#of Kiheon as a lawyer? MOSTLY BC Bellum is kept so well hidden and I didn't want to break that secret especially not without

[mythvoiced]

-. @theimpalpable | continued ♥

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There is usually a wide variety of tools Doe could and has put to use to get to where he wants to get, or at least approximately into a direction he can work better from. Here, he feels as though he won’t need them. He’s gotten into and out of situation by threatening power he didn’t really have but his reputation sure spoke enough of, he’s gathered favours by making promises he doesn’t always intend to keep - depending on circumstances of course - and he’s even feigned a certain degree of harmlessness by batting his eyelashes at someone who didn’t know better, or was easy enough to distract that way - which would prove to be counterproductive, considering how he’s avoiding any resolution to that, nowadays.

But as he sits and listens, he feels as though he’s been offered an elevator to climb the myriad of stairs usually awaiting him. He’s in good company, is how he’d put it, although good doesn’t quite play the role it is usually used to inhabit. Good company in Doe’s book means someone who thinks into a direction similar as his own - a bit hypocritical considering his usual statements - or simply someone who is willing to look at the world and see the truths painted so vividly into each and every scenery that it becomes apparent how unsubtly they’ve taken to setting them in between lines.

How often has he stared at billboards and listened to press conferences and found those monsters and their messages, relaying almost entirely and directly what it is they truly want, their backstories flowing from their wrists like the blood they have spilt to get on that building, to get behind those microphones. Exposure leads to nothing, and the monsters under Doe’s bed become bugs he might even enjoy having around. And this man? He seems to get it. Or feel similarly.

At least, such is what he’s heard. He doesn’t have eyes and ears all around, but not everything slips under his radar either. His research is leading him to... a whole lot of nothing. All he has is curses from people who haven’t fallen victim to him solely. The liquid in his own glass swirls beautifully when he makes it do so, when his gaze slips from the stare he’d laid onto the man’s features, attentive and curious to see how much of his expressions match his words, if there’s any of that anger in his gaze. That anger that he describes and the descriptives he uses - they hit too close to home, for a fraction something within Taehyung stilled, stopped breathing, like the wounded animal he always is, as if having heard its predator suddenly scoff in a nearby bush - the statements that he hopes echo as honesty.

He hums as he nods. “Most definitely,” lifts his gaze and the glass and sips, numb to the taste, lack of interest coating his tongue along with the fluid. With drinks like these, only the alcohol really matters. And this is hardly anything of the likes he would describe as such. They also say wine isn’t alcohol, right? And monsters are humans. “Wouldn’t it be a delight to be someone who might be getting somewhere in achieving that,” he settles back, further into his side of the booth. A smile starts to play on his lips, his eyebrows scrunch together, he’s having a casual conversation, it almost looks like he’s enjoying himself, right?

That’s how you play these games, right? “I am quite angry, after all,” and there is a truth, spoken with not an ounce of understanding of how much of himself he’s truly describing. His smile widens, softly, slightly. No Japanese blood runs through his veins, so why is he so likely to mimic their depicitions of their own nine-tailed fox? Just a smidge more mischievous in appearance than the locals? A kitsune painted on foreign features. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know about someone capable of something like that? I’ve seen you walking courts - don’t mind me, a fan of the law, that’s all,” this smile reveals teeth, but Doe’s gaze drops at the same time, regarding his thoughts for a moment (you won’t ever get both, gaze and smile, teeth and windows), the hysterical juxtaposition of the same statement, spoken in different directions: the law he so deeply loathes, and the woman he so deeply doesn’t.

But the glimpse of white vanishes almost instantly as he lifts his head properly, shaking it slightly to muss the blonde strands resting against his forehead. “Assumed you might have connections.”