Maruki stared at Ren in the silence, unsure if the guy was actually waiting for him to collapse into tears or something else. Either way, he was grateful when Ren—without a word—finally filled a glass of water and set it on the counter.
Maruki released a quiet sigh, his fingers wrapping around the glass as if anchoring himself to it. He took a slow sip, focusing on the cool sensation against his throat.
"Pathetic," Azathoth purred in the recesses of his mind. "You're going to need far more help than this if you want to be taken seriously."
Maruki’s grip on the glass tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond. Not yet.
By the time he finished the water, he had taken the few minutes he needed to fix himself up—adjusting his disheveled hair, straightening his clothes, smoothing down the creases in his expression. His hands, at least, had stopped trembling.
With a slow inhale, he pulled himself back together. No more spiraling. No more letting his emotions get the better of him.
When he finally spoke again, his voice had settled into something more familiar—his usual smooth, professional tone, the voice of a cognitive psience researcher rather than a man barely keeping it together.
“Right. So.” He cleared his throat, shifting back to the topic at hand. “I wanted to go over how I plan to approach the situation with the more...jaded version of Ken Amada.”
He straightened, his gaze sharper now, more focused. “I've been conducting... experiments,” he admitted, hesitating only briefly before pressing forward. “On myself and other cognitions. Through this, I’ve developed a way to scale my abilities—a more localized application that can help individuals process and manage their trauma without rewriting anything but rather manifesting them from the depths of their mind. I have heard the Midnight Channel works on a similar concept here so I will soon be working on understanding how it truly works.”
He paused for a beat, then quickly added, “Now, don’t be alarmed. I needed to be sure these papers only reach the people I want them to reach.”
Without further warning, a shadow flickered beside him, warping into the shape of a coiling, inky-black tentacle. It moved with unsettling fluidity, its wirey appendages holding a neatly set of organized papers, gripping them with an eerie precision as it held them out to him.
Maruki took the papers from the summoned limb with a small nod, completely unfazed. “I’ve documented my findings here,” he said, flipping through them as Azathoth’s appendage soundlessly receded into nothingness.
He placed the documents on the table in front of Ren. “This,” he continued, his voice steady, “is what I’ve been working on.”
no subject
Maruki released a quiet sigh, his fingers wrapping around the glass as if anchoring himself to it. He took a slow sip, focusing on the cool sensation against his throat.
"Pathetic," Azathoth purred in the recesses of his mind. "You're going to need far more help than this if you want to be taken seriously."
Maruki’s grip on the glass tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond. Not yet.
By the time he finished the water, he had taken the few minutes he needed to fix himself up—adjusting his disheveled hair, straightening his clothes, smoothing down the creases in his expression. His hands, at least, had stopped trembling.
With a slow inhale, he pulled himself back together. No more spiraling. No more letting his emotions get the better of him.
When he finally spoke again, his voice had settled into something more familiar—his usual smooth, professional tone, the voice of a cognitive psience researcher rather than a man barely keeping it together.
“Right. So.” He cleared his throat, shifting back to the topic at hand. “I wanted to go over how I plan to approach the situation with the more...jaded version of Ken Amada.”
He straightened, his gaze sharper now, more focused. “I've been conducting... experiments,” he admitted, hesitating only briefly before pressing forward. “On myself and other cognitions. Through this, I’ve developed a way to scale my abilities—a more localized application that can help individuals process and manage their trauma without rewriting anything but rather manifesting them from the depths of their mind. I have heard the Midnight Channel works on a similar concept here so I will soon be working on understanding how it truly works.”
He paused for a beat, then quickly added, “Now, don’t be alarmed. I needed to be sure these papers only reach the people I want them to reach.”
Without further warning, a shadow flickered beside him, warping into the shape of a coiling, inky-black tentacle. It moved with unsettling fluidity, its wirey appendages holding a neatly set of organized papers, gripping them with an eerie precision as it held them out to him.
Maruki took the papers from the summoned limb with a small nod, completely unfazed. “I’ve documented my findings here,” he said, flipping through them as Azathoth’s appendage soundlessly receded into nothingness.
He placed the documents on the table in front of Ren. “This,” he continued, his voice steady, “is what I’ve been working on.”