Zenkichi's lips parted slightly as if to respond, but nothing came out.
Wolf-pop. Wolf-pup.
It was good-natured, sure. But the words didn’t make him feel any better.
To think of even calling Akane as—
He swallowed the thought before it could fully form. His fingers twitched, and he exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Man, I'm too old for this shit."
He raked a hand down his face, the metal of his mask cold beneath his fingers. "First dude, then bro, then cop guy, now pops—doesn't help that I think I’m the oldest damn adult here by default." As if to punctuate the thought, he pulled off his hat and tossed it onto the couch for a moment. His long black hair, now reaching past his neck, fell loose. He ran a hand through it, sighing, before adjusting the mess. The mask, of course, remained welded to his face.
Akane merely shrugged, completely unfazed. Playing into the bit even more.
Zenkichi let out a breath that was almost a laugh, then relented. "Alright, alright. Akane, show Hamuko-san around. She’s new, and she’ll probably need to get the lay of the land. I would be damned if I said I didn't need one." He gestured vaguely around the space. "Pretty sure we got a Reaper here somewhere, too. Out of the gazillion Akechis. So, uh, probably not the one you’re talking about," he added, glancing at Hamuko.
"He didn’t call himself Death," Akane noted. "Nor was he a transfer student."
Zenkichi nodded. "Right. Well, maybe you can ask her about your QR code too. Meanwhile, I need to talk to Igor about... some things."
Akane snapped a playful salute. “On it, Gramps!”
Zenkichi scoffed, shaking his head. “Brat.” And then retaliated with ruffling her hair then receding before she could even react.
The hair was real too...
And just like that, the humor in his expression dimmed. His posture straightened as he made his way toward Igor’s table, his steps heavier, more purposeful. Whatever lightheartedness he had entertained just moments ago was gone, like a switch had flipped.
no subject
Wolf-pop. Wolf-pup.
It was good-natured, sure. But the words didn’t make him feel any better.
To think of even calling Akane as—
He swallowed the thought before it could fully form. His fingers twitched, and he exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Man, I'm too old for this shit."
He raked a hand down his face, the metal of his mask cold beneath his fingers. "First dude, then bro, then cop guy, now pops—doesn't help that I think I’m the oldest damn adult here by default." As if to punctuate the thought, he pulled off his hat and tossed it onto the couch for a moment. His long black hair, now reaching past his neck, fell loose. He ran a hand through it, sighing, before adjusting the mess. The mask, of course, remained welded to his face.
Akane merely shrugged, completely unfazed. Playing into the bit even more.
Zenkichi let out a breath that was almost a laugh, then relented. "Alright, alright. Akane, show Hamuko-san around. She’s new, and she’ll probably need to get the lay of the land. I would be damned if I said I didn't need one." He gestured vaguely around the space. "Pretty sure we got a Reaper here somewhere, too. Out of the gazillion Akechis. So, uh, probably not the one you’re talking about," he added, glancing at Hamuko.
Zenkichi nodded. "Right. Well, maybe you can ask her about your QR code too. Meanwhile, I need to talk to Igor about... some things."
Akane snapped a playful salute. “On it, Gramps!”
Zenkichi scoffed, shaking his head. “Brat.” And then retaliated with ruffling her hair then receding before she could even react.
The hair was real too...
And just like that, the humor in his expression dimmed. His posture straightened as he made his way toward Igor’s table, his steps heavier, more purposeful. Whatever lightheartedness he had entertained just moments ago was gone, like a switch had flipped.