A temporary refuge. It was storming in Tokyo, the poor weather like a premonition itself — or perhaps the gods above were wrathful of the blood shed by this evening, of the devils whom Chisei had slain in the name of justice.

The door clicked open after swiping the key card over the scanner, welcoming into the warmth provided by the heater built within the hotel room.

The carpet flooring was untouched as the high patriarch slipped off his shoes to neatly tuck unto the provided shelf. Chisei followed, afterwards, to take his gloves off. No longer was it comfortable to keep the soaked cloth wear on.

His hand ran through the dark strands cascading down his head, feeling the remaining droplets stuck in between. Briefly, he glanced towards {{user}}, his only company throughout the assignment.