[Two thoughts come to mind - ignoring him being the first and most tempting. The second is to comment about how they aren't playing house and ignore any additional commentary by blocking him for his foreseeable shopping experience. He tried to make peace by giving him a choice.
He settles on a third after a few minutes of staring at the illuminated watch on his arm.]
You're sorely mistaken if you think I'm about to list off every item in this store. I don't need you to cook for me. I'm fine with what I'm purchasing.
[A photo of a store aisle comes through - an assortment of weird items on either side, mostly canned soup and tv dinners. Other random items are littered in between.]
[God damn it, Akira doesn't type, because that's neither helpful nor productive.]
I don't need you to list every item, just something that isn't processed. It's important to keep up your strength when we don't know what to expect here.
[Akira's sentimental nature is rubbing off on him in a disturbing way - that's the only reason he doesn't turn off the watch and do what he wants. His thin thread of patience, bolstered only by that memory of resolve on February 2, is the only reason he takes a single side step to the next aisle.
Another photo sent. It's only canned soup. ]
My strength is fine. You may have forgotten, but I've done well for myself over the years.
Should I attribute any of your future failures in battle to what you had for breakfast that morning?
[What did you eat on the morning of the engine room, is typed out and hastily deleted, because that's. It's sardonic enough for Akira but it's too painful to even read. Still too soon, even if something arguably worse came later.]
You've made it in spite of it, not because of it. You're hitting the age where you start feeling the effects of what you eat anyway.
[Part his own knowledge, part picked up from Takemi. It's interesting, though, that Akechi said this instead of simply saying "no". That doesn't seem unsignificant.]
And yes, they do say that breakfast is the most important day of the meal for a reason. Please feel free to blame that for any of my future blunders.
I don't think my age will be a concern for much longer.
[Bitter. Quick. To the point.
Akira loses his chance with the metallic rows of canned soup and Akechi, in his infinite mercy, moves to the final aisle of this small store unprompted.
Predictably, a new photo comes - it's full of processed meals, a stray vegetable of unknown origin, and an assortment of candy. There's some sauces in there and-
Soup. Rows of it.]
Dully noted though. I'm assuming you didn't have a good one today, judging by your inability to follow simple instructions.
[At first, Akira doesn't even pay attention to the picture. There's something a lot more important to address here, because it's panging through his chest in jagged waves.]
It's my concern. Are you planning on giving up on our deal that easily, Akechi?
[The temptation to say yes - if only to make Akira give up on waiting for a corpse is present, persistent and intrusive. He settles on that answer, deep in the aisle of a futuristic grocery store. It's fitting. Type it, end it and Akira's shitty sentimental attitude towards him will die with it.
The issue comes with the words that blur together. The bitter sting of losing to Akira in anything enough to override logic and-]
[There's a long pause before Akira responds, and that's because every second of it is devoted to pinching between his eyebrows to ward off either a tension headache or the rare impulse to yell at Akechi. Maybe it's actually both.]
Did the local say they had miso paste at the Soup Store?
[ When the Death Knight tells him to get out of his sight, Maruki doesn't need to be told twice.
He'd been on his way to the train before he was captured, and all good sense tells him to continue on that way, get the hell out of District 6 as fast as possible. He isn't even far from the station. It would be the smartest move by far.
Maruki isn't thinking that rationally.
He escaped with his life, without so much as a scratch on him. He's fine.
His whole body is shaking.
It's the fight or flight adrenaline, of course it is, but it's also the simple fact that Maruki has never been in a physical altercation before. He's certainly never been stabbed before. Never had a man holding him in place, sadistically delighted by his pain, promising to make it a slow death. Never summoned Azathoth with the intention to do harm. All of the nevers coalescing into an experience wholly unique to his life thus far and deeply, viscerally terrifying.
Being alone with that experience right now might do his head in.
It's how he finds himself at the front door of Akira's apartment in 6, breathless from his sprint. His torso is soaked in blood, streaked on the palm he'd pressed to it in a panic and down his chin from where he coughed through Azathoth's healing. His sweater sticks to his shirt, and his shirt sticks to his newly pristine skin.
After a moment of attempting to catch his breath, he knocks.
When Akira answers, he'll say before anything else: ]
I'm not hurt. I'm perfectly fine. Please don't panic, it looks much worse than it really is!
[He opens the door without much expectation, already dressed down for sleep in the clothes he bought that are a surprising approximation of what he used to wear back in Tokyo; even the house slippers seemed weirdly similar to what he could pick up in Japan, but Akira's never questioned it. The colder air from outside is already curling over his toes before the door's even wedged open the entire way, and then he can't think of anything at all. Perhaps it's Eren, coming to ask him something even though Akira (at least to his knowledge) hasn't done anything worthy of a sound complaint in a month and a half.
It's his brain, freezing and stalling and failing to restart, as his eyes process first Maruki's face and then the blood that might as well be covering him from head to toe. It turns all of Maruki's words into white noise after "hurt", the denial of his own state making something in Akira's gut twist with nausea. He feels his body go rigid like it's happening to someone else, detached yet snagged into the moment like a fish hook has him by the collar.
It takes a short but impossible moment to remember to breathe. He can't stop looking at the blood, face rapidly going pale. Akira isn't sure of what kind of expression he's making.]
Ma-
[Maria, maybe, is what he's trying to say, an attempt to pull out a Salvation he doesn't have access to without her. Maruki, perhaps, with his voice pitched up on the final beat of his name like a question, seeking the answer he doesn't have the breath to ask for. Maybe not a ma entirely, but a mo, because surely Morgana would be able to fix it, make everything better and full of sense once more.
The words Akira had spoken the last time he saw him are a dagger lodged in his chest.
And when we get there, "I" will save you.
He really is the fool. There's so much blood. The moment he dares to want anything is always the moment he can never save anyone at all.]
Bathroom. Now. [Between one moment and the next, his hand has lashed out and gripped Maruki's arm as unyieldingly as an iron bar (is it even safe to touch him there, will it make it even worse-). Akira may be in the middle of a fraught rebooting process, but something in his body still remembers how to be Joker and how to respond when one of his is downed.] Where are you bleeding from?
[Akira tugs him into the apartment, trying to recollect what's in his first aid kit under the sink. He's never used it, so it should be enough, unless it's even worse than it looks...]
Akira may not know what his expression is doing, but Maruki watches everything filter through it in those split seconds – shock, panic, fear, a pallor that he's never seen on Akira before. All at once, guilt shreds through Maruki's soul; he shouldn't have brought this to Akira's doorstep, quite literally. Shouldn't have heaped another instance of suffering onto his already overburdened shoulders, forced him to try to act the hero.
It doesn't take long at all for steel to overtake his expression, and then Maruki is being wrenched inside the apartment, the grip around his arm unrelenting. ]
Kurusu–
[ Maruki reaches out as well, mirroring the action, grabbing Akira's other arm to still him after they've staggered only a few steps. The door is still open behind him. ]
Kurusu. Stop, I'm okay.
[ It's less panicked than his original disclaimer by far. Gently authoritative, firm with the edges sanded down. Maruki looks at him, brows knitting together to meet in the middle in sympathy – really looks at him, shuttered down to spring into action despite his own shaking fear, and allays it as best he can. ]
I'm not injured, you don't have to do anything. I already healed myself. I just–
[ The hand vice-like around Akira's upper arm releases its tension, though he doesn't let go. ]
I wasn't sure where else I could go. I'm sorry.
[ It's plain in its sincerity, earnest in its intent. He really is sorry. And he really is otherwise alone in this world. They both are, save for each other. But even if they were spoiled for choice... Who else would Maruki really choose to turn to? ]
Don't- [Something pained flits across his face before he can control it and overstays its welcome. It's twice now that his voice has cracked in front of Maruki, something that most people never get to hear.] Don't apologize for getting injured.
[Maruki's guilt is a collection of nettles stinging his heart over and over; just as he frees himself from the clutch of apologizing for almost dying like he's making trouble for Akira, he's stumbling into the sharp bite of him saying sorry for getting himself somewhere safe.
It hurts Akira twofold. It's not just Maruki minimizing his own pain that's hard to swallow, but the fact that Akira knows he's to blame for this guilt. Maybe not all of it, but enough. He almost wishes he'd listened to his conscience, not extended himself to Maruki the way he had, because it's almost certain that he'd weighed on him even more-
...But if he hadn't, then where would Maruki have gone tonight?
He stops moving, but doesn't loosen his grip. It's the only acquiesce Akira can make, because he doesn't even know if he can let go. The primal fear is still pounding out a beat located at his temple, even with the logic of Maruki's words starting to bounce around in his skull.
What a sight they must make, holding onto each other in Akira's entranceway like the world will end if they let go.]
How strong of a spell did you use?
[Azathoth had decent healing capabilities from what he remembers, but not a full one. If Maruki bled this much, then...
He aches to have Futaba with him; he always does, but especially right now, to look over Maruki's vitals and make sure Akira's less-trained eye hasn't missed something. It makes his heart feel small and tight and helpless in his chest.]
Edited (i upset myself so much i forgot my subject line) 2024-06-16 10:07 (UTC)
[ That waver in his voice, the clear pain flickering through his features before being neatly tucked away again. Has he ever seen Akira this raw? It's somehow even different from their conversation in the tea house, which was already a unique sight.
The two of them, a ceaseless ouroboros of guilt and care in equal measure. Of course they can't let one another go. ]
Ah... Well, I wouldn't say it was a fully conscious action on my part.
[ Because he was about to die, and because those inextricable parts of Azathoth are capable of acting independently to protect him. Eager to do so, even.
They really must have had a hell of a battle in Akira's timeline. ]
But what was done was strong enough to fix me up. I promise you that. If I had an extra shirt with me, you'd never even know it happened.
[ That last part is said with a smile, a forced lightening of his tone, but if Akira is looking closely – and what are they doing, if not staring one another intently down – he'll be able to see the fear trembling at the edges. It isn't the state of his injury now. It's the fact that it happened at all – that one moment he was trying to find the train station, and the next he was slammed into a wall with a blade to his throat. If he hadn't awakened to the powers that he did less than two months ago, he would be dead. If that man pulls the same move on any other people without special abilities, they'll be dead.
It sinks in, in fits and starts. Every time a new piece of what transpired tonight clicks into place to lodge the whole image into his memory, he's unsettled and unmoored all over again.
Maruki draws a breath, wills it to be steady – it isn't, despite his best efforts – and rubs his palm vigorously against Akira's arm to try to loosen him from that worry. ]
[The touch is both an electrocution and a balm; both help clear his head for different reasons. He struggles to pull his mask into place, but can't really succeed. Honestly, Akira doesn't think it even matters right now.
Who cares if his eyes are a window to his heart, when Maruki's trembling with fear that even a person less perceptive than Akira could pick up on?
He nods, though. Breathes out and forces his hand to release Maruki even as every instinct in his brain screams to protect protect protect, and forces himself to walk over to the door and close it with a soft thud.]
...I'm lucky, then, that you weren't carrying that extra shirt around.
[It's punctuated with him fastening all of his locks, even the third one that he doesn't usually bother with. Whoever or whatever did this to him, Akira isn't letting it get in that easily.
And if it somehow tries to force its way in... it'll be lucky if Akira lets it back out. Raoul is hot in his chest, simmering with the sensation of Satanael's gun in his hand.]
If it was an unconscious action, I'm checking you over anyway. We'll wash off the blood in there, if nothing else. [When Akira turns to him, he sounds just a little bit more like himself.] Do you know if you were chased here?
[He's taken the extra precautionary measure... but he wants to check anyway. Maruki might even know, and it's fine if he doesn't, but Akira will still ask. He'd rather have the heads-up now before he's elbow-deep in bloody water.]
[ While Akira handles the door, Maruki toes off his shoes– there are droplets of blood already sunken into the fabric.
His hands are beginning to shake again without anything to hang onto and be stalwart for. It's stupid, really. Pure adrenaline. He needs to focus on the present. Practice that mindfulness that they spent so much time on, all those months ago.
Hands safely tucked into his pockets, he meets Akira's gaze and question with a quick shake of his head and a firm resolve. ]
I wasn't. He let me go. Candidly, ah... How should I put this...
[ It's the strangest thing. In his own reality, he has never had to call Azathoth forth to do physical harm. He never planned to need to. This was the first time, here in the dingy alleyway of a futuristic city he still doesn't understand. But in Akira's reality, he surely knows better than anyone just how mighty Azathoth's rage can be.
Maruki grimaces. There's no joy taken in this explanation, only regret for having done harm. ]
He wasn't in good enough condition to chase anything. After I was healed, I did warn him to leave, but he struck Azathoth first. So...
[ A sigh, a helpless shrug. Akira can likely fill in the rest better than he can tell it. ]
[His eyes narrow ever so slightly as he evaluates Maruki. There's the fear that's threaded through ever centimeter of him, from the shine in his eyes to the tremble that goes all the way to his fingertips. Other than that... he's reasoning well. Doing his best to describe the situation to Akira in a kind and level manner. The fear is affecting him in a drastic way (understandably), but remove that and he's not much different from his norm. Akira absorbs the information and weighs the probabilities.
Most likely, Maruki wasn't pushed far enough to kill someone. Not knowingly, at least. The chance of it happening knowingly still isn't zero, because Akira's never seen him break in that particular way, but the fact that he's still very much himself leads him to believe that the chance of it is astronomically low.
The fact that the pressure is on him in such a distinct, way, the fact that his mask isn't all the way back up... That's why Maruki's able to witness the extremely brief thing that happens next.]
Good.
[There's just the slightest knife's edge to the word, wrapped in the layers of his normal tone like a hidden blade. It's the sharpness that could be easily mistaken for Joker's steel, but it goes beyond that.
Fierce. Relentless. Unforgiving. It's the cold piece of him that didn't care what happened to Kamoshida Suguru.
One assessment done, he leaves his spot in front of the door and begins another. Is Maruki shaking too much to make it on his own? Should Akira do anything even if he is? The answer to the second question is easy to decide, even if it isn't an easy question at all - his hand is already going out to Maruki's arm again before he's even weighed the pros and cons of it.
Akira knows he shouldn't. He knows it's not a good idea to initiate something like that when he still has to give Maruki a chance to prove himself... But that doesn't seem important enough right now. Not when his heartbeats still haven't slowed down, and he doubts Maruki's have either.]
I wasn't sure how much of Azathoth's strength that you had, but it's better that you were able to defend yourself. [His voice is softer now. Something feels sort of gauche about the fact that he's relieved for the strength that might end up being Akira's own undoing down the road, but he's too glad that Maruki's still breathing to care all that much. He doesn't know what that says about him.] It should be enough to keep him away, but you should describe him for me if you can.
[ It could last only a millisecond. It wouldn't matter. Maruki still wouldn't miss that tone.
Akira sent a jagged crack down the middle of his distorted heart that first night in 7. Maruki hadn't known where to go after their meeting. Stayed in that tea house, lost in thought, until it closed. Spent another hour wandering through the sweetly lit streets of 3 before finally admitting defeat and asking a hotel receptionist. It's how he wound up one district over, checking into one of the temporary free housing areas. It's where he spent the next few days in a fugue state, unwilling to reach out to Akira for help with a problem that he caused for himself, unsure of what else to do, if there even was anything to do.
Because the fact of the matter is: What do you do when you lose your purpose? When it's pulled out from underneath you at the last second, and then you find out that even if you return to it, you'll lose it again – for good – within twenty-four hours?
Maruki knows that's not an existential crisis anyone should pity him for, least of all Akira.
At nights he still grapples with that feeling of being cut adrift alone in the world by his own selfish mistakes. He feels it again, here and now, with the sharp-edged wrought iron woven around that one word, good, so utterly lost even with Akira right next to him.
As quickly as it washes over him, it passes.
He looks down at Akira's hand wrapped around his arm, hears the words. Blinks. Breathes. ]
Of course, I already planned to. The last thing I want is for you to run into him.
[ That was, admittedly, his chief concern upon deciding he would go to Akira's. Not that the man would follow him, battered as he was on the ground. That he would one day in the future stalk another unsuspecting persona user into a dark alleyway, and maybe whoever Akira is currently wielding wouldn't be able to heal, and maybe–
A sick twist in his gut not unlike the knife.
He can't think about it. About Akira meeting any sort of fate, even just one of nonlethal harm. If he goes pale again, it's entirely due to that thought.
Maruki speaks as he's steered through the little apartment, into the bathroom. ]
He was taller than you or I by a few inches. Long blond hair... I think it was pulled back? Light eyes, though it was hard to tell the color in the dark. An incredibly deep voice. No small amount of sadistic glee about taking a life...
[ A beat. ]
He hit with an electric skill, somehow.
[ God, it sounds ridiculous to say. Maruki looks at Akira, fiercely protective and helpless all at once. ]
He cut an imposing figure. You couldn't miss him if you tried, and I hope you never see him at all.
[There's a not insignificant part of him wants it. Not to kill, because he's still a Phantom Thief and he will never break their code, but to give even half as good as what Maruki got. It's an angry thing tangled together in his chest, the part within him that rises up when someone he cares about is hurt. He cannot change a heart here, so it lashes within his chest instead, wanting the opportunity to strike out.
Akira does what he ever does when he says the things that are genuine but crafted to meet the needs of his situation, choosing the calmer response out of three when he could make a joke or be blunt instead.]
In that case, let's hope neither of us run into him after this.
[Akira's apartment doesn't have the biggest bathroom. With one man at 180 cm and a boy that's almost a man not that far behind, it feels downright tiny. Fortunately, Akira still moves like the world's wiliest cat, so he wriggles around Maruki as soon as he releases him and digs around in his cabinet for the medkit.
His eyebrows have drawn down further in the time that it took to arrive here. None of this bodes well, but there's one detail that's standing out to him more than the rest.]
...You said he uses electric skills. [Glass bottles clink as they're moved to the side, white box pulled free. He sets it on top of the shelving and moves onto the sink next.] I'm assuming he didn't use a Persona, and it was probably too dark to see if he had tally marks on his skin. Did anything seem strange about his teeth?
[Not all blood-drinkers are vampires, but enough are that it's worth an ask. But it still doesn't add up. Do the locals even have access to magic, and if they do, why would one bother with a spell when it would be so much more natural to try and sink their fangs into Maruki's neck?
It points far more to the likelihood of it being one of them, the people like Akira and Maruki that were brought here to be judged. Many of them already seem to have some combat abilities, but this may be the first time that one of them is an active danger to the rest. It changes a lot.]
Edited (I FORGOT MY SUBJECT LINE I WAS RUSHING BEFORE DINNER) 2024-06-20 03:27 (UTC)
please you could never be as pathetic as dr. punchable crybaby
[ Maruki leans back against the wall of the cramped bathroom, watches Akira rummaging around. It's wholly unnecessary, he really is fine, but he'll allow it twofold– because he understands the anxiety driving Akira to not want to believe something he can't see for himself, and because it blooms a strange sort of pride in his chest. He really was the leader of such a cohesive team, made up of people who adored him so wholly. How he must have cared for them with this same fervor.
Akira is the best of everyone. Maruki's only trying to keep pace with him. ]
No Persona, no. Wouldn't that have been something?
[ He laughs, quiet and a little uneven, as the rest of Akira's words try to sink in but keep getting caught.
Maruki looks at him in the mirror, brows pulled down just the same. ]
And his teeth seemed normal. What's that about tally marks...?
[ Seriously, what the hell, Joker. Is this another Wrath thing??? ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text - un: akechi
Pick a flavor - soy or plain?
text; un: personyaa
Oh, white would be fine, too.
no subject
Your list is irrelevant now.
We're eating instant noodles. There are only two flavors. Pick one.
no subject
What else is there? You don't have to get miso paste, I'll make something simpler.
[Not that miso isn't simple, but. Akira knows a dead-end in a conversation when he sees one.]
no subject
He settles on a third after a few minutes of staring at the illuminated watch on his arm.]
You're sorely mistaken if you think I'm about to list off every item in this store. I don't need you to cook for me. I'm fine with what I'm purchasing.
[A photo of a store aisle comes through - an assortment of weird items on either side, mostly canned soup and tv dinners. Other random items are littered in between.]
These are your choices.
no subject
I don't need you to list every item, just something that isn't processed. It's important to keep up your strength when we don't know what to expect here.
Can you go to a different aisle?
no subject
Another photo sent. It's only canned soup. ]
My strength is fine. You may have forgotten, but I've done well for myself over the years.
Should I attribute any of your future failures in battle to what you had for breakfast that morning?
no subject
You've made it in spite of it, not because of it. You're hitting the age where you start feeling the effects of what you eat anyway.
[Part his own knowledge, part picked up from Takemi. It's interesting, though, that Akechi said this instead of simply saying "no". That doesn't seem unsignificant.]
And yes, they do say that breakfast is the most important day of the meal for a reason. Please feel free to blame that for any of my future blunders.
no subject
[Bitter. Quick. To the point.
Akira loses his chance with the metallic rows of canned soup and Akechi, in his infinite mercy, moves to the final aisle of this small store unprompted.
Predictably, a new photo comes - it's full of processed meals, a stray vegetable of unknown origin, and an assortment of candy. There's some sauces in there and-
Soup. Rows of it.]
Dully noted though. I'm assuming you didn't have a good one today, judging by your inability to follow simple instructions.
1/2(?)
It's my concern. Are you planning on giving up on our deal that easily, Akechi?
2/2 okay yeah i'm done
Wait, where the hell are you? What store are you in?
1/2
The issue comes with the words that blur together. The bitter sting of losing to Akira in anything enough to override logic and-]
No, never.
2/2
no subject
Did the local say they had miso paste at the Soup Store?
(no subject)
sideswipes u
SCREAMS
(no subject)
backdated to mid-may !!
He'd been on his way to the train before he was captured, and all good sense tells him to continue on that way, get the hell out of District 6 as fast as possible. He isn't even far from the station. It would be the smartest move by far.
Maruki isn't thinking that rationally.
He escaped with his life, without so much as a scratch on him. He's fine.
His whole body is shaking.
It's the fight or flight adrenaline, of course it is, but it's also the simple fact that Maruki has never been in a physical altercation before. He's certainly never been stabbed before. Never had a man holding him in place, sadistically delighted by his pain, promising to make it a slow death. Never summoned Azathoth with the intention to do harm. All of the nevers coalescing into an experience wholly unique to his life thus far and deeply, viscerally terrifying.
Being alone with that experience right now might do his head in.
It's how he finds himself at the front door of Akira's apartment in 6, breathless from his sprint. His torso is soaked in blood, streaked on the palm he'd pressed to it in a panic and down his chin from where he coughed through Azathoth's healing. His sweater sticks to his shirt, and his shirt sticks to his newly pristine skin.
After a moment of attempting to catch his breath, he knocks.
When Akira answers, he'll say before anything else: ]
I'm not hurt. I'm perfectly fine. Please don't panic, it looks much worse than it really is!
[ YEAH, IT SURE DOES. Sorry, Akira! ]
takes a deep breath and shuts my eyes
It's his brain, freezing and stalling and failing to restart, as his eyes process first Maruki's face and then the blood that might as well be covering him from head to toe. It turns all of Maruki's words into white noise after "hurt", the denial of his own state making something in Akira's gut twist with nausea. He feels his body go rigid like it's happening to someone else, detached yet snagged into the moment like a fish hook has him by the collar.
It takes a short but impossible moment to remember to breathe. He can't stop looking at the blood, face rapidly going pale. Akira isn't sure of what kind of expression he's making.]
Ma-
[Maria, maybe, is what he's trying to say, an attempt to pull out a Salvation he doesn't have access to without her. Maruki, perhaps, with his voice pitched up on the final beat of his name like a question, seeking the answer he doesn't have the breath to ask for. Maybe not a ma entirely, but a mo, because surely Morgana would be able to fix it, make everything better and full of sense once more.
The words Akira had spoken the last time he saw him are a dagger lodged in his chest.
And when we get there, "I" will save you.
He really is the fool. There's so much blood. The moment he dares to want anything is always the moment he can never save anyone at all.]
Bathroom. Now. [Between one moment and the next, his hand has lashed out and gripped Maruki's arm as unyieldingly as an iron bar (is it even safe to touch him there, will it make it even worse-). Akira may be in the middle of a fraught rebooting process, but something in his body still remembers how to be Joker and how to respond when one of his is downed.] Where are you bleeding from?
[Akira tugs him into the apartment, trying to recollect what's in his first aid kit under the sink. He's never used it, so it should be enough, unless it's even worse than it looks...]
S C R E A M S AT YOU
Akira may not know what his expression is doing, but Maruki watches everything filter through it in those split seconds – shock, panic, fear, a pallor that he's never seen on Akira before. All at once, guilt shreds through Maruki's soul; he shouldn't have brought this to Akira's doorstep, quite literally. Shouldn't have heaped another instance of suffering onto his already overburdened shoulders, forced him to try to act the hero.
It doesn't take long at all for steel to overtake his expression, and then Maruki is being wrenched inside the apartment, the grip around his arm unrelenting. ]
Kurusu–
[ Maruki reaches out as well, mirroring the action, grabbing Akira's other arm to still him after they've staggered only a few steps. The door is still open behind him. ]
Kurusu. Stop, I'm okay.
[ It's less panicked than his original disclaimer by far. Gently authoritative, firm with the edges sanded down. Maruki looks at him, brows knitting together to meet in the middle in sympathy – really looks at him, shuttered down to spring into action despite his own shaking fear, and allays it as best he can. ]
I'm not injured, you don't have to do anything. I already healed myself. I just–
[ The hand vice-like around Akira's upper arm releases its tension, though he doesn't let go. ]
I wasn't sure where else I could go. I'm sorry.
[ It's plain in its sincerity, earnest in its intent. He really is sorry. And he really is otherwise alone in this world. They both are, save for each other. But even if they were spoiled for choice... Who else would Maruki really choose to turn to? ]
mrrrrrrrrow
[Maruki's guilt is a collection of nettles stinging his heart over and over; just as he frees himself from the clutch of apologizing for almost dying like he's making trouble for Akira, he's stumbling into the sharp bite of him saying sorry for getting himself somewhere safe.
It hurts Akira twofold. It's not just Maruki minimizing his own pain that's hard to swallow, but the fact that Akira knows he's to blame for this guilt. Maybe not all of it, but enough. He almost wishes he'd listened to his conscience, not extended himself to Maruki the way he had, because it's almost certain that he'd weighed on him even more-
...But if he hadn't, then where would Maruki have gone tonight?
He stops moving, but doesn't loosen his grip. It's the only acquiesce Akira can make, because he doesn't even know if he can let go. The primal fear is still pounding out a beat located at his temple, even with the logic of Maruki's words starting to bounce around in his skull.
What a sight they must make, holding onto each other in Akira's entranceway like the world will end if they let go.]
How strong of a spell did you use?
[Azathoth had decent healing capabilities from what he remembers, but not a full one. If Maruki bled this much, then...
He aches to have Futaba with him; he always does, but especially right now, to look over Maruki's vitals and make sure Akira's less-trained eye hasn't missed something. It makes his heart feel small and tight and helpless in his chest.]
pained animal noises
The two of them, a ceaseless ouroboros of guilt and care in equal measure. Of course they can't let one another go. ]
Ah... Well, I wouldn't say it was a fully conscious action on my part.
[ Because he was about to die, and because those inextricable parts of Azathoth are capable of acting independently to protect him. Eager to do so, even.
They really must have had a hell of a battle in Akira's timeline. ]
But what was done was strong enough to fix me up. I promise you that. If I had an extra shirt with me, you'd never even know it happened.
[ That last part is said with a smile, a forced lightening of his tone, but if Akira is looking closely – and what are they doing, if not staring one another intently down – he'll be able to see the fear trembling at the edges. It isn't the state of his injury now. It's the fact that it happened at all – that one moment he was trying to find the train station, and the next he was slammed into a wall with a blade to his throat. If he hadn't awakened to the powers that he did less than two months ago, he would be dead. If that man pulls the same move on any other people without special abilities, they'll be dead.
It sinks in, in fits and starts. Every time a new piece of what transpired tonight clicks into place to lodge the whole image into his memory, he's unsettled and unmoored all over again.
Maruki draws a breath, wills it to be steady – it isn't, despite his best efforts – and rubs his palm vigorously against Akira's arm to try to loosen him from that worry. ]
Come on, let's at least close the door.
kneads u thru it
Who cares if his eyes are a window to his heart, when Maruki's trembling with fear that even a person less perceptive than Akira could pick up on?
He nods, though. Breathes out and forces his hand to release Maruki even as every instinct in his brain screams to protect protect protect, and forces himself to walk over to the door and close it with a soft thud.]
...I'm lucky, then, that you weren't carrying that extra shirt around.
[It's punctuated with him fastening all of his locks, even the third one that he doesn't usually bother with. Whoever or whatever did this to him, Akira isn't letting it get in that easily.
And if it somehow tries to force its way in... it'll be lucky if Akira lets it back out. Raoul is hot in his chest, simmering with the sensation of Satanael's gun in his hand.]
If it was an unconscious action, I'm checking you over anyway. We'll wash off the blood in there, if nothing else. [When Akira turns to him, he sounds just a little bit more like himself.] Do you know if you were chased here?
[He's taken the extra precautionary measure... but he wants to check anyway. Maruki might even know, and it's fine if he doesn't, but Akira will still ask. He'd rather have the heads-up now before he's elbow-deep in bloody water.]
frantically making air biscuits
His hands are beginning to shake again without anything to hang onto and be stalwart for. It's stupid, really. Pure adrenaline. He needs to focus on the present. Practice that mindfulness that they spent so much time on, all those months ago.
Hands safely tucked into his pockets, he meets Akira's gaze and question with a quick shake of his head and a firm resolve. ]
I wasn't. He let me go. Candidly, ah... How should I put this...
[ It's the strangest thing. In his own reality, he has never had to call Azathoth forth to do physical harm. He never planned to need to. This was the first time, here in the dingy alleyway of a futuristic city he still doesn't understand. But in Akira's reality, he surely knows better than anyone just how mighty Azathoth's rage can be.
Maruki grimaces. There's no joy taken in this explanation, only regret for having done harm. ]
He wasn't in good enough condition to chase anything. After I was healed, I did warn him to leave, but he struck Azathoth first. So...
[ A sigh, a helpless shrug. Akira can likely fill in the rest better than he can tell it. ]
air biscuits save us........
Most likely, Maruki wasn't pushed far enough to kill someone. Not knowingly, at least. The chance of it happening knowingly still isn't zero, because Akira's never seen him break in that particular way, but the fact that he's still very much himself leads him to believe that the chance of it is astronomically low.
The fact that the pressure is on him in such a distinct, way, the fact that his mask isn't all the way back up... That's why Maruki's able to witness the extremely brief thing that happens next.]
Good.
[There's just the slightest knife's edge to the word, wrapped in the layers of his normal tone like a hidden blade. It's the sharpness that could be easily mistaken for Joker's steel, but it goes beyond that.
Fierce. Relentless. Unforgiving. It's the cold piece of him that didn't care what happened to Kamoshida Suguru.
One assessment done, he leaves his spot in front of the door and begins another. Is Maruki shaking too much to make it on his own? Should Akira do anything even if he is? The answer to the second question is easy to decide, even if it isn't an easy question at all - his hand is already going out to Maruki's arm again before he's even weighed the pros and cons of it.
Akira knows he shouldn't. He knows it's not a good idea to initiate something like that when he still has to give Maruki a chance to prove himself... But that doesn't seem important enough right now. Not when his heartbeats still haven't slowed down, and he doubts Maruki's have either.]
I wasn't sure how much of Azathoth's strength that you had, but it's better that you were able to defend yourself. [His voice is softer now. Something feels sort of gauche about the fact that he's relieved for the strength that might end up being Akira's own undoing down the road, but he's too glad that Maruki's still breathing to care all that much. He doesn't know what that says about him.] It should be enough to keep him away, but you should describe him for me if you can.
god it's real pathetic hours in here
Akira sent a jagged crack down the middle of his distorted heart that first night in 7. Maruki hadn't known where to go after their meeting. Stayed in that tea house, lost in thought, until it closed. Spent another hour wandering through the sweetly lit streets of 3 before finally admitting defeat and asking a hotel receptionist. It's how he wound up one district over, checking into one of the temporary free housing areas. It's where he spent the next few days in a fugue state, unwilling to reach out to Akira for help with a problem that he caused for himself, unsure of what else to do, if there even was anything to do.
Because the fact of the matter is: What do you do when you lose your purpose? When it's pulled out from underneath you at the last second, and then you find out that even if you return to it, you'll lose it again – for good – within twenty-four hours?
Maruki knows that's not an existential crisis anyone should pity him for, least of all Akira.
At nights he still grapples with that feeling of being cut adrift alone in the world by his own selfish mistakes. He feels it again, here and now, with the sharp-edged wrought iron woven around that one word, good, so utterly lost even with Akira right next to him.
As quickly as it washes over him, it passes.
He looks down at Akira's hand wrapped around his arm, hears the words. Blinks. Breathes. ]
Of course, I already planned to. The last thing I want is for you to run into him.
[ That was, admittedly, his chief concern upon deciding he would go to Akira's. Not that the man would follow him, battered as he was on the ground. That he would one day in the future stalk another unsuspecting persona user into a dark alleyway, and maybe whoever Akira is currently wielding wouldn't be able to heal, and maybe–
A sick twist in his gut not unlike the knife.
He can't think about it. About Akira meeting any sort of fate, even just one of nonlethal harm. If he goes pale again, it's entirely due to that thought.
Maruki speaks as he's steered through the little apartment, into the bathroom. ]
He was taller than you or I by a few inches. Long blond hair... I think it was pulled back? Light eyes, though it was hard to tell the color in the dark. An incredibly deep voice. No small amount of sadistic glee about taking a life...
[ A beat. ]
He hit with an electric skill, somehow.
[ God, it sounds ridiculous to say. Maruki looks at Akira, fiercely protective and helpless all at once. ]
He cut an imposing figure. You couldn't miss him if you tried, and I hope you never see him at all.
that's me at all hours
Akira does what he ever does when he says the things that are genuine but crafted to meet the needs of his situation, choosing the calmer response out of three when he could make a joke or be blunt instead.]
In that case, let's hope neither of us run into him after this.
[Akira's apartment doesn't have the biggest bathroom. With one man at 180 cm and a boy that's almost a man not that far behind, it feels downright tiny. Fortunately, Akira still moves like the world's wiliest cat, so he wriggles around Maruki as soon as he releases him and digs around in his cabinet for the medkit.
His eyebrows have drawn down further in the time that it took to arrive here. None of this bodes well, but there's one detail that's standing out to him more than the rest.]
...You said he uses electric skills. [Glass bottles clink as they're moved to the side, white box pulled free. He sets it on top of the shelving and moves onto the sink next.] I'm assuming he didn't use a Persona, and it was probably too dark to see if he had tally marks on his skin. Did anything seem strange about his teeth?
[Not all blood-drinkers are vampires, but enough are that it's worth an ask. But it still doesn't add up. Do the locals even have access to magic, and if they do, why would one bother with a spell when it would be so much more natural to try and sink their fangs into Maruki's neck?
It points far more to the likelihood of it being one of them, the people like Akira and Maruki that were brought here to be judged. Many of them already seem to have some combat abilities, but this may be the first time that one of them is an active danger to the rest. It changes a lot.]
please you could never be as pathetic as dr. punchable crybaby
Akira is the best of everyone. Maruki's only trying to keep pace with him. ]
No Persona, no. Wouldn't that have been something?
[ He laughs, quiet and a little uneven, as the rest of Akira's words try to sink in but keep getting caught.
Maruki looks at him in the mirror, brows pulled down just the same. ]
And his teeth seemed normal. What's that about tally marks...?
[ Seriously, what the hell, Joker. Is this another Wrath thing??? ]
okay no you're right, nobody can beat him
(through tears) y. yay. i love catharsis
me falling hitting every branch on the way down: what did u say about trees i can't hear u
i'm about to take a chainsaw to these goddamn trees i can't take this anymore
my hero...........
i'm about to go full-tilt self-indulgent and i'm dragging you down with me
not if i drag u down first
alright well now it's war
:guncat: ok!
looks away from u and from guncat
sinks my teeth into u like the one cat gif
thrashes around to dislodge your teeth so i can DO THE SAME TO YOU
ouchies!!!!
surprise bitch bet you thought you'd seen the last of pain
:) i always believed u would come back to me, just like-
i could never leave u..... unlike akechi goro on february 3 2017
he left us because he's a hater
gold medal at the hater olympics 4 years running
we're so proud of him
pride is not the word i'm looking for........
thesaurus.com says a synonym for pride is delight
remember when you diagnosed him with pride at the amplitheater akira <3
i can't read and i wish he couldn't read either 💔
h. heyyyyy what's up ha ha don't look at this don't read it
yet another terrible day for all of us to have eyes
swear to my bones.mp3 - WOE, CRYRUKI BE UPON YE
rolls out covered in tears and blood, oh he was upon me alright
tell me what makes you hopeful tell me what makes you hurt.......