#neschastnyy

[itokunii-a]

@neschastnyy​​ asked: 08:28 [text] How did you survive so long without texting me? I’m a delightful necessity. 09:11 [text] Do you believe in love at first text, or should I text you again? 10:09 [text] Take a guess. Which emoji did I place next to your name on my phone? 11:42 [text] Hey, did you hear about the latest glitch on Spotify? For some reason, they don’t have you listed as this week’s hottest single. 18:22 [text] When you go to sleep at night, do you dream of new ways to make me like you? 19:19 [text] I heard that a kiss can burn 6.4 calories per minute. You wanna workout? 23:58 [text] How much longer until you realize I like you and you tell me you like me, too? / a day of texting from Dvoynik @ Lloyd ! / unprompted.

He wakes up in the early hours of the evening, rising, limbs moving with the habitual efficiency of a man who has his schedule memorized in his every muscle. And usually he would have simply moved from his bed to start the beginning of his night but usually does not involve his private phone blinking to get his attention. An oddity, truly; both of his bosses would have texted him on his work phone and Lloyd doubts she would have texted him after the breakup that they had. And, thus, he cannot help but indulge in his curiosity and open his messages.

---Ah. Perhaps he should have expected that.

Brown eyes scan over the screen, a blond brow raised. Dvoynik certainly knows how to be bold, his mannerisms not confined to his speech alone, bestowing upon him line after line of corny flirting. Briefly and with a small chuckle does he wonder if these tactics truly worked on anyone and he is about to hum in thought at a possible reply when, finally, his other phone rings and he abandons these texts entirely.

He only remembers after he has been sitting in front of his computer for hours, attention fleeting for but a fraction of a moment from the calculations he has been forced asked to do. Almost embarrassed, Lloyd retrieves his phone from his pocket, glancing at the new message and immediately his eyebrow is yet again raised ( it, thankfully, escapes him how much of a habit Dvoynik has become too ).

He leans back into his chair, legs crossed. Does he really expect him to fall so easily for such bait? Even though there is something about the last message that is bothering him ( does he think it is genuine? As if anything about the other man is ).

02:15AM [text]: I do have to apologize, as riveting as this conversation is, my attention has been elsewhere. 02:16AM [text]: I do not know which emoji you use. And I cannot workout; my body does not function that way anymore. But your company is pleasurable at times, I suppose. I hope that is a satisfactory ending to your texting barrage.

[cursedfortune]

@neschastnyy​

“You’ll fall ill if you stand unprotected out here for too long. Then you’ll be stuck longer with me and I’m sure that’d be just dreadful for you.” Mortem teased as she draped one of her larger cloaks over Adal’s shoulders before settling to stand beside him for the moment. Surely he’d at least miss this view of a snow covered forest to some degree whenever that day would come.

[kxllerblond]

“The car’s a piece of junk anyway, they’re not gonna miss it.”/ from Vyacheslav!

One might have mistaken his unwavering gaze for the distant wreckage as one who was fixated, entranced even by the beginning dances of flame, by the thick curling plumes of spoke that had begun to trickle upwards not long after the vehicle had been sent on its doomed trajectory to the bottom of the escarpment and had made impact.

If not for the slight jump at his jawline, if not for the telltale sign of a clenched jaw-—one might have truly suspected him to have been rendered as speechless as the vehicle was now motionless. His gaze flicked upward to the evening sky and he sucked audibly at his teeth as if the motion itself could calm his agitation and return to him his eerie calm he carried with him like a second skin. With the way he exhaled a steady sigh and seemed to stand that much taller, perhaps, it somehow had.

No, for Clark to be rendered speechless was but a fool's dream. He gathered and collected his thoughts, picked through them like important trinkets that had their very specific times and places to be showcased....but he was never without something to say.

❝ No, they won't. How could they miss it, darling? What with how you've made it into a spectacle for them to gawk at. How could anyone miss THIS ? ❞ a sweeping gesture for the general direction of the wreckage, the impatience gnawed at the undertones of his flat, droning monotone. Even without much inflection, it was easy to tell Clark was belittling the agent.

❝ They won't miss the piece of shit car, you're right. But they won't care about what vehicle we totaled, they will care that we totaled THEIR vehicle. Do you understand? This was an entirely unnecessary and inflammatory gesture and it will cause us as equally unnecessary grievances in the very near future so...thank you, dearly. ❞

[helllords]

@neschastnyy asked: 15. our muses looking to the sky as it rains blood. For Lucifer & Warren! Guy is nervously laughing, thinking this to be one of the hallucinatory visions he is having lately / A    BLOOD   LUST    INBOX    MEME.

He rarely allows himself a moment like this ( although is it allowing if he feels more like harrowing himself with it? The pain of a memory, fleeting with wings that have not been torn out, the one he summons to flagellate himself because of some form of haunting longing ), to simply stand still and glance upwards at these cursed heavens, this clouded sky. Pale eyebrows furrow harshly, the hands in his coat forming into fists. Look at It, hiding Its holy gaze, as though It does not want to behold Its worst shame! A flame is set ablaze within him, worse than the undying pyres of hell itself and he tries to keep it contained, to grind his teeth and clench his jaw, even though he wants nothing more than to spread it across the filthy lands of earth and watch God cry---.

Drops of rain begin to gently cascade down and it's enough to push him over the edge. He looks long enough at a cloud that the clear water steadily grows r e d.

A sudden, small sound. A laugh. Black eyes snap towards its source, focusing intensely on the man it has sprung from, pinning him beneath it and Lucifer's gaze darkens with something entirely unreadable. A human. Of course. But this one does not quiver, does not scream, does not watch in utter horror at the grotesque sight that greets him. No, he watches and laughs in slight nervousness as the blood drops down upon him and disappears in the same hue of his hair. Does he not believe what he is seeing? Despite the oddities, the devil finds himself intrigued.

When he speaks his voice is cold but strangely serene. Calm, dare say. " Strange weather we're having today, isn't it? "

[zealctry]

@neschastnyy said: Dvoynik squinting at Hidan. He smells of trouble. Which he can appreciate.

the ( insistent ) gaze slides up the column of his neck like a fucking ice shiv. ( it’s weird, right? real fucking weird, to be so attuned to when you’re being watched   —and Hidan is used to being watched, if only for his waaay-outside-of-the-cookiecutternorm-appearance— as to feel it in your marrow. some primal sort of instinct, of dance of predation, running through the DNA. or some such other bullshit. ) it doesn’t make him shiver, nor his pulse spike. he’s too accustomed to being on the other side of this sort of interaction for it to truly trouble him. instead, beneath lazily lowered lashes, he sweeps the environment with his gaze, seeking, seeking . . .. .

( he pinpoints the source with frightening accuracy. because when his gaze lifts, it fixes upon the other man, sharp and exact. no hesitation whatsoever. wait, wait a sec— frightening? ha ha, it’s just a little joke. just pure, dumb luck. promise~! )

for a split-second, he considers it ( widening his eyes, raising his eyebrows, lowering his shoulders and slouching his spine. doe eyes, and the posture of— ). but… nah. the screen ( cellphone ) in his hand glows brighter with an incoming message. Hidan ignores it ( doesn’t bat a single eyelash ).

it turns into a staring contest across the distance. a second, five, ten. . ..  ( he foregoes blinking, entirely. his eyes don’t even sting. ) trouble in a funhouse mirror, distorted but reflected back all the same. how fun. wait, what’s the saying again? we can smell our own? ( he’s wrong on that point but oh, so blissfully unaware. the arrogance of youth, or of the knowledge that death is always kept at bay, just out of arms reach; close enough to flirt with, never close enough to fall into its cold embrace. that tidbit, perhaps, heightens his stupidity. but Hidan has always been. . . .if nothing else. . . .part careless, part bold, unrepentant, sheer nerve. )

between them, the cheap ( weak, underfunded, hardly maintained as more than an afterthought in the city council’s budget ) streetlight sputters and flickers, covering everything in yellow light and contrasting shadows, in turns. or really, as much shadow-dark as there can be, against the dull-grey canvas of the cloudy skies ( light pollution makes it so that, within city limits, nothing is truly dark anymore ; all murky, hazy hues, even at nighttime. it really fucks with your circadian rhythms, man. but of course, Hidan’s a city boy. he wouldn’t know.  )

between them, the world itself seems to flicker with static. really, it’s a pretty nice atmosphere, Hidan thinks. very. . ..  mm, moody.

a roll of his shoulders ( there is no tension there, but it’s a nice little stretch ) and a puff of laughter, before he breaks the tension. slips the phone into his jeans' back pocket and . . .. his steps are carefree and rhythmical and carry him easily across the distance. still, he maintains the eyecontact until he’s nearly within arm’s reach, where he stops. tilts his head. ( amusement trembles upon his lower lip, curls the corners of his mouth. )

            “ . .. you gonna stare at me all evening, gonna buy me a coffee, or just have something to say? ‘cuz I prefer the latter two, just sayin’. ”

[yellowfingcr]

𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 ?

behind the mask

you aren’t slick about whatever you think you’re hiding. glass shatters in your midst, blood spills, children scream. like some of your friends, your personality of choice is entirely artificial. the difference between you and them is that you can get away with it. you’re unknown, perhaps even to yourself, and your goals are complex and unknown. anyone stupid enough to fall for you is setting themselves up to be frustrated and confused, owing to your being ultimately unknowable. i hope you can find an identity that makes you comfortable.

tagged by: @scarletrotted (thanks!!)

tagging: @of-forossa, @yeleltaan, @starcaller-scholar, @hexenjagd, @tacetnix, @darkestheir, @eternalconquest, @bloodrosebriars (both!), @irregulator, @neschastnyy (any of your choice!), @casketdweller, and you!

[7ooo-ru]

Несчастный случай на тренировке: бой Фьюри с Усиком вновь перенесён

Поединок между Тайсоном Фьюри и Александром Усиком перенесён на неоп��еделённый срок. Боксёры должны были сразиться за звание абсолютного чемпиона мира в тяжёлом весе 17 февраля в Эр-Рияде, но британец получил глубокое рассечение на тренировке и был вынужден сняться. При этом украинец по-прежнему может принять участие в шоу, а в качестве его возможного соперника рассматривается хорват Фи��ип Хргович.

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Подробнее https://7ooo.ru/group/2024/02/03/219-neschastnyy-sluchay-na-trenirovke-boy-fyuri-s-usikom-vnov-perenesen-grss-278898914.html

[itcertainlyisl-n-h]

Just Plain Nuts...Part 2

She came trouncing out of the house onto the back porch...frying pan still in hand.  She was drunk.  She was always drunk.  Well then so was he.  He looked up from what he was doing...lost in a haze...lost in a daze...snapping himself out of some wild fantasy...some dark and scary place that his mind had gone to.  He had reached the final straw. The one that broke the camel’s back as it were.  He laughed...giddily actually.  It wasn’t a resigned laugh...it wasn’t a true laugh...it was actually one of his patented, couldn’t stop himself guffaws as he forcefully shoved the shovel into the pliant earth once more and tossed the mound of dirt to the side.  

He barely recognized her.  Her eyes filled with malice, scorn and madness...he had only met one other character like her before...in his mind...He had read the novel Jane Eyre countless times.  It was one of his favorite books to go to when he wanted to escape.  Sure it seemed more like a romance novel for lonely housewives...but then that’s what he felt like from time to time.  In it, the lord and master of the house, Edward Rochester had wanted to marry the governess of his ward, Jane Eyre but he had a terrible secret he was hiding.  His own wife locked up in the attic.  She was a lunatic and was forced on him through an arranged marriage. Rochester had wanted something pure...something wholesome...someone who loved him and he loved back with all of his heart...and that was Jane...not...Bertha Mason...Not the woman standing in front of him now.  

“Stanley....Stanley what are you doing there??!!”  She shouted at him angrily.  Her hand...permanently on her hip the other grasping the frying pan tightly.  She wasn’t afraid to use it again if he came close to her.  If he tried to touch her once more.  She was afraid of him.  She didn’t like it when he got that look in his eye...the one he was leveling her with now.  When they drank...things got unpredictably predictable, very fast.  Things got thrown. Things got broke.  Police were often called.  The cycle never ended.  She would scream at him...accuse him...call him every name she could think of and the minute he tried to defend himself in anyway she would flip on a dime, becoming hysterical, dramatical and the waterworks would flow.  She would lay the guilt on him so thickly he would run to her side, begging her to forgive him, promising he’d never leave her...he would always love her and that he would take care of her.  

She had a power over him that no other woman had.  She had him around her proverbial finger and he was, as always, helpless and too vulnerable to do anything about it.  This again was one of those times.  

He didn’t answer her and just kept staring at her as if he had just seen her for the first time in his life.  That his eyes were opened.  That he no longer saw the person he fell in love with.  That he no longer saw the person that he gave up Ruth for...that he ran away with...that he had often vowed she was “To his heart”  and that she was his baby...his sweetheart...he didn’t recognize her anymore. 

Panic was in her voice as she rushed down the stairs and into the yard.  He had been pulling up trees, chopping at bushes...basically turning his backyard into a scene right from “Big Business” When he and Babe completely obliterated Finn’s house...he actually smirked at the memory.  Illiana surveyed the damage to her roses...to her shade trees to her backyard sanctuary where she had spent a lot of her days lounging in celebrity luxury.  She took in the large gaping hole right in the middle of the yard, growing ever larger as Stan continued to attack it further with vicious stabs and grunts.  

“Stanley!!”  She yelled again... “Durak neschastnyi...Balvan!!” 

He paused.  Turning slowly he leveled her with his coldest look.  Today he knew would be his last on earth...if he had a say in it.  He had never felt the knot of burning anger...twisting and writhing inside of him.  The very core of his being loathed her at that moment...and couldn’t and didn’t want to stop himself.  He wanted it to be over.  He grit his teeth and bit his lip so hard it bled...She saw the monster in his eyes then.  The one she had been fearing all along.  

“Poshyel k chyertu...”  

“Why are you digging that hole...to get there?” She screeched at him.  Her voice trembling but deep down knowing the answer.  

“To bury you in, Shuvalova.”

..................

Oliver Hardy stepped quietly into the trailer that he and his partner Stan Laurel shared at the Hal Roach Studios.  He didn’t want to startle the man he knew was so easily rattled, more so than usual these days.  He sighed as he looked at his partner and friend of over thirteen years scribbling furiously on some papers and only pausing to clack away at his ever present typewriter.  By now he knew how to read the man better than he did himself.  He knew something was terribly wrong.  It had been wrong for a few months now.  He wasn’t going to let it go on much longer.  He knew when it was right to speak to Stan and he felt the time for a real heart to heart was coming to a head.  He remembered the time before.  The last time.  And the time before that.  Enough was enough.   

He had escorted Stan from the jail that night.  He looked pitiful...sad...scared...alone.  He knew he didn’t want to talk about it by the way he held his head when Ollie walked into the jailhouse.  He didn’t want to bring any further indignity to him.  He saw that he was only clad in boxers and an old army blanket that looked like a remnant from the first world war. If there was a camera he would have looked at it before going over to the dejected man and putting a hand on his shoulder.  They didn’t speak.  He cleared up the matter of getting Stan out of jail so that he wouldn’t have to spend the night there.  He made sure that one of Illiana’s friends was called and that she would come to collect her and take her back to their home and stay with her for a while.  Stan tried to protest but Ollie insisted that it was best for them if they were apart for now and that Stan stay with him until this all blew over.  

The ride to Ollie’s house was quiet.  Stan looked at him from time to time as the cab driver took them through the dark streets...dawn just creeping up over the Hollywood sign in the distance.  He reached out and put his hand over Babe’s covering it in a warm gesture and in that way, thanked him.  Ollie knew that was his way and nodded his head.  They were both tired to the bone.  They knew they were to start filming their new picture “Blockheads” soon and it was time to straighten up and fly right again.  Time to make more magic.  Ollie looked at Stan and saw that a lot of the magic had left his eyes.  He didn’t want to know the light that was replacing it now.  He was concerned but he would let Stan tell him...like always.  

They reached Oliver’s home and paid the driver.  Stan leaned into Ollie’s shoulder suddenly exhausted and barely able to stand.  He whimpered softly and Ollie finally put his arm around him.  He held him steady as they moved toward his front door.  

“She’s just so mean, Babe...” 

“I know, Stan...I know.” 

“I love her.”

“I know you do, Stanley...you’re a man consumed with it...always.” 

He lead Stan into the house and down the hall to the guest room, well really Stan and Lois’s room when they came to visit on the odd occasion.  Lois more often than not...she liked staying at Uncle Babe’s house.  

He pulled back the covers against the protests of not being tired, and that he needed a drink to take the edge off and the refusal of said drink and the struggling to get into some of his spare pajamas that he kept in the dresser drawer and the struggle of even more refusing to cooperate, Oliver finally got Stan to lie down and on his side to sleep. 

“Sleep with me, Babe...” 

“Stan.”

“You know what I mean...I don’t want to be alone.” 

“But you know what it leads to...what it always does.” 

“Is that wrong?”

“With my wife in the other room...yes.” 

A resigned sigh with only the slightest tinge of old jealousy. “Then just sleep...please.” 

Lord help him he knew better.  He knew better every time...but he could still never resist him.  Even now at 4:30 in the morning on some random night...after checking on his wife...seeing her sound asleep...he carefully climbed in on his side of the bed and wrapped his arms around his now snoring houseguest.  He pulled him closer to his chest and allowed himself to breathe in the intoxicating scent of Stan Laurel...all of him...as he turned out the light, pulling the covers over them.  There would be time to figure things out...tomorrow. 

Part 3 to come!

[itokunii-a]

👫 for Lloyd & Dvoynik

Send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship

Lloyd absolutely loves flowers, so Dvoynik is bound to find that out about him. I can see him stumbling into him standing in front of a flower shop, gently tracing his fingertips over the petals with a soft smile as he leans in to smell them. So obviously Dvoynik is going to note down this information and use it in his quest to woo him! He might come to pester him at his workplace and before Lloyd would be able to start their usual charade of threatening to throw him out, he would be met with a beautiful bouqet. And he stops, surprised but clearly, slightly smittened before he takes it from him and clears his throat. " Ah, uhm-- as lovely as these are, I will not change my mind. " 1-0 for Dvoynik.

Considering Dvoynik actually behaves when he takes him out for the party, Lloyd thinks about letting him join more frequently! Which he also hopes will make him behave more in general, just so he can have some peace. But he gets along with the other guests, socializes and realizes that Lloyd has a reputation to uphold, so he truly cannot ask for more. He also always offers something in return for his time: money, clothes, food. Whatever he wants, truly; he has enough resources to get him anything.

Dvoynik texts him often, now that he has his phone number. But to his dismay, Lloyd rarely checks his personal phone when he is at work. When he does check it, however, he is met with many flirty texts and pictures. Dvoynik lowkey seems like someone who uses emojis a lot, while Lloyd texts as if he has written too many formal emails in his life (which he has). So they have interactions like "You up? 💦" and my poor old man of a 25 year old just replies "Of course I am awake, it's midnight. Also please stop spamming my phone. Kind regards, LP."

Lloyd has caught himself wondering what it would be like to bite Dvoynik and drain him dry. He has only ever sunk his teeth into humans before and with how close he is always getting to him and how he can see his pulse beating under his skin, he cannot help but wonder. But he would never act on it, simply because he feels like he would never hear the end of it.

[cursedfortune]

14. A kiss to the stomach / for Adal

Kiss. - 14. @neschastnyy

He always looked so ridiculous on her sofa. Sure, it was meant to hold larger bodies like his own but even so it felt as if he was still somehow too big for it. Did that stop the witch from padding over to him and, without a warning beyond a light pat to his leg, begin climbing on to join? No. She couldn't fit on the actual sofa itself unless he rolled over (which she wouldn't put it past him to do and send her tumbling to the ground) and laid upon his side.

Thankfully he didn't seem inclined today to cause problems.

Mortem crawled up him enough to perch half atop a leg, half between them. Uncaring one of his was nudged further off the couch as she stared down at where he laid, eyes closed. Was Adal ignoring her? This man could wake up if she just breathed too deeply. But the rise and fall of his chest didn't indicate he was asleep. What a--

A soft exhale equivalent of a huff left her lips at how stubborn he could be when he wished. Which was often. But she had witnessed his moments of honesty, clarity, of wounds that were still left open. She had come here with words to say, of thoughts on her mind but... well, maybe another time? Or maybe she'd tell them to him another way?

Her hand, one far too soft for a fellow veteran soldier, ran up along his hip and took hold. The other held the cushion at his side as she lowered herself down until her lips met his stomach, kissing it softly despite how sharp of a tongue she could possess. Especially when they bantered, or what she took as bantering. There was a gentle caress of her thumb over his hip and, if he was paying attention, perhaps he'd notice it was not just merely a quick peck-- her lips lingered in the kiss, pressed firmly and softly for a long moment before she pulled back.

Without hesitation she then settled atop the soldier, her head resting beside where her lips had just been. Despite her playfulness, the tension that could spark between the two of them, how suggestive and outright sexual she could be... it wasn't found in this moment. At least, not initially. That wasn't her intention. Her forehead nestled against his abdomen as she simply held him.

"Thank you for sharing what you did the other night." Mortem murmured, her voice lacking its friendly tone to just be something more natural. Quiet and closer to what laid beneath that seemingly endless smile she wore. While she would never pressure Adal for information unless necessary she still appreciated it all the same. He had no idea how long it had been since someone wasn't just... angry towards her. To have a meaningful conversation over experiences they could both understand. Ones she hadn't shared before that lived within, festering inside her-- something he seemed to relate to.

Her tone was transparent in that appreciation but she didn't wait expecting any response. Whether that was out of respect or out of concern of him closing off indefinitely and rejecting being open with her, she wasn't sure. Her eyes closed as a quiet sigh of relief left her - as if she had been holding onto that thanks all this time. As if her wanting him to know, to hear it, meant so much to her.

Their relationship may be a volatile one built upon an unlikely reliance. Yet she did genuinely like him, even in his infuriating moments. Mortem could understand how other mortals would see him and think he was some feral beast. But when she looked at him she saw a man that embodied humanity. He could walk with all the darker aspects but there was light shining within his core. Anger and vanity could not cover up what empathy was left about those he served with. This soul was strong because it learned to care deeply and she understood his anger, his ways a little more now because of that.

Truth be told, Mortem liked him just the way he was. That's why she was there.

[hellopropersonal-blog]

Несчастный случай на

Несчастный случай на производстве: принимаем меры Произошедший несчастный случай на производстве не зависимо от его причины требует тщательного расследования. От этого никто не застрахован. Не зависимо от того кто виноват работник или не уделяющий должного внимания охране труда наниматель процедура проведения следствия одна. Но первым делом еще до создания различных комиссий и уведомления всех контролирующих органов важно оказать первую медицинскую помощь пострадавшему, а затем уже заниматься бумажной работой. А вот ка��ие именно бумаги придется подготовить, мы расскажем в нашей статье. http://www.pro-personal.ru/article/1083883-qqe-16-m12-neschastnii-sluchai-na-proizvodstve?utm_source=tumblr.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=neschastnyy-sluchay-na-proizvodstve-prini

[7ooo-ru]

Концерт лидера группы «Несчастный случай» отменили в российском городе

В Перми отменили концерт лидера джаз-рок-группы «Несчастный случай» Алексея Кортнева «О чем поют мужчины». О том, что мероприятие в российском городе не состоится, стало известно в день проведения. Концерт должен был быть в пермском «Ё-баре», его анонсировали еще в октябре 2023 года.

Подробнее https://7ooo.ru/group/2024/01/27/084-koncert-lidera-gruppy-neschastnyy-sluchay-otmenili-v-rossiyskom-gorode-grss-276977783.html

[itokunii-a]

@neschastnyy​ asked:  “Such poison from a pretty, honeyed mouth.” (Dvoynik @ Lloyd) / prompt list i. ♡.

He is relentless, Lloyd has come to find out after he has spent most parts of his prior nights scanning the crowds of clubbers for a face that does not belong, for a heart and a pulse that beats just slightly out of rhythm ( a tedious task, he has come to find out, because the shapeshifter certainly knows how to adapt and blend in ). And while it is a character trait he often uses to his own advantage, when it is directed at him, it is another piled-up task he has to take care of. Not that he hasn’t tried to take care of: he has repeated the words so often that he is sure they are engraved in his skin and it irks him that the other’s name is part of this mantra ( I will not allow you to distract me, Dvoynik. I have business to attend. ) but it appears that to him, this is a game he does not want to resist.

A sigh threatens to escape his lungs but he keeps himself upright, silhouette crisp, figure steady, not a hint of exasperation. He will deal with this somehow because he always does.

Brown eyes shift through the masses while he greets the more important patrons with a polite smile and a handshake, and even though he appears occupied, Lloyd instantly spots the presence behind him ( perhaps he feels the intent, the warm breath on his neck; perhaps he is just paranoid ) and turns to place a hand on Dvoynik’s lower back and guide him away. “ I was wondering when you would arrive. “ The moment they reach a more quiet corner of the club, he crosses his arms over his chest, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “ If you continue to pester me, I will not hesitate to throw you out, Dvoynik. This has been going on for too long. “ Ah, there it is. He has really made it a habit out of warning him. But of course the other does not budge. “ Find yourself someone else to enjoy your--- propositions. “