POST - MORTEM.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ KAZUHISA   ❛  CHILD WRANGLER  ❜   KUJŌ.   a child,  five,  six years of age,  had  sprinted  from his care - taker,  and he was quite pleased with himself,  giggling and squealing.  but kujo, oft the kill - joy, had gathered up the child, before he'd sprinted into the street, into oncoming traffic.  to the child’s dismay.  he’d whined,  squirming in kujo’s grasp   ———   complaining how he’d   ❛  ruined the game.  ❜   and kujo’s   (  dead - pan  )   explanation of how he  almost  sprinted into oncoming traffic,  how he’d  almost  died,  and how it  wasn’t  a game,  was ignored,  in lieu of further whining.  the boy is fearless.  the boy is a brat.  thank  god  the boy’s caretaker   (  his father ?  )   had arrived,  looking worried,  before kujo’s patience had  TRULY  worn thin.  he doesn’t  dislike  children, but he hadn’t anticipated needing to  wrangle  a child,  refractory,  at six - thirty in the morning.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ PULLING FROM A CIGARETTE,  HE OBSERVES,   the man before him intriguing.  otherworldly,  an aura mysterious and   ———   disquieting.   (  an open - casket funeral, looking at the corpse.  )   he doesn’t know why.  seldom is he daunted but he knows the man is formidable.  he knows he should not antagonize him.  still,  he observes,  ashing the cigarette,  fingertips twitching.  a stress smoker.   ❛  this is a bad habit,  ❜   shion’d scold, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and extinguishing the flame.  for her, he’d quelled the vice.  now,  he hardly cares.  he coughs.  his jaw aches.  the man looks at him.  he tilts his head,  contemplates providing an explanation.  but   ❛  i don’t think you’re human  ❜   is an insult,  rather than an explanation,  and he’d rather not fight a man of his stature,  six foot nine,  six foot ten,  and muscular.  so,  he shrugs his shoulders.