& 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕛𝕦𝕕𝕘𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥

   rolls his eyes.   “  ugh, don’t even imply i’d be interested in you like that. rest assured, you’re not mine either  –  or anyone’s, for that matter.  ”

   “  maybe i’m just sooooo attached to you i couldn’t help myself.  ”

               ❝  I CAN’T IMAGINE what kind of opportunity you would think such circumstances present.  ❞

               ❝  PERHAPS…  ❞

               ❝  perhaps this is my punishment. how fitting that i should be sentenced to a purgatory…  ❞ and with naught but old memories to accompany him.

It’s nice to see a familiar face. Like looking in a mirror. Dazai has always been quite vain. He was told by many people that his looks were the only good thing about him. Women were always sympathizing with his misery and comforting him because of his looks. He remembered Fyodor like he did a knife in his back, and even now he can recall the faint pinprick of that cold steel sinking into him. Dazai found the feeling oddly exciting. He wished Fyodor had stuck the knife in deeper back then. If he had, Dazai might have finally become happy. 

He wondered idly if Fyodor would stab him from the front this time. He looked into Fyodor’s eyes, and chased them even as Fyodor tried to escape. 

“But, you’re a dumbass with a god complex. Who could you possibly think is your equal?” 

Dazai said, and he refused to stop clowning around. If Fyodor would leave his mask on then so would he. He didn’t have to take this situation seriously. He didn’t have to take anything seriously. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his trench coat, closed his eyes foxlike and upturned the corners of his mouth. 

“I came here to visit an old friend. When I heard you, I was hoping you might kill me. If we’re the same person that’s basically suicide isn’t it?” 

Dazai got closer, and closer. He knew Fyodor liked to be far away from people. He liked to look down from on high as some kind of god. Then, the thing that scared Fyodor the most must have been… closeness, reaching out to touch someone, he acted like it would kill him. Maybe it would. Dazai stopped when their toes were touching, and centimeters away from Fyodor getting in his face unless the other backed away.

He breathed Fyodor’s air and said. 

“But, never-mind. I’ve decided I don’t want to be killed by a person like you. How about you? Have you decided how you’re going to live in this city?” 

there are, of course, positive and negative reflections when one looks into a mirror. the face which looked back at fyodor was not his, but it wasn’t an entirely different stranger either. although they differed in what some might consider grand ways, they were no more complete opposites than they were twinned sides of a coin, and even then that coin was warped and hardly normal. fyodor did not flinch at that approach, the closeness of this incomplete reflection moving confidently until they were mere breaths apart. yes, dazai was quite pretty up close too, he supposed.

dazai’s thoughts were true however, that the closeness was an almost alien sensation. so apart from the world, as if he resided above it all, humanity and its sins festered below. and so he looked on, and so he peered from on high. the words which broke the silence on dazai’s part prompted the smile’s resurgence upon fyodor’s face, his lips remaining curved as the other regarded death. so close, he could very well seize that chance, steal away dazai’s new wish. would he truly protest? perhaps not. blood staining ivory and marble would be of no consequence to he himself at the very least. 

@assumegod​

      ❦ ❝ Ohhh? People around here seem to be quite confident and cheeky, ❞ the goddess notes as the stranger seats himself across from her as she takes a sip from her coffee now. While the cafe had become quite busy due to the current festival going on, Phatonus is certain there were other places for the man to sit if he so desired.

      ❝ Not that I particularly mind. Company is always welcome every now and then, ❞

to unravel the whys and wheres of his mind would be comparable to chasing the frayed tip of a never-ending ball of yarn; how it was that fyodor came to act with the manner he did seemingly serving only intentions and goals privy to him and him alone. but some actions seemed far more simplistic than his complex nature of layered plans within plans, and this very act itself was a dull but simple task indeed.

relaxed in more casual attire without his ushanka-hat ( for the heat of summer hardly gave way to such a winter-suited fashion choice for the time ) fyodor took his seat opposing that pale haired stranger. he always did have a thing for white hair after all. his own cup and saucer clattered gently against the wood, as he bowed his head in greeting. “ you seemed in want of company. “ he smiled, having noticed her glance about observantly beforehand. 

   for fyodor to breathe, he needed to lie. everything that fell from his lips was always a lie, never the truth, always burying whatever real intentions he had. now, ranpo could sit here and contemplate on what could have possibly made a man so meticulous in ensuring no one around him could comprehend him  –  but really, it didn’t matter. ranpo didn’t care for him like that, and it’s not as if any possible sob story sitting behind the terribly frail, anemic death-weilding ability user from russia was going to make ranpo dislike him any less. 

   that train left the station the moment fyodor thought it was a brilliant idea to target the other members of the agency, starting with fukuzawa.

   his aim had always been ranpo, no matter how much similarity there was between him and dazai. every single thing was a jab at the detective, incessant and aggravating. the only comfort now is that ranpo had his full attention, and if ranpo wanted to deck him in the mouth… well, he very easily could. 

   not that it would do much of anything, but some things don’t need a solution so much as they need an outlet every once and a while. 

   “  i’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?  ”   ranpo quips to fyodor in return, drumming his free hand on the table. he tilts his head with a mocking smile.   “  i’m not really interested in giving what you want that easily, so i’ll drag things out for a while. i fold this turn.  ”   really, any of his original intentions to be had in this game are long gone now, so he might as well give a hard time in response at least…

   green eyes shift, watching the smoke of fyodor’s cigarette dance in the air as it inevitably disappears. holding out a hand, he adds,

   “  spare me a cigarette, will you? it’s the least you can do.  ”

there’s an amused giggle-like response before fyodor fished into a pocket of his clothing for the box of unmarked cigarettes. of course, it would be far too easy to imply with such a thing that there was perhaps a dangerous reason as to why he kept them unmarked, but whichever cigarette ranpo chose was rather boringly innocent, truthfully. but he wasn’t quite finished with the detective after he’d pulled out his own from the pack; leaning over with his own still-lit one in hand to press the ends of them together, thus igniting ranpo’s. 

he returned to his seat and resumed the game shortly after, thin fingers grabbing back at the cards as he received a few more from the dealer. “ let’s see... “ he plucked at the edges of the cards, the twanging sound gentle as he thought out loud. “ it really doesn’t matter what you decide to do. “ he decided to add, a smile to pair nicely with his soft words. he spoke so calmly, but there was no mistaking that thin thread of joy which radiated through every syllable. finally meeting this member of the agency was proving to be quite an experience after all.

MOBILE DATING GAME

“ROUTE START!” sent by @hyperdetect

⤜    proxy    !!    *:･ﾟ✧    ╱    @assumegod​

there was plenty amid this place to keep him occupied, seeking out hidden corners   &   viewpoints   (   reaching for an understanding of this mess   —   this punishment   ?   it had to be   ).   brash in action, but still subtle enough to usually avoid detection. that is, assuming that people would adhere to the norm. almost dropping atop someone was a novice mistake   &   one he would have ignored under other conditions   (   the masters words ringing in his ears   ).

frown sitting awkwardly on scarred lips, brow pinched beneath his hood as the assassin eyed the man before him. annoyance painted across his stance   (   shoulders back, wrist all to bare flexing in agitation   ).   the other was proving to be a nuisance more alike to the men found in back alley’s   —   the brutish men in cities like acre, but with the disposition of the voices paid to preach another’s ill will among the crowds. altaïr couldn’t decide if this encounter was   (   enough   )   of a waste of time to just leave or if he would be stuck finishing it out; something to be said about being “trapped in the open.”    ❝    do you just plan to stand there all day, or will you eventually move   ?    ❞

there appeared to be a great deal of commotion sweeping the island, finally a moment of some aroused chaos from a slumber he supposed had not exactly been too long. a drought soon came to an end, as it seemed that so many of the spirallian residents had been afflicted with a state of unfamiliarity, more so than usual, and thus wandered about in a state of disarray. now, any sour-intended stranger might have seen such a moment as a chance to mould and craft, a chance to weave in some seeds of chaos of his own, but there was still many face-down cards upon the table. what good was it to play one’s best hand prior to finding out the entirety of the game’s rules? 

he had been in no particular direction; a destination far from his mind as he simply wandered, as he often did those days. alas, he might have carried on his merry way once the stranger had asked after him, but he recognised the man, all things considered, and like a flea it seemed fyodor was desperately difficult to rid oneself of. “ how trouble, have you forgotten me as well? “ how dull, well at least it might have been fun to play a little game. only to pass the time, of course. it wasn’t worth much more than that. this man was boring, in a sense. ‘ bloody hands and broken bones did not a fascination make ‘ !