[It's not his choice of celebration. Cain had planned to stay home, cook a meal with Abel, keep to himself, maybe nurse his own bottle of whiskey — hadn't planned even to tell anyone this date's particular significance. So social media has betrayed him, to Hideki Maeda of all people, with the clout and influence and monetary capability to pull off the utter opposite: a big flashy party with his name plastered across the invitations. And he has to go, because it's part of the plan. A plan since wildly grown out of its original scope.
He's since come to peace with it, deciding instead to enjoy the free high-quality booze and food. Cain is difficult to miss in a tight gold shirt bright and shining under the lights, his usual black earring replaced with one of the same metallic color. As soon as he's a few drinks in — enough to feel looser with the relaxation of alcohol, caught in the music, thoroughly distracted — Cain's out on the dance floor.
If he sees someone he knows, he won't hesitate to pull them in with one gloved hand. Enjoy being spun in an almost graceful circle, then released, then reeled back in. Unlike Hideki, he can actually dance. Yet it's a half-mocking grace for the slow Whitney Houston song thrumming over the floor. Not really to his taste, but whatever.
For anyone he doesn't immediately recognize, Cain will still sidle on up,] Friend of Prompto's, or what?
002: i want your meat
[As someone who's experienced little of the culinary world at large, Cain's had no problem adjusting to the dietary demands of New Amsterdam. That doesn't mean he's ignorant of what's being offered at the open bar. Perched at one of the stools, there's a plate of meat hors d'oeuvre in front of him. And yes, he's eating straight off it, glass of whiskey to the side.]
Want some?
[With one of the biodegradable plastic toothpicks, Cain raises a piece of well-cooked meat wrapped in some sort of salted garlic bread.]
How much do you think this whole fuckin' plate cost? 'Bout as much as my kidneys on the black market?
003: come on baby, take it easy
[There comes a point where everything, the lights and alcohol and loud music and Hideki's attention, all of it finally drives him onto the balcony for fresher air. He goes out alone without anticipating interception. Avoiding it, maybe. For as wild as he likes to party, the fact that this is all about him... and it's coming from someone he hardly knows, someone he's meant to manipulate for the purpose of (valuable, greater-good) information, it gets to be enough.
Any other partygoers will find Cain here, jacketed arms hooked over the railing, pen perched between his lips. He inhales thin streams of vaporous nicotine and breathes the opaque clouds out over the city.]
004: wildcard
[This is his birthday party, he's around, find him anywhere! I'm also at magisterium if you want to chat something out.]
cain | ota
[It's not his choice of celebration. Cain had planned to stay home, cook a meal with Abel, keep to himself, maybe nurse his own bottle of whiskey — hadn't planned even to tell anyone this date's particular significance. So social media has betrayed him, to Hideki Maeda of all people, with the clout and influence and monetary capability to pull off the utter opposite: a big flashy party with his name plastered across the invitations. And he has to go, because it's part of the plan. A plan since wildly grown out of its original scope.
He's since come to peace with it, deciding instead to enjoy the free high-quality booze and food. Cain is difficult to miss in a tight gold shirt bright and shining under the lights, his usual black earring replaced with one of the same metallic color. As soon as he's a few drinks in — enough to feel looser with the relaxation of alcohol, caught in the music, thoroughly distracted — Cain's out on the dance floor.
If he sees someone he knows, he won't hesitate to pull them in with one gloved hand. Enjoy being spun in an almost graceful circle, then released, then reeled back in. Unlike Hideki, he can actually dance. Yet it's a half-mocking grace for the slow Whitney Houston song thrumming over the floor. Not really to his taste, but whatever.
For anyone he doesn't immediately recognize, Cain will still sidle on up,] Friend of Prompto's, or what?
002: i want your meat
[As someone who's experienced little of the culinary world at large, Cain's had no problem adjusting to the dietary demands of New Amsterdam. That doesn't mean he's ignorant of what's being offered at the open bar. Perched at one of the stools, there's a plate of meat hors d'oeuvre in front of him. And yes, he's eating straight off it, glass of whiskey to the side.]
Want some?
[With one of the biodegradable plastic toothpicks, Cain raises a piece of well-cooked meat wrapped in some sort of salted garlic bread.]
How much do you think this whole fuckin' plate cost? 'Bout as much as my kidneys on the black market?
003: come on baby, take it easy
[There comes a point where everything, the lights and alcohol and loud music and Hideki's attention, all of it finally drives him onto the balcony for fresher air. He goes out alone without anticipating interception. Avoiding it, maybe. For as wild as he likes to party, the fact that this is all about him... and it's coming from someone he hardly knows, someone he's meant to manipulate for the purpose of (valuable, greater-good) information, it gets to be enough.
Any other partygoers will find Cain here, jacketed arms hooked over the railing, pen perched between his lips. He inhales thin streams of vaporous nicotine and breathes the opaque clouds out over the city.]
004: wildcard
[This is his birthday party, he's around, find him anywhere! I'm also at