tell me i'm exceptional, i promise to exploit you!

He’s quite fidgety.

The pattern of them paints several possible pictures in her mind, but, as he says, well, it’s something better to hear about later perhaps.

She stands by her observation. He is alive. Even mantled in corrupted divinity, even with unearthly light about his eyes- he is alive in the way of things that crawl restless under their own skin. Not all living things breathe, not all living things eat or rest, or weep- but to care about something, or be troubled by the lack- that is what makes life, life. 

When she was dead, when she was stone, it was the only time that she truly did not think of anything, care of anything. Life had swam, in all its colors, before her eyes, but it had held no meaning.

And that’s nearly a thought to make her shudder.

“Another subject, then.” It isn’t necessarily explicit promise to hold him to or away from his promise to tell her more in the future, but she looks to the sky, still dark under its clouds. It hasn’t rained, but it promises to sometime in the future.

Somewhere beyond those clouds, the moon shines.

“May I ask for your name? The one that is yours, and not Izanagi’s.”

Looking to him, “or, if that’s particularly forward, simply a name you prefer I remember. I can assume you know mine, from what you’ve said.”

Another subject is welcome. Adachi will not yet speak of the dullness carried within him. He still holds a disdain for this world, and does not care for it or the beings within it, but there is no point in him trying to destroy it. There is no point in raising your hand when you are not and never will be the majority.

There’s no point in fighting the tide. In fighting the truth. And right now is no time to speak of when he did. Not while they are still feeling things out right now, drawing lines and checking where they may cross.

He follows her gaze, finding the sky thick with clouds. A memory of donning his yellow raincoat and trudging through the precipitation. This fallen god does not imagine a moon beyond.

“Adachi. Adachi Tohru. Do you prefer any other names or is it just ‘Amaterasu’, then?” A soft bark of a laugh escapes him. “Should’ve known when Magatsu-Izanagi warned me. He said ‘daughter’... like he forgot that it isn’t the same in every world.”

He tells both more and less than he seems to believe. For a time, she simply listens, turning her umbrella thoughtfully, painted eyes half-lidded.

“I have met many strange gods in this city. The notion of other suns does not surprise me. I suppose it’s even entirely possible to imagine hostile suns, though I’d hope not.”

She let out a thoughtful hum.

“Your situation would appear to be a strange one, at least to my knowledge.”

Tapping nails against her umbrella, “If you were human originally, and don’t appear to have ascended yourself, as much as become entwined with another entity… demons can possess a host, gods may speak through a prophet, but, as someone with familiarity with both, they don’t generally produce lasting entwinements of this sort. I knew a priestess overtaken by a fox spirit, but overtaken is the key word. There was nothing left of her.”

Naught but a ghost and a spent body crumpled in a hidden passage.

“You seem to be rather alive and lucid, if the situation bothers you, so those scenarios would not apply.”

A genuine smile followed. “And, no. I would no sooner wish destruction upon a world- mine, or any- than I would sharpen my teeth for war against my own children. The world is beautiful when it is alive. My ambition is that it flourishes, and people are happy.”

A sidelong glance to him. “That would include you, incidentally. I greeted you coldly, but if you’ve fought against an end of things, then we’ve something in common, and I respect it.”

“No, I didn’t ascend... though,” he traces under his right eye with a single clawed finger, “I was definitely possessed by something.” And modified extensively at some point, forced down and used as a vessel.... not that he knows that or even remembers it on any level of consciousness.

The mention of nothing left makes him shiver. Has him looking in another direction again. The recollection of a cloying emptiness in him is something he does not want in the forefront of his mind.

Her mention of ‘alive and lucid’ at least brings those mental and emotional rejections to a sort of rest. That’s right. Adachi is, at the very least, lucid. And some form of alive. Alive and lucid and as he ponders over this, her words are at a distance until they are not.

“Animals indeed. You’d find me looking very different than this most of the time.” 

She quiets, venturing closer as he moves the mask. Gold eyes meet gold eyes, and her hand curls to her chin, in thought.

“If no one else can tell you what you are, then I would think the primary course of action is that you are able to decide for yourself. That is something that unites all beings, from gods to transient servants of spirits. More than merely ‘what we are’, we choose what we become. This odd festival of the Stars’ is an opportunity, but it isn’t the only one.”

A tilt of her head, scrutinizing him from this angle. “If you truly aren’t at ease without guidance or information, then you ought to seek me out when this festival is over and I’ve returned to my true form. Although, at that time, I would somewhat prefer if you didn’t try to kill me.”

Her expression is more wry than anything- she doesn’t expect he’ll do so, as his word choice hardly suggests he was overjoyed to commit his previous act of deicide. “I’ve died before, and it’s a nuisance.”

How would Issun put it? Nothing like a hundred-year dirt nap to decay the natural world and have Orochi crawl out of his grave having learned absolutely nothing. And he accused her of reeking of decay. At least she’d taken a walk since her resurrection.

... Choose who we become.

Those words raise bitterness in him, a sort of depressed irritation -- but Adachi knows better. He won’t give away all that he’s got now, even if he really wants her to understand. The most she’ll be able to see is a brief darting of his gaze down to one side, and stiffening in the shoulders.

“I want to know what’s wrong with me, first. I only have suspicions. I used to only be human. But I guess if I’m taking this opportunity to show off a piece of me that isn’t, then there’s meaning in that, huh?”

At least there’s an offer open. She isn’t hostile... yet. Hell, she’s offering to help - more than what anyone else has done for him so far. “Hah, I won’t be doing anything like that. I really don’t think you’re the type to try destroying the world... and you don’t look like a forgotten fire god, for that matter.”

He’s more me than I am him, he says.

A thoughtful hum.

“The Izanagi I know was a mortal warrior. He lived and died in his time. It can be said he faced a great evil for love.” 

Her expression turning a bit blunt, “I will say you cut a more impressive figure than he did.”

There was a reason Nagi was remembered for his valor, and not so much for charisma or appearances.

He is still foreboding, but as he is civil, caution ebbs, and she speaks more freely. “…You would be surprised. A god hungers and tires, weakens and dies if greatly wounded. We are animals, in a sense. Though it always seems to surprise humanity to see us as such.”

Feeling less concerned, curiosity bubbles instead. “You say you are not a god, but you don’t smell particularly mortal. My nose is weakened in this form, but I wouldn’t think that it is only a costume.”

“And the one I know is a god, from the creation myths.” He may have not been a mythology student or anything remotely like that, but Adachi knows because Magatsu-Izanagi knows. “Made the islands of Japan, stirred the oceans, had kids. She ends up dying, he goes into Yomi to save her and ends up running from her when she’s already decaying.”

A compliment is a compliment, no matter what. There’s a half-smile under that plate covering his face. At least he looks cooler! ... Maybe.

“Animals, hmm? That’s not really how it was back home, but everything else except the ‘hunger’ matches up. I had to help kill a god myself, back home.” ... Maybe not the best thing to admit, but Adachi doesn’t know when to shut up. He lifts the ‘mask’ to better address the divine in front of him, and his eyes are gold even now.

It’s another evening out at Savior’s Respite, with a canned beer in one hand, phone in the other. He’s got his back up against a rock jutting out of the ground, and his Persona is sitting seiza style next to him with its blazing yellow eyes shut.

Until there’s a sound of someone new approaching, and internally Adachi rolls his eyes. He flicks his gaze to the one stepping up to the cliffside...

A perfectly enigmatic answer he gives, and follows with a question.

She supposes her curiosity was intrusive, but she remains guarded to this stranger. She tilts the umbrella back, head lofted, correcting from a wary beast to a proper lady’s poise.

“I am the light of august that rises in the east.” 

Cryptic answer for cryptic answer. She will see what he knows, as much as she reveals her own.

“And I make it my business to know what walks among my children, especially if it walks veiled in the presence of death.”

But not empty death. No, if that was the air she picked up, this conversation would have been over before it started and she’d be pulling at the edges of her seemly appearance to tear into him with her teeth. 

But she’s reasonably sure this is no construct of Yami’s. 

The light rising in the east. The light of the east. The east. Daughter, his Persona had said, and it clicks. Immediately Adachi feels a surge of fear -- and anticipation. And memory. One of the IT -- hadn’t she called upon such a construct named after her?

What, she says, and it. Dehumanizing. But sometimes he wonders if he is still human.

“And I am... dressed as the god who dove into the underworld to save his wife. But he’s more me than I am him.” A shrug -- can’t take the man out of the godly outfit. “Magatsu-Izanagi.” 

There is a simple shake of his head. “I don’t do death. The ‘death’ is probably just from the myth.” And the emptiness is not the same as Yami’s -- this is merely emptiness in itself. A vessel unfilled... for now.

@monstrousmiasma

They meet under moonless skies, on streets of concrete where few people linger. A brooding presence of divinity, foreboding as the clouds overhead, as Ninetails’ shadow cast over the earth was.

Amaterasu stands, posture perfect, sandaled feet having come to a stop. Her lip does not curl far enough to bare a wolf’s fangs…

…but the sentiment carries in her voice. “A fearsome shadow you’d cast. Is it mask, or visage?”

Like this, she is greatly unthreatening to him, but hardly intimidated for a moment. Perhaps she ought to have added a sword to her umbrella before consuming the candy..?

…No, she doubts it would have done much. 

He is still covered in the filth of Yomi, stained by the touch of the underworld. It would be enough to get the attention of any deity.

It is the feeling of another that makes him pause mid-step. It is the realization of familiarity that makes him lock eyes with the stranger ahead. Immediately Adachi straightens up.

Daughter, says Magatsu-Izanagi, whispering into what remains of his soul.  But... not from the Sea of Souls. Not like me.

Finally, a bit of a break in terms of money... or whatever the hell they call it here. It works a lot like home, at least. And with that money, that means it’s time for him to actually treat himself.

Adachi maneuvers through the crowds at the Star Trail with his usual ‘can-disappear-into-the-background’ ability, easily weaving through because he’d spent a good chunk of time doing that back in the city. His city. His home.

... He aimlessly wanders. Drifting here, and there, and he has to stop so he doesn’t barrel into someone shorter. Someone... whose appearance scratches in the back of his head.

“... Seriously, it’s just contacts. I swear, you put in some yellows and all of a sudden people are convinced you’re possessed by a demon, just because it’s October.” He walks out of the coffee shop, clutching a warm cup and staring down at it before abruptly snapping his gaze up to meet someone else’s. The eye contact is held longer than he’d like it to be.

“... You gonna freak out over this, too?”

He rolls his eyes at the message on the phone.

“Aww, do you really think I’m someone capable of that? Look at me! I’m all skin and bones!” And no gun. And a psychic monstrosity attached to his mind and soul. “Sometimes when a guy wants to die they just wanna die, no strings attached.”