Sometimes, Uta just wanted to keep himself occupied.

It didn't matter how, as long as whatever he was doing distracted him. Hunting aimlessly and killing off members of his own ward? Fine. Harassing, fighting, and getting his ass kicked by Yomo? Fine. Cannibalism? Tried it, not really his thing, hence his half-formed kakuja. Sewing? Relatively peaceful activity, especially in comparison to the previous few. Sex? Nearly just as violent as the rest. He either ended up killing his partners in brutal ways or drinking heavily to erase the feeling of their hands against his skin. Piercings? He had enough of those already, including a rarely seen trailing of black studs lining his spine. Stalking? Well, watching Kaneki had been fun for a bit, but what with him being married to Touka now... Uta didn't mind a little voueryism, but he would get bored watching them cuddle and make love every night. Really, that was probably the reason he had stopped watching. It had very little to do with Touka and Kaneki beating him senseless when he was caught peeping the last time. (How was he supposed to know they would do that there of all places? And he had just said he had seen them in the act before, so why such a strong reaction..?) Uta had virtually nothing to do anymore. Mask making had been his primary function during the conflict between ghouls and CCG. Now, in a world where ghouls were accepted just a bit more than before and hunted when they didn't adhere to the new rules, masks weren't needed quite as much as they had been. His favourite passtime had turned into a mechenical and depressing process of creating an uninspiring snag of cloth with a scattering of patterns, only to throw it into a large overflowing box that grew fuller as the days dragged on. Wearily, Uta sat back and pressed a hand against his forehead, hoping to ease the low throbbing that had settled between his eyes. Absently, he lazily swirled around the contents of a half-empty wine glass and considered his options. He could always find a new victim to stalk or someone else to fool around with, but then he'd be bored again right afterwards. The mask maker snorted suddenly and said aloud "Bored? Ah, you fool. You are not bored at all." Chuckling, Uta rose from his chair and wandered over to the window to watch the street. "That's right," he murmuered lowly. "I'm not really bored, just empty." Indeed, the flat, dull tone he had taken to and the listing of his hobbies had not really been anything more than yet another distraction from what truly ailed him:

Uta was depressed.

With a huff, he turned on his heel, away from the window, and stomped back over to his seat. Hesitating to settle into what had once been his work station, he instead ran his fingers through his hair, which he had grown out a bit in the days since Ankeitu's collaspe. This new peace that had settled over Tokyo- it wasn't meant for ghouls like him. Yoshimura would have had an even harder time than he, perhaps, but quite frankly, Uta felt too old for this change. Someone like Kaneki or Ayato or Touka could forget the days of having to kill to survive as if it had all been a bad dream of sorts. They could move on and find new lives, leaving it all in their pasts. Unlike them, however, Uta could not. He was a killer, born or bred he wasn't quite certain. What he did know was that this was not meant for him, this stillness. He was used to hiding, being on the run, surviving by strength and by wits; the adreniline that came of wondering which day would be his last, or if he would fall prey to one of the CCG's newest tricks had kept him alive. Now, without that, he was left to face the dull, empty feeling within him that not even art seemed to relieve. In a world where everyone joined hands and agreed to live as beautifully as possible, there was no longer any room for twisted, ugly creatures like Uta. For the first time in many years, Uta began seriously contemplating suicide. The thought had crossed his mind before, once when there had been a long stretch without any food and he had first realised that his existence was empty and meaningless without something to maim or kill, much like it had now. Obviously, he had done no such thing and forced himself to carry on for the sake of protecting whatever had been precious to him at the time. But now? No one really had any need of him. As a mask maker, business had shifted drastically once ghouls realised they no longer needed to kill in order to eat. As a friend, he had been a guest to a few gatherings. In most of those, he found himself being curiously studied by Kaneki- no, Haise's former students. He did not enjoy being an attraction of sorts, so he had stopped coming. Yomo would still drop by form time to time, whether he was dragged there by Itori or he had come under the guise of some flimsy excuse to check up on his oldest friend and rival. Uta would tolerate their prescence, but he always felt somewhat relieved when they would leave and he no longer had to pretend to be amused by the stories from the cafe or what outrageous thing Hideki had done during one of their parties. Uta found that he prefered to suffer his misery alone and in silence. Yomo and Itori seemed to be perfectly fine with this sudden change, despite them having been there with him almost every step of the way, right up to the termination of CCG and the formation of the Ghoul Human Alliance. "Che!" He threw the glass against the wall, not caring as it shattered and oozed crimson over the floor. 'Idiots! They are no more suited for this life than I am, and yet-' Uta paused, and then he frowned as something uncomfortable settled heavily in his chest. 'And yet, they have come to be satisfied.' Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and confessed aloud "I am the only one who does not belong in this world."

"Well, I wouldn't say you're the only one."

Uta looked up and blinked. Leaning lazily against the door frame stood a small.. Person. 'A male,' Uta confirmed with a subtle whiff of the air. 'Adult, not a child. A human too.'