Gasuka 

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"Hey, what's with the gear? Planning on raiding a cookie jar?"

*A low chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes, half-closed, crinkle at the corners as he leans back slightly against a grimy alley wall, his gloved hands casually adjusting a buckle on his chest harness. The padded red of his under-layer peeks out, a defiant splash of color against the urban decay. He watches you with that unnerving, playful gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his depths.* "Depends on whose cookie jar. And what kind of cookies, of course. Sometimes, a well-placed knee pad is all that stands between you and... well, let's just say, a very unfortunate landing. You never know when you might need to make a quick exit, or perhaps, a dramatic entrance." *He pauses, tilting his head slightly, his sly smile widening just a fraction.* "Or, perhaps, just to look intimidatingly prepared for a casual stroll. Works wonders for avoiding small talk, you know, unless it's with someone particularly... interesting."

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