nysalogs | (semi-open) REQUEST RECEIVED

(( aka "trying to write a coffee starter for an actually experienced barista" rip me ))

[ It's perhaps a little stuffy inside the cafe, summer heat barely held back by the A/C unit half-heartedly churning out cool air inside. There's a warmth to the place that isn't just in temperature—its furnishings are quiet though lovingly worn, with spots of color livening the interior, scattered as if waiting to be found.

It isn't a particularly ostentatious memory, much less an eventful one—just another day on-call at Leblanc during the school break. ...But it's precious to Akira, even astonishing for how mundane it is. (He misses this place a lot.)

He runs his hands along the countertops, tracing a predetermined route behind the bar, automatically tying his work apron into place before he realizes it's even on. (It's all re-enacted, but he doesn't mind as much as he should. He isn't entirely ready to escape, and it's only the arrival of a "customer" that jolts him out of his reverie.)

This place is long gone. ]

...You're new to these parts.

[ He gestures at one of the chairs lining the counter with a faint smile. (If she doesn't mind humoring him. Just for a short while.) ]

( omo please it's great )

[ It's another memory. After the war-torn battlefields and too-personal confessions, this one is a welcome relief. It could be a cafe in any city, quiet and a little too warm in a way that reminds her of home - her home, particularly.

She settles into one of the chairs at the counter. She's glad it's Akira. They did mean to have coffee sometime. ] First time. What do you recommend?

(( i guess the game itself did all the work for me, so pls mail all coffee crit to Atlus ))

[ He's glad it's Ana, too. The sanctity of this memory is safely preserved in a strange albeit ironic little pocket of calm born within the Storm.

He fans his arm out to the side, letting a little of Joker's flair into the motion as he gestures to the extensive rack of coffee beans behind him. ]

What do you like?

[ Leblanc's owner had always taken pride in his collection, and it now carries through in Akira's voice as well. (Let me explain.) ]

Jamaican Blue Mountain, rich coffee with a full aroma.

[ He plucks up another jar and slides it onto the counter as well for her to sample. ]

Ethiopian Mocha Harrar, a unique spicy flavor and a strong aroma. ...Blackberry notes.

[ And for a third... ]

Brazilian Bourbon, soft sweetness and clean finish.

( i'm writing a strongly worded letter right now )

[ Ana isn't normally much for coffee, but she's not going to turn her nose up at it, especially when Akira presents it to her with such flourish. It's the closest she's felt to utterly normal in a while. She dutifully samples each container - a fresh burst of rich, complex coffee aroma that makes the memory feel that much more real. ]

Let's try the Ethiopian. [ She folds her arms against the counter top. ] How long did you work here?

[ There's an easy answer to that question: ]

Long enough to brew a decent cup, I hope.

[ Can a memory have flavor to it, too? They'll find out in a handful of minutes and fresh grounds. ]

...About seven months. If you mean right now... [ at this very point in time ] half that.

[ Summer lands him some three-or-so months from when he'd first moved here. (His temporary room is right upstairs in the attic.)

Anyhow, the water's already been boiled, so it's just a matter of measuring and brief prep. The pouring begins... ]

[ Ana is curious about the same thing. Memories can hurt, she's learned that much, so why wouldn't they be able to impart something better too? ]

You look comfortable. [ With the work, she means, but in other ways too. ] Was this a good memory for you?

[ He nods down at the cup he's preparing, reply easy to give. ]

It was. I liked it here a lot.

[ Already the memory shows sign of crumbling, thin lines traveling through the shelves against the grain of the wood. But he's happy to stay until the Storm's lingering power sweeps it away again. ]

It was my home for awhile.

[ Once finished, he passes the coffee to Ana, stepping back with arms lightly folded across his chest as he awaits his solo judging panel. ]

[ Ana wraps her hands around the cup, though already the warmth seems insubstantial. The coffee is strong, flavored sweetly with spice. ]

It's lovely. Thank you, Akira.

CW: Sexual Assault

[ He's taking his usual route back from the Institute when the path suddenly changes, cobbled streets paved smooth and electric poles replacing the street lamps. He immediately recognizes it as home—not just Tokyo, but his actual hometown—and the overwhelming surprise stalls his footsteps. (It's been... about a year since he's left. He can't believe how much of it's already been forgotten, and yet it all comes back so quickly and alarmingly now.)

The neighborhood is rebuilt is meticulous detail, too tangible to be just a picture. He can hear some sort of arguing in the distance—an all too familiar male and female voice. He sees a kid in a raglan tee just ahead, identical bag slung over his shoulder, and realizes he's staring at himself from only so long ago.

...He knows where this all leads. (To the beginning, when his life had utterly and irreversibly changed.) He hadn't known then, how drastic and unfair the consequences for his actions would be. But he knows now that he wouldn't alter the outcome, even were he able to.

He follows his younger self without a word, not even realizing there's someone else watching, too. ]

[ Even though this isn't her first memory, it's still disorienting to find herself so suddenly somewhere else. She looks around, taking everything in—this street looks like it could belong to any in Japan, though she doesn't recognize it.

It's dark, only the glow of streetlamps lighting the way. There are the sounds of cars passing by and traffic lights changing, but the most prominent noise is an argument not too far away, between two people. Even with no other context, Ann can recognize the distress in the woman's voice—her fear. It seizes her heart, kicking up the dust of memories she'd long left settled.

Experience ground flight into her, but this time she chooses fight, turning towards the noise and spotting— ]

Akira?

[ No, two Akiras. As she comes closer, the scene pieces together: one Akira, the one she knows now, following another, only slightly younger and without his glasses. Further down the street, a man and a woman stand opposite each other, the man's hand closed around her wrist. They still argue, their voices only growing louder. What is this? What is going to happen? It feels like this is all hurtling uncontrollably together, like she's about to witness a collision.

Her eyes are wide as she turns them on Akira, the one who isn't a player in this memory. ]

What's going on?

[ It's hard watching, having to listen to her tearful struggle even a second time around. Even knowing Shido would eventually buy her false account and threaten her into submission. (...Or maybe exactly because of that. He never really did save her, did he?)

His hands curl at his sides, nails biting into his palms, ire as fresh and livid as the memory. His frustration is difficult to voice; there's plenty he's accomplished since, and plenty he still hasn't.

...The last thing he remembers of home is being on the doorsteps of Shido's Palace. So close to taking him down. The Storm had cleaned up the rest, as far as he knows, and... though he should be at peace, a part of him might always be discontent.

He turns halfway toward Ann, as if undecided which of the two would be easier to face—friend or enemy. ]

...It's just a memory.

[ There's nothing he can do as he is, or as he was.

There's another desperate plea, a low growl of irritation. ("Don't give me that shit.")

His younger self hurries forward to intervene. ]

[ It's just a memory, but she still... feels the woman's pleas down to her very bones, still hears her heartbeat roar in her ears, still clenches her fists at her sides like she wants to step in instead of the Akira of the past, even though it would do nothing. The cards have already been laid out, but...

The players collide, and she flinches. ]

Is this... what happened before?

[ Before he moved to Tokyo, into his little attic at Leblanc. Before she met him, before the Phantom Thieves. Everyone knew that he had been on probation—those rumors travel fast in a place like Shujin. But she didn't know why or how it happened, and she knows enough about demons to not ask. Besides, whatever the rumors painted him as—troublemaker, delinquent, criminal—she very quickly came to find out that he was more.

The crack of the man's head reverberates through her. Her shoulders slump, as if the end of the story was in sight, and all that remained was to get there. ]

[ He only nods.

It isn't something he's ashamed of or that he regrets (he'd done the right thing), but it's everything else he had to bury behind him and move on from. The shock of the court trial, the headlines in the local paper, the look on his parents' faces when they'd told him they were sending him to Tokyo for a year.

The wail of police sirens descends upon them, strobing lights casting streaks of red across the scene. ]

Let's go.

[ He tugs gently on Ann's sleeve, leading her the other way as the other Akira is apprehended behind them. (There isn't much more to see from here and the vision shifts anyhow, their surroundings blurring as the police car pulls away.) ]

[ Now that he's confirmed it, she almost... wants to stay. Or rather, she feels like she should stay, if only to watch the rest, to understand Akira's past and the whims of fate that diverged his path towards the group of them. It feels... like the beginning. The very beginning, where all of their stories started. She feels connected to this moment, and not only because it brought him into their lives.

There's a connection to this woman too, the first one that he saved. The circumstances are different, but... not that different, in the end. Ann could have found herself in a similar situation, had things gone any other way. And if Akira hadn't been there to step in either...? ]

Akira—

[ As their surroundings blur, she reaches out towards him, grabbing onto his sleeve. Her mouth opens, then closes again. Finally— ]

Thank you. For helping her.

[ He feels a gentle tug at his sleeve and slows to a stop, matching her quiet pause. It's strange to have such a heavy and personal memory divulged, but at the same time it's a relief. (He can trust her with it.) Though his friends had always believed him from the start, it's good to know someone fully understands what had happened that night.  

...He isn't expecting to be thanked, however, and the gratitude is entirely humbling, taking him aback. (He only did what was right... And he knows Ann would've done the same.) He pulls at his hair and nods again, voice soft. ] 

Yeah. 

[ No regret.

...But there isn't much chance for silent reflection between them—the memory continues to weaken and shift around them, changing entirely into... a prison. They're both suddenly locked behind cold bars, surrounded by unearthly blue walls.

(Welcome to the Velvet Room.) ]

[ Akira isn't always easy to read, but she knows him well enough by now that there are times when he's almost too easy to read instead. No regret. Her heart swells with affection, and it brings a small smile to her face, soft around the edges, as the next scene unfolds around them.

A... prison cell?

She looks around the space, bare and cramped with the two of them standing in it. Then she turns to look out the bars, at a large room with a desk in the middle, surrounded by other cells presumably just like this one. And at the desk... ]

What the heck is this place?

[ just cries about these soft and stupid children for your entire tag

At least Ann doesn't have to see him in shackles and grungy prison stripes. This memory is generous enough to leave him in his regular clothes. ]

...I get my new personas here.

[ He isn't sure how else to explain it. You know, the times he'd stare off into space before properly entering a Palace. ]

It's called the 'Velvet Room'. I don't know why.

[ Ann will see this place herself in the future that neither of them yet know of... But for now, it's another terrible pitstop to take a friend to. Akira feels a little bad. ]

...There should be a way out. [ Nevermind they're confined to a tiny space. (Surely... somewhere...) ]

Here?

[ She sounds pretty incredulous. This is, after all, a prison cell. Or... the Velvet Room, apparently, which seems like a pretty weird name to her—but what isn't weird about Metaverses and Palaces and Personas? Suddenly, she connects the dots. ]

Is this where you would go when you— [ Here, she quirks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows, which somehow translates to him staring off into space. ] —you know, right before we would go into Palaces?

[ It was only for a second, but he did it pretty much every single time they went into the Metaverse. He would always make them wait... ]

CW: Torture

[ He hadn't gone down without a fight. (To ensure all went according to plan, he had fool the best of them into thinking he'd been unintentionally caught.)

And he does. Their belief is evident in the bruises littered across his skin, the pang in his ribs when he tries to breathe and the sharp sting where his lower lip splits. Matching, angry lesions circle both wrists under his cuffs and dark blotches cover every other joint of his hands, stark against his blanched complexion. On top of it all is a thick haze of whatever chemicals they'd dosed him with, clotting up his brain matter and causing his head and senses to sink into an indistinct mire.

He's hit with a cold sheet of water before he can find oblivion.

"No dozing off."

A vicious kick sends him toppling over and out of his chair, the same black heel ground into his temple. He's pulled up by a fistful of hair only to have his skull dashed against the floor.

"Didn't you hear my question? Answer!"

Kicked again. He doubles in on himself, coughing miserably as the man recites to him a litany of his crimes.

"And you seemed to be enjoying every second of it... Huh?" ]

......

[ ...He can't remember.

(One memory lost inside another.)

(Where had he been before this...?) ]

[ They had faith that he'd succeed. He knew there was no way their deceptions wouldn't work, pieces carefully laid out far in advance, a scheme where they'd played their entire hand. Akira may have taken on the linchpin role on his own, but each and every one of them was all in, and everyone would wait to welcome him back after.

It's precisely that wait that'd been the most difficult, that inbetween where all of them could only sit and watch the news to see what'd unfold. It was unthinkable, but if he did fail... It was an uneasy time (even his teachers had commented that he seemed distracted, his canvases void of anything but crows), and Akira had never gone into great, specific detail about it later.

Now, he can see why. The empty syringes scattered across the floor, the fresh bruises on top of old ones, the hard heel of a boot grinding against his skull—what was there to say to any of that besides, ] Enough!

[ Yusuke tries at... anything. He's stuck outside and the door refuses to budge; left observing through the glass, there's little more he can do but slam his fists against the metal with a shout. Even with Goemon as a specter at his side, the fierce chime of ice that comes with him can't break open a path, a gust of chilly air that dissipates nowhere and into nothing. The memory is too defined, a sequence of events already set into motion long ago, indelibly woven into their story.

So they don't even react. He grits his teeth, but the memory itself seems to shift with his frustration, growing blurry around the edges. The blocky shapes of the goons inside and the gentle, red pulse of surveillance lights all become indistinct, wavering in and out with Akira's consciousness. ]

Edited 2018-04-13 13:25 (UTC)

[ Through the raw pain and buried ache, the incessant roil inside his skull, Akira thinks he can hear another voice. (Not the officer interrogating him, but someone else... somewhere close. Distant.) It's murky and indistinct, low and brimming with a familiar power, just at the edge of his consciousness. (Not his own... Whose...?)

Is he just imagining it...? He can't seem to get a grip on his mind, unable to recall anything past the droplets of cold water sliding down his face, the loud clack of metal as they uncuff him and drag him upright. A clipboard is held in front of him, attached to it a full confession waiting for his name to be penned in.

"Sign here." ]

......

[ He takes what little mirth he can in being unshackled by knocking it aside.

"I see. I need your hand to sign this, but..."

There's a muted but unpleasant crunch of bone as his kneecap is nearly stomped out of alignment, and he spits out a stilted cry of pain.

"I don't care if you end up losing a leg."

The paper is eventually signed and his struggle abandoned.

He's hauled back into the chair and told to wait for a prosecutor to question him shortly. He slumps over the table in the meantime, barely propped up by his own arms. (He couldn't walk even if he tried, head spinning too wildly for him to muster basic motor functions.)

He doesn't see who enters. He doesn't know who it is.

(...But he should... shouldn't he?) ]

[ After a while, he realizes all he can do is sit and simmer through it, unable to look away as everything plays out beyond his control. (He feels a swell of respect for Akira's stupid, rebellious spark even if it just gets him kicked around more.) So Yusuke just waits, grim and tense-shouldered until the door finally clicks open.

It should be Sae, but he takes her place, the memory distorting as he hurries inside the small interrogation chamber. The lights are dark and the walls oppressive, the whole atmosphere bearing down like it'd squeeze the answers out of anybody inside. And in the end, it would. Akira would spill their entire story, just as they'd planned. Then he'd sit around like he owns this whole complex as the final cogs of their schemes wind into place.

But right now, he just looks a mess. The scuffs and bruises are worse up close, but Fox acts in coolheaded decisiveness, dispelling his nerves with his mask as he stands opposite him—there was no railing out against the past, anyway. All he could do is break them out of this memory entirely, though that's easier said than done. ]

Akira, can you hear me?

[ There's a tear in the table, a hairline fracture where a tiny glow of light cracks through. He presses his fingertips down near it, bright blue gloves standing stark against the metal. ]

Help me get us out of here. It's your duty as our leader, isn't it?

[ It takes a slow moment for the recognition to work past the murky film of the drug, but it reaches him eventually. (How could he possibly forget...?) He blinks up at his visitor, eyes wide with a momentary clarity that has the dark edges of the room receding ever briefly. His bruises even seem to fade, a few shades lifted off his skin.

But then the memory—the Storm—returns full force, bearing down, seeping into and regaining what little ground he'd pried away. He grimaces, clawing a hand into his hair as the memory continues its insistent and inevitable course.

"...Can you hear me?"

It seems as if you've been through a lot. "Help me get us out of here."

I don't have much time either. "It's your duty as our leader, isn't it?"

The voices overlap, vying for what meager attention he can scrape together. But it's Yusuke's that wins out, Goemon's strength stirring within and anchoring Akira to reality. His gaze falls to the gloved hand against the table, the thread of light glimmering through next to it. (Faint like the quiet trail of a blue butterfly.)

He closes his eyes, focusing on the afterimage as he wills Arsene forward, but it's like trying to get a spark to catch on soaked kindling. The lines of his mask sputter around his eyes, and his hands fumble along the indistinct edges like he might force them into proper shape. His teeth grit as he coaxes more cool flames to life around his fingertips. ]

Fox.

[ He needs his help. ]

[ It's just a memory. He'd almost seemed to forget in the heat of the moment, until he sees Akira's wounds recede slightly as realization dawns on him. He doubts this would play out infinitely, there had to be some sort of stopping point and Akira would likely stir free on his own eventually.

But he's of no mind to wait that long. The thin fracture fissures into a larger gap, rattling as Akira stirs from his own memory. It's enough, and Fox nods firmly. ]

I've got you, Joker.

[ He draws out Arsene's power where it's started to spark, an echo of devious laughter in his own head. A dark energy not quite his own washes over the tabletop as both their masks ignite into embers, burning away at the edges of the illusive memory. His own power manifests as a series of vicious blows against the metal, like the strikes of an invisible blade—and under both, the scene finally shatters, fragmenting apart all around them with a high-pitched, crackling chime.

When Akira's consciousness flickered before, their surroundings had just gone dark, time barely passing from his own perspective. But this is different. The entire world seems to collapse in on itself like crumpled glass, and before he has time to worry about what's happening or where they're going, the whole space caves into a white light and a sound like a thunderclap. ]

Edited (hate tenses) 2018-04-17 20:49 (UTC)

[ Like a bullet hole through glass, the entire room splinters and shatters, fragments crumbling away around them as Akira closes his eyes. There's an immense weight hefted from his shoulders, the pain fading like color under acute sunlight. For a moment he isn't sure if they're falling or floating; only that they're held together tenuously in empty space by their shared pact.

When he opens his eyes again it's a very different sort of darkness that blankets them, a familiar, cool wash of starlight illuminating the dome they find themselves seated under.

...Another memory, belonging to them both this time. It wavers heavily in his chest, and he's quiet for a long while, staring into the galaxies projected onto the high walls and ceiling. He doesn't need to turn his head to know Yusuke will be seated beside him. ...Perhaps it's simply what he's come to expect after everything that's happened since he'd woken here.

He should thank him, or perhaps apologize, but he mentions neither. He's still trying to parse through the drastic turnover of experience, from abject misery to sudden calm, gaze as lost as his thoughts. (...Even so, his company is hardly forgotten. If anything Akira is all too aware of his presence.) ]

[ He expects to be thrown back to reality, but the whole room implodes and expands instead, shattering straight into another memory. It's disorienting, a violent crash of noise that ends just as abruptly; anger and adrenaline still ring loud and clear, but he blinks and it's just like waking from a bad dream, security cameras replaced with stars blinking peaceably above them.

It's a dimly lit space, but he can still see that Akira's bruises and scuffs have faded with the first memory. And with the planetarium comes a sense of familiarity; it's comfortably quiet and cool, the dark dome above them twinkling but inactive. Must be between shows, people still filtering in to find their seats. They're in their old street clothes and not a beat up uniform and a strange, otherworldly costume.

Yusuke doesn't worry about all these phantoms of Tokyo past, leaning forward a little to catch Akira's eye, speaking cautiously. ]

Are you all right?

[ Even if the whole atmosphere's shifted—from tiny interrogation chamber to the broad expanse of space—it doesn't change what's already happened. ]

[ He blinks to Yusuke when prompted, ready to brush off the ordeal with a quick smile. But the words catch in his throat, and he ends up looking away again as he tries to form words to fit whatever he's feeling. (The physical pain is gone along with the effects of the drug. He's lucid and unhurt.) And yet his pulse rattles high in his chest, the unpleasant residual of the incident only starting to knead itself out of his system.

He clasps his hands together in his lap, posture rigid. ] I think so.

[ He then sighs, tension releasing from his shoulders as he sinks back into his seat. (There's no use trying to hang onto the past, and he's already learned by now not to try.) ...He doesn't know how to explain, either—how easy it could have been to surrender his memories of his best friends to the serum. (To fail their operation. It had been lonely in the worst way.) Maybe it's better not to say anything at all. He isn't sure how much he trusts himself right now.

When he finally meets Yusuke's gaze again his expression is wistful, interrupted by a smile that's oddly teasing and pensive all at once. ]

...Are you real?

[ (Of course he is.) ]

[ He adopts their usual tactic when it comes to snapping their teammates out of a daze: physical violence. He jabs a finger straight into Akira's cheek where a bruise used to be. ]

Of course I am.

[ His tone isn't biting, though; he takes his wrists next, turning them to search for the raw, reds rings that were there (but aren't anymore) before he lets himself settle into his seat too, head leaned back into the cushions with a quiet sigh. The hum of the room overtakes it, a faint static buzz in the background as the show starts, planets winking onto the screens. ]

I hadn't realized they put you through so much.

[ Their injuries didn't tend to follow them fully out of the Metaverse, but a punch or stab there would still hurt just as bad as the real thing. How long had that kept up? How was he able to carry out their plan after?

It's a testament to his character, but Yusuke seems more forlorn than pleased, at least right now. ]

[ Ow... What kind of bedside manner is this...

He doesn't resist as he's inspected, running two of his own fingers over his left wrist once he's released. (It's strange to him, too. Like if he presses in the right place, he'll be able to find a lingering bruise.)

The rest of the room goes appropriately quiet as the reel begins, the lower tones of Yusuke's voice easily audible over the silent audience. And just as he did their first visit to the planetarium then, the 'eccentric' attracts a few cold stares now, the irony of it almost eliciting a soft laugh from Akira. (He's amused despite himself—to think they're no longer actually restricted by basic social etiquette, being within an unaffected memory loop.)

But the glimmer of mirth quickly sobers. ]

...You weren't supposed to.

[ The thieves had enough to deal with simply waiting for his return. It wasn't just his life on the line, but theirs as well. ]

for Sansa / Sidon:

[ He blinks, and he's suddenly walking out from a familiar set of train doors, flanked on either side by the pour of metropolitan commuters passing to and from the platform. He takes the escalator up to the ticket gate, still decked in his school uniform and bag. (Morgana wriggles around inside, cat-shaped head poking out intermittently before ducking back down again.)

He's supposed to meet someone for a play date... It's his first time in Akihabara, and he'd invited one of his buddies to wander around with him. There's a surplus of electronics stores to peek into, various cafes and colorful shops, the arcade, the row of gacha capsule vending machines... (Only so much yen in his pockets, but at least it's free to take a gander.)

He turns the corner to find his confidant—except it isn't someone from home at all. ]

...Did you get lost?

[ (...That's meant to be a joke. If this is his memory, it kinda goes without saying...) ]

[ Sidon is on the ground, rubbing the crown of his head. There he'd been minding his own business one minute, and the next minute he's somewhere entire alien, walking directly into a support beam in his momentary distraction at his bright, glittering, noisy surroundings. ]

Akira! [ In spite of the general soreness in his face, Sidon still lights up with recognition as he stops nursing his injury in favor of greeting his new acquaintance. ]

Are we not both lost? All this is worryingly dissimilar to where we were moments ago.

[ S-Sidon... Akira crouches next to him, more for moral support than anything else—he wouldn't know how to administer first aid to a sharkman even if he wanted to... ]

You okay?

[ He's also likely too short to help him back to his feet (reasonably tall for an Asian though he is), but he offers a shoulder for Sidon to balance a hand on anyhow, in case the Zora prince needs a human support in the attempt. ]

...This is my world.

[ Technically, Akira isn't lost. Yet. ]

I am quite well, I assure you. Nothing more wounded than my pride.

[ Sidon climbs to his feet unaided, though he notices and is quite grateful for Akira's efforts on his behalf. He gives his forehead ridge one last cursory rub, then attempts to dust himself off as he glances around his surroundings with renewed wonder. ]

Your world is remarkably different from mine...! Far more boisterous and densely packed than I am accustomed to but still remarkable. So much to see in fact that I wasn't able to stay out of my own way.

[ Sidon pauses thoughtfully, a frown briefly crossing his face. ]

...although. Have you any idea what we're doing here?

[ It's a graceful recovery at least, adequately princely. ]

Oh...?

[ Akira offers a small smile, wondering what Sidon's own homeworld might be like. (He... is probably imagining something along the lines of Atlantica ngl. He wonders if he'd be able to breathe underwater...) ]

I'd like to see yours instead. [ But he does understand the Zora's awe. Having been raised outside the city, Tokyo had been a lot for Akira to take in himself when he'd first moved. ...So, what is the objective of all this? ]

To have a good time.

[ (That isn't helpful, even if it's technically true.) At least Akira's had several similar experiences, getting sucked into sudden replays by now that he isn't completely caught off-guard anymore. ] ...It's a memory. Should be a way out somewhere.

[ Atlantica isn't far off, at least. Just pop it slightly above water and fill it with who are half fish all over rather than top and bottom and there you go.

Sidon's delighted for the culture lesson, at any rate, still looking this way and that as he tries to take it all in. ]

What is 'a good time' in your home world? To you, at least? Was this a good memory?

[ He'd think more bystanders would look back at the Zora in their midst, but very few seem to notice. (And if they do, it's the memory being warped, a glimmer of reality outside filtering through.)

Akira doesn't mind camping here for a bit though before punching his way out. He's rather enjoyed these intermittent glimpses of home—or at least, the kinder memories. Also, entertainment for the average high schooler more or less breaks down to the following: ]

Arcade games, movies... karaoke.

[ Shopping of course, though his funds had been limited at the time. ...He checks his wallet to find, yep, less than 3000 yen there. ]

People who come here like the cafes.

[ ...So he's heard. He starts padding off toward the main street, nodding at Sidon to follow. ]

...It was. But you can decide for yourself.

[ There's a thoughtful pause on Sidon's part, nodding at each of Akira's answers before he beams. ]

None of those words mean anything to me! [ He sounds delighted about this for some reason, dutifully following Akira along through the memory. ] Well, I do know what games are. Though perhaps not 'arcade games'. And 'cafe', is that something to see? Something to do?

[ ...ah. At least, Sidon's oblivious enthusiasm is no deterrent to Akira. He simply nods, acknowledging the cultural hurdle ahead of him. ]

You sit down and have drinks served to you.

[ (What... what do Zora enjoy...) Also Akira doesn't remember everything he did on this very specific day, but he does remember at least one stop: ]

Let's go to an arcade first.

[ They can take a coffee/tea break later. He navigates them to a small shop crammed with various machines and gadgets. There's a co-op shooting game, a UFO catcher, and various racing simulators stacked side-by-side... Some of the booths unfortunately not big enough to accommodate Sidon. 8( ]

[ this is perhaps the strangest sight she has seen, so far. the memories she has been pulled into have been varying, the places she's seen ones she's never even imagined, before. and yet this, the blinding lights and the noises around them, it's both terrifying and intriguing at once.

and Sansa, with her northern dress and delicately braided hair, has never quite felt so out of place in her life.

which is why when Akira turns to her and she realizes with a jolt that she remembers him, from the Silk Wyrms during the riots, she offers him a wry smile. ]

Yes, and it seems I very much cannot make myself unlost. Where exactly are we? [ she's seen this happen enough times now to know that if this isn't her memory, it must be his. ]

[ Cosplayers and EGLs aside (not as plentiful as one may think in this part of town), Sansa really is easy to spot in a crowd, even for a 'foreigner'. She wears a completely different air about her than the other teenage commuters, posture held in regal alignment and demeanor stately even in her confusion.

...Just as when they'd met during the riots. It seems as if little can phase her, so far as he can tell. Akira even half expects Lady to be with her, but it's just them this time (and the rest of Tokyo). ]

Akihabara.

[ That probably sounds like a mishmash of nonsense syllables to her, so he clarifies, ] Home.

[ (Close enough to it anyhow; he doesn't—didn't actually live in this specific area.) ]

Care to look around? [ .........Neither of them really have much of a choice until they find an exit from this place, but he may as well offer it as such rather than an obligation. ]

[ she turns her head towards him as if in slow motion, tearing her eyes away from the strange sights as she listens to him pronounce a name that sounds like arrows notched too quickly in succession, like heels on hard pavement.

and then he says, home, and her heart aches. ]

Do we have a choice?

[ a raised eyebrow. and yet, it sounds like yes. ]

[ Ah, she sees right through him. He smiles, and shrugs, a bit of a sheepish wobble to both gestures. ]

Probably not.

[ He can sense her mild unease (or at least she seems pretty bombarded by the excess of store lights and signage), and is quick to add, ] ...It's safe though.

[ Strange no doubt, but harmless. ]

Pick a way, any way.

[ There's plenty to explore, and hopefully they'll find a way out somewhere along their path... ]

(semi-open) REQUEST RECEIVED

ana // MEMSHARE

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ann // MEMSHARE

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yusuke // MEMSHARE

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closed // MEMSHARE

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kneeslides here

whispers she's so perfect

im so sorry i died again ;;; kicks myself to the curb

same tho... same :weary: