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POSTED ON Dec 4, 2022 16:32:24 GMT

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Used to be, Callan was able to slide into any hive of scum and villainy in Slateport's lowlife districts and blend in like any self-disrespecting drunk with a penchant for rent avoidance behavior. Nowadays, anytime he stepped into some bar for a drink he had to look both ways to see if paparazzi was following him.

Good thing was, with the end of the world averted, people packed into every bar for merry making, and so Callan was invisible in the sea of people. Today was a day to get piss drunk with a pirate, and maybe get a conversation going about treasure hunting. he slipped the bar coordinates to Thalia of the Dawnhunters.

Grabbing a neat whiskey while tapping to the sound of the bar music, the Rock Star hums awkwardly to the music. He was losing touch with the common people and he could feel it in his bones. A few more drinks though, that won't be an issue anymore.

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POSTED ON Dec 7, 2022 21:22:46 GMT

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[attr="class","samjer"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Once upon a time the thought alone of being in a place like the underside of Slateport would make Thalia spontaneously combust. She’d been a very different kind of princess, then.

Now the smell of deep salt air, old beer and bagged ice, the gentle hum of faded neon and feel of ripped leather beneath her thighs felt as much like home as anyplace. If home was overcrowded and reeked of old hops and body odor.

Thalia much preferred it to home, actually. The alcohol here flowed more freely and with fewer snide remarks.

She finds him quick enough: hair the foxy side of white, just like on all the concert posters. She slides into a stool next to him, leans forward on the bartop.

“Mr. Young, I presume?” she asks, red lips and fiery hair aglow in the dim yellow light. Like him, she orders a whisky, neat.

“I must say, I’m surprised the League moved to make first contact with us. We’re not usually a favorite of… governing bodies.” Her grin was knife-sharp.

[attr="class","samjertag"]Callan Young - wearing

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POSTED ON Dec 10, 2022 17:08:48 GMT

❝

Callan was not new to the meeting women over drinks. In the course of his roughly thirty year lifespan, opening himself up to the clink of a dirty shot glass had become a routine occurrence. But still, there were occasions where he completely forgot his persona and felt like a child, and this was one of those instances.

Thalia enters his life dressed in a form fitting black dress that slides down her body like a gentle wave. Her hair is blood red in color, and her lips are as well. She wielded her smile and her looks like a weapon, and Callan hated the fact that no matter how old he got, it worked. His reptilian brain overrided his speech capacity: "Huhwhaohyeah, that's me." Callan sipped his whiskey and forced himself back to focus.

"Thalia?" Rhetorical, but it'd be nice to have confirmation regardless. Callan smiled, "I should have worn something nicer. I was expecting a violent reprobate with browned teeth and a glass eye." He chuckled, "No offense to the Dawnhunters.... or you... umm."

He paused, raising his glass to clink with hers and taking a sip.

"I'm just here for a drink with you for now," He began, "I wanted to see if you were interested, before we have anything formalized." Callan's eyes met Thalia's with discerning curiosity, "But, theoretically...would your crew be against working for one?"

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POSTED ON Dec 11, 2022 22:37:36 GMT

[attr="class","samjer"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Thalia was not new to meeting men of drinks. Or women, for that matter.

She’s caught him off guard, in some aspect or another. Perhaps he expected someone older? Or, for a pirate, smelling of salt and dressed in blood and leather? She sipped her drink and smiled.

Like all costumes, there was a time and a place.

Her nose crinkles in the picture of a polite laugh, though the comment is both confirmation of her train of thought and very amusing. “I get that a lot,” she says, tone genuine and warm, “and trust me. Just because I dress up nice doesn’t mean I’m not a reprobate.”

She lifts her whisky glass and shifts it, catching the dingy bar light in the amber liquid.

“Depends on the terms,” she said, not at all the type to beat around the issue at hand, “and what both parties are looking to achieve. We don’t generally work for anybody. But we have been known to share.”

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POSTED ON Dec 15, 2022 13:35:11 GMT

❝

"Yes, a lot of people do tend to put emphasis on perceptions." Callan grinned, "I suppose there wouldn't be a celebrity culture if everyone just acted as they were all the time." He certainly didn't at any rate.

Callan nurses the delicious burning liquid as the acrid alcohol singes his nostrils and runs down his throat in a satisfying river. He slides the glass to the bartender and signals for a refill, for both himself and his new drinking companion.Callan's eyes squint, slightly, as he peers into Thalia's.

He looked for it, cruelty, malice, sadism in the true sense of the word. He couldn't see it in her, not actively, but he could say the same about Adrian, and he was wrong in that regard.

"Well, that's certainly the question, isn't it?" Callan smiled, his eyes returning with genuine curiosity. "What brings you back to Hoenn, Thalia?"

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POSTED ON Dec 22, 2022 21:23:04 GMT

[attr="class","samjer"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Callan calls for another round and makes a point of staring at her. Thalia dips her chin, smiling expectantly; after a moment, her gaze flits away, then back again, as though waiting for the ball to drop.

“Many things, Mr. Young,” she says, turning in her stool to face him. “My family is here, after all. I grew up here. But most importantly…” one elbow on the bar, she rests her cheek against her fist.

“...I have to be a woman of… many talents, in my line of work. But I am, first and foremost, an adventure seeker.”

The bartender brings their drinks and Thalia pushes her long, red tresses over one shoulder, wraps her slim fingers around the glass.

“I always have been. I just wasn’t aware of it. Which is why I was so… unfulfilled before I left for Paldea. I didn’t realize the greatest adventures were right in front of me, the entire time. So I have returned to rectify that condition.”

Hoenn was a region of many things, good and ill. Her definition of which was which most likely differed from the average person.

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POSTED ON Dec 27, 2022 4:56:04 GMT

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Callan is more affected than he tries to let on by her expectant stare, but while he maintains his overall cool, the tips of his ears and the rising heat from his throat tint slightly red. Must be the alcohol. Callan lied to himself.

"Good, then we can enjoy our partnership." Callan smiles, standing up, he slides payment in the form of paper bills to the bartender, as he offers his hand to her. "Can you dance, grind and talk business at the same time?"

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POSTED ON Dec 31, 2022 18:18:41 GMT

[attr="class","samjer"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]The shock of ages: Callan Young is utterly adorable. She wonders if he turns that red everywhere.

She finishes her drink and stands with him. “Multitasking is solidly in my skillset,” she says, sliding her hand into his, painted black nails glinting in the low bar lights.

“What did you have in mind?”

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POSTED ON Jan 1, 2023 17:06:52 GMT

❝

Callan grins and takes her lacquered fingers in his, pressing his lips to her knuckles before taking her to the dance floor. He pulls her close, their hips swaying in sync with the music.

“I think we’re on the same page,” Callan says. There is a tautness to her form, muscle, hardened and grit as he places his arms underneath hers and holds her waist.

"I need a crew that can scout Hoenn for legendary activity." He begins. "We'll offer you a contract for finding information, more if you manage to somehow capture one."

It was very hard to focus on the music with the feel of her lithe body pressed against him. "Just out of curiosity, how much do you get paid 'hauling' goods from one place to another?"

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POSTED ON Jan 19, 2023 17:41:06 GMT

[attr="class","samjer"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Her chin tucks and eyebrows raise in equal measure, seizing the suggestion and running. Beneath their feet, the floor shifts and creaks; she can’t hear it but she can feel it, a technique of perception garnered from practice on a ship’s deck. The knowledge of what lies beneath, the structures and variations of the ground and the ground beneath the ground.

“My price for goods is fair,” she says, in the firm, self-assured tone of a businessperson who knows what they are about, “but information… whispers… are frequently more difficult to grasp.” Her hips cant forward, a press of her lower body against his own, a split-half second of contact. “The more difficult the prey, the higher the fee.”

In their sway, her head leans in, close enough to feel his breath.

“But I’m sure we can come to some form of agreement.”

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POSTED ON Jan 21, 2023 10:31:02 GMT

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Callan's hands held her waist as she tucks against him, the fabric is light, and it held form fit against abs he could feel through the dress. Callan adjusts himself as they move in teh mass of bodies on the dance floor.

"Mm." The slightest of affirmations escaped his lips, in the morning an offer would be discussed between his manager and whoever was on the other side of the Dawnhunters.

Callan's eyes locked into hers as she leans in, unflinchingly, as he cuts his gaze moving down to her lips and against the form fitting chest. Her breath was flavored with alcohol, soon, it would also taste of cigarettes.

Callan dips to bridge the gap remaining, as he holds her bottom lip between his, he sinks his teeth against it, before running a tongue over the mark.

"I know a better place for drinks."

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POSTED ON Jan 27, 2023 17:02:58 GMT

[attr="class","samjer"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Her eyelashes flutter closed for a half-second, her smile languid. It is easy, she reflects, as she reasserts the vaguest hint of distance between them, to fall into these idle comforts.

But it had been a long, long time, since the days when such human contacts made her brain devolve into useless mush. And it would be a long, long time until they did so again.

Still. It was nice to pretend, sometimes.

“Lead on,” she said, tucking herself nicely in the crook of his arm, voice gone husky in the light of carnal pleasantries.

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POSTED ON Feb 2, 2023 15:26:38 GMT

❝

It wasn't complicated for Callan. She was gorgeous, he enjoyed her company, they were both people able to separate their desires from feelings. And right now, he just wanted her to himself.

Fingers curl up to hold hers, as Callan unlocks the door to a penthouse suite in Upper Slateport. Luxurious could be a word that was used to describe it, at one point, but now it was a mess. Clothes littered the sofas and floors. Each surface was decked with red plastic cups. The suite could be described as 'afterparty hurricane'.

Traces of white powder were visible, cut into lines on the surface of the blackwood dining table. The once clean marble floor was occasionaly sticky from a patch of previously spilled liquor. The entire place smelled of cigarettes.

Callan suppressed his annoyance by sucking in his breath. "I'm sorry, the cleaners haven't arrived yet. Bedroom will be clean though." He spoke, as he closed the door behind Thalia. Turning on the lights, he moves himself over to the bar. "What'll you have?"

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POSTED ON Feb 26, 2023 14:59:08 GMT

[attr="class","samjer"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Thalia has the urge to arch a humored eyebrow at the catastrophic conditions of Callan’s apartment. If this doesn’t scream rockstar, I don’t know what does, she thinks, years of etiquette school rapped into her by the force of a thousand knuckle-bound yardsticks keeping her eyebrows politely lowered.

“I’ll have a whiskey. Neat, please,” she says, as she dislodges a discarded shirt from a barstool and slides into its place.

“If this was the afterparty, I’d love to see the show.” There is mirth in her voice and on her face as she colors her glance appreciative and gazes around the room.

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POSTED ON Mar 15, 2023 14:03:16 GMT

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"One neat whiskey coming up." Make that two, another for himself. Callan steps over the shards of shattered tequila, his shoes crunching over the shards on the floor as he unlocks the cabinet to his stash, taking out his preferred bottle and a pair of glass tumblers.

He pours a decent quart for the both of them, sliding one over to Thalia. "The show?" Callan grins sardonically as he sits on the stool beside her, leaning against it. "This was all me. One huge, binge-fueled jerkoff session."

The Rock Star life that Callan possessed or pretended to possess was heavily overrated and heavily fictionalized. "If I'm being honest, I can't stand fans. I love the roar of a concert, but it's a miserable experience to try and live up to their fantasies one-on-one." Callan's eyes turn towards Thalia. "It's why you also ran away from home, right?"