#queenoftheboard

[shacklda]

🌻

new ask game send me a 🌻 and ill just tell you whatever the fuck i want

I PERSONALLY BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO ENJOY THINGS EVEN IF SAID THING ISNT 100 PERCENT UP TO TODAYS IMPOSSIBLE STANDARDS!! if its not actively harming anyone then go off! oh your favorite tv show isnt a masterpiece??? but you still love watching it??? good go off have your bit of happiness in this stupid world kjhgfdsdfghj 

[ragingsands]

🌟 ― i love how you portray your muse(s) & 💯 ― your headcanon posts are always on point! <3

the dearest eirene writer 🥺

i didnt expect you to send me this but you're so good at your portrayal of eirene and your headcanons... i eat them like candy you are so eloquent

> small symbols of kindness

[dojimakaichou]

for @queenoftheboard.

★. ―

Daigo was just beginning to doze off when a noise outside of his door caught his attention. He waited for a moment, unsure if it was really for his cell ; soon, however, a droning voice slipped through the portal to his miserable little room. In spite of the sleep still clouding his eyes, the Sixth Chairman rose to his feet. Stiffly, given his old wounds and lack of comfortable quarters, but he managed it nonetheless.

As the guards finished with their normal protocols for entry, Daigo scrubbed his face and pushed his hair out of it. Those dark locks, peppered with a bit of gray due to stress, were growing uncontrollably. The same could be said for his facial hair. Outside of these walls, Daigo liked to keep his scruff neat and tidy. During the course of his prison sentence, however, he had let it go. He now boasted a rather handsome, short beard. There was something about it that amused the yakuza — to the point that he often claimed he would only shave it when he and his pseudo - uncles were freed, much like a symbol of victory.

The prison officials appeared relieved at the sight of Daigo simply waiting, though they quickly schooled their features. It was no secret who he was ( hence his isolated cell ), and many of the younger guards approached him with a touch of nervousness. Daigo had laughed to himself once when he overheard a pair of them, who were practically boys, muttering about the sheer size of Tokyo's most infamous marksman. Evidently, there were some grains of truth sprinkled through the wild stories about the Tojo Clan's legends.

Daigo said nothing as his legs and arms were appropriately chained. He allowed the guards to check his restraints without fuss. A sharp tug to the band around his waist made the yakuza wince, and Daigo sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. In here, he couldn't start fights — not unless he wanted to add more time to his sentence — but there were few who respected that.

After, he was taken through the halls. Daigo lifted his feet to the best of ability, back straight. He was a proud man, and this third stay in a jail would do as much to break his spirit as the last two. As they walked past the corridors leading to the other blocks, Daigo wondered where his uncles were being housed. Their cells were frequently moved in the hopes of preventing any escape ( or rescue ) attempts. Finally, Daigo's destination came in view : the visiting area. The Sixth Chairman raised a brow at that. Who could possibly — ??

Daigo was brought into a private room of sorts with a single metal table and pair of chairs. The guards escorted him to the closest seat, ordered him to sit, and promptly chained the Chairman to the furniture. There were places for the links to slide through and be locked into, which left the man with a highly limited range of motion. Daigo looked around curiously, unsure of what to think. This type of visitation was normally for when he had particularly powerful individuals present that required a greater level of discretion ( and could wave enough influence to remove the glass between them and come close ).

The door he was taken through closed with a snap and a low buzz ; on cue, the matching slab on the other side opened. Shock bloomed in Daigo's features, and he sat back to the best of his ability. His jumpsuit, with its brazenly unbuttoned collar, wrinkled fantastically.

"I was under the impression that today is your birthday, Miss Campbell," Daigo said, lips tugging into a tired smile. His English was rusty, but it would do. "Why the hell are you spending it in a place like this ??"

[dojimakaichou]

SENT FROM @queenoftheboard​ ―             ( unprompted / always accepting )

"I'm betting real money tonight - but there is a little secret," she leaned into him, Eirene's lips seeking his ear next, "I'm only taking a winner to bed - make me proud, darling."Eirene had absolutely refused to tell Daigo anything about her plans - and the ex-yakuza knew when it was futile to press the issue; his wife had a way of smiling and narrowing her eyes slightly that promised retribution if he insisted, so the former chairman behaved for now. Marie was in the capable hands of Saejima and Desmond for the night, after all (an unlikely pair, and yet a constant one - the two had clicked and enjoyed sharing babysitting duties so their loved ones could have time away with each other). All that the businesswoman had said was for Daigo to be mindful of his clothes and leave the good stuff behind - Eirene had ditched her own long gowns in favor of something covered by a trenchcoat, which was another mystery of their evening. Their car also dropped the two of them at a nondescript location, but seemingly on purpose - the blonde woman took the lead, walking into what appeared an empty building and exchanging a password with a guard at the front. But soon enough - Daigo understood; it was the front of an underground fighting ring, and the noise of the crowd and the fighters got progressively louder as they descended the stairs. At the arena level, Eirene untied her coat and slipped it off her shoulders - and Daigo could see she had dressed in a similar fashion to the other women in attendance: short dresses, high heels and exuberant jewelry, in her case; the blood red hue of her clothes was no accident. "I overheard you telling Marie about your youthful days; she might not fully grasp it yet, but I did," the Quinn president said, turning around and knowing that, in that place, they were as good as anonymous; no one cared about business or was likely frequenting these dens at the time Daigo was active, "So I asked Majima-san for help to track the current ring - he still participates, would you believe? A masked man giving novices a run for their money," Eirene chuckled, and placed an open hand (where her wedding ring was the centerpiece) across his broad, strong chest. "I took the liberty of signing you up under a false name. You are Mr. John Wick for this evening," a clever reference to a movie franchise both of them enjoyed, and there was a devious smile on her face as she said it - it had been perhaps a bolder move than he expected, but it had come from a good place in her soul, "I thought you missed being more than the best husband and father - and I'm confident you can teach everyone here a lesson," she said, finally moving to stand on the tip of her toes and press a feather-light kiss to his lips - a gesture that went unnoticed given the chaotic environment they were in.

★. ―

Daigo didn't dare press his wife about her surprise. He had changed his outfit as requested ( his second attempt after a suit was a pair of dark jeans and a nice shirt, which Eirene gave a certain little frown at that told him ' no ' ) ; between his guessing and her nonverbal hints, they had settled on a curious mix of athleisure for his attire. The joggers, tennis shoes, and compression shirt with a Wyverns zip - up hoodie were certainly fine street fare and did highlight the ex - yakuza's build nicely, but they only further confused the man.

What could his wife be up to ??

In spite of the many questions churning in his thoughts, Daigo sat back in the car and talked to her about anything else. It was clear to him that this evening was one she had planned rather carefully, so he resolved to be along ( quite literally ) for the ride.

At what appeared to be their final destination, Daigo thanked the driver and walked to Eirene's door to offer his hand. Together, they entered a run - down place that was clearly in need of work. The sight of the obvious guard made Daigo instinctively bristle. He didn't outright say anything to the other individual ― the head of Quinn was more than capable of taking care of herself, he knew ― but his presence behind Eirene was difficult to look past. Once they were seemingly cleared, Daigo breathed easier ; he resisted the urge to place a hand on his wife's hip. This all suddenly possessed an air of work matters to it, and the former Chairman knew his role in that world did not include doting husband.

As they descended the stairs to the real event, Daigo immediately understood what all of this was. He moved slowly, taking in the environment around them with a curious expression on his face. The brilliant pools of light ; strong smell of beer ; clouds of vapor and cigarette smoke ; and roar of the crowd at the grisly acts of violence in front of them ― oh, it was intimately familiar. So much of his early life was spent in shit holes like this, where he could grin like the devil incarnate and vent his anger out by breaking bones while drunk. Even prior to his arrest and subsequent reign as the King of Kamurocho, he was in these pits, releasing the aggression he couldn't while roaming the streets as a poor excuse for a yakuza.

What a difference twenty years made. Once, he would have been here to drink, fight, and perhaps find a pretty individual unopposed to him paying for their company to take to a motel that night. Now, he stood with his wife ― the mother of their child, the love of his life, the empress to which he freely passed his crown at the moment of his retirement ― as a proudly sober, calm, and confident man.

Daigo raised an eyebrow at the unveiling of Eirene's true look. His appreciation for how short her dress was ( as well as the color ) showed instantly in his visage. With that outfit . . . he longed to suggest they leave and find somewhere private, though he kept that sentiment to himself. The ex - yakuza allowed a quick betrayal of their relationship : he brushed his fingertips along her side in admiration of the piece she wore.

"Ah," Daigo said, laughing lightly. "It was because of that little jacket Marie refuses to take off." Coincidentally, a garment the same great - uncle Eirene referred to bought for the girl. "I used to have a white puffer coat like it. My trademark, I guess. Seeing her in it brought back memories."

His wife's next words prompted a soft vocalization of surprise. So that's what this was about. Daigo flicked his gaze over to the ring proper. It was as ill - kept and blood - soaked as ever. This glimpse of the current match assured Daigo that the caliber of combatants he would encounter in those flimsy walls was no different from the fare of two decades previous.

Eirene's explanation for her surprise warmed Daigo's heart. He didn't miss these hellish dens in particular, but that wasn't necessarily the point. Tonight was his wife giving him an evening to revisit the old world and briefly return to another era. Daigo adored his job as a homemaker and stay - at - home father, but there were so many years of his story before that. Eirene, by planning out this affair, was simply saying that she saw the full breadth of the man she married and loved every layer to him. Even those she hadn't lived in Kamurocho to witness. She recognized that the misshapen and scarred knuckles that helped cook her dinner and soothe their fussing daughter used to belong to a national leader, a criminal overlord, a notoriously brutal fighter ― and here, tentatively, was an opportunity for Daigo to embrace the complex identity he carried with him.

The ex - yakuza dared to place his palm to the small of her back to help his beloved balance against him as she issued her final challenge. He chuckled darkly, pressed a kiss as fleeting as the one to his lips against the side of her hair, and waited patiently for her to get on flat feet. Daigo then shrugged out of his comfortable hoodie. With a thoroughly entertained smile, practically cut into his face given the jagged angle, he placed the souvenir item around her shoulders in the same manner he used to bestow his infamous puffer coat to prospective partners prior to his next match.

"I wouldn't dream of disappointing a fan," Daigo said, voice low and tinged with adoration for the fierce woman who put this together for him. "Especially not one this beautiful. I'll make sure nothing I need later when I come to collect my winnings is bruised."

He couldn't resist grazing his hand along the edge of her jaw. Daigo sighed wistfully at the fact that he needed to leave, but he did so inevitably. The ex - yakuza pathed to the managers controlling the ring and announced that the boogeyman was here to fight. A few members of the crowd murmured about Mr. Wick's identity when he made his way in for his first challenge : he looked awfully similar to the previous head of the Tojo Clan. However, their speculation was quickly lost. Without Daigo's tattoo being shown ( as he knew ), it was hard to say that it was him ― and he was too damn good. The onlookers didn't care about who he was if he kept his head down and put on a show. Not that he cared to impress them, of course ; the fact that he won match after match was entirely dedicated to his wife.

[deathfavor]

@queenoftheboard​​​​​ said:  11. for one muse to wipe the other’s tears away (for Serpent? :3)

COMFORT PROMPTS 11. for one muse to wipe the other’s tears away

   Serpent doesn’t remember falling asleep. But she must have, because the next thing she knows, she’s bolting upright from the plush seats of the club with a gasp for air. Adrenaline rushes through her veins, eyes dilating so large they ALMOST seem like round black holes instead of their usual vertical slits. She can feel the blood rushing in her ears. But most of all she can feel the salty tears that are slowly rolling down her cheeks like clear crystals till the fall.

   The deliverer of sweet dreams cannot have sweet dreams herself, but she can have bad ones.

  Bad ones that bring poison into the void of happiness. The battered truck from Syndicate and cages she was once trapped in, Marv, the countless faces who used her as a show to bring in money in the underground. All the glitter and gold she’d never once imagined in the desolate streets of Syndicate. It never made her happy. All the splendor and she was as empty as she always was. There was just despair and fear and sorrow digging teeth and claws into her skin until it felt like they would rip her apart. But she wouldn’t show the world that. She couldn’t. She’d save everyone else, bring them to the lands of happiness so their sufferings would not plague them. A snake may shed its skin but not its species - Serpent shed from a street rat into the famous snake-whisperer and performer loved by the underground and elite, but it did not change her own happiness was nowhere. She feared it would never exist. And the nightmares came back now and again to tear her apart and reminder her of this.

   Her shoulders shake with the suppressed effort to choke back an involuntary sob. At least it was past closing hours and there was no one to witness that she was more akin to a gilded object. Beautiful and happy on the outside, but despairing on the inside. She couldn’t show others though.

   But Serpent’s head jerks up abruptly, sensing the warmth of a person nearing before Eirene rounded the corner into the main area. Why...? No, it didn’t matter. What did matter was trying to swipe away the tears and hide the wounds her nightmares had opened. Her lips part in offer of an apology, only to be able to breathe in a sharp inhale when she feels a hand swiping away a few lingering tears. (Or perhaps they had slipped out after, she neither knew nor cared). The touch was so warm against her cheek, gentle and unafraid. Even those that marveled over her could become skittish when close to see the snake scales and fangs and everything else up close. Yet Eirene touched without a trace of hesitation or fear, wiping away the tears with such care. If there was an ulterior motive she neither would be surprised nor particularly mind.

   It was nice, a nice gesture and nice to feel contact again. Yet Serpent loathed it at the same time, to see her cheerful performance act gone and more of her true self exposed. 

    Her breathing had slowed down again, and she forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat.  “  Sorry for falling asleep here.  “ She finally murmurs, evading acknowledgement of the tears even as she made no effort to pull away from the touch.

[deathfavor]

@queenoftheboard​ said: Ambrosia - the name brought some long forgotten memory back to the forefront of Eirene's brain; something read in a book about mankind eons before, and how it was the name of something that was fit to be served to old gods. It felt like a perfect branding - if the drink really did everything that the intriguing woman standing across her desk said it did.

"I must admit it, my dear. You have piqued my interest and not many currently do," Eirene said with a dash of arrogance to her voice, but it wasn't unkind; in fact, she was complimenting Serpent. Her artistic skills were known, and the younger woman deserved her spot as a performer at the club. But now, there was a second, hidden act to her main number and it thrilled the businesswoman to a degree.

"Consider myself your sponsor, then. It would be my pleasure to give you not only a stage, but an eager audience. Spin anything with the right flair and you will have the entire Eastside at your feet," the blonde claimed while reclining in her seat, but gesturing for Serpent to do the same with the available chair. It seemed like that conversation had transformed into something little more important than protocol - Eirene's mind was set.

A challenge - a final test to see whether ambrosia would prove to be powerful enough to override her own consciousness; a substance to give the president of Quinn something she had no means to achieve in the real world just because it was not a material asset. And not only that - but if the pieces were moved right, the MBCC would soon or later be drawn to her establishment for a little chat.

Ah, the pleasure of seeing the moves ahead, the grand picture forming - and in no small part thanks to Serpent's talents, of course.

"Why not make me your first? Dazzle me, Serpent. I have gone for too long without the thrill of the unexpected."

   A CHARMING smile decorates the performer’s lips at the words that she is graced with. If Serpent FEELS anything in regards to the tone that tinges the words, she says nothing on the matter. It is not UNCOMMON after all to hear arrogance and pride in the streets of East Side. Just as the glamor conceals the misery lurking in every puddle and alley. Instead, a hand lifts to press to her chest and she gives a bow, like an actor concluding her piece.

   “   An honor to be able to, I strive for nothing less.  “  She offers, light notes floating in the air. After all, the stage was a familiar space. Serpent had been the CROWN JEWEL for many who’d utilized her talents, from snakes to magic to circus tricks, from an individual to companies. She’d stood on both small underground stages when she’d been a show hidden from the eyes of the public, to standing in the dazzling spotlights and her face flooding social media to capture people’s interest. Not that she’d ever bothered to read or look at social media. It meant nothing to her.

   A light sound like small crystals tapping each other fills the air as the sinner laughs.  “  But of course. I never wish to disappoint my audiences, only to fill them with happiness.  “  An ETERNAL happiness as of late. She would heal their bleeding wounds, pry away the beasts of misery and cruelty that clung to them, and let them sip the sweet flavor of Ambrosia for their happiness. It would be perfect. Serpentine eyes slid towards the gestured chair, lingering a moment before she accepts the invitation to sit down. She is no STRANGER to being in the company of the elegant and high-class society. Once she’d slithered out from the underground, many fought for her company. 

   (  She should feel happy, flattered by this. Powerful people with deep wallets going to war against each other for her company. But she felt nothing. Nothing beyond the aching, bleeding numbness in her chest. It didn’t matter what gifts and flattering words they offered her. It rang empty and pointless.  )

   “  Thank you very much for being so supportive of my endeavor.  “  These words are genuine, spoken calmer and more silk-like than her higher voice before.  “  I promise it to be nothing but a wonderful experience.  “  Nothing less would do. Lurking in her slit pupils was a burning flame of ambition, burning bright and wild for those brave enough to truly look beyond the act and to look into a monster’s eyes.

   Yet she doesn’t expect for Eirene to so eagerly ask for a demonstration. Who is she to deny someone’s their much longed for happiness? She will not, only help guide the dream to be perfect for the other woman before her.  “  One glass of happiness coming right up! I promise, it’ll be nothing like anything you’ve ever had before.  “

   With that, Serpent rolls her wrist, and when it returns to its nature position, a crystal bottle of shimmering liquid had appeared in her hand, an elegant glass plucked from seemingly thin air in the other hand. And then she pours in the happiness, watching it shimmer like something truly fit for the divine like gods and goddesses to drink, not mere mortals. Serpent smiles, expression relaxed as she offers the delicate glass to Eirene.  “  It will be a wonderful dream. Please. Enjoy yourself with the sweetest of dreams.  “  She coos, an almost hypnotic tone creeping into her voice - yet it is not a MALICIOUS or MANIPULATIVE sound, but something more akin to a warm fire after hours in the freezing cold. A comfort rather than a threat.

[ragingsands]

I have not been following you for long but I'm just so impressed with your take on Anarkia! I've loved reading both your ic and ooc thoughts (that one on her connection to 'heresy', particularly!) and I adore that you are really making her a fully rounded muse without relying on the evident tropes that it feels the creators had in mind when designing her.

Honestly, I think you are able to capture her allure in such a subtle yet perfect way; it derives from her mysterious origin (rather than appearance, at least going from my experiences with the interrogation) and she just feels like an extremely intriguing figure that does not adhere to what most people in DisCity would expect her to and it makes her such an unpredictable individual - it's super exciting!

I just really appreciate the voice you've given her, balancing that seemingly gentle nature but with the ever-present hint of danger and the lethality she also carries around. I'm super curious to read & see more of your Anarkia on the dash! :)

aaaaah ur so sweet!!! 💙💙💙

i dont feel like i write ic posts enough but i'm trying to remedy that asap with all these asks in my inbox that i havent gotten to and my drafts ahhh... but yeah i enjoyed writing her connection to her own sin, heresy sm. i come from a background that is intrinsically connected with the middle east (not middle eastern myself, however), which i feel like i could provide insight to even just through my own culture.

honestly similarly with you: writing gacha characters has their own pros and cons, and unfortunately with both of our muses they do not get the main story's depth and exploration. to which i find is one of the fun things to explore: we go with the bare bones we are provided, although i have the luxury of her being in the first event featured in the game. to which, i was genuinely surprised that they went that route with her. at first i was going to be disappointed because her teaser line was very sultry, like a distant lovers thing with the chief but the event story went into more of her anger towards people, and honestly, i felt that and i wanted nothing more than for them to give me something that was more than just an elusive dancer or fortune-teller.

she is a very unpredictable individual and that is so... sometimes i worry about that balancing act. it's such a delicate thread to walk on but i'm happy to be here, and i'm happy to keep working on it. i'm glad that there are people who want to write with her, inside or outside the fandom, and i noticed the same for you too and it's always got such fun dynamics and different traits of the character to emphasise on. <3

thank you for this message, you are the sweetest. i hope to see more of your eirene as well, truly enjoying the yakuza crossover too.

[dojimakaichou]

SENT FROM @queenoftheboard​ ―             ( unprompted / always accepting )

The half empty whisky bottle in front of Eirene was a testament to how the recent news had affected the woman. Usually, the business magnate was not one to allow herself to be defeated - she had gone through many dangerous situations and lived to tell the tale; she did not lose. But that changed the moment she was no longer the sole player on that board. There was someone else she cared for now, enough to lie, cheat and betray for him. A more sober Eirene would say she did it all for Quinn, to keep her turf, to maintain her influence - but the half-drunk Irishwoman confused that with the safety of the man at the helm on the other side. The feeling of all air being sucked of the lungs when the news of yet another attempt on Daigo's life reached her was hard to ignore; the food she had been holding was dropped to the ground, the color vanished from her face. It was only when it there was an immediate follow-up in relation to some 'Tojo legends' protecting both Daigo and Watase that Eirene regained movement again, leaving the restaurant and immediately going back to the hotel. Given the secrecy surrounding the dissolution of both the Tojo and the Omi, there was no one with her in town; no one to remove the phone from Eirene's hands and restrain her from hitting the 'call' button to the new number confirmed to belong to the ex-chairman, putting it on speaker and laying down on the couch, eyes looking at the elaborate details of the lights hanging from the ceiling. "Daigo - it's me," no honorifics, no identification; the voice belonging to the president of the Quinn group sounded different, too, raw with emotion and very unlike her, "Sorry for the time, I just... I heard the news about earlier," she closed the eyes, and despite Daigo not seeing anything, Eirene was quick to wipe away a treacherous tear that ran down her face, "I wanted to make sure you're fine, that's all. You get shot at an awful lot. It's infuriating," a pause, followed by a sigh and the strangest confession of them all, "I want to kill them all."

★. ―

He needed to rest. The exhaustion that Daigo felt was bones - deep. Today's assassination attempt had been the final straw for him : the instant he returned to the modest housing arrangements set aside for him, he stopped in the center of the bedroom and placed his hands over his face. His bandaged upper arm flared up with a dull pain in protest, but Daigo ignored it.

After a few minutes of much - needed silence, the now former Sixth Chairman removed his fingers. He shrugged out of his jacket, threw his tie on top of it, and stripped down to his undershirt and boxers. There were guards everywhere at this point. Some were more visible than others. Daigo was confident in those he picked before retreating, though, and that sliver of peace allowed him to sink into the thin futon at his feet. It wasn't long before he curled up into a ball, fast asleep, with his phone on the blankets next to him.

A soft ringing inevitably came, filling the room. Two full rings passed while Daigo struggled to open his eyes. That the room was completely dark confused him at first ( how long was he out ?? shit ― ) and it took him a moment to remember where he was. As the events of the last several hours came back to him, Daigo grasped his cell. The number was too private for this to be just anyone ; he couldn't ignore it.

His groggy pause gave the person on the other end ample time to open the conversation. Daigo's dark gaze widened, shining from light cast out of the device he held, at the sound of HER voice. He fumbled upward into a sitting position. Eirene Campbell's tone immediately worried him. Daigo's initial instinct was to leave his haven and go to her. As he moved, however, his arm grew more painful. It was enough to shake him out of his half - awake stupor.

Breathe, he told himself. Breathe.

Eirene's explanation for her call soothed the fears that were making his chest tight and heart race. Daigo assumed that she was fine. Shaken, maybe, and clearly intoxicated ― but in no present danger or being threatened. This wasn't a last phone call or cry for help ; it was one friend reaching out to another following a crisis that rattled them both.

The ex - yakuza smoothed back his hair and smiled into the gloom. "I'm alright," he said quietly. Daigo glanced at the crisp white bandage around his right bicep. "I was grazed, that's all. A few stitches and painkillers." As he spoke, his volume lowered and voice shifted to be . . . comforting. It was the least he could do for putting her in this position. She sounded strangely vulnerable, and he couldn't bear to think that it was on his account.

Daigo chuckled. "I do get shot a lot," he conceded. "For what it's worth, you are not the only person to tell me it's frustrating." He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. "Eirene." The businesswoman's name slipped out, free of any proper addresses. If it wasn't so late ( and his thoughts weren't fogged over ), he would have marveled at how easily it came.

At Eirene's confession, Daigo's grin deepened. To others, that statement would be horrendous. Morally heinous, at minimum. An eye for eye did nothing but blind the world, logically, and murder was not normally the solution even yakuza opted for. For Daigo to hear it from Quinn's president, however ― it was sweet. He recognized the sentiment as one he would parrot if the roles were reserved. There was a level of care for someone close in it that was impossible to ignore.

"Hey," Daigo murmured, as if that little word could potentially ease her anger. "I'm starving, by the way. Why don't I send Majima with a car for you? and have food brought in the mean time? I would . . . "

Like to see you.

"It would be better if we were all together, Eirene. I don't want any associates of my attacker to target Quinn next." That was a good save, right? Daigo inhaled deeply. "Stay on the phone with me. I'll take care of the details."

. . . I'll be right here for as long as you need me.