#seductive-predation

~Boku No Hero is the only acceptable answer because EVERY GODDAMN PERSON IS FOLLOWING THEIR DREAAAAAAAAAMSS~ 

((Body horror themes suggested.))

Graves held a hand on the side of his heavy head as he took his last shot. He’d won some bar games and got most of theme for free, but, as the bar got closer to closing the number of drunk patrons for Graves to swindle liquor from dwindled to a dry faucet. He look around the bar, trying to see if there was another victim for him to wager against, but the bar had become barren. A disappointment, he was just barely feeling the effects, not quite in as much of a drunken stupor as he was well acquainted with. He gave a sigh which was overheard by the bar’s busboy, busy cleaning dishes next to Graves.

“Hey buddy. You think you got it bad? Quit acting like your life is so bad, aight? You’re bring the mood down!”

Graves looked around briefly before looking at the busboy and pointing at himself with a quizzical expression. There was no way this guy, barely old enough to have gotten his feet wet in the real world, was complaining to him. “Uhhh?”

“Yes, you! You’ve been staring at your glass for the last five minutes! It isn’t going to fill itself unless you pay! People like you are the worse. Leeching off other people instead of paying for things yourself! You don’t know what its like to have to work for what you want.”

Graves scoffed and gave a forced chuckle. This boy was way over his head. Graves was not drunk enough to take a stab at his honor! But, then again, he was partially amused the child had such a bad taste of Graves abusing the other patron’s weak will and inability to hold their liquor to get free drinks. He wondered if the child knew he cheated for half those card games.... only half though! Sort of... except replace half with ‘all’.

He rubbed his forehead as he looked down at his glass, “Believe me, boy, I know what its like to work for what you desire. I know what it means to lose it too. Don’t go around judgin' people, ain’t your job.”

“Oh! Now I’m going to get lectured by the drunk! I don’t need you telling me shit! I’ve gone through torture with this job to afford what I want in life. You don’t even know what that’s like!”

Torture? TORTURE??? Graves began laughing hysterically. “Oh! Oh god, HOHOHO, Boy! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day! Here. Let me show ya somethin’“

Graves stood up and removed his cape from around his neck, unclasping Destiny, which was attached to his hip, and setting her down with it onto the stool he was sitting on. The buysboy began to protest of Graves’s stripping but he continued regardless, undoing his belt and removing the pouches he carried his cigars in. Pulling his shirts out from under his waist line he began to take them off. “Now what just a minute! Ain’t no one wants to see yo-”

The busboy could not articulate his next word, the thought cut off by the sight before him. Graves had managed to remove all garments from the upper half of his body, revealing an amass of copious scars of varying size, depth, and type. Burn scars, dimples, slashes, some even covered by patches to hide the severity of the wound. The scars lines his pecs and hide any resemblance of abs he may have. The tattered body of 10 years of torture in the Locker laid welcome for the boy’s wandering eyes. “I assure you boy, I know damn well what it means to be ‘tortured’. Been through ten years of it. Had pretty much anythin’ you can imagine done to me. Those folks were nice enough to leave my face intact, Made it so I couldn’t take off my shirt or pants without drawin’ looks as a side effect. Wanna tell me more of the torture you been through? I got some tales I ain’t told no one that I wouldn’t mind sharin’ tonight”

SEND “❓” FOR MY MUSE TO ASK YOURS A QUESTION THEY’VE HAD FOR A WHILE!

Clearly this is a sign.

With languorous steps does the Virtuoso laze off his bed, steps forward and back, a u-turn to retrieve his mask from his slowly processing mind. His silk robe is of the finest quality, and his gun Whisper is sure to follow with a tight clutch. 

‘4 A.M’ He catches the moon towards its slow setting from his window pane. Either a sick joke, or the Cabal had finally come to personally ‘fire’ him... and oh, how he would fire back.