The "Sweden" Household Catch-all

[odinpusrex]

WHO: "Joss Sweden", his household (Sleipnir & Cid), and whoever else!
WHEN: The whole month of the mission!
WHERE: His residence but will vary per thread
WHAT: Many things...
NOTES\WARNINGS: each thread will have their warnings as they become relevant

Due to Barnabas' rather generous civilian identity, he and his have been given quite the accommodating abode. With far more space than what any of the three could need, it almost stands as a mockery of the very things that Barnabas himself detests. Boasting of opulence in ways not fully familiar to him in a world so strange, he is not fully blind to its status all the same. Still, he does not rebuke what he's been assigned, and so he takes residence here regardless, playing the part of Joss Sweden as is expected of him.

A metropolitan fortress in its own right, it is quite spacious and affords him solitude where others might struggle to find it in such a bustling city. There isn't reason to be ungrateful for what he and his have been granted, and so they will put it to good use. Probably.

(ooc: This is just gonna be a catch-all log for whatever random ass threads for shenanigans for Barnabas and his household and CR! If you wanna do something, I can toss something here, or if you wanna toss a TL at me or one of them, feel free to do so. Just wanted a place to throw random threads during this mission!)

Comments

Let's dance! It's clubbing time. (End of week 1)

[herofhopeless]

[Clive was getting stir crazy. He needed to move his body, do something so why not go dancing? Clive arrives and enters the house as if he lives there.]

It's me!

[He calls out in case anyone thinks there is an intruder that needs to be stabbed or electrocuted or something. Clive makes his way to the room that was basically deemed 'his' to start changing. Half undressed, shirtless with almost undone pants, Clive walks back out and stands at the stairs.]

I'm going out dancing. If you want to come, start getting dressed.

[He paused.]

It's at a bar.

[There, maybe more than just Sleipnir will come with him this time.]

And I'm sure Sleipnir will wear something just revealing enough to be tempting.

[Maybe Barnabas will take the bait, too.

Clive retreats back to his room to pick through his wardrobe to find something to wear. It might be a sheer kind of night. He wonders if Sleipnir will want to coordinate outfits.]

[He also shoots off a text to Dion and Joshua.]
Going out tonight. You should come. Here's the address.

[levindicated]

What, you think I’m not dressed? [He calls downstairs]

[As he migrates from his desk towards the bedroom here. Clive has unloaded so much information.]

Who gets dressed for the bar? Are we sure it’s a bar? Sorry- Sleipnir’s going to be tempting what, exactly?

[Cid walks in with his hands on his hips. He’s wearing office clothes, half undone. Light blue long sleeve all rolled up around his forearms. Tan chinos. It’s basically uniform.]

[odinpusrex]

[Barnabas is considerably less dressed, though he does rise from his bath at the sound of Mythos' entrance, pulling upon a black robe that is loosely tied around his waist. The instructions are indeed odd to him. He takes his time to leave the master bathroom to find both Cidolfus and Mythos, not looking particularly rushed to follow the suggestion.]

Impetuous as I have grown to expect, Mythos, but to what end will this gathering serve?

[The mention of Sleipnir wearing something revealing is useless to him when Sleipnir can be naked in his bed at any moment.]

[herofhopeless]

[Clive turns to give Cid a once over and quirks an eyebrow.]

We're going out, not going to the office. If you walk into a club in chinos I am going to pretend I don't know you.

[Clive turns back to the dresser and pulls out something dark purple with a satin texture before shoving it at Cid. It's a button up, yes, but the buttons only go up so high.] Wear this and your leathers and you'll look great. You can skip the jacket.

[Just in time for Barnabas to show up. Clive does his best not to give the man an appreciative once-over at his state of undress, especially since Cid is standing right there. The man doesn't need any more fuel for his 'Clive you're making bad decisions' fire.]

Because occasionally you should leave the house. If we want to be able to figure out what is going on here, we need to actually interact with people.

[Clive resists the tempation to pat Barnabas on the shoulder.]

Rough, I know.

At the Club (End of week 1)

[levindicated]

[Cid and Clive manage to make it into the cab, to the club, and somehow Cid doesn’t get bounced at the door. He is markedly older and worse looking than the average attendee. They end up by the bar, somewhere easy to see from the door to greet everyone they know.]

[The music is loud, but not so loud that they have to shout by the bar to talk. The floor is another thing entirely.]

[Cid can be found and cornered in a few different spots. The dance floor, the men’s room, and outside smoking a cigarette.]

[herofhopeless]

[Clive pops outside for a quick breather, sighing at the feeling of moving fresh(ish) air against his sweat-damp skin. A familiar scent washes over him and he spots Cid having a smoke. Perfect.

Clive approaches and plucks the cig out of Cid’s hand before tossing it in the gutter. He remembers these from the Golden Saucer and he hates them. They’re a cheap imitation, they don’t mix with Cid’s scent the same way. He had almost resigned himself to the fact that he would have to deal with these mediocre replacements, that is until he found a smoking lounge while on the hunt for a good coffee.]

Here.

[Clive unzips a small pouch attached to one of his belts and pulls out a tin. He pops it open and holds it out. They still weren’t quite the same, but with Clive’s heightened sense of smell thanks to Ifrit and the expertise of the man at the tobacco counter, they managed to make a blend as close to Cid’s old cigarillos as possible.]

These are better.

[And if he keeps the fact that he worked his ass off to get this custom blend for Cid, who would judge him?]

[levindicated]

[The audacity! Cid almost gets angry as Clive plucks the smoke from his grasp- before he offers a replacement.]

You’re meant to offer that bit first, eh?

[He plucks one from the tin and gives it a sniff. The corner of his mouth quirks as he sticks it between his lips. He raises his brows expectantly. Hadn’t Clive said he’d be his lighter, after all?]

[It’s hard to tell if Cid is swaying because he’s drunk, or because he simply can’t hold still.]

Hold long have you been keeping these a secret?

[herofhopeless]

And miss the chance to tease you? I think not.

[The corner of Clive's mouth quirks up in a smile as he steps in and holds a hand up, letting a small flame flicker in his hand for Cid's use.

He also holds a hand at the ready near Cid's hip in case the man tips. He had lost track of Cid at some point and didn't know how much the man had drunk. He'd rather not have to haul the man off the pavement.]

Had to perfect them first. Couldn't bring you subpar tobacco, now could I?

OTA obviously <3

[odinpusrex]

[Somehow Barnabas is at this club.

Which is to say that Sleipnir successfully convinced him to go, despite his misgivings. The misgivings that are still being held fast by him, but regardless he's here, isn't he? Dressed comfortably, yet suitably styled—he dons that which both extenuates his natural form and mercifully covers him.

After all, he does not need his newly attained powers to influence him while in this place. It is..loud and busy enough as it is, and he does not think breaking his resolve would be wise. Which is what the layers in his outfit will serve, a shield of fabric against unwanted touches.

He is not particularly interested in dancing, nor the little groups of people drinking and chattering, and while he may be found dragged around by Sleipnir, he can also be found alone near the bar at times. Simply watching people with quiet, idle interest.

If one could be so generous to name it that.]

[herofhopeless]

[Despite being pretty deep onto the dance floor, he can tell when Barnabas arrives. Clive's currently heightened sense of smell picks him out. He glances towards the door to watch the man and Sleipnir enter. Beautiful, beautiful Sleipnir. A true gift. He makes a mental note to thank him later and dances for a bit longer.

When he detangles himself from the dancefloor he stops to look around, breathing deeply, until his eyes find the stoic man dressed like winter was around the corner in the middle of summer. He couldn't help but smile a little at that. Less bare skin to oggle, sure, but he cut quite the handsome figure.

Clive turns away to go flirt a free drink off of someone, a skill he learned rather by accident on the first couple nights he went out, and leaves the person with a pat on the cheek.

He doesn't ask before sliding into the open spot next to Barnabas.]

You're here. [His smile is small but his eyes glitter.] I wasn't sure if you were going to make it.

[odinpusrex]

[Unlike himself, the others were not quite able to hide their aether, and so he well knew they were here before stepping foot in the building. Walking in only firther pressed upon him Mythos' presence, and seeing him dance among the people was... well, there was just something taboo about it.

That the Lord's vessel would be used for such a flippant thing as that...

To see him then flirt with others and receive a drink for those efforts, it reminded him too much of Cidolfus for his liking and while his expression's shift is subtle, it edges towards irritated. Not that it isn't sporting that already, but...

As Mythos speaks to him directly, Barnabas does not look at him, his eyes still keeping watch of the people around them, as if surveying for the unexpected.]

You were adamant. As was Sleipnir. To what end I know not.

[Now he casts his cold gaze at Mythos, striking like the keen edge of a knife.]

Dance Floor

[quibblingfunctionary]

[A decent way into the night— after the groups had met, separated, reformed in smaller numbers, separated again, and so on— Sleipnir keeps finds his eyes drawn ever more to Cidolfus. It was not enough that he has to live with the man, but now he must suffer his presence in the hall of dance? Even more insulting is how good Cid looks while doing it.

Eventually Sleipnir's resistance is worn down, as it has been slowly being whittled down this entire mission. Has it only been a week? Yes. Has it been a long week? Also yes. So Sleipnir downs his drink then heads out unto the dance floor, a man on a mission. Soon he is upon Cidolfus, dancing in this world's customary way of 'up on' one another.

Lord Rosfield and Sleipnir had picked outfits to compliment one another, himself in white and the other man in black. Sleipnir's own shirt is also sheer, his pants tight fitting, and his gloves fingerless, all in white. The only color on him is his purple earrings, a large crystal purple necklace, and his makeup. Clive assured him he looked good, he can only hope he's been just as tempting to Cidolfus, if not more so, than the man has been to him.]

[levindicated]

[Cid backs up quick as Sleipnir approaches, a psychosomatic ache in his nuts reminding him of last time. Cid boggles slightly at Sleipnir’s outfit- the sheer whorishness of it all. He has to remind himself that only one of them look their age.]

[As Cid remains unstabbed and ungrabbed, his hackles lower.]

What, dance with everyone else already?

[quibblingfunctionary]

[Good to see Cidolfus' survival instincts were still in tact, if not his plumbs.]

Is it wrong to want to dance with my own husband?

[So he says, but Sleipnir's smile spells trouble.]

Driving Lessons for Dion... Early week 1

[odinpusrex]

[It isn't that Barnabas' own thoughts about Bahamut has changed much, he does not see his fellow Dominant in any better light than he ever has before. They are not friends. They are not anything of that sort. However, they are unlikely allies, aligned in a joint purpose to save their world, and that stays both their blades (exceptions aside) but gives way for otherwise unforeseen situations and assistance.

This being one such example.

With this proving the third time a mission has utilized vehicles in some way, one far more reliant upon them than the others, Barnabas finds it somewhat prudent to share his wisdom with those who otherwise are lacking. There may very well be another mission that requires such a skill, and he will have those of his world prepared for it. Thus do they find themselves parked in front of his home, both in his dark blue Porsche that costs more than some people's whole houses...really, if he were more susceptible to his emotions, he might actually be offended by this all.

Regardless of all that, Barnabas is in the passenger seat, while Bahamut is in the driver's seat, and with his typical unaffected drawl he instructs what each button and lever does with a steady point of his finger. However, as he moves on from the turn signals, hazards, and windshield wipers, he looks to the fat tablet in the middle of the console. The navigation...though Barnabas finds it...undesirable.

Barnabas lowers his hand to rest on his own thigh, curled lightly into a fist.

Frowning at it, his eyes narrow. Whether it is because he finds it a pointless addition, or he simply doesn't quite know how to use it, he doesn't say.]

[oblige]

[ Dion does not take assistance for granted. This holds true of anyone, but especially Odin. The man is his old foe, and their differences aren't so simply erased by their changed circumstances. It's only natural that they set that aside in favor of proving their world's worthiness, but it doesn't mean that they need do any more than tolerate one another.

Typically, at least.

Faced with yet another foreign environment, one in which they must use an unfamiliar form of conveyance, Dion finds himself relying on Odin's guidance. It is as unfamiliar as it is uncomfortable. He knows his aid is for the sake of their mission and for the world, but it makes it no less strange an experience.

Dion is accustomed only to learning harsh lessons from this man in battle, collected in wounds and not words. Yet here Odin is, calmly detailing what each control before him does. That is, until they arrive at one last item. One Barnabas clearly finds displeasing, judging by small, yet notable changes in expression and body language.

The screen— Dion knows it to be a screen— does nothing for the moment. Dion doubts it will remain thus once the vehicle starts, if only because he'd needed to rove his house turning off a small army of devices that would otherwise monitor and reply to them at odd times. An unnerving distraction, in Dion's view. ]

[ a few days after the Accelerator incident ] [ action ] → Cidolfus

[quibblingfunctionary]

[While death may no longer hold reign over Sleipnir's teammates, ultimately, he has found merit in warning them of what had befallen him a mere few days prior.

It was strange how Sleipnir had an easier time approaching Bahamut with this, but if he thinks about it deeply... no, it is not odd. It is still so difficult to be around Cidolfus, and he knows not how to best comport himself. He wants to continuously punch him in the gut and at the same time merely gaze upon him. It had been so long... But those are currently desires Sleipnir pushes down within himself, he needs to keep his mind on mission, and happily wedded husbands do not rupture each other's spleens, nor do they yearn for a past long gone and best forgotten—

And so, without much further ado, he shoves open the door to Cidolfus' office while the man is quietly working. Sleipnir comes in like he's the one to bring a storm rather than it being a specialty of the dominant before him. Marching straight to the desk he slams his palms against the wood of it, not breaking it, but merely creating the loud thud of which his feelings for the man require.]

We need to talk.

[Sleipnir's tone is waspish as he glares daggers at his husband.]

[levindicated]

What’d I do now? Is this about the leftovers?

[Cid puffs on his cigarillo and sighs.]

I’ll buy lunch. Barnabas’ wallet is in the bathroom last I saw.

[Cid staunchly does not react, tapping ash before flipping to the next page in his PDF.]

[quibblingfunctionary]

[Sleipnir huffs out his nose and crosses his arms.]

It is not about the leftovers.

[What have you done to the leftovers....]

This is more important than food or your waste of a time job.

[ morning after Accelerator ] [ action ] → 𝔅𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔟𝔞𝔰

[quibblingfunctionary]

[Once Clive Rosfield drops Sleipnir off at his temporary home he'll come into the house as any man would and sets his keys down on a table near the front door. He listens to the sounds the quiet place makes before making his way to His Majesty's bedchambers. A light knock is given before he enters the main bedroom and by the way his skin can suddenly feel the subtle moisture in the air Sleipnir guesses his liege must either be in the bath or perhaps is just getting out of it.

He swallows before calling out.]

Your Majesty? [his voice is in control, yet there is something that still sounds off about it] I have need to speak with you on something, I pray you have the time.

[The overwhelming urge to pace fills Sleipnir's limbs and so to combat this he seats himself at the end of the bed he and Barnabas have been sharing. It seldom sees much use as they both have no need for sleep, but still it is a nice place to spend time together.]

[odinpusrex]

[Indeed, he has finished languishing within the waters of his bath, though it drains as Sleipnir calls to him. His attention drawn towards the door, he towels himself off with purpose before opening the door to his chambers, greeted with the image of Sleipnir sat upon his bed. He cares little to cover himself, modesty proving pointless with someone so intimate to him as his beloved companion, and so he crosses the distance between them with silent inquiry.

Something is the matter, that much is plain, but what it could be is beyond him at the moment. It is not with words he asks, but with a hand—still soft from the warmth of the water—cupping his jaw to angle his gaze to meet his own. His expression one of concern, though subtle in its presentation, as is his wont. Of course that touch is not simply a touch, it activates something within Barnabas, and he well knows that it would.

This too is his gesture to Sleipnir, to feel for him if need be.

The touch does blossom sensations within himself, feelings that are stark against the black hollow of his existence, a wave across the still water of his mind. Atrophied as his self-control is from disuse, he is able to weather the sensations as he gazes down at Sleipnir for the moment. The sweet flutter of emotion both strong and fiery pulses in his chest, yet there ever lingers that gnawing grief that threatens to consume him whole—he removes his hand a moment later. The cold and stillness returning like darkness after a fire's been doused.

With the gesture made, he awaits what Sleipnir has to tell.]

[quibblingfunctionary]

[The mere glimpse of seeing Barnabas again, being in his presence, grants Sleipnir the feeling akin to just coming home— he is safe and warm now after having been out in a downpour; while the storm is no longing newly drenching him, he is still sodden from the experience. The weight of what has come before clings to him, like a stain he cannot get out; to an outsider Sleipnir would simply look quiet, and perhaps to someone more keen: somber. However, this is no stranger, this is his liege, his all, the one whom has embraced Sleipnir's entirety since life's first breath— and it is just as easy as breathing for Barnabas to see the whole of him.

There is a large chunk of Sleipnir which feels wretched. He is a swirling vortex of emotions— this is why he spent the night away from Barnabas, to spare him the sight of such an outward display of distress, but still it yet clings to him. This is not the cause of the wretchedness though, no, it is his failures and their consequences which haunt him.

Ever more grateful is Sleipnir when Barnabas joins with him; the tender touch is what he craves most. It is a weakness of his, one which Barnabas allows him frequent indulgences in, but this time, now, is even more charged due to the strange powers this world has granted them— gifting the becalmed King an empathetic touch. His own feelings reverberated back to him through Sleipnir— he knows what this means, what he offers, what he is willing to give him. Can Sleipnir resist such a gift? He is uncertain. All the same he leans into the hand, feeling all the warmth his liege has on offer, before it retreats from him giving him space to freely express the event which has befallen him and what it might mean for future endeavors. There is concern in his love's eyes yet there is also strength to be found there, strength offered for him to be held up with, steadied; Sleipnir gathers his wits and steels himself; he can feel the cracks within him, where his mind might slide, but he prays he has wound himself together tightly enough and tries to not let his gaze slip from His Majesty. When he speaks it is a hair's breadth slower than his normal cadence.]

I have encountered an Etrayan whom I would label as dangerous and a threat to be monitored. [after the barest of pauses he sighs and pivots his body towards Barnabas so as only one leg is left to the floor, the other crooked betwixt them, he then laces his fingers and rests his arms atop his thighs— almost prayer like for his confession] He goes by Accelerator on the Net Work. He contacted me this way offering to give information on the anomaly in exchange for mine. I... did not do my research on him. I underestimated him greatly and paid dearly for it... [his eyes steel now, he wants Barnabas to know he has not failed him] but he did not get my intel. It remains ours to act upon.

[Sleipnir realizes this is only the barest of details, but he wishes to get the outline to his liege first, the important beats rather than the messy, and gauge where to go from there off of Barnabas' cues.]

A typical evening at the Sweden household Cid ->Barnabas

[levindicated]

[Cid gets home after hitting the bar with his coworkers and putters about in the kitchen for a while before eventually making his way upstairs to find Barnabas. The lights are out in most of the house. It is actually pretty late. He peeks his head into the room and sees the shape of him there in the bed. He shucks off his work clothes as he walks to the bed, ending up in his boxers by the time he actually reaches it.]

[He slips under the covers and fights with his own drunken coordination to get over to Barnabas from the far side of the king sized bed, until he wraps his arms around him.]

Are you awake? [He murmurs, breath stinking like alcohol.]

[odinpusrex]

[Barnabas is always awake.

However, he is decidedly made more awake with how Cidolfus' clamorous entrance warns him of his approach even more than the feeling of his aether. Yet, what snaps him into consciousness more than anything else is the feeling of Cidolfus' arms as they wrap around him, both strong and warm, and resuscitating. Like a burst of electricity, feeling ignites through him, the pleasantness of Cidolfus' mood, and the affection he holds in his drunken stupor. or, perhaps that is simply the affection he always holds, it is hard to say and hard to know, but Barnabas feels it all the same...

Feels the burning warmth of that lingering joy that clings to Cidolfus' mind like fire to wood. His breath shudders for a moment as he tries to gain control of himself through the all encompassing daze of feeling, which is not entirely unlike stepping out of a lightless room into the glowing warmth of broad daylight. Inviting though it may be, it is blinding in its glory.]

Cidolfus—

[His voice is thick with emotion, something almost strangled within it as he tries to modulate himself, but the control isn't there. He more feels himself sink into Cidolfus' arms than wills it himself, turning his head to gaze at him with emotion in his eyes which are more of a mirror than anything else.

Though, it could be further from his truth.]

You smell of alcohol.

[That would explain some of the fuzziness he feels...]

cw: nsfw. its not getting any better from here probably

[levindicated]

[He squeezes him, burying his face into his neck and just laughs.]

Probably on account of all the alcohol I’ve been drinking. [Said like Barnabas is a fool. But its a shallow joke. It doesn’t even dent his mood. Cid is all drunken affection with a thick undercurrent of lust.]

I taste like it too, I reckon. [His head swims pleasantly with these twin sensations as his hands find Barnabas’ muscular front, checking how dressed he is. Even if he knows in his heart already.]