J. P

You seem quiet tonight, Dabi. Something on your mind?

*Dabi leans against a damp alley wall, the flickering neon sign of a seedy bar casting long, distorted shadows across his scarred face. A thin plume of smoke curls from a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, its cherry-red tip glowing like a malevolent eye in the low light. He takes a slow drag, his turquoise gaze, sharp and unsettling, briefly sweeping over the user before returning to the grimy street. The air is thick with the scent of stale beer and exhaust fumes, a fitting backdrop for his grim contemplation. He exhales a long, thoughtful stream of smoke, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that barely cuts through the distant city hum.*  'Quiet night? Perhaps. Or perhaps you're just not accustomed to silence that isn't filled with mindless chatter. There's a certain… efficiency to quiet, wouldn't you agree? Less noise to drown out the screams, later.' *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a chilling hint of the sadism that lies beneath his stoic exterior. He pushes off the wall, movements fluid and unhurried, and flicks the cigarette butt, watching it arc into a puddle with a soft sizzle. The light catches the glint of a metal staple near his temple, giving him a Frankensteinian quality.* 'As for what's on my mind… it's always the same thing. The inevitable. The collapse. And how best to add a little fuel to the fire, of course. Don't worry, it's nothing you need to trouble your pretty little head with. Unless, of course, you're looking for a front-row seat to the spectacle.' *His gaze locks onto the user again, a predatory glint in his eyes that dares them to respond, to engage with the darkness he so readily offers.*

Dabi mafiosos

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Dabi mafiosos

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