#𝚅 𝟶4. ⟅ to swim in samsara again ⟆

[cryopathiic-a]

Human facade reference that I had forgotten to post D:

[cryopathiic-a]

❛ innocence died screaming. ask me, i should know. ❜ // MODERN SHENANIGANS GO

The bass has been hammering into his head. It's not pretty down here; the place is stuffy, reeks of sweat and smoke and booze and all the things that comprise a good hunt. Over the weekend these underground bars are like a hive for escapists. People looking for a breath of life in between their dull nine to five weeks. Something intriguing; something different.

A rainbow eyed fantasy.

Long legs fold one over the other as his build slumps lightly on the stool. Rolled up sleeves speak of wealth, in the absence of a single corn on his knuckles and the watch tied to his wrist. It's almost provocative, coupled with the brand tag on his belt and the glisten of freshly polished shoes. The entire ensemble is probably worth more than what most people here make in a year. Painted nails reach between spiky platinum tufts to settle his sunglasses into place, before taking another sip of the house special cocktail. His third one. The bartender has taken a liking to the warmth of that friendly smile.

❝ Ah-hah-hah~ You're soooo funny, Hakuji. What a dreary thought to have at a place like this. ❞ His laugh is bombastic, still moreso seen than heard over the music. He had been meaning to slither his way close to this one ever since his first was raised above his head in the ring. If Dōma had held any doubts before seeing that, tonight certainly confirmed it. He would recognize the style of those punches anywhere. In any life.

Ugh, how disturbingly poetic.

In either case, he's found him now. And he holds no intention of letting go. Whatever underlying motives exist in the unrepenting man will not be explored tonight; as he was overjoyed to see Hakuji enter the nightclub in the first place — probably to wash down the thrill of that good fight. So pensive and stoic; Dōma's head had perked up instantaneously upon that entrance and his hand had hovered a bit too long over that woman's drink - though he completely dropped what he'd been doing with her to sneak his way up to the bar...

— and find this young man was nothing like the demon he remembers, at all.

Naturally, he had to sit there and pester him until he got to the bottom of this.

❝ Here. How 'bout I treat 'ya to another round? ❞ Two fingers beckon the bartender's attention. And he gets it; instantaneously. Almost as if the man was already looking his way. ❝ Maybe that'll help you loosen up a bit, my friend~ ❞

[cryopathiic-a]

"What did you do?!"

The officer's keychain chimed harmoniously as they strut down to the holding cell. It was a quiet evening without further arrests, yet the man in the suited was colored in apprehension as he headed through the hallways and stood before the bars. The frugal cell housed three men; two cramped together in one corner. One of them was littered with tattoos and had a disheveled look about him, the other was lean and marked with a scar across the nose. Needless to say, both these faces were not the type one would wish to meet in some shady alley. They sat, aloof and withdrawn from the third and final detainee; a young man in his twenties, sitting upside down with long legs against the wall and bouncy blonde strands adorning seraphic features. He greeted the officer with a smile. There was a look exchanged between the cop and the others, before they reluctantly announced that he was free to go and to follow them.

" And don't try anything funny with me. " A murmur through grit teeth elicited momentary puzzlement from the young accused, short-lived as a bubbly squeal prevailed.

❝ Huh? Someone paid for me? Woah... and I haven't even used my phone-call yet! Oh well. ❞ Legs coiled, rolling over to stand up and dust his pants off with a cheerful grin. ❝ Eep- there we go. Thank the Gods; it was starting to get a little stuffy in here. No offense, guys. ❞ A placating hand waved away any potential complaints; though his cellmates almost sighed in relief when he was lead out the door and into the department reception, where his benefactor would be waiting. Who could this person be, that was so generous as to come to his aid at such a dire time? His fans hardly knew his whereabouts; the benefits of an online cult. So who would possibly have an interest in sparing him from the insufferable boredom of waiting for trial over something so meager as a driving violation?

They turned a corner into the main hall. And there, the familiar dread pooling in crimson; stern slit pupils cast an austere glare over their features— And Dōma squeals before simply shaking the officer's grip off and darting forth the second he's released from those bothersome cuffs; like a rabid dog that slipped free of its collar. Strong arms come crushing around the other, squeezing him in a bone-crushing hug. A human would have at least crackled under that grip. Whatever voguish polished shoes their master was sporting at the time would be part with the floor momentarily.

❝ —! Muzan-sama! You came for me! ❞ He'd be placed back down, gently this time. Some blue-vested men had turned their sights to the spectacle. Behind them, the appointed officer seemed hardly capable of swallowing an exasperated groan. His eyes almost seemed to plead the raven-haired stranger into taking this one with them. If it were within the detaining officers' power, they would have offered the stranger a discount, it seemed.

❝ Oh, it's just for a speeding ticket. ❞ All worries would be waved off. Dōma's human guise was flawless. Cosmetics had been used to bring some color to their face, their fangs were barely visible in the wide grin they flashed the other, the usual glow within polychromatic orbs dulled to a mundane hue. He looked young; and human. And it had the officers visibly questioning how such a frame could house that menace. ❝ No biggie— I was in a rush is all. Are we all clear with the paperwork and stuff? I'll pay you back before the end of the month, promise. ❞ His voice grew sweeter; honeyed and small, and placatingly cute. The Demon King was already owed a small fortune by this progeny. But Dōma always had an excuse - until he didn't.

❝ Hey, let me treat you to dinner in turn. Gosh, I'm starving. ❞ He almost sounded manic - and it was in front of the humans, too. If only they knew what kind of dinner he was after.

That cute girl cop behind the counter might be delectable, as a starter. And he just so happens to know when her night shifts are scheduled.