[ Another life begets another death. The cycle is endless, inevitable, comforting in its familiarity. To be born is to sign a contract with fate. Live, die.
But there are other contracts along the way. Countless paths to take to give away bits and pieces of one's soul. Infinite possibilities for all the splendors and sorrows one can experience along the way. Live, suffer, rejoice, die.
Every life is special to the one who lives it, and the lucky ones will find hands reaching toward theirs, holding on tightly to fulfill their contracts together. It wouldn't be accurate to say no one is alone, but very few are. Live, connect, bond–
And a new door opens.
He hasn't stepped through yet. Maruki knew he wouldn't.
He stands right at the entrance, the only thing the one who opened the door can see, tall and willowy in a perfectly crisp midnight blue suit, smiling amber eyes behind thick lenses and a flop of silvery hair. This room is the only thing he knows– this room, and the one who enters it.
How much suffering has his poor ward had to go through to get here? How many lives, how many deaths–
[ A name he's known since the moment he was formed from what lies beyond the sea of human souls, shaped by steady gloved hands. His only true purpose, lying in wait for years: That name he's been waiting to say, that boy he's been waiting to see, who stands before him now, confused and irate, just as he somehow knew he would be.
There's an ache in the center of his sternum, something that must be love creaking the ribs that surround an unbeating, inhuman heart.
Maruki steps aside, outstretches one arm to gesture and usher him in, presses the other palm gently between his shoulder blades to steady him. ]
[ It wasn't that long ago Akechi stood at the edge of a small ceremony - those in attendance could be counted on two hands. Kurusu may have been among them. Akechi wasn't looking to socialize at the somber gathering, nor did he do more than stay a few-
Hours. Days. He ended up in a shoebox apartment visited more times than he could count. Hours. Days. He recalls sitting on a couch that wasn't his to watch birds flock to a window where food must have been spread out.
Thinks he went into a bedroom. Where he would sit and sit and sit and-
He isn't sure what drove him to visit until his access was cut off and a new tenant moved into the space to start their shitty life.
The door appears-
Once, twice, many times. In realities he can't remember, in dreams, in dark alleyways, in the days following a loss that Akechi doesn't claim to be his.
He opens it on a whim during a restless night when curiosity consumed everything else. When he heard a voice, a strange pull beyond this world and a compulsion born in the back of his heart, where Robin Hood sits despite everything.
Confused, irate and-
Bewildered entirely when a ghost speaks and a hand falls between his shoulderblades. It's another compulsion that makes him explore, walk, stand in a room completely and utterly barren.
No backdrop, no windows, no decor on pristine white walls. A long nosed man spouts out nonsense in the middle of it and Akechi can't help to mock and be belligerent in turn. He's had enough of gods, contracts and bonds and-
It's Maruki that gets his attention in truth. The man speaks, Akechi listens and it's hard to deny how the copy sounds-
So much like him. Speaks like him. Appeals to sensibilities only he understands in a way that makes Akechi wonder-
If this isn't just an illusion. If this golden eyed decoy might be-
'Maruki' speaks and holds out his hand. Aeon is formed before a true contract is. A vision appears behind his eyes - fusion, a power unlike anything he knows now.
Akechi Goro signs. Akechi Goro leaves. Akechi Goro returns the next day to see only Maruki in that untouched white room, a tree growing in its furthest corners.
And it's only now that Akechi can finally spit out what he intended to yesterday, before that bizarre lore was dropped on him. There's no affection in his tone. Every word meant to be hostile and venomous. ]
What the hell are you up to?
i want YOU dead YOU TOOK THIS SOMEWHERE EVEN MORE INSANE
[ It feels like five minutes and ten years all at once between the time Akechi leaves the Velvet Room and the next time he returns.
It shifts, takes on a new shape. The tree in the corner is a massive, towering, gnarled thing. It never existed before that spark of Aeon came to life.
Maruki rested beneath it for a while, looking up through the leaves, talking to his chatterbox of a boss, thinking only of–
Akechi, appearing through the doorway again, bundled up like it's winter outside. Is it? It must be; that's when people wear scarves.
He's never seen snow. Maybe Akechi can take him out into the world so he can.
He stands just out of reach of Akechi, the compendium tucked up beneath one arm. ]
Nothing. I was just hoping to see you again.
[ That's all Maruki does in this room. Wait for Akechi. Wait to help him. ]
Is there something I can assist you with? Ah! Do you want to see this now? [ He holds out the compendium, proud. ] I didn't get to show you yesterday.
????????????? YOU GAVE ME SOMETHING PSYCHOTIC I HATE YOU
Akechi doesn't know how long it takes for Igor to kick him out of the room. Only recalls that every flip of a page, after page, page after page, every time Maruki flipped a page that his ears started to ring louder, and louder, and louder.
Waiting for Akechi-
As if he doesn't remember he had the gall to
leave.
As if Akechi hadn't waited in Jazz Jin for him to show up, only to end up at a wake days later. As if he didn't stand outside a door to an apartment that felt more like home than his own for hours and hours and hours and-
It doesn't particularly matter. Akechi learned a lesson when he tried to attack that mindless copy.
Violence wouldn't be tolerated and he can't harm Maruki anyway. There was no fanfare, no panic, no mess. Only an attempt on someone's life and Akechi getting pushed out after with only the wave of a god's hand.
It drives him mad.
And when he returns yet again, days later, arms crossed tight over his chest, all he can say is - ]
Show me the stupid book.
YOU TOOK IT IN A DOUBLY PSYCHOTIC DIRECTION I HATE YOOOOOOOOU
[ Something clings to the edges of Maruki's mind, a thick fog that won't lift. There are so many things he wants to learn. About humans, about the reality they inhabit, about the way they live their lives. He wants to leave this room with Akechi and see it all. Join him on his explorations around the city he lives in and ask him endless questions. There's so much that he doesn't remember–
Remember?
No.
There are so many things he doesn't know.
He hasn't forgotten anything. Has he? He came to existence in this room, and that's all he's ever known. There's nothing to forget. Is there?
The haze doesn't lift, stubborn in its grip on anything he tries to think of outside what's immediately in front of him. This room, this tree, this boy, and this book now propped open in his arm. ]
Come sit with me beneath the tree. We can look at it together.
[ Help me leave. I want to go with you. I don't want to wait here for you every day. It itches at the back of his teeth, and Maruki smiles around it, hopeful. ]
Although many of the pages are blank, since you haven't been accepting any of them into your heart...
It's not as if his entire day isn't spent doing menial tasks that irritate him. What's one more man, one more request-
Because it's not Maruki. The ghost wears his face and speaks in a stolen voice - uses mannerisms so unique to the Maruki Takuto he knew that it almost tricked him. A hand between his shoulderblades nearly sealed it.
But it's not him. He's dead. There's no coming back from that.
He waits until his attendant walks to the tree before following. Waits for his attendant to sit before plopping down beside.
Igor watches. Akechi wants to Riot Gun that plastered smile off his face. ]
And why would I ever waste my time on weaklings? What's the point of replacing Loki with a piece of trash? If they aren't useful, they mean nothing to me. They aren't even worth being fodder.
[ There beneath the tree, with the book spread out in Maruki's lap and angled so Akechi can see, something is noticeable that wasn't before.
It isn't only grass beneath the tree. Here and there, wildflowers spring up. There's a faint glow to them, vaguely otherworldly.
Maruki looks over at him, almost amused by that statement. ]
Not even worth that? I'm not so sure...
[ He runs a hand through the grass at his side; another flower springs to life, curling up toward a false sun.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he recalls– a vast field of flowers just like these, and a much smaller one in a tiny garden off a home he can't fully picture. ]
Think of them like seeds to be sown. You wouldn't replace Loki with them. You'd use them to grow something stronger.
[ A beat. ]
Theoretically, of course... I haven't had the chance to try it yet.
[ The flowers annoy him. He can't parse why. Perhaps it's all the little irritations picking him raw that make the blooming petals under a man's hand infuriating.
Maybe it's because it wasn't so long ago he was trying, and failing, to cultivate those same blooms in the machiya's garden.
Maybe it's because it wasn't so long ago that Akechi deluded himself into not understanding why a nobody's farm had these same flowers after a winter that was far too long. ]
Fine then.
[ There are persona stronger than Loki and Akira wields them all with deft precision. It must be through these means, but-
He pinches a flower between his fingers and crushes it in his palm. ]
I only negotiate with gods. If your little book won't hold them, then I'm not interested in trying to play nice for the sake of your entertainment.
[ Maruki's eyes shift from watching that flower crumple and disintegrate in Akechi's palm back to the book in his lap, and his idle leafing through the pages becomes more purposeful. ]
There is one in here that you somehow already know. I was hoping you could tell me more, or we could simply try growing it ourselves.
[ With a flourish, the pages flutter and fan out before they come to a stop on the blind idiot god.
Maruki raises his eyebrows at Akechi, proud and curious all at once. ]
[ This world is beyond his scope and every second in its depths is a new experience to unravel later.
He isn't powerful here. Isn't in charge. Is only allowed as far as a 'key' will take him through its bizarre portals in Metaverse and reality. A long nosed man remains blaise to the side, an 'attendant' knows his duty like he was born for it. Akechi is at a perpetual disadvantage. He steps in this place pretending like he isn't.
But this startles him. It may show on his face for the one, two, three seconds he registers Azathoth.
That fits the bill, doesn't it? and a surge of-
Something flows through him - choking, agonizing, infuriating.
But this version Maruki is always three steps ahead. Akechi won't let him take a fourth by seeing him falter. ]
It does. [ Tension pulls his voice - he clears his throat. ] Though I can't say I'm eager to manifest it nor willing.
[ It belongs to someone else. Might be proof Maruki's will is lost forever or stuck in a limbo behind this copy's facade. ]
[ A glance toward Igor, watching them blithely. He can't, can he? He does know he's meant to battle Akechi one day, the ultimate test of his prowess as a wildcard, and that he'll need to begin practicing with those strongest personas from this book soon–
But he hasn't yet. Doesn't know how. ]
I don't think I can do that without you.
[ It comes out softer, more honest than he expected it to sound. Something else drives that vulnerable confession. ]
[ Another glance to Igor, then down at the page of the book; all it says still is blind idiot god. And yet–
He knows Akechi is right. Knows it deep down into his soul, formed out of nothing but starlight with no other purpose than to guide the irate boy next to him. The persona's name is Azathoth.
How does Akechi know that, if he hasn't made use of it himself?
His head aches, a foreign sensation for someone not human enough to feel pain; one hand flies up to clutch at the back of his neck, wincing as his temples throb. ]
I... well, I suppose I can try...
[ Is it about will power?
It is for Akechi. For the other one he's only heard spoken of in whispers, a jail cell he's not allowed to see.
Why shouldn't it be that way for him, too?
What drives him? Akechi Goro, of course. Doing right by him, helping him, trying to gentle him into a bond so he can follow him out into the true reality and learn more about him – so when Azathoth does appear in the garden, aurora falling around it in gentle waves, Maruki doesn't see it.
He's only staring at Akechi, concentrating entirely on him, drawing up every ounce of his own resolve for this boy in hopes it could manifest a god on its own. ]
[ Akechi Goro doesn't feel pity. People make decisions that lead them down the right roads, the wrong ones. They suffer. They survive. There's no sense in sparing an ounce of sympathy to anyone. It won't matter.
But there's an ache in his gut he can only attribute to Maruki Takuto. It formed in the corner of a dark room full of ailing people staring at a single framed photo covered in incense smoke. None of them knew him. None of them knew him. No one would ever know the power he held, how pathetic it was he let it slip from his fingers because of an-
Accident.
An accident. Maruki is dead and he can't summon Azathoth. Nothing forms. Akechi doesn't feel pity. He feels nothing-
He feels something.
It burns behind his eyes, sparks in his chest - it speaks.
It forms.
Maruki can't summon it, but Akechi can feel it yearning against the base of his neck. Akechi wants to see Azathoth.
Akechi wants to see Maruki summon Azathoth.
Maruki cannot summon Azathoth and-
It's a split second, and he welcomes the memory into his heart.
The looming tentacled form that appears behind Akechi like it belongs in his soul, not the man next to him-
Infuriates. His expression twists - it should be a good thing. It's not a good thing. It's a terrible thing. It's worse. It's awful. It's disgusting - it's disgusting. ]
I hate you. [ It comes out - spews out. It sputters out of his lips as the tentacle of healing reaches past him, towards its original owner.
Akechi can't stand it. He doesn't look. He doesn't look. ]
[ It should hurt to hear that the boy he was brought into reality to oversee and understand hates him, shouldn't it? It should hurt, but–
As Maruki stares in awe at the towering golden figure that's appeared behind him, the words only wash over him like a familiar comfort. He reaches out, a hand extended to that clawed tentacle, fingers brushing gently against pulsing neon.
Soft, eyes still on Azathoth: ]
I know.
[ There's so little that Maruki knows, and what little there is only exists here in the Velvet Room.
But he knows, down to the depths of his soul constructed from nothing more than flickering blue flames, that Akechi Goro hates him.
And he smiles, gaze drifting back down to land on his wildcard. ]
It's a tactical retreat to assess. Reevaluate. He says nothing as contact is made between rightful owner and the new power in his heart. Says nothing as Maruki could never hate Akechi because it's wrong. The words are wrong. The voice is wrong. The outfit is wrong and it's all wrong.
He needs to think.
He needs to think.
He spends two days languishing on an empty living floor to think. There's a flurry in his chest that makes him nauseous. It's not Loki. It's not Robin Hood. They're there, and they're not. Useless as fucking ever in the wake of this new situation.
It makes him want to puke. Of course he can't think and-
Maruki is waiting outside of a brilliant blue door, steps away from Jazz Jin when Akechi sees him next. A week later, two - he can't say. He's been back to Mementos - ignored him in that subway station. He's fought and fought and fought until Azathoth-
Akechi was run ragged. Azathoth's stamina is limitless. He doesn't understand how Maruki could wield it.
But now it's him, an invisible door and a man holding a book that's become the bane of Akechi's existence.
He watches, waits like a predator poised to attack and- ]
You wanted to visit this place, didn't you? Lets go.
[ It's a disappointment when Akechi leaves, of course it is, but it's a thrill as well– Igor tells him that now that he's finally (finally) accepted another persona into his heart, Maruki can venture outside the door. Not far, just enough to be able to watch, to try to catch Akechi's attention as he moves like a ghost through Kichijoji, as he stalks furiously through Mementos.
It doesn't work, of course, but–
It's enough. It has to be enough, because it may be all he ever gets. He ď̴̼̺̫͜ȏ̶͚̟̻̞̥̇̈ë̸̛̤́̋̃̕s̴̢̤̰͖͎̅͑͐͠ñ̴̨͉̻͔̲̅'̶̧̤̘͕͔͛̾̍͋̄t̸͔̗͛̄̓̕͝ ̵̞͕̠̗̠̊̋͐͝w̷̧̢̥̎a̶̛͇̿ͅn̶͎̩͍͚̂́̅̅ṭ̵̘̍ ̸̩̩͍̼̻̑̇̋͌̾ḁ̴̧̳̌n̵̯̺̾̈́͒y̵̺̟̝̻̽t̸̠͒́ḥ̵̌̂͜͠î̴̛͕͝n̸͕͕͕̾͆̆̍́g̶̻̰̼̘̬͛͆̂ ̸̛̮̹̈́̀̚f̸̱̲̹̗͈͑̕r̷͍̃͛̂o̷̖̠͋̍m̷̟͔͍̖̭͊͂͗ ̷̯̖̬͈̪̑̈́͘A̸̲̩̻͊̓͑̏k̸͖͖͓̥̱̀̑̑̈ẻ̴͍̤͔͓͐͝͠c̷̟̫͓͍̃̓̎͠h̴͎̼̳̟͚͆į̵̮̝͉̘̎̇͋.̶̖͐̿͑̉͝ It's enough just to see him moving about the world, still living, still breathing, still defiant in walking his own path.
The world outside the Velvet Room is incredible. It's so beautiful, everyone in it is so fascinating, and as he lingers in the streets of Kichijoji he listens to all their passing conversations. He starts making a list within his book of things he'd like Akechi to bring him, places he'd like to visit, experiences he'd like to have. Takoyaki sounds delicious, and he wants to try it. A bathhouse sounds relaxing, and he wants to try it. Playing darts sounds thrilling, and he wants to try it.
Only with Akechi at his side. It's the only way he can, but even if he could go off on his own– he can't imagine wanting to.
The list grows and grows until the day Akechi finally acknowledges him, and his idle relaxed stance straightens, face lighting up brighter than the glow that emanates from the door. ]
Really? You'll take me? I accept!
[ He's free.
He's free, so long as he stays at Akechi's side. ]
[ The educated assumption bears expected results - this Maruki leaps at the opportunity to join him in Jazz Jin depths.
It's an insult to see this copy waltz through the stone doorway, down the same steps Maruki used to. He ignores any chatter, the presence of another behind.
But he stops short of walking through the door. A realization slamming into him like ice cold air after resting in a warm room.
Muhen will recognize him. The regular employees too. Maruki joined him here on more than one occasion and the uncanny resemblance will turn heads.
Akechi can't stand to look behind, but he glances over his shoulder anyway. ]
You can't go in like that. Disguise yourself, hide yourself - I don't care what you do. Change your appearance.
[ The book has disappeared, for the moment. It leaves both hands free to pat the rich blue fabric of his suit, searching empty pockets for– who knows what?
He's never had to change his appearance before. He's never had the option at all. He came into being exactly as he is now, and when he searches his wildcard for answers, none appear. ]
I don't have– ah! Wait!
[ Glasses slipped off and tucked into his pocket, eyesight blurred, he sees Akechi as nothing but a mass of colors and vague shapes. It gives him an idea. ]
Could we trade coats? And– could I wear your scarf?
[ A beat, and then he hastily runs both hands through his hair, pushing it all back off his forehead for a moment before it stubbornly flops back into place. Well, he tried. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEXY go crazy with it, make yr dream velvet room
But there are other contracts along the way. Countless paths to take to give away bits and pieces of one's soul. Infinite possibilities for all the splendors and sorrows one can experience along the way. Live, suffer, rejoice, die.
Every life is special to the one who lives it, and the lucky ones will find hands reaching toward theirs, holding on tightly to fulfill their contracts together. It wouldn't be accurate to say no one is alone, but very few are. Live, connect, bond–
And a new door opens.
He hasn't stepped through yet. Maruki knew he wouldn't.
He stands right at the entrance, the only thing the one who opened the door can see, tall and willowy in a perfectly crisp midnight blue suit, smiling amber eyes behind thick lenses and a flop of silvery hair. This room is the only thing he knows– this room, and the one who enters it.
How much suffering has his poor ward had to go through to get here? How many lives, how many deaths–
And all it took, in the end, was a bond. ]
I've been waiting for you.
Try again? ]
Akechi Goro.
[ A name he's known since the moment he was formed from what lies beyond the sea of human souls, shaped by steady gloved hands. His only true purpose, lying in wait for years: That name he's been waiting to say, that boy he's been waiting to see, who stands before him now, confused and irate, just as he somehow knew he would be.
There's an ache in the center of his sternum, something that must be love creaking the ribs that surround an unbeating, inhuman heart.
Maruki steps aside, outstretches one arm to gesture and usher him in, presses the other palm gently between his shoulder blades to steady him. ]
Welcome to the Velvet Room.
i want you DEAD
Hours. Days. He ended up in a shoebox apartment visited more times than he could count. Hours. Days. He recalls sitting on a couch that wasn't his to watch birds flock to a window where food must have been spread out.
Thinks he went into a bedroom. Where he would sit and sit and sit and-
He isn't sure what drove him to visit until his access was cut off and a new tenant moved into the space to start their shitty life.
The door appears-
Once, twice, many times. In realities he can't remember, in dreams, in dark alleyways, in the days following a loss that Akechi doesn't claim to be his.
He opens it on a whim during a restless night when curiosity consumed everything else. When he heard a voice, a strange pull beyond this world and a compulsion born in the back of his heart, where Robin Hood sits despite everything.
Confused, irate and-
Bewildered entirely when a ghost speaks and a hand falls between his shoulderblades. It's another compulsion that makes him explore, walk, stand in a room completely and utterly barren.
No backdrop, no windows, no decor on pristine white walls. A long nosed man spouts out nonsense in the middle of it and Akechi can't help to mock and be belligerent in turn. He's had enough of gods, contracts and bonds and-
It's Maruki that gets his attention in truth. The man speaks, Akechi listens and it's hard to deny how the copy sounds-
So much like him. Speaks like him. Appeals to sensibilities only he understands in a way that makes Akechi wonder-
If this isn't just an illusion. If this golden eyed decoy might be-
'Maruki' speaks and holds out his hand. Aeon is formed before a true contract is. A vision appears behind his eyes - fusion, a power unlike anything he knows now.
Akechi Goro signs. Akechi Goro leaves. Akechi Goro returns the next day to see only Maruki in that untouched white room, a tree growing in its furthest corners.
And it's only now that Akechi can finally spit out what he intended to yesterday, before that bizarre lore was dropped on him. There's no affection in his tone. Every word meant to be hostile and venomous. ]
What the hell are you up to?
i want YOU dead YOU TOOK THIS SOMEWHERE EVEN MORE INSANE
It shifts, takes on a new shape. The tree in the corner is a massive, towering, gnarled thing. It never existed before that spark of Aeon came to life.
Maruki rested beneath it for a while, looking up through the leaves, talking to his chatterbox of a boss, thinking only of–
Akechi, appearing through the doorway again, bundled up like it's winter outside. Is it? It must be; that's when people wear scarves.
He's never seen snow. Maybe Akechi can take him out into the world so he can.
He stands just out of reach of Akechi, the compendium tucked up beneath one arm. ]
Nothing. I was just hoping to see you again.
[ That's all Maruki does in this room. Wait for Akechi. Wait to help him. ]
Is there something I can assist you with? Ah! Do you want to see this now? [ He holds out the compendium, proud. ] I didn't get to show you yesterday.
????????????? YOU GAVE ME SOMETHING PSYCHOTIC I HATE YOU
again.
Akechi doesn't know how long it takes for Igor to kick him out of the room. Only recalls that every flip of a page, after page, page after page, every time Maruki flipped a page that his ears started to ring louder, and louder, and louder.
leave.
As if Akechi hadn't waited in Jazz Jin for him to show up, only to end up at a wake days later. As if he didn't stand outside a door to an apartment that felt more like home than his own for hours and hours and hours and-It doesn't particularly matter. Akechi learned a lesson when he tried to attack that mindless copy.
Violence wouldn't be tolerated and he can't harm Maruki anyway. There was no fanfare, no panic, no mess. Only an attempt on someone's life and Akechi getting pushed out after with only the wave of a god's hand.
It drives him mad.
And when he returns yet again, days later, arms crossed tight over his chest, all he can say is - ]
Show me the stupid book.
YOU TOOK IT IN A DOUBLY PSYCHOTIC DIRECTION I HATE YOOOOOOOOU
No.
There are so many things he doesn't know.
He hasn't forgotten anything. Has he? He came to existence in this room, and that's all he's ever known. There's nothing to forget. Is there?
The haze doesn't lift, stubborn in its grip on anything he tries to think of outside what's immediately in front of him. This room, this tree, this boy, and this book now propped open in his arm. ]
Come sit with me beneath the tree. We can look at it together.
[ Help me leave. I want to go with you. I don't want to wait here for you every day. It itches at the back of his teeth, and Maruki smiles around it, hopeful. ]
Although many of the pages are blank, since you haven't been accepting any of them into your heart...
?????????????????????? DIE
It's not as if his entire day isn't spent doing menial tasks that irritate him. What's one more man, one more request-
Because it's not Maruki. The ghost wears his face and speaks in a stolen voice - uses mannerisms so unique to the Maruki Takuto he knew that it almost tricked him. A hand between his shoulderblades nearly sealed it.
But it's not him. He's dead. There's no coming back from that.
He waits until his attendant walks to the tree before following. Waits for his attendant to sit before plopping down beside.
Igor watches. Akechi wants to Riot Gun that plastered smile off his face. ]
And why would I ever waste my time on weaklings? What's the point of replacing Loki with a piece of trash? If they aren't useful, they mean nothing to me. They aren't even worth being fodder.
no subject
It isn't only grass beneath the tree. Here and there, wildflowers spring up. There's a faint glow to them, vaguely otherworldly.
Maruki looks over at him, almost amused by that statement. ]
Not even worth that? I'm not so sure...
[ He runs a hand through the grass at his side; another flower springs to life, curling up toward a false sun.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he recalls– a vast field of flowers just like these, and a much smaller one in a tiny garden off a home he can't fully picture. ]
Think of them like seeds to be sown. You wouldn't replace Loki with them. You'd use them to grow something stronger.
[ A beat. ]
Theoretically, of course... I haven't had the chance to try it yet.
no subject
Maybe it's because it wasn't so long ago he was trying, and failing, to cultivate those same blooms in the machiya's garden.
Maybe it's because it wasn't so long ago that Akechi deluded himself into not understanding why a nobody's farm had these same flowers after a winter that was far too long. ]
Fine then.
[ There are persona stronger than Loki and Akira wields them all with deft precision. It must be through these means, but-
He pinches a flower between his fingers and crushes it in his palm. ]
I only negotiate with gods. If your little book won't hold them, then I'm not interested in trying to play nice for the sake of your entertainment.
no subject
[ Maruki's eyes shift from watching that flower crumple and disintegrate in Akechi's palm back to the book in his lap, and his idle leafing through the pages becomes more purposeful. ]
There is one in here that you somehow already know. I was hoping you could tell me more, or we could simply try growing it ourselves.
[ With a flourish, the pages flutter and fan out before they come to a stop on the blind idiot god.
Maruki raises his eyebrows at Akechi, proud and curious all at once. ]
That fits the bill, doesn't it?
no subject
He isn't powerful here. Isn't in charge. Is only allowed as far as a 'key' will take him through its bizarre portals in Metaverse and reality. A long nosed man remains blaise to the side, an 'attendant' knows his duty like he was born for it. Akechi is at a perpetual disadvantage. He steps in this place pretending like he isn't.
But this startles him. It may show on his face for the one, two, three seconds he registers Azathoth.
That fits the bill, doesn't it? and a surge of-
Something flows through him - choking, agonizing, infuriating.
But this version Maruki is always three steps ahead. Akechi won't let him take a fourth by seeing him falter. ]
It does. [ Tension pulls his voice - he clears his throat. ] Though I can't say I'm eager to manifest it nor willing.
[ It belongs to someone else. Might be proof Maruki's will is lost forever or stuck in a limbo behind this copy's facade. ]
Summon it yourself.
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Summon it... myself?
[ A glance toward Igor, watching them blithely. He can't, can he? He does know he's meant to battle Akechi one day, the ultimate test of his prowess as a wildcard, and that he'll need to begin practicing with those strongest personas from this book soon–
But he hasn't yet. Doesn't know how. ]
I don't think I can do that without you.
[ It comes out softer, more honest than he expected it to sound. Something else drives that vulnerable confession. ]
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[ Rough, bitter - he hates that word. He hates that word. ]
Then your will should be powerful enough to do such a simple thing.
[ That persona should not exist. That persona shouldn't be here. That persona only belongs to one man. ]
Summon Azathoth.
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[ Another glance to Igor, then down at the page of the book; all it says still is blind idiot god. And yet–
He knows Akechi is right. Knows it deep down into his soul, formed out of nothing but starlight with no other purpose than to guide the irate boy next to him. The persona's name is Azathoth.
How does Akechi know that, if he hasn't made use of it himself?
His head aches, a foreign sensation for someone not human enough to feel pain; one hand flies up to clutch at the back of his neck, wincing as his temples throb. ]
I... well, I suppose I can try...
[ Is it about will power?
It is for Akechi. For the other one he's only heard spoken of in whispers, a jail cell he's not allowed to see.
Why shouldn't it be that way for him, too?
What drives him? Akechi Goro, of course. Doing right by him, helping him, trying to gentle him into a bond so he can follow him out into the true reality and learn more about him – so when Azathoth does appear in the garden, aurora falling around it in gentle waves, Maruki doesn't see it.
He's only staring at Akechi, concentrating entirely on him, drawing up every ounce of his own resolve for this boy in hopes it could manifest a god on its own. ]
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But there's an ache in his gut he can only attribute to Maruki Takuto. It formed in the corner of a dark room full of ailing people staring at a single framed photo covered in incense smoke. None of them knew him. None of them knew him. No one would ever know the power he held, how pathetic it was he let it slip from his fingers because of an-
Accident.
An accident. Maruki is dead and he can't summon Azathoth. Nothing forms. Akechi doesn't feel pity. He feels nothing-
He feels something.
It burns behind his eyes, sparks in his chest - it speaks.
It forms.
Maruki can't summon it, but Akechi can feel it yearning against the base of his neck. Akechi wants to see Azathoth.
Akechi wants to see Maruki summon Azathoth.
Maruki cannot summon Azathoth and-
It's a split second, and he welcomes the memory into his heart.
The looming tentacled form that appears behind Akechi like it belongs in his soul, not the man next to him-
Infuriates. His expression twists - it should be a good thing. It's not a good thing. It's a terrible thing. It's worse. It's awful. It's disgusting - it's disgusting. ]
I hate you. [ It comes out - spews out. It sputters out of his lips as the tentacle of healing reaches past him, towards its original owner.
Akechi can't stand it. He doesn't look. He doesn't look. ]
I hate you, Maruki.
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As Maruki stares in awe at the towering golden figure that's appeared behind him, the words only wash over him like a familiar comfort. He reaches out, a hand extended to that clawed tentacle, fingers brushing gently against pulsing neon.
Soft, eyes still on Azathoth: ]
I know.
[ There's so little that Maruki knows, and what little there is only exists here in the Velvet Room.
But he knows, down to the depths of his soul constructed from nothing more than flickering blue flames, that Akechi Goro hates him.
And he smiles, gaze drifting back down to land on his wildcard. ]
I could never hate you, Akechi.
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It's a tactical retreat to assess. Reevaluate. He says nothing as contact is made between rightful owner and the new power in his heart. Says nothing as Maruki could never hate Akechi because it's wrong. The words are wrong. The voice is wrong. The outfit is wrong and it's all wrong.
He needs to think.
He needs to think.
He spends two days languishing on an empty living floor to think. There's a flurry in his chest that makes him nauseous. It's not Loki. It's not Robin Hood. They're there, and they're not. Useless as fucking ever in the wake of this new situation.
It makes him want to puke. Of course he can't think and-
Maruki is waiting outside of a brilliant blue door, steps away from Jazz Jin when Akechi sees him next. A week later, two - he can't say. He's been back to Mementos - ignored him in that subway station. He's fought and fought and fought until Azathoth-
Akechi was run ragged. Azathoth's stamina is limitless. He doesn't understand how Maruki could wield it.
But now it's him, an invisible door and a man holding a book that's become the bane of Akechi's existence.
He watches, waits like a predator poised to attack and- ]
You wanted to visit this place, didn't you? Lets go.
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It doesn't work, of course, but–
It's enough. It has to be enough, because it may be all he ever gets. He ď̴̼̺̫͜ȏ̶͚̟̻̞̥̇̈ë̸̛̤́̋̃̕s̴̢̤̰͖͎̅͑͐͠ñ̴̨͉̻͔̲̅'̶̧̤̘͕͔͛̾̍͋̄t̸͔̗͛̄̓̕͝ ̵̞͕̠̗̠̊̋͐͝w̷̧̢̥̎a̶̛͇̿ͅn̶͎̩͍͚̂́̅̅ṭ̵̘̍ ̸̩̩͍̼̻̑̇̋͌̾ḁ̴̧̳̌n̵̯̺̾̈́͒y̵̺̟̝̻̽t̸̠͒́ḥ̵̌̂͜͠î̴̛͕͝n̸͕͕͕̾͆̆̍́g̶̻̰̼̘̬͛͆̂ ̸̛̮̹̈́̀̚f̸̱̲̹̗͈͑̕r̷͍̃͛̂o̷̖̠͋̍m̷̟͔͍̖̭͊͂͗ ̷̯̖̬͈̪̑̈́͘A̸̲̩̻͊̓͑̏k̸͖͖͓̥̱̀̑̑̈ẻ̴͍̤͔͓͐͝͠c̷̟̫͓͍̃̓̎͠h̴͎̼̳̟͚͆į̵̮̝͉̘̎̇͋.̶̖͐̿͑̉͝ It's enough just to see him moving about the world, still living, still breathing, still defiant in walking his own path.
The world outside the Velvet Room is incredible. It's so beautiful, everyone in it is so fascinating, and as he lingers in the streets of Kichijoji he listens to all their passing conversations. He starts making a list within his book of things he'd like Akechi to bring him, places he'd like to visit, experiences he'd like to have. Takoyaki sounds delicious, and he wants to try it. A bathhouse sounds relaxing, and he wants to try it. Playing darts sounds thrilling, and he wants to try it.
Only with Akechi at his side. It's the only way he can, but even if he could go off on his own– he can't imagine wanting to.
The list grows and grows until the day Akechi finally acknowledges him, and his idle relaxed stance straightens, face lighting up brighter than the glow that emanates from the door. ]
Really? You'll take me? I accept!
[ He's free.
He's free, so long as he stays at Akechi's side. ]
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It's an insult to see this copy waltz through the stone doorway, down the same steps Maruki used to. He ignores any chatter, the presence of another behind.
But he stops short of walking through the door. A realization slamming into him like ice cold air after resting in a warm room.
Muhen will recognize him. The regular employees too. Maruki joined him here on more than one occasion and the uncanny resemblance will turn heads.
Akechi can't stand to look behind, but he glances over his shoulder anyway. ]
You can't go in like that. Disguise yourself, hide yourself - I don't care what you do. Change your appearance.
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Disguise myself...?
[ The book has disappeared, for the moment. It leaves both hands free to pat the rich blue fabric of his suit, searching empty pockets for– who knows what?
He's never had to change his appearance before. He's never had the option at all. He came into being exactly as he is now, and when he searches his wildcard for answers, none appear. ]
I don't have– ah! Wait!
[ Glasses slipped off and tucked into his pocket, eyesight blurred, he sees Akechi as nothing but a mass of colors and vague shapes. It gives him an idea. ]
Could we trade coats? And– could I wear your scarf?
[ A beat, and then he hastily runs both hands through his hair, pushing it all back off his forehead for a moment before it stubbornly flops back into place. Well, he tried. ]
That might be as much as we can manage.