video; @The Seventh Crown of the Seventh Demon King;
[ In media res: there's a video feed sharpening into focus, blobs of silver and pink and purple neon resolving into a staircase leading down to a metal door gleaming clean under the artificial lighting around it. Midnight's standing at the door, looking up at the camera and the person filming with his phone, grinning one of his worryingly unhinged grins. ]
How is it, Kaveh? I'd ask you for my best angle, if I had any bad angles.
[ This conversation does... persist... but as the video continues, it becomes perfectly clear that this terribly disorganized promotion is for a bar of some sort. Midnight makes it clear later when he reclaims the camera, hops onto the bar, and aligns himself in the frame in a way that lights both his face and the sign behind him, a rose-lit confection announcing the name of the bar: Seventh Hell Host Club. ]
That's where we are. Do you see that? My name is Midnight, and this is my host club, Seventh Hell. We're near the southernmost station on Line 1. Kaveh and I have been working terribly hard on this establishment, and all of you have his genius and design sense to thank for this momentous occasion. Please do thank him personally. Make a great fuss about it. Remind him that sleep is a temporary state that he should indulge in more often, preferably with me. Thank you.
[ Kaveh is definitely taking the phone at this point, but later on, Midnight will retrieve it and add a postscript. He is sitting in some sort of underground greenhouse this time, surrounded by mist, glass, flowers, and the glow of sun-tinted halogen lights. Regardless of the promo quality, the greenhouse itself is certainly an impressive feat of engineering. ]
Yes, this is one of several themed rooms here at Seventh Hell. You — yes, you — are personally invited to see it. When? Well, whenever you like, so long as the doors are open, but on the 31st of this month... Ahem.
[ He clears his throat, grins. ]
For the turn of the year, you are cordially invited to Seventh Hell's Grand Opening and New Year's Eve joint celebration. Or something like that, I'll come up with a grander name if necessary. There will be drinks, music, a tour of the premises, games, untold bliss, fantasies, beautiful women, beautiful men, myself among them, possibly fireworks if Kaveh can be convinced that I won't set the place ablaze... You won't want to miss out, I promise.
The doors will open at 6 pm, but come by anytime before then, from now until the New Year, if you'd like to enjoy the premises in relative solitude. Send a message to this account if you'd like to be assured of a bartender, or a friendly face to speak to. If I can't come personally, a host or hostess will be there, ready to welcome you to a night of merriment and pleasant conversation.
So, until then... Seventh Hell awaits you.
[ A wink, and the feed shuts off. ]
[ ooc: Along with normal network replies, current host club employees and staff are welcome and encouraged to reply to this post as though Midnight's included them in an impromptu promotion for the club! You can also use this post for post-promo, off camera conversations with him or anyone else in the host club. Go stupid, go wild, go crazy, threadjack, steal his phone and flush it down a toilet. Honestly, the sky is the limit. ]
How is it, Kaveh? I'd ask you for my best angle, if I had any bad angles.
[ This conversation does... persist... but as the video continues, it becomes perfectly clear that this terribly disorganized promotion is for a bar of some sort. Midnight makes it clear later when he reclaims the camera, hops onto the bar, and aligns himself in the frame in a way that lights both his face and the sign behind him, a rose-lit confection announcing the name of the bar: Seventh Hell Host Club. ]
That's where we are. Do you see that? My name is Midnight, and this is my host club, Seventh Hell. We're near the southernmost station on Line 1. Kaveh and I have been working terribly hard on this establishment, and all of you have his genius and design sense to thank for this momentous occasion. Please do thank him personally. Make a great fuss about it. Remind him that sleep is a temporary state that he should indulge in more often, preferably with me. Thank you.
[ Kaveh is definitely taking the phone at this point, but later on, Midnight will retrieve it and add a postscript. He is sitting in some sort of underground greenhouse this time, surrounded by mist, glass, flowers, and the glow of sun-tinted halogen lights. Regardless of the promo quality, the greenhouse itself is certainly an impressive feat of engineering. ]
Yes, this is one of several themed rooms here at Seventh Hell. You — yes, you — are personally invited to see it. When? Well, whenever you like, so long as the doors are open, but on the 31st of this month... Ahem.
[ He clears his throat, grins. ]
For the turn of the year, you are cordially invited to Seventh Hell's Grand Opening and New Year's Eve joint celebration. Or something like that, I'll come up with a grander name if necessary. There will be drinks, music, a tour of the premises, games, untold bliss, fantasies, beautiful women, beautiful men, myself among them, possibly fireworks if Kaveh can be convinced that I won't set the place ablaze... You won't want to miss out, I promise.
The doors will open at 6 pm, but come by anytime before then, from now until the New Year, if you'd like to enjoy the premises in relative solitude. Send a message to this account if you'd like to be assured of a bartender, or a friendly face to speak to. If I can't come personally, a host or hostess will be there, ready to welcome you to a night of merriment and pleasant conversation.
So, until then... Seventh Hell awaits you.
[ A wink, and the feed shuts off. ]
[ ooc: Along with normal network replies, current host club employees and staff are welcome and encouraged to reply to this post as though Midnight's included them in an impromptu promotion for the club! You can also use this post for post-promo, off camera conversations with him or anyone else in the host club. Go stupid, go wild, go crazy, threadjack, steal his phone and flush it down a toilet. Honestly, the sky is the limit. ]
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There's a type for everyone, my darling. A host without charm is as impossible as a person without charm.
[ That's a fair assessment of his confidence, though, and he does seem more interested in bartending. Midnight looks over, reaching for the first washed flute. ]
How confident would you be for... An hour on duty, let's say. Would you want to shadow me first?
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[The charm thing, specifically, because he's thinking over the bartending thing with more earnestness. One flute passed over and he picks up the next one, gesturing with it like he might just flip it, like one flips stuff during bartending tricks?
He doesn't, though. He absolutely just wiggles it for the... practice of it and then decides he would shatter it and sets about washing it, so,] As long as I don't have to do tricks, sure.
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If having an acrobatic repertoire was a requirement for the position, I would have to sack myself here and now. Don't fret. I'll let you handle the drinks you can, and while we aren't working, we'll practice that which you have yet to learn. I'll ask Mr. Reno if he's willing to share what he knows as well.
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Well now it sounds like more than an hour. [ha-- no, he's still in,] Does he know how to do the tricks?
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Only do as much as you like, my darling. I haven't any means of paying you for your work, after all.
[ As for Reno... ueh? Midnight shrugs, wiping his hands down and grabbing a fresh towel. ]
Haven't any idea. I hired him on Netzach's recommendation, and his skillset seems varied enough. Never met the man, though. It's very exciting. I love a new face.
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I only kind of got paid for the detective stuff, mostly in handfuls of sweaty cash.
[So this is probably an improvement, actually.]
Don't think I know him either, but Netzach seems pretty reliable, so... You should ask him about the tricks first thing.
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[ Phew, looks like they're almost done with the glassware. Midnight takes a break to gather some drink mixing implements, shakers and juicers and the like, and set them at Junpei's elbow. ]
I will, then. Netzach will be around as well, if you'd like to meet him. I don't know what your image of him is, but I think he could use a few more friends.
[ ... Junpei could also use a few more friends, but it's not as though Midnight's lying, either. ]
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Who— Netzach? Nah, we met a while ago. He told me I should chill out and quit it with the conspiracy stuff.
[Wry, he says this, like his overt Problem with Obsession is a funny quirk. But he's absolutely aware it's not great of him, hence: he's here washing cups and sundry, now. He listened to the advice. Mostly.]
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Bit difficult for you to keep your mind off of it, considering where we are, but I see his point. Do you think it would help?
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[Is he chilling out wrong... He didn't even really get how to chill when he was still a normal person who'd never been kidnapped, but that was the opposite extreme.]
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[ Midnight grins. ]
Let me rephrase that, then: Do you think it's helping?
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[He Thinks. Credit him this: he's putting in the effort to self-reflect.]
I don't know. It's not as bad as sitting in my apartment for weeks, sure. I'll let you know about the long term once I get there.
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[ ... A bit of a pointed look. ]
How often would you like to come to work per week?
[ Read: How many days of the week is Midnight allowed to keep Junpei accountable for this commitment? ]
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[That's also therapy, but he doesn't think of that yet. He passes over this wet shaker.]
Not every day. I've gotta be honest, I'm not really used to people giving a shit what I do with my time, so... You pick.
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Well, given that you've just expressed your isolation in terms of weeks... I would like to remind you that you are welcome and valued regardless of how much time you spend here, but let's say that I'd like to see your face at least once a week. I want to work up from there, but that's my expectation of you. Can you stick with that?
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[Hmm hmm, he'll start washing the next thing. Once a week gives him six other days to stare at the walls-- no, no, he's not going to do that.
But just in case:]
I think I could do two.
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[ ... Look, he's not planning to babysit Junpei, but he does experience some social anxiety, so he does understand the need to cover his bases. ]
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[He can be honest about that! But it's still kind of embarrassing, so,] Thanks, uh, for looking out. You're really non-stop, huh?
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[ Midnight laughs, takes a moment to stretch his neck, shoulders, and arms, then continues assigning homes for tools and cutlery. ]
I don't like waiting. There's glory in my future, of course, but I do need to work to get there. Best to spend my energy doing what I like while I still have it, hmm?
[ Well... that's a pretty peppy thing for a gothy looking dude like him to say, but to be fair, he's nearly 40, so it's probably a good realization to have before a midlife crisis takes him. ]
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[Here, take this juicer, freshly cleaned.]
Honestly, I'm a little jealous. You have any advice?
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[ Midnight looks Junpei dead in the eye when he says this, juicer in hand, then erupts in laughter. God, he is a gift. ]
Healthy fear of death, I'd say. Or an unhealthy fear of death, whatever gets you out of bed first.
[ He raises an eyebrow, twists the juicer to check for shiny spots, then puts it away, reaching for a damp grater next. ]
The family friendly answer, of course, is finding something you like about yourself, but realistically, it's been a combination of both for me.
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Yeah yeah, you're something else. But uh, I'll keep those things in mind...
[How do you know what your fear response to death is when you have vivid memories of an alternate version of yourself dying horribly in another timeline? He'll work on it. He will figure it out.]
I was kind of hoping for something a little more practical, like... "Get one of those alarm clocks that makes you chase it around to turn it off!" I dunno.
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Well, there's that. Does that help?
[ Midnight, uh, rarely sleeps well, which means he only uses alarm clocks to signal when he's *supposed* to sleep, and not the other way around. ]
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I don't know, that's why I'm asking. Maybe? There's got to be a point where routine stops being comforting and starts being soul-sucking, maybe the clock that runs around knows.
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[ Listen, if he thinks about death enough, the existential crisis is almost as good as insomnia! ]
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