[ Rokurou's been to the traveling club once before by now, though he hardly knew a thing about its true intention last time he wound up here. He needs another Submissive like he needs another night of binge drinking, at this rate, but one can’t fault a guy for window shopping, now, can they? Plus, this is one of those rare places where Submissives aren’t treated like so many unwilfully-tethered Malakhim back home. It’s refreshing to see.
And, if by some off chance someone finds his company equally “refreshing” and he gets a row out of it -- in the dojo or the bedroom -- then this expedition will have been worth his time, now won’t it?
Anyway. With the events of Patara not quite indiscernible yet in his personal rearview mirror, as before, he’s content to mingle for a while, until that moment when he rounds a particular corner and--
--and jolly old saint Nissen’s unrepentant mindfuck continues.
It's Eizen. Not a dragon circling the skies, cut down by Sorey; but the man. The Reaper. Aifread's cursed First Mate, and Rokurou's comrade-in-arms, just as he remembers him. He should rightly be shocked, but he isn't. Rather--]
You don't even have to ask.
[ Granted, it may or may not have hit him yet that he's not dreaming; not taken another wrong sip of something somewhere, thereby allowing his unwittingly-addled mind to conjure all of this up. Nevertheless, he pulls up a seat, just like old times.
(Okay, maybe they weren't "old" times, but they feel so long ago...) ]
Man, of all the people I thought I'd never see in this place...
[ He can't even finish the sentence without lapsing into bitter chuckling, head shaking, dark hair swaying over over a single red eye as he reaches for that freshly-filled glass. ...Yeah. He's gonna need that.
Eizen is too, from the look of it -- Rokurou can tell from a glance that, somehow or another, he's been marked a Submissive. Oh wow. That'll go over real well, once he learns the ins and outs of it, now won't it... ]
autonomy
And, if by some off chance someone finds his company equally “refreshing” and he gets a row out of it -- in the dojo or the bedroom -- then this expedition will have been worth his time, now won’t it?Anyway. With the events of Patara not quite indiscernible yet in his personal rearview mirror, as before, he’s content to mingle for a while, until that moment when he rounds a particular corner and--
--and jolly old saint Nissen’s unrepentant mindfuck continues.
It's Eizen. Not a dragon circling the skies, cut down by Sorey; but the man. The Reaper. Aifread's cursed First Mate, and Rokurou's comrade-in-arms, just as he remembers him. He should rightly be shocked, but he isn't. Rather--]
You don't even have to ask.
[ Granted, it may or may not have hit him yet that he's not dreaming; not taken another wrong sip of something somewhere, thereby allowing his unwittingly-addled mind to conjure all of this up. Nevertheless, he pulls up a seat, just like old times.
(Okay, maybe they weren't "old" times, but they feel so long ago...) ]
Man, of all the people I thought I'd never see in this place...
[ He can't even finish the sentence without lapsing into bitter chuckling, head shaking, dark hair swaying over over a single red eye as he reaches for that freshly-filled glass. ...Yeah. He's gonna need that.
Eizen is too, from the look of it -- Rokurou can tell from a glance that, somehow or another, he's been marked a Submissive. Oh wow. That'll go over real well, once he learns the ins and outs of it, now won't it... ]
So they got you too, huh?