† TRAP DOOR. [Akira isn't a fan of all of the locked doors.
Mostly because, for him, they usually don't remain locked for very long at all. There were a handful of down-sides to sharing a human body with a demon, but the strength was certainly one of the things he'd gotten fond of pretty quickly. But all of the barred doors in this place were oddly resistant, making him question whether it was his strength that'd been sapped or if the metal in this place was some kind of fucked-up futuristic space metal that not even demons had figured out how to get their way through yet.
Now, there's a saying: that it's insanity to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result. This place must be knocking Akira off his rocker, then, because this must be the seventh door he's strained every muscle in his body to try to pull or push open and there's still nothing happening.
Until, well, all at once, something does.
The metal beneath his hands as he pushes against it seems to ripple, the surface all at once shifting from unyielding to oddly pliant, like the surface tension of a viscious substance struggling to maintain uncompromised. Then it breaks all at once, dissolving into what feels like a thick liquid, swallowing up his hands and forearms up to his elbows before shifting again: back to solid metal.
With him stuck in side.]
Hnngh? [He tugs experimentally, but his arms don't budge. He can't move his fingers, his hands, anything; it's a unique sort of shackle that's perfectly contoured to every inch it'd manage to entrap.] What the fuck?!
[Never one to do the properly-advised thing, Akira continues to pull harder, at one point walking his legs up under him against the door so he could use the strength of pushing up with them to try to yank himself free. He can only manage this for a little while before the joints in his shoulders screech and protest, threatening to pop out of place. His breath escapes him in an explosive exhale, and he drops once more back to the floor, shoulders hunched as he rests his forehead against the door, catching his breath.]
Stupid - thing! [And here, smart boy he is, he just full-on headbutts the door. To the result you would expect.] Ow! Ow, ow ow ow. [And he can't even rub at the red spot that'd blossomed in the middle of his forehead. Idiot.]
† WALL NOISE. [The corridors of the station are usually ruled with an uneasy sort of silence, but out of the blue, that silence is shattered by a scream.
People can be defined and characterized by how they react under pressure. Someone smart would probably run away from sounds of distress, but before he can even start to process his thoughts about it, Akira is already dashing towards it. He's trying to maintain a speed that's fast but which hopefully would pass for human if he was seen (probably, mostly), but it was still a speed so reckless that when something seems to reach out and grasp at the back of his jumpsuit, he catches like a dog at the end of a leash and is suspended like that for the fraction of a second before being released to collapse onto the floor.
With as much adrenaline in his system as there is, he doesn't waste any time worrying about any injury (he knows there wouldn't be). He scrambles up onto his hands and knees, wheeling around him to see who or what had reached out to grab at him - to find there was nothing. What the fuck? He definitely hadn't been mistaken about it; not a whole hell of a lot could trip him up anymore, with reflexes like he had. He listens carefully, sharp hearing picking out the tell-tale sounds of boots against the metallic floor at a quick clip, coming down the corridor perpendicular to the one he was currently on.
He gets back to his feet, heading in that direction.] Hey! [Whoever it was, they were either running towards the yelling also or the person who had been yelling, and either way, he had questions.]
† WILDCARD. [Other prompts or anything else! Feel free to hit me up at novaphase to figure anything out.]
akira fudo † devilman crybaby
[Akira isn't a fan of all of the locked doors.
Mostly because, for him, they usually don't remain locked for very long at all. There were a handful of down-sides to sharing a human body with a demon, but the strength was certainly one of the things he'd gotten fond of pretty quickly. But all of the barred doors in this place were oddly resistant, making him question whether it was his strength that'd been sapped or if the metal in this place was some kind of fucked-up futuristic space metal that not even demons had figured out how to get their way through yet.
Now, there's a saying: that it's insanity to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result. This place must be knocking Akira off his rocker, then, because this must be the seventh door he's strained every muscle in his body to try to pull or push open and there's still nothing happening.
Until, well, all at once, something does.
The metal beneath his hands as he pushes against it seems to ripple, the surface all at once shifting from unyielding to oddly pliant, like the surface tension of a viscious substance struggling to maintain uncompromised. Then it breaks all at once, dissolving into what feels like a thick liquid, swallowing up his hands and forearms up to his elbows before shifting again: back to solid metal.
With him stuck in side.]
Hnngh? [He tugs experimentally, but his arms don't budge. He can't move his fingers, his hands, anything; it's a unique sort of shackle that's perfectly contoured to every inch it'd manage to entrap.] What the fuck?!
[Never one to do the properly-advised thing, Akira continues to pull harder, at one point walking his legs up under him against the door so he could use the strength of pushing up with them to try to yank himself free. He can only manage this for a little while before the joints in his shoulders screech and protest, threatening to pop out of place. His breath escapes him in an explosive exhale, and he drops once more back to the floor, shoulders hunched as he rests his forehead against the door, catching his breath.]
Stupid - thing! [And here, smart boy he is, he just full-on headbutts the door. To the result you would expect.] Ow! Ow, ow ow ow. [And he can't even rub at the red spot that'd blossomed in the middle of his forehead. Idiot.]
† WALL NOISE.
[The corridors of the station are usually ruled with an uneasy sort of silence, but out of the blue, that silence is shattered by a scream.
People can be defined and characterized by how they react under pressure. Someone smart would probably run away from sounds of distress, but before he can even start to process his thoughts about it, Akira is already dashing towards it. He's trying to maintain a speed that's fast but which hopefully would pass for human if he was seen (probably, mostly), but it was still a speed so reckless that when something seems to reach out and grasp at the back of his jumpsuit, he catches like a dog at the end of a leash and is suspended like that for the fraction of a second before being released to collapse onto the floor.
With as much adrenaline in his system as there is, he doesn't waste any time worrying about any injury (he knows there wouldn't be). He scrambles up onto his hands and knees, wheeling around him to see who or what had reached out to grab at him - to find there was nothing. What the fuck? He definitely hadn't been mistaken about it; not a whole hell of a lot could trip him up anymore, with reflexes like he had. He listens carefully, sharp hearing picking out the tell-tale sounds of boots against the metallic floor at a quick clip, coming down the corridor perpendicular to the one he was currently on.
He gets back to his feet, heading in that direction.] Hey! [Whoever it was, they were either running towards the yelling also or the person who had been yelling, and either way, he had questions.]
† WILDCARD.
[Other prompts or anything else! Feel free to hit me up at