[ It hasn't been very long since Dokja's revival, a day at most, and instead of taking the time to recover, he's on the move. Death isn't a foreign concept to him, he's died too many times before to be affected by it, but there's a difference to this one. He hadn't expected to come back, had thought that there would finally be an end to all of his suffering, but the world's never worked in Dokja's favor, so why would it start now?
He's back.
And instead of drowning in his sorrows, his anguish, his agony, he's decided to start packing up his life in Godsblood. He can't freely roam the streets of this city anymore, not when its citizens think he's on the side of the enemy, and he has a few destinations in mind. Nothing concrete, nothing that sits well with him, but what choice does he have? His fuck ups have determined that he can't stay.
It's how he finds himself with a stack of books in his arms as he navigates through a narrow alleyway as a shortcut. These are long overdue to be returned, and he figures he can just drop them off at the door and scamper away. He's not really paying attention to his surroundings, his focus on making sure the books don't topple over, but when he finally emerges from the mouth of the alley, he bumps into someone passing by.
There go the books. ]
Sorry, excuse me.
[ His voice is muffled behind a mask, his face shadowed by the hood of his cloak. He's had to dress like this ever since he'd been outed as a Kenoma Aion, and he keeps his head down even now as he crouches down to start piling the books back into a neat little stack. Hopefully they take his apology and go, and if not, showing his face to them will be enough to scare them off. ]
wildcard!
He's back.
And instead of drowning in his sorrows, his anguish, his agony, he's decided to start packing up his life in Godsblood. He can't freely roam the streets of this city anymore, not when its citizens think he's on the side of the enemy, and he has a few destinations in mind. Nothing concrete, nothing that sits well with him, but what choice does he have? His fuck ups have determined that he can't stay.
It's how he finds himself with a stack of books in his arms as he navigates through a narrow alleyway as a shortcut. These are long overdue to be returned, and he figures he can just drop them off at the door and scamper away. He's not really paying attention to his surroundings, his focus on making sure the books don't topple over, but when he finally emerges from the mouth of the alley, he bumps into someone passing by.
There go the books. ]
Sorry, excuse me.
[ His voice is muffled behind a mask, his face shadowed by the hood of his cloak. He's had to dress like this ever since he'd been outed as a Kenoma Aion, and he keeps his head down even now as he crouches down to start piling the books back into a neat little stack. Hopefully they take his apology and go, and if not, showing his face to them will be enough to scare them off. ]