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“Ugh, come on…you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Damon grumbled a multitude of profanities under his breath as the claw slid back into its original position. He felt like pounding his head against the glass until it broke, but Mara would be on his ass if that happened, so he’ll just sulk. As he puffed out a sigh, he checked the door to make sure nobody had walked in on this embarrassing scene.
Seriously. Out of all the things, the last thing anyone would expect Damon Maitsu, the ULTIMATE Debater to be doing, would be getting heated at a claw machine game. In fact, when he had first encountered this cheesy arcade with Eva, he said, quote-for-quote, that the machine was “the most obvious example of a scam he ever saw”. Why would they even put an arcade in this academy, anyway? What, for Video Game-related Ultimates like Cassidy’s? Well, it doesn’t look like she’s getting much use out of it at all. Great work, you guys…
And yet, even knowing that this game was a swindling tactic that only an embryo would fall for, as soon as he lost the first time, some sort of drive within him told him he absolutely had to keep playing until he won. Determination stemming from his 18 years of chasing his destiny? It’s…unfortunately likely. But also because he wants to spite that stupid little ocean of Tozu plushies encased in the machine, taunting him…ugh. They’re freaky. All staring him down with the same, lifeless expression.
Well, he doesn’t have his eyes on any of them. Near the very back of the unorganized pile is a more appealing-looking rabbit stuffie. It’s pink and sickeningly sweet and huggable - enough to make Damon dry heave. But then again, it’s no pompous goat with stubby limbs, so he’ll take the bunny over them any day. Keeping his eyes firmly on the prize, Damon haphazardly shoved another token in the machine.
A few flicks of the joystick later, Damon slammed his palm repeatedly down on the button, and-
A-Aha! The claw seized the rabbit right by its neck! Perfect. Now to just get it to the compartment. Damon held his breath, slowly and carefully transporting the toy to the other side of the machine.
“HAH! Oh, Christ, finally-!”
Damon exclaimed. Realizing he was practically bouncing with anticipation, he reeled himself in and crouched down to grab the plush out of the winner’s box. He hoisted it up by the armpits and held it in front of his face, tilting his head as he studied the thing. Fat rosy cheeks, a lacy bowtie, floppy ears, round little button eyes…
“...eugh.”
The debater cringed more and more each passing minute. Is this supposed to be endearing? It seems to him like they made it “hypercute” to appeal to children. Or, to the childish minds among the class, he thinks.
Whatever. Don’t think of it like a toy. It’s like…a trophy. A trophy that signifies your victory against Tozu and his ridiculous game. There. That puts him more at ease. With one last double-take at the entrance, Damon hangs the plush over his arm at his waist, and exits the arcade. As he maneuvers the halls, he makes it his goal to one, get to his room as quickly as possible; and two, have absolutely nobody notice him and his…”companion”.
It’s rather late at night, anyway. The curfew announcement went off recently. Not like anybody would be out, but he doesn’t choose to try his luck. He already did enough of that today…
Mission success. The blonde quietly slips into the safety of his dorm, and drops the rabbit onto the bedside table.
“Hmmh…” Damon brings a hand to his chin, squinting his eyes skeptically. “It doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the room.”
Plus, if somebody ever came in here, that would probably be the first thing they take note of…
Urgh. He’ll move it tomorrow. His brain hurts from all that stressing out over the game. Damon changes into a T-shirt and sweats, then collapses back-first onto the bed. He doesn’t cover himself up quite yet - he just rests his hands on his stomach and gazes at the ceiling. It’s dark, but not TOO dark. Accompanying the pink rabbit on the nightstand is a small lamp that sheds warm orange light that’s easy on the eyes. The environment of the room feels nice…
…
…
Sigh.
Yet, every time Damon shuts his eyes, he feels uneasy and has to open them right back up. The brief query of ‘did I lock my door’ crosses his mind, before he recalls that he did, and shakes off the worry. A shudder creeps up his spine like a spindly spider - ungh, he must be cold, that’s it. Damon turns on his side and yanks the blankets over himself.
Better face the door, just in case…
…er…? Why even have that thought in the first place? What, is he afraid that someone or something’s going to come in while he sleeps? Please. It’s not even that deep into the night, nothing’s going to happen. He’s the most intelligent one here. Nobody in their right mind would single him out, since they know he’d be able to outsmart them before they kill him. Right?
…
…but…if he’s the smartest, then…he’s…statistically more likely to be targeted, because- his absence will make the class trial easier for the murderer.
…go away, goosebumps.
Damon pulls the sheets and comforter over his mouth, and presses his cheek into the pillow underneath him. He still feels COLD. He’s still SHAKING. Ugh, what’s his deal-?
Get it together, Damon! Don’t tell me you’re scared. What is there to be afraid of? You’re getting yourself worked up over jack-shit. There’s no threat, no anything. Come on. What’s the fear? Are you scared of being attacked? Scared of being chastised by the other Ultimates? Scared of being taken off guard? Of being humiliated? Of having your life stripped away from you without any warning?
Of course you aren’t. Because you’re…too exceptional for silly concerns like that. The most spectacular prophet of the debater talent. Wasting your time on fear is just that - a waste of precious time that could be spent on something productive. Productivity has always been a must in your life, so why stop now? You got your talent through vigorous solo work, and now you’re suddenly worried about other people? They’re nothing. All you need to care about is yourself. That’s…the only way you’ll survive. If you trust in your own skills.
The silence in the room grows deafening. The distant hum of god-knows-what has halted completely, leaving Damon in a bubble of darkness and quietness. He can even hear a gulp of saliva slides down his throat, his own heart pounding desperately against his ribcage-
…d-...desperately?
Damon lifts his hand to his chest and feels the beats as they increase to a pace that’s too fast for his personal comfort. No, no, stop! You’re getting all hysterical! What did I just say?! Enough with this! His eyes flit around the room nervously as he tries to shift his thoughts to something different.
Wolfgang. Hhah…Wolfgang. The flawless, holy epitome of moral perfection that is Wolfgang.
Fucking god, does he hate Wolfgang.
Everything about him makes Damon’s blood boil - and while being unabashedly angry isn’t his favorite feeling in the world, it’s better than anxiety. All those people that called him the ‘bargain bin version’ of that righteous moron can go pound sand. That smile, his voice, the way he can be so kind to everyone around him without a hitch. Damon is nowhere near as irritating as Wolfgang is. Not nearly as approachable, not as caring…
…
…not as…liked, either.
That’s another thing he can’t stand about Wolfgang. Even after he put on an insane display in that first practice trial, shouting at everyone and occasionally even berating them for not doing things right, immediately after it was over and done with, all he has to do is say a few encouraging words and everyone is back on his side. Charisma, is it? Pfuuu! Damon has oodles of that, surely. What makes Wolfgang so special? He’ll show him.
After all, Damon has plenty of time to keep training. Nothing is truly messing with his schedule here. And then, as he gets better…hahahaha- he can shove it right in Wolfgang’s face. He can’t be as great as everyone says he is. Sure, everyone might be against him, but when has that stopped him before? Nobody’s ever been fond of his confrontational nature, it’s not like it-
…
…i-it’s-...
…
…what exactly is he doing wrong?
He can easily accomplish all the things Wolfgang can, yes? Be convincing in a courtroom environment, have the confidence to be upfront and lead a discussion, actually pursuing and suggesting reasonable actions like investigations, et cetera.
But, that’s where the similarities end, huh?
Wolfgang’s gentle, trusting, and kind, while Damon’s blunt, suspicious, and unforgiving. Is that where his faults lie? Does he need to be like Wolfgang? God, no. He’d rather cut off his own tongue than join that lawyer’s level. He needs to be better. And Damon has all the time in the world to surpass him.
…right? He…he does- doesn’t he?
Damon glances at the door again.
…
They all despise him.
There’s probably someone out there plotting his murder right now.
The debater shivers as he plays with that idea. The angry heat in his veins dies down to make way for a sort of freezing, hollow emptiness.
Every last person here wants me gone.
Would the class even change if I wasn’t here?
I bet everyone wants Wolfgang to stay around, though. He’s so nice and perfect and bla-bla-bla.
He’s everything I’m not. As I ponder more and more, the gap between him and I grows larger.
The cold sensation in Damon’s body travels to every last centimeter of his flesh - and, like a flick of a lightswitch, the control over his thoughts is ripped straight from his hands.
Am I really just a knockoff lawyer like Cassidy said? Am I just here to fill space, surrounded by people that mock me?
But no, I’m not a ripoff. I’m NOTHING like Wolfgang. There’s no resemblance at all.
No matter how hard I work, it’ll be impossible to reach his pedestal. We’re polar opposites, and nothing can change that.
Nobody will ever like me.
Nobody will ever admire me.
All I am to these people is an object of distrust.
And I’m trapped with them for the rest of my life.
Imprisoned with people who want me to DISAPPEAR.
Shut up. Please, please shut up. Let me sleep.
Damon covers his ears with the thicker blanket, trying to control his haywire breathing patterns.
What if somebody snaps, has enough of me, and comes after me? What if I can’t fight back, and then-...I die. I die a terrible, awful, brutal death at the hands of a stranger? Do I deserve that? Do I?!
If I’m killed here, then all of my work up until this point would be for naught. Every last bit of it. I would have failed everything in the most sickening way possible.
Would they even want to solve my trial? Would they even care? Would those fucking IMBECILES rather get themselves executed than give me peace?
No, no, but WOLFGANG…Wolfgang would care! He ALWAYS CARES, DOESN’T HE?! I can picture him now: “Listen up, everyone! You were not all fond of Mister Maitsu, but we shouldn’t be taking his death with a grain of salt. We need to all band together to bring his murderer to justice so we can continue to survive in his honor-”
SHUT UP! SHUT. UP. I HATE YOU! I HATE ALL OF YOU!
GOD, I should just fucking kill MYSELF before any of that happens, shouldn’t I?! But no, I’ll still die, and everyone will see me as a coward- but that’s the only way they’ll ever know I’m sorry- BUT-
AUUUUUUUGH-! How can I WIN!? Everything is lose, lose, lose! Why can’t I do anything RIGHT? Why can’t I stand up for myself and prove them wrong?! Why can’t I change in a way that doesn’t make all my life up until this point USELESS?!
Damon's breaths come out in raspy wheezes- fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-
Why is Wolfgang better than me?
Why is EVERYONE better than me?!
I’ll never be good enough, I-...
I’LL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH.
WHY DO I EVEN FUCKING EXIST IF I CAN’T BE GOOD ENOUGH-!?
…
“...hhh…h-...uh…?”
Damon didn’t even notice the warm sensation bubbling under his face until right now. Nor did he notice the wet, salty tears stinging his eyes and drenching his pillow. He gasps lightly, feeling his lips stretch and curl downwards into a strained expression as he attempts to hold back any more of those nasty waterworks.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
He’s crying. He can’t even remember the last time he cried. Damon whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as another round of teardrops makes their unmerry way down his cheeks. He’s quaking like a bird caught in the snow, not even making an effort to stop himself. Damon feels pathetic. Like a frightened child who swore they heard a big hairy monster in their closet. And, somehow, the thought of being equated to a helpless adolescent - traveling back in time and resetting all his progress…well, that just makes him sob harder.
Damon hiccups, before blubbering out a weak “shut up” to nobody in particular. It hurts. Everything hurts, and burns, and stings. He despises this. Looking and feeling this way.
As it stands, he truly does just want to disappear. He would rather vanish from existence right now than spend the rest of his life knowing he’ll have to experience this hollow misery again and again. Regret. What a terrible word. The blonde sniffles, clenching his jaw and taking in a bitter inhale of air. This is gross. So, so gross. This isn’t even his fault, none of this is, yet he’s breaking down in a way that’s getting too close to convincing him it’s true.
Deciding he’d rather face away from the door to block his piteous expression from anyone that would - albeit unrealistically - enter his dorm, Damon rolls himself onto his other side and fixes the blankets folds with his feet. Maybe if he lays here for a while, he’ll simply be able to cry himself right to sleep and forget about it in the morning. He tilts his head upwards to straighten his position on the pillow, and in doing so, moves his field of vision vertically as well-
…
…oh.
There, seated on the nightstand, exactly how he left it, was the pink rabbit. Bathed in dim orange light, watching over his sob session. It has the audacity to be smiling at his agony. Those damn rosy cheeks and chubby proportions and soft felt body…
…
He stops himself from laughing right in its stupid face.
It’s not like he didn’t have stuffed animals as a kid. Of course he did, he’s pretty sure every child born into fortunate enough circumstances could afford that simple luxury. The thing was, he quickly grew tired of them, since he didn’t even understand what their purpose was. He always felt that keeping a fake animal with you wasn’t a source of ‘spiritual protection’ or whatever people had attempted to preach to him. Why not just get a real animal? Sure, it’s more responsibility to care for them, but it’ll keep you more safe and occupied. When it comes to a toy, you play with it for a day, maybe a week, and you’ve already exhausted its use.
And that didn’t change here, this thing was useless to him. All it is is a reminder to him that he won some stupid claw game.
…
Damon blinks a few times, staring at the disproportionate floppy ears.
…won.
He won something today.
Huh.
His vision blurs from the tears still pouring out of his eyes, and in the haze, he pulls his arm out from under the blankets and reaches for the pink blob in his vision.
Ah…it’s warm from the lamplight. And…soft. Really, really soft. Bigger than he remembers, too. Perspective must have thrown him off. He pats the back of the thing’s head, making a low hum as he absent-mindedly pulls it closer to himself-
…g-...geez, he really is like a child. Crying his eyes out and going to a dumb toy for comfort. Why can’t he do anything himself?
…but that’s the thing. He did get this plush himself, didn’t he? He put all that effort in, and he got what he wanted in the end. Idiotic claw game or not, he still triumphed over it, and was rewarded for his frustrations.
…sniffle…
…maybe…it isn’t so bad after all. Not all is lost.
…
…hhhah…he sounded a bit like Wolfgang there.
Damon sobs lightly, giving in and hugging the rabbit to his chest, bending his legs to curl into a comfortable ball under the covers. He nuzzles his face into its soft, warm forehead, heaving out a shaky sigh. A small smile creeps onto his lips, and he allows his eyes to fall shut.
…
He needed this. He really needed this.
The wet droplets gradually dry on his face, and by the time he’s completely done crying, he’s already drifted off to sleep, still keeping the stuffed rabbit close in his arms. If he looked ridiculous, so what? Nobody was coming in. He locked his door - he knows that for sure, now.
For once in his life, Damon Maitsu truly feels safe.
Even if he continues to fail tomorrow, he knows he’ll have this to come back to.
But he’ll win again. Won’t he? He always has.
He’s a realist, so it has to be true. He’s not quitting just yet.
…
…b-but for now…erm…just being soft and secure here is fine by him. All of that can come later, or whatever…