deercountry | Birthday Party

Birthday Party

Who: Paul Atreides and all his CR
What: Throwing everyone’s favorite Duke a surprise birthday party
When: Forwarded dated to April 1st
Where: Bone House in Gaze

Content Warnings: Drinking, underage drinking, drugs (both fictional and not), drawings of space worms, skeletons, will add further warnings if necessary

When you arrive at the house in Gaze, (affectionately known as Bone House), a skeleton will open the door and offer to take your coat if you have one. No need to take your shoes off or anything!

The large house has been decorated with black streamers and confetti. In the entryway and hung on the railing to the second floor that overlooks the entrance to the great room are large banners that say “HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAUL” (though one looks like it used to say “Jaune” but was just painted over? Whatever).

In the Living Room, there is a large board and various colored markers for people to write messages to the birthday boy. There is also a table full of bottled water and various couches, chairs, and beanbags to collapse into if the party gets to be too much and one needs a quiet place to rest or a place to chill if you’ve imbibed too much… well, whatever you had.

It is also where all the food and drinks are.

There’s an extremely large charcuterie board with the usual meats, cheeses, and olives as well as an extremely eccentric collection of snacks ranging from individual sized Cheez-it bags, to humungous bags of Doritos and salty chips, as well as nearly every kind of Oreo one can imagine.

There are also various cakes, all angel food. Some are misshapen, some have an attempt at being frosted with whipped cream and fruit, one even says “Happy Birthday Ka-” before that was hastily covered with a bunch of strawberries jammed really close together.

At the island, a skeleton is playing bartender. Surprisingly, it can seem to take and understand individual orders, but there’s always a constant flow of tequila shots being made and sent out to the great hall to be served by another skeleton.

And, no, of course it’s not going to check your age to see if you’re legal. It’s a skeleton. Why would it care?

The Great Hall is the center of activity and where everyone is encouraged to mingle and have fun. There is a skeleton on the grand piano in the corner gleefully playing piano covers of the hits from the Shrek Soundtrack with the occasional cover of “DaRude’s Sandstorm” when it has another one to help out.

In another corner, on huge piece of paper that spans nearly 6ft wide and 8ft tall is drawing of an Arrakis sandworm and it’s giant maw. The game is Pin the Tooth on the Sandworm and it’s… very easy… because the worm maw is most of the board. Even if the skeleton spins you as you’re blindfolded, it’s pretty hard to lose. If you manage to do it, which is likely, the skeleton running the game will award you a tequila shot! If you lose, the skeletons will award you a tequila shot (but it’s rail).

(It’s a drinking game, isn’t the point to drink?)

There’s also a table that has many candelabras on it, numbering up to seventeen. They’re still lit and burning even though there is a sign that says “make a wish!” even though it almost looks like a shrine for the dead.

…It’s maybe clear that the concept of “birthday candles” was greatly misunderstood.

There is also a skeleton dealing out small doses of “Spice”, a psychoactive drug straight outta the Duneverse. However, you must check in with this Skeleton to get a dose. There will be no “permanently melting your brain with ancestral memories” at this party!

Teacher’s/God’s/Jod’s/The Emperor Undying’s study, adjacent to the main hall, is closed and locked. Though, the lock is fairly easy to break if someone really wanted to get in. There’s not even skeletons guarding.

That said, many things are warded with eerie runes of blood and bone.

So, fuck around and find out.

The upstairs is generally off limits. Party goers can climb up the stairs, and it’s encouraged if they want to look over the Great Room from above, but all of the bedrooms are carefully guarded by more skeletons who will SCREAM VERY LOUDLY if you try to enter and will become hostile if done by force.

Of course, this won’t happen if you are with someone who lives in the house.

Enjoy the party! Mingle away!

((ooc: if you have any questions or anything, please hit me up at

worldtype)) or via PM.))

Birthday Board | At the Party | The Morning After | IC Party Games | Spice Dealer

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Kaworu's fingers are light on the fresh bone, gentle around the reddened edges of the minor wounds, and something more tender and strange than a shiver shimmers through the blurring edges of his nervous system.

He almost doesn't hear Kaworu through resisting the undisciplined urge to squirm.]

Mm?

[The sound he makes reminds him of some of those that Kaworu's Omen emits when he's stroked, a half-awake rolling question mark of a noise. But specificity is a good trait, so -]

What about them suits me?

That you're not always as put together and serious as everyone thinks you are. Sometimes you even roll around on the floor and wrestle.

[Scandalous! Or something. He runs his fingers down Paul's face, gentle, tracing his cheekbones and jaw before flopping down back on top of the other boy, cheek resting on Paul's collar bone.

As much as he's complaining about the lack of dancing, he seems a bit too lazy for all of it.]

Living creatures fear pain and yet humans do these things willingly for expression. You're so curious. But I don't think its bad...

[He kinda wants one! Maybe.]

Edited 2022-03-27 14:50 (UTC)

[Kaworu's exploratory fingers leave bronze static in their wake, spark novel colors at periphery of Paul's vision. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, and it's a relief to have Kaworu settled in one place. Except that his hair still tickles at Paul's throat, his skin warm against the rarely bare skin of Paul's collarbone.]

Wrestling is serious.

[So is karate, but that's an already lost battle. Paul adjusts his arm to better support Kaworu's back, which draws him slightly more than half into Paul's lap as a side effect. It's necessary for freeing a hand to experimentally trace the outer curve of Kaworu's ear, whole and unblemished.]

I don't think we're afraid of pain. We're afraid of being hurt. Does that make sense?

We look really silly when we do it.

[Possibly, they look really silly now. But he doesn't care about that. And it's better to look silly when you're comfortable and not when you have a foot wedged in someone else's shoulder.

(But it is fun.)

Paul's hand against his back almost feels electrified, like there's a current between where his hand meets Kaworu's body. A defiance of all the fear and distance that exists in the confusing labyrinth of interaction and relationships. There's a novel power in it.]

Yes. There is pain in life. But it's worse when it comes from others and cannot be healed by medicine. That is "hurt".

How would you know? You can't see it.

[Paul smile slants into a grin as he takes Kaworu's earlobe between his fingers and doesn't quite pinch it, the edges of his nails just digging in.]

You always tease me for being philosophical, then you say things like that.

[They may look silly, but Paul is beyond and through self-consciousness. He tweaks Kaworu's ear, still gently, not enough to hurt - but enough to echo back in his own, in the tingling ghosts of severed nerves.]

But I can see how you look when I wrestle you and sometimes, you look really ridiculous.

[It happens, when you roll around on the floor, sometimes your hair gets messed up or someone knees you too hard in the groin, and then you look a bit silly. It's part of the game.

Kaworu doesn't even seem to register the slight press of nail into his ear. It's such a little sensation, a near bit of pain that he's long since become numb to in the face what his body was subjected to. It's not until Paul tugs and the connection between the tweak of skin and a memory of a sharper sensation in the same spot connect that he feels it. There's a small squirm and grunt, not pained, but a little overwhelmed by the feedback of heightened connection.]

You're not the fun sort of philosophical. You just end up sitting the shower for an hour.

[Even if it's not pained, Paul's face falls at once into a conciliatory regret. He releases the pressure and smooths the pad of his thumb over the faint, fading indentation, only modestly distracted by the discovery of the extraordinarily fine down he finds there.]

I'm sorry. I should be nice to you, shouldn't I?

[Even if he points out when Paul looks ridiculous, or teases about how long he's in the shower thinking about philosophy. Especially because of that.]

I should be fun. You like it when I'm fun.

I like it when you're happy. When you smile. I told you.

[He reaches up and pulls at Paul's cheek in the same playful way the taller boy just tugged on his own ear. At the same time, he leans into the rubbing of his year, again cat-like, with a sigh. Not one of the heavy ones when he feels frustrated by humans or his own place on earth but a contented pleased one.

He swears he can feel every cell in his skin against every cell on Paul's.]

[Paul's smile is tilted further by the tugging on his cheek. He's more than content to let it happen as he widens the scope of his petting - he may as well call it what it is, if only to himself - to include the fringes of Kaworu's pale ash hair. His fingers are otherwise aimlessly exploratory as Paul is briefly preoccupied by a passing thought.]

I know, but - there have to be things you like that I do for you, besides that.

Or a version of me being happy you like better than the others. Something - specific.

I like when we practice fighting. I like the glint in your eye that you get when you're thinking about something, a new way to do something, you put everything into it.

Even cooking rice.

[He leans easily to the petting, as always, unable to resist the affection and gentle touch. Paul seems to glow now. Warm, soft, radiant, like the sun, instead of cold and blue like the matter at the darkest edges of space.]

And I like when you get distracted by something in your head or the house after you take a shower and forget to put your shirt on. Then put it on wrong the first time when you come back for it.

Oh, I do that for you.

[Paul says it very casually, paired with a loose and easy shrug.

He should be flustered. (He will be tomorrow, and astonished at himself, and very, very sore.) But for now, he hears the affection behind the words as much as the words themselves, and to object or deny seems a kind of defensiveness that would be ugly in this gentle place.

And sometimes he is a little bit of a bastard, after all.]

You work so hard to take care of me. It's the least I can do, even if I'm sorry there's not much to look at. I am trying.

Oh? Is the confused face and occasional tripping over your own feet for me too?

[Kaworu grins, rolling completely on top of Paul like a very lanky cat.

He knows Paul will regret this in the morning but he kind of enjoys this new bastard Duke in front of him. And maybe he won’t be so flustered tomorrow.]

You could work out with Gideon.

[This is where Paul angles himself to avoid certain kinds of contact, on a typical day. Here, Kaworu's rolling merely frees up Paul's supporting arm, which in turn allows him to reach for his half-full drink.]

Two things. First, I do work out with Gideon, which you would know if you ever woke up at a reasonable time.

['Before dawn' is not a reasonable time on any planet, in any universe, but Paul is not a reasonable person. He sips his drink, eyes glittering.]

Second - no, the tripping isn't for you. That's for Shinji-kun. He thinks it's funny.

[Paul skims his attention over Kaworu's stretched out body, and makes a faint humming noise of contemplation, tracing his hand down Kaworu's neck to one thin shoulder with every apparent sign of casualness.]

Edited 2022-03-31 00:34 (UTC)

Before dawn is not reasonable. It's the definition of unreasonable.

[Reaches out his hand flexing his fingers to have Paul give him the drink like "gimme!". It's bratty. But Paul always gives in so why stop?

In the meantime, he'll rearrange his face into something somber even as his there's a contented flutter of his eyelashes as Paul's deft fingers rundown his neck.]

Ah. Shinji-kun wanted me to tell you... he thinks you have to work on your timing.

[Paul obligingly sets his drink in Kaworu's hand, indulgent amusement glinting in his eyes. He trails his fingers further, down Kaworu's arm, skimming the front of his jacket, and then slips his hand underneath it to curve to the arc of Kaworu's lower ribs. They're as gracile and stark as ever, and he runs his thumb over them one rise and dip at a time.]

Tell him I appreciate the criticism, and will seek to improve myself, as all people should.

[Kaworu's sensation of touch bleeds through his t-shirt as luxuriantly as his warmth-tending-to-heat does.]

Before dawn is when so many interesting things happen. It's a shame you'll never know what they are.

I told people you needed something to help strain the rice. So you can work on improving that too.

[It's not actually a criticism as Kaworu ate his soggy rice anyway. But he does know that Paul cares for improvement like it's a task that's been given to him, instead of something he places on himself. Things like that, he hopes would make Paul happy.

The soft sensation on his ribs is pleasant yet ticklish, he nearly chokes on the drink, coughing a bit of it back into the cup, which he quickly sets back down because spilling on the birthday boy seems like an infamous tale that would never be lived down.

Instead, he hums a little, dropping his head back onto Paul's shoulder, his now empty hand returns to nest against Paul's cheek. The sensation of being touched by someone else, gently, kindly, maybe even appreciatively, makes him feel at home and at ease in this form in a way he's never been before. He's never noticed the delicate spacing of his ribs or how the curve of his spine is gentle and not stiff.]

What sort of things?

[All this rearranging has conspired to place Kaworu fully in Paul's lap, nestled against him in a way that usually Paul only wakes up to discover after his worst dreams, the ones that leave traceries of light in his eyes and salt damp across his skin.

They don't talk about it. Not really, even when they do, in glancing jokes about Kaworu's cold feet and Paul's sharp elbows. They don't talk about it in the way people don't talk about anything in this house; they don't talk about it because they show it to each other.

(Maybe that's why he still doesn't leave. Because it feels like a House, not just some structure.)

Paul runs his thumb back the way it came, then up again, slowed and soothing at Kaworu's cough even as his smile tilts.]

I noticed a theme. I've already learned a lot. People think I'm starving you, you know.

[He taps one of Kaworu's ribs for light emphasis.]

And telling you would be cheating. You have to wake up with me one morning.

Edited 2022-04-02 20:08 (UTC)

[The reality is, it’s easier to touch than to speak for Kaworu. His words sometimes aren’t the right ones, too strong when they should be soft. There’s less ambiguity in a touch, an attempt to comfort that’s clear. That’s why he reaches out to Paul when he hears him suffering in dreams that Kaworu cannot see but can save him from.

So there’s nothing odd about tucking himself against the taller boy now than there is then. Though at that comment, his nose and mouth screw in indignation.]

Who said that? I’ll tell them I ate your hand rice.

[Another huff.]

Fine. Next time. Wake me up.

Edited 2022-04-03 00:15 (UTC)

[Paul laughs, low in his throat and with just a faint touch of triumph, his loose hand coming up to the nape of Kaworu's neck, fingers splaying to the curve of the base of his head against the soft, tousled hair there.]

That's just what I'm guessing they must think - but thank you for being so protective of my honor.

[Paul knew what he was saying, guessed at the reaction it would evoke, and it satisfies a certain shade of selfish hunger that's whetted by his thumb rolling slower and slower over Kaworu's ribs, dragging t-shirt fabric in pleasant friction against both of their skin.]

It'll be worth it. You trust me, don't you?

You tricked me. So much for honor.

[There's a pout. Can you hear the pout? He's maybe playing it up just a little bit because he's embarrassed he could be so easily had like that!

But it's hard to pout when there's such a soothing sensation between his ribs of the soft push and pull of t-shirt fabric and the warm thumb that gentle kneads it into soft wrinkles. He'll take that it feels gentle. Sometimes the touch of Paul's hand on his neck makes him feel like he just leapt off a roof without an AT Field.]

I do but... I think you're unusual. About mornings.

[Paul can hear the pout, can picture it well, and it draws an indulgent smile out of him. This arrangement finally feels satisfactory, Kaworu curved against him like a fallen crescent moon.]

All the more reason I need you to protect what I do have.

[Kaworu is so pliant, as trusting of Paul as he says he is. He's a spice-shimmering blend of relaxed and anticipatory under Paul's hands, and it's a sensation Paul dimly understands the risk of getting lost in. This is enough for now, for where they are.]

I'm unusual about a lot of things. Isn't that why I'm one of your favorite humans?

You are my favorite human.

[It's not really a drunken confession, even if it comes out in a slurred ejaculation of a sentence. He's more fond of Paul than he is any other human he's met and, yes, it is because of his unusualness. His unusual rejection of his humanity instead of the innate pride that most seem to have in it. Even if they've never thought about what being human means.

He feels like he could stay here forever, in this spice-induced tangle of limbs with another person, feeling every breath, every heartbeat.]

And it's my duty as your guardian to protect your honor. Miniscule as what remains may be.

[Kaworu says it like it's simple. Not easy, or thoughtless, but simple. You're my favorite human, and it blooms inside the folds of his heart like sunrise's first rose light. Breath to breath, Paul's catches on a silver hook so fine he never saw it slipping past the ward of his teeth.

He's not anyone's favorite anything. Not here, where everyone else (he knows it isn't true, he knows it isn't fair) seems to find familiar face after familiar face brought forth, and Paul scours the beaches for faces he only ever finds in nightmares.

It's too much. It's just enough. It's not enough. He can't decide. He can only take another breath, and brings his face to half-hide against the reckless softness of Kaworu's hair.]

You're my favorite angel. [Only a little muffled.] Even if I met a thousand others, you'd be my favorite.

Even if one of them was a very large worm?

[It's a small joke trying to obscure the very large desire to fill that ever present hole in his chest with with all the bits of affirmation he can find. Picking up pennies to try and fill a wallet.

There's a small tilt of his head upwards, pressing his hair further into Paul's face.]

Even if it was the biggest worm anyone had ever seen.

[Paul's roving thumb stills as he anchors Kaworu against him with a pressed palm on his ribs and the cradling hand on the back of his neck. It sends deep resonant waves through him wherever the thin, clean lines of Kaworu fall against him.

His hair still smells like a sea breeze fresh off the open ocean. It's tickling silk across his skin.]

I've never heard a worm play the piano like you.

Edited 2022-04-07 06:24 (UTC)

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