[ Sukuna is always here for a bit of a romp, and it seems that this hellscape is hardly the hellscape that he would have pictured. In fact, this whole affair is rather heavenly to the king of curses, and he's already leering at the various fox-faced youkai, and the drunk revellers of every conceivable species and form. Objectively, he does know what a nightclub is— they were a little different back in his day, in old Heian, but he's been around modern Japan for enough time to be unfazed by the electronic burr of the music, and the flickering, strobing lights. There is something far more favourable about the depravity and excess of a hellish club; nothing is off the table it seems— there is no table at all, only unfettered gluttony.

The chaos suits him; he suits it too with his striped, faintly crazed face.

There's the sense of being loosed from a cage, with Sukuna— like he's been un-collared, sprung free— a frenetic, vibrant energy about him that seems to crackle in the air like static. At first glance, he appears to be human, but in the dark of the club his eyes gleam with their opalescent film, catching any hints of red in the room and refracting them outwards.

There is no greater separation from humanity than this: he can see in the dark.

And naturally, he's here for a good time.

He can smell that some of the drinks are suspicious, but he's far from above buying one for whoever places themselves near to him at the bar. Hey, it's been a hot minute since he had some good, old-fashioned, debauched fun, and it won't take long before he's raising a sharp brow at whoever is enough of his type to catch his eye, and crooking a snaggle-toothed smile in their direction. He's got a particular purr when he's hitting on someone (lmao), and it's in full, suwajun swing here: ]

What a fine night. Though you're far finer.

[ He doesn't seem wholly serious; there's a lazy, indulgent look about him as he eyes his new companion. ]