middaeg | what is the sesame street number of the day??

Well, this full moon thing is here, and it sucks.

As Makoto wanders the city around sunset, he unexpectedly finds himself wishing that he were among pools of blood and upright coffins. At least that's a degree of bizarre that he's used to and knows how to deal with, but this? It's like he's back in January, pretending not to know his friends while also pretending not to be slowly dying. With a dose of intense cravings to eat something as the cherry on top, although he's fairly sure he knows exactly what the craving is for.

He shuffles down the street with a newly purchased cloak pulled tightly around him. Between his overgrown bangs and the hood, his face is barely visible, but with a close enough look his red eyes and corpse-like pallor give away what his problem is.

A few people traveling in the opposite direction walk around him, and Makoto finds himself oddly annoyed and offended. What did they think he was going to do, attack them randomly in the street? And yet, as he thinks that, he bitterly remembers all the rude and unpleasant things he'd done so far today, while in this rotten moon-induced mood. Maybe they're not wrong.

Finally, he reaches the flower store, intending to use the last of his money to buy a few "I'm sorry" gifts for his friends. He knows better than they do that the best apology gift is changed behavior, but it sounds like that's not always going to be possible.

The sight of dozens and dozens of bouquets sends a shiver down his spine. He'll do this quickly and go home so he can sit in his room and ride this out.

"Excuse me," he asks the nearest employee of the shop. "I need your cheapest bouquets. However many this will buy." He holds out a small sum of money.

Working until close really isn't how Akira envisioned spending his full moon, but here he is, a shift dropped into his lap when a coworker failed to show up. The older lady running the shop has been far too sweet to him in his time working there for him to even consider saying no, even as the moon pulls more and more of that monthly agitation to simmer right below the surface.

He's had a lot of practice masking anger and irritation, though, so it's easy to pull out a casual half-smile for the few customers that come through at this time—like your friendly neighborhood cloaked figure. Maybe back in Tokyo, that would've been a strange sight. After a few months in Aefenglom, he barely bats an eye, only a brief, curious glance sent in the customer's direction before he returns to his task.

When he approaches, it demands Akira's more immediate attention, a long and thorough enough look that he can note the red eyes and ashy features peeking out from beneath the hood. Looks like he's not the only one here having a bad night.

"Sure. One moment." He takes the money and goes through it, counting up the amount softly under his breath. Hm. That should by him a handful. Akira gets to gathering up the cheap, premade bouquets, opting for a variety of color schemes and flower types since he offered no specifications. "What's the occasion?"

Makoto can hear the attendant's quiet words as he counts his money. There's a sneaking urge to follow along with the numbers - aloud - but he manages to stuff it away. So many freaking urges. That's easily the most aggravating part of this entire day so far, and it's not made any easier or more tolerable by the fact that Makoto would normally have monk-like self-control of such things.

"Oh, you know," he grumbles. "If you don't have a way to say sorry, the least you can do is waste some money on something they don't want in the hope that'll help soften what happened. Right?"

Despite his tone, he's not trying to take his bad mood out on the stranger. He sighs and brings a hand to his face to rub his eyes, brushing his hair away as he does.

"...Sorry. I just got here a few weeks ago."

That earns a glance, cast over Akira's shoulder as he settles another bouquet into his arms with a noncommittal noise. It's not really his place to judge, but that's not how he would choose to go over smoothing out a misunderstanding or argument. Besides... Akira looks down at the multiple bouquets he's currently holding.

How many people did this guy piss off?

It makes more sense when the follow-up comes. A few arrival, a first full moon. No wonder. Picking out one more, he turns back to the counter and brushes off the snappishness with an easy shrug of a shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I get the feeling."

Akira's getting to be far along enough in his transformation that he can almost pass for one of the regular Monster citizens, ears not yet all the way to the top of his head but still long and soft with fur, with fingertips edged in the beginning of claws and bright golden eyes. They occasionally tap against the counter as he begins to set the clusters of flowers down one by one.

"They'll understand."

Makoto lets out a heavy sigh and follows the attendant over to the counter. He knows he's right, it's just so much harder to tell himself that and believe it. That first encounter with Shinjiro was terrible and it set a bad precedent for the rest of the day.

"I hope so," he says softly, frowning. Then his eyes land on the bouquets of flowers. They're beautiful. He hadn't expected such a small amount of money to buy so many bouquets of this quality.

One, two... or wait, no, each one has so many individual flowers in it, don't they? One, two, three lilies; one, two three, four red carnations...

He looks away. "Y-Yeah, you're right. They will." Daring a glance back at the attendant, he hopes he didn't notice him zone out over the flowers just now. "I hope it gets easier for me, too."

Unluckily for him, Akira glances up from his task in time to catch that distant stare, picking up on the somewhat troubled note to his voice when he finally snaps out of it.

"It gets easier in some ways, harder in others," he responds as he finishes setting down the bouquets. Now that Akira is looking at it, he should probably give him some sort of basket to carry all of these back in. "... That was the case for me, at least." He can't imagine vampirism is all that similar to being a puca, honestly.

Before he lets this purchase progress any further, however, that look earlier... "Are these okay? I can pick out other ones if you want something specific—or put some back if this is too many." For this guy's sake, he kind of hopes he doesn't actually need to apologize to this many people.

Too many? Too many...? Is it too many? Makoto bites his lower lip, exposing his half-formed vampire teeth, and keeps his red eyes averted for now. He knows what's going to happen if he isn't careful. It'd happened three times already today, and each time it was humiliating, despite the people around him not finding it terribly unusual.

Although... none of those people were puca so far.

"Four," he says suddenly. "I have to apologize to four people. What do you think? I - I should have just said four bouquets to begin with. S-Sorry."

He'd managed to specify a number without having to count up to it! Incredible. It's like you're graduating from kindergarten, Makoto.

"Can you make them a little fancier and just do - that many? If I can avoid it, I don't want any change back."

It's not the flowers. He realizes that much as the customer struggles through his response. Is this a vampire thing? Akira hesitates, trying to recall what he learned about vampires in all of the research he's done about this place. It wasn't really a focus, given that he didn't know any vampires particularly well, but he remembers them being similar to the myths back home in many ways—sucking blood, allergic to sunlight, turning into bats, counting...

—Counting. Huh.

"Four, right?" he tests, at the risk of sounding like a dullard, considering the guy just said it three times over. He begins to gather the bouquets again. "I can do four instead. I'll have to arrange some if you want the price to be that specific, so it'll take a bit longer."

"A-Alright," he grumbles, shifting his weight impatiently. The number four echoes in his head. Four. The first, Shinjiro. The second, Fuuka. The third, Eren. The fourth...

Wait, who was the fourth? Is there a fourth? In that moment, as he stands there, he realizes there isn't. Crap. What now? Maybe he should just let him make four bouquets. It shouldn't be so hard to find another person to give it to. Maybe Iramaat would like one the next time he sees her - although on second thought, that's probably not a good idea.

"W-Wait! Three," he finally spits out. "One, two, three, that's it. Alright?! Costing the - the amount I gave you a second ago."

Please don't make him say out loud how much money is was. Or how many of which flowers he wants. Please.

Yep, that's it.

Akira can feel that unfortunate urge rising, the one that encourages him to stir up trouble. He's never been totally good, of course. They even referred to him as a trickster before, but this new biology came with new impulses, and this one is even stronger right now with the pull of the moons.

He's learned not to try to fight it. And, well, this flustered state is a much better look on the vampire than that grouchy scowl.

"Three it is," he echoes in a neutral tone that hides the mischief brewing beneath. If he thinks he's dodged any more counting, that'll be proven wrong once Akira gets to work, collecting flowers and taking inventory of them aloud as he does so.

"Let's see, tulips... one, two, three, four..."

Oh, for...

Makoto grinds his teeth and squints at the stranger's hands as he begins to count the flowers. One two three four tulips. The lilies from earlier! - one two three four five six lilies. Red carnations - is red such a good idea, he wonders, before the thought is cut short by counting. One two three for five six -

"Seven!" he blurts out, flustered, before the attendant finishes his slow count of the red carnations. "Seven. There are seven. Four tulips, six lilies, seven carnations."

He's not going to add more flowers to that bouquet, is he? Makoto gazes at him despondently. Please.

Holding in his laughter right now might be one of Akira's most impressive feats in a long time.

"You're pretty observant," he comments with a sidelong glance. His expression may remain passive, but there's a hint of a scrunch to his eyes, humor taking hold there. This would be a fine place to let it go, but he wants—

Akira grabs another carnation as if considering an eighth, about to put it with the others... and then puts it back. And then, seemingly reconsidering, picks it up again... and once again sets it down.

That sidelong glance, the scrunch to his eyes, the deliberate sluggishness of his hands...

The vampire's patience transitions from humorously thin to aggressively absent. He bares his teeth and throws out his hand, trying to snatch and pin the stranger's hand to the counter the flowers are sitting on.

"So are you," he says, glaring. Is this guy doing this on purpose? Any other time, he'd probably find it hilarious, but right now, craving blood and anxious with guilt, he's not having it.

"Finish the bouquets, Puca," he seethes. Unfortunately, his short stature and emo bangs and sunken-in face probably don't make him very threatening, but maybe his underdeveloped fangs will.

Akira's reflexes are quick, but he doesn't fight this one, letting his hand be slammed down against the counter with a sharp sting. He deserves the vampire's annoyance and is well aware of that fact, somewhere in the back of his mind. Somehow that doesn't dampen the edge of delight he feels as he uses the contact as a reason to lean closer.

Getting under their skin is the best part. The glint of pointed teeth only adds to the excitement of the situation. At this point, he's not bothering to hide it, ears twitching forward with interest.

"I need my hand to do that," he points out, voice calm.

Well, intimidation didn't work. Is there anything to this vampire thing that's actually beneficial yet? With skin touching skin, and the two of them leaning so close to each other, Makoto can hear that thump-thump of the attendant's living heart pumping blood, and smell the carbon dioxide being exhaled from his nose. He even senses the slight uptick in the stranger's pulse as his ears twitch forward. It's enough to suddenly fill his mind with that nagging demand for blood that he's been trying to ignore all day, and for a split second, he looks as if he might dart forward and snap at the face of the monster teasing him.

But, the same self-control that made it possible to stop hypnotizing Fuuka earlier manages to wrangle the instinct. Just as quickly, his sneer drops into a sullen, guilty look. He leans away, slowly, and removes his hand. He'd already fed, and yet, his annoyance had coaxed a new craving back to the forefront of his mind. I almost did it again, he thinks to himself, a pang of anxiety striking his heart.

Silently, with his eyes averted, he wonders if it's such a good idea to go home with these bouquets after all. Maybe he can't be trusted around his friends, even after satisfying his needs. He says nothing to the Puca, seemingly trying his hardest to ignore him and let him finish.

Edited 2019-09-13 17:07 (UTC)

For just a moment, it seems like things might get physical. The prey instinct whispers at him to flee, feeling trapped here with his hand pinned to the counter. His own mind, the part that's wholly Akira, prickles with excitement at the danger of the situation. It's the two warring halves of a whole that keep him rooted in place, silent as the vampire seems to debate with himself as well.

One part obviously wins out. Akira takes his own hand back as he withdraws, heart rate receding to a normal pace. A pang of sympathy hits him at the sight of that guilty look. He definitely took it a step too far.

Giving him the quiet he seems to want, he returns to his work, focused now on arranging the bouquets and wrapping each neatly. When he turns to set them on the counter, there's no counting.

"Akira," he says suddenly as he lays them down. There are no traces of mischief as he takes the money the vampire originally gave him and offers it back. "Not 'Puca.'"

The soft crunch of leaves and paper wrapping as the bouquets are set on the counter draws Makoto's attention back to the stranger and the task he'd come here for. They look beautiful, and as he looks at the plump flowers snuggled together in each bunch, he has to silence a desire to count them again.

That's right - these are for his friends, a token of his regret. They're not pointless, as obvious as it is that they won't make things better all on their own. Makoto had discovered the fun in gift-giving after joining SEES, and Fuuka in particular always seemed delighted to get a new plant.

When the attendant speaks, he glances up at him with mild reservation, but his attitude has clearly changed. The vampire part of him wants to snatch his money back and leave, but it's been getting worse at winning those arguments as the day went on. Thankfully.

"I don't want them for free, Akira-san," Makoto says softly, shaking his head. But, he appreciates the implicit apology. He can't be mad at him when he came so close to active aggression. "...Thanks, though. I'm Makoto Yuuki."

"Just Akira is fine." The fact that this guy—Makoto—is from Japan as well is something to note, but they're far from home, and Akira's never really been one for formality for the sake of formality.

He's also learned a thing or two about compromise despite stubbornness often pushing him in the opposite direction, so he picks out half of the money and leaves it on the counter. He can think of it as Akira buying him a couple of apology bouquets if he needs to. Either way, Makoto is obviously new around here. Even if the Coven is being incredibly generous to the Mirrorbound, it helps to have funds of their own.

"Nice to meet you, Makoto."

Makoto's not satisfied with this compromise - not really - but not wanting to argue it further, or even worse, count the money Akira had returned, he slides it off the counter and pockets it.

"Are you..." he begins hesitantly, taking the flowers and tucking them into the bend of one elbow, "Are you a Mirrorbound, too?"

It seems like the only explanation for how he's acted so far, considering how the natives generally treated him. Plus... that Japanese name. Only other Mirrorbound have been Japanese thus far.

The fact that he accepts it this time leaves Akira feeling a bit satisfied. It doesn't really make up for teasing him to the point of snapping, but it's something.

"Yeah. I've been here for a few months now," he responds while putting the other half of the money away. As one of the first batch to arrive, he's spent every month both longing for and dreading the possibility of a familiar face. Makoto isn't one, but as he's about to point out, it's nice to see someone with some kind of similarity in their background.

"Are you from Japan, too? Probably not the same one as me, but..."

Makoto nods. He thinks he understands what he means as "the same one as me," too.

"I went to school on Tatsumi Port Island, in Yokohama, before coming here," he says, dancing around where exactly he's from. There's a half dozen cities he's lived in over the past ten years, and none of them really felt like the place he's from.

"...in the year 2009, by the way. Since apparently people here can come from different times, too."

"I've heard of it. Yokohama is definitely familiar. I'm from 2016, though," Akira adds. That part doesn't surprise him too much. He's met people from a wide range of time periods. Even Akechi had arrived from a different point in their timeline.

It doesn't mean they're necessarily from the same reality, though. Even Souji, who had Personas just like him, came from a world (or a time?) where it manifested in a different way than the Metaverse.

"Yours have any weird superpowers?" He did meet someone with a Japanese name from a world like that. It's interesting to hear the differences.

The question is a little odd, but on further reflection, it's not that odd. Most Mirrorbound seem to arrive with complaints that they couldn't do everything they could do back home. Unless superpowers are a commonplace thing in 2016 Tokyo, but Makoto will guess that's not it.

"Sort of," he says slowly, looking away. Did Personas count as superpowers when they could only be used during the Dark Hour? Not including unfortunate souls like Shinjiro, whose Persona spent the daytime hours trying to go on a rampage. "Even if we technically still had them, I don't think they'd do anything here. The conditions aren't the same, and they're mostly just for killing these monsters called Shadows. I haven't seen a single one of them since coming here."

The explanation shifts his demeanor immediately. Before Akira can even try to temper it into something more subtle, the sharp edge of shocked recognition settles into his gaze. Shadows? There's no way this guy can also...

It's a pretty general name, isn't it? Even someone without knowledge of the Cwyld might look at the creatures it creates and dub them Shadows. But the first part makes him think that there's more to it than that. That's what his were for too, after all.

"... Is it called a Persona?"

Makoto's reaction is, maybe predictably, very similar. His expression of mild discomfort shifts into furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

"Uh... yeah, it is," he says slowly. He doesn't look like he's wary or suspicious - he's just deeply, deeply confused. No possible explanation for this comes to mind. Unless, somehow, what happened with the Fall and SEES had become public knowledge by the year 2016 or something. Or maybe Akira had already met Fuuka or Shinjiro, and they told him?

"How did you know that?"

what is the sesame street number of the day??

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akira: OH COOL!! makoto: *panic attack*

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akira: OH COOL!! makoto: panic attack