Joker [AU] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foolmetwice) wrote2018-11-11 09:17 pm
foolmetwice) wrote2018-11-11 09:17 pmREGISTRY
A HANDY DANDY TIMELINE for memory references!
foolmetwice) wrote2018-11-11 09:17 pm
Memory 1 - Mishimaldaboth
The scene is what looks to be a mostly empty classroom, but for the presence of teenager who is standing near a desk, bent over his school bag and shoving books into the opening. The faint scent of cigarette smoke curls in the air-- Ren crosses the room (dressed like so except without the gloves, glasses, headphones and bandana, and there's a pair of unused suspenders hanging loosely at his hips) as he sucks in a slow drag of one, before he plucks it from his lips and easily snuffs it out on a nearby desk, ignoring the way it scorches the wood.
Mishima blinks, before glancing up at Ren, uncertain. "Um. You know you're not supposed to be--"
"Heard it all from Kawakami; I don't need a reprise." Ren brushes off quickly as he adjusts his bag over his shoulder.
From inside the bag, a cat whispers into his ear, voice frantic. "Joker. Hurry it up! We're supposed to meet up with Skull and Panther right now!" The words are hissed, but they probably sound like meowing to anyone who isn't a Phantom Thief.
Ren ignores the whispering and keeps his attention focused on Mishima, who is now awkwardly shifting from one foot to the next, gaze flickering to the side like he's trying to escape. "Anyway, got a minute? I want to talk."
". . . sure." Mishima sounds super uncertain. "But. . . why? You've always ignored me up until now. . ."
Ren pulls up a sharp smile; he doesn't bother trying to make it friendly. "Change of heart," he drawls, "Anyway, word on the street is that you've got some pretty occult-ish interests."
Mishima's features furrow. "They aren't occult-ish interests. Gnosticism a very real body of human religion and ideas, and the texts I read about it are educational and--."
"Yeah, sure, okay, whatever. Nerd." Ren cuts off with a roll of his eyes, annoyance edging into his voice, "Tell me about them?"
Mishima blinks. "But you just cut me off and--"
"I want to know."
Ren shifts on his feet, squaring his stance so it's firm and imposing as he faces Mishima fully. He curls his fingers around the strap of his bag, eyes narrowing, and says nothing else.
Whatever intimidation tactic he was trying to use seems to work, because Mishima swallows thickly and glances away before speaking up again. "It's weird that you're asking me about this all of a sudden, right out of the blue." He's trying to keep his words from shaking in his mouth, and only half succeeds. "I thought you didn't care about 'useless fluff' like 'the lies people tell themselves to make them feel better at night' or. . . whatever."
There's a significant pause. A moment where the only thing Ren thinks is-- got you. "Ah. . . when did I say that?"
Mishima freezes, every muscle in his body tensing, eyes suddenly flying open wide and caught.
"You said it yourself, Mishima. I've ignored you up until now." A step forward, and Ren closes the distance between them, "How would you know that? When did I ever say that?"
Mishima turns back towards Ren as he tries not to look like he just got caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "Y-you've said it in class before! When Ms. Kawakami called on you and asked you to answer that question a-about archetypes and mythology!"
"It's May, Mishima," comes Ren's easy, smooth response. "Kawakami's classics lesson on archetypes isn't until next month."
Another frigid pause.
And then many things happen all at once. Mishima jerks back and snatches at something in his bag, just as Ren surges forward, fingers curling tightly around the front of the other student's shirt, and slams his back hard against the wall. From Ren's bag comes a surprised squawk. "Joker? What's going on?!"
"Who are you," Ren demands, voice low and authoritative. He isn't phrasing it like a question; it's a command, delivered with every ounce of power he's got. "If not Mishima, then who the fuck are you?"
. . . and just like that, every ounce of uncertainty and fear melts from Mishima's expression as his eyes slip shut. He heaves a heavy sigh, more annoyed than anything else, and gives his head a small shake.
"A------." He says a name, but something distorts the sound, so it's impossible to parse. "You keep doing this. Your struggle against the inevitable, at this point, is almost. . . pathetic."
Ren's features melt from angry to bemused, but his grip on "Mishima's" shirt merely tightens. "What? What are you talking abo--"
"I don't understand," the student-yet-not continues, and the distortion in his voice is back. Mishima's normal one, with something darker, deeper, overlaid across it, so the words come out garbled and in stereo. "Why can't you be like everyone else. . .? Lie back, let your mind go, and allow me to guide you towards ruin."
"Like hell--"
Mishima opens his eyes again, a splash of glowing red replacing his irises. There's a flash of silver drawn from his school bag, a glint of light, and then--
Ren can feel it. It's such a familiar sensation at this point, almost comforting with its frequency, like the curl of a warm blanket enveloping him from all sides. There's no mistaking what it is. The feel of metal slipping under his ribs, burying itself deep into the muscle of his heart. The explosion of pain that follows. The immediate disorientation that sends him reeling back, Mishima's shirt slipping from his grasp. From over his shoulder, the cat lets out a panicked noise. "Joker!! Joker, no!"
Ren sucks in a gasp as he grasps uselessly at the knife buried in his chest. His knees feel weak; he drops to them with a loud thud, almost knocking over a desk in the process. Drops of bright scarlet splatter the ground beneath him, staining the classroom floor red. Through the black splotches in his vision, he sees Mishima standing over him, arms folded like a bored child expecting to be entertained. Somehow, although he is gasping for breath, although each one feels wet and coppery with the tang of blood, he manages to slur. "F. . . fuck, are you k-- kidding me. . ."
"A shame," Mishima tuts, "I was having so much fun."
The last thing Ren hears over the sound of his heart beating loudly in his ears, the last thing he registers before everything goes black, is one final panicked cry and the feel of soft paw pads brushing against his cheek.
"JOKER!"
THINGS
- Skull, Panther, and talking cat = alliiiiiies?
- Actually feels kind of bad that talking cat (name unknown) was there for this! In a weird, "I didn't want him to see this" kind of way
- Actually less distressed about dying and more annoyed? Like, he got a papercut annoyed? Dying is familiar, constant, somewhat comforting even. WEIRD
- Fuck this Mishima guy and fUCK ANYONE WHO TRIES TO CONTROL HIM!!!
- Who is obviously not just Mishima he is obviously something worse but like what the fuck
- Gonna start craving nicotine now oops
- How did he know about Kawakami's next month lesson on classical archetypes. . . . . . .
- Late timeline memory means he's a surly asshole, just like he is in Fauxkyo, so no change in that behavior
Memory 2 - L'impératrice
"Oh. . . ----kun?" There's a note of surprise in her soft voice as she dusts the dirt from her fingers and stands, one hand drifting to her chest. She regards her leader curiously. "I wasn't expecting anyone to come up here after school let out. Do you need something?"
Ren's response is short and distant. "Just wanted to let you know that we're going to meet up in the hideout about an hour from now. Be there?"
There's bemusement on Haru's features. "Couldn't you have just texted me that information?"
There's silence on Ren's end, then a shrug as he turns on his heel to leave without another word.
"Wait!"
Haru interrupts him, and he winds up stopping in his tracks, head tilted over his shoulder to listen. Another pause, and Haru trots forward, primly folding her hands in front of her. "Why don't you stay for a little while? I could use a little bit of help de-weeding the vegetables." Her smile is warm and inviting, and somewhere inside, Ren feels himself both recoil and want to reach out to her all at once.
"I can't," is what he eventually says, turning away again. "But I'll catch you later?"
Something about that response is dissatisfying, because with a huff, Haru steps forward again and slips her fingers into Ren's palm, grasping his hand tightly. He feels every muscle in his body tense in one go, but instead of jerking away? Ren turn around to face her again, brows furrowed.
"You know, for the leader of the great Phantom Thieves, you sure are cold." There's a sharp, almost scolding note to Haru's voice, a frown that tugs down her lips and wrinkles her expression. "If I'm to be a part of this group, I at least want to understand my teammates better. And that includes you."
"There's nothing to understand," Ren insists, "I don't do this to make friends. I do this because--"
"Because you believe it's right?" Haru cuts him off before he can finish, and Ren snaps his mouth shut, his hardened expression softening. Does he still believe that?
"If that's true, then I don't think you're nearly as cold as you seem." Haru steps forward, slipping her other hand into his so she's grasping both lightly, staring up at him with determination etched onto her features. An expression he's seen her wear countless times in the past, in countless circumstances, in countless scenarios. A look that suits her so, so damn well. A look he'll never stop admiring. "I don't think someone who didn't care would go to such great lengths to make the world a better place."
Is that still true? Ren thinks to himself, I don't think it's true. Why am I still doing this in the first place? The world won't change, no matter what I do. And he barks out a wry, almost helpless laugh. "Well, --------san, in that case I'm not sure you know me very well at all."
"Hmmm. . . I suppose it's true we did just meet, but. . . " her fingers brush across his knuckles, gaze flicking down at their enjoined hands. "It's a strange sensation, but I feel as though I've known you for a very, very long time."
Something catches in Ren's throat. Silence follows, before he speaks, words full of gravel.
"What if I told you that we have?"
Haru glances up at him again, and he can tell she's searching his expression. Does she believe him? Or does she think he's crazy? She's never truly believed him before, writing off everything that he may have wryly joked about as his own dry humor, but. . . is this time different?
"Please stay and garden with me for a little while," she eventually speaks again, her fingers slipping from his, "It's far more relaxing than that other nasty habit of yours."
He can't help it. He laughs, and it's light and stupidly fond and he loves her so damn much, even if she doesn't remember that, and he hates himself just a little bit for caving to this. ". . . all right."
In his mind, he can hear the echoes of that goddamn voice he's come to loathe with all of this being. I am thou, thou art I--
In the end, he'll always be weak.
THINGS
- He's much like he is in Imeeji in this memory, i.e. cold and curt and closed off and trying not to get too close to anyone. No change in outward behavior
- The first. . . sign. . . that part of him may be inclined to "do the right thing?" But he's pretty confused about it in this memory and doesn't seem to believe that that's the reason he's doing this, nor that the "right thing" can actually be done.
- HE LOVES HARU SO SO SO SO MUCH AND HE IS SO WEAK TO HER GENTLE YET FIRM SCOLDING
- Why is there a voice in his head what the fuck
- Why. . . does he say that he really has known her a long time, despite them just meeting? Why does he have doubts about her believing him when he says this?
- This memory occurs somewhere in Loops 45 - 65
Memory 3 - L'empereur
"Fox, oh my god, is now really the time for this?!"
Ren-- no, Joker's-- voice is full of exasperation as the last few black wisps of their recently defeated Shadow fade into thin air. Around him, a boy in a pirate-esque outfit gives a high-five to a girl in red leather, while the talking cat (now. . . a bipedal talking cat???) stretches triumphantly. All of them are standing in what seems to be a distorted underground subway system. And they're on the tracks? Hm, this doesn't seem wise.
But most of the memory is focused on Fox, recognizable by his voice even though he is dressed like an outlaw with a kitsune mask. He is doing the finger frames thing, staring at Joker with intense concentration visible even behind said mask. "Nonsense," he says perfectly matter-of-factly, "True inspiration knows no time and place. It can strike even in the most heated of moments. Truly I never considered the depths of battle to be so beautiful, but after your stunning display, I must admit that my perspective has changed quite a bit."
"Okay, okay, we can stop now," Joker interrupts with a grouchy grumble as he waves a hand at Fox's finger frames. The other thief jerks back, arms falling to his sides as Joker brushes past. The bipedal cat has turned into a cat van now, with the pirate boy and panther girl already having boarded. "We need to get moving. I don't want to be down here all day."
Fox doesn't move, and Joker eventually stops in his tracks when he realizes this. "Fox, come on. Let's go."
"Your back."
Okay, now that seemed to come out of nowhere, and Joker's brows shoot up in skeptical surprise. "My what?"
There's something contemplative about the way Fox holds himself now. About the way he touches his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "You carry yourself quite differently outside of battle than you do within it. Such tension and rigidity doesn't suit you at all. The way you allow yourself freedom of movement and expression as you are cutting down your enemies seems far more natural. Perhaps that is more akin to the "real" you?"
And immediately, Joker feels his hackles raise at the implication, at the idea that Joker-- this responsibility that was thrust upon him forty or fifty or sixty fucking years ago, he's lost count by now-- is the real him. What the hell does Fox know about the real him, anyway? What the hell does anyone know about that?
But before he can say anything, before he can snap, Fox shakes his head. "No. . . that is, perhaps, what someone who is only accustomed to surface beauty sees." Languidly, Fox steps forward, until blue-gloved hands press themselves against Joker's cheeks, framing his face in his hands. Such disrespect for personal space would normally see Ren lashing out, but this time. . . ? This time he holds his breath and stares up at his teammate, hands curled into fists at his sides. "It's true that your displays are beautiful and magnificent, but perhaps a painting based on that single expression would be incomplete, no matter what else I poured into the portrait."
It's typical Fox, really. The one member of the team capable of seeing past that which is on the surface towards that which simmers underneath. It always makes Ren feel so damn exposed, and he fucking hates it.
(He doesn't actually hate it. Sometimes, he finds himself wishing more people were like Fox.)
Fox chuckles and pulls away, running his fingers through his bangs to sweep them aside. "Forgive me, I understand that was rather sudden. But I truly would enjoy speaking more about the subject when we've finished our mission, should you not mind. Perhaps over a bit of calming tea? It may assist in relieving some of that tension on your shoulders."
No, Ren's mind screams, Not this time. I won't. I can't.
". . . sure," is what he winds up saying instead, the response curt and a little surly, "Whatever. It's fine."
"Splendid!"
From the cat bus comes another voice, yelling at them and telling them to hurry their asses up already. Fox waves and trots towards the cat bus, leaving Joker to curse under his breath as that stupid ethereal voice echoes in his head again.
Way to go, asshole. You're doing it again.
THINGS
- FOX, HOWEVER, IS VERY GOOD HE LOVES FOX, FOX HAS A KEEN GAZE AND CAN SEE MANY THINGS OTHER PEOPLE CAN'T AND THAT IS WHY HE LOVES FOX
- More voices in his head stop
- Friendship is bad but he is so fucking weak and it's kind of pathetic (in his mind)
- This also takes place in Loops 45 - 65 or thereabouts
Memory 4 - Attempted Escape
The door eventually opens, and two detectives dressed in crisp suits enter, followed by a security guard in a blue uniform. The guard has a gun strapped to his waist, a weapon that Ren notices immediately, his gaze honing in on same like a pointed laser. He isn't surprised to see it.
"Amamiya Ren," one of the detectives says his name, and for the very first time it's said clearly and crisply so that everyone can understand it, "Huh. You're just some--"
"-- kid, right?" Ren cuts the detective off by finishing his statement, brows raised.
The detective starts once in surprise, before scowling and throwing his clipboard onto the table. He slams both hands against same, leaning forward until he's extremely infringing on Ren's personal space. "Watch your mouth, punk," he growls, voice low, "You need to fully appreciate th--"
"-- the gravity of the situation. Sure, right, whatever." Ren's voice is almost flippant as he stares the detective down, his gaze never once wavering.
The detective reels back, face turning red in anger. "I don't think you understand who is actually in control, here." Ren's expression still doesn't flicker, features peaceful as he twiddles his thumbs in his lap. The detective continues. "Anything you say that doesn't fully comply with what we want from you will only make your situation worse."
Ren's only response is to flash his captors a sharp smile, something dark flickering in his eyes. It seems to unsettle the detective he's staring at, who glances at his glasses-wearing detective cohort, and then the guard who has tucked himself into the corner of the room. Both of them look bewildered and shrug. The speaking detective growls, before whirling on Ren, hand lashing out to grab him by the collar and practically yank him across the table. "All right, you goddamn brat," he snarls, "It looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way."
But the words barely leave the detective's mouth before Ren moves.
He snatches at the wrist of the hand grasping his collar and yanks it forcibly back, twisting it at such an odd angle that something pops. The detective yells in pain, but Ren is already jerking the officer forward by his hair and slamming his face against the table with so much force it cracks.
"Not this time, asshole!"
The other two officers in the room are moving: the guard stumbling back as he fumbles for his gun, and glasses-guy rushing forward to subdue Ren while his cohort slumps to the ground, bleeding from the forehead. But Ren's reflexes are sharp from years of honed battle instincts in the Metaverse, and he vaults himself onto the table to give himself leverage. Glasses-guy lunges at him, but Ren drops to his back to avoid being grabbed and plants one foot squarely into the officer's face with a sharp crack, effectively sending him stumbling back with a shattered nose.
He doesn't spend any time basking in his victory. Two detectives are down, but the guard has drawn his weapon and is lifting it up with shaky hands, fingers fumbling with the trigger. There's a curse-- shit!-- and Ren swipes at something near his foot. There's a glint of metal, a streak of black against the dim room, a flash or red accompanied by a wet gurgling noise, and--
. . . Ren has the security guard pinned against the wall, the blade of a pocket knife he had smuggled in within the sole of his shoe (because he wanted to be prepared this time) embedded into his neck all the way up to the handle. It's not the first time he's felt warm blood seeping through his fingers, and it certainly won't be the last. He's a bit numb to it by now, and what will it matter if the timeline gets reset again, anyway? But--
-- this isn't how the Phantom Thieves do things, Amamiya. Is it?
Ren jerks back, yanking the weapon from the officer's neck, watching as he slumps against the wall with blood staining his uniform, eyes going vacant and dark. Ren lets out a tch and flicks some blood from his blade.
"You're just one unlucky bastard, aren't you. . .?"
A deep breath to steel himself, and he crouches down to grab the keys from the guard. He sprints to the exit, fumbles with the lock, and flings the door open to reveal the empty hallway beyond.
Freedom.
Ren wastes no time in bolting, feed pounding against the tile as he runs down the hall, rounds a corner, sees the elevators that lead to the outside world ahead of him, and for once he thinks-- I'm going to do it, I'm going to escape, this time will be different this time I'll--
There's a gunshot. A sharp crack that echoes off the walls and rattles Ren's brain. He stumbles forward.
There's an explosion of pain in his back, near his shoulders, and something warm soaks the back of his shirt. No! he screams to himself as he attempts to take another step forward, but his legs suddenly feel like jelly and his head is swimming. No, not again, not-- I'm so close! I'm so fucking close--!
Another gunshot. Another explosions of pain.
Ren trips forward onto his knees, bracing himself with his hands as drops of blood spatter onto the ground around him. He gasps for air, but it's so hard, he feels like there's fluid in his lungs and he can't breathe he can't breathe he can't breathe he can't breathe. . .
Everything goes dark as he slumps forward again, and all he can think as the world fades to black is-- I was so goddamn close.
THINGS
- He is pretty numb to killing and the value of life and there's a certain feeling of "it doesn't matter if I kill this person b/c the timeline is being reset anyway," BUT. There is a small dash of guilt accompanying the murder because "Phantom Thieves don't kill." So he feels bad, not because killing is morally wrong, but because he knows it is not in line with the "Phantom Thief way." Either way he now knows that he has killed people before, both in this memory and sometime prior to it. He knows he's capable and won't actually feel bad about killing in self defense beyond the whole "this is not how the thieves do things." It was a necessity and he had to, that's all there was to it!
- He has a very distinct, very clear thought about resetting timelines! So now he knows there's some weird timeline fuckery after all, that something is resetting them, and that possibly he has experienced an interrogation room incident before. . .? And that his attempts to escape said interrogation room are an attempt to escape whatever fate lies for him there.
- fuck da police
- WHO SHOT HIM??? WHO!!!!! He doesn't know! (it was Akechi)
- This takes place in loops 45 - 65 or thereabouts
Memory 5 - Nobody has to die this way
"CROW GOD DAMN IT IT'S CRAMPED IN HERE WILL YOU MOVE ALREADY?!"
. . . comically irritated Ren. Who, judging by the usage of the name "Crow," is probably currently Joker. A flash of white appears in the blackness, framed by splotches of red, and it's easy to see that both Joker and Crow are crawling through a cramped, narrow space. Probably an air vent (note: definitely an air vent). Crow is first in line with Joker tucked behind him.
And someone's dumb red cape got caught on a wayward screw.
"Have a little patience!" Crow shoots back, light irritation in his words as well. He shifts to try and tug his cape free, to no avail. But it's also clear that he's being rather cautious about it, trying to unsnag his cape without ripping it.
Behind him, knowing that there are other Phantom Thieves on the other side of the vent easily within earshot, Joker lowers his voice and deadpans. "Lost that fifty years ago and you know it. I'm suffocating, Crow. Get moving and let me out of this goddamn vent before I asphyxiate." A beat. "Oh. Wait. That's a new one. I wonder what it'd be like? I haven't actually been asphyxiated yet--"
"Wonderful. Charming. What a riveting and classy conversational topic." Crow deadpans in return, yanking a little harder on his cap. It's still not budging. "And if it makes you feel any better, I certainly don't enjoy being packed in an air vent like a can of sardines, either."
"Theeeeeen yank your cap free and keep crawling? Christ, Crow. The exit is just ahead and the others are waiting for us."
Exasperation. "Well, I don't see you offering to help, Joker!"
A pause.
"Yeah, okay."
"Wait, what are you--"
But before Crow can protest further, Joker plants both of his feet (HEELED BOOTS, MIND YOU) against Crow's butt and shoves as hard as he can. There's a surprised cry from Crow, the sound of fabric ripping, and suddenly. . .! A burst of light streaming in from the vent's opening as poor Crow is kicked out of it and into the room below.
A crash. Another pained yell. And then a feminine voice (Panther, for those who know her) piping up in sympathy.
"Oooooh, ouch. That one looked like it hurt! Are you okay, Crow?"
Joker pokes his head out of the vent to breath in the fresh, open air of a bank's underground vault room! And when he looks down, he sees Crow sprawled out on the ground, arms splayed to the sides and mask shoved up to the top of his head and two extremely dirty footprints ruining the pristine white of his suit pants.
Joker can't help it. He laughs, slips out of the vent, and lands gracefully right next to the downed Crow. Who is trying to scramble up to preserve his dignity. Around them, the other thieves-- Fox, Panther, Skull, Mona, and a girl who hasn't appeared in Ren's memories yet dressed in gunmetal gray biker clothing (Queen)-- watch in amusement.
"That's what you get for taking your dear sweet time, asshole," Joker shoots at Crow, before he extends a red-gloved hand to help him up. Crow glances up at him, still seated on the floor, a scowl wrinkling his features.
"Hey, I'm sure this is a great slapstick comedy moment, but we've got company!" Mona pipes in, just as a security guard dressed in riot gear runs towards them. The guard's features bubble and melt into black goo, which reform into two of these things, their weapons extended and at the ready. The other thieves turn away from Crow and Joker and adopt offensive stances.
"Hey," Joker addresses Crow again, but his playful impishness from earlier is gone. It's been replaced by something. . . searching. Something almost wary. "Are you ready to do this?"
Hesitation.
Crow reaches out to clasp Joker's hand tightly, mouth curving into a sharp smile.
"It's a bit different than what we've done so far, hm?"
"Yeah," Joker agrees as he hoists Crow to his feet, "Nobody has to die this way."
He almost misses it as he turns away to face the Shadows. The way uncertainty suddenly appears on Crow's features, like he can't take Joker's words as truth. It's fine, though. Seventy years of conditioning is tough to break, isn't it? But this time. . . it'll be different.
". . . of course."
And with that, Joker and Crow leap into the fray.
THINGS
- FRIEND. . . SHIP. . . WITH HIS GUY CALLED CROW?? Who is very clearly A, and Mars will remember from previous conversations with A that Crow is another name he goes by. There's definitely no doubting that they're on the same side in this memory, although. . . Mars's feelings are complicated. It's a friendship, and their banter is comfortable, but he feels like something is holding them back? And near the end there, Mars feels a bit of hesitation/wariness/distrust of Crow regardless. Based on the dialogue he can easily surmise that they have definitely not always been on the same side, and that working together is something extremely new for them. Which definitely explains the distrust and wariness.
- Even with these feelings, Mars feels a strong sense of "THIS TIME THINGS WILL BE DIFFERENT, AND NO ONE WILL DIE." Even Crow's clear uncertainty that this is true can't sway him.
- AND SPEAKING OF AKECHI FEELINGS, they aren't strictly feelings of fondness or positivity, either. They're complicated! Genuine annoyance coupled by the earlier mentioned distrust, and a low-key desire to punch Crow's face in (which is why he shoved him out of the vent). But there's also a weird feeling of some kind of connection that he can't shake. He can't say that he likes Crow in this memory. But he can't say that he hates him, either.
- this is Loop 70!!!
Memory 6 - Without Backup
"What pathetic scum. You really thought you could steal from me? King Kamoshida, the master of his castle? Don't make me laugh!"
Something connects hard with his gut, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to roll on his back. His fly open as he inhales a sharp, pained gasp, just in time to see a certain speedo-wearing, yellow-eyed king drop a foot onto his stomach, heels digging into his ribs to keep him pinned against the ground. All around the king are armored guards wielding swords, the blades glittering in the dim castle light. Ha. . . he thinks to himself, I'm in trouble. . .
"A lowlife like you is hardly worth dirtying the floor for, but I can't have trespassers getting away with committing crimes on my watch." King Kamoshida raises a hand and beckons one of the guards forward. The mook obliges, extending its blade so the sharp edge glides across the soft, exposed skin of Ren's neck. Ren swallows thickly, eyes slipping shut again. Fuck you, he thinks to himself, rage and hatred boiling in his stomach, Fuck you, King Kamo-fucking-shitbag--
He doesn't have the energy to say any of this aloud.
"Iiii'm thinking I might hang your head up at the entrance," the King continues, a bit of sadistic glee seeping into his words. "To ward off any future intruders. A lesson to any other petty crooks who try to rip me off! A single thief is absolutely nothing against the might of my kingdom!"
Somehow, Ren manages to croak, his words full of gravel. "B-- but a team of four sure as shit is." A team of four is more than enough, and he knows that from experience. "H. . . ha, I'm such-- an idiot. . ."
The Shadow jerks back, surprised at Ren's words, then enraged. He lifts a hand again, and the armor-clad mook draws its weapon high into the air, ready to strike. "Is that a threat?" The King growls, yellow eyes narrowed, "Do you have reinforcements somewhere?"
"N. . . no. Not this t-- time," Ren replies, and the wry laughter that follows is practically choked. This is. . . where he went wrong, isn't it? Coming here without backup. Without Skull, Panther, and Mona. Trying to do this all on his own. He opens his eyes one last time, his vision blurry, but he can see the weapon above him as clear as sunlight either way.
"Bullshit," the King snarls, and he gives a nod to his mook. "Do it. Get him out of my sight."
The sword comes down.
There's more pain, biting and sharp and awful, stretching across the line of his neck. And then. . . there is nothing.
THINGS
- Another death memory. This time by, uh. Beheading. Hm.
- He died because he went into the Palace alone without backup. . . . . . . . . .
- . . . . . . :(
- This is Loop 31
Memory 7 - A rapscallion, a rascal, a rake, a rogue
This time, he finds himself seated in her computer chair, Morgana curled lazily in his lap as he flips through a gaming magazine. He's. . . different in this memory. His hair is shorter and neater, and he's wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He almost looks exactly like--
"Mmmmm. . . huh. . .?"
Futaba's groggy voice breaks through the silence, and Ren's gaze snaps up from the magazine, which he flips shut almost immediately. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he teases, voice soft but light, a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. "Have a nice nap?"
There's a pause. A moment where Futaba blinks blearily at her ceiling, then at Ren.
And then she shrieks.
"WAUGH!!"
In her surprise and her instinctive attempt to escape, Futaba winds up rolling off the bed entirely. Ren doesn't seem bothered or surprised-- more sympathetically amused than anything. "Whoa, whoa, take it easy, tiger," he scolds as he nudges Morgana from his lap. Behind him, resting on Futaba's computer desk, are two cups of coffee. Ren wastes no time in grabbing one, scooting the wheeled chair forward, and offering it to the frazzled Futaba. "Here. This'll wake you up."
Futaba stares at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, but the scent of coffee is alluring even for her. Hesitantly, she reaches out to take the cup from him, cradling it between her hands. "U-uh. . . um. U-um. . .!"
Ren patiently arches a brow, and asks the question he knows she wants to voice but can't. "You want to know why I'm here?"
Futaba doesn't give a verbal response, instead nodding her head up and down vigorously in affirmation. She still kind of looks like a tiny deer caught in a pair of headlights, but the softer Ren is towards her, the more she relaxes.
"I asked Boss if I could keep an eye on you, just in case you woke up today." Ren leans back in his chair, one arm slung over the back as he grabs that second cup of coffee for himself. "You've been out for a couple of weeks now."
"Oh. . ." Futaba breathes, gaze flickering down towards the murky black liquid in her cup. ". . . sheesh. I really must've been running on empty. That's what happens when I forget to plug in before using up my battery."
That draws a soft, huffed laugh from Ren, who adjusts his glasses and takes a sip of his drink. His response is casual, almost nonchalant in its delivery. "Sounds like you should invest in a portable charger."
"Y-- yeah. Hey, wait. . .!" Futaba's brow furrows and her nose wrinkles as she stares at the coffee cup in her hands, and then Ren. "You brought two cups of coffee here? Did you know I was going to wake up today?"
A nonchalant, unbothered shrug from Ren. "Call it a hunch." A pause. "Or call me psychic." And that last comment he punctuates with a VERY mysterious wag of his fingers.
"Jiiiiii. . ." And yes, Futaba does say that aloud, but she finally takes a sip of her own drink. ". . . cold. . ."
"Hm. Well, I did let it sit for a while," Ren replies contemplatively, mouth tugging downward in a frown. "I bet Boss has some hot coffee prepared for us back at Leblanc, though." And that's a bet he knows he'd win.
"Yeah. . ." Futaba finally pulls herself off of the ground and stands, though she holds herself tensely and uncertainty. "Um, today's the anniversary of the day mom died, so. . ."
"So he makes coffee to celebrate?" Ren phrases that as a question, but it isn't one.
"Yeah," Futaba doesn't seem to think anything of it, instead nodding as she places her own cup of cold coffee back on the computer table. Hesitation. "Hey. I want to go see him."
"Oh yeah?" With another hint of a smile, Ren stands, looks down at Morgana, and shares with him a knowing nod. "We could go together, if you'd like."
"Um. . . yeah! I guess, since you're here already. Creepily watching me sleep and all."
"What can I say? I'm a rapscallion."
Futaba's response is immediate. "A rascal."
"A scoundrel."
"A scamp."
"A miscreant."
Futaba points to her eyes, then points to Ren, cheeks puffing out in a playfully suspicious manner. "A knave!"
"Oh, please, you two," Morgana finally speaks, flicking his white-tipped tail behind him. "We have important things to do today, don't we? Stop fooling around, and let's go find the Chief!"
"Waugh!" And naturally, at the sound of Morgana's voice, Futaba jerks back. "Kitty?!"
Ren can't help himself-- he covers his mouth with his knuckles and laughs, light and airy and breathless. "Yeah yeah, sure, Morgana. Let's get going."
He likes to think that waking up this way-- to a fresh cup of (cold) coffee and a bit of lighthearted banter-- is far better than waking up by herself.
THINGS
- He's nice
- . . . . . . . he's nice????!??!
- ???!?!?!!!?!?!?
- THIS CAN'T BE HIM??? WHO IS THIS MYSTERIOUS SOFT PERSON!!!!!
- a whoooole lot of cognitive dissonance between the person Mars is now and the person in this memory
- This memory takes place in loops 2 - 10
Memory 8 - Fighting Back
His back slams against the station hallway, the impact blasting the air from his lungs. Ren lets out a sharp, pained gasp, eyes flying open just in time to catch the face of his assailant. A familiar, red-eyed detective, dressed in his usual brown uniform, shoving the flat edge of the barrel of his gun right up against Ren's neck to keep him pinned. Unlike the last memory he had a Crow, there is nothing light or humorous about this interaction. The sneer that cuts through Crow's expression is sharp and manic, shining brilliantly like a dangerous knife. And all Ren can focus on in the moment are his fight or flight instincts.
"Fuck off!"
He snarls, the words low in his throat, as he slams his heel against Crow's instep. His assailant chokes back a pained cry of his own, which gives Ren an opening for a counter. An opening that he takes advantage of by grabbing Crow's wrist and driving his knee into the other Persona-user's gut.
Crow crumbles like a marionette with his strings cut. Ren wrests the gun from Crow's grasp and adds insult to injury by catching Crow's jaw in a firm kick, which sends the detective skidding across the hallway, putting a much more comfortable distance between them.
. . . and it's at this point that Ren takes a moment to just. . . breathe.
He's never been here before. He's never escaped from the interrogation room before. He's never been able to fight Akechi, to defend himself, to protect his life. The firearm feels heavy in his grasp, and on instinct his fingers curl around the handle as he takes a step back. A voice in his head tells him to get the fuck out of there, now that he has the chance. What is he waiting for? He's free! He's finally fucking free, so why is he sticking around?!
From across the hallway, Akechi laughs.
"Aaaah. . . not bad, Amamiya," the detective speaks in between low, unsettling chortles. He lifts his gaze towards Ren, eyes gleaming even as he wipes a small trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. Ren feels his hackles raise and his own gaze narrow at the sight of that expression. And yet, his feet remain firmly frozen to the tile floors.
Akechi's eyes flick from Ren to the weapon in his hands, mouth curving even more sharply up at the corners. "Are you going to kill me, now that you have me right where you want me?"
"No," comes Ren's quick and emphatic response, ". . . I'm not like you."
Akechi barks out an unfriendly laugh. It feels like someone rang a gong right next to Ren's ears. "That's fucking rich," he drawls, contempt dripping from every word, "Coming from someone who would've shot me ten times over by now if looks could kill."
"I'm not like you," Ren hisses in return, his grip on the gun so tight his knuckles are white.
"Aren't you?" Akechi pushes himself to his feet, his stance unsteady as he wobbles and then catches himself against the hallway wall. "Or. . . maybe you're not." With another contemptuous sneer, Akechi takes an uneven step towards Ren. "Maybe that's how we're different. Maybe you just don't have the guts."
A barely audible click echoes off the walls, and in an instant, Ren is holding the firearm out in front of him, barrel trained on Akechi. The detective stops in his tracks, something springing to life in his eyes. Ren finds that he doesn't want to think about what that means at all.
"It's not about guts," he manages to say between heavy breaths, but somehow, his words are still even. Despite the way his head is swimming. Despite the way his body aches. Despite the way his blood boils. "It's about not stooping to your level. You're a monster."
Akechi laughs, the sound hollow and unhinged. "You don't know the first thing about me, Amamiya."
"I know enough," Ren shoots back, and he takes a step away from Akechi, the weapon lowering to his side. And boy, does he know enough. How many times has he seen Akechi's sneering features before having a bullet put through his head? How many times has he had to pretend to be on good terms with the polite detective who hangs out at Leblanc, knowing full well that obnoxiously pleasant demeanor was a front? How many fucking times has he let Akechi near his team, while simultaneously wanting to rip him to shreds to prevent him from touching a single hair on their heads?
. . . yeah. He thinks he knows enough. And even if Akechi doesn't realize it, even if this Akechi doesn't remember any of it, the sins of the past timelines won't be forgiven that easily.
"Stand down, Akechi," Ren mutters as he takes another step back, turning slightly on his heel as if to leave. No matter how his blood roils whenever he has to deal with this lying detective, this time it's his victory. He doesn't need anything more than that. "You've lost. It's over."
And Akechi laughs again, hysterical and amused.
"Haha! Is that what you think?! You naive piece of shit! You don't even know half of what's going on, here!"
Ren stops in his tracks. Behind him, Akechi stumbles forward, still using the wall to brace himself.
"How many years has it been? Thirty? Fourty? And you've only just now figured out how to fight back?" Akechi mocks, and Ren whirls around on his heels to face him again, entire body stiff. "You're a slow learner, Amamiya! Fitting for attic trash, I suppose. But now that you've finally decided to be a challenge, do you really think I'm going to let you go that easily?!"
The entire hallway is deathly silent as Ren's foggy brain catches up with the conversation.
". . . what?"
Akechi is close enough to reach out and grasp the front of his shirt now, and Ren is far too stunned to fight back. The glint of that smile, the sinister edges of that expression-- they're captivating, so much so that they petrify him in place.
"Oh, Joker," Akechi drawls, and he fists his hand into the other wild card's shirt, grip tight, "Haven't you realized it yet? We're connected. You can escape today, but there will always be another tomorrow."
Something snaps. Something else cracks in the air, sharp and sudden. Akechi jerks back, his fingers falling away from Ren's shirt as red begins to blossom on his jacket, right over his heart. The detective glances down, mouth opening and closing again as blood seeps through his clothing, already dripping to the floor at his feet.
And in front of him stands Ren, both hands shakily clutching the firearm, smoke curling from the tip of the barrel.
. . . Akechi laughs again. He pitches forward.
And Ren catches him as he falls.
THINGS
- Akechi is a little creepily obsessive in that rival kind of way
- Ren HATES Akechi with EVERY FIBER OF HIS BEING
- But in that moment Akechi says they're connected, some part of him knows that it's true
- He wants so badly to be nothing like Akechi
- But as this memory proves, they're entirely too similar in some respects, and he fucking hates that
- So if Akechi is the monster. . . what does that make him?
- WITH REGARDS TO A: since A isn't his Crow and Joker has made it VERY CLEAR that he should be careful not to conflate them, he's gonna draw a pretty firm line in the sand between the Crow he remembers and A! But it'll be hard not to allow for some bleedover, which probably means MORE RIVAL ANTAGONISM in A's direction, even if not all of it is as hate-filled as the feelings he felt for the Crow he knows. FRIENDLY (????) ANTAGONISM, UP.
- But also, if his Crow is this crazy, and he's kind of seen A's crazy. . . . . . . . . . UNSURE FACES.
- Also, he can't forget that memory he got (which clearly takes place after this) where he and his Crow were on good. . . ish?? Terms??? WHAT IS THEIR RELATIONSHIP, EXACTLY???
- This is Loop 43
Memory 9 - Crepes
Those who know North will recognize the blonde-haired, pigtailed girl standing right outside a crepe shop, her bag slung over her shoulder and one hand pressed against the display glass as she examines her options. Ren stands next to her-- it's a later memory, obvious by the way his hair is disheveled and long, pulled into the messy ponytail that has become so typical for him in fake Tokyo-- one hand resting in his pocket. His gaze is trained on his phone, thumb idly scrolling through a news site on the screen.
At Ann's question, he shrugs. "I don't know. Get whatever you want." His response is dull and distracted, which causes Ann to push away from the crepes and puff at him, brow wrinkled.
"Geez, you're no fun!" she responds with a pout, though said pout only lasts a moment before she's eyeing the crepes again. "Well, in that case, I'll just get both!"
"And do ten pushups at the gym later to make up for it?" Comes Ren's quick and witty reply, the corner of his mouth actually twitching in vague, suppressed amusement.
"Yep!" Ann doesn't seem bothered; she does a little fistpump before placing her crepe order-- chocolate and strawberry-- and beams at Ren when she's finished. "And you're going to do them with me, Mr. It's-Your-Fault-I'm-Buying-Two-And-Not-One."
"Nah," Ren replies, and he slips his hand into his pocket. There are no glasses for him to adjust, but he lifts his hand to his nose anyway, fingers brushing against the bridge as though he were adjusting said glasses. "I'd rather be fat and lazy than put that much effort into anything."
"Uh huh," Ann rolls her eyes, before she reaches out to pat Ren's belly soundly. The contact is warm. Even now, years upon years upon years later, Ren craves the touch of his Phantom Thieves, even if he doesn't show it.
On instinct, he stiffens.
Ann pauses, before she draws her hand back and stares at Ren, her playful expression shifting into something gently contemplative. Ren stares right back at her, breath hitching in his throat, because he feels like he knows better than anyone just how much Ann sees. Even when she's pretending to be oblivious, her gaze still cuts through him like a knife. He'd even place bets on what she's thinking right now, even if she doesn't verbalize it.
You always seem to tense when I get close to you. Why is that?
. . . the moment passes quickly, and Ann brightens again as she accepts her two crepes from over the counter. "Well! You're going to have to whether you like it or not, bucko."
Ren finds tension evaporating from his shoulders. Tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying until it's gone. It's just like her, to silently acknowledge a problem and then push past it with cheer and encouragement. He wouldn't expect anything less from her. He arches a brow at Ann, skepticism etched into his features. "Am I?"
"Yup!" and just like that, Ann shoves the chocolate crepe in Ren's direction. "You're going to have to work off all these calories somehow."
There's a significant pause, the silence heavy with everything that isn't being said in this very moment. Ren exhales sharply, head tilting forward.
He reaches out to take the crepe.
THINGS
- This takes place in loops 45 - 65 or thereabouts
Memory 10 - Fishing
- This memory takes place at the Ichigaya fishing pond! Very early on in the timeline, as Ren's hair is short and he is wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. His temperament is much more even, too-- calm and collected, without his usual buzzing anxiety or irritation.
It's July 3 and sweltering hot, and Ren finds himself seated atop a crate next to a blond friend (Ryuji) with a fishing pole in hand, staring idly at a very still pond. This doesn't surprise him, however; in his memory, he and Ryuji were never able to catch much here.
Ryuji stretches and yawns a jaw-cracking yawn, complaining about the lack of bites for the day. Ren's mouth twitches in amusement and reminds him that patience is a virtue, and Ryuji shoots back that Ren is starting to sound like his mom. The two share a laugh before lapsing back into a very comfortable, warm silence that doesn't feel awkward at all. There's a beat, before Ren reaches into his pocket and tosses a small, wrapped box in Ryuji's direction. Ryuji nearly drops his fishing pole to catch it, shooting his friend a bewildered look, before Ren wishes him a "happy birthday."
Ryuji stares for a bit, mouth agape, because when he had invited Ren to go fishing he certainly hadn't mentioned with as his birthday. Ren knows this; he learned about said birthday in a previous timeline and is 100% taking advantage of that knowledge. With a playful rib nudge, he urges Ryuji to open the box. Tentatively, he does so.
It's not much of a gift. It's a fairy cheap sports watch fitness tracker with a comfortable band. The kind that monitors heart rate and calories lost and all sorts of good things, but nowhere near the top of the line model of same. Ryuji gapes some more and asks how Ren knew, and Ren replies with a mysterious smile that a little birdie told him, and that of COURSE he had to get the most jock gift for his most jock friend.
Another pause, and Ryuji guesses that the birdie was his mom, but his mouth is curving into a sheepish, happy smile. The two share another laugh, and the memory fades out.
THINGS
- A second glimpse of how he was before things TOTALLY went to shit. It'll be just as cognitively jarring as it was the first time, but he'll also be able to accept it more because he'll realize he is. . . starting to see this side of himself a little more.
- This takes place in loops 2 - 10 or thereabouts
MEMORY 11 - Studying
- Makoto and Akira are in Cafe Leblanc (the first time Ren remembers this cafe), surrounded by study materials. There's a sense of. . . comfort and home in being in in the cafe, in being surrounded by the scent of coffee grinds and curry spices. It's a deep feeling of belonging that Ren can't really attribute to anything else. It's an early timeline memory again: short hair, glasses, calmer demeanor, etc etc.
Ren seems distracted as Makoto goes over some math problems, his gaze unfocused and pensive as he rests his chin in his palm and stares at the coffee beans in jars behind the counter. Makoto notices and reaches out with her pencil to poke him in the forehead, telling him to focus. Ren startles, jerking back in his seat, and Makoto raises an appraising brow at him, asking him if he's all right. Ren smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck, brushing things off by saying he didn't sleep well the night before.
Makoto scolds him (very motherly, he thinks. . . it's sweet) for not sleeping well before exams, informing him that a good night's rest and a healthy breakfast are two key components to succeeding. He can't help it when his mouth twitches in amusement, and he finally leans over to see what it is Makoto is studying.
It's some kind of math problem that he knows, from previous time loops, won't be on the test. He informs her of this, and Makoto takes a moment to stare at him in surprise, before the surprise fades into suspicion. How does he know!! Has he been sneaking a look at the exams in the teacher's lounge?
Ren pauses.
And then he replies in a deadpan that he's psychic, which causes Makoto to break out into an amused huff of laughter. "Well, Mr. Psychic, in that case if you don't ace these I'm going to be extremely disappointed in you." And she reaches out to poke his forehead with her pencil again, before tapping the eraser against her notebook. Focus.
Ren rubs his forehead, mentally scolds himself for slipping up, however mild the slip up might've been. . . and leans forward to pay attention to Makoto's instruction. After a few moments of this, he suddenly blurts out-- "thank you, Makoto."
Makoto seems surprised. Thank you for what? Ren doesn't answer with anything other than a rueful smile and a shake of his head. The memory fades out.
THINGS
- Another early timeline memory, but Mars will be able to feel the exhaustion a little more deeply in this one. He'll be able to pinpoint it as the reason he slipped up with Makoto and was more blunt/honest about the things he knew were going to happen.
- This takes place in time loops 11 - 25 or thereabouts.
MEMORY 12 - Coffee Dad
- A late timeline memory. Mars's hair is long, he's ditched the glasses, and his appearance is rumpled and disheveled. It begins with him coming down the stairwell from his attic bedroom in Leblanc, and he makes a beeline for the front door, not even bothering to say hello to the cafe owner (Sojiro) behind the counter. Sojiro, of course, is having nothing of it. He speaks up-- "where are you going this late, kid?"
Ren stops, a jolt of something pained streaking through his chest, like he was trying to avoid this interaction. He plucks the (smoking) cigarette from his mouth and turns to face Sojiro. "Just out."
That's not an acceptable answer, and Sojiro's gaze flickers to the cigarette. He scolds Ren for smoking indoors, to which Ren shoots back that Sojiro does so all the time. A pained look crosses the older man's expression, the look of someone who realizes they may have messed up, provided a bad example, or not been attentive enough, or. . . something else. It jolts at Ren's heart, and a pang of guilt flashes through him. He doesn't want to make this man-- the man who took him in, has been so kind to him, who gave him a home and a place to belong-- feel like this.
Ren's gaze flickers away. There's silence before Sojiro speaks again, words purposefully even. He reminds Ren that he has his entire life ahead of him, and that he shouldn't be throwing it down the drain like this. And then. . . he asks, point blank, how he can help.
Many things cross through Ren's mind at that point, but one thing is most prominent-- you can't. But he doesn't say that aloud.
He looks down at his cigarette, sighs, and puts it out in an ash tray on the counter. And then, a bit hesitantly, he asks Sojiro if he needs someone to man the cashier in the cafe today.
It's small. It's barely there. But. . . Sojiro smiles.
THINGS
- A LATE TIMELINE MEMORY, this is going to be the least cognitively jarring for Mars. But he's also going to focus on the feeling of family and belonging he has both in this cafe and with this older man. He may not remember specifically what Sojiro did for him, but he feels. . . a father-son connection there that he doesn't want to fuck up, no matter how jaded or angry or tired or exhausted he may be. And that's why, at the end of the memory, he lets Sojiro help.
- This takes place in loops 45 - 65 or thereabouts