Powder Snow

❄ Madarao Mao ❄ 斑尾真緒 ❄ ❄ Super High School Level Ballet Dancer ❄ ❄ Status: Alive ❄

[shslballet-blog1]

The Witching Hour

Mao had made the prudent choice to ignore the time. Time was meaningless now anyway. There were no windows, and no way of seeing the level of light outside. And without sleep, there was no division between days. Everything had begun to blend together into one continuous stream. And Mao figured that counting the minutes would only stress him out. Time was ruled now by bodily needs, not by numbers.

Mao prided himself on being a pretty calm sort of person. He refused to let this get the better of him. He’d had sleepless nights before, so this wouldn’t be anything special. By the second night - maybe it was already upon them - things might start to get difficult but for now he was just trying to take his mind off if it.

He glanced up from his book. He’d been hungry five times so far. So it was probably noon of the second day? Or maybe it was still night. He wasn’t sure. Didn’t feel like confirming it.

He had been keeping exercise light, so as not to tire himself out; just enough to stretch and keep his muscles from locking up. He’d changed from his uniform to a tee shirt and jeans, and had tied his hair back, for he may as well get comfy. He’d put his makeup and good clothes on again after some sleep. And until someone died he had planted himself in the main lobby with a good book. He had dragged a chair in from another room and was quite content there with the fountain gurgling behind him. He figured he was in a central enough area that nobody would try to jump him. They’d be seen, or heard, by someone. The ones in danger were the ones who insisted on straying from the group.

But somebody was approaching. He frowned and closed the book. He’d been trying to stay close to the centre but not socialise with anyone. Someone was going to die in the next day or two, and there was no sense getting attached.

“Can I help you?” he asked coolly, with a bit more of an edge to his voice than he’d intended. Lack of sleep was making him irritable. Which was irritating in its own right. Aloof neutrality was hard to maintain right now.

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[tamikoyorurei-blog]

Tamiko had been expecting such a firm grip, but that didn’t prevent her from raising an eyebrow. Such coldness, such professionalism from someone who was still in school. Really, she had no idea how impossibly straight laced he’d have to be as an adult if this was how serious teenage self was. Wasn’t it boring, being so businesslike all the time? Didn’t he ever have fun? But these thoughts were irrelevant - she returned the handshake before slipping her hand away from his grip, like a darting snake, the moment it was released, slithering it back to rest on her hip.

“Just Tamiko’s fine with me, Madarao-uh, kun. Or -san. Whatever you prefer.”

She smirked at his compliment (at least, she thought he had complimented her. Possibly. If it wasn’t a compliment then it should have been.) Either way, it was impossible for her to convey her philosophy to him with perfect clarity, and so although she was itching to state that she did’t need luck she decided to hold her tongue. After all, she would much rather be finding out some actual, juicy information than running the conversation around in circles.

But Tamiko did not miss the vagueness of his statement. Strategising could mean anything. Of course, there was the perfectly plausible possibility that Mao was simply withholding information, trying to hold his cards close. Which was probably a good idea. He had every right to view her, and all others, as potential murderers.

And yet she couldn’t help but play devil’s advocate.

“On the contrary,” she replied, “I’d say pushing through day to day is actually a pretty good idea. I mean, by all means have a general strategy, but I’d try not to think long-term too much. Mutual killing games are designed to constantly shake it up, throw curveball after curveball at you. Always expect the unexpected. Keep on your toes, keep flexible. It’s quite frankly arrogant to think you can have sufficient foresight.”

[shslballet-blog1]

One of those first-name-basis sorts. It was hard to remember those exceptions. He made a mental note that Tamiko was one of them but he could make no promises to remember it consistently. “Ms. Tamiko, then,” Mao said, “For me, Madarao-san will do, thank you.” 

He laughed, more like a slightly more forceful exhale than an actual laugh. “You must forgive me, I have only been strategising for a short time. But, as the saying goes, no plan survives first contact. Of course I know I must be adaptable.”

Part of this game was the unpredictability of it. He had to be ready for anything. And he knew that he would be forced to deal with situations he could not even begin to expect. But to blindly stumble through the game was a mistake as well.

“But I tire of this argument,” he said, “It seems we both have our differing ideas of how to proceed, and only time will tell if they are both effective. Now, what do you think of this space? I could almost guess that we are standing in the atrium of a museum, or something of that sort.”

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[shslnaotobe-blog]

“I’d say it’s nice to meet you too,” Nao said casually, as though nothing unusual was really going on. She might as well have been making entirely average conversation about the weather. “But given the whole mutual killing stuff, it makes it a little, you know, less nice.”

It was a joke, or at least it was meant to be. One would be surprised how often cynicism was coupled with levity.

“Yeah, I understand precautions. That’s why I said it was smart not to trust me,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Some kids here would love to trust everyone…I hope they don’t die.”

Well, better they than her, honestly. But still, she had yet to witness a murder in her colorful career, and she’d rather keep it that way. It seemed better for everyone if less murder happened. As an afterthought, she couldn’t believe that this was a real train of thought she was genuinely having. The whole situation was bananas.

“Hey, if I get a promise that you won’t kill me, that makes three people I’ve got promises from,” she said lightheartedly. “Of course, if you’re about to commit murder, breaking promises probably doesn’t seem like that big of a deal anymore, huh.”

[shslballet-blog1]

“That is so, isn’t it,” he said, “Promises are cheap compared to murder.” With a controlled motion Mao folded his arms in front of his chest. “Forgive me if this sounds forward, but if you already have three others pledged to direct any homicidal urges away from you, surely you could spare such a promise toward me before I do the same for you.”

And, of course, those promises were, as he had said, effectively meaningless. He could be cynical all he wanted, but having a spoken promise, no matter how hollow, was a little reassuring. And he did intend to return the sentiment - he just wanted to be sure it wasn’t in vain.

He sighed. He couldn’t help but glance around, scanning the other fourteen teenagers milling about the area. “It would be ideal if none of them did. But that is not likely, is it? It doesn’t feel real yet. We can talk it over ad nauseum, but... well, I am not looking forward to the first murder.” Assuming he lived to see it, of course.

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[tamikoyorurei-blog]

“Another video?” Tamiko asked before shaking her head. “Naah. Got to keep the content fresh, you know. Besides, don’t want to drain my phone battery. Never know when I might need it, after all. But if you want some screentime, I’m sure that can be arranged.” She tapered off with a teasing lilt, even though she was certain that Mao would loathe being in one of her vlogs.

And then he turned, and Tamiko’s mood lifted a good few miles because she’d won a game that she’d decided on herself. A petty thing, so childish, and yet the satisfaction was real nonetheless. Empty, perhaps, but that didn’t matter. So her expression was almost triumphant, even with the pointlessness of her victory, as he addressed her.

“Hope is a cheap cop-out.” She replied with a shrug, although that didn’t shake off her petulant attitude. “Yeah, I could hope for something, but that doesn’t make it any more likely to happen. The world needs more dynamic people. People who just hope, who don’t do, tend not to fall under that category.” 

Even as he tried to reason with her, she only maintained an air of playfulness, twirling a strand of her hair as though they were discussing the weather rather than the very real possibility of her impending death. Because the fact was that Tamiko had already ruled out that outcome entirely. As far as she was concerned, the more that she troubled herself with worrying about her own death, the more likely it was to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“I know the mind games, and it’s the fear that lets them get to you. The fear of death. But I’m not going to die, so I’m not playing their game. I’m not afraid, so they have no power over me. I’m not afraid because I’ve decided that I’m not going to die, and I’m a very decisive person.” She gave her finger a tug, letting the tightly wrapped coil of hair around it free. “The kind of person who sees things through, if you catch my drift. So don’t you see? I’ve got a strategy. What about you?”

And finally, he asked for her name. She’d almost forgotten that it was uncommon to know somebody’s name before speaking to them for the first time. Of course, in a school mostly populated by those who had accumulated some degree of fame, it was a more likely occurrence than usual, but that didn’t mean that they could forego basic manners.

“Tamiko.” She told him, stretching out a hand. “Tamiko Yorurei, but just Tamiko’s fine. And you? Because I’m assuming you prefer to be called something other than Snowflake.” Not like that was going to stop her from keeping the nickname.

[shslballet-blog1]

Mao looked down at the hand for a brief moment as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. But then, with a gloved hand of his own, he took it in a moderately strong grip and shook twice. Businesslike. “It is good to meet you, Ms. Yorurei,” he said, once he had released the hand, “I am Mao Madarao.” He didn’t deign to justify the nickname with acknowledgement.

He decided that with someone so bent on being both cynical and headstrong that there wasn’t much point in contesting her. She had denounced hope as being foolish, but simply deciding that she was going to live and then expecting that to happen sounded an awful lot like hope. He didn’t say that, though. Doing so would create a stream of, well, more of the same, which sounded exhausting to parse through.

“Your courage is admirable,” he said, not disingenuously. “I wish you the best of luck, then.” He’d like to hope that none of them would die. But if this was real, then the first death was going to be... difficult. He did not look forward to it.

“Of course I am strategising as well,” he said. He didn’t have anything concrete yet, but he was working on it. If all the signs were correct, then he’d sure have all the time in the world to think it over. “It would be foolish not to be careful and thoughtful in this place. Blindly pushing through from one day to the next will get one killed here.”

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[shslnaotobe-blog]

“Huh?” Nao asked, having genuinely forgotten that part. It had been long enough since she’d readily and willingly engaged with people of her own age and caliber that she’d forgotten that names were often exchanged as a necessity rather than concealed as a way of life. “Oh! Right, I’m Nao Tobe.”

She offered a small bow by way of introduction, and then looked sharply back up at him. She already knew his name and occupation. She wondered if he’d take the opportunity to introduce himself honestly, or if she’d have to ask him. She wasn’t the best at reading people, but she had a distinct hunch that he would tend toward the formalities.

“You don’t trust me,” she said, tilting her head to the side speculatively. “Smart. But I’m not gonna kill you.”

Probably.

[shslballet-blog1]

“A pleasure, Ms. Tobe,” he replied, with his usual detached formality. Whether it actually was a pleasure was open to interpretation. “I am Mao Madarao.” He gave an equally shallow bow.

He had never heard the name Nao Tobe before, but then again, he hadn’t heard of anyone with whom he’d spoken yet today. Didn’t bother to pay attention to pop culture. He lived under his little rock in contented ignorance. He narrowed his eyes by a fraction as she spoke, picking apart her words in his head.

“Forgive me if I am not entirely reassured,” he stated, “Do not mistake me, I would very much like to believe you, just as I am sure you would like to believe that I will not kill you. But precautions are necessary here.”

He paused, still thinking. “That said, some form of alliance would be mutually beneficial, provided we both have the restraint not to betray each other.”

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[shslpan-blog]

Pan gave another shrug.

“I guess, but I’m like positive we’ll be outta here in no time flat. That or we’ll find a way outta here.”

Either Pan was quite optimistic or they were a bit stubborn and really didn’t accept the fact that they all could possibly die in here. It was better to just relax and not worry about it so much. That’s what they’ve been doing their entire like after all and things have turned out pretty well for them.

Pan blinked a bit when Mao asked for their name. Oh right, names. Pan forgot to introduce themselves when they came over, shoot.

"Oh, yeah! Totally. Names Pan! The incredible internet sensation.”

All they do is dance and upload their videos to the internet, but sure Pan. Internet sensation. They wink and do a pistol shooting motion with their hand. Pan’s been doing that so much lately, they can’t just stop with it now.

[shslballet-blog1]

Internet sensation, was it. Mao rarely used the internet, or, at least, social media. He had a faux-twitter account he used for promotion and that was it. So the declaration didn’t yield much of a reaction.

“It is a pleasure, Pan,” he said, with all the necessary shows of politeness. He hesitated slightly over the name - that didn’t sound like a real name. “I am Mao Madarao, ballet dancer.”

He glanced around the room once more. “I suppose that we must make the best of it while we are here. I am sure someone among us will attempt to organise... Hopefully we can stave off any murderous intent, seeing as we all know how this game goes.”

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[shslnaotobe-blog]

“Emotional profit?” Nao mused, looking fascinated at the idea.

It hadn’t occurred to her that for something of this magnitude, emotional currency was more valuable than monetary. She felt like a fool, needing Mao to spell things out for her. Perhaps the shock of the situation actually had gotten to her more than she’d presumed–her mind wasn’t working as fast as it usually did.

Her dark eyes flashed as they looked over Mao again. Ice king, certainly, but intelligent. Skilled in ballet, so certainly he was strong. She could definitely use him.

“You’re right,” she said, her mouth quirking into a smile that reeked of determination. “About the emotional payoff, I think, and that we’re not alone.”

The word ‘partner’ was one she’d likely never use unironically. After all, like all great detectives and also Batman, she worked alone. But…perhaps another arrangement could be met.

“We could form an alliance,” she said, settling on the correct word. “You and me, I mean. We’re a private no-kill zone, and I bet we could figure some stuff out if we put our heads together. What d’ya say?”

[shslballet-blog1]

Mao’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, the hint of a crease between his eyes. An interesting proposition, certainly. It was handy to have an ally in this game, wasn’t it? If you stuck with another person, used the buddy system, then would-be murderers would have to contend with two people at once. And, if one half of the pair was found dead, the immediate suspect would be the other half, discouraging that altogether.

Now that said, Mao couldn’t reasonably believe that this gal wouldn’t literally stab him in the back when things got tense. He supposed he would have to be just as ready to stab her in the back. What a fun little dilemma.

Instead of committing to that immediately, he said, after a moment of thoughtful appraisal, “I confess, I hesitate to ally with someone who has not even offered her name.” He was suspicious of her, certainly. She seemed secretive, and got excited by things others would consider morbid and frightening, and yet she expected him to trust her. Although he couldn’t rightly complain about all of that - he had his own secrets, too.

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[tamikoyorurei-blog]

Oh goodness, he still wasn’t turning around. He wanted her to budge. How stubborn was this boy? He may as well have been an icicle dressed up as a human being. Was it so hard to just look at her while she was talking? Tamiko was half tempted to give him what he seemed to want and walk over to him. Possibly very fast. And probably with the intention of pushing him into that damn fountain and then seeing how haughty he decided to be.

Fortunately for Mao, Tamiko was not that childish - or, at the very least, she wasn’t keen on the possibility of accidentally ending up in said fountain herself, especially not when she had her phone in her pocket. But she was still immature enough to stick her tongue out at his back, eyes narrowed in sheer disapproval. She didn’t like his aloof nature, if only because she detected a sense of arrogance coupled with the complete absence of any kind of mirth.

When she spoke, she made sure to raise her voice so that he could still hear her. She wasn’t giving in, not yet.

“Oh, I’m totally aware that I’m statistically likely to die here. But I’m not going to. I’ve decided that I won’t, so I shan’t.” She nodded matter-of-factly, as if by her simple declaration it would be thus, before continuing. “And if I somehow do, then I’ll be dead, and I won’t have to admit to anybody that I was wrong.”

[shslballet-blog1]

Now, in all honesty, Mao wasn’t thinking of this as sort of competition, a game of chicken where the first to turn lost. When he realised that Tamiko hadn’t actually followed him, he just decided that she was being petulant. He paused by the fountain and peered into the water. Any coins in there?

“Are you shooting another video?” he asked, before tuning around to see if she was. Nope, just petulant. He strode back over toward her, talking as he went. “I would very much like for you to be right in this, you now,” he said. He regarded her with the same flat, expressionless expression as he regarded everything else in his life. “I would very much like it if nobody at all died. Preferably the sixteen of us would leave this place still breathing. I am not holding tightly onto that hope, though.

“I am afraid it will take more than a simple decision to keep you alive,” he said, “We have an advantage, though. Assuming you paid attention in history classes, you know how these things work, the psychological mind games implicit in the scenario. You will need to strategise, of course. Best of luck, for I assume the majority of us will be strategising as well.”

He exhaled and folded his arms at his chest. “All of these words and I still do not know to whom I speak. Might I ask your name?” A formality, of course, since he could just as easily look it up.

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[shslnaotobe-blog]

Cold as ice, was he. It was rather like trying to get a rise out of a snowman, she could tell that already. He seemed…confident. Self assured. She could use that, she wagered, thought it wasn’t quite the same. Pitting herself against one ballerina would never be as entertaining as pitting every ballerina against one another, and this environment was solely lacking in other ballerinas.

“People don’t learn,” she said, and it was as though she were teaching him a fundamental fact of life that he ought to have learned by now. Yes, fire was hot. Yes, fire would always be hot. “If there’s profit in making a mistake more than once, people will do it. Otherwise all wars would have stopped after the first one.”

Actually…there might be something to that. Someone had to be benefiting from this. Something like the original event was something like a fluke–bizarre, unrepeatable. But if someone went out of their way to replicate it, there must be profit in it. Someone who sold weapons, or pre-fabs like her grandmother, or…or mysterious buildings and retro cameras. Not enough data to presume who was making money off of this yet, though.

“But you’re right,” she said, addressing his second point. “Well, you’re more right than you are wrong anyway,” she added with an airy laugh. “I definitely got myself into this mess just like the rest of you. Makes being a Super High School Level kid a little less cool, I bet.”

[shslballet-blog1]

Mao made a small ‘hmph’. “I try not to be cynical but there may be some merit to it. Some very unhealthy individual is having the time of their life right now, I suppose. But when society eats itself alive like it did before, monetary profit becomes rather meaningless, I should assume. The payoff here is only emotional for some very, very... twisted individuals.”

A chilling thought. He certainly didn’t hope that that was the case, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? He didn’t feel as horrified as he thought he should, but this also hadn’t really sunk in yet. It would likely hit him full force sometime in the near future. But for now Mao was able to think objectively.

He sighed, and absently twirled a strand of hair. A nervous tick, one of his very, very few. What a mess. He felt like he would wake up soon. Like this had to be a dream. He had never been a strikingly optimistic person and yet he didn’t want to believe the reality of all of this.

“Well,” he muttered, “I suppose we are all in this mess, regardless. I am not sure if that is actually consoling, though.” At least he wasn’t the only one. But then, he was stuck with fifteen potential murderers. Great.

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[tamikoyorurei-blog]

He didn’t even turn to look at her. There was a cool, frosty passivity to him, one that made him completely inaccessible. Tamiko was used to cracking people open, she relished in the task of finding out what was really inside behind all the bravado and masks, unveiling weaknesses and strengths alike. Perhaps she’d been wrong in her judgment of him, instantly, when she’d categorised him as an imbecile for his distance. Of course, no definite judgments could be made this early on, and especially not in Hope’s Peak; the institute always seemed to attract the entire spectrum of the human condition, and it was impossible to pinpoint someone from a glance.

The point was, Mao Madaro was the opposite of an open book. And although Tamiko was aware that, in their circumstance, that wasn’t a good thing, she couldn’t help but relish in it. After all, she loved a good mystery, and who was she to judge someone for keeping their cards close?

Or maybe Mao wasn’t that much of an enigma at all. Who knew. The point was, he intrigued her, and that set him apart from some of their more open classmates. His acceptance of their situation, and his realism surrounding it, was like a breath of fresh air in comparison to the saccharine optimism she’d been hearing.

She didn’t move from her spot. No, he was going to have to turn around. Tamiko wasn’t moving an inch.

“Oh, some of us will break.” She replied airily. “All of us will break, in our own little way. You don’t go through hell and come out unscathed. And some of us will definitely commit murder, that’s a given. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t win. The first group had barely a spark of common sense between them and no previous example to go from, and six of them made it out alive.” Tamiko sighed softly before continuing. “I know the chances are, statistically, that I’m going to die here. And I say fuck that. I plan to raise hell while I’m here, and like shit am I going to die under the control of a mopey dog robot.” She tilted her head to the side, almost as if studying the back of his head, trying to glean whatever she could. “Why do you ask? Are you scared, Snowflake?”

[shslballet-blog1]

His eye twitched involuntarily. Good thing she couldn’t see his face. He’d never been called that, but he’d just decided that he didn’t like it. Wasn’t a fan of nicknames. Also wasn’t a fan of people who gave other people nicknames. And so Mao figured he didn’t like the camera girl.

“To risk arguing semantics,” he said carefully, “I do not think ‘scared’ is the correct word. Perhaps concerned. Cautious. Bad things are going to happen here and I would much rather not be the victim of them. Is that not cause for a healthy level of fear?”

His eyes travelled back up to the room in front of him. In particular, he looked at the fountain. It seemed awfully extravagant for a school, and so he doubted they were in one. Perhaps a museum? A highrise building of some sort? Not sure. He’d have to look around. But if this was real, he’d have all the time in the world for that.

He took a step forward, and another, and made his way toward the fountain, while continuing to talk, forcing the girl to follow him if she was so bent on grilling him about having human emotions. “And what of you? You seem quite self-assured. Confidence, or naivete? Do you have a plan to survive, or are you simply safe because you experience the world in first-person and so you could not possibly be killed?”

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[shslpan-blog]

Now they they were a bit closer, Pan thankfully toned down on the yelling and talked more normally. Thank goodness.

“I see I see. Huh, thought people would have found more stuff in that time. Oh well.”

Pan shrugged, yawning a bit as they did.

“Hmmm? Well yeah, it’d be no good panicking or being all sad and stuff right? Plus we’ll probably be fine. Our dashing rescue is probably on it’s way as we speak, plus it’s not like anyone would actually murder somebody. I’d imagine people are smart enough to not pull shit like that. So I’m not too worried about the whole thing.”

They rested their arms behind their head and leaned back a bit. Either Pan just didn’t care that one of them could be murdered or they were just a bit too optimistic.

[shslballet-blog1]

A glass half full sort of person, it seemed. Mao almost admired the kid’s bright outlook on the whole situation. It sounded like a nice thing to have. Mao, on the other hand, was admittedly being pessimistic, but in what he imagined was a rather realistic way.

“That would be nice, I admit,” he said, “But I cannot say I am expecting anything of that sort too soon. It would be... prudent to prepare for the worst.” Hope for the best but be ready for the worst. One of the other dancers he worked with had had this sort of attitude. It seemed like a reasonable compromise.

He exhaled and supposed he should get on with it. “Might I ask your name?” It was good to know just who he was dealing with here. Not that he expected to recognise many of them. He didn’t pay much attention to that sort of thing.

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[shslnaotobe-blog]

Nao was torn between disappointment at the situation and the mild stirrings of victory stemming from the fact that she’d totally called it. Other than that…she was surprisingly numb. It was as she’d expected, and since she’d expected it, she couldn’t be hurt as harshly by it–or at least, that’s how her logic usually went.

It applied to people, anyway. It applied to institutions even more than that. But this…what would you call this?

She determined that she’d do what she always did in times of peril. Distract herself; ignore the issue.

Scanning the crowd rather than her surroundings seemed like the first good idea she’d had since she’d woken up on the floor. After all, it was unlikely that the walls would kill her. These other kids, however…Her eyes settled on a boy that looked more like an ice sculpture than a person. The ballet dancer, she recalled.

He was talking to himself.

“What should we have learned?” she asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. “Not to have descended into despair–or, my bad, melancholy this time around–as a society? Or should we have figured out how to not be the chumps who accept Hope’s Peak invitations.”

She was genuinely amused by the idea. So many talented teenagers, at the top of their game, getting invitations in the mail and going ‘Hmm, I’m not in a really murderous stage in my life yet. I should probably attend public school for now.’ The amusement showed up on her face, making her appear ghastly and pleased at this whole scenario.

Probably not a great first impression.

[shslballet-blog1]

Mao stared at the speaker with an utterly flat expression. Her question made him feel idiotic though, not that it showed. Like, of course this would happen at Hope’s Peak Academy. The school was a disaster waiting to happen, with or without the actions of some misanthropic agent pushing things toward horrific mindgames and murder. A collection of young people who had spent their whole lives dedicated toward one thing, crammed into the same space. It was a nuclear reaction waiting to take off.

“Primarily the former, actually,” he stated, “For this to take place at all requires some mass social failing on a national or international scale. Humanity at large should have learned.”

He pursed his lips. “Enough time had gone past that we all thought that Hope’s Peak Academy had become a safe institution, did we not? I suppose we were fools for trying to resurrect it, and fools for taking part in it. Don’t look so pleased with yourself, you have made the same error as the rest of us in that regard.”

Unless she hadn’t, of course, and was genuinely pleased to see people falling into this trap. But he assumed the one behind all of this would have a little more tact.

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[shslpan-blog]

Pan had been looking around, trying to see if they could make a great escape, when they spotted a student looking around the foyer. This was the other dancer, right? The fancy classical ballet dancer? They don’t think they’ve spoken to him yet! Well, they out to go change that. Especially if they were looking for an escape as well.

“Yoooo!”

Pan waves at the fancy looking ballet dancer and approaches him. Oh jeez he was tall in comparison to them, the odorite had to take a couple steps back and look up in orderly to see his face. Why was everyone here taller than them? This is ridiculous.

“What'cha lookin’ for dude? You seem like someones who probably smart, riiight? Find any amazing escape routes yet? Or ways to break off metal sheets from the windows? You gotta give me the deets!”

You can pretty much sense the hidden grin they have on their face.

[shslballet-blog1]

Mao squinted at the person practically bouncing up to him. He squinted and decided they were of indeterminate gender. What he could determine, though, was that he immediately disliked this individual. He never liked loud things, especially loud people.

“Yes?” he began to say, his voice carefully neutral, and then they just launched into more yelling irregardless. He didn’t even have to try, did he. The yelling was a little jarring, ripping him out of his thoughts so suddenly, but he gritted his teeth and bore it. Now that murder was on the table, he did not want to be on anyone’s bad side. He had no idea if the loud kid was a killer in waiting.

“Considering it has been mere minutes since the news broke,” Mao said, “No, I am afraid I have not found any escape routes yet. Should you find any, I would love to hear of them. But we both know how this works, do we not? We would be hard-pressed to find anything yet. And yet you seem awfully cheerful about our dire straits.”

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

[tamikoyorurei-blog]

Right before she went to throw a tantrum in private, Tamiko took the time to survey the other students’ reactions to this sudden turn of events. Not just because some of their faces were so priceless that she wanted to photograph them - although some were simply exquisite - but also due to the possibility that there would be something telling. Even if it was highly unlikely that anyone would accidentally reveal something extremely important, it was interesting to see what tidbits about the students’ personalities that she could gather. After all, people often let the most slip when they were preoccupied with shock.

So she wasn’t really stalking the tall ballet dancer, not in a conventional sense. She was simply following in case he happened to do something of interest to her, that was all. In any case, he seemed from his ID card, that had let hardly any personal information slip, a tough nut to crack; she was simply intrigued by the mystery, as she always was. Tamiko followed him easily, her flat pumps making no noise besides a quiet scuffing on the floor.

He seemed to be in a dimension of his own entirely - not good, not good at all, who in their right mind would zone out right after being told that they could be murdered? Had she the intention of murdering him, she could have done it right then and there while he was completely preoccupied with his thoughts.

Tamiko considered keeping quiet for longer, and seeing what else he might say in passing; however, she couldn’t help but chuckle at his comment, although her laughter was humorless at best.

“We should have learned. But have you ever heard that one quote? We learn from history that we learn nothing from history.” She settled into a wry smile before shrugging. “C’est la vie.” 

[shslballet-blog1]

Mao glanced to the side slightly, not quite making the effort to actually look at the person speaking. Recognised her voice, though, he was good at that. It belonged to the girl who’d been traipsing about with the video camera, taking stock of everything and everyone. And he was glad she’d left him out of it.

Either way, he didn’t jump, hardly felt any surprise at all. Obviously there were people nearby, he shouldn’t be startled to find that out. Simply tilted his head slightly, while still staring out into the room. A large hub of sorts for whatever this place was, it seemed. An impressive fountain dominated the space. He supposed he might have even liked it, had he encountered it in a different setting.

He tsked softly. “Apparently that is so,” he said, “I suppose intelligence and forethought is too much to ask of people at large.” He had already decided that he was disappointed with whomever had caused this one, and disappointed with whomever had let it happen. But for all he knew, he might even be complicit in this. He was likely missing memories, he had no idea what had transpired.

He’d cross that bridge when he got there.

“But yes, c’est la vie,” he muttered, “It seems we have not learned on the collective. But have we learned on the individual? Do you think any of us will break, knowing what lies in store for us when we do? No, that is a silly question. It is not if, but when.”

[shslballet-blog1]

The Call

Mao knew this would happen. They hadn’t wanted to admit it but it was all the same as last time. But to hear it, to see the robotic mascot, to read the words on the page - it sent a chill up his spine.

This could be it. He could very well die in this place. Odds were, he would. Attacked when he least expected it, or executed after a moment of weakness, he had a better chance of literally dying than he did of ever seeing daylight again. It made a hollow in his stomach and sapped the life from his bones. He felt at once weary, sick, scared, and angry.

So instead, he clenched his jaw and did what he always did - he crammed those emotions back where they came from, set an impassive image of himself, and began to think as he walked. He couldn’t blunder through this like his predecessors had. He had to strategise.

Leaving his luggage in a neat pile, he made his way to the room marked out by a fountain, expecting a foyer of some sort. He looked around, making a cursory survey of all of his surroundings, trying to get a sense of what sort of building this was.

He exhaled and rubbed at the side of his head. As if this was really happening. “We should have learned,” he muttered, staring into space, not really registering anyone standing nearby. If this was anything like last time... then he was likely missing years of memory, and the outside world had probably fallen all over again. Sad, scared, and angry faded a little.

He just felt weary. After all that had been done to get the world on its feet again. After all of that. It was all for nothing, wasn’t it?

[shslflowersandmotorcycles-blog]

Prologue 1.2: Your Bag, My Bag

[shslflowersandmotorcycles-blog]

Well, it wasn’t as if Suga had expected Mao to secretly be a sociable, friendly person just as soon as someone smiled and gave him a basic introduction. But he was glad that it was apparently, at least a pleasure. Of course those were just manners, distant and empty pleasantries, but Mao didn’t have any obligation to show even those, and had done so nonetheless. That was a first today. Even though “Mr. Suga” sounded strange. It was his last name, but conncting “Mr” to it sounded strange. “Suga” was a name he had used throughout the years as a sort of cool fancy nickname, there was no respect connected to having people call him this. That this was actually the correct way to adress him was just something he’d forgotten.

“Just. Just Suga, please.”

It just felt too weird otherwise. “Suga” was the fashion blogger, “Mr. Suga” was a member of his family, and that wasn’t what he was here for. It gave him that weird, itchy feeling.

With that out of the way, though, he could get back to paying attention to Mao. He’d noticed how he’d looked at him before- the same way, Suga imagined, he himself looked at everyone else. It’d of course been done to him before, but it was unexpected coming from a classmate. He’d been judging his outfit, hadn’t he? Subconsciously, Suga smoothed over his shirt. He was burning with curiousity at what Mao had to say about it. Did he like it? Suga thought it was pretty neat, but that went without saying. He just felt like Maos judgement might be a bit harsher. Maybe it was the way he conducted himself, or how he’d elbowed him in the ribs earlier (it still hurt a little), but he did not seem to be one to think too highly of others. Suga wouldn’t be too angry about him thinking lowly of him. It was to be expected, he guessed. But still, he was curious.

Of course though, Mao did not tell him what he thought. Of course. And of course, Suga would act like he didn’t even notice. What, who, Mao? Checking out his outfit? Haha, don’t be silly. Maybe someday he’d know. But for now, it was probably for the best to just focus on the luggage. It was the issue at hand after all. And it coincidentally gave him something to talk about as well.

“Hah, hey, I do the same thing! I mean, tie ribbons to my bags. Pink ones though, so don’t worry about telling them apart.”

Somehow, everything he said seemed sort of uncool right now. Maybe it was just Maos lack of reaction. For someone who lived for peoples attention and appraisal, it was just a little unsettling. But now that there actually WAS a conversation, he’d just have to do his thing, right? Mao may seem cold, but he was just a teenager, right? Had to be.

“It’s practical, right? And pretty, too, that’s a nice side effect. You’d think more people would do it.”

Was he annoying him? It was just impossible to tell. Even with Nao (he noticed, almost bitterly, the similiarity in name) he had been somewhat able to tell some things- like that she did not mind talking to him. Mao was just impossible to place. All he could see- the impassive expression, the fingers drumming on the handle of his suitcase- pointed to irritation, though, or at least Suga was quick to assume they did. He pushed the thought aside. Just a teenager. He was overthinking.

“I think I may’ve seen one of them earlier…”

He strained his mind, squinted at the pile. Had he moved the bag? Had it been a white ribbon, or… He hadn’t really been paying attention at the time. He glanced over his shoulder to where the bags he’d already sorted were. No, no white ribbons. So it must still be in the bigger pile… Of course, that would’ve been too easy…

“Let me help you with-”

Too late, he remembered that Mao had already turned him down. It was just a reflex. He wanted to help people. It was what he did. Now, he was stuck laughing awkwardly.

“I mean… four eyes are better than two, right? I was going through the pile anyway, to, you know…”

He nodded over his shoulder at the small piles he’d made.

“…Sort things…”

[shslballet-blog1]

This ‘just Suga’ was certainly a talkative individual. He seemed to take the brief gaps of silence as a negative reaction, and then powered through them. It wasn’t as if Mao wasn’t going to respond. Eventually. Mao just wasn’t much of a talker, but if someone else was going to talk for him, the more the merrier, or something.

“My apologies, Suga,” he said in between words. Had to judge for a split second as to which would be less polite: calling him without honourifics, or ignoring his request. He supposed it was the latter.

His eyes moved back to the luggage pile, searching for the identifying ribbons. “I travel often,” he said, backtracking briefly - the words of this conversation were just as lost as the bags. “A clear, immediate luggage identifier makes things a little bit easier. It is practicality, mostly.”

Although, he thought as he leaned forward and grabbed a ribboned handle, he had to admit that a little bit of stylishness was involved. It could have just as easily been a length of ugly yellow rope. With one hand steadying the pile, the other pulled the case out. There was a dull thud at the back of the pile. Whoops. He grabbed a few more after that too.

He surveyed his work behind him and saw that all of his luggage was now safe and accounted for. Perhaps more than he needed. Certainly more than he would have packed if he’d known he was going to be kidnapped. He nodded once and then turned back to Suga. 

“Thank you, regardless,” he said courteously. “Now that that is taken care of... I believe I have been awfully rude and not asked you what it is you do.”

[shslballet-blog1]

Mao Madarao