#mcralcompas

Ouma had gotten into the classroom early that day, mainly because he was setting up a prank, since lesson with a few of the different homerooms it was good chance for him to annoy people he normally won’t have have as good a chance to.

He was just closing the classroom’s closet after putting something in it when he heard the door open & saw Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the scohol’s biggest goodie two shoes.

He can’t fault him.  

They both know there’s no staying.  His fate is a fixed point in time - set in stone the moment Monokuma drafted the second motive.  He doesn’t know when he came up with it, exactly...has he really been a dead man since the beginning?  Since he was chosen for this...game? 

...But of course Kiyotaka is asking him to live.  If their positions were reversed - 

( And they would never be, Kiyotaka does not have it in him to do what Mondo did.  No matter what was placed in front of him.  No matter what Monokuma threatened and taunted him with. Kiyotaka was an objective, immovable good. )

...If their positions were reversed, in a twisted version of this timeline, and Monokuma managed to force his hand - he would ask the same.  Demand the same.  Up until the moment of inevitable death, he would not spend a second not fighting for him at any conceivable cost.  In this moment, if it were Kiyotaka on the stand instead, he would dismantle every wave of spare Monokumas that they could throw at him.  Destroy them faster than the mastermind could make them.  And he would take his hand, pull him upstairs, and retch that fucking door open if it broke every bone he had.

...

But it’s not.  Mondo is the murderer.  Mondo is about to die.  Rightfully. 

And all he can do for him now is pretend he isn’t terrified.

Hearing the knock to his mentor’s door has Sebastian pressing a fist to his eye and barking out a sharp “come in!”. He turns away from his work ready to chew out whoever’s decided to knock for bothering him-- don’t you know Ishimaru-san’s out on the field and left me with all the work again?-- but then his eyes land on a terribly familiar face and he looks embarrassed instead.

“Ah.” The sight of his mentor’s son in the doorway is humbling, reminding him of his temper. It’s a point for improvement Ishimaru-san’s made multiple times since Sebastian started being trusted with full loads for paperwork, considering it’s been fraying the edges of his mind like crazy. He’s been doing his best about it, but clearly he’s still got some work to do. “...good afternoon, Kiyotaka-kun.”

Maybe a smile’d make his fumble better, but between papers at university and readings to do at his dorm and doing all this god damn paperwork at his internship, he worries he’ll end up grimacing instead.

For three weeks now, Jake’s had dinner at the same time and same ramen stand as this guy every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Now he and his red eyes are familiar enough that Jake’s almost uncomfortable with it, but then again, he’s never really been in an area as outwardly peaceful as Osaka City seems to be. Familiarity’s easy when an area isn’t in visible conflict, and he doesn’t know how people deal with it.

What’s different today, though, is that those red eyes have flitted over to look at him several times now. Jake pretends he doesn’t notice, continuing to slurp his noodles in silence, but by the time he’s counted eight separate glances, he finally looks back at him. Chews. Swallows.

@mcralcompas​ liked the starter call (Still open!)

From the way he stared her down, from her casual attire to the key between her fingers, Sonia rather suspected that Kiyotaka Ishimaru wanted her to feel something akin to disappointment.

It wasn't that she was trying to avoid getting caught, exactly: Hope's Peak was a far cry from Novoselic Castle. While it lacked the secret corridors beneath the ground and the twisted array of staircases needed to reach them, it also lacked the robust security Sonia was accustomed to.

Not that she was in need or want of it: there were far fewer reasons to carry out a calculated terrorist attack or assassination attempt on the Royal Family from foreign powers at a school ripe with the future stars and leaders of tomorrow. But security still remained: either in the form of staff or Class 78's Ishimaru, who in turn seemed, to her at least, torn between annoyance and excitement by finding Sonia Nevermind, Hope's Peak's Ultimate Princess, up late at night and out of her dormitory well after curfew, on her way to the main school building. The library, to be specific.

The problem for them both was that Sonia didn't recognize his blocking her path to the front doors of the dormitory building as a problem at all. In fact, the blonde merely saw opportunity afoot. Pink lips curved upward into a warm smile in the presence of his likely scolding: last she checked, the clock on her desk had indicated it was closer to midnight than it had been the last time she'd looked at it, at around 21:00.

"You see, I don't quite deem visiting a school building to be an unsafe, illegal practice," She began. He might have made his life around adhering to rules, but she would spend hers as someone who made them. That alone gave her some room for debate, a process Princess Sonia of Novoselic was well-versed in. "I spend quite a bit of time away from the school campus on official business and appearances, and return in the early hours of the morning on occasion. Certainly remaining on school grounds, rather than away from it, is a far better adherence to the rule book. And besides, Yukizome-sensei already has lent me use of her library key, so I might retrieve the book I require before my assignment is due."

A careful gathering of the facts and a cheerful demeanor: that was sometimes all it took for her to have a conflict of opinion settled before it turned into a full-on war. But more to the point, it had crossed her mind more than once if Ishimaru had ever considered interpreting rules as he saw fit. Or if he'd ever taken time to relax in his life: Sonia was all too familiar with the stress of schedules, deadlines, and upholding a certain expectation of character, but from the way his gaze bore into her she hoped his sharp focus did not stress him to the point of illness.

Lev: This year I lost my dear character, Toko Fukawa.

Toko: QUIT TELLING PEOPLE I’M DEAD 

Mondo does not give himself time to grieve his own life.

He is not afraid of death, but is terrified of Monokuma's version of it.  When he closes his eyes to clear them, he sees the dying golden light illuminating the outline of Leon Kuwata's body.  The bone that nearly jutted out from his forearm but couldn't break his skin.  The way his left foot dangled from his leg like an item in a bag, completely disconnected.  Swinging.  He didn't see his face in the darkness.  Somehow that makes it worse.

He deserves it.  Everything Leon endured and worse.  He killed Chihiro.  He killed somebody utterly defenseless who came to him for help.  And - 

 ...And he killed Kiyotaka's only friend.  That is the piece of this that guts him.  Whatever is about to happen to him, he doesn't have to live through it.  He doesn't have to keep existing on the other side.  Kiyotaka has to live, he has to see it, he has to hear it.  The image and sound and smell of whatever Monokuma does to Mondo is going to be branded on the inside of Kiyotaka's head for as long as he's alive.

"I'm sorry."  He manages.  There is a knot in the back of his throat.  "Kyoudai, I-" 

 ... But it's too late.  It is too late. Whatever he was about to say, and he doesn't even know what it would have been, is stolen from his mouth as he's pulled.

He is strapped to the back of a bike.  On a platform above a waiting audience.   Of course he is.

A gate stands between him and the others.  His eyes scan for Kiyotaka, but all he can see is blinding neon bleeding over the crowd.  He can make out one set of eyes, though.  Makoto Naegi.

With his hands behind him, Mondo tugs on his sleeve, the only part of his coat he can reach.  With his eyes, he pleads with him to know what he’s asking - to give Kiyotaka one last thing to remember him by.  Something to ground himself in when he needs it.

Mondo still sleeps in Daiya's jacket, sometimes.  It's only right.

... He closes his eyes, again.  Tries to center himself.  Leon died in less than a minute.  It would not be long.  Just like riding a roller coaster, right?

Breathe.  In, out. 

 When Monokuma launches the bike, his stomach twists.

The cage opens.  Death by G-Force.  Okay.  Okay. 

 Kyoudai? 

 The initial speed isn't terrible.  His vision greys at the edges.  Mondo prays quietly that blood loss to his brain takes his consciousness before anything else.  That he does not die awake.

...I get it.  Why you did it.  Because if it was you, and it you killed anyone else in this fuckin' building, I'd die alongside every one of these people to set you free.

 Mondo should die awake.

It’s not you, though. It’d never be you.  So you better get out of here.  Get them out.  Every last one of ‘em.  They’ll rally behind you.  I know I did.

 The pressure hurts.  His vision is almost completely grey, now.  But it isn't gone.  The tunnel encroaches in on itself, ready to plunge him into darkness at any - 

 VRRRRR. 

 CHUNKCHUNKCHUNK. 

 The room goes dark, all at once.  It isn't gradual like his vision loss.  

..He hears them reacting to it.  And what's more - 

 He can feel himself slowing.  Definitely not in any graceful way, either.  The pressure in his head lessons to bearable levels, even as he has no idea what his vision is like right now. 

 The realization that he's about to lose centripetal force hits him almost too late, and it only occurs to him to brace for impact seconds before the motorcycle drops from the side of the cage, crashing down hard in the middle.  It lands directly on his left leg.  Probably breaks it.

It’s...strangely beautiful.  The city.  

He feels awful for thinking it, even briefly - every building, every street has been ravaged by death and fire and fear.  The structures that haven’t fallen into rubble yet stand on their last legs, some coming down to the structural integrity of a single nail or beam.

But the neon still glows out of its broken glass.  And from the cliff, looking out over it like an observation deck - he can’t make out the ash and blood coating the sidewalk.  

He can see people.  People on his team, led by packs of dogs that sniff out survivors beneath the wreckage.  People building makeshift shelters.  People setting up triage in an old intersection, cooking an incredible amount of food for anyone who might need it.

It’s not an example of how far the world has fallen.  It is a statement of humankind’s tenacity.

Mondo’s legs dangle over the side of the cliff face, and he kicks them out playfully. 

“...Hah.  If you were anyone else, I’d be like...you mean that?  But I know.  I know.” 

“Hope you know the same for me, Kyoudai. I wouldn’t be half the man I am now if I never met you.  Never would’ve thought I could be anything other than destructive.  I was so convinced I’d never amount to anything.  Y’know?”