The quite that so often engulfs Crooks Creek is a great source of comfort for one Yuuri Shibuya. Besides pitch forks and swords and unwashed, illiterate Mazoku sporting said items, Yuuri Shibuya does not have much else to look forward to in life; so when the sun sets and the ushering rays hush Crooks Creek into comforting silence, the forsaken Half-blood cannot help but savor every morsel of a potentially peaceful evening.
'Potentially' because, whenever Yuuri Shibuya does let himself be lulled into a very false sense of security by the complacency of his little hut, like a pebble eternally distilling the calm waters, filthy Mazoku bodies and flickering flames and towering pitch forks eternally ruin his time for reading and resting and tacky family games.
-Games of which he plays with his imaginary friend, Morgif, of course. Sometimes, in moments of great suffering and despair, he ponders the unanswerable how's and why's of his Mazoku mother having the unmentionable 'thing ' with his Human father: the very 'thing' responsible for his existence into this cruel, cruel world overflowing with blind prejudice, injustice and squalid miscreants.
For no one, no one will ever come forward to be his friend. No one will ever look past his ebony locks and dark-as-night eyes and say, 'Hey, I am fond of exotic looking men, will you join my bed with me?' instead of saying 'Oh my lord, it is a half-blooded soukoku, kill the dreaded beast, KILL IT!' Aside from being politically incorrect, for he is not an 'it', they are bastards with a blatant disregard for hygiene that would shame a rat.
So with as much dignity and pride he can muster, Yuuri Shibuya diligently drives away the many said squalid miscreants who have the insolence to invade his little haven.
As expected, today was no different.
What was different was the pompous looking man-boy with the absurdly fancy clothes leading the procession.