Preparations

[takutomaruki]

The christmas cheer and the overall holiday season was yet to completely distract Takuto Maruki, a disshelved cognitive presearcher residing in the depths of his own palace. He occasionally found himself at home as well, cooking different recipes or simply studying a different field for a change- Experimental Pyschology. It had become his way of coping with the overall chaos festering over the jolly tunes and the cold.
Clearly, theoretical pyschology wasn't the way to go for him and now, clinical psychology- one where he might truly begin to understand the extent to how Azathoth functions by using his innate knowledge of cognitive pscience and fill in the gaps in a more...constricted way could be beneficial. He doesn't know where he was going with this but he meant it when he said he was going to make Igor pay.

Which meant only one particular thing. He will make Rumi real. Somehow. He doesn't need a long-nosed man's help anyway.

Option A: An unsual patient.

Deep in the winding corridors of Mementos, where the usual chaos of the cognitive world is temporarily replaced by a surprisingly calm, almost surreal space. Maruki stands in a cozy little bubble of tranquility, manifested out of his own calm demeanor. The walls and the floors are still the usual dark tracks, but within this strange pocket, there are two armchairs, a small coffee table, and an odd aura of quiet. In front of him sits a Jack Frost, wearing his iconic grin and sporting his signature icy appearance, but with an air of confusion that suggests this isn’t your usual Shadow encounter.

Now dressed in a nearly all-grey suit with a white tie and a black shirt, Maruki looked different—far more relaxed than he had in his former Metaverse attire. His smile was still the same warm, reassuring one he always wore, but the sleek, pristine look from before was replaced by a more practical, yet still formal, appearance.

Beside him, the air shimmered briefly, and a pair of plush armchairs materialized, along with a small coffee table. On the table were a selection of snacks—Pocky sticks, biscuits, and a few other bite-sized treats. Maruki sat down in one of the chairs, resting his hands in his lap as he glanced across the table.

Opposite him sat Jack Frost, his small, round figure perched in the other armchair. Jack was nibbling on a Pocky stick, his wide eyes flicking up at Maruki before taking another enthusiastic bite.

“Alright, Jack,” Maruki said, his voice soft and calm, “Let’s talk a bit more. I know it can be overwhelming here in Mementos, but I want to help you work through this. Whenever you are ready.”

Jack Frost blinked, crumbs falling from his mouth as he chewed. His usual cheerful demeanor was tinged with something else today—a hint of hesitation. He set the Pocky down on the table for a moment, his tiny hands folded in his lap. “Ho-ho, yeah, I guess I’ve been stuck here for a while. Can’t find my way outta the storm. Hee-ho, it’s like... I’m just frozen in place, y’know?”

Maruki leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful as he gently picked up a biscuit. “I understand. Sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in one place for too long, doesn’t it? Everything spinning around us, but no clear way forward.”

Jack Frost nodded slowly, eyes wandering to the snacks as he fiddled with a biscuit on the table. “Hee-ho, it’s like I’m all cold inside, too, just like the world around me... can’t get warm or see the way outta here.”

Maruki smiled, his tone encouraging yet gentle. “It’s completely okay to feel that way, Jack. Sometimes the world can be overwhelming, and it’s hard to know what to do. But you don’t have to have everything figured out all at once. Sometimes, taking it step by step, even just enjoying a snack, can help clear your mind. One little thing at a time.”

Jack Frost’s eyes brightened, a little laugh escaping him. “Ho-ho, that’s... that’s a pretty good way to think about it. Hee-ho, I’ve been way too stuck on the storm instead of enjoying the little things. I guess these snacks aren’t so bad, huh?”

Maruki chuckled softly, his smile widening as he offered Jack Frost another biscuit. “Exactly. It’s all about taking a breather when you can. The storm might still be there, but we can take moments of peace, even in the chaos.”

---

Option B: Battling Trauma- one ball at a time. (Locked to BMSumi)

If he isn't giving therapy to shadows or covering the assignments from the online college course- he does other things. He knows he has ample of time to make up for it. He could easily cover the entire term in a span of a few months; depending on how long he's going to have to stay here or live with Azathoth's words still murmuring in his head when he finds his guard lowered- today is one of those days where he just wants to relax and not thing about the gruelling implications of this place and his fate if he doesn't understand himself. Fast.

THUD!

The ball hits the far wall before rolling away into the distance. "Damn it," he shakes his head as he prepares his stance again. His feet might have been too wide or his knees were bent too much. He releases another sigh, lowers the baseball bat and decides to pull out his phone again. Might as well take a look at a video or something, its not as if there's anyone here. Good for him.

---

Option C: NETWORK (locked to katsuya, toshiro, mamakechi, zenkichi, phoenix and others who want to join in and test their adult muses [check ooc])

Hello, everyone!

I hope you're all doing well amidst this whole...multiversal jargoan that seems to surround us. The new year is upon us, and I thought it might be nice to do something a little more... traditional to celebrate. After all, it's important to have some moments of peace and joy, even here, right? Outside of scrutiny.

So, I’d like to extend an open invitation for a New Year's gathering. I’m planning to book out a hotel and give the place a little makeover to fit the occasion—decorations, good food, and maybe even a few games! It’ll be a relaxed event, no pressure, just a chance for us adults (mostly) to unwind and spend some time together.

I’m still sorting out the details, but if you’re interested, feel free to reach out! I’d love to hear what kind of things you’d like to have at the party. Whether it's music, games, or something else entirely, I’m happy to accommodate as best I can.

Given everything that’s been going on, I’m thinking of keeping this event a bit more private—so I’d prefer if it’s just for the adults at the moment. I hope that’s okay, but please understand that this is more of a personal gathering than a public event.

Let me know if you’re interested, and I’ll get everything set up as soon as possible.

Looking forward to hearing from you all!



[OOC: anyone can join in though maruki will be wary if you are someone he could have a negative cr with. no below 15s tho- unless you have someone looking after you. most if not all adults are welcome! Unless you are a shido pst pst. This post is locked from Phren, pheasant, bmtaba, drake, frog, corvus and others maruki may have unfortunate run ins with. the locked portion will be edited so if you want to express interest with your muse- they can have a chat with maruki seperately here or in his inbox]

---

Option D: A meeting out of place. (locked to Pheasant)

Dr. Maruki, clad in his white hoodie complete with stitched cat ears, faded jeans, and unmistakable pink heart-shaped sunglasses, squints up at the tree where an orange tabby cat perches precariously on a branch. The cat hisses at his every attempt to coax it down, its fur puffed in full defensive mode.

Maruki sighs, resting his hands on his hips. “Now, now, let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be, okay?” He glances around, hoping for someone—anyone—to offer help, but the crowd moves past him, utterly indifferent to the scene. With a resigned groan, he rolls up his sleeves. “Fine. Guess it’s up to me.”

Moments later, he’s halfway up the tree, awkwardly maneuvering his lanky frame through the branches. His ridiculous attire catches on the bark more than once, the cat ears flopping around comically. Finally, he reaches the cat, who glares at him with eyes full of suspicion.

“There, there. See? I’m here to help.” He extends a hand toward it, voice soft and coaxing. “Just a little scratchy fluffball, aren’t you?”

The cat has other ideas. With a loud hiss, it swipes at him, claws grazing his hand. Maruki winces but doesn’t pull back, instead managing to gently scoop up the agitated feline.

“There we go. See? That wasn’t so—AHHH!”

The branch beneath him gives a disheartening crack, and before he can react, Maruki is left dangling with one hand gripping the branch for dear life. The cat, now securely in his other arm, seems entirely unimpressed with the unfolding drama.

“Great,” he mutters, wincing as the branch creaks ominously under his weight. “This is...fine. Totally fine. No big deal.”

The cat finally stops hissing, its wide-eyed gaze fixed on him as if to say, What’s the plan, genius? Below, the indifferent crowd continues to ignore the scene entirely.

Great this is just...great.

Comments

B

[deerinheadlights]

Sumire, or she supposes Fawn also works, was looking for a place to let off steam after several turns of event revolving around Midnight. The batting cages are as good a place as any.

However when she picks up a bat and turns she sees fluffy hair and glasses. Telltale signs of one Doctor Maruki, despite the lack of labcoat. Perhaps not the same as the one who separated Sparrow from his Shadow or scrambled Midnight to her point of near unrecognition with herself, but one who probably believed everything that the ones who did those things believed in.

There's something brewing in her between disgust and rage. If she could summon her Personas here she's sure Hodur would spring forth, assisting her into turning the good doctor into nothing but a miserable pile of gore. Honestly that might be too good for him. He's just standing there looking at his goddamn phone.

Goro probably wouldn't approve of her being so reckless, but torture usually worked to get information out of Shadows. So beating the information on restoring her friend and Midnight couldn't hurt. She can always kill him after if she wants.

With little more thought than that she approaches and swings the bat at Maruki by way of greeting.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki stands at the plate, one hand gripping the bat tightly while the other holds his phone, the hoodie he’s wearing unzipped over a plain T-shirt. As Maruki stares at the video, the cheerful coach on the video gestures enthusiastically toward a batting cage.

"Now, remember, folks! Keep your feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent—like you’re ready to pounce on the ball. And don’t forget: follow through with your swing! It’s not just about hitting the ball, it’s about driving it—"

The voice continues to speak enthusiastically into the otherwise tension-filled air before it drops.

His peace is shattered by the echo of footsteps.

Maruki doesn’t look up immediately, instead catching the faintest reflection in his phone screen—red hair, moving with purpose. He narrows his eyes and presses his thumb to the screen, turning the video off in one smooth motion.

The reflection moves closer.

And then, without so much as a word, the figure lunges, swinging a bat with clear intent.

Maruki doesn’t flinch. His eyes blaze gold, and with a faint shimmer in the air, a tentacle surges forth. It intercepts the bat mid-swing with a dull crack, wrapping around the weapon and yanking it from Sumire’s hands with unnatural precision.

He turns slowly to face her, the tentacle curling back toward him, holding the bat aloft like a trophy. His expression is calm, but there’s a tired edge to his voice as he sighs.

“Yoshizawa-san,” he begins, his tone carrying an almost exaggerated politeness, “I have to say, this is an incredibly rude way to greet someone.”

His golden gaze lingers on her for a moment longer than necessary, the weariness in his eyes undercut by a glint of something more dangerous. With a flick of his wrist, the tentacle tosses the bat effortlessly toward one of the empty pitching lanes, where it lands with a sharp clatter.

“Unfortunately,” he continues, his voice light but not blind to its own circumstances, “this section is booked off. If you’re here to practice your baseball skills—” he gestures vaguely toward the other cages, his tone growing sharper with every word “—I’d suggest finding another spot. Maybe one where you don’t try to bludgeon the other patrons.”

With that, he turns back toward his own pitching machine, a study in deliberate disinterest. He adjusts his stance, the fatigue in his movements barely concealed as he prepares to take another swing.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says over his shoulder, “I have better things to do than entertain whatever grudge you’ve decided to drag in here.”

The faint hum of energy from the tentacles lingers for a moment longer before dissipating entirely, leaving only the crackle of tension in the air between them.

[deerinheadlights]

Maybe she should have seen this coming from someone who wanted to play god, but she wasn't really expecting him to be able to summon his Persona here. The tentacle snatches her bat like it was nothing and he's lecturing her about the rude greeting. Not that she really gives a flying fuck what Maruki thinks of her.

"You know I was just going to do this before I noticed some rat in here stinking up the place," she snaps back to him telling her to find her own spot. He also tells her that he has better things to do than entertain grudges.

"Right, right. Because letting someone think her own life has no value and she's really her dead elder sister isn't a good enough reason to want to beat the snot out of you is it?" No, she has no sympathy for what any version of him did to Midnight. "Because magnanimous Kasumi Yoshizawa would be perfectly content without her little sister to drag around everywhere and timid little Sumire is so good at playing marionette, why she's a perfect test subject for you to drag around too."

Yes, she is going to piss him off to see if she can get more information on Midnight. He seems like the type of guy to be more than happy to babble on about his research from his high horse, no matter how poorly she speaks of it. Hell he might even do a poor imitation of a villain monologue at her.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki blinks slowly at Fawn, his gaze steady despite the biting words thrown his way. His tiredness is palpable, but there's a thread of amusement in his eyes. The jab about a "rat" stinking up the place, though, doesn't get to him as much as it might have in the past. After all, he’s already been compared to Shido more than once—he can handle the insult without flinching.
"Is that all you’ve got?" Maruki mutters, as if genuinely unimpressed. He adjusts his stance, the baseball bat still gripped firmly in his hands. "And as for your little grudge—well, I suppose it’s easier to throw accusations than actually listen, isn’t it?"

His eyes narrow for a moment, processing the words that were meant to sting, the repeated insinuations about Midnight and his supposed role in her suffering. He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair, exhaustion setting deeper in his bones. The sting of her words doesn’t faze him as much as the sheer familiarity of them. He’s been hearing that kind of venom for months now, and it’s starting to wear on him.

Snot?

The word lingers in his mind for a moment, something about it... off. It feels like it’s something deeper, something personal, but he doesn’t have the energy to unpack it right now. Instead, he lets Fawn rant, not particularly interested in her tirade but more curious about the desperation behind it. The anger seems to be seeping from her in waves—anger that doesn’t even fully seem to be hers.

At her mention of "playing marionette," Maruki chuckles under his breath. He can practically hear Akechi’s voice in those words, his tone dripping with the same biting edge.

"Oh my goodness," Maruki says, a tired chuckle escaping his lips. "Is that you speaking, or are you channeling Akechi-san today? The bloodlust you’re putting out is... well, it’s familiar, let’s just say that." He tilts his head slightly, amusement creeping into his voice as he shifts his focus back to the pitch.

"Really, Yoshizawa-san, if you’re trying to rile me up, you’re going to have to try harder than that."

With a quiet sigh, Maruki raises the bat and takes another swing. The machine opposite to them whirs before a ball is charging at them. CRACK! The sound rings out sharply through the air, a solid hit that sends the ball flying down the range. He watches it for a moment, his eyes distant before he turns back to face Fawn, his expression less confrontational now but still carrying the weight of enough.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, honestly," he says, his voice softened but tinged with an edge of fatigue. "But if you’re really trying to get answers out of me through rage, you’re going to be disappointed." He gestures vaguely to his phone that’s still resting in his pocket, the faint buzz of his online course echoing in his mind. "I’ve got more than enough on my plate these days between my sessions and finishing up my online degree. I don’t have the energy for petty games or your anger."

[deerinheadlights]

He might not be trying to, but the jab about her channeling Akechi certainly pushes her buttons. In the second he turns to her she grabs the front of his stupid hoodie. Were it not for his Persona she may have even had him kissing the pavement in the same breath. "What fucking right do you have to speak about Goro?"

That said, she's going to get her answers one way or another. "If you have so much on your plate doctor," There's too much venom in her voice when she says it, "then surely you could just give me the answers I want and be on your merry way. You want me to stop throwing accusations around then say something worth listening to!"

She didn't even intend on dealing with him right now, he just happened to be here unfortunately enough for the both of them. "You don't get to sit on your high horse and tell me I'm playing the blame game when the things I'm asking about are well within your skillset." Even if it's not this Maruki's fault it's some Maruki's fault. "Midnight is suffering because of you. Because you thought that the only part of her worth saving was the part of her that was Kasumi's purse dog. What made her life not worth living?"

[takutomaruki]

Maruki raises a brow, the smallest flicker of amusement crossing his otherwise weary expression. His lips twitch into something that could be called a smile, if only barely, as he picks apart her words with clinical detachment.

“Goro, huh?” he muses, rolling the name on his tongue like a foreign object. He tilts his head slightly, as though considering it for the first time. “I have to admit, hearing you call him that does feel like a little victory for me. It explains quite a bit.” His tone is mild, calm, even with a faint trace of satisfaction lingering beneath the surface. “But yes, Yoshizawa-san—Sumire—your codename. Whatever you prefer. I have every right to speak about anyone here. It’s my prerogative, after all-”

He barely has time to finish before she yanks the front of his hoodie, her smaller frame bristling with rage. He blinks, startled but not alarmed, his hands instinctively going up, though he makes no move to push her away.

“I see,” he mutters under his breath, as though piecing together a puzzle. “So, that’s what this is about.”

Her anger spills forth, and Maruki listens with the patience of a man who’s been through this kind of confrontation far too many times. His brow furrows, though not in anger—more in a deep, reflective contemplation. When she finally finishes, her venomous words hanging in the air like smoke, he sighs heavily, his shoulders sinking further beneath an invisible weight.

“I just had this dance with someone else,” he begins, his voice low and measured. “But fine, let’s walk through it.” He runs a hand through his hair, as though trying to smooth away his frustration. “The only thing I regret about the version of Sumire Yoshizawa I helped is that I didn’t consider the consequences of not giving her full, informed consent. I see that mistake now. Truly, I do. But your words...they feel different.”

Maruki this time takes a few steps back slightly, forcibly attempting to disentangle himself from her grip- though he isn't sure if the other would let go. His warm eyes glint faintly as he studies her, the detached curiosity of a psychologist taking over.

“You’re talking about something else,” he states bluntly. “The Sumire I knew was trapped in despair after the loss of her sister. She was hopeless. Suffocating under the weight of grief and guilt. She didn’t have the luxury of a Persona or the chance to confront her Shadow or... whatever convoluted methods people here have used to deal with their issues.”

His voice softens, but there’s a jaded edge to it, like a professor explaining a particularly dry lecture. “She was drowning, Yoshizawa-san. And I reached out a hand to save her. I made a choice to give her an existence that wasn’t defined by that despair. Did I make the right one? Maybe not. But at the time, it was the best I could do.”

Kasumi's pursedog?

He pauses, narrowing his eyes as if trying to gauge her reaction. “And as for Midnight...” Maruki hesitates for a fraction of a second, his voice faltering. “I’m not thrilled with her situation either. But that’s not why you’re here, is it? Your situation is far different. ”

[deerinheadlights]

She can't really argue with him about him talking about anyone else. She can't really stop him.

Though he does mention that he wished he had given his own Sumire informed consent before he scrambled her brain. "She was a suicidal 15 year old who thought only her sister deserved to be given the time of day. What made you think that even telling her what would happen would make it okay to even entertain the idea that she wasn't as deserving to exist as Kasumi?"

He tells her that she's not here for Midnight, she reels a fist back without making any move to harm him yet. "Don't tell me what I'm here for asshole, tell me how to break through her delusions. I'm sick of her walking around like Kasumi, thinking she's so self righteous when in reality she needs everyone to suck up and play her game to be content." She's tired of it from any version of Kasumi and... "she deserves better than to live in Kasumi's shadow her whole life."

[takutomaruki]

Maruki tenses, every fiber of his being screaming at him to retreat, to de-escalate, to do anything but stand here in the suffocating proximity of this furious girl gripping his hoodie like it’s the only thing tethering her to sanity. His mind churns with possibilities, most of them being bad. She could hit him—probably would, judging by the way her fist is trembling in barely contained rage.

And then there’s Azathoth, clawing at the back of his consciousness, a primal, roaring urge to obliterate this nuisance before him with the flick of a thought.
That’s not helping Maruki thinks bitterly as he swallows the lump in his throat, forcing himself to focus.

He raises his hands again, a non-threatening gesture, though his voice carries a sharp edge as he begins. "You’re twisting this into something it’s not," he says, his tone tight but controlled. "This wasn’t about deserving. It was never about whether Sumire or Kasumi was more worthy of existence. It was about what she wanted. She asked for this. Do you understand that?"

His eyes flash, frustration bubbling to the surface despite his best efforts to keep it buried. "She was drowning in despair, Yoshizawa-san—lost in guilt, in grief, in self-loathing. I respected her wishes because at the time, I didn’t have the ability to do the impossible. I couldn’t bring her sister back. And even if I could, would it have truly fixed anything? Because from where I’m standing, even now, you’re telling me she wouldn’t have been enough. That you can easily justify your own methods—murder, vengeance, whatever else you tell yourselves—but can’t fathom the idea that someone might have chosen a different path."

His voice softens, but there’s a cutting precision to it now, a scalpel dissecting the layers of anger and pain laid bare before him. "And Midnight? You're telling me that’s where this is coming from? Not the Sumire I knew, or even the Sumire you are. It's Midnight?"

He exhales sharply, stepping back just enough to try and create a sliver of distance between them. His eyes narrow, his focus now laser-sharp on her form. "You’re not worried about her turmoil, are you? This isn’t about codependency or Kasumi or even Sumire. It’s about you."

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, almost clinical tone. "What is it about Midnight that unsettles you so much? Is it the way she mirrors the version of Sumire you fear the most? The one thing Kasumi might have told her to ever become?"

There’s no malice in his words, just a quiet, unrelenting curiosity, the kind that can strip away pretenses. "Or is it something deeper? Something you’ve tried to push away? Because from the way you talk... it almost sounds like you’re projecting something onto her. Something about your own relationship to your sister."

His eyes gleam, a flicker of something almost predatory in his gaze—not cruel, but deeply incisive. “Tell me, Yoshizawa-san. Was it easier when Kasumi was around? Easier to let her lead? Easier to follow, to fawn over her, to let her define your life because it spared you from having to define it yourself?”

The air between them feels charged, and Maruki straightens, his voice taking on a razor-sharp edge. “You don’t need to answer, of course. But the way you came in here, swinging that bat like a weapon—it says more than words ever could.”

His eyes soften, just a fraction, though his tone remains pointed. “I don’t say this to hurt you. But you came looking for answers, didn’t you? So let’s not pretend this is all about me. Because if it were, you wouldn’t be standing here. You’d be with Midnight, trying to help her instead of using her as an excuse to lash out at someone who is still trying to comprehend her situation like you are.”

There’s a pause, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air before he adds, almost as an afterthought, "And while you’re at it, let go of my hoodie. Please."

[deerinheadlights]

Maruki tells Fawn that his Sumire asked for it, but from what she heard from the Phantom Thief leader before..."If I'm guessing right that Sumire also walked into oncoming traffic, so maybe a better therapist wouldn't encourage her suicidal ideation. Just a thought."

He keeps going. Telling her that it was easier to fawn for Kasumi than live her life on her own terms. That if she actually cared she'd be with Midnight instead of lashing out. His voice is cold, clinical. It makes her blood boil that he thinks he can pick apart her words and tell her anything like he knows her.

Maruki tells her to let go of the hoodie but she had long since snapped at him telling her that she fawned for Kasumi because it was easy. She yanks him down to her level and before she realizes her hands are squeezing around his throat. "Don't act like you know me." Her words are cold. "You know the answers I came looking for and if I wanted the man who actualized almost every other version of me into something she isn't what my problem is I would have asked. Don't tell me who I'm afraid of or what my relationship to Kasumi was when you've known me for five minutes." Her hands squeeze tighter, not caring what the consequences are. She just wants to see him hurt.

TW: HEAVY SUICIDAL THOUGHTS PROCEED WITH CAUTION

[takutomaruki]

And what if that wasn't enough?

What if she woke up- everyday, blaming herself for her sister's death. Her other half. What if Kasumi meant everything to her? What if her dreams meant everything to her and she felt undeserving to live? Unable to live with that despair? What if going to a therapist would force her to accept that she killed her own sister and that was FINE because she didn't know better?

"You think your words mean anything to me?" he rasps, his voice cracking but still laced with sharp defiance. A bitter smile stretches across his face, and he lets out a short, ragged laugh. "They don’t. Especially if they don’t serve her wish. You don’t even know what that is, do you?"

None of you get it.

A coward. Someone who couldn't even throw a damn punch without thinking about what the other person would think. His insides felt like they would go mush at any moment and Sumire's force, unfortunately for her, just work as echoes and ghastly ripples in his psyche. He remembers her bright smile and then the wild screams as she begged for a release. That time, his only urge was to give and give until he doesn't exist. Until every inch of his story existence makes someone else's life better. It gnaws away at him. Just as his words, as he knew, gnawed away at the girl in front of him.

It isn't long until he finds Fawn's hands on his throat. As any other human, his hand lurches out- gripping it by the wrists and he's about to use his force; break her arms or something but finally he realizes it.

This isn't punishment.

This is a release.

"You all...are such hypocrites," he couldn't help but confess as he feels her fingers against his throat. He fucking hopes this Sumire never gets the reconcilement with herself like she probably deserves. He hopes the regret is there when she looks at herself in the mirror and thinks about what she couldn't be. Why? Did his words hurt her that much?

His lips stretch into an unsettling smile like he's finally lost it.

Therapy? A therapist wouldn’t have fixed her. It wouldn’t have fixed me. Therapy doesn’t erase the nightmares. It doesn’t bring back the dead. It just teaches you to live with the fact that you destroyed everything you loved... and that’s supposed to be okay?

To make things better for her, he falls to his knees.

Maruki’s lips twitch, a hollow grin spreading across his face. His laughter, faint and cracking, fills the air around them.

"Do it," he rasps, his voice barely audible. "Take it all. Take my breath. My life. My everything... because it won’t matter. I can’t fix her. I can’t fix any of you."

"Get it out of my head." His voice swells. "Please. Please- get it out. GET IT OUT-"

Within the maelstrom of his despair, Maruki hears a sound—a low, guttural roar reverberating through his mind. It swells into a deafening scream, shattering the tenuous silence in his head like glass splintering under pressure.

"GET UP."

The voice is inhuman, its tone vibrating with a raw, primal rage. Azathoth’s presence flares within him, a blazing inferno of eldritch energy that refuses to be ignored. The words slice through the haze of suffocation and grief, pulling Maruki’s thoughts into sharp focus.

"You weak, sniveling fool. Do you think this is the end? Do you think you can escape so easily?!"

The air around them grows heavier, charged with Azathoth’s fury, warping reality further. The tentacles of Maruki’s Persona manifest around him, coiling and writhing with agitation, slamming into the ground and nearby walls as if driven by its own anger. The cheerful music of the place shifts and yet, Maruki doesn't raise a finger at her. He lets his hands fall to his sides and takes it.

[deerinheadlights]

"I know enough!" She hisses at him. "I know exactly what it's like to know that she'd never feel good enough to feel as worthy as Kasumi! It had nothing to fucking do with the guilt or the grief, it was wishing that she'd be half as loved as herself as she would being Kasumi's cheap copy! You don't think I don't know exactly what that's like?"

He grins at her, telling her to take his life. She's not doing it for him and she couldn't care less what he feels. She wants to see him drop dead. "You're right you can't fix me. I'm not fucking broken, and I don't want you to. I don't want to be treated like I'm only good as my worst impulses. I don't need to be told what's best for me, I don't want anyone else to tell me who I am or should be. That's not fixing anything and you damn well know that!"

The air gets dark, eminating with something that seems like a Persona, but it seems more like it's puppeting Maruki rather than the Persona being subervient to him. He hasn't raised a hand to fight her though. She tightens her grip in the hopes that she can at least get the Persona out of the area. Even if she still wants to watch the light leave Maruki's eyes.

[takutomaruki]

I'm not fucking broken.

Yeah, Maruki finds that hard to believe. By every damn angle. Her every worst impulse, her being unable to process her own trauma and turning into something akin to a blade- does she really think she can fool him?

Well, it didn't matter in the end.

He feels himself collapse and wheezing out loud- his brain screaming as he clutches his own hoodie to prevent his hands from trying to reach for her. He desperately tries to ground himself, desperately tells himself that he doesn't want to hurt her when his brain struggles against the injustice of it all. These preachy stupid fucking teenagers...

His dark impulses want to rip everything apart. Rip himself apart till there's nothing left.

"You’ll hate yourself forever," he whispers, his voice barely audible now, his voice barely audible, yet each word cuts like glass. It’s not a plea—it’s a curse, raw and venomous. As if he were making a prayer to the cruel gods above them for trying to disembowel the love Sumire had for her sister. "And maybe then... you’ll understand."

His mind feels like it’s being split in two—one half drowning in despair, the other consumed by Azathoth’s unrelenting rage.

"You are MINE," Azathoth roars, its voice echoing like thunder in his skull. "And I will not let you waste what remains of us. Fight back. Hold on. Do whatever it takes to survive, because if you die—if you fail—then I am nothing. NOTHING!"

The tentacles lash out wildly, slamming into the ground near Fawn, not to harm but to force her back. The sheer force of Azathoth’s will creates a small shockwave, disrupting the moment of violence as if tearing through the fabric of reality itself.

"Do you hear me, Maruki?!" The voice is insistent, a relentless command that won’t allow him to surrender. "You will NOT end us like this! You will fight, because that’s all we have left!"

"Azathoth...stop-" He clutches his chest as if trying to tear out the agony festering inside him. "Get out of my-"

The tentacles lash out. Finally. As if Azathoth actually latched onto whatever sprite of living Maruki held within him.
One tentacle wraps around her waist, another binds her hands, pinning her to the wall with a force that leaves the structure groaning under the impact. It’s as if a truck had collided with her, the sheer power making her body go slack for a moment.

Maruki collapses to his knees, clutching at his throat as he gasps for air. His wheezing fills the silence, his breath ragged and desperate. And then, against all odds, he chuckles—a bitter, raw sound that echoes hollowly in the shattered space around them.

"...Well,” he croaks, his voice rasping but tinged with grim humor. “I can’t say I blame it.” He shakes his head, trembling hands pressed against his chest. “Not like I was actually going to die. That's the one wish that can't be fulfilled.”

He coughs, finally managing to straighten himself, his gaze falling on Fawn. There’s no warmth in his eyes—only cold disdain, sharp and unyielding, as if he were looking at something far beneath him.

"Do you have any damn empathy?" he hisses, his voice trembling with raw anguish. “Do you even understand what it’s like to wake up every day knowing you failed? Knowing that you couldn’t save the one person who meant everything to you? To see her face every time you close your eyes and know that it’s your fault she’s gone? That she’s dead because of you?!”

The tentacles retract slightly, their movements agitated, mirroring the storm brewing inside him. Maruki straightens further, his expression hardening into something almost cruel.

"You cling to your pain like it’s your lifeline!" he growls, his teeth bared, his eyes burning with fury. "You claim you want to heal, but you don’t. You don’t! All of you spit on the idea of change, of salvation, like it’s a joke. Because if you let go of your suffering, then what’s left of you? Without it, who the hell are you?"

“And you—you think you’re helping her?” His voice rises, sharp and scathing, cutting through the air like a blade. “Midnight doesn’t need someone who can’t even face their own pain. Someone who lashes out instead of helping. You don’t want to fix her. You just want to drag her down with you. You’re the one who’s dangerous to her, not me.”

[deerinheadlights]

He tells her that hating herself forever is the only thing that could make her understand. She had spent so much time hating herself that he couldn't fathom. And so much of it was Kasumi's damn fault.

The Persona lashes out, beating her around like a ragdoll. When she's peeling herself off the ground her nose is bleeding. Maruki asks her if she has any empathy. Telling her that she has no idea to know that the person she cares the most about is dead because of her.

It's funny almost. She can't help but laugh. "I killed her myself. I think I have some idea, asshole. And I still don't have any empathy for you for doing what you did."

He says she clings to her pain like it's a lifeline, but he's not talking about her. He's talking about some malignant salvation. "Oh and forgetting everything and putting your head in the sand is healing? You're putting a bandaid on a bullet wound and calling it all better, ignoring anything's wrong as you bleed out with a picture perfect smile. Cuz that's the point isn't it? If you look happy enough who can tell there's a world of rot beneath?" It's a farce. A projection of perfection. She understands that damn well too.

She stands up on wobbly knees, laughing like it's some kind of joke. Devoid of punchline, but it's funny anyway. "Maybe I am, but you aren't some magnanimous savior, finding the quickest shortcut to a plastic happiness and calling it salvation...you're no better than some festering infection."

Silence hangs in the air for several moments. "Are we done here? If you're not gonna help with her actualization you're no use to me, and I have no need to hear your self aggrandizing prattling."

[takutomaruki]

"I killed her myself. I think I have some idea, asshole. And I still don't have any empathy for you for doing what you did."

Maruki's pushes himself up, grasping the words his ears seemed to deduce through the haze of this madness that had only just begun to unfold before his eyes. “What the...you're," his lips quivered. "-you're serious." Despite how calmly he said those words, he might as well have spat them out, his voice raw and unsteady, every word dripping with disbelief. “You... you killed her? You killed your own sister?”

The words tasted bitter as he said them aloud, his chest heaving. He struggled to reconcile the image he had of Sumire—the gentle, kind-hearted girl he’d always known, who had already endured more than anyone her age should—with the cold-blooded murderer standing before him.

It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t.

...you're no better than some festering infection.

"She didn't understand what was happening, but the Shadow said some awful things, and she... lashed out, I suppose."

His breath hitched as the realization sank in. The codename on the board.

"Fawn, isn't it? That's you."

“You actually think that... that this is better?” he snarled, straightening up despite the throbbing pain. There was a sharpness in his voice now, one that wasn’t there before, cutting through the weight of his disbelief. “You think revenge and murder somehow make you... righteous? Like that’s some kind of better way to live? That’s rich. Really rich. I pity your lot.”

His lip curled slightly in disdain, but there was no satisfaction in it, only bitterness. “You people... you’re so blinded by your so-called justice that you can’t see how disgusting it all is. Trading one tragedy for another, thinking it’ll balance the scales." It makes him sick to the very core.

He let out a shaky breath, his glare faltering just slightly as something else pierced through his anger—concern. Genuine worry, despite everything. He hated it, but it was there, clawing at him from the edges of his thoughts.

"What do you mean help with her actualization?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “What are you planning to do to Midnight? Hasn't she suffered enough from your judgement? At the hands of all of you?"

C

[herewardbound]

As long as the playlist includes no Mariah Carey, I could be convinced.


Honestly, it was probably a good idea to show, anyway. Just... to make sure. He wasn't particularly happy about that prospect, but... it wouldn't leave him alone.

[takutomaruki]

[Oh, he...responded. Maruki can't help but think back on their conversation again as he finds himself hesitating before replying anyway. Albeit casually.]

The songs I chose so far are leaning more towards old 80s and 90s Japanese pop with some English classics here and there.
I did read on the board that you have...some sort of connection to musicals. I won't put any Mariah Carey but you could let me know if you have any sort of preference to other songs. I can accomodate them.

[herewardbound]

I feel like jazz tends to go over well with this crowd, but that might be my personal bias speaking.

Who all have you... invited to this?

locked to birb

[takutomaruki]

Oh right, the jazz club. Kurusu-kun used to speak of them visiting that place together.

Well
I have invited all legal adults I know and can comprehend
I have Izaya on my written list but I am...not sure if I should invite him or not.

and then there is Toshiro-san, Zenkichi-san, Katsuya-san (I know they are cops and politicians but this is precisely why I am organizing this party to prevent hostility) and well- there are others but I am yet to hear back from them.
I was actually talking to Igor about who were the other adults like me. Right now, the list is sort of short and I want to keep it that way

Again you don't have to come. I understand if I make you uncomfortable

d

[pheasantboy]

Well, this is ... unusual. Akechi stares up at the dangling, cat-eared, unrecognisable figure, uncertain quite what to do. Nothing he remembers has prepared him for this.

"Hello, sir!" he calls up. "Do you need help?"

[takutomaruki]

Maruki’s face lights up in visible relief at the sound of a voice. Oh my god—someone came to help! But as he cranes his neck to look down, the relief evaporates instantly.

His eyelids droop. An Akechi. Of course.

He stifles a groan, forcing a strained, cheerful smile as he adjusts his grip on the increasingly agitated cat. Helpless tourist, Maruki. Stick to the persona. Right, what accent was I using—

CRACK!!

The branch gives way entirely. With no time to think, Maruki lets himself fall, holding the cat tightly against his chest.

The branch snaps, and Maruki plummets to the ground, landing squarely on his backside. The cat squirms in his arms, but he keeps his hold firm. His glasses are crooked, his hoodie is askew, and he lets out a theatrical groan as he scrambles to sit upright.

Well, that could’ve gone better, he thinks to himself.

“Sorry!” he blurts in English, forcing a laugh with an exaggerated American twang once He was once again glad that he went to a small internship program abroad during his masters but he really didn't think he would be using that experience in this context. “Didn’t mean to, uh... climb on public property or whatever!” He awkwardly adjusts his glasses and clutches the now-silent cat closer to his chest.

[pheasantboy]

As the branch cracks and breaks, he runs forward with a gasp, dropping to the ground next to ... what sure is a man ... in a hoodie ... with a cat. But why is he speaking bad English, of all things? He's a little embarrassed for him.

"Hello," he tries again, in accented English, tending more towards the UK than to America. "Are you injured, sir? Is this your cat?"

Someone appropriately attuned might be able to sense something odd about him, beyond his weirdly open manner and his shallow affect: a hole, almost, gaping within his psyche, tainted. As if something dark and alien intruded, and made itself at home, and then was forcibly removed.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki let out a strained laugh as he adjusted his glasses, still clutching the now-docile cat tightly against his chest. He was about to answer Pheasant’s question when a sharp, almost deafening shriek echoed in his ears—not from the world around him, but from somewhere deep within his mind, like the resonant cry of a wounded, shattered psyche.

He froze, his breath catching as his vision seemed to blur and darken at the edges. When he looked up, it wasn’t Pheasant standing before him anymore—not entirely.

It was something fractured, hollow, and wrong.

His gaze locked onto the space around Pheasant’s head, and it hit him like a freight train.

The air seemed to shimmer faintly, unnervingly. He could see it—the tendrils of cognitive energy trailing off into nothingness, like frayed wires sparking and writhing in the void. The gaping absence, a wound carved into the very fabric of this person’s mind, was almost too horrific to comprehend.

It wasn’t just a wound; it was a severance, an obliteration of something essential, something that tethered him to himself.

And then there was the sound—a distant, keening wail, faint but ceaseless.

It wasn’t just pain; it was despair trying to claw its way out of an abyss, its echo eerily reminiscent of the shadows Maruki had encountered in the deepest recesses of Mementos.

Maruki’s body tensed, his eyes widening slightly. What... what is this? What did I...? His thoughts tangled, spiraling as realization dawned. He hadn’t just seen this before—he had done this before. This was his work, his doing, etched onto the mind of this man before him.

"But you're always in the right, aren't you, Maruki-san? Nothing could ever make you doubt yourself, could it?! No matter what you did! No matter your self-centred presumption!"

The cat let out a concerned meow, squirming slightly in his arms, its reaction breaking the heavy silence. Maruki blinked, trying to gather himself, but his throat was dry, and his voice refused to form.

[pheasantboy]

This is no good, no good at all. The man must have hit his head. Akechi comes closer, rests a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, reaching to remove those alarming heart-shaped sunglasses.

"Let me see...."

[takutomaruki]

When he came close, Maruki still felt himself spiral- like he was clutching at the very rivulets of water itself- that's how ridiculous that whole thing was-

So when he felt the hand on his shoulder and that hand coming after him he cried out "NO!" in pure japanese as he backed away from him like he personally stung him. As he knew it, by heart.

Then he paused, heaving a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. "That’s-" Once again he shifts to English. "That’s...no for japanese, er- I mean, no in Japanese. Right? Or is it-" he blinks and catches his bearings. This time the english was near perfect, hopefully. "Or is it- Ha-i? I think that means yes."

He caresses the cat's forehead as if it was his only way to cope with all of this.

[pheasantboy]

"Ii darou," he murmurs, humouring the guy: close enough. But where does he know that voice from..?

He turns his attention to the cat, which is struggling in the man's arms, claws out. A scratch behind its ears results only in a furious hiss, as one flailing paw breaks free. "Ow!"

It's drawn blood. He almost puts it to his mouth, then pulls a tissue from his pocket to dab it with.

[takutomaruki]

Sparrow's involvement does once again remind the cat of its unease and when Maruki finally manages to catch his bearings, the cat tries to leap at his face to get rid of his glasses.

Thankfully he knows better than to try and finally lets the stray go. The cat hops up onto his shoulder to get out of his presence, rushing away from the Frankenstein and his monster.

"Yeah, that's...not my cat," he says slowly as he turns and pushes himself up- straightening himself in an almost instant but it makes him nearly keel over. He wobbles, the shriek resonating from the Akechi before him as he clutches his head. "Okay, I am okay-!" he tries to steady himself, grasping onto his bearings carefully.

"Sorry about all that," he levels a careful look at the Akechi- finally getting his bearings with the foreign language. "Are you, do you need a bandage?"

[pheasantboy]

"Oh, no," he enunciates in English, smiling brightly, every syllable careful and most not quite perfect as he checks beneath the tissue. "It's okay. But I'm worried about you."

Because really, the guy in the—clothes, let's call them that—the guy pretending to be a foreigner, must have fallen a good five metres out of that tree. Has he injured his spine? Is he concussed?

"Take it easy. Please don't sit up too fast. What is your name?"

[takutomaruki]

I am worried about you.

Maruki can't even pretend like he doesn’t want to hear those words because even before, with Midnight- things were different.

This is something else. Altogether.

"My name, right its-" he takes a deep breath as he shakes his head again. "...Shibusawa Ayato." The words rolled off on his tongue.

"I know, I know—super Japanese name for a guy whose Japanese sucks," he added with a self-deprecating laugh. "I grew up in the States," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle, his posture slightly more relaxed now. "I guess that explains the less-than-stellar landing too, huh?"

[pheasantboy]

He's going to have to try harder than that, to convince even Sparrow. Fortunately, as Maruki gives his friend's name, the name Akechi once knew from his Palace, his eyes unfocus for the merest of split seconds.

(as something twitches in his mind; as one of those golden traceries, as unlike the open wound inside him as it's possible to be, adjusts itself, grows, thickens the tiniest bit)

"Ah no, no, Mr Shibusawa," he says, choosing his words carefully. "Thank you for saving the cat, even if he was"—unkind? impolite? reluctant? what are the nuances here?—"bad," he concludes. "But I think you may not be okay? Please let me look."

Eyes fixed on the man's face, he reaches for those glasses again, to remove them.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki’s hand shot out instinctively, closing around Akechi’s wrist as he moved to remove the glasses.

The moment their skin met, a searing jolt tore through him—a sensation that wasn’t just physical but cognitive, burning through his very awareness.
His breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, he felt it again: the void, the unbearable shriek, the shadow of his own influence carved into Akechi’s psyche.

[pheasantboy]

Okay, something is really wrong here. It's not just a bad feeling; Akechi has a lot of those, gone the next second. No, it's a knowing; an ominous, foreboding feeling that threatens to rip away everything he is.

As Maruki's hand closes on his wrist, he breaks the grip with unexpected force, flying backwards all at once with something dreadful in his face. Something violent; something foreign-yet-not; something not alien at all, but agonisingly human. Something that Maruki might even recognise, from the thing that lives in the tunnels below Shibuya.

But, as soon as there's a safe distance between the two of them, he blinks, and is just a boy again—or at least, the boy he seemed to be.

"Mr Shibusawa..?" he murmurs, confused, the intonation less careful. He begins in Japanese, before remembering his English. "What did I... did something happen?"

[takutomaruki]

LIAR! MONSTER! I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!

Those were the words that felt missing in that face. In that forceful pull where every inch within him screamed like there was nothing to even be angry about. Maruki didn't need to have his powers to know that something was deeply...deeply wrong about all of this.

This doesn’t...

And then it was as if watching the state of a board being wiped clean. The perception of it, the imprints of marker drawn across the white canvas- now blurred to inconsequential circumstances.

"You said," Maruki answers this time, speaking in English still as if it were some way to connect with the boy next to him. His expression remained serious, despite his ridiculous get up. Deep in thought.

"The cat was bad," he began. "For scratching us. Even after I tried saving it."

"Did you think it was...ungrateful?"

[pheasantboy]

What a remarkable question. Why would Akechi think that? Perhaps they're both struggling with their English. He blinks across the several metres between them, without wondering any more about how he got there.

"It's a cat," he says, wishing again for the detail of Japanese. "Cats are always ungrateful, aren't they? Mr Shibusawa, are you hurt?"

[takutomaruki]

Maruki wishes he could tell Sparrow what was going on.

Truly. Deeply. It's clear that boy needs it, more than anyone at this point but something gives him a pause. Whether its the fact that he can only percieve him as a shell of everything else is- he doesn't know what to do about this situation.

It felt reminscent to Rumi.

"...No. I am fine," he pushes again- shaking his head as he pulls his hoodie over his wrist to cover the scratch marks and offers him a faint smile. "And well- I suppose you would be right about that. It's survival instincts turn a blind eye to everything else," he stepped foward- closing the several metres of distance between them. "Even safety."

"Are you okay? You seem uneasy."