Heiichiro Gion, a small-town youth falsely accused and convicted of assault, finds himself ostracized by both his peers and society at large. Forced by his parents to flee to Tokyo under social pressure, he attends Shujin Academy—the only place willing to accept him—only to be caught in affairs beyond his mere mortal ken. Now a member of the Phantom Thieves known as Les Habits Noirs, he, along with his compatriots, and their greater network of confidants, work to change the corrupt hearts that plague society; risking life and limb in the process. All this, while he struggles yet to juggle his studies, health, and the connections he's forged over his short time in the city. One can only wonder how long it will last.
Radiating a dark aura of beauty manifestation and fashion that would trek before those that crossed her path. Traveling her way through territory unknown; strides of power seduction; heel-clicking in tune, merely echoing in the dimly lit rays of this realm. This place...appeared to be locked in a state of eternal sleep and darkness. Outdoors of the world, in the moonbeam glow.
She merely so casually spoke into the air; such trails didn't entirely intimidate her, but she was curious of such characters that lurked beyond these passages. Advancing in her lone wander through the steep darkness. Like a moth to a flame; a fragrance of butterflies trails mixed with each powerful step and flavorful fruity scents like lollipops that would attract, naturally, someone other than herself would make themselves known.
Those little designer flies fluttering with each step. Perhaps something or someone would pique her interest here. Here, amid her butterfly trails.
And we are all certain that ghosts are the hardest to please.
Aged lines snake around an old forehead, Sojiro’s spirits eagerly awaiting his pick-me-up in the form of a warm pour after this dizzy day of errands. Judging by the look on Heiichiro’s face, the sordid devil was lurking somewhere in the details he was clearly avoiding. Homework, perhaps? Maybe his little antics on valentine’s day still has left someone sore around the smile. Who knows this this kid. . .
“Smells pretty good, you know.”
Regardless of what brings them to this ritual, the youngster was very patient with his work. Treated it like an honest craft. The careful pour and steady hand showed a delicate meditation in these lazy hours of the day. When it was just the two of them, a certain quiet was guaranteed. In a way, they both probably needed it. A moment of tranquility in a world full of guilty hearts.
Knuckles loop through the tiny ceramic cup and lift the coffee to his nose, his nostrils drawing a deep inhale before taking a long sip. Naturally, he is withholding comment as he squishes and rolls the liquid on his tongue for what feels like eternity.