[Mikazuki Munechika knows masks. Some would say he wears one himself, and he would not necessarily deny it, although in his case it's mostly born from age and a certain wariness with how fleeting human life can be, how fragile. Most days, though his smiles, his laughter are genuine. It's just that they're always tinged with the weight of his years and a slight melancholy that can never seem to completely leave him.]
I have time.
[Time is something he has no short supply of indeed. So much time.
As he moves things around on the table, puts down the teapot, pushes the plate with the teacakes towards Tsurumaru, something becomes visible under his arm warmers, on his hand.
A brown stain. Blood, dried and flaking. The blood Tsurumaru rubbed on his hand earlier and that he didn't bother to clean.]
no subject
I have time.
[Time is something he has no short supply of indeed. So much time.
As he moves things around on the table, puts down the teapot, pushes the plate with the teacakes towards Tsurumaru, something becomes visible under his arm warmers, on his hand.
A brown stain. Blood, dried and flaking. The blood Tsurumaru rubbed on his hand earlier and that he didn't bother to clean.]