ren amamiya (au) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
willowandoak) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
personavelvetroomdr2024-03-31 09:38 pm
willowandoak) wrote in personavelvetroomdr2024-03-31 09:38 pm
'cause laughing, right now, it's all that i have
content warnings: drug misuse, self-harm (both very mild/mentioned). (Also, Ren is going to develop a Palace in the no-longer-so-distant future so this is generally not a lighthearted post.)
So maybe Ren's had a few things going on lately. What about it? It's none of your business, and it's not a big deal. He's fine, actually. Back off.
Like, it's not that things aren't weird. His sleep has been restless and broken for months, and it's only getting worse. He wakes from nightmares he doesn't remember, terrified or murderously angry or filled with such despair that he can barely breathe. By now it happens over and over every night, until after days of it he's so exhausted that he takes three different sleeping pills at once. Which sucks differently, because then he can't wake up from the nightmares at all. They're always the same: He's trapped in a place where he can't see or hear or move, with all his worst, most secret thoughts taking substance and choking him, and with a skin-crawling sense that he's not alone and his unseen company's not friendly. He doesn't forget about the dreams when he wakes up after he's taken the pills, but! He's rested on those mornings. Relatively speaking. So it's fine. He knows what to do when the insomnia gets too bad. Barely even a problem.
(Recently, every time he jolts awake, he could swear there's something in the room with him. A figure he only sees out of the corner of his eye, that vanishes the next second. But then again, sleep deprivation is meant to make you lose it. So maybe he should knock himself out with the pills more often, but so far the mysterious hallucination hasn't actually done anything. And the sleeping pill nightmare really sucks. So you see, he has the situation under control.)
The loss of his first Persona is harder to ignore, the gaping wound in his heart where Owain once rested. But whatever. It was always gonna happen eventually. Ren's not the kid who awakened to Owain anymore. He was stupid to even be surprised. He'll get used to it.
He's distractible and fidgety, unable to really concentrate on anything because he keeps thinking about—stuff that's not important. He's pretty sure he's annoying Futaba, so he tries to focus, but everything is just so... so much. He's so much, but at the same time he's made of air. He can't turn away from it all like he could before that month or so when he was twelve.
But if he tries hard, he can act basically the same way. He's pretty sure he can pull it off. He just needs to work harder. So no issues there either, at least as far as anyone else has to be concerned.
Today, though, he's decided to have a day out. He hasn't gone out much in a while. Maybe that's the problem. He has five cities at his fingertips, where he can do whatever he likes. Except for any of the things he really wants to do, but besides those. Who knows, maybe he'll be less restless afterwards. Maybe he just needs to get this fucking... whatever this feeling is. Out of his system. Yeah.
1. where you see weakness, i see wit
Late morning finds him outside the angular grey-and-glass monolith of Shibuya Police Station, his bag weighed down by all the cans of spray paint he could manage to stuff inside it. Just looking at the fucking place makes his skin crawl, SHIBUYA POLICE STATION in unadorned, menacing kanji above the entrance and the height of the building like a malevolent god bending to observe him. It's almost enough to get him to draw his gun and shatter the glass door. Just because he fucking can. But he doesn't want to waste the bullets, so instead, baring his teeth in a grin, he reaches blindly into his bag and pulls out a can of spray paint.
He starts small, defacing the door and the front wall with insults and obscene phrases. But by the time he runs out of space—which happens soon; the front wall is tiny—he's gotten bored and is ready to put his limited artistic skills to use.
Dogs is the word some of his friends use. You don't say it in mixed company; you might as well just admit you're involved in organized crime as use some of the slang Ren knows. But with people you're sure of, yeah. The cops are fucking dogs. Ren dumps his collection of paint cans out of his bag onto the ground, picks up a brown can, and starts work on a crude but recognizable dog.
It's gonna take a little while, though. And he has some thoughts about what to add after that. Anyone could walk by and see him in the meantime, or see the front of the station and follow the trail of vandalism.
2. they'll speak of me in whispered tones and say my name like it shakes their bones
It's not that he thought vandalizing the police station would heal him or whatever, but he kind of hoped it would make him calm down. But that would be too easy; the itch in his bones only gets worse, the anger and the helplessness and the hatred louder and louder and louder until he's gazing out at Shibuya, its fake people and fake ads and fake traffic, and all of it silent.
Fine. He has a better idea.
His second idea carries him into parts of Tokyo where few of the real people here have cause to go, although as the afternoon carries on, they might encounter smashed and looted soda machines in unexpected places. And perhaps, in the distance, they might hear the cracking and rumbling of collapsing architecture. But by the time anyone reaches the buildings in question, they'll find cognitive orphans moving through partly-destroyed children's homes as if the homes are totally intact, with no sign of whoever or whatever did the damage.
The exception is the final building, right at the edge of Shinjuku. That's a more frequently-travelled destination, and moreover, the sounds of destruction go on for minutes before they stop. If someone should happen to follow the noise, or just chance upon him, they'll find Ren with his red Evoker in his hand and an eerie, spindly-limbed Persona towering behind him. The Persona's body is covered in scales that look black but don't reflect light the way they should, and its head takes the shape of a gleaming animal skull, the exact species of which is difficult to pin down. As Ren watches with fixed, wide-eyed hunger, the Persona calls down a series of blue-white Almighty animals, a bear and a bull and a wolf and a dragon and then again from the start, to smash the building before them into finer and finer rubble.
Or perhaps you arrive later, in which case the Persona has gone and the building is little more than gravel and splintered wood, but not much has changed about Ren. He'll stand there for a long time, if he's not interrupted, just staring.
3. you are in the earth of me
It's evening by the time he's done with all of that. And he's practically in Shinjuku anyway. He might as well get drunk.
He no longer feels like he needs to peel off his own skin to let the restless energy escape, so that's something. But now he's just—tired. He misses his Akechi like a miner in a collapsed shaft misses fresh air. You can get by for a while without it, but eventually...
Then again, he could go home tonight and it wouldn't matter. If everything goes according to plan, Akechi will never look at him the same way again. He doesn't like to think about it. And usually he can manage not to, more or less. To some extent. Well enough to get by, anyway. But tonight is a bad night; thus, the trip to Crossroads.
You might encounter him on the way there. Or maybe you're at Crossroads too, and you only see him once he comes through the door and plops down at a barstool.
So maybe Ren's had a few things going on lately. What about it? It's none of your business, and it's not a big deal. He's fine, actually. Back off.
Like, it's not that things aren't weird. His sleep has been restless and broken for months, and it's only getting worse. He wakes from nightmares he doesn't remember, terrified or murderously angry or filled with such despair that he can barely breathe. By now it happens over and over every night, until after days of it he's so exhausted that he takes three different sleeping pills at once. Which sucks differently, because then he can't wake up from the nightmares at all. They're always the same: He's trapped in a place where he can't see or hear or move, with all his worst, most secret thoughts taking substance and choking him, and with a skin-crawling sense that he's not alone and his unseen company's not friendly. He doesn't forget about the dreams when he wakes up after he's taken the pills, but! He's rested on those mornings. Relatively speaking. So it's fine. He knows what to do when the insomnia gets too bad. Barely even a problem.
(Recently, every time he jolts awake, he could swear there's something in the room with him. A figure he only sees out of the corner of his eye, that vanishes the next second. But then again, sleep deprivation is meant to make you lose it. So maybe he should knock himself out with the pills more often, but so far the mysterious hallucination hasn't actually done anything. And the sleeping pill nightmare really sucks. So you see, he has the situation under control.)
The loss of his first Persona is harder to ignore, the gaping wound in his heart where Owain once rested. But whatever. It was always gonna happen eventually. Ren's not the kid who awakened to Owain anymore. He was stupid to even be surprised. He'll get used to it.
He's distractible and fidgety, unable to really concentrate on anything because he keeps thinking about—stuff that's not important. He's pretty sure he's annoying Futaba, so he tries to focus, but everything is just so... so much. He's so much, but at the same time he's made of air. He can't turn away from it all like he could before that month or so when he was twelve.
But if he tries hard, he can act basically the same way. He's pretty sure he can pull it off. He just needs to work harder. So no issues there either, at least as far as anyone else has to be concerned.
Today, though, he's decided to have a day out. He hasn't gone out much in a while. Maybe that's the problem. He has five cities at his fingertips, where he can do whatever he likes. Except for any of the things he really wants to do, but besides those. Who knows, maybe he'll be less restless afterwards. Maybe he just needs to get this fucking... whatever this feeling is. Out of his system. Yeah.
1. where you see weakness, i see wit
Late morning finds him outside the angular grey-and-glass monolith of Shibuya Police Station, his bag weighed down by all the cans of spray paint he could manage to stuff inside it. Just looking at the fucking place makes his skin crawl, SHIBUYA POLICE STATION in unadorned, menacing kanji above the entrance and the height of the building like a malevolent god bending to observe him. It's almost enough to get him to draw his gun and shatter the glass door. Just because he fucking can. But he doesn't want to waste the bullets, so instead, baring his teeth in a grin, he reaches blindly into his bag and pulls out a can of spray paint.
He starts small, defacing the door and the front wall with insults and obscene phrases. But by the time he runs out of space—which happens soon; the front wall is tiny—he's gotten bored and is ready to put his limited artistic skills to use.
Dogs is the word some of his friends use. You don't say it in mixed company; you might as well just admit you're involved in organized crime as use some of the slang Ren knows. But with people you're sure of, yeah. The cops are fucking dogs. Ren dumps his collection of paint cans out of his bag onto the ground, picks up a brown can, and starts work on a crude but recognizable dog.
It's gonna take a little while, though. And he has some thoughts about what to add after that. Anyone could walk by and see him in the meantime, or see the front of the station and follow the trail of vandalism.
2. they'll speak of me in whispered tones and say my name like it shakes their bones
It's not that he thought vandalizing the police station would heal him or whatever, but he kind of hoped it would make him calm down. But that would be too easy; the itch in his bones only gets worse, the anger and the helplessness and the hatred louder and louder and louder until he's gazing out at Shibuya, its fake people and fake ads and fake traffic, and all of it silent.
Fine. He has a better idea.
His second idea carries him into parts of Tokyo where few of the real people here have cause to go, although as the afternoon carries on, they might encounter smashed and looted soda machines in unexpected places. And perhaps, in the distance, they might hear the cracking and rumbling of collapsing architecture. But by the time anyone reaches the buildings in question, they'll find cognitive orphans moving through partly-destroyed children's homes as if the homes are totally intact, with no sign of whoever or whatever did the damage.
The exception is the final building, right at the edge of Shinjuku. That's a more frequently-travelled destination, and moreover, the sounds of destruction go on for minutes before they stop. If someone should happen to follow the noise, or just chance upon him, they'll find Ren with his red Evoker in his hand and an eerie, spindly-limbed Persona towering behind him. The Persona's body is covered in scales that look black but don't reflect light the way they should, and its head takes the shape of a gleaming animal skull, the exact species of which is difficult to pin down. As Ren watches with fixed, wide-eyed hunger, the Persona calls down a series of blue-white Almighty animals, a bear and a bull and a wolf and a dragon and then again from the start, to smash the building before them into finer and finer rubble.
Or perhaps you arrive later, in which case the Persona has gone and the building is little more than gravel and splintered wood, but not much has changed about Ren. He'll stand there for a long time, if he's not interrupted, just staring.
3. you are in the earth of me
It's evening by the time he's done with all of that. And he's practically in Shinjuku anyway. He might as well get drunk.
He no longer feels like he needs to peel off his own skin to let the restless energy escape, so that's something. But now he's just—tired. He misses his Akechi like a miner in a collapsed shaft misses fresh air. You can get by for a while without it, but eventually...
Then again, he could go home tonight and it wouldn't matter. If everything goes according to plan, Akechi will never look at him the same way again. He doesn't like to think about it. And usually he can manage not to, more or less. To some extent. Well enough to get by, anyway. But tonight is a bad night; thus, the trip to Crossroads.
You might encounter him on the way there. Or maybe you're at Crossroads too, and you only see him once he comes through the door and plops down at a barstool.
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"...Thank you, Akira. Truly. I'll be sure to visit you more often, regardless of what I do."
He does consider Akira a friend of sorts, so of course he wants to visit more often.
He hates just relenting, but maybe, just maybe he can afford to squeeze in a longer break this time around.
"Thinking on it... If I have more free time, I suppose I'll need to sort out what to do with that free time..."
He's used to being busy, so it's a little hard to imagine what to do with free time.
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"I've never quite understood how people relax so easily. Though I suppose we Goro Akechis are known for being workaholics, from everything I've gathered."
A little bit of humor in his tone.
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Dove takes a drink of his mocktail, quietly trying to ignore the fact that he may have, in fact, had a life of hardship.
"...Or rather, there's no guarantee I did."
Is that really true though? With all of the signs?
He's just keeping up a pleasant smile, trying his best to hide any worry of any sort as he says that.
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"...There have been a few things on my mind as of late."
He looks down at his mocktail, thinking back to his first visit to Tartarus with Makoto. How he apparently looked while fighting the Shadows.
"The way I fight is... 'creepy', it seems. I never noticed it, but an acquaintance described the face I made as such."
He doesn't even sound made, just... perturbed.
"That's among the other things I've learned about my counterparts. The 'Black Mask's as they're called. The things they've done."
Needless to say, the idea that he did have that past lingers... and he doesn't even remotely feel comfortable with it. He hasn't accepted that it could be his own past.
His eyes stay focused on the mocktail.
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"And...how do you feel about it? What they've done, why they've done it."
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It's an attempt at a joke, but sadly his mood just isn't working with it right now.
Dove wasn't expecting the sudden edamame, but takes it with a small nod and a quick 'thank you'... though he is a bit curious about Akira having this on hand, and being so ready to provide it.
"I'm not exactly certain. Isolated, painful lives... No one to turn to. It's awful to imagine and I can't say I don't empathize. But..."
He looks back at Akira, his expression growing painfully neutral. He's attempting not to show weakness.
"...What would it mean for me, being someone that did those things? What does it mean for the life I know?"
He knows what it means. It means everything he knows, or at the very least most of it, is a lie. Something he's not able to get himself to accept.
"Every sign points towards my life being built upon lies. And more lies. I can't tell where they begin and where they end."
Bitterness slips into his tone, and he takes a rather harsh bite of the edamame. His expression has become more distant, and his eyes show something more reminiscent of a normal Akechi's... at least for a second. It fades very quickly as Dove recomposes himself.
a/n: dove probably gets a rankup here when his expression goes akechi-like
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Death, Rank 3.
Before he snaps back to reality, blinking slightly as he shifts.
"...'One day at a time'..."
Is it really so simple as that? He knows logically that it should just be taken slowly, but he still feels so... so frustrated and tired...
"It sounds so simple when you phrase it that way, but unfortunately it feels anything but."
His tone isn't quite as bitter, just tired. He finds it a bit strange, hearing himself sound like this. Usually he's always so pleasant, but for once he finds it difficult to keep it up.
...Maybe that's how it's supposed to feel when he's on TV, instead of just that samey feeling he's noticed...
He can't help but chuckle slightly at the thought, a bit cynically. It's all so weird, he hates feeling mixed up like this. His feelings make no sense the more he lingers on them. He misses when it was just simple happiness, vague sadness, and mild annoyance.
...But at the same time... part of him doesn't want to give up this mixed up misery. It's his misery. It's familiar. Something he should be able to feel. He doesn't entirely understand it, but... it is what it is.
Maruki didn't have the right to remove something like this from him, whatever these various negative feelings can be called.
He reaches for his mocktail before he vocalizes his thoughts.
"I suppose I'll have to carry these feelings the entire way..."
He just sighs before taking another sip of the mocktail, before lowering the glass back down with a small 'clink'.
"...I think I'm beginning to understand what you meant back then. I thought I understood, but..."
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Fwiipp. Akira's cards are a messy pile on the bar counter.
A few moments pass. Akira reaches under the bar and feels around, grabbing a highball glass and a newspaper.
"Take it out on these," he says. "I won't tell anyone."
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"...Akira...?"
He can't help but be a bit concerned as he watches Akira in those quiet moments, but he pauses when he's passed the highball glass and newspaper.
"...? This is...?"
He looks down at them, still looking emotionally drained.
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For a second it feels odd trying to prime himself to do this, holding the paper in his hands, preparing to rip it apart... but he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to imagine it.
...Honestly, he's not entirely sure what he should be imagining as the block. Perhaps it'd be easier if he knew what Maruki looked like. Or maybe should be his frustrations about his own insecurity he focuses on.
But he finally finds the feeling he's aiming for, and his eyes open again with a cold, but determined look.
"...!"
And just like that, he rips that piece of paper in two like no one's business. One swift movement, and it's done.
But afterwards, he finds himself needing to keep going, so takes the two halves of the page he just ripped. He needs something with less give, so he rips them apart together.
...Huh. He did feel some of the pressure fade.
"...Like that, correct?"
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As he picks it up, holds it in his hand... and just something in him feels so compelled to throw it right at the wall. Right there, across the room.
His eyes still have that glint as he looks at the glass, and he just feels all of that frustration involving his situation bubble up, boiling over. He grits his teeth, and with a quiet growl, he chucks it at the wall, which causes it to shatter into pieces.
And then he stops again... before looking at Akira.
"...I'll clean up the mess once I'm finished. It's the least I can do, considering the fact I'm the one creating it in the first place."
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"Don't worry about a thing," he waves it off with that grin, genuine, splitting his face. "I'm enabling you, and it'll disappear on its own if I don't get to it anyway. Here."
He slides more glasses -- champagne flutes, coupes, delmonicos, rocks -- all cheap glass and very destructible across the table to Dove, for all his glass-shattering needs.
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"..."
Not only that, but he watches as Akira continues to grab glasses for him to use, and he can't help but sigh a little.
"...I'm certain if someone else caught me destroying glasses like this, they would call you a bad influence."
He can't help but crack a small, actually genuine little smile... bordering on a smirk? Maybe it's just that he's too tired to smile fully, or perhaps it's a bit closer to something he would actually express...
He picks up another glass, feeling the weight of it in his hand...
"But I suppose it's a blessing the evidence will clean itself."
He gives Akira another glance before chucking the next glass straight at the wall with even more force. Shocking, considering he's also exhausted from visiting Mementos earlier.
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"...Maruki..."
He feels his head dully throbbing as he thinks about the man in question, as he feels the rage bubble up in his chest, as he feels part of him fearing stepping this far into hatred...
But he also feels that other part of him he's tried shutting down the entire time he's been here... The side that's just relieved to do something, to break something, to scream and sow some kind of chaos... Even if it's as small as breaking a glass.
He stops, looking at his own hand...
"...I was so afraid of feeling this way, and now I'm not entirely sure why. It's ridiculous, in hindsight."
He looks back at Akira again, that smile bordering on smirk appearing again.
"I feel... alive. Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Perhaps I can control this now, instead of being ruled by my fear. Thank you, Akira."
[ ooc // zalgo text reads "break the chains BREAK THE CHAINS OF", just imagine static ]
He feels proud, excited, happy, all bubbling up in his chest like a shaken beer. Be free, be free, be free. Don't end up like me.
He feels lightheaded, lightfooted, light-hearted--
He feels like the card tucked next to his heart is shining--
He feels--
He feels--
b̵ͧ́́̕̕͢͢͏͈͉̙͇̠͓͕̻r̵̨̃́̀҉̳̥̣̪͉̗̟̫͘͘͢e̷̡̢̛ͤ́̕͟͏͇̻͙̻̘̭ͅͅa̴̢̢̨̢̢̢̘̪̯͔̻̠͂͘ͅͅk̸̸̡̡͆͜͜͠҉̮̹̦̗͚̙̫ ̵̡̢̲̟̰̟̘͉̿̎́̀͜͡͡ͅṯ̶̸̵̶̡̥͚̬͈̻̫̓̏́͘͡ḧ́̍҉̸̧̧̕͜͡҉͔̳̖̗̯̣̪e̷̴̴̛̖̮̝̼̬̰̞ͣ̏́͘͢͞ ̸̵̶̧̧̙͕̘̤̲̈ͭ̀̚͢͞ͅç̶̴̛̋͗̌͢͠҉̢̗͕̼̺̘͍h̷̴̴̷̡̨̢̨͕̲̥̮̱̦̿̓͒ą̵̷̡̧̩̩͇̞̳̥̆ͪ̏͢͝͝i̷̴̡̡̛̅ͩ̐̕͞͏̟͓̼̬̬n̸̡̧͖͈̟̘̞̄̒ͦ̋͜͟͜͠͝s̢̛̅͛͋̅̀̀͟҉̲̯͈̻̮͘͜ ̵̵̡̨͓̼̰͉̙̌͒ͧ̅́̀͢͡B̴̵̨̪̪̮̟̤̀ͧ̀͊̕͢͞͡͠Ŗ̶̴̷̧̧̳͕̠̾ͯ̉̀̓͘͝ͅE̸̡̦̩͕̲̒̀̀͗̒́͜͟͠͠͞Ả̴ͭ͑ͦ̎͏̵̷͞҉҉̲̩̼͙͘K͂͗͑ͯͭ҉̢̫̫͚͚͠͠͝͞͞͝ ̸̨̧̛̜̩̙̇̐̓ͮ̀̚͝͝͠T̵̒̓ͩ̈̑̎͝͏̸͟͝҉̯̙͎̕H̸̶̵̛͑̈ͥ̿̈́͐̕͡͏͍̞̘̀E̴̢̫̲͇͆̊ͥ͒̐͐͘͘͜͟͟͢ ̸͆ͭ̎̿̌͊҉̶̵̧̥͔̣́͠͞Ĉ̶̸̲̤͑̊ͭͨ͗̓̕͟͠͞͞͞H͌ͩ͂̐͂̓͂͟͝҉̀͘҉̨̛̯̳A̵̧͍͚͗͋̇ͦͫ̀ͬ̀̀͡͡͠͝I̸̧̡͒̐̔ͧ̅ͩ̒̕͘͜͜͏̪̯N̸̎̽̾͛͑̇̾͟͟͞͞͞͝҉̦Ş̶̾̒ͨ̊̎̉̾̚̕͏̶̛̲̀͝ ̨ͧ̌ͮ̑̿̄̾̏͠͏̷̴̵̸͎͘Oͦ͆̾͊̂̒͗̑҉̸́͏̵̷̛̮͡F̶̢͕̑ͨͧ̆ͭ̀̓ͫ̕͟͢͜͡͡
-- oof.
Akira may or may not be on the floor, now.
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"Akira...?!"
He practically bounds around the counter, every bit of confidence and anger having shifted to concern. He's doing his best to contain it, staying focused on looking over Akira. He hovers over Akira, looking over him with worry in his eyes.
"Can you hear me? Akira?"
Dove needs to check if he's conscious first, and after that, well... hopefully he's conscious so that way he can help him up. If not, then he'll have to try to get some medical help. He can only do so much on his own... He's not experienced with medical emergencies, they're extremely rare in his world.
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As well as he can, Akira looks at Aletheia.
INEVITABILITY COMES FOR US ALL, she says, sparing a few of her tireless hands to gather him up into a single ball.
breathe in, breathe out. 'i know.'
THERE IS ONLY TIME
breathe in, breathe out. 'there is only time.'
The copper hands are a cold comfort against the warm feelings in his chest, but a comfort nonetheless. His eyes close--
-- and he drops back into his body like a stone into a pond.
"Hey, Dove," he groans, rolling onto his side to get up. "Sorry for scaring you like that."
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