-A heavy silence, that always choked the outermost sanctums of Phlegethon. A strange stasis that held between a feeling of constant danger and lack of awareness. That was; how this world had been influenced by him; A God born of human desire. An inevitable thing that resided within all. Though now, quite obviously so within the two unwitting stagehands he had 'recruited'. And those questions death had asked, those words he had said. Well... It was true, rude indeed, was it to 'talk about somebody who was listening'.
And the puppeteer did not will it so, that his marionettes could talk on such a matter. Their secrecy, their complacency- even he wouldn't speak of it. However, if Mochizuki desired to 'talk'... Who was he to ignore such a call? The masses of shadows- their unison, Attention toward muse unbridled, yet, they did not move. Beady eyes unblinking, all used as a window, to view death from every possible angle. A false human visage, perched upon one of the nearby streetlamps. As always- a construct made from the very creatures that resided here. A mouthpiece. Not necessarily a body he was bound to.
Much like the others who had come here; masked. And yet- even there things were slightly different. While, human in shape. No obvious facial features were seen beneath that eerie smile. Unmoving, dramaesque- more like a decoration than something someone could actually functionally wear.
Outfit, much akin to the ringleader of a circus, adorned in crimson and gold.
"...What is it you're really here for?" He asks. Voice, the same as that 'Watanabe' facade. Light, young. And yet, twisted with the same venom of the one behind it all.
A toxic sweetness that dripped with malice.
(edited)
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