2025-12-21: Kintsugi
- Log: Kintsugi
- Cast: Umie Akabane, Kurou Ryouhara
- Where: Umie's Apartment, Shibuya, Tokyo
- OOC Date: December 21, 2025
- IC Date: August 29, 2012
- Summary: Two people make sense of one another's methods of mending the cracks in their masks. Things like keeping hydrated, eating a healthy diet, a good meaningful codename, and... a thirst for revenge?? What sort of family are the Ryouharas?!
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Umie's apartment, for the uninitiated, is a mess. It is a *clean* mess, at least, more enabled by the apartment's tiny acreage than a lack of care by its owner. The narrow hallway runs past a small closet area and a similarly tiny kitchen area, lined in cheerful yellow tile, consisting of a single burner, a small fridge underneath, and a sink. It leads into the main room area, with a sliding door that goes to the bathroom area, which spans the rest of the width of the room that the hallway and kitchen don't already take up. The narrow main room has a TV on the wall, a couch, and a storage area for a futon. A clothes rack is in one corner, though it's mainly become a mountain for throwing clothes on. A tower fan is on 24/7, redirectly air from the sliding frosted glass windows, which open into an alleyway. In one corner next to the windows is a small table and a cushion set up against a narrow shelving unit, where paint supplies and glue are, while overhead, there is a 'mobile' for hanging up masks to dry. Whether or not it's currently full depends on how many Umie is trying to make up for; for now, there's only one: a blue-green mask with metallic gold cracks, meant to seem like it was a piece of pottery.
With it being the tail end of August, she's dressed in a tank top and cotton shorts, not even bothering to cover the Mark on her right wrist. If someone wants to think Umie is a no-good delinquent because they forced their way into her apartment, let them. It's too hot to care.
Maybe she could just stand outside during the dark hour and use bufu. Would that work, or does she need to cheat a little and stand in front of a shadow?
The glass of ice water besides her clinks in response to an unasked question, as the ice cubes slowly melt away.
Go to work, or stay inside.
Are her options really that binary, on days like this?
The TV, set on mute, shows a game show; the remote is nudged with a toe to turn off.
Ah, no. There *is* something else: research.
She slips out that used copy of Arsène Lupin vs. Herlock Sholmes from a bookcase and flops down on the couch.
<Pose Tracker> Kurou Ryouhara has posed.
Wouldn't anyone who forced their way into her apartment be a no-good delinquent themselves?!
Kurou would never consider himself such. He has committed a great deal of time to building skill in acts of delinquency.
This includes, among so many other things, seeing locks as a data point rather than an obstacle. As Umie considers her study materials for the evening, she may hear the sound of her small fridge being shut as Kurou wanders from the kitchen with now empty grocery bags, crumpling them up and scanning her apartment to look for the right bin to toss them in.
If he didn't take anything from the fridge, was he... stocking it...?!
"Akabane-san, where --"
Not even a greeting, but the start of a question, like he already thinks he belongs in here! But as his eyes wander, they land upon that one mask that's hanging, marked with gold 'cracks'. His eyes light up as his gaze becomes now fixated on it.
"Kintsugi..."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Yes, but if the apartment belongs to a person with a tattoo, then they are also a no-good delinquent. That's how it works!! But, only when you are a nosy neighbor, not a Kurou.
Even Kurou's view of locks is advanced beyond Umie's, not even registering as a barrier to slip around and overcome, but a simple data point.
This may also be a matter of framing as well; when mysteries are seen as something that could hold a valuable key towards your future, everything is a lock to be overcome.
Speaking of which, that copy of Arsène Lupin vs. Herlock Sholmes? It nearly becomes a weapon, when she hears the door to her small fridge being shut. The poor book is raised up in one hand -- her right, specifically, since she's right handed -- the casually dressed Umie freezing on the couch.
There's the glass of water on the end table, a pillow, and two house slippers. That'd give Umie time to access the remote, maybe the lamp. The lamp is a last resort, however; she got it on sale, and she was so *proud* of having bought it for her apartment _like an adult_ that it'd be a shame to use it as a weapon...
(She'd like to likewise not use this mask; she's damn proud of it!!)
As Umie's eyes scan the room for objects to be used as weapons, she hears Kurou's voice.
..... oh
........ yeah
Kurou's gaze travels to the mask and stays there like a cat staring at a spot on the wall; Umie likewise looks to it. ".... You... like it?"
Kintsugi. ".... Yeah. I've had one person say that I need to pick a pattern and stick with it, but if they're going to all get broken away, why not embrace it and do something different, each time?" She inserts a piece of a paper to serve as a bookmark, and sets her paperback on the end table. "But then... I get so proud of them that I just wear whatever plain ones I have. It's a real quandry..."
<Pose Tracker> Kurou Ryouhara has posed.
There is a great philosophy on locks and mysteries Kurou would be more than happy to consciously get into, if he wasn't filling Umie's fridge with fruits and vegetables that can be safely eaten raw. For convenience! And not at all a reflection of what he thinks a normal diet can be! (Except it is.)
It could have turned into a deadly dance. There's plenty of improvised weapons in this apartment, if it ever came to that. Kurou considered turning on the hot plate in case someone followed him here that he could use as a hot iron against flesh, but decided that if Umie were in need of protection, there would be less fire hazard avenues to ensuring her safety.
He has no idea how close he came to a book to the skull.
And now, he's gazing at that mask.
"Yes," he affirms. He reaches up toward it in his trance, but remembers himself and withdraws his hand. It would not do to spoil the art of it with his touch. With great reluctance, Kurou finally peels his eyes away to look at Umie.
"You make them?" Less a question and more a realization. Kurou is silent a brief moment of consideration. "... Won't the more detailed ones be sad not ever being used for their purpose?"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
At least it'd be a paperback; while she has that collection of Lovecraft short stories, she's certain it'll leave nightmares as to why she's reading it, on top of possibly induce a concussion if she gets enough momentum behind it.
Kurou reaches up towards the hanging, and draws his hand back; whatever thoughts are going through his head, Umie seems fit to encourage specific ones, as she gets up.
Testing the surface to see if any parts of the paint are still tacky, she unhangs it from the paperclip and offers it out to Kurou, giving his permission to touch it.
The Mark, of course, is there on her right wrist as she does it; she doesn't hide it; it may as well be as innocuous as the red polish on her nails. "Were you looking for a drink of something? I have some cans of soda in there. Otherwise, there's always iced water."
Does she make the masks? "Yeah. I started off trying to recreate a mask I saw once, but it was more fun to just keep trying new things." Specifically, Fox's mask, but that's a detail Umie won't share, mainly due to embarrassment. You can't just copy a Mask-san's mask!! And besides, all the masks are a standard shape, rather than the varied shapes and sizes such Persona Users have.
'Won't the more detailed ones be sad not ever being used for their purpose?'
A smirk hangs on the side of her mouth, at that comment. "I suppose... nothing is permanent. I could always paint another... but it wouldn't be the same mask, would it?"
<Pose Tracker> Kurou Ryouhara has posed.
Kurou gingerly takes hold of the mask as Umie offers it, his eyes a fraction wider in a quiet awe as he is granted this opportunity to inspect it. His finger traces along the gold, letting it glide over the curve of the overall surface.
Umie's Mark is revealed in this place, and Kurou tries to keep his study of it to quick glances here and there, remembered in fractions, and never fully stared at. It's easier, with the mask to be fascinated by in the moments between.
"No. I left some apples. Carrots." Pause. "A cucumber. Peppers. They can be eaten raw. It is convenient, when you're tired."
There is a lot to be exhausted by these days, by Kurou's estimation.
He lifts the mask 'over' Umie's face from where he's standing, squinting to give himself the illusion that it's being fit properly on her face.
"Nothing is permanent," he agrees. "And it would not be. But... it would get its chance to be the mask that it is, and then another you would not have made will get to be created." Kurou lowers the mask back down, then holds it out to Umie to free up his hands.
He pulls a palm-sized grey, spiral notebook from his inner vest pocket and begins scribbling something down.
"... Maybe... a name for many masks..."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
There's marks that could make it clear where Umie's second-guessed herself, even on a thing like this which had no lines or patterns to replicate convincingly. The splotches of pthalo blue into pthalo green, the parts where she used a little bit too much white to dull and lighten the intensities of each shade, the parts that are a little too balanced to seem random. Metallic paint flecks glitter residue into parts where fingers may have strayed a little too early to be properly dry.
But isn't that part of the spirit, and why she looks on it with newfound pride, as Kurou examines it like it was so precious? Brown eyes light up, like she was about to make make a wry comment. (No, she's just happy.)
"I may need to spray it to make sure the gold paint properly sets, but I'll have to wait until the Dark Hour and do it outside then."
The Mark could be mistaken in those stray glances for a black smudge against pale skin, but unlike the mask in Kurou's hands, there's no mark (haha) of human touch. The lines are perfect, the black a solid matte; the upsidedown 'face' unpleasantly turned the wrong way. It's possible to feel a certain anxiety from it, like seeing a perfect hole in the middle of a farm field or a pristine telephone booth in the middle of an old growth forest. It's something that shouldn't be here, an intentional misalignment of a seam in reality.
Kurou, being of different stock, may feel something else.
Umie's eyes light up at the topic of apples, and to a lesser (but still noticable degree) on carrots and peppers. The cucumbers... not so much. "Damn... How much was the bill? I can't let you be spending money on me like this... you're still in high school, for goodness's sake." How *does* Kurou get paid, even?
(Maybe it's better not to know.)
THe mask aligns over Umie's face, and below it, the blonde's lips form a half grin. "How poetic... I suppose it's a lesson I'm beginning to understand. The mask allows for things." She reaches out and takes the mask, holding it between two fingers as she presses it against her face. "What about you, Ryouhara-kun?"
WHy do the Ryouharas not wear masks themselves?
"... ---Oh." Umie clears her throat, letting the unsecured mask fall into her palm. "You're still thinking about that?"
She admits, she's curious, just to see how Kurou thinks. "Let them loose." She presses the mask back on her face. "Would it help if I did this?" she teases.
Umie, wearing the most casual and least mysterious outfit ever, is asking you, Kurou.
<Pose Tracker> Kurou Ryouhara has posed.
Kurou's head tilts slightly as he explores the splotches, over balanced color, and smears of glitter. He does not recognize them as imperfections or mistakes. They are evidence of the handcrafted nature... the sort of marks someone searching for antiques over mass produced items might search for as evidence of an authentic item. There is a story in them, even if Kurou does not know what that story is.
It is, indeed, a critical part of its precious spirit...
"Why the Dark Hour?" Kurou asks, his flat voice doing little to help him express his genuine curiosity on the matter.
The Mark on Umie is a different thing. Something wrong and out of place. Something not meant to be. He understands, more and more, why Shiryuu worried for her in his own absence. Apparently, he has decided that part of 'protection' involves 'healthy snacks'. For as dense as Kurou can be, he does note her reaction to the apples compared to the others. This is important information.
"That is unnecessary," he says of the bill. "This is what money is for." To get food and supplies. What would he spend it on, if he were paid back? Simply more of it? But Umie isn't wrong to guess Kurou cannot be the wealthiest of boys.
Masks, though. A way to be someone else... or, perhaps, more of one's self. Kurou blinks up from his notes. "Me?" He regards Umie in her mask before his eyes unfocus in his own contemplation. Soon, Kurou returns his attention to the here and now. "... Hiding an identity is only valuable if you have an identity."
Back to his notes, just like that. "It does help." Kurou taps at the page, then looks up at Umie, holding the notes up beside her as he reads them off while getting a full look at her in mask. That the rest of her outfit is not suited to this hardly seems to ruffle him.
"... Parasol. Pineberry. Bunbun..." Oh no. "Coriaria. Impulse. Scary Smiles." Kurou... "Mm... Kabusecha. Piyo Piyo." His brows lift a little at the one as he nods, confirming something. Does that mean it's his frontrunner...?! "... Myriad. Flock."
He looks from his notes back to Umie, awaiting judgment.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
It's akin to why Umie has kept the picture book Kurou gave her; if he were to look at that book shelf she had gotten her book from, he may spot the binding of it, carefully set so it's protected between two volumes of similar height.
It is something someone made for Umie; despite Kurou's status as a possible enemy, that endeared him to her. Perhaps that was why it happened? So he could take advantage of her kindness, and then, at a later moment, go in for the kill.
Nothing is permanent in this life.
Why the Dark Hour? "So no one sees," Umie answers, simply. "If someone saw my super secret mask collection, wouldn't it mean I'd have to silence them?" (.... she's joking.)
Umie's Mark is visible, at the very least. Some 'marks' in life are not so blunt in their display, hiding on the soul instead of on skin. What would Kurou's 'mark' be?
Kurou's insistence is met with a frown and a sigh. "You're just as bad as..." Shiryuu. She turns her head, her hands held on her hips, unwilling to say the name. She can't tell Kurou she's met Sudou, of course; how would anything he's said provide closure. It could only spread delusion; as a Mark bearer, she can't willingly do the same. "You need money for your own things. Like... umbrellas, or food."
Kurou surely eats food. He has to.
Just like he has an.... identity...? Or maybe... not.
"But you do," Umie points out. "You wanted to deliver something to a prison, right? And, there's the whole Ryouhara business. You picked a green umbrella. You draw books." He lights up when someone says 'good' in reference to him. "We all have identities. Otherwise we'd just be the same, and that's boring, right? Your Persona..." .... is a giant skeleton. "That's a sign of your identity, right?" She gestures. to the side, as if there was a skeleton right there, to serve as an example.
But maybe that's the identity, as seen through the eyes of Umie Akabane. And her identity, as seen through the eyes of Kurou Ryouhara... well.
Umie stands there, perplexed, as Kurou provides a litany of possibilities, each unique and pinpointed exactly to an attribute of Umie. Well, the ones that Umie winces slightly at. "Bunbun I'll have to nix; it's taken." By Maya's stuffed little bunny, but that can remain a secret.
Why are some of them so... cute? But Scary Smiles... oof.
H-how can he say that and look so innocent! Truly, this is the secret weapon of the Ryouhara clan... ".... I..."
She wants to know the reasons behind all of them!! But she can't just *ask*.
".... Coriaria?" But she does.
<Pose Tracker> Kurou Ryouhara has posed.
Kurou has many things he is willing to take advantage of, but perhaps even a dedicated shinobi such as him would not consider picture books to be suited to the purpose of lowering one's guard. It was intended to heighten Umie's guard by ensuring her weapon remained in good shape.
But that does not mean there is any permanence to their current relationship, it's true. Even if his brows lift to see the book there. He looks quickly for her weapon, but abandons that idle check in. There are more important tasks at hand right now than verifying how well his book is serving her.
"Ah. I see." To keep the masks hidden. "That fully ensures their secrecy, and prevents unnecessary tasks. You are thorough and efficient, Akabane-san."
What do you mean she's joking??
Kurou's 'mark'... It isn't one he means to hide. It isn't one that those who left it deserve to be allowed to look away from. But it is one that is, all the same.
Umie protests Kurou's lack of identity. Kurou's gaze droops. Visiting. Green. Books. Even being Ryouhara.
"... They're... fragments," he says quietly, "Of what they used to be." He is a fragment of what he used to be. But what of a Persona, that is not from 'before'? "My Persona," he echoes, then looks right at Umie. "... I cannot deny it suits me."
That giant, monstrous skeleton... wandering without a grave.
But Kurou watches and waits for Umie to ask. He has a reason for each of them. He has thought quite a bit about this! He straightens when Umie finally does.
"Coriaria. A poisonous variety of shrub. There are varieties with round, pale berries." He gestures over his own head with his fists, mimicking Umie's buns. (It is now not difficult to imagine where Bunbun came from.) "A dangerous thing behind a harmless visage... like you might strive to be, behind your mask."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
It would be an effective means, if one meant to fully and completely devastate Umie: slip under that social mask by knowing both sides of her, and then, when she feels an obligation, strike.
But wouldn't the same be said of Kurou?
Kurou's compliments draw a cheeky grin from Umie, who flops back on her couch. "Well, you're earning points over--" Shiryuu. Damn it, she can't even make a joke without looking like she's trashing a person Kurou feels so deeply about.
Perhaps, that's why she should...
Just ask.
One leg poised underneath her and the other bent over the cushions, Umie leans on her hands, which rest on her upturned ankle. "Hey."
"Ryouhara-kun... how did you and... well, Shiryuu Ryouhara-kun get to know each other?" It sounds so strange, saying it like that, but it's clear that this is not a normal 'family', in the same sense as hers is. "If you don't mind talking about him."
Fragments. It brings more questions, and establishes that dangerous sort of concern that Umie shouldn't be giving to someone who could still be here to kill her.
And yet.
"A... Gashadokuro, I think, right? A being made from other skeletons of people who've died in battle." Fragments.
If the Badb was the mistress of the battlefield while it still ran red with blood and flesh, a gashadokuro would be something that pinpointed the fears and thoughts of what happened after the scavengers had left, when the recklessness and valor had long faded into memory.
Fragments, of those without proper graves.
The amount of thought Kurou put into just this name alone... Umie's lips purse. "Like my hair." She's amazed, openly gazing at him in surprise. "... Yeah. That'd be... something I'd want to embody. I know I'm reckless, but there's many times that I don't want someone to see me. Like after that fight, with the Old Maid." She frowns. "He's Marked, too, as you've probably gathered. What happens to him may be a reflection of something that may happen to me, one day."
"... If I'm not careful," she amends, closing her eyes. "But I'm not like him. I am myself."
'I am myself.' Could Kurou say the same things, about himself?
<Pose Tracker> Kurou Ryouhara has posed.
Thankfully, Kurou does not know how that sentence is meant to end. He only hears that he is earning points, and his eyes brighten. ... Only for that expression to dim again as the top of Shiryuu comes up. Yet there is warmth in even this question... a pang in his heart that does not hate being asked.
"No, I... do not mind."
If Kurou speaks of him, does it keep him there a little longer? Even the crows have not confirmed Shiryuu's death. It feels like a false hope, but one that must persist as long as possible. That is all business. His relationship to Shiryuu will always be tied to shinobi business, but...
"I was sent to assassinate him," he says, a piece of the story that Umie likely already understands, but truly does mark the beginning. "As a weapon forged to be wielded against my own blood. ... And, when I failed, I was to be... cast aside and thrown away. A sacrifice, like... so many others. But I refused. And I lived." Kurou explains it all without emotion in his voice. There are only those pauses, and the soft volume, that threaten any sense of grief.
"It would have been enough... to reject them and face his retribution. But... he forgave me. And he promised a different future. He promised me... the blood I am owed."
Kurou quiets, except for an uncharacteristic fidget against his notepad. What is that future now, without Shiryuu? Shiryuu said that protecting Umie would repay the debt, but is there ever truly anything that would make such a score feel settled? Shiryuu will not get the life he offered Kurou a chance at having.
Fragments. And Gashadokuro...
"... The 'Dark Hour' is... the time that makes sense. Right now is... A time where... there is forgiveness. Or... a time to gather for group education. A time for festivals and fireworks. I had... forgotten that such time is also 'real'..."
Kurou shakes his head. It feels like he is only rambling now, so he stops.
The Old Maid is a more pragmatic subject. "You are yourself," Kurou repeats. Is he trying to reassure her right now, with that monotone voice...? "Impulse can be a consequence of instinct. It is not inherently ineffective." He looks back down at the names.
"Whatever happens, you will not be alone... But we should still find a name that reminds you of... 'yourself'."
Kurou points to the page with an audible pap of the crinkling paper.
"... Piyo Piyo. It is the call of a bird." It the call of a chick, Kurou! "One with potential and possibility, who may seem to hide in a nest, only to prove able to fly."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
It feels strange, how little Umie really knows about Kurou, but she finds herself building a sort of connection. It is really that easy? (How many times has she asked herself that question?)
... Well, not the assassination part, as much as Umie had tried to kill Sudou, once. Umie's chin tilts as she sits there, brow lowering, as she listens to Kurou. What sort of family are the Ryouharas, to designation members to murder their own kin? It feels so alien.
The rest... not so much. Someone who feels they are a failure, or is told they are, being cast aside. A sacrifice who refused to follow their role, instead living.
Red brown eyes take his pauses in. "Keep going." She gets up, and quietly, there's the sound of a glass being taken out of the cupboard, which is then filled with water from the faucet. A few clinks of fresh ice cubes are dropped into the glass.
Bare feet pad over to Kurou, presenting the water to him quietly, Umie's expression one of silent command: 'drink'.
It's regular water, of course. "... And with Shiryuu Ryouhara-kun missing," she continues, sitting down on the couch, "you feel like you're in limbo, correct? Even though you're following his 'last orders' of sorts." It's a sin of a detective to assume aloud, but Umie isn't a detective-- not here, especially.
Or maybe it's not a completely fruitless endeavor, as Kurou has found meaning in the bits of life Umie has tried to give him.
".... I can't say that I'm different, there," she admits, swallowing some water from her halfway melted glass of ice water. "The Dark Hour was often the time I'd feel alive. Much of my social life was built on facades: being the perfect student, or the perfect daughter. I failed at both; not because I didn't try, but because I did... and then, realized that even if I got it, it would have meant nothing to me. That was the life the Umie Akabane people wanted would want, but not the Umie Akabane I really am."
She speaks frankly, like imparting a life lesson rather than exposing some deep part of herself. The untidy parts that didn't tell a lesson are tidied away; this is towards Kurou's own resolution. "So... I became the Umie Akabane I wanted to be. You... can still be the Kurou Ryouhara-kun you want to be; you'd be younger than I was, when I finally had enough."
To be yourself. Impulse, instinct. To not be alone....
Hadn't Ren asked her, if the Phantom Thieves made her feel safer, or a little less alone? She had chosen the latter; she couldn't hang something like 'safety' on someone else.
That's what got Shiryuu killed.
Umie sighs, lightly palming the lower half of her face. It could be read as a rejection, but inwardly, Umie just can't accept something like that from someone she's sworn to give some semblance of shelter to. "It's not loneliness I'm afraid of. It's..."
... not something she should share, when it may be an non-issue. The woman Akechi found may be simply someone who was viciously murdered.
"I can stand being alone a little. Probably prefer it, in some ways. But the people I see around me, including you; I want to see them continue. So many things in this world want to dim all the sparks I see."
Piyo piyo.
It's so wonderfully poetic.... until Umie imagines the look on Joker's face when she asks him to refer to her as Piyo Piyo.
"... Maybe Magpie, if we're going with birds. I've heard they're really vicious, when it's chick season."
<Pose Tracker> Kurou Ryouhara has posed.
Sometimes all it takes is to ask, and sometimes all it takes is to answer. Kurou does not consider how, or if, this information could be used against him in the future. Perhaps it's naivety, or perhaps it is a kind of overconfidence. More damning would be if he simply believes there is nothing more that could hurt.
He manages to struggle through his words, even as Umie walks away to get water. It is strange how much he does not hate saying it. Sometimes talking feels... pointless. It does not here. He does not know what it feels like. Lighter, maybe.
But he hasn't cried yet. Vaguely, he wonders if water is meant to help with that. It won't, not with that, but he does not disobey that command. Kurou accepts the glass and sips it before taking a deep breath. Then another sip.
Then, he fishes the ice out with his teeth to drop in one hand and press against the side of his neck, where it meets his shoulder.
Missing. Just missing. Right...
"...'Every child of Ryouhara should have been given the choice to live a full, whole life.' That was what he believed. I do not know what the future of our family looks like without him. I only know what the past was... and what stands to continue."
But he is no crow himself. Not even his mother would have that level of status, were she free. What can Kurou do alone? Try to delay as much as he can, perhaps. Drag his feet on the new orders that Shiryuu would not approve of... But when Umie speaks of herself, Kurou snaps out of his thoughts, attentive.
The line between the Umie Akabane she thought others wanted of her, and the Umie Akabane she wants to be...
"Oh," he realizes. "You're telling me for... me. Not for you." Another sip. The cold of it trickling down his throat helps keep him focused. "... You have chosen to be a strong person, Umie Akabane." Truly, she seems secure in her choice of who she is and wants to be.
"But I don't know how to be 'him' anymore... That boy who cried and laughed so easily."
All Kurou knows is that it isn't enough to simply want it. He looks into his water glass, watching the ice melt. Umie doesn't fear loneliness, and Kurou thinks he understands.
"... Because if you're alone, you never have to be the only survivor."
Sparks, though... Kurou thinks that's part of Umie's strength, too.
"Magpie." He considers this with a slow nod. "You were very protective of Maria Sakurai..."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Would Umie be the sort of person to use that information against him?
..... Could she, even?
Watching Kurou from the couch, if Umie were to ask herself either question, it'd be a no go either end.
However, he is still a Ryouhara, and one day, may be used as a tool to do something Umie cannot abide by.
Sometimes knowing is the worst part.
"Are you sore?" Umie asks, as Kurou puts some ice on the bend of his neck and shoulder. "I can get an ice pack. Probably'll work a lot easier." Oh boy, does Umie have ice packs.
First aid is a necessity, when you worked alone.
"..." To hear about this side of Shiryuu feels like learning something just a little too late: a side of a 'NWO dog' that was anything but.
Umie walked away from her family, because it was something she *could* do. If they really wanted, they could have pulled strings to bring her back, if through the NWO alone.
This strength... it has to be nothing but a facade. Maybe the worst mask of all is the one Umie wears, pretending to be the person that had freed herself from everything, on her own terms.
None of this is spoken of to Kurou, of course; that face has to be there. The myth of a cracked pot filled with gold, made beautiful again through its imperfections... how quaint. A shadow's voice would say differently; the void will always be there, in those cracks, no matter how much you fill them with precious metal.
Maybe that's why her eyes widen slightly at Kurou's statement, about the boy who cried and laughed so easily. There was an Umie Akabane that had sailed past her own wounds, becoming a creature of the green-tinted shadows and night. Effortless, intentional. Unphased, confident.
"It'll come. It'll never be the same, but those fragments are still in there." She's speaking to him, but also, the mirror that he presents, reflecting back at her own self. "Find the Kurou Ryouhara you are."
Don't be a coward.
Ah, and like Ren, Kurou is perceptive... to a fault, almost. While Ren as so far not realized any reason to consider any further her activities, Kurou knows the supernatural creature Umie is.
"...." She's speechless, trying to find something to say. The cushions exhale as she shifts.
How can someone be all of maybe 15, 16 years tops, but say something like that?
".... I can be." Protective. "She was having her sins thrust in front of her, when it may have been easier if she hid. We'll have to keep an eye on her, just in case. I don't think this'll be the end."
<Pose Tracker> Kurou Ryouhara has posed.
Kurou hesitates, but considers that ice packs are unlikely to be considered a particular valuable or limited resource. Would it make Umie feel better if he accepted it? She often does not take 'no' for an answer on such things.
"... That would be useful," he concedes.
It is easy to see Kurou and assume a blind loyalty, but he does not consider himself blind in this matter. Shiryuu is -- was? -- someone truly worth his skills and loyalty. The future of Ryouhara he saw... it was something Kurou could truly believe in. It was something that made it worth it to get up, even when Kurou was... in need of an ice pack, to put it mildly.
In Umie's silence, Kurou considers it further: "Perhaps for him, keeping me around was a choice made in pragmatism." Kurou would not begrudge him that. Not in the last. "... But for me... he reached out for me, and made me feel like... Ryouhara was a family for the first time."
Oh. It... hurts to say that out loud. Kurou swallows, and presses the ice firmer against his neck, even though that's not where the pain really is. He can't pinpoint it. It must be radiating from somewhere else.
There is more in her silence than Kurou knows. For a shinobi meant to gather information, he seems to be taking Umie's idea of herself at face value. Is it possible that a lie becomes a truth, if you tell it enough? He suddenly looks back up, as if forgetting they were speaking. It'll come.
It'll never be the same. But Kurou still has to find him. He looks down. He does not know what to say to that impossible task.
Yet when it's his turn to inspire silence, he looks back at Umie without intensity. A quiet, dim look. Sometimes perception is easier when you've seen it before. Another thing he has observed in her is how she uses looking after others as a shield. It is a way to avoid 'should', isn't it? To keep moving. To keep acting. To keep pressing ahead.
The Chariot and Death are not so different in this way.
"Understood. And next time, you will have a suitable name." Pause. "Would you like to continue reviewing the others?"
Kurou could, unfortunately, keep this up all night.