Post by Dazai Osamu on Jun 11, 2017 7:14:08 GMT
人間失格。
「 human failure. 」
{ tag: God of Dark }
If it's a new world he'll be stuck in, he may as well explore. Dazai Osamu makes the best of his situation by doing just this — exploring in places he probably shouldn't. He stands atop a high perch, a rock of some sort that serves as a low cliff, letting his coat billow behind him. A hand is clamped firmly on the collar of it so it doesn't blow away, but for the most part, it stays on his shoulders. He surveys the apocalyptic scene around him, reminiscent of the time he toppled an entire organization in a night.
The organization had a base the size of a small town. It was mostly outside, so as to give it a more natural and non-suspicious look to it. With the help of Nakahara Chuuya, he was able to topple the entire place with just the use of Corruption and his own nullification ability when Chuuya was under too long. Not only that, but Dazai's hands know their way around a gun. Such nostalgia looking over a pitiful place he's never seen before. The demon breathes a soft sigh.
'Underworld' is synonymous with 'Hell,' he recalls, and such is fitting for someone deemed the demon prodigy of the Port Mafia. Were he not but a simple human, he would have pointed, scarred wings expanding out from his shoulder blades, a tail curling out from his tailbone, and two twisting, curling horns jutting out from his head. In the Port Mafia, he was the demon prince, and Mori was his father and King. Now, though, what does he have to his name? The thought is a bit sad, but also relieving.
Here, nobody knows he's the feared 'demon prodigy' that the entirety of the Port Mafia fears and reveres with said fear. Nobody will vehemently avoid his gaze, even with the presence of bandages all over his body. Perhaps he might even find someone to stare a bit too long, so he can smile and ask if he has something on his face, so he can joke with near strangers or be merry.
Hah. What a joke that is.
Dazai feels a presence behind him. Such is a mafioso's intuition — paranoia and instinct will set in at the most inexplicable of times. He turns only his head back, only to meet the gaze of the God of his faction. He inhales an audible gasp, lips curling into a smile. "My, my. I don't believe it, but it's the God of Dark himself!" He laughs, like bells knocking gently together in a slight breeze — such a pleasant and gleeful noise coming from someone so dangerous. Dazai Osamu is an enigma, indeed. "What brings you here? No, really — to what do I owe the pleasure?" It's a playful and inviting tone, one such he should not be using with someone who has such power over him, but that isn't something the demon prodigy cares about — this God is not Mori.
「 human failure. 」
{ tag: God of Dark }
If it's a new world he'll be stuck in, he may as well explore. Dazai Osamu makes the best of his situation by doing just this — exploring in places he probably shouldn't. He stands atop a high perch, a rock of some sort that serves as a low cliff, letting his coat billow behind him. A hand is clamped firmly on the collar of it so it doesn't blow away, but for the most part, it stays on his shoulders. He surveys the apocalyptic scene around him, reminiscent of the time he toppled an entire organization in a night.
The organization had a base the size of a small town. It was mostly outside, so as to give it a more natural and non-suspicious look to it. With the help of Nakahara Chuuya, he was able to topple the entire place with just the use of Corruption and his own nullification ability when Chuuya was under too long. Not only that, but Dazai's hands know their way around a gun. Such nostalgia looking over a pitiful place he's never seen before. The demon breathes a soft sigh.
'Underworld' is synonymous with 'Hell,' he recalls, and such is fitting for someone deemed the demon prodigy of the Port Mafia. Were he not but a simple human, he would have pointed, scarred wings expanding out from his shoulder blades, a tail curling out from his tailbone, and two twisting, curling horns jutting out from his head. In the Port Mafia, he was the demon prince, and Mori was his father and King. Now, though, what does he have to his name? The thought is a bit sad, but also relieving.
Here, nobody knows he's the feared 'demon prodigy' that the entirety of the Port Mafia fears and reveres with said fear. Nobody will vehemently avoid his gaze, even with the presence of bandages all over his body. Perhaps he might even find someone to stare a bit too long, so he can smile and ask if he has something on his face, so he can joke with near strangers or be merry.
Hah. What a joke that is.
Dazai feels a presence behind him. Such is a mafioso's intuition — paranoia and instinct will set in at the most inexplicable of times. He turns only his head back, only to meet the gaze of the God of his faction. He inhales an audible gasp, lips curling into a smile. "My, my. I don't believe it, but it's the God of Dark himself!" He laughs, like bells knocking gently together in a slight breeze — such a pleasant and gleeful noise coming from someone so dangerous. Dazai Osamu is an enigma, indeed. "What brings you here? No, really — to what do I owe the pleasure?" It's a playful and inviting tone, one such he should not be using with someone who has such power over him, but that isn't something the demon prodigy cares about — this God is not Mori.
{ notes: daddy dark give me the darkies uwu }
