#if you're cunty and you know it clap your hands

[visitsugartop]

RO SPOTLIGHT - CODA

all right, everyone. gird your loins. 🌟👗👠💄✨

So, hey, a question. Where would you take someone out on a first date if "restaurant" weren't an option?

Because Coda would love to know as a person whose meals are electricity and electricity only, and you eating food while xe plugs a charger into xir side isn't exactly the shared experience xe has in mind.

I want you to take a good look.

Take your time. Drink xem in.

See xir metal body and all the hinges for joints. The thought that might be crossing your mind is that xe's a robot, and the robots we know today are stiff and still, moving precisely and only to pre-programmed commands.

Well, I'll cut to the chase: take xem ice skating, dancing, or even bowling.

Coda's an electronic person who likes to be out and about, delighting in movement and sight-seeing (within reason). This bleeds into what xe's doing most days of the week, which is to drive community members around town as the one and only bus driver of the Sugartop Beeline. Making the most of every moment, meeting as many people as possible, and having adventures is xir M.O.

That kind of trait paired with xir glamorous wigs and colorful, experimental fashion lends xem the quality of being bigger than life, but remember, please, that at the end of the day, xe just wants someone who will share moments with xem in full reciprocity.

Notes:

Can be romanced by any player character.

Sneak Peek of All ROs

[silverjetsystm]

💀🔫

Send 💀 for my muses biggest fear regarding your muse | Accepting

For those following along at home, this is before the name drops at the shoe shine bar.

If one was to open up the glass box Grant lives in, they would see the man in a cunty blue robe facing the statue towering over the would be living room. White cloth drapes around quartzite, covering bare feet.

Heknowsheknows. "He knows," Steven says to the tablecloth as if it will grant amnesia.

"And?" Lockley sips his beer. Magenta lights rotate and flash, bass vibrating their bones, leaving their ears alone. McFucky's Diner, Dive, and Strip Club. Marc named this place in their inner world when they were younger. Cheekier. Stage is empty tonight, the extras gone home, or wherever they go. Steven's glad. Seeing Marlene (or, God forbid, if a version of Ben, fresh out of Rocky Horror, took the stage) would make him walk out.

"And!?!?" Steven raises his head, glare of sunlight off an iceberg. "He's Ben Solo. If he wanted to, he could destroy my career. Everything I built."

"Tsk." Lockley plays at examining his nails, cigarette freshly lit in his mouth. "How Marc of you."

"I'M NOT ACTING LIKE SPECTOR." He stands, sunlight off skyscrapers, hand on scratched graffiti covered wood, finger pointed at the cabbie. There is no tablecloth. What kind of place do you think McFucky's is, Grant?

"Oy. Okay." Lockley pushes his cap back with one finger, legs stretched out. Exhales a puff of smoke. "It ain't about wrecking your career. You're Mr. Grant. You handle putzes without breaking a sweat or chipping your nails." Gestures at Grant to take a seat.

"It's not about the condition either." The producer takes a seat, lights returning magenta and smoky. "Our…Acquaintances-"

"-Friends-"

"-People. Don't cross. Not usually. I have Wall Street, you have…as you say, the delinquents, the dirtbags, those who get looked down upon." Both men pull almost identical faces, puckering lips like they bit into lemon. "Different spheres. No one except Marlene was close enough."

"Bingo." Lockley slow claps it out, feet on the table, one thud after the other.

"So." Fingers steeple, Lockley's chin on top of the stack. Grinning teeth glint white. "Zei azoy gut and tell him."

"You tell him." Steven crosses his arms, chin down. "If he's your friend."

"Nah. Ain't my fear, is it, sheifale?" The grin practically splits his face at the vein that twitched in Grant's neck.

"I'll…" Steven tsks, running both hands through his hair. "Drop that the dots he's connecting aren't misplaced."

Lockley rolls his eyes. Why must the another part of me be a yuppie?

"I'll need time." Indeed, the bar was getting dark at the edges. He yawned, standing up.

"I'll handle the front." Like Marc was up for it. Lockley hops up, beer drained, arm around Grant's back. "Let's get you home."

The cab is as checkered and bright as the front-facing counterpart. Lockley drives them through a bit of Manhattan, Brooklyn, Chicago, Kansas City, Cairo, Alexandria until they arrive at Grant's manor in the middle of a grass greener than a gardener could ever hope to obtain.

"Just don't pretend to be me."

"No chance!"

A couple weeks later, Lockley shoots Ben an address by the Navy Yards.