Third floor? Check.
Mysterious scuffling sound? Check.
Balcony door opening the rest of the way? Check.
Dangerous gun-toting delinquent from the trial suddenly appearing in their doorway...?
Check.
Propping his elbow up on the doorframe, Lear makes himself right at home in the rather unlikely alternate entrance to Lion’s assigned quarters, already eyeing the steam rising off the styrofoam cup in their hands. His unabashed staring does little to distract from the fact that, one, his clothes and hair are completely and utterly soaked, two, he reeks of chlorine, and three, there’s an unsettling amount of pink on his clothes that just... wasn’t there at the trial. Not that he seems to consider any of these things worth explaining-- or at the least, not more important than the pressing question that’d drawn him to let himself into Room 3D in the first place.
Akihiko felt nervous as soon as he saw the mysterious man, but he was practically on a hair-trigger when he approached the boxer, left hand hovering by his pocket (no prizes for guessing what he had in there…) Akihiko’s shoulders tensed as his hands curled into fists; hopefully he could close the gap fast enough if the man made a move…
And what was with this proposition he had? Could Akihiko even be sure that he knew anything important, or that he wouldn’t just pull out the gun either way? Still, he might as well play along for now, any chance he had to avoid bringing his fists to a gun fight was something he could use.
“You…you’ve been following me around since this morning, haven’t you? What do you want from me, anyway?” He didn’t have any proof better than a vague feeling, but honestly he couldn’t be sure what this guy was capable of.
Lear’s eyes never stray from the boxer’s, but he’d be blind to miss the mounting tension in the athlete’s muscles as he approached -- disregarding weapons being readied was a one-way trip to a body bag, after all. He comes to a casual stop just a little over two arms’ lengths from his target -- the boxer’s arm’s lengths, not his own.
“Ooh, I didn’t think ya had it in ya,” he still doesn’t, really; probably just a lucky guess, after all. Either way, Lear raises both hands to chest level, empty palms facing Akihiko. “Truth be told? I was seein’ [how easy you’d be to kill]. Fortunately for you, you do have some sense of your surroundings at least, so I decided I might as well pass on [what I know] about [what’s goin’ on here]. You interested?”
Hey, @tracksofgod, you have a tween on your heels!
Seeing as how this weird guy wasn’t around the previous morning to hear her make a loud declaration about the murder notebook, Peacock decides it’d be easier to track this son of a bitch down on her own. Lear seems like the type of guy to find creepy shit like that interesting, so she might as well show it to him personally!
(… He looks a little pink, actually. Is that why the carpets are the way they are? What the fuck.)
“Hey, you!” Peacock’s running after Lear. She’s not gonna let this guy get out of her sight, not this time! “Y’know that loon that just got killed? Turns out he wrote out a bunch of diary entries about everyone on the island! He wrote a lot about you…
… Yer interested in hearing about what he thought of you, right?”
Alright, color him surprised. It’s pretty rare for someone to be running towards him-- even more so for a prepubescent firecracker eager to show him something. Still, he recognized the arrythmic sound of shoes on the museum’s smooth floor -- slap, slap, slap -- and the strident voice as belonging to the girl who’d seemed as uninvested during the trial as he’d been, and he turned to face her at her question.
( He doesn’t seem to feel guilty in the slightest for someone covered in blood, standing with his back to a T-Rex’s roaring jaws as if he were nothing more than a high school student on a field trip. )
She’d been the one to hit that boxer’s button for him when he’d hesitated, too, and now she’s stealin’ shit from the dead? Finally, someone who’s speakin’ his language!
“I don’t know whether I should be flattered or embarrassed for the guy. But, seein’ as [I told him what I think of ‘im], I guess fair’s fair.” He shrugs, smirking and settling his weight on his right leg as he waits. “Lay it on me, then.”
Eerie stillness. Silence.
Bright colors, motionless, mingling against a dark background --
blue and silver hues cascading over each other, their edges never quite clear;
clouded, desolate purple;
the discordant feeling of watching a [star] that no longer shone in the sky,
knowing its light had expired far before its image.
And all that before Lear had ever switched on [the projector] or approached [the telescope].
Before him, the impressive inner dome of the planetarium lay dormant, a perfect backdrop for the rare sight of the SHSL Magician dwelling silently on... well, who knows? It didn’t really matter what Wataru was thinking of -- while Lear could fathom a guess, the bottom line was that the taller student had beaten him to the planetarium today, interrupting his [experiment]. Another time, then.
Lighting strips lined the aisles between the seats like an airport’s runways, muted blues masking the [pink stains] adorning Lear’s shoes as he approaches Wataru -- not that the irregular, purplish patches were any less noticeable, though the marks had at least faded somewhat from his jacket in the laundry.
“I don’t know why [he] ever gave you the time of day. [That girl] said you were [a suspect] too, but you could never [do what he did].” Pausing in the center of the room, Lear flicks on the projector. The darkened ceiling above them erupts into vibrant, cacophonous color, dragging the edges of the universe together for their own personal stage. Tilting his head back slightly, something seems just a bit... off in his eyes-- too bright, too focused-- as he stares down the magician, his thumb playing at the hem of his [left pocket].
“Tell me-- is it hubris that has you wandering around alone, or sheer stupidity? All it takes is one bullet, and you’re the next case file.”
All day, Akihiko had felt slightly uncomfortable and on-edge, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. He just felt this presence nearby, but whenever he looked around he couldn’t actually see anything out of place.
When he passed through the hotel lobby to leave the building, he felt someone watching him. Turning around, he saw the person from the trial who’d pulled a gun on him, just staring intently right at Akihiko. No attempts at hiding or looking away, just that steady, almost hungry gaze.
“Hey,” Akihiko spoke, with an edge to his voice, “have you been following me around?!”
Lear's eyebrows raise when he's finally addressed, but something about the gesture falls short of anything more than a courtesy. Maybe it's the way that the feigned 'surprise' never interrupts his heavily self-assured body language; maybe it's the way the hunger never leaves his eyes.
In any case, he rests his shoulder against the wall, watching the boxer steadily. He'd already pinned him as someone weak-hearted at the trial, but for him to have just noticed Lear trailing him... Dry amusement coats his words like chalk dust, grimy and slick and bitter.
"Nothing gets past you, huh, champ? I got a better question-- and a, uh, incentive for ya t'geddit right." With fluid, deliberate steps, he begins closing the distance between them, his thumb brushing the hem of his [left pocket].
"You tell me when or where I started followin' ya today, and I'll tell you when and where you can [learn something important] on this island, no strings attached. Could [save your life], could be enough to [end everything] -- this whole killing game bullshit and all."
Contrary to his rather pronounced presence in the days surrounding -- and following -- the first trial, Lear is nowhere to be found when new areas of the island open up for the group’s exploration. Surely, some are relieved to be able to explore without running into him, but even if someone wanted to find him, they’d simply... be unable to.
It was almost as though he’d disappeared from the island as a whole.
But that... was impossible, wasn’t it? Monokuma had said that only someone who murders another and gets away with it would be permitted to leave, and with everyone else accounted for, Lear couldn’t have carried that out.
Amidst a sea of horrified faces, Lear watched Goro’s final moments with rapt attention, knuckles a few shades too pale as he gripped the podium he’d perched on. Every muscle in his body had drawn tight -- as though mimicking the straining of the detective they’d collectively condemned. Short, shallow breaths hardly moved his chest, and for a moment after the end, his stillness mirrored that stained corpse’s.
Unlike Goro, however, he was frozen not by the cold cruelty of a meaningless death, but by the overwhelming electricity of sheer adrenaline. As the less willing spectators turned towards the surface on leaden feet, Lear’s shoes hit the trial room floor quietly, an unnatural, sharp grin splitting his features.
When he’d asked for a show, he hadn’t meant it quite that literally.
Though, in a way, it was something of a letdown -- talk shows weren’t reality tv per se, but the screen separating the trial room from Goro’s final resting place certainly dulled the reality of the situation, just a tad. Didn’t they owe it to a classmate to see and accept his execution with their own eyes? Wasn’t it cruel for the Bear to deny them the intimacy of hearing his struggling with their own ears?
A quiet snicker muffles the creaking of the execution room door. As if he had such noble reasons for coming here.
Now that he’s here... The tank does look a lot bigger, contrary to Hollywood’s typical half-built sets made complete by clever camera angles. If he had to estimate... it was something like 15, maybe 18 feet to the top. Essentially nothing, for someone with his talent. Letting the door swing shut behind him, Lear scales the side of the glass tank in a few bounds. Just as quickly, he hits the stage’s floor, his hoodie squelching under his weight as he rolls across his back to break the fall. Coming to a stop on all fours, he drags his hands through a puddle as he stands, gaze focused on the couch’s sole occupant.
Just an hour or two before, they’d depended on arguments just as direly as their own heartbeats -- casting suspicion on each other and attempting to lead the discussion in their favor. And for what?
Goro had been arguing because he wanted to evade conviction.
Goro had been evading conviction because he’d murdered.
Goro had murdered because of the motive.
The motive was... nothing.
And Lear...
His eyes narrow, the grin fading to a smirk.
In life, Goro may have had a particular scent to him. Something pleasant, something professional, something markedly nondescript. In death, he simply reeked of blood, guilt, and desperation.
“It’s too bad; I’d just gotten to thinkin’ you might be interesting to have around. Still, I guess you can still be of use even like this, huh?”
Sliding a bloodied hand into his right pocket, Lear retrieves a small, thin, curved piece of plastic -- a remnant of the speaker cord he’d torn apart that morning. Pressing a hand against Goro’s lifeless wrists, he removes the handcuffs with the makeshift shim, dropping the sticky, jangling restraint into his right pocket. A sarcastic salute and wink later, he climbs back up the side of the aquarium and finally heads back upstairs.
Having managed to soak himself thoroughly in blood, his footsteps were displayed rather prominently on the hotel’s carpets, looking infinitely more purposeful than he was. A disquieted expression had settled onto the delinquent’s face, all but scowling at the ground as he tried to work things out in his head.
A video. At the very least, those five had known each other previously -- possibly having attended Hope’s Peak together. Their complete refusal to reveal this previously, and their reactions to seeing the still... Let alone the supposed teachers’...
As much as he wanted to suspect the other four by association, the desire rang hollow somewhere deep in his body. A different urge entirely lay dormant in his subconscious, infuriating in its refusal to make itself clear. Finally lifting his head, he finds himself not in front of his own door, but the one directly above his. A door belonging to someone else in that video. Had he simply spaced out, or...?
He stares at the name adorning the door a moment longer before placing his bloodied palm on the wall beside it -- dragging his hand slowly across the door frame, the door itself, and the wall on the other side, he finds something satisfying in staining their entryway; in marking it as different than the others.
...Who are you?
He runs his other palm across the mark as well, if only to emphasize the mark, then makes his way to the roof. Might as well rinse his clothes, and all the better if someone panics upon seeing the pool a slightly more gruesome color than usual.
>> Mono kuma, huh...?
Well, don’t that sound familiar. Someone’s fuckin’ with him here.
Not that the circus bear before the group was recognizable at all, carrying on about vacation this, and supervision that... Really, if this was all they were so rudely summoned here for, he should’ve just skipped on it and borne out the punishment. Perching on a barstool, Lear allowed his gaze to drift over the room’s other inhabitants to preserve his waning attention.
Seeing them all up close and in daylight was certainly a change of pace from how he’d spent the last week or so -- well, naturally, given that only one of them had even seen his face until now. He wrinkles his nose as he catches another whiff of somethin’ that wouldn’t be out of place in a sushi bar; the scent had been bothering him since he’d come down, but damn was it distracting when he had nothing better to concentrate on. Seemed like it was coming from somewhere across the roo--
Kill?
Breath catching in his throat, Lear’s head snaps up at the bear’s proclamation. As though it were the only thing in the room, Monokuma was the sole target of the rough-looking boy’s rapt attention, muscles tense and bright eyes trained on that unforgiving, glassy red eye. They were going to have to kill to get out of here? The peaceful, friendly vacation was over? Was that really possible...? This was a dream, right...?
The moment Monokuma’s two-toned form finally disappears from view, a loud, breathy laugh rings out from the back of the room.
“Alriiight. Looks like I finally have a reason to be around you fuckin’ assholes. Anyone wanna volunteer?” Hopping off the barstool, Lear spreads his arms out to gesture towards the entire room, amusement coloring his words. “Though, I guess the easiest way would be to just kill you all. Don’t gotta worry ‘bout gettin’ away with it if there’s no one to catch you, eh?”
Departing from the beach where they had been dropped off, Daiki notices that the remaining group is noticeably smaller. He figures that, like himself, some of the other students didn’t want to linger around the beach for too long. He heads in some direction – hopefully towards the hotel. It doesn’t matter where, however. He just wishes to be away from the mass of people.
As he walks, he appreciates the gradually decreasing volume of chattering voices that eventually turns into silence. It’s something ideal, somewhere he can finally relax. He notices the looming hotel nearby, but he knows better. Sooner or later, the students will migrate to the hotel, and his efforts to achieve peace and quiet will be in vain.
Daiki relishes in the silence for however long he can. He thinks to himself about the situation he’s in: the suspiciousness of that letter, the fact that he’s currently sitting on an island surrounded by complete strangers, the fact that he’ll be sitting on an island surrounded by complete strangers for an entire month. Anxiety bubbles within him, but his train of thought is interrupted when he hears a snapping of a twig and a rustle in the bushes.
Dissonance - - Daiki’s panicked scream is met with a smooth, lilting tone, amusement painfully evident in the words of a boy leaning casually against a tree a few feet off the path.
“I appreciate ya bein’ so honest about, uh, your place on the social hierarchy here an’ all, but...” Uncrossing his arms, he offers a half shrug, sweeping his arms out and glancing to each side to indicate the entire island they’d found themselves on.
“Y’might wanna be a little less obvious about it. Prey like you should be more careful with so many predators around, if ya catch my drift.”
