Push off 1

The push-off ceremony began quite simply. For all its name meant, there was little 'push off' to it. The ship had long since left Vale's docks and began rising high into the sky, even pushing through the cloud layer and into the place Parc knew planes and the like preferred to fly at. He was guessing the reasoning behind that had something to do with aerial Grimm. A quick check on the scroll scape had confirmed that notion. Above the cloud layer Grimm just simply didn't exist. No one knew exactly why but theories abounded that it had to do with the lacking supply of humans.

There also wasn't much to it, guests couldn't rightly go out on a balcony to wave off at the people trapped on the ground. Airships like cruise ships, especially high altitude ones, had to have an airtight seal on all areas. Windows couldn't open and what balconies there were, were clad with a thick layer of glass keeping the low pressure of the outer winds at bay.

When the shattered moon of Remnant rose and the sun descended, Parc lead Blake to the restaurant area of the cruise ship. It was neatly divided into many dozens of tables and chairs for families and couples, never blending groups together unless both sides willed it. They'd been one of the later arrivals. Due in no small part to Parc's incessant lust and Blake's quivering, unsteady legs threatening to send her collapsing to the ground at any moment. Her hips ached, that was clear to him, though Parc was also sure that she was revelling in that ache, that or she was in a daze from the seed sloshing around in her belly that was slowly dripping and staining her panties. She'd taken a shower just before heading out—something Parc had joined her in, bent her over, and subsequently filled her back up—but no matter how much she dug out, there always seemed to be more.

Glancing around the warm atmosphere of light browns and off shaded ivories, Parc marvelled at the sight. The room was like a five-star restaurant, just from the looks of the polished wood flooring, real wood, not linoleum or the like, and the soft red table cloths colouring all the tables. Atop them cutlery and plates set up professionally, knives to the right, forks to the left, and dessert cutlery horizontal above the plate alongside two glasses just a bit above the forks. A red wine glass and a water glass. There was even a jug of water covered in condensation, telling him it was cold water, for them to enjoy.

Parc settled Blake on her seat and the girl squirmed uncomfortably from the squishy and sticky feeling of his cum on her bottom and inner thighs. Smirking at her flush and drooping bow, Parc took his seat just across from her. He'd been tempted to settle beside her but looking at her he decided she could use a little break from his salaciousness.

It didn't take long for their waiter to come up to them again, having had to leave them to get the menus when he lead them to their table. There was a smile on his face and he fiddled with his vest, gaze inclining to Blake for a moment before finding Parc where his eyes dilated almost desiringly. A sight that caused Parc to cringe away slightly. He might not have anything against men liking men, but it was not something he was going to even consider himself.

"Good evening and welcome to La Sorte, I am Erin and I will be your waiter for this evening," he spoke calmly and clearly. From under his arm, he set pulled two menu's, black-rimmed ones with a plastic film to keep the paper withing clean, and set them down silently before Parc and Blake. "Can I get you anything to drink for the moment?" he questioned, hands crossing for a moment before finding their way to his shirt pocket to pick out his notepad and a pen.

Parc hummed, glanced to Blake then picked up the menu before looking up the green-headed boy, "how about a red wine." It wasn't much a question but an order itself.

"Do you have a preference?" the waiter, Erin, asked and Parc shook his head.

"House is perfectly fine. Oh, and just bring the bottle. That'll be perfect."

Nodding once more and giving his affirmation, the man looked to Blake, "and for the madame?"

Blake's lips wriggled and so too did her thighs press together. "Uh," her eyes dashed desperately over the menu, she wanted to pick it up but she couldn't bring herself to lifting her hands from her skirt. Even sitting she was desperate to keep the thing from hiking up her ass and showing off the stains of white on her inner thigh. "Just some… uh, cola, please."

"Got it. We can also add some flavourings if you'd like." She just looked up to him wide-eyed and confused. 'Why would you flavour cola?' they seemed to say. He laughed reservedly, "we have flavourings such as strawberry, lemon, blueberry, even grenadine if you'd like."

For a moment, Blake dashed to Parc as if seeking his help but seeing him with his head turned down, scanning the menu, she knew he wasn't going to help. "Grenadine, sure, I'll, I'll try that." Whether it be by amusement or something else, the waiter puffed an amused breath and scribbled down on his pad. "Alright then, is there anything else you would like?"

Neither spoke up and taking the hint, the man retracted away and into the bowels of the restaurant to collect their drinks. In his absence, a silence promulgated between the two, filled only with the low chatters of their neighbouring tables and the soft orchestral music in the background to give some reprieve from the dull chatterings of unknown individuals.

"How are you feeling," Parc flipped closed the menu, having already made his choice of starter, main, and dessert.

Blake jolted a bit and shot her hanging head straight. "I'm…" she flushed, her voice dropping to a whisper, "sore…" Parc chuckled at that.

"Can't imagine how you're going to feel tomorrow." Leaning into his seat he threw one arm over the backrest and turned to inspect the surrounding crowds. Searching for any familiar faces or anything interesting to watch. Soon he was drawn to the entranceway where he spotted the familiar grey hair of a certain prissy Bleu. He looked about as dressed up as he did that morning, in a fine grey suit, though Parc was sure his hair was a little wetter than before and his tie, it was now white speckled with numerous blue spots.

Just off his side was the woman, Marigold, Parc recalled her being called. Her head was still dangling, eyes soft and half-lidded hiding their brilliant lustre. Attracted to her form clad just beneath a bust revealing, ankle-length blue dress, Parc nodded almost reactively in praise of her hourglass hips and plump, D-cup breasts. Feeling a slight knock beneath the table, he looked down but quickly shift to Blake to see her with her lips turned to lines and staring at him with this look that seemed to say 'look at me, not her.'

Returning the knock with a soft rubbing of his own, Parc enjoyed Blake's silent twitches and said. "Are you jealous?" his lips twisted amusedly as he filled up his and Blake's glasses with water, Parc lifted his and took a deep, gulping sip swallowing half in one. Blake said nothing except stare him down with a heated gaze. It wasn't as powerful as the other times, likely due to her lust having been satiated… multiple times. "You're adorable when you're jealous."

Almost steaming at that, she shook her head and was able to force her eyes to sanity, "you are the worst." She mouthed softly, poorly hiding her quivering smile, "what are you having?"

His brow rolled, watching as Bleu and his wife were lead to a table not too far from their own. As the couple passed him by, Bleu glanced down, his stride pausing for a breath to let a spark of irritance echo like red on white on his face but quickly shifted away. Not noticing or either not caring to notice how Parc's leaned back his head and was following the sway of his wife's plump thighs and awkward gait. Narrowing his eyes, Parc soon noted how she seemed to prefer her right leg, leaving her left lighter. Whenever she put weight on it she'd bounce slightly but was swift to fix her posture so no one noticed anything.

Feeling another kick, he turned back to Blake, her cheeks puffed slightly like Ruby when she couldn't grab the cookie being hung above her head. Shaking his head once more with a puff out his nose, he rolled his eyes. Not minutes later did their waiter return, first setting down Blake's cola and a little spouted bowl filled with a thick, ruby syrup, the grenadine he presumed. Then came the wine, he held it softly by the neck with one hand under the body and presented the label to Parc to inspect before explaining it and its origin.

Mistral, unsurprisingly.

Pouring his wine glass till the widest part, Parc then told the waiter his order for that evening with Blake following suit. Her main meal being fish, unsurprisingly yet again, her starter was even a small bundle of mussels imported from Vacuo, apparently, they were expensive as all hell. Though expense was the least of Parc's worries.

When he'd faded to the background once more, Parc looked up to Blake, focused on her neck, on that little red hickey she was trying to hide beneath her dress' collar but was failing to and pondered what would fit her. 'Nothing as bulky as Kurome's,' he thought, 'a choker?' his foot tapped hastily. Continuing throughout their weight on what to wrap around his new kitten's neck to prove his ownership.