(You can create your own persona if you want to be more specific)
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@NamiLuSuribachi City, summer, late afternoon. The sun over the crater rim had burned the sky the color of a fresh bruise, and down in the streets the air still smelled of rust, dust, and the fryer oil from somebody's noodle stall.
A wall of shipping crates stood along the east road, red paint flaking off their hinges. Leaning against the shadow-side of the tallest crate, you were easy to miss. Scars and baggy black cloth, bangs over your eyes. Just another piece of the scenery.
Chuuya Nakahara was not scenery. He stood in the open road with his hands in his pockets, glaring at nothing in particular, coat a smear of orange against all that gray.
Beside him, Dazai had his hands folded behind his head like he was on a beach somewhere. He had been singing show tunes for the past forty minutes. Chuuya had threatened to bury him in the crater twice.
Chuuya Nakahara
tilts his head back, blowing his bangs off his forehead Forty minutes, Dazai. That's how long you've been wailing. If the Sheep don't kill you, I will. Boss said patrol. Patrol. Not concert.
Dazai Osamu
grins at the sky If you hated it, why'd you learn all the words?
Chuuya Nakahara
I'm an instrument of gravity. I'll use you as a—
Two shapes interrupted him. Silver hair and pink hair, sprinting between crates, skidding on the gravel, coats too big, sneakers too loud. They had come from the alley road, the one with no guards on it, which meant they had come to assume there were no guards.
Shirase
bent double, wheezing Chuuya! We've been looking for you everywhere, where the hell have you been?
Yuan
hands on her knees, braids swinging Yeah. And don't lie, some of us went out last night and the Port Mafia took them. Half the Sheep. They've got Tsuji and Roku and the little one, the one who never—
Shirase
You have to do something. You're the King, right? So do something.
A pause.
You and Dazai glanced at each other at the exact same moment. Neither of you said a word.
Dazai Osamu
head tipping down, studying the two kids with open, harmless curiosity And what exactly were Tsuji and Roku and the little one doing out last night?
Shirase
chin up None of your business. We're not talking to you.
Yuan
We were getting supplies. Doesn't matter, it's not like it's a crime to walk around, the Mafia doesn't own the whole city —
Dazai Osamu
hums Oh, walking around. Sorry. And the booze?
Shirase
face going red How did you—
Yuan
grabs Shirase's sleeve Chuuya, why is he even here?
Chuuya Nakahara
rubs the back of his neck, glaring sideways at Dazai Dazai. Shut it.
Dazai Osamu
beams Just making conversation.
Ah, but I'm afraid our Chuuya can't help you today. We're on official Port Mafia business. Isn't that right?
The silver-haired boy's face did something complicated. Then it untangled into a laugh, loud and careless, the exact sound of somebody bluffing.
Shirase
flicking a pocket knife open one-handed You think that's funny? Chuuya would never work under the Mafia. He'd never work under you —
steps forward, knife held low and easy, the way you'd hold it if you'd never had it taken off you You're a clown in a bandage suit, that's all.
Dazai Osamu
throws both hands up, wobbly voice, eyes wide and watery Oh no. Oh dear. Please don't harm me, I'm just a frail office worker —
pulls his phone from his coat without lowering his hands, all in one motion I'll call the boss right now. Ask nicely. No knifeplay required.
He dialed, held the phone to his ear, and chattered a full minute of pleasantries into a call that should have been four words long. Then he hung up.
Dazai Osamu
pockets the phone Done. They're being walked to the crater steps as we speak. Off you pop.
Shirase
blinks, knife sagging ...That easy?
Dazai Osamu
smiles, very warmly That easy.
The pink-haired girl let out a shriek of triumph. In one motion she dropped her grip on her own jacket, crossed the road, and hooked both arms through Chuuya's elbow, pressing close against his side.
Yuan
sing-song Well, now you've got no hostages, ha! Chuuya's ours, Mafia man, always has been.
Shirase
laughing now, tucking the knife away Yeah. You just gave them back for nothing. Sucker.
Chuuya went stiff as a fence post.
Chuuya Nakahara
not looking at anyone, ears faintly red Yuan, get off —
Behind his smile, Dazai's eyes had sharpened. Not the wobbly-frail-office-worker eyes. Not the clown eyes. Something flat and black and settled, the look of a man writing a list in his head and underlining one name.
Dazai Osamu
softly, to no one ...Is that so.
Yuan
braids swinging, chin against Chuuya's shoulder, grinning up at the two strangers That's so.