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entrancelogs2017-09-02 07:33 pm
intrusivethot) wrote in entrancelogs2017-09-02 07:33 pm
[open] and your friends are gone, and your friends won't come
Who: Akira Kurusu & you!
Where: Damon's bar
When: Saturday, September 2nd
Rating: PG
Summary: (blanket spoilers for Persona 5 as always)
Bonds to others are where true strength lies. Until those bonds are abruptly and unceremoniously severed, anyway.
The Story:
Goodbyes are difficult. That's why Akira's rarely given them; too bittersweet to acknowledge a friendship let lie fallow, too awkward to reconnect and make assurances that they'll stay in contact. For Akira's sake, the stigma of becoming a parolee at sixteen saved him one kind of heartache at being put on a train to Tokyo at the expense of another, more bearable heartache. The kind that means you don't have to see the disappointment and distrust replace schoolyard camaraderie. A stranger's hatred is somehow tolerable in comparison.
The circumstances are different now, of course. There was no indication that over the course of a few weeks, he'd lose friends at random. First, Morgana not coming back to sleep on him, then Yusuke's uncharacteristic stand up at the art gallery - then he'd really known something was off. Ann was almost not a surprise at all after that, but a blade quickly removed to let the wound flow freely, pain to come once the adrenaline faded.
Akira didn't so much allow himself to think of it as much as it seeped into his actions, moodily avoiding Ryuji or throwing himself at the Danger Room when all he needed was an outlet for the bubbling rage at the unfairness, when he needed, above all things, to drive himself into numbness, into exhaustion in the absence of the ability to journey into Mementos alone. (Sorry, Mona.)
It isn't fair. It isn't fair.
He can't spend another night inside his room, taking whatever the closets unscrupulously give an underage teenager that asks. He's too bruised for the Danger Room, still nursing a busted lip from a training bot that got a lucky swing in. Distraction is at hand, guiding him to a bar he'd never been in nor has any business being inside on a Saturday.
Akira spends a while watching the drinking games other of-age patrons are engaging in, unconsciously half smiling with the hoots and hollers when someone was forced to take a shot. The clamor ensures that maybe, just maybe his sticky fingers can get to work on grabbing a bottle of his own and surreptitiously pour it into a pilfered glass. If no one catches a teenager grabbing a beer, anyway.
Eventually keeping his thief skills sharp loses its luster (or he stops being quite so capable of it) and Akira slouches openly at the bar, a haze of misery shrouding a nearby drink until his elbow sends it spilling across the bar, Akira staring at it after, stricken.
"Oh - damn, sorry. No, sit down, let me clean it up -"
[ closed to Goro Akechi ]
Akira being a mess sort of aligns with the messy company he keeps. Had Akechi told him that he works here? Since that zombie event the detective prince had been damned good at not being in the same place at the same time as Akira, with a few...notable exceptions...
Not that Akira thought of it often. Or at all.
Just catching a glimpse of him behind the bar sends odd prickles across his skin, a volcanic heat searing his gut that he blindly attributes to annoyance that the detective hunting him down in his world is here while many of his friends are not. Anger has always been a clarifying force for him, so he has to try and understand why Akira still has a murderer instead of his closest friends, robbing Akira of the one thing that distracts him from his loss of purpose, separated from the Phantom Thieves' mission.
Tries. And fails, as honesty breaks through the hard shell of the anger that he mostly feels he's playacting by now. Empathy is a hell of a thing.
He doesn't really know why he instead gives a half wave when Akechi's eyes glance past him, a faint smile in place. Hi there.
Where: Damon's bar
When: Saturday, September 2nd
Rating: PG
Summary: (blanket spoilers for Persona 5 as always)
Bonds to others are where true strength lies. Until those bonds are abruptly and unceremoniously severed, anyway.
The Story:
Goodbyes are difficult. That's why Akira's rarely given them; too bittersweet to acknowledge a friendship let lie fallow, too awkward to reconnect and make assurances that they'll stay in contact. For Akira's sake, the stigma of becoming a parolee at sixteen saved him one kind of heartache at being put on a train to Tokyo at the expense of another, more bearable heartache. The kind that means you don't have to see the disappointment and distrust replace schoolyard camaraderie. A stranger's hatred is somehow tolerable in comparison.
The circumstances are different now, of course. There was no indication that over the course of a few weeks, he'd lose friends at random. First, Morgana not coming back to sleep on him, then Yusuke's uncharacteristic stand up at the art gallery - then he'd really known something was off. Ann was almost not a surprise at all after that, but a blade quickly removed to let the wound flow freely, pain to come once the adrenaline faded.
Akira didn't so much allow himself to think of it as much as it seeped into his actions, moodily avoiding Ryuji or throwing himself at the Danger Room when all he needed was an outlet for the bubbling rage at the unfairness, when he needed, above all things, to drive himself into numbness, into exhaustion in the absence of the ability to journey into Mementos alone. (Sorry, Mona.)
It isn't fair. It isn't fair.
He can't spend another night inside his room, taking whatever the closets unscrupulously give an underage teenager that asks. He's too bruised for the Danger Room, still nursing a busted lip from a training bot that got a lucky swing in. Distraction is at hand, guiding him to a bar he'd never been in nor has any business being inside on a Saturday.
Akira spends a while watching the drinking games other of-age patrons are engaging in, unconsciously half smiling with the hoots and hollers when someone was forced to take a shot. The clamor ensures that maybe, just maybe his sticky fingers can get to work on grabbing a bottle of his own and surreptitiously pour it into a pilfered glass. If no one catches a teenager grabbing a beer, anyway.
Eventually keeping his thief skills sharp loses its luster (or he stops being quite so capable of it) and Akira slouches openly at the bar, a haze of misery shrouding a nearby drink until his elbow sends it spilling across the bar, Akira staring at it after, stricken.
"Oh - damn, sorry. No, sit down, let me clean it up -"
[ closed to Goro Akechi ]
Akira being a mess sort of aligns with the messy company he keeps. Had Akechi told him that he works here? Since that zombie event the detective prince had been damned good at not being in the same place at the same time as Akira, with a few...notable exceptions...
Not that Akira thought of it often. Or at all.
Just catching a glimpse of him behind the bar sends odd prickles across his skin, a volcanic heat searing his gut that he blindly attributes to annoyance that the detective hunting him down in his world is here while many of his friends are not. Anger has always been a clarifying force for him, so he has to try and understand why Akira still has a murderer instead of his closest friends, robbing Akira of the one thing that distracts him from his loss of purpose, separated from the Phantom Thieves' mission.
Tries. And fails, as honesty breaks through the hard shell of the anger that he mostly feels he's playacting by now. Empathy is a hell of a thing.
He doesn't really know why he instead gives a half wave when Akechi's eyes glance past him, a faint smile in place. Hi there.
no subject
[ It seems like a hobby that's only picked up in light of repeat exposure amidst boredom, yeah. Kind of the same way that Akira got heavily into jigsaw puzzles over one sticky Summer, having watched his parents peck over it and argue about shades of green fitting together.
Akira crosses his arms, leaning back on his heels while Akechi shows him How It's Done, which is to say that the dart is supposed to go into the board. Wooooow~. ]
You pop your butt out when you throw. [ AKIRA WHY ]
no subject
it's a curveball, all right, and the good detective arches a brow and actually misses on that second shot. thanks, akira. you're a friend. a real chum. your plan totally worked. slow-clap for the hero. ]
It's a matter of pivoting, so yes, I suppose I do.
[ he says it with that plastic, made-for-tv smile, but there's something else there. it's different than back in japan. there's some underpinnings to it that start at amusement and end somewhere in the sheets.
he retrieves the darts and hands them to akira, the slight alcohol (albeit strong alcohol) in his system making him brush their hands together as he does so. ]
no subject
Akira'd be lying if he said he was expecting a semi-coherent response, so he doesn't have one ready in return. Just a lot of natural competitiveness that gets choked with teenage awkwardness at two hands that dare cross paths in semi-natural order.
Whew, time to take a break to sip his Cosmoplitan, pausing to carefully transfer the darts into his other hand, eyes skirting. What is it that he's so given to in the moment? The fact that he needs to be given to something so he's not consumed by something worse. ]
So were you learning in your off hours? Darts doesn't seem like something you pick up in the police.
no subject
[ since he had to be there and all.
akechi shrugs and takes another long sip of his drink. it's starting to get sweeter and maybe that's a problem. it's probably a theme at this point that he gets tipsy around akira. maybe it's the only way he can process what the hell is happening between them. about his own future. ]
Here, on this try, try angling your body more to the left.
[ no he's not... using his free hand to drift along akira's lower back to grip his hip and try to forcefully angle akira's body. ]