2025-10-03: Scars Made Of Gold

• Log: Scars Made Of Gold
• Cast: Shinjiro Aragaki, Tsumugi Kujaku
• Where: Shimokitazawa - Peacock Silk
• OOC Date: October 03, 2025
• IC Date: July 20, 2012
• Summary: Shinjiro visits Peacock Silk to retrieve his coat and investigate Tsumugi for Myunghon's sake, worried that they're going to cause them harm. What he finds instead is potential answers to questions he has long struggled to grapple with, relief from fear for his friend, and some damn good coffee.

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(|======================= Shimokitazawa - Peacock Silk =======================|)

-================================================ Tokyo/Shimokitazawa Ward ====-

Peacock Silk roosts in a restored three-story Taisho building; the front is clad

with shiny copper in verdant green, interrupted by a slim front of brick,       

suggesting the building grew together. A little lacuna brings one past Peacock  

Silk's windows and into a suddenly-quiet enclosure - surrounded by traditional  

burnt-cedar siding, with a flower bed, stone benches, trash and recycling (a    

minor miracle in Tokyo) and a vending machine holding truly eccentric drinks,   

served cold.                                                                    

Peacock Silk proper takes up most of the street level of the building. The      

entrance is not on the street, but a bit out of the way -- there is a door, now 

barred and false, with a tiny placard (too small to be seen from any distance)  

stating 'That Way' with a helpful arrow. The shop's entrance has double doors,  

guarded by a wrought-iron gate featuring an Art-Nouveau outline of a peacock    

with tail in full spread, standing atop a banner reading PEACOCK and SILK to the

left and right.                                                                 

The store's interior is starkly modern: light wood flooring and white walls,    

interrupted with the shop's goods, artisanal tools mounted behind the counter,  

and - where a vast space of white makes an irresistible canvas - large pieces of

black-and-white art, rotating periodically. The register and checkout is on your

right as you come in, along with a small display of old-fashioned scales and    

assaying tools, doubtless for show. To the entrance's left is a ramped platform 

with stout wooden perches, several of different heights. The store's mascot, a  

real live peacock, often perches here, peering in judgment on customers and     

surveying his domain. (The bird accepts snacks.)                                

The back of the shop is ruled by a long counter, loosely split into thirds - one

space for glittering jewelry on busts and in glass cases and on twinkling       

stands. Another for leather goods, white and black and brown and red; purses and

belts, chokers and bracelets galore. Towards the back, more complete outfits,   

with several mannequins bearing signature pieces or unique offerings, often in  

dramatic poses. The staff maneuver them now and then; sometimes when a customer 

isn't looking.                                                                  

Towards the far end of the shop, several changing booths have been formed from  

interior dividers, holding the basics -- some room to maneuver, somewhere to    

hang up clothes, and several mirrors to check yourself. Stepping right outside  

of the changing voice is dazzling -- many of the store's modern track lightings 

are skewed just so, producing a spotlight effect, like stepping out on stage.   

Alone in the world. The perfect visual baptism to celebrate a new individual.   

<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.

It is early in Peacock Silk's hours when Shinjiro comes through the door to pick up his coat. He's got the yen in his pocket for the final payment, as well as some of his materials from the Atelier in a bag to see if they'd be of any use towards the staff.

Though, that's not the only reason he's here, as he looks towards the empty peacock stand with a frown. He kinda wanted to say hi to Pernelle...

But most importantly, he wants to gain the measure of the shop's employees a bit more, after what he's learned about what happened with Myunghon.

"Hey, anyone here? Came to pick up an order," Shinjiro raises his voice slightly, in case he doesn't quite see anyone immediately as he takes a look around again at some of the premade accessories, especially the leatherwork.

<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.

There's no peacock to squawk joyously at Shinjiro Aragaki's arrival today (and perhaps less joyously upon realizing he has come with yen payments and not potato payments, the superior currency). Nor is there the boisterous greetings of a punk rock leatherworker to welcome him in and/or provide obscure trivia discovered in the annals of the internet.

In fact, despite the sign at the (fake) front entrance reading OPEN, there seems to be no one here at all.

No sound at all, indeed, save for the masterfully jazzy melodies of Ryo Fukui's 1976 album Scenery piped through the store's speakers.

Hey, anyone here? I came to pick up an order, says Shinjiro, but I Want To Talk About You is the only thing that seems like it could possibly answer him.

He is left to linger, absorb Peacock Silk in that (relative) silence, for almost a full minute--

"Name?"

Before that voice, calm and understated, somehow manages to cut through the piano's melancholy sounds.

Shinjiro will find them, leaned against the frame leading into the tailor workstation: dressed in an eloquent, high-necked long-sleeved dress in deepest purple with a mesh keyhole cut out just over the heart, the dress itself terminates around mid-thigh, replaced with fishnet stockings and aggressively steel-heeled boots; the eloquence of the dress itself is rather purposely maligned in the way they've seen fit to roll the sleeves up to the elbows, revealing pale forearms and a pair of half-scoop, black leather gloves.

Their head is dipped, black bangs spilling over one smoky green eye, dark purple painted lips a calm line of placidity. Their focus, it seems, is on the book in their hand - labeled simply CANDIDE, OU L'OPTIMISME, to the point that one might wonder if they had actually asked that question, or if Shinjiro just heard things.

And yet, with the crisp turn of paper between leather fingers, there Tsumugi Kujaku is.

Waiting.

<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.

Shinjiro waits the long moment, a little bit anxious about it as he taps his foot in the rhythm of the song (he's got a very good sense of it). The questions he has still make him feel guilty, but he won't be able to sleep unless he knows Myunghon will be safe.

When the name call comes out, he blinks twice, looking to them at the frame reading a book. He clarifies in his head if he properly heard them, and then...

"Shinjiro Aragaki. I commissioned a coat from Kikuchi."

A pause, as he peers at the book and tries to translate it in his head. He's been poking more at French books since he's met Myunghon, but even then all he can think is 'it's old???'.

"Are you Tsumugi Kujaku?" he asks in a way that reveals curiosity, but he knows in his heart that's the only person they could be, even if he believes he could be wrong! He can't question the wrong person...

<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.

Shinjiro Aragaki.

Those extremely green eyes finally tilt up from the content of those pages, one half-hidden behind black locks of hair.

"Ara."

The book snaps shut with the quiet slap of paper on paper. Their head tilts toward an angle, like an owl's curious cant.

-Interested-.

"Saika told me about you. The man who fought the ninja."

They are, in contrast, -less- interested in the invocation of their own name; Tsumugi seems to just brush it aside at first as they straighten up, tucking that book carefully against the crook of their elbow. They advance on Shinjiro, with a languid gait, as if all the time in the world was theirs to command. That stare of theirs is so calm and yet also so piercing, as if they see right through that curiosity of Shinjiro's, and deeper still. Click, click, click go those heels.

And it's only when they make it to Shinjiro's side that they offer an off-handed gift to that intent query that barely lasts the entirety of their next step:

"I am."

There and gone. Within the next step, they're already walking past Shinjiro towards Saika's workspace, remarking as they go: "This way." It's not too terribly long before they reach the corner of the room where Saika's completed commissions rest. Shinjiro asked their name for a reason, didn't he? It's the obvious assumption.

But Tsumugi doesn't seem to see fit to prompt the reasons why quite yet, instead wondering, with utterly subdued yet seemingly genuine interest, "What was it like? Fighting a ninja."

As if there was nothing they could be more interested in this moment than Shinjiro Aragaki, the man who fought the ninja.

<Pose Tracker> Saika Kikuchi has posed.

Saika's space is austere. A big heavy table with cutting implements; a space on the wall with a number of hides, a side warren of cubbies in which smaller scraps are kept, or leather that can be rolled. It smells deeply but not unpleasantly of leather, that unique scent that comes so close to the smell of skin. The only thing on the work table that isn't obviously a Tool of Art is a battered CD-stereo combo, obviously well loved. It is currently turned off. Next to it is a jewel case for Detroit Metal City's most recent album.

The coat is on a hanger on a wheeling rack. There is a cocktail dress made entirely out of interpatched white and black leather next to it, along with a more prosaic black leather jacket - a patch has been applied to one arm.

The lighting is very bright, once it's turned on. Like a surgery, or a morgue.

<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.

Shinjiro blinks twice as his name sparks interest, though it makes sense once the ninja attack is brought up. That was really weird!!! He follows as instructed, moving over to see the completed commissions area with a standard pace. There's something about Tsumugi... why do they remind him of a cat?

"Well, he was like... a homeless street ninja type guy, but he definitely had the skills. Wanted me in the hospital for some reason and got it. Was doing all sorts of crazy flips and slashes, at one point I threw him into a building sign hard enough to crack it and he bounced off and could still move. His Persona was summoning bridges in defense. It was... frustrating, but also the adrenaline was flowing through, pushing me forward to stay moving. I just kept thinking... I can't lose here."

Shinjiro shrugs, as if 'it was really weird but it's Tuesday', a sort of mild confidence in himself that even when things are bizarre, he can keep on trucking.

As they reach his coat, he pauses. "Damn, that's incredible," he says immediately at the extensive work Saika did on the red coat on the wheeling rack. It may be slightly similar to the one he's wearing now but it's different enough to be worth owning both, since it has those temperature controls and all sorts of cool design tricks and the fur lining.

"...I was wondering something about you, though. I've... heard some things, and felt like it'd be better to dispel any misconceptions directly, you know?"

A pause, and a breath, as he slowly moves to find his money for the coat. "What's your interest in Myunghon Yeo?" he says, with more of the energy of a caring friend than anything.

<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.

'Homeless street ninja type.'

"That's just how they are," Tsumugi says, as if this were a perfectly normal matter of course.

Leather-wrapped fingers dance along the patchwork cocktail dress as they continue: "They started as peasants. The ninja. They formed together in leagues during the Sengoku period as a means of self-preservation when civil war was the order of the day. Eventually, they became so famous for it across the country that they didn't just survive, they prospered. Most of the notable families ended up plying their trade with warlords who could afford their services."

Leather plies leather. Tsumugi's gaze hoods as a soft exhale spills past dark lips.

"In the end, you could call them mercenaries by any other name. Knowing that, doesn't it make you curious? I wonder... who could have hired him, and why were they interested in you?"

Tsumugi dwells on the thought for a few seconds, before their own slim shoulders lift in a roll.

"Well, whatever they wanted you out of commission for, they likely got it."

So what was it, then?

That's as far as Tsumugi's personal interest goes, however; having gotten the answer they were looking for, they unhook that coat - hung together with both the coat and extra lining.

"This will keep you protected in cognitive spaces; it won't take damage like conventional clothing," they explain in those same, calm tones, holding out that coat, hung off their index finger. "It's still leather though. Maintain it the same way you would any other. Stick to dry cleaning. If you can't afford that, do it yourself. Brush, as little liquid as possible. Take care with the lining."

With that, they're about to hand it off, before...

...I was wondering something about you, though.

The slight crook of their index finger draws the coat away once more.

Heard some things. Dispel misconceptions.

What's their interest in Myunghon Yeo?

"..."

Tsumugi considers Shinjiro in the space of Saika's little atelier for a few moments, the scent of leather hanging heavy in the air. And then --

"Do you like coffee, Shinjiro-kun?"

Just like that, they're drawing that coat fully back to let it hang over their shoulder, before they walk past once more.

"I'm going to make a drink," they aside as they brush past.

"You can join me, if you want."

Towards the second floor. Coat in tow.

Again, they don't wait. If Shinjiro wants answers, wants assurances, wants his coat, he'll follow. If he doesn't--

That's fine too, isn't it?

<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.

"...I guess I am curious," Shinjiro replies after the history lesson. Mercenaries... he never thought he'd be on the bad side of one. "I know people looking into it. Maybe I'll find out."

When it comes to the coat, he's committing the details to mind. "I can do that," he says firmly. "Thanks," he says awkwardly, as if he's not knowing how to handle this.

But then, Tsumugi steals his coat! He needs to follow if he wants both it and answers, right? And also maybe coffee. He considers. It feels like an event check, a gate that leads to something he might not be able to step back from, whatever they say may hurt him, after all. He could walk away, give up, text Myunghon, apologize-

His feet move. He's following, as he realizes that making sure Myunghon's not going to get hurt again is more important than his own emotional safety. It always has been. After all, what is the measure of Shinjiro Aragaki, a boy who's gonna die? The only thing he is worth is making sure others continue to burn bright when he's gone.

"Yeah," he finally replies about the coffee, escaping his thoughts to continue in Tsumugi's lockstep. Part of him feels like he has no say, but he did, didn't he? He could have left at any time.

<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.

The sound of Tsumugi's heels on hardwood are a steady click, click, click, lost under the whimsical, ethereal strains of Early Summer playing over the speakers.

The door opens, and they slip into the dark of the unlit world just beyond its threshold. Here lies the final check for Shinjiro Aragaki. Does he take that final step? Is it worth it?

...

The light blooms across the second floor with the idle flick of a switch the second his booted heel crosses the boundary between work space and personal space.

Make no mistake: this -is- personal space. Not unlike Cardboard Dragon, the upper level of Peacock Silk has been set aside to serve as the living space for its quartet of owners (Pernelle counts, even if a bird cannot legally own property according to the ancient tenants of bird law). In many ways, it looks like the first floor - white walls, light hardwood - expensive, postmodern tastes and Scandinavian-modern furnishing.

Tasteful. Eloquent. With little deviations in style and layout here and there where it is clear one member of the shop or another has made their personal mark, much like the store below.

The sound of Tsumugi's footfalls are clearer here, serving to lead Shinjiro towards the clean and well-appointed (some might say luxuriously so (saika's not going to settle for a -subpar- cooking station)) kitchen, a little island with padded stools just beyond him to settle into if he feels like it.

There, he'll find Tsumugi, already hard at work calmly grinding beans by hand towards a fine powder; despite the amount of effort that must be involved, their placid expression doesn't shift an inch, nor does the tranquil certainty of their voice hitch even a little as they ask, curiously:

"So you're here for Myunghon. Do they know you're here?"

... As if they could just turn the questions on Shinjiro, just like that.

But he's interested in their private lives; quid pro quo is only fair, isn't it?

<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.

Shinjiro's steps, at least, do not betray his hesitance much. His feet are practically moving on their own, having decided for him what matters more than whatever could happen to him.

His eyes scan the persona space. He has the sudden feeling he's prying too much, that he made a mistake, and yet he continues over to a stool, taking a seat without even asking. Perhaps that's some of his natural confidence coming back, reasserting itself in the face of what feels like danger.

He watches them grind coffee beans, pursing his lips lightly. But when that question is asked...

"Not yet."

The two words leave before he has a chance to truly process what he's saying. He's going to tell them, of course he has to. He can't keep going behind their back on things, that'll only push them further apart. But he *has* to know. If he died next week, their relationship still bitter, and it would only serve to lead them further into the path of someone who would cause them pain, then his spirit would never rest.

At the least, his awkwardness has eased at least visibly. He's still asserting control over himself, choosing to dissociate a little instead of let the panic come up for even a second.

<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.

Not yet.

"Mm."

For a long time, it's all Shinjiro gets. Mm. As if that's all there is to say in the face of those two words. Scarcely a syllable, and yet somehow riddled with any number of judgments one could simply imply off of the two-consonants of pronunciation.

They're already boiling water in their pot, the coffee maker set off to the side turn to face Shinjiro, half-leaned with understated extravagance against the kitchen stove top, gloved hands framing either side of it as the heat rises against their back.

"So you came here on their behalf. To protect them."

They surmise. But they don't question. Their head tilts.

"From me, or themself?"

They linger in that question for a second before the siren song of their heated pot whining calls their attention. They turn, taking hold of it and pivoting smoothly towards that coffee maker; steaming water pours in a slow, lazy stream, damping down a paper filter as they wonder,

"And if you decide I have indecent designs towards them, you'll tell them. So...

"If that's the case, and they then decide they still want to see me... what then?"

<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.

Shinjiro waits in that long moment. His mind ruminates, deciding what the judgment is, but then scraps each one, unsure if it is the real one. It's painful, his brain working against him in such a way.

But as they turn back, and surmise about protection and ask that question...

"...tch," he says, but it's not hostile. Not at this time. They have valid concerns, he realizes. So the only thing he can do... is be honest, and perhaps get honesty back.

"Column A, Column B. I think they're in a bad headspace since their injury and are on the risk of self-destruction... I know what that looks like," he says vaguely. "But I also think the timing is odd, that you appeared in that hospital room and they seemed to start struggling more."

He watches the pot. Their next question...

Is the one that hurts most. But he knows his answer. It's the only one that's fair.

"Then, if that's the case... that's fine. I can't control them or police them. But they won't have to go at it alone, without warning. If they want to walk into the fire, then I'd rather walk with them than leave them to burn, if they'll have me."

A blink-and-you'll-miss-it wince as he realizes what he said. That metaphor... suddenly reminds him of the past. He wasn't meaning for that, but it came out that way even so.

<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.

I know what that looks like, says the young man who must still be standing on that precipice of twilight teenage years just before proper adulthood.

Filling damp paper with fine-ground coffee, Tsumugi glances a curious glance Shinjiro's way, just as he speaks about walking into the fire with Myunghon.

A wince, reflexive, from the boy who knows how self-destruction looks.

"..."

Those terribly bright green eyes shift once more towards their work.

"The timing wasn't odd," they note simply. "I went there to see them."

It's a blunt answer. Why? Maybe it's just because of the way Tsumugi is. Or maybe it's because Shinjiro answered their own questions directly -- or maybe because of -how- he answered the question.

Maybe it's a little of column A, B and C. What matters is... -something- seems to have satisfied them. Enough for them to finally circle around towards the topic Shinjiro opened all this up with.

"I like to keep up with what's happening in Hirasaka. Sa-ya has regular appointments with Dr. Tomi. So I heard what happened to Myunghon." That kettle tilts again, steaming water slowly filling up paper and saturating coffee grounds with its liquefying presence.

"Inconsequential men like Koichi Ishiba need something to blame their lot in life on. When they find it, it becomes the sole focus of their obsession." Like an addiction, they told Myunghon. "The vessel in which they can pour all of their self-loathing."

Water and coffee rises, and rises, and rises.

"... But there's only so much you can fill a thing before it breaks."

... and stops, just at the precipice of spilling over.

"That dull, blind thing would have broken them. And then he would have drunkenly shambled on to the next, not even realizing the precious thing he shattered, just that he needed something new to fill with that hate."

The water slowly sinks, until nothing more than the grimy sludge of what were once rich, aromatic beans remains. Tsumugi calmly removes the paper and disposes of it properly.

"... Myunghon thinks they are powerless against the banal evils of the real world. And it chains them down."

<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.

"...I see," Shinjiro nods. He's taking Tsumugi at face value. Perhaps they didn't mean for Myunghon to struggle.

No, he doesn't think they did, actually. Their words as they start explaining, as he watches the coffee be drained, scarily make some amount of sense to him. Inconsequential men... perhaps that's true. Everything said about Ishiba makes sense to his brain. Even does the thing about how he'd fill them til they broke. He could *see* that, see that they were on the verge of breaking in fear and trauma. It's even happening again with their mother, slowly.

But he just can't agree with the implicit conclusion. "...so you tried to help them cast aside their chains. I don't disagree. Ishiba wouldn't be missed in any important way." A sigh.

"But... their head injury was pretty bad. They could have died, and that scared me. But I guess that's part of escaping their chains, better to die free than die at his hands, still a prisoner of some sort of fate." He's not sure he entirely agrees, but he's giving them some benefit of the doubt, having met the human instead of the spectre from when Myunghon explained. That's not what he wants to say here truly, though.

"Are you familiar with kintsugi?"

He assumes yes, so he doesn't explain it before making his metaphor. "People are... hm. Something that can crack, right? Well, if Myunghon had killed Ishiba, they would have cracked. It may have been repaired, with a bit of gold, depending on how it affected them. But what about the next time they need to fight back? Or the next? Eventually, those cracks would have overcome the whole of the vessel, and they would have shattered irreparably. This happens to everyone who takes lives... sooner or later, they hit their faultline, and they shatter."

"So... I don't believe people should cost another their life in that way. Not because the other doesn't deserve it... if Ishiba died right now, I wouldn't even wince. But I can't let someone important to me take that sin in on themselves until they crumble. I care too much about them."

A metaphor that could only be spoken in that exact tone by someone who has ruminated so heavily on this specific situation. Someone with some level of experience, despite clearly being of too young an age for it to be fair.

<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.

As Shinjiro begins filling in blanks, Tsumugi doesn't offer corrections or clarifications, or even try to stop him at all, as if disinterested in tampering with the young man's interpretation of their words.

Nor do they argue as Shinjiro weighs in with his own feelings on that particular situation, about how it frightened him, the possibility of Myunghon's death.

But maybe... maybe that's a part, a risk, of striving for freedom.

They let Shinjiro come to his own conclusions, wordlessly setting two porcelain cups on saucers on the island countertop, one after the other, with a soft chime that chases after Shinjiro's question.

Are you familiar with kintsugi?

*clink* *clink*

Like a wordless answer.

He puts forth his metaphor, and the kernel of a question it is built around: how many times can a thing fracture before it becomes completely unmendable? How many times can gold lacquer celebrate the scars we accrue along the way before the scars are all that's left?

It's spoken with a weight of experience. Spoken with a personal edge. Spoken like someone who has grappled with a heavy guilt. Myunghon's? ... Or his own?

*clink*

"Have you discovered your faultline, Shinjiro-kun?"

They're there, as Shinjiro ruminates, immersed in his metaphor. One cup of coffee on the island countertop, steaming and at the ready.

The other within Shinjiro's field of vision, offered up on its saucer as Tsumugi leans in with a curious stare.

"'If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake. That will be punishment as well as the prison.'"

It's a very particular quote, from a very particular book; but it, like Tsumugi's proximity, lasts only up to the point Shinjiro takes that cup of coffee. After? Tsumugi is easing themself up onto the countertop, one long leg hooking against the other as they take hold of their own cup.

"You're still young," they say, and yet... they don't say it like it's a bad thing. It lacks any sort of judgment at all, really, good or bad. "Burdened, but young. You'd be surprised at how easy it is for human beings to see other life as a commodity. Something with a variable degree of value to be bartered. People have learned to reduce it to formulas, every drop of blood of a human life becoming a number on a page. The same is even true of family." Their head tilts, as they lift that cup to their lips. "We're taught to serve family, serve community, serve each other, and in the end, we're taught to ignore one very important thing: the only thing you can be certain of is your own value."

A second passes. They shake their head. "... Mm. But that's not the point. Does Myunghon Yeo's power come at the end of a firearm's primed barrel?" It's the same question they had asked Myunghon: is their power in a gun, really? "There are ways to deal with a man like Ishiba without taking his life -- though it'd be the simplest. And the easiest way to ensure a man like him doesn't simply move on to another target," they suggest mildly, again without judgment -- or even interest in Ishiba himself. "Whether he lives or dies is no concern to me... but violence isn't the strength I see in Rumormonger Merry. So if you're concerned I'll compel them towards murder..."

They take a sip. The coffee is rich, the aroma indulgent, the body fruity and layered with almost wine-like notes for anyone with a refined palate to enjoy.

"... that's not what interests me about them. I simply can't abide someone so magnificent being trapped in such a stifling cage as theirs."

<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.

Perhaps, in a way, Tsumugi letting Shinjiro come to these conclusions is a path to growth. As he ruminates, as he's asked if he's discovered his faultline, he pauses, tilting his head.

Has he? He's going to die... but has he truly broken beyond repair? If they're talking about freedom in death, is it truly the worst thing ever to die? He doesn't want it to happen... but perhaps he chained himself, and the freedom can only lie in embracing life.

Why does that thought scare him so? That is shattered by the quote that happens as he tries to push it away.

If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake. That will be punishment as well as the prison.

Shinjiro punished himself. Was he his own bird in a cage, singing to be free? Jailor and prisoner alike. Tsumugi might notice him absently frowning, as he processes it. If he could release himself... wouldn't it be better?

Why does that thought scare him so?

When they speak again, he takes a breath, listening clearly. "The only thing you can be certain of is your own value..." How much does he have left? "Damn."

He take his coffee cup finally, taking a heady sip. He thinks about the words about Myunghon.

"...we agree there. Myunghon isn't someone who fights via death and punishment. I think their power is the fact they're still moving. No matter how much has pushed them down... they've never given up, and I don't think they ever will, as long as they know their north star."

A magnificent being, trapped in a stifling cage... "I think I had a misconception about you, from what they had said. I don't know what the right belief is, but... I don't think you're truly going to harm them. Be a bad influence, maybe, but that's not my business. I can be a bad influence too," he smiles lightly at that. He's got a nice smile.

He'll take a moment to drink his coffee in silence, before adding. "...thank you. This is really good... very fruity, some subtle notes, too." Yes, he has a refined palate!

<Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.

Somehow, Tsumugi Kujaku manages to make all their countertop perches look as natural as royalty claiming a throne. Maybe that cat comparison really is valid - even leg-crossed and straight-backed as they are right now just gives the impression of a feline in a more upright, commanding posture.

And, just like a cat, their interests seem to flow within the breadth of their whimsy.

At the very least, the proprietor of Peacock Silk pays close attention -- even when it seems like they aren't. After they offer their final and definitive answer to the question that brought Shinjiro here, their focus seems to be on savoring that coffee in a slow, languid sip. And yet, they're listening as Shinjiro talks about what he views as Myunghon's strength -- about their ability to keep going.

And they notice, most especially, that frown that dances at the young man's lips in the aftermath of that little quote of theirs.

Does Shinjiro Aragaki deserve release?

Who doesn't feel a certain kind of fear when they stand on the precipice of a release they have tried to bottle down for so long?

"Mm," exhales Tsumugi in the wake of that sip, hooded eyes fluttering towards a lazy shut.

They remain silent, even, as Shinjiro admits to his misconceptions. Eyes crack open, bright green slivers made all the brighter by the kitchen's illumination as they regard him with that expression that remains, as ever, so difficult to read. They regard him; regard his smile.

...thank you. This is really good... very fruity, some subtle notes, too.

Tsumugi Kujaku rarely smiles, themself. Like it was a commodity to be shared only when earned. So the way that small suggestion of a smile touches the corners of lips painted the darkest shades of purple stands out as bright as that green gaze when it comes, but it's not simply for the act itself.

It's for the approval behind it.

Lingering like a subtle note, for a refined palate.

"Good," they say simply. That Shinjiro likes the coffee? That he can recognize the complex profile of its flavor? That his misconceptions have been cleared?

That he, too, can be a bad influence?

...

Whatever the answer, it's never elucidated. It just lingers, a single-syllable sentiment of approval, before Tsumugi sets their cup down on its saucer with the softest chime of porcelain.

"Do you know the works of Osamu Dazai?" they ask, suddenly. "There's a copy of 'No Longer Human' on the bookshelves at the west wall. Third shelf from the bottom. You should take it with you, along with the coat."

A second passes, before they add: "Don't worry about the price. Consider it on the house; payment for an interesting conversation."

Look: if Saika wanted the full commission fee she would not have let Tsumugi - or Pernelle ---- OR Yanagi really let's be honest - potentially handle the exchange.

That's just common sense. One of them can be bribed with happy meal toys.