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Mukuro sets her duffle bag on top of her bed, set just against the bathroom wall. She doesn’t say anything as she ruffles through it, steadily unpacking her things and placing them in the drawers that belong to her. Someone else might have asked her where all of her weapons were or if she had any grenades packed in her duffel bag or extra bullets or things like that. Certainly, her last roommate did. But her current one—
Part of being the Ultimate Soldier means being aware of everyone else in the room with her at all times, whether they are an enemy or an ally or a civilian who might need protecting should they be attacked, so she doesn’t need to glance over to know that Kyoko Kirigiri is staring at the window, at the blossoms steadily falling from the tree outside, as she straightens the wrist of one of her gloves.
Neither of them say anything.
It should be a calming, comforting sort of saying nothing. They hadn’t paired up together because they were the last two left; if anything, they were the first to pair up, other than her sister hastily writing Fukawa’s name down before someone else could approach her. (Ryoko had never been very good at lying, but her transformation into Junko gained her that skill in spades. She could have lied about having a partner for as long as she wanted, but Junko often said that the truth could be a far more effective weapon than a lie. She was already paired up. That’s all there was to it.)
The implication here is that Mukuro then approached Kirigiri, perhaps as an extension of one of her sister’s many meticulous plans, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Kirigiri approached Mukuro within a few moments of Junko’s writing Fukawa down, and Mukuro still doesn’t know why.
(Yes, she could have asked her sister, but Junko wouldn’t have told her. No, Junko would have said, “Figure it out yourself, Mukie,” and probably added something about how much she needed to take a bath while she was at it.
Ryoko would have told her. Ryoko told her a lot of things that it might have been better for her not to know.)
“You didn’t ask,” Mukuro says into the silence, cutting through the tension with words as her knife.
Kirigiri doesn’t turn away from the window to face her. If they were enemies, this would either be foolishness or a power move. But they aren’t enemies, which makes this a symbol of trust. Or an indication of a lack of caring. (Or Kirigiri was staring at the reflection of their room in the window, instead of the scene outside. That seems apt for a detective, to use reflections.) “I didn’t ask what?”
“About the weapons in my duffel bag.”
“Mm.” Kirigiri lowers her head. “A good soldier would carry her weapons on her, wouldn’t she? You need to be prepared at any moment. If you stowed everything in your duffel bag, it would take longer for you to access it. Worse, a potential enemy might get to it before you could.” She doesn’t glance up, and she doesn’t meet Mukuro’s eyes in her reflection. “Why would I ask about them when I know they aren’t there?”
(Just like her sister, when she isn’t wearing the Junko masquerade.)
((Her sister is always wearing the Junko masquerade.))
Mukuro gives a nod of ascent, removes one of the guns hidden on her person, spins it on one finger, and then tucks it back into place. “Our classmates are idiots.”
“Our classmates don’t understand war.” Kirigiri offers the slightest of smiles, then finally turns away from the window. “We should meet up with them soon. We wouldn’t want to be blamed for making them late for dinner.”
Dinner isn’t for another thirty minutes. What Kirigiri really wants is to examine their surroundings, in case anything happens. At least, that’s Mukuro’s guess, given that it’s the same thing she wants to do, albeit for moderately different reasons. Kirigiri wants to know for detective reasons; Mukuro wants to know for protective reasons. It might look the same on the outside, but it isn’t. Not really.
Still.
“Let me accompany you,” Mukuro says, clear as anything, even though Kirigiri hadn’t asked – or implied – her true desires.
And yet, Mukuro’s words cause that smile on Kirigiri’s face to linger. “Of course,” Kirigiri murmurs. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”