[The stench of death hits immediately. But, perhaps mercifully, there are no bodies to be seen.
The scene itself is vague, like a smudged painting. Maybe a house there, maybe another there. Murmurings that can't quite be heard as words, as though there's not enough of the memory to patch the pieces.
But what does stick out is the color... and the people.
It's all far more vibrant than it should be, enough to be noticeable. But the light is bright, the colors of plants vary in their weak sway of the wind. Though they're too low to see the sky, there's blue that still sticks out - reflections off a pot, off flowing water, off glass and metal. It seems to stretch forever, from this tiny vantage point, remembered only in the mind of a child.
And despite how muddied it all is, despite how fuzzily it comes together, every person's face is crystal clear. Nuanced in their exhaustion, their fear, their happiness, their relief. They do not look towards the window. But they are still seen.
Solomon keeps his peeking very cautious, very practiced, peeking just barely high enough through the hard edges of the latticing with his fingers curled around the window's edge. A longing sigh escapes him as his cheek settles against his hand.]
It's pretty today.
...
You know... I've got another secret. [His eyes dart to Akira as his voice drops to a whisper, very Serious.] But you can't tell nobody, okay? Nobody at all.
...
I made a friend. Not a made-up one like you or the fishes. A real one.
[What a small, small mercy. Akira doesn't need to see rotting, festering bodies to know this place is steeped in death. This is hell without the brimstone, without the cackling demons and the licking flames. This is the hell Solomon was forged in, and it disgusts Akira. Sickens him to the pit of his stomach.
He clenches his fists tightly to keep the nausea from crawling up his throat. No storybook colors or gently swaying plants could make the scene any easier to stomach. Only a child could see a world like this, the only world they've ever known, in a bright and favorable light.]
...Tell me. Tell me about your friend.
[What friend has Solomon made in the bowels of hell?]
The air suddenly turns cold, and from outside the stretch of the muddy scenery, Akira might very well spot the shadow of something. Something. There, quiet, looming.]
[It's still the dead of night. But Akira is now free of wherever the heck he just was. Solomon, the real Solomon, is out cold at the floor of the couch, head resting against the groove between the cushion and armrest.
[Akira jerks, startled out of a dead sleep. That dream felt a little too real, and just to be sure he hasn't simply descended to another layer of Solomonland, Akira pinches his cheek. Oww.
Speaking of Solomon, Akira very nearly kicks the guy when he sits up and holds his aching head in his hands. Ough. No more drinking, at least not for a while. Akira carefully tiptoes across the room to pour himself a glass of water, but in the interim, he wonders if Solomon might be having a dream of his own...?
A dream draped in velvet, a dream stained bright blue. Incense spools loosely from censers hung up high, the scent of frankincense and myrrh thick in the air. When Solomon rouses in this dreamlike space, it will be in a cell, a cage, with shackles tightly binding his wrists and his ankles.
Waking on his own accord might not be an option at all, not with the shameless rapping of a nightstick against his prison bars, a young girl's angry golden eyes boring holes into his.]
Rise and shine, inmate! You're not on a pleasure cruise! You have work to do, or have you forgotten already?
[It's definitely a sharp wake-up call, jolting Solomon up in his dazed status. He feels the uncomfortable tension around his limbs, the cold press of metal and a weight that holds them down...
...well, and a horrible, horrible headache. Is it from the drinking, which has become such a blur in his immediate memory, or is it the noise and the lights and the scents that remind him of...
...
Where... where in the world did he just end up?
He squints up towards the girl at the bars, brow tight in confusion.]
[The golden-eyed girl cuts Solomon no slack whatsoever. His question earns him a growl of displeasure and yet more cutting words, her baton arm swinging out to reveal a tall, slim something sitting at the enter of the room draped in a sharply contrasting red cloth.]
Don't "I'm sorry," me! You're late for the execution! Your life's as good as over if you don't start taking your role seriously!
[Another girl bearing an uncanny resemblance to the first but noticeably subdued, stands silent beside the clothed object with one hand primed to tear the curtain away. From beneath the fabric, a familiar voice shrieks, flailing limbs disturbing the cloth.]
Let me go! Let me goooo! Don't you know who you're messing with?! My nail polish hasn't even dried yet!
[It sure is a lot of strange dramatics with no explanation, but...
...
Ah. He knows that shriek.
It's instinct to try to prod through the pact, even though its been severed for weeks. But he keeps it off his face, letting his exhausted frustration pull to something more contemplative and cautious.]
And remind me like the poor fool I am, what is it so important about this role of mine?
[With a sharp tug, the curtain is torn away and the contents therein revealed— a guillotine, imposing and razor-sharp, with the flailing Asmodeus on the chopping block. The girl manning the guillotine looks, however briefly, surprised to see the man beneath the curtain.]
Its form has changed... How interesting.
[The girl nearest to Solomon taps her baton against her palm, sizing up the man on the guillotine before centering her sharp-eyed stare on the prisoner.]
What, has it been so long that you've forgotten?! You've been shirking your responsibilities, inmate! Show him how this goes, Justine!
[Justine takes hold of the rope, iron and wood creaking in unison. Asmodeus, however, is far louder.]
Jealousy is the real crime here! You can't execute me for being beautiful! Tell them, Solomon!
His fists clench for purchase under his bonds. No wand, no ability to reach it. He digs his heels in to try and will a magic circle under his feet, but it's struggling to reach, he can't tap into the pact to give Asmo the boost he needs. Why isn't he charming anyone?]
You certainly can't.
And that aside, I don't remember giving you permission to take him from me.
[Caroline watches Solomon squirm, watches him try desperately to intervene and save the man on the guillotine, all to no avail. Her eyes narrow, sharp at the corners.]
You think I need your permission? That's not how this game is played.
[And what an unjust game it is. Caroline turns, her back to Solomon, and motions for Justine to bring down the guillotine blade. Asmodeus screams and argues until the bitter end, but in this world, there is no justice for uppity twinks of any kind. The blade descends and lops off his pretty little head, his form disappearing swiftly thereafter to dispense into threads of magic, swirling about the room before coalescing in the shape of a card.
Justine takes the card from where it hovers above the fallen blade and traipses over to Solomon's cell, extending the card to him.]
[He tries as hard as he might, up until the slice of the blade hits. When it does, he pulls far more intensely, fiercely, the lapping of cold anger wavering through his throat and chest.
He doesn't move to take the card. Not yet.]
I can't answer your questions that way. Are you going to explain to me what's going on?
[Caroline heaves a loud and frustrated sigh, slamming her baton against the bars. Justine remains unmoved, eyes soldered to Solomon.]
It's like your brain fell right out of your head! What does it look like?!
[She swings her arm out to gesture at the guillotine, giving it an irritated shake.]
You sacrifice the weaker ones to strengthen the useful ones! Did you sleep through my explanation or what? If you cry over every Persona, you'll never get stronger!
That... was what Akira called his summonings, wasn't it?
He's the only one in here, though, outside of the two girls and the space that once held Asmo. Devoid of any other answers, he takes that one point of knowledge and tries to tug at it like a fishing line.]
I didn't think of Asmodeus as weak, for a Persona or a Shadow. Do you know what kind of effort I went through to contract with him in the first place?
[just realized asmodeus is goddamn shadow kamoshida in p5, i'm sorry to slutty asmo for this disservice
Caroline is as unwilling to budge as ever, scoffing at the very idea that this man would back sass her, but it's Justine who holds out her free hand to silence her.]
A Persona is a part of the self. It is no stronger or weaker than the bond you forge with it. Isn't that right... Akira?
[From elsewhere within the Velvet Room, a door unlocks, swinging open on whiny hinges. Akira walks in, hands and feet shackled, but the chains that bind them have been severed. He speaks in a tone much bolder than he does in day to day life, much more resolute, striding to stand between the girls and wrap a hand around Solomon's prison bars.]
Whether they're strong or weak is dependent on you. They're a part of you, after all.
[He didn't ask for his Velvet room to be anything like this! Sometimes you just feel like a prisoner in your own life and are helpless to do anything about it, but little by little, you work towards securing your freedom.
It's that sense of hard-earned freedom that lets Akira bend the bars that keep Solomon pinned in his cage, and after he does, he steps in to sweep the man up into his arms like he weighs little more than a feather.]
I always feel a little guilty when I have to merge 'em or turn them into cards to use on the others. Still, they always come back eventually. You can blame Igor for how things work around here, wherever he is.
Okay. He. Genuinely does not remember the last time this has ever happened. Maybe when Beelzebub carried him back from the cafe like a sack of potatoes? Maybe when Lucifer paralyzed him and tied him up? No, wait, that was also like a sack of potatoes. Barbatos just teleported him.... sometimes halfway across the landscapes of hell...
Give him a second to regain his composure. Is he still chained down?]
So there's more experimentation on them than using them just as they're found... if they come back, do they not hold some kind of animosity for you for discarding them like that?
[Nervous? Good. He loves throwing the old man off his game. Akira grins, swiveling on his heel, and striding towards the exit. The manacles binding Solomon's wrists and ankles together still remain, but the metal's begun to rapidly deteriorate and rust, crumbling away to nothing.]
Eh, nothing like that. I couldn't tell you the particulars, but I think the Personas are just used to the abuse.
[It's a hard knock life. At least Akira treats them well enough after splicing them together and turning them into cards to feed other Personas.]
But that was weird. I don't remember Asmodeus looking so... [how does he put this politely] ...fashionable? Was that someone you know?
Ah. Here I would think something so close to a demon would have more pride than that.
[The more you know!
As the metal of his wrists deteriorates, he swings one of his arms up to loosely hook against Akira's neck, if only to redistribute his weight a little more under his control. Hope you like grandpa being a bossy bottom.]
That was Asmodeus as I know him, yes. He's always preferred a form to embrace his beauty and vanity.
[He likes all his bottoms bossy. Solomon truly is the gift that keeps on giving.]
That's putting it lightly. Should I be worried about him?
[Said casually because obviously Asmodeus had his eyes on Solomon (and whatever else,) long before Akira came along. With Solomon secure in his arms, Akira kicks open the door to reveal a vast world of black and red, towering skyscrapers jutting out of the ground at odd angles. With a hook in one hand, Akira steadies his aim and latches onto one nearby building and swings into the night sky.]
In any case, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you don't belong in here. I'll have to dispose of you.
[As in, Akira should be far more worried about what Asmo will do to him if he ever loops back around this way. The amount of energy it might take to revive him, the money and makeup lost, the audacity to ruin perfection or think he could be contained and treated like cattle.... not to mention if his older brothers found out.
Anyway the door gives out to Akira's Mighty Dropkick and oh my god it's just like hit action movie arachnid boy
While Solomon can't say he's ever travelled like this before, it's not his first time so high off the ground. So he keeps his grip tight against the younger wizard, trusting in the confidence he so clearly radiates in this foreign space.]
Here I thought you were wanting to steal my heart, Akira. Is this not the way you wished to do it after all?
[When next Solomon looks up into arachnid boy's eyes, he'll see they've shifted to a luminous gold. His grip on Solomon tightens. His voice shifts, both higher and lower, doubling up on itself.]
But I wonder...? Will you be able to save yourself in time? I've yet to meet a treasure I haven't wanted to steal.
[Akira moves closer, closer, inclining his head until Solomon's vision is full of nothing but his golden stare, eyes deep like oceans, roiling like high tide. They bore into him, everything around him falling dark, impossibly dark, until even those eyes disappear and Solomon is left with nothing but the feeling of an unshakeable vice locking around his heart. Akira's disembodied voice is a phantom riding the winds as Solomon falls freely into the void.]
You're mine, sorcerer. Your heart is forfeit.
[The dream ends. Reality, little by little, seeps back in.]
[The space morphs, nonsensical, unending, and the space of his heart is gripped so hard within the confines of his chest, through the deep spiraling beyond his soul, that he feels he might not be able to breathe. The echoing threat, the afterimages of gold burned into his eyes as the void descends, familiar and cold like the throat of some great monster.
He sputters awake with a gasping cough and color across his face, a fist tightened into his shirt. The grip is gone as fast as it came, and all he's left with is that sensation of dangerous power, of something that pursues him with the same ferocity he pursues the demonic.
His head spins and aches, and his face feels too hot. So he resigns to quietly drawing his legs up, leaning his forehead against his knees, until reality comes back to him.]
[—Akira jerks up from his office chair, swiveling around to see Solomon coughing and sputtering on the ground. He's awake now, clearly... and what a state he's in.
Akira jumps up, pitcher in one hand and glass in the other, pouring Solomon some water on the way over.]
I was wondering if you'd ever wake up. How are you...?
[...doing? Akira falls silent, setting the glass of water and pitcher down on the coffee table. His hand finds Solomon's shoulder.]
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no subject
The scene itself is vague, like a smudged painting. Maybe a house there, maybe another there. Murmurings that can't quite be heard as words, as though there's not enough of the memory to patch the pieces.
But what does stick out is the color... and the people.
It's all far more vibrant than it should be, enough to be noticeable. But the light is bright, the colors of plants vary in their weak sway of the wind. Though they're too low to see the sky, there's blue that still sticks out - reflections off a pot, off flowing water, off glass and metal. It seems to stretch forever, from this tiny vantage point, remembered only in the mind of a child.
And despite how muddied it all is, despite how fuzzily it comes together, every person's face is crystal clear. Nuanced in their exhaustion, their fear, their happiness, their relief. They do not look towards the window. But they are still seen.
Solomon keeps his peeking very cautious, very practiced, peeking just barely high enough through the hard edges of the latticing with his fingers curled around the window's edge. A longing sigh escapes him as his cheek settles against his hand.]
It's pretty today.
...
You know... I've got another secret. [His eyes dart to Akira as his voice drops to a whisper, very Serious.] But you can't tell nobody, okay? Nobody at all.
...
I made a friend. Not a made-up one like you or the fishes. A real one.
no subject
He clenches his fists tightly to keep the nausea from crawling up his throat. No storybook colors or gently swaying plants could make the scene any easier to stomach. Only a child could see a world like this, the only world they've ever known, in a bright and favorable light.]
...Tell me. Tell me about your friend.
[What friend has Solomon made in the bowels of hell?]
1/2
The air suddenly turns cold, and from outside the stretch of the muddy scenery, Akira might very well spot the shadow of something. Something. There, quiet, looming.]
H̴̨̡̨̨̻͖͙͖̳̤̺̳͍̯͔͙͎̻̻̹̫̮̉̍̀̆̌̃̾̋̃̚͜͝î̷̧̧̟̥͈̫̳̻̗̯̹͕̫̖̙̪͙̞̘͔̗̫̳̩̩͉̥͙͚̞͈͈̣̲͍̻̣̘̼̘̬̘͔̱̹͙̟̺̞̥͕̭̔̈́̓̒͒͆̊̕͘͜͠ͅͅͅͅͅs̸̨̛̲͕͍͎͚̘̖̖̬͍̲̱͎̱̮̪̿̋̍͌̀̒͛̐́̽́͑̂͆͛̈́̽̉̂͆̌̾̀͌̎̄͘̚̕͠͝ ̸̡̡̨̢̡̢̫̗̲̹͎͍̤̠͚͎͈̻̳̖͕͍͈̞͖̭̭̺̩̺̟͎̙̮̣̳̤͚̯̝̪̟͕̯̰̘̺̲͇̜͙̖̳̉̒͜͜ͅn̵̨̨̛̮͓̗̼̳͉̽̀̔́̀̐̈́̒͆͋̑͗̋̔͑̈́͑͂͑͐̀͐͐̊̈́͑̆̄͂̓̃̊̅̂͛̌̎͂̏̇̎͊͘̚͘̕͝͝͝ã̴̧̢̢̟̥͉̬͈̜̮̜̥̘͕̘̻̣͍̯̳͉͕̯̖͚̖̣̞̎̎͂̾̓̀̈͌̿̌̃͑̎̒͛̌̕͘͜͝͝ͅm̸̢̡̨͈̺͚̭̼̣̭̠̖͓̲̙̤͕̟̩̖̺̬̬̥̦̦͙̭̅̋͋̈̇̔͑̿̅̓͑͋̓̋́͋̂̉̋̋́͘͘̕͠͠ę̶̡̝̞͈͉̼̮̝͍̘̳̫̩̙̀́̀̽͊͂́͐̇̾̉̋̉̃͂͌͑̀̉͌͆̀̓́̀̒̔̌̍͋̓̉̊̀̒̂́͐̒͑̚̕͘͝͝͠͝͝ͅ ̵̧̨̢̡̧̨̪̤̬̠̰̘̟͖̞̬̩͙̦̙̯̰̜͎̜̺̣̞̟̟̦̘̝͖̯͈͈̰̺̱̟͛͊̏̀͛͛̏̄͐̏́̍̀͒̿̓̓̈́̄̒̄͋̏͂͗͛͌̅̇̕̚̕͠͝į̴̡̧̢̧̛̛̮̮̪̭̜͇̱͙̟͉͎̖̫̰̩̲̤̘̻̤̗̠̮͚̘̼̮͕̜̗͇̮͍͙̈́̈́͊̿̈́̉͐̈́́͋̃̽̎͐͂̓̓̔̅̈́̏̃̌́̏̃́̾͛́̉̏͗̀͒̋͘͘͝s̵̠͎͎͆̏̌̐̾̐̑̈́͐̀̌̽̉̎̚͘͜͝͝ ̷̭̠̿́̇̐̅́̆͊́͂̋͑͛̉̉̒͒͋͐̅͊͝͝ ̸̨̞̞͌̌̎̓͆̊͑̈̐̎̏̍̀̓̌̆́͛̿̃̓̌͌̔̂̆̔͒̓͂̒́̚͘̚͘͘̚͘͠͠͝͝͠N̵̨̪̗̰̬̮̝͎͎̪̯͔̟̪̫̘͙͙̫̯͑̅͂̑̈́̍̈́̿̇͆̾̔͗̊̀͆̒̇̋̈́́̈̃͋̓̈́̀̒͊̐̌́́̈́͊̇͘̕̕͜͝Į̴̨̛̛̛͙͇̝͎͔͖̝͇̠̜͍̪̼͚̠̳̗̮͕̭͇͂̊͆̒̌̔͋̂̔́̊̒̀́͒̌͑͂̽̓͛̉͊̿̈́̔̀̔̍̀͌̿̅͒͒̆͑͌̀́͊̏͑̐̀̇͗͘͠͝͝͝͠ͅǴ̴̨̯̰̘͙͎̭̯̪̬̫̊́́͗͋̌̓̑̔̉̓̆͌̆̔̓̽̇͂̑͛̍͛̑͊̎͐̕͝͝͠Ḩ̵̨̧̧̨̧̡̡̨̡̛͉͚̝̟̯̯̬͕̱̖͖͈̰̺̜̱̫̬̺͔͕̜͉̫͉͎̦̤͙̤̭̦̰͇̰̺͖̣͕̳̩̗̥͚̝̺̳̓̌̽͗̀͌̽́̽̏͒́̑̎̒̚͜ͅT̵̪͎͎̮̩͕̦̬̺̪̺̹̥͊̉ͅB̶̧̨̫̬̼̥̤͎̘͍͍̲̦͓̤͍̱̦̱̲̰̣͔͎̲̜̺̪͖͕̳͗͂̂ͅŖ̵̧͖͎̟͖̪͉̝̩͗̿̆́͑̃́̒̂͊̋̈̌́̆̑͗̌̄͋̒͒̋͐̋͛̐̊͋͆̌͐̈́̿͌̽͋̍̓͊̋͆́̄͊̃̃͘̕͜͝͝͝͠ͅḮ̶̧̛̛̛͕̜͖̺͕̣̜̞̖̪̦̣̰̠́̈́͐͋̿͗͂͊̆̀͒͒̈́̋̾̓̅̔̈̄̃̉̌͂́̎͒͊̅̓͛̇̇̉̂̍͂͊̈̍͒̀̈̆̆͊̕̚͘̚͘̕̕͠͝͝͝N̶̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̪͓̠͎̩̦̰̫̥̞̱̩̯̜̭̝̭̱͚̞̻̹͙̱͉̹̼̝̤̝̥̦͐̑̊́̈́̉̀͊͑͆̏̃̊̿̒̍͋͋͑͂̍̉́̎̈́̏̆̓̏̚͘͠ͅͅͅǦ̷̢̧̼̲̜̜͖̞͎̲̘͍͙̣̤̱͔͉͚̻͕̜͔̪̼̯͔͖͙͙̗͖̦̤͗̀̇̓̆͋͂̏̐̀̒̈́̂͗̀̓͆͘̚̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͝Ę̸͔͍̼͈̹̯̼̦̰̺̱̞̞͕̞̱̟͚̩̗̆͌́̎͋̂̓̋͌̚͜ͅR̶̡̛̛̳̹̼͈̮͖͉̭͎̗͙͕̻̗̠̮͙̗̞̱͂͆͑̈́̂̆̿̋̒̊͗̊͊́̈́͗̈́̄̐̏̏̑̑͊̀̅́̒̅̀͌̆̄͐̓̿̕̕̚͘̕͝ͅ.̴̡̣̣̞̝̝̺̱̓̑͐͐̔́̅̏͑̏̾̀̋̌̋͂̏̾͑̔̏͂̅̂̿̽̒͗̌͌͐̿̐͌̋͛̽̀̈̊̑͘̚̕̚͜͠͝͝͝͝
/2
[It's still the dead of night. But Akira is now free of wherever the heck he just was. Solomon, the real Solomon, is out cold at the floor of the couch, head resting against the groove between the cushion and armrest.
zzz]
no subject
Speaking of Solomon, Akira very nearly kicks the guy when he sits up and holds his aching head in his hands. Ough. No more drinking, at least not for a while. Akira carefully tiptoes across the room to pour himself a glass of water, but in the interim, he wonders if Solomon might be having a dream of his own...?
A dream draped in velvet, a dream stained bright blue. Incense spools loosely from censers hung up high, the scent of frankincense and myrrh thick in the air. When Solomon rouses in this dreamlike space, it will be in a cell, a cage, with shackles tightly binding his wrists and his ankles.
Waking on his own accord might not be an option at all, not with the shameless rapping of a nightstick against his prison bars, a young girl's angry golden eyes boring holes into his.]
Rise and shine, inmate! You're not on a pleasure cruise! You have work to do, or have you forgotten already?
no subject
...well, and a horrible, horrible headache. Is it from the drinking, which has become such a blur in his immediate memory, or is it the noise and the lights and the scents that remind him of...
...
Where... where in the world did he just end up?
He squints up towards the girl at the bars, brow tight in confusion.]
...I'm sorry, what?
no subject
Don't "I'm sorry," me! You're late for the execution! Your life's as good as over if you don't start taking your role seriously!
[Another girl bearing an uncanny resemblance to the first but noticeably subdued, stands silent beside the clothed object with one hand primed to tear the curtain away. From beneath the fabric, a familiar voice shrieks, flailing limbs disturbing the cloth.]
Let me go! Let me goooo! Don't you know who you're messing with?! My nail polish hasn't even dried yet!
no subject
...
Ah. He knows that shriek.
It's instinct to try to prod through the pact, even though its been severed for weeks. But he keeps it off his face, letting his exhausted frustration pull to something more contemplative and cautious.]
And remind me like the poor fool I am, what is it so important about this role of mine?
no subject
Its form has changed... How interesting.
[The girl nearest to Solomon taps her baton against her palm, sizing up the man on the guillotine before centering her sharp-eyed stare on the prisoner.]
What, has it been so long that you've forgotten?! You've been shirking your responsibilities, inmate! Show him how this goes, Justine!
[Justine takes hold of the rope, iron and wood creaking in unison. Asmodeus, however, is far louder.]
Jealousy is the real crime here! You can't execute me for being beautiful! Tell them, Solomon!
no subject
His fists clench for purchase under his bonds. No wand, no ability to reach it. He digs his heels in to try and will a magic circle under his feet, but it's struggling to reach, he can't tap into the pact to give Asmo the boost he needs. Why isn't he charming anyone?]
You certainly can't.
And that aside, I don't remember giving you permission to take him from me.
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You think I need your permission? That's not how this game is played.
[And what an unjust game it is. Caroline turns, her back to Solomon, and motions for Justine to bring down the guillotine blade. Asmodeus screams and argues until the bitter end, but in this world, there is no justice for uppity twinks of any kind. The blade descends and lops off his pretty little head, his form disappearing swiftly thereafter to dispense into threads of magic, swirling about the room before coalescing in the shape of a card.
Justine takes the card from where it hovers above the fallen blade and traipses over to Solomon's cell, extending the card to him.]
Ailment Boost. Not bad... but will it be enough?
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He doesn't move to take the card. Not yet.]
I can't answer your questions that way. Are you going to explain to me what's going on?
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It's like your brain fell right out of your head! What does it look like?!
[She swings her arm out to gesture at the guillotine, giving it an irritated shake.]
You sacrifice the weaker ones to strengthen the useful ones! Did you sleep through my explanation or what? If you cry over every Persona, you'll never get stronger!
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...
That... was what Akira called his summonings, wasn't it?
He's the only one in here, though, outside of the two girls and the space that once held Asmo. Devoid of any other answers, he takes that one point of knowledge and tries to tug at it like a fishing line.]
I didn't think of Asmodeus as weak, for a Persona or a Shadow. Do you know what kind of effort I went through to contract with him in the first place?
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just realized asmodeus is goddamn shadow kamoshida in p5, i'm sorry to slutty asmo for this disserviceCaroline is as unwilling to budge as ever, scoffing at the very idea that this man would back sass her, but it's Justine who holds out her free hand to silence her.]
A Persona is a part of the self. It is no stronger or weaker than the bond you forge with it. Isn't that right... Akira?
[From elsewhere within the Velvet Room, a door unlocks, swinging open on whiny hinges. Akira walks in, hands and feet shackled, but the chains that bind them have been severed. He speaks in a tone much bolder than he does in day to day life, much more resolute, striding to stand between the girls and wrap a hand around Solomon's prison bars.]
Whether they're strong or weak is dependent on you. They're a part of you, after all.
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Tension drains visibly from Solomon's shoulders at the recognition of the name, ]
The mask suits you well. [Shame for the environment that's brought it forward, but there's not much he'll accomplish by complaining.]
I can't say I'm used to this kind of system you've insisted. Asmodeus may be a facet of my life, as well as my power, but he and I are very separate.
So I'm not particularly happy about losing something that I've had for well over 3000 years.
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[He didn't ask for his Velvet room to be anything like this! Sometimes you just feel like a prisoner in your own life and are helpless to do anything about it, but little by little, you work towards securing your freedom.
It's that sense of hard-earned freedom that lets Akira bend the bars that keep Solomon pinned in his cage, and after he does, he steps in to sweep the man up into his arms like he weighs little more than a feather.]
I always feel a little guilty when I have to merge 'em or turn them into cards to use on the others. Still, they always come back eventually. You can blame Igor for how things work around here, wherever he is.
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Oh we're being carried.
Okay. He. Genuinely does not remember the last time this has ever happened. Maybe when Beelzebub carried him back from the cafe like a sack of potatoes? Maybe when Lucifer paralyzed him and tied him up? No, wait, that was also like a sack of potatoes. Barbatos just teleported him.... sometimes halfway across the landscapes of hell...
Give him a second to regain his composure. Is he still chained down?]
So there's more experimentation on them than using them just as they're found... if they come back, do they not hold some kind of animosity for you for discarding them like that?
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Eh, nothing like that. I couldn't tell you the particulars, but I think the Personas are just used to the abuse.
[It's a hard knock life. At least Akira treats them well enough after splicing them together and turning them into cards to feed other Personas.]
But that was weird. I don't remember Asmodeus looking so... [how does he put this politely] ...fashionable? Was that someone you know?
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[The more you know!
As the metal of his wrists deteriorates, he swings one of his arms up to loosely hook against Akira's neck, if only to redistribute his weight a little more under his control. Hope you like grandpa being a bossy bottom.]
That was Asmodeus as I know him, yes. He's always preferred a form to embrace his beauty and vanity.
It certainly leaves an impression, doesn't it?
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That's putting it lightly. Should I be worried about him?
[Said casually because obviously Asmodeus had his eyes on Solomon (and whatever else,) long before Akira came along. With Solomon secure in his arms, Akira kicks open the door to reveal a vast world of black and red, towering skyscrapers jutting out of the ground at odd angles. With a hook in one hand, Akira steadies his aim and latches onto one nearby building and swings into the night sky.]
In any case, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you don't belong in here. I'll have to dispose of you.
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[As in, Akira should be far more worried about what Asmo will do to him if he ever loops back around this way. The amount of energy it might take to revive him, the money and makeup lost, the audacity to ruin perfection or think he could be contained and treated like cattle.... not to mention if his older brothers found out.
Anyway the door gives out to Akira's Mighty Dropkick and oh my god it's just like hit action movie arachnid boy
While Solomon can't say he's ever travelled like this before, it's not his first time so high off the ground. So he keeps his grip tight against the younger wizard, trusting in the confidence he so clearly radiates in this foreign space.]
Here I thought you were wanting to steal my heart, Akira. Is this not the way you wished to do it after all?
Maybe I should consider that a threat.
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[When next Solomon looks up into arachnid boy's eyes, he'll see they've shifted to a luminous gold. His grip on Solomon tightens. His voice shifts, both higher and lower, doubling up on itself.]
But I wonder...? Will you be able to save yourself in time? I've yet to meet a treasure I haven't wanted to steal.
[Akira moves closer, closer, inclining his head until Solomon's vision is full of nothing but his golden stare, eyes deep like oceans, roiling like high tide. They bore into him, everything around him falling dark, impossibly dark, until even those eyes disappear and Solomon is left with nothing but the feeling of an unshakeable vice locking around his heart. Akira's disembodied voice is a phantom riding the winds as Solomon falls freely into the void.]
You're mine, sorcerer. Your heart is forfeit.
[The dream ends. Reality, little by little, seeps back in.]
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He sputters awake with a gasping cough and color across his face, a fist tightened into his shirt. The grip is gone as fast as it came, and all he's left with is that sensation of dangerous power, of something that pursues him with the same ferocity he pursues the demonic.
His head spins and aches, and his face feels too hot. So he resigns to quietly drawing his legs up, leaning his forehead against his knees, until reality comes back to him.]
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Akira jumps up, pitcher in one hand and glass in the other, pouring Solomon some water on the way over.]
I was wondering if you'd ever wake up. How are you...?
[...doing? Akira falls silent, setting the glass of water and pitcher down on the coffee table. His hand finds Solomon's shoulder.]
Everything alright?
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