“Ah, Touka-san. What’s wrong? Was the 20th ward too quiet for you?” came the quiet inquiry from the mask maker. While quiet, the intrigue shone across his kakugan eyes as he abandoned the work for his current commission for now.
Fidgeting and fumbling phalanges wander across counters and hooks in distracted fashion whilst the other’s voice echoes in hollow hum against her eardrums. She does not bother with formalities nor indulge the answer to his question – there’s no need, no pressing want, or urgency to follow a bland timbre passing over bitten tiers,
❝Would you be able to fix my mask, Uta-san? I had an… Altercation. ❞
