#foolishwinds

"So, um I was wondering if any of you guys have like a favorite accessory or something you guys would like to wear? Oh! Uh, weapon type works too! I could deffinately do something with that." Sora nods to himself before adding.

Don't mind Naoto, she just noticed her duplicate who she cared and worried for more than she let on commenting on a person who she doesn't want to talk with any longer and is cautious over them and definitely doesn't have the best impression from thia "Souji Seta". Thank God her senpai had been one of the most reliable people to her.

@foolishwinds​ “You’re shaking, and sore. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes.

ANGER     pulses throughout his veins. red isn’t only in his body anymore. after a split between him and akechi to see what maruki has done ren saw the same shade in front of him. with this world feeling untrustworthy he turns towards the only source he knows. that is why he has knocked on yosuke’s door even after all of this. he could trust him; he was the only adult aware of personas and didn’t use it for evil or well-intentioned villainy.

     The sea of souls is ever moving. It tosses those caught upon it like the tide of the earth’s ocean tosses a boat in a storm. He has drifted this sea for a long time now, and sometimes still, it knocks the breath from his lungs, the air from his frail butterfly’s wings.

Just as he thinks he may give in, and sink back into the endlessness of it, to rest for just a while, the sea parts; the veil is lifted, and he emerges from dream to reality; mind, back to matter. He is still small, still fluttering blue wings with a soft and hollow glow. But that is alright.

...There is a pull here, a power he recognizes through his own sea and the voices within it. Wildcard Messiah whispers. Zero. Twenty-Two. That which is First. That which is Last. One moment, the butterfly, the next; the boy. It seems no one who may be around has even noticed the change, it is as if he has always been this.

He is seated upon a bench, one ankle crossed neatly over the other; his hands folded delicately in his lap, they seem pale against the black denim. 

     Slowly, his eyes find the boy Messiah had cried wildcard of. He is significantly taller than Minato himself is, but this is not so unusual of anyone. Looks were often deceptive in any case, though he observes the man still, head tilting ever so slightly to the left, sending a few stray strands of hair the colour of star-speckled sea across his face.

Has he perhaps been staring for too long? He is not sure; time is strange to him still, sometimes, it drags on forever, sometimes, it passes so swiftly he can hardly catch his breath in the whirlwind it creates.

He inhales, slow, chest rising beneath white button up; behind sparkling blue ribbon. And then he exhales, and it feels to him as if all the sea in all the world has lifted from his lungs.

Being in human form again... It feels strange. So long has it been.

A hand raises, pushes his hair back once again, and at last his eyes lift to the wildcard stranger’s face, and he rises from the bench with the slow grace of a boy who is lighter on his feet than the existence of his solid form may lead one to believe.

     He does not approach, merely stands, and keeps his gaze pinned upon Yosuke’s face. He is not shy by nature; but neither is he particularly outgoing.

If he comes to me.     What will be will be.

“You should know the answer to this.”