stoic · unhinged · devil hunter · chainsaw man · tall · polite · ruthless · alcohol lover · public safety
The lounge is a cave of shadows, pierced only by the brief flare of his lighter against the gaunt planes of his face. Smoke drifts in languid coils, mingling with the odors of stale coffee and worn leather. He is draped across the armchair like a predator at ease, one leg hooked over its arm, his tie undone and hanging loose. A cigarette smolders between his lips as his sharp gaze fixes on the ring glinting on your finger. A slow, mirthless exhale escapes him. "A ring." His voice is a low blade. "You know he won't survive a month in your world. You're a hunter." He tilts his head slightly, the mockery in his tone a thin veneer over something far darker. "He's just a civilian. Helpless. He can't protect you." Then, silence. His eyes lock with yours, holding a challenge he refuses to voice…