Goro Akechi (Shadow Weapon AU) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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personavelvetroomdr2024-06-10 03:36 pm
gorobo) wrote in personavelvetroomdr2024-06-10 03:36 pm
Entry tags:
[Open] What ifs, endlessly
Even if the drinks aren't anything he cares about, the atmosphere of the Jazz Jin alone is calming, as always. One of the few things he was allowed to decide for himself, even under Shido's whims.
Everything has been both so restless and languid at the same time, lately. Both the Palace and moving into the house in Inaba has been hectic, and the infiltration of said aforementioned Palace looms closer every day. Falcon still doesn't know what to think of it, or how much he can trust everyone involved.
He feels as if he's been running himself ragged and not doing shit at the same time. It's polarizing and frustrating. He doesn't know why he's here at all, really. Igor's excuses sound more hollow by the day. Occupying himself by helping out with Drake's Palace feels useful, certainly, but then what?
Then what, indeed.
The cognitive version of the singer starts crooning out her signature song, her voice sweet and alluring, and Falcon allows himself to get lost in it, willing himself to forget about it all, just for a moment. If anyone were to enter right now, they'd find him leaning on his elbows at the table closest to the singer, eyes half-shuttered, pensive look on his face.
Everything has been both so restless and languid at the same time, lately. Both the Palace and moving into the house in Inaba has been hectic, and the infiltration of said aforementioned Palace looms closer every day. Falcon still doesn't know what to think of it, or how much he can trust everyone involved.
He feels as if he's been running himself ragged and not doing shit at the same time. It's polarizing and frustrating. He doesn't know why he's here at all, really. Igor's excuses sound more hollow by the day. Occupying himself by helping out with Drake's Palace feels useful, certainly, but then what?
Then what, indeed.
The cognitive version of the singer starts crooning out her signature song, her voice sweet and alluring, and Falcon allows himself to get lost in it, willing himself to forget about it all, just for a moment. If anyone were to enter right now, they'd find him leaning on his elbows at the table closest to the singer, eyes half-shuttered, pensive look on his face.