lusi | MINGLE 001

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MINGLE 001

MINGLE 001: FOOD, FUN, FUCKING

Guests are 'gently encouraged' by enforcer robots to gather into what appears to be a central gathering place in the middle of the settlement area. Attendance is quite mandatory. Once everyone has gathered, holographic emitters kick on and display... static. Loudspeakers tell the captive audience to prepare for an important announcement, and moments later a proper but mechanical voice chimes in:

Greetings, organisms! R̷e̶j̸o̴i̴c̷e̸, for the portents foresee a time of glorious providence! We have recorded your actions a̵n̸d̵ ̴o̸u̶r̵ ̵c̶a̵p̸a̷b̷i̴l̸i̷t̵i̶e̸s̶ ̴have upgraded accordingly! The fabricator general automata grant you a boon, and shall provide much glamorous f̷i̶x̴t̶u̶r̶e̴s̷ ̴to aid in your future acts. Frolic and make merrily, all!

To honor your contributions and celebrate your arrival, you will be invited to attend our first sultry salacious soiree. Join your fellow chosen and f̵u̶l̵f̴i̵l̸l̵ ̵y̸o̷u̶r̷ ̷f̸u̴n̴c̷t̷i̶o̶n̶!

And with that, the display ends and characters are allowed to go as they please.

Upon returning, characters now find that dormant manufacturing robots have been reactivated, and will accept requests to build certain household fixtures, i.e., bedding, couches, loveseats. Because who wants to bang on a dusty cot, right? The quality will not be high. Imagine low-end IKEA. Build quality also varies dramatically and seems to depend on how old and corrupted the machine is. (As with all things in this world, quality is improved with intimate acts.)

But what is this celebration you've been invited to? That much is simple as sin. It's a mechanically sponsored party. Of particular note to hungry newcomers will be a fully stocked banquet ample spirits and naturally, a dedicated area for an all-out orgy. It's a good old-fashioned party, Roman style!

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These are no hospital rations. This is a full-fledged feast. It's no less dangerous, though.
Naturally, the robots have seen fit to add a little bit "extra." Some offerings are entirely innocuous, while others have bevy of effects that you'll soon discover.

You may find yourself only able to speak the truth, or maybe after one bite you find yourself instantly smitten with the next person you see. Some foods incite obedience, others rebellion. And some... well, you can't have an orgy without some good, old-fashioned aphrodisiac.

The music has been modulated to change the way you think. Of course it's electro-synth, what else would robots play?

Slower music induces sleep; maybe you fall into a cuddle-puddle with some of your fellow kidnappees. Faster music encourages you to dance. And some music? That's what upstairs is for.

Speaking of upstairs, what's an orgy without the orgy? You may find yourself auspiciously able to fill your decadent A5 squares. In a large room that seems unusually renovated, as if the robots had given it special attention just for this day, a floor covered in pillows awaits the beast with two backs. No one is turned away, and those attending will get a notification from their devices that they have received... additional credits? What could this mean?

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N A V I G A T I O N

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ margo, on the other hand, is handling this all pretty well. this isn't the first time she's been transported to some other world, the concept of other worlds isn't a new one. although those other times had been voluntary (mostly).

look, margo's into some weird shit more than the next person but consent is always fucking necessary so she probably standing looking rather unimpressed with this party's shenanigans and how gauche this whole spread is. but at least there's booze. because if her magic is going to be on the fritz, at least she can have a fucking drink.

however, just as she twisting her fingers over her glass to refresh her drink, someone bumps into her and she turns to glare at him, even if he's an absolute tall-drink-of water-silver-fox whose built like a fucking brick house which in stark contrast to her tiny frame, even in heeled boots.

Instead of dressing him down, she simply smirks flirtatiously. ]

Jesus, look at you, you probably bump into people all the fucking time.

[ Geralt doesn't usually bump into people. Usually his senses are keen and his reflexes fast enough to avoid it, even at the last second. But he's drunk more than a little tonight, and Margo is, as she notes, a great deal smaller. It hadn't been much of a collision, but he'd withdrawn immediately anyway, putting a little distance between them. But it seems she's not offended in the least--the opposite, even. Geralt recognizes that smile, that tone of voice, as easily as he'd recognize a drowner's footprint--which is to say pretty damn easily. ]

Try not to. [ His voice is a gravelly rumble with barely any inflection at all. ] Unless I think it might be appreciated.

[ There's something bright and intently focused in the bright gold of his catlike eyes. He isn't a master of flirting by any means, but he can choose the right words to match hers; she'd been blatant enough. ]

But that's up to you.

[ Margo can be subtle when she wants to be but what's the point of it right now? She's talking to a man whose rough voice sends a jolt of desire through her because hey, it's hot and she's only human, right?

Her lips curve teasingly as her eyebrows stay lifted in a way that belies her interest. Again, not that she's bothering to hide it.]

Well, I've got a bingo card to score like everyone else at this party.

Edited 2020-05-31 21:50 (UTC)

[ The playful curl of her smile is enough to prompt a slight upward tug at Geralt's lips as well. Her proposition--obvious, unmistakable; his favorite sort--has him releasing a huff of breath that is nearly a chuckle. She's lovely and clearly interested, even after looking at his eyes. There are some women--some people--who find the idea of bedding a witcher risky and exciting, who have heard certain rumors about their sexual appetites, whose curiosity overcomes their wariness or revulsion. When it comes to intimacy, Geralt takes what he can get. So when they offer he's usually inclined to accept.

Of course, she likely has no idea what a witcher is, because no one here does. He doesn't think that he'll ever be used to this sort of anonymity. ]

Mm. I could help with that.

[ She may not know what a Witcher is but as a magician, Margo has come in contact with several different kinds of people and creatures and sometimes, that contact involves something a little more... intimate. His eye color doesn't throw her off or make her skip a beat except that she finds they add to his allure.

Later, she might be annoyed at how whatever is affecting her made her a little less subtle and dropped her inhibitions. But she wouldn't regret flirting openly with him, it's what she'd do normally anyway.]

I think you should.

[ She certainly doesn't have to tell him twice. Geralt is already closing the distance between them again, edging boldly into her space, but notably refraining from touching her outright. Instead, he leans down to be heard more clearly as he lowers his voice so their conversation can remain private. Not that he cares much if anyone else knows what he's about, but he recognizes that isn't typical of most people. ]

Got anything specific in mind? Or should we improvise?

[ Geralt remembers many of the words from his own card. The idea of comparing and contrasting is sort of amusing. He's far from certain about any of this, but he is admittedly curious about what happens if they decide to do as they've been instructed. The only way to determine this, he figures, is to try. ]

[ She doesn't back down when he steps closer to her, her smile curving a bit more when he stops short of touching her. Margo lets her eyebrows lift at his question...]

Well... we could compare cards. Or we can just wing it. I'm in a very flexible mood.

[ Given that Geralt is always in a flexible mood, they make a good pair. ]

Let's find somewhere more comfortable. We can figure it out there.

[ That seems like a reasonable suggestion to him. Privately, he'd like to see about checking off something on at least one of their cards, if only to see the results. And if they can have fun in the process, all the better. ]

[ She holds the same level of curiosity on what it might mean to get a box checked or even a whole row. Did that mean you got to go home?

She doubts it's that easy.

Still, she's going to let him direct this for now, if only because she knows she'll take control later on.]

I do believe I saw a staircase...

[ He knows the staircase she's referring to, and inclines his head back in that direction. ]

Yeah. This way.

[ It's only now that Geralt touches her, and given what they've already agreed to, it's quite polite. A gloved hand comes to rest just below her shoulder blades, mostly to keep her close so that they don't get separated as they make their way back through the party. The stairs are on their side, at least, so they don't have to skirt the dance floor at all.

The stairs are quieter the further they descend, which puts Geralt more at ease. He can concentrate more specifically on Margo. It's nice to put his focus on one person; her scent, the sound of her heartbeat. ]

[ Margo's good at reading people and it has nothing to do with being a magician. And when he touches her, she can feel that it's very intentional, the way he delayed it, the delicate nature of the touch as he guides her through the room in a route that won't delay them but also won't draw notice.

He's good at this, at knowing his surroundings and finding every angle, so to speak. And so is she.

She takes the lead happily, walking up the stairs.] I haven't found anyone here who isn't brand-spankin' new, have you? [ Margo doesn't do small talk, she's honestly just looking for answers with a side of sex.]

[ If there is anything Geralt doesn't mind, it's a woman taking the lead. He trails behind her up the stairs and doesn't feel wrong at all for admiring the view as he does. In fact, from what he's picked up about her so far, he thinks she'd probably be insulted if he didn't.

He also appreciates the complete lack of worthless chatter just to fill the air. It's a welcome difference from what he's used to at events like this. ]

No. Seems like this shit's fresh for all of us.

[ Enjoy the view all you want, Geralt. She doesn't mind it one bit, she moves in a way that's meant to entice and appeal. ]

So glad that we're all in the same shit sea-- [ she says it sarcastically because this whole thing is utter bullshit, of course.]

[ Geralt snorts under his breath, nearly a chuckle. ]

Company's not bad, at least.

[ Of course, his eyes are glued to her ass when he says so, so he reason for his opinion is pretty clear.

Upstairs there are several doors along the hallway. It's darker, quieter, and free of other people, which means that Geralt can breathe more easily--quite literally. He listens for sounds apart from their own footsteps and breathing, but detects nothing behind any of the nearby doors. The orgy, which he can still hear further away, is happening in a much larger room down the hall. But Geralt opens a door immediately to their left, holding it for Margo to inspect the room beyond. It's small and simple: a twin bed with white linens, a sink and a cabinet beside it, and a small window set into the far wall that looks out onto the ruins of the city. Hardly extravagant, but it's clean and private, and Geralt has fucked in worse places. ]

This work for you? Or do you wanna join the party?

[ He'll leave that up to her. The latter wouldn't be his preference, but he would do it if it were hers. ]

[ Margo loves a good orgy amongst friends but right now she'd prefer not keep him to herself, if only because she's keen to take her time with him and very curious to see what's beneath all that tight leather he's wearing.

At his question, she enters the room to give her answer instead of "joining the party" as he called it.] Once you've been to one orgy, you've been to them all, right? [ Honestly, most of the time, they're more trouble than their worth.

She turns to face him, shrugging off her jacket and draping it over a nearby chair.]

[ Pleased by her choice, Geralt hums softly in agreement and shuts the door behind him. He'd really prefer to have her all to himself, too.

Now that she's removing her clothing, he starts in on the more arduous task of doffing his armor. The first to go are his swords, the scabbards loosened from his back by unbuckling the harness over his chest. He takes them in hand and lowers them to the floor, storing them safely against the wall. Next come his gloves, sturdy leather that makes a heavy thwap as he drops each in turn beside his swords.

It barely occurs to him that they haven't yet exchanged names. He's never considered that a necessary prerequisite to sex. ]

Quick fucks are kind of out of the question with all that-- [ she waves her hand at all that he's doing and removing, her tone amused as she moves towards him intent on watching him undress.]

I say that as someone who wore a lot of corsets before arriving here.

[ It's a process, but Geralt is efficient at it. This is the clothing he lives in, and he puts it on and takes it off almost daily. His fingers are quick at undoing the buckles that hold his pauldrons in place, lowering each carefully to the floor in turn onto a rapidly growing pile of pieces. Next are the laces on either side of his torso, which he picks apart to loosen the leather. Not entirely unlike a corset, actually, which is why her timely comment causes him to flick his eyes briefly back to her, amused. ]

Could just unlace my trousers if that's all you're interested in.

[ He's joking now, but he's definitely had quick fucks like that, provided his partner didn't mind the hard edges and weight of his armor. Some even found some appeal in it. ]

Oh, no, no. I'm in no rush-- [ she says with a smirk but makes absolutely no move to help him undress. Instead, she sits on the bed, with a look of appreciation as he works at his own clothing. It's more fun to watch him undress himself and maybe, just maybe, she's taking notes for the future.]

Quick fucks are fun but you look like you're built for a long ride.

Edited 2020-06-06 23:49 (UTC)

[ Though he turns his attention back to the task at hand, Geralt is still paying Margo close attention. He listens to the sound of her moving on the bed and the cadence of her breath. He inhales deeply, familiarizing himself with how she smells and how her excitement tastes on the air. He doesn't mind entertaining her like this. He likes the weight of her gaze, and is hungry to feel it on his bare skin. ]

As long as you want.

[ He doesn't worry in the least about promising that. Like all witchers, Geralt has been granted exceptional endurance and virility, and a libido to match. He's confident he can go as many rounds as Margo likes.

Once the laced have been loosened, Geralt leans forward, letting gravity move the heavy chain and leather from his shoulders and up over his head. Once he can get his hands under it, he lifts the rest of the way. Because Geralt travels by himself and has to manage his armor alone, it also has to be fairly simple to don and to remove. This chest piece is by far the largest, and when he lowers it to the floor, the sound it makes also makes evident that it's the heaviest. Beneath is a black long-sleeved gambeson, simple to untie and shrug out of, and beneath that a white linen shirt--the simplest of all, as he only has to tug it up over his head.

When he straightens again he's bare from the waist up. The definition of his lean, muscular form is almost secondary to the sheer amount of varied scarring across his skin. There are marks everywhere covering his chest, stomach, arms, and back: clean slashes, rougher gashes from claws, bite marks, burns, extraction scars from arrows and crossbow bolts. If it hadn't been clear before, it's obvious now that the swords and armor definitely aren't for show. ]

[ There's no small measure of pleasure that shows itself in her features when he tells her that she can have him as long as she wants. She'll take him up on that offer and she's eager to see how long that actually means.

She rather enjoys watching the process of him undressing when she might normally feel impatient... It almost feels like a different sort of foreplay, the undoing of straps and fastenings, the way his fingers work almost graceful at their task.

And when he's finally bare, she understands now why he takes his armor so fucking seriously. The man's torso is a record of battle that has her eyebrows lifting for a moment. She does not gasp or recoil, but she is not so single-minded not to notice the scars and not have concern for how they got there.

She moves to stand now, closing the distance between them smoothing her hands over her velvet pants.] Jesus, either you're really fucking kinky or you've been through a few fights. [ She doesn't wait for him to answer.] Now take off my shirt.

Could be both.

[ Geralt is quick to point out wryly. Look, he's been alive nearly a century, and he's had some adventurous lovers.

And it seems like Margo is likely to join their ranks, judging by how quickly she acclimates to his rougher edges and demands that they match. More than willing to obey, he reaches for her without hesitation.

The purple fabric is soft beneath his hands as he detours just a little to rub his palms appreciatively over her hips before he hooks his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt. He tugs upward firmly, but is conscious to avoid catching her hair in it or snagging anything. He has plenty of experience removing much more complicated women's garments, but this experience has also taught him that he can't be too careful. ]

[ He earns a laugh at that, although that sound peters out when his hands move to touch her and then proceed to do as she asked him to. Her arms lift to help him get her shirt up and off, leaving her chest as bare as his is.

She brushes her hair over her shoulder so it doesn't obscure his view because she is certainly not ashamed of what she's got. She takes her shirt from him and tosses it in the direction of her jacket.

Then she turns so he can find the zipper at the back of her pants.] The fastening for my pants is in the back. Tug it down. [ Because she's not sure if he knows what a zipper even is given his attire. At first, he could have just been some kind of cosplayer but given his scars, she assumes he's from a pretty rough and tumble world where zippers are not a thing. ]

[ No, she has nothing to be ashamed of at all. In fact, Geralt is deeply grateful for the unobscured view. Margo is gorgeous cast in the soft light from the lamp in the corner, making her skin glow golden. He'd have gladly admired for much longer had she not turned and given him another task. But the curve of her spine is lovely as well, and he traces calloused fingers over the small of her back on his way to his destination.

Zippers are absolutely not a thing he knows anything about, so he's grateful for her guidance. Despite being unfamiliar, it's very straightforward and he makes quick work of it.

The warmth of her skin draws him in. He moves to fit himself against her back, peeling her pants over the bell of her hips and down her thighs, somehow managing to touch a great deal more of her than the actual fabric. Leaning down, he presses his lips to her neck, nosing along the line of her jaw. ]

[ Ten points to Griffindor! He managed to get the zipper down without much effort (not that it was difficult but hey... who knows) or fanfare. And when she feels his body press against her back, she draws in a pleasured breath, feeling the warmth of him radiating against her own skin.

The touch is welcome and intoxicating, his fingers are large, calloused and different from the person whose hands should be touching her right now. She pushes Josh from her mind right now, he wouldn't hold this against her. He couldn't.

Her eyes close with a hum and she shimmies her hips just enough to help the fabric slide down her legs so she can step out of it, her heeled boots still on but who the fuck cares right now, as his lips touch her skin and he presses closer.

She turns her head just enough to encourage him further, her hips pressing back against his to show her continued interest, one hand moving to find his to guide it back up her body, wanting to feel that touch more.]

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