arahabaki.

The utter normalcy of Chuuya’s spluttering, voice-cracking anger would be relaxing, if Dazai ever truly relaxed. It’s grounding, at least, which is useful right now.

The whistles move towards them slowly and erratically, as if the workings of their bodies are unfamiliar even to them. It wasn’t listed in Cato’s bestiary as a general trait of the creatures, but the document is more poetic than practical, so Dazai already anticipated having to collect information in the field.

“I could say the same for you. We’ll go with ‘grey-haired crone,” Dazai says, naming a tactic they’ve used before against slow-moving but dangerous enemies.  “And ‘silver and shining spiderweb,’ if it comes down to it.”

He readies his bow as he speaks. The loading time of individual bolts makes the crossbow less mobile than a modern handgun, but it’s reliable in a way that the old-fashioned guns in the village aren’t, and the effect of the cold on his ability to reload doesn’t seem any more significant than it would be with a pistol. As expected.

Dazai cocks his bow, aims, and fires a bolt directly through the throat of the nearest creature, sending it reeling back and scrabbling at its own neck in confusion.

“Your turn!” he calls out cheerfully, and falls back to reload.

Dazai was an awfully good strategist, and much as Chuuya loathed to admit it, it was… just how it is. But both plans - focused on taking slow enemies with more power than both of them - relied on Dazai staying out of the way, and for Chuuya to cover him. That idiot always worked like that. Always leaving the hard work to others, refraining from dirtying his hands further. Chuuya had enough power to get whatever he wanted, and his loyalty meant that he did not mind his incredibly bloodstained hands. Two people marked by their efficiency, by how entrenched they were in the dark ways of the Port Mafia. “Double Black” was terribly ironic now, now that Dazai had turned his back on them. Chuuya wishes he could just let the whistles smack Dazai really hard, and then rescue him when the time is right. He does not do that, as disappointing as it is. Dazai makes Chuuya test his own strength, and he is very aware they are in a different situation now. But this also meant that Chuuya would have to be extra aware of his surroundings. Using his skills was never something he had a problem with, even when they did not include his ability. Dazai also knew that.

“Shut up and reload.”

There is something that courses through his veins. Excitement. Adrenaline. The moment before a battle begins, the bloodlust. He enjoys fighting, and this is a secret to no one. If it is something he found out on his own or influence of Arahabaki, he does not want to know it. The group of monsters start to spread apart once one is hit, and Chuuya dashes towards the staggered creature without hesitating. Even without his abilities, he wasn't someone who you would take lightly. Not with how he smiles as he swings down the weapon on the creature’s head, listening to the satisfying crack of something splitting open. The sound of crystals shattering, the abnormality of it all.

It stops moving. Chuuya hits it again, making sure it will not get up. A monster just meant that it was hard to actually know where any vitals would be. It meant hitting everything, even if all the shattered crystals on the floor made it awfully harder. Chuuya pays attention to where he steps, using the corpse as a ledge to perform a jumping attack on the next one. Again, the sound of a weapon colliding with something hard.

It does not last long. The definitely annoying sound was there again, and something freezes him in place. That horrifying noise. The sound of two animals clashing. He did not pay attention to the creature next to him. The claws sink against his shoulder, and it takes everything he has not to scream. The weapon is dropped, but he still gathers his strength to hold the creature by its otherworldly shoulders, forcing it to turn around. Forcing it to be wide open for Dazai.

And that is why Chuuya hated these kind of plans. Becoming bait so his partner could take them down with ease was just a pretty way of saying “go get beat up and don't die”. The pain flares up, and the claws sink in deeper. But he doesn't let go. It is just that he doesn't know if he's screaming from his wound or screaming at Dazai. Or both.

Probably both, considering how annoyed he felt right now.

Dazai has never liked waking up. Not only is it a reminder that he’s alive – already an unfortunate circumstance! – there’s a moment of blunted consciousness, even when waking from the lightest sleep, that makes him feel ill.

Waking from a deep sleep is the worst of all. The bleariness, the heaviness of his limbs, the confusion – it feels like he’s been drugged.

Not to mention the bizarre nostalgia creeping in at the edges of his consciousness, the syrupy sense of melancholy and loss. And there’s something else, something not quite a memory and not quite a dream, something that feels real without any evidence of it being so. Dazai detaches a corner of his mind to analyze it as he slips out of the bunkhouse.

He circles the town. Dazai waves cheerily at the few residents braving the cold and goes out of his way to shake hands with those who have animal features, taking the opportunity to test their appearance against his ability. Nothing happens. It’s possible that their features aren’t the result of a gift, then.

It’s more likely that this entire village is the product of an illusory or reality-altering ability with an anchor point, like Q’s doll, that can’t be dissipated without nullifying the anchor. It’s rare that these affect Dazai at all, but not impossible. In Yokohama, where ability users seem to congregate, it’s more likely that Dazai would be caught up in a strange ability’s effects than be drugged and physically moved to Antarctica. 

There are much simpler ways to contain a person, after all. He’s designed some of them himself.

His mind works on overdrive as he chats up the village’s bartender. The information she gives him is just as unreal as what he’s heard from the other villagers, but that doesn’t make it any less relevant. If this is a simulation, assessing the intent behind the information that the creator has chosen to give to him is critical.

Dazai is sifting through it all in silence, idly running his finger along the rim of his glass, when he hears a familiar voice breaking in anger. The blow to the table shakes his drink, splashing some of the alcohol over his fingers.

“Oh. It’s just Chuuya.”

That is interesting. No one with half a brain in Yokohama would trap Double Black together, not if they valued their lives or their plans. That leaves a few options…

“You think so highly of me,” Dazai says, letting his expression of disgust melt into an obnoxious smile. Of course he does. Dazai spent three years convincing Chuuya that he had all the answers, even in – especially in – situations where Dazai was bullshitting to hell. “Why would I ever bring you somewhere for a prank and then stay there with you?”

“Not that you ever had any reason to do what you do, but you do anyway. I don’t know! To throw me off track? To think you are not involved if you are here? I would rather die than figure out what goes on in that mind of yours.”

Incredible how this man always managed to make his skin crawl. It might be because of how (unfortunately) compatible Chuuya and Dazai were. Or for some other reason. Honestly, he did not care to know. Dazai has a point that whoever brought them together either knows what they are doing or are incredibly stupid, but... the point flies right through Chuuya’s head. 

He’s more focused on why this all feels surreal. Like a bad dream gone wrong. It might be just that. The disembodied voice talked about it, too. 

Again, the oddness of it all. The feeling that he could close his eyes and wake up back at home, with all the things he had to do just waiting for him.. and the harsh reality that perhaps none of them would come back. To what? To life? If that was it, then why was Dazai here? No matter what he said, his ex-partner always found a reason. To keep living on. It was infuriating, but it also gave Chuuya innumerous opportunities to finish the job himself. 

That was not important right now. As much as he hates it, Dazai has a point. Chuuya grumbles something under his breath as he - even more grumpily - sits besides Dazai. It was obvious he was glaring, but if the other man had a single braincell remaining from all his stupidity he would know that the mafioso was thinking about this whole encounter and this whole situation. 

“You are insufferable as always,” and there is a slight pause before he simply reaches for Dazai’s glass. He squints at its contents, unsure if the idiot wouldn’t just mix medicine into it. But then again, the bartender would just kick him out if she found it out. The problem was that Dazai was incredibly good at hiding things from people. With a shrug, he downs the remainder of the liquid in one shot. And somehow finds himself even more annoyed. There was plenty of perfectly good wine back at home that he was now completely unable to get. “But there is something bugging me.”

The club looks like a baseball bat over Chuuya’s shoulder. Even in a 40,000 yen hat, Chuuya can’t help but look like the same punk kid he’d been the day they met, height and all. 

Something else has never changed: Chuuya doesn’t talk about Arahabaki. If there’s one thing he keeps private, one thing Dazai hasn’t been able to pry out of him ever since that day in the warehouse, it’s more than a handful of words about the god. Which means there’s more on his mind than Dazai would like there to be.

Clearly, enough on his mind that he’s not watching where he’s going. There are still patches of slush and half-melted snow on the path out of the village. A few enterprising residents had started sweeping them away in the days before the whistles arrived, but abandoned the task when the blood started flowing. Understandably. They make for treacherous footing – for Chuuya, at least, who’s so single-mindedly determined to avoid the slush that he keeps stomping through the patches of snow.

Dazai watches him struggle for a solid minute before he responds.

“Chuuya… you do realize you’re stepping in the only snow on the ground, don’t you?”

Of course he did realize. At least some really far-off, distant part of his mind did. The one not currently concerned with the at least thirty problems on hand right now. Existential crisis apart, questions about his existence bubbling up after years of having put those to rest. Dazai could nullify his ability, but he simply could not erase all traces of that. Chuuya is brought down to reality when he notices Dazai pointing, and that tone of trying-really-hard-but-not-at-all-not-to-mock-him. Dazai was doing so anyway.

“You--”

It takes half a second for Chuuya’s voice to go from quiet to very loud.

“If you noticed it already, then why didn’t you--”

He raises his leg, about to spin and just - very hopefully - smash Dazai’s face against the floor when... he just stops. His rage fades, giving in to that serious tone he had before.

“Oi. Shitty Dazai.”

Hopping away from the gross mess he was stepping on already, Chuuya takes one step forward. And another. It is that damn annoying sound again. Maybe he did not see how far they traveled, or simply they did not walk that far off at all to be interrupted by one of the creatures. Either way, it wasn’t good. 

It also was weird to just have to use his hands. Weird.

The whistling noise gets louder. It is probably not just one. It never was. Things were never easy. Never with him. Less when Dazai was involved. 

“They’re coming. At least try not to die on me.”

As much information and good will as he could collect out of making himself busy in the Warmhouse, Dazai’s training is in field medicine. Once patients are stable enough to be moved to a medical facility, it ceases to be an efficient use of resources for him to treat them. His time is better spent in a role that no one else present can fill, like providing specialized combat support for his old partner as the idiot high-kicks his way through the whistle population.

Besides, he doesn’t make a habit out of spending time around scalpels.

Dazai just hums noncommittally in response – there’s no point in protesting that last accusation, not when Chuuya’s known him since long before he left the mafia – and tosses the club at Chuuya.

“I’m more useful as tactical support than as an extra pair of hands in the infirmary. And you’re more useful alive than as a very tiny corpse.”

“Now, if you’re done complaining, shall we be on our way? I’d like to be back in the village before sundown.”

“You know what, mackerel? I am not even going to argue. Again, if you plan on making yourself useful---” He grabs the bat in midair and just lets it rest on his shoulder. If it wasn’t for his fancy clothes, Chuuya would probably look like a street punk. “-- then at least provide actual backup. Having my ability would make this issue way easier, but then maybe the person who brought us here wanted us to fight without it.”

He is not dumb. This is suspicious. Chuuya starts walking without really caring if Dazai is following him (he is, because it is that annoying person, after all) while gently tapping the weapon against his shoulder. The calm before the storm allows him to think. 

“If ‘it’ was really gone, then I wouldn’t be here. If we don’t protect them, then there will be no place for us to stay. But I bet even your idiot brain can figure this out.”

Oooor he is coming up with excuses to do what he is doing right now. Dazai had accurately predicted that his instincts would flare up, that Chuuya would defend what he is begrudgingly calling home for the time being. Whatever it is, he is not telling. The snow is obnoxious and it clings to his shoes. It is different from asphalt, it is different from the dirt. It reduces his mobility, and he takes note of it.  

Dazai’s leaning against the outer wall of Bunkhouse 6 when Chuuya steps outside, looking ready to smash something to pieces.

“Heading out?”

Of course he is. Of course Chuuya is already invested in these people. Of course Chuuya will jump at the chance to work off his feelings on an enemy. Of course Chuuya, without his Ability available to protect any allies present, will run off on his own. It’s fortunate Dazai is here to waylay him.

It’s equally fortunate that his skill with firearms has transferred well to crossbows, because Dazai doesn’t want anything to do with the claws on those monsters. He’s got the crossbow he picked up a few weeks ago in a sling over his shoulder and a club – courtesy of a quick trip to Frederika and the Grip – in one hand. And concealed knives, but that’s a given.

“Are you really going out there with just your legs? The ‘whistles’ are made of crystals, you know.” He twirls the club and tosses it in Chuuya’s direction. “A blunt weapon would be more effective – though I guess you already have one, given that your skull is as thick as a rock.”

“Eh?”

Dazai is very lucky. If it wasn’t for the fact that Chuuya had other priorities at the moment, he would very well be a good practice target. But there were other things Chuuya had to do. It wasn’t a matter of being invested. It was a matter of protecting, of doing what he could. Even if it was none of his business, he couldn’t just stand still.

Stand still and watch everyone get probably attacked and more than probably die. He wouldn’t jump in to protect complete strangers, but there was the matter of needing these people to survive. Or at least this is what Chuuya says to himself. Killing is normal, and killing is something he has done before. He wasn’t going through the hypocritical ‘killing is bad’ train of thought. 

Killing without reason was another thing entirely. Even though this looks more like one of Dazai’s dumb RPGs that the waste of bandages left at his place over and over. Monsters killing, harming others indiscriminately. It wasn’t something that he could just accept. 

“Tch.”

And it was why he was going to crush them by himself. Or so he thought, before being greeted with the less-than-desired outcome. But one he should’ve seen it coming. Dazai was keeping an eye on him. Chuuya wasn’t dumb. Dazai has a plan - always had a plan - and it probably involves on observing people that he knows that possess an ability of some sort. To see if they were gone. To see if any new steps were added into activating them. 

Or just to piss him off. That would work, too. Chuuya is used to guns, to blades. He had to train himself to survive through situations where he could not use his power. Dazai’s existence made it painfully clear that he always needed a plan B. He is armed with the daggers he arrived with, and would figure strategy during his encounter. Logically, there should be a weak point somewhere. And also logically, he took a peek at some pictures before he decided to go. There was bound to be some kind of vulnerability somewhere. Chuuya understood this all too well - painfully aware of the consequences of unleashing his power. 

If he had it, then this would be marginally easier. And of course, this contributes to his incredibly foul mood.

“I’m not in the mood. Go find somewhere else to die, if you don’t plan on making yourself useful.”

He pauses, then takes a better look at his partner. The fact that he has a point irritates Chuuya to no end. But what surprises him is the fact that Dazai is just... willing to participate. Odd. 

“What? Aren’t you going to stay and gather information on people wounded? That suits you better than carrying this bunch of garbage. You’re the kind of awful person who would rather sit still and watch as disaster passes by.”

It is also a clear fact that he eyes the club Dazai is carrying with obvious interest. Could come useful. Or it would, if Dazai had any strength on his arms. He wasn’t exactly bad at it, but... honestly? That idiot worked better with ranged firearms. 

       her hands wave immediately, head shaking in a slight panic. it’s not that he bothered her! staring was just. it was awkward. she didn’t like it. probably just an effect of her days of being scrutinized every time she entered a room back when she was still with the organization but… well! it’s not chuuya’s fault. 

    ❝ n-no, it’s okay! but, actually…❞ the confused expression she had donned becomes a soft, shy smile. “it’s really only good for shielding against any sudden breezes… otherwise…” she trails off, tip of her boot gently kicking at the snow. it seemed smart, but without its magical properties, xion was as ill-dressed as any new traveler. sure, she had a scarf, but goodness, did she need proper garments ( and fast! she’s never caught a cold before! ).

    “um… if i remember, there was a general store that sold clothes… but i haven’t been here long enough to really get familiar with things.” she pauses, head tilting. “are you new to eidolon too? i heard they get a lot of visitors from different places…”

“Seems like we’re all left on our own to survive, if that says anything.”

It makes Chuuya think about his current situation. He is just as ill-equipped to deal with the climate as Xion is. She doesn’t seem as bothered by his curiosity now, so that is a plus. It really wasn’t his intention to stare, and he had seen weirder people wearing even weirder things. 

Hell, he could consider himself one of those “weird people”. Ability users were not the kind that would go under the radar. Something always ended up happening. Xion looks just as odd as him, that was all. It was easy to discern the ‘visitors’ to this place from actual residents, just... some stood out more than the rest.

“I have just arrived recently. Though I am still not sure how.”

There was the whole deal with ‘why’ instead of how, including how he was able to exist without... the whole deal with his powers. A mystery Chuuya was sure he would not solve so soon, and absolutely sure he will not be solving this alone. He’d need information and people he could trust first. One step at a time.

“Have you been here long? You don’t seem surprised by every little new thing, so it’s just a guess.”

The snow was difficult to cover his tracks. Chuuya already knew that, being someone used to disposing of lesser (and sometimes bigger) enemies. Sometimes enemies that one would not be able to humanly take care of and survive. For this, stealth was the best option... even if such a thing was completely removed here. He wonders if it is on purpose; to leave them exposed. Vulnerable. 

Bitter thoughts lead him to the Crystal Château. Memories from his waking were as hazy as his last day outside this place, and he wonders if there is an Ability user that can both create this kind of alternate reality and manipulate time simultaneously. It is a ridiculous idea, but... 

“...?”

There is someone there. Well, besides the people praying. This one is less praying and more like staring at the statue. Her small figure reminds Chuuya of another girl he has met. It is more like one he babysits for his boss at times, but he wouldn’t put it quite rudely. But be it out of curiosity or that weird sense of homesickness, he finds himself approaching Anastasia. His voice is quiet, polite. He wasn’t going to be a fool and simply talk loudly when other people were busy, and this was clearly not the place to do so. 

“Weird, isn’t it.” A clear attempt to break the girl out of her stupor. To make her share her thoughts, or to simply see if she had the same disquieting fear of the unknown. Embodiment of a dark god or not, he is still not one to care much about these things. He motions to the statue with a small movement of his head. Up close, she is slightly taller than Elise. And her posture... well, it was anything but normal. Not one to talk here, Chuuya.

@petitmafioso

       she looks down at her clothing, lips pursing. honestly? it’s the first time anyone’s ever made commentary in regards to her coat. she’s talked to locals in worlds she’s visited before, black coat and all, and still none bothered to comment on how out of place she seemed. vaguely though, she has to wonder how much ‘i was part of a secret organization’ screams from her appearance. 

    ❝ it’s just a jacket, ❞ she says bluntly, head tilting. er, was it just a jacket now? before it was all magical and what not, but… seems like after coming here, everything magical about her was nullified. regardless, somehow she feels self-conscious. xion never did well under scrutinizing gazes, after all. “… do i look weird?”

“Ah.”

Awkward. He was just curious about Xion’s garments, and if they served any practical purpose. Sure, the weather was rough but... her coat was not something you would usually see. 

“Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to stare. I was just curious.”

There is a short wave of his hand as he approaches, trying to dismiss his curiosity. If he is to be sincere, she looks a bit weird. But Chuuya has seen worse, and it doesn’t look all that bad. 

“No. I think it is a smart decision, considering how cold it is.” It is a fact, even if he doesn’t know how well her clothes would shield her from the freezing climate. Oh well. Chuuya might as well try to hook this into an actual conversation. He needs to find out if she is just as lost as he is, wandering around aimlessly as she was.

There was no way wishes could be granted without anything in return. But what did they take? His life? He can’t remember his last day back at Yokohama, and while the theory holds some value... it simply won’t do. It is still too early to see Chuuya pacing around his room, momentarily ignoring the other people sleeping there.

There is suspicion, but some other part of him does not want to break free. But still he does. Selfishly following his goals were never his thing. It was more like Dazai’s. Speaking of which... if there was a magical place that could grant whatever your darkest, deepest wish... wasn’t his ex-partner a better target?

Arahabaki stirs, chained and the monstrous howl can be heard by no one but the man who looks puzzled by his current situation. He cannot use his powers, which were second nature to him. But still, he exists. The fact that he continues to exist means that they were not completely nullified or taken away. Sealed, perhaps.

He opens the door to face the freezing, biting cold. For some reason, the environment makes him think he feels almost welcome in this new place. Chuuya knows better, but it is almost impossible to shake these thoughts. Almost as if they were graved upon his very soul. The idea of losing control is uncomfortable. Maddening in some other situation, but now somewhat controlled.

No... instead of thinking about possible abductions, executions and whatnot... Chuuya feels worried. He adjusts his hat once more, bothered by the idea of losing something that was part of him for so long. Even back at Sheep, he prepared for situations that would eliminate the possibility of using his Ability. His actual skills would not be hindered, but that was far from the ideal situation. Nevermind that Mori would view his absence very terribly. Again, that weird feeling. The tiny voice in his head asking exactly why should he care about these things.

Again, he thinks he died. Uncomfortable, but nothing that can really verify this theory... so he presses on. He needs intel, and an opportunity quickly presents itself. ‘The Crystal Tavern’, they called. Maybe he could find some wine on top of all of this. He sure could use a drink. The place is comfortable, and while the sight of the owner takes him aback for a few seconds... what really surprises him is the silhouette of a familiar figure. It is almost as if this place has read his mind, again. Or maybe Dazai himself did. His steps are heavy, and the warm atmosphere just seems to stoke the fires of his (admittedly very short) temper. 

“I was starting to think this place was fishy, but to see you around...”

Normally, he would kick the table in his direction as a warning sign. Or simply disrupt the so-called ‘peace and quiet’ of the man who was still ignoring him, drinking his stupid cheap sake. He wasn’t mistaken. There was only one person in the world that could set him off this quickly, to get a reaction out of someone who would normally try to take things in stride. 

“... was it you? Even if you had cash saved, this is going too far to be a prank.”

Unless Dazai had a way of magically sealing his stuff away and making him feel things he was not supposed to feel. Chuuya pushes his anxiety aside, slamming his hand against the table his ex-partner was so happily sitting and drinking at.

“Eh, Dazai? What is this about?”

I’m very slow at replying but I’ll try my best. I think otters are cute. I am bad at introductions. But that is not the point. 

I wrote this to double as a starter call. Two slots for now, maybe three? I’ll see how I feel about it. 

As for the character, here are some interesting points to know:

- Chuuya is one of the executives of an organized crime group called the Port Mafia, and he is known as their best martial artist. Characters tied to more shady stuff might roll well with him, if their objectives align.

- He’s very touchy about his hat, and proud of it. Fashion is important.

- Even if he is a mafioso, he follows his heart a lot. He decided to go down his way to protect the city he loved, after all. He will not hesitate to do what is right, but his loyalties will always take precedence over this kind of stuff. But most of the time he might seem almost nice. 

uuuuuuh what else

right

- he is 160cm tall 

Characters who would probably click with him vary by a lot, but he will not turn down a request for help (more so in a new environment) or simply being friendly/collaborate with locals for intel. You might get in trouble if you try to manipulate him into something, but if that is how you’d rather play things that would be fine with me! 

If you have an idea or would like to talk it out, just send me an ask.