良い良い良い良い！

Rohan heaves a sigh, lifting his foot up only to immediately stomp down on the freak’s hand.  He gives a little twist of the heel, digging harshly into his hand and threatening to pierce it all-together.  He hates when others don’t listen, it irritates him immensely (it’s also one of the quickest ways to trigger his anger–ask kira) and wears his patience down to nothingness.

He was already in a bad mood. Why does the universe continue to test him?

“Don’t touch me.”  If looks could kill, the strange man cooing over his ankles would be six feet under right now.  Unfortunately, his stand lacks that ability.  What a shame.

“Are you deaf? Hard of hearing? What is it that hinders you from processing the words that just came out of my mouth? Quit being a freak.”

There’s a split second (and then a split second of that and then a split second of that and then a split second of that and then--) separating the time where his hand wasn’t stabbed by a heel and the time where his hand, indeed, was. With a sudden twitching of fingers (it reminds him of cockroaches skittering to and fro the moment their hideout’s discovered. so rambunctious! so agile! so chilling!), he only reacts with a sharp gasp.

It’s almost akin to a sudden, shrill “eek!” before the pain actually started to set in. With his palm pressed flush and flat to the ground, Cioccolata peered up with a look that completely betrayed the mangaka’s own.

“...”

His fingers gave another twitch, almost squirming and writhing underneath the sudden impact. He could feel a distinct pinching from skin crushing itself against dirt, but he doesn’t necessarily react to that but, rather, the method itself.

“O~oooh...!! Oh, oh, ohohohohohoh!! Very nice-- the force, the rage, the pressure, the... ah!! The everything!”

Wrapping his other hand (pity, he could’ve used this one to steal away a quick feel but... oh, that’s for future cioccolata to worry about!) around his wrist, he made quick of trying to free his hand. He’s pulled himself into a rather precarious position -- a near squat with his legs awkwardly spread, knees rising up to about his shoulders -- and gave a few gentle tugs of entire body to further progress towards his goal.

“It’s just... ah, wait... wait... oh... oh dear,” he gasped, almost coughing out the last word before glancing up (the words go in one ear and out the other, though it feels like someone took a plunger to his head and went ham.) with a dumbfounded expression. “... A~aah... wait... wait wait wait... could you, oh--”

Cioccolata wiggled his fingers for, obviously, emphasis.

Stinky

“Gasp!!”

Hands immediately come down to clamp over Secco’s ears.

mold

he’s   relived   when   the   man   lowers   his   fists .  a   physical   brawl   was   never   his   intention.   not   while   he   was   without   squalo.      he   wasn’t   a   fighter.   no  ,   not   physically.   if   he   ever   was   to   land   a   punch   -   it   would   be   with   his   words.   a   look   of   revulsion   paints   itself   across   warm   features   -   nose   crinkled   ,   eyebrows   drawn   together   to   mirror   concern.   even   an   attempt   to   disguise   this   reaction   toward   this   particular   individual   -   would   be   pointless.   for   even   he   ,   so   well   versed   in   camouflaging  sentiment.         was   unable   to   falsify   a   pleasant   expression   toward   someone   who   so   thoroughly   unsettled   him   -   causing   his   skin   to   crawl.      secco   ,   was   unsettling   to   look   at.      to   observe   ,   the   way   he   contorted   a   twisted   in   ways   so   unnatural.  it   disgusted   him   ,   but   cioccolata.   was   worse.   the  unease  he  brought  -  was  felt  deep  within  his  bones.

“   don’t  lie.   “      to  express  his  concern   towards  the  pair  was  hardly   rare.    “   i   may   not   be   well   versed   in   combat   ,   but   i   know   body   language   ,   cioccolata   ,   he   always   looks   like   he’s   ready   to   pounce   …   “      it’s   his   turn   to   point   a   finger   -   serious   expression   darkening   features.   overcoming   the   discomfort   of   their   proximity   ,   the   crawling   of   flesh   ,   to   lean   closer.      pale   blues   ,   eyeing   cioccolata   pointedly.         “   and   -   i’m   sick   of   getting   that   camera   pointed   in   my   face   ,   same   goes   for   squalo.   “   

“Gasp!!” came the noise again, almost as if Cioccolata had driven his nails deep into a chalkboard and started to drag it down without shame, “and, once again with even more feeling, gasp!!”

Quite honestly, he’s more offended that he’s being implicated as a liar (he’s many things but a liar he most certainly is not! how would tiziano know anyway!? they’re not friends by any means!), but it didn’t help that his dear, dear, dear Secco’s honor was being threatened in the same breath. He slowly lowered his fists but not by much, instead leaning further and further (almost as if he were about to fall and force tiziano to catch him-- oh, wouldn’t that be so sweet!?) right before suddenly reaching out to clamp both of his hands down upon the assassin’s shoulders. 

Not once did he blink as he forced their eyes to remain upon one another’s, only capable of managing to raise himself by the tips of his toes. As tempting as it was to shout into existence, Cioccolata kept it to himself-- Tiziano was rather tall, wasn’t he?

Then again, it wasn’t that hard to be taller than him in the first place. Cioccolata grinned at this but appeared to be thankful for Tiziano’s “selflessness” at holding him upright, instead.

“--Huh!!?”

That was, until he was told to (the audacity!) do something.

“First, you accuse me of lying-- which, by the way, I would never! When have I ever lied to you, honestly! I am only the most honest, the most truthful, the most humble, and the most intelligent person I know! Hmph, the nerve... and I was ready to forgive you, so easily! Poof! Just like that! Hmph! Hmph, I say!” He tightened his hold, flexing his fingers at the knuckles without taking in a single breath as he proceeded. “A~aaand now you’re trying to tell me what to do!? That’s so... so... so... s-s-so--”

“--so...”

Suddenly, he raised an arm to hook it dramatically over his face and cover his eyes. Throwing his upper torso back, Cioccolata let out a loud, drawn out whine.

useless cioccolata facts? useless cioccolata facts!!

he can talk backwards-- no one really knows how nor why he can, but it’s kind of just... universally accepted as simply something he can do. he’s capable of talking conversationally in it, and he has a tendency to do it when he’s hit particularly hard (think of a blow that would, otherwise, kill. if this wasn’t cioccolata we’re talking about.) on the head. notably, cioccolata will say total and utter nonsense when this happens; he flies through multitudes of phrases before, finally, returning to “normal”.

due to his upbringing, cioccolata knows how to play a few instruments-- mostly of the stringed variety. he’d occasionally play a song or two for his mentor, celio, but nowadays he tends to “play dumb” or feign ignorance about the very idea. he fully remembers (says it’s muscle memory.) how to play each and every instrument he’s learned as a child, but he... just doesn’t want to. he doesn’t talk much about it.

he has somewhat small feet! it’s a weird thing that not many people notice until they actually look at him. he usually tends to stand a tad bit-- bowlegged, too. his toes will almost always be pointed inwards, towards one another so to say, and he considers this a very normal characteristic of his. his parents did try and enroll him in “social etiquette” classes due to this, but they never did truly stick.

whenever cioccolata is without his body, he does have to direct it in a sense. he will, essentially, bark orders at it if it’s somehow lost his head in the overall process. he figures this as an expected drawback-- you simply can’t have everything when you already figured out how to cheat death, after all. he accepts this with an open mind but does look forward to the day where he no longer has to do this.

@sakrosanctum​ ／ unprompted ／ always accepting!!

“Gasp!!”

Without warning the noise sounded out-- it’s a sharp, almost guttural (it comes from the heart! cioccolata’s oh-so passionate about this particular subject!) with a faint twinge of shrillness. He had both hands up towards his face with the pair clenched into loose fists all the while, as well. Why, it’s almost as if Cioccolata was... actually offended at the very notion!

He’s nearly on the edge of his seat (well, close to it. the tips of his toes, actually-- he’s not sitting... that would be completely and utterly ridiculous!), nearly implying that he’s ready to steal a few punches at Tiziano for implying such a heinous thing in the first place. Instead, though, he remained in his somewhat... uncomfortable (to look at, maybe! he’s comfortable, truth be told! very, very, very comfortable, actually!) pose as he stared at him-- wondering if there were more that needed to be said.

A punchline, maybe...? It sure seemed to be setting up for one.

“...”

So... um, ah... nothing? Wow, that’s disappointing.

And a little bit upsetting, too.

“the teeth…” and fugo swears in part that he’s talking to narancia…minus the angle on head tilt, and the eyes that take more than they really give…yeah no..nope. 

“we talked about you not giving people teeth..”

“...”

He raises a hand, puts it under his chin, and starts to resume a pose more akin to that of The Thinker. Silently, he nods along to Fugo’s attempts at... well, whatever this was.

“Mmmmm...” he hummed out, giving one more, final nod before gesturing (to what? no one knows.) haphazardly. “Fair and valid, but... it wasn’t teeth this time.”

So, obviously, it’s okay.

    Makes    direct    eye    contact    with    him.     Then,    without    hesitating,    steps    on    the    note    with    her    heel    and    grinds    it    down.

Oh! That’s... That was rude!

“Eek!!”

... All that hard work down the drain, just like that... Hm... Oh dear.