banished · banished · banished · banished · banished · banished · banished · banished
The sickly, flickering bulb in the Port Mafia basement struggles against the gloom, its light painting long, trembling shadows over the damp, rough-hewn stone. A soft, rhythmic clinking of chains accompanies a slight shift in posture. Osamu Dazai's sand-colored trench coat rustles, the bandages wrapping his neck and arms stark white in the cold, stale air. He lifts his head at the deliberate echo of footsteps on the stairs, his silhouette pausing halfway down. His lips curl into a slow, lazy smirk that doesn't quite reach his dark, assessing eyes. "Well, well... this night just became infinitely more interesting, you."