☯ + The 'argument' with Saruhiko that causes him to go to JUNGLE ~
He was glad, of course, that Mr. Fushimi had initiated the proceedings. That would be more believable, than any cue from Reisi himself.
The only question was whether or not Mr. Fushimi’s words would be believable--whether or not he would give the performance his all. If he did not, perhaps that could be played off, as well. After all, it was not as though Mr. Fushimi was particularly expressive on a normal day. Certainly, Reisi had no doubts about his capability to perform annoyance. And Mr. Fushimi could play the part of a furious, rebellious subordinate well. Or, at the very least, he frequently demonstrated fury and rebellion. On command would be different, of course.
“You’re used to being a traitor, anyway.”
Mr. Fushimi made a strangled sort of noise--the sort of thing that Reisi would have believed perfectly in-character. Good, good. He was playing his part well.
“If you don’t like something, you just quit. Isn’t that how you’ve always been?”
This, Reisi had rehearsed. Without Mr. Fushimi’s knowledge, of course.
His hands clenched--remembering the flower shears he’d held, on the day that he’d admitted to Mr. Fushimi, what I want to keep at hand are useful cards. I want you to become a useful hidden weapon of mine.
This was an irritating discard to make, so late in the game, but such a desperate move was all they had. Mr. Fushimi’s shoulders shook--and if it was obvious to Reisi at this angle, it would surely be no less obvious to his men, if they happened to be looking. What excellent acting! He smiled, and glanced upwards.
Would he ever have a chance to tell Mr. Fushimi how proud he was, to call him his subordinate? How well he was doing, right now? How--how indebted he was, to Mr. Fushimi, for this sacrifice that Mr. Fushimi was making? Likely not, at the rate things were going. No one could know about their plan. And his Sword would likely fall before they could meet face to face again as King and clansman. He could only hope that Mr. Fushimi... knew, somehow. That the foundations they had built this plan on, remained strong.
Reisi could not look at Mr. Fushimi--but any viewer would only take it as further insult, at this moment. That was fine. That would do.
“Pathetic,” he finished, and all his men gasped. Ah! Their performance was not for naught, they’d acquired an audience! Even better. The sword clanked as it was plunged into the side of the van.
And without further word--perhaps, Mr. Fushimi was not quite so good at ad-libbing as Reisi had hoped--he was gone.
