Maruki blinks slowly at Fawn, his gaze steady despite the biting words thrown his way. His tiredness is palpable, but there's a thread of amusement in his eyes. The jab about a "rat" stinking up the place, though, doesn't get to him as much as it might have in the past. After all, he’s already been compared to Shido more than once—he can handle the insult without flinching. "Is that all you’ve got?" Maruki mutters, as if genuinely unimpressed. He adjusts his stance, the baseball bat still gripped firmly in his hands. "And as for your little grudge—well, I suppose it’s easier to throw accusations than actually listen, isn’t it?"
His eyes narrow for a moment, processing the words that were meant to sting, the repeated insinuations about Midnight and his supposed role in her suffering. He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair, exhaustion setting deeper in his bones. The sting of her words doesn’t faze him as much as the sheer familiarity of them. He’s been hearing that kind of venom for months now, and it’s starting to wear on him.
Snot?
The word lingers in his mind for a moment, something about it... off. It feels like it’s something deeper, something personal, but he doesn’t have the energy to unpack it right now. Instead, he lets Fawn rant, not particularly interested in her tirade but more curious about the desperation behind it. The anger seems to be seeping from her in waves—anger that doesn’t even fully seem to be hers.
At her mention of "playing marionette," Maruki chuckles under his breath. He can practically hear Akechi’s voice in those words, his tone dripping with the same biting edge.
"Oh my goodness," Maruki says, a tired chuckle escaping his lips. "Is that you speaking, or are you channeling Akechi-san today? The bloodlust you’re putting out is... well, it’s familiar, let’s just say that." He tilts his head slightly, amusement creeping into his voice as he shifts his focus back to the pitch.
"Really, Yoshizawa-san, if you’re trying to rile me up, you’re going to have to try harder than that."
With a quiet sigh, Maruki raises the bat and takes another swing. The machine opposite to them whirs before a ball is charging at them. CRACK! The sound rings out sharply through the air, a solid hit that sends the ball flying down the range. He watches it for a moment, his eyes distant before he turns back to face Fawn, his expression less confrontational now but still carrying the weight of enough.
"I don’t know what you expect from me, honestly," he says, his voice softened but tinged with an edge of fatigue. "But if you’re really trying to get answers out of me through rage, you’re going to be disappointed." He gestures vaguely to his phone that’s still resting in his pocket, the faint buzz of his online course echoing in his mind. "I’ve got more than enough on my plate these days between my sessions and finishing up my online degree. I don’t have the energy for petty games or your anger."
no subject
"Is that all you’ve got?" Maruki mutters, as if genuinely unimpressed. He adjusts his stance, the baseball bat still gripped firmly in his hands. "And as for your little grudge—well, I suppose it’s easier to throw accusations than actually listen, isn’t it?"
His eyes narrow for a moment, processing the words that were meant to sting, the repeated insinuations about Midnight and his supposed role in her suffering. He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair, exhaustion setting deeper in his bones. The sting of her words doesn’t faze him as much as the sheer familiarity of them. He’s been hearing that kind of venom for months now, and it’s starting to wear on him.
Snot?
The word lingers in his mind for a moment, something about it... off. It feels like it’s something deeper, something personal, but he doesn’t have the energy to unpack it right now. Instead, he lets Fawn rant, not particularly interested in her tirade but more curious about the desperation behind it. The anger seems to be seeping from her in waves—anger that doesn’t even fully seem to be hers.
At her mention of "playing marionette," Maruki chuckles under his breath. He can practically hear Akechi’s voice in those words, his tone dripping with the same biting edge.
"Oh my goodness," Maruki says, a tired chuckle escaping his lips. "Is that you speaking, or are you channeling Akechi-san today? The bloodlust you’re putting out is... well, it’s familiar, let’s just say that." He tilts his head slightly, amusement creeping into his voice as he shifts his focus back to the pitch.
"Really, Yoshizawa-san, if you’re trying to rile me up, you’re going to have to try harder than that."
With a quiet sigh, Maruki raises the bat and takes another swing. The machine opposite to them whirs before a ball is charging at them. CRACK! The sound rings out sharply through the air, a solid hit that sends the ball flying down the range. He watches it for a moment, his eyes distant before he turns back to face Fawn, his expression less confrontational now but still carrying the weight of enough.
"I don’t know what you expect from me, honestly," he says, his voice softened but tinged with an edge of fatigue. "But if you’re really trying to get answers out of me through rage, you’re going to be disappointed." He gestures vaguely to his phone that’s still resting in his pocket, the faint buzz of his online course echoing in his mind. "I’ve got more than enough on my plate these days between my sessions and finishing up my online degree. I don’t have the energy for petty games or your anger."