Goro Akechi [TWEWY AU] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
paysforall) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
personavelvetroomdr2023-09-14 06:06 pm
paysforall) wrote in personavelvetroomdr2023-09-14 06:06 pm
Entry tags:
whisper that the past is gone eternally
It's the Shibuya Crossing. The big, famous one, with all the crowds and the traffic and the 109 building overlooking it all.
And that's the thing.
The 109 building.
Paying no mind to the sea of empty cognitions around him, a Goro Akechi stands in the center of the crosswalk, staring up at the number-faced building with a frown. If you were looking for any Goro Akechi in particular, however, this one almost transparently isn't him. Twenty-one years of age and dressed like the masculine line of a Victorian goth brand was thrown over his head like a bucket of cold water, this Akechi stares at one of the most familiar landmarks of Tokyo like it's a river in a desert and he hasn't quite decided if he wants to take a drink.
He's back.
(Or, at the very least, he's no longer where he was. Her Shibuya was a 109 as well. And there was that strange room...)
"If the Shibuya Game has gone down the shitter again," he says, seemingly addressing nobody, or possibly the phone he's pulled from his pocket to glare at, "I am going to go after the Composer myself."
He lifts his phone. (It's the same phone he's always had. The only thing that hasn't changed, for anyone with a keen enough eye for detail. There's a new vinyl sticker on the back, a stylized skull in red at an angle, but it's the same phone as ever.) Snaps a picture. No change in the photo. Closes that, opens a different app, snaps again. His frown intensifies.
(It is, by now, a good thing that the cognitions are just filler that will continue to idle in whatever routine they're running, because otherwise he would surely have been hit by a car, right? But the crowd continues to wander around him, heedlessly.)
Finally, he lowers his phone, sends the photo to someone on his contacts, and apparently gives up, shoving it back into his pocket. The cognitions resume the flow of normal traffic, clearing the crossing so that cars can pass through, as he goes over to Hachiko to lean up against the side of the statue.
"I didn't miss the not having any idea what's going on," he tells the dog, firmly firmly and with a hint of melancholy. "Oh, if only a real person would show up with the answers right about now. Why, I'd even consider buying them a coffee for the trouble."
Despite nominally being addressed to the bronze canine, the way he lifts the volume of his voice makes it clear that it's addressed to you, onlooker, whoever you are.
[[OOC: I don't actually care what format you use i just always write introspective-y starters in prose. tldr twewy au post-canon post-death akechi]
And that's the thing.
The 109 building.
Paying no mind to the sea of empty cognitions around him, a Goro Akechi stands in the center of the crosswalk, staring up at the number-faced building with a frown. If you were looking for any Goro Akechi in particular, however, this one almost transparently isn't him. Twenty-one years of age and dressed like the masculine line of a Victorian goth brand was thrown over his head like a bucket of cold water, this Akechi stares at one of the most familiar landmarks of Tokyo like it's a river in a desert and he hasn't quite decided if he wants to take a drink.
He's back.
(Or, at the very least, he's no longer where he was. Her Shibuya was a 109 as well. And there was that strange room...)
"If the Shibuya Game has gone down the shitter again," he says, seemingly addressing nobody, or possibly the phone he's pulled from his pocket to glare at, "I am going to go after the Composer myself."
He lifts his phone. (It's the same phone he's always had. The only thing that hasn't changed, for anyone with a keen enough eye for detail. There's a new vinyl sticker on the back, a stylized skull in red at an angle, but it's the same phone as ever.) Snaps a picture. No change in the photo. Closes that, opens a different app, snaps again. His frown intensifies.
(It is, by now, a good thing that the cognitions are just filler that will continue to idle in whatever routine they're running, because otherwise he would surely have been hit by a car, right? But the crowd continues to wander around him, heedlessly.)
Finally, he lowers his phone, sends the photo to someone on his contacts, and apparently gives up, shoving it back into his pocket. The cognitions resume the flow of normal traffic, clearing the crossing so that cars can pass through, as he goes over to Hachiko to lean up against the side of the statue.
"I didn't miss the not having any idea what's going on," he tells the dog, firmly firmly and with a hint of melancholy. "Oh, if only a real person would show up with the answers right about now. Why, I'd even consider buying them a coffee for the trouble."
Despite nominally being addressed to the bronze canine, the way he lifts the volume of his voice makes it clear that it's addressed to you, onlooker, whoever you are.
[[OOC: I don't actually care what format you use i just always write introspective-y starters in prose. tldr twewy au post-canon post-death akechi]
no subject
They've arrived at the entrance to Takazakaya, with its gilded arch and its immaculately dressed windows; the closest entrance will take them through the beauty department. Akechi takes it, ignoring the fussing cognitions nearby. The sushi concession, strictly invite-only, is on the top floor.
He makes his way past branded makeup counters, glancing at the skincare displays as they go. "Getting myself killed wasn't an option. Cutting things short wasn't an option. I take it we're not here to judge my priorities."
no subject
For his part, the older Akechi doesn't even blink at the displays, his attention focused on two things - the younger him, and the sushi counter that lies in the near future. The only thought he has is that it's surprising that the Variabeauties never sued for a cosmetics shop to be added to the list of those that take Game money.
"I won't give you a friendship lecture. But I will tell you a lesson you should have picked up by now: Use the useful. And I don't just mean to throw them at Shido's Palace to cut a path for you."
He steps onto an escalator and leans against the side wall in a way that looks way too natural for the fact that he's only actually touching it by means of an elbow on the moving hand rail.
"They want to help, so let them. Suck up everything you can get out of their good will and jump free at the end. They're a lot easier to escape than Shido and his goons."
And if his younger self learns the actual meaning of friendship along the way? Well, congratulations to him.
no subject
"I know I have no choice. I don't need you to tell me that, and you're not the first to say it. The obvious first step is to engage them to keep Amamiya—" not Ren, quite abruptly—"alive."
He rounds the corner to the next escalator with the air of a crane stalking a frog—or like someone with a broom handle stuck up his ass. "And they'll do it because he's their friend. Not because of your—poorly disguised power-of-friendship lecture." He's not six.
no subject
That's the version the Game beat into him, after all.
Next escalator, again with the weird lean. "They get to believe they've made a difference in your life - saved someone who was beyond saving, so on so forth. You get your life and probably even to actually witness Shido's fall in the process. If I could do it again with what I know now, I would in a heartbeat."
He'd even pay an Entry Fee for it. Maybe not the same one, because that would make juggling the whole thing a little difficult (but then, he's not as afraid of showing his true self as his counterpart).