nysalogs | ( closed )

[ The rescue op goes quickly enough—they can't afford any less—but the fallout unfolds with agonizing slowness. He helps Clair to safety and goes on auto-pilot after Richie, folding the issue up and carefully pocketing it for later (callous, maybe, but one deals as they must, when they must, and now is neither the time nor place). He fires off some texts because he knows better these days, he doesn't have to deal with this alone. Or maybe it's that he can't—it's hard to keep his eyes open (very literally speaking; even blinking hurts, though at least the thin skin around his eyes is just raw where the neighboring patches on his cheeks crack and peel and blister) and eventually he has to find an empty stretch of Institute hallway to prop himself against the wall.

His mask finally fizzles away as he touches his own cheek gingerly—and the regret is immediate. He withdraws, pressing a knuckle to his teeth to hiss sharply around it. The sting is dizzying now that he gives it a chance to sink in, though maybe it's just the residual fog in his lungs venting into his skull.

And still, he should count himself lucky.

—What a disaster. He slides down to sitting, knocking his head back against the wall with a scoff. ]

Edited 2018-03-21 03:17 (UTC)

[ Though there's enough medicine to stave off the worst of the damage, it's best to leave things to a proper healer—and thankfully, there's one he knows he can count on as soon as he's dragged back home. Akira does a good enough job treating his face in the meantime, but it leaves him with a blinder of bandages, face still stinging beneath the gauze as he stumbles around his own house. He excuses himself as soon as he's able, which means there is now (1) resident lump on their couch, staring intently at the back of his eyelids.

Whenever Ann gets back, he's still awake (not that he could sleep if he tried), forcing himself up to his elbows as he hears the door squeak open. He isn't quite reckless enough to try and walk over, but he may as well greet her properly. Kind of. He makes an effort, pushing back his bangs with his thumb, not that it helps him see her at all, habit taking over. ]

Is that you, Ann?

[ He doubts anyone else would come home early from searching—she's probably only here on Akira's request herself. ]

Edited 2018-03-21 03:14 (UTC)

[ All it took was one word from Akira for Ann to come rushing home as fast as she could. She bursts through the door, quickly kicking off her shoes before charging towards the living room, following Yusuke's voice. ]

Yusuke? Yusuke! Oh my god, your face.

[ Her eyes widen when she sees him. No offense or anything, but it looks pretty horrible right now, even with the bandages covering it. She sits on the edge of the couch, her eyebrows pinching together as she gets a closer look at his face, the edges of the burns peeking out from underneath the gauze. She's dying to ask him what happened, but first things first— ]

Here, let me fix it.

[ spams dia ]

[ Word travels quickly within the Institute, though the signs of trouble have been there from the start. (The spill, the thefts, the missing specimens—) There's basic protocol to follow, security measures implemented to keep staff members safe and accounted for in the event of such a disturbance. Akira's discouraged from leaving his station while the investigations ensue, but he does so anyway, slipping away from the plant nursery as soon as an opportunity presents itself.

...But he has next to no information to work off of, communications scattered and clipped in the chaos. By the time he manages to reach the research wing housing the robotics lab— ]

—Yusuke.

[ Monikers forgotten, he rushes to his side, gut quickly filling with dread. (The stolen nightshade, the report of the contaminant spill nearby, the hostages—) There are too many questions clamoring in his head, and only one he can ask at a time. He keeps rigid check of his emotions, steeling himself and steadying his voice as he's always done for every Palace raid and Mementos dive; he has no other choice. ]

It's Akira. Can you hear me?

[ He seems dazed, and Akira carefully braces a hand against his neck to check the strength of his pulse. (The burns are hard to look at, but he's more concerned about the state of his internals—how much poison had he been exposed to...?) ]

[ Yes, yes. His face is all shades of messed up, he's aware, though thankfully the worst of it isn't exposed to open air or in plain view. They've seen their face share of injury before, but it was different in the Metaverse, like everything was a degree removed from reality

He regrets that she has to see it at all, but her magic douses the wounds with cool relief, and slowly the burns shrink back behind the bandages as he sighs. ]

...Thank you.

[ He reaches up, carefully hooking a thumb under all the dressing to try and lift it as the wounds recede. No dice—seems that Akira might've done too thorough a job. He searches blindly for a knot to untie instead, speaking quietly in the meantime. ]

Don't overexert yourself. [ She's probably had a long day too—they all have. ]

[ Somehow, he's not surprised to hear him. Not just logically—he works here, the city is undermanned, of course Akira's around—but naturally it'd be a fellow thief that spots him first. It makes too much sense for no good reason at all, besides the fact that none of them are very good at leaving anyone well enough alone to stew in their own misery. As expected of his completely unreasonable, wonderful friends.

All the same, he doesn't want to alarm him any more than he already has, so he pushes Akira's hand away by the wrist. No need for that. His heart's still going strong, a little fast, if anything—he'll pull through fine, much as he looks and feels like death right now. ]

Mostly, yes.

[ It's easier to keep his own cool with Akira's composure to anchor onto, and he wastes no more time in trying to sit a little straighter, squaring his shoulders and holding up a hand as though to cut him off at the pass. ]

...It looks worse than it is.

Edited (gurgles) 2018-03-22 16:10 (UTC)

[ ...It seems he at least has the energy to be stubborn. Akira's grateful for a response either way, settling back on his heels to give Yusuke space to conduct himself as he needs. ]

You should get it treated.

[ He's been working in the Institute long enough to know that nothing around here is entirely innocuous. His lips press together in a thin line as he casts a quick glance down the hall, toward the source of the burns. (There are more than enough herbs in his own department for Akira to make a basic poultice, but before he rushes him away for medical attention—) ]

...Are you alone?

[ He doubts Fox would be out here by himself were there hostages left to be saved (no matter how bad his injuries, he'd fight tooth and nail instead of languishing in the hallway), but he needs to ask to be sure. The Phantom Thieves are still a team; they're obliged to fight in each other's stead. ]

[ He grabs Akira's arm, shaking his head vigorously. Not to answer his question, but as an effort to dissuade him from running off—there's no fight left to go back to. It's just the Institute staff pumping the last of the poison out of the room, cleaning and scouring it for clues, traps, bodies (and fingernails slid out their beds, and skin left to yellow and cake wherever it's sloughed off, and too much else). Even though the thieves' chat is always his first contact, there's a reason he rang up Boxer instead. He doesn't need to go—he shouldn't. ]

Everyone's been freed.

[ One way or another, anyhow. He grabs a fistful of Akira's sleeve as he sucks in a sharp, bracing breath and wobbles to his feet, vision fading white for just a moment before he finds his balance. It looks worse than it is—but it's still pretty bad. He should probably listen and do something about it, but he hadn't been staggering anywhere in particular before Akira showed up. Just venting out wherever, aimless as steam from a kettle now that the rescue's over and done with. Quietly, ]

—I don't know this space very well.

[ Also, he can barely see. But mostly, he's lost. Hopefully, Akira gets the point, because he's not feeling much like elaborating right now. ]

Edited 2018-03-23 04:43 (UTC)

[ It's over, then. (It's too late.)

He nods wordlessly and waits for Yusuke to catch his balance again, holding himself steady despite the pull of the other's weight. ...Whatever happened earlier, they can talk about it later. He can catch a hint. ]

This way.

[ There's plenty of ground between this wing and the greenhouse, but he keeps his pace even-keeled and patient, glancing ever so often to his friend to confirm his condition. ]

[ She shoots him a peeved look. She's fine!! It's been a long day, sure, but he's probably had the longest—not to mention he's the one that's actually injured here. All she has to do is spam Dia. ]

Hey, stop it.

[ She smacks his hand away and takes over for him, carefully feeling around the bandages and searching for a way to unwind them. Her bedside manner might leave a little bit to be desired, but her touch is gentle as she picks at the knot and starts unraveling the dressing, slowly revealing his face. ]

What happened?

[ Now that she thinks about it, the burns were where his mask usually sits... ]

[ Akira is easy enough to follow, steps as quiet and steady as ever; he holds fast to his arm and lets the conversation go as they make their way... somewhere. The walk feels endless when he can't see and gauge the halls, and he's winded by the time he finally hears a door swish open. When he gets to sit back down, he doesn't have the energy for any more posturing, slumping his weight against the wall, sighing out— ]

Thank you.

[ His first guess is a clinic, though there's hints of something else. He can't make out that much more than the chemicals on his own skin, but he does catch the scent of something grassy, the air humid and strangely herbaceous.

Not too hard to conjecture from there. ]

This is where you work?

[ Yusuke's health seems to deteriorate the longer they walk for, and Akira privately huffs in tenuous relief when they arrive at their destination without incident. He can't be sure it won't continue to worsen (it's far too early to be thanking him), though he masks his apprehension with an easy smile—more for himself than for his debilitated companion. ]

Sometimes.

[ His tone is soft, but the teasing implication is there—that he's up to no good on his hours off-duty. He leaves Yusuke for a moment to gather supplies, washing his hands thoroughly before preparing the medicinal paste in one of the various pestles and mortars stocked in the cabinets. (It isn't something he does regularly, but like anything else he picks up he's made sure to practice to reasonable proficiency.) ]

...Close your eyes.

[ The salve should cool the damaged area, absorb any residual toxins and ward infection until he can get him to a proper healer... But it won't be entirely pleasant while he's applying it. He carefully pushes aside Yusuke's hair from his face and dabs only a small patch onto his brow at first, testing its effectiveness before continuing. ]

[ He blinks a few times, squinting until he readjusts to the light and a bleary image shines through the last few loops of bandages. Ann's always been radiant, and she really is a sight for sore eyes now. ]

They used some sort of poison to ward us off from getting close. It must've reacted when I called my persona.

[ He traces out where the lower lip of his mask would rest against his face, skin no longer shriveled and cracked as Ann's magic courses through it. There's remnants of whatever medicine Akira used, and a mild sting beneath that, but she's healed through the worst of it all. No major harm done, though that's only due to his friends' diligence. Even if it weren't, ]

It's but a small price to pay to save the people being held there. [ He frowns, whatever fever he's still had starting to break with each spell, thoughts and realizations slowly creeping back to equilibrium. ] Though I'm not certain how successful we were...

[ On a good day, he'd compliment his ability as the grind of stone on stone continues—of course he knows how to make his own medicine by now. But waiting only lets his weariness sink in. If not for his burns, he'd be fast asleep sitting up.

He stops attempting to squint through his lashes and closes his eyes, letting himself relax as much as he's able—which doesn't last long before he tenses slightly, brow wrinkling at the sudden, mintlike coolness. He manages to sit still anyway as Akira starts to dab more of the salve about, though his expression stays a bit sour. It's clammy and smells more like medicine than herb, stinging where it meets any open cracks along his skin.

His composure eventually wavers, and he blindly jerks away when he gets some of the poultice onto a particularly nasty burn splotch. ...Only to knock his head back into the wall with a hiss. ]

—Does this need to go on much longer?

[ He stops as Yusuke flinches, waiting for a silent moment before resuming his work. This time he's mindful to hold his patient still, other hand propped along his jawline to prevent him adding any more bruises to his list of injuries. ]

Sorry. Almost finished.

[ Only a few more passes before Akira's covered what he needs to. Setting aside the mixture, he cleans his hands once more before retrieving a roll of gauze, carefully tilting Yusuke's head forward so he can properly wrap around it.

—He pauses halfway through, when he notices the bold stains dotted across his collar. (He'd seen them earlier in the hallway, but hadn't been prepared to ask then.) ]

...Whose blood?

[ Poison? She didn't pay attention enough in chemistry to even begin to guess what kind of Persona-chemical reaction could've caused this type of burn.

While he speaks, she leans in a little closer to inspect his face, watching as her spells slowly heal his skin. With the bandages gone, she finally notices that he looks a little flushed—or is that just from the burns? Either way, she gently brushes his hair aside and places her palm over his forehead, her frown deepening a little. ]

What do you mean? Like...

[ It hits her then, and she can't bring herself to finish the sentence. Already, she can feel the Dia spamming start to take its toll, her energy flagging—but she keeps going anyway, until he's all healed up. ]

Was it that bad?

[ The gauze plasters on easily; Yusuke sets his jaw tight to bite back any complaints as Akira carefully applies the rest of the medicine. It doesn't take long, and he bows his head to let him start winding bandages over his hair, speaking softly in the meantime. ]

It's probably from Mr. Tozier.

[ Clair, at least, had been in better shape. Perhaps her training had made her more solidly built, small but filled with a knightly vigor. On the other hand, Richie probably smoked his weight and his good constitution away years ago. Even his own breaths come out short, lungs choked by smog, which only makes it harder to hold his composure, his head tilted into a dizzy tailspin as soon as he answers. (But maybe it's not just the haze that's done him in—he covers the cuff of his sleeve, seeking a hard dot of blood with his thumb, seeing a nail split on repeat and feeling nauseous for it.)

Regardless, he waits until he's sure he's found his mental footing again before continuing. He sounds melancholic at best, though that's still better than he feels. ]

I didn't make it in time to save him.

[ After the repeated dia doses, the burns have shrunk away to nothing, though he still looks wan and troubled beneath it all. It's not like they need to act tough around each other, and Ann is an especially attuned listener, as sensitive as she is fiery. But it's difficult to figure out what to say, and how to say it—he gently shakes off her hand, sinking back against the couch. ]

Worse than I could have anticipated.

[ He fusses idly with the now-defunct bandages, smoothing them into folds where they've fallen in his lap, as though keeping his hands busy might sort out his mind at the same time. Finally, ] They were... tortured. Some of them killed. Who's to say the others aren't victim to the same atrocities...?

[ Sandra, Percival, Cain, amongst so many others. Still out there, fates in limbo while he's laying around on a couch and she's stuck nursing him. ]

[ ...Richie.

His breath catches sharply, though he still has enough presence of mind to hold Yusuke steady when he lurches. His hands anchor carefully but firmly on either side of his head, gauze collected under one of his palms. (His own skull is reeling, trying too hard to make sense of such simple words.)

...There's no way to misconstrue their meaning. His fingers twitch against the dressings, betraying his understanding and shock.

He says nothing for what feels like a very long time, memory hollowly rolling through earlier events. (The apartment, the scattered records, the upturned furniture...)

Finally, ] ...I see.

[ He resumes, setting the last of the wrappings in place, swallowing back whatever despair threatens to rise in the pit of his stomach. He still needs to get Yusuke proper medical attention, to a place he can rest—home. ]

Can you walk a bit more?

[ Just enough to get to the entrance. Akira can flag down a carriage from there. ]

[ She can't help it—she winces, hearing him talk about it, her expression pinching in sympathy. Her gaze lingers on his hands in his lap, watching him fold the bandages, before rising up towards his face again.

She wishes she could've been there with him. Or Akira. She wishes she could've helped more than this. It's fine when you're in control, invading Palaces and stealing Treasure and calling all the shots, when the only casualties are Shadows and everything feels dreamlike and unreal. But this is real. ]

Hey. [ Her voice is gentle, to match the smile just touching the corners of her mouth. ] I'm sure the others are okay. Everyone is doing everything they can to help, right?

[ It might not be the truth, but Yusuke is a naturally melancholic soul. She feels like the only thing she can really give him right now is a little optimism, even if it's cock-eyed. ]

You did everything you could too. It sucks, but we can only wait and see what happens now.

[ It seems a little too idealistic, but she's not wrong. Everyone was scouring the city, and that's an effort that shouldn't be taken lightly. The results are—infuriatingly—out of their hands, and there's nothing to be done about that either, not without a metaverse to jump into and wreck their usual havoc on.

It makes sense when all the cards are laid out rationally, though he looks just as defeated as before. Sadness is a hard emotion for him to shake; he at least makes an effort to sound level. ]

...Seems so.

[ (Relatively) rejuvenated, he swings his legs over the side of the couch, though he doesn't have a destination in mind yet. They were still putting the house together, so while most of the furniture is set up (though there's some mishaps—the kotatsu is fine, but some of the chairs are more... avant garde), everything's in a bit of disarray. ]

Though there isn't much to be done here, either.

[ Disarray is probably a good word for it. While he shifts, her gaze lingers on him for a moment, her brow furrowed with worry. Yusuke is hard to read, but she's gotten good enough at it to see the subtle fluctuations in his mood. Now, he inches forward one step at a time—maybe not even that much. Though she understands that too—these kinds of things are not so easy to move past.

At least Yusuke is simpler in other things. He needs rest, if he can get it—and maybe some food. Or is that her own self talking? ]

Don't worry about it. Just get under the kotatsu—it'll be good for you!

[ ...How.

In the meantime, she gets to her feet and starts heading for the kitchen. ]

I'll make some tea.

[ There's not much more to say than that. A brief acknowledgment, and some time spent in equally brief, miserable recovery. Even if he can't see Akira's surprise, vision completely blocked off by the gauze, his silence often speaks for him. It makes sense that he'd be affected, anyway. They'd both seen Richie just the week before, probably filled his inbox with a few meaningless messages to kill time—or maybe it was more than that? New context frames old memories, shifting them so very slightly. Maybe Richie hadn't just been asking about white-on-white paintings just for the sake of it, and maybe he didn't just let them listen to his records to share a passion for old psychedelic rock, or crash on their couch for the occasional, free dinner and targets to jabber at.

Was he checking in on them? ...What good would it do to realize that posthumously—why is he thinking about it? He lets out a huff, instinctively trying to blink and getting nowhere. ]

Yes.

[ He reaches out in full, blind confidence, patting up Akira's arms until he finds his sleeves, bunching up fabric for support as he tries to stand. But he doesn't even make it onto his feet. He folds over in the middle, head hanging as his back heaves. The smog lends a new, helping hand, adding an unsettling rattle to each inhale, but it's nostalgic otherwise: a twisting sensation in his gut, the same one that'd toppled him once before in a disgusting, golden chamber with high, high ceilings. He can only ride his disbelief and bottle everything else for so long, and it's time it bottoms out. He swallows thickly around a rising lump in his throat, head swimming blindly, and he rests the crest of his head against Akira's collar without thinking.

He'd practically died in his arms. ]

I just... need a moment.

[ He's too close not to catch Yusuke when he nearly collapses, and yet it doesn't really feel like ether of them are entirely there. (A bad dream. A dislocated memory.) The pull of fabric against his arms, the strange burden of his friend's skull against his collar, they're all distant impressions as Akira is momentary lost in his own thoughts—conceited thoughts, and futile.

If he had arrived earlier. If he had been there. In the aftermath, none of this is nearly enough; Richie's corpse is abandoned to the Institute staff, and whatever monster had taken him is already eating away at Yusuke as well. There isn't anything more Akira can do but to keep them both steady.

...Yusuke has always been too prideful for pity. In Madarame's palace, he had insisted on standing on his own two feet, and even now he hasn't changed in that regard. But it's as if his stare could haunt Akira, even downturned and under the bandages. (He had sought so earnestly to observe the human soul... and what ugliness has he seen, today?)

(Does Akira really want to know how Richie died?)

His mouth pulls into a rigid line, Joker's mask settling over his own eyes.

The facade of a fearless leader, the immovable pillar of the Phantom Thieves. ]

You need more than that.

[ He needs more help than Akira can give. Arsene's whispers roil somewhere in his hindmind, the persona's borrowed strength more than enough to get Yusuke where he ought to be.

(If he can't walk, he'll carry him.) ]

[ It's kind of him to offer, but Yusuke's not in much mood to text, much less make any calls. (Besides, he's pretty sure he's lying—why would he thank him? Shouldn't it be the other way around?) He waits instead, time passing as the craziness of the rescue efforts begins to simmer, still hectic but finally on a downswing. The worst of the incident is behind them now that all the (living) hostages have been evacuated, people being tended to and others being transported, staff hustling about to do damage control.

But there's still so much happening, and it's easy to tune into the buzz of activity and out of his own head; he barely notices when Boxer actually shows up, busy applying a cold compress to some poor sap's burns, Goemon barely a shimmer behind him. His persona dismisses itself entirely when he blinks up through his mask and spots a familiar, teal sword sticking out like a sore thumb. ...He actually showed. ]

—Boxer.

[ He calls out to him, not too loudly, hallways carrying enough reverb that shouting is a headache. Getting to his feet, he excuses himself quietly from his charge, filling in beside Boxer instead, wasting no time. ]

He... [ His mouth twists subtly. ] The body.

[ He's supposed to get him to Sanctuary, but as it stands, Richie lays peaceably in the shadow of a small alcove, not far from the lab doors. Out of the way, out of sight. Back turned so he might just be recovering from a bender gone too far, sleeping it off. ] It's over here.

( closed )

/post-rescue, closed to akira, cw burns

/post-rescue, closed to ann

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/closed to boxer