with a thousand lies and a good disguise

For all the talk of blowing up the Diet Building, and his little rampage through Shido's office the day he arrived, Akechi doesn't try his father's keywords until the day after he learns everything. Or at least... some things. The shadow of how things might, or might not be.

The ship is right there, no different to how he remembers. He moves through it uncostumed, unmasked, just as he always has, in that mossy green jacket that's slightly less tailored than his shirt and pants; he belongs. The guests titter and giggle about their privilege; the cognitions look through him as if he isn't real. Sometimes he feels eyes on him and looks up, only to realise he's looking into a mirror.

Eventually, far inside the ship, in the balconied chamber with the plants that the Shadows patrol, he drops down into a chair. Could call Loki and run rampage here, if he wanted. Could pull his gun and put a bullet through each of those patrolling Shadows, one, two, three. Could use his claws, tear those plants from their holders for a start. Shred the velvet, punch through the walls. Scream and scream and scream. Beat the palace hollow till whatever's lurking in its deepest depths shows up to finish him.

But he doesn't. One mustn't, after all—heh—rock the boat. Even if you want nothing more than to tear a hole in the hull and go down with it. Even if you've been running, and running, and someone's dropped a brick wall into your path.

Abruptly, his head snaps up, eyes sharpening. Someone's here.