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“It’s been raining for days!” Sayaka cries to an uninterested audience.
The weather doesn’t matter in here, of course. But the combination of darkness of rain seems almost too fitting – like a movie director building a twisted sense of irony. Nothing to do but stare at the weather. It would be so easy to take a step, imagine the glass out of existence and escape through the transparent wall to freedom.
Just lean forward.
Of course, her forehead hits the glass with the familiar thud of reality. What was she hoping for? The impact to shock her out of this nightmare? The glass to shatter and set her free? To phase through the solid wall like a spirit? Perhaps that’s how she’ll leave in the end. A spirit. If she ever gets out.
The cool glass is like a soothing balm. Her fear, anger, her passion – she lets it melt away into sadness – well. Sadness, chagrin, and a little boredom. She lets her eyes linger outside for a little longer before endeavouring to entertain her spectator.
Sayaka swings her body away from the window with a heaving, dramatic sigh, calling out to the one person in the dining hall at this time of night.
“Isn’t it boring? Doesn’t it make you want to do something?
“What would you suggest?”
We could get out.
“Oh, I don’t know. What do you do for fun?”
Celestia fans herself with the pages of her magazine and places it gently onto the table. She takes her time with responding. She’s either incredibly respectful, Sayaka thinks, or incredibly rude. Either way, she doesn’t break her menacing focus for a second.
Is she thinking of an answer? Or just making me wait? She’s as difficult to figure out as ever – but maybe one-on-one… Sayaka could quench her curiosity.
People have rhythms. Everybody does. It’s the skip in their step; the pauses they take (or don’t take); the way they stand tall in the centre or cling to the outskirts of a room, desperate for a way out.
Naegi’s got the nervous chirping of a piccolo. Fukawa talks like a violin in the hands of an amateur, grating and uncomfortable, even though her words could have so much beauty. Kirigiri’s voice rings like a smooth clarinet – rarely going solo but very good at asserting itself. Fujisaki is a flute - it’s in the way her voice sounds, but also in the stubborn way her fists ball up when she says something important, and how her hands shake when she raises them.
At long last Celestia smooths her dress and answers, “I play games.”
“What sort of games?”
“Oh, you know. The sort that comes long with being the ultimate gambler. Poker, mah-jong, shogi.”
“Oh!” Sayaka lights up, something to do! “Would you like to play?”
Celestia’s eyebrows raise briefly in amusement. “No offence… Maizono. But I have no interest in playing with amateurs.”
“What makes you think I’m an amateur?” She snaps in return,
“Why, how much experience do you have with card games?”
“…None.”
At this, Celestia hums and resumes her reading, content to let the conversation die there. Sayaka, on the other hand, needs anything but silence – and figuring Celestia out is a damn more interesting task than staring at the rain.
“You’re very pretty.” She throws out.
“Thank you.”
If she skipped a beat, she hid it well.
“Your hair is wonderful. Where did you buy it?”
“Buy… it?”, she sets down her magazine, faster this time.
“Oh! I’m sure some of it is real. But those extensions are marvellous!”
Celestia’s eye twitches a little, “I assure you, these are nothing but natural.”
“No way! Let me feel-,” she moves to grab the curls but Celestia grabs her wrist before she can stand. Sayaka’s attempts to free herself are met with cold tension, a strength that defies strength in its calm, cool nature, as cold as the intricate metal ring digging into her skin. Fantastic.
“This isn’t how you want to end our evening, Maizono.”
And she looks deadly. But this is what Sayaka wanted, to see how Celestia shows her humanity, to see the perfect porcelain mask slip just a little. Contradictory to the situation, Sayaka grins. Wide and unnerving. And it only took touching her hair.
Sayaka bites her lip and eyes the impossible curls. Oh, how tempting. And as they’re standing there, a perfect tableau vivant, Celestia mumbles something that breaks the silence.
“Do you think you’ll kill?”
Interesting.
“I don’t know.”
Silence.
“Do you think you’ll kill?”
“I… don’t know.”
Celestia’s nostrils twitch, just barely, but Sayaka catches the snarl her face twisted into for just a second. Just a second to pique her interest so much further.
It’s going to be a long night.