But the plea was followed by an Earth-shattering fall: fist against table, the same one they’d shared meals at since she was an infant. A shudder fell through the girl, down her core, but it was her eldest brother’s hand on her shoulder that kept our darling doll from crumbling beneath the weight of paternal disappointment.
“If’n you’re leavin, you better get on to it.” He won’t look at her. He won’t lift his gaze from the newspaper laid out before him, despite the fact they all knew he hadn’t even read a headline. “It’ll get dark soon, Lord only knows the kinda’ devils you’ll run into after the sun goes down.”
Her bottom lip may have the imprints of her teeth until the day she dies, considering how persistently she’d gone to biting at it. “Father, Daddy--”
Though his chin raises, eyes skip right on over her head, to instead meet with Jameson’s: his boy, his oldest and most headstrong-- leaving them-- and stealing the girl right along with him. “I’ll never forgive you, boy,” and though such sentiment squared out Jameson’s shoulders, it hardly made him flinch. “And when somethin’ happens to her, I pray you never forgive yourself.”
Tears. Evangeline burst into a wailing mess of tears, weeping more than the willows out along the way; but when she reached for him, the man finally stood, knocked down the chair in the fury of his speed-- so he could abandon the pity party in favor of a darkened hallway... the same one that hadn’t been lit since their Mama passed on, the one that may never be lit again...
“Levi don’t wanna see you,” it wasn’t meant to hurt, more to urge the departing duo along. “He’s sensitive, you know, went out to the field-- I doubt he’ll be back ‘til he sees that damn car gone, Jameson, you two better head on out now.”
“I-” Evie sniffles, clutches the suitcase filled with hole-ridden tights and old tutus to her chest. “I wanted to tell him g’bye, Daddy, I--” a sniffle, a whine-- “I’ll write, Papa, I will--”
But the man only wags his head side to side, and for the first time since their leaving was announced, he addressed his baby girl: “I don’t think mail will make it from your city to our home, Evangeline.”
No more. Jameson finally intervenes, both hands used to twist the budding ballerina towards the door, away from the abuse she’s been faced with-- he expected it, nothing less, but could feel her heart aching from all the way inside of her chest. “C’mon, Baby E, come on now... you gotta dream to chase...”
"By indirections find directions out."
- William Shakespeare, Hamlet.
( part 2 )
To a girl known solely for her distinguished capabilities of war, it should not be a challenge to wage it herself, to take victory by coordinating resources and forces, to deceive the enemy entirely.
It should be a simple win, if one thought practically of the two sides and their roles, thinking only of the bare function of this game: playing war. As a child, one could find themselves playing out soldiers and generals on a battlefield, one team versus another, throwing sticks and stones and tackling one another with playful intent -- as opposed to bullets streaming through the hearts of real people, leaders taking to the backfields to save their own hinds, the politics starting and ending such disastrous conflicts.
This isn’t that kind of war, necessarily.
At face value, one will see a war occurring between two young women - a god of Despair, the other a machine of war. From their birth, it’s been fated the two of them collide and deconstruct, be it each other or their very surroundings, whatever ways compel them so. Enoshima with the simple notion of Despair and her charismatic influence, and Ikusaba as the role of a simple soldier with extraordinary skill, adversary to any and all mercenaries, touching on hundreds of battlefields without gaining so much as a paper cut or bruise.
This war is both an everlasting game and a power struggle between two individuals.
... ... ... ... ...
Hardly realizing what is happening, she is taken to a simple room without her consent, seated before recognizing her immediate surroundings: it looks to be more of an interrogation room, sort of like on those crime scene investigation-type shows, two chairs and a table between them, facing one another. The chairs are uncharacteristic to the setting, as well as the table’s surface; the chairs are more akin to the furnishings of a castle, where the table is more like an oversized tablet, presenting a gameboard, a map. Its pieces seem to be interactive, moving at the user’s inclination.
And in the chair across from her own sits Junko Enoshima.
She has seen so little of her sister outside of their birthday when Ikusaba visited, and even if still unsure of how she feels about her sister being indirectly at fault for her death… she is still elated to be met with the blond. Her sister pays her little mind at first, already tantalizing at the game’s board. Something within her, instinct drawing upon her, keeps her from addressing her sister--
… why?
Failing to understand this innate restriction, it tells her to do the very thing against her natural will - but she trusts her instinct above all else, the sirens in her heart telling her to respect this in this inhibition. Pondering her sister’s interests, she looks from her twin to the board itself, scooting closer to the table to see. The pieces on the map are miniscule versions of their ordinary selves (such as AA guns, tanks, infantry, aircraft carriers, fighter and bomber planes, etc).
“Uhuhu… Mukuro-chan, are you sure you can do this?”
“...?” Ikusaba glances up again, reveled in the board for only a moment after she recognizes the type of game this is. Junko is acting… rather normal, unsurprising; what catches Mukuro off guard is her words, and the very fact she’s taken so long to speak (only noticing this after the fact she breaks a silence). The blonde is functioning as per her average, missing only the personality quirks that she laces onto her exterior - surely, she’s always her true self around Mukuro… right?
“Um… yeah, uh…” Mumbling so, Ikusaba hardly has a clue what Junko means - were they going to do something together?
She is met with an eye roll. “I expected that. Really, Mukuro-chan? You don’t have a damn clue about anything. You and I are going to play a game! Sounds fun, doesn’t it? I know you’re shit at these things, but I’ll give you the advantage of going first.”
“... What?” Blue eyes meet one another, the mercenary puzzled at these vague words. She hasn’t played these sorts of things since her childhood, and even so, she’s hardly anything as witty or clever as her sister, it’d be silly to try a strategy-based game with her.
“You really are dim, aren’t you, sis?! It’s simpler than you think, if you ever did that kind of thing! You’re used to playing war, get to it!”
“I… okay…” She swallows hard, switching her focus to the game from her sister. She’s in her ‘mode’ similarly to that of which is thrust onto her when she is in battle… but why does she feel this, here of all places? Briefing the board, she finds an unproportionate amount of units on the red-highlighted countries, where the blue-highlighted countries have significantly fewer pieces in its territory. “I guess… I’ll start, then…”
“Yeah, yeah. Just so you know, you’re the blue units, and I’m the red ones.”
“Y-yeah…”
“Then don’t stare all stupid at it like that, you’re boring me to death with just the look on your face!”
“...!”
Moving now, only her hand going to meet the electronic table, her mind frozen in one space; what should she play? She’s always gotten Junko’s help, even if it ended up being Junko versus herself instead of with Mukuro. Regretting her next decision can be saved for later.
“Junko-chan… what do I do?”
ZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
ZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
ZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
!!!
A freezing, yet electrifying and stiffening occurs throughout the soldier’s entire existence, ripping through her with the intensity of--
several spears.
These types are more like made of live wire. When she finds the courage to look back down when she is able to grasp a hold of her joints, her physical body remains unharmed, without a spear.
… This is a trap. Fortunately, she can understand that much of this game’s mechanic; there’s more to it than meets the eye.
“Junko… was that you?”
“Was what me? I’ve been sitting here for a good minute waiting on your ass and you just froze up!! … But what else do I expect of you to be some sitting duck? Since you’re going to waste my damned time, I’ll go ahead and--”
“No! … Um, I’ll go, I promise.”
Ikusaba still does not know the dynamic of this game, but she has to do something, right? Quickly so, nimble fingers touch the board’s surface instantly, reflexively moving pieces she guesses might work, no strategy following. Mukuro Ikusaba is no strategist, nor does she have the capability or brain to even try--
The simple suggestion in her own head earns her a second shock. She has already made her motions, with Junko immediately rambling on to hear her own voice as she mocks and humors and psychoanalyzes. Recovering moments later from the same stunting, a clear perspiration begins to gather at her hairline, not realizing how tasking it is to repeatedly be stabbed in this manner - or really, to feel as though she is being pierced.
Light eyes find themselves back to the board, recognizing it is her time to make a play. Yet, with how the gyaru played her troops, the older sister is even more-so at a handicap, a few aircraft carriers and the bomber jets on them have been taken over.
“Sis, you’ve been winning since we started…” she voices.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
“You’re stating the facts again, Mukuro-chan! You really are disappointing me faster than I could predict...!” A sigh.
Followed by a flinch. Mukuro, even after being taken to her demise at the hands of her own sister, still does not take well to such words from her younger sister. Why… what are these?
Wondering helps little as she and Junko are still pressed to keep playing, though she’s losing faith in the entire point of this… she considers being direct and calling for a cease-fire, until--
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
UGH! She does not have more than a soft sigh to release, having sucked in her breath just prior to finishing her last thought. In contrast to her last shudder, she finds herself speaking again.
“Junko-chan, I don’t know what to do for this move, so let’s--”
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
Again? Why?!
It’s a frustration to have to repeatedly have her nerves haphazardly severed apart and fixed to normal - like a dog’s instinct, at this point she will immediately do what she can to make the pain abolish itself. In the midst of her recuperation, the model before her rambles on, shouting and expressing herself in whatever ways, for whoever will listen.
“--and don’t you tell me you were zoning out again! You’re more dull than the deepest pit in the ocean, I’m really just bored shitless at this point!”
Deciding which hurts worse, the shooting pains or Junko’s insults, leaves her in a bind.
“I… sorry…” Promptly so, she attempts a move, moving an array of infantryman to retreat from what’s looking to be an already decided battle. As a military enthusiast, it’s hard to say she’s enthusiastic for this battle - how disastrous, unfitting for a Super High School Level Soldier.
Accepting that truth and her demise in this game ends with a fourth body-wide ZAP.
Just how much of these can she take until she is driven to literal insanity?
Mukuro's body heaves from exhaustion.
Junko is now proceeding to flamboyantly throw her resources, her soldiers all around the territories in her color as well as Mukuro’s, confident in her absolute ability to win single-handedly. The chipper and eccentric voice continues on, with or without Mukuro’s full attentiveness, clearly as the athletic girl has taken a dive to T H I N K.
Time truly slows now, similarly to what she experiences on the battlefields, almost pulling to a complete halt as she attempts to piece meanings together.
So…
What does this mean?
I have not warranted any exact punishment by Junko-chan, so it can’t be from Junko, because she would tell me if she would do that kind of thing--
Well, not necessarily all the time, like last time…
So it’s not her, then… the Scientists? Why would they--
Oh.
Maybe it is their fault. But what is their pattern in doing this? Why do I deserve this, this time?
Did I do something wrong to them…?
… No, they have reasons for doing this… usually. What is it they say when they do this to me… what was it... to test us?
Test us!
This is a test, so it’s probably because I’m losing that they do this, so I’ll just ask Junko-chan to put me back on the winning side.
“Hey, Junko…?”
“--what? What is it now?” Exasperated, she rolls her eyes as she pauses her self-directed speech, leaned back in her chair - sort of like a queen, prideful and confident in her abilities as she looks everything but ready.
“Um… I know this is weird to ask… but can I win?”
“...”
A dead silence. Furthering her eyes, the model is entirely still, like a doll. Queue laughing, obnoxious snorting and spitting alike that echoes along the empty walls, thrashing about in her chair, filling the awkwardness between the two.
“Oh… oh my God… Mukuro-chan, you really… you really did it this time... “ Catching her own breath between the howls, she wipes the giggle-induced tears from her eyes, compiling what composure she had originally. “Repeat that again, sis?”
“Please… let me win this game.” Ikusaba gains a bit of strength, more conviction in her words this time.
