Dictator

6. My Dear Detested

A familiar tune played on Dazai's lips as he patiently awaited the appearance of his next rival. Whether or not that person in mind would visit him was unknown to him. She was a mystery that Dazai found himself captivated to solve— To unwrap every layer of what made her who she was. He found it amusing how much the two of them were truly alike. 'soulmates', he thought. Yet the thought made him grimace. What an unfortunate soul, he was.

"Dururu. Yeah~"

It was the main reason why Dazai had let himself get captured by the Port Mafia in the first place. Despite being able to easily flee, he chose not to, because he hadn't reached his goal yet. She had to appear at any moment, he predicted that she would, there's no way she wouldn't, he hoped at least.

"You can't do a double suicide all on your own."

Dazai was absolutely thrilled for some reason. He wondered to himself if the woman he so patiently awaited would look at him with pure disgust, or with the intent of strangling him to death on the spot. He remembered the hard, coldness her eyes always held, colder beyond the coldness of the poles. It made him shudder to think about.

"Boom, boom. It takes two who don't wanna die all alone."

He continued singing, though through a horse voice due to the lack of hydration for the past two or three days. It was one way to pass the time and survive the unbearable boredom. He found himself completely lost in his thought. Dazai chuckled lightly at how much effect she had on him to the point he'd forget his surroundings. His train of thoughts had come to a halt a good while ago. It was dangerous. She was dangerous.

"My my, what a sight for sore eyes." There it was. Suddenly, a strong, hoarse, yet feminine voice echoed through the empty basement, snapping the brunette out of his thoughts. He didn't even hear her step down.

"That voice..." He gasped quietly and his eyes shot wide open. His heart picked up pace again, drumming against his chest. No matter how much he had anticipated this moment, he couldn't help but be in utter disbelief to hear that voice again after so long. He slowly lifted his head to find the source of the voice. His pupils shrank as he gazed at the figure standing in the dim light that illuminated the stairway.

Dazai observed the woman in front of him as she slowly walked down the row of stairs, her heels clicking against the ground with every step she took. Her large dark coat flowed with her movement. The woman had glistening, white hair which was braided, elegantly bouncing in sync with her footsteps. Her eyes were golden-colored, resembling an empty desert, which had spirals in them, they could hypnotize anyone who dared stare into them for far too long. Her dark, purple eye bags have gotten even worse over the years, Dazai noted.

Her voice was just as monotonous and smoke-laced as he last remembered. And he was utterly obsessed with it.

She wore a hat in a similar fashion to Chuuya's, just with white lining instead of red. a black shirt accompanied by an off-white vest with dark purple lining. She wore a black blazer on top with a lighter shade of purple for the lapels. A white bowtie sat perfectly atop her chest, followed by pants the same color as her blazer and black, leather thigh-high boots. To complete the look, she had a long, white shawl draped over he shoulders, and lastly, there was a smoking pipe resting in the palm of her gloved hands as she puffed the smoke out of her mouth.

Right now, judging by hear choice of clothing, she looked less like an executive and more like the boss of the organization. If it weren't for the massive difference between their differences, one would mistake her for the Mori Ougai's legitimate daughter. Probably due to their choice of style, and their equally sinister and cunning minds that were alike. Dazai thought his own mind was quite the same, though the thought was unpleasant and he refused to put himself on that level.