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

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?"

Akira almost has to laugh. What are the chances? Apparently better than he would think, given this is the second Persona user he's met here.

It raises even more questions, but one in particular is at the front of his mind: whether Makoto is like he and Souji. They're already established how observant he is, so it shouldn't be too hard to figure it out.

"Because I had them, too," he replies. The shock has faded away into a bright curiosity shining in his eyes.

That's impossible. The Dark Hour is why Personas existed. When Makoto stopped the Fall and the Dark Hour disappeared, so did everyone's Personas. Even if this guy was another of Ikutsuki's chess pieces with the potential, and they just never learned about him, how could someone eight years later have a Persona?

As far as Makoto knows, there's really only one explanation for this, but it's so horrible that he skips straight over the denial, anger and bargaining. The Fall can't happen again so soon. Humanity can't be yearning for destruction again already. He couldn't have given up everything just for someone - someone who would've been Ken's age at the time! - to be going through the same episode all over again eight years later.

What if his friends are all going through it again, without him there to protect them?

In the very long pause that follows Akira's response, Makoto's face has turned white. He looks like he's been delivered the worst news of his life.

"When are you getting off work?" he asks, his voice completely flat.

The lack of response to his reveal is concerning, to say the least. Souji was surprised but seemed to share his sense of excited curiosity. Makoto, on the other hand... There's nothing like that on his face. There's nothing to be seen there, really—no, that's not true. Akira can see the color draining, a look rather appropriate for a vampire but obviously one that has nothing to do with that in this case.

What about that information freaked him out so bad?

"... Soon." Akira stayed to cover, but only for a little while. He plans to be home again before the moons get too high in the night sky. While not averse to risk in the least, that's not one he's willing to take.

Well, in most cases. The need to learn more about this overrides that feeling for now.

"Do you want to meet somewhere?"

Makoto swallows dryly. Panicking will do nothing in this situation, and who knows - maybe he's jumping to conclusions. The attempt at self-reassurance doesn't really work, but it does help him center himself enough to shake his head slowly.

"I need to bring these back," he says, looking down at the flowers. It's an excuse for the real reason, the problem he'd walked into this place with: not trusting himself around others right now. Akira is included in that, especially considering how close he'd come to snapping at him.

He heaves the three bouquets onto one arm so he can reach into his cloak and pull out his pocket watch.

"My user name is 'tatsuya'. Send me a message when you've got time to talk." He looks as if he's about to hurry out, but before he turns away, he adds, "Thanks for the discount."

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scaling - 2019-09-24 06:32 (UTC) - Expand

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