[It's the same.
A bell threatens to ring in the distance. A home in the heart of Tokyo with parents and dog willing him to stay. It doesn't matter when he leaves - he always arrives on time. The trains move faster, the delays end, traffic lights stop at all the right times - he was born lucky.
Born loved by a hard working mother, who plays the morning crossword with him while she makes breakfast and-
Loved by a stern, caring father who asks him about tests that afternoon, who fixes a tie loosened by a rough housing session with their family dog Hegel and-
Loved by a group of friends whose chat always seems to pop off from sunrise to sunset, a group of people brought together by bizarre circumstance. Scenarios and situations he can't remember now. It doesn't bother him.
It doesn't bother him because he was born a loved child who has three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, friends who run past his door with obscene calls of Akechi, hurry up that don't irritate his sleeping neighbors, for some reason. Nothing bothers them.
It doesn't bother him.
And school is where he is loved most, as a top student. As a student council representative. A distinguished path for someone destined to live a life adored. It's easy. Life is easy.
Good grades are simple to get, shared lunches on the roof with his friends, chats read all day with different memes and comments from students all over Tokyo. Private chats with one in particular, that fill his heart to the brim.
He is loved by a friend that ensures there are late night coffees from a cozy cafe he's visited for most of his life. Brews made from scratch, chess games played - they don't always finish before Akechi's other demands pull him away, but it always remains untouched until the next day. Though Akechi remembers the first time he saw Akira pull a random piece from his pocket, even though the set was complete by the cafe window.
It didn't bother him.
Makes him wonder how the new special at Penguin Sniper is. A drink created for a new hit movie - one he plans to see in the future. Hegel gets a shorter walk than normal, with a promise of a extra treats, though his mother heard. A bag of dog goodies were hidden and he had to beg for Hegel's forgiveness instead.
He always forgives him, because he is loved by him.
And in the familiar walls of this building - it's busy. Very busy. A sensation that gives him a sense of instant unease, though he can't figure out why. He's always around people - doesn't care about crowds.
Once he remembers that, the sensation vanishes. A wick snuffed with a small burst of air.]
May I join you? It's fairly busy today and I was hoping to do a quick round.
[A man at a table alone. The other boards are used by groups. Billiards tables reserved for hours. There's only one place to be and it's next to a normal, unobtrusive looking man, holding a set of darts like he's never seen them in his life.]
Of course, you can say no. I won't be offended.
A bell threatens to ring in the distance. A home in the heart of Tokyo with parents and dog willing him to stay. It doesn't matter when he leaves - he always arrives on time. The trains move faster, the delays end, traffic lights stop at all the right times - he was born lucky.
Born loved by a hard working mother, who plays the morning crossword with him while she makes breakfast and-
Loved by a stern, caring father who asks him about tests that afternoon, who fixes a tie loosened by a rough housing session with their family dog Hegel and-
Loved by a group of friends whose chat always seems to pop off from sunrise to sunset, a group of people brought together by bizarre circumstance. Scenarios and situations he can't remember now. It doesn't bother him.
It bothers him.
It doesn't bother him because he was born a loved child who has three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, friends who run past his door with obscene calls of Akechi, hurry up that don't irritate his sleeping neighbors, for some reason. Nothing bothers them.
It bothers him.
It doesn't bother him.
And school is where he is loved most, as a top student. As a student council representative. A distinguished path for someone destined to live a life adored. It's easy. Life is easy.
It's never easy.
Good grades are simple to get, shared lunches on the roof with his friends, chats read all day with different memes and comments from students all over Tokyo. Private chats with one in particular, that fill his heart to the brim.
He is loved by a friend that ensures there are late night coffees from a cozy cafe he's visited for most of his life. Brews made from scratch, chess games played - they don't always finish before Akechi's other demands pull him away, but it always remains untouched until the next day. Though Akechi remembers the first time he saw Akira pull a random piece from his pocket, even though the set was complete by the cafe window.
It didn't bother him.
It bothers him. It coils around his body. It-
Makes him wonder how the new special at Penguin Sniper is. A drink created for a new hit movie - one he plans to see in the future. Hegel gets a shorter walk than normal, with a promise of a extra treats, though his mother heard. A bag of dog goodies were hidden and he had to beg for Hegel's forgiveness instead.
He always forgives him, because he is loved by him.
And in the familiar walls of this building - it's busy. Very busy. A sensation that gives him a sense of instant unease, though he can't figure out why. He's always around people - doesn't care about crowds.
Once he remembers that, the sensation vanishes. A wick snuffed with a small burst of air.]
May I join you? It's fairly busy today and I was hoping to do a quick round.
[A man at a table alone. The other boards are used by groups. Billiards tables reserved for hours. There's only one place to be and it's next to a normal, unobtrusive looking man, holding a set of darts like he's never seen them in his life.]
Of course, you can say no. I won't be offended.
[ In the months that have followed the fusion of Mementos with reality, things have been quiet.
For a while, it was a profound relief. He hadn't realized just how taxing his work with Azathoth had been until it was no longer necessary. When the world shimmered around the edges one last time before finally settling into itself, when he could see his dream come to fruition and exhale for the first time in years, he'd fallen into a deep, restorative sleep. Just another kindness Azathoth did for him, ensconcing him safely in his Palace to finally rest.
Perhaps some would see it as a cruel twist of fate that utopia has no real place for him, but Maruki knew what the deal entailed when he made it. He's had years to get used to the idea of being forgotten in favor of a better world – Rumi's eyes passing right over him in a crowd as she laughed arm in arm with a friend, her happiness palpable even from afar. He experiences it now every time he ventures out of his Palace. Kawakami across from him on the subway with her nose in a book, Shibusawa standing next to him at a crosswalk with no reason to look his way, the former Phantom Thieves posing cheerily for a photo and thanking him with the politeness reserved for older strangers. It's a small price to pay for perfection.
With no work left to be done, no use for his former profession and no one who knows him, Maruki has been left with– himself. For the first time, he has nothing and no one else to direct his focus toward, and he's surprised to find how unsettling it is. Who is he, outside of the work he poured his entire soul into for so much of his life? He's not sure that he knows.
With the gift of hindsight and the sole custodian of the memories of their old, painful world, he can see that it wasn't terribly healthy of him. If someone had come to him for counseling with the same lifestyle he had, he would have told them to take more time to focus on themselves. And he has that now– he has that now.
It bothers him.
One problem still exists in this world, and it's his own crisis of identity and purpose. Sort of funny, really. The savior is the only one left imperfect.
He's taking small steps toward looking after himself. Trying out activities he never had the time for – last week it had been fishing, a truly spectacular failure that ended in him drenched and nothing but a minnow to his name. The week before, an attempt at a piano lesson after never touching an instrument in his life. A trip to the arcade where a child in a ridiculous hat soundly trounced him at every game he tried, a knitting workshop where he managed to make one uneven dishcloth, a turn on an intramural soccer team where he pulled something in his back and had to rest in the garden for weeks.
He remembers– Akira talking once about playing darts and billiards with his friends. He's never tried either, never been much good at any sort of game, but he figures it's worth adding to the list of potential pastimes. Penguin Sniper is crowded with loud, laughing groups of friends – and he finds himself at the one open machine, alone. The world moving as it always does, perfectly formed around him but never for him. It's fine, he's used to it.
Until–
The voice is instantly familiar – though not the one he heard in person, all barbed acid and barely-masked hatred. This was only ever on the television, the radio. Pleasantly polite, endearing in a slightly awkward sort of way that Maruki's all too familiar with himself. The perfect detective prince – but of course there's been no need to reassume that role here. Only an ordinary student, beloved by the people who matter most.
It startles him all the same. It isn't like dropping by Leblanc for a takeaway coffee and a quick glimpse at their happy, cobbled together family – Maruki knows what he's getting into there, can steel himself for the strangeness of being unknown. But this– he hasn't prepared for the possibility of being approached by one of them out in the world.
He jerks his head to look up from the darts at Goro Akechi, his eyes wide for a flicker of a moment before he catches himself. ]
Ah, sorry! I was so concentrated on this–
[ He waves the little pamphlet of rules and laughs at himself, sliding easily back into self-deprecation. They have never met. He has never threatened Maruki's life or his work, never trawled through his Palace to learn all his darkest secrets, never stood by in Leblanc to hear him plead with Akira one last time. Akechi has no idea who he is. Everything is right. ]
If you don't mind playing with a total amateur, then by all means. The more the merrier.
For a while, it was a profound relief. He hadn't realized just how taxing his work with Azathoth had been until it was no longer necessary. When the world shimmered around the edges one last time before finally settling into itself, when he could see his dream come to fruition and exhale for the first time in years, he'd fallen into a deep, restorative sleep. Just another kindness Azathoth did for him, ensconcing him safely in his Palace to finally rest.
Perhaps some would see it as a cruel twist of fate that utopia has no real place for him, but Maruki knew what the deal entailed when he made it. He's had years to get used to the idea of being forgotten in favor of a better world – Rumi's eyes passing right over him in a crowd as she laughed arm in arm with a friend, her happiness palpable even from afar. He experiences it now every time he ventures out of his Palace. Kawakami across from him on the subway with her nose in a book, Shibusawa standing next to him at a crosswalk with no reason to look his way, the former Phantom Thieves posing cheerily for a photo and thanking him with the politeness reserved for older strangers. It's a small price to pay for perfection.
With no work left to be done, no use for his former profession and no one who knows him, Maruki has been left with– himself. For the first time, he has nothing and no one else to direct his focus toward, and he's surprised to find how unsettling it is. Who is he, outside of the work he poured his entire soul into for so much of his life? He's not sure that he knows.
With the gift of hindsight and the sole custodian of the memories of their old, painful world, he can see that it wasn't terribly healthy of him. If someone had come to him for counseling with the same lifestyle he had, he would have told them to take more time to focus on themselves. And he has that now– he has that now.
It bothers him.
One problem still exists in this world, and it's his own crisis of identity and purpose. Sort of funny, really. The savior is the only one left imperfect.
He's taking small steps toward looking after himself. Trying out activities he never had the time for – last week it had been fishing, a truly spectacular failure that ended in him drenched and nothing but a minnow to his name. The week before, an attempt at a piano lesson after never touching an instrument in his life. A trip to the arcade where a child in a ridiculous hat soundly trounced him at every game he tried, a knitting workshop where he managed to make one uneven dishcloth, a turn on an intramural soccer team where he pulled something in his back and had to rest in the garden for weeks.
He remembers– Akira talking once about playing darts and billiards with his friends. He's never tried either, never been much good at any sort of game, but he figures it's worth adding to the list of potential pastimes. Penguin Sniper is crowded with loud, laughing groups of friends – and he finds himself at the one open machine, alone. The world moving as it always does, perfectly formed around him but never for him. It's fine, he's used to it.
Until–
The voice is instantly familiar – though not the one he heard in person, all barbed acid and barely-masked hatred. This was only ever on the television, the radio. Pleasantly polite, endearing in a slightly awkward sort of way that Maruki's all too familiar with himself. The perfect detective prince – but of course there's been no need to reassume that role here. Only an ordinary student, beloved by the people who matter most.
It startles him all the same. It isn't like dropping by Leblanc for a takeaway coffee and a quick glimpse at their happy, cobbled together family – Maruki knows what he's getting into there, can steel himself for the strangeness of being unknown. But this– he hasn't prepared for the possibility of being approached by one of them out in the world.
He jerks his head to look up from the darts at Goro Akechi, his eyes wide for a flicker of a moment before he catches himself. ]
Ah, sorry! I was so concentrated on this–
[ He waves the little pamphlet of rules and laughs at himself, sliding easily back into self-deprecation. They have never met. He has never threatened Maruki's life or his work, never trawled through his Palace to learn all his darkest secrets, never stood by in Leblanc to hear him plead with Akira one last time. Akechi has no idea who he is. Everything is right. ]
If you don't mind playing with a total amateur, then by all means. The more the merrier.
Edited 2024-04-29 07:58 (UTC)
[The man is unremarkable. A tone placid and calm in the swell of excitable noises around them, clinks of classes removed from tables, the sharp contact of sticks hitting resin. A place that's a third home to him, outside of Jazz Jin only a short walk down the road.
Threat. There's a threat. He glances around to see why the flicker of a sensation rushes through his body in a nauseating wave. But-
It's there. It's gone. Pacified by a glance around the boisterous room - being safe is prudent. He is safe.]
I taught most of my friends to play, so you're in good hands.
[With the confirmation he's welcome, his claim is lain on the table nearby with his school bag. Assignments inside on the off chance he had to wait, so the time wasn't wasted. His arms stretch in front of him - catlike and relaxed before he plucks a single dart from the table-
His eyes are dry, from the intensity of how he's bore them into Maruki's face for-
How long? He doesn't know. Can't remember. Didn't notice. It was weird and-
A small laugh - he waves off the bizarre moment.]
My apologies. We'll play a practice game to learn the rules - simple as they are, it seems to resonate better that way. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept in general - throw the dart to hit specific points on the board. Most people think you're supposed to hit the bullseye every time. That's not the case.
[He stands by the board to reset it - the easiest mode [301] - flashes in bright, obnoxious font.]
Sometimes winning requires you to bide your time and play to your teammate's weakness, as opposed to hitting as many points as possible. That's the reason this can be so challenging as a multiplayer game. It requires a great deal of teamwork.
[He motions towards the array of darts on the table - briefly spells out the quadrants, their point value, and the goal of getting the score to zero as a combined effort.
A phone buzzes from his pocket - it's 50/50 on whether it's an obscene message in the group chat, one that's permanently muted on his phone unless pinged repeatedly, or an actual important message.
This time it is. The phone angled to where Maruki can likely see - it's not like he has any secrets. His mom sent him a picture of Hegel, eyes wild and with one of the previously hidden treats in his mouth. A comment of '(◞‸◟；) he negotiated well. can you pick up more on your way home? we also need -'
He sends back an 'Of course' and repockets it.]
Apologies again. That was my mother - would you like to go first or shall I demonstrate?
Threat. There's a threat. He glances around to see why the flicker of a sensation rushes through his body in a nauseating wave. But-
It's there. It's gone. Pacified by a glance around the boisterous room - being safe is prudent. He is safe.]
I taught most of my friends to play, so you're in good hands.
[With the confirmation he's welcome, his claim is lain on the table nearby with his school bag. Assignments inside on the off chance he had to wait, so the time wasn't wasted. His arms stretch in front of him - catlike and relaxed before he plucks a single dart from the table-
To stab into his own neck, pull the blunted tip across his veins and-
Press it right into Maruki's eye. Don't relent. Hit again and again and-
His eyes are dry, from the intensity of how he's bore them into Maruki's face for-
How long? He doesn't know. Can't remember. Didn't notice. It was weird and-
A small laugh - he waves off the bizarre moment.]
My apologies. We'll play a practice game to learn the rules - simple as they are, it seems to resonate better that way. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept in general - throw the dart to hit specific points on the board. Most people think you're supposed to hit the bullseye every time. That's not the case.
[He stands by the board to reset it - the easiest mode [301] - flashes in bright, obnoxious font.]
Sometimes winning requires you to bide your time and play to your teammate's weakness, as opposed to hitting as many points as possible. That's the reason this can be so challenging as a multiplayer game. It requires a great deal of teamwork.
[He motions towards the array of darts on the table - briefly spells out the quadrants, their point value, and the goal of getting the score to zero as a combined effort.
A phone buzzes from his pocket - it's 50/50 on whether it's an obscene message in the group chat, one that's permanently muted on his phone unless pinged repeatedly, or an actual important message.
This time it is. The phone angled to where Maruki can likely see - it's not like he has any secrets. His mom sent him a picture of Hegel, eyes wild and with one of the previously hidden treats in his mouth. A comment of '(◞‸◟；) he negotiated well. can you pick up more on your way home? we also need -'
A rope. A chair. A sturdy beam in a dimly lit apartment coated in mold and-
He sends back an 'Of course' and repockets it.]
Apologies again. That was my mother - would you like to go first or shall I demonstrate?
Edited (I’d fully expected to find the motorcycles standing before me, with those same obnoxious grins, but what I receive could not be any farther removed. There in the doorway is a tall, breathtakingly handsome dinosaur, shirtless and chiseled . ) 2024-04-29 15:52 (UTC)
[ The way Akechi stares at him is–
The last time he dropped by Leblanc, a Sunday afternoon as pleasant as any other, Akira had been behind the counter. For a fraction of a second, between weighing the beans and heating the carafe, he thought he saw a flash of recognition in Akira's eyes. Gone as quickly as it came, probably just a trick of his imagination now that he's more isolated from human interaction than he's been in many years. There is no reason to doubt that the fusion worked perfectly as intended when proof of that is everywhere he looks.
Still. That was five weeks ago and he hasn't been back since.
Just the same before, the strange moment passes before he can fully process it. Akechi is laughing, Akechi is chattering on with an easy set to his shoulders and a friendly sort of expertise. Akechi is mentioning my friends and my mother like they've always been a part of his life – and they have, Maruki reminds himself. He's finally given Akechi exactly what he deserves. Set aside a few unnerving seconds to enjoy that gratification: Someone who had suffered so much now having everything they missed, being so wholly content. This is the world he wanted. This is right. He has control over the situation, it wouldn't exist without his influence, he wouldn't have set himself up for failure after all those years, Azathoth wouldn't have let him–
Focus. ]
If you had asked me five minutes ago, I would have said you're supposed to hit the bullseye every time… I'll do my best, but let me apologize in advance for just how many weaknesses you'll need to compensate for!
[ He picks up three darts, feels the weight of them in his hand. They're heavier than anticipated, that was what threw him off at first. And the target is farther away than he thought it might be. Ah, he really should have tried to get out more back in–
It doesn't matter. He smiles and steps up to take a shot. ]
I'll go first, it's better to rip the bandage off.
[ The quadrants and numbers swim before him, and after a few moments of hesitation about where to aim for, he figures it's probably best to just aim to hit the board at all.
Which he fails at. Three times in a row. The last dart grazes the edge of 14, a few millimeters difference and it would have had a fighting chance at clinging on, but no luck. Maruki blinks at the fallen soldiers for a moment before turning back to Akechi with an embarrassed, self-effacing laugh. ]
Was that good?
The last time he dropped by Leblanc, a Sunday afternoon as pleasant as any other, Akira had been behind the counter. For a fraction of a second, between weighing the beans and heating the carafe, he thought he saw a flash of recognition in Akira's eyes. Gone as quickly as it came, probably just a trick of his imagination now that he's more isolated from human interaction than he's been in many years. There is no reason to doubt that the fusion worked perfectly as intended when proof of that is everywhere he looks.
Still. That was five weeks ago and he hasn't been back since.
Just the same before, the strange moment passes before he can fully process it. Akechi is laughing, Akechi is chattering on with an easy set to his shoulders and a friendly sort of expertise. Akechi is mentioning my friends and my mother like they've always been a part of his life – and they have, Maruki reminds himself. He's finally given Akechi exactly what he deserves. Set aside a few unnerving seconds to enjoy that gratification: Someone who had suffered so much now having everything they missed, being so wholly content. This is the world he wanted. This is right. He has control over the situation, it wouldn't exist without his influence, he wouldn't have set himself up for failure after all those years, Azathoth wouldn't have let him–
Focus. ]
If you had asked me five minutes ago, I would have said you're supposed to hit the bullseye every time… I'll do my best, but let me apologize in advance for just how many weaknesses you'll need to compensate for!
[ He picks up three darts, feels the weight of them in his hand. They're heavier than anticipated, that was what threw him off at first. And the target is farther away than he thought it might be. Ah, he really should have tried to get out more back in–
It doesn't matter. He smiles and steps up to take a shot. ]
I'll go first, it's better to rip the bandage off.
[ The quadrants and numbers swim before him, and after a few moments of hesitation about where to aim for, he figures it's probably best to just aim to hit the board at all.
Which he fails at. Three times in a row. The last dart grazes the edge of 14, a few millimeters difference and it would have had a fighting chance at clinging on, but no luck. Maruki blinks at the fallen soldiers for a moment before turning back to Akechi with an embarrassed, self-effacing laugh. ]
Was that good?
[Determination isn't enough to overcompensate lack of skill and that showcases itself the instant he throws. Aim off, grip uncertain - practice games are vital for this type of newcomer because there's no reason to win.
It reminds him of Akira whacking himself in the face with a pool ball while attempting a difficult trick.
Except this is a novice. A grown man unable to hit even the smallest sliver of this board, but they all start somewhere. A laugh - light, airy and genuine passes through the fist covering his mouth. Sympathetic to his newbie plight, he-
Teach him.]
You didn't hit a person or the wall. That's better than the attempt of at least two of my classmates.
[He glides up to the edge of the mat - practiced and efficient in how the darts are held in his hand.]
Be more confident. Keep the dart held near eye level, but don't look at it. The target is where your eyes should be - for the time being, simply aim for the center to ensure it hits the board at all.
[Left hand poised to throw, he uses his right one to point out his shoulder and the way his elbow is stabilized.]
Keep your shoulder immobile and try to arc your throw - the power behind it is less important. You don't need to heave it.
[A motion, a small step backwards and-
One, two, three bullseyes in a matter of seconds.
He-
Try again.
It reminds him of Akira whacking himself in the face with a pool ball while attempting a difficult trick.
Except this is a novice. A grown man unable to hit even the smallest sliver of this board, but they all start somewhere. A laugh - light, airy and genuine passes through the fist covering his mouth. Sympathetic to his newbie plight, he-
Wants to really-
Teach him.]
You didn't hit a person or the wall. That's better than the attempt of at least two of my classmates.
[He glides up to the edge of the mat - practiced and efficient in how the darts are held in his hand.]
Be more confident. Keep the dart held near eye level, but don't look at it. The target is where your eyes should be - for the time being, simply aim for the center to ensure it hits the board at all.
[Left hand poised to throw, he uses his right one to point out his shoulder and the way his elbow is stabilized.]
Keep your shoulder immobile and try to arc your throw - the power behind it is less important. You don't need to heave it.
[A motion, a small step backwards and-
One, two, three bullseyes in a matter of seconds.
He-
Wishes the man's head could be placed against that neon lit backdrop and-]
Try again.
[ Akechi is–
Cleaving through shadows on security camera footage, barking at Akira to keep up and only sparing genuine praise for Yoshizawa. Spitting venom about the reality he created, rebuking it with such instantaneous, violent conviction. Making it perfectly clear that he's interested in only one way to deal with him, and it's by the grace of their mutual acquaintance that he doesn't follow through on it. A white hot blur of raging betrayal, one of the last negative sensations Maruki can remember feeling out in the world before everything sewed itself neatly together.
No.
Akechi is encouraging. Patient. Too polite to really laugh at him like he probably deserves. Articulate in his explanations and flawless in his execution.
The two are more difficult to reckon than Maruki anticipated.
Three bullseyes, with pinpoint precision. It's surprising enough to knock Maruki out of his own cognitive dissonance, grinning widely as Akechi turns back to him. ]
Wow! Are you sure you're not a professional? Ah, is this a prank for a variety show?
[ He makes a show of searching for cameras before stepping up to the mat again. Akechi's advice really is genuinely helpful – he keeps his shoulders still and pays careful attention to the angle of his arm, trying to mimic the motion of Akechi's throw.
He forgets to focus on the board, so the first dart still winds up too low and bounces off the machine. With a huff of a sigh, he readjusts and trains his eyes on the center, ignores the urge to look at the dart to make sure it's where he thinks it ought to be. Eye level, arc, don't heave it.
The second dart manages to hit a single 3. ]
Oh!
[ Akechi snarled at him more than once about his desire to become a god, and maybe for a time he was more right than Maruki would ever have admitted, but in this new world he's back to being all too human. The satisfaction of managing a difficult task buzzes through his body, takes the edge off some of his unease.
The last dart wavers a bit more but makes its target too, just outside the tiny box that would have made it a triple 18. Hardly anywhere near as impressive, but he still turns and raises a hand for Akechi to high five. ]
Thank you, all the credit for that belongs to you!
Cleaving through shadows on security camera footage, barking at Akira to keep up and only sparing genuine praise for Yoshizawa. Spitting venom about the reality he created, rebuking it with such instantaneous, violent conviction. Making it perfectly clear that he's interested in only one way to deal with him, and it's by the grace of their mutual acquaintance that he doesn't follow through on it. A white hot blur of raging betrayal, one of the last negative sensations Maruki can remember feeling out in the world before everything sewed itself neatly together.
No.
Akechi is encouraging. Patient. Too polite to really laugh at him like he probably deserves. Articulate in his explanations and flawless in his execution.
The two are more difficult to reckon than Maruki anticipated.
Three bullseyes, with pinpoint precision. It's surprising enough to knock Maruki out of his own cognitive dissonance, grinning widely as Akechi turns back to him. ]
Wow! Are you sure you're not a professional? Ah, is this a prank for a variety show?
[ He makes a show of searching for cameras before stepping up to the mat again. Akechi's advice really is genuinely helpful – he keeps his shoulders still and pays careful attention to the angle of his arm, trying to mimic the motion of Akechi's throw.
He forgets to focus on the board, so the first dart still winds up too low and bounces off the machine. With a huff of a sigh, he readjusts and trains his eyes on the center, ignores the urge to look at the dart to make sure it's where he thinks it ought to be. Eye level, arc, don't heave it.
The second dart manages to hit a single 3. ]
Oh!
[ Akechi snarled at him more than once about his desire to become a god, and maybe for a time he was more right than Maruki would ever have admitted, but in this new world he's back to being all too human. The satisfaction of managing a difficult task buzzes through his body, takes the edge off some of his unease.
The last dart wavers a bit more but makes its target too, just outside the tiny box that would have made it a triple 18. Hardly anywhere near as impressive, but he still turns and raises a hand for Akechi to high five. ]
Thank you, all the credit for that belongs to you!
You're far too kind with your praise - I've had time to practice is all. I have a friend who is quite skilled and he's had less time to learn than me.
[Akira, who picks up any new task or hobby with bizarre ease. It doesn't matter what - coffee brewing, billiards, retro games, and any sort of item that has to be created by hand. They're almost rivals sometimes, in the way Akechi needs to work to keep up. It's fun. Drives him to do better at every opportunity. Makes Akira the first person he drags to a new game room opening or some bizarre event - after he has time to practice first. To one up him before he even sets eyes on the rules. To-
Everything. Akechi drags him to everything.
And Maruki who takes the advice with grace, despite the vast difference in their age. A remarkable improvement in every way by only his second turn. The numbers on the board dwindle down and-
He comes over with a raised hand - there's no hesitation as he meets that action and high fives with a gentle, soft pat against his palm. It's common to do. He's been watching other players as well.
He drops his hand, smile genuine across his face.]
While I'll accept my hand in offering advice, you can't teach someone to listen to it. If there's credit, it lies with you and you alone. You did quite well for a second try.
[Back to the mat - darts in hand yet again. One bullseye, two in the quadrants next to it.]
I heard somewhere a high five actually raises your skill level. It sounds ridiculous, but I imagine it has to do with the elation of success and the brain chemistry surrounding that.
[He raises a hand up - ready-
For another high five.]
Good luck.
[Akira, who picks up any new task or hobby with bizarre ease. It doesn't matter what - coffee brewing, billiards, retro games, and any sort of item that has to be created by hand. They're almost rivals sometimes, in the way Akechi needs to work to keep up. It's fun. Drives him to do better at every opportunity. Makes Akira the first person he drags to a new game room opening or some bizarre event - after he has time to practice first. To one up him before he even sets eyes on the rules. To-
Find a way to jam those rusty lockpicks straight into his throat - make him pay for-
Everything. Akechi drags him to everything.
And Maruki who takes the advice with grace, despite the vast difference in their age. A remarkable improvement in every way by only his second turn. The numbers on the board dwindle down and-
He comes over with a raised hand - there's no hesitation as he meets that action and high fives with a gentle, soft pat against his palm. It's common to do. He's been watching other players as well.
Sick to his stomach. Nausea overwhelming and-
He drops his hand, smile genuine across his face.]
While I'll accept my hand in offering advice, you can't teach someone to listen to it. If there's credit, it lies with you and you alone. You did quite well for a second try.
[Back to the mat - darts in hand yet again. One bullseye, two in the quadrants next to it.]
I heard somewhere a high five actually raises your skill level. It sounds ridiculous, but I imagine it has to do with the elation of success and the brain chemistry surrounding that.
[He raises a hand up - ready-
To break his fingers, break his arm, rip him apart-
For another high five.]
Good luck.
[ Maruki has taken the time to check in on all of the former Phantom Thieves here and there, both from the safety of his Palace and out in the real world. He doesn't harbor a single ounce of ill will toward any of them, and he cares just as deeply about them as he did before. Seeing them so peaceful and fulfilled warms him like nothing else. Personal satisfaction in seeing his work well done plays a role too, of course, but for the most part – he just likes to know they're really, truly happy.
And they are. But they're also largely the same people they were before. Sakamoto just as hotheaded and liable to shoot off at the mouth before thinking, Kitagawa just as lost in his own fanciful world, Sakura just as chronically plugged into the internet. They didn't wish for those core aspects of their personality to be changed, they only wished for fixes to their greatest pains.
Akechi is–
Different.
This is different.
Why is this different?
He is deferential, and complimentary, and chatty, and kind, so incredibly kind. Even when Maruki wished they could have met under happier circumstances to debate free will and all that entails, he didn't kid himself to think Akechi would act anything close to– this. For whatever reason, seeing this doesn't spike the same affectionate pride in him. Maybe it's because he never had a chance to counsel Akechi, never spent time forging that bond in the long shadows cast in the nurse's office even when nothing substantial was said. Or maybe– ]
I believe it. Dopamine is hugely important to cohesive teamwork, so anything that heightens that release could help.
[ He steps up to the mat for his final turn, aware that it's highly unlikely he'll hit the right number to get them down to zero. At least the machine is kind enough to tell him what to aim for, but he's definitely not good enough to guarantee any accuracy. Next time, he'll let Akechi go first so they have a fighting chance at winning. What a strange concession, considering– everything.
Maruki shakes the nervous tension out of his arms and shoulders before setting himself up, dart at eye level, squinting behind his glasses.
The way he sees it, there are three options for what's going on with Akechi.
One: The Akechi that he met in his Palace, in Jazz Jin, was never his true self after all. Whatever happened to him in Shido's Palace warped and twisted him into a vengeful, irritated young man with a white knuckle grip on his calm exterior. What he's seeing now is the truth, an Akechi that he never got to know. That Akira surely never got to know either. But if Akira wished to have him back, then that doesn't quite line up, there's a discrepancy that should have been addressed–
Single 9.
Two: Akechi's wish was to become a different person entirely. This Akechi behind him is the one who never existed, not even in concept. A fabricated identity that Akechi wanted to retreat into because living as himself was too painful. That feels closer, but still–
Double 11.
Three: Akechi's wish had nothing to do with this person that he is now. When Maruki gave him the gift of a painless life, it changed his circumstances so severely that he became someone else entirely. Which is fine – it's good, actually, because he never should have been put through such a hell in the first place, should have been allowed to live an easy life full of love and every opportunity to pursue his dreams. It's what Maruki wanted to do for everyone. It's what he did do for everyone. But this is the only one he's encountered who–
He remembers with a sudden spike of clarity: I will not turn into a puppet.
Single 5. Just a hair outside the bullseye.
Too many points left on the board for them to check out. He turns back to Akechi with an apologetic smile. ]
I definitely did better than I would have if I tried to learn to play alone, but I'm sorry we couldn't win.
[ There is no room for doubt in a perfect world. There is no reason to question anything. There is nothing to worry about. He removed those difficulties – for everyone else. It's a reprieve he won't be allowed in the same way, and until tonight, it wasn't really an issue.
An ache is starting to form just behind his eyes, but he soldiers on, raising his voice a bit to be heard over a sudden commotion from one of the billiards tables. ]
Shall we have a rematch? You can go first.
And they are. But they're also largely the same people they were before. Sakamoto just as hotheaded and liable to shoot off at the mouth before thinking, Kitagawa just as lost in his own fanciful world, Sakura just as chronically plugged into the internet. They didn't wish for those core aspects of their personality to be changed, they only wished for fixes to their greatest pains.
Akechi is–
Different.
This is different.
Why is this different?
He is deferential, and complimentary, and chatty, and kind, so incredibly kind. Even when Maruki wished they could have met under happier circumstances to debate free will and all that entails, he didn't kid himself to think Akechi would act anything close to– this. For whatever reason, seeing this doesn't spike the same affectionate pride in him. Maybe it's because he never had a chance to counsel Akechi, never spent time forging that bond in the long shadows cast in the nurse's office even when nothing substantial was said. Or maybe– ]
I believe it. Dopamine is hugely important to cohesive teamwork, so anything that heightens that release could help.
[ He steps up to the mat for his final turn, aware that it's highly unlikely he'll hit the right number to get them down to zero. At least the machine is kind enough to tell him what to aim for, but he's definitely not good enough to guarantee any accuracy. Next time, he'll let Akechi go first so they have a fighting chance at winning. What a strange concession, considering– everything.
Maruki shakes the nervous tension out of his arms and shoulders before setting himself up, dart at eye level, squinting behind his glasses.
The way he sees it, there are three options for what's going on with Akechi.
One: The Akechi that he met in his Palace, in Jazz Jin, was never his true self after all. Whatever happened to him in Shido's Palace warped and twisted him into a vengeful, irritated young man with a white knuckle grip on his calm exterior. What he's seeing now is the truth, an Akechi that he never got to know. That Akira surely never got to know either. But if Akira wished to have him back, then that doesn't quite line up, there's a discrepancy that should have been addressed–
Single 9.
Two: Akechi's wish was to become a different person entirely. This Akechi behind him is the one who never existed, not even in concept. A fabricated identity that Akechi wanted to retreat into because living as himself was too painful. That feels closer, but still–
Double 11.
Three: Akechi's wish had nothing to do with this person that he is now. When Maruki gave him the gift of a painless life, it changed his circumstances so severely that he became someone else entirely. Which is fine – it's good, actually, because he never should have been put through such a hell in the first place, should have been allowed to live an easy life full of love and every opportunity to pursue his dreams. It's what Maruki wanted to do for everyone. It's what he did do for everyone. But this is the only one he's encountered who–
He remembers with a sudden spike of clarity: I will not turn into a puppet.
Single 5. Just a hair outside the bullseye.
Too many points left on the board for them to check out. He turns back to Akechi with an apologetic smile. ]
I definitely did better than I would have if I tried to learn to play alone, but I'm sorry we couldn't win.
[ There is no room for doubt in a perfect world. There is no reason to question anything. There is nothing to worry about. He removed those difficulties – for everyone else. It's a reprieve he won't be allowed in the same way, and until tonight, it wasn't really an issue.
An ache is starting to form just behind his eyes, but he soldiers on, raising his voice a bit to be heard over a sudden commotion from one of the billiards tables. ]
Shall we have a rematch? You can go first.
Heeeeeeeeeey Witch~ I have no idea what I'm doing :'D
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
behemoth_betrayed
2024-04-30 07:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ Okay, so this was probably always going to happen. Remember how Abby mentioned he was strolling around realities and sight seeing? Weeeeellllllll.... Maruki's Mind Palace? Totally worth poking around.
What could possibly go wrong?No really mun played P5 like a decade ago
Well, as long as it's not boring here! It's certainly striking to look at; dazzling and unreal and synthetic with bursts of the natural. Made of a magic that tastes different to him but is magic, none the less.
So here is Ábramar, wearing a figment that fits better into the man's expectations. As a Behemoth, he's already accustomed to when a new realty reformats his form, it just doesn't happen very often. He spend a few minutes outside the glaring white buildings, idly examining the composition of his own form.
Dark haired, handsome, somewhere ambiguously aged between Old TA and Young Teacher. With eyes that are the exact right shade of gold, making him look faintly feral, despite the human projection. The fangs will do that too, if he smiles.
For now he's comfortable on the fascinated end of stoic as he slides his hands into his pockets and strolls inside. Godly beings do not skip, of course... but there is a certain air of mischief to him. An almost feline sense of 'Let's see what we can mess with'; mirth more than malice, with claws just the same. Or, long black nails, in this case.
Abby even starts to whistle as he slides through the doors. Quietly, so as not to disturb the... people? Are those people? They look... shadowy? How interesting! It does occur to him thatTHIS IS MAYBE A LITTLE COCKY he could stand to announce his presence. He clears his throat, grasping a few fragments of glittering pink air magic to amplify and carry his voice. It's not loud, per say. It doesn't boom, but it resonates in incredible clarity. ]
Doctor Maruki? Are you here?
What could possibly go wrong?
Well, as long as it's not boring here! It's certainly striking to look at; dazzling and unreal and synthetic with bursts of the natural. Made of a magic that tastes different to him but is magic, none the less.
So here is Ábramar, wearing a figment that fits better into the man's expectations. As a Behemoth, he's already accustomed to when a new realty reformats his form, it just doesn't happen very often. He spend a few minutes outside the glaring white buildings, idly examining the composition of his own form.
Dark haired, handsome, somewhere ambiguously aged between Old TA and Young Teacher. With eyes that are the exact right shade of gold, making him look faintly feral, despite the human projection. The fangs will do that too, if he smiles.
For now he's comfortable on the fascinated end of stoic as he slides his hands into his pockets and strolls inside. Godly beings do not skip, of course... but there is a certain air of mischief to him. An almost feline sense of 'Let's see what we can mess with'; mirth more than malice, with claws just the same. Or, long black nails, in this case.
Abby even starts to whistle as he slides through the doors. Quietly, so as not to disturb the... people? Are those people? They look... shadowy? How interesting! It does occur to him that
Doctor Maruki? Are you here?
[ He has been busy. So much busier than he ever anticipated, and Maruki thought he had fairly realistic expectations of the effort it would take to save the world.
Things have become– difficult. He has lost all of his influence over Yoshizawa, despite his best efforts. Akira and Akechi have made it perfectly clear that they have no intention of accepting his reality. The rest of the Phantom Thieves have managed to slip free from its grasp, tenacious as ever, and joined the cause against him. Every loss is another hairline fracture in his cracked heart. He doesn't just want them to comply, he wants them to want a world free of pain as much as he does.
There is at least that hard line: He won't force any of them into acceptance. He'll fight to defend his vision, to the death if need be, though he desperately doesn't want to – but everything is done in the service of showing them that they too could choose happiness.
He has watched them infiltrating each and every room of the Palace from the safety of his observation room, even watched them clawing their way up from the depths of Mementos. They have gone as far as they can. Everything now hangs in a tenuous balance until the day he will meet with Akira, one last time, to plead for his answer. And then–
White static snow across the front of his mind. Azathoth won't yet let him consider the details of what will happen if Akira still says no. His opposition to violence is one of the only ways in which their hearts differ, and if Maruki had to guess, he would say that one of them is going to have to override that cognitive dissonance between them when it all comes to a head, and it won't be him.
So– no need to worry about that just yet, stay calm and docile and focused on all that needs to be done to firm up the shimmering edges of this reality. Everything must be in place when this world is ready to fuse with Mementos.
He's checking in on the progress of the cognitive beings in the exam room when the voice rings out.
His back goes ramrod straight, panic coursing through his veins – not an emotion he has felt in his Palace until now. Even when Akira first infiltrated, he expected that. But this is not his voice, nor the voice of any of the other Phantom Thieves, nor anyone else from the real world that he recognizes.
There is so much about the Metaverse that he still doesn't understand, but he does know that there should not be any living humans left who know how to access it.
He rushes out of the exam room and through the winding corridors of the Palace as quickly as he can, three shadows joining up to protect him, likely at Azathoth's command. Maruki can feel him in the back of his mind, patient as ever.
When he finally makes it to the grand entrance hall, there is–
A man.
A young man.
A completely unfamiliar young man.
Maruki stands at the top landing, looking over the edge of the railing at him with an expression somewhere between shocked and furious. ]
Who are you?
Things have become– difficult. He has lost all of his influence over Yoshizawa, despite his best efforts. Akira and Akechi have made it perfectly clear that they have no intention of accepting his reality. The rest of the Phantom Thieves have managed to slip free from its grasp, tenacious as ever, and joined the cause against him. Every loss is another hairline fracture in his cracked heart. He doesn't just want them to comply, he wants them to want a world free of pain as much as he does.
There is at least that hard line: He won't force any of them into acceptance. He'll fight to defend his vision, to the death if need be, though he desperately doesn't want to – but everything is done in the service of showing them that they too could choose happiness.
He has watched them infiltrating each and every room of the Palace from the safety of his observation room, even watched them clawing their way up from the depths of Mementos. They have gone as far as they can. Everything now hangs in a tenuous balance until the day he will meet with Akira, one last time, to plead for his answer. And then–
White static snow across the front of his mind. Azathoth won't yet let him consider the details of what will happen if Akira still says no. His opposition to violence is one of the only ways in which their hearts differ, and if Maruki had to guess, he would say that one of them is going to have to override that cognitive dissonance between them when it all comes to a head, and it won't be him.
So– no need to worry about that just yet, stay calm and docile and focused on all that needs to be done to firm up the shimmering edges of this reality. Everything must be in place when this world is ready to fuse with Mementos.
He's checking in on the progress of the cognitive beings in the exam room when the voice rings out.
His back goes ramrod straight, panic coursing through his veins – not an emotion he has felt in his Palace until now. Even when Akira first infiltrated, he expected that. But this is not his voice, nor the voice of any of the other Phantom Thieves, nor anyone else from the real world that he recognizes.
There is so much about the Metaverse that he still doesn't understand, but he does know that there should not be any living humans left who know how to access it.
He rushes out of the exam room and through the winding corridors of the Palace as quickly as he can, three shadows joining up to protect him, likely at Azathoth's command. Maruki can feel him in the back of his mind, patient as ever.
When he finally makes it to the grand entrance hall, there is–
A man.
A young man.
A completely unfamiliar young man.
Maruki stands at the top landing, looking over the edge of the railing at him with an expression somewhere between shocked and furious. ]
Who are you?
Edited 2024-05-01 06:41 (UTC)
*/ABBY JUMPS THROUGH THE ENTIRE CANON this is fine right ;3
behemoth_betrayed
2024-05-01 07:29 am (UTC)(link)
[ Anyone Normal should know enough to be concerned, being addressed with such shock and fury by the realm's master, while he's framed by a trio of shadowy beasts. What's this? What's that? He's curious as a tiger kitten, and showing zero concern with the less than friendly greeting he received. ]
Ah-ha, there you are~ [ His smile is placid and made of gold, but not quite wide enough to show the points of his fangs. He meant to introduce himself-- he should, but there's so much to wonder about, and those Shadow Brutes look like something he can see about ripping apart. Not that he's going to start attacking out of nowhere, but they feel... aggressive, like leashed feral animals. ]
What are these? I didn't expect you to have friends here!
[ When he mimes the shape of a gun with his hand, a small gold-and-orange flame bursts to life at his fingertips. He closes one eyes and mimes 'shooting' each Shadow once, but it's not a real attack; there's no sound to it, the fire on the pads of his fingers doesn't move. If anything, it's a taunt. ]
Hm... Actually, I was really hoping to catch you alone [... okay now the fangs are visible.]
Ah-ha, there you are~ [ His smile is placid and made of gold, but not quite wide enough to show the points of his fangs. He meant to introduce himself-- he should, but there's so much to wonder about, and those Shadow Brutes look like something he can see about ripping apart. Not that he's going to start attacking out of nowhere, but they feel... aggressive, like leashed feral animals. ]
What are these? I didn't expect you to have friends here!
[ When he mimes the shape of a gun with his hand, a small gold-and-orange flame bursts to life at his fingertips. He closes one eyes and mimes 'shooting' each Shadow once, but it's not a real attack; there's no sound to it, the fire on the pads of his fingers doesn't move. If anything, it's a taunt. ]
Hm... Actually, I was really hoping to catch you alone [... okay now the fangs are visible.]
Edited (I know numbers) 2024-05-01 10:16 (UTC)
[ The sudden flame and the feigned shots cause the Shadows to tense, a hair trigger away from beginning a battle. Maruki feels feverish all over with confusion – the sight of this person, the way they speak to him, their ability to conjure what appears to be the threat of a magical attack without the use of a Persona. He doesn't want a fight. He doesn't want anyone here.
But someone is. A hundred thoughts race through his head all at once, searching out the possibility of anyone who could break free from his reality and track him down aside from the Phantom Thieves. It makes no sense, none at all, but– ]
Are you one of Shido's men?
[ He knows it's wrong even as he says it. There is something… there is something. He leans farther over the railing, squints to get a good look at the man. The fangs are severely unsettling and give him a thought that this might be a rogue cognition, a sign of something wrinkled up not quite right between the two worlds.
And then: the eyes.
The faintest flicker of memory across the whirring mess that is his mind. His phone occasionally acting strangely, gold eyes blinking too quickly for him to take a screenshot for proof that he wasn't going crazy. And that all started after– ]
No. I know you. Tell me how I know you.
But someone is. A hundred thoughts race through his head all at once, searching out the possibility of anyone who could break free from his reality and track him down aside from the Phantom Thieves. It makes no sense, none at all, but– ]
Are you one of Shido's men?
[ He knows it's wrong even as he says it. There is something… there is something. He leans farther over the railing, squints to get a good look at the man. The fangs are severely unsettling and give him a thought that this might be a rogue cognition, a sign of something wrinkled up not quite right between the two worlds.
And then: the eyes.
The faintest flicker of memory across the whirring mess that is his mind. His phone occasionally acting strangely, gold eyes blinking too quickly for him to take a screenshot for proof that he wasn't going crazy. And that all started after– ]
No. I know you. Tell me how I know you.
[ His first response is only to shake his head, placid. The novelty of wavy black hair around his skull is something to note, causing an absent hand to drift up and comb long dark nails through his tresses. Shido... Oh yes, that man. Dull, by Ábramar's standards. Like a one trick pony. What's the point in world domination if you're just a boring guy? Honestly Abby's over it. His First Friend here is far more interesting. ]
You do know me, Doctor. Though I never did show you my face. I still haven't, come to think of it. Would you like me to show you? [ he doesn't answer the question he'd been posed, though. Just leaves Maruki with that new one to chew and stew on.
He can sense the aggression of the Shadows and it nags his curiosity, though his focus does narrow and burn almost exclusively on the master of the realm. He holds a deliberate quiet, in deviant refusal of providing any more information.
Sorry, Maruki. Sicking your Shadows on a guy who breaks and enters into your mind would be more than fair, all things considered. ]
You do know me, Doctor. Though I never did show you my face. I still haven't, come to think of it. Would you like me to show you? [ he doesn't answer the question he'd been posed, though. Just leaves Maruki with that new one to chew and stew on.
He can sense the aggression of the Shadows and it nags his curiosity, though his focus does narrow and burn almost exclusively on the master of the realm. He holds a deliberate quiet, in deviant refusal of providing any more information.
Sorry, Maruki. Sicking your Shadows on a guy who breaks and enters into your mind would be more than fair, all things considered. ]
[ It certainly would be warranted, and he can tell the Shadows are itching for the fight, but they wait at his command. Or Azathoth's. And Azathoth is quiet in the back of his mind, watchful. Almost like he recognizes more than Maruki does.
Maruki holds his gaze just as firmly, willing the pieces that are slowly making themselves known to begin to assemble into an identifiable shape.
The nails, the fangs, the eyes. The confirmation. And the implication that this isn't his real face.
Disguising oneself inside a Palace is a power all to itself. One that he wasn't aware anyone had.
He tightens his grip on the railing, straightens up and sets his shoulders down and back. This could go very badly, very quickly. He won't let any harm befall this place, all his hard work. Perhaps asking for the truth will be a disastrous mistake, but an unknown infiltrator is worse. ]
Show me.
Maruki holds his gaze just as firmly, willing the pieces that are slowly making themselves known to begin to assemble into an identifiable shape.
The nails, the fangs, the eyes. The confirmation. And the implication that this isn't his real face.
Disguising oneself inside a Palace is a power all to itself. One that he wasn't aware anyone had.
He tightens his grip on the railing, straightens up and sets his shoulders down and back. This could go very badly, very quickly. He won't let any harm befall this place, all his hard work. Perhaps asking for the truth will be a disastrous mistake, but an unknown infiltrator is worse. ]
Show me.
[ Ah-ha, but maybe Abby fits just a little more neatly into this reality than it first seems. He waits though, silently willing his friend to grant him the dare. It's no fun dishing out chaos if no one asked for it. And though the Behemoth doesn't quite understand it, something under his skin is itching for what he's about to do.
Eyes that look too much like the purest possible gold slant meaningfully to the hand mimed in the shape of a gun. He lifts the appendage and turns it, back and forth, with an overplayed, thoughtful frown. He 'pulls the trigger' by wiggling his thumb but nothing seems to happen, aside from the tiny flame at the tip giving a stuttering little flicker.
Then, a look on his face of enlightened understanding. His gaze bores into Maruki's, silently daring him not to look away. A game of chicken it is, as he lifts his hand to point his 'gun' at his own temple. The moment hangs for an extended beat.
The air around him shatters like glass when he pulls the trigger again.
And he's still standing there, dark clothing kicked up in the impossible winds and fragmented reality as a very large shadowy shape bursts from the other side of his skull like a mini black hole. It flows like liquid-air and forms into the shape of his Behemoth body, but translucent and flickering. Some impossible combination of darkness, light, smoke, and gold.
While the details of his Behemoth body don't quite translate into this new form, not yet, the eyes are what's most noticeable. The three on the massive Pseudo-Persona's face almost exactly like the ones that had flashed, on more than one occasion, across Maruki's phone.
The Shadow Behemoth smiles in tandem with its summoner; they have the same eyes, the same claws, the same fangs. A thick tail, like a lobster as much as a snake, curls comfortably around Abby's human projection.
The smile he shoots Maruki now is nothing short of dizzy glee. ]
Please tell me you remember me now. It has been a while, but I certainly didn't forget you.
Eyes that look too much like the purest possible gold slant meaningfully to the hand mimed in the shape of a gun. He lifts the appendage and turns it, back and forth, with an overplayed, thoughtful frown. He 'pulls the trigger' by wiggling his thumb but nothing seems to happen, aside from the tiny flame at the tip giving a stuttering little flicker.
Then, a look on his face of enlightened understanding. His gaze bores into Maruki's, silently daring him not to look away. A game of chicken it is, as he lifts his hand to point his 'gun' at his own temple. The moment hangs for an extended beat.
The air around him shatters like glass when he pulls the trigger again.
And he's still standing there, dark clothing kicked up in the impossible winds and fragmented reality as a very large shadowy shape bursts from the other side of his skull like a mini black hole. It flows like liquid-air and forms into the shape of his Behemoth body, but translucent and flickering. Some impossible combination of darkness, light, smoke, and gold.
While the details of his Behemoth body don't quite translate into this new form, not yet, the eyes are what's most noticeable. The three on the massive Pseudo-Persona's face almost exactly like the ones that had flashed, on more than one occasion, across Maruki's phone.
The Shadow Behemoth smiles in tandem with its summoner; they have the same eyes, the same claws, the same fangs. A thick tail, like a lobster as much as a snake, curls comfortably around Abby's human projection.
The smile he shoots Maruki now is nothing short of dizzy glee. ]
Please tell me you remember me now. It has been a while, but I certainly didn't forget you.
[ To his credit, Maruki doesn't look away.
His eyes go wide when the make believe gun is brought up, and he recoils at the shot, but he never once looks away.
His heart stutters rabbit-fast against his ribcage as the beast begins to take shape. It's like nothing he has ever seen before; Maruki isn't yet aware that the way he awoke to his power, his Persona, is the unusual outlier. The Phantom Thieves would recognize this more readily than he does, even without the use of a mask. But for his part, he can only gape uselessly at this monstrous creature, this–
Behemoth.
The Shadows behind him begin to take their true forms as well, the humanoid facades bursting away to reveal two Hastur and a Macabre. Maruki finally breaks eye contact to whip around, arms flung out at his sides and voice not wholly his own: ]
No.
[ That warped, iridescent shimmer through the air that signals Azathoth's power briefly blankets the top level of the entrance hall. It's enough to subdue the Shadows, then dissolve them into the black particulate matter that they all come from. They will reform where they are needed, back in the exam room, and continue to carry out their work. Their presence isn't necessary here.
Maruki is left alone on the landing and turns back again to take in the sight, phenomenally strange and yet somehow less grotesque than he would have expected from their conversations.
Neither a Shadow nor a Persona. Maruki steps away from the railing to the top of the staircase for a better view and grins down at both forms. ]
Ábramar, my friend.
[ Of course he remembers. It would be impossible not to. One doesn't get contacted by a god – the second one to do so, at that – and forget it.
But remembrance does not grant him understanding. He laughs, disbelieving, and folds his arms over his chest. ]
How did you manage to find yourself here?
His eyes go wide when the make believe gun is brought up, and he recoils at the shot, but he never once looks away.
His heart stutters rabbit-fast against his ribcage as the beast begins to take shape. It's like nothing he has ever seen before; Maruki isn't yet aware that the way he awoke to his power, his Persona, is the unusual outlier. The Phantom Thieves would recognize this more readily than he does, even without the use of a mask. But for his part, he can only gape uselessly at this monstrous creature, this–
Behemoth.
The Shadows behind him begin to take their true forms as well, the humanoid facades bursting away to reveal two Hastur and a Macabre. Maruki finally breaks eye contact to whip around, arms flung out at his sides and voice not wholly his own: ]
No.
[ That warped, iridescent shimmer through the air that signals Azathoth's power briefly blankets the top level of the entrance hall. It's enough to subdue the Shadows, then dissolve them into the black particulate matter that they all come from. They will reform where they are needed, back in the exam room, and continue to carry out their work. Their presence isn't necessary here.
Maruki is left alone on the landing and turns back again to take in the sight, phenomenally strange and yet somehow less grotesque than he would have expected from their conversations.
Neither a Shadow nor a Persona. Maruki steps away from the railing to the top of the staircase for a better view and grins down at both forms. ]
Ábramar, my friend.
[ Of course he remembers. It would be impossible not to. One doesn't get contacted by a god – the second one to do so, at that – and forget it.
But remembrance does not grant him understanding. He laughs, disbelieving, and folds his arms over his chest. ]
How did you manage to find yourself here?
[ Brave, and bold. Ábramar is pleased to the grit of his atoms that his friend watches the entire show-- or friends, is it? It feels like there's something-- maybe someone else beyond and behind those obedient shadows, somewhere. Or is it everywhere? He can't exactly tell. And as much as a good fight would have keyed him up, he's also just delighted Maruki's recognition of him should also come with the instinct to protect him.
Impressive, how some unspoken will dissolves the attack dogs into motes of darkness. This reality is so mailable, interlaced with an odd, reality warping quality Ábramar has never encountered, outside of being like himself. ]
Ah, you do remember me.
[ When Maruki turns back to face the railing, the massive Behemoth's Shadow is suddenly much closer. One pair of tree-trunk arms crossed, and slung casually over the balcony. Another pair of arms above that prop the Behemoth-Sona's jaw on a pair of curled hands. He still isn't quite solid, but the flecks of gold that flow through his liquid-smoke body all gather on his face to form a delighted, if slightly hungry crescent of a grin. ]
Accidentally! I wasn't sure I could fit through the rivets I felt, the seams that seemed like someone else was sliding in.
[ a trio of golden eyes on Ábramar's real face trace his friend's form from face to toes and back again. Every moment seems to flip which aspect feels in control (the human, or his Persona) while the other seems the puppet. ]
You seem different. What have you been up to? [ said like he's more than eager to spill the tea.]
Impressive, how some unspoken will dissolves the attack dogs into motes of darkness. This reality is so mailable, interlaced with an odd, reality warping quality Ábramar has never encountered, outside of being like himself. ]
Ah, you do remember me.
[ When Maruki turns back to face the railing, the massive Behemoth's Shadow is suddenly much closer. One pair of tree-trunk arms crossed, and slung casually over the balcony. Another pair of arms above that prop the Behemoth-Sona's jaw on a pair of curled hands. He still isn't quite solid, but the flecks of gold that flow through his liquid-smoke body all gather on his face to form a delighted, if slightly hungry crescent of a grin. ]
Accidentally! I wasn't sure I could fit through the rivets I felt, the seams that seemed like someone else was sliding in.
[ a trio of golden eyes on Ábramar's real face trace his friend's form from face to toes and back again. Every moment seems to flip which aspect feels in control (the human, or his Persona) while the other seems the puppet. ]
You seem different. What have you been up to? [ said like he's more than eager to spill the tea.]
[ Ah, Abby. If only you could have met him when he was his old dorky self. He has become more shrewd since the new year, no less genuinely empathetic but far less prone to self-deprecation and jokes. Calm in the way of self-assurance rather than a means to set others at ease.
Then again, if they had met before, he would have been openly terrified of this approximation of Ábramar's true form. As it stands, Maruki only surveys him with curiosity and a gentle sort of appreciation. He has had time to become used to creatures whose forms are outside of his human comprehension, and the scientist in him finds them utterly fascinating. He lets Ábramar drape over the balcony without complaint and stands placidly before him, observing him just as keenly in return.
This is– definitely still strange, but not unwelcome. Maruki hasn't stopped to consider his own feelings since the work began in earnest on Christmas Eve, but if he did, he would likely recognize a deepening loneliness. It's necessary for his plan to succeed, but even in the slow ascent to godhood he is still all too human, and his isolation from everyone but the Shadows and Azathoth has been difficult. In the past month, his only interaction with other humans has been in opposition.
Ábramar isn't human, of course, but he is a friend. That scratches the itch that Maruki barely realized was so painful.
The question makes him laugh again, just loudly enough to bounce off the cavernous room's white walls. ]
A lot, to say the least. I'd like to tell you about it – but perhaps not here.
[ The last thing he needs is for the Phantom Thieves to reenter and continue their plundering of the place, and immediately come face to face with Maruki and an all knowing, all seeing, lobster-snake god.
His mouth twists thoughtfully, unsure if Ábramar could move to a different part of the Palace while retaining this form – nothing against the golden-eyed human, of course, but he's always more comfortable seeing someone for who they truly are. ]
There's a garden that's better suited for conversation, if you can find a way to join me.
[ It's stated as a friendly challenge as much as it is an invitation. Show him what you can do, Abby. ]
Then again, if they had met before, he would have been openly terrified of this approximation of Ábramar's true form. As it stands, Maruki only surveys him with curiosity and a gentle sort of appreciation. He has had time to become used to creatures whose forms are outside of his human comprehension, and the scientist in him finds them utterly fascinating. He lets Ábramar drape over the balcony without complaint and stands placidly before him, observing him just as keenly in return.
This is– definitely still strange, but not unwelcome. Maruki hasn't stopped to consider his own feelings since the work began in earnest on Christmas Eve, but if he did, he would likely recognize a deepening loneliness. It's necessary for his plan to succeed, but even in the slow ascent to godhood he is still all too human, and his isolation from everyone but the Shadows and Azathoth has been difficult. In the past month, his only interaction with other humans has been in opposition.
Ábramar isn't human, of course, but he is a friend. That scratches the itch that Maruki barely realized was so painful.
The question makes him laugh again, just loudly enough to bounce off the cavernous room's white walls. ]
A lot, to say the least. I'd like to tell you about it – but perhaps not here.
[ The last thing he needs is for the Phantom Thieves to reenter and continue their plundering of the place, and immediately come face to face with Maruki and an all knowing, all seeing, lobster-snake god.
His mouth twists thoughtfully, unsure if Ábramar could move to a different part of the Palace while retaining this form – nothing against the golden-eyed human, of course, but he's always more comfortable seeing someone for who they truly are. ]
There's a garden that's better suited for conversation, if you can find a way to join me.
[ It's stated as a friendly challenge as much as it is an invitation. Show him what you can do, Abby. ]
Edited (wow my brain is soup what are words) 2024-05-03 06:35 (UTC)
[ Being feared, admired, or appreciated are all tastes the Behemoth enjoys, depending on his current whim; currently he's not quite preening under the (now) unflinching eyes of his friend. Yes, Behold Me. The center eye in his forehead blinks-- or does it wink?
Watching his companion as he is watched, Ábramar can't help but recall his previous assessment of the man. 'A Martyr with the Ego of a God.' Certainly still fits... and Maruki wears it well. Yanking his favorite element more or less out of the cosmic equation would not have been the Behemoth's first choice of Flavor of Havoc-- but that's part of what makes it all so interesting.
Honestly, the good Doctor is far much more colorful and fascinating than the typical mortal thread of 'money and power, bitch'. No wonder his own mysterious Wish Granter saw fit to comply. If changing the course of History is a 'decent project' for a Behemoth, creating and alchemizing realities that defy Cosmic Physics is really something to brag about. Just grandiosity, such greatness of ego!
But, Oops, Abby is starring (with less gentle appreciation) and his smile widens when Maruki's agreement to chat gently brings him back to the moment. The Behemoth tips his head in agreement, not quite genteel, and shifts through the air like it's water. He turns, offers a hand that seems to shimmer less and less, approaching an odd dusty-purple shade of nebula. Ábramar's human form steps onto the waiting palm, elegantly grasping the claw off the Persona's thumb like it's nothing more than an accommodating handlebar.
He then carries himself up over the railing of the balcony, and deposits himself neatly beside his friend. Just as it seems to be taking solid shape, the massive Behemoth Form dissolves into little motes of sooty darkness (through that golden grin is last to go).
When Ábramar's human form turns a placidly expectant look to his host, the third golden eye remains visible on his forehead. He's got to look up at Maruki, by the just the slightest inclining tip of his jaw, but he still wears the much smaller body like he's larger than life.]
Then I'll defer to the master of the domain [ One hand gives a smooth, inviting wave for Maruki to show him where to go. ] Shall we?
Watching his companion as he is watched, Ábramar can't help but recall his previous assessment of the man. 'A Martyr with the Ego of a God.' Certainly still fits... and Maruki wears it well. Yanking his favorite element more or less out of the cosmic equation would not have been the Behemoth's first choice of Flavor of Havoc-- but that's part of what makes it all so interesting.
Honestly, the good Doctor is far much more colorful and fascinating than the typical mortal thread of 'money and power, bitch'. No wonder his own mysterious Wish Granter saw fit to comply. If changing the course of History is a 'decent project' for a Behemoth, creating and alchemizing realities that defy Cosmic Physics is really something to brag about. Just grandiosity, such greatness of ego!
But, Oops, Abby is starring (with less gentle appreciation) and his smile widens when Maruki's agreement to chat gently brings him back to the moment. The Behemoth tips his head in agreement, not quite genteel, and shifts through the air like it's water. He turns, offers a hand that seems to shimmer less and less, approaching an odd dusty-purple shade of nebula. Ábramar's human form steps onto the waiting palm, elegantly grasping the claw off the Persona's thumb like it's nothing more than an accommodating handlebar.
He then carries himself up over the railing of the balcony, and deposits himself neatly beside his friend. Just as it seems to be taking solid shape, the massive Behemoth Form dissolves into little motes of sooty darkness (through that golden grin is last to go).
When Ábramar's human form turns a placidly expectant look to his host, the third golden eye remains visible on his forehead. He's got to look up at Maruki, by the just the slightest inclining tip of his jaw, but he still wears the much smaller body like he's larger than life.]
Then I'll defer to the master of the domain [ One hand gives a smooth, inviting wave for Maruki to show him where to go. ] Shall we?
[ For a moment he thinks – hopes, with the sick thrill of a man who has come to appreciate unknowable beasts – that the colossal Behemoth will solidify, and then he's gone, golden Cheshire grin lingering in the air just long enough for Maruki to wonder if this has happened before. Not this, exactly, this type of full blown manifestation. But if there have been other times that signs of Ábramar have blinked in and out of his reality.
His old reality.
There is so much to explain. ]
Come, this way.
[ The Palace is massive, sprawling and pristine. It has taken the Phantom Thieves several visits and a tremendous amount of painful work to manage to fight their way into the garden – hours spent winding up spiral staircases, through exam rooms, into the tight and dark corridors behind the scenes, pawing through boxes of his own memories, arguing with each other over puzzles, consulting maps, doubling back, leaving and returning again and again.
But this is, for all intents and purposes, Maruki's home. He has not left the Metaverse since Christmas Eve. Outside of one trip that he knows he needs to make, to pay a visit to that humble cafe, he doesn't intend to leave until the fusion of Mementos and the real world is complete – and even then, even after his new world is born, he can't imagine he'll leave more than occasionally.
It is of his design, and he has come to know every inch of it as if it were his own flesh and blood. Even the parts that he had let mutate to better suit Yoshizawa still belong to him. Ábramar is right in calling him the master of the domain, and the master of the domain has special privileges.
He leads Ábramar through the lobby doors and into the entrance hall, with its great swaths of golden cables and its cognitions puttering around, and speaks as they walk purposefully up toward the center of the room. ]
I did wonder if you would still be able to contact me after I began to change this reality. I should have known that a little thing like that wouldn't stop you – in fact, it seems that it's only made it easier for you to make yourself known. That was an unintended effect on my part, but I have to say it's a happy one– ah, here we are.
[ 'Here they are' is an elevator, like any other in the place. When the Phantom Thieves went through it, it took them to yet another level to weave around and battle Shadows.
Maruki presses a hand against the door, and that wave of iridescence returns, like the hazy mirage of a hot day. Azathoth has created these shortcuts for him, and there is none that he uses more often than this. When he is implored to step away from his work and rest, there is only one place that he wants to do it.
It doesn't take them to the next level. It transports them directly to the very heart of his psientific model Eden, sprawling and lush, teeming with wildflowers in all colors. The grand marble gazebo that they exit onto at one end, and the massive Tree of Knowledge at the other. His heart lifts to see it, shoulders untensing and breath coming easier.
Maruki smiles at Ábramar then, warm and wide. ]
Welcome to paradise, my friend. I really am so glad you could make it.
His old reality.
There is so much to explain. ]
Come, this way.
[ The Palace is massive, sprawling and pristine. It has taken the Phantom Thieves several visits and a tremendous amount of painful work to manage to fight their way into the garden – hours spent winding up spiral staircases, through exam rooms, into the tight and dark corridors behind the scenes, pawing through boxes of his own memories, arguing with each other over puzzles, consulting maps, doubling back, leaving and returning again and again.
But this is, for all intents and purposes, Maruki's home. He has not left the Metaverse since Christmas Eve. Outside of one trip that he knows he needs to make, to pay a visit to that humble cafe, he doesn't intend to leave until the fusion of Mementos and the real world is complete – and even then, even after his new world is born, he can't imagine he'll leave more than occasionally.
It is of his design, and he has come to know every inch of it as if it were his own flesh and blood. Even the parts that he had let mutate to better suit Yoshizawa still belong to him. Ábramar is right in calling him the master of the domain, and the master of the domain has special privileges.
He leads Ábramar through the lobby doors and into the entrance hall, with its great swaths of golden cables and its cognitions puttering around, and speaks as they walk purposefully up toward the center of the room. ]
I did wonder if you would still be able to contact me after I began to change this reality. I should have known that a little thing like that wouldn't stop you – in fact, it seems that it's only made it easier for you to make yourself known. That was an unintended effect on my part, but I have to say it's a happy one– ah, here we are.
[ 'Here they are' is an elevator, like any other in the place. When the Phantom Thieves went through it, it took them to yet another level to weave around and battle Shadows.
Maruki presses a hand against the door, and that wave of iridescence returns, like the hazy mirage of a hot day. Azathoth has created these shortcuts for him, and there is none that he uses more often than this. When he is implored to step away from his work and rest, there is only one place that he wants to do it.
It doesn't take them to the next level. It transports them directly to the very heart of his psientific model Eden, sprawling and lush, teeming with wildflowers in all colors. The grand marble gazebo that they exit onto at one end, and the massive Tree of Knowledge at the other. His heart lifts to see it, shoulders untensing and breath coming easier.
Maruki smiles at Ábramar then, warm and wide. ]
Welcome to paradise, my friend. I really am so glad you could make it.
[It-
It-
It-
With defeat in a game, a loss felt and burning furiously in his chest. A pain ripping and searing every across his flesh like lashes from claws and teeth in a world blurred at the edges.
He didn't hear a word over the raucous group next to them. The man's voice drowned out by the-
Happy world around them.
Breath paralyzed, heart racing - recovering from a marathon instead of two step walk to a too bright machine.]
The air quality was supposed to be good today.
[Absent mindedly - like the woes of his current situation are due to smog on a hot summer evening, instead of-]
I'm sorry - what did you say? I couldn't hear.
Rebels.
It-
Aches.
It-
Stings
With defeat in a game, a loss felt and burning furiously in his chest. A pain ripping and searing every across his flesh like lashes from claws and teeth in a world blurred at the edges.
He didn't hear a word over the raucous group next to them. The man's voice drowned out by the-
fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fakefakefakefakefakefake-
Happy world around them.
Breath paralyzed, heart racing - recovering from a marathon instead of two step walk to a too bright machine.]
The air quality was supposed to be good today.
[Absent mindedly - like the woes of his current situation are due to smog on a hot summer evening, instead of-]
I'm sorry - what did you say? I couldn't hear.
[ Before the fusion of this perfect world, he was already extraordinarily skilled at picking up on subtle shifts in mood, tone, body language. Since then, even with his limited interaction with other humans, it's only been heightened. It must be part and parcel of being the one to stitch this world together. Of course any flicker of stress, unhappiness, confusion, pain registers to him. It shouldn't exist.
He sees Akechi's breath catch, hears the absent tone of his voice.
Azathoth is with him, always. They rarely have reason to communicate outside of his Palace, but now there is the familiar voice in his head, snaking around his senses like dark tendrils, telling him to either fix this or leave.
But Maruki isn't a god. He's a vessel, and one that's still all too human. His instinct kicks in before he can stop to consider anything else, and he leans in closer to be heard over the laughing group. ]
I only asked if you wanted to play again, Akechi-kun, but if you're not feeling well–
[ Panic squeezes his heart before he can finish.
Akechi never told him his name. ]
He sees Akechi's breath catch, hears the absent tone of his voice.
Azathoth is with him, always. They rarely have reason to communicate outside of his Palace, but now there is the familiar voice in his head, snaking around his senses like dark tendrils, telling him to either fix this or leave.
But Maruki isn't a god. He's a vessel, and one that's still all too human. His instinct kicks in before he can stop to consider anything else, and he leans in closer to be heard over the laughing group. ]
I only asked if you wanted to play again, Akechi-kun, but if you're not feeling well–
[ Panic squeezes his heart before he can finish.
Akechi never told him his name. ]
[That's his name That's his name That's his name that's his name that's his name-
It's his name. He said his name. Akechi is his name. He knows his name. They've never met and the name falls from his lips with certainty, with confidence, with-
Nothing floods back.
Like an hourglass stuck mid drop, a vase drained of all but a single drop.
Nothing changes and everything does. It's being filled with nothing, ripped apart to air. For a second, split feels whole and-
He laughs - frazzled, saccharine, miserable and joyous all the same. A mixture of static as he threads both his palms through his hair, tugging at strands. As if the sting against his skull is enough to keep it there, keep him there, keep this feeling there with-]
Maruki.
[Inhale. Exhale. His hands still and affixed to his skull until-
It drops. Both hands fall, like a marionette snapped free from the shadows.
He smiles. It's normal. This is all normal.]
My apologies - I think I need some air. Will you come with me?
[Please come with him. He hopes Maruki comes with him. Dreams and thinks about all the times he came with him and filled an alleyway with blood splattered with him in a world that doesn't need him and-
He blinks.]
To-
[And again. What was he saying? More wants to come out and-]
I'm afraid I'll pass out and don't want to be stuck there alone.
[Is he even talking? And-]
I feel like a prince lost in my own palace right now. Is that weird?
it's his name that's his name and-
It's his name. He said his name. Akechi is his name. He knows his name. They've never met and the name falls from his lips with certainty, with confidence, with-
Knowing. Knowledge. He knows his name.
Nothing floods back.
Like an hourglass stuck mid drop, a vase drained of all but a single drop.
Nothing changes and everything does. It's being filled with nothing, ripped apart to air. For a second, split feels whole and-
He laughs - frazzled, saccharine, miserable and joyous all the same. A mixture of static as he threads both his palms through his hair, tugging at strands. As if the sting against his skull is enough to keep it there, keep him there, keep this feeling there with-]
Maruki.
[Inhale. Exhale. His hands still and affixed to his skull until-
It drops. Both hands fall, like a marionette snapped free from the shadows.
He smiles. It's normal. This is all normal.]
My apologies - I think I need some air. Will you come with me?
[Please come with him. He hopes Maruki comes with him. Dreams and thinks about all the times he came with him and filled an alleyway with blood splattered with him in a world that doesn't need him and-
He blinks.]
To-
[And again. What was he saying? More wants to come out and-]
I'm afraid I'll pass out and don't want to be stuck there alone.
[Is he even talking? And-]
I feel like a prince lost in my own palace right now. Is that weird?
[ Maruki.
He freezes, gaze wide and wild and fixed directly on Akechi, a rush of blood pounding relentlessly in his ears over everything else he says.
Leave. He needs to leave. He needs to leave without Akechi, get away from Akechi, get himself back to the Metaverse, where nothing and no one can touch him, where he'll never venture out into this world long enough again to catch any sight of even the slightest imperfections, where he'll complete his life sentence alone, where he'll eventually die, if he can even still die–
No, he can. Not a god, but a vessel. He absolutely can.
Prince and palace seize him around the throat and hurtle him back into reality all at once, the overwhelming noise of Penguin Sniper flooding back in, the shifting look in Akechi's eyes. ]
No. I don't think that I should.
[ Azathoth first appeared to him in the true reality, both of them seeking one another out across time and space, that perfect moment under a bleeding sky finally making it possible to connect.
Just as Azathoth would not be able to use the Metaverse to bring about global change without him, Maruki cannot summon his power when he is outside of those bounds. That latent connection between them throbbing in his temples is a pale version of what they're able to accomplish together in their own realm, and it beats now like a warning signal, an alarm calling him back.
By not walking away at the first sign of Akechi, by indulging his ego enough to think he could slide comfortably around the shimmering edges of this reality, he's made himself a sitting duck.
Maruki swallows hard, stares Akechi down, horrified and furious in equal measure.
A statement, not a question. ]
You know who I am, don't you.
He freezes, gaze wide and wild and fixed directly on Akechi, a rush of blood pounding relentlessly in his ears over everything else he says.
Leave. He needs to leave. He needs to leave without Akechi, get away from Akechi, get himself back to the Metaverse, where nothing and no one can touch him, where he'll never venture out into this world long enough again to catch any sight of even the slightest imperfections, where he'll complete his life sentence alone, where he'll eventually die, if he can even still die–
No, he can. Not a god, but a vessel. He absolutely can.
Prince and palace seize him around the throat and hurtle him back into reality all at once, the overwhelming noise of Penguin Sniper flooding back in, the shifting look in Akechi's eyes. ]
No. I don't think that I should.
[ Azathoth first appeared to him in the true reality, both of them seeking one another out across time and space, that perfect moment under a bleeding sky finally making it possible to connect.
Just as Azathoth would not be able to use the Metaverse to bring about global change without him, Maruki cannot summon his power when he is outside of those bounds. That latent connection between them throbbing in his temples is a pale version of what they're able to accomplish together in their own realm, and it beats now like a warning signal, an alarm calling him back.
By not walking away at the first sign of Akechi, by indulging his ego enough to think he could slide comfortably around the shimmering edges of this reality, he's made himself a sitting duck.
Maruki swallows hard, stares Akechi down, horrified and furious in equal measure.
A statement, not a question. ]
You know who I am, don't you.
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