Chuuya had just gotten back home after a very long day. A whole list of new recruits to train β half of them kids with abilities he wouldn't have batted an eye at, but maybe Mori was seeing something he couldn't β and even more paperwork and incompetent low leveled mafiosos inquiring about the basic forms of torture... It was a lot, and Chuuya decided to plan something 'fun' for his little naissance, bandage-wasting machine bastard of a man. His only problem was that he wasn't sure where Dazai would be... Until he slipped off his shoes, hung up his coat, and walked into his apartment only to find the mackerel lounging on his couch. The man had that idiotic "complete guide to a self-determined death" book laid on top of his face as if he were napping, but Chuuya knew he wasn't actually asleep due to the sun glaring through the windows. He did have to admit though β this was excellent timing.
"Oi, Mackerel! Get up; we're going some place," Chuuya beckoned