apocalypsehowcomm | [log; open] will the memories of our morals fade

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[log; open] will the memories of our morals fade

Who: Goro Akechi
When: November 20
Where: Around Gloucester, in the gym, Bonnie's flophouse, ADI apartments
Summary: Goro Akechi's no-good, very-bad daytrip down memory lane
Warnings: Persona 5 spoilers, smoking

A.

[Akechi wakes up like it's any normal day -- rolling out of bed to the sound of his alarm going off at 5am to get dressed in sweatpants and a jacket. Some light smudge-proof makeup, and he's out the door for his usual jog. While he doesn't have to get up early to get some exercise in before a TV shoot or school, and thank God he doesn't have to deal with any obnoxious "fans" anymore, there's comfort in routine. The nearest bouldering facility is a bus ride away and he'd rather not waste money on a bicycle he doesn't need, so running it is.

It isn't until the brisk morning air hits his face and he fully wakes up partway through the run that he slows with sudden thought, checks the date on his phone. November 20th.

...Ah. There are only two people in this world who even understand the significance of that date. In an instant, it's like he's transported back to that small underground room, feeling the weight of a real pistol in hand for the first time, a light wisp of smoke drifting from the barrel. He only comes back to himself at the frantic noise of a pedestrian ringing a bike bell and shouting for him to get out of the way, to which Akechi leaps back belated and snarls something about getting off the fucking sidewalk and using the road, flipping off the cyclist for good measure.

It hasn't been a full year yet, and yet by this calendar, it has. Almost without seeing it, he retreats back to lean against the closest building, lost in thought and memory.]

[Distraction is the name of the game today. Later that morning, he can be found in the training area, pistol in hand, essentially wasting ADI's ammunition and their good-will. Anyone who frequents the area would know that he's ordinarily an excellent shot, favoring his left hand only with an unshaking aim.

Not today. Today most of his shots go wide, and his teeth grit and eyes blaze in clear frustration. He's getting worse as he burns through magazine after magazine, until he finally gives up and, with obvious difficulty, doesn't hurl the pistol at the paper target. Instead, he returns it with a strained smile and casts an appraising eye around the rest of the gym.]

I don't suppose anyone is available for a spar?

[In keeping with the theme of "absolutely nothing going fucking right," Akechi's in the kitchen of the first floor of Bonnie's flophouse, stirring something on the stove. It smells vaguely like chocolate, vanilla, and cinnamon, but that's largely overpowered by the smell of scalded milk.]

Shit!

[He yanks the pot off the stove and frantically scrapes at the bottom, trying to see if he can salvage it. He's trying to make hot chocolate for when Ren comes home, but if the mess of dumped-out milk in the sink is any indication, it's... not exactly going well.

Please help him.]

D. [cw: smoking]

[Smoking is more Ren's habit than Akechi's, and yet, tonight feels like a good night for one. He's outside ADI's apartments in the early evening with a cigarette in hand, staring pensively into the night. He genuinely did never think he'd make it this far, a year out from that fateful encounter in the interrogation room. Sure, none of it had actually been real, and in some respects, the actual experience hadn't been nearly as bad as the nightmares he'd suffered only a few weeks prior.

But still, it lingers, like the stench of the cigarette smoke seeping into his winter jacket. Funny how the Detective Prince wouldn't be caught dead with such a filthy habit, and it certainly doesn't match the image of the goody-two-shoes young man he's been trying to project here at ADI. But right now, he can't bring himself to care.

He inhales deeply and exhales a cloud of smoke, tapping some ash off the end of the cigarette to the ground. Maybe he should mention his thoughts to Ren, but if the other boy hasn't mentioned the date, he certainly isn't going to be the one to bring it up. His lip curls in distaste -- really, who the fuck is he to be upset about something like that when Ren is the one who suffered most greatly. He'd thought he'd been above this kind of pointless navel-gazing, but here he is.

Fuck, but it's cold out here.]

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(The date isn't anything special for Kurapika, but to say adapting has been easy would be a very grotesque lie. Obsessively, he's been studying, trying to process the change in environment, and most importantly, trying to figure out the possibility of returning home. He was so close. So close...

God only knows if time runs the same. Perhaps by the time he's back home, if he's ever back home, the eyes of his brethren might be scattered again. Kurapika might as well have run out of time by then, considering he doesn't exactly know how many years he has to spare.

He needs a breather.

When he steps out of ADI, it's in a black sweater that is far too big for his small build, black jeans, boots and a thick coat... Almost immediately, he realizes that the spot he wished to take is taken by a smoking boy, and he nearly has a heart attack. Akechi's eyes are not a bright red like Kurapika's become on occasion, but with the glimpse he's taken, it has sure startled the blond until he realized it was not exactly the same.

Kurapika, once his heart stops screaming, notices something more important:)

Aren't you cold?

Edited 2021-11-20 01:15 (UTC)

[He gives a start at the unfamiliar voice, fingers spasming around the cigarette as he mentally decides whether he should toss it aside or hang onto it. No point pretending now, so he simply gives the newcomer an appraising glance and shakes his head.]

No.

[He has a winter coat, after all, and a lit flame in his hand, kind of. It's certainly not enough to have him admitting weakness to a complete stranger, anyway.]

Do you need something?

To not be here.

(Honestly speaking.

Whether Akechi likes it or not, Kurapika himself would like to not be inside for a moment.)

Do you have a spare?

(Something for Kurapika to do while he basks in the cold breeze.)

[He snorts derisively. Don't they all. If this boy is looking for sympathy, he's in the wrong place for it.

For a moment, he debates with himself if he wants to offer him one, his reflexive need to be liked warring with his desire to conserve a scant resource. In the end, he reaches into a jacket pocket and withdraws a box, though he doesn't offer it yet.]

Have you ever smoked before?

[He looks to be around Akechi's age, which truthfully means nothing. But he isn't going to hold this stranger's hand through his first smoke; he's not that generous.]

Once.

(What has he not done at this point. It had probably been an undercover mission, attempting to bond with subordinates until he reached someone who's got a pair of eyes as decoration. Then he bribed. Then he threatened. Then he brought more stains to what once had been uncontested, pristine morals.

He might look weak, if it wasn't for the firmness in his voice, but appearances can be deceiving. For someone who looks as delicate and feminine as Kurapika, being assertive might come as a shock, but he knows no other way to be. So, he'll sit as to reinforce his decision, keeping reasonable distance from the boy who might as well be his age.)

[He evaluates the other boy's words, then shrugs one shoulder with indifference. He knows better than most how appearances can be deceiving, and he speaks with enough confidence that even if it's a lie, it'd be petty not to acknowledge the attempt.]

It's disgusting, [he says with that same casual indifference, even as he taps the box to expose one of the sticks for the other boy to take should he so choose. He'll follow by handing over a lighter if he wants, a functionally plain silver one.]

I don't believe we've met.

We have not, although we currently work under the same department in the ADI headquarters. Akechi, correct?

(Kurapika's long index and thumb take one of the sticks as well as the offered lighter, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs with the first drag -- indeed, disgusting, just as he remembers it.)

I'm Kurapika.

That's right.

[He slips the box and lighter back into his coat pocket, giving the other an appraising look. At least it appears that he wasn't lying; not that Akechi would have cared too much had he started choking on it, save for the thought that it might attract unwanted attention.]

Did you want something from me, Kurapika?

[Or was he just here to mooch a cigarette from the first person he saw.]

Nothing at all. I felt restless in my apartment, so I came out, saw you, and now I believe that this is it. A passing thought was that I should get to know the people I will come to work with, as ADI continues to give me partners against my wishes.

(Kurapika works best alone. If he's alone, he can't compromise anyone else. Rather simple, and he takes a large drag out of his cigarette, letting the smoke cloud his vision as it escapes through his mouth.)

(Ren can't find Akechi anywhere, and on a date like this, that's a little worrying. He's been to the apartment, he's looked in his department, and yet, his search came out empty. The last place he searches is purely out of intuition, more on the "what if" than anything else, and listening to his gut instinct certainly pays off.

When he arrives, the first thing he meets is the question posed.)

Would I do?

(And of course, when his eyes drift towards the target, he finds the most bizarre sight. Erratic shots? That's not Akechi.)

[Ah, of course Ren is here, when Akechi wants to see him least. He clicks his tongue in frustration and glances around to see if there are any other immediate takers--perhaps sensing the tension, no one else steps up to get between them.]

Fine, [he says shortly, wincing at the harshness in his voice. It's not Ren's fault, not really. Or well, it is, but only as a victim.

The whole reason he'd come here was so he didn't have to think. Fuck Ren for daring to interrupt his irritated musing.]

Choose a weapon, [he orders brusquely, refusing to entertain his memories any further.]

(While Akechi isn't doing that great, to Ren, this date is much less about his murder attempt, and much more about the horrors the police inflicted on him. The marks on his arms that he's sure won't ever go away, as well as the scars that won't fade. How easy it was for the policeman in charge to assault, attempt to break a teenager with no regret, no guilt. Ren's blood on his knuckles meant nothing, and that disgusts him to no end.

Akechi's part in this is not as traumatizing as that. He wasn't even there. Ren was smiling, basking in the glory of knowing he's outsmarted the other boy, and come out alive on the other end. It had been a victory, a relief, when the past hours were nothing but a lingering nightmare.

But he can understand why Akechi would feel strange on such a date. Externalizing it might help.

With a flair, a large dagger flips in the air until the handle falls on Ren's palm.)

Shall we?

[His lip curls in an annoyed sneer. Of course Ren would choose the weapon he's most proficient with. As if Akechi expected anything else. Of course, he'd be offended if Ren didn't take this seriously; Akechi may not have a sword, but he has been practicing with the rubber training knives for lack of a better option. It's not like he ever had much formal instruction in the sword, anyway.

If Ren's going to use a live blade, then he won't back down, either, moving past the other boy to select his own dagger. He doesn't have Ren's flair for showboating with the weapon yet, but he's reasonably confident that he can hold his own. He holds the blade in his left hand, eyes fixed on Ren as he paces around him in a circle to the sparring area.]

Try not to ruin my outfit. I quite like this one.

[It literally looks like all of his other outfits, black slacks and a button-down shirt.]

(Ren might not wake up at the crack of dawn like Akechi in order to exercise, but that doesn't mean he's putting practice behind. In a place where the Metaverse doesn't exist, where his medicines won't work miracles, and he can't call upon Arsène with ease, the least he can do is to stay sharp - fighting and acrobatics altogether.

Calmly, confident, Ren moves to the sparring area, leaving his shoes and glasses at the edge as to facilitate any flip and friction he might require. It's been a while, hasn't it? Lately, the only fighting they've been doing is verbal, and while it can get tiring, it's not exhilarating like looking into the eyes of your rival danger follows their every step.)

I make no promises.

(Joker reads all over his expression, even with the lack of a mask to punctuate it.)

[A hint of a smirk twists his lips in return, the kind of expression he'd practiced for so long to hide. The kind of ugly expression that he only ever let show in the relative safety of the black mask. He wants to let loose, show Ren what he can really do. The urge to grind the other boy's face into the mat is nearly as strong as his own insistence that he doesn't want to hurt Ren. He wants to win, but last time he'd achieved victory, it hadn't tasted like victory for more than a few hours before turning to ash in his mouth, coated his tongue.

He snarls and tightens his grip on the blade, forcefully shoving all thoughts of his head except for winning.]

Let's go, [he orders, eyes blazing with renewed focus.] And don't hold back.

(Why would he? He hasn't fought someone with the same skills as him in a while, and anything that isn't close to victory would be perceived as Ren taking it easy, anyway. Last thing he wants is to make this day worse.

Therefore, his base sets, and Ren lunges towards Akechi, blade pointed towards his ribs.)

[He knew Ren would want to strike first. His teeth bared, he leaps backward, not as agile or nimble as he would have been in the Metaverse, but still with enough speed and grace that it's clear he hasn't been slacking, either. He uses the momentum to twist aside, one hand deflecting Ren's arm at the elbow, the other bringing the knife around in an attempt to disarm him.

He doubts it'll be that easy, but then again, there's a certain appeal to the uncivilized brutality behind a bare-knuckles fistfight, too.]

(Ren's acrobatic skills go beyond the Metaverse, courtesy of Yoshizawa, so when his elbow is compromised, Ren twists backward, free hand sinking on the ground as his foot finds Akechi's chest to push away.

Once he's back to his feet, the dagger points towards him. Come.)

[Aelwyn has been weighing her options for the last few weeks, ever since things went to hell. And now, after all's said and done, and she's moved on from sulking and started planning, she's still been avoiding any kind of confrontation.

But then, she spots Goro Akechi just outside the apartment, smoking. Oh, that doesn't fit your good boy routine at all, honey. She stares for a few minutes, just to ascertain whether or not he's waiting for someone, before she makes her way down.

She's cautious when she approaches, a lot of her memories of the Lullaby Girl's dreams are hazy, but she remembers the last one pretty well. Mercy was adamant that they shouldn't hold any of it against anyone, but Aelwyn recognized what happened to her for what it was. A complete lack of restraint, and freedom to act on every bad impulse. Was it the same for you...? That certainly opens up some questions.

She stops beside him, a reserved but amused smile on her face.] You know, technically you have to be twenty one to smoke in this country. [She slides a cigarette out of the pack she keeps in her coat pocket, pops it in her mouth and lights it up.] I won't snitch if you don't.

Edited 2021-11-20 07:02 (UTC)

Technically, [he agrees, glancing sideways at her and mentally bracing himself for the inevitable awkwardness. It had been so long since he'd been able to lose himself in true bloodlust, and perhaps what's most frightening is how wonderfully familiar and reassuring the madness had been. Loki would have been proud.

He takes an unapologetic drag from his cigarette and continues,] It's 20 in Japan. Though in this state at least, technically, as long as one turned 18 before December 2018, the law doesn't apply. I turned 18 in June of that year.

[He gives her a smirk tinged with a kind of sardonic amusement, like he knows he's full of shit and doesn't expect her to buy it in the least.]

Still, I don't fancy trying to explain time travel to the local police, so I suppose this will be our secret.

Well, I'm sure on my end if I explain to them that I'm from another planet and specifically a country where the concept of any space in between "baby" [She raises her unoccupied hand into air-quotes] and "adult" is completely nonexistent, they'd understand entirely.

[She absolutely doesn't buy it, and takes a drag of her cigarette with an amused smile. Bullshitting is a second language to her. Not quite a first, she was never as good at playing the part of someone people could like, not like Penelope. But she was good at playing the dutiful daughter.]

Speaking of secrets... Ren informs me that he told you mine. [Throwing Ren under the bus for things she could predict he would do by reading his mind... Hehe.]

[He snorts through his nose. That's right, some societies in the past held that same opinion, didn't they? Absently, he wonders whether or not that would be better. Certainly research has been done into brain development and maturity of children and teenagers, but when seen through the lens of culture and law... well. He'd been fully aware of his crimes when he'd been fifteen, continuing them past the point where he'd be tried as an adult instead of a minor. Is there truly such a difference?

His brow quirks at the mention of Ren, though he doesn't let surprise show on his face beyond that. Did Ren actually tell her about this daisy-chain of information, or is she simply making an educated guess.]

Did he, now? [he remarks drily. He can't imagine why Ren would bother telling her, but then again, he is painfully honest to a fault. It certainly wouldn't be out of the question. He taps some ash from the end of the cigarette and continues,] Is that going to be a problem?

[She hums, giving him a sidelong glance. Then shakes her head. She got confirmation, so that's something.] I don't believe so. You strike me as bit more practical than he is.

[Even in his good boy persona, which frankly makes Aelwyn a bit uncomfortable just watching, he's not as prone to self righteous fury on behalf of a few damaged cars.]

Am I correct in that assumption?

[He snorts another humorless laugh and brings his cigarette to his lips. "Practical?" Perhaps, in some respects. Less idealistic, more realistic, certainly. Considering how many times the thief had escaped death, perhaps his optimistic bravado is warranted. Perhaps he's simply on a winning streak that will inevitably, irrevocably, end.

Akechi exhales the smoke and turns a humorless smile to her.]

Something like that. Do you still intend to kill him?

[The tone is casual, but his eyes are deadly serious as he cuts directly to the question that's far more pertinent to him. What does he care if Aelwyn sets a few cars on fire, except for how it affects Ren?]

[She shakes her head, a bit amused.]

I don't. I'd prefer not to, at the very least. He did help me, even if it was in a dream, when he didn't have to. I don't like going back on my debts. [She sighs. If only it were that simple... she doesn't think she'd kill Ren as it stands. She doesn't think she'll have to. But if she does... well, she already knew she'd have to take out both of them. Would Mercy still like her afterward...?] Do you? Still intend on killing him, I mean.

[It's a fascinating relationship, if he does. Not that Aelwyn's own encounters have been particularly regular in how they expressed their feelings. Unless Mercy counts.]

Edited 2021-11-27 22:26 (UTC)

Repaying your debts, hm...?

[A humorless smile twists his lips, an ugly expression of private mirth. He'd said something like that to Ren once, a lifetime and a half ago. It ties directly into Aelwyn's question, the one that lingers deep within his heart, half-acknowledged and often buried. He takes his time answering it, inhaling and exhaling another breath of smoke before continuing.]

I don't, [he says honestly, glancing sideways to her with that same crooked smile.] As you said: debts. If our scales were to be assessed, he has given me far more than he has taken away.

[Though he's taken quite a lot, which only makes the new life and tantalizing promise of a future he's provided all the more meaningful.]

He's quite the unique individual, wouldn't you say?

Indeed. [Although, she wouldn't really know, would she? Maybe there's just as many idealistic heroic types at Adaine's school, where they breed them to be naive and violent.]

I can't quite decide if I like him, to tell you the truth. He's very... [She purses her lip, trying to find the words.] ...set in his ways, I guess. He keeps silently giving me the "you can still be a better person" treatment, like that's his decision.

[She sighs, taking another drag of her cigarette.]

What did he take from you? If you don't mind me asking, that is.

Edited 2021-12-06 09:38 (UTC)

[He actually laughs at her assessment, a deeper, uglier sound than his usual pleasant, politely indulgent laugh.]

Yes, he does rather embody Rousseau's ideal that man is born good, hm? And then expects those around him to conform to those selfsame ideals.

[Not that he expects Aelwyn to know anything about French philosophy. Maybe her dimension has an equivalent to the Romantic genius, but it doesn't matter in the end.]

As for what he took... [It's really none of her business. He studies the vanishing smoke in front of him, relishing the idea that he can simply say so, bluntly. It's not as if telling her would damage his already-ruined reputation in her eyes. But then again, what would it hurt? He doesn't need absolution from her, nor understanding. But in the haze that had followed his monstrous transformation, perhaps she's one of the few who could comprehend.]

Revenge, [he says finally, meeting her eyes as he taps more ash from the end of the cigarette.] The single goal I'd dedicated my life to. He's the only man who had ever beaten me, and in doing so, robbed me of my life's purpose.

[The smile he gives her is more wan than wry, an honesty he's unaccustomed to.]

He's the only man who ever tried to match me, and proved victorious. As I said: a most unique individual.

[There's no Rousseau in Spire, but she gets as much of the general idea as she can. She'll read about him later, for now she just nods along with a dry smile.

She's a bit surprised when he answers her. She's not sure she would've, if questioned about her motives.]

I see.

[Revenge... what an odd motivation. Well, not really, it's entirely natural to want to rage against those who hurt you. Adaine, for one, wanted revenge. She imagines there's a fair few out for her head by now.

She can't decide if she relates. She's equal parts compliant with her family's demands, and deeply spiteful against the person they wanted her to be, the things they wanted her to do. She can't... love them, but she can't hate them. Or she shouldn't. Good daughters don't hate their parents. Good daughters don't try to plunge the world into the abyss either.]

That would be frustrating, yes... I think I understand the feeling, to some extent, though I suspect my own case is... quite different.

Then again, I also know firsthand how horribly dull it is to live without real competition. So that's a silver lining, I suppose. Boredom is rather poisonous, in my experience. So I can understand why he holds your interest.

[It certainly is rather brisk outside, although without the near constant damp that Jon is used to in London. Winter is approaching with a vengeance, it seems.

He's already lit up by the time he gets to the spot where he usually smokes. He should really try to quit but... would the Web even let him? Do they still have eyes on him even here? Or have they done with him now they've been able to spread?

He hesitates when he sees someone else already there, but approaches nevertheless, and waves the pack of cigarettes vaguely in explanation.]

Hope you don't mind a little company.

[He does mind, actually -- or at least, he tells himself that. In truth, if he really didn't want company, he'd have gone more out of his way not to be found. He still ends up hesitating a beat too long to be polite, then nods and shrugs both shoulders.]

I don't mind, no.

[Considering Jon is out here for the same reason he is, he doubts the other man is going to judge him. Or, if he will, at least Akechi can take comfort in it being hypocritical.]

It's another quiet night. The calm before the storm, you think?

[Jon gives a small smile, and a nod, and then leans back against the wall and takes a drag on his cigarette, exhaling to let it plume into the sky. It still steadies his nerves, even knowing how he had been manipulated through addiction.]

More like the eye of it.

A refreshingly realistic outlook. The same storm, simply sweeping back and forth across us?

[A tight, humorless smile quirks his lips briefly as he taps ash from the end of his cigarette, then fades into a sigh.]

I suppose it's fortunate that the injuries from the last sweep are primarily psychological, rather than physical.

Something like that.

[Except for this storm, there is nothing outside the storm, just a long, vulnerable calm.]

Perhaps. Psychological injuries can be just as damaging though.

They certainly can be.

[He bites back another sigh and shakes his head, crossing one arm and propping his elbow atop it as he gazes out into the night beyond.]

Psychological wounds can run deep, indeed. Often I wonder if they can ever heal. Time, therapy, kind words, retribution -- of course these are things that are bandages. [He flicks a hand dismissively.] But do you think they ever truly disappear?

No wound really ever disappears, even physical ones. If you get scurvey, old wounds that had completely healed will re-open.

I don't see why psychological wounds would be any different. They're still just there.

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[log; open] will the memories of our morals fade

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cw violence and police brutality... and p5 spoilers

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