Mm, that's different, though. You were the leader of the Sheep, after all. Too dangerous of an enemy, and too valuable of a potential ally to allow to slip through our fingers.
[Odasaku, in contrast...a man who refused to kill, had been of no practical value to their organization. Certainly more expendable than Chuuya, the host of the Arahabaki. Dazai's not unaware that his own position within the Mafia is likely the reason there was a place made for him at all. But there was the rub, wasn't it? Odasaku refused to kill. If he were to utilize his full abilities, he'd be the most dangerous person in the entire Mafia, second only to perhaps Mori himself.
The boss had been aware of that, too, Dazai thinks. It had been foolish of him not to realize sooner, the way it would have been easy to utilize Odasaku. He'd said it in his own words, once, even: if you were to anger him -- truly, deeply upset him -- all five people in this room would be dead before anyone could even draw their guns. Affection had left him a blindspot, in Odasaku's case and Ango's both, and the price for that oversight was paid in blood.]
He wanted a quiet, peaceful life. [He wanted to write, in a cottage overlooking the ocean.] I pushed the Port Mafia on him because he wouldn't even kill his own enemies.
[He sighs. Chuuya reaches toward his fedora before asking his question, and almost reflexively, Dazai's own hand feels for the matchbox he always keeps on him, gently brushing his thumb against the cover before his fingers curl around it almost protectively.]
But the night consumes everything before dawn breaks. I thought if I could keep him on the fringes of twilight, it would be close enough to the real thing, but I was wrong. Even so...he wanted at least me to see the sunrise. That's why I had to go.
[He can't recite them out loud, Odasaku's last words, even though they're permanently engraved into every part of him. Not to Chuuya, who is loyal to Mori, to the Port Mafia. The thought burns in his throat like acid.
The door creaks, and yet remains stubbornly shut. It still wants more. And yet, Dazai is emptier than ever, the weight of that void so massive it's crushing all his organs, a supermassive black hole inside his own chest, from which nothing can escape.
He looks at Chuuya, as though the other could redirect the flow of gravity to release his larynx, but it's to no avail. Nothing further comes out.]
no subject
[Odasaku, in contrast...a man who refused to kill, had been of no practical value to their organization. Certainly more expendable than Chuuya, the host of the Arahabaki. Dazai's not unaware that his own position within the Mafia is likely the reason there was a place made for him at all. But there was the rub, wasn't it? Odasaku refused to kill. If he were to utilize his full abilities, he'd be the most dangerous person in the entire Mafia, second only to perhaps Mori himself.
The boss had been aware of that, too, Dazai thinks. It had been foolish of him not to realize sooner, the way it would have been easy to utilize Odasaku. He'd said it in his own words, once, even: if you were to anger him -- truly, deeply upset him -- all five people in this room would be dead before anyone could even draw their guns. Affection had left him a blindspot, in Odasaku's case and Ango's both, and the price for that oversight was paid in blood.]
He wanted a quiet, peaceful life. [He wanted to write, in a cottage overlooking the ocean.] I pushed the Port Mafia on him because he wouldn't even kill his own enemies.
[He sighs. Chuuya reaches toward his fedora before asking his question, and almost reflexively, Dazai's own hand feels for the matchbox he always keeps on him, gently brushing his thumb against the cover before his fingers curl around it almost protectively.]
But the night consumes everything before dawn breaks. I thought if I could keep him on the fringes of twilight, it would be close enough to the real thing, but I was wrong. Even so...he wanted at least me to see the sunrise. That's why I had to go.
[He can't recite them out loud, Odasaku's last words, even though they're permanently engraved into every part of him. Not to Chuuya, who is loyal to Mori, to the Port Mafia. The thought burns in his throat like acid.
The door creaks, and yet remains stubbornly shut. It still wants more. And yet, Dazai is emptier than ever, the weight of that void so massive it's crushing all his organs, a supermassive black hole inside his own chest, from which nothing can escape.
He looks at Chuuya, as though the other could redirect the flow of gravity to release his larynx, but it's to no avail. Nothing further comes out.]