Work Text:
Banjou hated dressing up. He liked loose clothing and the freedom of movement necessary to protect himself. Suits always felt too restrictive and ties always felt too tight around his neck. There’d never been any reason for him to get dressed up as a professional fighter, and he wouldn’t have thought donning the Cross-Z suit would mean tuxedos. He was apparently wrong about that.
Technically it wasn’t him being a rider that necessitated the formality; it was him being a pawn. Him being a weapon for the government, to be trotted out a presented at a big party.
Gentoku had tried selling them on the idea, plying them with claims of better funding and more civilian support. It would have been a better speech if the politician hadn’t sounded just as displeased with the prospect as the rest of them.
That was the only good thing about evening: they were all equally miserable.
Sento’s suit seemed to hang off him at a weird angle even with the best tailor the government could provide and his tie refused to stay straight and his hair refused to stay flat. Banjou had followed along with him at the beginning of the dinner, but had quickly split as Sento struggled to make conversation that wasn’t about the latest technological advancements. There was no small talk on their side of the war and the scientist had never learned how to do it.
Kazumi looked the part when he was standing still, in fact he cut a stunning figure in a suit. However, his movements were stiff. He was a farmer and he carried himself as such even in such an elegant place. His shoulders were taut as he stumbled through conversations with high class people who wouldn’t be caught dead on a farm like his. Even across the room Banjou could see the dark resentment in his eyes as people flaunted their wealth in front of him.
Misora looked cute, but that was the problem. One was not supposed to be “cute” at a political dinner. Not to mention she was clearly uncomfortable interacting with real people. She’d spent so much of her life only being seen through a camera lens, able to keep people at arm’s length. Clearly having to deal with them in person was jarring. Her eyes were wide and fearful even as she smiled and laughed along with jokes she didn’t understand.
Gentoku, for all his savvy, clearly hated this part of his job. He could plaster on a smile, but it was clear he could never quite convince the people he was talking to that he was trustworthy. To people’s credit, he wasn’t trustworthy. There was no amount of friendliness that could cover the coldness in his eyes that screamed that he’d betray anyone in the room for an ounce more of power.
Sawa was the only one of them that didn’t look out of place. This was her element, at least it should have been. She bounced around the various tables striking up casual conversation in a dazzling dress. She was doing her absolutely best to extract information, but she was consistently ignored. Whether people recognized her as a reporter or just wrote her off because she wasn’t on the front lines it was hard to tell. Her smile didn’t crack even as her hands started to shake as more and more people brushed her aside.
Banjou couldn’t help but wonder if he was the one handling it the best of them all. He hated the outfit sure, but he knew how to perform for a crowd. Sure, he preferred to perform in a ring covered in sweat, but he could manage here. He could smile at the women who squeezed his arm with a giggle and meet the gaze of the men who wanted to look down on him.
He wanted to help the others, but he was at a loss for what to do. He took a long swig from one of the free drinks and moved towards the closest person. Kazumi noticed his approach and excused himself from a conversation with a woman with barely restrained disgust.
He stomped over to Banjou, walking like he was still wearing his work boots and not expensive leather shoes.
“Her jewelry was worth a year’s salary for three of my employees,” Kazumi practically spit, under his breath. Banjou was surprised the faint champagne flute in his hand hadn’t shattered yet as his hands shook with barely contained rage. “What a damn waste.”
“Maybe if you flirted with her she’d give you some of it.”
Kazumi’s face twisted in anger and Banjou immediately regretted the joke. They were already selling their bodies for war there was no reason to sell them in other ways. He struggled to find another topic to distract them.
Misora saved them from the crushing silence. She looked more drained than after purifying a bottle as she wandered over. “I’m tired,” she muttered hand moving to her eyes only to drop before she could accidentally smudge her makeup, “I wanna sleep.”
“It’ll be over soon, Mii-tan,” Kazumi said, with an equally tired smile.
Misora’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m tired of being Mii-tan,” she whispered, voice shaking, “All of them are talking to me like I'm not real. Like she's the only thing relevant about me. They don't like it when I talk like a real person that's been through real things. I don't want to be Mii-tan anymore, I just want to be me.”
Kazumi reeled back in confusion. He was too used to reassuring three rowdy boys that comforting Misora was clearly a minefield for him. So it fell to Banjou to reassure her. “You’re much more than her,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “It’ll be over soon and tomorrow we can spend all day doing whatever you want.”
“What I want to do is sleep.” Misora pouted, but at least she didn’t seem on the verge of crying anymore.
“Well then we’ll let you sleep all you want,” Banjou said. In any other situation he’d ruffle her hair, but it’d been done up nice and fancy for the event and he didn’t want to accidentally mess it up.
"You better," she said, clearly forcing her little bit of attitude, but it was welcome amongst all of the other negativity.
"Have any of you guys been able to get any useful information?" Sawa appeared out of thin air, leaning into their little circle conspiratorially.
"I'm just trying to avoid more conversations," Misora replied, leaning into Sawa with a pout.
"Look, what if I give you guys questions that you could subtly ask?" Sawa said, pulling out a comically long list out of the folds of her nightgown, "I'm getting jack all from these people, but maybe you guys could-"
"None of these people have even heard of Euler," Sento interrupted her, shoving into their little circle, "And people are trying to talk to me about sports and stocks and I don’t know anything about either."
"We don’t know who that is either,” Kazumi said.
“I don’t expect you or the meathead to know,” Sento muttered, adjusting his still crooked tie, “But some of these people are claiming to be educated.”
Banjou wanted to snap at the comment, but it wasn’t the time. Sento frowned, sore that his usual jabs weren’t getting the play he was accustomed to. “So how much longer do we have to do this?” he said, glancing around the room.
“Only another hour,” a deep voice came from behind them and they all turned guiltily. Gentoku was staring them down with a stern expression. “But I didn’t spend precious money getting you all outfitted so you could huddle in a corner like it’s some high school dance.”
“So what are we supposed to be doing?” Sawa snapped, “You didn’t give us much instruction.”
“I thought that would be unnecessary,” Gentoku pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “but it seemed I think too highly of all of you.”
They all started talking at once to defend themselves, but Gentoku brushed them away.
“Sawa, give Misora your questions and then stand back and don’t interrupt or press for more information.”
Sawa made a face, but handed the list over to Misora whose eyes widened as she began reading down the questions.
“Sento, stay by my side. I need to show you to some of our wealthiest donors.”
Sento rolled his eyes dramatically. Gentoku took him roughly by the collar, attempting to straighten his tie.
“No complaining. It’s a bad look.”
“And it’s not a bad look to play a party like it’s a game of dodgeball?” Banjou quipped.
Gentoku glared at him, still fiddling with Sento’s tie. “Dodgeball? You’re not even going to compare it to a strategy game, like chess?”
“I don’t respect any of these people enough to consider this chess.”
Giving up on the tie, Gentoku turned to Banjou expression dark. “Listen, just stay quiet and keep that one from punching anyone and you won’t have to deal with them anymore.”
“I’m not some dog that needs to be minded, Beardo,” Kazumi snarled.
Gentoku rolled his eyes and dragged Sento away.
“This is a waste of time,” Kazumi muttered as soon as the prime minister was out of earshot.
“For once, we’re in agreement,” Banjou replied, taking another long drink of champagne. He never understood the appeal of the drink. It wasn’t quite sweet but not enjoyably dry either, and he never like things that couldn’t decide what they were.
Banjou let his eyes wander again. No one was approaching them, probably due to Kazumi’s sour expression. It was a bit of a relief.
“Do you ever wonder where we’ll be when this all shakes out?” Banjou asked eyes sweeping over the glittering hall. A couple years ago, he would have killed to be in a place this fancy, but now it only made him feel sick.
“Dead probably,” Kazumi answered shortly.
“You’re not even going to entertain the idea that we’ll get to the other side of this?”
Kazumi’s eyes fell. Everything seemed conversation seemed to be a minefield these days. If it didn’t bring up a bad memory, it would make them think about their lives and how terrible they’d been recently.
“Do you think you could have fit in with this crowd in another life?” Kazumi asked, “You’re doing a pretty good job of looking the part.”
“Is that a compliment?” Banjou teased.
“No, it’s definitely an insult.”
A small smile played over Kazumi’s face as he said it. For a moment, Banjou watched his face. Kazumi looked the part as well. He was kind of beautiful, despite his rough edges. Perhaps it was the rough edges that made him seem all the prettier dressed up like this.
Maybe they both could have played the part if not for the war. He looked out at his other friends all talking with big smiles and dead eyes. Maybe they all could have fit in this world. Maybe not the high class society covered in expensive jewelry, but in a better world they wouldn’t have to. He would have just been a fighter and Sento would have been a scientist. Kazumi could have just been a farmer and Sawa could have been a normal reporter. And Misora, she could have been a kid.
But they lived in the inferior world. A world where children were subscripted into war and he was fighting to the death for the lives of thousands. But hey, at least he got this cool suit out of the deal.