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It's an off hour for the area on the underground - which means it's only somewhat crowded, enough people for a decent amount of noise but not impossible to move and there's some open seats. I'm out of costume, the scarves wound under clothing out of sight, goggles stuffed in a pocket just in case with sunglasses on instead, heading off on errands and restlessness. It's just far enough of a ride from the agency toward some of the business areas that I've been dozing off and on, hood up and drowsing through the ambient chatter.
"You really are amazing." It's definitely one of the hallucinations, an exact echo of part of the last thing I remember from the USJ attack, but it's enough to start me awake and paying attention. Formaldehyde's distinctive, it cuts through other smells even when it's faint and almost drowned out. It only takes a second after noticing it to spot him on the train; most of the crowd is normal muted little reflex flickers, nothing active and nothing agitated enough to see much; his mass of always-on-high ashy grey and sickly maroon sticks out like a spotlight in a forest. The hand collection isn't visible; he's got a plain, ratty navy hoodie, pulled up to hide his face, and without those all over, he looks like he could be any other random civilian on the train. I'm not sure if he's got them around him enough for the formaldehyde smell to have permanently sunk in or if they're just out of sight; they didn't seem to serve any purpose, but that doesn't rule out keeping at least one around as a tic of some kind. He's hunched over, turning now and then to keep track of his surroundings, three or four shopping bags hanging off his wrists, hands shoved into his pockets - and he's occasionally sidling a foot one direction or another, restless and not staying in one spot.
At first I'm not sure he'd even noticed me; he's not looking at me, just edging around keeping personal space and an open field of view... except he's definitely getting closer, until he's close enough to slide his bags under the seat and flop down right next to me, in spite of there being open seats where he'd have space.
"Isn't that symbol something everyone else around you should be wearing?" He reaches over, tapping the smaller evil-eye hansa on the front of my sweater with the back of one knuckle. He shifts, visibly taking note that I've turned just enough to see him better and potentially shut him off; he holds his hands up in front of him, very deliberately stuffing them in his pockets, out of sight. "So paranoid! I even sat down on your good side, to be nice."
Logically, it figures; they still need to eat and have basic necessities, which means doing the same thing most heroes do, and going out dressed as nondescript and not-in-costume as possible. "I can't say I was expecting to see you out like this. I thought you hated being around people."
"Ugh." He hunches, and I can catch a glimpse of a snarl under the hood. "Don't get me started on how grating it is to be shoved around in crowds of these morons." He sinks his head lower, shoulders knit in. "But, someone has to get the groceries, and Kurogiri can't do it."
"Not going to send one of your recruits to do it?" I know there's been word of people trying to seek them out, but they haven't moved yet to give us a chance to tell if they've actually accepted any of them or not. Considering the small army of bottom feeders they brought to the USJ, I can't see them being that picky - they can always just set up someone they don't like to be expendable, if they even survive meeting Shigaraki to begin with.
There's a choked, bitter half-laugh, and he almost says something, then he straightens, leaning away and turning to eye me from under his hood. "Nice try, but I didn't come over here to give you information. I just thought, if you knew I was here and I knew you were here, then it'd be ... less .... tense to just make sure there was an understanding. You know, a real cease-fire instead of you trying to tail me off the train or something like that." He ends that with a pointed glare; I could probably catch him, but if he gets out of my line of sight or is determined enough, he can still do damage before I've got him bound properly.
"I'm not dumb enough to start a fight around this many people." His body language is blatant enough that I read that 'Hell no/like hell I would' before he cut off his reaction to my question about recruits, so they must have someone, and he doesn't trust them around his food.
Not that I can blame him, given the kind of people that would've crawled out of the woodwork looking for him.
"Good Hero." Under the sarcasm it was definitely the kind of tone that'd be used with a dog; still, he settles back, sitting facing forward - although he's still slowly keeping watch enough that he'd definitely notice if I moved.
"So I suppose asking you who you're working for is off the table." I'm sure he knows the only reason he's walking out of this is the number of civilian targets he can hit; it'd be as dumb for him to start a fight as it would for me, so the odds of him being a threat right now are pretty much nil, and I can probably get away with some flippant sarcasm.
"What, you don't think I can lead?" He tilts his head in half-mock affront.
"No, I'm sure you can manage to keep your underlings in line, and you're definitely smart enough to plan. I just know that the project that led to your little pets is older than you are." It's really not hard to see the culmination of the Villain Factory in the Nomu.
He gives an exagerrated sigh, although I can see a few snarls of his energy going more jagged and brighter. "I suppose I have to concede that point. Still not going to answer you, though." It sort-of settles, as much as his energy ever does. Seeing him without the hands obscuring his features, he's a wreck - and if he's got that Quirk running at that level all the time like this, then he's probably not much older than some of my students; being that far into fight-or-flight constantly is hard on a person. "I did learn something interesting about you, though."
"Oh?" I can't really have any illusions that this is going to be a pleasant conversation, anyway.
"Apparently, we could've been brothers." He's grinning at me under that hood, and I know just enough about my old man to know exactly what that means; I probably ran away at exactly the right time to get away from whatever the fuck he was involved in. "Can you just imagine what we could've done together, nii-san?"
"I'd rather not." I know as much as I want to about my family and what my father's intentions were right now, and it's 'All Of It Was Awful'; that entire chirpy bit of commentary has 'bait' written all over it. "I'm getting off stop after next."
"Not afraid of what I might do when you're not watching, or that I might try to follow you home?" He's leaning down and forward, craning around, hands still in his pockets; I incline my head enough to get a look at his bags - there's a couple takeout bags and a couple Kombi bags. He eats worse than I did when I was living by myself.
"You're not stupid and I doubt you'd ruin your food by using grocery shopping as a lead-in to one of your schemes. Also you wouldn't need to risk your neck 'following me home' to learn anything, the agency address isn't a secret." Mic's also made sure it's not a secret that I've moved in, not when he's already livestreamed setting up pranks for when I wake up. Besides, Shigaraki seems like he really wants to make statements and is being encouraged to make big shows of chaos and destruction; I'm sure he'd be capable of pulling quiet assassinations, but I don't think he's desperate enough yet to burn one of his goals without making it a show.
"You really are amazing." It's definitely one of the hallucinations, an exact echo of part of the last thing I remember from the USJ attack, but it's enough to start me awake and paying attention. Formaldehyde's distinctive, it cuts through other smells even when it's faint and almost drowned out. It only takes a second after noticing it to spot him on the train; most of the crowd is normal muted little reflex flickers, nothing active and nothing agitated enough to see much; his mass of always-on-high ashy grey and sickly maroon sticks out like a spotlight in a forest. The hand collection isn't visible; he's got a plain, ratty navy hoodie, pulled up to hide his face, and without those all over, he looks like he could be any other random civilian on the train. I'm not sure if he's got them around him enough for the formaldehyde smell to have permanently sunk in or if they're just out of sight; they didn't seem to serve any purpose, but that doesn't rule out keeping at least one around as a tic of some kind. He's hunched over, turning now and then to keep track of his surroundings, three or four shopping bags hanging off his wrists, hands shoved into his pockets - and he's occasionally sidling a foot one direction or another, restless and not staying in one spot.
At first I'm not sure he'd even noticed me; he's not looking at me, just edging around keeping personal space and an open field of view... except he's definitely getting closer, until he's close enough to slide his bags under the seat and flop down right next to me, in spite of there being open seats where he'd have space.
"Isn't that symbol something everyone else around you should be wearing?" He reaches over, tapping the smaller evil-eye hansa on the front of my sweater with the back of one knuckle. He shifts, visibly taking note that I've turned just enough to see him better and potentially shut him off; he holds his hands up in front of him, very deliberately stuffing them in his pockets, out of sight. "So paranoid! I even sat down on your good side, to be nice."
Logically, it figures; they still need to eat and have basic necessities, which means doing the same thing most heroes do, and going out dressed as nondescript and not-in-costume as possible. "I can't say I was expecting to see you out like this. I thought you hated being around people."
"Ugh." He hunches, and I can catch a glimpse of a snarl under the hood. "Don't get me started on how grating it is to be shoved around in crowds of these morons." He sinks his head lower, shoulders knit in. "But, someone has to get the groceries, and Kurogiri can't do it."
"Not going to send one of your recruits to do it?" I know there's been word of people trying to seek them out, but they haven't moved yet to give us a chance to tell if they've actually accepted any of them or not. Considering the small army of bottom feeders they brought to the USJ, I can't see them being that picky - they can always just set up someone they don't like to be expendable, if they even survive meeting Shigaraki to begin with.
There's a choked, bitter half-laugh, and he almost says something, then he straightens, leaning away and turning to eye me from under his hood. "Nice try, but I didn't come over here to give you information. I just thought, if you knew I was here and I knew you were here, then it'd be ... less .... tense to just make sure there was an understanding. You know, a real cease-fire instead of you trying to tail me off the train or something like that." He ends that with a pointed glare; I could probably catch him, but if he gets out of my line of sight or is determined enough, he can still do damage before I've got him bound properly.
"I'm not dumb enough to start a fight around this many people." His body language is blatant enough that I read that 'Hell no/like hell I would' before he cut off his reaction to my question about recruits, so they must have someone, and he doesn't trust them around his food.
Not that I can blame him, given the kind of people that would've crawled out of the woodwork looking for him.
"Good Hero." Under the sarcasm it was definitely the kind of tone that'd be used with a dog; still, he settles back, sitting facing forward - although he's still slowly keeping watch enough that he'd definitely notice if I moved.
"So I suppose asking you who you're working for is off the table." I'm sure he knows the only reason he's walking out of this is the number of civilian targets he can hit; it'd be as dumb for him to start a fight as it would for me, so the odds of him being a threat right now are pretty much nil, and I can probably get away with some flippant sarcasm.
"What, you don't think I can lead?" He tilts his head in half-mock affront.
"No, I'm sure you can manage to keep your underlings in line, and you're definitely smart enough to plan. I just know that the project that led to your little pets is older than you are." It's really not hard to see the culmination of the Villain Factory in the Nomu.
He gives an exagerrated sigh, although I can see a few snarls of his energy going more jagged and brighter. "I suppose I have to concede that point. Still not going to answer you, though." It sort-of settles, as much as his energy ever does. Seeing him without the hands obscuring his features, he's a wreck - and if he's got that Quirk running at that level all the time like this, then he's probably not much older than some of my students; being that far into fight-or-flight constantly is hard on a person. "I did learn something interesting about you, though."
"Oh?" I can't really have any illusions that this is going to be a pleasant conversation, anyway.
"Apparently, we could've been brothers." He's grinning at me under that hood, and I know just enough about my old man to know exactly what that means; I probably ran away at exactly the right time to get away from whatever the fuck he was involved in. "Can you just imagine what we could've done together, nii-san?"
"I'd rather not." I know as much as I want to about my family and what my father's intentions were right now, and it's 'All Of It Was Awful'; that entire chirpy bit of commentary has 'bait' written all over it. "I'm getting off stop after next."
"Not afraid of what I might do when you're not watching, or that I might try to follow you home?" He's leaning down and forward, craning around, hands still in his pockets; I incline my head enough to get a look at his bags - there's a couple takeout bags and a couple Kombi bags. He eats worse than I did when I was living by myself.
"You're not stupid and I doubt you'd ruin your food by using grocery shopping as a lead-in to one of your schemes. Also you wouldn't need to risk your neck 'following me home' to learn anything, the agency address isn't a secret." Mic's also made sure it's not a secret that I've moved in, not when he's already livestreamed setting up pranks for when I wake up. Besides, Shigaraki seems like he really wants to make statements and is being encouraged to make big shows of chaos and destruction; I'm sure he'd be capable of pulling quiet assassinations, but I don't think he's desperate enough yet to burn one of his goals without making it a show.
