Maneki walks out of the stage area, lifting the curtains to make sure they don’t get stuck in his hair; completely calm and collected, as if getting practically interrogated in front of a live audience didn’t affect him at all. They spot Eddie wandering around aimlessly backstage, Maneki giving him a curt nod and a wave of their fan, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. Eddie’s earlier interview was quite interesting to watch — they’re slowly but surely getting a hold on Eddie’s character.
While the man seems nice at first, and very insistent on being nothing like his “Brutal Bull” title, Maneki has found that he has a fierce temper when it comes to the things he cares about. He seems awfully unprepared for a game like this, but it would be in their best interest to keep up a positive relationship with him — getting on the Brutal Bull’s bad side could prove to be dangerous, after all!
They approach, tapping the top of Eddie’s head with their fan. Eddie’s short enough that they don’t even have to stand on their toes to reach him. They open their fan back up after they’ve gotten Eddie’s attention. [interviews?], it reads. It seems he’s asking how Eddie went with his. They were watching, of course, but it could be interesting to hear it from Eddie’s perspective.
— 🪭 @tongue-tiedenigma
Eddie was about to head to the bar until something light taps his head and catches him completely off guard. "What-" He whips around, a brief look of fear that shifts into surprise upon realizing it's Maneki. "Where did-" Then he reads the fan. Interviews?
"Uh." He puts a pause on the sentence he was trying to form before, processing the question as he slowly calms down. Seems like Maneki's asking about how Eddie's interview went. His eyes drift to the side. It happened just a few minutes ago, but he already wants to move on. "Went fine," he says, the tinge of anger—or rather bitterness, obvious in his tone. Although to him, fine sums it up pretty well.
It stressed him the fuck out. It's obvious, the way his voice had shook as he responded to the questions (which, Eddie's sure was made to piss him off). The way his hands had clenched into themselves. The way his eyes had darted around, unable to keep contact with Cupid's.
The lights and cameras that pointed on him made him feel on edge the moment he stepped onto the stage, but the live audience. All those eyes on him, judging, mocking, pressuring—made everything even worse. He rather it be silent, and the cameras hidden from view like in Roulette. But he couldn't freeze up. He had to speak, even when it felt like every word that rose from his throat felt like he was trying to navigate the best way to travel on thin ice, every little thing tipping the scales one way, then another.
Eddie shakes his head, bringing himself to the present. He shoves his hands into his pockets. "You?"
