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Aug. 5th, 2017 11:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jurisdick [ it was something he had suggested on a whim. really, the idea held very little weight in his mind. if he wasn't going to gain the trust of the thieves naturally, or by force via blackmail, there was no possible way that something gimmicky like a soul mark would change anything. but shido had latched onto it. it was poetically ironic, in a way, how the man that refused to believe in fate or love or family seemed so fixated on the idea of using something as personal and intimate as a soul mark as a means of infiltration. akechi had mentioned it in passing - in some sort of poignant, barbed rant when he was tired and stressed and annoyed that all the thieves seemed to want his head on a platter. but shido had seen it as some beautiful breakthrough; there was no way that joker would ever distrust the person he was supposed to be intertwined with. while akechi didn't particularly care about the idea Really, as far as he was concerned he had been born without a mark and it was the world's way of confirming what he already knew: he was an unwanted child. but shido seemed so damn fixated on it and refused to budge. he wanted the extra security the plan brought - like hedging the stock market in case it goes belly-up. so here he was, member of the thieves and a soul-mark on his agenda.
it didn't take a genius to figure out what kurusu's mark was. the boy didn't flaunt it, but whenever he'd work in leblanc, his sleeve would catch in just the right way so as to reveal the dark smudge along the inside of his wrist. a few late evenings of staying at leblanc to complete his work confirmed the mark and it was a simple matter of replicating it on his own wrist - a mirror image, smeared along his left wrist. despite the fact that it was just another necessary step in his greater plan of revenge, a bitterness formed in his mouth. his already darkened and irritated soul despised the idea that shido had taken everything from him and was now parading around the idea of soul-mates, likely aware that akechi didn't have one of his own. it was sick. he hated it.
but here he was, playing puppet. as usual.
his brows furrow and he cups his hands along the smooth edges of the mug. even through his gloves he can feel the warmth reaching his fingertips. it's stupidly nice, just in the same way that the thieves are stupidly nice people, despite their misguided tendencies of playing hero. he admires them just as much as he hates them. that's poetic, too, he thinks.
the mark on his wrist itches and he isn't exactly being subtle with how he's half-rolled up his sleeves. it's just peeking into view and he's weighing the pros and cons of going forward with this. akira certainly needs to die; joker needs to be out of the picture and shido needs to trust him. just this much longer. but he thinks, stupidly, that he can gain that trust without exposing this weaker side of humanity - this innate desire to want to belong. because akechi understands that drive, as much as he doesn't understand it. it's complicated. ]
You know... [ he begins, bringing the mug to his lips to blow at the warm surface of the coffee, watching ripples form. ] You were quite impressive out there today, Joker. I can see now why the others rely on you so easily.
[ it's not lies, but it's not truths, either. it's somewhere in the murky middle. ]
it didn't take a genius to figure out what kurusu's mark was. the boy didn't flaunt it, but whenever he'd work in leblanc, his sleeve would catch in just the right way so as to reveal the dark smudge along the inside of his wrist. a few late evenings of staying at leblanc to complete his work confirmed the mark and it was a simple matter of replicating it on his own wrist - a mirror image, smeared along his left wrist. despite the fact that it was just another necessary step in his greater plan of revenge, a bitterness formed in his mouth. his already darkened and irritated soul despised the idea that shido had taken everything from him and was now parading around the idea of soul-mates, likely aware that akechi didn't have one of his own. it was sick. he hated it.
but here he was, playing puppet. as usual.
his brows furrow and he cups his hands along the smooth edges of the mug. even through his gloves he can feel the warmth reaching his fingertips. it's stupidly nice, just in the same way that the thieves are stupidly nice people, despite their misguided tendencies of playing hero. he admires them just as much as he hates them. that's poetic, too, he thinks.
the mark on his wrist itches and he isn't exactly being subtle with how he's half-rolled up his sleeves. it's just peeking into view and he's weighing the pros and cons of going forward with this. akira certainly needs to die; joker needs to be out of the picture and shido needs to trust him. just this much longer. but he thinks, stupidly, that he can gain that trust without exposing this weaker side of humanity - this innate desire to want to belong. because akechi understands that drive, as much as he doesn't understand it. it's complicated. ]
You know... [ he begins, bringing the mug to his lips to blow at the warm surface of the coffee, watching ripples form. ] You were quite impressive out there today, Joker. I can see now why the others rely on you so easily.
[ it's not lies, but it's not truths, either. it's somewhere in the murky middle. ]
