( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

[reveriemod]

» WHO? everyone
» WHEN? may 1 onward
» WHERE? all over the station
» WHAT? introductory log feat. waking up, exploration, meeting over food and noises in the walls
» WARNINGS? potential for body horror, psychological horror, hallucinations, physical injury

( 0 0 1 ) » WAKE UP

Were you asleep or were you unconscious? It doesn't matter: when you come to, there's an odd taste in your mouth and there's a low-level mechanical hum in the air. Your head hurts and you feel nauseous. You aren't anywhere you know: everything around you is metal, from the floor you lie on all the way to the ceiling. You are dressed in a jumpsuit you definitely weren't wearing before.

"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."

The message repeats on a loop. If you look for its source, you find a comms device on the floor next to you. The logo on its wallpaper says REVERIE TERMINAL. Upon closer inspection, you find the same logo on your jumpsuit.

Welcome to your new home.

( ♪ )

( 0 0 2 ) LOOK AROUND

You've woken up — but where have you woken up? It may be time to explore your new home. Rifling through a crew quarter will make the room's terminal lock to the comms device you're carrying; the room becomes yours. That includes everything in it, from the additional jumpsuit to the two extra sets of underwear. In some quarters, you may find remnants of whoever was here before you: a book on the nightstand, a coffee mug still on the table, a lonely sock on the floor.

A look around the shared areas will reveal the bar, some of its bottles already open, the mess hall, observation deck and the gym area with its dirty pool. An even closer look around these areas might reveal basic first aid kits as well as basic tool kits and fire extinguishers. The kits are located near the fire extinguishers in compartments in the wall that are not immediately visible. Hopefully, nothing's on fire and no one needs first aid... but that tool kit might come in handy.

Every now and then, as you explore, you might find yourself standing before a door that is locked. Try as you might, you will not be able to get it open.

( ♪ )

( OOC: What items characters find of those who were there before them is up to players, but please limit it to a single item that is mundane and somewhat useless in nature. )

( 0 0 3 ) HAVE A BITE

Sooner or later, all characters will have to make their way to the mess hall if they want to eat. In the mess hall, here are a number of replicator-like devices that sometimes work and sometimes don't— but after a recent malfunction that some characters may have noticed, they seem to work just fine... or at least as well as ever: nothing is particularly palatable, but at least it's nourishment, right?

So why not sit down at a table, whether it's already occupied or not, and have a meal. Maybe use it as an opportunity to introduce yourself, or just to complain about what passes for coffee around here.

And if coffee isn't your preferred beverage, well. There's always the bar.

( ♪ )

( 0 0 4 ) NOISES IN THE WALLS

For some, it's been over a week on the station. For others, merely a day or two. For all, things are starting to change: maybe you were asleep or maybe you weren't, but surely the scream that reverberates through the station will startle you. Was it human? Whatever it was, it seems to be coming from the walls of the station. Banging, clanging, then more screams.

Are you going to chase the sounds? Hide away from them? Try to investigate?

If you follow the sound of screams through the station's corridors and halls, you might feel someone - or was it something? - grab you from behind and pull hard. But when you turn around or turn your head if you've fallen, there's nothing and no one there. If you investigate and perhaps put your ear to a wall to see if the noises really come from there, or bang on the wall, you might hear something other than screams and clanging. Strain your ears and you might hear nothing at all — or you might be able to make out a soft "help me". It's barely above a whisper. Did it sound familiar? If you try to take apart the wall, two things will happen: you'll feel uncharacteristically weak and lethargic all of the sudden, and you'll find nothing at all but wiring and more metal.

Whatever you do, you'll find that the noises stop after a while, with no discernible source other than "the walls". And then hours later, they'll start again. Stop again. Start again a day later— and then stop for good.

( ♪ )

( O O C ) ACTIONS

Hello Reverie Terminal Operators! Welcome to our inaugural event. We hope you'll enjoy it!

To help exploration and interaction with the station, we have put together ten (10) 'actions' that you can request. These actions range from very minor, such as receiving a small piece of information about the station, to major, which may be a more vital piece of information or something far less pleasant, and are completely opt-in. These actions can help get your character involved in the plot, jump into the plot and its mysteries, and have more of a personal prompt to jump off of if you so wish.

Please note if you would avoid particular kinds of consequences (for example, if you'd rather your character not be injured), and we'll try to accommodate that, but please be aware that heavy themes are in play and the actions may feature body horror, injury and hallucinations.

If you'd like to receive an action, please reply to this comment with the following:
» Character: » Type of action: minor, medium, major » Notes:

In the future, actions such as these may be "bought" with bonus AC.



Please use content warning in your top-levels wherever necessary.

Comments

[luciformis]

[ Don't worry, is what had always managed to pass between them. In the time they'd spent as children in that town against the shore, that had been the sentiment that had come in his nature inclination to protect Akira with all that he had. Even if these threats back then had been only perceived, Ryo had always angled to make certain no harm would come to him. To Akira, who once gathered his small shell of a body into his arms — had held him tight and warm against his chest and cried into his damp hair that Ryo no longer had to be frightened anymore.

How could he be frightened, when Akira needed him? Fear was a pointless reaction to have in this moment even despite Akira's explanations, when all it would do was cloud his judgement. So, like the fog of nerves that Akira shakes from Ryo's touch and voice alone, Ryo frees himself from bonds of the typical. He always has. He always would.

The world had always been dangerous. This place, no matter where they were or their circumstances, was the same. They could plan for all that came after. Ryo, after all, had a promise to keep. He would protect Akira, no matter the cost. ]

Don't pull, [ he says, more gentle than not. It's okay. Of course he'd known Akira was resisting the urge to surge back, to tug himself free of his predicament. Humans — all humans —, fought and struggled against their basest instincts. In situations where one is trapped, epinephrine and norepinephrine flood the whole of one's system. In that stress, in that panic — the body prepares itself to flee or fight tooth and nail for survival. Akira, he knew, wouldn't feel it for long if he injured himself further trying his hand against it — but, that wouldn't do well for Akira. Not here, in the end. Not here, on this station millions of miles from home with little to no resources that Ryo could thus give to him.

He again pushes down the tight, insidious feeling that wells up against his ribs when Akira admits to him that he can no longer move his fingers. He knows it would just be a matter of retrieval in normal circumstances, but these circumstances are no longer normal. He can't just procure flesh and bone should he not be able to solve for the hypothetical "x." He takes a faint breath, eyes scanning their surroundings.

The corridor beyond them terminates on the far end. Which means — ]

Akira, [ Ryo starts. Akira's name an effortless sound, well-worn and comfortable against his tongue. ] I want you to try to use that body of yours. [ From his pocket, he finally removes the gun he'd woken up with. It isn't as convincing up close as he hopes it would be, its muzzle already stained with a peculiar residue from his earlier experiments. He takes a few steps further out, enough so the distance between them is substantial enough for him to hopefully not feel the full of what he'd ask him to do. Enough so that he's bodily in the middle of the adjoining corridor, a buffer between where Akira is and the rest of the station. ]

Don't use your strength, [ he continues, the pale of his eyes settling back on him for a scant moment. He chooses his next words carefully. A precaution, if anyone is within earshot. ] That metal should become pliable enough to free you if we give it enough heat.

[ He steps to the corner of Akira's range of sight. It'd be enough to assure he could keep an eye on both situations at once without too much damage. ]

[dvmn]

[Akira knows better than most that each and every person is broken in a way. It's not a bad thing, like how some might paint it — existing in this world tended to inflict abrasions and erosions upon them, place pressures which formed cracks, strike them against surfaces which chipped or gouged away at them. That's just life, and it was accepted as the form of payment for living in it; people went about their business in their lives ignoring these injuries to themselves, minimizing them to their base foundation, but Akira had always been able to perceive them more keenly than most. Ironic, then, that it'd become a fracture of his own, though one he didn't shy away from. Between himself and Ryo they could see most clearly the way they were broken, and they did what they could to help and protect the other. There was no pity in it. He hadn't felt anything like that when he'd scooped the small body of the boy he'd found out by the cliffs into his arms, thinking that his skin felt as cold as the depth of loneliness he sensed behind his eyes. He'd just felt sympathy in the way only a human could, and the overpowering sense of wanting to right it that he'd continued to follow through on every day they'd been in one another's lives.

Akira always led with his heart, allowing it to dictate his path in life. He'd found it the smartest thing to do since he wasn't necessarily the smartest (something he accepts readily enough), but doing this wasn't without its problems. Especially now he could get overwhelmed or aggravated, shortening his grasp of patience and putting him at risk for doing something even stupider than normal. Ryo was a salve for that, calming him down, giving him space to breathe and to try to think. As soon as he tells him not to pull, he doesn't, and he realizes it'd been ill-advised to keep doing something which was clearly dangerous and not helpful. He starts to take deep breaths, realizing that they had started to become shallow, scooping out in rapid bursts from his ribcage only to maintain his low level of anxiety.

That slowly starts to ease up as well. Even more so when Ryo says his name, spoken like a mantra that had always wiped away what was noisy and unnecessary and drawn a clear and concise line to what was imperative and important. It's not the first time he's heard him say this to him, and in that, the familiarity hearkens back to a situation that'd seemed so much simpler in retrospect — Ryo had needed help, and Akira had finally been given something he could use to do so. A rumble of acknowledgement sounds from the hollow of his throat. He'd do it. Pretty much whatever Ryo asked of him, he'd do it.

He blinks owlishly as Ryo produces the gun, looking sharply to him and then back to the weapon, though he notices belatedly that it... didn't quite have the construction of one of the firearms he typically carried around. Something else — was that glue? Akira's thinking that seems pretty counter-intuitive when Ryo begins to step away. Keeping watch. Akira's eyes follow him, keen with understanding, and he nods at the veiled suggestion.

Heat... Well, it's about the only other thing he can do in this situation.

He waits until Ryo has taken up his lookout position before he starts to raise his body temperature. It's a sharp increase, ratcheting up quickly enough in a few seconds to cause the air to waver around him, shimmering like a summer mirage on hot pavement. A few seconds later and it seems to be emanating from him like a glow, and it's having some effect on the door; the metal is beginning to glow bright orange where it comes into contact with his arms, and he thinks he can move his fingers.

He continues to let the temperature rise to the point where the fabric of the coveralls he's wearing is beginning to smoke, threatening to catch fire. Now or never, he guesses. He starts to pull, this time his arms slowly separating from the wall like he was pulling them from a pit of tar. He puts his foot up against the door again, giving one last pull, and then he just sort of pops out of the wall like a particularly stubborn cork out of a wine bottle (except with a much worse sound).

He then promptly falls on his ass.] Ow. [He lifts his arms to inspect them, and, well, good thing he doesn't mind short sleeves, because the fabric that'd been pressed between his skin and the metal had been burned away. The communicator seems fine, oddly enough. He focuses on cooling off his body temperature now, trying to wipe away the soot and whatever metallic residue remained from the door; he looks over to Ryo, the shaky grin coming over his expression sheepish.]

Well. It worked. [Mostly.]

[luciformis]

[ Like gold warmed between the palms of one's hands, Akira had always been something that bound Ryo's fissures with a decisive brightness, a warmth that was beyond his ability to spool into words. His own sense of self had been fractured long ago, perhaps from before he had ever been born — in the quiet recesses of a time he could no longer glance upon, buried in his heart so silent and so painful that his calm was the pearl that built around it. But, at the end of the day, sand is just sand and pearls are just nacre and Ryo Asuka is still a being held together by Akira Fudo in a sense he can't even begin to acknowledge without plunging his whole self purposefully and purposely into the dark.

Where Akira found it made humans what they were, each tiny and inconceivable crack in the mantle of their lives, Ryo thought these within himself were an ugliness. Like the moon, he was devoid of beauty without a light. The surface of his memory irrevocably pocked with absence and dissonance. Ryo'd never been whole, but he was more whole with him. With Akira, he felt tethered to the Earth. Like a gravity, Akira kept him locked in a willing and perpetual orbit. Ryo could not imagine now what life would have been like had he never met him. He could no longer imagine having no one at all to look to.

But, somehow, he knew. He knew that it wasn't something he was supposed to ever become accustomed to. It wasn't something he wasn't supposed to follow after until the ends of the world to get to. To get to what? He brushes past it. There are other circumstances more important in the moment. There are other things more crucial to meet, more with the faint quirk of his lips. It's an unvoiced approval for Akira's gradual effort to regain calm. Like Akira himself, Ryo had always trusted him. Since Akira had told Ryo he no longer had to be afraid anymore, he had always maintained that Akira had meant it. He had always placed faith in Akira when he led him into realms he would never go tread on his own, something instinctual and unrestrained in his blood waking up each time Akira would push him to have fun — to explore all that was about them with more zeal than Ryo ever normally would.

It was as though there was a tacit agreement made long ago. On that cliff-side, by the ocean, with the rush and roar of water in their ears — they would link inevitably together as though the closures on a chain, like pottery mended with metal. And here, that consistency does not change. It hasn't, even after a decade apart. Ryo stands guard as Akira had guarded him years ago, weeks ago. His eyes are clear and sharp even against the sudden surge of hellfire, the way the surrounding heat molds against his skin like a visible presence. It curls against him, heavy and blistering, and Ryo keeps back a wince as he waits for his suggestion to hopefully do as he's suggested for him. For Akira.

In a way, he'd known already that Akira freeing himself would be the outcome. He'd seen what the warmth Akira's body could produce could do, the way it would bubble skin and sinew. Exposed to the super-heated air by the gnashing of fangs and the grapple of claws, he knew it more a matter of time than a matter of chance. So, when Akira knocks himself back with considerable force, Ryo disregards the thick of the atmosphere and the stench of molten metal.

He pockets the gun, picks his way instinctively across the field of molten residue. It glows red hot about him like coal kicked off a kiln and he's careful as he crouches back far enough to only feel a mild discomfort generated by the temperature rolling off the (still molten) door. Yet, even despite his being pale, the flush it forces across his skin is lighter than should be, should have ever been. Ryo's always been unusually good at modulating his tolerance for questionable conditions. At least, that is he always supposed. ]

Flex your fingers and then make a fist, [ he says, his eyes observing the bare lay of Akira's arms. He glances back up briefly, to meet his eyes and adjusts himself upon his heels carefully to avoid the brunt of the heat that consumes the space about them. There's a faint furrow between his eyebrows, but that is the only tell of any deeper concern as he keeps himself (just barely) from reaching out. ] I want to be sure of how well you can move them.

[ Better to check now then check later. His healing rate was alarming, but it was better to get it right the first time than have to later fix it again. ]

[dvmn]

[Before Ryo had returned into his life, he'd been inert — not willingly, but no matter what he'd tried, he couldn't manage to budge himself from his stationary position. Ever since his parents had gone abroad and he'd been relocated to the Makimura household, he had been running as fast as he possibly could only to find he was making absolutely no ground. It was if he was running along a track that only extended with each desperate stride he made — lengthening to weeks, then months between calls from his parents; going years before seeing the name Ryo Asuka again on an internet breadcrumb trail that led him to see that (to little to no surprise on his part) his friend had gone on to brilliance, acclaim, and personal fame. Akira had lived his life running after the diminishing shadows of others, physically incapable of keeping pace with them. Running after memories of his parents, brilliant doctors doing life-changing work overseas (should he feel guilty that he still wished they hadn't gone? he does—), lagging behind after the fleet form of Miki, so naturally gifted on the track that rumors of an supernatural origin were thick on the tongues of critical onlookers.

And who had he been? What had he been? At this point, it was almost difficult to remember. Whatever sense of purpose he had distilled from those inseparable months with Ryo had disappeared as readily as he had. Standing unsure and unsteady on the renovated foundations of his life, Akira Fudo had gone into subsistence mode — one where he put forth as much effort as he possibly could only to continue to slowly fall behind.

It was a special kind of idiot who would put himself in mortal danger at the behest of a friend he hadn't seen in nearly ten years. It was an even more incredible sort of moron that would rush headlong into the jaws of demons to attempt to rescue that friend, but what else could he have been expected to do? The only things Akira had ever had to set himself apart were his unwieldy compassion and a completely misplaced streak of bravery (something others would far more readily term "stupidity"). To have had the power he possesses now thrust upon him probably should've been a little more concerning, but at the time, it had been too tantalizing — after so long, finally having the strength and power to actually do something. It blinded him sometimes, forcing errors. It only made him realize how vital Ryo was to him; the weapon his power gave him was too unwieldy and blunt for him to use effectively or intelligently without instruction.

Just like how if Ryo hadn't come by to clear his head and give him some level-headed guidance, he probably would've ended up with his arms stuck and his shoulders dislocated.

It's not to say that the molten metal escape wasn't without its problems. Akira's finding that there's still bits and pieces of the stuff stuck to his hands and his arms, slowly beginning to solidify against the surface of his skin as the temperature dropped. Fuck. He's beginning to grapple with this problem as he tracks the movement of Ryo approaching out of the corner of his eye. He turns to set his friend in an angry glare, a sharp warning,] Ryo! [starting as a low growl in the pit of his throat before escaping between grit teeth. There were still molten pieces of metal everywhere, and he didn't exactly cool off quickly.] Stay where you are.

[Though, as usual, he supplies incredibly simple advice that Akira manages to completely miss. He slowly turns his attention away from him, focusing on his hands. He slowly flexes his fingers to their full extent, then curling them inwards to roll into a fist.] Nothing's broken. [He's experienced that often enough lately to know exactly how it feels. The metal, though; he flinches soon after confirming this, pained by the sharp pinch of the stuff cooling against his skin. Dammit. He shoots another warning glance to Ryo before raising his body temperature again, trying to focus on his arms — though it doesn't really work that easily, causing the shimmering aura of heat to fully envelop him once again. He's nearly to the point of being engulfed by a nimbus of heat, bits of metal like bright golden droplets of dew speckling his arms and hands. Hesitant at first, unsure if it'd work, he moves to brush them away, clearing them off of his arms as if it were something as harmless as dirt or dust.

Immediately cooling once brushed away from his body, the tiny pieces of metal clink against the floor of the corridor. Akira inspects himself once more and, satisfied they were all dealt with, he starts to cool off once again. The acrid smell of molten metal and near-burning cloth chokes the air.

He lets out a tired sigh, his back hunching over as the energy he'd mustered for the whole thing fails and fades entirely. Exhaustion seeps into his muscles, resting thick over his mind. Fuck, he's so hungry.]

Okay, [he half-groans, clinging to the last remaining shreds of his energy to keep himself from falling back against the floor (he wouldn't want to scorch it any worse than it's already been).] I'm done with doors for now. That was fucked up.

[It takes some time, but the heat gradually disperses, just as the metal around the twin holes in the thick metal slowly dim to the normal steely gray. For now, Akira remains seated where he is, surrounded by a loose halo of debris, glaring at the door.]

[luciformis]

[ To those who had lusted after fortune and acclaim, to Ryo they were empty things. They were fine to have — convenient even —, but there was nothing more he could have been given that he could have gotten elsewhere. Ryo Asuka was just himself, at the end of the day. He was the brilliant teenager who was whisked off to America, who searched for the name "Akira Fudo" across anything in particular until he was satisfied he could find him again. Keeping tabs was in his nature. Akira, no matter their extended separation, had been the roots that kept him in place. Without him, it would be no wonder if Ryo would have found himself once again swept up into emptiness. In the sparse, dark pockets of his memory — there'd been nothing else. There had never been anything else, until him. Even the constellations he'd picked out in evenings he and Akira would wander down to rest against the shore had never once shone through that stillness. It had only been the ocean's roar and pulse, its body unimaginably expansive and unimaginably cold.

Perhaps Akira would have been called an idiot, but by extension so would Ryo. Who would think that two individuals could possibly save the world? Who would think that two individuals could possibly accomplish a push back against the ingrained nature of society, bring them bright and bold into a future that could have never been known? Who would believe, deep beyond his own realizations, that the world was worth nothing at all when held up against the value of one single soul?

But, that isn't something to know now. On this station that was determined to quite literally chew them up and spit them out, Ryo would have to live with the holes in his own identity. He would have to live with the knowledge that no matter how far he roamed, these pieces would remain missing so long as the scraps that were torn from the fabric of his soul were left in the hands of the one who'd shadowed many of his waking memories.

At the very least, there is something to be said of that extended idiocy. He knew it wasn't clever, the approximate radius of heat that the tempered metal could engulf. He was privy to his own tolerances, but the gruffness in Akira's voice makes him halt. Even though stubborn reluctance flits across his features and the protestation that he knew his own limitations sat against his tongue — he kept it caged behind his teeth, eyes lidding in part against the influx of temperature and the residual irritation that he swept back beneath the usual calm.

He has a corridor to watch. Still, his movement back is more for Akira's own protection than his own. He keeps his sights set on the long walk, absorbing the glare with a steady and observational glance in return. He understands enough, after all. He knows that Akira's heart couldn't handle even harming him accidentally — even through Ryo's own fault. He waits it out, feeling out the swelter of the air beside him. Akira needn't even speak at all for him to know when the area is safe enough (finally) to pick his way. He's part-way there, his steps light enough to be missed if there was no familiarity with his approaches. But, Akira has always been familiar to him as much as Ryo has always been familiar to Akira. Even this exchange is not new, the way Ryo crouches down beside him as though he'd picked up subtle cues in the slope of his shoulders — the curve of his back. Ryo's eyes are quiet and calculating as they sweep down the length of Akira's arms. He knows the damage is likely to be minimal to nothing at all, especially considering his earlier affirmations.

Even so, the flat of Ryo's palm presses up against the back of Akira's shoulder as if to steady him. And it is. Is it any surprise that he knows? ]

That might be for the best, [ he says, a kind of lighter agreement. His eyes flit up to Akira's profile, assessing. ] Lean on me. We should leave before we're caught.

[ There's only so much that Ryo could feasibly explain away, after all. ]

[dvmn]

[It's something he hasn't shared with his friend just yet, but Akira had become aware of the fame and acclaim he'd accumulated in the United States, tuning into his webshow whenever he could (whenever the time difference was most kind to him, otherwise trying to catch up whenever time presented itself). It'd always seemed like something that Ryo took well to, something which he had worn effortlessly, wielded with subtlety and finesse. A lot of things had seemed to come to Ryo like that, so he hadn't been surprised in the slightest. Wasn't that the mark of someone meant for such a position in the world, when they neither flaunted nor abused their perceived power?

He isn't sure if he's cut out for something like that. Getting accustomed to the power that being a devilman gave him had been like growing pains, but stronger and accelerated into the space of a few short days. At first there'd been something almost euphoric about it, watching all of the limitations your human body had shackled you with over the course of your life dissolve. To overcompensate for something you previously lacked was the kneejerk reaction of someone in such a situation, and Akira's unwitting willingness to give in to such a thing gave him pause, made him wonder if he was truly best for what he had been given. In the end, it probably isn't something he's meant to decide, and even if it was, there's nothing to be done about it now. There's only the day-in, day-out duty taken on to wear the mantle of "hero" as effortlessly as he had seen Ryo time after time manipulate the attention of thousands of strangers.

It is, in a single phrase, a work in progress, however. Akira has moments of transcendent gracefulness, times where the natural agility and strength that his demon body gave him now seemed like something he'd always had. There were other times, however, where he seemed like a puppy still fumbling with paws too big for its body, and now feels like one of those times. The sleeves of his coveralls accidentally burned away as he'd melted the metal away from himself, surrounded by the slowly-cooling debris of his own mistake. He feels a fool.

Fortunately the only observer to his lapse of proper judgment was Ryo, and he doesn't need to feel the prickling brush of embarrassment around him.

Instead there's just the feeling of ease of mind wash over him as he senses his friend's approach, his presence at his side, the warmth and pressure of his hand coming to rest against his shoulder. He breathes out, slowly, eyes growing a little heavy-lidded for a moment as the last residual shards of panic and alarm melt away, seeping out of his body and into the floor.

He nods mutely; Ryo has supported him both emotionally and physically enough times that he's not going to bother to argue. He gets to his feet, accepting helpful hands and the waiting crutch of Ryo's shoulders, wanting just as much as his friend did to get out of here before someone else arrived, the harbinger of a wave of unwanted questions.

But - before they do manage to leave, the door seems to shudder, an obvious shimmer spreading across the marred metallic surface. The movement draws Akira's attention immediately, eliciting a questioning,] Wh- [from his throat before he tugs at Ryo's jumpsuit, directing his attention towards it.] Look!

[The metal looks less so like a sheer, solid piece of matter and instead like a rippling pool; the holes he'd torn into the body of it fill in on their own volition, resolving into yet another perfect, smooth surface. There was another odd shudder, like the ripple of something falling into water a distance away, and then it grew still again.

Akira blinks, his eyes wide. He looks to Ryo.] Just like that! That's what happened when my arms got stuck.

[This place... is fuckin' weird.]

[luciformis]

[ Power had always been a difficult thing to wield.

For Ryo, who seemed to carry it with all the grace one could perceive with the eye, he only managed it through the degree of distance he kept. There was no means to sway one who refused to accept the possibility of fundamental and substantial emotions — the warmth that any of those could bring. Ryo remained at once present and absent, a lone figure cut across a foreign shoreline, pale and white and cold. He was a creature unlike the rest, but Akira had tugged at his hand and bid him to come with, come in. He bid Ryo to join the world around him, but still he never truly did. Standing at the threshold, with his hand against the doorjamb — it was easiest to look in. It meant, in some unconscious part of him, that nothing could ever come again to cast him out. It meant he would never fall and he would never bleed, but it might have once been different. Had it not been for Jenny who came to tear him away from that town by the sea, Akira might have succeeded in getting Ryo to join him. Akira might have succeeded in coaxing him in, given all of his patience and devotion — all the tenderness that he seemed to pour out across every person in this world who deserved even a touch of it.

In some quiet and overlooked part of him, Ryo ached for all of it, for every part of it. He ached more than he could understand or know. And still, even in these moments, he cannot see it. He cannot map the shape of his emotions and his desires with his own hands, because he chooses to be blind to it. He chooses to smother it, even as the line of Akira's arm comes to rest across his shoulders, heavy and warm. This proximity has become increasingly familiar as time has gone on, but then they had always been like this: exchanging touches both large and small, as if going too long without the contact was somehow aversive. And it was, but Ryo chooses also to deny that as he curls his fingers about Akira's wrist to keep his arm positioned where it is, feeling the steadiness of Akira's pulse beneath the meat of his thumb. It is all that Ryo can do to help Akira in what ways he could here. It was all that he could do to provide a means of support when he was otherwise left up to designing his own defenses. Back home, he would not have had to worry after it. Back home, he could have protected Akira as much as he protected him.

But here, Ryo was human and knowledge was the only true weapon he could use against what and who could come to trouble them. And it is something he uses now as he carefully guides Akira to his feet, only to be jerked to attention back to where they'd just contended with the Station's door.

It is an odd thing. Ryo watches the door twist and settle with the faintest narrowing of eyes, the glimmer of them cool and sharp — calculated. There are possibilities that filter across his thoughts, but none seem sufficient enough. Ferrofluid would not harden the way that it would have about Akira's arms, but he knows of several more that could have provided some difficult if the temperature was suddenly in flux. Gallium was a possibility, but the applications here were useless. So, it is with some puzzlement that Ryo furrows his brows. It is a slight expression, but it is present enough to catch.

Ryo's mouth dips into a frown and he adjust his hold about Akira's wrist. It is a considering gesture, one that allows for more comfort in the rest of his arm around him. ]

I see, [ he says, more to himself than not. His eyes flit from the door to Akira. Back again. ] I won't be able to tell what it is or how to prevent it without a sample to test. [ It doesn't make much sense as it stands, but very few things like this do at first glance. ] There has to be a reason why your touch activated it.

[ He pauses and then adds a slight nudge of pressure to Akira's side. ] I'll come back for it.

[ Beneath it, the let's get you settled is implicit. ]

[dvmn]

[In his youth he'd grown used to playing the role of arbitrator and advocate for Ryo. He'd always seemed in dire need of someone to play that role, to stand by his side and try to argue for what he meant when instead people would only focus on the barbed words said or brusque actions brandished. Akira had always been able to see the kernel of good at the heart of all of this, knowing deep within his own that the reason why Ryo had carried a blade was to defend them from the potentially-dangerous mysteries of the world (or cut away an attachment which would only cause misery down the line). That he only interjected to correct the teachers on their small, harmless inaccuracies due to a stringent standard, not wanting to mince anyone's time by presenting them hurdles in the forms of misinformation.

Initially he'd been shocked to see him in the crowded internet video, navigating cordial conversation and discussion seamlessly, without the need for interpretation or arbitration. There'd been happiness there, some pride, the easing of a feeling of worry he'd held for years, wondering if Ryo had managed to find anyone else (in singular or in plural) that would put forth what was necessary to understand him and desperately hoping so, because he knew he had so much to give the world if the bridge was properly built.

And, seemingly, they had, and he did, but there was something... off about it. Akira had sensed the distance in that cordiality, noticed in that seamlessness the dearth of the momentary pauses that he'd observed when they were kids, after he'd said something just ridiculous and heartfelt enough to throw him.

He doesn't really know exactly what it is, but from what he'd seen since Ryo'd returned to Japan and to him, it still seemed to be something he was in ownership of.

This isn't even close to the first time Ryo'd hauled his injured ass around like this, and he's still surprised how strong the guy is, even though he seems thin enough to be knocked over by a brisk wind. Still Akira is wary of his weight, handling as much of it as he could on his own two legs, allowing Ryo to guide them along collectively.

He didn't even notice the awkward jut of his arm, the way that his shoulder had started to ache a little bit from it, before Ryo had already moved to adjust how he held onto his wrist. Akira settles into the new alignment gratefully, a wordless rumble in his throat, watching Ryo's expression as he most likely worked his way through all the scientific possibilities for the impossibility that the door had just presented them with (nailed it).]

Nn. [Yeah, that makes sense. He glances down, casting his gaze at the metallic debris that he'd littered the hallway with.] Well, luckily there's plenty to look at. [Hell, there's a possibility some of it is still stuck to him and he just isn't aware of it yet.]

Maybe it just wanted to fuck with me.

[He laughs a slightly wheezing laugh.

He's swift enough to follow the intent behind the touch to his side, however, walking in a way where they can comfortably keep stride with one another, making their way back to the room.]

Any chance we can get somethin' to eat first? [It's said with a toothy smile, but he's actually pretty fuckin' hungry all of a sudden. Ratcheting your internal body heat high enough to nearly boil your blood'll do something like that.]