Author's Note:
Imagine a universe where Anemone was rather evil (or at the very least hold the potential to abnormal levels of cruelty and being just about as sensitive to the feelings of others as a rock), even when not shot up on the stuff that the nice men and women dressed in all-white and latex gloves insist is beneficial for her health and general well-being. Now...let that thought sink its claws into your mind and wait for it to take over the realms of your imagination. It's not pretty, is it? Better not go there, huh?
Well, I did and this is the result.
Be afraid, Dominic. Be very afraid.
Disclaimer:
I don't own Eureka Seven.
Game On
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Clearly, it was a game.
She knew beyond all doubt that if she screamed just right, he would come running to her like an attention-starved mutt to its master.
If the situation hadn't been so hopelessly pathetic, she might have felt sorry for the pitiful creature that was supposed to be her caretaker, and who went by the pitiable name of Dominic Sorel.
Sometimes, she wondered what on earth could have possessed Dewey to choose him of all people. But she was confident that even if she couldn't understand them, Dewey had his reasons and that was enough for her – which was why she at least made an effort to be understanding. Yes, sometimes she even made a half-hearted attempt to refrain from hitting the dark-haired young man (who, to be fair, was just a boy) over the head when he outstayed his welcome, doggedly invading her personal space and torturing her with his annoying chatter.
At first she had tried to play nice – all for Dewey's sake, of course – but only a week after first making his acquaintance, she had given Dominic Sorel up as a lost cause, as she found that it was near impossible to be civil when just looking at him made her blood boil. She didn't know why, but she didn't like him – and she liked his insistence to visit her even less. Besides, she was certain that, although he never showed it, the feeling was mutual. After all, anyone possessing even an ounce of self-respect would hate her after being repetitively kicked, slapped, punched, screamed at and bitten; though that was not to say that he didn't deserve it, because he did.
But to her immense surprise and irritation, Dominic Sorel didn't seem to mind how she treated him. She could insult him, mock him and demand all sorts of impossible things of him, but he just absorbed the damage like some dumb hate-sponge without even a word of protest.
It infuriated her how he never retaliated, no matter what unpleasantries she threw at him.
And he always came back.
In fact, she didn't seem to be able to get rid of him, regardless of what she did or the many tantrums she staged.
In short, his unnatural patience perplexed her, but she was certain that even he had a limit: everyone did, if only one waited long enough... and probed deeply enough.
So she was impatiently waiting for the day when she would finally drive him over the edge; when the stoic Dominic Sorel snapped like a twig, just like the others before him.
But it wasn't until months after she first met him that she realized that her room was bugged. On a routine check-up, her so-called 'doctors' had suddenly insisted on doubling the dose of the poison that they insisted was her medicine, and she had done her best to keep their glove-encased hands as far away from her as possible when no other than Dominic Sorel had stormed into her room unannounced, coldly ordering the squad of white-clad monsters to step away from her – which they did, eventually, while unhappily grumbling something about 'insolent pups overstepping their authority'. Or so she thought. Anyway, it wasn't as if she bothered to remember all the details; she couldn't care less about what they thought or what they said. All that she was interested in was what they planned on doing to her next.
Freaks.
She could have thanked him for his efforts, or at least acknowledged his contribution, but instead she had sullenly demanded to know what he wanted and when Dewey would come to visit her. But to her surprise, he had ignored her questions, instead asking her if she was alright before quickly excusing himself and disappearing off to wherever he went when he wasn't insisting on 'keeping her company'.
But after that episode with her doctors, he would sometimes show up when she screeched particularly loudly at some useless attendant – or when her 'doctors' tried unusually funny stuff.
It was all very strange. She was certain that the walls were soundproof, and still he managed to materialize whenever she was particularly upset, and when she least suspected it.
So she decided to put him, and her walls, to the test.
She had chosen a time when the least people would be up and about: namely, in the middle of the night. A few well-acted whimpering noises (which she was quite proud of, since they sounded rather genuine) later, a nervous, sleepy-eyed and uncharacteristically disshelved Dominic Sorel had arrived in her doorway only to be met by her most icy glare for being a nuisance and 'waking her up'.
That was all the proof she needed and when her initial fury over their undignified treatment of her (she doubted that Dewey would allow it, so she concluded that they did it behind his back) finally died down, she realized that she could turn this to her advantage, and amusement, even.
After all, she had reasoned with herself, it was only fair.
She needed some form of entertainment to keep the sluggish boredom, which settled over her like a wet blanket between her training missions, at bay. And as utterly useless as he was, in lack of better material to work with, Dominic Sorel would have to suffice... for the time being.
Soon, after some careful experimentation, she found that 'pervert' and 'lech' caught his attention particularly well, while 'bastard' and 'idiot' not so much. But, she reasoned that she used the latter pair so much anyway, so the novelty must have worn off.
So each time he showed up in her doorway, his face slightly flustered from what she only could imagine was the brisk walk to her room, complete with that small satisfying wrinkle of displeasure on his forehead, she knew that she had won. Again.
And to Anemone, winning was everything.