Let us begin with a description.
The light — and life alike— was shed, but the man could not quite pay any attention to his surroundings, aside from the provocation, could he?
As the figure uttered its words, the peripheral gaze of the man landed on the spot near the source of the odor.
A corpse of a presumedly plump man, wearing rags and having a pig-like expression. Bearing a weapon — an axe with an elongated handle, that has been laid out several inches from his weighty palm.
Four wounds have weighed on it: per each knee, a singular, sharp wound; not clean, as per the lack of technique used to deliver it, thus the supposed thin line was in disarray.
A singular, piercing wound at the throat — a clean dot.
And, at last, an absolute ravage of unnecessariness: from the mouth, the head was torn apart vertically, split between eyes in a struggle. Messy, too.
"...I've murdered him, haven't I? That means I can fight." A swift line of silent deduction, and with it, a sheepish grin had come across his face, baring fangs to the cold air. The idea that he has taken a life did not quite matter to him — again, he is the survivor!
So why must he roar in self-loathing? The concept of all evil is foreign, and a definition that held, and holds no meaning in this instance, is palpably ignored.
Besides, he could not give up the blade — he was born to it, it was held in his grasp as the world appeared to his perception.
"Wouldn't bother to react?... Rude." The creature sulked, and it too has opened to his gaze:
A woman… No, girl rather, of short posture and narrow shoulders, that held long strands of brunette hair atop her head. Skinny, believably.
A figure of elegance, in her slim, curveless body, coated in a frilly dress that belonged not to this bile of a place: to her, at the same time, the man has held himself attached and repugnant.
If the weapon was actually hers, she could approach him with no mockery and speak normally, as if addressing a commotion — but naught of courtesy, as she held such a mocking, thin smile that had resumed after her short period of sulking.
Spoke in this irritating, poisonously gentle voice.
Held her arms, as if he were no threat.
And smiled. Smiled! Smiled as she spoke of her right to his blade!
Alas! Still, he must first try the more peaceful approach, although the domination in a possible argument was his — with a weapon, after all!
"...React? To what?" Quietly, the man uttered.
"Silly, are you? Actually, that'd make it sound too cute… Dense, mh-m." She stepped forward, thoughtful, and a distance of several meters remained.
A couple of steps could cut it.
His eyes narrowed, but still his tone remained inoffensive: to attempt to slay her would be wasteful of energy. "What reaction could I, possibly, muster?..."
Pause, as he pondered a suitable jab, ending up at a loss of thoughts in a still blank memory head..
"...Congratulations?"
"Mhm. Less than 'rude', now — 'Okay!' .'Thank you!'. It was a team effort!" Taking the hem of her dress into her fingers, she sincerely bowed — again, mockery.
And… Team effort?
"Tsk."
"I could hear that, you know. . . Back to 'rude'."
"Let's return to the topic of the swo—…"
"Do you not want to exchange names? I could tightly hold your hands, pe-haps, and then we could sign a-all the needed documents, with inclusion of…" He was, of course, rudely cut off by the beginning of a vague rambling, which he could not quite grasp with his mind.
And, beginning especially with a topic he could not quite support.
Names.
Uncomfortably, a bit insecure at the idea of missing such an important detail, he has tilted his gaze somewhere else…
—But she has ended the senseless speech about bureaucracy, and has tilted her head in pitiful courtesy. As if she knew that he did not know his own!
"My name is… Kannon. Recite it several times so that you won't spell it as 'Cannon', please."
"I-I refuse." The offer was pointless. To begin with, he did not quite wish for her name to begin with.
"Would you like to name yourself, now?" Kannon's smile has widened, a fraction.
To which he could not even respond, even with a glance, "...You're a stranger, why would I name myself to a stranger?"
"I have a coupon for several thousand 'Roots', please state your name so I can write it down for the reward!" Her hands have clasped together, and the tone has forsaken its gentleness to become much more high-pitched, speedy; the bar of the lamp remaining at the wrist.
But…
Hah!
Pointless! He did not know what a 'Coupon' is nor 'Roots', frankly, so Kannon's assault is useless!
But curiosity did rise in his chest — gladly, he has not quite given it form.
"...But really, really," Kannon's tone, at last, changed: the high-pitchness of a saleswoman had ceased, so now it was more tolerable to listen to.
But most notably, it has now, at last, become serious.
"I reckon… You've used my sword, haven't you?"
"...Are you seriously asking?" The corpse did not cease; throughout the conversation, the cold, defiled in its own fear body, was not brought up a single time.
But she had given it attention. Just as he himself vaguely gestured at it with his gaze.
"M-m. So you have." Blank. Toneless.
"...I believe so?" But his tone was not as white — surprise. Deduction has begun its tentative way towards the answer, but—
—With two fingers pinning her lower lip, Kannon cocked her head to the side.
Mockery has again taken its hold.
"Poor, lost snail.
"Both a thief, and a big enough cretin to lose your head to this thing.
"But pe-haps, you've not lost much?... He-he~, maybe you've become more bearable as a tiny little 'blank'?"
..The dialogue before went nowhere. It was an absolute waste of time, which the man did not appreciate.
But now she has mentioned it! The sword!
By the convulsion, the widened gaze landed itself onto the weapon.
A short sword. Too short. Perhaps a couple inches longer than a dagger would be — who, in a sane mind, would utilize it to rend or even cut?
But nonetheless, the wounds on the plump man's body were mostly of such an origin.
Reckless. Psychotic.
"...So, you know me as a thief?" Cards up.
"Mh… Not quite. I didn't see the person who stole my blade, really… It was so-o dark, just like now." Shake. Kannon quickly tilted the lamp side to side "But now I'm prepared! I remember your face now, alright?"
"Cut the mockery, please."
"...Ah." The woman sulked again, which, with all honesty, did not last entirely long. "More, I know you as a 'Cut'. But just from the rumours, honestly…"
"...'Cat'? What is a 'Cat'?"
"Cut. Not the 'Meow-Meow', but the 'Swoosh-swoosh'. Cut."
"...Are you messing with me?"
Despite the silly attempts at 'Meow-Meow' with the same rise of a pitch, her now completely serious expression, uttering such an idiotic name, shook itself several times.
Cut.
"..Who in their right mind would call themselves 'Cut'?!" But ah — let it be just a thought!
For now, let us refer to this man as 'Cut'.