2

Metal gasoline canister thrown aside, rough hands wiped on a pair of filthy slacks before reaching into the pocket. Pulling out a small flask, mischievous mouth took to the alcohol readily. Ash and soot already adorning cheeks, the back of a wrist wiped across the mouth.

Away went the flask and out of the other pocket, a small box of matches. 'Moriyama' stamped across the front, where they were innocently purchased with a pack of smokes from the chain. Pushing the side open, a match fell out and was stuck against the box. Billow and shrink, the flame lingered in the air, threatening to meet with the flammable fluid decorating the warehouse. Instead, it met with the end of the white tube, packed with shredded leaf. A wave of the wrist and the match faded into whispers of smoke.

A lungful of tobacco, ember on the end of the cigarette and teasingly flicking the ash, a smirk formed. This was it, him. Exhaling into the night sky, he flicked the half-smoked thing into the side of the building. Amber eyes ablaze with glee as the flames raced along the trail of fluid. The heat and light, he was consumed by the sight of it. The beauty of destruction, watching it crumble from the former solidity. Maybe it might've been sick to most, he wasn't most - as much as he attempted to blend in. But what would a younger son care? The burdens rested on much elder shoulders. And for all he cared, they could stay there despite all of Father's hard words.

A young man with an affinity for destruction, rather dangerous wouldn't you say?

Making his way out of the docks, the redhead rendezvoused with a contact a bit down the road. Who would've believed this shabby man belonged to 'Maison Magnifique'. A name his family earned, their actual surname falling into obscurity. What did name really matter when money was the matter?

"Thanks, boys" waving off the worker's truck as he hopped out onto the dark street. He blended in well enough with the likes of those heading to work outside of the city. The hour was still rather ungodly as he dragged himself towards the dark compound at the end of the road. A tall iron gate gave way to a small ornate key. Tch, his older brother's handiwork, always with these unnecessary details. Locking the portal behind, what he thought to be a silent slipping into the building (through the kitchen), had not gone unnoticed.

The Cheshire grin curled in the dark. Arms crossed, in a fluffy white robe and a tumbler of scotch in hand, a teasing voice slithered through the lightless hall. "You look the part of pile of oily rags on fire."

Turning towards the words, a small smirk formed. Of course he did, one of the few brothers that had to get his hands dirty. "Mephisto, how was your bubble bath?" returning with a casual joke. The lights shot on, the younger wincing at the sudden brightness. That name, an alias for sure - used by those outside of blood-ties. "You look disgusting, Iblis" as if confirming his jab prior. "Go wash up, Father requires his report tomorrow morning" Mephisto's tone dipping into seriousness for a moment. But only for a moment, before he turned on those odd bunny-shaped slippers and disappeared down the hall towards the staircase.