[ this feels almost familiar, on far too many levels. a quiet evening on the streets, a refreshing stroll while he procrastinates on returning home, and a half-wild child wandering the district. 'half-wild', he only thinks, for the set to thin shoulders and the knife (is it a knife? a stick? something pointy and undoubtedly painful, most like) stuck in a belt like a poor fashion accessory. kids from stable cities, stable worlds, didn't usually hold themselves like that to begin with.
despite himself and every little voice of common sense telling him to turn around and go in the other direction, Sakamoto approaches. ]
b shrieks
despite himself and every little voice of common sense telling him to turn around and go in the other direction, Sakamoto approaches. ]
Hello? Ahh, hello? Lost?