recon.

    ❝ Woah it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you around. Where have you been? You been alright? ❞

Incandescence lines crusade into a distant stare---a proper response isn’t suited for this encounter.  His activity a complete a-mist.

          Hmmm. A secret huh? Gemiya supposed she would have to respect that, it wouldn’t do to keep prying. Especially when the other side was being so polite. Though his next question left her wondering how she should answer. Sure she had abilities, but was it wise to reveal them to a stranger? 

          ❝ I’m good at making bonds. I think? Or so I’ve been told. ❞ She states, knowing that’s not what he meant. That was more of a personality trait than an actual ability. ❝ Hmm. I work with vibration. ❞ She supposed it’s only fair to share considering he had technically revealed what his was to her.

He finds her presence to be minimalistic in terms of conversation and the endangerment of her discovering his darker shades of profession. He tilts his head, advocating his thoughts;

          “  i noticed.  should i take that as a compliment?  “

     there’s a teasing tone that leaves him as he looks to kurogiri—-   lighthearted,  almost friendly.  he has to play the part of a villain well,  after all,  even if that means wearing a fake smile to get along.  it’s hard to tell if it’s working sometimes,  most villains in the league too unpredictable to understand.  this one seems,  at the very least,  just a little more reasonable.  still,  he tries to keep things ( more or less )  light,   “  or is this another test?  “

The shadows surrounding him whisk likeness to a cat flicking its tail--perhaps he finds the interaction amusing or an opening to learn more. A nearly indistinguishable hand fixes his tie lining the core of his neck whilst rising his brows. They flicker almost like a breeze capsizing an open flame. ' Not exactly. ‘ he admits, the conception of an endless game and testing the boundaries are not his specialty; that level of manipulation and pulling strings is his fair and introverted leader.

          it had been instinct out of anything upon seeing the familiarly ominous form of darkness seeming to disperse around his very being, only to find out the heartless was… a person. questionably. roxas thinks of apologizing, but a quick scan of the empty pub around him, & he starts to think otherwise. ❛ … not that i’m saying it’s a bit lively here or anything, but it’s not like i’m bothering anyone in the first place either. i’ll only be here for a little while. ❜

His otherworldly form flippant and taut despite the strands of haze insistently waving back and forth. He is not wary but experiencing a tedious flow of emotion from the heartfelt accusations of a relentless soul chasing behind him. A pause before glowering eyes turn and flash dangerously likewise to a viper standing its ground.

you heave a deep sigh,  let your shoulders drop and be pulled ahead by your arms,  with fingers barely holding onto the edge of the other side of the counter. 

certainly not relieved.   not quite distressed,  either,  but … something’s going on with you,  and you urgently wanted to get that off your chest.   is this the right place to do this ?   probably not.   yet here you are,  muttering a deflated ‘thank you’ barely audible to the human ear; and for a brief moment the question of whether this guy even is human appears.   under all this fog and stuff.   you don’t reach for the glass just yet.   maybe there’s straws.

‘       it’s work,  kinda …  i try really hard with it,  you know ?

finally,  the pullback — your hands letting go of the countertop to eventually land in your lap,  but posture still slumps,  and it’s clear once again you seek advice in that bartender.   somewhere behind the mysterious mist that surrounds him.   

‘       but everyone is so mean …. ah .. and this was the only place that didn’t seem so busy.   actually,  some of the other bars are closed !   did you know bars close this early ?

ah yes .. ‘early’ meaning 2am.

Silence is his approach in patiently listening to her vexations--idling fixing under counter containers while seeking out what he figures is a suitable plastic straw to fit with her drink. He leaves it unceremoniously aside her glass. The melancholy emits alike a wave crashing to its shore---children? No, the younger generation undoubtedly has more strain than he did as a young adult. The general working class has it rough--  ‘ You can only try your best in those situations. ’ he adds,  ‘ People will always hinder you as an individual than recognize your struggles as a person. Society tends to focus on itself and its hunger for selfish desires than shine a light upon smaller and more complex ventures. ’ Or in short--people don’t intone to understand other people that aren’t involved in their world. It’s a nasty cycle of who determines what is important to them. The glinting lines of his eyes arch in rapture--this place has its moments. 

       the usual was whiskey  ,  on the rocks  ,  with as little ice as possible  ;  not neat  ,  so it could scorch his throat  ,  but not cut up enough with the ice to not make that impossible  ,  so that when it were sipped at bitterly over the course of the long hours spent hunched over this bar counter top  ,  it could still burn in that pleasant - unpleasant way  ,  the way he wanted  ,  which seemed to be the only thing he got  ,  that he wanted  ,  between this and that and the league of villains swept up underneath a big carpet like yesterday’s garbage  .

         shigaraki seethed like an open wound  .     ❛   i want the whole bottle  .   ❜      his insides already writhed in their own pitiful rebellion  .    he churned unpleasantly in the bar stool  ,  fingers splayed loose  ,  but careful  ,  over the bar  .      ❛   keep the television off  ,  kurogiri  .    i’m sick of it  .   ❜     it being the imprecise nature of the media  ;  stain  ,  stain  ,  stain  .    it made each vertebrae in his back stand on edge like a spike  .     his nails tapped impatiently  .    he hadn’t necessarily planned for the whole bottle  ;   but he’d see where it’d take him  .    his thoughts boiled like a witch’s cauldron  ,  and this was but one more ingredient to add to the mix  –  tap  .   tap  .   tap  .

         ❛   i don’t get it  —  he didn’t even win  .    why keep talking about it  ?    he’s just one more villain under the heroes’ belt  …  we managed to escape  ,  and we wreaked chaos  ,  but they’ve got us all mixed up  —  what gives  ?   ❜

He complies in shutting off the broadcast while relieving a tall bottle to his leader’s digression. Even if the meager voice along the horizon of his subconscious differs at the gesture--watch over him but not hinder his growth--a trial and error progression. Mistakes will be a happenstance in the chase for publicity and reconciliation in society's’ arms before pulling the knife forwards and back down again.

The media hovers like a flock of ravenous birds--their attention splintered to what catches their eye and reflects a glint of interest. Stain is one of those glints; not entirely unexpected to be within the spotlight for the heroes... nor the internet after Stain yelling a parting speech before being captured. An acclimation of All Might can only slay him---a real hero---and no one else. It caused a stir that inevitably overshadowed their appearance, their planning, their tools of destruction... however he feels this is merely foreshadowing to what has yet to come.

A somber atmosphere instills within his space, a graceful silence beside the ringing collection of bottle neck whiskies and foreign liqueur lining the cabinet walls. Once again this happens. He cannot describe the tether this thread splinters each time it crosses–is it considered cheating or ignoring his position when a pro-hero saunters into his mist with the craving of bourbon to seethe the throat of daily troubles. Worries he digressions upon–that align to the hero academies and foreseeable threats that would be alarming for children. Information said professional shouldn’t be spewing along his bar counter top half-nursing another glass of alcohol--he laughs behind the facade. Hazy hands busy with turning and drying a washed crystal-ware watching and listening; eyes ablaze their netherworld glower. His comment remains partly neutral in reply to another inquiry from across the bar.

   ‘ You want answers I’m afraid I cannot give. ’ a firm response although he humors it. ‘ I’m sure in another situation we’d find this humorous. ’ this exchange treading a fragile line as it stands--if not provoked to action let it be. He shifts to deliver another and final glass to the stack of clatter.

Ambled to taking a seat along the open stools--this place appears homey and open to the public than his own establishment of a lone corner of abysmal tastes; smaller the better he settled on. Having a place too known wouldn’t be advised for his own ambitions---nor his leaders’.