[color=CD5555][b]NAGAKU OTOYA[/b][/color] - Southern District[hr] [color=CD5555]“Oi.”[/color] Otoya clicked his tongue as the delinquent writhed away from him, leaving his art half scrawled across an unintended canvas, incomplete. How annoying. He didn’t like punk defilers and he didn’t like leaving his tasks unfinished. His gaze flickered to the spilled contents of the box. The briefest of looks before he was yanked by some— Words and names hardly registered, not when there was something so thoughtlessly slapped on before him. Otoya stared the Sharpie’d teardrop and felt something well in the pit of his stomach. [color=CD5555]“What…”[/color] “--wanna fucking go?!” Sharp eyes travelled from Crew Cut’s blemish to the other guy’s uncolored roots. They narrowed in fury. Another thing. Otoya didn’t like punk defilers. He didn’t like unfinished tasks. And he especially didn’t like half-assed aesthetics. Like, come [i]on[/i]. Put some fuckin’ backbone into it if you’re gonna try for something all-out. At least clowns put effort into their façade. These dipshits were even less than that. The feeling in his gut spilled out into a wave of second-hand embarrassment. [color=CD5555]“With your lot of tryhard chucklefucks?”[/color] Otoya scoffed, [color=CD5555]“Nah, I’m good.”[/color]