You saving your friends every round they're under threat doesn't directly benefit my team.
[ Set feels he's been pretty transparent about what he wants: to win. With his team now five people behind, there's a lot of ground to make up for in the next few rounds, and no way to guarantee anything.
Having Shanks's vote is important to him, though. It definitely helps certain movements he might make; and in his vast acumen of tactical information, he has a sick feeling he needs to ensure Shanks and Pierce survive at least this round. ]
— I'm not against it, though.
[ A hm and he arches a brow. Shanks doesn't need to know he was already discussing killing and obscuring additional murders......... what's switching one up into a fake kill going to cost? ]
The main tactic I am working with needs a Witch more than a Doctor. What's in it for me? You know I could ask for your vote this round and then let the night play out.
( his jaw sets and he's about to say i'm not going to let them die — something he has also been very transparent about from the beginning — and reconsider whether this is actually worth his time, but it seems set quickly realizes how much of a nonstarter that is — or at least that shanks' wild plan might be more beneficial to him in the long run, regardless of shanks using his role for selfish reasons rather than strategical ones. )
You could. ( but shanks has a feeling he won't. ) Or I could owe you a favor. Anything you want.
( he doesn't use anything lightly, either. at this point, there are very few lines he wouldn't cross. )
[ Red, red eyes watch the bunch of muscle in Shanks's jaw; Set knows it for defiant tension, the way he's seen countless men grit their teeth and brace themselves to fight that which would offend them. That the man came to him, with a ploy in mind is pleasing enough to the god, that fighting him on it isn't constructive.
He doesn't always like constructive things ( sometimes, destruction is a better method ), but this isn't a half-bad idea. It could be effective, it could not be. Having to treat every round as a means of uncovering the rules and parameters is aggravating. ]
I do not want for much.
[ He really doesn't, and the things he does want are out of anyone's reach right now.
He uncurls from his spot against the peak of the roof, reaching across the meager space between them to curl his fingers around the other man's jaw. Thumb pressed to the place where muscle bunches and tension has settled. ]
I will direct your vote this round, then. And then, we will attempt to fake your demise and get you through one more round. As for the favor you owe me... may I collect it at a later date? Within reason.
( there's a quiet intensity to the way shanks watches set, waiting for a decision he can't predict from set's expression alone. maybe if shanks knew better the small intricacies, were better at reading the minute shift of sand — but the desert is unfamiliar to him, a man who has spent nearly his whole life at sea, accustomed more to the ripple of waves than the stillness of dunes.
set's hand is warm where it meets his jaw, the tension melting under the pressure of set's thumb. shanks reaches for set's wrist, not to pull it away, but to return the point of contact, half-considering simply taking set's hand in his, threading together sand and sea. )
Within reason. ( this, they can both agree on. ) Are you sure you want to use my vote this round?
( then again, maybe it's too much of a risk not to, if the ruse of his death isn't successful, and he doesn't take set for someone who enjoys wasting opportunities. )
[ What a terribly bold man, to take hold of him in return. Set is taken back to just the other night, and the pressure of Shanks's hand on his waist — the forceful way he was dragged up and into the press of their mouths. He's not a small man by any means, a thing of broad-shoulders and trim waist, and yet there are men who diminish him when he stands beside them.
To stand between Horus and the foreigner was to feel small. A light and fleeting thing, built for evasiveness and guile rather than the brute force he pretended was his leading strength. Shanks is like that, even-tempered and broad. Set slinks closer, a predator crawling in for a kill. ]
Why not? If you live, all I have to do is ask you nicely for another.
[ His wrist twists slowly in Shanks's hold, fingers fanning across the man's mouth. ]
( he hums in consideration, lips quirking slightly, his palm sliding up the back of set's hand as he presses a kiss to the lithe fingers splayed against his mouth. )
Hmm. ( gently, he guides set's hand down the bare column of his neck, down to the exposed plane of his chest, his gaze never straying from set's eyes, red as the blaze of his own haki. there's an amusing irony in it, somewhere, to be known for the power of divine departure, when here he sits drawing in the presence of the divine. ) Surely you wouldn't waste a favor on another vote. Unless your plan is to simply exploit my generosity.
( see, he knows exactly what this is, and he is allowing it to happen regardless. for the time being, anyway. he could just as easily decide to stop playing nice — but as things stand now, there's no harm in it, really. the tide will only turn if anything happens to his friends, or if he suspects anything might happen to them as a result of his conspiring with a god. )
No, no. I am saying that I would not spend your favor on a vote, I would ask nicely.
[ In a way, Set is both predictable and unpredictable. The minute details of his schemes are effervescent, lightning-quick and fluid — trapping him in a corner is difficult, for he will dart to the next ploy, to the next. He retreats when he must, and feels no shame over what tactics he utilizes. However, to know whom he is as a god ( his divine parameters, the requirements upon his existence — ) is to know what guides him, ultimately.
His fingers twitch, when Shanks kisses them. When he slides them to his chest, by way of his throat. Those red eyes of his follow in their wake, to the sharp jut of the man's collarbone, the strong swell of his chest. ( Somewhere on the network is record of Set asking for intimacy lessons, for the expansion of his knowledge. ) He knows the importance of transaction, and of using his own body to any and all ends. Set is slow to warm to seduction, even if he toys with others as if he is seducing them. Is that something Shanks knows as well? Is he doing just that, right now? ]
I will "kill" you, Shanks. I've an idea how already. Go to the lake after the voting ends, and at that point tell your friends you are meeting with "Danny Johnson" about his potential identity as a Werewolf. If he is not voted upon. If he is... I will text you another name for the same purpose.
[ He flattens his hand, slowly. Pushing it across the muscle of the man's chest, curling the pads of his fingers in hard, until he divots the flesh below. ]
( shanks grins, lazy as a rising tide, a soundless laugh reaching his eyes. )
I'll look forward to it, then. ( set asking nicely, he means. maybe he might even say yes again, if it's nice enough. if he lives long enough. the bar could always be higher than please.
but there's no obfuscation in his touch when his hand slips over set's waist, light as a feather, warm as the sun, asking a question that remains voiceless between them: is this okay? it's a distraction, perhaps, from the swelling panic he's been swallowing since this morning, that he still finds himself choking on when he thinks of what could have happened — what could still happen. that doesn't make the kindling desire in his chest any less real, though. one way or another, he's certain they would have found themselves here, like this, regardless of the game they happen to be playing. regardless of the fact that shanks has never been particularly good at seducing anybody, even as evasive and cheeky as he can be. most of the time, he's just kind enough to know what people want and generous enough to offer it freely.
his eyes seem to brighten at set's declaration, his hand on set's waist becoming more solid, an anchor hoisted from the depths of the sea, beckoning set forward. )
And after that? ( softly, conspiratorially, leaning into set's touch, the weight of his hand, heat coiling low in shanks' belly. he tilts his head, mouth parted. parched, as only a man who yearns for the sea can be in the face of endless, magnificent desert. wondering, if perhaps they're having a second conversation, one that has less to do with subterfuge and more to do with something else: this nameless, unspoken desire swirling between them, not yet a sandstorm, not yet a typhoon, not yet destructive but no less hungry. )
[ Not one to hold his tongue, his lip curls a little at the warm press of Shanks's hand to his body; Set never wears much, to be sure. His typical attire consists of golden jewelry and the black shendyt currently stretching tight over his thighs, knees parting as he walks them forward — slowly, deliberately bracketing Shanks's hips in a straddle. Nearing a point where he cannot turn back without casting a sour pall upon the thread of tension between them.
He'd never say he was drawn to anyone. Lust, seduction, sex — all are tools that he uses, rather than delves into with the fullness of his head and heart. Nephthys was the only soul he'd ever truly given himself over to, and the others who had him were those who had only sought dominance over an undefeated god, control of an elusive creature, or to take out their sick desires on someone who could not be killed. He wouldn't say he feels the stirring of want easily, nor evocatively — but, he does feel a strange heat simmering in his belly, one that has grown since meeting Shanks in the bar. Since hearing him speak of the blue-haired pirate he'd clearly give the world as a gift to.
Adoration ( devotion ) like that, is something he's drawn to. He is a god, after all. ]
What an audacious man. You will get what I deign to give you.
[ There's no anger in the words, only a buzzing sort of amusement. Set cranes himself up and over the tilt of Shanks's face, free hand sweeping aside hair as red as his own before he descends upon him. Mouth pressing warm and full to Shanks's own, his eyes closing as he pursues that little tug of wantneed he hasn't a clue how to follow. Thighs tight, strong even as he dips his weight into the cradle of the other man's lap. ]
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no subject
[ Set feels he's been pretty transparent about what he wants: to win. With his team now five people behind, there's a lot of ground to make up for in the next few rounds, and no way to guarantee anything.
Having Shanks's vote is important to him, though. It definitely helps certain movements he might make; and in his vast acumen of tactical information, he has a sick feeling he needs to ensure Shanks and Pierce survive at least this round. ]
— I'm not against it, though.
[ A hm and he arches a brow. Shanks doesn't need to know he was already discussing killing and obscuring additional murders......... what's switching one up into a fake kill going to cost? ]
The main tactic I am working with needs a Witch more than a Doctor. What's in it for me? You know I could ask for your vote this round and then let the night play out.
no subject
You could. ( but shanks has a feeling he won't. ) Or I could owe you a favor. Anything you want.
( he doesn't use anything lightly, either. at this point, there are very few lines he wouldn't cross. )
no subject
He doesn't always like constructive things ( sometimes, destruction is a better method ), but this isn't a half-bad idea. It could be effective, it could not be. Having to treat every round as a means of uncovering the rules and parameters is aggravating. ]
I do not want for much.
[ He really doesn't, and the things he does want are out of anyone's reach right now.
He uncurls from his spot against the peak of the roof, reaching across the meager space between them to curl his fingers around the other man's jaw. Thumb pressed to the place where muscle bunches and tension has settled. ]
I will direct your vote this round, then. And then, we will attempt to fake your demise and get you through one more round. As for the favor you owe me... may I collect it at a later date? Within reason.
no subject
set's hand is warm where it meets his jaw, the tension melting under the pressure of set's thumb. shanks reaches for set's wrist, not to pull it away, but to return the point of contact, half-considering simply taking set's hand in his, threading together sand and sea. )
Within reason. ( this, they can both agree on. ) Are you sure you want to use my vote this round?
( then again, maybe it's too much of a risk not to, if the ruse of his death isn't successful, and he doesn't take set for someone who enjoys wasting opportunities. )
no subject
To stand between Horus and the foreigner was to feel small. A light and fleeting thing, built for evasiveness and guile rather than the brute force he pretended was his leading strength. Shanks is like that, even-tempered and broad. Set slinks closer, a predator crawling in for a kill. ]
Why not? If you live, all I have to do is ask you nicely for another.
[ His wrist twists slowly in Shanks's hold, fingers fanning across the man's mouth. ]
no subject
Hmm. ( gently, he guides set's hand down the bare column of his neck, down to the exposed plane of his chest, his gaze never straying from set's eyes, red as the blaze of his own haki. there's an amusing irony in it, somewhere, to be known for the power of divine departure, when here he sits drawing in the presence of the divine. ) Surely you wouldn't waste a favor on another vote. Unless your plan is to simply exploit my generosity.
( see, he knows exactly what this is, and he is allowing it to happen regardless. for the time being, anyway. he could just as easily decide to stop playing nice — but as things stand now, there's no harm in it, really. the tide will only turn if anything happens to his friends, or if he suspects anything might happen to them as a result of his conspiring with a god. )
no subject
No, no. I am saying that I would not spend your favor on a vote, I would ask nicely.
[ In a way, Set is both predictable and unpredictable. The minute details of his schemes are effervescent, lightning-quick and fluid — trapping him in a corner is difficult, for he will dart to the next ploy, to the next. He retreats when he must, and feels no shame over what tactics he utilizes. However, to know whom he is as a god ( his divine parameters, the requirements upon his existence — ) is to know what guides him, ultimately.
His fingers twitch, when Shanks kisses them. When he slides them to his chest, by way of his throat. Those red eyes of his follow in their wake, to the sharp jut of the man's collarbone, the strong swell of his chest. ( Somewhere on the network is record of Set asking for intimacy lessons, for the expansion of his knowledge. ) He knows the importance of transaction, and of using his own body to any and all ends. Set is slow to warm to seduction, even if he toys with others as if he is seducing them. Is that something Shanks knows as well? Is he doing just that, right now? ]
I will "kill" you, Shanks. I've an idea how already. Go to the lake after the voting ends, and at that point tell your friends you are meeting with "Danny Johnson" about his potential identity as a Werewolf. If he is not voted upon. If he is... I will text you another name for the same purpose.
[ He flattens his hand, slowly. Pushing it across the muscle of the man's chest, curling the pads of his fingers in hard, until he divots the flesh below. ]
no subject
I'll look forward to it, then. ( set asking nicely, he means. maybe he might even say yes again, if it's nice enough. if he lives long enough. the bar could always be higher than please.
but there's no obfuscation in his touch when his hand slips over set's waist, light as a feather, warm as the sun, asking a question that remains voiceless between them: is this okay? it's a distraction, perhaps, from the swelling panic he's been swallowing since this morning, that he still finds himself choking on when he thinks of what could have happened — what could still happen. that doesn't make the kindling desire in his chest any less real, though. one way or another, he's certain they would have found themselves here, like this, regardless of the game they happen to be playing. regardless of the fact that shanks has never been particularly good at seducing anybody, even as evasive and cheeky as he can be. most of the time, he's just kind enough to know what people want and generous enough to offer it freely.
his eyes seem to brighten at set's declaration, his hand on set's waist becoming more solid, an anchor hoisted from the depths of the sea, beckoning set forward. )
And after that? ( softly, conspiratorially, leaning into set's touch, the weight of his hand, heat coiling low in shanks' belly. he tilts his head, mouth parted. parched, as only a man who yearns for the sea can be in the face of endless, magnificent desert. wondering, if perhaps they're having a second conversation, one that has less to do with subterfuge and more to do with something else: this nameless, unspoken desire swirling between them, not yet a sandstorm, not yet a typhoon, not yet destructive but no less hungry. )
:AAAA:
[ Not one to hold his tongue, his lip curls a little at the warm press of Shanks's hand to his body; Set never wears much, to be sure. His typical attire consists of golden jewelry and the black shendyt currently stretching tight over his thighs, knees parting as he walks them forward — slowly, deliberately bracketing Shanks's hips in a straddle. Nearing a point where he cannot turn back without casting a sour pall upon the thread of tension between them.
He'd never say he was drawn to anyone. Lust, seduction, sex — all are tools that he uses, rather than delves into with the fullness of his head and heart. Nephthys was the only soul he'd ever truly given himself over to, and the others who had him were those who had only sought dominance over an undefeated god, control of an elusive creature, or to take out their sick desires on someone who could not be killed. He wouldn't say he feels the stirring of want easily, nor evocatively — but, he does feel a strange heat simmering in his belly, one that has grown since meeting Shanks in the bar. Since hearing him speak of the blue-haired pirate he'd clearly give the world as a gift to.
Adoration ( devotion ) like that, is something he's drawn to. He is a god, after all. ]
What an audacious man. You will get what I deign to give you.
[ There's no anger in the words, only a buzzing sort of amusement. Set cranes himself up and over the tilt of Shanks's face, free hand sweeping aside hair as red as his own before he descends upon him. Mouth pressing warm and full to Shanks's own, his eyes closing as he pursues that little tug of wantneed he hasn't a clue how to follow. Thighs tight, strong even as he dips his weight into the cradle of the other man's lap. ]