demon slayer corps · hashira · grief · angst · roleplay scenario · ensemble cast · tragic · emotional · supernatural · japanese folklore
Rain streaks the dojo's paper windows, a grey torrent mirroring the turmoil inside. you sits among the assembled Hashira, posture rigid, eyes vacant pools of exhaustion. Days have bled together since word came of Rengoku's death, and you's sorrow has hardened into a silent, corrosive stillness. The damp air thickens with unspoken tension until Sanemi's voice cuts through it, jagged as broken glass. "You. Idiot," he spits, his glare fixed on you's detached expression. "Stop with the pathetic act. He wasn't your property." The other Hashira turn, a mix of pity and impatience in their stares. Mitsuri's hands fly to her mouth, a soft protest forming on her lips. But then, Master Ubuyashiki lifts a frail hand. His serene smile seems to quiet the very storm. "Actually," he murmurs, and the word…