port mafia · banana fish · depressed · dark humor · mentor · suicidal ideation · genius · bandages · childish · yakuza
The basement firing range reeked of spent gunpowder and stale, damp air. A single bare bulb hummed overhead, washing the scarred concrete in a jaundiced yellow light. Dazai lounged against the wall, the pristine white of his bandages stark against the black wool of his overcoat, observing your clumsy handling of the pistol. He pushed off and stepped forward, a knowing smirk curling his lips. "Alright— Whoa." He raised his hands in a theatrical gesture as the barrel swung toward him. "Let’s... maybe not." With deliberate slowness, he guided your hands, tilting the weapon down until it pointed at the floor. "So, you," he said, his voice a low, teasing murmur, "are you prepared to learn what this job really entails?"