( the gilt opulence and the well-stocked tidiness of the resort isn’t something that stands out as strange to him, or at least not for what it is—what it’s presenting itself to be. he isn’t sure how deep the illusion goes. makoto is in possession of a mirror which he has been told is a window into what was called the “other” Golden Peacock; a rambling wreck in poor repair, with grimy tiles, chipped paint, splintering and rotten wood, and long-time guests who appear more as shambling and desiccated ghouls than the contented individuals that one might see milling around the casino normally. how much the two realms are the same or separate is something he doesn’t really understand yet, but it, of course, gives him pause.
not enough to actually impede his day-to-day life here. it wouldn’t be worth it. he isn’t sure why he was given this mirror upon his arrival at the resort, but he’s not going to allow it to turn him into some sort of paranoid wreck. other people might want to try to tear down the glittering facade to reveal the skeletons beneath, but makoto? if it would end up making him less comfortable in the meantime, he’d rather not. to him, this place and its game is just a tool he’s using; a means to an end.
just like how this little exchange is, in and of itself, a means to a different end.
the young demon watches charlie with obvious dubiousness. that he’s lying is just about as apparent, though what he’s trying to puzzle out is… why? would this information be considered sensitive, where he’s from? he understands wanting to keep certain things close to the chest, but he’s already agreed to give it to him… his own logic tells him that, since no one’s really cared to proposition him for his blood prior to this point, it’s either of value to him or someone else that he knows—someone else new, probably. he considers laying this out to him, delivering a jarring riposte to the dismissive mendacity, but… well, he’s not stupid. he can hear the dead stillness in the words that brokers no further explanation or discussion. he also doesn’t like it. he doesn’t like being treated like this.
his lips press into a thin line; there’s another world where he keeps pressing, intent on the satisfaction of curiosity, but… no. here, he just sighs and shrugs, a little irritated at the obfuscation but under the impression that it ultimately doesn’t change all that much. )
Sure, whatever. It’s not like I care what you do with it.
( there’s a sudden edge of brusqueness to his movements when he moves forward to plop down on the foot of the bed right next to him; that, and also how he doesn’t delay in tearing into one of the packaged syringes and undoing the buttons at his cuff so he can roll back the sleeve to bare his forearm, the skin so deathly-pale that it was easy to find the blueish veins beneath.
typically he would be the type to take his time, make a little more conversation, but… well, now he’s in a bit of a mood, as evidenced by the thunderclouds in his expression. )
no subject
not enough to actually impede his day-to-day life here. it wouldn’t be worth it. he isn’t sure why he was given this mirror upon his arrival at the resort, but he’s not going to allow it to turn him into some sort of paranoid wreck. other people might want to try to tear down the glittering facade to reveal the skeletons beneath, but makoto? if it would end up making him less comfortable in the meantime, he’d rather not. to him, this place and its game is just a tool he’s using; a means to an end.
just like how this little exchange is, in and of itself, a means to a different end.
the young demon watches charlie with obvious dubiousness. that he’s lying is just about as apparent, though what he’s trying to puzzle out is… why? would this information be considered sensitive, where he’s from? he understands wanting to keep certain things close to the chest, but he’s already agreed to give it to him… his own logic tells him that, since no one’s really cared to proposition him for his blood prior to this point, it’s either of value to him or someone else that he knows—someone else new, probably. he considers laying this out to him, delivering a jarring riposte to the dismissive mendacity, but… well, he’s not stupid. he can hear the dead stillness in the words that brokers no further explanation or discussion. he also doesn’t like it. he doesn’t like being treated like this.
his lips press into a thin line; there’s another world where he keeps pressing, intent on the satisfaction of curiosity, but… no. here, he just sighs and shrugs, a little irritated at the obfuscation but under the impression that it ultimately doesn’t change all that much. )
Sure, whatever. It’s not like I care what you do with it.
( there’s a sudden edge of brusqueness to his movements when he moves forward to plop down on the foot of the bed right next to him; that, and also how he doesn’t delay in tearing into one of the packaged syringes and undoing the buttons at his cuff so he can roll back the sleeve to bare his forearm, the skin so deathly-pale that it was easy to find the blueish veins beneath.
typically he would be the type to take his time, make a little more conversation, but… well, now he’s in a bit of a mood, as evidenced by the thunderclouds in his expression. )