Fresh off singing Fly Me to the Moon, Maryle slinks over to a seated Dom and drops herself onto the floor. Her back is to him and her side is pressed up against his legs as she awkwardly hands her bottle of questionable alcohol over her shoulder to him in offering.
"I think we should throw you an actual welcome party."
The way Dom's face screws up when he sniffs the proffered bottle should be enough to tell a bystander whatever's inside is an affront to both God and liquor.
He still drinks it.
"Doesn't the new pilot deserve one more than I do?"
"No because this isn't for you. God, you're so self-centered." Maryle reaches her hand out for her bottle back, head listing to the side just a bit as she remains upside down.
"Then you may throw a welcome back party not-for-me." He dangles the bottle toward Maryle. "And yes, as a matter of fact, I am. It's refreshing not to be subjected to chipped renditions of Dragostea Din Tei. Sometimes three in one evening." Pres cities really are dystopian.
Maryle half-heartedly grasps at the bottle, because she knows even if Dom keeps it from her to sate his sadism, he'll eventually give in like he always does.
"You're the worst person." Stated matter-of-factly, with only a hint of slur.
"And what the fuck," she laughs, "We must have been shits in our past life, Dom."
Edited (Whoops the opposite word) 2026-01-23 04:55 (UTC)
Too impatient to wait for any further pity from her friend, Maryle, with a collection of noises of discontent, twists and turns and wiggles until she's pivoted herself around to take the bottle.
She gives Dom a look, a 'see how talented and resourceful I am' look, before taking a long drink.
"No, don't think we have. Maybe we'll be snails next time." She does appear to be genuinely considering their future life situation. "Or, what do you think?"
He shoots the look back, which flits to a nearby chair before returning to Maryle, like it adds 'talented and resourceful people sit on chairs like human beings.'
"Parrots? They cause a ruckus. My mother was locked in turf warfare against a flock when we lived in Miri."
With almost everyone, Luke is courteous, genial, and easygoing. One might mistake him for being naturally and perpetually friendly, but with Jo, this mask quickly fades. Around Jo, he's serious, searching, uncommonly frank—kind but not nice‚in the way two people can be only when they share the same sin. That's how Luke sees things, anyway. They both killed Leo, though he more than her.
"Don't tell me you're going to duck out now." He approaches her at the edge of the room, standing next to her as they both look out over the crowd of partygoers. Someone is singing off-tune at the karaoke machine, though not unpleasantly. "You should at least seem like you're enjoying yourself."
Jo, in a way, sees herself in Luke. He’s got a better piece of how she operates; he’s smiley, jovial and kind. But when the curtain shuts, he’s much like her; quiet, ascertaining, analytic. He’s smarter than he lets on, and for that, she sees them both as equals.
Or maybe that’s her subconscious guilt speaking.
“Lying isn’t good for anyone,” she replies over the lip of her cup— water, of course. Not by bias or judgement, rather preference. Jo likes being clear minded in crowded spaces. “And you?” She glances to the side without so much as turning her cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Her brows raise.
“Or are you faking it, too?” Not malicious, not accusatory. She might seem overly protective over him, from a first glance, even.
He exhales sharply out of his mouth, a kind of laugh. "I think it depends," he replies mildly. "Sometimes, lying is good for all parties involved."
Then she flips scrutiny back at him. He should be used to it by now, this uncanny tendency of Jo's that makes him feel as though she's examining him through a microscope, but each time is uniquely uncomfortable. "I'm okay," he replies. There's very little use lying to Jo, Luke has learned. She always finds out, and she never lets it rest.
"The mission was a success, and you know, people are allowed to let off steam." He chews on the inside of his cheek for a second. "But I guess I'm not really happy."
Towards the end of the night, Luke finds his roommate. Archie is new—and while of course Archie's older brother is on the ship looking out for him, and while of course Luke doesn't want to come between brothers or interfere with Kit's rightful exercise and enjoyment of brotherly duties, Luke does want to make sure Archie is comfortable. That he's getting along with folks. Finding his footing aboard the Mnemosyne, and whatnot.
"How was the lapdance?" No judgment whatsoever in the question, just earnest curiosity and perhaps a touch of anxiety to hear Archie respond with 'great!' Luke knows very well how it can feel to want to please everyone, to be 'game for whatever' and find himself in uncomfortable scenarios. "You all good?"
Archie perked up when Luke came over. Luke had been the first person he really knew aboard the Mnemosyne other than his brother. Heck, he was even just meeting his brother again after a number of years apart. But Luke had been a rock in his support of getting him to feel comfortable on the ship.
Archie awkwardly chuckled at Luke's question. "Uh," he shrugged. "It was great, unexpected prompt." He really hadn't minded, and Mav, as a new friend, had been a good sport. "Honestly, it was between you and Mav." He smiled over at the guy. "So yeah, all good." He raised his eyebrow a bit. "You worried for me, mate?"
He looks surprised, and then for a half-second something like pain crosses his face. For the past two years, he's been struggling with the notion that he's stolen this life—UnVeiled and part of an active, vital resistance—from Leo. Out of the two of them, Leo was the twin who would have joined the Dislinked and who would have reasonably gotten a lap dance. Luke feels like a bad actor, uneasy in the role of someone a good-looking young man would think to rope into something fun.
The half-second of discomfort passes as he shifts his focus to a topic he can more easily address. "I was worried, actually, a little bit," he replies honestly. "Thought maybe you might have felt awkward or pressured into it. But I guess I'm projecting." He places his hand on Archie's shoulder, something like a pat. "It was a good lap dance, from what I saw. So I guess you weren't feeling awkward at all."
Archie flashed him a bright smile. "Yeah, between you and Mav." He thought it was an obvious choice, but maybe it was only obvious to him. "You're hot, and I know you. She is attractive, and I know her. Better than someone I don't know." Immediately as he finished talking, his brother's words not to fuck his roommate came into his head. It caused a hint of colour to hit his cheeks.
"Thanks for looking out, though," he said with sincerity. He did appreciate it. "It could have been really awkward, but luckily it wasn't."
Luke does not miss the slight hint of scarlet at Archie's cheeks that coincides with 'hot.' Again he feels momentarily perplexed, and then momentarily guilty, and then he feels as if he's being asked to balance too many things at once: Leo's memory; what ought to be proper decorum aboard Mnemosyne; the spectre of Kit's brotherly concern (which Luke is certain looms over Archie in perpetuity); the path of behavior that would be most fair and kind toward Archie; and, most perplexing of all, what Luke wants. He never thinks about what he wants. Actually, he hates to think about what he wants.
Luke frowns a little, feeling his face grow slightly hot with its own hint of color. "You don't need to thank me," he says. "I want to look out for you." He means it, but for some reason, this truthful admission feels especially awkward. "You're hot, too. Although that's separate from wanting to look out for you. Just wanted you to know."
Archie was half tempted to say that Luke really didn't have to look out for him; he was fine. Though, as he felt he was still finding his footing on the ship, sometimes having extra people looking out wasn't so bad. "You want to?" Archie did feel a bit of something that the fact Luke wanted to. It felt nice, but also made him want to ask why. It was also a distraction from the embarrassment he felt from just outright announcing his roommate was hot.
"Oh," he said with a big grin. His face lit up when he heard that he was hot, too. "Thank you." He couldn't get rid of the grin on his face. He saw Luke's own hint of colour in his cheeks. Kit's words of wisdom were taking a back seat for a moment.
"I do want to," Luke replies. Though it occurs to him now that even the most well-intentioned solicitousness could register to someone as an imposition. Suppose Archie is the independent type, and doesn't want a worrywart like Luke hovering over him, telling him not to sprain his tailbone while giving a lap dance. Much to think about.
"And you don't need to thank me or anything. It wasn't intended as a compliment, just a sort of observation." Luke makes a face. "Though it wasn't intended as uncomplimentary, either. Um. You know."
"Okay," Archie replied. "I don't mind, by the way." He felt he should clarify, even if he did sort of have conditions. "Just don't hover overprotectively or whatever." Archie was okay on his own, but he was not going to turn down support.
"Oh," Archie furrowed his brow. Not a compliment but also not an uncompliment. He thought he understood, but he wasn't sure. "So just an objective observation with no subtext?" Archie's voice rose as if that was a question when he wasn't even sure if it was a question.
"Right." Luke does a little salute, half-meaning it, and smiles. "No hovering."
And—
"Oh, gosh." Luke rubs at his eyes with his hand, slightly redder now. "Don't ask me about subtext. I really don't know anything about it. It was an objective observation, how about that?"
Seeing Luke get redder, he didn't know whether it was cute or if he should be worried that he was making some sort of error. "Got it. Just objective observation. No underlying desire to snog me or anything." The comment came with an awkward laugh. "I should just shut up now." He nervously rubbed the back of his neck.
Having nearly the entire population of the Mnemosyne in one place means that it’s crowded and chaotic, something that bars never were in pres Jackson. Apollo is a little overwhelmed by it, albeit not in a bad way. The high emotion in the room feels raw and real in a way nothing did while he was under the Veil. It’s nice. It’s human.
It’s a little annoying to have to wade through an ocean of bodies. Every possible seat or seatlike object in the common area is occupied, so he’s not surprised to find his previous spot taken when he returns from singing Avril Lavigne with Casper. He’s even less surprised to see who swiped it from him. Lola.
“I was sitting there,” he informs her, although even by his tone it’s easy to surmise he’s not actually asking her to move.
Lola offers him her most guileless smile, even going so far as to gesture to herself as if to say who, me?, as though taking his seat hadn’t been a very deliberate choice. In truth, she’d slipped into the spot the moment he took the “stage,” keen on securing a good vantage point for her partner’s — and one of her partner’s oldest friends’ — performance.
“And now you aren’t,” she says simply, shrugging. Still, she makes a small show of inching over, leaving just enough space for Apollo to precariously perch on the box moonlighting as a stool. Low laughter bounces around the room as she gives him an appraising once over and adds, a little more generously, “But just this once, I will be nice. After all, you didn’t do so terribly, Boy Scout.”
He rolls his eyes, good-natured but aware he probably shouldn’t let Lola boss him around as much as he ultimately does. Without much hesitation at all, though, he sits on the offered sliver of seat so they’re thigh to thigh.
“Do I get a letter grade for my performance?” he asks.
“Satisfaisant. B+,” she declares, crisp and final, punctuating the sentiment with a swig of beer. Her eyes are bright with amusement as she tips the bottle toward him in an unspoken invitation. “Good stage presence. Great song choice.”
The corner of her mouth kicks up, fond. “But you could have removed a little clothing and given us a real show. Consider that a note for next time.”
He’s pleased with this grade, but nods along as she provides her commentary as if it’s real constructive criticism. “How much clothing do I have to take off to get the A?”
“At least the shirt,” comes Lola’s prompt reply, hooking a finger into his sleeve and giving it a tug. If her hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, well — she suspects Apollo will not really mind. “Keep the trousers on, though. You want to tempt people, not scandalize the prudes in our midst.”
“I’m not convinced there are prudes on this ship,” Apollo says, taking a sip of his own drink (ginger ale). “Or that I have to take my shirt off to tempt anyone.”
“You’re too cocky, Boy Scout,” she chides, but there’s no real heat to her voice. If anything, Apollo’s particular brand of confidence seems to entertain her. “What do you think is the most tempting thing about you?”
Without warning — and with a viper-like quickness — Lola reaches for his jaw and turns his head toward her, her nails biting lightly into his skin.
“It could be the eyes,” she says after a moment, humming in thought. “The smile, perhaps. Or maybe the jawline."
He laughs at first, a little delighted at her brazenness and a little self-conscious under her scrutiny. Then, in the interest of participating in the joke, he schools his face to a very serious expression to look her directly in the eyes as she examines him.
“It’s definitely the eyes,” he says.
Certainly not one to back down from a challenge, Lola holds his gaze, one eyebrow hitching up in amused defiance. For several long seconds she doesn’t move or blink, but then the corner of her mouth betrays her. Later on, she will swear that the alcohol is the reason she breaks first, a ghost of a laugh slipping out as she releases his jaw. Her hand drifts from his face to rest on his knee, casual enough to suggest an intimacy they don’t quite possess.
“Fine,” she says, giving his leg a light tap. “The eyes are up there.” Then, still smiling, she adds, “What about me?”
“Hard to say, since you do it on purpose.” His voice drops, as if it will afford them any privacy in the already crowded and noisy room. “You’re good at it too.”
Unfortunately, Lola is truly in her element now, hitting on all eight as she slowly traces an absent-minded circle on his knee.
“There isn’t much to it,” she murmurs, closing some of the distance between them by a few degrees, her mouth perilously close to the shell of his ear. Her hand begins to drift higher, tracking up his thigh at an unhurried pace. She pauses there, possessive. “The trick is to — there is an English saying for this — treat them mean, keep them keen?”
Her fingers tighten slightly where they rest on his thigh, then retreat as if she’s reconsidered. A twist of her bow mouth. “Always leave them wanting more.”
Apollo is canny enough to know when he’s being fucked with, but a small shock of disappointment goes through him when her hand comes off his thigh anyway. His fault, he supposes, for being an easy mark.
“You’re a tease,” he says, intoning it like she might not already be aware of the fact. It’s mild and amused as far as accusations go.
She flashes him a wink before taking a swig of beer. “Perhaps. But at least I am never boring.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Minis/Threads
Maryle & Dom
"I think we should throw you an actual welcome party."
Maryle & Dom
He still drinks it.
"Doesn't the new pilot deserve one more than I do?"
Maryle & Dom
"Toooooo serious, it'd be a waste. And I like you more than him."
Maryle & Dom
Maryle & Dom
"You having fun, though?"
Maryle & Dom
Maryle & Dom
"You're the worst person." Stated matter-of-factly, with only a hint of slur.
"And what the fuck," she laughs, "We must have been shits in our past life, Dom."
Maryle & Dom
Maryle & Dom
She gives Dom a look, a 'see how talented and resourceful I am' look, before taking a long drink.
"No, don't think we have. Maybe we'll be snails next time." She does appear to be genuinely considering their future life situation. "Or, what do you think?"
Maryle & Dom
"Parrots? They cause a ruckus. My mother was locked in turf warfare against a flock when we lived in Miri."
Maryle & Dom
Maryle & Dom
Maryle & Dom
Jo & Luke
"Don't tell me you're going to duck out now." He approaches her at the edge of the room, standing next to her as they both look out over the crowd of partygoers. Someone is singing off-tune at the karaoke machine, though not unpleasantly. "You should at least seem like you're enjoying yourself."
Re: Jo & Luke
Or maybe that’s her subconscious guilt speaking.
“Lying isn’t good for anyone,” she replies over the lip of her cup— water, of course. Not by bias or judgement, rather preference. Jo likes being clear minded in crowded spaces. “And you?” She glances to the side without so much as turning her cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Her brows raise.
“Or are you faking it, too?” Not malicious, not accusatory. She might seem overly protective over him, from a first glance, even.
Re: Jo & Luke
Then she flips scrutiny back at him. He should be used to it by now, this uncanny tendency of Jo's that makes him feel as though she's examining him through a microscope, but each time is uniquely uncomfortable. "I'm okay," he replies. There's very little use lying to Jo, Luke has learned. She always finds out, and she never lets it rest.
"The mission was a success, and you know, people are allowed to let off steam." He chews on the inside of his cheek for a second. "But I guess I'm not really happy."
Archie & Luke
"How was the lapdance?" No judgment whatsoever in the question, just earnest curiosity and perhaps a touch of anxiety to hear Archie respond with 'great!' Luke knows very well how it can feel to want to please everyone, to be 'game for whatever' and find himself in uncomfortable scenarios. "You all good?"
Archie & Luke
Archie awkwardly chuckled at Luke's question. "Uh," he shrugged. "It was great, unexpected prompt." He really hadn't minded, and Mav, as a new friend, had been a good sport. "Honestly, it was between you and Mav." He smiled over at the guy. "So yeah, all good." He raised his eyebrow a bit. "You worried for me, mate?"
Archie & Luke
He looks surprised, and then for a half-second something like pain crosses his face. For the past two years, he's been struggling with the notion that he's stolen this life—UnVeiled and part of an active, vital resistance—from Leo. Out of the two of them, Leo was the twin who would have joined the Dislinked and who would have reasonably gotten a lap dance. Luke feels like a bad actor, uneasy in the role of someone a good-looking young man would think to rope into something fun.
The half-second of discomfort passes as he shifts his focus to a topic he can more easily address. "I was worried, actually, a little bit," he replies honestly. "Thought maybe you might have felt awkward or pressured into it. But I guess I'm projecting." He places his hand on Archie's shoulder, something like a pat. "It was a good lap dance, from what I saw. So I guess you weren't feeling awkward at all."
Archie & Luke
"Thanks for looking out, though," he said with sincerity. He did appreciate it. "It could have been really awkward, but luckily it wasn't."
Archie & Luke
Luke frowns a little, feeling his face grow slightly hot with its own hint of color. "You don't need to thank me," he says. "I want to look out for you." He means it, but for some reason, this truthful admission feels especially awkward. "You're hot, too. Although that's separate from wanting to look out for you. Just wanted you to know."
Archie & Luke
"Oh," he said with a big grin. His face lit up when he heard that he was hot, too. "Thank you." He couldn't get rid of the grin on his face. He saw Luke's own hint of colour in his cheeks. Kit's words of wisdom were taking a back seat for a moment.
Archie & Luke
"And you don't need to thank me or anything. It wasn't intended as a compliment, just a sort of observation." Luke makes a face. "Though it wasn't intended as uncomplimentary, either. Um. You know."
Well then.
Archie & Luke
"Oh," Archie furrowed his brow. Not a compliment but also not an uncompliment. He thought he understood, but he wasn't sure. "So just an objective observation with no subtext?" Archie's voice rose as if that was a question when he wasn't even sure if it was a question.
Archie & Luke
And—
"Oh, gosh." Luke rubs at his eyes with his hand, slightly redder now. "Don't ask me about subtext. I really don't know anything about it. It was an objective observation, how about that?"
Archie & Luke
Archie & Luke
Archie & Luke
Archie & Luke
Archie & Luke
Lola & Apollo.
Having nearly the entire population of the Mnemosyne in one place means that it’s crowded and chaotic, something that bars never were in pres Jackson. Apollo is a little overwhelmed by it, albeit not in a bad way. The high emotion in the room feels raw and real in a way nothing did while he was under the Veil. It’s nice. It’s human.
It’s a little annoying to have to wade through an ocean of bodies. Every possible seat or seatlike object in the common area is occupied, so he’s not surprised to find his previous spot taken when he returns from singing Avril Lavigne with Casper. He’s even less surprised to see who swiped it from him. Lola.
“I was sitting there,” he informs her, although even by his tone it’s easy to surmise he’s not actually asking her to move.
Lola offers him her most guileless smile, even going so far as to gesture to herself as if to say who, me?, as though taking his seat hadn’t been a very deliberate choice. In truth, she’d slipped into the spot the moment he took the “stage,” keen on securing a good vantage point for her partner’s — and one of her partner’s oldest friends’ — performance.
“And now you aren’t,” she says simply, shrugging. Still, she makes a small show of inching over, leaving just enough space for Apollo to precariously perch on the box moonlighting as a stool. Low laughter bounces around the room as she gives him an appraising once over and adds, a little more generously, “But just this once, I will be nice. After all, you didn’t do so terribly, Boy Scout.”
He rolls his eyes, good-natured but aware he probably shouldn’t let Lola boss him around as much as he ultimately does. Without much hesitation at all, though, he sits on the offered sliver of seat so they’re thigh to thigh.
“Do I get a letter grade for my performance?” he asks.
“Satisfaisant. B+,” she declares, crisp and final, punctuating the sentiment with a swig of beer. Her eyes are bright with amusement as she tips the bottle toward him in an unspoken invitation. “Good stage presence. Great song choice.”
The corner of her mouth kicks up, fond. “But you could have removed a little clothing and given us a real show. Consider that a note for next time.”
He’s pleased with this grade, but nods along as she provides her commentary as if it’s real constructive criticism. “How much clothing do I have to take off to get the A?”
“At least the shirt,” comes Lola’s prompt reply, hooking a finger into his sleeve and giving it a tug. If her hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, well — she suspects Apollo will not really mind. “Keep the trousers on, though. You want to tempt people, not scandalize the prudes in our midst.”
“I’m not convinced there are prudes on this ship,” Apollo says, taking a sip of his own drink (ginger ale). “Or that I have to take my shirt off to tempt anyone.”
“You’re too cocky, Boy Scout,” she chides, but there’s no real heat to her voice. If anything, Apollo’s particular brand of confidence seems to entertain her. “What do you think is the most tempting thing about you?”
Without warning — and with a viper-like quickness — Lola reaches for his jaw and turns his head toward her, her nails biting lightly into his skin.
“It could be the eyes,” she says after a moment, humming in thought. “The smile, perhaps. Or maybe the jawline."
He laughs at first, a little delighted at her brazenness and a little self-conscious under her scrutiny. Then, in the interest of participating in the joke, he schools his face to a very serious expression to look her directly in the eyes as she examines him.
“It’s definitely the eyes,” he says.
Certainly not one to back down from a challenge, Lola holds his gaze, one eyebrow hitching up in amused defiance. For several long seconds she doesn’t move or blink, but then the corner of her mouth betrays her. Later on, she will swear that the alcohol is the reason she breaks first, a ghost of a laugh slipping out as she releases his jaw. Her hand drifts from his face to rest on his knee, casual enough to suggest an intimacy they don’t quite possess.
“Fine,” she says, giving his leg a light tap. “The eyes are up there.” Then, still smiling, she adds, “What about me?”
“Hard to say, since you do it on purpose.” His voice drops, as if it will afford them any privacy in the already crowded and noisy room. “You’re good at it too.”
Unfortunately, Lola is truly in her element now, hitting on all eight as she slowly traces an absent-minded circle on his knee.
“There isn’t much to it,” she murmurs, closing some of the distance between them by a few degrees, her mouth perilously close to the shell of his ear. Her hand begins to drift higher, tracking up his thigh at an unhurried pace. She pauses there, possessive. “The trick is to — there is an English saying for this — treat them mean, keep them keen?”
Her fingers tighten slightly where they rest on his thigh, then retreat as if she’s reconsidered. A twist of her bow mouth. “Always leave them wanting more.”
Apollo is canny enough to know when he’s being fucked with, but a small shock of disappointment goes through him when her hand comes off his thigh anyway. His fault, he supposes, for being an easy mark.
“You’re a tease,” he says, intoning it like she might not already be aware of the fact. It’s mild and amused as far as accusations go.
She flashes him a wink before taking a swig of beer. “Perhaps. But at least I am never boring.”
“No. I wouldn’t accuse you of that,” he agrees.