Open Starter! // Goro Akechi

open starter! // goro akechi

somewhere in the city, a white crow looms, deathlike, over the bones of mouse. feathers like ivory, eyes like blood vessels, mind like something hungry wing into limbs built for it, gravity taking hold, and catching air in asphalt claws. Akechi feels the same, for a blinding moment, and wills himself to be unflinching after finding an anticipation of one less step than there was as he goes up the stubby staircase of his office, only realizing his error as his foot goes through the space where the ground comes up to meet him, just in the wrong way.

his balance threatens him like gunpoint for a moment, and some minor shameful part of him shivers with the fact he'd have preferred that opposed to someone catching him like this ━ an angry thrum behind his eyes making them feel tense and pained and dull ━ but the rest of him floods in too fast by the time he's down the stairs properly, releasing held breath only when he's halfway down the hall, and reminds it that a little humility/humanity is a good thing, as that minor shameful part mumbles under its breath that perfection is a virtue, or at least, it used to be.

he finds himself navigating the office almost blind as sharp pain crackles along the seams of the skull like an electric board, shuffling mindfully in some of the more cramped spaces as the brain struggles to consciously process the outside world, so instead it reverts inwards, leaves him on autopilot; on memory. Goro is lucky that while he had not memorized the stairs, he has with nearly the entire rest of the building, or at least the route to his office. some coworkers try and catch his sleeve in conversation as he passes, but he brushes them off, social and sweet, that he's very busy right now, perhaps later! and the mission resumes. ( perhaps it simply does not occur to him of how rushed his stride is, how his knuckles turn into angry white ridges on the grip of paperwork, how one eye on the left side twitches; how this would be worrying if you knew him well enough, and sometimes, if you didn't. )

and when he does get into his office, he shuts the door, turns off the light, and sinks into the feeling of plushed-out fabric on a relatively cheap but not terrible desk chair that offers what familiar comfort it can, and what familiar discomforts he knows which he can avoid and which ones he can't; precise poise not enough, where he imagines he could stay for the rest of the day. ━ he'd rather be lying down right now, migraine lashing into him where even the modest sunlight drips in behind him from concealing blinds is too much, but he takes what he can get with two sharp hands, nails digging into it, and he accepts that this; in all likelihood; is going to be the best remedy that he has for the majority of the day until he can snag a bottle of painkillers on the way back home. resting the cool gloved back of his hand overtop the skin of his eyes. best just to survive, for now, he quietly decides…

… and the peace he craves does not last as long as he so wished it would. minutes or hours, he catches footsteps outside his door just before his doom comes, jolting alive in his seat even to the chagrin of the flesh of the brain as the doorknob rattles, he's lucky he can mask the pain with the squint of trying to change out a lightbulb in his turned off lamp as he peers over to the opened door ( although, he can't hide the twitch ) part of him begs to swipe at them with large heavy claws and rip out anything foolishly not nailed down from his rude guest, fingers poised at the neck of the lightbulb and dexterous enough to turn them even if he was blinded by the light from the rest of the station sweeping into his own little room like bleeding an infection, but he carefully tucks the impulse back. at least, in part, to know who he was going to be clawing at in the first place; not really out of unwillingness to be ruthless, perhaps cruel.

Akechi's head pounds. He finds himself unable to remember the shape of their shadow through the glazed window that otherwise he should've caught. He resists a wave of nausea that threatens to sink in. ( easy, now… )

" Oh, hi! I'm a little preoccupied at the moment, so you might want to take up your problem with someone else if you're looking for speed, but what can I help you with? "

fp and moon

Whenever they wake up like this, they feel like they're 6 years old again. ━ Factually, this is not correct, and cannot be correct. When they fell, they were something young, but never that young, never again. Their childhood was one of independence & the orange-gold crest of a mountain's shell & the routine of tending to chickens before wandering in the long rye, alone as a child, together here. When they were 6, they were taught how to feed animals and how to pick berries. When they were 6, they were taught the right way to hold an oil lamp. When they were 6, there was still glass jar waiting. And maybe it's still waiting. They can't remember. But now, 13 hangs on their teenage bones like a reminder of what world they're living in, and how many times they've lived it renders it null. Memory lost until they look in the mirror, and it's still to early to bother. Ouroborus in the long grass, snake in the bedframe, serpent in Eden.

But the serpent has just awoken, and while somewhat peckish, they could wait til dinner. Hunger unto hunger unto hunger until someone matters more than the process looping again ( and maybe from a different life, maybe from the one they're in, they can still smell the smokeless heat of fire, of protection )

Frisk rubs their eyes, hair disheveled, as one hand tries to comb it down. They end up distracted by a spot of acne on their jaw that they'll have til they're 15, no matter what they do about it, as they peek at Toriel from behind thick tangles. ━ for how many times they've heard it, will hear it, they'll never get tired of the voice that greets them when they have the privilege to hear it at all. That priviledge is granted then revoked then granted again, but still, that never stopped them calling.

" M'hm… " the hum of Frisks voice betray the sleep they try to wriggle off as they finally brush back their bangs to observe the chaos-that-was-yet-to-occur-but-most-certainly-coming, notably ducking to attempt in peering beside Toriel's legs into the oven like getting a sneak-peek of a surprise. Alas, without a bulb, the oven retains its secrets. Their dark eyes look up at Toriel as they right themselves, and while they always seem tired, they always seem brighter with her around " Migh'wanna grab a brush before I get th'burner covered in this- " they waggle the hand still with its fingers combed & caught in a bundle of their brown bangs, some strands giving out and falling back into their eyes " -but 'll help. like helpin'. " they nod as they say the last part, as though confirming it themselves to be true, which they already were, but it doesn't hurt!

as they saunter down the hall to snag a brush or comb you could've sworn they'd never seen before, they all but trot back to Toriel as they wrangle their locks into place, eyes brighter, sharper now as they glance around the kitchen " What're we makin' today? "

The heavenly smell of baked goods radiate from the kitchen. A warm glow that lures you in with the promise of homely comfort. It's there you'll find Toriel mid-prep. The pie crust has already been set aside and she's at the oven with a slight sway to her hips. The light hum of instrumental music coming from an unknown source. You're quiet, though it's not enough to keep her from noticing you.

"Oh. What timing. Did you sleep well?" Her voice is soothing, Motherly. The look of joy expressed in a kind smile. "If you're feeling rested I could use some help in the kitchen today." / @quillheel

tell link i said gaia says hi

Tell her he said hi, too.

I love rough animator, I used tumblr's logo as the brush because it allowed any image to be the texture, surprisingly good

Bonus 2 lazy animations zoz, you can never guess the right one <- sarcasm

Rouxls knows that one day, his cowardice will kill him. Or perhaps it will be his bravery.

Bravery not as in dying for a good cause, bravery like an unused muscle suddenly being asked to handle a great weight, atrophied in the way it was never used at all, and when it was; never to the extent that could dream of carrying what one day might be offered. offered to him. a stake that proclaims he must try, but an inability that demands he cannot. It was easier to run. Always easier to run. ( drawbridge uncrossed, the hesitation in him like a weed he couldn't pluck out; maybe didn't want to. music as a universal language, but he still doesn't voice what part of him wants to. asks to. refuses to. ) ━ but it gets harder, he's found, to justify. flight was easiest when he was alone, and very often, he was alone. but flight becomes it's own kind of challenge, now, as people hang to his trailing coattails and latch to his legs and ask him to stay; his own kind of bitter medicine, in a way, only made moreso when he finds it in himself to want to stay, unasked, when the sentimental part of him finds a connection; however unexpected; and says he should, despite it all, says he ought to.

this feels the same, a quiet part of him recognizes, because it is the same. no one asked him to play, and yet, and yet… ( the drawbridge uncrossed, his courage a fickle thing, but still; he reaches out a hand. he reaches, reaches, reaches. the water below like a threat. the water below like a boundary. the water below like a promise of something on the other side. )

the Duke listens. mindful, pale eyes resting gently upon her in an attentiveness often forgone, unknown, as a nail traces the grain of the instrument, thoughtful… his harsh silhouette cast upon the dark sky shifts as he turns to her, face a little more considering, and maybe a little more understanding. he looks to the flute, as though his true care is to it and not she, a minor salve to his pride, as he answers.

" while I doth not have such stake in thy 'homesickness', thine testament is undersold in mine opinion, if i might offereth, " Rouxls begins, eyes flicking over almost nervously, before forcing himself to continue whether it was asked of him or not ( if he didn't, it'd never be said ) ━ " a 'musical teacher' such as thineself is no simple task! and nay either doeseth it forbid you from such fears. "

he places a hand 'pon his chest and closes his eyes, as though to emphasize dramatics as a savior. " Ne'er waseth mine intention to befall as the young prince's warden, and yet, such a surprise doeseth circumstance bring! but, ah… " Rouxls pauses, glancing off to the side, considering and perhaps uncertain, before his eyes go back to Dandie. he allows himself, if only for now, to become something a little more real. just for now, just for now... " with such roles, t'is… expected, for dread or doubt to findst thee. "

" all wish to avoideth pains, minor or major, to those inest our'n keep despite how oft there is ever something unavoidable. t'is… " he searches for the right words, or perhaps, studies himself to offer a better answer than the one he had ( he can't help but think back to Lancer's father, his own cowardice to stand for the right, how it all played out… ) " a most unique kind of hell, I must admiteth fairly, especially in such unfamiliar lands… "

Rouxls takes a breath, steadying himself for a sincerity part of him tries to wriggle out of, and looks at her proper. reaching out, reaching out, and under him; the drawbridge offering it's sturdy wood forward beneath his heel; he acknowledges that he doesn't have the answers either, but it couldn't stop him from offering what he did. " but while agonies may be most difficult to keep at bay, they know their capability, and in thee, they have a great ally. "

" And nor is their pains the fault of your own-! we... we do what we can, and it must be enough. But they art strong, they shall wage well on their own, and in doubt, they know who to turneth towards. They have thus far, have they not? " he offers what he hopes to be a reassuring smile. neither of them have the answer to this question they ask, maybe no one did, but he knows to trust them. it's hard, it's unbearable, but so is growing up. so is living, living, living...

and then it's as though something occurs to him, and the sincerity is momentarily edged back with a now nervous grin, eyes flitting. ( wriggling, still, but he means what he said )

" ━ Ah, although, mayhaps keepeth such faith between us, yes-? I'd prefereth not to have the purple one bite at me for such admittances, or worse yet, she begin to gloat━ "

𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐞 wasn't an odd thing between them, although it had been spurred by her bardic tendencies, in the past. it was in her nature. sharing an earbud, plucking a string. her voice was nigh always raised in some fashion of song.

it was little wonder why the duke might offer music to her, this time. to the lightener, it almost seemed like music was magical, all on its own. a universal language. a salve to weariness.

" that's--…that's true. " she eyed the little flute and in that moment felt a connection. the dark world felt so foreign to someone who only knew "music class" and "teachers' lounge" and "crappy apartment at home." but, darkeners knew music. they knew puzzles. they knew how to throw down drawbridges and cross gaps and hold out their hand, when they met someone that resonated with them. perhaps there was a measure of comfort in knowing that, while opposite to home, there were similarities in the reflection.

that wasn't to say that she hadn't noticed rouxls' hesitation on the matter. the attempt to cheer her with music was sweet, but his feet hadn't crossed that drawbridge. and, ever introverted, dandie stayed on the other side. watching, quietly.

" uh…i guess that's pretty transparent… " her thick brows tamped downwards. always prone to fidget with her dulled claws, when she was on edge. " …i think it's homesickness, in part. but the other, bigger part is just…making sure the kids are safe. "

it was something that made her a brilliant teacher, of course, but her mother henning also brought on a shade of worry. how could it not? children kris and susie's age were starting to try to find themselves, in the world. it was scary. it was hard. and being somewhere like this, though they seemed to thrive, she couldn't help worrying for their well-being.

" i'm sure there are times where you worry about lancer, too. and--…i know that i'm just the music teacher, in the light world. but i still can't help but feel attached to kris and susie - even ralsei, at this point. i don't want something bad to happen to them. " a pause. a mirthless chuckle. " i don't think i'd forgive myself, if that happened. "