Peach Parlay Afterparty, part 3: The After-afterparty - RPlog

Participants

• Bleu (male herm)
• Richard (male herm)

Date

Early November 2019

Set the morning after Peach Parlay Afterparty, part 2: Alcoholic Boogalewd - RPLOG

Log

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. The alarm on Bleu's comm goes off, and the satyr stretches, and slowly opens his eyes. "Mmm, I had a *fabulous* dream," he murmurs, before turning and coming face-to-sleeping-face with the other occupant of his bed. "Mmm, notta dream, then." He studies the elf for some moments, as he gathers his thoughts. "Drunk as a skunk, yeah." The satyr stretches again, and then sits up on the edge of his bed, but doesn't move to disturb Richard yet. Instead, he makes his way out of the bedroom toward the kitchen...

Richard stirs as he hears... something. Something loud. Everything from his sinuses up hurts like hell. Something nearby moves, shifting the pleasantly soft surface he's laying on. There's someone else here. He feels their body heat move away from him (were they sleeping on him? *With* him?) and out of the room. Each of their hoofbeats on the floor could be a bass drum kick, as far as his ears are concerned. He groans under his breath but can't bring himself to move yet.

Bleu has a feeling the elf in his bed has a massive hang over, after all the wine, whiskey, and vodka, so he's busy whipping up a concoction of tomato juice and a single raw egg. Once sufficiently mixed, the satyr makes his way back toward the bedroom, carrying a glass of the red liquid, to which he's added several drops of hotsauce. Moving over toward the bed, he rests a hand on Richard's shoulder. "Hey, babe... You awake yet?"

Richard hears a voice. It sounds like a guy. That, or his head is throbbing like a motherfucker. No, wait... yeah, it's both. He brings his right hand up to his head, as if that will do something to ease the pain. Bare skin, long ears, hair on top... seems that he went to bed as an elf. Or got a skull fracture as one, and then was dragged home by some passerby who has a really nice bed. He opens one eye experimentally. Too bright! Ow. He groans aloud now. "Five more minutes..."

Bleu sets his glass on the nightstand, then perches himself on the edge of the mattress beside the groggy elf. "Five more minutes? Mmm, I suppose having your sexy ass in my bed for five minutes longer isn't such a bad thing. I suppose you have no memory of last night?"

Sexy ass? What? He doesn't often hear men saying that. He squints in the direction of the speaker. Some sort of... kemonomimi-morph goat? Something about the legally-blind sight of this person fills his stomach with butterflies and warmth. No, wait again... yeah, that warm feeling is something else. Lower. A puzzle piece clicks into place. Called sexy. Warm feeling in belly (note to self, check what your bits look like when you're getting up). Now that his focus is down there, there's a slick, damp feeling between his legs. He shifts his hand behind his ear and finds the postage-stamp of a sterility patch is still in place, causing him to exhale in relief. "...was it a good night?"

"Good?" The satyr snorts, and then laughs. "It was more than good. It was *superb*. I fucked your brains out, my dear elf. I don't often get so...physical, with someone I only just met. On the first date, as it were, but you were practically begging for it." Bleu smiles, and then reaches for the glass. "Anyway, drink this. It might help with your hangover. Old family concoction. No guarantees it'll work, though, but it's worth a try."

That seals it. He got laid last night. Richard sits up with a grunt, cradling his head in his hand. Some of the blood pounding around his skull works its way out with gravity's assistance. He squints toward the offered drink. Drink? Drinking game. There was a drinking game last night. "Thank you." He takes the glass, smells it, coughs at the scent of it, and then steels himself. He downs a quarter of the glass in one gulp. "...remember... I had whiskey, for some reason. Where'd we meet, Again?"

Bleu rests his hand on the elf's shoulder. "We met on that convoy to get servos that my mate Magnus set up. I was hitting on you the whole way, and then I convinced you and another guy to follow me home after it was over..." He smirks. "And you're correct. There was a drinking game. You insisted. And then we banged. And you seemed to enjoy it..."

Richard chugs another two quarters of the grody glassful of... god only knows what. The holistic medicinal brew does seem to be having an effect. Maybe it works. Maybe the flavor distracting him from his pain. Doesn't matter. As he lowers the glass, he catches a glimpse of his nude body. Tatoos. Those had better not be permanent. That set of lumps between his legs is definitely part of him. Cripes. He hopes that he wasn't the one penetrating. "Yeah... I remember a dog. Where is he?"

Bleu gives Richard's shoulder a squeeze. "He turned himself into a right pretty vase last night that I set on the mantel over my fireplace, but it looks like he let himself out sometime during the night, because he's not there anymore." The satyr shrugs. "Anyway... If you're starting to feel better, perhaps you'd like to join me in my whirlpool tub? Or something?" Preferably something that keeps you...naked." He grins lecherously. "Just a thought..."

Richard chugs the last of the glass before handing it back to... who's this guy again? Aw, hell. He was never good with names. Naturally, that doesn't improve when he's drunk. He checks his comm to figure out who he was with yesterday during that expedition. One of the agent portraits looks like the guy he's with. At the very least, it's the same blur of colors. 'Bleu.' That sounds right. That little feeling in his stomach is back again... yep, it must be him. "Yes please. A warm bath sounds nice." He loops his arm around Bleu's shoulders and gets ready to stand. "Lead the way."

Bleu passes his own arm around Richard's waist, to support the likely-still-wobbly elf, and helps him stand slowly. "I'll be happy to. This way," he says, slowly leading his friend toward the bathroom. Once there, he makes sure to turn on the tap, then takes the chance to kiss Richard on the cheek, because why not? "I'm afraid you got drunk so quickly last night that we never quite got properly introduced. We got past knowing each other's names, but little else. I think you said you came from or worked for New Dawn, but not much else..."

Richard stumbles alongside the satyr, stepping around his own swollen sack and a schlong that swings down nearly to his shins - while soft. He smiles lightly at the brush of lips against his cheek. That feels sort of familiar. "Came from out East, actually. Lived in New England before all of this. I was on vacation with my parents in San Fran, visiting one of my dad's friends... next thing I know, a fireman turns into a dalmatian and we're driving away in our rental car." He sighs. "Ten years in the humans' camp before I worked up the guts to go out *and* stay human."

Bleu nods his head, watching the tub fill. "Mmm, I see. Some vaycay, eh?" He laughs, grimly. "I was born and raised here in Fairhaven myself. Was attending the local college here, majoring in anthropology, with my ultimate goal being to pursue a career in archaeology... Needless to say, that went nowhere." The satyr sighs. "But hey! Now I'm a creature from Greco-Roman myth, and I'm worshipping a Roman god, so eh... Guess it could be worse? Least my love of ancient history isn't wasted!"

Richard puts his free hand up. "Oh yeah. You mentioned that he saw you, or something." His hand continues up to his face, where it rubs some of the sleep out of his eyes. "Wasted. Fuck..." he groans. "How much did we drink last night?"

"Well, an entire bottle of whiskey, another entire bottle of vodka, and quite a lot of my satyr wine.” Bleu laughs. "You were completely incoherent by the end. I *might* have taken advantage of you in a compromised state," he muses reflectively. "But you seemed willing, so... Anyway, here, let me help you into the tub..."

Richard graciously accepts the goat-man's hand, lowering himself gingerly into the jacuzzi. He drapes his lewdicrously large bits over the edge of the tub and sits there while he checks the temperature with his legs. "The way I remember it... the parts I remember of it... you were flirting with me all day. I asked for-" He turns his head to speak directly to Bleu over the bubbling waters. He's failed to account for the change in heights. The thought of a 'thank you' blowjob crosses his mind, but it'd be too awkward in this position. He adjusts to look up towards Bleu's face. "I asked for that whiskey after a glass of beer, but that was it."

After he's helped into friend into the bubbling water, the satyr starts to follow. Giving a thought to Richard's words, he hums. "You're right, I forgot the glass of beer." He brushes a hand through Richard's hair, before finally lowering himself into the tub beside the elf. "But yes, I wasn't just flirting, I was shamelessly flirting."

Richard flops the rest of the way into the bubbly tub. "Can't be totally shameless. You're talking about it like you feel bad for doing it." He finds a spot where the jets of water massage ever part of his bod- whoa! Okay, that's either something to be greatly concerned about he's got somewhere that water's *supposed* to be able to flow into. He squirms in surprise, then repositions until the offending waterjet isn't getting in the way of his ability to relax. "Just a heads up," he mumbles, eyes closed, "I'm pretty sure I can't drown. No need to go crazy if I pass out again."

Bleu settles down into the water, and sighs with pleasure. "Who says I feel bad? I got you in my bed , didn't I? Who knows where it goes from here, eh?" He grins, watching the elf. "Can't drown, though, huh? Now I'm wondering how you discovered that fact. Fell into a lake by accident, and stayed under for an hour?" The satyr reaches out, under the water, to cop a feel of Richard's thigh.

Richard closes his eyes and leans back, enjoying the weight of the water and his own body. And something that's definitely not a waterjet that's brushing over his leg. That gets him to open one eye again. "Can't have been bad." he mutters. "No real story to that. I was comparing how long I can hold my breath as an orca or dolphin or something to how long I can hold it in land-based forms. The answer was 'so long I got bored of it' in both cases."

Bleu huhs, and nods. "Fascinating. I'd challenge you to a contest, but I'm afraid I probably *can* drown." He laughs ruefully. "That said..." He scoots over some, closer to his new friend. "I do have *one* form..." He before another word is said, the satyr is changing.

Richard watches with mild interest as the upper half of the satyr shifts into form that manages to look predatory and aquatic while still remaining mostly human. It's not often that he gets to see shifting from this side of the change. His interest is piqued even further when Bleu's chest takes on a bit more blubber than the rest of his trim but insulated physique. That face still looks like a 'he,' not accounting for the gills and ear-fins. He also can't see what's going on beneath the hot tub's frothing surface. The feel of the hand on his thigh changes to a much different texture, leading him to ask, "Which form is that? Can't tell from here."

Bleu mmms, appearing to luxuriate even more in the warm bubbling water. This form is truly made for it, after all. One of Bleu's more exotic looks. "Merfolk," he replies to Richard. "Like the classical mermaid, though to be honest I look more like a merman. All my shapes tend to look more masculine than anything, really," he admits. Shifting a bit more, he sighs. "Wish I could show you my fish tail. A sight to behold, really, but this tub is not too awful conducive to swimming..."

Richard groans softly and shrugs, saying, "I could go look. Protein's supposed to be good for hangovers..." His hand finds its way over Bleu's (yep, that hand is rough on both sides now) and he attempts to intertwine his fingers with the semi-feminine seaperson. The webs between Bleu's fingers put an end to that before it even begins. He resigns to loose hand-holding for now.

Bleu chuckles. "Mmm, I have no doubt you'll get your protein here soon enough." He winds up shifting again to lean against Richard's side, grinning a little at the attempt to intertwine their fingers. "This is one of my newer forms," he adds, "It's somewhat rare, to be honest. I have heard rumors that there's a colony of merfolk just off the coast, but they rarely show themselves, so the form remains rare..."

Richard quirks an eyebrow at the mention of a merfolk colony. "Huh. I was swimming all over the ocean a few months back. Husky and dolphin dispute. Long story. Didn't see any merfolk colonies." He closes his eyes and pushes off of the wall of the tub, allowing himself to fall forwards. "Tell me about it lateblb-" He disappears beneath the foaming surface of the jacuzzi and into its depths. His free hand feels its way around blindly, while his other remains on Bleu's.

"Eh, I only heard it as a rumor," Bleu starts to reply, before Richard suddenly submerges. Under the water, Bleu's tail is curled somewhat awkwardly at the bottom the tub, and it only takes a few moments before Richard's fingers brush across scales and one of Bleu's ventral fins, which causes the mer to shift a little in response.

Richard keeps feeling around along Bleu's fishtail. All the rushing water is disorienting. He can't hear, he can't see, and he's only got one hand to poke around with. At least the jacuzzi isn't too loud. It's kind of like a white noise machine down here. A white noise machine for several other senses. He brushes up against something scaly. That could only be Bleu. It's easier to run his hand along the texture this way but it gets narrower and- no, that's the top of a fin. Other way it is, then. He raises his hand off the surface and brushes his fingertips upward, trying to find some landmarks.

Bleu tenses up again, as Richard's fingers work their way upward along his tail, toward the junction where his humanoid upper body meets his aquatic lower half. No hips, or thighs, perhaps a rough approximation, though. However, one landmark the elf does find is a sensitive slit, which causes Bleu to squirm when it's felt over.

There it is. Richard maneuvers underwater to bring his head to the slit, with his stupidly large amount of ballast dragging limply along the pool floor below him. Once he's there, he moves in for some fish taco. Could've sworn this guy said he's still a herm... yep, he is. These are not my swim goggles. Richard drags his tongue over the slit, trailing lazily up its length. He pauses in his upward journey to circle Bleu's nub a fes times before continuing. He closes his lips around one of the nautical nuts, suckling it to sow the seed for subsequent harvest…

Bleu shifts, and moans involuntarily, his 'hips' bucking sharply when he feels that sudden, aquatic stimulation against his fishy nether regions. He could almost swear everything in this body is more sensitive than any other form he has mastered, but that just could be the endorphins in his brain making him think that. "Oooh, there, you've got it," he says, purely for himself, knowing that Richard can't hear it.

Richard releases the suction abrutply and returns to his voyage towards the lighthouse he knows must be due north of here. He drags his tongue over the upper slope of the scrote and up the twitching underside of Bleu's boner. 'Tastes like surf 'n turf,' he thinks to himself as he crosses from the plump tube running along the keel of the vessel and up to the ligament just below its tip. It's a lot smaller than it was before. More manageable, as well. He might be able to get this whole thing in his mouth.

Bleu tenses up again, and bites his lower lip. "F-fuck, there you go..." His shaft is so narrow now. Almost vulnerable. Sleek and thin, and it throbs to attention as the elf's tongue runs up along its underside, toward the tapering tip. Milky pre spurts out, dispersing through the water. His tail shifts, as his arousal blooms.

Hmm. Could have sworn this was freshwater. No matter. Richard swirls his tongue around the tip, confirming his suspicions that it's a regular cock by pre P-day standards. No exotic shapes, no barbs, ridges, or bulges, no ridiculous sizes, just good ol' fashioned dick like folks have been suckin' for generations. The pioneers used to ride these babies for miles. 'I'm not sure what I did last night,' Richard thinks to himself, 'but it must have been good if my first instinct was to blow this guy.' Like an eel pouncing on a smaller fish, he takes the full length of flesh in one fluid motion. He feels his host's hand squeezing against his own, and braces himself against the bucking of Bleu's hips that aren't anatomically hips anymore. The situation is starting to get to Richard as well, his supersized soft sausage beginning to bloat. 'Yep. I'm getting off from giving him a BJ. There's some Pavlovian psychology nonsense going on here,' he muses, bringing his free hand down to tend to himself, 'and I am 100% fine with that.'

Bleu finally closes his eyes, letting his head drop back against the edge of the tub, licking his thin lips as his guest begins to give him what is sure to be a good blowjob. Underwater, no less. He'd bred the the elf thoroughly enough, so it was no doubt a good time for tables to turn, and he gives Richard's hand another squeeze, letting out a hiss of pleasure.

Richard, now at the base of the cock, forms suction in his mouth. He slowly, achingly slowly, raises his lips along the length while maintaining that vacuum, shimmying his tongue side to side along the way. He only releases it when he feels the wide end of Bleu's tip coming past his lips. He repeats this, again and again, speeding up just a hair each time. Meanwhile, down below, his leviathan stirs. The massive manhood expands in pulses, still divinely soft in his hands even as it reaches its full hardness - and up to his collarbone. 'Hot damn, I went to bed HUGE. Not as big as the time I slept on it, but damn. I'd need two hands for-" he thinks, until his train of thought derails itself. 'Riiiight. I have a mutation for that.' The flesh of his hands and arms ripple as a new pair sprout from just a couple of ribs below his original pair.

Bleu is completely unaware of Richard's shifting, his head still lolled back, the merman unable to form any real coherent thoughts while the elf works over over his tapered rod so enthusiastically. "Mmmm... Yesss..." is all he can say, though it falls on deaf ears. Little matter. His climax will tell of his pleasure well enough.

Richard sets to work on his own beast from the deep as he speeds up his mouthwork to a steady bobbing, interrupted only by the occasional stop to swirl his tongue around Bleu's cockhead. His own tip, he comes to realize, is tantalizingly close to the mer-herm's slit. Sadly, it's also horrifically girthy and has no chance of even attempting to fit. Using his lower hands, he guides its head into position just outside. He uses his free upper hand to mash the head against Bleu's lips, thumbing the fishy clit as he does. Each stroke of his lower hands grinds the idiotically large tip of his dick against Bleu's lips. FfffUck this feels good. In a momentary lapse of awareness, the lower hand on the same side as the one that's already holding Bleu's rises up to join the original one in the forbidden ritual of handholding.

That can't be right. Two hands gripping his own? Two left hands, no less? But Bleu is too addled to ponder that conundrum for long, as the elf's sucking and the simultaneous prodding at the entrance to pussy drags him right back into the depths of pleasure. He lets out a sudden, ragged gasp, his face screws up, and suddenly erupts his much thinner and more runny cum right into Richard's maw. Seems like Bleu's got more of a hair trigger when he's a mer.

Richard is caught off guard by how fast he got the satyr-turned-seaman to cum! He pulls back to the end and tickles his tongue across it for all he's worth. It's a feat of coordination for him to keep his lips around the shaft of the faintly flopping fishman. He swallows the watery cum. If nothing else, it'll help rehydrate from last night. His own pillar prods in futility against Bleu's female sex, riding up over the thumb still working his clitoris and bumping up against the back of his balls. Richard didn't get his own orgasm, but that wasn't the point. Heck, he still feels warm inside from last night. Time to hang on and ride out his partner's pleasure.

Bleu's cum might be surprisingly thin and watery (no doubt a nod to his fishy half), but it does gush forth with a rather prodigious load, for well over a minute, until the flow begins to finally subside. The fishman slumps back against the side of the tub, his shoulders sagging, and he sighs. "Mmm, I love the subtle differences of orgasm between species..."

Richard sucks down the cum by the mouthful, not missing a single drop. Well, he thinks he didn't miss any. His eyes are screwed shut against the water. He drank a decent deal of that along with the sea-man's semen. Hope this stuff isn't chlorinated. He would say that this sub-aquatic snack did a favor for his hangover, but that impulsive shift at the end feels like it aggravated it again. Dammit. With his business 20,000 leagues under the hot tub concluded, he dips his thumb into Bleu's cunt, dragging it out and flicking the bean as a final, post-orgasmic tease. He pushes off of the bottom of the tub with both of his lower - oh hell, how did that one get up there?! He brings his lower left hand back down to push off of the bottom. His head breaks the surface of the water first. Blinking water out of his eyes, he opens his mouth to speak... and finds that he can't. The lips are moving, but nothing's coming out.

Bleu's head is still tipped back, the fish boi looking up at the ceiling, until he hears his partner resurface, and turns his attention to the elf. "Mmm, how was that?" he asks, before realizing Richard seems to be incapable of speech. "Hey, dude... You alright? Did I break you?"

Richard keeps trying to speak. Nothin' doin'. He shakes his head at Bleu's question and tries to stand up further. Once he's got his upper shoulders above the water, the weight and pressure inside of his chest makes the nature of the problem evident to him. He looks down with a bemused expression, then puts up a finger above the water in a 'wait a second' gesture. His lower set of hands ball up into each other. He turns his head away, and with a sharp strike into the bottom of his sternum, he spits out a gout of water. "*HACK* Fine," he gasps between thrusts, “Lungs full.” He settles back in beside Bleu, still clearing out water in fits of coughing. When he's fully seated, his second-in-command performs an unauthorized 'up periscope.' He stares sternly at his surfaced cockhead. "Nobody asked for your opinion," he rasps at his own dick. It begins to wilt below the waves.

Bleu watches with a concerned expression at first, but it soon turns bemused. "Huh. Y'know, nanites are great. Though if they aren't inclined to prevent drowning, that is still one of the ways you can kill a person stone dead, along with vaporization, incineration, and decapitation. But, enough of that morbid topic. Are you hungry, by any chance?"

Richard nods slowly. "Fuck yes," he groans, "Nanites are determined to not let me die. That's at the expense of my stomach. Shifting probably doesn't help that." He rubs at his temples. "Think it brought my headache back," he claims, bringing a second pair of tatooed arms up to brush his hair out of his eyes. With his vision clear, he looks sidelong at the mer. "I've had all of those happen to me to some degree. Woken up sore and hungry each time."

Bleu huhs. "You've been decapitated? I was told that nanites couldn't fix that..." He shrugs. "Probably was misinformed, though." As he talks, he starts to shift again, to something with legs, so he can exit the tub. "What do you want to eat, though? Breakfast? Lunch? Brunch?"

Richard says, "To a degree. Usually black out right as it's happening. Scout work is brutal. Kaiju Island behemoths... fucking... disintegration beam breath and no sense of empathy." He groans, continuing to rub his aching head. "Ugh... I'd say I feel like hell, but I've been there. No more shifting until this headache is gone." He catches a glance of Bleu's own shifting body. Looks like it did before, but without the goat ears and horns. "You might be the only thing here it doesn't hurt to look at."

Bleu indeed does look the same... Slightly less rugged somehow, though. Not as muscular. He chuckles . "Your flattery will get you far, my dear. Mmm, c'mon. Let's go get you feeling better. Think you can still walk with that massive pecker of yours, though?" He starts to climb out, revealing his perfectly perky little human ass, and human legs. He looks almost like a teenager. "Here, give me your hand..."

Richard catches himself watching a drop of water roll over his humanized host's behind. The elf chuckles weakly. "This has to be one of the top 5,000 gayest things I've done this year." Both of his right hands rise from the water. "Take your pick. I'll try not to trip on myself."

Bleu grips Rich's upper hand, and helps pull him upward. "Mmm, so, you're not normally gay, I take it? Bisexual, like me, or did I ravish a poor straight man?" He grins wickedly, whilst helping the elf get to his feet, and head out of the bathroom.

Richard shakily climbs out of the tub with Bleu's assistance. Man, are satyrs not affected by alcohol *or* moisturizers? The difference between these hands is night and day. He tosses his upper arm over Bleu's shoulder once he's on solid ground, steadying his weak legs against the forward swing of that still wet potato sack of a scrote. The lower hand loosely grips one of the former satyr's ass cheeks. "Top 1,000," he mutters. With the leverage of both arms, he swings the two of them into a kiss. His deep moaning resonates through Bleu's jaw as his probing tongue darts inside, intent on wiping that grin off of his face and replacing it with another one. Just as quick as it started, it's over. He pulls away. "You wish." He returns to resting limply on Bleu's shoulders. "Always preferred feminine people, but everyone's drop dead gorgeous nowadays."

Bleu leans against Richard, and returns that kiss, as they move out into the main room of the apartment. "Mmm, I get that. I was the same way, in fact, but nowadays I'll bang just about anything that moves," he notes, as he guides the elf to his couch. "Men, women, hermaphrodites... All fair game, hah!"

Richard lifts his lower hand off of Bleu's buttock, allowing it to hang onto his upper arm's elbow. "Plenty of options, now." He allows himself to be gently lowered into the seat. "Feel like I'm repeating myself..." His burgeoning ballsack and knee-length when limp knob cascade over and conform to the front corner of the seat. Richard grunts and rubs his eyes some more, his lower arms bracing themselves on his knees "...Fffuck, I just got a head rush for some reason. What do we have to eat? What time is it, even?"

Bleu checks his comm. "Just around 11AM... Still early yet. As for breakfast, how does an omelette sound? One of of my mate's works on a farm in Woodfield, and provides me with fresh produce and eggs every week. I've been told I'm a pretty good cook. So... What do ya say?" He grins at the elf, whilst rubbing his nearest thigh.

Beneath that gentle hand, Richard's mutation-muscled thigh tenses in stony tautness and relaxes into putty in time with a long, drawn out breath. "Yes please. With ketchup on the side, if you have it."

Bleu mhmms, and nods his head, as he gets up off the couch. "Wait here.... It'll be ready in about half an hour... Feel free to check out my DVD collection while I'm in the kitchen..."

Richard isn't in much of a condition to get up and paw through the collection. However, in the throbbing mess that is his head, he can still browse from his spot on the couch. Plenty of pre and post-nanite titles on the shelves. His elf eyes see the Lord of the Rings trilogy, both Star Wars trilogies, classics like Apocalypse now and Citizen Kane, a cluster of romantic comedies, a cluster of actual comedies, a box set of some old British sci-fi show, and Space Jam on VHS in addition to the post-nanite movies he recalls seeing when he had to babysit the Zephyr nursery (they pawn that job off on just about everybody, it seems). That's only a fraction of the things there. Too tired to investigate further, he simply waits on the couch with his eyes shut, attempting to catch a quick nap.

Bleu sings, while he works in the kitchen, something undefined, while he works on the two omelettes. He also pours up two glasses of orange juice. The half hour passes quickly, and eventually the human steps back out of his kitchen, this time wearing an apron that has 'Kiss The Chef' written across the front. He's carrying a tray with their two breakfasts. "Didn't wanna watch a film? Guess you can see I'm such a nerrrd. I gotta few more that aren't here currently, too, that I loaned out to friends." He sets the tray on the coffee table before the couch. "That collection there is quite the investment, I might add. Finding *working* examples is not always easy... Took me several months to find copies of 'The Princess Bride' and 'Arsenic and Old Lace.'"

Richard is roused from his shallow-as-a-puddle slumber first by the smell, then by the sound of approaching food. He raises his head just in time to spot his host's arrival through the doorway. "I'm not sure I could handle anything like that. Big flickering screen + hangover = worse hangover," he groans algebraically. As he leans forward to take his meal, he reads the script on the apron. "...Hell, I just might. Nerd or not, you're practically an angel right now," he comments, "unless this tastes like that drink you gave me. It was like V8, wasabi, and jizz all fell into a blender. At least it feels like it worked." He tries to set the tray down on his lap. That doesn't work out for obvious reasons. The tray gets perched on his massive, moderately malleable malness instead, its weight indenting the flesh below. "I can imagine. Between how people treated rentals and the nanites, there's probably not many discs left."

Bleu picks up his own plate, and digs in, but not before passing his partner a bottle of ketchup. "This is homemade..." Taking a sip of juice, he then adds, "Yeah, fortunately the Library has a working disk duplicating machine, so more copies can be made, but originals are extraordinarily rare. But, I'm a cinephile, so I consider the price worth it..."

Richard smiles and nods gratefully as he takes the bottle of ketchup. "How much of this went into that drink?" He asks, holding up the bottle before uncapping it. "Kidding," he clarifies, "but for real, you're lucky I had time to get that taste out of my mouth before we kissed. Blech." He nods again when the library is mentioned. "We're lucky to have those skunk girls. They're a resourceful bunch," he says, spreading a glob of ketchup over the eggy goodness. "They're the ones who helped me start shifting in the first place. I've still got that bootleg recursion device in-" his tray starts tilting on its perch. "Oh for... yes, Lissa is a nice lady. Simmer down or I start thinking about gross mutants."

Bleu snerks, as he observes Richard. "Secret family concoction, I'm afraid," he replies, half-jokingly. He munches on his omelette thoughtfully. "Ah, yes, I remember recursing. I eventually graduated to full mastery after awhile. Far more freeing than recursing, to be honest." He chuckles.

Richard seems to have his situation under control again. His lower pair of arms stabilize the breakfast tray just in case. "Tell me about it," he says after swallowing a mouthful of the fluffy goodness before him. "I bought most of the adept gear in installments - fuckin' Zephyr, broke the world then monopolized it." He chomps down on another bite of omelette at the end of that sentence, but holds his fork up to signal that he's not done talking. He swallows and says, "They've done good! This situation could be a *lot* worse. It's just... once burnt, twice shy, you know?" He starts cutting off another bit of omelette. "Sorry, I sidetracked myself. As I was gonna say, these arms are a prime example of that. Muslin Moth infection. Not even the kemo form of it. Nanite fine tuner was one of the best purchases I've ever made."

Bleu mmms, and nods. "I've yet to get one of those myself. I really ought to sometime. Regarding Zephyr... Well, I agree, 100%. I mean, they are trying, but it's kinda... Too little, too late." The human shrugs. "Anyway, how's your head now, Babe?"

Richard takes a sip of his OJ. "Absolutely worth it. You ever see a Shadow Dragon out there with Blade Elf arms, velociraptor legs, and a fuck-off spiky club tail, that's me on patrol. I'd show you if I was feeling up for it." In response to the question he scarfs down a couple more bites of omelette. "Little better, thanks. I'm gonna try some minor shifting now that I've got some calories in me." He puts the tray down on the coffee table and sits up straight on the couch. His lower set of arms, limp at his sides, slide into his body like clay being smoothed over. His remaining arms shoot up to his head. "NNNrgh. Fuck. Blood just rushed to my head."

Bleu frowns sharply. "Hold on a second. I might have some aspirin in my bathroom cabinet. Maybe that'll help you out." He starts to get up, setting his plate on the coffee table for the moment, and steps out of sight.

Richard calls out after Bleu. "I think it's a blood pressure thing. That might make it worse." He grits his teeth and waits for the 'brain freeze that didn't have the decency to wait for you to eat ice cream first' sensation to pass.

Bleu doesn't get the bottle, then. Comes back with an ice pack from the kitchen instead. "Blood pressure?" he asks. "It's nothing serious, I hope?" He hands the ice pack to the elf. "Maybe something cold will soothe the pain.”

Richard presses the cold pack against his forehead. "It's fine. I think. Just a theory." He shifts the pack around to the back of his neck to clear his line of sight. "My head started pounding hard right after the shift ended. Maybe the blood in my other arms didn't get deconstructed fast enough. I don't know," he sighs. His gaze drifts down to the largest part of his body mass that he could (and has been wanting to, for convenience's sake) shift away. "It's gonna be a bitch to get rid of this. You better behave, you big hunk of-" Hunk. That sets off a word association cascade that Richard would rather not take credit for. His dick twitches. "What did I *just* tell you to do?" He moves the ice pack menacingly towards his groin. The mere notion of such a chill brings the monster back under its master's control. He sighs again, picking up his breakfast tray and returning it to its perch. "Sorry for worrying you. What were we talking about, again?"

"Shifting, I believe," the boy responds, as he takes a seat again, picks up his plate, and returns to his meal. "Though if shifting gives you migraines, perhaps you'd best go to see a doctor about it... It sounds concerning."

Richard wedges the ice pack between the headrest of the couch and the back of his neck. He takes another gulp of the orange juice. "I think it's the hangover. I'm not normally this sensitive to… everything. I'd never been blackout drunk before." He sets the glass down and gets back to his omelette, "Definitely going to see *someone* if this keeps up."

Bleu mhmms, listening to his new friend whilst he finishes up his own omelette. "Well, you do that if it doesn't improve, and in the future *I'll* be more careful about how much booze I give you… There *will* be a future, right?"

Richard, with his own plate clean, raises his glass of juice high. "You bet there will." He swigs the rest of it in one go, then puts the tray full of empty dishes back on the coffee table. "Didn't you say something about keeping vodka as a drink of friendship last night? That's one of the snippets I'm sure I remember. We should have a toast."

Bleu looks over Richard for a few moments. "You sure you're feeling up to more alcohol?" He gets up, though, and steps over to his bar. "Perhaps just one glass, eh?" He smiles. "To change the topic, though, I'm somewhat surprised that you've not really remarked about my... Somewhat youthful appearance..." He grabs two glasses, and the bottle, and returns to the couch.

Richard braces himself on the coffee table and stands on his own two feet. Aside from some blinking, there's no sign of a debilitating headache from him. He even leaves the ice pack behind. "I've got to build up a tolerance if we're gonna have another night like the last one." When Bleu gets back, he walks the short distance to Bleu's side and picks up the glass. The sudden change of topic makes him look sidelong at the human. "...Are you Dionysus himself and you've just been fucking with me the whole time? I'm no expert on Greco-Roman mythology, but the thing about taking in strangers is usually the other way around." He goes wide eyed when he realizes what he just said. "Not that I'm complaining! You are a fantastic host."

Bleu laughs, as he pours vodka into Richard's glass. "Heh, no. Though it would be quite incredible to be a literal god. No, I just worship him. I am, however, only 19." He looks at the elf, to gauge his reaction, though the poorly hidden snicker seems to imply that there's more the satyr-turned- human isn't saying.

Richard looks aside and thinks for a moment. That math doesn't add up. He points an accusatory finger at the impish inebriator. "Bullshit. Either the nanites are keeping you young, magic is keeping you young, or you're a time traveler." The finger drops. "I hope it's the last one, because my mom's story about how I was born in March of 1990 sounds believable by comparison."

Bleu laughs out loud. "Nanites, I'm afraid, though with a god like Dionysus as my benefactor, it *could* be magic." He fills his own glass. "Nah, turned 31 last week. But the upside is that I'm always physically 19... forever."

Richard raises his glass. "Between the constant shifting and the nanites constantly patching me up, I'm stuck somewhere around 22. Guess they had to take a while to make up their mind about me. Wouldn't be the first time, *if* you believe my mother." He clears his throat. "But that's a story for another time with implications that I'd rather never think about. Here's to frien-" His otherwise jovial expression drops, though his glass is still held high. "...Does this mean you’re an underage drinker?"

Their glasses clink together before he can get an answer.

Next part: Peach Parlay Afterparty, part 4: Second Date - RPlog