[ careening through time and space is certainly nothing new for gojo satoru.

in fact, that's a regular monday for him.

however— he'd woken up on a beach, and thought, with a bit of annoyance: ah, shit. i'm dead— oops.

but, there had been no suspicious ghosts looming to remind him of past failures, not a hint of the ones that went first; his fallen comrades— haibara, riko, suguru (and he's not yet aware of what happened to nanami and nobara; shibuya stands behind them like a mark of failure; one he only caught a part of). this place is just a beach— bright, stark— and in the distance what looked like a festival.

okinawa, or an undead approximation of it, would have been the perfect resting place, but this doesn't have the same feeling as what he'd imagined the afterlife might possess (no cute angelic beings to swoop him into their loving arms either, zero out of ten, he wants a refund). dimensions are a possibility; hey, he knows string theory— he's a walking physics experiment.

anyway— gojo's never been one to dwell. his day is spent milling around the festival— he knows that back in his time, kenjaku has sealed him; if this is the inside of the cube, then hey. the guy's been pretty busy? lots of people here. but really, everyone seems decently normal, as if he's taken a vacation to a foreign country, and gojo finds himself distracted by the sea breeze, the easy smiles of the locals, the way that this feels, just for a moment, like that weekend on okinawa, so long ago. he's a creature of the current second, too— his worries back on earth sit in the back of his mind but. but. he's here now, isn't he?

night falls. the fires snap to life and gojo stands with the crowd (already having made some completely random new friends who have been feeding him? he didn't even compete in any games? why is he like this?), watching as the performances begin, and while he doesn't understand the languages of the songs, he watches all the same.

he's a sociable creature— so he'll be ready to strike up a conversation with anyone; he's also very curious to know how everyone else got here, though from what he's gathered so far, they're all in the same boat (well, beach). a freak happening, he'd thought. novel. anyway— his shirt is open, chest exposed (it's the beach, this is just necessary— besides, even gege couldn't give us shirtless gojo, so. here he is: come and see gojo's abs). he's a little wind-ruffled, a little salt-ruffled, he might have caught something of a tan; there's a dusting of sun across his shoulders and cheekbones.

he bumps into you, catches your elbow with a doggish tilt of his head. ]

Eh, you from around here? Sorry— sorry, great weather, huh? Any idea how I can get back to Tokyo, I'm missing my cue.

[ go ahead and run into him anywhere! he'll be meandering around the beach, and he's there all day~! being a curious menace, sticking his nose into conversations, offering idiot commentary— gojo's a great time, but he's an irritating time— feel free to tell him off, hit on him, as you like it~ ]