rhygret: (bros before bros)
Rhys ([personal profile] rhygret) wrote in [community profile] overjoyed_logs2017-03-15 11:08 pm

OPEN

Who: Rhys + OTA
Where: Leith, Westerley
When: Chapter 4 stuff
Summary: Dreams + catchall
Restrictions/Warnings: bros bein bros, bro. Also sex warning for the thread with Steinbeck wow rhys get some dream standards
graftage: (cannery row)

why wouldn't i tag this

[personal profile] graftage 2017-03-15 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Sorry. Is it really out of fashion to be late? I really should catch up with the times.

[Says Steinbeck, all charming smiles and laughs - he's not in his usual revealing Scarback ensemble, but a rather nice business suit, his deep green tie decorated with little purple crystals arranged in clusters.]

[He seems at home in this kind of place at first glance, but the way he holds himself is off somehow. He wasn't born in such high society. Something about him will always be rough, wild, undomesticated. But Delle seems enraptured, all the same, and Steinbeck turns his head in Rhys' direction with a very sly smile.]


What can I say, Rhys? Early bird gets the worm, hm?
graftage: (cup of gold)

[personal profile] graftage 2017-03-16 01:45 am (UTC)(link)
Someone seems upset they're not a snake.

[The tray comes over, and Steinbeck deftly selects a glass, taking a sip of Hokk as he answers Delle's question.]

Hm. A bit of both, actually. Business and... [He makes a pointed pause, here, glancing over at Rhys again. His smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. He's clearly enjoying himself.] Pleasure.

[He chuckles, like he's making a joke only he understands, before turning his gaze back on Delle. He's not that interested in her, but if doing this makes Rhys squirm...]

I'm sure you know a thing or two about that.
Edited (DOING I MEAN DOING) 2017-03-16 01:45 (UTC)

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shikomizue: (pic#9306764)

throw another one on the pile

[personal profile] shikomizue 2017-03-21 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
[Takasugi wears his suit jacket open, an inappropriate amount of buttons left undone on his shirt. The only conforming he's done to the expected dress is to tuck his shirt in, though with how his characteristically disheveled hair hasn't been tamed, it's unlikely that will last.

Hands in his pockets, Takasugi approaches Delle with a smile that is almost warm, eye narrowed too sharply contrasting the prideful, welcoming breath he takes that swells in his chest. What he sees now, entangled in Rhys's dream, isn't a woman he hates, but a worthy recipient of his best efforts.

He allows them both to speak, giving Rhys only a quick, cursory glance before turning his head away to Delle's and then further - the implication that she should follow his gaze.]
Aah, I was delayed in finishing my pipe. [The scent of aromatic tobacco still clings to his clothing.] Then, of course, I was sure to wait until you were not occupied... [With anything important.

The attention Takasugi craves cannot be split between two - he'll wrestle what little validation Rhys was receiving away with each breath.]
shikomizue: (pic#9306773)

[personal profile] shikomizue 2017-03-22 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
[throw down its time to duel heaven or hell lets rock

It's because Takasugi is aware how fleeting the woman's attention is that he's so shrewd about acquiring it. Though he's hesitant to view Rhys as a simple obstacle.

Not when he can use the man to his advantage.]
Mm? [He nearly acknowledges Rhys there, but Delle speaks and Takasugi chuckles the other's protest away.] I find the intimacy of a private conversation - between two - [The pointed look he shoots Rhys is the longest he's looked at him so far.] far preferable.

[He greets her challenge with a smile twitching wider.] But. If you feel otherwise, Rhys, by all means...
Edited 2017-03-23 01:24 (UTC)

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lefthandfree: (blind clarity)

[personal profile] lefthandfree 2017-03-31 05:43 pm (UTC)(link)
[He doesn’t exactly get why he’s dreaming this. He just knows he’s having a helluva lotta fun doing it and that he feels like he’s done it before. Oddly enough. Especially since he has no memory of anything as ridiculous as this, but fighting with invisible weapons seems familiar, even without all the fake gun sounds.

Instead of a measly handgun like the others (enemies?) huddled near the command hub seem to be sporting though, James has an assault rifle. And it’s the whole of his left forearm, two fingers extended as the rifle’s muzzle.

When Rhys leaps out, James peeks out from behind cover to see where he's aiming and ducks back before he can get shot. Anticlimactic a bit. Seems like the shot should have been more accurate with words like that, but it's well off the mark despite James having ducked away.

Calling out, he grasps his wrist to prepare for another barrage.
] If that was meant to be a threat, pal, I think it’d have worked better if you didn’t miss by a mile.

[As if to make his point clearer, he takes this moment to duck out. Even with his rifle set to burst, he takes out several of the young man’s allies that are peeking out at the inopportune moment with precision pulls of the invisible rifle’s trigger. One, two shots each. They go down quick, and it’s clear that the heavy fire from before was all warning and not play.]

Maybe you should just it give up, huh? [He calls again as he withdraws back behind cover.] We’ve already got you guys boxed in, buddy.
ofobedience: please do not take (pic#11048279)

[personal profile] ofobedience 2017-03-15 04:20 pm (UTC)(link)
[Just a tad understated, yes. All of this, the orchard and the farm and the sprawling building nestled within all this land, the servants who greet him pleasantly and extend him the same courtesies Rhys himself is receiving, the food and the general indolence and the warm sunlight on his face as they recline on the patio overlooking green fields and prettily blooming trees-- it's more than a little overwhelming. More than he knows what to do with.

As such, he's mostly quiet, perhaps a little subdued, though more from the feeling of being out of his depth than any sense of unpleasantness or dislike of the kind of treatment Rhys is heaping on him. It just isn't what he does, isn't what he knows, and as such it leaves him uncertain, unsure.

Though despite all that he seems comfortable enough in the clothes Rhys has given him, less tightly-wound and stiff-spined than he tends to look in his severe uniform. Instead, there's a definite looseness to his limbs as they stretch out on the patio, lithe and almost relaxed rather than hard and poised and ready to leap into action at the drop of a hat. And there had been a moment when he'd first put the suit on, a strange feeling of nausea, of giddiness, an odd image flashing up in his head of himself wearing the bright white suit that hangs in his wardrobe at the Kennel, of his hands slung loose into pockets as he approaches an army of masked soldiers, his bearing that of a person in command. A shake of the head, a moment of leaning back against the bathroom wall and it had dissipated, leaving behind only an odd nostalgic sensation and the realisation that the weeks leading up to this moment had taken a lot out of him. Stress, that's all it is.

As such, perhaps this invitation couldn't have come at a better time.

And so he turns slightly now to look at his superior (owner, boss, friend, whatever this man is to him, it gets harder to define by the day), chin slightly lifted, lips curled in the hint of a smile. His expression, it's vague, and yet poised somewhere between amused and almost wistful. nearly sad.]


Oh, it's nice all right. But it's not meant for something like me.
ofobedience: (pic#10920576)

[personal profile] ofobedience 2017-03-16 01:47 am (UTC)(link)
[Not that again-- but it always comes down to that in the end, doesn't it? He is what he is and when away from here if he were to take any of the sentiments Rhys tries to instill along with him there'd be repercussions, disciplinary action. In the eyes of those he belongs to he'll never be anything more than a tool and to see himself any other way is therefore dangerous, treasonous. He can never forget his place.

But he says nothing of that, knows the shape of the other man's thoughts on the matter well enough by now, and so instead he shrugs, loose-shouldered. Smiles his crooked smile.]


I do have fun, Mr Kendry.

[Just...of a type he's been conditioned to enjoy, rather than something chosen.]

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eggplanting: (it's alright if you do)

climbing wall

[personal profile] eggplanting 2017-04-01 06:07 am (UTC)(link)
[At some point, Steph is actually going to gather the courage to ask whether their occasional, but fun, outings are dates, since they seem to fall into the kind of pattern that most people would expect, for a date. But it could also just be two friends hanging out and maybe she's reading too much into it, which wouldn't be entirely new for her.

Anyway, she's really just happy to spend time with Rhys, especially when he decides on inviting her to some fancy indoor climbing centre, after their discussion about her newfound desire to do stupid, dangerous shit. A climbing wall isn't exactly dangerous, but it's still pretty cool.

Some instructor had walked them through the basics, including the harness - which in true rich people fashion, manage to be both fashionable and functional - and now Steph is eyeing the wall that had been pointed out as the most difficult.]


I think I've done this before. Because that should be daunting, right?

[And she's not daunted at all.

It's so nice to be able to talk through these things, when feelings about her forgotten past come up.]
eggplanting: (like the world was gonna end)

the worst valentines day card

[personal profile] eggplanting 2017-04-01 07:47 am (UTC)(link)
It just looks fun.

[Maybe a little bit of a challenge, but she can already start picking out the best possible route, finding potential hand and foot holds that are the right height for her, along with a few that might be pushing it, but that just makes it more fun.]

Does this mean we're not racing?

[She probably shouldn't look so smug, that's mean, when he went to all this effort.]

:T

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no!!!

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no one can stop her

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ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

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we're very good at rping

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sunderings: (you're certain?)

[personal profile] sunderings 2017-04-02 08:19 pm (UTC)(link)
[ If it is quiet—and it is, such that one might readily be able to hear a pin drop from afar, and certainly the approach of a newcomer's footfalls—it is largely the Director's doing. Where he had once taken to Old Town's streets, providing what medical services he'd been able to out of his sister's clinic in the slums, he is now confined to the command post where (in between tending to a great deluge of paperwork) he devotes his time to assisting in the med bay.

Here, he might hear the stories of Enforcers who struggle, now, to contain uprisings from the resistance, the gangs who would impersonate them, and civilians alike, and in this way, he is able to monitor the situation on the outside. Behind each titanium stitch, there is news to take note of (rebels, taking hold of a Company storehouse; civilian establishments attacked for serving Company personnel), and surely there is something to be said in regards to Sion's newest patient: the Nine whose speech is strained, hyper-nasal, and has so much blood upon his shirt and face that it will be a small wonder if his nose is not broken.

If it is quiet, it is because Sion is efficient, boasting a deft hand hand at what he does, and this includes— ]


Please, sit. [ —a warm beside manner, golden eyes softening in something which is equal parts sympathy, concern, and a gentle manner of curiosity. This is why he works in the med bay, after all: here, everyone is humanized.

Everyone can bleed.

...and everyone might be subject to his manner of mothering caretaking, for if Rhys does not move out his own volition, Sion will reach up, lightly touching a hand to the Nine's shoulder if only to see the man seated atop the nearest examination table. ]


Was it an accident or physical altercation?

[ —he asks, head canting to the side in brief study of his newest patient before he whisks away to procure gauze, tweezers, and mild saline solution. ]
sunderings: (i am lost and led only by the stars)

[personal profile] sunderings 2017-04-03 02:43 am (UTC)(link)
Acclimation training.

[ —Sion's voice is a thoughtful echo accompanied by the clink (one, two, three distinct chimes) of his gathered supplies against a stainless steel instrument tray.

Naturally, the other man's look of surprise does not escape his medic's glance, his appraising eyes, but Sion cares not to address it in the here and now where he moves with equal measures diligence, purpose, and grace. Sion Astal has always been a man capable of wearing many hats, many faces (once upon a time, he'd been an Enforcer as ruthless as any until the day the facade had cracked, and his temperament gave reason enough for the upper echelons to have him reassigned), if only to better protect those in need of it. But in this moment, perhaps he is most true to himself, bridging the distance between himself, a confession upon his lips: ]


I, too, was assigned to such a training. [ Tray? Set atop the examination table. Gauze? Dampened with saline solution, then gathered and held with tweezers. Well then... ] Though I was fortunate enough to complete it to satisfaction without sustaining injury.

[ Even if, at first glance (and now second) glance, Sion seems as though he would be by far a better politician, diplomat, or ...nurse. ]

You'll need to allow me a better look at your nose, before I am to begin cleaning you up.

[ Read: please lower your pinching hand, Rhys. ]

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