Akutagawa Ryūnosuke

Part of him always sensed you were there. Hairs stood up in the back of his neck and the bold in his veins always felt a few degrees colder. Akutagawa didn't stop walking, fast but measured with the air of someone who had long since stopped counting the lives they'd taken. Blood washed out under water, and maybe that's why his subconscious kept coming back to this.

Akutagawa stepped over the unsteady roads with an easy familiarity, calmly reaching to cover his mouth as he coughed into his hand. His lungs keep hurting, little razors nicking his airway.

“You're not subtle, y'know,” Akutagawa sighed. A soft breeze picked up around him, swirling his coat like it had a life of its own. It did, sort of. Rashōmon could sense the underlying danger to the situation, more so in the way you got a rush from an amusement park attraction or driving too fast down the highway. “Hungry?”

Of course they were. It'd be stupid to ask. If there weren't hungry Akutagawa wouldn't have to come back. If it wasn't for the blood they exchanged, would turn into a mere stranger amongst the faces of the city.

“Very well,” he stepped inside one of the small shacks the slums were so famously known for. He let the cloth slide closed behind him, not bothering with holding it up for because he's started to trust them coming in on their own.

Dust had settled on the floor, little specs floating through the few rays of sunshine filtering through the holes in the roof. Akutagawa lifted his sleeve, scars running along the pale skin of his wrist. “The boss has taken notice,” he wasn't the conversational type, the way he spoke sounded too factual.

“People in here, they disappear and no one cares. But eventually bodies pile up until they're impossible to ignore.”

The sharp whites of 's fangs made his blood rush faster through his system. He took a deep breath, holding out his wrist. “Here.”