Captain Akira Kurusu (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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personavelvetroomdr2025-01-16 11:38 pm
captainkurusu) wrote in personavelvetroomdr2025-01-16 11:38 pm
Entry tags:
[Open Intro] a pirate's life for me
I. In the Velvet Room
The sight of an Akira in a long black coat and a high-necked gray vest is no rarity around these parts, but the one currently studying the conspiracy board is different. He has gold earrings, for one thing, and his clothes have a different style: hand-sewn wool and linen, not the slick, modern leather of Metaverse garb. His casual, hands-in-pockets slouch as he studies the conspiracy board, however, should look familiar to almost anyone.
Well. Anyone who knows an Akiren, anyway.
At the sound of anyone approaching him, Captain Akira turns sharply, his right hand flying to the hilt of the cutlass hanging from his belt. Depending on who he sees, he’ll say one of the following things:
If the character approaching him is an Akiren, his eyes widen briefly in surprise. Then he puts his hands on his hips, studying his double with interest. “You look oddly familiar, somehow,” he quips. “I’m afraid I can’t place you, though.”
If the character approaching him is an Akechi, the choked syllable “Go–” escapes him before he can stop it. Then he cuts himself off, smiling in apology. “Excuse me. I mistook you for someone else.”
If the character approaching him is anyone else, he nods a polite greeting and points at the conspiracy board. “Did you write this?” he asks cheerfully. “ ‘For mine own part, it is Greek to me.’ ”
Whether the character he addresses recognizes the quote or not, Akira’s puzzled expression translates its meaning clearly: Hey. What the hell is this?
II. In Tokyo
Tokyo is the last place Akira ought to set foot in--so of course, it’s the first place he does. To his disappointment, the city beyond the door is all but unrecognizable, full of bright lights and strange buildings and marvels Akira can’t begin to puzzle out. Even so, a vague familiarity remains, an instinct leading him deeper and deeper into the urban sprawl.
Any character passing through Shibuya can find Akira just off of Center Street, standing outside the door to Untouchable with a bemused expression on his face. He runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, turning to smile at whoever is watching him.
“This place has changed a great deal since I saw it last,” he jokes. “Then again, I was a bit preoccupied the last time I was here.”
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The parallel wasn’t lost on him. Maybe this kid had a similar philosophy. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Zenkichi’s mouth. “Nice blade, by the way,” he added casually, his tone friendly but measured. “Not something you see every day. Looks like it’s seen its fair share of action.”
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This man is the first genuine stranger Akira has met since he arrived, which means he could be one of the cops Drake warned him about. He'll hold off on bragging about his prowess with a sword until he knows for sure.
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He stops his analysis when Akira finally introduces himself.
He stops, his eyes widening behind the rather inexpressive mask. "Captain...?" He schools his expression into something more even. A few questions hang in his head.
So like...captain of one of the legislative precints or captain of some vehicle?
Instead he hums along. "Well, I will be damned," he raises a brow.
"Say- this is a random question but have you met a certain Amamiya-kun who goes by the codename Drake yet?"
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He tilts his head at the follow-up question. "I have indeed. But I don't believe I caught your name yet, Mr.--?"
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Maybe Kurusus have a different sort of...
His thoughts were interrupted when Akira pushed again for his name, his calm yet pointed tone nudging the conversation back on track. Zenkichi stilled for a moment, his hand unconsciously brushing the brim of his hat.
He started slow, his grin faint but growing as he spoke. "You know, it’s funny," he began, his voice tinged with amusement. "I’m one of the lucky few who got to see Drake’s pure, unfiltered reaction when someone introduced themselves with an authoritative title over the network." He probably barely tolerates him, honestly. "Like hmm...so you're a cop. Great," he deadpans despite never hearing Drake's voice but Akane gave him some directive in return for that. "I was just going to suggest that you should probably offer the words- 'sea captain' shortly after your introduction."
He adjusted his hat, lowering the brim slightly as his expression turned just a touch more serious. "As for me," he said, his tone steady but not without its usual ease, "the name’s Zenkichi Hasegawa. But I’d appreciate it if you called me Wolf."
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"I appreciate the warning, Mr. Wolf, but I had no such problems with Drake. I found him quite pleasant and helpful when we spoke." He removes his hand from his sword and gestures at himself, his eyebrows rising. "Perhaps our inherent similarities helped."
Still wearing his mask btw (1/2)
Zenkichi leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he regarded Akira’s polite-but-pointed response. The tight smile, the clipped words—he’d seen this act before. Too many times on experimented persona individuals.
He's been seeing patterns with the Akiras and Rens here from the various discussion posts online- save for a few exceptions. Tricksters of fate. Insanely capable Wild Cards who’d pulled off feats of absurdity: fighting gods, surviving cosmic calamities, tipping the scales of fate itself. And here he was, after over a dozen years wrestling with the Metaverse, barely scratching the surface of what they’d managed to accomplish. Damn it.
The memory of how Akira had slipped behind the wall the moment Zenkichi entered the shop surfaced again, sharp and vivid. If it weren’t for the heat signatures or the cognitive readings from his visor, he might’ve reacted a bit more… explosively. As it stood, Zenkichi knew better than to jump to conclusions, but he couldn’t deny what the whole setup implied.
This Akira wasn’t just aware. He was prepared.
When Akira called him “Mr. Wolf,” Zenkichi made a face, the corners of his lips twitching downward in faint irritation. In the back of his head, Akane snickered, her amusement clear.
“Well, isn’t that convenient,” Zenkichi muttered under his breath, lips twitching into a faint smirk. Tricksters, Wild Cards—whatever flavor of Akira or Ren this guy was, Zenkichi had been informed enough of them to know two things: they were absurdly capable, and they had a knack for turning situations sideways.
He hummed thoughtfully, letting the moment breathe before reaching up to remove his hat. With a casual motion, he set it down on the glass display beside him, his movements deliberate.
The sleek black hat rested on the counter, and without its shadow, his features came more clearly into focus past the long collar. Long, slightly wavy black hair framed his face, a sharp contrast to the stitched scar that began at the corner of his mouth and disappeared beneath the edges of his visor. The mask, cold and angular, seemed almost fused to his face, a permanent fixture of the man himself.
Releasing his own grasp on his gun, he rolled his shoulders as a slight whirring noise echoed. He would honestly like to get rid of his coat for a bit too but, maybe in a while.
He leaned slightly on the counter, eyes scanning the assortment of weapons with idle curiosity.
“Drake does have a good head on his shoulders,” he said at last, the words casual but thoughtful, as if he’d been weighing them carefully. “Smart kid. Intense, though, if I’m being honest. Had this... drive about him that caught me off guard at first.” Zenkichi glanced at Akira, his eyes sharp but not unkind. He had heard small tid bits from Akane after the two of them talked. “Helpful, too. Even if he comes off a little strong at first, you can tell he means well. Atleast on texts. I don't know in person.”
If they treat Akane like a person...maybe I could-Oh right, the guy didn't have a cellphone on him. Not like anything he could detect anyway and if he was a sailor then he's from a different timeline. He could just force himself in to take a look.
In due time, he supposes.
He paused, letting the words hang between them for a moment before shrugging, a faint grin returning to his face. “But hey, you seem to get along with him just fine, so who am I to say?”
As he was preparing how to ask what timeline the guy is from-
2/2
“Drake’s a solid guy,” she added brightly, her sudden interjection making Zenkichi’s heart skip a beat- who was only expecting her to speak in his head before thinking of revealing herself.
“Jesus, Akane-" His head snapped up just as Akane’s holographic avatar materialized, projected from his wrist.
Akane stood with her usual flair, clad in black pants, a white shirt, and a gray jacket. But this time, she’d accessorized—a jaunty sailor’s hat perched on her head, its brim tilted at a playful angle. Her Featherman mask, the iconic Pink Argus look, completed the ensemble.
And in her hand? A holographic cutlass, faintly glowing with blue light, the design lifted straight from Akira himself. She twirled it once with practiced ease, grinning brightly.
“Like it? I scanned it from you, Captain, and a bunch of online references since I can't make out the entire thing” Akane announced with a mix of pride and playful innocence, pointing the blade lightly in Akira’s direction. “Figured it was only fair I arm myself properly to fit the whole medieval western sailor etiquette you have going on."
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"If it's all the same to you, sir, I try to avoid discussing my friends behind their backs. The last thing I want is to offend anyone, least of all this soon after I arrived." The dagger hidden in Akira's sleeve draws his fingers like a magnet, but he forces himself to be still. "Let's talk about you. That's an interesting mask you're wearing; is there some reason you--?"
He cuts off abruptly as Akane pops into existence, glowing like some sort of miniature ghost. He blinks at her in surprise, unable to make any sense of her comment. "It's very nice," he says, baffled, then looks back up at Zenkichi to explain. "Your partner, I take it?"
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He couldn’t help but wonder about Drake, though. The guy had been active on the network, trading messages and leaving impressions that Zenkichi still couldn’t quite pin down. Intense, sure, but there was something else—something about him that nagged at the back of Zenkichi’s mind. Especially with his questions. It was strange, wasn’t it? Talking with someone so much, yet never really knowing who they were.
Not that he was about to admit any of that aloud.
Akira’s question about his mask tugged Zenkichi back to the present, and he opened his mouth to tell him to shut the fuck up about that topic—when Akane’s sudden arrival derailed the moment entirely.
The glowing cutlass bent unnaturally in her hand as she tested its weight, twisting it in ways no real blade could move. "I could make a better one in the metaverse, honestly."
Zenkichi let out a low, wounded groan, muttering under his breath at Akira’s question. “Sure, you can say that.”
Akane grinned and immediately chimed in, “I’m his supervisor, actually.” She gave the cutlass a particularly dramatic swing, watching it bend and curl in the air like it was made of rubber. “So technically, I’m his senior.”
Zenkichi snorted, turning toward her with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’re my senior? Give me a break.”
“I mean, you do take orders from me,” Akane replied, spinning the cutlass before planting it on the floor in mock triumph.
Zenkichi rolled his eyes but let the banter hang in the air for a moment before straightening, his expression softening as he turned back to Akira. “She’s my...ugh. You probably don't know about artificial intelligence, much less about CCAI's or...” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. “She assists me. But yeah, she’s part of the #8910 Unhuman unit. Been with me through some tough scrapes.”
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He bows very formally to Akane, refusing to acknowledge Zenkichi's explanation in the slightest.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, supervisor," he says, ever-so-sweetly. "Your job must be quite difficult. I apologize for not recognizing your rank sooner."
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"Oh, its SOO very difficult," she shakes her head dramatically. "But fear not, I forgive thee for your ignorance and rest assured- I promise I will keep Wolf in line."
"Hey-!" Zenkichi grits his teeth- his face barely obscured by his high collar as he turns to look their way. "Did you just ignore what I said-?! Come on now- I do the heavy lifting here-!"
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"Thank you kindly; I appreciate your patience. How would you prefer to be addressed? I fear your underling needs a remedial course in making introductions."
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He let out a sharp exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is just fantastic.” His glare flicked between Akane and Akira, both of whom were clearly reveling in this.
“Brats,” he muttered under his breath.
Akane just smirked, tilting her head in mock thought. “Hmm. Well, if I must be addressed by title, I suppose ‘Chief Navigator of Digital Operations and Conduct’ has a nice ring to it.”
Zenkichi gave her a flat look. “That’s way too long.”
She shrugged. “I could shorten it to C-N-Doc, but that makes me sound like a prescription.”
Out of either of them, Zenkichi likes to think that the one who needs a remedial course is the boy in front of him. For all intents and purposes.
Zenkichi let out a short, bitter laugh before he simply proceeded to vault over the glass display, legs hiking and landing with the grace of a man less than half his age; like it was the most natural thing in the world. He landed with a solid thud on the other side.
“—Sorry kid. Your sheer hospitality just blew me away to the very spot I needed to be.”
He stretched his arms out like he owned the place before promptly starting to weave through the supplies, eyeing the inventory with an appraising glance before flicking his gaze. "Not that I would place that hospitality anywhere close to someone being a merchant."
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And there goes the affronted cop, vaulting over the counter with a surprising amount of agility. Akira gives him an even look and shrugs, immediately wary again.
"As I told you, officer, this isn't my shop. Nor did I ever claim to be a merchant. Only a sailor." His voice hardens. "Is that a problem?"
1/2
Did this mean she's...part of his crew now?
She herself was cut off by the remaining active air that Zenkichi kept bringing to the table. She did want to speak to this sailor seperately but she might have to look into showing him the basic chops of technology first if they wanted to get anywhere.
Well, that was an easy reminder.
Instead, she turned her attention back to Zenkichi just in time to see him musing aloud.
“Oh, so you could hear me,” he said, almost disappointed. “That’s a shame.” He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Guess that means my camouflage mod isn’t working.”
Akane gave him the flattest look imaginable. “Maybe don’t make that joke,” she deadpanned.
Zenkichi snorted. “You’re no fun.”
His attention shifted back to Akira, catching the way his tone hardened ever so slightly. The easy smile Zenkichi had been wearing faltered, slipping into something closer to a frown before he schooled his expression back into something neutral.
2/2
He rolled a shoulder, glancing over the supplies with a nonchalant air. “Hate to break it to you, Captain, but that was my previous job. I’m just a Shadow Enforcer now. No jurisdiction badge, just a weapon ID attached to me.” He met Akira’s gaze evenly. “So unless you’re actively committing genocide, mass murder or—I dunno—sacrificing people for a large cultish following sworn to some malevolent god, then we don’t need to make this a problem.”
"Unless...you are I mean-"
A beat.
He shrugged. “But hey, I’ve seen weirder things. There are literal god-like figures running around here, so, y’know—anything’s possible.”
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Joker folds his arms and lifts his chin, defiant. "You have treated me with condescension from the moment you entered this shop. You have no right to expect to be given respect in return. So, out with it. What exactly do you suspect me of?"
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The words cut sharper than they had any right to.
"Removing a man from his past doesn't remove his past from him."
His smirk vanished. Like a switch being flipped.
For a second, just a fraction of one, he felt like the Inspector again. Like the man who carried a badge heavier than it had any right to be, who had realized all too late that he was too naive to see the chains it came with. And now, standing here, being assessed by this man as if he were still wearing it, still shackled by it—
Yeah. Maybe that was fair. Maybe he’d earned that.
The rest of it didn’t help. The accusation of condescension stuck deeper than he liked. The realization of what it made him—who it made him. A walking shadow of the very superiors who had once kept him under their boot, a man who had spent too long on the other end of the leash and still, still, couldn't shake the imprint it had left on him.
His hand lifted, scratching idly at his neck, fingers brushing into a metallic port embedded there and promised himself a decent bout of alcohol in these next coming days. He exhaled, long and slow, schooling his tone into something lighter. Roundabout. Nonchalant.
“Y’know,” he started, tilting his head, “if I really wanted to be an ass, I’d say that was just my natural charm.” A pause. “But, well—guess that’d make me a hypocrite, huh?”
His mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk but didn’t quite manage it. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing aside.
“Truth be told, I never really thought you were a merchant.” His tone was lighter again, easygoing, like this was all just friendly banter. He gestured lazily toward the cutlass- now looking ahead to address the matter. “From the stance, the guard, the way you carry yourself—it doesn’t fit the story. I’ve been hearing stories about people here. Different mirrors of the same individual. I suppose I can see that would also bring as much harm as it brings good.”
He tilted his head, watching him carefully. “So, I made an educated guess. If you’re not some run-of-the-mill trader, and you are leading a crew on a ship, then—” He shrugged. “Pirate.”
Zenkichi met his gaze evenly, waiting for the man to confirm or deny.
“Hypothesis sound to you, Captain?”
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Despite his bravado, his face is far too young to have had that long of an adult career. However old and mature he might look to the other Akirens, a man Zenkichi's age is far more likely to spot the truth.
Akira glances over at the door to the forge, oddly wistful. "When I found out there were no ships here, I half-expected to find my room in the local jail. But my past isn't done with me either, it seems; this was the last place I ever worked on land."
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Theatrics. That was the first thing he clocked. The whole grand presentation, the sweeping gestures, the way this Akira moved like he was stepping onto a stage rather than answering a simple question.
And that quote..?
If Akira was a captain then...
What's he quoting? Zenkichi quipped in her server- almost a split second.
Her remark followed just a few milliseconds after- Hamlet apparently. Act 2, Scene 5.
Ah. So that's just how he is.
He exhaled, half a sigh, half something vaguely amused. Alright. Fine.
But then the words actually registered.
It was one thing to hear someone talk up their achievements—hell, he’d met his fair share of cocky braggarts, and he could usually pick out the ones who were full of it. But this wasn’t boasting. It wasn’t even defensive. This Akira just... said it. Like it was fact. Like it wasn’t a damn miracle he had lived through all of that long enough to be here, standing in this shop, answering him with Shakespeare quotes.
A merchant sailor. A pirate. A commander of a sloop. Years of sailing under his belt, before that—
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait—
Zenkichi stared. Years?
And that—that right there—was what made Zenkichi’s smirk falter again.
His gaze flickered over the younger man’s face—younger being the key word here. Early twenties at best. And yet, here he was, listing off a resume that made Zenkichi’s own twenties sound like child’s play.
"You're being...serious with me right now?" His lips parted, the corners quirking down as he blinked behind a mask that would never fully betray away his surprise- considering how obsolete and opaque it was.
Because damn it, he was concerned.
Not in an obvious, in-your-face kind of way. More like... an old habit that wouldn’t die. Like something in his gut tensing when he saw a kid crying out for their parents. Like the way his fingers twitched toward his belt when he heard something that sounded like a gun being cocked. It was just there.
And this guy? This pirate?
He might’ve been grown—hell, legally an adult, maybe—but there was something about the way he casually said he had spent his history in prison, like it was normal, that made Zenkichi’s gut twist a little. Because that wasn’t normal. None of it was.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Look, I know I’m not anyone remotely close to you, or your parole officer—” he waved a hand, dismissive, “—but you do get how insane that sounds, right?”
"Jesus christ, kid, do you even know what a normal job is? Are you like...the vampire or another reaper or something? Immortal?"
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"Not that insane, surely?" says Joker quietly. "I started my apprenticeship under Mr. Iwai when I was thirteen. A few years later, a merchant captain took an interest in me and bought out the remainder of my indenture. We parted ways when my apprenticeship was over, and the next ship that took me on happened to engage in far less legal forms of trade. It may not have been the straightest path to an occupation, but I assure you, it's far less impressive than it sounds."
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"Thirteen seems way too early of a time to send your kid to someone else," Zenkichi comments lightly- being a father once. Not to mention the overall vagueness of how he simply went from a merchant sailor to....a whole pirate, even by coincidence just didn't fit the bill of what he had seen. Akira Kurusu and Ren Amamiya were prominent names for a reason- he would be damned before he doesn't consider the circumstances. His lips drew down into a frown but he held his hand out and backpeddaled on his own comment. He's seen others here who have been walking around without a guardian for far too long. "But-! I get it. That would be me going back into interrogation territory and actually no, I don't get it at all- probably because of the difference in our years. My early twenties were spent patrolling around in cars till late night and maybe catching a thief once in a while when I was daring. You have one hell of a resume, kid."
It doesn't help that his world, in the near future had also forced many kids to grow up faster than they should have and it reflected upon them for the rest of their life.
Akane's voice speaks right through the otherwise shifting words being exchanged between them.
"...Did they deserve it?"
"Akane..." he winced. "Maybe you shouldn't-"
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Kamoshida. Kobayakawa. Okumura. Madarame. Kaneshiro.
Shido.
He glances at Zenkichi, observing his reaction. "I don't have any illusions about what I do. I do right by my crew, and I repay my debts. That's the most I'll say in my defense."
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The Unit #8910, Wolf.
That’s what they’d been dubbed, a fitting name for the small faction that operated as shadow enforcers on the law bidded by their now ruined world. Or perhaps even working at the edge of it. Zenkichi had worked himself to the bone to uphold to his duty, even if it meant bending the rules. And Akane—well, she was no innocent. After everything that happened with EMMA and her directive given by the Kirijo Group they’d put down jail owners who were too far gone, people whose minds had fractured beyond repair. Sometimes, it wasn’t about justice. Sometimes, it was mercy.
Akira's explanation of his killings—measured, not without regret, but firm in his resolve—wasn’t so far removed from their reality.
But then, everything stopped at the mention of a name.
The words hung heavy in the air, laced with history and venom.
Zenkichi’s stance shifted immediately, tension radiating from every inch of his frame. His gaze darkened with something far more dangerous than suspicion—it was outright hatred. His jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack- his altered canines just a tad bit bigger like a Wolf's now nearly in full display.
“Those bastards exist in your timeline too?” Zenkichi’s voice was low and taut with restrained anger. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. The weight behind those words was enough to make even the air around him seem heavier.
Two names echoed in the man's mind like a curse:
Akira Konoe.
Jyun Owada
The bastards who had orchestrated the EMMA disaster. One of whom he couldn't bring to justice because he had killed the other, the only other witness- trapped in the making of his own abomination.
Madicce, a global IT company in their world, who had unintentionally unleashed EMMA, a rogue AI that promised a utopia but instead brought their society to its knees. It had stripped 80% of the population of their will, their individuality, reducing them to mindless puppets in service of false ideals- left in the coma called The Eternal Sleep. Zenkichi had witnessed the fallout firsthand—seen people collapse under EMMA’s control, watched entire lives torn apart.
And now, to hear that the same company—or at least some version of it—existed in this strange, pirate-filled reality? It was a gut punch neither of them had expected.
I scanned him for tech when we met. He doesn’t have any phones or devices. If he’s from a version of the 1800s, then how...? She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.
Zenkichi responded swiftly, mentally and verbally. “This might be some multiversal thing.” His tone was grim. “Madicce’s reach may extend across more timelines than we realized. We better be vigilant.”
He turned his attention back to Akira, though the intensity in his eyes hadn’t dulled even behind his mask. “Do you really know nothing about AIs? More specifically—Madicce’s ugly little creation. A program called EMMA.”