Kyouko approached Junko in a carefully calculated manner, looking at the dancing couples in the ballroom. In the soft hues of lilac, Kyouko felt foolish, at best, to be in that particular party, hair in a braid she feels is too elaborate for second mourning.
Still, she had heard Junko was going to be there, and Kyouko also had heard that there was going to be a disaster in the Nevermind's party, so she donned that pale color that so resembled her eyes and went into the thick of it.
The questions, pitying looks and mumbled condolences were terrible, at first, but now - a good eight months into the mourning period -, she had grown a thick skin and a pleasant smile to hide it, giving the same automated answers like there was someone at her ear feeding them to her.
At least Kyouko was sure that Junko wouldn't bullshit her.
"Lady Enoshima." Kyouko started with gritted teeth, side by side with Junko, who wore a scandalous red dress: against the sea of pale, soft colors, she shone negatively. Her hair, blonde and overlong, was hidden by a red veil in a mockery of mourning. Dramatic as always. Would there be a death, today? She couldn't recall Junko's exact wardrobe color meaning with ease - she changed the meanings as if it was the wind deciding which direction to blow from.
Junko regarded her, blue eyes looking up and down, judgemental as only she could be.
"Oh, lady Kirigiri." Sarcasm and mockery in her voice, her gloved hands grabbing the bottle of red wine from the waiter, who did nothing but bite his tongue after seeing her. The Enoshima family was influential; to speak against one of their members was equivalent to social suicide.
Junko Enoshima was something of a wild card in social circles: if she was present at a party, one could be assured something outrageous would happen. Last party Kyouko had been, a chandelier had fallen, almost killing three people. She'd seen the glee in Junko's eyes, and knew that she had had a hand in it. Kyouko always tried to stop her - most times she succeeded, and a few, she failed.
She'd been ready to go forward with the accusation that Junko was the mastermind of a terrorist group when her father had been mysteriously murdered. Junko had expressed her condolences hours before the letter notifying Kyouko of the fact reached the school she lived in.
Now, this - Kyouko stared at Junko for a long moment.
"You lack subtlety, Kyouko. I thought better of our school investigator."
"And you lack morals, if you so do allow me to say so." Junko grinned at that, like it was a compliment. "You killed my father, didn't you?"
Junko gasped, false but quiet, not drawing attention to herself for once. She took a swig directly from the bottle, and offered it to Kyouko, who politely accepted it, taking a swig herself before giving it back.
She wore lipstick, remnants of it sticking to the bottle and to Kyouko's tongue: strawberry and a fatty layer, clinging to her mouth. Terrible. Kyouko must've shown something in her face, because Junko laughed.
"What, me? Sweet, dear me? I'm innocent, you know. I was in school with you." She giggles, childish, unconvincing. Kyouko rolled her eyes. "Aw, you doubt me?"
"Very much, yes." Junko laughed again, attracting some eyes. Both of them ignored it, already lost in their own little world.
"And what if I did? I have a pretty solid alibi." Junko grinned, and Kyouko scoffed at that. "What, little miss detective? Perhaps you're irritated with the fact that your plan of exposing me in front of polite society has failed."
Kyouko shook her head. She fidgeted, gloved hands both polite and hiding the secret of her scars. Junko cocked her head, took another large swig of wine.
"Then what is your plan, lady Kirigiri?" Junko drawled, her gloved hand on Kyouko's cheek, too close, too tender - even for Junko, who didn't have a tender bone in her body. The smell of her perfume filled the air of Kyouko's tiny world, and it made her an exciting mixture of nauseous and thrilled. "Don't tell me I'm going to jail. I've heard they do such horrible things with good girls such as I."
Kyouko rolled her eyes. Right.
"If I had you arrested, then our little fight would be stopped, wouldn't it?" Kyouko muttered, and Junko's eyes shone. "No. I just want to know why you murdered my father."
"You didn't even like him." Junko huffed, giving a step back. "And yes, what if I committed a little murder? It made you free."
"Free?" Kyouko rose an eyebrow at that. "Where is freedom in a mourning period?"
"Beyond that, dummy." She flicked Kyouko's forehead. "You're now an heiress with all of your father's connections and money at your disposal. What's not to like?"
"We do have different precognitions of the world." Junko waved her words away, finishing the bottle and setting it aside. "Will I see you in my rooms tonight?"
"No." In Junko's speech, that was a yes. They had an odd… Romance wasn't the right word: enmity, perhaps, with feelings so deeply enmeshed it was hard to distinguish what was what. Neither of them spent any sort of time whatsoever classifying these feelings. "After I kill a few someones, sure."
Kyouko looked her, up and down, mind racing.
"Ah, so that's why you're wearing red." She nodded. "I'll do my best to stop your killing spree, then."
Junko grinned, eyes wild. She loved a challenge, and Kyouko was the only one who was at her level. Perhaps it was madness, Kyouko reasoned, curtsying delicately before leaving, looking around: she had a murder to stop.