[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.]
[He starts a bit at Akira's voice, his shoulders tensing under the touch. But it settles with an exhale and a groan of misery, even as he weakly gives a thumbs-up that morphs into a very messy pat against the teen's arm.]
Never better. [Hoarse, groggy. Even without the buzz of alcohol or an intensely specific dream banging around in his head, he's already hardly a morning person. So his head just tucks tighter against his knees with a tired, grumpy mumbling.] Mm, just... Just give me a minute, please...
...Ah, wait. He's blushing? Why is he blushing?? The unexpected shock brings a little color to Akira's cheeks and he's swiveling on his heel to busy himself with something, anything, so his shock isn't immediately obvious. First thing in the morning is the perfect time to dust the dustless coffee table..........]
Uh, well, you're welcome. Do whatever you want, then.
[...He nearly knocks over the pitcher, but it's fine. If it fell over, it would be Solomon's fault for embarrassing him anyway.]
[Hm? An odd time for Akira to be showing some nerves... but it's easier to focus on that than his raging headache and intense desire to go back to bed, so he grasps for it with little thought otherwise, his laugh rough but still the same light ringing of bells that it had been the night before.]
My, you're a little tense.
Are you sure you don't need the water more than I do?
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...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?
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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!
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...
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?
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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!
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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!
no subject
...
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
[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?
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
Never better. [Hoarse, groggy. Even without the buzz of alcohol or an intensely specific dream banging around in his head, he's already hardly a morning person. So his head just tucks tighter against his knees with a tired, grumpy mumbling.] Mm, just... Just give me a minute, please...
no subject
[Akira taps the coffee table. Water! Fresh water! Akira assumes the issue here is a raging hangover, and one of the best cures for that is hydration.]
If you feel that bad, go lie down in bed. I'll wake you up in an hour.
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Mmm... yeah, so you did. [Right. Right, hangover. He tentatively reaches out to grasp the glass and bring it up to his lips.]
Not sure I'd want to go back to sleep just yet. But thank you.
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...Ah, wait. He's blushing? Why is he blushing?? The unexpected shock brings a little color to Akira's cheeks and he's swiveling on his heel to busy himself with something, anything, so his shock isn't immediately obvious. First thing in the morning is the perfect time to dust the dustless coffee table..........]
Uh, well, you're welcome. Do whatever you want, then.
[...He nearly knocks over the pitcher, but it's fine. If it fell over, it would be Solomon's fault for embarrassing him anyway.]
no subject
My, you're a little tense.
Are you sure you don't need the water more than I do?
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