#𝚅 𝟶𝟼. ⟅ i have been here as i am a thousand times ⟆

[cryopathiic-a]

Human facade reference that I had forgotten to post D:

[cryopathiic-a]

❛  oh, i’m not going to rush this. i’m going to take my sweet time.  ❜

The hotel room was rather frugal, for something that costed as much as it did. But it had a jacuzzi and a California king sized mattress, and so that was about as many amenities as he would consider obligatory. He would concur that life in the new world had made him picky; especially when it came to beds he did not even sleep in, but such was to be expected when one has lived as long as he had. You taste too much; you begin to understand that there is always something better, something more. Such is the blight they shared between them; the blight of greed.

They had agreed to spend the night, if only for his Master to clean up and have some time to himself; seeing as there was a lot to plan. In truth, Dōma held some suspicions that all this excessive staring right into the sun had left poor Muzan-sama with a sunstroke. But, alas, who was he to argue; who but a meager servant to his infinite glory...

But, demons don't need sleep. And this one was well-fed, too ( truly, finding new and exciting ways of nourishment had been the only task Dōma had seen through in this last century ) so he certainly could part with the rest, as well. So, his first course of action was to grab the menu from the bedside table, let the pages roll between his fingers until he reached the second to last and there trace his index across the print whilst looking for two very specific words; Hookah Rent. Lavender nail tapped them as a wide smile blossomed on his lips. The menu was placed aside, phone grabbed instead.

It was then that the corner of his eye caught the shadow of her arms through the half-shut bathroom door. She seemed to be examining her reflection. The phone was tucked between ear and shoulder, dialing the number as he spoke.

❝ Couldn't agree more, Muzan-sama! Self care is very important, even if your physical form is already perfected. ❞ Voice dripped with syrupy sweet flattery, but the wording, as always, was ambiguous. It could be taken to mean something offensive, or otherwise; there was no telling. The only thing made certain by those words was that Dōma was, indeed, looking to spice up what he predicted would be a very dull night.

Beep... beep...

❝ — you deserve all the time in the world to lavish that wondrous body... Especially with how have worked towards your rebirth. Hey... If you'd like a back rub, I'm right here, you know, oh— ❞

The service picked up.

[cryopathiic-a]

[ stormy ] sender arrives at receiver's doorstep soaking wet + i'm sorry if this is a bad time, but i need your help. (modern/forbidden @_@)

He usually would not be found in this appartment during these night hours. It had been made into more of a day reprieve, in the downtown, in the eye of the storm; there was a busy district right beneath and so the streets were always crowded and noisy and full of life. Especially during night-time. But today the rain was strong; and the news had spoken about an all-night pour. So there were only a few people dwelling in the street below and most undeground clubs had long sealed their doors for fear of waters pouring in through the streets.

And he'd stayed in. And he had been content in the company of little packets filled with all sorts of colorful pills and the tv playing some obscure late night game show with watchers calling in to guess a word that was far too obvious when a knock at the back door roused him from the couch. The cigarette was balanced at the edge of the tray. He wore a puzzled expression when he made his way to the appartment door, fastening the belt around his lounging robe—-

Only to be met with the last face he expected to see. Especially in that condition. Water was dripping from his chin and his hair was sticking to his face, the poor guy!

❝ Michi ? ... Oh god. Come to me, come here. ❞ Dōma bit down on a gasp before reaching out to pull the other closer by the shoulders, away from the fire escape stairway and under the threshold to shield him from the rain. There was a pre-emptive rub up and down Tsugikuni's forearms as a hasty attempt to warm him up a little. His younger counterpart seemed indifferent as to the mess they would be bringing in; what with Michikatsu's boots making a squelching noise with every step.

❝ What happened to you? Oh, you feel so cold... come sit. ❞ It was such a stark difference from the man he was used to seeing at that nightclub, always sitting upright on his barstool, poised and collected in spite of the seedy surroundings. But given his line of work, it wasn't impossible that the other had landed himself in some serious trouble. And so Dōma sounded genuinely worried about his condition as he dragged him inside; past the still playing TV and made him stand in the middle of the room.

❝ You're soaked to the bone! Do you not listen to the forecast or what? ❞ A playful tease, as he fumbled around the mess of blankets tossed over his couch to pick one and wrap it around the other's shoulders. ❝ Here, sit. I'll brew you some tea to warm you up, okay? And I'll get you a change of clothes. You poor thing... ❞ He strolled off to the kitchen to get some water going.

[cryopathiic-a]

receiver shows up at sender’s house drunk after they’ve broken up. 

It had been some time since they last saw each other. But the memory was still vivid.

A piercing glare, harsh words pointed at him once more, accusations and threats wavered about; and normally Dōma would have been happy to stay the night, but, even between the two of them there was a line that could be crossed. There were things one does not simply mention and dangle over the other's head. She had pushed him too far this time.

He could also remember the slam of the door behind him, the way the docks had rattled on his wake. After two centuries of servitude, he had been dumped. Over some minor incident that she chose to throw a tantrum over, and take it too far as per usual. Then, after housing her wrath, he'd been tossed aside like a cup left in the filthy sink - and given the final blow with cruel words, to shatter him completely. This newfound, strange bitterness in his mouth and the rise of his heartbeat when they were screaming and throwing stuff at each other...

It kept his expression from wavering when the door opened and he was met with those familiar plum reds again. Rhinestone eyes wet and hooded, painting an image of heartbreak.

"I'm here to pick up my things." It was instant, and cold, and yet the hints of intoxication on his breath laced his voice with a light tremble. He swallowed a sob. "It won't be long. 'M just taking - ... " His hand rose to point inside, revealing the bottle clenched in his three fingers. It was empty, and it had contained something crimson that smelled strongly of alcohol. A potent heap of intoxicated human blood? Actual wine? It was dubious, as long nails were concealing the label for the most part. He made a motion to step forth and stumbled, leaning against the doorframe for support. " ...the lava lamp... "

[cryopathiic-a]

[ rainfall ] sender finds receiver out alone in the rain

[ needs ] sender asks receiver what they need

angsty prompts || accepting some

There was the thud of the car door slamming shut; shortly before the pitter-patter of dress shoes on a wet pavement. It was pouring, more than it should be around this time of year. Hard enough to have white gold melt into silky threads shortly after he took off running after her. She had the umbrella to get by, on her short walk from the uber to the hotel stairs, after all. All he had... was an acute sense of smell that helped him stalk her all the way there.

❝ Wait, wait! ❞ A hand raised as he rushes after her and almost trips into a puddle. And he picks himself up, prancing, slowing down only after she's stopped and turned to ask him what he could possibly want — what more he could possibly want.

Because he was taking too long. And he coaxed her into waiting, time and time again; and she is not known for her patience. So, part of him still holds onto the thought that this might just be another one of her schemes; something to make them jealous and force them into popping the big question. Why else would they just... tell him something like that?

I am seeing someone else.

And after that, they stormed out with him following suit, looking like a kicked puppy.

❝ One moment, please, give me at least that. ❞ A finger held up, motioning for her to wait. And then he drops down on one knee; and gets his pant sleeve wet, in the middle of the driveway where everyone is watching. And there's this moment where they're just looking at each other, a question hanging from his penetrating gaze before he slowly lowers his head and reaches down...

— to tie the shoelaces of his boot. They'd come loose.

The next moment he's sprung back up and heading for her with bated breath.

❝ Oof, anyway, c'mon let's talk more about it — we can talk over dinner! I know this nice place... we'll just head there quietly and catch up a bit, maybe grab a bite, something to drink — ❞ To loosen her up so he can manipulate her subtly. ❝ Muzan-sama... come on, we've known each other forever. You can't just walk out on me like this. I'm sure if we just air out our feelings we'll sort this out — we always do! Come on... 'darling' ? ❞ There's that sweet, venus fly trap sort of smile again.

[cryopathiic-a]

What's my reputation? What do you think when you see my URL?

Reputation of a talented person, friendly, funny and with a streak of evil within them.

Come for the wonderful art, stay for the delightful mayhem that they cause, stay even longer for some heart warmth that is buried within the endless slaughter and sorrow, the droplets of angst they drip onto people and the complete and utter joy of seeing their name flutter into the dash.

In a way, the reputation and seeing your name, is like paradise, it is delightful.

thank you for all the wonderful threads :)

[cryopathiic-a]

--- they felt so horrid these last few months.

That they wished to be alone and removed from them for a little bit. Could an oni get unwell, was it something they have eaten? They where not sure, but it did not take them long to figure out what had happened and why they felt so rotten and worn down. As they where sure now, the other would be ready, that their commitment to tour and film another commercial, there production would be finished and wrapped up. As they knocked on the door, opposite way around, they had brought flowers and a drink to share, one that only one of them could drink, as they waited and the door opened.

--- there smile was wide, for a second before it faded as they looked down at them.

“What – what is that!”

The dressing room was labelled with a trinket of a golden lotus chain dangling from the door. The tassels were a pale green color, falling over the sign hung up — heralding that this particular studio temporarily held the honor of becoming home to a rising star. Or a falling comet. Either way, Dōma had been leaving a trail of stardust on his wake these past few months. Life had never tasted so fruitful.

It wasn't just his acting career that had taken off. There was newfound power in those round pupils. Empty of commandments and free to express his own sentiments again. Dillating with his interest or shrinking with his frustration - these two conditions, in particular, had been frequently cycling building up to this week.

So, when the door opened, his expression was lukewarm and lacked the usual, jubilant vibe. He'd lost that, now that he wasn't pretending. Still, a measure of anticipation in the lift of his brows, lips parting to greet someone he had been expecting.

❝ What took you so long, you guy— ❞

Oh. The amicable smirk fell. He blinked, standing there at the open door, staring solemnly into those familiar reds; a glare bright yet soft as rose-petals caressing the skin, wearing a wide grin.

It had started with a 'No, I cannot spend the day with you tomorrow' and quickly built up to 'The number you have called is busy.' 'This user has probably switched off their phone.' 'This user is out of reach.' and climaxed with changed locks and closed doors and him showing up at their office only to be shown the door. Because they 'needed space'.

❝ Oh. I thought it was the food service. ❞ He said, disappointedly. So many of these little guys rolling food carts to his dressing room would suddenly decide to 'quit their job' and 'move to another part of the island'. An awkward silence as prismatic hues fell to the gifts they'd brought along. To placate him? With drinks and flowers... Normally that might have sufficed, but now — ...

A subtle lean forth, keeping a distance when peering out into the hallway; to see... no one. Lips pursed in a frown. He stepped back and into the room, heading for his dresser. Not shutting the door on them, not inviting them in, either. His weight sunk in the fold up chair before his dressing table turning to gauge at his reflection in the wide, well-lit mirror. A blush kit was picked up.

❝ Hm? ❞ He hummed, absent-mindedly, whilst dusting some pink powder over pale cheeks. It was subtle and natural; and very human. A moment savored; before his gaze left his own reflection, slipping to the corner where he could see them standing there on the glass. ❝ Oh, that. ❞ He placed the brush down, free palm cupping over the bulge between his ribs. He was in his own dressing room; it was only natural that the shirt would be buttoned down to his navel, exposing this... weird growth.

❝ You would know what 'that' is, if you ever picked up your phone. ❞

[cryopathiic-a]

 “ i’m  the  only  thing  inside  of  you  that  you  can’t  control. “

A sigh of frustration.

The view of the skyline beneath is what you pay for in this place. Because, all things considered, between the awful waiters ( all men? really? the passionate advocate for women's rights within Dōma is simmering with anger! ) and the lack of music ( which prompts more conversation; and Muzan-sama has only been focusing on one topic ) does not justify these prices! But... it is the perfect scenery for romance; taken straight out of a movie — which is the only idea of what it means to be romantic either of them has. A cheap imitation of human tastes. It's preposterous, at best.

But it was beautiful. It had been beautiful, for a moment, there; the two of them, with muffled city noise in the distance, a beautiful moon rivaling the lights, fingers intertwined over the table, looking into each other's eyes — resembling those happy endings he never quite understands and she always pretends not to like...

And of course, greed being what brings these two together, she had to go and spoil it. And place her demands again, for them to make it official — which is far from her endgoal and they both know it. She just wants more contracts to bind him by. To control; to yank on his leash when she feels threatened. Well, that's just not happening. He isn't looking to wear the old ball and chain any time soon; especially not with this one for a wife, which, apart from unethical ( who marries their own boss!? ) would be detrimental for his mental health ( a term he recently discovered and has been religiously abusing to get his way ever since )

So she led the subject there and he, of course, reiterated that firm 'we'll talk about later', which leads them to here and now. And one is looking to a swift fall from the restaurant rooftop, if her expression upon being denied is any telling. Prismatic eyes seek an escape in that beautiful panorama.

❝ Why do you never tell me things like that in bed. ❞ A much more appropriate time. Because now she's driving his mind places; and then she will be the one complaining that he's not taking it seriously.

Which, by all means, he isn't.

It should be blatantly clear by now that unless she resorts to an unprecedented degree of violence, she is not getting her way here. His hands withdraw from hers and instead splay open over her untouched plate.

❝ Look, I'm sorry, I get it, we're out, the night is lovely, you look positively delicious tonight; it's just the perfect setup to discuss it. I understand why you're bringing it up here, but, I just wish we could spend one night in the present and not the future, you know? Is it that irrational to ask for some simple time with you? Doing nothing else, except you; all of you. ❞ He returns his gaze to her, another weapon deployed alongside the saccharine smile and the way his cheek presses to his own shoulder with a cutesy cant of the head. Hey, if you're looking to placate the devil herself, you ought to, at the very least, act a little cute to get your way.

❝ Besides, I don't think you want to talk about it now, either. I think you're just a bit nervous because of the election and all... well, it makes sense that you'd want to go back to working on your vengeance as soon as possible. But can't that be tomorrow? Do you really want to discuss PR when we're out for dinner at a place like this? Wouldn't you rather be kissing me? ❞

[cryopathiic-a]

sender  shows  receiver  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told .

The appartment key slides in incospicuously. There's lights inside; she would have seen them from the street below. Even though he was supposed to be attending an audition this afternoon, for some part in an upcoming soap opera — the sort she would sometimes have playing in the background of her office while she got through those piles and piles of paperwork. But that was the biggest strain in their relationship, wasn't it? It was always in the background.

So when the door creaks open, she'd hear the giggling first. And then she'd smell their usual perfume ( the one they like to wear when she affords them the weekly date night ) and the presence of another in the room. Around the entrance hallway, the gloomy purple lights of the living room cast two shadows on the wall. And Dōma has the 'special' LEDs on. The ones she bought him the last time she was over and he complained about her lack of romanticism during their 'private time'? Yeah, these ones.

One shadow quite clearly belongs to the young man in question. There's the characteristic tufts of hair flying left and right. He seems to be straddling the stranger, hovering on top of them with his hands over their face... If she were to turn the corner there, she would spot a dark ponytail peaking over the edge of the couch.

❝ Pft-tee-hee, Michi! Stop it, sit still... Ah! Don't touch me like that right now! You're going to get my cream smeared everywhere... ❞ A boyish giggle. Well, the tone is rather telling; one could almost envision Dōma twirling his hair with a flirty smirk when they hear it. And the other one lets out a muffled chuckle as well, and their faces grow closer in the shadows—

If she entered the room, she would see it then. Straddling the notorious hitman atop the couch; Dōma was biting his lip into a smile whilst tenderly smearing some manner of beauty cream on the other. And there's cucumber slices in a bowl on the coffee table; and scrunchies for their hair and lavender flavored face mist— and he's got the lava lamp going in the background.

Well. That's not much of an audition now, is it.

Suddenly, he freezes, hand still hovering the spatula over Michikatsu's forehead. And prismatic eyes crawl up from the other man, only to fix upon his mistress. There's that momentary expression of shock and then a brow quirks as he slowly sinks back into Michikatsu's lap — oh Gods. How he wishes that was the man's actual gun he was sitting on.

❝ ...It's... not what it looks like? ❞

[cryopathiic-a]

❝  hey—  look at me.  why are you all upset?  ❞ + ❝  i promise there’s no one else.  you have my heart completely.  ❞

But he doesn't budge.

Even when pale fingers beckon him to turn and face the one addressing him so sweetly, there's naught but a petulant glare. His legs unfold on the couch, lips slightly puckered with a pout. He rolls the glass of red within his grip, turning away. Those hooded, wet eyes will look anywhere but her in that moment.

❝ Don't lie to me, please. It is the least you can do after all I have sacrificed for you, don't you think? ❞ The tone is unusually somber. And calm, as if he's detached from the situation. ❝ If you wanted to start seeing other people, you could have told me. And if you're bored with me, you can also just tell me and we'll go our separate ways. Communication is key in relationships, after all. You'd know that, if you'd had any before. ❞ The words are effortlessly cruel; in the same way a petulant child's could be. And no, her countless marriages to poor wealthy men don't count; because they were humans, and none of it was real.

Like what they have. Which, unfortunately for her, was very, very real. And so there would be no negotiating for her time, no begging her to pick up the phone when he called and certainly no cancelling their dinner dates for 'meetings'. No, that wasn't the definition of love Dōma was used to at all. And he may have been willing to make some compormises; all up to the point where her credit card that he'd been using was declined.

Handsome boy-toys don't come for gratis in this world.

❝ I don't want to hear that, right now, because it feels fake when you hardly acknowledge me nowadays, you know? Actions speak louder than words, Muzan-sama. ❞ He looked to the glass in his palms, leaning forth to rest both elbows on his knees before putting it away on the coffee table. Her office was only getting bigger, as of late. And there were so many campaign poster samples, with different portraits for her to select the most charming, the most welcoming visage. But there was nothing charming about that woman! She was a bloodsucker, exploiting the heart of this kind and innocent youthful soul... and denying him the latest Prada collection.

❝ I can't keep going to the same restaurant every Friday night to have a conversation with myself while you're staring at your phone screen the whole time. And, no, I don't want to be the one constantly suggesting new date night ideas either. It feels like you don't even care where we'll go or what we'll do as long as you can keep tabs on that guy you're rallying against. And in the off chance you spare me a glance, all you talk about is that guy. On our date night, that I only get to see you once a week. Do you even care about how unloved you're making me feel ? ❞ She's been obsessing over those smart phones! It was a mistake to show her how they work, because now every Friday night has been orchestrated by the incessant tapping of her claw on the phone screen. He huffs before abstaining from her embrace to push himself up on his feet.

❝ I think we should spend some time apart. I'll miss you, but I need to gather my thoughts. ❞ He walks away then, retrieves his jacket from the doorway. It's all very much solemn and grim and straight out of one of those soap operas he so loves to watch. ❝ Please don't call me. I need some space. ❞

[cryopathiic-a]

"It doesn't matter what you say or what you do. What you have learned and how much you think you have grown. I am not taking you to Starbucks, I'll turn this car around right now, the last thing you need, is a Starbucks employee to drink."

  The road ahead was growing narrow. His pupils would snap to the side as he gazed outside the window, where a myriad of lights was mirrored in his own petulant glare. They were headed home after a successful venture; those pale blue claws wrapped around the steering wheel had sunk yet deeper into human society tonight, as his overlord was quickly adapting to the new manner of running things in this advanced world. Not that it would be a problem for Lord Muzan to navigate it. Nothing was really a problem for Lord Muzan, right? He had conquered the sun already. He held the wisdom of two thousand years and the indomitable will of an unstoppable hurricane. He was the most powerful being to have ever walked this earth and his word was a commandment; unquestionable and absolute, so— 

  So why would he be so adamant on thwarting the natural order of things? Friday night is Starbucks night. And it had been this way long before their reawakening, pretty much ever since the worldwide chain brought its store to this island. Why? Oh, the reason was quite simple.

❝ Mmm, but Muzan-sama… ❞ A small pout turned his lip, beads rattling when his hand rose and rattled the thick wristband of chakra stone bracelets. Strands of unruly blonde were tucked behind his ear with a swift motion. His hair appeared even more choppy and messy now that it was chopped. The women of this age loved the boyish charm it held. That same arm moved to embrace the back of the driver’s seat as he turned towards them; driving, focused, unyielding red glare only taking brief breaks away from the road. If Doma’s driving was the equivalent of being tossed into the raging sea on a wooden board, Kibutsuji’s was comparable to being paddled around gracefully on a calm lake; like everything they did, the motions held purpose. And they drove very safely too, being a cautious person. It had already earned a few yawns from the younger oni.

  ❝ They are forced to work overtime under the glare of neurotic supervisors, for minimum wage, and with minimum benefits too just to make ends meet in the tiny apartments they live cramped in. And so many of them claim this will be a temporary job, or a job in between jobs, but they end up stuck there until they’re wondering where their twenties went because they wasted them all ruining their posture and growing a disdain for the smell of coffee. Barely anyone goes looking for them when they go missing! Starbucks employees… ❞ He leaned back into his seat, legs folding one atop the other. Painted red nails reached for the radio switch, to change the station and browse through the advertisements. All was rather dull at this hour, except for certain channels that played non-stop dance music. 

  ❝ — might be some of the most miserable people in this world. So, I can’t help feeling like I need to focus on them, the poor things. ❞ A small pout as he turned back to the window. Thick, dark brows contorted in a pensive fashion as he sighed.   ❝ I just want to hep them, is all. This is no way to live your life. ❞ His hand moved to undo the top button of his shirt’s collar. The androgynous look was also popular in this modern age; and for all that he was, Doma did make a beautiful passenger princess. Especially after the second button popped off as well, deliberately flashing a glimpse of iridescent skin, taut around his collarbone. A notable shift in demeanor, he sunk back into the seat and bit his lip with a placating smile.

  ❝ — Please… just for tonight. And then we could stop at that antique store you like, it’s on the way home if we take the detour to the Starbucks! ❞  Canting his head, fluttering his lashes; oh, come on, who could refuse those eyes?

[cryopathiic-a]

[  VISITING  HOURS  ]

interesting prompts || accepting always

[  VISITING  HOURS  ]:     upon waking in a hospital bed, one of the muses turns their head, and finds the other sleeping in an uncomfortable chair by their bedside.

To get in had been the hardest part. He was armored with his ceremonial attire and the excuse of the right to practice one's faith being a widely acknowledged human right. But in truth what had helped him the most was the fact nursing was apparently yet another female-dominated line of work. And so he strolled the hallways to her appointed floor and there mistakenly entered another female patient's room and profusely apologized to the nurse there and thanked her for her directions — though not before snatching that patient's vital sign report from the pocket at the edge of the hospital bed.

And with the same tranquility he had walked a few rooms further down the hallway, until his heart skipped a beat upon closing the distance with the one and only being that mattered in this world. A nurse was fumbling with the heart monitor inside. Its rhythmic beeping welcomed them in the room; but there was something off with the machine, apparently.

God herself on a hospital bed.

Did mundane hybris truly have no limit?

❝ Konbanwa, sister. ❞ He begins; and the nurse turns - only to fall right into the trap of diamond eyes. After a brief chat on how the marvels of science can be disappointing because humans are not meant to control the whims of Gods and other jibber-jabber like that, she's walking out of the room and leaving the two alone, as is required for one to practice their spiritual needs with a confidant in the form of a priest. He has a legit visitor's card, after all. He was allowed in through security and he's taking out a chain of prayer beads that looks pretty antique and original, so it's fine. The guy looks safe.

Soon after he's assuming his rightful place by her bedside, looming over her pale visage as she rests peacefully. He pouts. There's a bullet hole the size of his thumb between her eyes. Michikatsu was not kidding when he spoke of special bullets. Fingers idly trace over the wound, applying the slightest pressure, if only to harvest some blood. He makes sure no one is passing by the room's window when he brings it to his lips for a taste of communion.

❝ Mm... how I've missed that, you have no idea. ❞ He breathes under a hum of delight. Blessing comes in the form of a forehead kiss. He presses his lips over the wound a moment longer; and cups her face with hands cold enough to jolt the dead back into life. ❝ I'm sure my lesser brethren has failed to accomodate your hospitalization already; but don't you worry, my blood. ❞ The smile he wears is shared between affection and sinisterness whilst gazing down on her resting features. He parts with her then, to drag the visitor's chair a little closer to the bed. It makes no sound, as he makes sure to single-handedly lift it off of the floor ever so slightly.

His eyes stalk the entrance when he discreetly reaches for her patient's report card. There's more papers than the other folder had. Digging into his cloak, he unearths the stolen report and briefly browses over both documents. Things highlighted in red; so much red. He's lucky; he got here on time and the doctors have yet to check on her vital stats. Things that are way above average; and others that are way below. He can't quite figure out what all those terms are - but he won't need to. He will only need to change the names on those cards.

And after that he will take the TV remote and put on stock market news, which is one of the Lord's favorite things to watch. And then he will settle there beside her, and take her palm to wrap both their hands together with the prayer beads and press her cold fingers to his forehead whilst mumbling a prayer or two — from those in his recollection.

Dōma would have an easy rest tonight. Knowing, that when sunlight finds him dozing off in that uncomfortable armchair on her bedside, his immunity will have been returned. And as for the miraculous recovery that would follow?

Well, with a pious man by her side day and night, surely some humans would be more... willing to believe their explanation.

[cryopathiic-a]

There was no notable shift in the atmosphere, at that comment, even as they retorted, casually, as one would banter with an old friend. And that was the vibe he was giving off; because as an outcast of the demonic collective now, he had little reason to suck up to her by using her full title and whatnot. If his contribution would be discarded so blatantly for one little mishap, he was not going to grovel like the others.

Why would he ? A powerful man eating demon doesn't grovel. When they see something they want, they take it. Such were her teachings and he had lived by them for the longest time. Through the corner of his eye, he watched her place the gifted heart away, knowing well what this implied. And she wasn't wrong. No matter where he goes, no matter what he does or who he becomes, there's no escaping those claws.

It had not been appreciated.

" Deception means to purposefully alter the truth. I was only waiting for the right moment to tell you, as you'd only just woken up and, like I told you before you kicked me out, I didn't want to stress you with something that would be easily dealt with once everything had fallen back in order. " He stood behind his words, even if they both knew there had been other reasons at play. But, alas, she couldn't dispute him on his words. His eye crinkled, sitting up to take the offered glass. " Besides... I'm sorry, but you have an awful temper when things don't go your way. " A carefree shrug. It wasn't meant as an insult; it was delivered as an observation. Oh, without him, who would be around to tell her the truth without fear, even when she wouldn't want to hear it? Good luck to those new guys she would be bringing in for an 'audience'. "So, I thought you'd just lash out on the bringer of bad news. " As she had, eventually.

There was a pause as he downed the entire glass in one go and returned it to the table. His hand came to wipe at his own chin first, then a finger collected some spilled drop from the table and brought it to his lips to lick clean. He'd missed the luxuries. He'd missed having everything laid out before his feet; and he simply didn't like putting in the effort to achieve all of this on his own. What for? He was looking for quick pleasure in this life.

" Well, I'm sure if you give them some time they will grow up to be more powerful. Maybe they need a boost. When us first ones were created, times were different. Nowadays technology has made humans lazy. " He suckled that finger clean and moved to lie back down on the couch, this time upside down, with his legs folded over the back and his arms idly hanging down to the floor. " Do you think it will be lonely for you, to be ruling over those who have lived for less than a century, even? Different experiences, different memories, different humor... " He pouted, wrinkled his lips while twirling his hair around his finger. It didn't sound mean; but rather genuinely curious. Because he wasn't exactly angry.

But he was ... something. Something was stirring within his bowels. It wasn't just the awful oni booze.

" Nope. They won't be. " Casually spoken, as he examined his own nails, then perked up to pour himself another glass.

" No one is like me. If they wanted to be anything like me, they'd have to live as long as I have and perfect their blood art to the point where they can perform it by simply breathing. " It wasn't even a flex. It was just the facts. But she would know he wasn't just referring to his personal prowess as a Kizuki. No one could replace him, or the memories she held with him. Whether she liked that or not, his mark in her life was just as indelible.

Glug, glug, glug; the cup fills. And Dōma takes his time sipping, this once.

" Mm, have you set a date? Or are you going to do the thing you were talking about with your companies first ? " He couldn't find the right word at that moment.

receiver shows up at sender’s house drunk after they’ve broken up. 

It had been some time since they last saw each other. But the memory was still vivid.

A piercing glare, harsh words pointed at him once more, accusations and threats wavered about; and normally Dōma would have been happy to stay the night, but, even between the two of them there was a line that could be crossed. There were things one does not simply mention and dangle over the other's head. She had pushed him too far this time.

He could also remember the slam of the door behind him, the way the docks had rattled on his wake. After two centuries of servitude, he had been dumped. Over some minor incident that she chose to throw a tantrum over, and take it too far as per usual. Then, after housing her wrath, he'd been tossed aside like a cup left in the filthy sink - and given the final blow with cruel words, to shatter him completely. This newfound, strange bitterness in his mouth and the rise of his heartbeat when they were screaming and throwing stuff at each other...

It kept his expression from wavering when the door opened and he was met with those familiar plum reds again. Rhinestone eyes wet and hooded, painting an image of heartbreak.

"I'm here to pick up my things." It was instant, and cold, and yet the hints of intoxication on his breath laced his voice with a light tremble. He swallowed a sob. "It won't be long. 'M just taking - ... " His hand rose to point inside, revealing the bottle clenched in his three fingers. It was empty, and it had contained something crimson that smelled strongly of alcohol. A potent heap of intoxicated human blood? Actual wine? It was dubious, as long nails were concealing the label for the most part. He made a motion to step forth and stumbled, leaning against the doorframe for support. " ...the lava lamp... "