2025-11-22: Smoke Trail in an Unraveling Sky
- Log: Smoke Trail in an Unraveling Sky
- Cast: Shiryuu Ryouhara, Umie Akabane
- Where: Shibuya, Tokyo
- OOC Date: November 22, 2025
- IC Date: August 14, 2012
- Summary: Shiryuu comes again to test Umie's mettle during the Dark Hour, only to have Umie's lack of proper thought spoil the mood. After messing up her apartment even more than it was before, the two bicker their way to a yakitori stand. While Umie begins to wonder if this is some weird idea of a date, Shiryuu begins to consider possibly setting up a visit with a certain serial killer.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
It turns out there's a reason why Shiryuu can simply show up wherever he wants, whenever he wants, as if he's been there the whole time.
The sound of crows is not an unfamiliar sound for them, not during the missing hour, the period in which the television's eye winks closed and dead, during which the phone shuts off, and the only light cast is that off of the crazed, wild moon. Everything living should be dead, sealed in their coffins for the interim while ink black things prowl the streets.
But cognition is king, and for a few, 'the chatter of crows' has become a shorthand for the underpinnings of engimatic influence.
They are more talkative than usual tonight, the eerie quiet broken up by the snicker and chatter on powerlines (?) high overhead. It would be something that would raise concern, if the night wasn't entirely so soothing.
Like a pillow laid on the face and pressed down.
The young man doesn't actually use the door, doesn't actually knock. Instead, his movement stirs the wind itself, a sudden burst of churned air that briefly reminds that it can get stuffy in such a small space fast without electricity. That haunting breeze is literally the only herald to his appearance, the silver-haired onmitsu stepping out of no-thingness and nowhere with no more ceremony and pronouncement than a student skipping the fourth step down the stairs at school.
First, he is not. Then, he is. Simple as that.
A shining blue eye flickers in the dark, a sore shade of crystalline glistening with his arrival. He still carries that pack, strap held in one hand, still carries the red bundle across its top length. But his jacket is different, a more modern white-and black striped affair, with red tied trim around the wrists. Overall, he's still very, very weirdly dressed though.
He chooses to make landfall right in the middle of what ... passes for her kitchenette. He had to be careful -- despite his intel, he really doesn't know exactly where she's at in her house, and showing up on the couch again while she's sleeping on it could potentially be...
...eehh. Let's just say Shiryuu doesn't feel like dealing with that right now.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
To hear a crow during the Dark Hour would be an anathema. To have several might as well be the same as seeing a woman at the ford washing your bloody clothing: something that shouldn't be, an anomaly that foretells a bad omen.
The Badb in Umie would know it well, and be restless tonight, if to join them. With the windows propped open to try to catch some kind of breeze that would fail to come at this unnatural hour, Umie immediately feels something is off.
It's one of those times you keep your weapon and a few other things close at hand, if out of view.
The moment the air flow seems to change, Umie slips from her futon to slip into the open bathroom where she's stored her coat.
Joker's showed Umie just how valuable a smoke bomb can be in a pinch (wtf, Umie, were you really that hard up that you just *sold them* to demons for cash?!)-- since then, Umie's procurred a few.
One is quietly thrown at Shiryuu's feet; when the smoke bomb detonates, footsteps follow, the shoge flashing forward to try to pause at Shiryuu's throat.
There's just one minor miscalculation.
........... oh right it's an enclosed space, this was a GREAT IDEA UMIE, YOU CAN'T EVEN TALK NOW.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Well, at least she's not on the futon, or in the kitchen trying to eat garbage again. But it's a tiny studio and there's not that -- really? During the Dark Hour? She couldn't hold it? It's dangerous.
Shiryuu becomes aware of a smoke bomb landing between his sneakers a second later. "What the f--"
*PAF* *fwhoooosh*
Never before has Shiryuu been so offended by an attempted ninja act since a certain someone in the clan decided he needed to die. Admittedly, this is different, but not by much.
Shiryuu isn't a stranger to kemuridama; he knows to hold his breath and move his feet clear of the hot jets when the bomb fills the room with smoke, lest his shoes get scorched in the exchange. He shuts his eyes tightly against the sting, just as she charges into battle with him like a bull in a china shop.
Well, no, hardly. She is quite quiet. But that is exactly how he is going to describe it in the future.
To her merit, the presence of a -- oh nice, it's sharp -- blade at his throat does get the onmitsu's attention, forcing his chin -up- and cautious of the sudden thrust of a conversation piece under his jawline. And so it goes right up until she .. realizes she's exactly as blind as he is, and ...
Oh, did she inhale? That's a shame.
"pffff." Just keep breathing out, Shiryuu.
Slight, swift. The onmitsu's response is professional and efficient. He doesn't draw steel. Instead, he kicks. Once, swift, hooking his instep between her feet. If she's not really paying attention, he'll kick her leg out from underneath her, and catch her by the wrist before she hits the ground. It's smooth, precise, right up until --
"...do y-- aughrg--" KAFF oh now he took a breath and now he's coughing. If he's got her, he's going to be holding on for dear life to keep Akibane from being KO'd on a table or falling and stabbing him in the sneaker or something. Of course he's still making a valiant effort to talk. "-- got a Zan card? Ah--" cough cough, "folding fan from matsuri -- something!" Oh my god this is the worst. "can't -- will cut open the wall," *cough* ff-- "why are you like this!"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Why is Umie like this? Oh, she can give Shiryuu at least two reason, maybe three if she includes Shiryuu, but unfortunately, she's coughing.
The sharp blade hovers there, but when the coughing begins to make it hard to keep her grip steady, the blade is drawn further and further out to compensate, making it easy for Shiryuu to neutralize her before she's unable to keep it from cutting his neck by accident.
At least he knows for certain she's taken his advice on having her weapon be sharp.
She falls, but he has her by her wrist. While it keeps her from having the most embarrassing KO story that she may or may not live to tell, it also makes it hard to get up.
"DO I LOO--*coughcough* --I GOT-- *cough*"
However, the fabric of the halfsleeve that lies there begins to slip: if he's not careful, she'll try to use that to her advantage and slip away to--
"Window. OPEN WINDOW." The window.
Her first thought: open the window and turn on the fan. Great. Good. That'll work perfect.
.... right, Dark Hour. damn it
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"I dunno--! you look like a festival girl and--" COUGH. what?? "-- windows ... already... open!!"
The argument goes on. Of course, Shiryuu is pointing out the fact that the windows in the apartment are already open -- an observation he'd made from the street, though nearly impossible to verify now with smoke -everywhere- and his eyes still screwed shut to keep from being blinded. Unfortunately for him, what this means his grip isn't really sure on the mousy crow, holding her less by the wrist and more by the cuff.
Not that he isn't inclined to just drop her. She's lucky he needs her conscious.
Dangling the kemuridama menace on her heels, Shiryuu curses in as eloquent a fashion as he can, as she fails to provide a solution for their conundrum. "Ah, f--, you-- KUH, urrgh, hold on!"
This is going to suck.
One hand lowers to his waist. He pulls, trying to lever the mouthy crow onto him. Sash loosened into a drape -- wait, he wears a sash? -- Shiryuu moves to unceremoniously -tie- an inconveniently annoyed Umie to his middle, in whatever position and combination of limbs ends up most convenient, rolling her up like one of those star-things from that one game with the little guy with the trashcan for a head.
Well, that's because the only thing he knows that will deal with this without blasting out a walll has a very unforgiving safe radius, and cuddling the raccoon woman is simply _out of the question._
The sound of steel raking from its scabbard powerfully invokes an ancient, sharp beat. A record scratch fills the room, for all intents and purpose sounding like an analog recording of -- wait, no, digital? What is that distortion?
open it up, turn the page
write the fucking whirlwind --
seize the means, break the cage
The wandering, chaotic beat is liquid verve resonating somewhere in the bones. There is an audible sound of rings against metal, of force. Lyrics distant and synthesized are tight and clear in the space, and suddenly, there is wind.
For exactly one or two inches around Shiryuu, there is an unmolested space. If Umie is at least partially and mostly in this space, she will be perfectly fine.
If she is outside of this space, she is going to be at risk of being spun around and battered about like literally every other unanchored piece of paper in the tiny room, and painted with a multitude of glowing kanji. On the plus side, it should blow -most- of the smoke right out the windows.
Hopefully they were, in fact, still open.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"They're not open-- *hackcough*" Oh no "--all the way!" Oh nevermind
If it's not already awkward enough, the moment Umie feels something tied around her against Shiryuu is the moment she struggles more, as her mind automatically assumes this is a kidnapping, or something similar. _Nevermind that the last time he came they ended up going out for shoes_, that was clearly a way to soften her up!
She's also coughing, which is likely the only reason Shiryuu is able to complete his task in the first place.
Thankfully, she briefly stops when she hears that beat, and the strange, unexpected noise of an analog recording, something that could not and should not exist in this space at this time of night.
The paper maiche supplies are in abundant supply, as wind blows through the space and out the amount of window she had open, possibly with a few masks, as well.
She has enough pride to make her hold on Shiryuu seem more about safety that about clinging to him like a scared cat.
"..... is it done."
She pauses a beat. (no pun intended) ".... Can you untie me, or do you intend to carry me around like this."
The badb instead her cannot abstain from making commentary, however, as a sickle smile curls on her lips.
".... Is *this* how you pick up your dates? I suppose some people go for blowhards, but that's not my type."
(Umie you barely can describe what your type even is)
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
There is nothing 'softened up' about the blonde menace.
"Sigh... *kaff*." The onmitsu's blade lowers, midnight-black and razor sharp, trailing the telltale glitch-black feathers from the release halo, each tumbling and whirling to the ground, only to one-by-one wink out of existence in something that vaguely resembles digital artifacting.
"At least it wasn't a paint bomb..."
There are visualizers sprayed all over, little dancing neon glowbars on the walls and across the trim that are surging to an electronic beat that's still pulsing in the background, and the air is still spinning lazily in place. At least it's not stuffy anymore. With the windows blown wide, the room looks like a priest exploded in it, glowing scrawl painted over scattered masks and clothes, none of which are saying anything remotely important. Shiryuu recognizes one as a haiku Takeshi penned ages ago, when Shiryuu was still young. Another story, a shining yojijukugo he is sure is musing about the strengths of poets.
Ah, it occurs to him. Papier mache is made of paper. Paper is weak to fire. Paper is strong against the written word. Cute divination. Is it over? Shiryuu's hand is on her head, absently providing a shield against debris. Maybe. "Yeah," the onmitsu starts quietly. "....looks that way."
Theeen reality kicks in.
"...?" Shiryuu pauses, as if just now realizing Umie is still tied by the middle to his waist. He looks down, to a grinning demon.
"You two-bunned beast," Shiryuu replies flatly, and if he rolled his eyes any harder, he could have a job at a pachinko parlor. Unceremoniously, the onmitsu uncinches the silk keeping them tied together, pointedly creating space. He is absolutely not going to catch her this time if she falls.
"They _did_ say something about opposites attracting, so I'm not surprised," Shiryuu grouses. "You could just thank me." Much like a lot about Shiryuu, the rest is implied. 'Instead of being objectively terrible. Again.' Sarutahiko Okami is not a toy!
"...are you at least through trying to get yourself killed?"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
".... why would I release a paint bomb in my ap--" Umie's flat retort is upended by the fact that she felt it perfectly logical to unleash a smoke bomb.
Either way, her apartment's a mess now.
Umie feels the weight of Shiryuu's hand on her head, and tries her best to do anything else but let her cheeks begin to flush.
Which is likely why, in those first few moments, as she tries to get a glance around her apartment, brown eyes settling on the strange glowing bars, dancing like it's a DJ display.
The best way to keep yourself from turning into a blushing maiden is to play the part of the grinning demon. How can you blush when you're throwing it back at someone else?
Thankfully, she's of the mind to catch herself on her feet as Shiryuu unties the silk. "Then thank you, for blowing out the smoke that was created when you decided to come visit me during the Dark Hour, _unannounced_."
'...are you at least through trying to get yourself killed?'
Umie's expression falls flat, as she stares back at him. Dressed in a tank top and shorts, she's quick to move the sleeves to cover up the edge of something dark on her right wrist. Not that it matters; if he found out about her through her records, Shiryuu likely already knows.
"I don't know, are you going to start knocking on my door before letting yourself in?" she retorts instead, with a wry half grin.
"As for why I am like this." She holds up one dark apricot-nailed finger. "Number one: another agent from your employer beat me up at my own job during the Dark Hour." A second finger pops up. "Number two: a serial killer visited a place he thought I worked at asking after me, likely looking for round two." A third finger. "And number three, there was this guy that keeps inviting himself into my apartment and getting surprised when I got upset about it!"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Naturally, Shiryuu fixes her with a look when she's about to ask him why she would set off a bomb in her own apartment.
She stops short. "No.. go ahead. Continue." He doesn't expect her to finish out her thought, but he's certainly not going to let her miss that he heard it.
It's worth noting that Shiryuu's eyes appear different in the light of the Dark Hour than they did during that meeting in the underground mall. His eyes have always been slightly different from one another -- one a slightly lighter shade of brown than the other -- but now, that eye is simply pale blue, meeting her darker reddish eyes with a mismatched color that is slowly darkening away.
Those eyes narrow as she catches herself, avoiding an unfortunate meeting with the ground. Aloof, the onmitsu occupies himself with tying his sash around his waist again, folding one end over the other, and tucking it tight after a little cinch. She thanks him, entirely sarcastically.
"...you're welcome," he replies, completely disregarding the subtext.
The bag at his shoulder is taken off of his pack, lowered in a hand, the excess of the red bag unfolded and bunched to expose the koimouth of his saya. The spine of Bonds of Black draws between his thumb and forefinger, the wreath of EDM Shinto-coded neon effects reaching a smooth crescendo as he aligns blade and sheath. Ironically, just as the beat drops. The boy has tempo in his bones.
It's like blood, count every drop--
The sword clicks into the sheath, and almost by magic, the little dials, spinners, analog scratches and meandering beats quell. The young man clears his throat darkly, folding the end of the red bag over the hilt of the katana. "...sounds like a skill issue," Shiryuu comments absently, looking over the blonde's angrily presented points of disagreement, looking for all the world like an offended cat at the outstretched fingers.
He's not going to knock ever, just for that.
".. you're mistaken," Shiryuu starts, hanging the curve of the politely bagged blade back across his shoulderline. "An employer is someone who tells an employee what to do on threat of insubordination... I'm not anyone's employee."
Finally, the onmitsu runs his thumbs up the lapels of his jacket, and -flicks- it at the collar until it sits just right. The young man is fastidious to a fault, though Umie might notice he is making a point not to stare at her. No reason.
"...Anyway, I came here to see if I wanted to fight you again. But you killed the vibe again... so..." He shakes his head.
"..go get dressed. Why are you going for round two with serial killers?"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Continue. Umie does-- that is, she continues and completely ignores Shiryuu's bid for her to lay out the flaw in her plan.
... The fact that Shiryuu's eyes appear differently is something that only registers now, and because of this she focuses in on it, her eyes narrowing slightly, almost seemingly in reaction to Shiryuu's own.
"Mmh. Your eye," Umie mutters aloud, not being up to stopping herself right now. It's slowly going away, as she looks at it. Myunghon had mentioned his eyes doing such, and didn't Umie herself notice it too, once, in battle?
It's a relief when all the glowing symbols go away, as the sword clicks into its sheath. What sort of cleaning agent would she even be able to use, if they persisted outside of the Dark Hour?
'Sounds like a skill issue.' Umie shrugs. "You were the one who asked." Yes, it *was* a rhetorical question, but Umie needed to grace it with a snarky reply, regardless.
"Okay, freelancer. Our first meeting, it was you working for the NWO. What do you call that?" One can see the periods form beside the flat expression on Umie's face, as Shiryuu flicks his collar just so. ".... You have a problem."
Meanwhile, one of the straps of her tank top have fallen, just slightly; not enough to be sexy, but definitely enough to set off someone's need to see things be perfectly set in place.
"You come into my apartment and then tell me to get dressed?" Umie groans. "*finnne*, I was just trying to keep cool, but I'll go put on some more clothes so I don't ~give you the vapors~ or whatever." She glances about the now *even messier* apartment, picking up a loose t-shirt and sleeping it on, letting it hang over her shorts. "... Ta-da."
Her tone is, in fact, deadpan.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with being well put together. Once his bag is tied up and his jacket is hanging just so, Shiryuu takes a moment to run a fingertip along his brow, smoothing his eyebrows down in just the right way. That weird little shimmery shade of grey does appear to be his natural hair color, or he's very daring with the dyes and bleaches. Yeah. It feels better than being windblown all over. Interestingly, he doesn't seem to pay anywhere near as much attention to his actual hair, which is ... fairly haphazard, to tell the truth.
It might be because that's the vibe. Hm.
"...." Shiryuu fixes Umie with a look, exchanging his pinky finger for his index and middle, closing his 'bad' eye to brush his knuckles over it, finally dabbing the lightest bit of crimson collecting in the corner away on his thumb. The young man touches the iron flavor to his tongue thoughtfully.
He doesn't seem to explain it any further, as his eyes lock onto her own, only drifting downward when...
"...People stray further from 'synthesis' when they assume a convenient reality from their own preconceptions," Shiryuu remarks. "Thought I made that clear..."
He is now talking to her tank top strap entirely.
"I told you I was holding a grudge..."
It's shortly after Umie puts on a rebellion T-shirt from the actual floor that Shiryuu frowns, taking a short puff of cool, soothing breath through his mouth. The onmitsu steps over a wind-slashed paper mask.
"...but senpai, you're such a mess."
A single finger against her collarline. Shiryuu will put the little crow off balance with one intentional push. Not a lot, just enough to give her something else to worry about. So that he can lick a hand and -set every strand of hair on her head down and in the right place.- She has a second, maybe two to wriggle loose of the onmitsu before he fits her baggy shirt to her, smooths down her hair, and otherwise fixes her for public consumption right where she stands.
"Go find your shoes," Shiryuu tells her. "If you're going to be a problem and I can't cripple you right now, we're at least going for yakitori..."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Umie's blonde, in comparison, is very much a dye. A closer look may reveal the dark brown roots beginning to emerge, as well as the texture of her hair, roughened by the bleaching process necessary to even get it light enough.
"Don't take it personally." When Umie sees that pinky finger exchanged for his index and middle finger, her heart manages to stop a beat as he brushes out a bit of crimson, just enough to be disturbing. Surely that was from him poking his eye in too far...
It's enough to throw her off that all it needs is a polite, well-placed finger to her collarline to bring that off-balance feeling into the physical, as she places a foot back. Close touch, too much touch, get away from touch, _what is Shiryuu doing_
Her face is definitely pink as she struggles against Shiryuu straightening and aligning each and every detail that's been off with Umie.
Not *fixing* her, which is key: these are details she would have paid attention to if she was going out during the day.
... Just realigning the details Umie oh so indelicately disregarded because he was here.
"Fine, fine," Umie grumbles, as she goes back towards her shoe rack. "Lead with that next time."
As she slips on her sneakers, she looks up, completely shocked.,
"... y-yakitori..?"
Is he... first shoes, now food? The Dark Hour is likely to end soon, yes, but...
_is this some kind of weird date_...?
So she asks the question she keeps getting asked, every time she barges ahead into a situation while simultaneously attempting to leave no trace behind.
"Are you going to tell me your name this time, or am I going to have to steal one from a receipt instead?"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"Hold still." The sound of rustling hands, slapped wrists, and tidied fabric and hair pulled into alignment, smoothed down ruthlessly. It bears noting -- again -- that Shiryuu is fucking fast. At least when he wants to be. The boy seems to be half asleep most of the time, until things like an out-of-place strap and a rebellion tee rouse his ire.
Once satisfied that she is not going to fall into pieces the moment she sets foot outside her whirlwind-beaten little hovel, Shiryuu steps back, giving her a thorough once-over and inspection. "There." Other than suddenly changing color, "you look good."
Yakitori? "Yes. I've been in your fridge," Shiryuu remarks mildly, matter of factly. Don't try and tell him you're on a restricted diet.
"...don't misunderstand, Akabane." Hey. What happened to senpai? "You're important to my goals. But you're still not going to do well, if I decide you're my enemy. It just so happens you're too much of a mess for me to be interested in fighting right now." Again.
The onmitsu turns away from her, walking towards the door.
"...so, I'm going to have you tell me what you know, so I can figure your deal out. And you'll probably malnourished. You'll cooperate better if I feed you first."
He blinks, as she asks his name.
".... not important," he decides. "Let's go."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
A frustrated Umie finally manages to hold still, lips drawn taut in a grim little frown. "... Are you satisfied with my appearance now?"
She'll allow it, if only because it'll draw too much attention to the terrible blush of pink on her cheeks if she makes a big deal.
"..... I can't believe you styled my hair with your spit...." she grumbles, otherwise.
Oh wait, he wants to criticize her fridge again, too?! "You're terrible," Umie says, to the person who is technically bringing her out to eat food that isn't a half-priced bento box.
_Also why is he not calling her senpai anymore_.
"Oh, so you *do* know my name," Umie teases, as she brushes by him. "Akabane-_senpai_, then, if you please."
She's important to his goals? "... What, finding if other police have personas? Why are you even worried about that, anyway? Your... boss, or whatever that group is to you probably owns it." She waves a hand nonchalantly as she opens the door. "Just look it up in the same files you got my name from~" A half smile peeks over her shoulder as she angles her head back to look at him. "What other things did that file list about me? Favorite foods? Blood type?" She taps her chin. "Oh, wait, silly me, it probably has relevant information. Like that I'm an Aries *and* a Scarlet Dragon."
"As for whether I'm your enemy or not--"
She stops in the doorway. _What the hell is she doing_? He's a dog of the NWO, and she's bickering with him like he's some annoying classmate.
"Honestly, it goes both ways. I have no idea what your deal is besides 'fighting me' and 'police personas'."
So, she begins walking down the hallway. "Receipt it is, then. Better think of a cute name or I'll make one up for you."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Luckily he seems to be satisfied. At least, he seems to be. The fact that he's not taking her to a hairdresser is probably a good sign.
"I'm cleaner than the trash," Shiryuu points out as she complains. He's being polite enough, glancing over the konbini-sha's sneakers with an air of satisfied resolution, though now that she is in proper order, he isn't inclined to stare.
"--!!" Shiryuu is forced to stand aside as Umie barges past him, leaning back with a tiny little 'gh--' and a raised chin. She insists on her address, and if she took it any more seriously, Shiryuu would be lodged in the laundry basket. At least he thinks that's a laundry basket. "..... yeah," he demurs. The onmitsu gives a slow breath outward, straightening the zipper at his neckline to ..pointedly recollect himself.
"...not my boss though," he finally replies, more than a little nettled.
Of course, the boy looks after her as she informs him in no uncertain terms her sign. "...I'm not surprised," he starts. "I'm a pur--" For a second, the onmitsu seems to be interested in just a little bit more than the police the bossy little crow is fraternizing with, interested in something for no real reason other than being interested's sake. The momentary lapse in judgment is swiftly stamped under a very expensive shoe, as the young man returns to business. "... ehh. I didn't look that closely, I could have seen a lot of things." he chooses instead to answer, evasive. "Did you want me to bring it to you or something?" he asks, as she's already out the door. He makes sure to shut the door behind him as she marches off.
He pauses there. "...hey."
A hand opens. "Maybe my enemy-senpai," he calls. A beckoning motion is made, as he raises a suddenly rather severe look. "Keys."
He's not just going to leave her door unlocked. What kind of common criminal is he being taken for?
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"I'd still prefer a shower to 'better than trash'."
'Not my boss thought.' Umie's hand raises, as if to brush away Shiryuu's concerns. "Then tell me the word I'm supposed to use or I'll pick a word. We obviously can't use the actual word we both want to use."
He's not surprised Umie's a Scarlet Dragon. "No one is," Umie admits, with a sigh. "Scarlet dragons mean you're at neutral with everyone, and that you're stubborn, hasty, and rash. Worst one to be." She glances back towards Shiryuu at the change in his tone, as well as how he cut himself off.
Wait, is he... interested? A sickle smile spreads on Umie's face, coupled with the rising of her lower eyelids. "Purple Dragon, huh. That's... December?" She'll indulge. "As long as you're not in your time of Joka, you're good."
She's about to turn again to head down the hallway, but.
'Keys.'
"..... Right." She was so busy trying to be a little shit to Shiryuu that she forgot about life's little defenses against common thieves. "Hold on." She brushes by him again and takes out her keys, locking the door. "Wonder what they do in hotels that have those electronic locks..." Can't lockpick those.
"Okay, let's get going," she says, in the nearly pitch black hallway. "Enemy-senpai sounds worse than 'Bridge Ninja-san'. You need to learn how to do a proper nickname."
She opens the door with a certainty that comes with constant repetition. It's not as if the stairway exit will change between each Dark Hour. This isn't Tartarus.
"Shall we?"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"I wouldn't..." Take a shower right now, that is. All the water tends to come up the same color as blood. Who knows what kind of bad luck that is.
Shiryuu's eyes narrow as Umie raises a hand, brushing off his concerns. He makes a face at the first brush, and if there's a second, his expression does not noticeably soften. "I can use 'asshole' just fine," he objects.
Irrespective of that, it is true; he's said it before. Only novices invoke the Order. But then, it's a little different right this minute, isn't it..?
The onmitsu is a little less than sanguine as she nettles him about Wang Long, with that suspiciously anime smile of hers. "Ehh," the boy breathes, only confirming his placement for her in the most vague of ways. Once he's gotten the brakes on the conversation, it's very hard to rouse a genuine expression from him again. "...it's not like being Scarlet is bad," is about the only thought he admits to having on the matter, before his hand is out and the security of the deadbolt is made more important.
"--!!"
Shiryuu temporarily becomes part of the wall, dodging the short blonde as she tramples into his space again. It's a smooth motion right up until he runs out of space to move, and though silent, the young man's chin is raised again. A hand rams through his silver hair as the door latches, the line of moonlight disappearing around the doortrim. His heel is resting against the wall as he makes all of the space needed to breathe. "...ehhh..." he repeats, frowning.
"...suppose that's how maids get blamed for theft," he mulls.
The door is shut. 'Shall we?'
"...yeah." pause. This hallway..
"...It's fucking dark in here."
= A LITTLE BIT LATER =
"Well, we can't drive, so..."
Now, to Shiryuu's merit, he isn't entirely without a plan. In truth, the onmitsu had spied a late night izakaya stall on the way over, maybe about fifteen minutes walk away. Unfortunately, it is much harder to spot with all of the flashing lights and illumination out, and it would seem for all the world like he was taking her to a dingy gathering of coffins on a particularly dark stretch of road, right up until he pats a stool. Little bits of skewered food still sit, shock still next to a block of obsidian that used to be a chef. There's maybe only a few minutes left of the hour, all truth told, but it's going to be rather strange when the two of them appear out of nowhere. The coffins are annoyingly spaced, meaning Shiryuu would have to be between two of them if he didn't want to sit in Umie's lap.
He'll stand. The last time he tried to do that, a pair of drunken salarymen called him 'Mr. Spooky' for the rest of the night. He doesn't need her hearing that.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
There's a sigh. Umie makes a face, though it's hard to see. "... Yeaahh, point taken." Damn it, she needs to stop acting like he *isn't* someone that she tried to press a sharp object next to... before she royally messed things up with her improperly thought out plan. (Look, she'll know for next time, okay!)
"The asshole you work for, then." The Bride and Groom (Yua and Miho, respectively) similarly did not seem like they were completely enamoured with their employer, almost seeming like it was a matter of them having to work for the NWO.
Two heads of the hydra. Would that have been her fate too, eventually? Forced to work or be connected to this organization that's entangled so many others?
Umie stops, the shape of her body slowly turning to Shiryuu. "..... You think I have a maid?" Her tone is incredulous, her snicker echoing as she ducks into the stairwell.
"What, don't tell me you've never walked around a dangerous stairwell completely in the dark a time or two." With a person who wants to fight you, Umie reminds herself, once again.
Each time, it gets harder and harder to remember.
Is she really that lonely, even now, that she'll accept the kindness of anyone?
... She wonders.
= A LITTLE BIT LATER =
Umie is still wondering, but the night air, though unnaturally still due to the Dark Hour, feels good to walk through. It feels... more fun, trying to understand this strange ninja(??) and what the heck he wants with her.
"Are you going to explain further what purpose you need me for?" she supposes aloud as they get to the izakaya stall. She misjudged how long they had left; perhaps, she didn't realize how little time she had slept into the Dark Hour proper.
They'd likely have only minutes to talk before they'd have to pretend they were normal people who, mysteriously, appeared out of nowhere.
"So you just show up and not try to build a narrative of how you got there? Cheeky." She invites herself to the stool he pats, before realizing Shiryuu's opting to stand, due to the awkward spacing. "Have you ever been tempted a few times to steal a bit of food?" she muses, over her shoulder. "Can't say I've been innocent, but demons in Sumaru City can be such bad role models~"
She crosses her legs on the stool. "... I always hate it, when I know the Dark Hour's about to end. It's never as long, or as short, as you want it to ever be. The noise of life will start back up, and you have to go back to playing pretend once again..." Myunghon had talked about an end to the Dark Hour being possible. It felt like, to Umie, she was the one person there in that meeting, that felt a sense of loss.
"How do you see it, then, Bridge Ninja-san? The Dark Hour."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"You think I have a maid?--" "--no."
The response is lightning fast, and Shiryuu barely waits for Umie to complete her thought, as they get less lost in the dark.
It's some time before the idle bickering cools enough, outside of a lonely little izakaya street stall in the middle of the nightlife crowd. Locked in their black cradles, there's nothing really but the two of them, at least for a few minutes.
Shiryuu does give up the seat to his so-called senpai, the 19 year old folding his arms and leaning on the beam supporting the stall's eave. One Converse hooks onto the other, the boy's face partially shaded from the moonlight, ironically by a hanging lantern which has gone dark from the time. "Other than your relation with Suou?" he asks, when she wonders if he's intending on explaining what he needs her for.
"I mean, you are ostensibly one of their assets, wandering around in socks with a butterknife. Maybe I need to evaluate how dangerous you are...."
The young man gives an edged smile. It's actually a rare thing to see lately from the somewhat serious agent, though it's not at all clear exactly how unserious he is electing to be with his answer.
"Why bother lying," he continues, as if addressing two questions with one answer. "People don't understand what they've never seen. Left to their own devices, they'll come up with something that sounds good themselves..."
Demons. The idea causes Shiryuu to momentarily become quiet, as if being asked something he'd never really thought about before. "It'd be easy, wouldn't it," he thinks aloud. "It's never really come up..."
"Pretend..." A scintilla of melancholy drifts from person to person, as Shiryuu looks down at the ground, quietly mulling over the grains of sand as they trickle.
He's never really known what was 'pretend' and what was 'real.' But it's not something he's prepared to think about. Not here. Not now.
"...I see it as a path," he remarks, instead. "A door ... to a world bigger and darker than we know, with roots deep throughout our history. The path just needs to be walked."
He shakes his head, lightly. "Terrible nickname, anyway ... we were going to talk about the Order." Finally, Shiryuu actually mentions it by name. "Someone following you around.." It's easy to confuse Shiryuu's questions as statements. He's not exactly clear on what she was on about at her apartment after having been distracted by her apricot nails, and may have conflated serial killers with NWO agents in the process.
They're frequently the same thing, after all.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Shiryuu's speed is so comically efficient that it catches Umie by surprise.
She laughs, quickly stifling it behind a hand. No, it's not the same feeling she was feeling with Joker (_thank god_, she's still processing that; she doesn't need to add onto it), but her... relaxing.
Letting her guard down, Umie realizes, because she's beginning to see him as a person, with a personality and quirks, rather than something that is coming to kill her.
'Other than your relation with Suou?' "... Don't say it like that." She studies Shiryuu; if he's this willing to socialize with her, if she reveals more of the context that connects her with Katsuya? "I tutored his brother, back when I was in high school. He and I know each other from back then, though I was the only one with a Persona back then. Neither he or his little brother knew-- no one did, in fact." Save the NWO, who, in fact, knew from the beginning.
Tatsuzou and any others in that room were likely the first to see Badb's first arrival, rising from Umie's body like a dark winged butterfly from a collapsing cocoon.
"If I see you attack him, I'll attack you, no matter how nice you've been to me." Her voice is choked of warm or friendliness, carrying the same determination that saw a blade to his throat (before she messed it all up). "You're not the only one who sees him as an enemy. I don't want to see someone so possessed to walk their own path die."
.... wait whose asset is she?! "Who's 'they'?!" Umie snaps back, the cool, collected tone dissipating like smoke in a properly ventilated room. "What I do is my own business."
.... Shiryuu's next answer draws Umie to respond at first with silence, her eyelids lowering slightly. It must be easy, for someone to feel that way, if they hadn't had to play the part of someone normal.
.... A boring, normal person, she'd jokingly say. "That's an advantage you're given, to be able to do that," she murmurs, quietly. "Lots of us are given roles to play. Or, we make our own masks, so that no one looks at us and decides we're the anomaly that needs to be dealt with." To be normal and boring, as well as not good enough, or perfect enough, to rise to those high, high standards. But at least, she thinks, with a grim smile, she has a pretty face and nice enough voice, perfect for a wife.
Until she found, and likewise created, her own door. ...Which may as well be the Dark Hour, in a sense.
Shiryuu's answer, meanwhile, surprises her. "It's existed as long as I've been a Persona User, but the deeper connotations of it are not ones I've considered." She'll admit, at least, that many of her attachments to it are selfish and self-serving, despite her knowing the consequences.
'Terrible nickname, anyway,' he says, moving on to the next topic.
One of Umie's eyebrows raise. "I thought you said that was a 'skill issue'?" She smirks, switching her legs around and crossing them again. "I was attacked by the Old Maid. Usually known as the 'Joker Killer', but I prefer the former. But there was another person-- he was an agent of the Order, come to make me slip back into my normal, boring role. Seems I was just being too inconvienent."
Her eyes narrow. "Or is this what you're here to do, too? Be friendly to me, then use that as leverage to cut me down so that I'll learn my lesson and retreat back?" Anger threatens to crease her forehead. "That's what this is all about, isn't it?!"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
The onmitsu's shoulders lower in response to her discomfort -- the grey-headed boy seems far more comfortable interacting with that ease of aggression than anything else, and her disagreeing with him only earns her the sidelong glance of his brown-eyed study. His one 'off' eye has dimmed in the handful of minutes since the apartment, and now is almost indistinguishable from his other eye, whatever that means.
"Ugh. I keep forgetting he has family," Shiryuu remarks in mild annoyance. It really does seem like he has something personal against the police officer. His eyes narrow, and his expression only really softens when the little crow reminds him she'll defend Katsuya.
"...that's fine."
He really does seem to be more comfortable with adversarial notions than anything involving normal one-on-one interactions. The boy never unfolds his arms, running his tongue along his bottom row of teeth thoughtfully as he spies on her.
"You get to choose what side you want to be on. He'll arrest you all the same, if you step shy. But that's your choice to make. If we end up fighting... well."
'There's no one in the world who'd do well with being my enemy.'
The remembered words hang unspoken in the air. Darker eyes flick away from her, as the onmitsu grows quietly distant. The moment of warmth cools as she cracks, and the young man's sigh is sword-long, and instead of looking back at her, he looks up at the sickly whipstitched moon.
"There is a dark room somewhere in Japan, lined with filing cabinets and old computers. In this room are reams of papers and bundles of old, yellowing folders and files, rich with the stench of cigar smoke and old money. At the heads of those folders are names, and beneath those names, words. Those words don't describe 'people,' not in the way that you or I would think of them. They describe 'things,' as in objects of value. And no matter what color is on the jacket, what is implied is the same. If your name is written there, you are of value to the world that 'they' are trying to make."
Shiryuu repeats the word, with gravity. 'They.' At this point, it doesn't really matter if he's been in 'that room' or not. He knows, and he's seen. It's enough to say; no matter how far one runs...
Something she says about masks discomfits his ease, and the distant gulf yawns wider. "Aaa. I thought Old Maid was just a rumor..."
The subject changes, slightly. "My first senpai had a Persona long before I did," he says, without really understanding why. "Maybe as long as you. I never saw it, but it was described as a old man wearing the skull of a beast as a hood, a miserable man with a robe made of blackbirds and wielding blades that dripped blood. The moment you said, 'I'll fight you,' my first senpai would have snapped your back like dry cordwood and not stopped smiling once." Shiryuu is not smiling.
The revelation -- or something -- causes the boy's arms to knot tighter over his chest, as if he's bundling up. He says these things like he's reciting them. "I'm not some go-fer novice," he points out. "No one is left that can 'tell me what to do.' If I decide to fight you, that's fine. If I decide to take care of you, that's fine too."
"But it's my decision, as shihaisha." He doesn't explain what that is. Instead, he continues. "And if I was going to hurt you...really, hurt you..."
He breaks his eyes finally from the wild moon, to shoot the angry crow a look.
"...I would have done so already."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"Of course he has family." Umie smirks. "He's probably wanting to start one, knowing his type." The big brother energy is real.
'He'll arrest you all the same, if you step shy.' "Is that concern I hear?" Umie smirks, the Badb in her sensing that push and pull of Shiryuu's comfort vs discomfort. "God forbid, I get a record."
"You know..." Umie fixes her bangs to one side with her left hand, her bracelet giving a minuscule chime in response as she does so. ".... If you just want me to fight you, I will." The words could be seen as aggressive, in an adversarial way, but the slight warm tone gives them a different context. "When the stakes have always been 'you fail, you die', it's better to run away, at all costs." She levels her gaze at Shiryuu. "But that was easier when I separated myself from everything. Give me assurance that you won't kill me, and I'll fight you with all I have."
Can she really ask that of him? He's given no indication that he would, aside from the strength of the narrative he's built. The first time a person can lie to you can happen at any time.
Which is why, when Shiryuu begins talking about a mysterious dark room, it becomes Umie's turn to feel discomfort. "...." Things. Objects of value.
"Their pure world, free of sin." She breathes in, lips fixed in a grim expression. "If I was ever of any use to them, it was a long time ago. I've stopped making up prophecies." And yet the words beckon at the back of her throat, at all times, relating not of the future, but the past.
And so, she swallows. Her right wrist itches, at the thought.
"He isn't. The arson at Aoba Park was his doing as well. The 'gang war' at Kasugayama High in Sumaru City, too. Not even sure how the Seven Sisters attack explained away with all the witnesses, but they managed. And that's just the ones we know about."
Umie listens, her eyes looking up at the green moon past him. "Your senpai sounds like a piece of work. But the 'first' implies there were more after them. ... I take it, you surpassed them?" To whatever degree that may mean, it sounds like.
'I would have done so already.' "Really."
Placing one foot on the stool, Umie's eyes squint, her smile as incorrigible as ever. "You were the first to let me know, you realize-- that by taking a step out of my bubble of safety, there will be people coming to force me back, or subdue me, and that I needed to prepare myself."
"In my eyes, it's not about whether you are my enemy or my ally. These things can change; I am the shihaisha of my own fate. What I want to know is..." She leans forward towards Shiryuu, past the obsidian-colored coffins that exist beside her. "Do you wish to push me back into my ignorant little bubble of safety, or do you intend to rip me further out?"
A fingertip comes over, intending to hover right before his nose, and, slowly, inch forward to touch against it, just so, if he doesn't move back. "You may as well be the latter, because I'm not going back to that cell I built for myself."
"Decide to fight me at my level, and I'll give you all I have."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
".... It's not fair play at all," is all Shiryuu will say on the Katsuya matter, raising a finger from his bicep, as if indicating some truism, some law of nature, though a breath he didn't know he was holding snakes loose the moment Umie accuses him of having an ulterior motive, frowning.
What a fortunate guy..
The tone of his breath changes -- and honestly, most of what the self-described shihaisha's mood is has to be read in the way he breathes, the unconscious rhythm he follows. His attentiveness -- or lack thereof -- all lie in the underpinnings of his breath. Katsuya has him fluffed up. But the idea of 'fighting her' comes up again, and the onmitsu breathes out again, easing into the wood of the post. He waits, a moment, two, before responding.
"I don't know that I like any of your situation..."
The moment steeps, and Shiryuu is apparently in no hurry to make it any clearer as to which context he's referring. The moment tightens, like a wound spring, as the onmitsu's brow furrows. He's thinking, and his vibe is intensely sharp.
"..Seems like you're popular with the worst people, then," Shiryuu finally comments, raising a hand to his mouth, a thumb to his chin, supported by his other hand. The young man seems pensive, right before his mouth sets in a line. "...Yeah, it's not acceptable."
He doesn't really say anything more on the matter, conspicuously.
When she says he's implying there was more than one senpai, Shiryuu gives her another pointed 'really?' look, but before he can interject, she implies that he surpassed everyone. The young man's lips part slightly; as if the first response takes too long before it hangs hard in his throat.
"Aa -- ..." .... a small, tight sigh.
The words that come are stronger, more authoritative.
"...Yeah. Every last one," he replies tersely.
Shiryuu becomes marginally more alert during a certain moment as she speaks. Hey, she can't be a shihaisha as well. She's smiling again. Shiryuu's suspicion is plain as he follows, at first with comparable ease, but an ease that ratchets back almost immediately when she raises a finger at him. The boy's eyes cross to fixate on the gesture as she points. "?"
"hey, what are you doing, what's this about --" tiny, small, objection words focus his absolute dismay at the blonde's proximity with her accusatory pointing. For all the world he looks like an offended bird as she gets progressively closer. The onmitsu attempts to become one with the post -right- before he's touched.
-agh-
His frown is plain as the sickle moon while he's being pointed at, and his eyes start to ache from trying to focus on her hand. His nose wrinkles, and the onmitsu makes a face to go with it.
"...yeah, it's not like... if you.. eh..."
A sigh, cautious and slow.
He doesn't seem inclined to say anything very important while being pointed at. The onmitsu blinks. His eye is bleeding again, he can feel it as his gaze unfocuses, as he looks up. His hand drops from his face, back to folding his arms.
"... the sky feels like it's unravelling again," he observes, finally.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"I really don't get what your problem with him is." Umie shrugs. "He's honestly a kind person. You think I was protecting him on that beach because I'm a suck-up to the police?" Umie chuckles. "If I ever had respect for authority, it's gone now." After what happened to Myunghon... it's definitely gone. For someone like Ishiba to be tolerated...
Umie pays attention to how Shiryuu's manner changes as she talks about fighting.
Geez, she thinks. That's definitely a one-track mind there-- "You're telling on yourself," Umie retorts back, sharp as a whip, to Shiryuu's comment, as she gives him a wry smile.
(It's funny because she's implying he's 'the worst people', see.)
'Yeah, it's not acceptable.' Umie's smirk drops. ".... Don't." Her tone is serious as the grave, surrounded by coffins as they are. "I'm serious, if you're thinking about it... that isn't a normal serial killer." How did she guess?
Because it's the easiest one anyone could go after. Hiroto is on the NWO's coffers, and wouldn't show up otherwise.
She can't warn Shiryuu about something she's unable to put her finger on. "He has it, too." She holds up her right hand, but doesn't bother to uncover it. "Anything to do with this sort of thing doesn't play by normal rules."
She'll let it drop, of course; she can't control Shiryuu. And why should she? Why even *warn* him, just because he was nice to her?
Because he's fun to tease, now that she's figured out a span where she can bicker and press him without feeling she's in danger?
Or is it all just her finding ways to unsettle him, while constantly looking for more?
It's dangerous, to play around like this. He's still on the NWO's coffers, like Hiroto. He'll come after her and do his job, regardless of how they've acted before. That is how it all works. Those are the weight of the chains people like them bear, while people like Tatsuzou benefit off their work.
"...!" The finger drops, despite being so close to Shiryuu's nose. "Your eye is bleeding." Like it was his nose, or mouth.
What the hell is it with that eye, anyway... ?
As her focus settles on it; she's grabbed a napkin from the stand, getting from the stool to try to carefully try to dap it off.
"Sorry," she murmurs, as if feeling like it was somehow her fault.
'the sky feels like it's unravelling again.' "About time. I can't stand looking at that food for too long."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
It's not really hard to see how Shiryuu is unconvinced, the thin, unimpressed line that are his lips when she mentions him being kind, the way he seems to have made up his mind about the matter. The way he makes a very inaudible sotto voce comment that is clearly about Suou.
It is a gestalt of his entire mien, the way the boy's chin tilts unapproachably as she warns him, strands of grey hair falling across and shading his face as his eyes narrow, as he looks to anything -other- than being gestured at, anything other than meeting her gaze. He doesn't reply at first, only to glance at her wrist as she raises it to him, noticing her manner.
She's a little less self-conscious about it in this precise context, it seems...
As always, much about the onmitsu is in unspoken details, and he only looks back when she releases him from her witch spell, not having really noticed the shot of crimson shooting down his cheekline before she points it out, though he raises an eyebrow sky-high when she gets close enough to wipe his face. "...."
There is a -certain- ease to the onmitsu with her proximity, as the boy relaxes from the razor's edge very, very slightly.
Don't be mistaken, he still rebukes the small attention, raising a hand to take her by the wrist. His grip is not tight, the movement is not fast. Compulsion and the lightest drift of fingertips over skin. "No."
The onmitsu will -- carefully -- slide his hand all the way through the gaps between her fingers, to pluck the napkin from her grip, and press it, thumb-first, into the lacrimal duct of his eye.
"....not your fault," the boy points out, absentmindedly.
"...but.." Shiryuu starts, thinking quietly, as he looks away, as he folds the bloodied napkin closed in his hands crisply. He is not a 'crumple' person. "Akabane... if--"
Midnight trickles into being, obsidian sluicing away, and the sizzle of hot chicken filling the ears. Distant music pulses, and the street is painted with broad strokes of neon. Shiryuu's white clothes show up much warmer under the lowlight of the overhead lanterns dangling from the izakaya's eave. An older man looks up from his seat, peeking over at the two crows. "...eh?"
"....Yo," as if nothing's happened, Shiryuu calls out the chef, without really explaining anything to the patron. He's still leaning on the post, as if he'd been there the entire time. Smoothly, he produces two upraised fingers from his off hand, taking great care not to touch his acquaintance as he tucks the napkin away into his pocket.
"Two skewers please, to start. Do you have pear juice, maybe? Sorry, I'm sorry. Whatever she likes."