[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=black; border: none; width: 450px; height: 40px;][fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border: none;font-family: georgia;text-align: justify;color: #DFDCE0;width: 400px; height: 20px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: -1.6px; margin-top: 1px; margin-left: -5px; font-size: 20px; padding: 11px; text-shadow: 0 0 5px #620404]RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA BASKERVILLE[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border: none; width: 425px; height: 90px; text-align: right; margin-top: -22px]羅生門[/fancypost][/fancypost][/fancypost][align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#DFDCE0; border: none; width: 450px; min-height: 130px; overflow: auto; margin-top: -1px; text-align: justify; color: white; font-size: 9pt; font-family: arial; line-height: 12px; color:black;][fancypost bgcolor=; border: 3px solid #69606c; height: 100px; width: 80px; margin-top:5px; background: url(http://i.imgur.com/K28By1C.gif); background-position: right; background-size: 100%; float: left; margin-right: 9px; margin-bottom: 3.2px;][/fancypost]Oh yes, the messenger, as it seemed, had been quite intimidated by the cold aura he seemed to radiate, seemingly indicating that he preferred to be left alone. Though, while that was an accurate interpretation of his behaviour, he still expected the other mafiosos to speak to him when necessary, and he expected such to happen in a prompt and timely fashion. Others would accuse him of being a workaholic--however, he only viewed it as something along the lines of an almost religious sort of dedication. Productivity and the ability to simply carry out tasks well and effectively was highly valued here; they hadn't any space to spare for incompetents...such as the young male that he could clearly see quavering in his peripheral vision, shifting back and forth on his paws awkwardly while eyeing him in a cautious manner. At this, disdain--fresh as ever--began to well up within his chest, and this prompted the slight narrowing of his soulless gaze, followed closely by the curl of his lip in the beginnings of what appeared to be a snarl. [i]God, how many useless bums did this hotel house? This wasn't some homeless shelter or a charity--this was supposed to be the Port Mafia's damn headquarters. In his mind, the youth quietly began to entertain the notion of a purge--a purge of all the traitors and slackers that happened to be leeching off the organization now. After all, anyone who couldn't pull their own weight had no business here, and worthless individuals like them had no right to even draw breath. It was certainly a topic he intended on bringing up with his superior sometime in the near future, though whether that would be at this meeting or in private still remained yet to be seen.
Deciding to take the initiative (as he was never one to remain idle for too long; he regarded idleness as nothing less than a disease), the lithe, pitch-black male then approached the feline who'd been sent to fetch him but had yet to speak, his expression cold, and his voice containing a tone to match that of his icy, somewhat intimidating countenance, "...You were sent to inform me that there is now a meeting in session, correct?" The other, looking rather fearful, could do nothing more than nod mutely in response, and Akutagawa contemptuously noted how ridiculously hard the individual was trying not to shake like a leaf on an autumn breeze. Suppressing a bout of coughing by raising a paw to his maw, the male drew in a shallow breath, before responding, "Very well--now leave, and be aware that the next time you delay such important news will be your last. There is no room for incompetents here." His last statement seemed to be all that was needed to motivate the soldier, who then gave another stiff dip of his head before proceeding to turn sharply on their heel and walk away a tad too fast for them to properly disguise how nervous they'd been.
It didn't take long at all for the young caporegime to make it to his mentor's room, despite the poor condition of his health; rigorous training activities and the like kept him fit enough--or so he thought...others had often advised him to rest more, but there was no way in hell he (or anyone) else could afford to stop working, not when the place was such a mess, and with the issue of those Dancers lurking in their city's sewers. Honestly, had Dazai not spoken with him soon after their first encounter with the strange bunch, he might have opted to attempt to take them all on single-handedly. Demons and the like could not faze him--not him, or anyone else who'd been cursed to live in the Lower Depths, where every single agonizing day that passed had only served to reinforce the notion that life was far, far worse than enduring the flames of Hell, if such a place existed at all.
Now, he found himself standing in the doorframe, gazing upon the sight of the boss, Kouyou, Twelve, and Higuchi. With a terse nod of his head, the male then swept the hem of his dark cloak behind him, moving to stand beside Higuchi before offering an apology in his usual tone of distant formality, "I apologize for my tardiness. The messenger had somehow managed to find difficulty in carrying out such a simple task."
[/fancypost][align=center][size=7pt][color=white]lightsy loves you | edited by kohaku
[size=3pt][color=transparent] #akutagawaryuunosuke #rashomon #baskervillefamily DIALOGUE IN #000000
