deercountry | [OPEN] January Catchall

[ With each new month comes a new effect on the residents of Trench, and Akechi has learned that some of those changes are connected to their blood types. He's still not really sure what the significance behind being a Warmblood is - apart from the total lack of significance, he supposes - but he does know that over the past few days he's gone from being stalked left and right to being...

Well, he's not really sure, but his carefully practiced charm seems to be working better than usual. He's not really sure why, but he's certainly going to take advantage of it. It's a perfectly mild and normal January afternoon: chilly but not bitterly so, mostly overcast but not overly dreary. Basically, it's perfectly pleasant weather, especially for Trench, and the perfect time for Akechi to try to make some progress on a little project of his.

So he'll approach anyone who doesn't seem too busy or too grumpy and greets with with a faint but charming smile. ]

Excuse me! If you're not too busy, could I ask you a few questions?

Hmm?

[ Mikey turns around with an inquisitive expression as soon as he's approached - maybe a little too eagerly at that. To be honest, he's been here for a few months now, but he's grown increasingly lonely as the days have gone by with none of his friends around him... it's his own fault, he supposes, for not reaching out to any strangers, but that's something that he's decided to fix this month.

This particular stranger looks a little older than him, but they're close enough in age, and he seems friendly, so Mikey quickly finds himself smiling back at him as he replies. ]

Go for it! I'm not busy.

[ Not only did this guy respond, he seems pleased to have done so. Perfect. ]

I appreciate it.

[ He slides a hand into his coat and withdraws a tiny notebook, flipping it open to a page near the front. ]

There's been a great deal of infighting among certain groups of Sleepers the past month, as I'm sure you've noticed. I'm looking for one person in particular, someone that's been very interested in the conflict but hasn't participated herself.

[ And with a smile, he adds: ]

Don't worry if that doesn't sound immediately sound familiar. There's some smaller details I'd like to ask after as well.

[Maul's bundled up against the cold in a warm coat he got for Christmas. Out and about to run errands and check up on various people to make sure none of them have perished or gotten into too much trouble over the past week or two, he turns towards a voice asking him a question. While the person coming towards him doesn't ring a bell, the voice itself carries a note of familiarity. He just can't remember where he's heard it before. In Deerington long ago perhaps...?

No matter. Right now is what matters. His fierce, unblinking yellow eyes meet Akechi's and he gives a short nod.]

Alright. You may.

[ It's a good thing Akechi has had a chance to get used to some of the stranger denizens of Trench because damn this dude is weird looking. Good fashion sense, though. Akechi maintains a pleasant smile, but his mind is buzzing with curiosity ]

I appreciate it. This should only take a moment.

[ He pulls out a notebook and flips to a fresh page. ]

Last month you may have noticed certain types of Sleepers appeared to be seeking out certain others for the purpose of trapping or attacking them. I'm trying to find someone - a human woman - that would have taken a great deal of interest in these conflicts, but never openly engaged with them.

[Maul thinks on that for a moment and his eyes squint. That wasn't precisely a question, so he wonders where Akechi is going with this.]

I'll need a bit more description than that. Young? Old? Hair color? All humans tend to start looking the same after a certain point.

[Of course, not everyone can come from a species that full on comes in all the colors seen in the rainbow, but Maul can't help thinking what he does about the human race.]

[ Wherever Qrow was before, he's not there now - unless wherever he was before happened to be the massive boiler room of a ship. Even so, it wouldn't have been this ship. This one doesn't exist anymore. Though Akechi is there and clearly not a part of the memory there's not really any time for him to give out an explanation or warning - not that he particularly feels like it once he realizes where they are.

Right from the start, it's obvious that the memory that plays out before them isn't a happy one. Akechi - the memory version of him - kneels on the floor, battered and clearly exhausted, dressed in some sort of strange striped jumpsuit and equally strange (but not striped) helmet. In front of him are several other people around his age, plus some sort of strange bipedal cat creature, all of them dressed in their own strange outfits. Qrow may recognize Akira among the group, even with his mask.

But despite the strangeness of their costumes the conversation is deadly serious. Though the details aren't spoken explicitly in this conversation it's clear that Akechi has done something to this group. One girl mentions 'what you did to my father', one of the boys points out that he used his powers only for his own selfish desires, and the cat accuses him of fabricating crimes in order to solve them and boost his own reputation. Akechi contradicts none of it, and even admits to some of it. Without context it might be hard to follow, but one thing remains clear - Akechi just lost, and badly, to a group of people with every reason to dislike and distrust him.

And yet the overwhelming sentiment of the moment of sympathy. The people standing opposite Akechi admit to understanding where he's coming from, admit that they might have made the same choices in his position, admit that even if he was wrong they still get it. And what's more, they give him a chance to join them, to switch sides, to help them set things right. Akechi cycles through surprise, suspicions, uncertainty, frustration, confusion, and finally the tiniest flicker of hope.

A flicker that's snuffed out with the appearance of another Akechi. This one is dressed normally (in clothing Qrow might even recognize) and exhibiting all of Akechi's worse traits - cold, aloof, smug, and condescending. This new one is some sort of puppet, made by someone named Shido - who, it turns out, is also mentioned to be Akechi's father. The puppet isn't there to help, however. It accuses Akechi of being nothing more than a puppet himself, desperately seeking affection and love that he could never really have, and then announces that it's there to eliminate Akechi for his failure.

It gives him a choice, though: kill the people in front of him, the ones that just showed him a degree of sympathy and understanding that he's never had before, and his life will be spared. Akechi pushes himself to his feet, draws his pistol, aims it at Akira - and at the last moment whirls around and shoots the puppet instead, injuring but not killing it. His next target is a control panel, one that lowers a bulkhead door between himself and Akira and his friends. Akechi makes them promise to deal with Shido, tells them to go, and finally exchanges one last round of gunfire with the puppet.

The moment the shots ring out the memory starts to go blurry. The image remains clear long enough for the puppet to flake away into dust and Akechi to sink to his knees. Then Akechi slumps forward, and the scene fades into a fragmented gray haze before he hits the floor.

Qrow and Akechi - the real Akechi - are left alone in the featureless void. Akechi's expression is set into one of annoyed but aloof frostiness. A moment later he sighs, like he's just received some irritating but manageable bad news. ]

This place certainly does love to put on a show, doesn't it?

[Akechi's outward reaction may appear to be mild, aloof and frosty irritation, but Qrow does not manage to have anything akin to a poker face by the end of the memory. He's visibly shaken by it, deep red eyes wide, shoulders bunched up close against his frame.

The mention of murders doesn't unsettle him; he may no longer have any desire to harm anyone, but he is a murderer himself, history with the bandits holding a body count likely higher than Akechi's own. Instead, it's what the second version of Akechi says that gets to him, sends a shiver down his spine.

Don't tell me...were you actually feeling good about having someone rely on you for once?

It's like a kick in the chest. He remembers what it was like, to be so hungry for acceptance, to matter at all to anyone for any reason that he would've done anything. He'd been so desperate for some kind of purpose, for a place to belong that would give meaning to his cursed existence.

But look at yourself...you're the true puppet. You wanted to be acknowledged, didn't you? To be loved?

His thoughts, of course, go immediately to Ozpin. He remembers that devastating heartbreak he'd felt when he found out the truth about the war against Salem, the crushing weight of realization that he was merely one in a long line of tin soldiers to be used and discarded in the service of forestalling an inevitable apocalypse. For a long time he'd held that anger and bitterness close, and it had taken time, space, and effort to work through it and forge something anew. But for all his faults, Oz had always meant well. More mistakes than any man, woman, or child, perhaps, but he wasn't cruel.

If Qrow had been expendable, it was only insofar as every mortal on Remnant was. It was not like this. And yet -- he knows it as deeply as he knows anything; if it had not been Ozpin, if the first to reach out their hand in a facsimile of kindness had held nefarious intentions for his desperation, he could've been the exact same. He would've burnt down the world for someone to look at him, and instead what he'd been given was a man who taught him to fight for the world instead, to stand up for the innocent and defenseless rather than take advantage of them.

Lucky, huh.

(He'd once said in anger and despair that meeting Ozpin had been the worst luck of his life; he's since taken back that sentiment. This is the first time he's actually felt guilt for it)

The memory ends, and Qrow has to hide the tremble to his exhale when Akechi addresses him. Even if he didn't know the kid a little from the dream, he understands well enough how much pity would piss him off--even that borne from a sense of understanding. He shoves it down viciously, fighting to school his expression back into something like his usual casual irreverence.]

...Y..eah. The dream was like that, too. Just couldn't stay out of our damn business.

[It's a valiant effort, at least, to sound irritated. He isn't pleased with this state of affairs, certainly, which helps, but he keeps getting lost in his own head, that moment of the memory playing out over and over again. He'd been about Akechi's age, too, when Ozpin had crashed into his life and changed it forever, built up the foundations of everything he remotely respects about himself now. All by the happenstance of being sent to Beacon Academy, in order to learn to kill Huntsmen.]

Fucking Pthumerians...really oughta get some hobbies already. [He manages a huff, and that sounds slightly more convincing.] Assholes.

Edited 2022-01-31 07:44 (UTC)

[ Akechi is prepared for any number of suffocatingly condescending responses from Qrow. Pity. Sympathy. Empathy. Some attempt to relate to him, to try to express that he understands and all that other sickening bullshit.

But nothing like that comes. Qrow is clearly upset and shaken by what he's just seen (and Akechi can begrudgingly admit that most people would be) but rather than trying to address it he's clearly doing everything in his power to not address it. For a moment Akechi tries to convince himself that reaction is somehow worse. When that doesn't work he tries to convince himself that it doesn't matter.

When that doesn't work he sighs and looks away, already annoyed with himself for what he's about to say. He tells himself he's just annoyed with being forced to relive this particular memory and that's why he's bothering with this at all, and he believes it enough to stop letting himself be bothered any further. He even schools his expression into one of neutrality - though rather than 'indifference' his expression falls somewhere closer to 'disconnected'. ]

If digging up old memories is the worst they can do, then let them.

[ Akechi's not sure how much he actually believes that. All he knows is that, for some reason, it's important to him to make sure Qrow knows that he's fine. ]

The past is just the past.

[The past is just the past.

Oh, if only Qrow could believe that. Qrow has buried some parts of his life so deeply he does his best not to look at them, but the stains on his soul linger. He knows it in the way that his instincts are still like a bandit's, sometimes, the way that it's still a choice he's making when he approaches a problem with words before a sword. He knows it in the way that he expects rejection or betrayal from every relationship, the way he is unable to trust without reservation. The way he still tries to hide his Semblance, even though nobody who'd learned in Deerington was unkind to him about it.

The past is the past, but Qrow in particular has never known how to let it go. He'd carried that photograph of Team STRQ on his person for seventeen years, after all. The silence stretches a beat longer than strictly necessary. Then:]

You know they can do worse than that.

[So far, Trench hasn't been quite so disastrous as the dream had been, but the echoes of it are already there; their bodies and powers messed with, strange fluctuations of magic that affect not only their mood but also their health...it's a world that's a new start, maybe, but not one that doesn't go out of its way to be painful.]

But that doesn't make these things easier, either.

[ Truthfully, Akechi doesn't really believe what he says either - but what else can he say? Something that Qrow is right, and that being forced to relive this does bother him?

Not a chance, even if the way Qrow speaks and behaves makes Akechi suspect he can see right through him.

Despite that impression, Akechi can't bring himself to feel truly irritated with Qrow - the situation, sure, but not Qrow himself. He can even make himself feel annoyed that he's not annoyed, but not even that is enough to trick the real thing into rearing its head. All he can do is sigh. ]

The don't need to be easy. They just need to be survivable.

[ And this one clearly is. He's fine, isn't he? He slides his gaze back towards Qrow. ]

I can't imagine most people wouldn't prefer this to more kidnappings and torture.

I dunno how much "survivable" matters in a place like Trench, honestly. Not like death sticks anymore.

[It matters, or Qrow wouldn't still do the things he does -- wouldn't fight to protect others against monsters, or help them get to shore safely when they desquid before reaching the shore proper, or offer self-defense lessons.

But when it comes to pain, Qrow has always found the physical kind easier.]

Not exactly pulling for people to get tortured instead either, but I mean. It's the kind of thing where you know what you're in for. It'll hurt, and then you're good as new, after awhile to rest. This kind of shit's different.

[It's cracking someone open in a more complete sense, forcing their anguish out into the open where it can never be taken back. When it's your flesh that's being torn into, at least you have the power to decide whether or not to scream. This, though? He is not someone who has earned the right to Akechi's loneliness or suffering, his hunger to be seen and known. It wasn't offered to him with trust that he would handle it gently, and there is never any guarantee in Deerington or Trench that the hands thrust into your chest will be kind. For someone who has made those choices and still been burned too many times, this manner of pain is much, much worse than the alternative.]

Edited 2022-04-24 02:00 (UTC)

[ Once again, Qrow cuts right to the heart of the matter. Once again, Akechi can't stand it. He all but itches with how much he wants to be away from this conversation, but of course admitting to any of that means admitting that Qrow is right and that this is bothering him.

If he can't deny, then he'll just have to deflect. He huffs out a laugh at Qrow's analysis, though the smile he turns on his is completely without any trace of humor. ]

You sound like you're talking from experience. Would you say this city inflicts a good deal of physical and psychological torture on you?

[ He feels... not guilty, exactly, but slightly bad the second he says it. He's not trying to upset Qrow, just change the subject. Still, his expression doesn't waver. ]

[It's not a topic that particularly upsets Qrow, at least. After a year in Deerington and half a year in Trench, it's one of those things he's come to accept as a fact of life, like Grimm had been in Remnant. He shrugs.]

Me personally? ...Eh. Not that much, compared to Deerington. But this place has had its share of bullshit.

[Almost everyone in his house got kidnapped during the Sleeper Farm debacle. And then there was the corpse boat and the ghost bullshit. He'd still take those over Deerington's nonsense, though.]

[Famous last words.

The scene shifts, void replaced by, instead of a boiler room, a seemingly innocent snowy landscape. Seemingly being the key word, of course--there's voices that can be heard, one Akechi can recognize as belonging to Ruby Rose, that says Professor...what is your plan to defeat Salem? It's almost cold, demanding, even. Certainly frostier than most people in Trench or Deerington are likely to have ever heard from her.

Silence, and then another voice -- a young man's, a teenager's, really, maybe too young to have earned the title "Professor" or the sheer weight of despair in his voice through his tears -- I....don't have one.

No response seems to follow, before the silence is suddenly broken by the telltale sound of a fist hitting flesh, followed by the thump and rustle of a tree as the young man slams into it. After that, it's Qrow's voice that can be heard. There's a sense of despair there, too, but it's half-buried, smothered by anger and bitterness and hurt.

"No one wanted me," he says, hands shaking as they clench back into fists. "I was cursed." He does not look at the young (old?) man slumped against the tree.

"I gave my life to you because you gave me a place in this world. ... I thought I was finally doing some good."

There's one last, weak protest, the final guttering embers of a flame that's already almost out: "But, you are--"

It's snuffed out almost viciously, the sentence not even finished as Qrow stomps the offered olive branch to splinters: "Meeting you was the worst luck of my life."

One can almost see the moment where his heart breaks, and he mumbles, "maybe you're right", before there's a flash of gold light, and someone else seems to awaken in the young man's body, rubbing at his neck, and confirms he is gone.

And with him too goes the snowy forest scene, returning yet again to the featureless void.]

Okay, that was just fucking rude. [He huffs out a harsh sigh.] As I was saying, plenty of bullshit this side of the dream too.

Edited 2022-08-11 05:44 (UTC)

Akechi came to the Red with one specific thing in mind: gather information. Sounds simple, right?

Wrong. Akechi has had horrible luck all evening. Clubs are usually fine places to gather information and make friends, but not this time. Everyone is too much all at once - too eager to talk to him, too drunk to help, and too touchy for his liking. It's not long before Akechi breaks away from the crowd at large and slips into what he assumes is an empty booth.

It isn't. Someone else is there, because of course they are. Akechi gives Akira an unimpressed, dead-eyed stare. Despite that, he slides into the seat across from him with a weary sigh.

"What are you doing here?"

Akira isn't exactly surprised to see Akechi, but it's still pleasantly unexpected. Akira's pretty sure being excited to see Akechi proves that he has some form of massive brain damage, but, well, here he is anyway, brightening slightly and scooting his flute of champagne over by way of explanation.

"Sumire was considering being a Night Walker, so I thought I'd come see them all in action. Then they gave me drinks," Akira offers. He's not drunk, at least -- he's still bright eyed and unflushed, entirely too focused on the surroundings like they're the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

"It's nice to relax without things trying to kill me," Akira offers, because he's had quite a lot of near death experiences already, both back home and here, and he's. He's a little tired of it.

Akechi has long since diagnosed Akira with brain damage, so at least this is nothing surprising. The news of Sumire's potential career path of choice is also nothing surprising, but it is one of those subjects Akechi can never just dismiss out of hand.

"And what's your assessment so far?"

Though the ever-present edge of gentle contempt is still there in Akechi's tone, it's softer than usual. This is something he completely and unequivocally trusts Akira's judgement on - though it's not like he'll admit that out loud. Instead he eyes the 'offered' champagne flute and, after a moment of thought, reaches out and snag it for himself. He doesn't care much for alcohol, but the prospect of taking it when he's sure Akira wanted to keep drinking it himself is too good to pass up.

Akira considers it for a minute. He stretches out a little, giving another look around the room -- for all that he can see bits and pieces of a lot of different people doing a lot of different things, and it's...

Kind of nice, actually. Except...

"I'm still waiting for another shoe to drop," Akira says. It's a little like a confession, and he offers Akechi a smile when he says it, like it'll make it better. "But I think Sumire could pull off things pretty well, if she wants to work here and get information. It could be useful."

He's echoing Morgana a little without even meaning to. To be fair, Morgana had often echoed what Akira had thought himself on a normal basis, but without a particularly chatty maybe-cat at his side, Akira's trying to pick up the slack for the sake of his conversations.

"I'm used to danger, but it'd be nice to have some safe rooms around."

'Waiting for the other shoe to drop' is... a good way of looking at it, actually. Smart. Which means it's exactly what he should have expected from Akira.

Still, that next comment of his is an interesting one.

"You want this place to be like a safe room?" Akechi sounds a little skeptical, though he can see it. It's relaxing enough when it isn't completely packed and halfway converted into a nightclub. Add in the possibility of Sumire having insider information and perks...

Yeah, Akechi can see how that might work.

"It's no Jazz Jin," Akira offers, "but it's got the same kind of familiar anonymity."

There's no Muhen behind the bar and the cocktails pack considerably more of a punch, but Akira doesn't think this is the kind of place where he has to worry about being attacked -- by shadows or whatever this place tends to throw out.

"It'll do until we have a better option," Akira says, because in his experience it's best to make due until something else presents itself, which is probably why he once considered a crowded Shibuya walkway a valid secret hideout spot for a group of Phantom Thieves.

He scratches at his wrist a little vaguely. The skin seems a little red, but he's trying to ignore it in favor of, like, literally anything else.

Akira tries to ignore the reddened skin around his wrist, but Akechi doesn't bother. He slides his gaze towards Akira's hands for a moment and doesn't look away until he lifts the flute of champagne to his lips. He probably shouldn't risk drinking given how he knows this place can be but...

Fuck it. Why not? The past couple months have sucked and if they were home he'd be nineteen by now. That's almost twenty - and it's not like anyone here cares.

"Nowhere here is like the Jazz Jin." It's probably silly to feel some sense of loyalty to a business that he's never going to see again, but he does. He doesn't disagree with the Red as a possible alternative, though... "The Raccoon Room isn't bad, either."

Akira's drink is safely in Akechi's hands -- but it's not long before someone slides another one to Akira with a smile and a wink and then vanishes back into the area before Akira can manage much more than a vague thanks.

Bad decisions are probably best made in pairs, at any rate.

"Yeah. Between those and the house, it's a start," Akira offers. As much as Akechi attempted to keep Akira from staking claim in the house, he's largely given up these days, with the lure of coffee proving more tempting than the idea of having an Akira-free space. It does mean that Akechi's house has wound up being the base of operations, even if the "Phantom Thieves" is mostly just... the three of them.

"It feels like most things here are dangerous, but I don't want to be on guard all the time," Akira says. He isn't quite sure Akechi can relate -- Akechi breathes paranoia like it's oxygen -- but he's seen Akechi relatively relaxed, too. It's nice, when it happens.

"You should be on guard all the time."

Akechi's tone is flat, cold. His expression matches, all aloof indifference and cool boredom. But the chill doesn't reach everywhere. His back is too straight to come off as natural. He idly spins the stem of the champagne flute between his fingers. Beneath the table he bounces one foot impatiently.

"We can't just avoid danger by avoiding the Metaverse. You think the monsters here are going to ignore us because we're in a nightclub? That those zealots will respect a locked door?"

Already more cracks are starting to show; by the time he's done Akechi's tone has grown brittle and a shade aggressive.

"I can't be on guard all the time," Akira says, simply, like it's just that easy for him to admit. "If I try, I won't be able to predict when I stop paying as much attention as I need to. If there's space to be safe in, it's easier to focus when I need to."

It's a strategy that has worked relatively well for him in the past, which is largely because even while Akira isn't on guard at all times, he's not exactly unaware, either. Not that it helped him when it came to getting kidnapped and strung up, but -- well.

It could have been worse.

"Besides. If there's two of us, it's easier to take turns being super aware," Akira says, aware that he is treading extremely dangerous territory under the guise of tactical conversation. "I can't watch your back if I'm too exhausted from watching my own."

Of course Akira has a response to that, and of course it's so.... logically sound. Reasonable. Hard to argue against. Which only, of course, serves to make Akechi even more irritated than a flippant dismissive answer would have. He huffs out a sharp sigh and lifts the champagne class to drain it the rest of the way.

"I don't recall asking you to 'watch my back'."

Which is part of the problem, but not really the point. And normally Akechi is touchy at best about discussing how he really feels about a situation, but right now...

Fuck it. Why not? He may as well try to figure this out.

"I don't understand you." He pushes his glass aside. "The agreement we had was temporary - it was always temporary. You knew that from the start. Why bother pretending like anything's changed just because we're here now?"

"Um," Akira says, delicately. He surveys his drink. Rotates it on the table and watches the little trail of condensation it leaves in its wake. Considers it for a moment.

Drains it in its entirety and then exhales, because it kind of burns a little but he doesn't want to admit that something as minor as champagne is still a little much for his delicate coffee-only palate.

"Because I like you, mostly," Akira offers. "I was really upset when you died. I know you think it's because it was a competition or something, or... I don't know. But mostly I really just liked you. The real you, before you say something about how it was fake."

"You don't actually like me."

He doesn't mean to say it, but what do you know! Akira's a Paleblood. Withholding information from him is difficult, and outright lying to him is pretty much impossible. He could just stand up and leave, remove himself from the source of this honestly. Not continuing now that he's started is basically out of the question, however.

"You were upset because you're sentimental. You'd get upset over a complete stranger if you thought there was something you could do to stop it."

Which isn't really news. Akechi's always known that about him, always despised that about him. There's nothing he can do to change that, so all he can do is resent it.

"So you don't like me. You can't like someone if you don't know them, and if you really knew me you wouldn't like me."

"I do know you? I mean, I don't know everything about you, but I've seen you when you're lying in two different directions, and I liked both of those, and I like you now," Akira says. It's a slightly convoluted sentence with entirely too many repeated words, but it also helps carry the emphasis.

"I'm sad when other people die, but it's not like it is with you," Akira says, and pushes his glass to the edge of the table so he stops clenching the glass and risking it shattering in his hand. That would be the worst way to continue this conversation. "I know I said it wasn't a competition, but if I have to prove you wrong about liking you, I'll win."

It's not a competition, and if it was it would be the dumbest competition imaginable - but Akechi doesn't want to just let Akira think he's right. So he rises to the bait just like he always does - and just like he always does, he tells himself it isn't.

"And what was it like with me?" He thinks he might not actually want to know the answer to that question, but he presses on all the same. "I can tell you what it was like for me when you died. I 'killed' you myself, after all."

That reminder won't be enough, though. Not by a long shot. Akira is an idiot so he'll try to wave it off like it doesn't matter, just like he always does.

"Okay," Akira says. "What was it like?"

Because he doesn't know. Not really. Akira knows what he felt, sitting in an interrogation room, bruised and sore, shaking off the after effects of whatever drug he'd been given. He'd been anxious; he'd been confident; he'd refused to let himself feel anything like fear and had drowned it out in the easy to access well of Joker that was always present within him.

He doesn't know what happened. He doesn't know what Akechi said, or did -- if he was confident or brazen or remorseful or exasperated. He's put a lot of things together, and he doesn't imagine Akechi was particularly honest in that moment, either, largely because Akechi isn't honest with himself, but --

"I didn't kill you, but I watched you die once. The second time I didn't even get to see it," Akira says. He'd turned to look and all he'd seen was a jail cell, after all. "Maruki knew you were the only thing that had a chance of making me waver."

The comment about Maruki's attempt to blackmail Akira with Akechi's continued well-being has something dark and almost murderous flickering across Akechi's expression. Being resurrected against his will had been bad enough, but having his importance centered entirely around Akira, being reduced to nothing more than a small part of someone else's life--

He wants to lash out, but Akira asked him a question. Trench's magic won't let him address anything else.

"I didn't feel anything." But at least he can say something that he means, something that he's sure what Akira doesn't want to hear. "I wasn't sad. I didn't hesitate. There was no regret or remorse."

Akechi leans back in his chair, expression less murderous but no less cold. He's said enough.

And then, entirely against his will, he keeps going.

"I wasn't happy, either. I should have been satisfied, delighted, relieved, anything - but there was nothing there."

Edited 2022-02-01 05:53 (UTC)

"Well," Akira says, and the smile he offers is a little awkward, because they're treading such dangerous waters with this conversation, but neither of them seem like they can stop. "I'm glad you weren't happy about killing me."

There's a pause, where he drags his fingers through the evaporating condensation on the empty champagne glass. Then he seems to decide something, shifting closer to Akechi and turning his gaze on him -- the full intensity of his gaze when he's really looking at someone without trying to hide anything.

"I was determined, when you killed me. I was determined to win. And then you died, and it felt like a mistake," Akira says. "Like it was an error that happened too quickly. I hadn't managed to do anything. I hadn't told you anything. And then I didn't tell you anything when you were back, because I didn't want you to think I was trying to make you stay when you were so determined not to."

Akira inhales. "But I like you. I want to keep getting to know you, and I'll keep liking you, even if you're angry and sarcastic and keep trying to make me stop."

'Dangerous waters' is correct. As the reality of what he just said, what he just admitted to, settles in Akechi's expression shifts to something halfway between 'aghast' and 'infuriated'. He didn't mean to say that much - and worse, he didn't realize how true it was. He's never let himself stop and think about just how hollow and dissatisfied he felt in the wake, or even let himself stop to think about Akira at all. By the time he finally did he was too consumed with frustrated rage for anything else.

And if what he says is true for him, doesn't that mean that what Akira's saying is true for Akira? That thought is almost too much to bear. Once again, he tries to sidestep it. It's hard when he feels stuck to the spot by Akira's gaze, like he's been seen in a way he so rarely is.

"So what is it, then? Sympathy? Pity? I don't need either of those." Again, he means to leave it at that - and again he says more than he means. "If you're not here to be selfish then I want nothing to do with it."

"It's not any of those," Akira says, and he sounds a little annoyed, for once. He didn't expect his words to be able to get through to Akechi, not really -- not when Akechi is so deftly capable at making words into whatever he wants them to be, weapons and insults and barriers alike. "Fine. You want me to be selfish?"

Akira would like to blame it on the champagne, but he doesn't really think that's it. It's more that it's going on two years of attraction, grief, and a lot of adrenaline has pushed this particular situation to its absolute limit, and Akira isn't going to try to hold it back anymore.

Something something true desires inside your heart, probably.

He shifts closer to Akechi and turns his upper body -- it's a slightly awkward angle, but it allows him to grab onto Akechi's shirt in a way that probably seems like it's a threat of violence, up until he leans in and kisses Akechi.

Retrospectively, he should have removed his glasses.

Akechi has learned to expect all sorts of strange and unexpected behavior from Akira, but this is unexpected in a way that's totally unprecedented. The hand grabbing his shirt does read like a threat of violence, a threat that sends a delighted thrill through him--

--a thrill that translates into something more normal, though no less intense, once he fully processes that Akira is kissing him. Akechi is utterly still for a moment, frozen in shock and completely unsure of how to react.

In the end he doesn't make a conscious decision. He fumbles until he's curled one hand into Akira's hair and the other into the front of his shirt. He pulls at both, desperate and eager in a way that takes him totally off guard. Or rather, that would take him totally off guard if he could spare a thought for that sort of thing. Instead he is thinking about how the table is in the way and that he'd like to shove it aside, and about how he's pretty sure Akira's glasses are digging into both of their faces and he'd like to throw those aside, too. And, really, about how there are far too many things between the two of them and he wants them all gone, until there's nothing left but he and Akira and the heat between them.

Akira should have kissed Akechi forever ago. When he first arrived and Akechi was alive; before Akechi died the second time; before he died the first time. He didn't realize quite how much he wanted this until he was doing it, and now the idea of not doing it is something that automatically makes him shift closer. He shifts enough to grab his glasses and pull those off -- he opens his eyes enough to see the blur of Akechi's bangs before he discards the glasses onto the table without any particular care to where they land -- and then he's shifting forward more.

It's definitely awkward with the table between them, but Akira is not exactly opposed to literally climbing on top of it if it means he can get closer to Akechi without actually separating from him.

Akira's always been more of a doer than a talker, and he really wants to know why it took him so long to do it in this situation. He was never going to resolve things with words, not with someone like Akechi--

But Akechi isn't pulling back. Akechi is pulling them closer just as much as Akira is, and it's a sigh of relief that he doesn't let escape from his chest, because it's been months and months of wanting something compounded in his chest while convinced he wouldn't get it.

They should probably stop making out if they're going to continue this exchange. There's not just the actual, physical difficulty of attempting to do anything else when he's passionately kissing someone, there's also the muddled, hazy mess it's making of his thoughts. There are no longer any coherent directives in his mind; he doesn't want to pull Akira closer or shove a particular article of clothing aside or touch a particular part of him. He just wants more - more of all of it, more of all of him.

But there's an obstacle more pressing that his muddled mental state or Akira himself: the table. After several moments have passed Akechi finally breaks off the kiss and pulls back, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He stares for a moment, suddenly uncertain of what exactly he wants.

Then he turns, presses his palms against the table, and shoves. Before they do anything else he wants this stupid thing out of the way.

Akira's eyes are equally bright and his cheeks just as flushed when Akechi breaks away, and for a split second Akira thinks Akechi is going to shove him away -- but instead it's just the table, the sound of it scraping across the floor rapidly drowned out by the sound of everyone else that's in the building.

As far as Akira is concerned, none of them exist. There's nothing except Akechi.

Akira moves closer, almost automatically, leaning in to replace the space where the table was before. He doesn't think he can actually get away with climbing into Akechi's lap, but it's a really tempting thought.

"Okay," Akira offers, more as filler than anything else, and then reaches out again, a little slower, to twine a bit of Akechi's hair around his fingertip.

For a moment Akechi thinks that pushing the table away might have been a mistake, because no matter how brief it's still a moment of respite, a moment where they have room to think instead of merely act.

Fortunately, active and conscious thought isn't exactly on the agenda right now. Akira reaches out and Akechi lets him, reminded of Akira's impulsive to muss up his hair to avoid some nosy fans. Somehow he doesn't think they're about to have a repeat, but he kind of wants to find his glasses and toss them onto the dance floor, never to be recovered.

But he does none of that. Instead he slides himself closer to Akira, reaching out to finally give into a long held indulgence and sink his hand into Akira's hair.

[OPEN] January Catchall

Open Threads

Early January - Newsletter Warmblood Effects

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slowly crawls in here three weeks late with starbucks

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2/2. finally getting back to this three months late.

( for akira )

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