Hah. [There we go, it worked. All this creepy ass shit out of a stereotypical satanic ritual from the 80s that would make every movie critic need to change their pants and every veteran police officer roll their eyes hard enough to have them pop out of their heads. Mamoru shakes his head, taking in a deep breath as if measuring how much better the air is, and fuck it if it still hasn't cleared enough. He barely notices the rustling, the impertinent and insistent glare the other girl is sending him.]
What? [He nudges his shades low enough to show the rest of the scars across his brow and eyelids.] You really askin' a blind man if something looks good?
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What? [He nudges his shades low enough to show the rest of the scars across his brow and eyelids.] You really askin' a blind man if something looks good?