They're a little too secret, don't you think, since you don't seem to have received anything from them, ever?
[ This must be one of those first times for anything: that Gojo steers the conversation back on track. That Nanami, who would instinctively retort, it isn't we who were getting distracted, because it was always Gojo's fault, had instead settled into the the frothy frivolity. It's —
That familiar headache had begun to squeeze just over halfway into their walk here, Gojo'd announced himself with seaweed down his shirt, must be the last person Nanami would want to see here (granted, not wanting to see anyone) for reasons both professional and personal, isn't someone he's ever felt sentimental about — but in this rare moment of knowing more than Gojo, Nanami knows where the tracks end, how they end, all twisted metal and breakage.
He isn't sentimental by nature. But, with the high probability of death that had become realized, he'd accepted the plain fact of removal from everything, everyone. Sitting now beside someone he had made peace with never seeing again, it isn't exactly that he's tired (though he still is, hasn't stopped feeling it, all that weight that fixed to his impossible bones), but that he wouldn't mind drifting along with Gojo's flow for a little while.
But, because even with that sort of muddling in his head, Nanami has too firm a handle on himself, he exhales, makes quick work of snuffing and squashing all that, glances sidelong. ]
It's my understanding that all of us "Chosen" were put here, under some kind of arrest, by some god. However...
[ Shaking his head as he pauses, sorting, determining the most efficient way to present the facts as he'd known them. ]
I'll debrief you on what I know of the circumstances after you were imprisoned. At most a few hours had passed from when Mechamaru informed us of that and when my knowledge ends.
[ Not something to fold into bland reparte, but it also seems too unimportant, comparatively, to lead with: exactly why, how he could provide no information beyond that point.
At that, and idly wondering whether it would be better or worse to have to look across at Gojo for this, he begins:
What Gojo knew, the teams on standby as he was called into the depths of Shibuya. Itadori shouting, announcing his capture. The remnants of Mechamaru reporting that Geto (or someone with his appearance) had done it. The rescue operation. Splitting from Ino, Fushiguro and Itadori to convene with Ijichi on communications, and finding him gutted, bleeding out. His first aid, and on his way down, finding the assistant managers he couldn't help, already cold.
Intercepting the curse user behind it as he attacked Kugisaki and Nitta. Interrogation. Refusing to allow Kugisaki to accompany him. Meeting with Zenin and Maki, the cursed spirit that was a cursed womb, its domain expansion, death swarm (without mentioning his eye), the diminishing odds until Fushiguro arrived, informing him that Ino had needed to retreat, that Itadori was elsewhere. The opportunity given by Fushiguro, almost lost, until another man entered the domain — seemingly mindless, without cursed energy but easily brutalizing, killing the cursed spirit, breaking the domain, grabbing Fushiguro and leaving.
He keeps matter-of-fact, without emotion, when he recounts the cursed spirit with the volcano-head (surely that once reported by Gojo), palpably on several other levels above what they'd barely escaped. Fire, and when he could advance again (without mentioning the severity of his condition, pain past pain into numbing, cell death, autopilot through shutdown), uncertainty as to Maki and Zenin's conditions. And — ]
There were dozens more of the transfigured humans at that level. Though easily enough dispatched, that patchwork curse behind them stepped forward. I hadn't noticed it until its hand was already on me. Itadori-kun arrived —
That's it.
[ At some point in his recounting — he isn't fully sure when — Gojo's food and his drink arrived. Nanami sips from it now, looking at the edge of the table across from theirs. ]
I felt and saw a little of it. It doesn't seem to have transfigured me into something Itadori-kun had to fight, so he should have been spared that much. He's strong, so...
[ ...so? So he'd left it to him, though that hadn't been what he would have said, what he really meant.
Irrational, the way his throat constricts, closed up, shut down. Irrational, the aftertaste in his cheek that crystallizes on his tongue again, and since he can't swallow without choking, can't breath around it, when he opens his mouth, ]
Sorry.
[ He hadn't been. Strong enough. Itadori left with that curse, Fushiguro at the mercy of whoever that man was. If Kugisaki had stayed above, that might be something, but he couldn't say.
As a result of that weakness, Nanami had failed to rescue him, failed Japan. Apologies for for weakness, for failing, they have no place in their shitty profession. Particularly laughable to Gojo Satoru. But, he couldn't put it anywhere else, couldn't manage it, couldn't adapt, and now raises a hand to his face, as though to pinch the bridge of his nose, palm and fingers just happening to cover the rest of it. ]
That should be my last report, Gojo-san. I suppose in a place like this, if it isn't an afterlife, you could call it retirement. Even so, you might now understand why I can't accept you being here.
gomen the most boring shit
[ This must be one of those first times for anything: that Gojo steers the conversation back on track. That Nanami, who would instinctively retort, it isn't we who were getting distracted, because it was always Gojo's fault, had instead settled into the the frothy frivolity. It's —
That familiar headache had begun to squeeze just over halfway into their walk here, Gojo'd announced himself with seaweed down his shirt, must be the last person Nanami would want to see here (granted, not wanting to see anyone) for reasons both professional and personal, isn't someone he's ever felt sentimental about — but in this rare moment of knowing more than Gojo, Nanami knows where the tracks end, how they end, all twisted metal and breakage.
He isn't sentimental by nature. But, with the high probability of death that had become realized, he'd accepted the plain fact of removal from everything, everyone. Sitting now beside someone he had made peace with never seeing again, it isn't exactly that he's tired (though he still is, hasn't stopped feeling it, all that weight that fixed to his impossible bones), but that he wouldn't mind drifting along with Gojo's flow for a little while.
But, because even with that sort of muddling in his head, Nanami has too firm a handle on himself, he exhales, makes quick work of snuffing and squashing all that, glances sidelong. ]
It's my understanding that all of us "Chosen" were put here, under some kind of arrest, by some god. However...
[ Shaking his head as he pauses, sorting, determining the most efficient way to present the facts as he'd known them. ]
I'll debrief you on what I know of the circumstances after you were imprisoned. At most a few hours had passed from when Mechamaru informed us of that and when my knowledge ends.
[ Not something to fold into bland reparte, but it also seems too unimportant, comparatively, to lead with: exactly why, how he could provide no information beyond that point.
At that, and idly wondering whether it would be better or worse to have to look across at Gojo for this, he begins:
What Gojo knew, the teams on standby as he was called into the depths of Shibuya. Itadori shouting, announcing his capture. The remnants of Mechamaru reporting that Geto (or someone with his appearance) had done it. The rescue operation. Splitting from Ino, Fushiguro and Itadori to convene with Ijichi on communications, and finding him gutted, bleeding out. His first aid, and on his way down, finding the assistant managers he couldn't help, already cold.
Intercepting the curse user behind it as he attacked Kugisaki and Nitta. Interrogation. Refusing to allow Kugisaki to accompany him. Meeting with Zenin and Maki, the cursed spirit that was a cursed womb, its domain expansion, death swarm (without mentioning his eye), the diminishing odds until Fushiguro arrived, informing him that Ino had needed to retreat, that Itadori was elsewhere. The opportunity given by Fushiguro, almost lost, until another man entered the domain — seemingly mindless, without cursed energy but easily brutalizing, killing the cursed spirit, breaking the domain, grabbing Fushiguro and leaving.
He keeps matter-of-fact, without emotion, when he recounts the cursed spirit with the volcano-head (surely that once reported by Gojo), palpably on several other levels above what they'd barely escaped. Fire, and when he could advance again (without mentioning the severity of his condition, pain past pain into numbing, cell death, autopilot through shutdown), uncertainty as to Maki and Zenin's conditions. And — ]
There were dozens more of the transfigured humans at that level. Though easily enough dispatched, that patchwork curse behind them stepped forward. I hadn't noticed it until its hand was already on me. Itadori-kun arrived —
That's it.
[ At some point in his recounting — he isn't fully sure when — Gojo's food and his drink arrived. Nanami sips from it now, looking at the edge of the table across from theirs. ]
I felt and saw a little of it. It doesn't seem to have transfigured me into something Itadori-kun had to fight, so he should have been spared that much. He's strong, so...
[ ...so? So he'd left it to him, though that hadn't been what he would have said, what he really meant.
Irrational, the way his throat constricts, closed up, shut down. Irrational, the aftertaste in his cheek that crystallizes on his tongue again, and since he can't swallow without choking, can't breath around it, when he opens his mouth, ]
Sorry.
[ He hadn't been. Strong enough. Itadori left with that curse, Fushiguro at the mercy of whoever that man was. If Kugisaki had stayed above, that might be something, but he couldn't say.
As a result of that weakness, Nanami had failed to rescue him, failed Japan. Apologies for for weakness, for failing, they have no place in their shitty profession. Particularly laughable to Gojo Satoru. But, he couldn't put it anywhere else, couldn't manage it, couldn't adapt, and now raises a hand to his face, as though to pinch the bridge of his nose, palm and fingers just happening to cover the rest of it. ]
That should be my last report, Gojo-san. I suppose in a place like this, if it isn't an afterlife, you could call it retirement. Even so, you might now understand why I can't accept you being here.