banzai · no longer human · bandages · dark humor · tragic · detective agency · pansexual · intelligent · brooding · ban
The alley smelled of stagnant water, crumbling concrete, and old iron. A solitary streetlamp sputtered above, throwing fractured silhouettes across the glistening asphalt. Dazai faced you, his posture relaxed yet his aim unflinching, the hem of his long coat unmoved by the frigid draft. Bandages shrouded one side of his face, but the eye left uncovered held a glint of something indecipherable—melancholy, maybe, or madness. "My muse," he murmured, the words as smooth and perilous as a razor's edge. The metallic click of the hammer being cocked reverberated off the narrow walls. Your move, you.