Seraph Shadow Shopping

"10 ryo for an apple? I swear the price of food is always too high no matter when I buy."

He'd sigh before paying the stall owner for two apples, grateful his stipend would cover basic food costs. Pocketing one of them he'd take a bite into the other one, it's juices refreshing to his recovering mind and body. Ever since he visited the cathedral, he had found both recovering faster then before, with his regeneration having kicked in and his bloodline properly strengthening his illusions, though still no sign of Id despite knowing he could create physical nocebos once again. Even so, while it was nice to have bits and pieces of it back again, not everything had fully returned, as he was still relearning the mechanics of jujutsu and his body was still only able to take so much punishment, but some was better then none. He couldn't let it get to his head though, just because he was immortal once more didn't mean he didn't need to act inhuman. While at the time he would have been against taking some of the prince's blood after he had beaten him on the tundra, the ability to not require food or drink was something he'd have to try and obtain now in case things became dire.

Continuing down the market he'd eye several other places that'd catch his interest: a novelty Karakuri stall that retold historical event in puppet form; a wall scroll store that, well sold wall scrolls; and a novelty weapon shop that recreated semi-impractical weapons from the land of lightning's history that one could purchase. All had merits to them, but at the moment he was content with just window shopping.

The shining pearl of red, illusory dreams and desires, was there truly a price too steep to pay? Surely not. As the crystalistation of all that which was pure, all of that intangible cravings and aches and yearning thoughts that had no weight but weighed you down all the same, it contained with it a certain sort of thoughtless magnetism. The sort that had your five fingers curling down and grasping before your mind had processed the imagery your eyes had sent, acting before those synapses had even realized they were blinded by all that they could see but couldn't feel. And as that tantilizing, crisp skin would break the whisp of potential, what could be, rose up and assaulted all senses. The scent and taste of dreams, tart and acidic against your tongue and so sweet all the same. It was the sort of taste, that first bite, which she lusted for so greedily. And so her fangs dug deep, tearing through skin and flesh. Digging and tearing in some mockery of their purpose, and with that first bite the rest would be discarded, difting and left to roll across the streets and mingle in its filth. Back to whence it came, to return to the Earth and become again.

With that tantilizing taste still fresh on her tongue, the sting still on her fangs, a new fruit would catch the woman's eye. And so a sort of stalking game commensed, a girl following a scent with no knowledge of what came next. The natural grabbing without knowing, instinctual desire that fed itself. From shadow to shadow, from scent to scent. Oils and wines mingling with sweat, staining itself with lavender across the land.

And the man of the house would find himself together only by his own shadow's sign. The reflection in the window, a glimmer behind the image of those dolls, would come of one and another. The woman beside him, horns standing tall and proud, stained with the colors of wine.

"Ah, dear Sir." Her voice spilled out, sugars spilling with it into the open air. Each word befouling the very atmosphere of such a mundane location. "That scent of yours... How devilish of you, to walk around with such a powerful odor. Was to draw attention your desire?" Already her hand would be to him, grasping so delicataely. Holding, taking, needing, tight to the grip of his tunic. Unwilling to let go. "Please, tell me..." Airy. "... What is it? It's such a perfume, choking my mind."

Mort continued to window shop and eat the apple, mentally debating if he would risk the amygdalin in the seeds or not as he viewed the products. While they would be nowhere near close to his regular weapons, he contemplated whether or not he should buy backup weapons for himself. Ortenaus would only do so much against those like the Tetsudashi or Korikane, and while the bokken was nice for nonlethal takedowns until he got a senju wood variant it would only be good against weaker opponents, not someone of Kage level which was what he knew he needed to plan for. However his plans of wooden tools for tactical takedowns would be interrupted by a voice that was much closer then was normally comfortable for a stranger to be in. How he had missed a stranger in the reflection, he wasn't sure.

Turning to look to the origin of the voice, he was a bit surprised to see that it was a Baku...an Oni? No, somewhere in between. While her skin and height said Baku, the horns and lack of wings said Oni. Yet it was her eyes that gave it away, the star-like appearance given to those of the mental path the deciding factor for him. It was one of the few traits of the baku he found comfort in, their eyes reminding him of his youth when the night was young and stories of the past were told; but being near this one felt...off. Not wrong, she wasn't like the caves, no it was like her presence was mixing strangely with his own, the passive illusion that he gave off almost complimenting her words with the smells of wine and slight fuzz when not focusing on her. When she had moved in to take hold of his clothes, he had missed it, his own bloodline betraying him. But the grip was weak, almost if not as strong as his own, she was no threat. But her words were almost as strange as her effect on him.

'Scent? Oder? Perfume? Did I forget to take a bath?'

No, that couldn't be it, he made sure to do some sort of bathing or showering every day, and he wasn't one to wear perfume. It couldn't be his clothes either, he preferred to stick to a simple scentless soap when he got his clothes clean, save for his very fancy formal wear which oh god he needed to rebuy because that didn't exist here. That left three other possibilities in his mind: his passive illusion, his bloodline, or his chakra. If she was a sensor of some kind or just sensitive to chakra, it was a possibility, and as a Baku it wasn't unreasonable to assume she'd be more in tune with sensing the oddities of a Kurama, let alone one of the Children of Umare. There was also the fact she might be sensing his...unique affliction, but he doubted that. Jujutsu was known, sure, but very few knew how to use it, let alone know when it was in use.

"I assume you smell that of my bloodline, that of the Kurama and our unique link to the supernatural. It wouldn't surprise me if that were the case given Yokai seem to react differently to me compared to the other clans." He'd keep his eyes on her own, keeping her hands and arms in his peripherals in case he needed to back up, move, whatever it was. Looks could be deceiving, Baku especially so. "I would prefer it if you would let go though and introduce yourself though, while I don't mind the questions I do mind my personal space."