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.”
no subject
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?"
no subject
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?”
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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-"
no subject
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."
no subject
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.”