[Nothing ever seemed to end, did it? They say that doors open and doors close, but this felt like one continuous hallway. After the long effort of halting the show, the contestants had lots of time to catch up on, so they rushed rather quickly into the rounds. It felt like the rounds never ended, and even when they did, there was little time until the next one began. It felt like a never-ending spiral of games, executions, and moving forward. It was exhausting, especially to Ame.]
[But, the staff didn’t care, there was lost time to make up. It wasn’t long before Ame was being taken into makeup and costuming for some last minute touch-ups and off to the next round they went. It felt like routine by now. Get dolled up, thrown into a temporary cell, and walk down the hall to the next execution. A rather simple process, but one that felt drawn out beyond belief. Once thrown into the cell, Ame wasted no time in the room. It wouldn’t have anything useful, or so she thought. She headed down the long hallway. “Good luck,” painted on the walls, a taunt of the heinous actions about to be committed, knowing that there’s only a way out if Lady Luck’s on your side. She didn’t look at the wall, she refused to acknowledge its taunt. Her boots thudded softly against the concrete floors until the concrete turned into carpet. A bright light shined overhead onto the table, strangely enough it was a billiard's table. Ame wasn’t very good at trajectory, so she hoped it wouldn’t be a game of billiards. She slowly made her way forward, walking hesitantly to the lonely table in front of her. She swallowed her dignity and pride once she reached the table, she stared forward, waiting for her opponent.]
[And a few minutes she did wait. Either out of fear or makeup was running behind, it’s a likely outcome of both as well, but she waited patiently. She tapped her nails mindlessly on the billiard’s table, staring at the cue sticks on either side of the table. She suddenly heard the soft clicking of heels on carpet, and she quickly picked up her head. Her eyes lagged behind her head, almost hesitant to know who she’d see. Once her eyes finally caught up, she was overwhelmed with relief for a moment to see a familiar face. Rastel, the bittersweet-fashionista. Over the course of the jetlagged months, the two had become strangely close with one another. Ame found comfort in him as a mentor figure of sorts… That relief came crashing down as dread pooled in her chest. She backed away from the table, but her fingers gripped tightly at the table’s edges, knuckles turning white. She stared in horror at the figure in front of her, swallowing hard, tears already threatening to stab her eyes. Eventually and rather quickly, she composed herself, but her grip on the table never loosened.]
𑣲┆" I wasn’t expecting to see a familiar face so soon. " ˚.⋆ֹ
[She laughed humorlessly afterwards. Her eyes darting away quickly after.]
{ Rastel doesn't laugh in return. She stares at Ame. Perceiving. Processing. After a beat of silence, he looks away from Ame for a moment. }
✑˚〰︎ ` ` Would've been a little more interesting on production's end to wait for a little bit- ` `
{ It sighs before turning back to Ame. The nerves are written all over her. They still have some time to converse before the game starts. }
✑˚〰︎ ` ` ...Think of it as a leisurely match between friends. ` `
{ She's smiling at Ame. What is that smile? Sympathetic? Patronizing? }
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