[There are plenty of reasons to hate Akira Kurusu.
Despite the ideals and preaching of his retinue of bumbling idiots - a group of people who would always, without fail, go to bat for their leader at even the smallest insult, it doesn't change the truth.
Akira Kurusu is detestable.
Exhausting confidence, unflappable demeanor and even in the most emotionally charged moments, he grips it tight. Presses fingers into the pulse of his wrist in a way that infuriates and grounds him. The mental struggle between tossing him to the ground or pushing him back into those organized cannisters is gone. If he had a weapon to plunge into him, Akechi's certain he would use it right now.
It's not going to happen he says, like it's a fact. I just wanted you to hear it from me, like it's the truth.
He hates Akira. Hates Joker. Hates the phantom thieves and Maruki and every twisted variation of human that walks this fake world.
His ire isn't gone, but it diminishes into tense annoyance and a raised chin to stare down this newfound determination. To intimidate. To gain ground lost when Akira took those steps between them.
But even he doesn't want to spend his last night alive in a frothing rage at some homely cafe in the middle of Tokyo. The knuckle white grip on his shirt ends and both hands drop to his side with the intent to pull him off his wrist by force of gravity alone.]
You're a complete idiot, but if all you care about is saying your piece, then you did. Congratulations.
[Said with all the mirth and joy of someone about to lay down in sewage drain during a downpour.]
I heard it. Are you satisfied? Are you content? Will hearing me say that stop all this bullshit spewing from your mouth?
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Despite the ideals and preaching of his retinue of bumbling idiots - a group of people who would always, without fail, go to bat for their leader at even the smallest insult, it doesn't change the truth.
Akira Kurusu is detestable.
Exhausting confidence, unflappable demeanor and even in the most emotionally charged moments, he grips it tight. Presses fingers into the pulse of his wrist in a way that infuriates and grounds him. The mental struggle between tossing him to the ground or pushing him back into those organized cannisters is gone. If he had a weapon to plunge into him, Akechi's certain he would use it right now.
It's not going to happen he says, like it's a fact. I just wanted you to hear it from me, like it's the truth.
He hates Akira. Hates Joker. Hates the phantom thieves and Maruki and every twisted variation of human that walks this fake world.
His ire isn't gone, but it diminishes into tense annoyance and a raised chin to stare down this newfound determination. To intimidate. To gain ground lost when Akira took those steps between them.
But even he doesn't want to spend his last night alive in a frothing rage at some homely cafe in the middle of Tokyo. The knuckle white grip on his shirt ends and both hands drop to his side with the intent to pull him off his wrist by force of gravity alone.]
You're a complete idiot, but if all you care about is saying your piece, then you did. Congratulations.
[Said with all the mirth and joy of someone about to lay down in sewage drain during a downpour.]
I heard it. Are you satisfied? Are you content? Will hearing me say that stop all this bullshit spewing from your mouth?