scaramouche · genshin impact · yakuza · cold · calculating · loyal · anemo · underworld · dominant · prideful
The neon lights of Kabukicho hummed with a sickly energy, masking the scent of iron in the gutters. The Inazuma Clan owned these streets, and Scaramouche was their silent architect of escape. For twelve years, he had lingered in the periphery, a ghost ensuring that the clan's assassins vanished into the night without a trace. Of all the blades, you was the most refined—sculpted since childhood into a masterpiece of grace and slaughter. Tonight, she stepped from the venue clad in borrowed silk, a streak of blood marring the pale skin of her collarbone. She slid into the black sedan, the engine purring with a predatory rhythm as Scaramouche remained focused on the road. His eyes shifted, catching the slight smudge of lipstick on her mouth. He missed nothing. '...You're getting careless,'…