doku | consentacle fun, etc.

Entry tags:

open post,
smut

consentacle fun, etc.

The following prompts can be BYOM (bring your own monster) if you so desire! Anything goes. Literally anything.

"Monsters" are common around here. They always have been. While many societies choose to revere them as gods or use them to instill fear into ill-behaved children, the monsters of New Cloudbank are one with the people and have been able to hold jobs, own property and self, and vote; freedoms gained from a civil movement some decades ago. While societal integration has gone somewhat smoothly, there is some resistance held by conservative individuals that look down on monster-human relations and hold the untrue belief that some of the less humanshape monsters are a threat to people.

Boxer is an example of one such creature. His upper body is proportionally larger than any human; that if he stood on human legs he would easily reach thirteen feet tall, cut like someone who exercises on a needlessly regular schedule. However, he does not stand on human legs at all, but rather a numerous set of tentacles, rich cocoa-brown like the rest of his skin, decorated with stark yellow stripes at their base and a line of dots along their topsides, lined with dark golden suction cups on the opposite side, and delicate membranes between them. His yellow accents, including his eyes, glow under dark enough conditions to see them.

He's never harmed a human in his life, much rather the opposite if anything, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a reputation for it...

Errands.

A monster's gotta eat.

Of course, he doesn't have to drop by for meat, as the only thing he puts on his table are things he caught with his own hands swimming in the depths outside of the bay. But frying fish in its own juices does not a meal plan make, so regular supermarket trips are the solution to well-rounded meals.

But he can't quite get around like everyone else, on account of boneless tentacles being designed more for underwater agility than, well, walking. So he has to opt for a wheelchair, one custom-built to accommodate his bulk and allows him to comfortably use his extra appendages for his wheel-based mobility while keeping his hands free.

Although being just shy of wheelchair-bound on land, he's at less disadvantage than one might think, using his long tentacles to snatch things off of the topmost shelf with length to spare. Otherwise, he tries to keep them hidden under a soft, knitted blanket, for the comfort of strangers, who tend to stare anyway. (Oh well.) He likes to joke that it's not his form, but the fact that he chooses to dress somewhat formally even for his mundane outings, even though he knows that's not the case.

Maybe you're the one struggling to reach that favorite item of yours so conveniently stashed just beyond finger's grasp on the top shelf.

"Here. I'll get that for you," he says, with an easy smile.

Bet you weren't prepared for a tentacle to hand you something when you went out today.

Shore.

This quiet little section of the beach is usually deserted, rumored to be the place where feral monsters hunt for humans. Now this, this is a rumor that is entirely Boxer's fault, purposely spread to his few visitors so he could have this little piece of heaven all to himself.

Maybe you're a regular here. Maybe you're a brave new first-time visitor, hopefully to catch sight of the man-eating monster for yourself. Either way, the sight is hardly as intimidating as the legend: he's sprawled out naked on the warm sand, basking in the sunlight that beats against his bare, chiseled back as he naps.

Scary.

Water.

New Cloudbank is a large city-state with bustling seaside commerce, full of fishery companies, international trade, and tourism. A water-dweller like Boxer is almost never without work, since many companies are chomping at the bit to commission an strong, amphibious monster to survey the deep for the next best catch, keeping the water safe, or mounting rescues for wayward tourists.

He loves what he does for a living.

Maybe you, too, are of similar business, using your nonhuman physiology to your advantage in the outer bay waters, catching Boxer in the middle of what he does best. Or maybe you're simply a patron of these companies--for Boxer, as brazen as he is to get a free drink, will gladly suction-cup climb his way into boats and schmooze with locals and tourists alike.

Wildcard!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's a start.

"I swim the circuit around New Cloudbank's furthest waters at sunrise and sunset. I'm out there in Bayside waters during peak tourism--mostly Friday through Sunday and holidays."

He shrugs.

"You're going to have a hard time beating my commute. I just have to crawl out of my back door."

She ponders for several long moments. That was a lot of time that he would spend away, but that also meant time for her to get away. That was something she hadn't entirely factored in, continuing her tasks while she had him living in with her. She finally responds only after taking another sip of her wine.

"That would be an agreeable schedule, if it would still work for you." She crosses one arm over her front to settle her fingers on her opposite arm. She can't very well cross both while she's holding the wine, after all.

"And transportation could be provided to make the trek easier. It's not as short, but it certainly isn't too much longer." There was just a street and a long hill, mostly.

"Perhaps I should come visit you while you're in the waters."

"Yeah, that'd be nice..."

So she is capable of negotiating. Not bad. He's still convinced she's way too high-strung, but it's a sign that she's easy to work with.

"Maybe you should. Much easier to find when the tourists are out. They say that the monsters come out when there's blood in the water...or something along those lines."

And they would find each other, but only in passing, as he worked his shifts. When it came close to time to sign his new contract with Sybil, however, things suddenly went south.

No one expected New Cloudbank to attract any enemies, given their strong trade routes and entertainment, but there are those who have greedier motivations, seeking to take the island jewel for themselves. This was the moment that Boxer was born for.

Not so much the one he was meant to die for.

By himself, he'd managed to fight off the first scouting armada, taking down the seven-ship fleet with strength and wit alone, but it was not without his own casualties. He would've died for sure if the local fishermen hadn't gathered at the ruckus to assess what had happened, and they were not about to go home without their monster-buddy, even if he was hanging on by a thread.

If his wits had been about him at the time, he would have asked for his marine veterinarian, but all he could really think about was telling Sybil that they'd have to delay his contract, demanding that someone contact her. Priorities. For what it's worth, though, one of the senior fish mongers provides Sybil with the contact information for the professional.

It works out for the best in the end, however, because one of Sybil's pools just happens to be just right for a medicine tank.

He's not one for conversation these days, strung out from pain medication and uninclined to clear out the water from his lungs, relying on the syphon on his side because it hurt a whole lot less. Plus, his buoyancy is mostly shot, as he's missing three and a half of his tentacles and his left arm.

Don't worry, though. They're growing back.

At least he can watch TV.

If only "nice" is what the circumstances had remained, but changes in the situation resulted in proper adjustments. Moves and counter-moves, really, that was what it boiled down to.

In the days, and weeks, to follow she keeps her distances from him. Observing and taking note of his behaviors and mannerisms. She's hardly needed at home while adjustments and preparations are made, she trusts those she's paid with the tasks she's given them. She only employed those she trusted, and this held true for every individual in her life.

Which is how she got hold of so much information so quickly following the attack. Her informants were the very citizens of the city, and they were all too eager to talk given the danger of the situation. They knew she had connections, and she knew exactly what to do.

First, of course, was ensuring that Boxer was well taken care of. An easy task, given her preparations to accommodate him already. The marine veterinarian is easy enough to work with, and has enough associations with people Sybil knows that she has no issue with granting him a card to access her home anytime he needs to check Boxer.

Second was a long, long bath. There was a reason she kept a pool of molten metal in the lowest basement, and this was it.

Third, and most importantly, would come over the course of the next week. Reports and claims in the papers, word on the street, and hushed whispers about anyone associated with the greedy would-be pirates disappearing. Illegally purchased ships being ripped to pieces by a flying metal beast wielding a giant metal spear. In honesty, the stories probably sounded like superstition and exaggeration to any bystander, but enough citizens knew. The metal beast only appeared when something drastic was happening in Cloudbank, and no one was really sure if it was a friend or a foe.

They were right to not assume, at least.

She keeps a few of the newspapers for later, and spends a good chunk of her time assisting with tending to Boxer. She has a few seats, books, blankets, and a laptop moved into the room so she can minimize her departures. She won't let him slip off of the thread of life he'd clung to, and as a benefit she can change the channel for him if he gets conscious enough for it.

He would pull through, he had to.

When she comes in to visit him one day, some while into his recovery--a day or two after being declared "no longer in the woods", and he appears to be sleeping, with only his back visible from the entrance.

After a while, a flurry of bubbles rises from him as he lets out an inaudible sigh of frustration.

Considering his general silence in the tank up until the point the bubbles happen, it's only natural that the sound catches Sybil's attention. She glances slightly from her seat and then slowly rises.

At the edge of the tank, she places a hand against the glass and taps just once with a metal-tipped fingernail. She knows how to make a small sound in the water, she doesn't want to hurt him with the sound after all he's been through.

But she knows talking isn't the ideal way to get his attention right now.

There's a short delay before he responds, turning over to look at Sybil through the class. His intact arm has the length of a tentacle wrapped around it, his hand clutching the base where it appears between the rest of his tentacles. It's not like the others--it's a solid gold, like the details on his body, and doesn't have any suckers on it.

After a few moments, he realizes the context of the situation, and urgently hides his arm behind him. Ugh, damn it, this was...something something, privacy...wow, these pain meds are god-tier.

Sybil eyes him for a few moments, regarding the state she's found him in and the reaction he had and...

Well.

She's not going to embarrass him any further, but she can't suppress a grin over her features. More things she'd learned about him, and that color was a satisfying coincidence. No sense in cornering him in the state he's in, though. She'll let him come to her.

With a deliberate spin on the tip of one toe, she steps away and sits... more like lays out on the seat she has set up. Enough to offer plausible deniability. On one hand it could be an invitation, on the other hand she could just be lazily watching TV.

Who knew?

What? She's not going to leave him alone, even after giving him a knowing look?

Without his words, all he has to express himself is a pout. Come on, Sybil, he's recovering from almost-dying, give him a break.

Plausible deniability! She's just watching TV isn't she?

But that doesn't stop her from watching TV in various poses and positions that are clearly visible to Boxer from where he is in the tank. If he's not rested up enough to do anything this time, there's always next time.

It's not like she's watching him anymore, after all.

Don't be like that.

Boxer "sits up" and knocks on the glass to get Sybils attention, saying (but effectively just mouthing) her name.

See? That's all it takes. She glances over to him and smiles. She slowly stands, making her way over to the glass and presses a hand to it.

"Yes?" She knows he can't hear her, or at least not well (or maybe he can? She wasn't sure), but he can at least read her lips for a single word.

"You either have to come," he points down at the bottom of the tank, "or go," he points at the door.

Boxer looks directly in her eyes. "Don't just sit there."

That's quite the invitation, and a fascinating one at that. The grin from before returns to her features and she clasps her hands behind her back, idly rocking back and forth on her feet as she considers it. She's going to accept, of course, but she can make a show of thinking about it.

"You know I can't breathe in there." She comments, waiting to see what he'll say. "And I certainly can't keep wearing this dress if you expect me to join you."

Straightforward. But if she goes in there, he'll get to see just what kind of monster she is.

He sees what she's doing, the same as he was when they first met. He's not really in the mood to play games, not to mention he wouldn't be very good at them while he's high on pain meds.

"Then goooooooo," he mouths slowly, looking exhausted. "I just want to get back to sleep." He tries to pantomime resting his head on a pillow made of two hands, but he only has one to work with. Hopefully the message gets across anyway.

She always plays games, unfortunately. It's how she operates. It's all a part of who she is and what she does. And here, now, is something she knows she can lend a hand with. He's a little limited, so unless he tells her to go she'll help out.

And maybe he'll like her more for it. Plus, there's the reveal.

Casually, she steps to the side and starts climbing the front ladder on the tank. She can meet him up on the ramp, so he can be as submerged as he needs to be. Once she climbs up, she glances down into the water and grins as she starts removing her clothing one article at a time. She'd worn simple clothes today, since she had no need to go out, so it only takes her a moment to strip down to just her red undergarments.

When he looks, he'll note the metallic scales covering over her hands and feet, covering a substantial amount of skin up to her elbows and knees. Various scales cover parts of her body, and surround the base and length of her slender tail. She hasn't pulled her hair aside enough to show her horns but he'll certainly see them soon enough. Her last surprise he'll find in due time, but she's tucked it away so well that there isn't even a single hint of it visible.

"You need a hand." She offers, simply.

At first, he thinks that they're some kind of weird lingerie. The waves at the surface of the tank, as little as they are, make the details hard to discern, but as he stills from the curiosity, so does the water, and the picture of her comes together.

Dragonkin.

He sighs--which really manifests only as a flaring siphon. Things make a lot more sense now. It's harder to hold her actions against her when it's just in her blood, just like his attachment to the open water.

Boxer reaches out of the water and takes a hold of the edge of the ramp rail so he can lift his head out of the water. With a forced exhale, water flows from his mouth and nostrils--not the most graceful transition from breathing water to breathing air, but it's part of the business.

"Why didn't you tell me soone--" he's interrupted by a groan of pain, and he slowly sinks back down into the water, his face contorted in pain.

She's down on her knees swiftly when he sinks back into the water, eyeing him carefully for his reaction and behavior. That kind of response to moving wouldn't do, she needed him healing and not hurting.

"What fun would there be in that?" She answers him after a few moments. "You earned the discovery, and my trust."

She turns to the side for a moment, grabbing some of the pain medication that the vet had left for him and picking out exactly how many he would need to take. When she turns back, she slips a hand under the water to offer him the medicine. If he's in pain again, he needs it.

Trust, huh...

He really wants to entertain conversation with her about this, but it really won't be a pleasant thing to sit through on his end. He'll have to save his thoughts until later.

Boxer glances curiously at her offered medication. They look more like antibiotics, given their size and color, but he still feels like his last round is still kicking. Glancing at the clock near the TV, he realizes that the offer is only a few minutes early. Might as well go for it.

He leans his face directly into her hand, instead of taking them into his own. He tilts his head back to swallow them down. As for the original problem, however...well, he's usually so good at coming up with ideas, but right now...not a whole lot is coming to him. To the best of his ability, he floats to the top of his tank, having to hold onto the tank edge to keep his balance. But like this, Sybil has access to all the tentacles she'd want.

Or what's left of them, anyway.

They'll talk trust later, inevitably.

Meanwhile, the hand-eating is one thing. But the casual, lazy, medicine-addled resting float at the top of the tank is another. He's particularly out of it, sure, but she saw what he intended to do. Gold tentacle, gold tentacle...

Idly, she reaches a hand out to run over the nearest tentacle. The smooth surface is... unique, to say the least, under her hand. No doubt her own metallic scales are an experience for him as well.

"You look like you need something." She teases, curious if he'll offer the gold to her or if he can. Perhaps she'll have to hunt for it. "I can help, if you want."

The gold one is hidden amongst the others, so the first one she touches isn't it. That one does, however, invite itself to gently loop around her wrist, and as such it holds itself out of the way so the location of the gold one isn't so obscured.

His suckers intentionally latch to her interestingly-textured skin, and honestly they'd be enough to be a tactile distraction alone. But sitting here and exploring her scales by touch alone won't deal with his problem. For what it's worth, though, it feels like he genuinely means to hold on to her, as if holding her hand without getting in her way.

At least the tentacles he has are still fully functional. She observes the first tentacle for a few moments before catching the sight of the gold one. Since he's not stopping her, she helps herself. Reaching past the others, she slowly slides her fingers over the gold surface. She's careful to avoid any sharp touches, and she runs her hand slowly up and down its surface to start.

"Quite the color." she remarks simply before slowly wrapping her fingers around it... Or at least trying to, her hand probably isn't big enough for the girth of it.

Yeah, she would like that color.

She could get her hand around it if she went far enough down the tapered shape, but even then it'd be hard to get a proper grip on it since it's so slimy. That doesn't mean that it doesn't try to reach up into her touch, even as weakly as the attempt is once it rises above the water.

Everyone likes that color okay.

She doesn't move her hand that far down, instead she contents herself with rubbing what she can reach. She presses back against it as it squirms beneath her palm and fingers, and she casually pushes it back into the water when it slides out. She intends to do as much of this below the water as she can... Even if it means she's leaning in closer and closer to the surface. Inevitably she'll end up laying down on the ramp at some point, just so she can reach.

Eh? He was trying to reach up to meet her, but she keeps pushing him down. Boxer peeks his eyes out from the water, keeping the rest beneath the water.

Do you have some sort of plan, Sybil?

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