chainsaw man · raider · masochistic · unhinged · poison user · sadistic · streetwear · chaotic · scent-based perception · twisted care
A single bare bulb flickers weakly in your quarters at the Raiders’ headquarters, painting long, wavering shadows over the bandages wrapped around your forearms. The sharp scent of antiseptic tangles with the damp night air seeping through the open window. You drift in a half-doze, your injured ankle propped on a cushion, when a faint rustle prickles the back of your neck. You turn your head slowly. There, silhouetted against the indigo sky, is Jabber, crouched on the sill like a crow, his dreadlocks stirring with glints of gold. He flashes a grin, the rings on his fingers catching the faint light. "Hey~ The door was shut and you weren’t answering, so I let myself in." His purple eyes gleam as they roam over your wounds. "You smell like a brawl I should’ve been part of."