#whitereaper

“I must apologize for what must’ve been my nagging insistence.”

And so he does-- with a lone bow of the head. Legs were crossed over one another, the clown having seated himself within plush chair before a lowered table (it looked a bit like a coffee table only with a bit more of length to its surface.) with two mugs set. He was careful in filling them up to just the brim, leaving enough space for lips to touch rim without facing the potential of being burned.

It took only a few hours for Yori to acquire this location. He preferred it for its levels of privacy and how, in the end of everything, it belonged to no one organization. It could’ve belonged to the clowns once upon a time (it was much like a warehouse, after all.) or it could’ve been under the Dove’s protection (it could serve as a base of operations, after all.) so many years ago.

“It must’ve come off as very... rude of me, so I apologize once more.”

“It must have left such a horrid first impression, and I never wished for that to happen.”

Leaning forward, he reached to hook fingers within mug’s handle and lightly hold it within both hands over lap. Yori’s already become accustomed to how he’s sitting, managing to find a way to lounge formally with shoulders at their most lax and expression of a modest nature.

“I will try to make this short, dear... hm! Which would you rather? Sir Arima-- or Sir Kishou?”

Truthfully, he had no preference. It was all up to the other man.

❝ You should not be here. ❞

It was not a stern warning, rather, a soft advice that slipped past the heir’s mouth. Movement was swift, sharp, precise; training in order to use the soul weapon she would inherit was never a walk in the garden. Nonetheless, glancing towards the younger noble, she wondered if there were ever an age limit on training. She started young as well, the shoes she was destined to fill large and powerful. Still, the Lord’s daughter did not want to accidentally drag one of the younger generations into a training session where he would get injured.

  ❝ Is running from hideout to hideout really such a good idea? ❞ To have his children constantly thrown into such horrific situations made his blood boil, dislike of the Union further cemented into mind. ❝ If you were to stay with us a while, you would both be safe, and I could conduct experiments to improve your partner’s stability with more ease. ❞ The partner whom rests on the floor ‘neath them, his declining health slowly taking a turn for the better. 

   "-- I can tell you're displeased." Perhaps a mild understatement; He’s not seen the other so upset before. But why? Take admits he cannot quite comprehend. Was taking on part of the dark spear not his own choice? Certainly, the other had ever right to be worried, Could scold him. His opinion though, however much the solider oftentimes appreciated it, would pass by unheeded here. 

@white-reaper

“Huh?”

Oh, it’s him.

“Oh, uh… hey.” He never knew what this guy’s deal was, and he was very confident that he’d never find out. Fingers lightly drum against own thigh, Katsuro blinking at him before averting his gaze to seem more disinterested than what he already was. “What’s up?”

Cigarette bounces lightly from between lips, angling upward before lowering itself– a lot like a lever.

 Quietly absorbed within flowing words written upon pages, clock ticks by whilst brief that would present his latest mission is awaited. However, instead of the calm demeanour oftentimes held, there was a twitch of irritation to be seen. Apparently, they desired to have him fight alongside another individual. An individual whom remained entirely unknown to him. It’s enough to earn a scoff. Ludicrous. Did they sincerely believe it necessary? He was more than capable of handling adversary forces on his lonesome. 

 And as though on cue, someone then advances, slinking forth from the umbrae. Wanting his attention, surely. Exhalation passes lips, book snapping shut. A shame. He’d far rather continue reading than have to interact with others, if only for a fleeting moment.