( the young demon emits a sound somewhere lost between a grumble and a groan. in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal how much of a fright he looked right now. the loss of his humanity had granted him far fewer distinctions and abilities than he had hoped it would, but the one thing he can rely upon this body for was mending itself quickly. he can’t say he’s had the snot beaten out of him since he died and was made into a demon, but he knows enough from other dire exertions his body has been put through that it probably won’t take longer than a day or two for him to return to normalcy. that’s just one of the quirks of being what he is—that, and how he never has to cut his hair, because it never grows any longer than it is right now.

anyways, it’s just such a shame that obikawa couldn’t vent some of his anger and frustration on some of the rowdy patrons of the fighting ring left behind them, because, despite whatever embarrassment of the man feeling galvanized to act on his behalf, it would be a unique sort of turn-on… as it is, he allows himself to be directed toward the locker room, thinking he really didn’t want to see his current state in the mirror. )

I don’t know… I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that. ( his gaze sharpens to an even sharper point as the man continues; he leaves a dubious silence hanging between them before he answers, ) I’ve certainly never run into any yakuza.

( he really can’t tell if obikawa drops little comments like that as lies to smokescreen whatever might be actually true about himself, or if he’s just forgetting to make himself less interesting. neither seem particularly well-advised, in makoto’s opinion…

his swollen lip slowly maneuvers into a pout. he himself considers saying nothing at all in reply (the smart decision), but… well, he’s not always smart. ) It’s not like I can hurt just anyone to blow off some steam… This was the next best thing.