It was time for Styx's pastime! No, no, he's not going to whip out a flash quicker than one would with a pocket knife. Facepalming!
"Mr. Face, Ms. Palm, I know you two have only had the sporadic chance to become acquainted, but I believe we need to skip to the honeymoon." Yet again to both the Boss' and his dismay, the scene panned out before them without a moment of pause or intermission in between acts. Sure. It was the ID. The term normal, as many people constantly exclaimed with jubilation, has been contorted to the point where what now remains is only a disparate arrangement of letters. So when Styx's lackadaisical gaze bore witness to a busty sign post manifest from a cloud of smoke that dissipated so swiftly that it must have been in a rush, he wasn't too surprised. In an entrepreneural sense, quite a fair amount of people would pile money for posts with a bit more...
grip to them. He knew the white collar with a stoic exoskeleton too well. Styx was a tenant of his housing dominion, but they never directly met in person, and as he would soon find out, this encounter wouldn't count either. Without a filter affixed to his larynx, Sho bah'd obscenities without the slightest repent. Styx's face dug deeper into his palm to the faint childish giggle of Alcor. His familiar was enjoying the public exhibition of mayhem pure comical value. The Ankou on the other hand felt like playing Russian Roulette with himself. As if that would be enough to off him.
Welp, that rustled his jimmies. The amalgamation of Aamuu's derisive stare and Sho's crude and rather primitive vocabulary set off the business man. Any moment now, his tie would begin to levitate as his body was engulfed in flames imbued with economic chakra. Rather than pummeling the two, or worse, following the principles of Capitalism and suing them for every penny to their name, the man stalked off in a huff and made sure to grab his employee on the way out. Though it's not as if the fault rested on the shoulders of two teens yet to be jaded by the ID's version of reality. They were still just that. Teens. Kids. They were members of a
youth organization for crying out loud. Somebody who resided in a high echelon such as Mr. Tamagi should have more of a tolerance, lest diplomatics go right out the window. Then again, the only diplomatics the businessman has ever concerned himself with is an eviction notice.
And how does the jury rule? Everybody's a bunch of bird brains. Metaphorically speaking.
It was at that point that Styx promptly flicked Sho's forehead with the wrath of a thousand young suns.
"You've got homework. When you get back to your flat tonight, look up the definition of "restraint" and use it in a sentence five times, then hang up those lines over your bed." The Ankou then shifted his finger over to Aamuu as if it was the hand of G-hewhoshallnotbenamed,
"And don't be ragging on white collar workers. They're the reason why even a place as sect off as the Imaginary District has a stable economy, commerce, and flow of food." After delegating judgement unto his juniors, Styx' piercing gaze slacked. His narrowed beads of gold rounded to the point that they almost appeared affable,
"'Big boobie penis dog lady', shit, I need to write that one down. Well, let's get on with this." He announced while he nodded his head towards their boss, whose patience waned by the second.
"Something's in there." He was obviously stating... well, the obvious. But in case the two lovebirds still stirred within their private next, hopefully his sharp tone sliced cleanly through their shared daydream. Styx took in the establishment in its fullest. It was better than his place, that was for sure. Though not being member of the living anymore, his list of necessities entailed a more meager amount of items. His eyes rested on the now still curtains, in wait of the chance that whatever was inside would do a double-take. With no visual sign of further activity, the undead fixed his stature,
"Mizar. Alcor. Stay out of harm's way.""Okay.""Ryoukai!"The two obliged in their individual manners as the Ankou loosened the surgical mask strewn tightly across his face. The piece of thin cloth slid down unceremoniously and rested at the root of his neck. There weren't any defining characteristics of his lips except for the lack of facial hair, even though most presume shaving to be a far too attentive task for the likes of him.
"Minimize collateral damage. Got'cha." Was going to be a tad bit hard with a scythe, but he was up for a challenge.
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