Posts by A. BASKERVILLE

sorry for my horribly late response but i would love for the both of your characters to interact with akuma!

@/irene arcanium , she is more than welcome to try and befriend this man, good luck to her though! we can arrange a small interaction thread for them, if you'd like? maybe it can just be akuma assisting irene in something like gathering herbs since he'll be joining the medicine division!

@/ashe , yup, he can try to befriend him! it'll take time though, as i've mentioned before. he's not the most trusting individual since it's been literal years since he's had someone to depend on for companionship. i'm not totally sure what they could do in a thread though - do you have any suggestions/possible plots? :0c

i want to get akuma involved in more plots, so i'm offering him up for a friendship with bellona! i was thinking it could be a long, bumpy road to a very close, very nice friendship, and this is what i had in mind uwu

akuma hates the ruins because he thinks they're the indirect cause of his son's death and pretty much wants nothing to do with them. however, as it stands, he will have to interact with them frequently since solaris kingdom and the sanguine ruins are somewhat close at the moment. bellona could come across akuma or vice versa for whatever reason and to akuma's dismay, bellona attempts to strike up a conversation with him!

akuma will reluctantly talk with her, though maybe she could probably pick up that there's something amiss about him / can probably tell that he doesn't like her for some reason despite having just met throughout their talk. akuma is super petty and even though most of the people who had been around his son when he was alive aren't really there anymore, he overall dislikes the ruins just by association. perhaps bellona could ask a seemingly innocent question ( i.e: something about his family/where he came from ) and he just sort of ,, goes off. not really, but he gets bitter and angry really fast and it could take bellona by surprise since he had been somewhat pleasant and polite before. they can leave off on a unstable note when akuma angrily excuses himself.

the next time they meet can definitely be plotted out, but this is what i have for a first interaction if you're down for a plot like this!

His calm demeanor in the face of all of this gore was perhaps something one should take note of. Whether the reasoning was out of admiration or a sinking suspicion, however, was something he was acutely aware of. After all, not many sane people could stare at such an horrific scene for long— no matter how 'desensitized' to violence they were. Something new would always take someone by surprise. He supposed that he was simply just that ancient. He's grown tired of seeing the same old thing— and mutilated corpses like these was something he'd grown tired of seeing too. However, one would argue that it was better to keep a level-head about a fearful situation rather than act with strong emotion. It simply wouldn't do anyone any good to act upon what your stuttering heart felt.

The trickster's eyes shifted towards Ashe as he stepped closer to the bodies and himself. He moved so that there was enough space between them because he never appreciated anyone coming into his personal space, whether it be on accident or not, and observed the younger tom with skepticism. Was he trying to put on a brave face? Perhaps, but his comment about giving the rotting bodies a burial made him quirk a brow. What use was there in burying bodies the Sanguine Ruins had tossed away themselves? Clearly, they were no more than the sand between their toes - so why waste the effort? The people of this new earth never ceased to amuse him with their silly notions of sentiment.

Instead of voicing his agreement, Akuma merely looked away and down at the disturbed corpses once more. Claes had joined them just before, though the blonde had ignored the vulpine's presence up until he spoke in his and Ashe's direction. The leader agreed that burying them was the best course of action and while the former Godfather would have disagreed had it fell in line with the personality he was masquerading as, he probably would have openly disagreed with them. However, that wasn't him was it? Brows pinching together on his forehead to form an slightly troubled expression, Akuma nodded his head. "That might be best," He responds to the King solemnly, "I'll help with moving them, Claes. I can probably lift a good few of these with my telekinesis." The heavier animals they would probably have to drag themselves. He wasn't looking forward to getting black blood smeared into his fur.

ahh, sounds good then! i think their later interactions will certainly be interesting. i'd love it if they could also meet outside of regular ol' private threads, like at clan events and such. i think it'd be cool to build up their relationship openly like that as well :0

and if you don't mind, could you make their thread?

Akuma had been somewhat distant with the clan he had found himself "returning" to. He hadn't meant to come back, but that truth wasn't as plain to see. He could disappear as he had previously, and it would be easier on him since there was not a soul in the clan that would miss him, but it wouldn't seem right. He was still picking up the pieces of his crumbling mentality. Nothing was right. Would it ever be alright? His thoughts often kept him up into the next day, depriving his mortal body of the sweet slumber that it craved. He had locked himself in his room for days on end, coming out when he needed to. No one ever discerned this, thank god, but Akuma would confess to himself that the shut-in he wanted to be wasn't what he was pretending as. Everyone would think something wasn't right. He didn't want that; he didn't ask for it.

He had to force himself to poke his head out in the morning when he had heard Claes' call. He was tempted to ignore it, tempted to retreat into the seclusion that he found was his only safe place. He has already gotten used to not having to having to host meetings in the wee hours of the morning, and it has only been a few weeks since his retirement in the Cartel. The former Godfather's nose wrinkled as he concluded that it would probably be necessary that he attended the meeting. The blonde servaline craned his neck from left to right until he felt a few satisfying pops before he began striding forward, assuming that personality. He flashes fake, cheery grins to NPCs who greeted him back with genuine politeness as he picked his way through the growing crowd.

Sulfuric eyes shifted to the Andean fox that sat perched above them all. He hated the feeling that it gave him. He had longed to be a leader for the longest time, and he'd let one little thing topple him over. Now he was at the bottom of the metaphorical food chain once again, forced to serve as he always has, remaining ever insignificant. Golden eyes simmered listlessly in the morning light as Claes spoke. The words of the Dawningcrown pass through his ears. He doesn't care who has joined them recently or what everyone else was doing. He doesn't care about the Exiles' and how one of them had taken corpses from the Sanguine Ruins' borders and ripped them apart on their land. He cares nothing about the tactic they were trying to pull and didn't care to find out either.

Akuma was more than capable by himself. He could tear apart anyone who tried to harm him, though you wouldn't catch him genuinely assisting someone should they be in danger or were in fear for their lives. They'd need to grow a backbone if they wanted to survive. He would scoff but this was no place to do it. Speaking of the Exiles, he found himself caring less and less about their general existence. They'd killed his son, ripped out the fangs of another one - and you'd expect for him to absolutely hate their guts if he cared for them. He did, but they must have deserved it one way or another. Both of them were adults and had to handle things themselves. Akuma couldn't have babied them forever; that's how the world got pushovers and cowards, after all.

A quiet hum left the Chain, pink tongue darting out to flicker over his muzzle as he waited for Claes to conclude the meeting.

Akuma had always considered himself a Jack-of-All-Trades. He had lived long enough to develop plenty of talents and could learn a new trade swiftly if it were something he hadn't come across before. However, one must remember that he wasn't new to the Solaris Kingdom. He had been present when the guilds had been around when Suga led and had joined a couple of them to pass the time and to make himself useful while he was at it. He had owed it to the one who had saved his life at the time. The Commune guild seemed to have been relatively unchanged. Its purpose remained the same, and Akuma had little problem rejoining the guild he had formerly been a part of in his past stay in the kingdom.

Akuma sat within the camp, out of the way yet still within the view of those who would pass by him. Scattered around him were various supplies: tough reeds and miscellaneous objects, dried foods, trinkets, accessories, and herbs he'd collected in his free-time. It was all very run-of-the-mill stuff for gift baskets, though a couple of things he had around him were sure to strike others as odd.

The blonde male was in the process of making the baskets to place the gifts in and hadn't thought of getting help from anyone else in his guild. It was something he had thought of doing on a whim. Sunflower golden narrowed slightly in concentration as he weaved the basket skillfully, humming a nameless tune. It was something he had picked up after years of being on his lonesome. He had found that children liked it when you made little specific things for them: it made them feel special. After all of the kids that he has had in the past, you'd think that he would have had plenty of time to perfect his craft, and you would be right. It wasn't long before he had finished the first basket of that early morning and had moved onto the next, twisting rough reeds between his claws once more.

Could I get the Trailblazer accolade on this account? <3

Being smiled at was the weirdest of things. It wasn't often that someone did so out of warmth or friendliness, so when Claes settled his gaze upon his, he was nothing less than surprised. The Chain dips his head slightly in response, the corner of his lips turning upwards into an reassuring smile, albeit it was the slightest bit lopsided since the he was very much tired at the moment. It was clear in that moment that the memories of the Exiles' attempt at "decorating" their territory had come to mind when they'd looked at each other. It was an rather unpleasant memory, though it hadn't bothered him much after the fact. It was clear that the Exiles' antics had troubled the young leader in a way that made him suspicious enough to believe that there was an hidden meaning behind their dumping of bodies. Akuma had thought so too, initially, but he was afraid that he was giving the canyon-dwellers far too much credit. All they ever lived to do was create chaos, but since when were they organized?

It wasn't long after that Claes resumed speaking once more, the blonde's ears shifted forward at the Dawningcrown's voice. There were some other events going on, such as his gift basket making among other things, and a new generation of Solarians had been birthed into this cruel world. A part of him felt envious. His own children had gone up in smoke— all of them despite all of what he has done for them. To be able to have little warm bodies snuggled up to you in these cooler nights was something he always quietly hoped for. Begrudgingly, he murmured a hearty congratulations in Merlot's direction, sweet smiles false and embittered.

There is a brief pause before rank changes and demotions and warnings and such. Akuma listened half-heartedly this time, his caution tape yellow gaze flickering elsewhere for the moment. However, his attention was brought back with the mentioning of his name ( alongside with a few others ) for a shoutout and promotion. Truthfully, the Chain hadn't expected it. A promotion for him? Akuma squinted slightly up at Claes, brows bunching together in a slight show of uncharacteristic confusion, however brief it was. He gets himself together a split second later, maw parting in a toothy grin. "I'll do my best, Claes! Thanks for trusting me." A perhaps odd sentence from the lively serval, but perhaps he truly means it somewhere. Whether or not this was a good thing or a bad thing was certainly up to debate.

It wasn't long before he was approached by his clanmates, and the Trailblazer's gaze only lifted slightly from the project at his paws to flicker up to the face that greeted him first. Recognition flashed across his sulfuric gaze momentarily, and then there is his trademark grin, ever lopsided, warmth oozing from his easy expression. His first interaction with the Ashe hadn't been the most pleasant, seeing as the situation itself had been anything but pleasant. But the young tom hadn't come by himself. On his heels was an even younger kitten, a serval much like himself, whose compliment caused the tawny male to pause briefly in his weaving. "Thanks."

He leans back now, sweeping his gaze across everything he has now hoarded around himself. There was much to be done but he hadn't even made a dent in his endeavor. "Nah, I don't really need it. But you can chip in if ya want." He responds to the two that offered their assistance. If Akuma put his mind to it, he could probably get all of this done by the time the sun set. He supposed, though, he'd just come off as a stubborn ass if he didn't accept any help that was offered.

The voice of Aether soon after he'd spoken had the blonde shifting his attention briefly onto the crimson-eyed shapeshifter. Brows shot up at his insinuating comment, a snort following soon afterward. "Hah, I don't have anyone like that." He returns with a smirk, "But sure, gather around, I'll teach y'all how to weave baskets. That's somethin' friends do, right?" Fuck all if he knew.

Akuma returns to weaving the basket he had in his paws, claws pushing the tough reeds through small loops before securing them and moving on. It was a swift process with those paws of his, turning the basket and intertwining the reeds with each other. "I started makin' these for our allies, whoever they are. Any of you got a clue what any of 'em would like as a present?"

Was he late? Nah, he wasn't late. It seemed like the party was just getting started. A yawn rolling off of his tongue, the Trailblazer quickly took a seat among the gathered masses, half-lidded gaze lifting up towards Claes. Another week has passed them by, huh? What has he been doing these past couple of days? Akuma squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force that tired look out of his eyes, only huffing as announcements began. He tried to cling onto the words the King said but it was all in vain, the hazy stare the tired man had unfocused and dull.

It seemed like the Exiles were at it again though. "Bastards." They'd attacked Ashe, but he had more or less seen that coming from a mile away and it was likely that everyone else had too after the stunt they'd pulled on their border a week back. Whether it had been a warning of what was to come or this was just an coincidence, he had no clue, but something had to be done if the Exiles thought themselves ballsy enough to go right on and attack the Kingdom individually.

( Eh, he honestly didn't care but he had to pretend to anyhow, huh? )

Akuma watches as other members of the Kingdom volunteered themselves to go with Claes to talk things out with the Exiles. He'd nearly scoffed. There was no talking anything out with the Exiles. The lot did whatever the hell they did and cared little for the people they hurt. He's seen enough of what they've done over the years of their pitiful existence to get to that conclusion and he feels that no matter what Claes did to try and remedy it, it would all just be in vain anyhow. Nobody had a change of heart like that.

He stays silent as others voices their concerns, his tired gaze remaining on Claes, anticipating what is to come next.

The news of Ashe's attack had led the Baskerville to believe that perhaps the clan was in need of a reminder to not be afraid to tear into someone if another person threatened their lives. Akuma himself had never been the type to allow someone to harm him and to get away with it - he usually never let anyone who threatened him escape without a scrape and something to remember him by ( or whole for that matter ) - and so he thought that the members of Solaris Kingdom could do fine with the same mentality. Of course, he knew that there would be people who would prefer to not take the life of another, but he'd wonder what they'd say when they'd get their throats torn out by their enemies?

Being a part of the Warfare Guild meant that he was somewhat responsible for everyone being in top shape and, in general, tasked to defend Solaris Kingdom from their enemies and to participate in retaliation, whatever form it may come in. It was likely that not a lot of people expected the laid-back serval to do much of anything but lay about and twiddle his thumbs and slack off, but he was a Trailblazer for a reason... he thinks. He honestly isn't sure what anyone saw in him, but he supposed he ought to pick up a shard or two of responsibility.

"Alright everyone, up n' at 'em!" His voice beckoned the attention of others in a shout, a easy grin slapped onto his face as he trotted right through camp. "If you're able to move around, I need ya to come 'ere. Or not. I don't really care, but it'll be on you later on if ya get hurt or somethin'." Akuma would eventually settle in a spacious area, certainly large enough for a group of people to tussle for practice. The blonde serval turned on his heel, holding his head high as his sunflower golden gaze glittered in the sun's light. "We're practicin' self-defense today."

There wasn't a single day in his life now that he wished he wasn't alive.

Living was tiring, and while one might argue to him that there was still so much for him to do and that there was a reason he was still breathing, he would likely respond that such optimism was utterly stupid and naive. He often wonders how people like that had the nerve to tell someone like him that there was still a reason for living when all he's ever done was take from other people? How could they look at him with such disgusting pity in their eyes and tell him that everything would be alright? He always felt bad for those kinds of people, who let their heart bleed for monsters like himself, who were probably better off dying than polluting the earth with his filth - filled existence.

He doesn't remember the last time he'd came so close to death; it seemed like ages ago when he'd been at the mercy of an HawkClanner. His boy had pissed off the wrong crowd, and he had to pay for the arrogance that ran through that child's veins. And although he held it to the boy for the longest time, he knew it wasn't exactly his fault. A part of him had wanted to be erased from existence just as the Rule had established the moment he'd been brought back to life after dying the first time as a simple, sad man.

He forgets what had happened that had brought him to this point. He shambles along, his head held low below his shoulders, and his breath coming unsteady and slow. All of the wounds that were opened up across his body bled gold, staining his blonde fur in its unique color. They hurt so much that he couldn't feel a thing. All he felt was a stinging coldness. At some point he slips, and his face meets the cold, cold ground. He just ...gives up. What was the point, anyways? He wondered, coming this far, just to die so pathetically? Eyes as brilliant as the sun, even while there was the lingering threat of them being extinguished, still burned hotly as he stared into the eerily familiar canyon.

This place again. With his shoddy luck, he figured he'd end up someplace he didn't want to be. If they knew what was good for them, they would know better than to bring the true essence of a monster into their lives. But they don't. They don't.

- feel free to have y/c discover him unconscious or whatever. they can capture him initially, then heal him and try to convert him to being one their own if they think he'd be of good use or try to make him serve y/c. it doesn't really matter to me; i just sort of want him to be kept in the exiles against his will, whether it be out of malice or out of concern for his well - being.

His dreams were ensnared in halos twisted and bent, pitch black and filled with gutter water. Could he really call them dreams as they plagued him like disease? He imagines he is kept in a place he would compare to the freezing abyss he used to lovingly call his home, but it radiates no love for him; he abhors it, the feeling it gives him, and he's breathless as he pulls himself up from the murky water with a hungry gasp.

Pain. It flourishes across his body as he jerks forward, spreading across his sides much like how fire would. His jaws clench as he turns, his still - vibrant gaze narrowed into a hellish glare that falls upon an NPC that sits just beyond his reach. "You," His voice comes raspy, like sandpaper against the back of his throat. It hurts to speak, but he makes his words form upon his tongue, barbed and tipped with venom, uttered slowly with the purpose to intimidate, make them wish they were dead. "Where the hell -" He's cut off abruptly by a cough, and a groan of pain quickly follows. The room starts to spin, and he's unable to sit up any longer without feeling like he was going to void his stomach. His ears flattening themselves against his cranium, he swallows thickly as he's forced to lay on his side, shivering, nauseous, hating the fact that he was like this.

He takes the time to attempt to get a look at himself, a slight growl building in the back of his throat as he realizes ...he's all bandaged up. His wounds were not festering with maggots, and his bruises had salves applied to them. Infuriating confusion joins the onslaught of emotions he currently feels and cannot pick apart, and so he hones in on it because it's the only thing that makes sense to him presently.

Why wasn't he dead?

He doesn't understand. He couldn't comprehend it ...why did the Exiles of all people think it was worth it to save him, especially when the harsher months have come and food and medicine was scarce? Why would a group take on someone that was just another mouth to feed, another person to waste their precious supplies on? Bafflement, once more, surrounds him as he ponders over the emotions and morals others held so close to their hearts, as if they weren't selfish people underneath their pleasant facades ...and by the Exiles nonetheless, the people who killed his son.

A voice swims through what silence he'd had to himself, a voice that sounded excited at the prospect that he'd managed to survive - it sounded like he hadn't expected him pull through. "I wish I wasn't." Comes his thought a second later as he cranes his neck to flicker his gaze up to Corrupttimelines through caution tape yellow eyes. Even while the lion gave him his space, Akuma shrunk backwards as much as he could, his mistrustful and guarded gaze remaining trained on the Exiler.

He blinks as he's inquired. "Were you the one who healed me?" He returns warily, his tail flicking uneasily behind himself. Everywhere felt sore and achy, and his thoughts incomprehensible and jumbled. Discombobulated. He takes a deep breath, his ears pressing themselves against his head. "I'm Akuma Baskerville." The last name Baskerville was ancient, he wasn't sure if anyone would recognize it even here. There were only so many of them left over from a time long past, the rest of his family gone. His children...

"I don't care. They left me."

"For a moment there it sounded like you thought I wasn't going to survive ...so why waste your medicine on me?" He'd question, "It seems kind of careless to use your medicine like that." The former Cartel leader would frown at the thought. Did they expect him to pay them back in full for dragging his sorry ass into their prison? He wanted to hear their reasoning, whatever it was.

A new voice and a new scent caused Akuma to stiffen slightly as he inwardly groaned. He couldn't help but feel thin pinpricks of irritation begin to stick him from underneath his skin, his claws curling into the material of his medical cot. Eyes of vibrant gold seemed to narrow on Ghoulian as he addressed him directly, finding discomfort and revulsion at some of his choice words. "Good to know." Is all the horned serval offered with a wary shifting of his weight, but the one thing the Saluki confirmed was that he was, indeed, in the Exiles. He feels dread, not because he was scared of these people, but because he now knew definitively that he was going to be stuck here. Alive.

The next to approach was a woman, a wolfdog who introduced herself as Twistedtongue. Her question is met with a dead look, and the slightest curl of the lip. "Does it look like I'm 'thankful' to be alive right now?" He returned a bit hotly. He couldn't help it, especially with the stench of the Hellraisers accompanying her as well. Ugh, he despised that group almost as much as the Exiles, if not thrice more because of Venus' and Lucantine's shenanigans that cost him so much. "I'd rather be dead." Akuma mutters this quietly, mostly to himself and under his breath. There was nothing left in Agrelos for him. Nothing that he wanted, anyways.

"So I'll be going now," He begins again as he rises unsteadily to his paws. His long legs were all bandaged up as well. They'd been cut and slashed into, their wounds deep and inhibiting. He feels a sting in them, but he refuses to show any pain that arose from his movement. He would push past Cory, Ghoulian, and Twistedtongue as best as an injured man such as himself could, hobbling forward, wobbly, unsteady, pain like fire shooting up from his right leg in particular. He assumes it must've been broken or something ( how had he not noticed it before? ). He feels absolutely terrible, and it finally shows as he crumbles onto his stomach, a big puff of air leaving him.

He hadn't even gotten far from the trio, and here he was... sprawled across the ground like a newborn deer. His gaze finds purchase on the sterile floor instead of the three Exilers, his jaws clenched as his body screamed at him for his stupidity, his pride trembling, and his cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and anger.

As much as he didn't want to think about it, he was virtually stuck here. Members of the Exiles wouldn't let him go far because of his injuries, forbidding him to even go beyond their courtyard walls. He argued that it was bullshit, and no matter how much he bared his fangs at them, all they told him was that it was better for him to limit how much he tottered around lest he wanted to re - open the wounds Ghoulian had worked so hard to close up. Like he cared. He hadn't wanted to be saved in the first place.

The blonde serval struggled to hobble through the prison, blazing golden eyes narrowing upon anyone who so much as looked at him or tried to approach him. He'd bite their damned paws off it they tried to touch him, and all of this was told in a smoldering hot glare painfully reminiscent of his son's. He figured it was better now than never when everyone was busy with " Christmas " to take some time for himself. He wanders until he manages to get outside of the prison doors and into the prison's courtyard, where it seemed quite a few people were lounging around. No one paid him much attention as he slipped down the short, cobblestone staircase and slunk into the nearby shadows.

By then his body was screaming at him to rest, his side and the broken leg he had in particular bothering him. He lowers himself onto his stomach, curling himself away from the general public, hoping that they'd leave him to his own devices ...even while he had left the infirmary unannounced. Someone was probably looking for him, much to his dismay. He'd enjoy what fresh air he could have by himself while he could. He laid his head upon his paws, blinking his eyes wearily, tiredness sweeping over him.

His thoughts raged on, but they all skidded to a stop when he noticed a familiar figure slithering towards him. Her scales were all black, her eyes a reflective crimson red. He recognizes her easily. "Lucy?" The snake hisses out her greeting, before immediately scolding him for leaving her out in the cold. Akuma pulls a face of annoyance, his relief immediately shifting to one of irritation as he rolled his eyes nearly into the back of his own skull. "You're a snake, don't you have something called 'instinct?' Can't you burrow into the ground, or something?" Akuma mused playfully to her, laying his head back on his paws, where the large ball python coiled herself just beside his head and quietly nuzzled him.

How embarrassing this was. He couldn't believe the situation he was in right now. What would his sisters think of him now if they saw him pathetically sprawled out in front of their enemy, injured, and powerless? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The Chain's face burned as the sickly lion beside him managed to haul him up onto his paws, and he instinctively jerked away from him in a fashion that was hasty. He didn't ever like touching people, or vice versa, and that, of course, would apply here as well.

Wheezing, Akuma would lower his haunches onto the ground. "I don't think you should leave." The Warden said to him, and Ghoulian's agreeing with the other made him scowl slightly. He didn't say anything else because ...what could he say? Any and all of his arguments would be refuted, and even while he'd love to keep going around in a circle, he knew just how futile it was. Akuma was too tired for this, too tired to try and insist that he was fine and that he didn't need their supervision.

The servaline male flickered his intense golden gaze towards the pale furred Saluki when he spoke again, his nose wrinkling at the suggestion of being " put in time out. " What, were they going to put him in restraints just so he didn't hurt himself? "How considerate." He quirks a brow at Ghoulian's fall back plan of letting him live with the doctor, and he quickly found himself in favor of being locked up somewhere by himself. "I don't need anyone to watch over me," Akuma would say at length with a dry rasp, "I'll be just fine by myself."

Akuma was among the crowd, even though he didn't really want to be. He settles himself nearby for the most part, an NPC accompanying him to make sure he didn't just keel over. Lucy sat coiled about his neck, her crimson stare boring into anyone who strayed too close to the injured serval. The Baskerville barely flicks his ear in acknowledgement of his " welcome, " only huffing quietly as he half - heartedly listened to Corrupttimelines' announcements.

Akuma hardly lifted his head even while he was being approached, instead stifling an annoyed groan as the familiar smell of the man came wafting through his nose. His softer facade fell as fast as a boulder would sink to the bottom of the ocean, his sulfuric gaze narrowing upon the form of the Warden who smiled down upon him. "What?" The former Godfather would question flatly in an hoarse voice, "Do you need something from me?" What would this guy want from someone like me, anyways? I can't exactly do anything in my current state. He continues his thoughts inside of his own head, his tail lashing steadily behind himself.

"What're you thinking about, roujin?" Akuma's frank inquiry is made in reference to the wyvern that sat within the cafeteria, his smoldering gaze fixed upon his form. He was very much aware of the brat one of the Exiles other brats had brought to the prison. The feud between the Sanguine Ruins and the Exiles was still happening even after all of this time? He knew that the Exiles was supposedly the enemy of " all, " but they seemed far more tame than anything they have been in recent years - they even had partnerships now, the Cartel having previously been one of them ( when had the Exiles needed anyone to keep them afloat? ). He found it to be a sore disappointment, and rather useless at that. So, now, he wonders what's going through the wyvern's head.