Late Night Out

In the dim, moody lighting of Darkside's bar, Azuki finds a temporary solace, a place where the shadows align with the complexities of his inner thoughts. He sits quietly, the glass in his hand catching the sparse light as he swirls the rich, spiced liquid, its aroma briefly lifting the heaviness that seems to cling to his spirit.

His introspection deepens with each slow turn of the glass, his senses momentarily caught up in the simple act of appreciating the drink before him. This moment of pause in an otherwise chaotic existence allows him a rare opportunity to reflect, to question the emotional turbulence that has recently found a place within him.

For Azuki, the absence of the curse that once defined his every action has left a void, an unfamiliar space within himself that he's now free to fill with emotions long suppressed. As he sits at the bar, the realization dawns that the suppression was not just a byproduct of the curse but a habit, a way of being that had become second nature in his battle for control over his own life and destiny.

"What is there to suppress?" he muses to himself, pondering the newfound freedom to experience emotions openly—something that feels as daunting as it is liberating. This question isn't just rhetorical; it's a fundamental inquiry into his own identity and nature, now unshackled from the constraints of his past.

The ambiance of Darkside, with its subtle undercurrent of mystery and isolation, mirrors his current state—a man who is relearning how to inhabit his own emotions without the immediate threat of the curse that once hovered over him like a dark cloud. It's a journey of self-discovery, of learning to navigate the complex waters of his emotions, to allow himself to feel without fear or reservation.

As Azuki continues to sit, his demeanor betraying his inner turmoil to any observant onlooker, he realizes that the challenge now lies not in suppressing what he feels but in understanding and embracing the full spectrum of his emotions. This journey inward is as critical as any battle he's fought, for it involves conquering the realms of his own heart and mind, discovering what it truly means to be free.

WC:373

The sun dips below the horizon as the last rays retreat from the bustling streets of the village. Within the fading light, Ren emerges from the Kage Tower, the solemn duties of his administrative and office life weighing down on his shoulders. His long chestnut hair catches the twilight's glow while his robes flow around him like a calm stream. His movements are tranquil and graceful, carrying a secret excitement within his heart. As he passes through the village, his presence is similar to that of a gentle breeze. The villagers nod in respect due to his station within the village leadership.

Lanterns in these parts dimmed not in defeat before the oncoming night but in a respectful welcome, ushering him into another world, a realm that thrived under the moon’s authority. Darkside loomed- an extravagant, grim Gothic tapestry stark against the night sky. Ren entered its ornate doors, closing with a muffled thud at his back. The interior of the lounge breathed the subtle life of shadows. Their tendrils crept over gilded decor, the air rich with exotic spices and the earthy scent of long-aged spirits. Patrons, silhouettes of sun-kissed faces, glanced at him before returning to their quiet chatter. 

Here, Ren entered not as the deputy Kage but as a man shedding his mantle of responsibility. As he stepped through the crowd toward his requested table, a quiet symphony of subtle dominance accompanied each stride. He would not retain some higher air or perform a noble duty tonight. Tonight, he would be a man among the men. Darkside’s embrace welcomed him to a secluded table. Candles flickered and cast gentle shadows over his features, softening the marks of duty on his face. His eyes—reflecting the candlelight- danced with a hundred stories of village simplicity and leadership complexities. They felt only quiet indulgence tonight, a soft evening away bathed in gothic luxury.

With a glance at the bar, he sees a somewhat familiar face. The face he recognized belonged to none other than the man who had helped both him and Junko in the fight against Kurogane, which seemed to have happened ages ago. He thought for a moment. The idea of calling him to sit beside himself was ripe within his mind. After going back and forth a few times, he decided that it was the thing to do tonight if he wanted to stay in touch with the people who were, indeed, the founding members of this village.

He rose from his seat, gracefully waltzed over to the bar, and tapped the Chuunin on the shoulder. "Hello, soldier. I'm pleased to see you, my friend. Care to sit with me for a while? We can drink the night away, and I'll pay the tab. How's that sound?" Ren motioned to the table where he was sitting. He had a special relationship with Daiki, so it was a rather luxurious booth that was somewhat secluded from the remaining populace within the lounge area, only a short way from the stage, providing an excellent source of music from the live performance tonight. 

Should he be taken on with his offer, Ren would gladly guide Azuki over to his booth after asking Daiki for a bottle of the finest whiskey and red wine. After Daiki told him he'd bring it right over, Ren retreated to his booth again, hopefully with Azuki in tow.

WC: 563

The vile emotion that cascaded and rising now was pure jealousy. General... he thought with disdain, the word laced with venom but confined to the realm of his mind. Unprompted, this thought plagued him, staining his consciousness. With a soft crank of his neck, he turned to face the Deputy beside him. "Don’t care for booths…" he said, his voice deliberate and slow. He tipped his glass, throwing back the fireball whiskey with a relieved sigh.

Azuki was surprised by his own revelation and nodded towards the stool next to him. His face was almost expressionless, yet there was a subtle pettiness hidden behind his stoic exterior. Still, there was a softness in his eyes, betraying the emotions his heart was reluctant to reveal. He had stated his terms, refusing to budge even a millimeter from his stance, allowing only the warmth of the drink to ease his chest.

"Toast to new beginnings, Deputy," he said, recognizing that pettiness was beneath him. They were comrades, allies loyal to the nation... or perhaps it was a loyalty to Junko. Nonetheless, he counteracted any malice with his offer for a toast, a small gesture of goodwill. Yet for a moment, memories of fiendish horror flooded his mind. That image of himself had far been shattered.Coming in to new found strength as of late. He embraced them for now, allowing himself to divert the flow of those memories. Deep within the wells of his being, he smothered the shame that accompanied them. The weight of these finicky and foul emotions was formidable.

WC:257 TWC: 630