The chilly wind of Inaba hit Maruki the moment he stepped through the door to... whatever this place was now. One moment he’d been in Odaiba, standing in the shadow of steel and glass, and the next, he was here: a quiet town bathed in a golden sunset, with mountains looming in the distance. It smelled faintly of rain on asphalt and wood smoke. The disorientation hit like a Megidolaon, and for a moment, he had to steady himself against a lamppost.
He clutched the tape in his pocket as though it were his lifeline, the edges digging into his palm through the hoodie. His breath was shallow. The cheerful hum of the nearby department store—Junes, the sign read—felt almost oppressive. It was a sharp contrast to the suffocating quiet of his lab or the cold streets of Odaiba. The flickering fluorescent lights, the upbeat jingles drifting out the door, the faint laughter of families shopping together—it all made him dizzy. Was this place real? Was he real?
No. Focus. He was here for a reason. Mockingbird.
He adjusted the hood over his head, half out of habit, half to keep anyone from looking too closely at his face. The scarring, hidden under the mask, still burned faintly. The green-black veins felt like they were creeping further with each passing second, even if he knew that wasn’t possible. The tape in his pocket grew heavier, as if it might sink him to the floor.
Maruki pushed through the automatic doors of Junes, greeted immediately by a cheery jingle: "Every day’s great at your Junes!" He winced.
It was overwhelming. The aisles were stuffed with an impossible array of products—rows of glossy plastic toys, shelves of canned goods, racks of cheap electronics. The cognitive store had everything, apparently. Too much of everything. He staggered past a display of promotional keychains shaped like cartoon vegetables before his eyes landed on a figure near the entrance.
An Akechi, or rather, Mockingbird. The man was standing in front of a rack of novelty items, holding a bobblehead of himself. The exaggerated likeness—complete with an impossibly smug grin—bounced unsteadily in his hand as he stared at it with an expression that flickered between amusement and disdain.
Maruki squinted, tilting his head. Is that... really a bobblehead of him?
He wonders if he's...talking to his persona. Like how Maruki usually does when he's out of awareness but- he's sure no persona would attack him like this either so who knows?
Maruki took slow steps forward, clearing his throat just loudly enough to make his presence known. Then, he spoke, his voice raspy and dry:
“Is it a motivational tool, or a stress relief toy? Because if it’s the latter, I’d suggest aiming higher than a window.”
Maruki straightened, just barely holding himself together as his weight leaned imperceptibly against a shelf. Totally because he wasn't going to pass out. He nodded toward the bobblehead.
“I’ve read studies on the cathartic effects of breaking symbolic objects. If you’d like, I can provide a professional opinion.” A wry, tired smile tugged at the edge of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
His grip on the tape in his pocket tightened, the edges biting into his skin. One step at a time. He’d made it this far.
no subject
He clutched the tape in his pocket as though it were his lifeline, the edges digging into his palm through the hoodie. His breath was shallow. The cheerful hum of the nearby department store—Junes, the sign read—felt almost oppressive. It was a sharp contrast to the suffocating quiet of his lab or the cold streets of Odaiba. The flickering fluorescent lights, the upbeat jingles drifting out the door, the faint laughter of families shopping together—it all made him dizzy. Was this place real? Was he real?
No. Focus. He was here for a reason. Mockingbird.
He adjusted the hood over his head, half out of habit, half to keep anyone from looking too closely at his face. The scarring, hidden under the mask, still burned faintly. The green-black veins felt like they were creeping further with each passing second, even if he knew that wasn’t possible. The tape in his pocket grew heavier, as if it might sink him to the floor.
Maruki pushed through the automatic doors of Junes, greeted immediately by a cheery jingle: "Every day’s great at your Junes!" He winced.
It was overwhelming. The aisles were stuffed with an impossible array of products—rows of glossy plastic toys, shelves of canned goods, racks of cheap electronics. The cognitive store had everything, apparently. Too much of everything. He staggered past a display of promotional keychains shaped like cartoon vegetables before his eyes landed on a figure near the entrance.
An Akechi, or rather, Mockingbird. The man was standing in front of a rack of novelty items, holding a bobblehead of himself. The exaggerated likeness—complete with an impossibly smug grin—bounced unsteadily in his hand as he stared at it with an expression that flickered between amusement and disdain.
Maruki squinted, tilting his head. Is that... really a bobblehead of him?
He wonders if he's...talking to his persona. Like how Maruki usually does when he's out of awareness but- he's sure no persona would attack him like this either so who knows?
Maruki took slow steps forward, clearing his throat just loudly enough to make his presence known. Then, he spoke, his voice raspy and dry:
“Is it a motivational tool, or a stress relief toy? Because if it’s the latter, I’d suggest aiming higher than a window.”
Maruki straightened, just barely holding himself together as his weight leaned imperceptibly against a shelf. Totally because he wasn't going to pass out. He nodded toward the bobblehead.
“I’ve read studies on the cathartic effects of breaking symbolic objects. If you’d like, I can provide a professional opinion.” A wry, tired smile tugged at the edge of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
His grip on the tape in his pocket tightened, the edges biting into his skin. One step at a time. He’d made it this far.