ralliesprotests | Decardia Inbox

[ ooc: feel free to tag this whenever you like, we can wait till our other threads are done if you would prefer, i just wanted to get it out of my brain while the inspo was there >:3 and as always let me know if anything needs changing 💜 ]

It's getting late, round about the time where normally the Cat would be retiring home either with or without someone. It's been a nice night, all things considered, and she's got the tiniest buzz lingering in her system as she moves over to the bar to seek out a nightcap. A personalised mix of chamomile and something potent along with something delightfully fizzy clutched in her red painted claws, she turns to observe the few patrons still lingering, and finds a face all too familiar in amongst the crowd.

She moves in, adjusting her dark pointed sunglasses to cover her eyes for now, as she moves in to slide up by Rowan's side. The music is loud, but not so loud that it's deafening, which the Cat appreciates. It means it's a simple thing to lay a hand on Rowan's elbow, and lean in to their ear.

"I'm surprised you've not been taken home by now. Or are you waiting for someone to appeal to your incredibly high standards?" She's wearing something very far from her usual fashion choices, and is throwing her voice in such a way that it's believably female, so guessing her true identity could be a real challenge here.

It might be late, but Rowan has been pushing until closing time of late, dancing their thin figure to exhaustion in order to force themself to return to an empty flat. Tonight is no exception, and they're lost to the music once again, eyes closed, shamelessly writhing to the beat. At least it's been a while since their last drink, and they've come back down towards tipsy.

But the bare skin of their arm is warm and sweaty, and their eyes snap open at the intentional touch. They tilt their head, taking in the woman beside them, but lips already curling into a pleased smile as she speaks. "What if I was just waiting for the right person?" They retort, leaning into her. Soft fingers trace up her own arm, as hungry for contact as ever. "Like someone with proper impeccable dress sense." They add with a laugh, glancing at her dress. It's not a perfect match for their ripped jeans layered over fish nets, or their high collared crop top, but it's close enough that anyone would be forgiven for thinking it was intentional. And well, if she's favoured showing off her tits over Rowan's choice to expose their stomach and hips, she has good reason to.

"You ain't been snapped up neither. No one lived up to your standards yet?" They add with a flirty wink.

The way Rowan is so immediately tactile without needing the slurring excuse of alcohol is honestly so refreshing, and even though Rowan can't see her eyes like this, the Cat's pupils widen with obvious interest at the feeling of those fingers skimming up her arm.

"Such a compliment already, and I've barely even done anything to deserve it yet..." she hums, keeping herself close both to be heard and so that she can maximise the proximity of Rowan's eager hands. She'd transformed her hair into shoulder-length black curls, luxurious and soft, and they bounce slightly as she tilts her head, pursing her lips in a knowing little smirk in reaction to that wink. "As for my standards, it's less about meeting them and more about finding something a little more exciting than the norm. You've seen one helpless idiot staring at your tits, you've seen them all. I'm looking for something a bit more exciting."

She raises her glass to her lips, taking sip and licking her red painted lips. It's only thanks to sheer dumb luck that she'd glamoured over the scar on her lip when she'd first transformed, though it would be easily felt if she were to lean in and kiss Rowan now. Perhaps she'll make them wait, in that case, or perhaps Rowan will figure her out long before she has a chance to do such a thing.

"You seem to have a little more life to you than most... I'm sure you could show me a good time and make it worth my while, am I right?"

Normally they would be a little more cautious of someone looking for someone outside of the norm. That phrasing usually means someone looking to experiment with their sexuality using Rowan’s body, or what they expect from it. But right now they’re too in need of company to be picky, and besides, she corrects herself with a better reason for her interest later.

“Never had a complaint yet.” They grin back at her, watching the way her curls move as she does. It would be so easy to slip their fingers through them, maybe use that hold to guide her into a kiss, but that’ll have to wait. For now they stick to the touch that she initiated with them, soft fingers trailing down the inside of her arm, tracing absent minded patterns on the delicate skin there.

“You want to give me a spin and give me a proper review to finish? Ain’t just a good time I can promise, full satisfaction, or I’ll go again until I get it right.” It’s a bold claim, but they say it with utter confidence, their smirk wide, and their eyes sparkling with the thrill of the unknown, as they come alive again at the promise of company. Good company, even, someone who will push back against them and play along. Someone who can make them feel warm again, even if just for a couple of hours. And in turn, they will absolutely make it worth her while.

They lift their free hand, but stop just shy of brushing through those soft curls. “May I?”

The Cat can feel the eagerness in the touch to her arm alone, but she can also see it in the way Rowan's eyes sparkle, animating their body far beyond anything she'd seen when she'd been watching them dance. It's almost familiar, that way their body blossoms like a flower turning to the sun under the light of another's company, as if attention is giving them room to breathe, something to cling to. Has Rowan been lonely, in this place where the Cat knows full well it should be difficult to be so, but is actually incredibly easy?

When Rowan reaches up, the Cat quickly deposits her glass on a nearby surface before leaning her head down and taking a step forward, both removing the need for such a polite little request and for the polite touches to her arm, as she gets both hands on Rowan's waist and pushes the soft whorls of her hair into Rowan's fingers.

"Well, with claims like those, how could I resist the chance to see if the reviews are up to scratch?" she purrs, tilting her chin ever so slightly so that the lights don't shine on the dark lenses of her sunglasses and give her game away so quickly. Rowan is warm beneath her palms, and she drags them up until the very tips of her claws skim beneath the fabric of their crop top. "And such good manners, too. You're as charming as you are enticing, it seems..."

Her mouth is wet, nipples hardening beneath the fabric of her outfit enough that they rub delightfully against the cups when she takes a deep breath in, smelling booze and sweat and that familiar scent of Rowan's skin. That alone is enough to get her excited, and she can't look away from that sweet little mouth.

"I should warn that you'll have your work cut out for you when it comes to me, though. I'm a chore to satisfy. I'm far too greedy for it." A little pout, her full bottom lip tempting as a sinful red apple. "That doesn't put you off, does it?"

When she pulls her hands up their sides, their breath catches, and they bask in the sensation. They're doing their best not to let on how desperate they are for more, to maintain composure, but it's hard when they're drawn to her tactile presence like a moth to a flame. They would promise her anything right now, if they thought that it'd get her to continue, and it's not even arousal driving their desire.

"Sounds like a challenge, and I like a good challenge, me." Soft fingers stroke through her curls, admiring their softness and the way they move. They're getting used to being surrounded by beautiful people, but she really is something special. Perhaps it's her confidence that draws them in. Tracing the curve of her ear, they tuck a loose curl away behind it, then cup her head and press their thin body to her curvaceous one. Their intention is clear, and if she wants to keep that scar on her lip hidden for a little longer she'll have to find a way out of the kiss they're angling for.

The problem with that desperation is not only in how it bleeds from Rowan like an opened vein but also in the fact that the Cat has spent a considerable amount of time watching them very closely. She's seen Rowan in a number of states, in casual ones and in sexual ones, even if they both clearly have a preference – and now? Well, it's clear as daylight how hungry Rowan is for a kind touch and how eager they are for someone responsive and just as eager in return. The Cat can do that without even needing to try, considering it'd be far more difficult to pretend she wasn't interested.

She does a frankly incredible job at concealing a purr when Rowan runs their fingers through her hair, disguising it as a happy little humming sound, and letting it taper into a sinful little gasp as Rowan presses close. Are they slighter than they were the last time the Cat King touched them? She can't be sure, but it seems that way...

It also seems like Rowan wants a kiss, and though the Cat King would do anything to kiss them right now, she's also aware that it would spoil the fun far, far too soon. So, instead, on the pretence of leaning in to let their mouths touch, she grins and then pivots, going for Rowan's ear and jaw, where the skin is sensitive but far less skilled at picking up on the sensation of mottled skin. She kisses their lobe, drawing it between her teeth before nibbling down to where the collar of their shirt hinders her efforts.

"Mmm, it seems you're wearing quite the challenge. Perhaps I'll have to see with my hands instead..." And then she slips her fingers up beneath the hemline of Rowan's top, intending on making a beeline for their nipples if they don't stop her first.

Rowan doesn't even have time to pout when she pivots from the kiss they were hoping for and instead goes for their neck. They don't bother to hide their little gasp of pleasure as she plays with their ear, eyes closing as they tilt their head to give her more access and encourage her in. In return their own hand traces her back, admiring the curves of her body as they hold her body to theirs, their other hand still lightly holding her head but more supporting than trapping her there.

It's easy to get lost in her, so much so that they don't catch on even when she makes a beeline to one of their most sensitive spots. This time they do shift, quickly moving both hands to catch hers. "Ah - not here. Ain't fair if I can't play too. How about we head back to my flat, then we can play proper?" They suggest, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of the inside of her wrist as they grin at her.

The Cat wonders if that was a mistake, if that was using her ace when she should have played a lower card, utilising an already learnt secret about what Rowan likes rather than acting the part of exploring their body for the first time... But, it seems that Rowan doesn't catch on or at least doesn't seem put off, only complaining about the lack of opportunity to reciprocate, which is something the Cat is familiar with when it comes to them.

So, she smiles as she makes eye contact with Rowan again, admiring the little smudges of lipstick across their chin and jaw and ear.

The only problem with Rowan's request being, of course, that they'll have to go there the long way, since the Cat will surely lose her hand if Rowan got even a whiff of her magic. But nevertheless, she nods, retracting her wandering hands but not breaking away from Rowan's touch against her wrists. Weirdly intimate for someone they've just met. The Cat wonders if Rowan has an inkling, or if, perhaps, they're simply just feeling the isolation tonight.

"Alright then, stranger," she says, tossing her hair back with a tip of her chin, pursing her lips as if she might lean in for a kiss, but never makng the move. "Take me home, then, and show me what proper play looks like."

They wouldn't be here if they weren't feeling the isolation, but also, they're just like that. She's given them her permission to touch, so touch they will, drinking it in while they can. It's odd to say that they have a love language when they so very firmly deny being romantic in any sense, but physical affection, little touches, soft brushes are how they show their admiration and adoration for anyone who will let them, even for a few hours. They haven't noticed the way their thumbs brush a gentle pattern over her wrists, and they wouldn't unless she pointed it out.

But pleased with her approval they grin, leaning in to kiss her cheek and then the tip of her nose playfully. "Make sure you don't regret it, right?" They say, playfully. Gently pulling on her hands, they pull her with them as they step backwards. They know this place well enough to at least lead her from the dance floor without having to look, and it's emptied out enough that they're not worried about people noticing and moving out of the way for them. "And I'm Rowan. So there you are, ain't a stranger no longer."

The Cat can't help but wonder how Rowan will react to her eventual reveal. Of all the people she snuck up on in her cat form, Rowan reacted the best to finding out that the little stray visitor was, indeed, the Cat King and had only really been annoyed by the unwitting exposure. But this is a little different, isn't it? Not that she's planning to string them along forever or anything – or maybe she will; it honestly depends on where the night takes them, if Rowan cares to suspect, and if the Cat decides to start toeing the line for fun. She has to admit that it's a ridiculously fun game to play either way.

As the topic of names comes into the mix, the Cat feels a prickle of anticipation. It could very well be to do with the fact that Rowan is impossibly charming and attractive walking backwards through the bar like that – all confidence and keen attention – but it probably has more to do with the fact that this is the first hurdle in the Cat's play. She wants to answer truthfully, being a cat who can't lie and all, but the truth of her own name is a tricky subject, especially here. She could just as easily not answer, of course, but wouldn't that look a little suspicious? Oh, the mind games truly are delicious. She feels her core get a little tighter, pressing her thighs together as she considers her response.

"Nice to meet you, Rowan," she says, with that same pursed-lip smile, half wanting to chase the kiss Rowan gave her as they walk, to see if they can navigate the floor half as well with lips on their face. "I'm Kitty."

She could have gone with something that would have thrown the scent off completely, but it isn't like Kitty isn't a totally normal name for someone to have, right? And she has called herself Kitty in the past, so it's not even a lie. The real test is whether or not it piques Rowan's suspicion or not, or whether they're too focused on the promise of her body and the light buzz of alcohol in their system to care.

Rowan's not the smartest person around, at least usually, but given two of their pack are ~~maxed out on int~~ smarter than most, perhaps that's more to do with the company they keep than their own abilities. Or perhaps Walkie Talkie and Serenity have rubbed off on them over the last 8 years, given that outside of the six months Walkie Talkie did in Greece, they've not been away from either of them for more than a couple of days since their first rite. And while their smarts are usually mostly locked into coding and computers, there are sometimes when something escapes containment.

Something about the name Kitty catches their attention. The Cat King has been on their mind more than they'd like to admit, and he did say he might come looking for them out and about and play pretend. Grey eyes flit up to the sunglasses hiding her eyes, and then back down to her lips, but there's nothing to see there. Not that that means anything, since this is clearly a very different body to the one she usually occupies, and they know a glamour can hide it visually.

Well, there's only one way to truly check, and that means finally claiming the kiss that she's been avoiding. "Looking forward to getting to know you proper." They reply with a spark of mischief in their eyes. Well, that's true enough, whether or not she's the Cat King. And they fully intend on getting to know her very well indeed.

Adjusting their angle slightly, they let their back bump into the wall not far from the exit to the dance floor. There's a dark corner there, as there are spread about the entire club, half hidden spots away from the business of the dance floor for couples. Taking advantage of the slight bump, they pull her into them and push back into her at the same time, hoping she won't have a chance to avoid them this time, as they try once more to claim her lips.

Even if she'd had that chance to avoid their advances (which, let's be honest, she probably did given that her catlike reflexes are impressive at the best of times, and are more so when she's paying close attention, like she's currently doing with Rowan right now), she wouldn't have taken the opportunity to dodge. She wants to be closer to their body, after all – she's as hungry for closeness as she ever is, and that feeling is heightened at the thought of getting that closeness along with company she knows well, and enjoys.

That said, she doesn't expect the kiss so suddenly, so there's very little she could have done to stop it even if she wanted to. Perhaps Rowan won't notice the scar, or maybe they will but they won't mention it in order to keep up the game, or perhaps this will break their kiss on an 'aha!' moment and pave the way for gentle chiding that a little forewarning might have been nice...

But, honestly, it's difficult to speculate about any of that when Rowan's body is against hers, their mouths pressing together in an immediately deep, familiar kiss that tastes of whatever alcohol Rowan has been steeping in this evening. The Cat lifts her arms to lay them daintily on Rowan's shoulders, enjoying their increased height difference immensely and enjoying their eager warmth that never backs down, even as the Cat takes a little step forwards, just enough that she bumps Rowan's body up against the wall behind them, nipping at their tongue and lips with her entirely normal human teeth, pressing her breasts against their chest.

It's hard to remember that they're meant to be looking out for that scar when her body is pressed into theirs like this. Arms on their shoulders, chest to chest, the wall at their back, it's easy to get swallowed up into her. One of their legs presses forward between hers, a gentle pressure but a very present one, and a needy noise escapes into her mouth. Does it matter if she's the Cat King or not? They're putty in her hands either way, unable to resist such a treat.

But their curiosity cannot be tamed, and as their thoughts drift back to their him, their tongue laps at her lips, exploring with purpose now. It's not exactly where they expect it to be, but they find it nether the less, hidden under the glamour but still there to feel. And with that there's the slightest of smug smirks against her, before they let themself get carried away in her and her kiss. So she's the Cat King? All that means is that they know they can trust her, that they already know her limits and she knows theirs.

Nipping at her lip over the scar playfully, they pull away enough to rub their nose against her cheek and then tug on her waist, trying to nudge her on again. "Whoops, this isn't the way out~" They tease, still playing along. "You got a coat to pick up?"

The leg between her own is a forward gesture that she should have expected from someone like Rowan, whether they know the Cat King's true identity or not. She feels a delicious spike of excitement at the feeling of it pressing up against her, and though she isn't exactly at the right angle to award herself any pointed stimulation grinding down onto it, she still enjoys the feeling of squeezing Rowan's leg between her strong inner thighs. She's wet already; hardly surprising given a strong wind could get her going normally, but she's especially weak to Rowan's particular brand of intensity and the scent and taste of their skin.

She could happily stay here and make out with them for far longer, maybe grab a hold of their hand and push it under some of her layers, or else get their fingers in her mouth if nothing else--- but then Rowan is pulling back, trailing their tongue with purpose against the seam of the Cat's mouth and then... And then smirking. The Cat can feel their lip curl against her own, and she thinks surely the game is up...

But Rowan keeps kissing her, keeps nipping at her mouth, keeps pretending like finding a scar hidden under the glamour of perfect skin is a completely normal thing to find on a unknown bed partner... and the Cat can't help but laugh, a little breathless, in response.

"Mm-mm. I run pretty hot. No need for a coat." There's something in what she says that alludes to their history together, of the second time she met Rowan where she'd been wearing next to nothing in the chill and Rowan had been freezing - because even if she's sure Rowan has caught on, there's no harm in being certain, right? "So if you need me to keep you warm on the way back to your place, you only need to ask."

"Really? I could see you in one of those big, old, fur coats. All Cruella D'ville, you know." There's a sparkle in Rowan's eyes, though it's hard to spot in this dark corner. They're not outright saying they know - surely she knows too, but it's as close as they'll get to it.

Instead, soft hands brush along her sides, then with another eager kiss, they gently push her back once more so they can take her hand this time, leading her properly away from the crowd. Perhaps they're a little impatient to take her to where they have privacy to play, not just play with each other, but it is late, and that was true before they realised she's the Cat King. "Guess I can pick mine up tomorrow if you think you can keep me warm proper." There's a challenge for her. And what does it say about them that they're assuming the cloak room staff will recognise their coat?

There's something in that comment that she might have teased about if the jig was officially up – the fact that Cruella would be a pretty excellent front for a Cat King given the contextual history and her weird hatred for dogs, and the way she's always animated in a kind of cat-coded manner – but given that she's still trying to keep up appearances that she's just a normal yet alarmingly sexy human, and that Rowan hasn't called her bluff, she keeps quiet, only pursing her lips and looking thoroughly amused by the comment.

"This isn't the first time I've been told I'd look good in something decadent like that. A real 'Oh, my husband is dead? Poison, you say? How dreadful' kind of coat... Maybe I should do a little clothes shopping sometime..." she says, like she doesn't have the very thing sitting in her closet at home, making her fingers itch with the impulse to magic it out of nowhere just to show off.

"But, sure. I'm up for the challenge. That's if I let you escape my clutches by the time this place opens tomorrow. You're so cute, I might just keep you all to myself~"

Laughing, Rowan squeezes her hand. “Oh, I see how it is. Ain’t just a test of my ability, but my stamina and all, what you’re planning?” But there’s still no sound of complaint. They’re clearly a very willing victim in all of her plotting.

Leading her outside, it’s still early enough in the year that the night air is chilly. It’s a good excuse to crowd into her, to lean in and nuzzle into her jaw. “I ain’t been beaten on that accord yet, neither. But I’m all for you giving it a go.”

The outside air breezes across the Cat King's flesh, and given that she's wearing very little clothing, she does indeed bristle at the change in temperature, but it isn't nearly enough to make her shiver. Especially not when Rowan is crowding in close, keeping their body right up against hers, making it far too tempting not to wrap an arm around them in return, her warm palm against the bare small of their back.

"I think you'll find I'm full of surprises," she says, turning her head in response to that little nuzzle, to give Rowan more room to be affectionate if they so wish. "And very competitive. It was watching you dance so temptingly with other people that had you catching my eye in the first place, after all. I wanted a bite for myself."

Not entirely untrue, though it had been more the fact it was Rowan themself than anything else that had enticed the Cat King over.

The skin of their back is stretched tight across their spine. They’ve always been slim, with the same slender body type as their mother, and their hunger signals damaged by childhood poverty. Without their pack to remind them to eat, it’s too easy for them to forget, and without their pack to eat with, it’s too lonely at the table to want to eat. And they don’t even have their powers to boost their body, trapped in homid with their healing non functional aside from when they’re fucking.

But they haven’t realised how thin they are, so they don’t think anything of it, instead just enjoying her hands on their skin. Responding to the tilt of her head, they turn the nuzzle into a nip, teeth worrying the side of her neck, following the line of it down to her shoulder. They end it with a kiss on her collar, despite their eagerness to explore further, to discover every part of this form of the Cat King’s, until they have it as memorised as his male figure.

“And I didn’t get to see you dance at all. You think I can get a dance and a song if I play you right?” They tease back. Oh, they’re sure they can have her dancing beneath them soon enough.

The thing about being the kind of creature the Cat King is, is that her keen attention comes hand in hand with always surveying your company closely — for reflexive transformation purposes as well as general curiosity. Because of this habit, and because she's felt it beneath her hands numerous times on account of the fact that Rowan is easily in her top five favourite people in this place, the Cat King knows the shape of Rowan's body very well. Enough to duplicate it without needing to try, enough to be able to summon the shape of it in her minds eye, and enough that feeling it now makes the differences stark rather than subtle.

She wonders what the cause could be, wonders if Rowan would tell her if she asked. Maybe later. Maybe after an orgasm or two, when Rowan is pliant and soft and malleable, when the Cat has reminded them how safe they make each other feel, how easy it often is for things to just fall out into the space between them. The Cat feels a threatening throb of curiosity, but it's softened by something warmer, something sweeter, something more like concern than selfish interest.

Trying to keep up the walk (while trying to look like she doesn't know the direction they're headed in) while also not discouraging Rowan's wandering mouth down the slope of her throat is tricky, but she manages it. The curve of her tits heaving out of the cups of her outfit become a little more obvious as she realises how much heavier her breathing is getting, how she clearly wishes Rowan would keep nipping her, keep biting at her flesh, a little harder this time, and feeling the unmistakeable pulse of it pooling wet between her thighs.

"You can get whatever you want," the Cat King replies, hand snaking down the section of Rowan's lower back revealed beneath their cropped shirt, and then trailing her claws back up, till she can cup the back of their neck, and look down at them with a hungry smile. "If you play me right. I'm not a one size fits all kind of girl. You'll have to show me your best tricks if you want to get me singing."

[The third floor of Mayfair. That's where the mysterious digital composer is located, so that's where he goes! But it won't be a very exciting entrance if he simply walks up to the person's door, and he wants their meeting to be exciting for viewers. So!

He starts to sing as he exits the stairwell! To the tune of Brand New Stars:]

Merrily skipping up stairs,
In this big place called Mayfair~♪
A sparkly music duo will begiiiiin~♪

[His voice is loud, echoing through the hall. He scours the doors on either side until he finds one that's open. Stepping up to the threshold, he calls out:]

Anyone by the name of "Rowan" here?

[As it happens it’s not their lack of privacy that led to them leaving their door open. Aside from a few nasty experiances during the first couple of weeks when doors liked to open of their own accord, Rowan just doesn’t like living on their own. In fact, they hate it. A door left open is their attempt to make their flat feel less isolated.

Their other main method is to spend as little time there as possible, which probably explains why, even after a couple of months, there’s not much personalisation. Sure, there’s jackets and shoes by the door, and a couple of mugs sitting out in the small kitchen, but they haven’t gone out of their way to adjust or add anything to the basic Mayfair decor.

Already standing from when the sound of singing drifted down the corridor, Rowan’s waiting, leaning lazily against the bar that nominally separates the kitchen from the seating area of the studio flat. Behind them, a sofa is set into the bay window, with their laptop from home sitting out on the coffee table. The bed is half hidden to the left behind the closed off bathroom opposite the kitchen.]

Watcha, love. Hiyori, yeah? [They’re a bit uncertain about the name. Despite having grown up and living in a very multicultural community, they haven’t run into very many Japanese names. But even with the question in their tone, there’s a warm confidence about them, from the easy way they straighten up, to their welcoming smile.]

Kick your shoes off and make yourself at home. Cuppa? Kettle’s ready to go.

[He feels the same, honestly. For the past year at home, he's had two roommates; the year before that, he had one. And that's not counting his adorable yorkshire terrier as a roommate. He dearly misses everyone back home: his roommates, his unitmates, Mary... why, he even finds himself missing Eichi a tiny bit. If that's not a sign he's frighteningly lonely, nothing is!

So, his willingness to jump on the collaboration is partly that he thinks it'll play well for viewers, partly that he does want to perform and make music, and also partly just because he wants someone (anyone) to talk to. Anyone will do as long as they're not absolutely terrifying, like some of the monsters he saw during the transformation event. And so far...

This person looks normal. There's a relief. He smiles at the greeting and nods:]

That's me! ♪

[Even his voice has a singsong lilt to it. When he's offered tea, he smiles even more warmly.]

That'd be lovely, thanks.

[He leaves his shoes at the door and wanders in. It's a pretty standard room, just like his own, which he's spruced up a little but hasn't been around long enough to decorate too thoroughly. He takes a seat on the couch and crosses his legs, setting his shoulder bag down next to him: something he bought at one of the shops. Inside is a notebook, something else from one of the shops, and inside that is song lyrics. But first, tea!

He eyes the laptop sitting on the coffee table and asks:]

Is that another gift from your fans?

[While he gets himself settled, Rowan sets the kettle off and pulls out a clean mug from the cupboard. Once that’s brewing, they pad over to take a spot on the sofa.]

You’ll have to tell me when you want yours out, I usually leave mine to brew for ages.

[Smiling at Hiyori, there is indeed nothing to hint that they’re not human. They’re older than him, and thinner than their photo in a way that suggests it’s not recent. But their smile is friendly, and even though their London accent is strong, their tone is warm.]

Laptop’s mine from home. Turned up with me; that and my phone and my bag. Most of my music’s on my computer though, so it ain’t as useful as you’d think. Not for us, anyway.

[It’s not entirely true, but since they’ve just spent the last little bit making sure that all the songs they’ve written about their pack and their werewolf shenanigans are properly hidden, which left their library very bare, it’s a convenient excuse.]

This is more for coding on the go. But it’s better than nothing, innit.

I don't mind trying it the way you like it. As long as it's still hot, it's good enough for me. And if it grows cold, we can just make more tea!

[His voice is loud and full of pep. When it comes to being cheerful, acting cheerful is half the battle; that's what he's always thought, so he keeps smiling even as Rowan says the laptop doesn't have most of their music on it. Hiyori believes them since he doesn't have any reason not to.]

True. And perhaps you'll get your computer back at some point. I spoke with this girl who said her "fans" sent something of hers from home. It was a long-lost item she hadn't seen in ages, supposedly.

[Which raises a lot of questions, some of them rather creepy to contemplate, but he doesn't get into that. He just rolls his shoulders in a small, cheerful shrug and says:]

Anyway, you can still make music as long as you have the right programs, right? Which means that if I handed you lyrics, we could brainstorm some backing instrumentals together, correct?

I could give it a go, sure. I still ain't no professional, not by a long shot. [They seem pretty comfortable with the idea despite their words, but that might just be how they are in general.] Like I said, I ain't got no training, don't know notes or nothing, I just do what sounds good.

You got something in mind you want me to take a look at, or you want to hear what I can do before you let me fuck it up for you? [They add with a laugh.]

Self-taught, huh? I like that. Now I'm even more curious!

[Rowan's words don't ring any alarm bells. He has some formal training in music himself, but not as much as some people, and he's aware that others are naturally gifted. Like his childhood friend, or a certain "genius composer" back home.

But he would like to hear a sample. So instead of opening his notebook, he leaves it sitting on his lap and says:]

I do have something. But if there's one thing I know about artists and composers, it's that they like to show off, so...

[He flashes a brighter smile and singsongs:]

Let's hear what you can do! ♪

Decardia Inbox

action, some evening in deca-dance

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CW: description of being under weight, past childhood poverty

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Action (after the second confessional)

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