works perfectly. The problem is not whether he can. The problem is that he can't do it the way his body remembers wanting to. Not really. Not all the way.

He can be fast, yes. Very fast. Faster than everyone here by enough to make it absurd. But not the old fast. Not the kind that made him feel like the world was standing still on purpose just so he could pass through it. Every time he reaches toward that version of himself now there's the cost waiting behind it. Heart. Breath. Warning signs. The body keeping score.

He could put them on. But he also knows that every time he pushes it, he is reminding himself of what it cost to get it. And out here, on a planet where the roads do not care how fast you run because they go nowhere anyway, speed feels less like a superpower and more like a habit he is trying to quit. He drops the skates on the table with a clatter. ]

Nah.

[ He watches a guy wipe out spectacularly near the bar, sliding ten feet on his chest through spilled alcohol. Reggie's mouth twitches. Not a smile, exactly, but close. He looks at whoever is sitting near him, or whoever just offered him a pair of skates. ]

You go ahead. I spent too much of my life moving fast for other people's entertainment.

[ He leans back against the cracked leather of the booth, crossing his arms. The neon lights wash over his face, turning the shadows sharp. ]

Besides. You get out there, you're just asking to get your ankles taken out by somebody who's three shots deep and doesn't know how to brake.

[ He watches the chaos on the floor, the reckless and stupid joy of it. ]

I hate watching people do a thing badly when I know I could do it better.

[ Another skater nearly takes out a table. He winces. ]

This whole thing is stressing me out.

—

v. furry patrons

[ The raccoons have selected him.

There is no reason for this that he can identify, unless this city has developed a direct pipeline between cosmic horror and public humiliation. He has food, yes, but so does everybody else. Yet here they are. One at his feet, one near the bushes pretending not to be involved, three smaller ones moving with the organized confidence of a crew that has done this before.

He notices the eyes first. Little reflective points in the dark, blinking from impossible places. Then one of them stands up with tiny hands raised like a witness in court and he realizes, with a fatigue so pure it almost circles back to admiration, that he is being extorted by wildlife.

The plate in his hand is suddenly a contested resource. One baby raccoon makes a move for his pant leg. He stares down at it like this is a negotiation between equals. It is not. ]

Are you serious right now?

[ To the raccoons. To God. To whoever is unfortunate enough to be nearby. ]

I have been mugged by humans with less coordination than this.

[ He lifts the plate a little higher. One of the adults follows the motion with its whole body like this is choreography. ]

Someone come get these furry criminals.

vi. the drunk tank

[ This is it. This is the bottom.

Not the day he got kicked out of the Seven. Not the day his heart stopped. Not the day he dragged a man to death on the asphalt. No, the bottom is right here, sitting on a cold concrete bench in a Sanctum holding cell, listening to a man who smells like a brewery and snores like a chainsaw, while a rat the size of a beagle tries to maintain eye contact with him through the bars.

He does not even remember how he got here. A misunderstanding. A shoved shoulder. An Enforcer who did not like his tone. It does not matter. What matters is that A-Train, former fastest man in the world, is currently sharing a cage with a rodent that looks like it knows jiu-jitsu.

He shifts on the bench. The snoring man in the corner inhales with a sound like a dying tractor. The rat at the bars twitches its whiskers. Reggie stares at the rat. The rat stares back. ]

If you come in here, I will kick you through the ceiling.

[ He says it conversationally, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard over the snoring. He is not sure if he is talking to the rat or to the conscious person sharing his cell. ]

I'm serious. I don't care how big you are. You cross that line, it's over.

[ He leans his head back against the concrete wall, closing his eyes for a second. The indignity of it sits heavy and sour in his throat. ]

Somebody tell me this isn't real. Tell me I'm hallucinating. Because if I actually got locked up in a zoo exhibit with a guy who sleeps in breakfast-themed socks, I'm gonna need a minute to reconsider my life choices.

[ He opens one eye, looking at his cellmate. ]

How much is the fine? Because whatever it is, I don't have it, and if we don't figure a way out of here before this rat figures out how to pick a lock, we're gonna have a problem.

[ ooc: hello I'm Abbey and I need to learn how to stop typing. I'm working on getting everything up but info here! ]

Shopping the street market

[lastdecember]

[ The man next to A-Train is wearing a black suit that’s definitely seen better days. Sharp eyes will notice that the whole thing seems to be one big repair, as if it was put through a blender then stitched back together again – and okay, the repair work is neatly done, but still. That’s a lot of patchwork for a boring black suit.

And, given that the formerly white button-down he’s wearing beneath that tattered suit shows signs of old blood stains, it’s no wonder he’s shopping the same rack A-Train is. He just needs a plain white dress shirt that’s big enough for his shoulders, and so far he’s coming up empty.

No, worse than empty. He’s coming up with a peacocking chatterbox. The look he turns in A-Train’s direction isn’t cruel by any stretch, but it’s sure not friendly either. ]

Try third son of a second-rate gangster.

[ Why are all the shirts in his size so damn colorful?! There’s no way in hell he’s wearing a floral print but so far, that’s the only one that looks anywhere big enough to fit. So he’s got the offending item in hand, just in case nothing else turns up – he has to wear a shirt under his jacket, there’s no two ways about it – but please, if anyone up there is listening, how about something in white? Or even just a solid color? ]

bruno bucciarati — jjba

[guccibag]

‣ plotting ‣ inbox

‣ contact — pinkwestwood @ discord | fuels

open starters below | wildcards welcome

— block party (nightclub)

[guccibag]

cw: death mentions, jjba: golden wind spoilers

( all of his life bruno had been quite restrained with his actions, how he responded to things with only his little expressions here and there showcasing all the thoughts he had. it wasn't until he met his death that he felt more at liberty to express his true thoughts and emotions without any restraint, parting his remaining soldatos and giorno specifically with powerful and emotional parting words.

now that he had time to settle into this new 'after-life' for himself, he could finally confront the heaviness that came with being given a second chance. he knew in his heart this couldn't be forever, it just didn't make sense, but he'd take advantage when and where he could to just exist. no working for his own personal goals in the mafia, no need for money, no need to survive. he'll just enjoy these small moments of pleasure where and when he could— places where everyone else was behaving similarly, as to not stand out.

unfortunately his appearance made him stand out in this abandoned nightclub, being run by anyone with access to music. at six feet tall and a neatly press designer suit on him, he seemed rather odd being one of the few people actually dancing to the music. in fact anyone who came near him would be playfully roped in by him waving his hand as if he had a lasso, and 'tugging' them towards him. )

Come on now, let loose a little. Have a dance with me, would you, partner?

( with his cool and confident voice, how could anyone say no? )

Guy Cecil | Tales of the Abyss

[akisazame]

( open & closed starters below! plotting comment )

[akisazame]

1. LIVING IT UP - STREET FAIR

[Redistribution of goods always makes a good excuse to party. Guy ought to know, having scrounged around Sanctum's abandoned buildings to score a few extra joolies. Times are tough, he's got debt to pay off, and he'd like to get started sooner rather than later... but hey, having a little fun isn't beyond him. It's been a long, long week, after all. Still, work comes first.]

A - DRESSING UP
[If there's one thing Guy knows, it's that partygoers of all stations love to look good. The styles of Panorama are distinct from Auldrant's but just as colorful. He's buddied up with one of the stall owners, schmoozing his way into a temporary gig as an assistant. Guy's dressed up a bit -- after all, you wouldn't trust someone who wasn't well-dressed to give you advice, right?

He had suggested placing a full-length mirror near the stall's front, so customers can try things on at their leisure. If you happen to be checking yourself out, Guy will appear in the silent, sudden, and friendly way all customer service employees have mastered.]

Hey, looking good! [He winks.] You planning to hit up the Lounge in that?

B - DRESSING UP, DISASTER
[Raccoons.

They're determined and relentless in the way all small mammals fighting for survival are. Unfortunately, someone scattered their fries beneath the clothing racks. Guy's temporary employer shrugged and said something about his back hurting too much, so go ahead upstart. Take care of the problem yourself.

So here Guy is: armed with a broom, sweeping and smacking at the furry intruders. Only -- one of the raccoons clings onto his broom's bristles, chittering.]

You've got to be kidding me.

[He mutters, winds up the broom, and--

--ah. The raccoon goes flying with a squeal as gravitational forces weaken its grasp. Hopefully it doesn't land on you?]

2. OOGIE BOOGIE WOOGIE - THE NIGHTCLUB

[Music is far, far different here. It's to be expected when you mix in a bunch of drifters from other worlds. Guy can't say he's opposed to the songs being played -- they've got a good rhythm and the lyrics are fun.

His stint at the street fair finished thanks to the raccoons, Guy transitions to the nightclub mid-week.]

A - WHAT'LL IT BE?
[No bartender? No problem. Guy spends the first few hours shadowing people who know what to do. Do you happen to be one of them? If so, he'll approach with a friendly smile and a wave.]

You need an extra hand?

[Let him partake in those sweet, sweet tips too, buddy.

Once he's found his footing, Guy will spend most of the night bartending. He's more than happy to deliver drinks with a host club's charm, should you like personalized service. He'll also be more than happy to make whatever you request, though he'll warn you good-naturedly:]

Nothing's organized back here. Whatever you get is whatever we've got on hand.

[He glances over at some of the glowing bottles, then back at you.]

I won't give you anything I haven't tried.

[Unless you ask, is the implication.]

B - MUSIC MAKES THE WORLD GO ROUND
[Guy finally takes some time for himself when the night begins to wind down and the partygoers start straggling back. He's chatting up with the DJ and, with some convincing, has been allowed the illustrious privilege of inspecting his set up. Guy's practically sparkling as he examines every inch of the deck. In his enthusiasm, he accidentally hits a button, causing the speakers to erupt into a soulful chorus.

AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII--]

Sorry!

[He's trying to turn it off! Can you even hear him?

WILL ALWAYS, LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU--]

C - ZOOM ZOOM
[Again, towards the end of each night, Guy will allow himself a bit of fun. With some digging, he finds a pair of skates that fit him. He rolls back and forth, awkward at first, but finds his confidence quickly. Round and round he spins on the near-empty floor. He'll attempt to jump -- and when he lands it, his face lights up. It's easy to forget his worries on the skates, with the world passing by in bright and dark blurs. For a moment, all he needs to focus on is his body: the angle he needs to tilt into, the momentum he has to build up to the leap.

He's enjoying himself so much, in fact, he almost forgets that he isn't the only one.

Almost.]

Coming through!

[Guy will pass by you with a graceful jump. Immediately, he spins back around to check the damage. You good???]

Aglaea | Honkai: Star Rail

[ofgoldenthread]

Open & Closed prompts below. Plotting comment, akivili, or DMs if you have questions! Discord by request.
Empathic Telepathy Info & Soul Seeing Opt-in/out

Street Fair—

[ofgoldenthread]

Flyers
[ The streets are lively, the shopping is cheap, and as you're moving from one stall to another, a woman happens to approach you. She is elegant and dressed nicely for a casual outing. Her smile is soft and meaningless. If you look closer, her eyes seem not to work as she stares past you. Although her threads tell her how much everyone hates being approached like this, she will do as she ever has, relentlessly pursuing her own objectives: promoting her business. ]

Hello, have you interest in a luxury bathing experience?

[ She holds out a flyer - although it's not much of a flyer by our modern senses. Clean text, decent typographical hierarchy set on a thin, semi-glossy sheet of paper. It announces the grand opening of Mnestia's Baths, with a date and some services it will provide. In addition to the future grand opening, there is also a Opportunity for Work & Payment printed here as well, including a list of unusual prompts to gather. As featured on the forum it notes at the bottom.

Despite how brazenly she approached, she is not likely to insist anyone engage with her beyond the initial offer of a flyer. ]

Picture Imperfect for established CR
[ Aglaea has been admiring the painter's work for some time now (at a distance, as is her want) and eventually decides that a painting would be just the thing to compliment the bathhouse she is about to open. She could always use more decoration! She is also very good at finding her friends, so if you happen to be at this block party as well, Aglaea searches you out to offer an invitation to have a portrait made together. ] His work is fairly quick, if you don't mind a little sitting.

[ Perhaps we've skated past introductions and gone straight to sitting for the portrait, where Aglaea will gladly have a small conversation with whomever she sits with. It's entirely possible that she didn't like your outfit for the picture's eventual composition, too, and decided to offer to buy you something new for the portrait, if you do not mind her picking something out! She always seems to have a flair for fashion.

At last, the portrait is finished, and can be admired in its (nearly) completed state. However, eventually that portrait will shift, and in the place of Aglaea, features a pesky fish, a certain kitten, or a beloved mentor – although who appears may depend on the sort of person who has taken your place in the portrait. ]

John Doe | Malevolent (podcast)

[godfragment]

((OOC: Various open prompts below, or hit me up via brightflowers or PM if you want a custom starter!))

Block party

[godfragment]

i. wallflowering

[It's the first time John has stepped beyond his attic since the incident during the blackout, and confidence is not the word for what he feels. But Jack had been persuasive - you have to come out sometime - and, against his better judgment, John had listened. So he stays close at first, a dark presence at Jack's shoulder, reluctant to drift too far from someone familiar.

He does wander eventually, though.

He keeps to the edges of the street fair, where the lights dim and the music softens into something almost distant. His tendrils move in slow, restless patterns as he watches others pass between stalls and doorways with an ease he hasn't yet relearned, something tight and leashed beneath the surface of him. If approached, he might respond... or even startle.

Later, he's found among the quieter stalls.

Books draw him in first, with their old bindings, worn spines, pages edged with age. He turns them with surprising care, lingering over the weight of them, the texture, the faint scent of paper and ink. Finds something grounding in their familiarity. Trinkets catch his attention too: odd little things, metal charms, glass that catch the light just so. He turns them between long, six-fingered hands, studying them as though they might reveal something if only he looks long enough.]

ii. the painter

[He notices the painter long before the painter notices him.

There's something in the rhythm of it-- the too-quick strokes, the way the man's focus seems to slip through his subjects rather than settle on them. John lingers at the edge of the stall, watching with a quiet, intent stillness. When the call comes - light, inviting, effortless in its pull - John's attention sharpens.

You there! A portrait of you and your friend?

Whether its someone hw knows, or whoever happens to be nearest, finds his gaze settling on them, golden and bright in the low light. His tendrils lift about his face, curl faintly in an expression of alien uncertainty.]

Shall we?

[His resonant voice is edged with something almost like curiosity. A beat, then, more certain-- ]

I can pay.

iii. an unintended gathering

[At first, it’s just a feeling. A subtle persistence at the edges of his awareness-- movement that doesn't disperse when he stills, presence that lingers when it should thin out into the crowd. John slows, then stops outright, gaze cutting downward as shapes slip between shadows, small bodies weaving with quiet, deliberate intent.

Some kind of furry creatures. Several of them. He stares, the glow of his gaze intent, but they don't scatter. A flicker of irritation surfaces then, quick and unpolished. One of his tentacles lashes out-- not with the intention to strike, but snapping through the air in a sharp, warning arc as if to shoo the creatures back.]

Fuck off. Stop following me.

[They do not. If anything, they edge closer. One bold enough to step fully into the light, head tipped up, watching him with unsettling focus. Tentacles shift uncertainly against the pavement as he watches it, then glances up toward anyone nearby, anyone who might be witnessing this, with a look that lands somewhere between baffled and faintly accusatory.]

Why is this happening?

[Or--

At some point, the tension bleeds out of him-- not all at once, but in increments, irritation giving way to a kind of reluctant acceptance. Rather than continue the futile effort of evasion, John lowers himself to the ground in a loose, unstructured motion, tentacles coiling and layering beneath and around him in a rough facsimile of sitting.

The food he'd been holding is distributed in uneven portions, tendrils adjusting clumsily to avoid startling them, movements slowed and careful. One of the creatures approaches, climbs him, settles on his shoulder-- a small weight pressing lightly there. His head tilts, just slightly, as though trying to look at it without dislodging it.

Anyone passing by might pause - amused, confused, or drawn in despite themselves - to the quiet, peculiar scene: an eldritch thing seated on the pavement, attended by a small, insistent court of scavengers.

iv. wildcard!!

[Hit me with a combo of things from above, or anything you can think of!! He's around and I'm open to CR of all kinds.]

Laura (X-23) | XMCU

[valle]

( open starters to follow; hit me on plurk at paingravy or righteously on disco for anything! )

𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟

[valle]

Dressing Up

( She wanders through the clothing racks pretty idly, clacking coat hangers together as she combs through various outfits. It's her personal mission, it seems, to find the ugliest, gaudiest, most Hunger Games Wealthy Capitol Patron attire she can find, mainly for her own amusement. When her sights land on a tiger-striped cocktail dress trimmed with shiny black feathers around the neckline, she holds it up to the nearest person beside her as though critically assessing whether or not it would look good on them.

Ultimately, decisively, she declares: )

Pretty sure it's your size.

Furry Patrons

( She could smell them well before she could see them — adorable little masked bandits that keep edging toward unsuspecting civilians that aren't diligent enough about guarding their plates. More than anything, she finds it amusing — so when one begins to creep up on her, she instead slowly lowers herself down into a crouch and starts holding out little nibbles for them.

The creatures are tentative at first, warily scooching closer, only to snatch a french fry from her fingers and bolt back a dozen yards again... until about the fifth or sixth time, when they begin to grow more bold, and linger longer.

Soon enough, there are about a half dozen chunky trash pandas all scrambling about in front of her, fighting over the scraps she keeps holding out, much to her apparent delight. )

julie kostenko || dead by daylight

[friendzied]

furry patrons

[ it's a simple scene; a girl sitting on a bench with a group of four raccoons, surprisingly well behaved, or at least seemingly so. they each take a bit of food when she offers it out and hunker down to eat. ]

[ maybe you happen on her during this disarmingly sweet scene, or maybe it's when one gets bold and grabs her plate while she's distracted by something happening way off-- ] Hey! You little shit! [ and she gets up and runs after it. that's hers! ]

roller derby

[ so here's a fun fact about julie. she used to play hockey and got pulled up a lot for being too aggressive. "girls don't fight" the coach would say, and then next week she'd do it again. so after a few drinks, watching people whizz around on skates fills her with enough nostalgia (and enough ego) to make her join in. ]

[ it takes her a few go arounds to first get used to the skates (they're different to ice skates, who knew) and get to grips with the rules — not that everyone cares about those — and starts moving. probably fast enough to be a jammer, but this isn't organised enough for that, and julie's far too aggressive for that shit. ]

[ she moves confidently, jumping over the leg of someone who's fallen over or crashing into somebody to take them out. not that she doesn't also take hits, but it doesn't slow her down. it shows afterward though, sweaty, blood on her teeth, a bruise forming on her cheek. good times. ]

wildcard!

[ whatever you fancy. hmu on plurk or discord or at my plotting comment if you wanna talk something out first.

i didn't write prompts but she can almost certainly be found drinking and partying, or in the drunk tank at one point or another. ]

Sitting with raccoons

[godjr]

[ Jack went to get food specifically to feed to the raccoons. They've been following him around with attentive, hopeful little faces, and he has no shield against it. He was sitting with them earlier feeding them snacks, and it looks like they have a new friend doing the same thing. He smiles at Julie, waving a hand in greeting, before he sits down on the ground a respectful distance across from her. The fact it's on the ground doesn't seem to bother him, rather than on a bench of obvious other place to sit.

He simply sets down the plate of meat and fruit to the ground so they can descend upon it, happy to have more than one person indulging their very clever manipulation. Jack crosses his legs underneath him. He's an unassuming and average young man, vaguely looking around eighteen.]

So they had more than one food supplier, I see. Very smart of them.

livio the doublefang | trigun maximum

[crimebaby]

[ cr comment here! ]

[ this top level will be for closed starters, however, if you would like to do something, tap me on the cr meme or respond here for a custom starter! ]

sad self-healing sacks society (verso & logan)

[crimebaby]

[ well, it's not much of a club start. but livio figures he should introduce at least one person who self-heals to verso. not only that, but logan's helped him out before. he doesn't know verso very well, but his inkling is that verso is sad, like every semi or fully immortal people he knows. he's pretty sure logan is, too. ]

[ his true age being young, livio doesn't understand and can't understand the pain of being alive while watching everyone you care about die around you, but his heart goes out to those who are, anyway. he doesn't know much about how verso's healing works, but logan let livio know that he wasn't alone multiple times. surely he can do the same. ]

[ he calls them both to a small restaurant tucked away in panorama, a real hole-in-the-wall kind of pizza place (but with good pizza). this time he won't jump out the window, but he waits for them both to arrive. he mentioned to both men he wanted them to meet a friend of his, so no surprises there ]

I'll pay for yer meals, since I set this up...

[ is the first thing he says when they arrive ]

gustave / expedition 33

[9999]

dressing up

[ He's adjusting to the not-so-communal society here in Panorama, more akin to the Gestrals and their Chroma-bartering than anything, and, considering the inconsistency of his current diet of odd jobs and the apparent instability of the area as a whole, Gustave has decided to pinch his proverbial pennies. No frivolous spending. Who knows when he'll need that backup cash? And that's not even mentioning the whole debt thing. Times are tough, and Gustave is a low-maintenance man... mostly.

The one thing he's always tried to keep up is his appearance. Expeditioners (and perhaps especially engineers) are known for being oddballs with their heads in the clouds; Gustave has always been determined to remain well-groomed and well-dressed in defiance of that. Doing that here has been... difficult, and he feels, well, sloppy. Being from a culture where mostly everyone dresses in suits and skirts doesn't help. All this leads to Gustave, hovering in front of a stall of dubiously-obtained formal wear at prices that only make them more dubious, brow deeply furrowed as he gazes at a nice, inoffensive suit jacket. He has his chin in one hand, finger tapping away at his beard in thought. Eventually, he shakes his head and says no to himself, pacing away... only to stop in front of another suit jacket, or perhaps a nice pair of shoes, moments later. This pattern keeps repeating.

Help him. ]

onyx lounge

[ Curiosity eventually compels him to enter the nightclub - though he almost immediately feels out of place within it. This was never his scene. When he'd appear at parties like this, it would be as part of a group of friends who most likely cajoled him into coming along. There, he'd inevitably get coaxed into drinking a little too much, singing something embarrassing, waking up the next day with a headache and good (albeit spotty) memories.

Every single one of those friends is dead now.

Maybe he owes it to them to have a drink on their behalf, then. Or maybe he's kidding himself and finding excuses to numb his own misery. His half-hearted quest leads him to the bar, eventually, perhaps more out of a desire to escape the crowd than an actual desire to drink. Is there even a bartender?? With how haphazard things are, he's not sure at the moment. It's fine; the glowing bottles behind the counter distract him fairly quickly, and he stares at them with palpable skepticism. ]

... Those aren't for people to drink, are they?

[ whether you're the "bartender" or a fellow patron(?), Gustave is clearly hoping for an explanation here. ]

c. wildcard

[ ooc: anything else goes here! Gustave will only be lurking around the nightclub for a little while before he leaves; he'll be mostly perusing the street fair stalls. I'm up to almost anything, but DM me if you want to check first. Talk him into getting his picture painted! He's avoiding that one because it brings up bad memories! Surely they won't get worse! ]

Onyx Lounge

[sharranselunite]

[ Shadowheart worked temporarily at a bar, and still picks up a shift or there as she pays back the loan for that ridiculous vehicle, so she's not terrible at it. But she's far from a professional. She's comfortable enough to try for some tips while she's there, and it keeps here away from the discomfort of the dance floor. She'll eventually end up against the wall people watching, and for now, she can just do that from the bar.

Harry gave her some advice, so she at least focuses on the man who is talking to her, sliding her silver braid from one shoulder to her back. She's wearing a white cocktail dress to suit the dressier night. A glance behind her back notes the glowing bottles, and she shrugs, picking one up to look at.]

They're back here, they must be. It might have a spell on it, it doesn't look natural.

[ At least she doesn't remember seeing any of these at her bar. Green eyes study him and she arches an eyebrow.]

Want to give it a go?

annie january ✨ the boys

[glowsup]

the nightclub ✨ bartending ✨

[glowsup]

The bar isn’t quiet, there's pulsing music and laughing, gyrating people all around her, but it's not quite loud enough to drown out all her thoughts either.

That’s the problem.

Annie finds herself sitting hunched slightly the bartop, sneakered feet hooked into the rungs of her stool. She hadn't bothered to dress up, hadn't bothered to change out of jeans, a t-shirt, and a zip up hoodie. The drink she's got in front of her is something simple, strong, something poured by whoever had taken point on tending bar when she'd ordered it. And she's been nursing it between her hands for long enough that it's just as much water as booze, the ice mostly melted.

She's not sure how she ended up here -- in the Diadem, not this bar --, isn't sure if there's any way back. And if she didn't have people back home who were counting on her, she's not so sure she'd want to go back.

But that's a non-starter, because there are people back home who need her, that she's worried -- scratch that, terrified -- for. She can see it written all over her expression when she glances up and sees herself in the mirror behind the liquor shelves.

Clearly, coming to drink away her sorrows at a place where people had come to have fun was a mistake.

Her fingers tighten slightly around the glass before she finally takes a longer sip from her watered-down drink, realizing there's someone watching her, maybe in drunken interest, maybe because she's got such a sour look on her face when she should be out there dancing. Maybe because they're bored. Maybe something else entirely.

Annie sets the glass down a little harder than she means to, the sound sharp against the din around her.

Then, without turning, she adds, pointedly:

“So. You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna offer to buy me a drink?”

maelle | clair obscur: expedition 33

[backburners]

( cr/plotting comment here! feel free to poke me through pms if you'd like something closed or tailored 😌 )

street fair, open!

[backburners]

I. dusty puppy thursday

[ Clothes have been low on the priority list of items to acquire since her getting here — perhaps obvious in the way she's still decked out in her undeniably starchy and some degree of smelly expedition uniform. Maybe you can even see how tattered and grody it looks from nearby...

This also means, however, when the block party gets rolling and there are clothes on sale of a higher quality than have been available in the few days since her arrival, she ends up loitering around them awkwardly, pawing through the racks with put upon disinterest. It doesn't help that she's never really gone shopping for clothes before in this particular manner — she hasn't the first clue about what would be a good idea to get, other than so long as it clears the first hurdle of "comfortable," and the second hurdle of "easy to move in." Occasionally, you might see her eyes turn the size of dinner plates when she sees a joolie price tag, even though these are discounted prices... poor alert!!!!!

Or, you can find her making light of and sarcastically judging the items on offer (rather than be genuine about looking for something suitable). She might hold up a dress shirt of the Guy Fieri flavor, eblazoned with flames on either side, to a fellow customer at the same rack as her, huffing out a cynical noise. ]

Is this the kind of thing you're looking for?

II. bumper stickers

[ Even less important than finding clothes is finding a cool sticker for her car. There are some semi-functional ones, like those that say BE PATIENT — STUDENT DRIVER with a yellow caution sign on it, but then there are those that say things like I BRAKE FOR MILFS, too. And yeah, some of them get her to crack a smile... but if she sees someone actually purchasing one? She can't help but give them a quirked brow, no matter what it says. ]

You're actually getting one?

kimiko miyashiro | the boys — closed.

[pse]

( Open for plotting via PMs to this account! Or hit me up on plurk @ rannoch. )

cassian.

[pse]

( TBA. )

Matt Murdock | MCU

[sine_metu]

Street Fair - OTA

Matt reaches out and is encouraged by the vendor to pick up the shirt, feel the quality of it. Quality being a relative term to Matt. It is good fabric but he can tell by the roughness against his fingertips that it’s not quite the finest cotton the man claims it is. It’s average at best. Comfortable for most people. Irritating for Matt.

He shakes his head slightly and moves on to the next shirt doing the same test with his finger tips.

Clothing shopping is one of Matt’s least favorite activities. When he’s home he knows the brands he likes and he shops at the same stores. The sales people know him and are very accommodating to his disability. They always make sure he gets what he likes and always have good recommendations. He’s a good customer.

Here? He can test fabrics by feel, settling for irritating most of the time instead of truly comfortable, but he still can’t see.

Footsteps, a heartbeat, and a warm presence let Matt know someone is approaching from his left. They’re probably also interested in the clothes.

“Excuse me,” he says with a bashful smile that he’s perfected over the years. “Do you mind telling me what color this is?”

He holds up the shirt he’s currently examining. The fabric feels nice but he has no idea what color it is.

—
Bartender - OTA

The music is slightly more bearable by the bar. Matt has a small headache. Nothing that scotch can’t take the edge off of. He’s not even sure why he decided to come into the nightclub. He could hear the music perfectly fine outside. He could hear it fine from down the block. Maybe he’s just an idiot testing his limits as he tends to do when he’s bored.

He takes a seat at the bar. Whatever drink passes to his right smells more like rocket fuel than alcohol. It might even be pure ethanol from the smell. He wrinkles his nose for a moment before blocking it out.

Matt taps the bar in front of him to get the bartender’s attention. He can sense them moving, senses they’re a little stressed from the elevated heart rate and cold sweat smell. They seem stressed as they pick up various bottles like they’re looking for something.

The person on his left asks what’s taking so long. They just want vodka on the rocks.

Matt tilts his head and sniffs the air again, filtering hundreds of different scents from human sweat to the polish used on the bar.

“That one,” he tells the bartender as he points to the bottle he smells vodka coming from. “That’s vodka. Trust me. My eyes don’t work for shit but my nose is great.”

—
Wildcard - OTA

Looking for something else? Feel free to reach out by DM to plot something or provide your own starter.

street fair.

[randown]

Reggie had not meant to stop at the clothes stall. He'd meant to keep moving, maybe find food, maybe pretend he wasn't one weird impulse away from buying something ugly and cheap just because it existed in his size and didn't remind him of Vought. But then somebody nearby asks a question in that careful, practiced tone people use when they are trying not to make a production out of needing help, and he turns automatically.

The shirt is already in the man's hand when Reggie looks over. Nice enough fabric at a glance, if you don't ask too much of it. The kind of shirt designed to survive exactly one good season and a few bad washes. He glances from the cloth to the smile and catches on a beat later than he should. Not seeing. Right. Got it.

He reaches for the shirt, but slow, enough not to crowd.

"Yeah. I got you."

He lifts the hem a little, checks it in the fair light, all strings of bulbs and color from nearby stalls washing over everything like a weak cocktail.

"Dark green. Kind of muted. Not bright. More like... somebody wanted forest and got tired halfway there."

His mouth pulls faintly at one corner. Not a joke exactly. Just the first description that arrives.

He hands it back carefully. He is trying, these days, to let moments be moments instead of opportunities to prove anything about himself. Back home, every public interaction had a version of choreography attached to it. Here it's just two men at a rack of shirts, one asking, one answering, and the simplicity of that feels almost suspicious in its own way.

He glances over the rest of the stall.

"Looks decent on the color front though. Safe choice. You going for comfortable, or just trying to avoid ending up in something ugly on principle?"