GOLDEN PEACOCK: INBOX+OVERFLOW

[worldbent]

@matoba

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@kuromisa

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[Matoba is running 2 separate network accounts. Please specify which of his inboxes you are PMing! :)]
[Open Season profile/inbox are here.]

Comments

[worldbent]

Perhaps, [Matoba comments off-handedly, in a way that conveys how little thought he gives to Natori's prattle.]

[Upon the second, however, he pauses to tilt his head.]

No, [He replies, and then adds,] I have not heard of something like this. That, I imagine, is all you.

[Whether that is meant derogatorily or matter of factly is.. unclear from his tone.]

[paperpusher]

[Natori just takes it as a given that it's derogatory-- Matoba has certainly never shied away from expressing his opinion of the other trappings of Natori's day job, including earlier in this very hotel.]

Apparently I have fans among the staff. [He'll just leave it at that rather than risk Matoba hunting down poor Ellie, whoever she is. He tilts his head towards the crappy room behind him.] Though not big enough fans to swing for an upgrade.

[...Matoba had implied that he'd had guesses about which suit would 'claim' Natori. He leans back against the dingy door jam, watching Matoba pick his way through the sweets.]

...What was your guess? About which one I'd get.

[worldbent]

[A quiet scoff escapes Matoba. Of course he does; some things do not change, even trapped in ayakashi realms populated by ghouls and spirits.]

Haha, no. Even playing favorites does not dissuade the pecking order instilled by the house.

...Or the suits. [Matoba smiles, knowing and conniving, and the instead of answering Natori's question, holds out his hand expectantly.] Your Watch?

[paperpusher]

[So "the house" isn't the staff who manage the facility, but something else entirely (or, of course, he just doesn't have fans in high enough places). And the suits are something separate from that.

Natori knows how Matoba insists on having conversations, so instead of arguing he plops his wrist into Matoba's waiting hand like he's a certain celebrity offering it to a supplicant to kiss. (He does still roll his eyes in annoyance that Matoba continues to be so Matoba, but what else is new.) He is of course going to keep asking questions, though.] "The house" is the hotel itself? The one whose heart you all found recently.

[See, he can do a little poking around too!!]

[worldbent]

[Matoba glances at the Watch face offered to him, his mouth in its neutral half-smirk unmoving, but his smugness isn't dimmed in the slightest, so it's clear that he's seen something he expected.]

Elusive Spades... [He hums thoughtfully, releasing Natori's wrist back to him and then opening a box of cookies. Oooh, toffee chip. There is no inch of the concern that clouds him visible on his face, now that he has seen that mark.] I wondered on which side you would fall. Now I have my answer.

[Not Clubs. Not conniving enough for that, naive Shuichi.]

[Matoba lets another pause of quiet pass, considering how much he should say. Then he picks up that box of cookies and finally stands, smoothing out his haori with a flick of wrist and tucking the box under his arm. He nods his chin towards Natori's doorway.]

No. Inside.

[You have warded your room already, right, Natori...?]

[paperpusher]

It would be more impressive if you'd named it before you looked... [Natori mutters to himself, even though he knows that Matoba is probably telling the truth about having guessed. Not that Natori knows anything about what might entice one suit over the other; maybe if he acts ignorant enough about it Matoba will enlighten him to rub it in. Or he could avoid giving Matoba the satisfaction and find someone else to share some theories... even if chances are that they won't look at it in quite the same way that he and Matoba would.

Their perspectives may differ, but they were still closer to each other than they were to the average person.

Anyway, he can take that hint. He sighs, then gets the door.

His room is warded, thanks... though Matoba can see that it's been done in a somewhat jerryrigged fashion. The talismans positioned on the walls look suspiciously like they were made from pages torn out of a cheap paperback romance novel (Natori received three copies of something called The Time I, An Introverted Receptionist At A Luxury Hotel, Saw My Movie Star Guest Changing?! and gladly sacrificed it to secure his room) and written out with eyeliner. There's also barely any room to navigate, even moreso than most rank 3 rooms; the small amount of walking space available is taken up by piles of books and clothes that Natori cherry-picked out of present mountain, and it's still already spilling over onto his small bed. Natori sits on it, because it's not like there's anywhere else to go.]

If you're going to complain about it, you could get me some real supplies.

[worldbent]

Perhaps I would be willing to share, for the right price,

[Matoba agrees cheerfully as he enters, glancing around at the space (or lack thereof). Gee, Natori sure has gotten quite the starting amenities, though, hasn't he...? Matoba's just a little ticked off about that.]

It isn't about a guessing game, Natori. It is about our enemies.

[He chides, inviting himself to also sit on Natori's small bed, but from a different angle (after stepping over a pile of clothes).] Namely, there are about six different, main entities you must be concerned with.

The first 4 are the "suits" that claim we guests. As you have surely noticed, they have taken on identities from the suits of a deck of Western playing cards. Hearts, Diamonds, Clubs, Spades.

I was chosen by Clubs, [He adds, like an afterthought.] An interesting ayakashi for sure. But I will get to that story another time.

The two most powerful, however, are the resort itself, and "the house". That "the house" did not refer to the resort's will itself is a somewhat new revelation given to me by some of our.... forebearers, I suppose you could call them. The guests in the Golden Peacock who have won Game 52 and still retain their sense of self.

But, only because something rather drastic occurred.