Castle of Cards

Masquerading as a man with a reason

I want to crack his head open and study his mind, lol.

"Don’t."

"Hm? Is that addressed to me, or...?"

Ebony brows arose in contrast to his company's knotted pair. He might be many ranks ahead of the older slayer in terms of warfare proficiency, but when it came to social cues? The younger Tokitо̄ was as clueless as a goldfish.

"Wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to say so to yourself, though? Since you're the one signing up for your own doom in the first place?"

"You know her?" He asks, even though it's pretty much what was just told to him directly.

All it takes is one single step forward to have Inosuke's legs springing him backwards on instinct. The only reason they aren't able to convince him to run away from this completely is Inosuke's own stubbornness. But he can absolutely feel the way his heart is pounding, a deep and ingrained in his subconscious fear spreading through his whole body. Only a few things can get Inosuke to respond this way. Danger is often something he's charging into, not away from. But a massive landslide, a wildfire that's raged out of natural control, a rushing, muddy current after a bad rainstorm— there are things that do command some respect from the reckless boar.

Oh~? Is this time for some bedtime stories already?

Seemed like it, judging by how the demon let out an amused sigh as he folded his legs; spreading his golden fan open, amidst allowing his rear to nestle comfortably upon the ground that had been kind enough to cordially host their encounter—lack of benevolence in the nature of it all aside.

The cult-leader is on a day off at the moment, but surely he doesn't mind a little duty call. Not when the night is still this young—that, and marinated flesh tastes way better, anyway.

"Ahhh... How do I put it without sounding like one of those deadbeat patriarchs...," faux regret dripping through jovial chortle, the older male started rocking back-and-forth in a playful manner. "Your mother and I... We had history."

The silence that settled right after was bulky. One pair of exquisite eyes to another, Dо̄ma was relishing every second of the torturous twitches he bequeathed upon the shirtless slayer's facial muscles.

"You'll give that pretty face some ugly wrinkles if you continue with the tough-guy act, you know. Kotoha went to hell and back to pass on that one good gene—she might be dumb, but that part of her... Gotta give credit where credit is due," his ominous smile only grew creepier by each word; the heavy sigh rolling past his lips adding to the peculiarity of his mien, "You could say... I was biased in the values I held for her. Could you really blame a man for having a soft spot for such a gullible beauty, though? And here I thought I could've given her the life that she wanted—happy and safe; far, far away from your abusive father and paternal grandmother. But alas..."

Another pause. The upper-ranked devil-spawn shifts his torso backward with hardly any care in the world.

"Well... At least she made herself a satisfactory meal at the very end of her journey. Can't complain much about that, now, can I?"

He didn't say a word, but was actually very tempted to be the little birdie to deliver the news to Miss Big Girl Butterfly™—IF his brain would be so kind as to remember the message he was about to carry, that is.

being bedridden was probably the worst feeling in the world - aside from being split apart. recovery was incredibly painful and every second of the day, he felt little pulses of pain traveling along the scar that kept him together. the patch over his right eye was beginning to grow bothersome, but worries about his sight meant it would need at least a few more days to heal. he had never healed this slow before - never this long. yet, the grogginess clinging from his comatose state and his fatigued energy were clearly against him as he struggled to rush himself - to push his recovery along faster.

the one thing he could say was going surprisingly well was his big brother's presence. awkwardness still lingered and genya wasn't sure if he should be excited to have his brother helping him again, or annoyed that he seemed to think he was a toddler who needed help with every little thing.

"...are you kidding me? I'm not five anymore," he drawled, lips twisting into a scowl, brows crinkling.

the bad mood clinging to him wasn't letting him go. he was told that it stemmed from his pain, but he knew where it really came from.

why am i here? why did i survive and the others didn't? why me out of all of them...?

yet, as he watched sanemi twist the spoon for soup around like it was some bug in the sky, he couldn't help but snort through his nose. the laugh that followed was unexpected (and unwanted, but genya couldn't help it - he didn't deserve to be laughing). a bandaged hand lifted to cover his mangled mouth, smile split directly down the middle by a new, angry scar.

The quirk of his obscure pair of brows was immediate upon being met with the mirroring chagrin he recognized almost as his very own visage. Not that he was surprised by the attitude, really; 'stubborn' had, indeed, been written in their genes, after all—courtesy of the good-for-nothing man they had once got no choice but to call father. More than anything, it was solely his own brotherly concern painting itself all over scar-laced face; a growing anxiety for his flesh-and-blood's recovery if the patient that he was right now continued to cling onto such an act of obstinance.

Genya wasn't wrong about the foolishness of his aniki's child-like persuasive attempt, though—and having that pointed out sure did crack open the serious front the Hashira had pulled earlier as growly chortle took over, joining his sibling in the warmth of their long-lost humorous exchange.

"Sheesh, Pigtails' been going easy on you, now, hasn't she...," his smile, genuine and soft as opposed to the infamous maniacal grin, stayed behind when quietude started setting back in; tufts of alabaster undulating gently upon the idle shaking of his head, "That one's got a nose even sharper than you stone-head buddy's—she'd smell your bullshit, you know."

Despite agreeing to Genya's plea to nestle the barely-appetizing dish back on its carrier, plum-like pools remained stern in the way they captured the glance of their gloomy-looking twins.

"I'm not throwing away the soup. I promised Ma I'd take care of you," Sanemi had never been good at showing vulnerability; but he would've been damned to waste his second shot at unburning the bridges between the both of them—so brooding as his muscular figure might be, he leaned forward; making the entirety of his presence more accessible to brunet dearest, "Thing's gonna taste putrid once it's cold—but hey. Shouldn't be as bad as a demon's flesh, don't you think?"

The silence that followed his question, albeit encased in quite a comical vessel, was so loud it was close to deafening. Truly, there was no denying the heaviness of the aforementioned subject—especially given what had happened the last time the younger slayer had brought it up.

"How did that happen, anyway? The whole...ordeal with eating demons, I mean."

Done I guess.

One of the abandoned homes Yuji lives in since the Shibuya incident where Sukuna massacred whoever actually lived there..

A ngrily nibbles on his Egg sandwich.

"Welp, my apology. Sometimes I forget that herbal teas aren't for everyone."

"I sure hope that sandwich helps with the palate-cleansing, though."