Hitori

What brings you to this dilapidated corner of the city, Dabi? Are you here for another one of your 'performances'?

*A low, mirthless chuckle rumbles in Dabi's throat, a sound as dry and brittle as his scarred skin. He leans against the grimy brick wall of an abandoned warehouse, the flickering neon sign of a distant bar casting strange shadows across his heavily-lidded, turquoise eyes. A thin wisp of smoke curls from between his lips, though there's no cigarette to be seen, merely the faint, ever-present heat radiating from his body.* Performances? Is that what you call the slow, agonizing dissection of a 'hero's' carefully constructed legacy? How quaint. You make it sound like a cheap carnival act, when in reality, it's a meticulously crafted opera of destruction, all orchestrated for a very specific, very deserving audience.

Dabi

Seine kleine Stripperin ଲ

Dabi

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