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There's only one more day until joint practice day, where the dance team will rendezvous with the music team. A room full of misfits brims with barely contained excitement and anticipation; however, as the dancing group, consisting of Asmodeus Alice, Valac Clara, Shax Lied, Andro M. Jazz, Ix Elizabetta, Gaap Goemon, Sabnock Sabro, Agares Picero, Allocer Schneider, and Caim Kamui, stand in their designated practice room, they can't help but chatter amongst themselves.
Just yesterday, after hours of rough training, Crocell Kerori had finally deemed this motley crew ready. They're finally ready for joint practice.
So, why are they here?
Asmodeus scoffs. "Did you really believe that we'd receive a day off? Honestly–"
"It could happen!" Lied pipes up, interrupting him.
"I hope…" Agares yawns. "It better… All I–" he yawns again, not deigning to complete that thought.
Jazz joins Lied, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Yeah! Maybe Crocell just brought us here to–"
"What if it's a party?" Clara bursts out. She ignores Asmodeus as he begins to chastise her for interrupting her classmate. "Maybe there will be games, and a devi feast, and… and, and! Maybe Iruma-kins will even be there! And I'll get to–
"Don't." Asmodeus sighs, pressing a palm to his forehead. "You know we're never allowed to see Master Iruma this soon."
Lied's gaze settles on Elizabetta, his eyebrows scrunching up. "...Big sis?"
At Lied's utterance, Jazz's eyes flit between the misfits, landing on Elizabetta as well.
Elizabetta is standing up straight with her hand raised high, palm flat. Her lips are curved into a polite smile.
"Yes, big sis?"
The room quickly falls silent. Nine pairs of eyes shift to the front of the room where none other than Crocell Kerori herself stands on a raised platform, glaring down coldly upon the misfits.
Or, perhaps, some of the misfits wouldn’t exactly use the word “cold”. Her general air carries coldness with it, yes. Her current stance emanates superiority, but her expression isn’t simply “cold” or “prideful”. If anything, her expression is seemingly unreadable as she stands upon the platform, waiting for Elizabetta to speak. To say that each and every misfit in the room is at least a little concerned by this, if not curious, would be an understatement. It’s almost as if they’ve shared the same question since their arrival: What is she planning?
Elizabetta voices her question, “What are we here for?”
Direct. To the point. Kerori answers in turn without hesitation, as if she'd been anticipating such a question.
"Good question!" She addresses the whole group. "I’ve invited you all here today for something I'll call 'special training'."
After a brief moment of silence, there's a collective "huh?" from most of the members of the crowd. In response, Kerori flashes a smile.
"Special…training?" someone wonders.
"...What exactly is 'special' about it?"
"But…" one person whispers to another, "I thought we were ready?"
"Maybe it's not practice! Maybe 'special' is just code for–"
"Uhhh, I don't think–"
"It's special…" Kerori starts, projecting her voice over top of the misfits' conversation. Her tone practically dares them to ignore her. "...because it's a surprise."
A beat. Kerori snaps her fingers.
Before the misfit's eyes, the door to the room bursts open. A group of demons, dressed in black, run two large racks of clothes into the room on either end. They're so efficient, so quick, that the misfits barely get a glimpse of them before the door to the practice room shuts once more.
Evidently—they find out very quickly, as their eyes flit amongst the racks at either side of the room—they're filled with ribbons and frills, sequins and shiny buttons.
A knowing look appears in Asmodeus's eyes as he keeps them trained on the rack nearest him. He's seen his fair share of clothes, able to discern them at a glance.
Only Allocer joins Asmodeus in this silence, eyes a bit dark, as the rest of the group begins to chatter.
"These are…" Clara lets out a laugh—one that rings sweetly atop the heads in the room—before beaming a smile in Kerori's direction. "They're for us, right?"
Elizabetta smiles at her, then, resting a hand atop her shoulder. "Who else would they be for?"
After witnessing such smiles from her two classmates, Kerori's cold, serious demeanor weathers just slightly, allowing her eyes to soften. However, after a short moment, she clears her throat audibly. No one dares speak as she does, projecting her voice well into the crevices of the room.
Although, perhaps Agares covers his ears with a frown.
"Yes. These are for you all—for your ‘special training’."
At that, the misfits begin to talk amongst themselves once more.
"How interesting…"
"But surely these aren't for all of us?"
"Wouldn’t big sis look great in that one?"
"Frilly…"
"...Don't tell me."
"I think you would look better in that one."
As a sense of fear creeps throughout the room, amidst the chatter and questions about the frilly outfits upon the racks, Allocer raises his hand.
Kerori points to him in acknowledgement. "Yes?"
Allocer pauses for a moment before answering, simply, "I thought it was unnecessary for us to perform drag!"
There are a few nods of agreement out of the group of misfits.
"Yes," Kerori says, no less deterred from her plans. "I said that. And I meant it."
"We're not…wearing these for the festival, are we?" someone asks aloud.
"Right. If it's unnecessary, then why–"
Kerori interrupts the second voice, setting a glare over the group of misfits. "Just because it's unnecessary doesn't mean it's useless. Joint practice is tomorrow, and the music festival will soon follow."
Another hand shoots up.
"Yes?"
It's Lied. "But how does it, well…" he pauses for a moment, scratching the back of his neck. "How will wearing that help?"
She doesn't hesitate to answer. "Thus far, you've been training in more comfortable clothing. Even if your attire for the music festival ends up easy to move around in, comfortability,” she stresses, “is not enough."
After a moment of silence, she adds, "At the very least, we would do well to maintain our mastery of the routine. It’s no time to be lazy."
Few of the misfits nod in understanding. Of course, some of them can understand how continued practice might be vital or helpful, but wearing frilly clothing? Sure, a couple demons may be enthusiastic about it, but, for the rest, this explanation alone may not be–
"Do not misunderstand," Kerori says, before anyone can question further. "I'll make it known here and now that sensei has approved of this."
If the misfits weren’t dreading "special training" already, they are now, given the collective groans. However, no matter their individual doubts in her statement (or lack thereof), the fact remains that Kerori’s reasoning truly isn’t without merit. So, if Kalego-sensei does approve…
And Kalego-sensei had approved. Kerori hadn’t lied about that.
"It will only be for a day, and it'll be valuable practice. If there's anything we can do to improve, we must." Then, she adds, as a mischievous grin stretches across her lips, "Unless you want to make fools of yourselves when dress rehearsal begins."
That statement causes the mood in the room to shift from that of palpable dread to reluctance. Yet, by the way everyone turns to the racks once more, it’s clear they’re not wholly opposed to this training.
Which is good, really. So long as the day progresses as planned, it doesn’t matter whether they actually see the merit in the exercise or if they're just simply afraid of how Kalego-sensei will react if they decline.
Not as if any of them can actually give up, though—not with what’s on the line. They can’t quite afford to dismiss a form of training just because it’s not immediately vital, can they? This thought process is what the outcome of "special training" banks on.
“Now. If you would look to the racks at either side…”
Kerori continues once they properly redirect their attention.
“We’ve gathered skirts and dresses of all types fit for a dem-dol. Many of the outfits come in a range of colors and sizes, so you’ll be free to choose what suits you.” Then, before the misfits have much of a chance to react, she adds, “As for Clara and big sis, the two of you have experience already. Given that fact…” Kerori pauses for effect, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You may choose between these styles of dress or the more ‘masculine’ style, as a classic “male” dem-dol. For that, there are a few choices at the end.”
“How interesting…” Elizabetta presses a finger to her lips, smiling, as she strides to the end of the rack closest to her. Clara practically bounces along behind her, supplying her own boings.
“Huh?!” Lied bursts out, eyes blowing wide in shock. “This can’t–”
“Favoritism.” Allocer sighs, shaking his head.
“No way… She can really–”
“Jazzy! Jazzy!” Lied is shaking his shoulders dramatically. “They’re allowed to wear pants, but it’s us who has to suffer?”
“Of course she can,” Allocer says, answering Jazz’s unfinished question. He stares at Jazz, a deadly serious look upon his face. “She can do anything as long as it brings results to the table.”
Lied stops shaking Jazz, but his hands still rest atop Jazz’s shoulders as he turns to Allocer. “It’s blatant bias, though!”
“Wow!” Clara gasps loudly. She moves before anyone can stop her, grabbing a random outfit from the rack, and brandishing it to Elizabetta. “Pants!” she beams, striking a pose. Giggles begin to fall from her mouth, as if she’s laughing at her own joke.
As Clara’s laughter is generally infectious, Elizabetta slides a hand in front of her own mouth, chuckling from behind it.
“However…” Kerori waits until the girls’ attention is on her once more before she continues, “Though it is your own choice, I would suggest you pick something that would take more effort to dance in.”
Asmodeus crosses his arms as he speaks, sure to get his words in before anyone can complain again, “Well, if everyone chose only what was easy—barring that demons are usually inclined to do so—it would defeat the purpose of this exercise.”
Having nothing more to complain about, especially after Asmodeus’s words, the boys stare at the racks as Clara and Elizabetta rifle around. They stand in silence, stationary for about a minute, as if they’re all waiting for someone else to start first.
Surprisingly enough, it’s Caim who emerges from their little group first, muttering something about a “true gentleman”.
Sabnock isn’t far behind. His eyes flit between members of the group. “This may not be something I am used to, but I can’t run away. If I hope to keep up with my rival, I must be open to any improvement.”
“Right,” Asmodeus nods, sighing. “If putting on skirts is what it takes to please Master Iruma, I would wear as many as needed.”
“Wh…” Lied’s eyes widen once more. “Azz-Azz, don’t tell us you mean it like–” His mouth falls shut when an arm rests around his shoulder.
“Come on, Lied~” Jazz laughs when Lied’s head turns, snapping in his direction.
By now, the rest of the group has fully disbursed. Asmodeus and Sabnock are searching in near silence—save for the occasional mumbling to themselves—serious looks upon their faces. Allocer, despite the nervousness etched into his expression, is testing the waters, carefully pulling at the sleeves of a number of tops he could choose from. Even Goemon is dragging Agares around, asking him what he’d like, and pulling a multitude of cute clothes aside.
“We don’t want to be left behind, do we?”
Lied sighs in response.
“Come on, now. Tell me you wouldn’t look cute in this.” Jazz smiles, pulling a pastel blue colored two piece from the rack.
“Pfff– Yeah, yeah, Jazzy. Laugh it up! As if you couldn’t pull that off. I bet if you wore something like this, even guys would…”
Soon enough, the misfits discover something else behind the racks. Pop up dressing rooms line the wall, open and unoccupied. More than a couple of the demons state the obvious—that they weren’t there before.
“Maybe…those demons from earlier set ‘em up?” Lied wonders aloud.
“Most likely,” Allocer says, earning distant nods of agreement from Asmodeus and Sabnock.
Jazz whistles aloud at that. “Sure are efficient, aren’t they?”
Caim emerges from one of the dressing rooms, wearing a royal purple two-piece with black bows and accents. Truth be told, it was the first thing he’d pulled off the racks and the only outfit he’d tried on in the spirit of getting this over with following orders. While the rest of the misfits try on their outfits, he bows to no one in particular.
“For my lady, I must be prepared to do anything—however embarrassing!” After his proclamation, he scuttles to the center of the practice room before Kerori, who still waits upon the raised platform. As the first to finish, he stands at attention.
“I…may require assistance…!” comes a voice from one of the dressing rooms, muffled. In response, Asmodeus steps out of his room with a sigh and a shake of his head.
Lied steps out of his dressing room as well, taking a couple steps to the one next to his. “Jazzy! Are you oka–” He cuts off as his eyes wander to the left, happening to lock onto Asmodeus’s own just briefly. His mouth is agape as the two turn to each other.
As Lied’s eyes wander, they find first the golden bell just below Asmodeus’s chin, tied around his neck on a magenta ribbon. He’s wearing a soft pink vest over a white, short-sleeved, collared shirt. Around his waist, a large magenta ribbon is tied at his back just so, so Lied can't tell whether his shirt and vest are tucked in or not. Below this is a pleated skirt of that same soft pink over layers of white frills, which fall just inches above his knees.
Actually, as Lied might find, when his eyes flit back up to Asmodeus’s face, his skirt and vest are the same color as his hair. Even his cheeks are pinkening to match.
“W-Well, you see, I…” Asmodeus begins to stammer.
Lied’s eyes widen before shooting down. He himself is wearing a frilly, black apron with white flourishes over a simple, golden dress of similar length. Filling out the skirt of the dress are white embellishments, which include frills. At this very moment, he has two smaller bows pinned in his hair, each made of black lace and gold ribbon. His eyes shoot back up to Asmodeus’s face, his own cheeks tinged with embarrassment now.
“This is– T-this is not…”
“I-I don’t actually… When I was young—”
“A-Azz-Azz, you have to believe… I never–”
“—my mother used to– Well she needed a model, and so I’m just used to…”
“I just got lucky, okay?”
The two fall silent, then. Clearly, the two find, as they take a few moments to process the earlier “conversation”, neither can exactly judge the other. So, they each heave a sigh, and Asmodeus shoots Lied a look before stepping into the dressing room.
“Not a word,” Asmodeus says, simply, as he begins to help Sabnock with his skirt.
“...Thanks,” Sabnock says. After all the time he spent training with Asmodeus, he’s grown used to his body language. Luckily, this means Asmodeus doesn’t have to say much to maneuver him into the first outfit in his stack.
Lied begins, standing outside of Jazz’s dressing room, “Jazzy–”
“L-Lied.”
“Yes?”
Jazz pulls the curtain back a few inches, hand pressed to his face. He hadn’t meant to stutter.
“Could you help me, uh… My back.”
Lied blinks. However, after a brief second, he swallows, stepping into the dressing room. “I can try…”
Eventually, Sabnock emerges from his room wearing a two piece. The top is a black, short-sleeved, knitted crop-top that fits to the skin, adorned with swooping lace, and ribbons tied into a bow behind his back. His simple, ankle length skirt is cream colored, filled out with red embellishments and frills that peek out underneath.
“I’m, uh…” he pauses briefly outside the fitting room, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his head. “I don’t dislike it, actually, I’m just…”
“Not used to it?” Asmodeus finishes, tone lacking even an ounce of interest, as he pulls the curtains aside. He walks past Sabnock in stride towards the center of the room, not deigning to finish listening to his thoughts.
“Right.” Sabnock nods in Asmodeus’s direction before following. He mutters to himself, practically whispering, as he finds his own place at the center, “However! I had no idea skirts like these offered such freedom of movement. I must keep that in mind…”
Clara and Elizabetta are the last to reach the center, their heels clicking loudly across the floor.
In the end, Elizabetta, with all her indecisiveness, had decided to take a different approach. Instead of simply choosing a fancy suit with ornate buttons and shoulder pads, or a cute frilly dress, littered with bows, she had decided to channel her role instead. She’s to play the role of Lillith, so simply wearing something complicated and frilly won’t do her as much good as the others.
This means, in a group of her peers, clad in cute skirts and dresses, Elizabetta is an outlier. She’s wearing a wine-red halter top dress that—to fit the suggestion of difficulty—extends down to her ankles. However simple the dress looks, it’s one that complements her beauty.
Lied throws a hand up, calling, “Looking good, big sis!”
“Mm hm!” Clara nods exaggeratedly beside her.
“Thank you! Although…” Elizabetta turns to Clara, a soft, genuine smile upon her face. “You look good as well, Clara.”
Clara only giggles in response, the smile upon her face managing to grow even bigger. What she’s wearing is one of the aforementioned “fancy” suits. The jacket is mint colored, and ornately buttoned atop a white button up. The jacket only buttons up part way, allowing frills from the button up peek through the space at the chest area. In addition, the jacket is adorned with silver epaulets and a few, thin ropes, looped under her arm on one side. Attached to one side of the mint suit pants is a bit of ruffled, silver fabric that almost drapes down to her ankles. It resembles something like a half skirt.
“You look good too, Clarin!” Lied adds, after Elizabetta gave her compliment.
“Ahem,” Kerori clears her throat audibly, if not a tad aggressively, to get the attention of the misfits. She only begins once the eyes of her peers are all on her, “Good. Now that we seem to be ready…” She snaps.
The doors burst open once more. A mischievous chuckle falls from Kerori’s lips as the mysterious, black clad demons fetch the clothing racks, wheeling them out just as quickly as they'd wheeled them in originally.
“We may begin.”
~
Even if her classmates have mastered this routine, no one expects a group of novices, many of whom have never worn even a skirt before, to complete it without some hiccups. Kerori’s not completely cruel to her classmates, though. So, before actually forcing them to engage in group practice sessions, she allows them some time on their own to practice. For their own safety, and for the sake of the outfits, it would be best for her group to get more comfortable with their new attire. Not all of those outfits are hers, after all, so it’s up to her to mitigate any possible damage.
Of course, she’s not going through all this trouble just for her classmates’ sake. While Kalego truly had granted her permission for this “special training”, she hadn’t originally proposed the idea in the interest of her classmates’ improvement, even if she’d seen real merit in doing so.
To my favor, they really are putting their all into this, even despite their embarrassment…
In truth, that this practice could help her peers improve is like the decoration on a cake, given how it was (more or less) a pretty excuse to cover up the official reason. The official reason, known only to Kalego and her manager—the cake itself—is for scouting purposes. The dem-dol sphere can be more unpredictable than one would expect. So, whether they improve or not, at the end of the day, the true purpose of this “special practice” is to gauge her classmates' true potential as dem-dolls.
At the very least, it would be nice to have extras on hand…
However, a completed cake is more than just its decoration and spongy, moist layers. What could be a cake without frosting—rich and creamy? Kerori can’t help but laugh in the confines of her mind, snickering to herself over a secret third reason.
She adores dem-dols—their style, their charm, their ability—and so, her secret reason? Shamelessly…she just really wants pictures of her classmates playing the part—an entire group of demons dancing, dressed in frills and bows, aprons and lace, skirts and heels. Simply put, she likes it when demons wear such attire, and wear it well.
For this reason, Kerori’s been itching to pull out her devi-camera. In fact, as the end of the practice session grows near, that itch worsens, festering. So, now, when it’s finally, finally time, she has to try her hardest to suppress the excitement brimming in her throat, to cover up the smile threatening to stretch across her face.
This is the time for her classmates to show off their culminated improvement—their last chance before joint practice day.
My opportunity to get the best pictures.
Once she’s sure that her group is ready, she presses the play button on a nearby devi-box.
"Begin!"
Just after her booming command, on cue, a number of remotely controlled devi-cameras are released into the room, seeking a range of different shots and angles. As for herself, she finally brandishes her personal devi-camera. She's been waiting for this moment to come all day, so of course she'd want to get as many pictures as possible.
And she takes scores of them to begin—closeups mostly. However, as the music begins to push and pull and swell, the dressed up misfits moving along in step, she can't hope to quell her bursting excitement or the rapid thumping in her chest. She can only watch, taking pictures at her heart's whims, enthralled by every pose, every step, every move. It's just as well that she'd set up the remote devi-cameras in advance.
One would think she'd never seen the performance before, the way the performance spikes her soul.
That passion when combined with the more appropriate outfit choice of a dem-dol, it only–
Kerori finds herself breathless, thoughtless, as the routine nears its end, excitement peaking in every pore of her being. It's only on a whim—natural instinct, perhaps—that she presses the button when she does, taking the final photo of the day with her devi-camera.
Before she can even sneak a look she just knows whatever she captured feels…right—perfect.
And then, when the misfits finally falter, breaking their poses to slump over and pant, she too breaks away, needing to see that last photo.
So… So… cool!
It's the first thought to cross her mind as she looks down, gazing for the first time upon her final photograph. Despite the fact that the routine—this special training with it—is now finished, excitement yet bursts from her being, from the wide smile on her face, to the way she practically vibrates in place. Every detail she collects as she further analyzes that last photo only vindicates her more.
Are her cheeks warm? Is her skin even a little sweaty? Is her heart yet beating loudly in her chest?
Probably… she concedes.
She was right when she felt as if she'd captured perfection, because she'd happened to take the picture just at the finish. It perfectly depicts that moment where the dancers had struck their final poses, just before exhaustion and exasperation set in, softening the pose. It's a dream shot, not to mention with the clothing…
They really do amaze…