The 'slice of life' bits I was planning to post here are way overdue, but so is the free time with which I would write them. There's a mess of unfinished bits waiting to be polished and posted, but in the meantime, I propose the following:
Taking a cue from the bestposes community, I have siezed upon the notion of posting snippets of FreakMUCK RP to give examples of what it's like in our surreal corner of the net. I heartily welcome and encourage all our freakies to participate. Rules are of the common-sensical variety, no naughtiness and no -whole- logs unless they're short.
Here, the two (absent of late) scourges of the naughty and depraved who haven't let their Fall stop them from doing what they were made to do, find themselves with a bit of down-time.
It's been a quiet few days, as quiet as this sin-steeped town ever gets. Quiet enough to drive Donaphael off his rocker, surely. Seeing as she's the roommate Most Likely to Suffer from his temper, Lenyael finally came up with the idea of a diversion. Something that'll occupy his mind and make him less broody, hopefully. It's early in the morning that she arrives at the roost with a small bag in her arms. Inside, upon inspection, is a deck of cards, some dice and what looks to be a crude boardgame of sorts. A smaller bag is produced from one pocket and she sets everything down on the floor of the roost before scanning to see where he is. "Donaphael? Are you around?"
Sounds of a one-sided struggle from the building across from the roost betray Donaphael's whereabouts. Almost half a story looks to have been freshly whittled away, leaving a fresh scattering of rubble on either side of the four walls that long ago lost the floors they once held up. The restless angel has just paused in his exercise, frozen in a ready stance with his glaive tucked close to his body and one hand held out to ward off imagined enemies. He looks to have been at this for a while, sheened with sweat and looking to be on the latter end of a berserker rage. So it's with calm eyes that he glances up, sensing the nearness of his companion. He hopes to have straightened and begun his flight back to her before she can notice how he's been killing time and masonry to kill daylight. There are other ways to waste the hours, but he hasn't been in the mood lately, or has been so obnoxious lately that it's simply too much hassle to be close to him.
Lenyael has no desire to look /that/ quickly at what he was doing; despite knowing that he would never hurt her intentionally, arguments between them can still get pretty fierce. She merely waits until he's back, spending the time sipping at some of the collected rainwater. The games have been spread side by side on a high table in an effort to coax some form of interest out of him. She sits on a chair behind them, elbow resting on the horizontal surface and eyes lifting to meet his as he nears. A wrinkled nose proclaims that she can smell he was busy with some fierce exertion, but her calm remains as a glass of water is offered. "Come and play cards with me. If you know how."
Donaphael settles rather self-importantly down upon the floor and strolls up to the table with a slight swagger, wrinkling his brow at the selection of odd articles the mad angel has come home with this time. Who's the badass who just kicked some serious masonry ass? Ooohyeah! Ahem. He does bob his head graciously as he accepts the glass, murmuring a thanks before downing it in a few quick gulps and sighing his satisfaction. Midway through the chugfest though, he cracked an eye open to peer at her, and now as he sets the glass down he swallows the compulsion to ask when she was promoted high enough to give him orders. He simply grunts instead, conceding with a shrug, "I don't. Am I to play cards with you anyway?" One of the reasons he dislikes her telling him what to do is because he inevitably winds up doing it.
It's a burden all men must learn to accept, be they angel, demon or some form of plant entity. It's just one of the laws of the universe. Just be glad she hasn't started in on his eating habits, though she admittedly shares those. "Unless you want to work up more of a sweat. This will be entertaining, I promise." There's a challenge in those eyes of hers; she picks up the deck of cards suggestively and hooks another chair closer for him with a semi-graceful twist of one ankle. "If you don't want to, we can always play checkers. I'm told it's all about strategy and the like. Should be right up your alley, oh most high Lord."
Donaphael only vaguely remembers when she used to call him that and mean it. Oddly enough, he likes this better. He studies her for a moment as she alludes to things that might have him sweating again, but files them away in his imaginary 'to do' basket and decides to dignify her efforts. She's gone to so much trouble. Still, he's obligated to pretend to be unenthused. "I suppose," he sighs, managing despite his best efforts to make his flop into the chair a graceful thing. At his worst he will always retain a certain innate dignity. He dismisses the offer of a choice with a wave of his hand and scoots forward as he says, "Whichever you prefer. I don't know any of these things."
Lenyael rolls her eyes. Despite the bastardized hue, they're still as bright and intriguing as ever, sparkling with life and merriment. "That's okay. I can stand the prospect of the Captain Marshall losing to a /girl/ with great fortitude, I find." Smirking, she shuffles the deck and deals them five cards each before starting to explain the rules of poker, leaving her hand face-down. The explanation takes some time, her hands kept busy with digging into the smaller bag and pulling out a handful of small pebbles painted black and red. She seperates them and moves the back pile over to your side. "That'll be your 'money'. What you use to bet with." That necessitates another quick explanation.
"You're no girl," Donaphael corrects with a note of fondness that lights his eyes while doing nothing to the perpetually downturned line of his mouth, "You're a Lieutenant of the Seventh Host." He cautiously pulls his cards toward him and lifts them one at a time for a brief study. He's seen people play this incomprehensible game before, so he understands that the enemy is not allowed to see his cards, and that he has to hold them like a fan. That he takes the most roundabout way of doing this is simply more proof that he stood in a different line while clues were being given out.
"Even more shameful if you should lose," Lenyael tease-taunts incautiously. "If you don't want to play with the pebbles, we can always make it a Truth or Dare kind of game. Each time you win, you can ask the other to tell a truth or do a dare, they get to choose which." It's up to him which he sees as the least damaging to that monumental pride of his. She picks her cards up and stares at them before shuffling the order around and putting two face-down near the lot left over. "Which will it be? Pebbles or questions?"
It should be no surprise that Donaphael takes far longer than is conceivably necessary to answer this question. He draws one knee up and rests his cheek against the cool bronze armor, appraising his face-down fan of cards on the table, and the pile of stones next to it. His eyebrows are the only animate parts of him as he weighs his options. Perhaps Lenyael should take notes, as this appears to be quite an effective way to keep the feisty bundle of complexes occupied and out of her hair. Ultimately he makes his decision, sliding the heel of his palm across the table to ease the pebbles back toward her. At least without a tangible reminder of what he's won or lost, he can actually see it as less of a contest. His mood isn't exactly accomodating to any scenario where he might lose. Plus, he's never played Truth or Dare, and has no idea what he's getting himself into.
Lenyael is nasty that way. With a slight smirk she picks up the remaining deck and fondles the edges with a fingertip as she waits for him to complete his rumination. As the pebbles are shoved back to her she feels a curious satisfaction that nothing of physical markers would ever have gotten out of her. Being too much of an angel to cheat, though, she merely hefts the cards a little and smiles across the table-battleground. "How many do you want to discard? Do you want me to explain the winning hands again? It might be confusing during the first few games, but I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time."
Donaphael's jaw shifts back and forth as he narrows his eyes to study his hand. At first he reaches toward the middlemost of his cards, but with a frown he decides against it. The process is repeated with the card farthest to the right, and then the one adjacent to that. Again, he takes his time with this. However, he doesn't seem very relaxed about it. "Explain it again," he instructs, in a rather lame effort to stall for time to think.
Lenyael takes her time and explains the winning hands again, carefully talking her way up from a simple pair all the way to the Royal Flush. "The most difficulty comes in planning for what kind of a card you'll get next. In a way, it's rather like going to battle with an unknown attacking force and unknown reinforcements. You know what you have, but anything other than that is not known. Not the ideal grounds for a battle of any kind, but perhaps that'll help?" Again she waits, spending the time glancing at the move of muscles in his body, the grin that grows somewhat sloppy.
Somehow, the explanation is no help at all. For one thing, why should something involving scraps of paper be so complicated? It just doesn't seem right. For another, Lenyael makes a most intriguing distraction from his attempt to visualize what she's saying and apply it in any way. Finally, just to be doing something, he plops down a one and a three, assuming they're the same 'kind' even though one is clubs and the other is spades. "There," he declares impatiently. "My other cards look more important, so I'll keep them."
Oh, lordy. There's a long day ahead. If Lenyael can stop from losing her patience, it'll be enough to keep him out of mischief for quite some time. She quietly deals him two cards and takes two for herself, quietly rearranging them with a frown. It doesn't help. As much as she wants to make them form something, it's nothing but a hand of assorted rubbish. He, on the other hand, recieved two Queens, more than enough to make her hand lose. Sourly she spreads her cards out face-up, showing the lack of anything approaching a winning hand. "Nothing." is declared piteously.
Donaphael doesn't see anything especially wrong with Lenyael's cards..except they're not as impressive as his. Satisfaction lights his eyes and his jaw clenches as he sets his hand down, displaying a Jack, a King, a ten and the two Queens. He hasn't the slightest idea what they mean, but they're all the same color at least. He shrugs one shoulder and asks, "Does this mean I win?" That'd be a novelty, seeing as how he didn't really do anything except swap cards. Despite being a warrior born and a trained leader, he lacks a certain grasp of the abstract that lets him apply those gifts to anything other than the use he's always had for them.
Lenyael sighs. "Dang. Beginner's luck. Yes, you win, because you had a pair of Queens." She grumbles as she picks up the cards to start to reshuffle them, waiting not-too-patiently to hear what his question is. "Would you rather play checkers or dice? Less combinations to begin with, less rules." One eyelid closes in a slow wink.
At first, her question goes right over the restless angel's head, as he's settled into deep thought regarding what -his- question is to be. Donaphael is half-tempted to ask if they can just skip that part, as this requires a bit of thinking outside of his cramped little mindset. He's settled into his favorite 'thinking' pose, resting an elbow upon his knee to support his chin in his palm, drumming leather clad fingers on his cheek while his features settle into a comically contemplative expression and his temple-wings flutter fitfully. His tail swishes back and forth, a metronome for the pace of his thoughts. But then he glances up, blinking curiously at first, until her words finally sink through. "Oh...um.....Dice, I suppose." That seems harmless enough. There aren't any complicated rules, just a matter of getting better numbers. It'd be a bit random for his tastes, but it'll keep them both occupied and maybe distract her from noticing his inability to come up with something.
Dice it is then. Lenyael takes care of putting the cards into their pack and clearing the table of everything before she produces the dice. "Okay. Really easy rules. You put the dice into the cup, shake it and turn it upside down on the table without removing the cup. All you have to do then is to call out 'even' or 'odd'. If the number showing count to the option that you've chosed, you win. If it's odd and you've chosen even, you lose." The cup, seemingly a little leathery container, is handed over with two dice in them. "No cheating and peeking through the leather now," she teases. The chances that he /will/ cheat is so small to be negligable, that she knows.
Donaphael merely scowls at her for even suggesting he might cheat, but the expression lacks its usual venom. Apparently he doesn't have to ask his question -now-. He'll save it up, and spring a good one on her when she least expects it! Hah! Such a clever fellow, he is. So he seems pleased about something as he quietly rattles the dice around in the cup, rather more times than is necessary. "Even," he declares as though it were a matter of great importance, as he casts the dice a bit too enthusiastically across the table, causing one to roll off and make it several feet across the floor.
Lenyael laughs as she goes to fetch the dice that so ignobly escaped her lord. "Just shake it around a little in the cup and then turn the cup over so that the open side meets the table. /Then/ call the number before you lift the cup. You'll have to throw again, since one escaped you." Teasing the cup from his fingers, she demonstrates the whole process from rattle to lifting the cup. "See?" The dice are scooped back into the container and she hands it over again, smiling innocently. "Were you too worried about strategies to play dice?"
She's treated to more of her 'lord's' petulance as he grudgingly yields the cup and rolls his eyes as the proper dice rolling method is demonstrated for him. There's no malice behind it. In fact, the two have spent enough time in one anothers' company that she likely understands this is as close to self-deprecating humor as Donaphael is likely to get. As close to any humor, really. He seems, some days, to have no grasp of the concept, but if that were the case he'd do more than just grumble every time she laughed at him. And he gives her -so- many reasons... With a heavy sigh, he fends off the perceived affront to his dominance and declares, "I simply believe that this is a safer diversion to indulge in, because it requires less time. Something could happen to call us from the game to attend to our duties. Better this, then, than checkers or cards or whatever else you've decided constitutes 'fun'." So there. He takes the cup again, rattles the dice while wearing a long-suffering expression of boredom, and -gently- casts the bones. "Even," he declares again, almost after they've come to a stop.
Not the least of which is that he looks so /cute/ when he's pouting like this. "It's odd," she refutes, poking gently at the cup to get him to remove it. "Not at all. A game like that we could start up later again. Besides, it /is/ fun. You'll see what I mean after we've done this a few tines. Well. Not that you have the slightest concept of fun, but I aim to teach you. Look upon it as my duty to society." Her arm drops back to the table and she grins slightly. "You still haven't cashed in your earlier win, you know. Don't you know what to say or are you saving it up for some huge whopper of a dare?"