Pixel

As the mysterious woman spoke, Dash's eyes remained focused on her, taking in every micro expression, every twitch of her brow, but more than anything he kept close watch on where her eyes were going. It was more than necessity in his lifestyle to be able to read people and, more importantly, read a room. While he watched to see if her eyes drifted away from him, possibly looking to a partner in crime that could have been behind him, his gaze quickly darted back and forth to the various bodies in the lounge, searching for anyone who may have been paying a little too close of attention to them. The problem was, he couldn't get a proper read on her. A woman looking and behaving as she did didn't exactly scream desperation, she could have any man she wanted with just a look, yet she was the one to approach him. He was the least quality looking man of what seemed like any in the lounge, that didn't exactly speak to her being a gold digger either. This outpost was likely filled with men - and women - who hadn't so much as seen a woman in days, maybe even weeks, who would be overeager to make the acquaintance of this celestial siren. So, what was it that she really wanted? He wasn't oblivious to the fact that while he assessed her, she was running her own assessments on him, coming to the realization that every word was calculated, every action run through potential scenarios of what it could lead to. Like him, she was guarded, meaning this interaction was either out of cautious interest, or something a bit more transactional... perhaps a bit of both. Her hand extended towards him and she offered a name: Mara... if that was even her name. His attention stayed fully fixed on her eyes, lifting his bottle to his lips. He peered down at it under his nose for a moment, realizing that aura was lost when holding a ridiculous squeeze bottle over an actual glass, but he returned his attention to her just as quickly and lowered the bottle, letting it float in front of him as he let go to take her hand, allowing it to rest delicately over his palm, his thumb stroking over her knuckles briefly. "Dash.", He responded... if that was even his name. She wasn't finished, the pause was brief as he returned the introduction and she offered a retreat to her quarters. Did she live on this outpost, or was she here for an extended duration and favored a more comfortable stay in the meantime? "Mm-hmmm...", He chuckled in a dragged-out breath through closed lips at her proposal, his tongue rolling around the inside of his mouth. "A private bar... You're offering me a drink, now? Quite a jump... Mara.", He said, a small grin crossing his face. Generally, when invited to a room for more privacy, one kind of thumping sound would be exchanged for another, yet he still couldn't pin exactly what it was that she was interested in. His ego burned for an answer to the question of what drew her to him, but his curiosity won out, fascinated with observing her and letting her give herself away. "What exactly is it that I would owe you?", He asked, addressing what she said about not asking anyone else to buy her a drink before him.

Pale blue eyes peered through the several-inch thick plexiglass that was a portal between the people aboard this floating metal jungle and the vacuum of cold nothingness. He could almost see the rotation of the gas giant as his gaze slowly followed the swirls and streaks of highly toxic miasma that made up the gargantuan orb that they never graced with a name, only referred to it as GGP-6769. Of course, no one cared about the name, or the planet for that matter. They cared about the outpost he now stood within, trying to block out the sounds of the hustle-bustle whizzing back and forth behind him. Traders, wayfarers, explorers and various other unsavory types found temporary refuge here. He, himself, wanted little more than a moment's solace after the big job he just pulled... and god forbid, maybe even a bottle of classic recipe garlic chili sauce. The name Dash Lightrunner was one that some may have heard, in the right parts of the wrong outposts. A treasure hunter, primarily, but indiscriminate about what defined "treasure", he frequently found himself more on the end of being a thief and he had a way of upsetting powerful people while scavenging power cells, navigation systems and other useful parts and cargo that didn't belong on the market from derelict commercial freighters and stations. Said systems came in handy for someone like Dash, especially with the assistance of the right engineers and code monkeys. His ship, the Starstreak, sat docked in another wing of the port while he refueled and made sure heat shielding was up to snuff- something he neglected a single time and learned the hard way to run diagnostics and maintainence on every so often. The Starstreak wasn't a high-end model, but it was, once upon a time, a popular one that one didn't see too often, making it a little more tedious keeping his head down at times. Luckily for him, he had a license identifier installed that would automatically generate new identification every few cycles. Very illegal, but boy, was it useful. Luckily, authorities tended to be too damn thick to find it. His slender fingers brushed up his thin face to his rich brown hair, which was messy. He could have used a shower, but as his fingers played with the credits in his fitted leather coat's pocket, he thought that maybe he could use a stiff drink that much more. He turned on his heels, his eyes catching the neon lights leading to the lifts descended to the lower sector of the station, something of a pleasure district, depending on what one's pleasures may have been. Right now, his own pleasure was a double Dysterian whiskey on the rocks with a splash of Orbit Fizz... Not that he couldn't handle it straight, of course. It was just... A touch of sweetness added a little something. Whatever gods there may have been out in the freezing black of space, they must have had little mercy for the scents that plagued these lower decks. The scent of hand-rolled cigarettes, also highly illegal depending on the quatrant of the galaxy you found yourself in, fogged the air, drifting out of the open doors of saloons that opted for a more "classic Earth" vibe. Dash never understood people's fascination with that shit hole. It had been nearly uninhabitable for centuries, but relics from those bygone times could still be found nearly anywhere you could go, complete with shitty sounds that they called classic music blaring from the blown speakers of electronic jukebox. Turning his head to face forward from peering into the various establishments he passed, his gaze fell on the gentle blue glow coming from the polished obsidian black exterior of the Zero-G Lounge. He didn't remember ever seeing the place during any of his past visits to Korva Station. Maybe it was new... Or he was always on the wrong end of the station to happen by it. It looked like a higher-end establishment, he could tell by glancing inside as he approached the entrance at the different bodies floating about the dimly lit lounge. Patrons were well-dressed, a bizarre sort of rarity for an outpost. Regulars, businessmen maybe that enjoyed a particular sort of environment. Dash was about to head the other direction, but the vibrations that rumbled under his feet and up his legs made him pause, just for a moment, just to feel it. "Ah, what the hell.", He sighed, looking every bit the rogue he was as he headed inside. The moment he set foot over the threshold of the entrance his feet lifted from the well-polished floor and he drifted into the lounge. A hand quickly shot up to his waist around his back to make sure an item he shouldn't have been carrying didn't accidentally slip out. He was armed. His usual arms were checked in after he docked, as was the policy of the station, but he'd found that those rules didn't always apply to everyone, so they couldn't apply to him either. A printed polymer sidearm was more than enough, and undetectable when stepping through security scans. Noting that the firearm was secure, he floated to the bars illuminated top and ordered his beverage. They didnt have Orbit Fizz, they carried the sickly sweet competing brand. His nose scrunched up at the idea, but beggars couldn't be choosers and he opened a tab. As he drifted slowly though the zero-gravity lounge, he sipped at his drink, savoring the burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat and lingering there a bit more than usual in the environment. He always hated eating and drinking in zero-g, but he found himself a little more relaxed than he likely should have allowed, the music pounding in his chest and pulsing through his limbs. He raised the bottle to his lips and paused, catching a bright glint in his peripherals. Over the curve of the bottle, his eyes peered over to his left to see a woman, elegant, yet somehow not exactly conservative all at once. He could see her eyes looking hisnway, but he didn't meet her gaze, he made note of the way she dressed and how she most certainly showed off the shape of her body, wrapping it meticulously in something... thin. Something that would draw the eyes to what she was showcasing. The light tone of the fabric contrasted beautifully with the tone of her skin, the thin fabric floating around her hips as her hair danced around her head, not unlike the mermaids described in old Earth legends. For a time, Dash played a game of visual tag with the woman, he looking her way, she looking his, assessing one another in some way or the next, but never locking gaze, until finally, their eyes met. He rights himself somewhat, turning to face the woman as he noticed she decided to take the step to approach him. She stopped close to him, but not too close. He could have reached out and touched her, had he been a man of poorer constitution. It was then that her voice cut through the sound of the music in the air, suggesting that he foot the bill for her next libation. "Mm.", Dash purred as his tongue traced over his lips after lowering his drink. "Forward.", He added, quite simply, looking at the bottle the woman already held in her delicate grip. His blue eyes met with hers and he nodded down to it. "Did you buy this one yourself, or did you stare for an unnecessarily long time at another one of these suckers and get him to order it for you?", He asked, the corner of his lips curled up very slightly, giving away that he asked playfully. "Can't say I'd blame them. That dress is lethal.", He added, his eyes lingering over her body briefly and returning to meet her gaze again.

All i know is every woman I've ever been with has a big ego about their BJ skills and they don't have the talent to back it up. Never had the heart to tell them.

I really wish I could contribute but I'm not concerned with what others think about what I enjoy. My girlfriend thinks that me being into bunny girls is weird. Like, Vanny, Huntress, etc. not like furries. Playboy bunny costumes, etc. I dunno why I just realized that I gravitate towards them for some reason. She still wears the ears regardless tho. I think that's about as close as I can get.

Coming up on two years now

I had a character spend three responses going "look over there, what on earth is that?!" to an op and when they finally looked he kicked them in the shin and ran away

There's a lot going on here. What about the character exactly did you need help with? Just putting them in a story, or developing them somehow? If it's just putting them in a story, what kind of story do you want this character to fit in?

... No promises

You gain reputation just by interacting, getting reactions on your posts, etc. Forum games and statuses are how a lot of us got our numbers so high

What do you need help with, specifically?

Ah shit my shared horror universe idea, I forgot about that one. It's all coming back to me! And hopefully I don't use it as a thinly veiled smear on the Warrens

Holy shit I was smoking some good candy corn when I made this club. I put some shit in here that even surprises me. Time to revise and then proceed to do nothing with the ideas for another year! ... Or will I?

Currently. The least likely person came out of absolutely nowhere when I was finished with romantic involvement and for nearly the past 365 days I've had difficulty thinking about little else.

Guilty, doing it now. The next poster enjoys diet soda unironically even though they can drink the regular ones

Nah I love the cinema. Not guilty. If it's a movie I actually want to see, usually. Sometimes I can't make it but I still WANNA see it in theaters. The next poster had a healthy breakfast this morning

Extinguished fire

G U I L T Y THIS MORNING Our cashier had to leave because her tum tum was going kerbump bump or something so I had to cover since no one else is there despite my role being NOT that at this point - and lemme tell ya, I HATE doing anything that has to do with dealing with people, especially since I work in a drug store we get all manner of mentally unstable individuals that pass through and think they can talk to people however they want. So this byotch comes up to the register with her bullshit and says she wants to split payment up, some cash, some OTC, etc. I HATE insurance cards for OTC items because they don't always work on things that say they're OTC, I can't identify them ahead of time because of that and then when the customer can't pay for whatever they're trying to get fully, it becomes a problem and fuck all of it. I tell broadzilla right up front, "Okay, this is how this works, I'll scan all this in, subtract the cash first and then we'll scan the insurance card and it will tell you how much of the transaction it will cover.". She agrees, and I thought I set a pretty firm expectation. I ask her to enter her phone number for discounts or rewards if they're eligible for the items and she enters it in wrong three times and starts to yell at me because she can't put her bullshit in right. So, I cut the issue off at the head and just register her again so she can get any applicable discounts despite her being difficult. Should've made her pay full price for everything but being vindictive has gotten me nowhere in life and I chose the high road even though the low road was so scenic and beautiful. So shit goes on and her insurance card covers a whole $0.85 of the $10 she still owes after I entered in the $10 she gave me. I says to her, alrighty the remaining balance is $9.50 or however much, and she says "I have you that ten." And I said yes, I entered that in first, $9.50 is the remaining balance after that and what your insurance card covered that you agreed to on the pin pad.", and she goes "Okay, that's what the ten is for.", so we go in circles, because for some reason it's just so hard to understand that after the $10, she still owes $10, because the total was over $20 and her insurance card didn't cover jack shit of it. So she says that I'm being difficult and frustrating and shit and I just called the shift lead to come deal with it because I was done, and I helped a few other customers that badmouthed her loud enough for her to hear. It was cathartic, but it's also satisfying knowing that she was trying to give main character energy when she doesn't even seem like the main character of her own life. So yeah that's that story. Anyways, you and hombres, the next poster has enjoyed authentic tacos in the past week.

Not guilty. I'm sure that I've fucked others numb before but my partners have all been... Overconfident in bed. I did once think a girl was going to snap my dick off she was so intense on top though. The next poster has started eating something expired, saw the date after and kept eating it anyways because fuck it

Not guilty then, still wouldn't be despite having kicked all substances long ago, never felt better. The next poster has enjoyed a Zagnut in the past 30 days

Guilty and boy did I not do well. The next poster regularly attends local game events

I don't believe so? Based on the description of them, but I have played games with both hexes and counters. Tokyo Clash if you're nasty. The next poster has enjoyed a board game so thoroughly that they bought a second copy just to have in reserve because they've played their original so much it has wear and tear.

Been guilty of it for too many years. The next poster overcame brain issues to live a more fulfilling life

Guilty kinda depending on your definition of famous? I will not elaborate for their sake. The next poster has met someone famous in the wild.

Not guilty. I enjoy writing and creating but my inspiration draws more from cinema than literature in almost every case. The next poster has actively been working on a novel

Not guilty as I am jobless and finding employment has been an unusual pain in the ass. But I have had jobs that I loved despite hating the company that employed me. The next poster eats cool whip right out of the fuckin tub