Jun (Devine) Hidaka
Fandomless OC RP Blog
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* Name: Jun Hidaka
* Alias: Jun Divine of Siren
* Instruments: guitar & voice
* Pronouns: he/they
* Species: dhampir
I came up with this character on my own. Though I did have some minor influences from other media, any resemblance to a canon character from any fandom or to another OC is coincidental.
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your replies will not be perfect, and that's okay.you don't need to use ten thousand words from the thesaurus. you don't have to be shakespeare. you don't have to put pressure on yourself to put out a perfect, novella-length reply every time you sit down at your computer. this is a hobby you do for fun, not a classroom where your words are being graded at every turn - be gentle with yourself. you are doing your best. applaud yourself for your own passion and creativity. applaud yourself for trying. applaud yourself for every one liner you do, every small paragraph. applaud yourself on the days you only get one thing done - you wrote something beautiful. you did something fun. really try to love this hobby again. no one cares about word count. no one cares about the thesaurus. people follow your blog because they want to write with you. don't forget that.
Once the cheers and applause started to die down, Jun stepped up to the mic again - this time, to introduce the band and its members, as well as to thank the audience for coming and bid them to enjoy the show.
The show in question was just as much a success as their opening number. Their setlist moved the mood from energetic to mellower and almost melancholy then back again, now with a bit of an edge. Everyone was in fine form, with nary an audible slipup; though the lighting rig was simple, there were a few tricks pulled in certain songs to accentuate the music. For Jun's part, he found his wandering gaze over the audience returning most often to John at the front. During one number, when it fit with the lyrics, he tossed a cheeky wink the man's way. He couldn't help it, he loved seeing how taken the guy was with Siren's music. The reception was positive enough that - after checking with the rest of the band - they queued up an encore, playing their opener one more time. Jun added in extra little flourishes here and there, even among the quick fingerings of the chords after playing for a decent-length show.
Then, as applause was still filling the room, Jun knelt at the edge of the stage and held his pick between forefinger and thumb. Pressing a kiss to one side, he offered it directly to John. His bandmates had seen him do this a few times in the past, so they did little more than exchange smirking looks with each other before continuing to wave and thank the rest of the crowd. Some of that crowd looked envious of John, though none dangerously so, simply muttering in their friends' ears.
For the rest of the concert, Siren remained strong and the crowd just as engaged. It was easy for John to see why the venue was packed as tightly as the occupancy limit would allow; whether it was through positive word-of-mouth or repeat attendees, the band left quite the impression. He found himself continuing to enjoy the performances of each member onstage in turn, though he often glanced back to Jun, just as he had during the opening number. As it was, the draw appeared mutual, with the musician’s gaze commonly aimed in his direction. When a wink was even sent his way, John couldn’t keep his grin from widening.
By the time Siren began their encore, it almost felt over too quickly, though he was often struck with such a sensation during a good concert. What must it feel like to convey so much with music as a conduit, and to know that it was understood, like a thread woven through each listener to connect them all for that suspended span of time where nothing else could break it? He would likely never be sure, but the euphoria of merely being part of it was impossible to dispute. That same exhilaration was surely enmeshed in Jun as well; instead of concluding easily after a demanding show, the ending song was lifted to subtle new heights.
Before John had even finished applauding, the other man approached the lip of the stage. A blush colored his visage as the guitar pick was held out to him, making him feel ridiculous; surely he wasn’t special in such treatment ( Jun had seemed to imply as much during their conversation ), though that hardly meant that he didn’t like it all the same. His eyes remained locked on the dark ones looking down at him as he accepted the offering, then lifted it to his lips to brush against it a kiss of his own. “Thank you.” Another smile captured his countenance. “You were incredible.”
That blush was just the reaction Jun had hoped for, though he remained glad for no overt hint of rejection. Quite the opposite, actually. The faint pink of exertion deepened beneath golden glitter when John mirrored the kiss to his gift. Grinning wide enough for another flash of sharp canines, Jun tipped his head in the semblance of a casual shrug, eyebrows raising breifly. John’s praise was sincerely accepted, no matter Jun’s outward easy confidence. “Gotta try my best, with the cutest guy in the front row,” he replied with a wink. Leaning in just a tad closer, he added, “Feel free to stick around after, if you want.”
With that, Jun straightened up, staring at John a few moments longer while he backed up toward the mic. Reminding the audience of the band name and thanking them one last time, he waved his farewell before filing off-stage with his bandmates.
Asim was first to depart, after contacting his kids’ babysitter. Ivy and Kamari hung around a bit longer while Jun helped them pack up. All three of them had amicably teased him about his gesture at the end of the concert, which he just as warmly shrugged off with a couple different varieties of ’what, can you blame me?’ With his guitar case slung over his shoulder, a thin line of sweat dabbed away from his hairline, and his cropped vest draped on one forearm, Jun tucked his hands in his pockets as he emerged onto the floor of the bar. Dark eyes scanned over the thinning crowd, wondering whether John had decided to stay.
It seemed he’d caught the other by surprise again, but fortunately it looked to be a pleasant one. Jun lingered on every small detail as his own partly-lidded gaze was fixed upon the man: the endearingly flustered movements of those eyes, the lines and angles of those handsome painted features, the feeling of smooth leather in his hand that made him wonder what the skin beneath it felt like.
Jun’s smile was one of both relief and soft humor. “True, I’ve never had any complaints before,” he replied with another little chuckle of his own. “Just glad this isn’t breaking that streak.”
Jun didn’t bother trying to hide that his stare flicked down to dark lips, watching the formation of the other man’s name, then back upward. “Copia.” He savored the syllables falling from his tongue, how the shape and sound of them lingered there like rich wine. The curve of Jun’s mouth slanted for a smirk, wide enough to flash one sharp upper canine. “Lovely. It suits you,” he added, as sincere as he was flirtatious.
Angling his body more toward the doors of the hall, Jun still didn’t let go of Copia’s hand yet. He wouldn’t, until or unless the other wanted him to, though he did hope privately that distance would be the last thing on Copia’s mind as well. In the meantime, he’d just try not get lost in daydreams around those little details he’d been noticing, and what other contexts he would very much like to see them in. “Shall we? I’d like to see what kind of place you had in mind, or find one together.” A bar, a chain restaurant, a park, either of their homes, a hotel - almost anywhere would feel far more relaxing for Jun than a stuffy, boring social function like this.
Lovely. Nobody had ever called his name lovely before – largely because it wasn’t. In Latin, plenty; in Italian, copy. And it had been the second one that had haunted him in his childhood and even more so as an adult, making his way through the ranks in the Ministry and then ascending towards anti-papacy. Oh, yes, he had heard the murmurs in the hallways, siblings too afraid to speak outloud but comfortable amongst eachother, forgetting that their new Papa was once the Cardinal who lurked in shadows as an astute disciplinarian.
Copy, chasing after the fluid charm and easy, affable nature of his predecessor, who had been the first since Papa Emeritus 0 to gyrate across the stage, really interact with the fans in the audience.
It set his teeth on edge; afterall, is it really copying if you do it bigger, better, more? But listening to his name come from Jun’s mouth, the way the syllables drift and the vowels lilt, how it all seems to just drop like a perfect rift, the anti-pope begins to wonder if maybe he had shrugged his name off too easily, too quickly. Coming from Jun, it does sound… not terrible, certainly, maybe like something he could grow to, if not love nor even like, tolerate. Lovely was perhaps too far out of reach for Copia, but it didn’t seem unthinkable from Jun’s mouth.
“Your, eh, lies are kind and appreciated.” He murmurs, trying to keep a light tone to his voice, but perhaps failing. Still, he refuses to loosen his hold on the younger man, fingers lacing as Copia begins their extraction from the busy ballroom with it’s curious eyes. His mismatched gaze resolutely stays focused on the doorway beyond, and at one point Copia almost trips over his own feet, a discarded silk scarf doused in spilled alcohol twisting its way around his shoe and ankle like an ugly snake. He catches himself, but it is not anywhere near elegant, and the sound that comes from him is high-pitched and cartoon-like; he cannot meet Jun’s eyes as he directs them further into a mostly empty hallway, with an occasional member of catering hurrying past with something that smelled suspiciously of fish left out too long.
“Ahhhh, yes. Yes. The, uh, place to go. The going place, that we have decided to be departing to. Yes.”
There’s the hotel room, but there’s always the risk of a rogue ghoul. Looking at Jun, he might risk it. Maybe they would behave. Unlikely, but maybe the younger man has the fortitude to just roll with it.
“I have, ahhhh, a nice bottle of wine? Do you… drink, um, wine?”
It was Jun’s turn to be surprised, eyebrows lifting and lips slightly parting. ‘Lies’? He was being entirely truthful… Copia must have heard disparaging remarks about his name, often enough to think any compliment was a lie. Who’d do an awful thing like that, especially to a man who seemed so sweet? No one worth dwelling on, certainly. Not when he was hand-in-hand with Copia, about to have a far better night - whatever it entailed - than attempting to amuse himself for hours among a crowd of stuffed suits.
Jun found his attention split, between the man beside him and the direction they were headed. When Copia stumbled, his hold of their interlaced hands tightened to help steady the other. He managed not to laugh at the noise the man made, though it was a near thing, distracting himself with the thought that the fabric should’ve caught on whoever dropped it instead. Deciding not to call attention to it otherwise, as Copia seemed embarrassed enough by the aversion of those intriguing eyes, Jun simply followed into the empty hallway. The rather pungent smell which passed them only held his attention for a moment or two, glad he hadn’t partaken in any of the food.
At a guess, Copia either didn’t have anywhere particular in mind, or did but was embarrassed to ask. Perhaps it was somewhere personal, or risky, or required a long trip. Whatever it was, Jun doubted he’d refuse. His smile returned at the question. So Copia did have somewhere in mind, maybe a home or apartment or hotel room from the way it was phrased. “I do. I usually go for the sweeter or richer kinds.” He gave a gentler, more affectionate squeeze to the other’s palm. “And I have faith yours ’ll be delicious.” A beat, and a brief tip of his head toward the ballroom they’d left. “A lot better than their champagne, that’s for sure,” Jun added with another toothy smirk.
Jun spent the remaining time before the start of the show changing clothes, doing his hair and makeup, discussing their setlist, and engaging in vocal warmups with Asim and Ivy. As they heard the muffled buzz of the gathered crowd, Jun checked his appearance in the mirror one last time. He and his bandmates tended to coordinate their outfits, working mostly within their own closets. Tonight's collective look was themed with their venue in mind: leather and black denim, with bursts of color and glinting jewelry. As the lead guitarist and vocalist of Siren - or, as Kamari affectionately called him, the 'resident peacock' - Jun's outfit was more eye-catching. The darker shades of Cuban boots and slim leather pants drew the gaze upward to his belt, white with gold studs and an oval statement buckle that Ivy had beaded herself (patterned in black, white, and several warm colors, with pops of purple). A violet sleeveless shirt, with a draped neckline and open back, was half-tucked into the front of his pants to show off that belt buckle. A cropped motorcycle vest of black leather covered most of his tattooed back, with more gold studs in the lapels and several fine gold chains draped across his upper arms from either side of the armholes. More gold gleamed around his neck and wrists, and serpentine dragons in conical coils swung from his earlobes. Violet ribbons, meanwhile, wove through the three braids down the center of his scalp, all tied near the crown of his head to let the ribbons and loose hair hang down his back. The black of his eyeliner matched the polish on his fingernails, in razor-sharp wings born from years of practice and crowned with vivid purple eyeshadow. Dusted along his cheekbones was golden glitter, meant to catch the stage lights. Plum-colored lips amid trimmed facial hair bore a contrasting vertical stripe of gold down the center. Perfect.
Jun was last to file onto the dimmed stage, setting down his water bottle and glancing toward Asim, then Ivy, before looking out at the waiting crowd. He caught sight of John, front row just as promised. Sweet guy. A rhythmic pause, as if all four of them drew a collective breath, then-- Ivy started off with short, repeated chords. Asim joined in on the bass line. Jun bloomed the lights with a gliss down one of his high strings, until they flared to full when Kemari kicked in the beat. After an energetic intro, Jun moved in half a step toward his mic. "From the time I was young I knew this day would come Mama, she said 'Son You'll always be on the run - Your daddy was a man A man people wanted dead Now that storm's comin' for you A price hangin' on your head..." As the song progressed, Jun couldn't help small smiles to his bandmates in between stanzas. He doubted he could ever tire of the joy found in all of them performing together.
Once the opening number had ended with a final flourish from Jun, he let that smile break out wider at the applause and cheers they were met with.
John had never been to a concert before he left Ponca — unless you counted mandatory school recitals that consisted of watching uncomfortable teenagers play Amazing Grace on their recorders, which he did not. For nearly two decades of his life, the chance to do so had felt so far away, in time and distance in equal measure. During moments like this, when he was crowded into a small venue with a friend and a group of eager strangers as the lights were beginning to dim, he rather wished it was possible to share it with his younger self; there were many things, really, yet such shows easily prompted it the most often. Although John was dubious that he would ever tell anyone about those musings, partly because he was sure they would sound strange and partly because it was difficult to explain, he didn’t mind keeping the thought tucked safely away.
As Siren made their entrance, Marcus’ elbow bumped his with anticipation before pointing towards the band, like he might have somehow missed what was happening directly in front of his face ( it was the kind of gesture that he had seen annoy some of their mutual friends on occasion, though he found it endearing in a way ). Nudging the other man’s shoulder, he couldn’t help but laugh as he teased, “Yeah, I can see them.” Once John’s full attention returned to the stage however, his eyes landed on the familiar visage they found there instantly. Despite the group’s cohesive costuming, Jun stood out with ease. The lead singer remained every bit the person he had spoken with a little while ago, only accentuated. Each detail in the ensemble highlighted Jun’s features, and he suspected facets of personality, as well. And — there was that purple guitar.
While John glanced to Jun more often than not during the opening number, every member proved talented in their own right. None of them were dull to watch, though the music itself was what gripped him the most. The song was nothing short of a success, and it was apparent that the rest of the audience felt the same as cheers erupted after the reverberations of the last note petered out. Joining in on the applause, a grin stole across his face.
Once the cheers and applause started to die down, Jun stepped up to the mic again - this time, to introduce the band and its members, as well as to thank the audience for coming and bid them to enjoy the show.
The show in question was just as much a success as their opening number. Their setlist moved the mood from energetic to mellower and almost melancholy then back again, now with a bit of an edge. Everyone was in fine form, with nary an audible slipup; though the lighting rig was simple, there were a few tricks pulled in certain songs to accentuate the music. For Jun’s part, he found his wandering gaze over the audience returning most often to John at the front. During one number, when it fit with the lyrics, he tossed a cheeky wink the man’s way. He couldn’t help it, he loved seeing how taken the guy was with Siren’s music. The reception was positive enough that - after checking with the rest of the band - they queued up an encore, playing their opener one more time. Jun added in extra little flourishes here and there, even among the quick fingerings of the chords after playing for a decent-length show.
Then, as applause was still filling the room, Jun knelt at the edge of the stage and held his pick between forefinger and thumb. Pressing a kiss to one side, he offered it directly to John. His bandmates had seen him do this a few times in the past, so they did little more than exchange smirking looks with each other before continuing to wave and thank the rest of the crowd. Some of that crowd looked envious of John, though none dangerously so, simply muttering in their friends’ ears.
You don’t need to say you’re disabled, physically ill, mentally ill, neurodivergent, working overtime, etc as a reason to not reply to your roleplay partners instantaneously. You don’t need to have any reason for not dropping everything to respond to roleplay partners. This culture of "instant replies" is very new, and it's also unrealistic. Nobody should be expected to be online and responding 24-7. Even if someone is online on discord, Skype, Wire, etc, don't expect them to respond to you immediately. And if you're on the other side, don't beat yourself up for not responding to people immediately, for literally any reason!
Give yourself some grace, take a deep breath. It's ok. People will understand, and if they don't, then they're not worth your worry.
Jun could see the other’s differing eyes wandering over his half-masked face, how they lingered in particular on his mouth. He refused to let worry about his canines take hold of him; if need be, he could invent some excuse about how they were part of his costume, or (closer to the truth) that they were just naturally long. He’d amassed a number of options to explain himself over the decades.
His eyebrows rose unseen again, one side of his mouth tilting further up, at the other man’s reply. Jun might have to ask what some of that ‘plenty’ might be, or maybe who, or where. He certainly had some answers to those questions in mind which he’d like to hear, but he’d long since learned not to push that kind of thing onto others. Even - or most especially - when that other was a man so striking and honest, yet endearingly reserved in some ways. For the time being, though, that offer of one hand reminded him they had yet to introduce themselves. He busied his own hands first with untying the ribbons securing his mask and removing it from his face, free palm then reaching for the other’s. A slight pause at the simple remark on his height, then Jun let out a warm, clearer laugh while he took hold of the man’s hand. “Yeah, I grew fast and high. I think it’s from my father’s side.”
Jun bent slightly then, while adjusting his gentle grasp and bringing the other’s gloved knuckles up for a brush of two-tone lips. Without the mask, his makeup and expression could be fully seen, interest glinting bright in dark eyes. “I’m Jun, by the way. I hope the height thing isn’t a problem?” He straightened and let their held hands lower, but didn’t yet let go. He wanted to stay close, to maybe even get closer if the other man wanted it too. Jun certainly didn’t think he’d misconstrued any body language or words, so it might just be a matter of how close the man was comfortable getting.
Maybe he should thank that acquaintance of his for convincing him to attend the most boring masquerade ball he’d ever been to, since it let him meet the most handsome and intriguing person here who’d bothered to talk to him. But, that could definitely wait, for when he wasn’t drawn in by a mismatched gaze and sincerely hoping the answer to his question would be a 'no’.
Finally, a full glimpse of the younger man’s face. Copia had parsed out the major details – years of working with facepaint and those in masks themselves had taught him what to look for, what to recognize when a face is concealed – but guesstimates still had not prepared the anti-pope for the reality of the situation. For the gravity of it, for the fae-like beauty Copia had complimented him with had been an understatement, and Copia can feel his stomach bottom out with the realization that he is the one… batting out of the park? Playing out of his league?
–Fuck, he’s the ugly one. A dynamic he is used to, by now. Though he pursues and is pursued less than his predecessors, it is not unusual for Copia to have partners, more often women then men (though he had no real preference), and they are always considerably more attractive than he. Terzo might have called it the benefits of being Papa; Copia doesn’t like to think too much on how much comes by virtue of his position, either as a lead singer of a band increasing in popularity by the day or as a leader of a religious organization… also growing in popularity by the day.
“Oh– ah…”
The kiss had been unexpected, more often one of his tools in his arsenal when meeting and wooing someone new. Had anyone ever done it to Copia? No, no he thinks not.
His head tilts to the side, taking in the man and the tender action, the breadth of his shoulders, his height, the callouses on his fingers that speak so plainly of the comfort of wielding a guitar.
“Ahhhh, no. No, it is not.”
A soft breath of a laugh, incredulous.
“Has anyone ever complained about a man being handsome and mysterious and tall? Eh? Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
Jun. Jun.
It gives the feeling of the early kiss of-not-quite hot weather and of shiny insect shells and Copia isn’t one to swoon, not really, even inspite of how easy it is to fluster him, but he feels a swirling of something in his gut, a tightening in his throat.
“Copia.”
It seemed he’d caught the other by surprise again, but fortunately it looked to be a pleasant one. Jun lingered on every small detail as his own partly-lidded gaze was fixed upon the man: the endearingly flustered movements of those eyes, the lines and angles of those handsome painted features, the feeling of smooth leather in his hand that made him wonder what the skin beneath it felt like.
Jun’s smile was one of both relief and soft humor. “True, I’ve never had any complaints before,” he replied with another little chuckle of his own. “Just glad this isn’t breaking that streak.”
Jun didn’t bother trying to hide that his stare flicked down to dark lips, watching the formation of the other man’s name, then back upward. “Copia.” He savored the syllables falling from his tongue, how the shape and sound of them lingered there like rich wine. The curve of Jun’s mouth slanted for a smirk, wide enough to flash one sharp upper canine. “Lovely. It suits you,” he added, as sincere as he was flirtatious.
Angling his body more toward the doors of the hall, Jun still didn’t let go of Copia’s hand yet. He wouldn’t, until or unless the other wanted him to, though he did hope privately that distance would be the last thing on Copia’s mind as well. In the meantime, he’d just try not get lost in daydreams around those little details he’d been noticing, and what other contexts he would very much like to see them in. “Shall we? I’d like to see what kind of place you had in mind, or find one together.” A bar, a chain restaurant, a park, either of their homes, a hotel - almost anywhere would feel far more relaxing for Jun than a stuffy, boring social function like this.
Since Tumblr has made it even more difficult for your followers to get to the original source post, reblog this to let your followers know you're okay with them reblogging from you.
A tip of his head and shoulder toward each other was his only answer to that light teasing. While Jun was fairly sure he'd said something similar to a few people before now, it had been genuinely meant every time. Different folk had different appeals, and his taste was broad.
Jun then nodded upon learning John's name. He wasn't sure if it was fastidious punctuality or pure happenstance which let them meet, but he was glad regardless. Especially as he, too, noticed how nicely their hands fit together. It compelled him to hold that handshake for several moments longer than he would have otherwise. An easy laugh slipped out. "Oh, me too, huh? ...Thanks," Jun added more sincerely. "I hope you enjoy it."
Scarcely a beat later, Ivy called his name from offstage, pulling his gaze reluctantly away before he glanced back to John. "Gotta go get ready." Only then did he let go of the other's hand. "See you soon, John." Jun punctuated with a wink, getting his feet under him to stand and follow the keyboardist's beckoning - though not before he gave one last sidelong, warmly smirking look.
John was rather surprised when Jun didn’t respond to his teasing with a quip in a similarly flirtatious vein, and instead opted for a vague acknowledgement. What that meant, he wasn’t certain. Had it been taken too seriously, or struck a nerve of some sort? From the expression upon Jun’s handsome visage alone, he couldn’t tell.
However, if the way the musician’s hand remained clasped around John’s longer than necessary was anything to go by, the enjoyment of the feeling was mutual. Although his lips parted to reply to the comment about the show ( he suspected that he would like it, very much ), he didn’t have the chance to speak before they were interrupted by the sound of Jun’s name. “See you.” As he pulled back, he let the tips of his fingers brush along Jun’s palm — just a little! The wink that followed coaxed another grin to John’s lips, and so did that final glance back at him. “I’ll be in the front-row.”
As Jun returned to the awaiting bandmates, John wondered whether he should mention this exchange when Marcus arrived, or keep it to himself. His friend did harbor a penchant for tardiness, so perhaps there wouldn’t be much opportunity before the concert began, either way. Such proved to be the case, and they barely had a moment to talk before the venue lights dimmed. The small bar was now quite full, but they did indeed have their spots in the front.
Jun spent the remaining time before the start of the show changing clothes, doing his hair and makeup, discussing their setlist, and engaging in vocal warmups with Asim and Ivy. As they heard the muffled buzz of the gathered crowd, Jun checked his appearance in the mirror one last time. He and his bandmates tended to coordinate their outfits, working mostly within their own closets. Tonight’s collective look was themed with their venue in mind: leather and black denim, with bursts of color and glinting jewelry. As the lead guitarist and vocalist of Siren - or, as Kamari affectionately called him, the ‘resident peacock’ - Jun’s outfit was more eye-catching. The darker shades of Cuban boots and slim leather pants drew the gaze upward to his belt, white with gold studs and an oval statement buckle that Ivy had beaded herself (patterned in black, white, and several warm colors, with pops of purple). A violet sleeveless shirt, with a draped neckline and open back, was half-tucked into the front of his pants to show off that belt buckle. A cropped motorcycle vest of black leather covered most of his tattooed back, with more gold studs in the lapels and several fine gold chains draped across his upper arms from either side of the armholes. More gold gleamed around his neck and wrists, and serpentine dragons in conical coils swung from his earlobes. Violet ribbons, meanwhile, wove through the three braids down the center of his scalp, all tied near the crown of his head to let the ribbons and loose hair hang down his back. The black of his eyeliner matched the polish on his fingernails, in razor-sharp wings born from years of practice and crowned with vivid purple eyeshadow. Dusted along his cheekbones was golden glitter, meant to catch the stage lights. Plum-colored lips amid trimmed facial hair bore a contrasting vertical stripe of gold down the center. Perfect.
Jun was last to file onto the dimmed stage, setting down his water bottle and glancing toward Asim, then Ivy, before looking out at the waiting crowd. He caught sight of John, front row just as promised. Sweet guy. A rhythmic pause, as if all four of them drew a collective breath, then– Ivy started off with short, repeated chords. Asim joined in on the bass line. Jun bloomed the lights with a gliss down one of his high strings, until they flared to full when Kemari kicked in the beat. After an energetic intro, Jun moved in half a step toward his mic. “From the time I was young I knew this day would come Mama, she said 'Son You’ll always be on the run - Your daddy was a man A man people wanted dead Now that storm’s comin’ for you A price hangin’ on your head…” As the song progressed, Jun couldn’t help small smiles to his bandmates in between stanzas. He doubted he could ever tire of the joy found in all of them performing together.
Once the opening number had ended with a final flourish from Jun, he let that smile break out wider at the applause and cheers they were met with.
Something about that painted-white face changed beyond expression; was that…pink? Oh, cute - and Jun didn’t mean the thought in any patronizing or demeaning way, quite the opposite. While he supposed everyone had their own circumstances and that the breadth of his tastes wasn’t universal, it was still something of a surprise that such a man seemed so unfamiliar with personal compliments. Now there was a nice thought: spending the evening gently wrapping praise around the other man, in their own little bubble of sorts amid all the corner-office industry types. Even if his compliment was waved away now, Jun intended it just to be the first among the many that the man deserved on looks alone.
The remark on what he presumed was the facepaint coaxed out a light, low laugh and a nod. It was soon followed by a more sideways tip of his head, when the compliment was returned. He was just expressing honest thoughts, though he was glad to hear the man enjoyed it. Of added intrigue was a stronger showing of an accent in those words. Had the other man been restraining it before? Jun was no stranger in attempting to do the same in the past, but he did wonder for a moment or two whether there was any way to encourage its presence. Maybe just making the other feel comfortable was enough; he liked to think so, as it was what he strove for and enjoyed doing anyway.
After his suggestion, the way the other man seemed to search for the right words did make Jun wonder if he’d overstepped or assumed something. He felt reasonably confident he could smooth things over if that was the case, even as he hoped it wasn’t. In the meantime, he was quietly happy to watch those dark lips press and part. The wideness of his smile upon hearing a counter-suggestion, along with the angle of his head, made the ambient light catch on his sharp canines for half a moment; the glint vanished when he spoke. “Music to my ears. I’d love that.” Jun straightened up from his lean against the ballroom’s pillar, setting aside his emptied champagne flute on a nearby table. “Did you have somewhere in mind, or should we go on a walk, see what takes our fancy?”
If Copia is thankful for anything in this situation (besides Jun’s presence entirely, of course), it is that the other man seems unfamiliar with who Copia is. More than once, the anti-pope has watched disappointment drain the excitement from a companion’s face, observed as they recognized the painful truth; the man who thrust and galloped and wobbled his ass upon stage was not entirely the man who existed off of it. And though he had tried his hardest to reconcile it, the anxiety and the inability to play a role in real one-on-one connections as he so often did on stage had hampered the sociability that had been the hallmark of Emeritus the Third, and even, to a less savoury degree, the Second.
It is hard not to twist his hands together as he awaits an answer from the other man, to pull and wind fingers, to massage at the pad of his thumb in the palm of his hand. Copia must remember not to nibble as his lips; it would disturb the paint, and, moreover, show the slightly crooked front teeth he is at time insecure of. Particularly when Copia gets sigh of the straightness of Jun’s teeth, and… well, those canines were kind of long, weren’t they?
A little… abnormally.
But, then again, that wasn’t unusual in the industry. Ghost’s Ghouls, after all… – The Ghouls were literal hell creatures. Perhaps not the best example.
Still, plenty of other’s in the cultural zeitgeist had donned longer fangs. These days, Copia had heard of implants, even.
A wave of pleasure washes over him, clearing away any hesitation thoughts, as minor and inconsequential as they might have been, about the other man’s teeth. They were still very nice. As was most of the other man; younger than him, certainly, with long elegant dark hair and high cheekbones. He had a look that was It in a way Copia could only envy.
– And admire. Certainly admire.
“There is, eh, plenty I’d fancy.”
It sounds silly coming from his mouth. He sounds stupid. Still, Copia holds out his gloved hand to the other man, surprised as he unfolds from his lean to stand over half a foot taller than Copia.
“Ehhhh…”
Mismatched eyes blow wide at the revelation.
“I, ah, forgot what it was I was saying. You are…very tall.”
Duh, dickhead.
Jun could see the other’s differing eyes wandering over his half-masked face, how they lingered in particular on his mouth. He refused to let worry about his canines take hold of him; if need be, he could invent some excuse about how they were part of his costume, or (closer to the truth) that they were just naturally long. He’d amassed a number of options to explain himself over the decades.
His eyebrows rose unseen again, one side of his mouth tilting further up, at the other man’s reply. Jun might have to ask what some of that ‘plenty’ might be, or maybe who, or where. He certainly had some answers to those questions in mind which he’d like to hear, but he’d long since learned not to push that kind of thing onto others. Even - or most especially - when that other was a man so striking and honest, yet endearingly reserved in some ways. For the time being, though, that offer of one hand reminded him they had yet to introduce themselves. He busied his own hands first with untying the ribbons securing his mask and removing it from his face, free palm then reaching for the other’s. A slight pause at the simple remark on his height, then Jun let out a warm, clearer laugh while he took hold of the man’s hand. “Yeah, I grew fast and high. I think it’s from my father’s side.”
Jun bent slightly then, while adjusting his gentle grasp and bringing the other’s gloved knuckles up for a brush of two-tone lips. Without the mask, his makeup and expression could be fully seen, interest glinting bright in dark eyes. “I’m Jun, by the way. I hope the height thing isn’t a problem?” He straightened and let their held hands lower, but didn’t yet let go. He wanted to stay close, to maybe even get closer if the other man wanted it too. Jun certainly didn’t think he’d misconstrued any body language or words, so it might just be a matter of how close the man was comfortable getting.
Maybe he should thank that acquaintance of his for convincing him to attend the most boring masquerade ball he’d ever been to, since it let him meet the most handsome and intriguing person here who’d bothered to talk to him. But, that could definitely wait, for when he wasn’t drawn in by a mismatched gaze and sincerely hoping the answer to his question would be a 'no’.
electrichedonia answered:
your replies will not be perfect, and that's okay. you don't need to use ten thousand words from the thesaurus. you don't have to be shakespeare. you don't have to put pressure on yourself to put out a perfect, novella-length reply every time you sit down at your computer. this is a hobby you do for fun, not a classroom where your words are being graded at every turn - be gentle with yourself. you are doing your best. applaud yourself for your own passion and creativity. applaud yourself for trying. applaud yourself for every one liner you do, every small paragraph. applaud yourself on the days you only get one thing done - you wrote something beautiful. you did something fun. really try to love this hobby again. no one cares about word count. no one cares about the thesaurus. people follow your blog because they want to write with you. don't forget that.