Sorry if this isn't what you had in mind OP, but I hope you like it anyway.
I 1a/8
Boring. Everything was boring. Dull, plain, tiresome, mundane. Nothing really entertained him for long. It was rare if something did, really, and usually that didn't last, since he'd always exhaust his one source of fun until it ceased to be enjoyable. It happened with everything he found release in-school, work, Junes, Inaba, even his old city life became a nuisance eventually. Everything he thought useless he'd just blow away; like the wind, it'd be there one second and gone the next. He'd toss it to the breeze, let it go along in whatever direction it pleased since it no longer mattered to him. When it became boring, it became useless. He no longer cared.
Except Saki-senpai. She made it all worthwhile when he was forced to live in the boonies. There was always something about her that had him intrigued, that had him hooked, like a drug addict to their addictive substance. He felt there was a presence, an entity behind her that she kept hidden away from the world that she wouldn't let anyone else see, no matter how hard they searched for it or begged to see it. That kept him attatched to her: curiosity. He wanted to know more about her, about what was behind those deceiving eyes, behind the facade held firmly in place without a single crack or dent to pick away at. It was fun trying to figure her out, figure out her secrets. It was a game.
A game that really started after her death.
With the TV world came a new interest, a new reason to stay in this godforsaken place these people called a town. Vicious serial murders, mysterious TV world, dark looming shadows, almighty entities, Personas, that was intriguing. Life suddenly ceased to be grey, and color spread. For once, Yosuke didn't want to blow things away in the wind. He wanted to suck them up, absorb all the color and fun into a wailing vortex of overpowering gusts, twisting and turning to hold it's prey hostage.
Jiraiya did all this work for him. All he had to do was summon the urge, the need to consume and claim all the fun that was rightfully his to his mind, and there it would be, a massive twister of raw force taking everything in his sight for his own entertainment. The ability, the shadows, they were his right and they were his, and he needed all of it because, well, he deserved it and deserved not to be bored. After all, boredrom was just such a drag. Having the power to vacum life, to steal essence, even from such a low life form, now that was fun.
When he was little and scrawny, before everything was dull and before Junes and all his problems, his neighbor Mr. Takashi tried to build a small fort for his nine-year-old to play in. They didn't have any trees in their yard or around the block for a tree house, like his son wanted, but Mr. Takashi told his kid he could still have a small cottage on the ground. Yosuke would watch his neighbor as he walked down their street to school every day and ask to help him work on the tiny building. Although Mr. Takashi said he couldn't mess with any of the equipment because he was still too young, Yosuke still liked to examine his neighbor's work and continued watching him slowly build the wooden fort.
One day while taking a walk, when Mr. Takashi was drunk and stupid and not thinking straight, he let Yosuke come with him to saw some of the wood on the cutting table. Yosuke remembered admiring the steel of the round blade, shining in the light of the slowly setting sun, a red hue reflecting over it's surface. He watched in awe as his companion worked, easing the marked wooden plank through the machinery, examining the wood as the teeth tore through the planks. After the fourth piece of wood, however, being in a wet and shady haze, Yosuke's neighbor accidentally pushed his own right hand through the metalic spinning contraption.
Ear-piercing screaming echoed through the late evening air as his neighbor thrashed about wildly, unsure of anything but the pain that was his hand in his stupor. Yosuke remembered the blood, the dark crimson almost sinking into the wooden pannels as the surface absorbed the warm liquid. The substance seemed to blend and become one with the light of the sun, the reds melding together to create one long streak toward the fading light of day. Through it all he rembers the rotating saw, no longer gleaming in the sunlight but coated and thickened in red, twisting and throwing color everywhere, on his shoes, on his clothes, on his face, in his hair until it turned red completely. The wind carried it to him.
And now he was smiling, the headphones forming the throbbing bass of the machine, the flashes of crimson in his persona's hair, the slashing and tearing of Susano-O's saw through the shadows' flesh, the twisting as the turning vortex carried within it the red he recognized so well.
I 1a/8
Boring. Everything was boring. Dull, plain, tiresome, mundane. Nothing really entertained him for long. It was rare if something did, really, and usually that didn't last, since he'd always exhaust his one source of fun until it ceased to be enjoyable. It happened with everything he found release in-school, work, Junes, Inaba, even his old city life became a nuisance eventually. Everything he thought useless he'd just blow away; like the wind, it'd be there one second and gone the next. He'd toss it to the breeze, let it go along in whatever direction it pleased since it no longer mattered to him. When it became boring, it became useless. He no longer cared.
Except Saki-senpai. She made it all worthwhile when he was forced to live in the boonies. There was always something about her that had him intrigued, that had him hooked, like a drug addict to their addictive substance. He felt there was a presence, an entity behind her that she kept hidden away from the world that she wouldn't let anyone else see, no matter how hard they searched for it or begged to see it. That kept him attatched to her: curiosity. He wanted to know more about her, about what was behind those deceiving eyes, behind the facade held firmly in place without a single crack or dent to pick away at. It was fun trying to figure her out, figure out her secrets. It was a game.
A game that really started after her death.
With the TV world came a new interest, a new reason to stay in this godforsaken place these people called a town. Vicious serial murders, mysterious TV world, dark looming shadows, almighty entities, Personas, that was intriguing. Life suddenly ceased to be grey, and color spread. For once, Yosuke didn't want to blow things away in the wind. He wanted to suck them up, absorb all the color and fun into a wailing vortex of overpowering gusts, twisting and turning to hold it's prey hostage.
Jiraiya did all this work for him. All he had to do was summon the urge, the need to consume and claim all the fun that was rightfully his to his mind, and there it would be, a massive twister of raw force taking everything in his sight for his own entertainment. The ability, the shadows, they were his right and they were his, and he needed all of it because, well, he deserved it and deserved not to be bored. After all, boredrom was just such a drag. Having the power to vacum life, to steal essence, even from such a low life form, now that was fun.
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And when Susano-O came, it only got better.
When he was little and scrawny, before everything was dull and before Junes and all his problems, his neighbor Mr. Takashi tried to build a small fort for his nine-year-old to play in. They didn't have any trees in their yard or around the block for a tree house, like his son wanted, but Mr. Takashi told his kid he could still have a small cottage on the ground. Yosuke would watch his neighbor as he walked down their street to school every day and ask to help him work on the tiny building. Although Mr. Takashi said he couldn't mess with any of the equipment because he was still too young, Yosuke still liked to examine his neighbor's work and continued watching him slowly build the wooden fort.
One day while taking a walk, when Mr. Takashi was drunk and stupid and not thinking straight, he let Yosuke come with him to saw some of the wood on the cutting table. Yosuke remembered admiring the steel of the round blade, shining in the light of the slowly setting sun, a red hue reflecting over it's surface. He watched in awe as his companion worked, easing the marked wooden plank through the machinery, examining the wood as the teeth tore through the planks. After the fourth piece of wood, however, being in a wet and shady haze, Yosuke's neighbor accidentally pushed his own right hand through the metalic spinning contraption.
Ear-piercing screaming echoed through the late evening air as his neighbor thrashed about wildly, unsure of anything but the pain that was his hand in his stupor. Yosuke remembered the blood, the dark crimson almost sinking into the wooden pannels as the surface absorbed the warm liquid. The substance seemed to blend and become one with the light of the sun, the reds melding together to create one long streak toward the fading light of day. Through it all he rembers the rotating saw, no longer gleaming in the sunlight but coated and thickened in red, twisting and throwing color everywhere, on his shoes, on his clothes, on his face, in his hair until it turned red completely. The wind carried it to him.
And now he was smiling, the headphones forming the throbbing bass of the machine, the flashes of crimson in his persona's hair, the slashing and tearing of Susano-O's saw through the shadows' flesh, the twisting as the turning vortex carried within it the red he recognized so well.
Yes. This wasn't boring at all.
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