View source for 2025-09-07: Dance. Lie. Confess. Anything In-Between.

*'''Log: Dance. Lie. Confess. Anything In-Between.'''
*'''Cast:''' [[Umie Akabane]], [[Tsumugi Kujaku]]
*'''Where:''' Peacock Silk, Shimokitazawa, Tokyo
*'''OOC Date:''' September 07, 2025
*'''IC Date:''' July 07, 2012
*'''Summary''': ''Mai-chan plants a seed. Umie barters for a very specific, but very vague, commission. Tsumugi finds a new curiosity.''

----


 <Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
<poem>    ====EARLIER====

    'Why not?'
    That is the question Mai-chan posed to Umie one rare, idle morning, as Umie hunched over her newspaper covered 'art' table. (It was supposed to be her dining and sitting table, but a small apartment demands sacrifices in the name of self expression.)

    The TV was on for the excuse of noise: some morning program talking about the latest news and trends. It made it easier to finally talk &#42;back&#42; to Mai-chan, rather than let her actions do the speaking for her. Attempting to fix a crooked line on a mask with criss-crossing stripes, Umie responds. "I don't know much about them. The fact that they were intentionally set up to lure in Persona users... don't you think that's a little suspicious?" She looks up as she says this, to the drying masks hanging by paper clips overhead. (It seemed like she practically needed a new one every few days.) 

    There is no answer, but that is just Mai-chan's manner: plant a seed, then come back to see what sprouts. "..... Finnnne." (It always sprouts something, eventually.) "Maybe they'll have something cute..."

    And she could maybe pet the peacock again-- okay that convinced her, she's already heading to the shower.

    What else was Umie going to do with all that junk she saved, anyway?

    ====NOW====

    And so, in walks Umie Akabane into Peacock Silk a few hours later, her outfit chosen with the intent of being nondescript and simple, filling in the gaps with intentional colors: a brown tee with orange and red stripes across the chest, a red headband, white shorts, black sneakers. Her hair is back in a simple ponytail today, still drying in spots from a recent shower. The most conscious decision (and unironically the least thought about) would be the black thumbsleeves ending just before her elbows, as well as the woven red thread bracelet, adorned with a small bell on her left wrist. Makeup understated, with that 'clean look' that screams 'it takes longer than it looks'. 

    It's deliberately casual, though her preference for darker, warmer colors is notable.

    Calm reddish brown eyes glance about the place as she adjusts the strap on her handbag. Covert. Quiet. Scheming. Thinking.

    (where is the peacock, please don't tell her she got showered up on her free day for nothing, she could have spent that time trying to fix the rip on Mask #4 and adjust the straps on Mask #2 and aaaaaaaaaaah)
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.
<poem>
Why not?

It's a fine question to any of life's most indecisive moments, when one is standing on a precipice of what they might want to do, but think they shouldn't. Because of prudence. Because of logic. Because of mores.

Why not?

If reason after reason isn't enough to scratch the itch that question presents, well... you have your answer, don't you?

                               E A R L I E R                               

"What do you mean it won't be ready by then?! Why not!?"

There is an angry man in Peacock Silk. Whether he has a right to be is a matter of perspective. Do you know the man? His name, his background, the things that have led him to this moment? If you did, maybe you'd sympathize. Or maybe you'd feel nothing but disdain for him. Life is complex, like that. For right now, there's only two facts that really matter:

There is an angry man in Peacock Silk.

"Because it's not my priority."

And there is a tailor who seems more interested in their work than the man's anger.

The sound of a sewing machine hard at work fills the air of Peacock Silk, threatening to drown out the angry man's work. But Tsumugi Kujaku hears him perfectly well; they just don't seem particularly bothered by his anger. Their focus remains on their machine, even as the man balks at their apparent audacity.

"'Not your priority'? I put good money into your little establishment to get this order done--"

"And I never said it would be done by then. Only that you'd have it. Yes?"

"Err. Yes, but I thought it was implied--"

"You aren't the only person who has put in orders with me. You aren't even the first. Or the most interesting. So what are you, exactly?"

The man flusters, even as Tsumugi seamlessly stitches colorful - the angry man would say ''garishly'' so, who would ask for something so ''gaudy'' - fabric together. A proprietary cotton blend. Stretchy. Comfortable. Binding. Their expression does not so much as hitch as they continue.

"If you want to be my priority despite all that, give me something of equal value to my attention."

"Wh -- how -- do you know who I am??" he asks, indignant.

"Yes," the answer. And they finally look up, with that impassive, intensely green stare.

"And you know who I am."

They do not ask.

Their work stops. Slowly, they lift onto their feet, as they regard the man with that ever-placid expression. His complaints stop in a moment.

"I've already given you a solution. So the only question is..."

They lean down. Slender finds find the angry man's tense shoulders. And as he freezes in place, dark red lips whisper a simple question in his ear.

"... how badly do you want it?" 

                                   N O W                                   

Alas, there is no peacock today.

"Move!"

Just an angry man leaving Peacock Silk with significantly loosened purse strings.

Figuratively speaking.

Does he have a right to be angry? Who can say. He's certainly no one Umie knows -- right now, he's just the man shoving past her on his way to Peacock Silk's door ("-ludicrous- entrance" he mutters to himself), face flushed steaming red as he marches straight out of the place as swiftly as possible.

But past Umie's unfortunate encounter with an angry man, there is no peacock as reward for the unpleasantness today.

"Oh. It's you."

Unless you count the proprietor, anyway.

They're just there, in the back of the shop. Whereas Umie is dressed nondescript, she finds her opposite number in the sleek black bellbottom jumpsuit that Tsumugi Kujaku wears today: canny belts are fastened in strategic points at the legs and shoulders, seemingly more for fashion than function; the sleeves, a striking scarlet in color in contrast to the rest of the jumpsuit, are slit from the inside of the elbow all the way down to the cuffs, lending the sleeves a billowy quality. The collar is a peak lapel, a slightly darker black than the rest, exposing a sliver of fair flesh before a gold bib collar covers them from clavicle to throat. Gold seems to be the order of the day in general, outside that jumpsuit: from the necklace, to the bangles they wear -- to the stilettos of their heels. To the way gold and red blends towards a rose gold for their eyeshadow, bringing out that catseye eyeliner all the more prominently.

The coat, red on the outside and black on the inside and decorated with strange gold spiral designs on that interior, seems to ride a similar idea as the rest of their ensemble: like they were nonchalantly straddling a line they had invented between crisp professionalism and opulent excess.

They're in the middle of inspecting an extremely ''cyan'' ream of fabric as Umie comes in. They don't seem to have look her way yet, even as they greet her.

"Welcome back to Peacock Silk."

But that doesn't stop them from greeting her with that silken confidence, all the same.

"What can we do for you?" 

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
<poem>    Why not, indeed?

    The smell of misery with no context attracts Umie's gaze, in the wake of the red-faced man leaving, eyes lidding slightly. A passing curiosity, before the heavy waters of decency and common sense swallow it into their swamp. 

    .... 

    But of course, that doesn't mean she can't &#42;say&#42; something. "Do you get clients like that often?" she says, turning to Tsumugi. That cyan is extreme; she can see the way light reflects off it onto Tsumugi as they handle it.

    Welcome 'back', said the person wearing the opposite of what she wears in tone, while carrying a similar choice in tones. She feels underdressed already.

    "I have some items that are burning a hole in my pocket that might be of some interest. .. But, you've probably have gotten a lot of them in the past week, so I imagine it may be better to hold off and come back another time?" Strategy: hold back, test, engage, like a spider cautiously testing a web that has something of potential interest. 

    ".... As for what I'm looking for..."

    Truth be told, it's been on the back of her mind since coming here that first time, because her mind couldn't help but ask. If there was something she'd want, anything, from a shop that seemed to sell things of the paranormal...

    'What could allow me to enter and exit a shrine, without the terrible thing inside it knowing I was there?' The logic for it is as ephemeral as flowers in early spring, hinging on a fear that could only be viewed as illogical.

    Shrines are sacred places, after all, each holding something that would not equal the terrible shrunken head burned into her memory. A burning fury, fear, disjointed memory, innocence lost, guilt. A brand, so she'd always remember, and will always seek the shadows. How can anyone put that into words?

    ..... So it comes out like something else.

    "I need something that could help me move and hide." Likely the worst thing she could ask of someone who is dressed quite the opposite. "I'm flexible on what article of clothing it is; I'm interested in what you--" 'in what you think up.' 

    Ah. She feels a flush of awkwardness in her chest; she pulls back, to be on the safe side.

    "... I'm not sure if this would be a sort of place that would do this sort of thing, but seeing as you did seek out people with supernatural abilities during your opening.... I want to see what sort of things you could do." Her smile is lopsided, her eyes creased with a hint of mischief. "If not, I promise not to storm out in a huff, but I may come back to see Peacock-san... what was their name, again?"

    If only she had connected the dots on Myunghon's coat; but that seemed more a weapon born from themselves.
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.
<poem>
Do you get clients like that often?

A simple yes or no answer for such a simple question.

"People attempt to burden others with their expectations of how the world should be, and grow angry when someone refuses to meet them. It's not uncommon."

Tsumugi Kujaku opts to go a different way, as is so often their wont.

"It's no different from society in general."

This is the philosophical musings of Peacock Silk's proprietor, uttered with all the Sahara-dry placidity of someone noting the humdrum weather outside. Their attention remains focused on the bold brightness of that cyan, unfurling a foot of it and holding it upward to consider the fabric against the light of the store as Umie speaks.

"Mm," is their only response to that strategic attempt to pluck the spider-web of their interest. Is it a game 'mm'? Or a dismissive 'mm'? Or is it an 'I'm not really paying attention but I'm pretending like I am' mm?!

It's so nondescript it could be any of them, depending on the outside observer's biases. Like all great art.

No -- instead of immediately expanding on that thought, they instead roll that bolt of cyan back up, tucking it against the pit of their arm. So quiet is the boutique outside of Umie's attempts to properly word her desires that the

    &#42;CLICK&#42;

of their heels as they suddenly pivot is especially noticeable.

Like an underscore to the exact moment their potential client finally finds the words to express that deep and terrible desire to not be seen by something deeply terrible.

"You want to go unnoticed."

It's a succinct summary of Umie's words, punctuated by the fact that those bright green eyes are on -her- now and not those endless possibilities bound in fabric form behind them. That hooded stare considers Umie for a long, silent moment. That focus lingers on her arms. On the bracelet? On the sleeves?

''I'm interested in what you--''

Their head cants.

"..."

And--

Click.

--they start to move, heels announcing their hardwood-bound approach. They brush by Umie -- and then move to the door, locking it without a word before that same graceful gait takes them towards the long counter. As they go, they lift one hand, scarlet sleeves pooling like a veil at their elbow as they curl one gold-nailed finger in a beckoning gesture. Follow, they say without saying.

"His name's Pernelle," they answer, instead of the other perhaps much more pertinent questions and offers Umie's put on the table in the short time since her arrival. "If you want to pet him again," they surmise without judgment "he's fond of tater tots. But he's even more fond of surprises. It's a commodity that only increases in rarity and value over time."

And here they pause, to turn and hop on the countertop, palms planting on glass and vanishing beneath billowy scarlet sleeves as that green gaze turns to look Umie in the eye.

"What do you have for me?"

Umie chooses a cautious approach. Tsumugi chooses something more direct.

They just decide to address each topic in their own order. 

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
<poem>    And it's the third option that Tsumugi chooses that grabs Umie's attention; even if its contents are more valuable in that they offer a clue into a person's insight, rather than a conversation starter.

    "I suppose that's a fairer way of looking at it," she supposes.

    The next tactic will be more frustrating, as those tentative pokes at the web become more overt, as if the challenge became more the issue than the act of being careful.

    She's just not someone who likes to leave things unturned- a contradiction, when it comes to her eventual request.

    Touch the web enough times and it'll stick to you instead. 

    'You want to go unnoticed.'

    ".... yes," Umie says, after a moment. "When I want to be." As if by saying this, she remains in control, displaying power, rather than fleeing like a mouse from a hovering owl.

    _She can't get a read on this person_, and she knows it's because she's letting herself get _sucked in_. Even a bull in a china shop will be cautious at first, before their nature takes over. A gremlin can only be denied enough times before it manifests, destroying charm and civil conversation like fine china.

    "Pernelle." Umie nods. "Noted."

    Surprises and tater tots, huh... "What if the surprises were the tater tots themselves..." she wonders, aloud, a hand to her chin. She's already thinking on this, as if it was just as important to impress a peacock as it is to gain leverage with this strange, attractive, green-eyed person.

    As for what she has on hand? Umie digs into her handbag, retrieving some cord bags, knotted closed. This, at least, was planned.

    This is answered more directly. The list of items is simple: 

    &#42; Some receipts: notes detailing money owed and loaned, as well as the sundry meanderings of greed on thin paper, from a palace that no longer exists. Each had been turned into origami creations of various animals; Umie just refuses to explain why she did it at all.

    &#42; Specifically a not that says 'IOU 5234 yen - Black Ooze', crumpled up, but there was an attempt to disguise this by turning it into an origami pig- a very nice one, as if it was done last.&#42;

    &#42; Pieces of gold, the 'hides' of shattered piggy banks that Umie, unwisely, shattered indiscriminately in a fit of simmering rage.

    &#42; A golden lock of hair from a Take-Minakata, collected and bound with red thread like a Victorian charm.

    &#42; A discarded toy pig, innocence lost, meant for the trash heap and never meant to be seen again, if not taken by a blonde-haired girl that happened to be passing through.

    .... They are, of course, tests, as well as what Umie actually has on hand; what would be considered valuable and what would be considered value-less? 

    "Are any of this satisfactory to you?"

    &#42;(She had thrown the receipt over her shoulder in Kaneshiro's Palace, but she did think better of it and nab it at some point off camera.)
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.
<poem>
Yes.

When she wants to be.

Maybe it's a coping mechanism, that addendum. A way of attempting to assert herself. There is a great difference, after all, between trembling in the shadows, and prowling through the tall grass.

It's subtle but there, Tsumugi's response: the single, wordless upward hitch of a dark eyebrow.

Perched on the shopping counter like a ruler on their throne, Tsumugi sets that bolt of cyan down next to their hip as they draw their right leg up to prop one gold heel on the counter edge and lazily drape one arm across their upraised knee. They watch Umie as she mulls on the nature of surprise, instead turning it on its head: why consider the tots and the surprise a separate concept at all? Why limit herself? Why not fuse both?

Why not?

The suggestion of a smile flickers on dark red lips, half-hidden by the crest of that risen knee.

"Ara."

But it's not where their interests are -right- now. Not yet, at least. It's like the natural and inevitable flow of a river, their curiosity: just as they begin to delve into one topic, they sweep to the next, plucking up one of those corded bags and considering them with understated fascination. From one item to the next they consider, from shards of shattered gold to the lock of the Take-Minakata - which, for some reason, draws a soft "hah" from dark lips - to the toy pig... and finally, to those receipts and their ode to a man who could not stop his endless hunger for relevance and power.

They've leaned in, reaching to pluck that origami pig delicately between their index finger and raise it to their thoughtful inspection when they note, off-handedly,

"So you were there, too."

They tilt that quaint piece of cognitive power, sculpted by - whim? compulsion? a random flight of fancy? - human hands into a symbol of the man it came from.

"What did you think of it? The Palace of Junya Kaneshiro."

That detached yet piercing stare rolls back Umie's way. The question, and whatever implications it might bring, lingers for a few handful of seconds in a silence that may or may not be filled with Umie's words--

"I can work with these." And just like that, they set that origami pig down and move on. "If it's simple stealth you want, that's easy enough. In the cognitive world, you could be like a ghost in the night. It'll work in Mementos, the Dark Hour..." They consider Umie pointedly. "... whatever spaces you want to sneak in." Golden-nailed fingers take a shard of cognitive gold, rolling it slowly between dexterous digits. "Perception is what the cognitive world functions off of. And like the real world..."

The roll of their wrist is fluid, as that shard of gold is engulfed in the folding of their fist. When their hand reopens?

It's gone.

"... just as vulnerable to misdirection."

Graceful shoulders roll in a shrug as Tsumugi slumps forward with the motion, draping on their own lifted leg. "You should know, though. Sometimes wishing something goes unnoticed just makes it more obvious."

A second passes in which they consider Umie. And then, in what seems like another pivot, they ask:

"Are you uncomfortable with the idea of wanting to hide?" 

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
<poem>    There's something... strangely similar in the mannerisms here between Tsumugi and someone else: not enough to be intentional, but for Umie to recognize the well they may have both started from.

    ... Like she could expect to see Mai-chan sitting on the counter, long dark hair spread evening over the glass counter, red ribbons tied in her front bangs, the red patterned silk of her kazami robes spread out, short legs swinging childishly.

    'Ara~'

    But hers was an impish, mischievous smile, while Tsumugi's...

    It's an implication, mysterious, unknown. 

    'So you were there too.'

    It answers one question of hers, at least, and Umie doesn't avoid it.

    "... Yes." She shifts onto one sneaker casually. "Looks like I don't need to dance around what I may need something for."

    What did she think of it?

    Umie considers, not shrinking away from that detached stare. How can it seem so distant, yet be so sharply defined? "Gaudy. Cold. Sad," she says. Pandora's Box, she wants to say. "But can we really pretend our palaces would look any less distorted, though?"

    Can you look at a cyst, and pretend it holds the essence of the person it's inside?    
    
    'Sometimes wishing something goes unnoticed just makes it more obvious.' Umie thinks back to when Tsumugi looked at her wrists earlier; she had attempted to not to seem to notice at the time, but it makes for a perfect analogy: to obscure it means covering it with something else.

    To cover something...

    The gold disappears from Tsumugi's fingers, Umie's eyes on the gold-painted nails, mentally comparing them to the shiny deep apple red of her own.

    ".... To cover something... is to make it more obvious. And more valuable. Like one of Pernelle's surprises."

    Her shrouding works through misdirection; but it cannot overcome the perception of someone who knows she's there.

    Like that head did, when It Saw Her. 

    And the thought makes her own words flow out, despite it placing her at a disadvantage.

    "Something was taken from me. The location was a sacred place. I'd like to take back what was taken from me, someday. When I find out how, and what, I'll need more than tricks. Those... I have already. But another trick is better than none."

    Cognitive whispers are easier to deal with than hard truths. "I may need to bring more objects, but I'm willing to. I can wait, even for a simple trick."

    And then, with a slow partial, lazy wink, she says, "especially if it's cute... and in my color. Does this spark your interest, any?"
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Tsumugi Kujaku has posed.
<poem>
She doesn't need to dance...

From their perch, Tsumugi looks down on Umie. Watchful. Observant.

Fascinated.

But not anymore than their interests carry them. After all...

"You only need to do what you want, here."

Those words are said so simply, so casually. Their gaze tilts, focusing indolently forward, somehow making the words feel that much more weightless for the lack of attention that comes with them. And yet they feel meaningful in the lightness of them -- like you could just take hold of the idea and here, fly free and unburdened of every weighty chain the world fetters you down in.

"You can dance. You can lie to me. You can unburden your sins like the Catholics in their booths. Or anything in between."

You only need what you want.

"Just as long as you want it."

But Umie offers her answer on the matter of Kaneshiro. Gaudy. Cold.

Sad.

But can they pretend their palaces would be any different? And less ugly?

"No."

The answer comes easily and immediately, complete with the lift of shoulders in a shrug of ambivalence.

"But they'll try to hide it, all the same."

Because appearances are everything. Just like expectations.

Umie's Grand Gift for Pernelle deepens further in the process of refining her own needs. Curiosity sparks its muted presence in Tsumugi's gaze -- and it deepens further as Umie offers up a glimpse of her predicament, in this confessional that is the Peacock Silk Boutique. Something was taken from her, in a sacred place. Standard tricks won't work.

She can wait.

Does it spark their interest?

"..."

Tsumugi sits there in silence for a few seconds in which their answer could be anything, even simply telling her to leave despite claiming they could give her what she needs -- what she wants. Those striking features don't shift an inch save for the way vivid green eyes roll down to consider Umie -- like they were looking through her, into something else.

It's by the fifth second they slide off that counter with the resounding CLICK! of heels.

They're still silent as their hands tuck into the pockets of their jumpsuit. Still silent as they continue to consider Umie with that unblinking jade stare. Still silent as they circle around her in a lazy prowl of motion, as if considering their prospective client from every angle.

No. That silence doesn't break easily. It's not until they're at Umie's left shoulder -- not until they've leaned in from behind -- not until their lips can pass their answer directly to Umie's ear -- that they speak:

"I'm interested."

And with that, they straighten again, slipping past Umie's front on their way to the counter once again. As they start gathering those cognitive materials into their respective pouches, they expound:

"I can do it. But a simple trick won't work for what you need. I'll make you something more." A promise. One that they offer up with that understated yet implacable confidence as they tuck that origami pig delicately into its pouch.

"I'll need more materials. Stronger ones. This will be a long-term project." They glance over their shoulder.

"But you're willing to wait, yes?"

And with that, they turn. They lean against the counter. And they look Umie in the eyes. Direct, yet so distant.

"We'll start with a preliminary base and work from there." Their head tilts. "Something cute. It fits you." But what about them?

"As for my payment... I haven't decided what I want from you yet. But when I find it, you'll know. And you can decide if you want to keep going from there."

It's an unknown. An x-factor. And one that Tsumugi offers with a bald-faced lack of shame, as they lift one golden-nailed hand.

In offering.

"Does that spark your interest?" 

</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
<poem>    It really won't do to feel at home here. The coy infliction of those words, the angle (despite Mai-chan staying the same height as 11 year old Umie, she floated), the air of knowing more than they let on, and the knowledge you would let it continue to happen. It's too late to change your course.

    To be fair, it's not the same, but it rhymes, and that's enough for Umie to find herself falling into secret patterns of her own free will.

    She stops at confessing her sins, instead playing the part of someone who was wronged from the beginning.

    The silence that ticks afterwards, and the way those eyes look through Umie, Umie stays still, resolute, despite her course being decided mere minutes ago. Her head attempts to follow Tsumugi's pace, but can only go so far; the owl wasn't the bird featured in her name's kanji. 

    So when those lips speak against Umie's ear, Umie's lips slightly open in a hiss of air, her body shrinking back-- NO WRONG DIRECTION, GO FORWARD, FORWARD, UMIE, WAIT NO THEY'RE IN FRONT NOW, BACK BACK BACK -- to get away from that close contact. Her cheeks are flushed, her left hand is splayed in front in a vain attempt to disguise them, the bell on her bracelet giving a tiny, tinny sound.

     "Good. I look forward to it." The word falls, muffled, against her hand. "... Materials I can get, especially specific ones, as long as you tell me. Waiting's fine." Her hand drops, finding a pocket. "These items are limited; you're likely not going to see any like them, once everyone's brought what they have here." That information she'll offer as a bonus. "But I'll keep on the lookout for more." She has no real way of entering a Palace, but she has a shred of a chance in finding them, if her senses are any indication.

    It's just another battlefield for the Badb's purposes, just hidden.

    Green eyes pierce through the illusion of distance in Umie's own, now that Tsumugi holds something she is interested in. "Alright. Good plan."

    'As for my payment....'

    ".... If it's something I can give." Umie's lips thin out. "Even if I wait a long time for it, if the price is too much, we'll have to figure out what to do, then. But I figure we can figure out a deal somehow."

    Nevermind Umie can't even name what was taken from her that day, or what, if anything, could be done to take it back. Time has passed; there is no way to return to a child, nor would Umie want to. She wouldn't want to give up the positives; Badb is her. She doesn't want a normal life. 

    But there's so much they've taken from her, without having to do much at all.

    She was never good at thinking completely through her plans; all that mattered was the initial push to get that precious momentum.

    'Ara~ making a deal with the devil, are we? I wonder where this will go~' To say that Mai-chan planned all of this would be misrepresenting the push and pull of human nature; whatever happened, the seed that sprouted would be a delight in the child-like being's eyes.

    Dance. Lie. Confess. Anything inbetween. 

    Her hand, with the deep apple red nails, reaches out to shake Tsumugi's own. "Deal."
</poem>

[[Category:Logs]]
[[Category:Season 1]]
[[Category:Season 1, Episode 1]]