#☆. — pst dspr .

[killersmash]

Ristorante Hanamura.

There’s a layer of humor almost, in seeing such a place among the cindered air and crumbled buildings. A place that holds such dignity and high class atop the blood spilled of hundreds of innocent people to achieve. Fitting for someone like him, who has done nothing but take advantage of the unfortunate even before the Tragedy and slaughter, to be rewarded before his untimely demise. The irony in knowing someone such as himself will be entering a place like this almost makes him want to laugh. All he can manage is hacking phlegm into the fountain up front.

Hoshi takes a minute to steel his resolve, button his shirt at least a little bit (although it doesn’t do much, it’s still stained with blood, rust and whatever else) and take a deep breath. This was it then. He was going to enter, and he was going to die. There’s hesitation, fear; but it’s swallowed down under feelings of scorn. He was sure everyone that had survived the Killing Game would rather he killed himself anyways. It was the least he could do for wasting their time on someone like him, for a world that never mattered. He wishes he could go back to the past and spare them the time, but the least he can do now is make sure he doesn’t take anymore in the future. Even if this failed, if who he thought was here wasn’t after all, he would find a way to pay his dues to everyone he’d killed. With one last deep breath in ashy air, he walks within the restaurant. 

....And he’s almost a bit shocked by how nice it is.  That sounded harsh. While not in the best of shape, this place had running water and a somewhat stable infrastructure from even the outside- that’s quite heavenly compared to most of Japan at this rate. A part of the prisoner wants to turn back, the burning desire in him like there always has been to run away, yet he stays. A woman walks up, quite less brutally damaged and threatening than he had figured, as she leads him to a table and leaves a menu in his spot. 

Such formality. Maybe he does this with everyone before killing them.  At least he gets to have his last meal before death. Might as well go all the way, yes? How horribly selfish of him to think such but surely he can embrace a little of life before he likely gets his head chopped off or some other horrid form of death from kitchen equipment. The waitress comes back with water (how pure, it feels almost like a sick joke but it’s real and clean) that burns his throat when he swallows. It’s foreign. Undeserved. It makes him heavy with stones in his heart. 

“....I’m not picky.” It’s been so long since he’s spoken anything aloud, his voice is hoarse and crackles lightly. “Please let the chef pick what he thinks is best.” Maybe if he’s lucky the Despair will just come out and kill him now.

@cooking-with-despair​