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“You can’t just, like, skip out on phys. ed every time we swim, you know. That’s super cheap.” Junko flicks an imperceptible bit of dirt from her fingernail in Celestia’s direction and smiles when the other girl flinches away from it. (There wasn’t any dirt. She just likes to see her classmates flinch.)
Celestia isn’t bad as far as the rest of them go. The whole cosplaying her own OC scenario is something else, but if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes. It’s not like Junko isn’t going to force her own sister to cosplay as her, eventually. And the fact that no one questions it, even though most of them don’t believe her? It’s a risk – a gamble – so it plays well into Celestia’s Talent.
However.
“As long as our dear teacher does not require me to—”
“Yeah, but it’s still such bullshit, you know?”
Celestia winds the loops of one of her twindrills around one long finger. She never gets even a single strand of hair stuck in her gunmetal ring, which is, like, the absolute worst. It’s also a not-so-subtle indicator that they aren’t real; they’re so specifically shaped into place that they can’t even get stuck like normal hair. The fact that none of their other classmates have noticed this is….
Well, it isn’t infuriating, really.
Kyoko has probably noticed and chosen not to say anything unless it’s relevant to a case. Sayaka may have noticed because she’s probably used to the different kinds of wigs and clip-ons that idols might need to use for different appearances or music videos or stuff like that. If Hifumi was ever close enough, he would be able to see through the low quality of Celestia’s cosplay wig.
But no one says anything, because they’re all such good friends.
Or something like that.
Not that Junko has said anything.
Yet.
Junko’s head tilts as Celestia pretends not to wear that little smile that says she’s getting away with something because she’s smarter than everyone. (She isn’t. But let her pretend for a little while longer. Let her pretend until it comes back to bite her ass.) “You could at least, like, take your shoes off. Sit on the edge of the pool. It’s usually pretty nice.”
“Hm.”
Celestia isn’t really considering what to say next. They’ve had this conversation before. (Or, at least, Junko has had this conversation with her before, even if it was only in her head. A hundred thousand variations or more, and Celestia is choosing the most obnoxiously likely of all of them. Of course. How boring.) “If I were to allow for something like that,” she murmurs, “I would be leaving myself open to getting pulled in by one of the ruffians.” She turns just enough to meet Junko’s eyes with her own, not quite blood red ones. “Is that what you want, Enoshima-san?”
“No. ‘Course not.”
She’s lying, of course.
But her eyes hold Celestia’s, and she hums pleasantly. “You need better contacts, you know.”
Celestia freezes, which is better than a flinch, in Junko’s opinion. She doesn’t blink. She doesn’t grow pale. (It would be hard for her to grow paler than the make-up she’s wearing, but who is Junko to judge, honestly.) “Whatever do you mean?”
“Your contacts.” Junko taps just next to her own eyes. “The ones making your eyes red.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Celestia says, but her tone grows the slightest touch strained. She blinks once, slowly. “My eyes are naturally this shade.”
Junko rolls her eyes. “Natural red eyes look like blood, and yours are….” She hums. “They’re not the right shade.” One corner of her lips turns up into a smile. “I could fix that for you, you know. Ultimate Fashionista. I’ve got the hits on all the best stuff like that.” She taps next to her eyes again. “Mine aren’t even blue.”
This is true, even though she’s sure Celestia won’t believe her.
No, Celestia is too focused on the current discussion and how to navigate it without losing face – while still gaining better contacts, probably. She taps her fingers on the table in front of them, a sharp metallic sort of sound because everything about Celestia is unreal – is fake – but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t try her best and pull that shit off most of the time.
Most of the time.
“Maybe,” Junko says, leaning forward with a conspiratorial whisper, “if you go shopping with me, I’ll show you some contacts, and you can show me where you get that delightful outfit of yours.” She doesn’t meet Celestia’s eyes because that’ll feel like she’s forcing the issue, but she places a hand out on the table in a form of olive branch. “I’ll even drop the swimming thing. What about that?”
Again, Celestia considers, and just as Junko expected, she places her hand in Junko’s. “Show me your tricks,” she says, “and I’ll show you mine.”
Which was all Junko wanted.