xistentia | daemon: junod, video.

( be well, xistentia! and enjoy the look of a handsome man lighting up your daemon screens, well-dressed by the looks of it, and certainly not missing an accessory here or there. from the silver in his ears down to the intricate locks of rings around his fingers, this man seems to be the very epitome of fashion — from somewhere, at least. nonetheless, he radiates confidence, with a sly smile that seems to know something you, specifically, don't but — what he knows, or if he really knows anything at all, remains to be seen.

waggling his fingers, )

Hello and a very warm greeting to you, Xistentia! My name is Colton. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, but I was a touch distracted, what with the war and whatnot. Such terrible times. And a terrible welcome party, for me!

Allow me the chance to sweeten some welcome for all of us newcomers, hm? Myself and resident Juno Steel will be hosting a party in the following weeks in a ... ah, 'get to know the neighborhood' type vein. It's also a rather poor excuse to gather a launch party for my lingerie store, Pulsar, which will be up and rising soon enough.

Hope to see you all there! Do give us a mention if you plan on coming, yes? I've promised to go live in the mountains and never show my face again if no one attends, no pressure to all of you, of course. ( and just before he says goodbye, ) Did I mention dress-up is necessary? I certainly hope I did. Bring me your best, Xistentia, I expect no less!

Ta!

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( peter can mind the small bit of distance juno feels the need to separate between the two of them -- it's mostly with a hint of amusement that he slows his pace down, staying outside of juno's personal bubble. was it so long ago he was under his skirts, kissing on his neck? no, but -- juno is flighty by nature, and not nearly as flighty as peter. he has to be handled carefully, and treated better than what he knows how to deal with.

peter hums in agreement, tightening his coat up at the collar. he offers some dreamy wave ahead of them, suggesting it isn't too far away. )

Yes, well. The secret to a good con is having a good backstory. ( lesson number one, juno! take notes. ) And the secret to a long con is keeping it simple. If people are going to trust who I say I am, it needs to be believable. So, Colton. He's a tailor, his father was a tailor. He's opening up a shop because it's the one thing that seems normal to him, on such an odd and uncomfortable adventure.

( he raises his eyebrows, turning his lips up devilishly. )

What do you think? It was that or a hair salon.

[ he's taking notes that he's going to set on fire later because in the end he has no plans on becoming a master thief of any kind. old dog. new tricks. not happening. but there's a faint twitch of his mouth into a smile as he turns to speak. ]

Don't know, you with a pair of scissors to someone's head seems like too much power.

[ it's said fondly at least, the rasp of juno's voice very much there, almost similar to a grumble, but not exactly combative enough to be categorized as one. he pulls his coat together with a hand, making sure to follow nureyev's lead while keeping their very slight distance with one another, two planets in a gravitational orbit with one another. juno is too afraid to collide headfirst, for fear of hurting him, and peter more than willing to come in close again despite what he'd done to him before.

it's baffling. he would say he hates it, but god if his heart doesn't fucking... swell with the very thought of him. ]

( peter chuckles with juno's joke, eyes lifting up towards the sky, squinting a little with the sun still high enough to shine it's bright and yellow beams. )

Well ... I don't think I can correct you on that.

( his grin is louder, more wolfish, when he turns it back to juno, all sharp teeth and pink lips. his cheeks are a little pinker under the stress of the cold, nose a bit red and shiny, but it's not too long of a walk so he doesn't worry about covering up much. when the shop comes into view, he points it out to juno, following the bright fluorescent lights with the point of his finger, rewriting the cursive in the air. pulsar. as if explaining the question as it comes into juno's mind, ) I thought the name was sexy.

( pulsar, the bright side of a black hole, constant motion, endless light. very sexy. the shop itself is something only peter would describe as humble -- a medium-sized abode with marbled flooring and marbled counter tops, white with gray lining smeared throughout like a smoke ring of priceless minerals moving unhindered through the furniture. gold accents. racks of lingerie line the floor, divided by color at least for the time being, the walls finding homes for heels of different heights, colors, styles. something for everyone! peter pads forward in the shop, heels smacking the ground, arms stretching out in a ta dah! way. )

Work in progress, yes, but here it is! Thoughts? ( clearly not on the shop -- peter walks up to the wall of shoes, looking around.) I'm thinking gold.

Me first: where'd you even learn to do this kind of thing?

[ juno asks right as he steps in. he's not going to even comment on the name - sexy? well. maybe. he's not sure. names have never really read as... sexy to him. at least not any time recently. maybe nureyev's name is a little sexy. a beat. shut up. nevermind. off topic. in any case, he's moving slowly through the store, hands still very much in his pockets now as he tries not to make eye contact with peter just yet. anything like that and he'll probably implode on the spot, all heat and frustration. it's peter's own fault, hands up his dress like that, mouth so close he can practically still feel it on his hips.

HE'S POINTEDLY IGNORING THE SHOE QUESTION. HAVEN'T YOU SPOILED HIM ENOUGH????? ]

I didn't take you for a... craftsman. Really. Not like this... you use this kind of cover before?

( his head tilts at the question, brow arched in evident confusion as his eyes stare a little more intently at juno, just for a moment, but long enough. it takes a minute for it all to make sense to him, not because there's anything hard to understand about the question, but the way it makes him feel certainly gives pause. the kind of hot beneath the collar like when someone on a con starts asking the right questions, getting on to him, threatening to blow the entire heist by prodding all the more tender spots of his permanently artificial stories. he feels the pressure of being trapped, caught in his own web of lies that spins fatter and farther than anyone can ever really comprehend.

he's never been in this situation before -- with someone who can ask him questions, and he doesn't have to deny or deflect. peter has never been able to be honest, before. he makes a kind of stuttered, nervous sound ) Uh. ( and then sorts himself out, wiping the look off his face and shaking his head, mouth forming a softer smile. )

Most ... entrepreneurs like myself come from humble backgrounds. ( thieves, he means thieves. he waves his hand noncommittally. ) The man who raised me taught me that clothes left an impression, and. For a time, we got by with making our own.

[ oh.

that's not the reaction he was expecting, nureyev looking nervy for half a second before he wipes it over with something that looks as though he's stolen the reins back from between juno's fingers again. he'll steer the conversation on track and juno will pull it where he wants to investigate again and again. that's how it's worked, hasn't it. he steps a little closer, shoulders brushing as he moves towards another wall.

the man who raised him. mag. juno knows this well enough, the memory like a fresh gouge in his brain even after all of these months. nureyev trusted him with whatever he'd seen in his brain, and hell, juno hasn't even told him, has he? told him what exactly it was that he saw back under that martian tomb. he looks down a bit and turns to lean against the wall, watching peter with a slight tilt of his head. ]

Good skill to have. You've uh... really put it to use here, then. Never really got the chance to see it, so. Can't blame me for being a little surprised.

[ half a beat, juno barely gives himself rest on that. ]

Which is my fault. I know.

( the mood tastes it's different shades of somber now, far from the playful and flirtatious atmosphere at the clothing store, every touch and invitation, and every invitation a request for more. there are times when juno looks so sad that peter's heart aches -- because he doesn't look sad, not really, just has the purposeful absence of sorrow, a look built upon having years of denying it, shutting it out, ignoring it. building up walls to keep invaders out, turning soft skin into rough hide, into armor, into battle wounds and tattooed gooseflesh. peter can relate. sometimes juno looks his age, realism and pessimism saluting the bags under his eyes, making his shoulders weigh heavier and the corners of his lips point down in a pout. but. there are other occasions, brief and bright things, when juno has the light and life of a thousand people in his eyes, and the weight of the world seems worth it for a change, and he's optimistic about the future, because what else does he have if not that?

peter misses that look, immediately. his head tilts in a mirrored image of juno, lazily sweeping his eyes across him, before he pushes off the wall and stands in front of him, a good foot or so his taller half.

he bends in half and kisses him, very innocently, on the mouth. not his fault. he only ever tries to be good. )

No one has ever seen it. ( he pulls back, but with his head still an inch too close to be out of his space. ) That isn't your fault. In another life, I wore rags and the name Peter -- the man you know now has a different life, and no name, except for the gift I'd given you.

Okay? Not your fault, ( he presses a short kiss to the corner of his mouth then, finally peeling away and fluttering back to the shoes. )

daemon: junod, video.

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