Floor 1, Room 3

[jokey]

AKIRA

code

Comments

[impacter]

That makes it sound like a mask you choose to wear, rather than an agreement with any kind of demon.

[He's just gonna drink anyway. Come up with better questions, kiddo, or Grandpa will outpace you.]

What do you mean by "a part of you", though?

[jokey]

Everybody wears masks, right? Some of us wear many.

[Ah, but that's a good question. Akira thinks on it, ringing the lip of his bottle with the pad of his thumb.]

How to put it... It's like forming a pact. Personas are a part of the self, so when I call on their strength, they manifest from me. Once I've made that pact, they're at my full disposal.

[Here's a question for you, Solomon:]

How many Personas do you think I have?

[impacter]

[That does indeed sound like a pact, albeit a little too self-weaved for his taste. But what a fascinating ability, to pull of that kind of power from the ego, rather than from a benefactor. So many sorcerers would kill for that kind of self-sustainability in their magic.]

Mmm.... Enough that you weren't entirely shocked at seeing me.

[Where to ballpark it, though...]

Seventy, perhaps.

[jokey]

Oooooh, so close.

[But also, not really! Akira chuckles — giggles more than anything, really — and taps Solomon's bottle with his own. Drink up!]

Aim higher.

[impacter]

[Damn, okay. Overachiever here.

He hums in consideration, closing his eyes for a much longer swig. Surely he can't already be getting fuzzy, he knows he can handle more than this...]

One hundred, then.

[jokey]

[Another laugh. Get a load of this old man underestimating him. Akira sneers, tapping the bottle anew.]

Higher.

[impacter]

[alright you cocky little bastard, hold your horses

He exhales firmly, before taking another long drink.]

Two hundred and fifty.

[jokey]

Bzzt! Wrong!

[Akira takes a drink just for funsies, or is he mocking Solomon? What do the cocky laughter and shit-eating grin suggest?]

A little lower~ Just a little~

[impacter]

So picky, Akira-chan. [FINE, down goes another... oof, but he's really starting to feel the warmth in his face already.]

Two hundred thirty.

[jokey]

Two hundred and thirty what?

[Solomon was so merciful, and in return, Akira's giving him hell. Is there no justice for the elderly?]

[impacter]

[Somewhere in a distant universe, Barbatos cheers in the knowledge that Solomon is getting his ass kicked by a 17-year-old.

Down goes another, hard to swallow. Give him a second.]

Two hundred thirty-two.

[jokey]

Omedetou, Solomon-chan!

[Somewhere between two hundred thirty and two hundred thirty-two, the alcohol hit Akira like a truck. He'd clap if he didn't have an iron grip on his bottle of alcohol.]

But to be honest, I lost track after 200~

[Wink! It's not enough to kick Solomon's ass. Akira has to sass him to hell and back too.]

[impacter]

[...



He just. Looks at Akira. Looks very, very hard at Akira, from where he is currently nursing his own bottle.




And then he just leans forward, hand against his head as he stumbles into a fit of messy laughter.]

[jokey]

[Oh? Oh?! He knew he could get Solomon laughing with the right combination of bullshit and alcohol, but this? This is so much more than Akira was expecting. This is...]

...Solomon. You're kinda...

[mmmmMMMmmmn. Akira self-censors with the lip of his bottle. He has some semblance of a brain left.]

[impacter]

[It's like a tense spring's been loosened in the form of drunken giggling, Solomon wiping at one of his eyes with his palm as he looks over towards Akira, face colored between how he tries to catch his breath and how many shots he just took in rapid succession.]

I --- ahahah, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--- give me a second...

[jokey]

[It's fine, it's fine?! Akira needs a second to kick his brain back into gear anyway, but like— that's hard when Solomon is looking at him with a face like that. Is he doing this shit on purpose? Is he messing with him again?? His poor heart can't take this.

Akira pulls up his wrist and taps his invisible watch.]

Time's up. Are you doing this on purpose?

[Don't ask Akira what he's accusing Solomon of doing. It's likely he's already forgotten.]

Your face is so... so... [HNNNNNNGH] ...face-y. Stop that.

[impacter]

Ohhh, I see, I see. Is someone drunk??

[His grin is slightly cheeky, like he isn't also tipsy and slowly waiting for the worst of it to drag his inhibitions away. He takes another unwise, uncoordinated swig, tilting his head slightly. It's all smile, and it reaches ear to ear, rapidly unfiltering.]

Kawaii, Akira-chan.

[jokey]

Me? No! Silence, baka.

[He's not drunk, you're drunk!! Why does he feel like he's being accused of a crime here? Cradling his bottle in his arms, Akira turns aside and steals another swig all the while leering at Solomon like he suspects he might snatch his precious booze.]

But you are. You're way drunk. I can tell 'cuz you're actually smiling for real.

[impacter]

What kind of an answer is that?? [The laughter just starts to roll off like bells, untethered.] You say that like I couldn't smile at all!

And your face is all flushed now. Are you embarrassed?

A-ki-ra-chaaan.

[jokey]

It is?!

[No, Solomon's just messing with him. His face is fine! Just— just to be sure, Akira staggers upright and catches his face in the mirror. Oh. Oh. He's more than just flushed. What greets Akira in the mirror is a goddamn tomato.]

It's not my fault! It's just— ish just...

[What does he do? How does he worm his way out of this. Quickly, deflect!]

You did this. You actually look kinda cute for once. You and your stupid face.

[Akira flops back onto the couch and petulantly turns away from Solomon, face buried in his bent knees. No talk, he angy.]

[impacter]

[Ah gods, he can't.... the laughter just bubbles, everything feels like a joke. The heat's settled over his brain like a thick fog, even as he lets his bottle clatter in an attempt to put his bottle down. Thankfully, it doesn't spill.]

A cute stupid face.

You could call it a cupid face. [heheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheh]

Maybe I'm guilty as charged, officer~

[jokey]

[That laugh takes a whisk to his brain and batters his thoughts it to a slurry, but it's charming, so charming, like the peals of a little bell on a kitten's collar. He's about to accuse Solomon of trying to seduce him and steal his 232 demons when he makes that downright abominable pun.]

Cupid face...?

[What a lame pun. A terrible joke. Akira swears he hears Solomon winding up to laugh at his stupid joke all over again only to realize in horror that he's the one laughing.]

Heh... h-heh...

[Akira clamps his hand hard over his mouth. Laughter seeps out between the gaps of his fingers.]

That's so... that's so...! Not funny at all! Hahaha!

1/2

[impacter]

[And so they continued, on and on like this, for the next 45 minutes - flirting and joking and bullying back and forth in increasingly garbled speech until they both blacked out cold on the couch.

The scent of incense hangs heavy in the echoing of glass and the weight of alcohol.]

/2

[impacter]

[Akira awakens, in whatever state of hangover and regret he may find himself.

This isn't where he fell asleep.

The room is dark and cold. The furniture is sparse, with most of it crowding one wall furthest from the door. What small cracks of light spill in come from a tiny latticed window, far above his head.

There are crumpled pictures drawn, letters and numbers practiced in fumbling, immature writing, in a language Akira does not know. Books falling apart at the seams from how often they've been read litter the space.

It's quiet. The outside air smells... strange. Acrid. But the sun is warm, in what bits come through.

Murmurings come, from behind the doors, from beyond the window. You feel fear. You want to curl in tighter. Maybe to look out the window. Carefully. Carefully.

Do not let the voices hear you. Do not let them see you.]

[jokey]

[Imagine Akira's surprise when he wakes to find himself in a space so opposite of the one he'd fallen asleep in. There's no joy in this place, no merriment, no pinecone and patchouli gently wafting through the air. His temples ache, but at least that much was to be expected. The rest is wholly and unnervingly unfamiliar.

This fear, primal and raw, is not his own. Even in an apparent fugue state, Akira recognizes that much. Hide. He needs to hide, but where can he in a confined space like this? Behind what little furniture there is, maybe? Despite himself, despite that creeping fear, Akira chances a glimpse at what lies beyond the window.]