(no subject)

[fabrications]

If this is the afterlife, it sure is a shitty one.

But this isn't the afterlife - of that much he's nearly certain. When he'd lost consciousness back in Shido's Palace, headed for an early but deserved grave, numbness had overtaken him just before blackness. When he woke up again with an unfamiliar ceiling above him the pain had come screaming back, leaving him stunned and gasping for breath the moment he tried to sit up. The wound had somehow been closed up, but for a while his body wouldn't be convinced they weren't still dying.

The 'somehow' of everything - his survival, his wound, his arrival, his new tattoo, his new ears and tail - is eventually explained. He'd taken the news about other worlds better than his peers. He'd taken the news that was a 'Fighter', bound to a 'Sacrifice', and that he was to remain in this school until he could prove himself a suitable partner about as poorly as everyone else. Yet when the shouting and quickly quashed attempts to fight back start he's among those that stand aside, his calm, solemn expression betrayed only by his lashing tail and his ear pressing all the way back against his hair. No matter the front he puts up, Akechi feels his peers' rage keenly.

Even so, he doesn't try to escape. He lets someone else make that mistake first, so that he can take note of their shortcomings and the subsequent fallout. After the third such attempt he sets aside the idea of joining in. If he's going to escape it won't be from here and won't be any time soon. He'll need to wait for his partner, whoever that is. Akechi doesn't have much faith in them, not when they're nothing more than a vague feeling of 'someone over there' and the occasional flicker of emotion, but he suspects he'll have better chances when only one person is monitoring him.

Akechi is nothing if not patient, so he settles readily into the waiting game and even makes a few 'friends' once he puts his old charming persona back on, even once they're turned into opponents for one another. He throws himself into his 'studies', quickly mastering the basics of this strange new form of magic and earning himself a rank near the top of his 'class'. The kindness treatment it gets him is a comment from an instructor that Limitless seems to be an apt name, but Akechi had learned a long time ago how to work around neglect from authority figures. While he doesn't have the context necessary to gauge his own progress, he thinks he's adjusting well.

Despite that, he feels terribly unprepared be jolted awake and (almost literally) dragged out of his bed, barely given the chance to change out of his pajamas and back into his uniform before he's shoved out of his room and into the hall. A moment later, the school's intercom crackles to life with an unfamiliar voice.

"Locate your partner and proceed to the front gate. Failure will not be tolerated."

And then the fighting starts.

Akechi doesn't hesitate to distance himself from the chaos the dorm hallway dissolves into, the instincts he honed in the Metaverse serving him well as he slinks through darkened hallways. The assignment is hardly fair - their assailants seem to be seasoned professionals and he's been allowed access to so little of the school he doesn't even know where the front gate is - but rather than fear or anger it's intent undercut with excitement that thrums in his veins. The link between he and his partner seems stronger tonight than it did before, though he's not sure if that's the reality of the situation or just his adrenaline talking. Whatever the case it's suddenly quite easy to follow, a steady thread of guidance that he can nearly see.

Akechi takes a roundabout route through the school, chasing after the sensation of 'someone over there' until it's narrowed down to 'someone right here'. Or rather, 'someone on the other side of this door'. He'd like to take his time and be cautious about entering, but the sound of approaching voices robs him of the opportunity. He yanks open the door, slips inside, and quickly but quietly eases it shut behind him. Even while he does that, he casts his gaze around the room (a library, he realizes), looking for any sign of this new partner of his.

Comments

[rehabilitant]

No rest for the wicked, or so the saying goes. And oh, Akira has been very bad indeed. It happens, because of course it does, on the morning that his probation finally ends. Now, here’s how it was meant to go: He would wake up in the attic, say his goodbyes to everyone, and then reluctantly return to the Kurusu household. Easy, right? Except he manages to fail step one in spectacular fashion by waking up somewhere else entirely. At the Seven Voices Academy, to be exact – a school apparently for Sacrifices and their respective Fighters. Considering how many loopholes that the courts had to leverage in order to send him to Shujin, Akira’s rather curious how low the bar for acceptance must be at Seven Voices. After all, it’s not as if schools are lining up for him to attend, what with his criminal record. Then again, it becomes quickly obvious that this academy is anything except normal. Which works out well, because neither is Akira.

He doesn’t balk like the other students. The Velvet Room has prepared him well to handle these kinds of impossible scenarios. While it does take some time adjusting to his new ears and tail, Akira becomes extremely fond of them. At night, when he can’t sleep, he listens to the sound of his tail softly swishing side-to-side across the blankets; it reminds him of Morgana, of his true home. And the writing that circles his wrist, Limitless…? He’s not sure what to make of it. It’s a bond engraved into his flesh, to someone he’s presumably never met. Hadn’t Igor – Yaldabaoth – warned that such relationships mustn’t be formed frivolously? Granted, the old man had turned out to be a malevolent would-be god bent on enslaving humanity. But still. The advice had been solid. Probably.

Akira bides his time, learns what he can about their current circumstances, and then takes his chance at escape with another three Sacrifices when luck seems to be on their side. It goes poorly. One of his accomplices breaks her leg during the getaway. Instead of leaving her behind, Akira makes the decision to stay with her. They never again see the two who did continue running, but he eavesdrops on the teachers long enough to learn that things hadn’t ended well for those Sacrifices. He pockets a steak knife from the cafeteria after that, futile though it may be, and keeps it hidden under his mattress.

School life is hardly difficult at Seven Voices. They’re treated well, in spite of everything, but Akira recognizes the short leash they’re all kept on. So, he goes through the motions. It’s an act that he’s mastered – and though he can’t claim to be top of his class, he gets by with decent enough grades to slide under the teachers’ radar. He doesn’t know what the endgame is here and would prefer not to draw undue attention to himself until then.

Naturally, Seven Voices Academy throws a wrench into his half-formulated plans. Akira sneaks the steak knife up the sleeve of his uniform just as he’s ushered out of the dorm room. The other Sacrifices stand in the hallway, bleary and confused and afraid. They’re told simply to locate their partners and proceed to the school’s front gate. The teacher, a creepy man with a cold, hungry smile, informs them that this is their only chance. At what, Akira doesn’t stick around to find out – his attention is drawn to the vague awareness lingering at the periphery of his consciousness: His Fighter. Like a moth drawn to the flame, he pursues that intangible link. It’s clear that the teachers can’t be trusted as allies. If he can rely on no one else, Akira hopes that his partner might be a hope in the dark.

But then Goro Akechi walks through the library doors, and Akira’s stomach sinks. More like a shot in the dark, he thinks with black amusement. The humor doesn’t reach his face; expression cool, he slips into the light with hands casually stuffed in his pants pockets. Peeking out from the disheveled tangle of hair, his ears sit straight and tall atop his head. They twitch in interest at the muted sounds of chaos surrounding them, by far more animated than his tail – which has curled loosely around one of his wrists, concealing the tattoo there.

Akira tastes bile in his mouth as he regards Akechi across the room. There’s a barrier between them, just like in Shido’s Palace, invisible to the naked eye. He doesn’t know how to breach it, or if he even wants to. The memory of a gunshot echoes in his skull – but he can’t say whether it’s the ghost of the shot that should have killed him in the interrogation room, or the one that ultimately killed Akechi. It makes him sick, either way.

“Hey,” he says, as if none of this is true, as if their bleak history were anything but, as if they aren’t prisoners in a new, cruel game. “The cat ears suit you. Very cute.”

[fabrications]

When he was younger, not long before his mother had died, Akechi had once slipped off a creek embankment in the middle of winter. It hadn't been very deep, but still enough to fully submerge him and soak him from head to toe.

What he feels now is remarkably similar to what he'd felt then: a jolt of alarm followed by an all encompassing icy shock, overpowering enough to briefly drive all other thoughts from his mind and emotions from his heart. He stares at Akira with his eyes wide, his lips parted, his ears tilted back, his tail slightly puffed - but before he can say anything or even react anyway further the sound of footsteps and muffled voices suddenly draw closer. Akechi freezes, eyes sliding back towards the door as Akira is not forgotten, but temporarily deprioritized.

Fortunately the voices and footsteps pass by without lingering or slowing down. Akechi doesn't really relax but some of the tension does bleed out of his frame. When he finally looks back to Joker is expression is under control again, that picture perfect mask of polite neutrality back in place, but there's no hiding the overly-interested forward tilt of his ears or the steady, anxious swishing of his tail.

"... Maybe, but they suit you better." His tone is just as calm and unassuming as Akira's, like it makes perfect sense for them to run into one another in this situation. "It seems like Morgana really rubbed off on you."

[rehabilitant]

Were it anyone else reacting to him with such blatant shock, Akira might have basked privately in smug pride. Unmoving from his spot in the middle of the room, he takes the moment of silence to wordlessly study the other boy. There’s not much to be gleaned, however; he’s not the Detective Prince. The corner of his mouth threatens to quirk up into a smirk at the sight of Akechi’s tail, but the somber reality of their situation douses any enjoyment he could have indulged in.

People approach the library. Like Akechi, Akira too tenses. Though interrelations between Sacrifices have been amiable since arrival – with little to warrant any wariness of a fellow student – something about this night feels different. There’s a prominent sense that they shouldn’t trust each other anymore, that the days of companionable reliance in the classroom and dormitories are forever over. Now, he is meant to depend on Akechi, who must undoubtedly share the name Limitless. This is seriously starting to feel like the world’s worst social experiment.

Akira exhales inaudibly as the people walk by the library without incident. With the potential interference gone, he returns his attention to the potential danger. Because he still doesn’t know what to make of Goro Akechi. Because he barely ever knew Goro Akechi. Because while he feels a strong empathy toward Goro Akechi, he knows better than to trust the other boy so easily. Akira doesn’t have a death wish, thank you very much.

“Oh, really?” The response is bland, as dull and uninspired as the look on Akira’s face as he reaches up to gently tug on one such ear. “…Thanks. I’m sure he’d like to think so, at least.”

The moment passes and, with it, the indifferent levity on Akira’s face. With a small frown, he glances at Akechi’s arms – both hidden beneath the academy uniform.

“So, I guess I’m your Sacrifice,” he muses aloud, as if to himself, refusing to dwell on the irony in such a statement. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

His tail flicks pointedly from where it still rests around his wrist.

[fabrications]

Unlike Akira, Akechi has never really hesitated to view his instructors or classmates with suspicion, though whether that's his observational skills or good old fashioned cynicism talking not even he can say.

Very much like Akira, the feigned indifference is rapidly fading him his expression and posture, replaced with wary anticipation instead. He's keenly aware of the extremely personal wrongs he's inflicted upon the Phantom Thieves, and upon Akira in particular. While he certainly remembers their words of forgiveness and his own lower-case-s sacrifice to save them in the end, he has no idea what either of those really count for. He hadn't exactly been in a position to consider what came next.

But... Akira isn't rejecting the idea outright, and he's keeping his distance. His reaction could be better, but it could also be much, much worse. So that's something, even though experience warns Akechi not to trust anyone under any circumstances. The Phantom Thieves had successfully pulled one over on him before, after all. Still, he knows a peace offering when he hears one - and whether or not it's actually meant that way, Akechi also takes Akira decision to reveal the location of his name, but not the name itself, as a demand to prove his own willingness to cooperate.

So takes a step forward, not nearly far enough to close the gap between the two of them but enough to make it a little easier to agree with Akira's request. He lifts one hand to tag back his shirt and jacket sleeves enough for the bold black letters emblazoned around his wrist to be visible. Once Akira has a chance to confirm the truth (Akechi is sure they must match, if they have them in the same location) he lets his sleeve fall again.

"At least we already have experience working together." Though really, he's not actually sure if a stranger would be worse. "I just hope they bothered telling you where the front gate is." Akechi had realized his movements were being limited, but tonight has been quite illuminating on the matter of how little of the school he's been given access to.

[rehabilitant]

The fine hairs on the nape of his neck prickle in subtle warning as Akechi takes a step closer, bridging the gap that yawns open between them. Akira watches. Though it’s no easy feat, he does his best to maintain a nonchalant façade, to not betray just how on edge he feels. If he’s successful, it won’t be the first time that he’s managed to dupe Akechi. Unfortunately, unlike when the Phantom Thieves enacted the plan, he hasn’t had weeks in advance to mentally and emotionally prepare himself. Akira only has an immature, boyish pride to lose in this scenario, at least. So what if Akechi sees through him?

Limitless is branded like a shackle of ink around that pale wrist. It’s not surprising. There was almost no other possibility, really. Even after the tattoo has been hidden once more beneath a sleeve, Akira stares at Akechi’s arm in thoughtful consideration. The facts so far… They’re the paired unit, Limitless. Akechi is the Fighter to Akira’s Sacrifice. But what does this mean for them? Well, that’s probably dependent on Akechi. The other boy doesn’t currently seem interested in putting a hole through Akira’s head. That’s a start.

“I have an idea,” he replies, purposefully vague. After a moment, his tail slides away from his own wrist, which he holds up for inspection. Fair’s fair. Still hidden up his other sleeve, the steak knife has warmed up to his body temperature. “Ready to move on?”

Or do we have more to discuss? he doesn’t ask. Given their instructions for the night, Akira’s not sure if now is the right time to open that particular can of worms.

[fabrications]

Akechi thinks he catches hints of the tension Akira feels, though with the low light and his own doubts he can't even be confident in his own observations. In the end, he decides it doesn't matter if he sees it or not. Akira probably is tense. Who can blame him?

It's not like Akechi is exactly relaxed, either. Once again, his neutral expression is totally at odds with the restless swishing of his tail and the twitching of his ears, though he relaxes slightly once he confirms that the dark lettering around Akira's wrist matches his own. The greater implications behind the two of them being a unit are anything but relaxing, of course, but Akechi will deal with that later. Right now the most important thing is that his odds of surviving the night have improved.

"Ready when you are, leader." At the very least, letting Akira take charge comes naturally, and there's definitely nothing more to discuss in regards to that at the moment. And since Akira is being cagey about answering his question: "I at least know where the front gate isn't. It seems that the Fighter cadets are only allowed limited access to the school."

[rehabilitant]

Leader, Akechi calls him. Akira pauses, tasting the syllables of that familiar title on his tongue as he decides whether or not the other boy is mocking him. It doesn’t sound like it. With a sidelong glance, he walks past Akechi to the door that his Fighter entered through. He listens, tail curled almost like a question mark. Despite the earlier chaos, the hallway outside seems quiet now.

“We weren’t given much free reign,” he admits, glancing over his shoulder at Akechi. “A few tried to escape early on. What I know comes from that attempt.”

It probably doesn’t need to be stated that those Sacrifices weren’t successful; for the first time that night, there’s real anger darkening Akira’s brow as he recalls what happened. His ears remain flattened along his skull long after he’s schooled his expression, a tell he can’t quite manage to control. Corrupted adults stomping all over the lives of kids…it makes his blood boil, even now.

“Can you sense other Fighters nearby? We were told that’s an ability unique to Fighters.”

Akira is, truth be told, a little jealous. As much as he would rather not be roped into this bizarre game of Sacrifices and Fighters and paired units, he can’t help thinking that the Fighters have the cooler movesets.

[fabrications]

No mockery here, and no sign of it either; Akechi looks as politely attentive as he always did during their jaunts through the Metaverse, though his expression is a bit more obvious without Crow's mask in the way.

He takes note of the story Akira relates about the escape efforts, and of the anger that darkens his expression as he does. Silently, Akechi resigns himself to the idea that Akira isn't even going to be content with simply escaping this place and leaving it all behind. He won't be satisfied unless every single other student leaves with them.

"There were a few escape attempts in my class, as well." But that's all they were: attempts. That's all he says on the matter, too. No sense in trying to change his mind.

Regardless, the question gets a nod from Akechi and he steps closer to the door. This isn't his strongest point, so he closes his eyes to try to shut out any unneeded distractions. His ears swivel this way and that as he focuses, like he can actually hear the other Fighters. After a moment, he opens his eyes.

"There was one Fighter in the group that just passed us, heading north. There's two of them alone to the south and south-east, and two of them close together to the west." He points as he mentions the last point, to the opposite side of the library. "There's plenty of others, but those are the closest."

There's a pause before he adds: "If I can make a suggestions, I think we should move west, towards the pair that are close together." He doesn't bother explaining why; if Akira wants to know he'll ask, and if he's going to reject the idea Akechi would rather save his energy for something more productive.

[rehabilitant]

So, attempts to flee were made in both the Sacrifice and Fighter classes. Akira quietly removes the prescription-less glasses from his face and takes a moment pretending to clean them, all the while nursing the voracious rage in his heart demanding justice. When he’s finished, he slides the fake spectacles back into place – as sure as any Metaverse mask. He wonders if Akechi joined the other Fighters in trying to escape, but quickly dismisses the notion. No, Akechi doesn’t seem like the type who would work with a group unless it was unavoidable. It’ll be interesting to see how being part of Limitless affects them both.

Akira looks on with interest as his Fighter closes his eyes, watching those ears twist and turn as if they were a weathervane. When Akechi relays the information, he simply nods in understanding until the suggestion to head west.

“Why west?” he prompts, tone clear of judgment.

[fabrications]

Akechi can't even really say why (it's because since he left the Phantom Thieves he's had his opinion completely ignored far too often) but knowing that Akira wants to hear his reasoning makes him relax.

"An isolated Fighter can hold their own just fine, but we're much weaker without our Sacrifices." Even their instructors had been honest about the gulf of power between them not being solely due to experience. "And so far, none of the instructors I've seen have been working in groups of more than two. So if there's a pair of Fighters nearby, they're most likely two isolated Fighters, or part of two pairs of students working together."

He's not aware of blank Fighters yet even though he says 'most likely'. He's at least aware of the fact that there's a lot about this world he doesn't know yet.

"In either case, I think they're more likely to be friendlier than any of the alternatives." Quickly, he adds: "I'm not suggesting we walk up and introduce ourselves, but if we're spotted then we may have better odds of walking away without a fight."