A/N: Kept you waiting, huh?

Timely references aside, sorry for the long wait on this one, everyone! I'll go a little more into it in the post-notes, but otherwise, be sure to enjoy!
We've got some character moments in here, nothing too meaty, but hopefully worth the wait!

Chapter 4: Sides and Coins

The meal with Junpei had left Makoto exhausted. The guy's nice and all, but the amount of energy coming off him. I might call it an early night. As much as Makoto wants to feel the dense atmosphere of his hidden hour cling to him, sleep is just that little bit more alluring. Plus, it's not the same if I can't go outside. Gonna have to find a way around this curfew…

"Welcome back."

Makoto looks up as he steps into the dorm lobby and spies Mitsuru sitting prim and upright on one of the couches. Y'know, those are meant for lounging. She has a small book in her hand. The cover is unadorned, save for silver lettering on the spine. The senior looks over to him and smiles that same detached smile. I think that's the only way she knows how to smile. "Hey there, Miss Kirijo. I hope I'm not too late?"

"Not at all," she replies coolly, "Curfew is still a couple of hours away." Thanks for reminding me, senpai. "Besides, I'm sure you've had a long day. How did you find Gekkoukan?"

"You know… it's impressive. The faculty seem competent. I think I'm going to learn a lot." Makoto cringes at the well of pride on Mitsuru's face, though it doesn't last all that long. Yeah, I know her angle. Study serious, probably kisses the ground the teachers walk on.

Mitsuru nods at him and crosses her legs as her eyes return to the book momentarily. Makoto tries to sneak a look at the name but can't quite make it out. He also tries not to sneak a look at his senpai's legs, with an equal amount of success, "Mm, well that's good to hear. Understand, the curriculum is advanced, but I'm sure that you will be able to handle it." Deep red eyes leave the page again, and her expression seems warmer now, "That said, if you are ever in need, please reach out to the Student Council. We will always be happy to assist."

Oh yeah, Junpei did bring her up when talking about the Student Council. In his experience, council members fell into three categories. 'Lazy students who need something on their resume,' 'power hungry tyrants,' or 'absolute suck up to authority.' Oddly enough, Mitsuru doesn't seem like any of those. Well, perhaps a tinge of the second and third one, but she gives off enough authority of her own. "You're on the Student Council, senpai? That's admirable!" I can blow wind up someone with the best of them.

"Thank you, Yuki. I actually plan to run for President in the coming year." She tosses her hair a little at that, "I would like to think that I can support the student populace in their endeavours."

Makoto gives her a warm, friendly smile, "Well, I can tell you that you've got my vote, Miss Kirijo."

Mitsuru chuckles and waves her free hand at him, "I do appreciate it, but take the time to look at my opposition. You will find them all competent and respectable. I only ask you vote for who you believe is the right fit."

How very humble of you. "Aw, but who could be a better fit than you? After all, your family helped build the school in the first place!" Makoto doesn't expect her reaction to be as frosty as it is. The scarlette's shoulders slump a touch and she lets out a quiet sigh. She looks away from him, towards the floor. Oops. Think I might've pushed in the wrong way.

She shakes her head, "I understand many students may be thinking that way. Personally, I would rather they vote on our value as leaders rather than our… bloodlines." The book drops somewhat, allowing Makoto to make out more of her expression. Not quite ashamed, but certainly reflective.

Huh… not a fan of her own family? Maybe… Still, gotta try and recover this somehow! "Oh uh… sorry, senpai. I didn't mean to make you upset." A little lie won't hurt. "I've actually heard a few people talking about the elections. They all were talking about how smart you are, and how inspired you make them feel."

Mitsuru raises her head to look at him. She squints for a short second in suspicion, but her pale skin colours just a touch, "I-Is that so? Well… thank you for letting me know, Yuki." She clears her throat and regains her posture. Might have helped. "I don't mean to keep you, Yuki. I imagine you're quite tired."

"It's alright, Miss Kirijo. It's nice talking to you." He lets just a smidge of bashfulness slip into his look. Question is, should I go for meeker, or more confident? Maybe the latter since she's got a good bit of presence. Beneath his mask, a grin tugs at his lips. This might require some thought. A challenge. How very… fun.

The colour that had tinted Mitsuru's cheeks has faded, but she nods at him, "And the same to you, Yuki." She returns to her book, her eyes chasing the words across the page. Seems the conversation is over.

Alas, curiosity buzzes in Makoto's mind. Knowledge is power, after all. The kind of media people enjoy is valuable information, both as a talking point and a point of reference for their personality. A memory comes back to Makoto, where he had been able to force a bond with one of his bullies based around a stupid kid's show they watched. It had taken a few months of gifts, messages, and conversation away from his cronies to bring them around.

Eventually, he managed to get them to apologise to him, and even go so far as to condemn and insult his former friends. Makoto of course later went to said friends and revealed the information to them with a phone recording. It was oh so easy to trick people once they think they've been redeemed in your eyes. All it took after that was an invite to a comfortably quiet location and Makoto was able to watch his 'friend' get beaten to a bloody pulp. Even better was the look of betrayal and anguish on their face, directed at both Makoto and their old friends. A small, quiet part of him despaired at the expression. A much louder part delighted in it.

Of course, the attackers later turned on Makoto once they had ensured their old ally wouldn't be moving any time soon. But the experience had been entirely worth it.

He leans forward and squints to make out the lettering, Sen- Mitsuru's fingers shift on the spine, blocking the rest. Tch. He tilts his head and leans a little more. Sense an- Again, another shift. Oh, come on! He scowls, but freezes when he hears a soft, "Ahem."

His eyes flick up to meet Mitsuru's, who is staring at him with a blend of confusion and amusement, "Oh uh… Hello?"

"Can I help you at all, Yuki?" A little sliver of ice works its way into the look, and Makoto can't pull his eyes away. The ice flickers along his skin, rising goosebumps on his forearms.

"I um… I…" Get it together! He scrambles to make sure that Ordinary Face holds strong, "I was just wondering… what you were reading?"

"Ah." Mitsuru blinks and turns the book to look at the spine, "So that's what you were looking at." Her cheeks colour again, "It's a… classic story. It's rather engaging if you must know." She moves her hand so that he can read the spine.

Sense and Sensibility? Makoto had read a few books in his time, but the name didn't ring a bell. "What's it about?"

Colour seeps into Mitsuru's cheeks, and she shifts on the couch. Is she… uncomfortable? That's new. "N-Nothing important, really. A simple conflict. Ah…" She glances towards the stairs, and back to Makoto, "Apologies, but I'm sure you are tired. I do not wish to be responsible for you not getting enough rest." She again turns to the book, her fringe hiding her eyes.

Guess that's as much as I'm going to get out of her. Still, that was an interesting reaction. Note to self, look up that book at some point. He gives her a nod, "I appreciate it, Miss Kirijo. I'll head to bed now." He bows in her direction, and then makes his way to his room. With his face turned away, a mischievous smile breaks through the mask. Oh, she is fun.

The first thing Makoto does after stepping back into his room is lock the door behind him. Ordinary Face falls away, leaving his mouth downturned, his eyes tired and an air of grumpiness around him. Fortunately, none were around to have the pleasure of his company, so it was just him and himself. "What a day…"

He takes the time to change into his pyjamas, a loose top and pair of bottoms which are soft to the touch, with a red check pattern on a cream background. One of his favourites, really. Next come the lenses, after which he drapes a hand towel over the mirror to cover it up. Much easier. He washes his face, dries it, then turns back to the room.

Work to be done. Ugh. Over the next hour, he unpacks his boxes, hanging his clothes in the closet and adding a few meagre decorations to the room. His calendar is hung on the wall behind his bed, flipped to the appropriate month. Underneath that is a small houseplant in a clay pot, long dead. A couple of throw pillows are set on the bed, splashes of colour here and there. They are tattered and worn, but he's kept them safe enough over the years. A small plush toy of a lamb is set next the pillow he lays his head on. He can't remember where he got it, but it always seemed important.

Lastly, he crosses the room and opens the curtains on one of the windows, then opens the window itself and leans his head out. Hm… While only on the second floor, the drop is decent. He looks back to the desk, and the slim rope lying atop it. Not long enough… I'll have to get more. Plus, even if he did drop without one, there'd be no way to get back into the building without going back through the main entrance.

Still, a jump without a rope might be just as good an idea as any. He inspects the drop a little more and starts to feel the sparks of a fire within him. Would it do the job? Maybe if he landed on his head. A broken neck or a crushed skull and then blessed darkness. Makoto frowns and turns his head to look up to the top of the building. Roof would be better… He sighs, stepping away from the window. A fall from here has a high chance of not killing me. Makoto gives a wry laugh, Pretty hard to die when you're paralysed. At that thought, the sparks die out, leaving him as empty and cold as usual.

Makoto goes to close the curtains, but then pauses. Something's not right. A whisper in the back of his head, spoken in lilting melody. Something had caught his eye as he looked out of the window. What was it? He presses his face to the glass and scans around. There. He had missed it originally since his focus was on the ground immediately beneath his window. But out on the street, underneath one of the streetlights stands a figure. Their head is rocked back, and they gaze at the yellowed light casting down on them. Thanks to that light Makoto can see that their eyes are bugged and their mouth slack and open, as though the figure was trying to swallow the glow. A line of spittle shines on their cheek, running down their chin.

Addict. Tch. He watches the figure for a little longer. They sway ever so slightly with each breath. Their arms dangle from their torso, as though they were long dislocated. In fact, their whole body looks as though a string is attached to their forehead, and it being pulled from somewhere above is the only thing keeping them upright. Now that's just sad. Makoto toys with the idea of throwing something at them or going back downstairs and mentioning it to Mitsuru. But, seeing as neither would likely achieve much, he draws the curtains closed and puts it out of his mind.

As he steps away, his vision passes over the notebook on his desk, and Makoto pauses. Suppose I better write something at least. Without sitting, he opens the notebook to the next blank page and seizes a chewed biro from a pen organiser. The pen touches paper, and it takes him only a few moments to start writing. It is a short entry, compared to the events of his day. Simple bullet points. Easy to categorise.

One of his therapists had suggested this as some sort of 'recovery tool.' He had done it for so long that the habit just stuck. But he had been advised to write in the same way that he thinks. That was advice he ignores. His entries were always stark and to the point. He was meant to 'let his emotions flow from him, to the pen, and to the page.' Whatever the hell that means. For a long time, the book had simply been a basic record of events and a reminder of the unhealthy shifting of his mind.

Makoto looks to the digital clock sitting on top of his television. Time marches on, and midnight is on the approach. I could stay up and actually enjoy some of it… But the extra hour of sleep is far too tempting. He closes the notebook and sets the pen on top of it. He glances at the roman numeral on the front of the book. So many already. I'm going to need a library for them eventually.

He flops onto his bed. Cocoon mode… engage! He rolls until he is sufficiently burrito'd and closes his eyes. Man, long day. That dream this morning, the dumb teacher, the dumb speech. Makoto grumbles at the thought. Still, getting a free meal from Junpei was nice, even if the guy seems like something of a tool. Perhaps literally. He yawns and puts the thought aside. He's a fun guy but really, what could he use Junpei for other than a meat-shield? As he mulls over possibilities, Makoto finds his thoughts start to elude him, each one becoming more fragmented and faded than the last. Before too long, he falls into a deep and dreamless sleep, even as the room around him shifts to shades of gloomy forest green as the Dark Hour descends upon him.

Downstairs, in the lobby, Mitsuru sits on the couch, her nose still in the book. She's got herself propped up on an elbow, her legs up on the couch next to her. One hand cups her cheek, the other holds the book "And what will you do now, Elinor…?" She murmurs to herself, eyes flicking over the words hungrily.

Of course, she would ordinarily chase more academic pursuits and literature. But this had been mentioned as a 'must-read for young ladies' by one of the Kirijo maids. Taking the recommendation, Mitsuru acquired herself a copy and soon found herself lost to the scandalously romantic twists within the story. Makoto arriving earlier on surprised her, but thankfully it seemed as though he didn't recognise the title of the book. It wouldn't do for her junior to start getting ideas in their head about what kind of media she enjoys.

"Comfy, Mitsuru?"

Mitsuru turns to see a young, silver-haired man in a red cardigan-vest approaching her from the stairs. He's got an amused smirk on his face, though it doesn't seem particularly poorly intended. The crimsonette smoothly returns to her more 'proper' seating position, and crosses her legs, "Good evening, Akihiko. Is there something you need?"

The boy nods at the front door and pulls his hands out of his pockets. Rather than his usual leather gloves, his hands are clad in tight wraps, with studs by the knuckles, which he taps together, "Not much, I was just going to head out and get some training in." He grins and rolls his shoulders, throwing a few test punches at the air, "I've been stayin' inside and studying for the last few Dark Hours, and nothing's happened. I don't want to go stale."

Mitsuru sighs and shakes her head, but a dry smile sits on her lips. She knows well how restless Akihiko can get without a chance to test himself, "Are you really not content to wait for trouble to find you? Must you charge in to find it yourself?"

"You know as much as I do that it's way more fun to do it that way." He gives her a cocksure grin, "It'd be boring just to wait around, right?" He crosses his arms, stretching them out and tests a few more punches, "Besides, I haven't been able to properly put some work in since we stopped going to Tartarus."

The two of them fall quiet at that. Akihiko's expression clouds with pensiveness as he continues his stretching. Mitsuru looks away and lets out a small sigh. I know, Akihiko. The two of them make a formidable team in combat, but their third member had the raw power and strength to support them. Without him, Tartarus would likely be the end of us both. If anything were to happen, who knows what would become of us. It is not worth the risk. She says none of this aloud since they both share that knowledge already, and it doesn't need to be reinstated. When the decision was first made, Akihiko put up some fight, but he came around before long. He always does.

Glancing back to Akihiko, Mitsuru watches his face twist in varying expressions of discomfort, and he stares directly at the door. Perhaps it would be best to move along. She clears her throat and he blinks, looking to her expectantly, "Well, in any case, please do be careful. You should know that your fists can't solve every problem."

Akihiko meets her attempt at an easy smile with an equally convincing smile of his own, but it doesn't reach his eyes, "You might have a point, but it doesn't hurt to try."

Her smile becomes more honest as Mitsuru rolls her eyes at him, "Honestly. If anything, a failed attempt would likely bring you plenty of pain. Remember, any additional medicines you may need will come out of your own pocket."

"Yeah, yeah." He chuckles and waves her off, and she looks down at the book in her hands for a few seconds. Sensing that he hasn't moved, Mitsuru looks back up to see Akihiko standing in place, giving her an odd look. He seems… unsure?

She patiently waits for him to speak, an eyebrow slowly creeping upwards as she watches Akihiko struggle to find the words. Finally, he groans and looks away, scratching at the back of his head, "Look, Mitsuru. Are you… doing alright? You've seemed sort of… tired lately."

The eyebrow drops back into place. Ah. I suppose if anyone would be able to tell, it would be him. She considers blowing him off with a simple 'I'm fine', knowing full well that he would accept the answer. Akihiko knows when to push a point, and when to relent. Usually.

But, that said, she knows that he would be able to tell that he was lying to him. And he doesn't deserve that. It isn't as though I have many other people to confide in… A familiar pang of loneliness pokes at her, but she shoves it down into its box and sits on top of it. With her free hand, she rubs at the bridge of her nose and nods slowly, "Is it really so obvious?"

"Probably not. I just had an instinct." The boy shrugs.

Ah, Akihiko's ever reliable gut instinct. She only really lets her guard down while at the dorm. At home, she needs to be the refined and elegant heiress she is expected to be. At school, she must be the well-educated and sharp leader, a source of inspiration for the other students. Tiring is the right word. As such, her dorm-mates would likely be the only ones to have the chance to notice her weariness.

To his credit, Akihiko simply waits for her to speak. He does fidget a touch, and fiddles with the threads on his wraps, but doesn't prompt her. Eventually, she speaks up, "I… have rather a lot on my plate. There were the arrangements for the transfer, and though the Chairman took care of most of it, making sure his items arrived safely and his room and travel were prepared was taxing." Perhaps I am too used to being driven to places… Public transport is, if anything, a nightmare.

"And then of course, I must prepare for the Student Council elections. The position of President is an important one, and I am assured it would be good for my… future success. But the preparation of speeches, securing votes, laying out plans for the school. While I would only be President for a year, it is rather involved. I don't want to let our fellow students down."

Akihiko nods, then approaches and sits down on the couch next to her, "Ah come on, Mitsuru. You've got it in the bag."

She gives him an appreciative look, then takes a breath. Should I stop here? But she doesn't seem to be able to. The chance to talk is something she hadn't realised she was missing, "On top of that, my father is pushing me to continue my studies in order to eventually take over the business after his retirement."

"Well that's a while away right? He's still a pretty young guy."

"Certainly, but there's so much to learn, he says that it would be best for me to start now." She knows Akihiko can't empathise, but he seems attentive all the same. Despite her desire to get it all out, the next subject is one that brings her pause for a few moments. I've come this far. "And then there's Takeba."

Akihiko winces, but he tries to cover it up, "Yukari? Has she done something?"

"No, no." Mitsuru closes her eyes and shakes her head, her shoulders drooping a touch, "I've just noticed she's being colder with me as of late. I worry that I've done something to distress her further."

A frown falls on Akihiko's face, and he glances towards the stairs, "You want me to talk to her?" Mitsuru is sure he doesn't mean it to be, but it does rather sound like a threat. I suppose the knuckle wraps do not help.

"I… don't believe that will be necessary. But thank you, Akihiko." She shifts in place, and closes her book, "In truth, I do not know if I can blame her. I understand she wishes to know more about her father but… I cannot give her information I do not have. And yet she seems to think I am hiding it from her.

"I just wish that we could be a little closer." She frowns at that, not having wanted to speak the words, "God, I sound like such a child, ignore me." An image comes to her mind of a young, red-haired child sitting in her bed, crying as green light streams into her window. That knot of loneliness tightens a bit more. She stamps on the box and starts to tie it closed with rope.

Akihiko chuckles and pats her shoulder, "I'd never. We all live here together, so it makes sense that you'd want to have a better relationship. We're part of the same team after all. Besides, you know you can be a little…" He trails off, the words freezing in his throat at Mitsuru's icy glare.

"No, Sanada, please do go on."

"…Intimidating?" He leans away from her and squeezes his eyes shut, expecting a sharp, rapier-like jab. Mitsuru is almost amused by the reaction. I've been told as much in the past… She sighs, nodding in response. Akihiko opens one of his eyes when he realises that execution has not come for him this day.

Mitsuru deflates somewhat, her eyes turning downwards to the closed book in her lap. I really don't mean to be. But what am I meant to do to bridge that gap?

Seemingly recognising her discomfort, Akihiko takes his turn to circle back the conversation and change the subject, "So uh… how's the new kid? I've not run into him yet, but I've heard him and Yukari talking in the hall."

Mitsuru takes the offered opportunity and thinks on the answer. Surprisingly cheerful, given the circumstances. Perhaps oddly so, though it isn't unwelcome. "He seems… normal, outside of the circumstances of his arrival. Pleasant, cheery. He does seem to get along with Takeba." She thinks back to their earlier conversation, "The first day might have been draining for him." Not that he let it show. Will anything bring his mood down?

"That so? Huh." Akihiko scratches at his ear, a half-frown on his lips, "Given the stuff in that file you gave me, I was expecting… I don't know, some sort of sad sack. Or a delinquent."

Crassly put, but… not inaccurate to my own expectations. She says as much, but does add, "It is not an unpleasant surprise, at least."

"Does he have… you know, the potential?"

"It seems so." Mitsuru fills him in on Makoto's mid-Dark Hour arrival, "At the very least, he can remain conscious. And surprisingly cognisant no less. However, as to anything further… the Chairman will be here tomorrow to confirm."

Akihiko nods once more, pats her shoulder again and stands. While most would consider him a… headstrong individual, (Delicately put,) Mitsuru knows well that Akihiko used his head far more than would be expected. He had always been attentive and loyal, though he was often more reckless in combat. But Mitsuru knows that she can trust him.

He heads over for the door and opens it up, but turns to her before he steps outside, "Hey, you want to come with? A bit of training could wear you out, get you some better sleep."

Ah, the topic always comes back to practice. "Thank you, Akihiko, but I think it would be unfair to leave Takeba to protect the dorm on her own. Besides, I imagine she has already gone to bed since it was her first day back as well."

Akihiko nods slowly, as a smirk tugs at his lips. He nods at the book in her lap, "Ah, no need to make excuses. You probably just want to finish that without me bothering you."

Mitsuru laughs and waves him away before picking the book back up. Her friend saunters out, rolling his shoulders. The door closes behind him, and Mitsuru can hear him start to run until the sound fades into the distance. She is left alone once more. "Keep safe, Akihiko." She returns to her page and begins to find her place, letting the story slip around her once again.

"C'mon, is it that hard to write out good directions?" Makoto growls, glaring daggers at a scrap piece of paper between his fingers. The school day had been uneventful and dull. More of his fellow students sharing gossip. He had caught stories about a cursed bathroom on the second floor, a girl disappearing from school, a few ends of conversations mentioning him and Yukari. At least that should get around to her before too much longer.

Once the day had ended, Makoto had planned to take a trip over to the Paulownia Mall to pick up some supplies. Junpei had mentioned it in passing on the previous day, but Makoto had been so caught up in responding to Junpei's unending prattling that he hadn't caught where it was.

His… Friend? No, way too soon to say that. Like I need one of those. Before a small part of him can mutter its disagreement, Makoto quickly lets the thought continue. Associate? Yeah. His associate had already left class, saying something about wanting to get home quickly. With no other recourse, Makoto had to paste on the 'shy classmate' bit, swallow his distaste, and ask another student in the class how to get to the mall.

In a bout of what might have been considered kindness, the other student had taken the time to write down precise instructions on how to get to the mall from the school, shortcuts included. Apparently, it wasn't that far away at all, so Makoto shouldn't have been able to miss it. And yet, directions aren't all that helpful when your handwriting is garbage. He scowls at the paper and the hastily scribbled shapes atop it. They were probably meant to be words but were more like vague glyphs from an ancient language.

Makoto did his best to follow the instructions, he really did. It had gone well for some time, as he was tailing a small river of students making their way there. Unfortunately, a wrong turn or two slowly resulted in fewer and fewer people around him, until it was just himself making his way through back alleys and dark corners.

While Port Island gleamed on the outside, its depths were considerably less maintained. As he progressed, the scent of urine, booze and filth had grown stronger, and Makoto became less sure he was going the right way. But isn't discovery so much more exciting? He looks about the stained brickwork around him and grins. There could be someone around the next corner waiting to mug me, then leave me for dead.

He can see it now: Some unshaven, grime covered nobody would jump out and grab him by the neck. Makoto could almost smell the heady scent of liquor on their breath as the attacker breathed his demands. Makoto could feel something sharp poking against his stomach. He stops where he is, letting the sensation roll over him. Again and again the attacker would make their demands, and Makoto would hang limp. Or maybe not? No, that's right, he would antagonise the attacker. Go on, what are you going to do? Trash. Filth. Empty-bodied garbage. You don't have the courage. Incensed, the attacker would ram the steel into Makoto's belly. He could feel his skin burn and prickle, both ice-cold and flaming hot as the foreign object tore his flesh apart. Blood would spill out and the attacker would stumble back, blaming Makoto. The last thing Makoto would see would be the attacker rifling through his pockets before retreating. What would my dorm-mates think? Would they cry? Of course not. They wouldn't even bear a thought for you any longer than a week. I would become just another number on a page. Another headline. Just like my-

"And what might bring you here?"

Makoto blinks, a voice snapping him back to reality. A smooth, but edged voice. Like a sword overused to have nicks along the blade. He looks around, trying to regather his bearings. It seems his body had started moving again and had led him to a more open space behind the buildings. Behind him is one alleyway, with a few more ahead and to his sides that lead into or out of this space.

The space itself is unremarkable. A stagnant pool of liquid which seems to have a rainbow sheen as what little light that makes its way into the space passes over it. A pair of long overfilled dumpsters, with trash-bags folded over the edge. The bags had burst, and old refuse is beginning to pile up around the bottom of the dumpsters, attracting a cloud of flies. There are no signs, or indicating marks other than poor-quality graffiti covering older, poorer-quality graffiti. Makoto thinks he might be able to spot a flight of stairs leading into the back of one of the buildings, and maybe the top of a door.

The kind of place you can die in and not be found for days.

A busted wiring cabinet is pressed against a wall. The cabinet doors have fallen off and are missing, and the cabinet itself is filled with old beer bottles and food packets. Leaning against it is a figure, whose eyes are turned up towards the sky, apparently watching the clouds past the tops of the buildings. A small spire of smoke trails up from a cigarette clamped between his thin lips. Even from a distance, Makoto can see that his cheeks are hollowed, and his jaw dusted with a goatee and moustache.

Okay… could this be my would-be attacker? Makoto looks the guy up and down. His long, grey hair reaches his shoulders, and Makoto thinks he can see some sort of circlet around his head. The man wears no shirt, displaying his bare, emaciated body. His skin clings to him, showing the shape of bone and thin muscle. His ribs stick out, but his stomach has some definition to it. An athlete? Looks like he hasn't eaten in days. The man's arms are adorned with darkly coloured tattoos, though Makoto can't make out the design from this distance. Outside of those, several healed scars cross the man's body. A few are long and thin, others barely dots.

The figure lifts a hand to his face and removes the cigarette from his mouth, blowing an ashy plume into the sky. "Are you lost?" He speaks as his head falls, eyes meeting Makoto's.

As the connection is made, Makoto feels his body freeze. What? He tries to take a step forward, but nothing happens. He tries to take one back. Nothing happens. He just feels a shiver run across him, and he's unable to look away from the figure's bright, acid-yellow eyes. He's gotta be wearing contacts or something… Like I can talk. And yet, there is something unsettlingly natural about the eyes. They gleam with vigour and a wild energy, though the man's expression is neutral, bored even.

There is little which scares Makoto. But this man radiates a danger he has never come across in life. It rolls off him like a thick cloud, wrapping around Makoto and forcing its way into his throat to steal the air from his lungs. Makoto has dealt with would-be-delinquents and minor gang toughs, losers with nothing left to lose. This man is none of these things. A part of Makoto wants to run, screaming. He's unsure if it wants to run away from the man, or towards him.

"All the way out here… are you perhaps more Lost than you are lost?" The man chuckles as though he had made a joke, a dry rumble reminiscent of thunder in a desert. A cruel smile graces his face as he flicks the half-spent cigarette to the floor and crushes it under the heel of a brown boot, eyes never leaving Makoto. His eye sockets are sunken into his face, but those eyes remain beacons of danger.

A part of Makoto delights in the terror he feels, but silence would likely do little here. How do I play this? In his experience, a punk will rarely crumble to another punk, unless given reason to. And Makoto has now passed the point of being able to be seen as a threat. Maybe just be the scared schoolkid? "O-Oh, uh, sorry mister, I didn't mean to disturb you." Makoto's body lifts the scrap of paper in his hands and uses it to gesture, "My friend wrote some instructions, but I got lost anyway."

The figure lifts themselves off the cabinet in a smooth motion and tilts his head, eyes finally leaving Makoto's face to look at the paper, "Is that so? Then this is mere… coincidence?" He sighs, shaking his head, "How very unfortunate." The man crosses the space swiftly and reaches out to snag the paper from Makoto's hands.

What should I do? Should I attack him? Maybe it'll prompt him to attack back? But the aura of danger exuding from the man keeps Makoto frozen, even more so at close proximity.

"Well, it is little wonder you were lost. This handwriting is… terrible."

Right!?

The man turns back to Makoto and places the paper back into his outstretched hand, "Where were you trying to go, lost boy?"

"Uh… the mall?" The grave.

"Ah." The man nods and turns away, pointing at the alleyway Makoto had first entered the area from, "Then your path is simple enough. Return the way you came, take a left, then two rights. The second left, and you should be somewhere nearby." The man folds his arms and looks back to Makoto expectantly.

"Thank… you?" Kill me.

"A pleasure. Farewell, now." Makoto nods and finally forces his body to move. He stuffs the paper into his pocket and goes to walk towards the alleyway. He is stopped as he passes the man, who seizes Makoto's shoulder. Do it. "A moment. Your uniform… You are a student at Gekkoukan, yes?"

The man's grip is like a vice. It would take a crowbar to pry his fingers away, even though it looked like he was barely putting any force into the hold. Maybe it was more the lance of fear spearing Makoto from the man's palm which held him in place. Or was that excitement? Say something, damnit! "Oh uh… yeah. I just transferred." Maybe if he thinks I don't know anyone, he'll be more likely to finish me off.

A strange look passes over the man's face, "Hm. Did you skip class?"

Huh? "N-No, school's out for the day."

Still not letting go, the man looks back up to the sky and nods, "Is that so? Ah, how inexorably time moves on." He looks back down, and gives Makoto an empty smile, "And what is your name?"

This close, Makoto can smell the smoke coming off his breath. Something in him recoils and snaps, "Why should I tell you?" He looks to the hand on his shoulder, glaring at it, willing it to move.

Apparently noticing, the man chuckles again and lets go. Not quite what I wanted. "A fair point. Excuse my idle curiosity." Not quite the reaction I wanted either.

Feeling the opportunity pass, Makoto tries to grasp at the straws as they escape his grip. Maybe if I push him for details? "Well, what's your name?"

In response, the man gives Makoto a sharp look. His posture changes, tensing. Makoto can almost feel that pincer grip around his neck, can almost hear his bones creak under the pressure. Perhaps his body would be left here in the alley to be found a few days later, half chewed by rodents. Or maybe he would be tossed into the dumpster. Or maybe he would be dumped into the ocean, only for his bloated corpse to wash up a month or two later.

Defying his expectations once more, the man instead laughs for a moment. The sound is like needles across the skin, "My my, how tenacious you are!" The man cups his chin and gives Makoto that cruel smile, "In honour of that… you may call me Takaya." And with that, he turns away, heading for the stairs that Makoto had spotted. He raises a hand behind him as he goes, "Do be careful, lost student. Port Island has a sickness, and the people you meet in alleyways are sure to be far less pleasant than myself."

Makoto watches him go, watches him open the door with a small key and disappear within. The air of fear leaves with him, and Makoto feels his body's faculties return to him. He lifts his hands and stares at them, flexing his fingers. Back to normal it seems. He looks to the door that 'Takaya' passed into and scowls, then slams the side of his fist into the wall of the alleyway, "Damn." I was so close! And I couldn't move! He grits his teeth. Again! I just… He opens his hand and digs his nails into the wall, feeling them grind against the brick.

The sting focuses him, and he glares at that door. A part of him wants to go and knock on it and demand that Takaya attack him. But knowledge is power. Plus, it was beginning to get late. He'd have to head back to the dorm before long, if he didn't want to make the others wonder where he had ended up. Heading back into the alley, Makoto takes the first left and follows the supplied instructions. But while his body moves, his mind ticks over.

Takaya, huh?

A/N: Oooooo, early character introductions, oooooooo.
It's a pretty cut and dry chapter, but hopefully you enjoyed seeing some of the characters interact.
I've actually got a good chunk of the next chapter prepared (where we'll actually see the Velvet Room at last), so it shouldn't be too long for that!

That said, let me talk a little bit about my posting schedule, since I'm sure you've noticed it's a little... sporadic? Heh.
Due to my working schedule (8 hours, plus a 4 hour total commute), I can't really work on Bad Omen on work nights, mainly because I'm pretty much a corpse by then. I do use free time at work to actually note-take for the next chapter, so I'm not being completely unproductive.
As such, I can only actually write Bad Omen on days off, or (rare) days where I've got a gap between two shifts. Because of the rolling shift pattern of my workplace, some chapters might come a lot sooner than others, some may end up being a bit of a wait.

I appreciate all you lovely readers for putting up with me so far! If you've got any questions, as ever, feel free to drop a comment/review! I look forward to hearing from each and every one of you!

Love,
Avalon