potential spoilers for the dangan ronpa series as a whole. [ she has served her time. from the moment she stepped foot into the sirius observatory, kirigiri kyouko has spent her life serving her time. at first, she believed this to be the duty of a kirigiri detective : to protect and to serve without questioning the innocence of the public. this serving of her time has brought her to ten lifetime's worth of trauma —— starting with the duel noir and ending with her time as the future foundation's 14th director, clinging to the arms of togami byakuya and hagakure yasuhiro as they pulled the survivors out of the shambling hell that the future foundation was and could have been.
she still could remember the way her blood settled in the back of her throat, the feeling of the poison and the clamoring of her body. they thought they had finally killed her, the survivor of four killing games: they were wrong. they thought they had finally toppled the black queen of the kibougamine chessboard: they. were. wrong.
that blood appears again when she is shoved, her rear end landing on the stairs with a grunt. it would bruise, yes, but she had endured worse: she had more bumps and bruises when she went down that garbage chute after naegi. she had more bumps and bruises as a girl, when fuhito pushed her to her limits, broke past them, and told her to keep moving. because that's what a kirigiri detective did. ]
' what in the world . . . ? ' [ she rises to her feet, black gloves stained with the oil on the handrail. disgusting. she removes her jacket, wrapping the corner of it around two fingers, taking a sample. she never could do anything normally, could she? ]
⚖ II. THE BURNING. (05/08)
[ time is strange here. some days her memories are fuzzy, blurry — they are filled with tutoring sessions and catching a walk with her friends after school. others, they are paperwork and alcohol, lips wrapped around a cigarette while naegi tries to convince her to quit and togami offers her a look of disapproval but never voices his concern. some days, she is a student, one being encouraged to try out for student council (you would make such a good secretary, kirigiri-san!), and others she is a grizzled detective, long-since blossomed into womanhood and one familiar with death. she had called out the name of one of her classmates, once, to throw away a bear before it exploded in his hands: these days, she cannot remember what color oowada mondo's eyes were.
the mirror is lonely here, and she turns over her shoulders once after the other after the other as though she is a ballerina working through a pirouette of despair. she is the prima here, watching as her classmates became shadow and bone, blood and disgust: she wants to cry out, wants to beg a god she didn't believe in to stop taking so many people from her. she wanted to be better, to do better, to have hope. she calls out into the void, but her anxiety of losing any more friends or family prohibits her voice from leaving her throat, a mouse caught in a trap, in a blade.
she feels like she's coming down from a bad trip. she's never done drugs before. grandfather wouldn't let her. the mirror is lonely here, and her hands are burning just as they had burned before years ago, during the fire. her hands are burning now, under the cooling leather of her custom-made gloves, just as they had in her innocence, before the world had taken so much from her.
her voice finds itself in the form of a shriek : she cannot take anymore. she cannot do this again. leather-bound fist slams through the glass, letting forth a rage that she has so carefully tempered into a steel-stained tongue. the leather collides with the glass, this she knows, because she feels the blood drip from her wrist. but there is no blood, not really, and instead there are only tears dripping down her eyes. she's lucky her eyeliner is waterproof. she is standing in the girls' bathroom, looking herself in the mirror and wondering how long it had been since pretty violet eyes held hope. ]
she leaves the bathroom, stepping just outside an unfamiliar territory, but the back-and-forth is gone, for the most part. she remembers her titles (good morning, director!) and her skills (how are you today, detective kirigiri?) and her friends (ohayo, kyouko-chan!) but very little more than that she has always known. as she walks down the hallway, eyes overscrutinizing, she cannot decide if this is a comfort or a cause for concern. ]
⚖ III. THE WILD CARD. (???)
( hi! i'm montana, and i'd like to try my hand at writing kyouko for this rp group. my kyouko canonically has lived through the events of dangan ronpa: kirigiri, dr1/dr:thh, sdr2, the dr3 anime, and the like. i am regretfully not 100% familiar with ndrv3 but i am spoiler-friendly and an infamous wiki diver. you can contact me on my plurk lorekeepings , but you'll have an easier time getting ahold of me on discord @ lorekeepings#1158 :) )
kirigiri kyouko / dangan ronpa (dr1-dr3)
⚖ I. THE BLOOD. (05/06)
potential spoilers for the dangan ronpa series as a whole.
[ she has served her time. from the moment she stepped foot into the sirius observatory, kirigiri kyouko has spent her life serving her time. at first, she believed this to be the duty of a kirigiri detective : to protect and to serve without questioning the innocence of the public. this serving of her time has brought her to ten lifetime's worth of trauma —— starting with the duel noir and ending with her time as the future foundation's 14th director, clinging to the arms of togami byakuya and hagakure yasuhiro as they pulled the survivors out of the shambling hell that the future foundation was and could have been.
she still could remember the way her blood settled in the back of her throat, the feeling of the poison and the clamoring of her body. they thought they had finally killed her, the survivor of four killing games: they were wrong. they thought they had finally toppled the black queen of the kibougamine chessboard: they. were. wrong.
that blood appears again when she is shoved, her rear end landing on the stairs with a grunt. it would bruise, yes, but she had endured worse: she had more bumps and bruises when she went down that garbage chute after naegi. she had more bumps and bruises as a girl, when fuhito pushed her to her limits, broke past them, and told her to keep moving. because that's what a kirigiri detective did. ]
' what in the world . . . ? '
[ she rises to her feet, black gloves stained with the oil on the handrail. disgusting. she removes her jacket, wrapping the corner of it around two fingers, taking a sample. she never could do anything normally, could she? ]
⚖ II. THE BURNING. (05/08)
[ time is strange here. some days her memories are fuzzy, blurry — they are filled with tutoring sessions and catching a walk with her friends after school. others, they are paperwork and alcohol, lips wrapped around a cigarette while naegi tries to convince her to quit and togami offers her a look of disapproval but never voices his concern. some days, she is a student, one being encouraged to try out for student council (you would make such a good secretary, kirigiri-san!), and others she is a grizzled detective, long-since blossomed into womanhood and one familiar with death. she had called out the name of one of her classmates, once, to throw away a bear before it exploded in his hands: these days, she cannot remember what color oowada mondo's eyes were.
the mirror is lonely here, and she turns over her shoulders once after the other after the other as though she is a ballerina working through a pirouette of despair. she is the prima here, watching as her classmates became shadow and bone, blood and disgust: she wants to cry out, wants to beg a god she didn't believe in to stop taking so many people from her. she wanted to be better, to do better, to have hope. she calls out into the void, but her anxiety of losing any more friends or family prohibits her voice from leaving her throat, a mouse caught in a trap, in a blade.
she feels like she's coming down from a bad trip. she's never done drugs before. grandfather wouldn't let her. the mirror is lonely here, and her hands are burning just as they had burned before years ago, during the fire. her hands are burning now, under the cooling leather of her custom-made gloves, just as they had in her innocence, before the world had taken so much from her.
her voice finds itself in the form of a shriek : she cannot take anymore. she cannot do this again. leather-bound fist slams through the glass, letting forth a rage that she has so carefully tempered into a steel-stained tongue. the leather collides with the glass, this she knows, because she feels the blood drip from her wrist. but there is no blood, not really, and instead there are only tears dripping down her eyes. she's lucky her eyeliner is waterproof. she is standing in the girls' bathroom, looking herself in the mirror and wondering how long it had been since pretty violet eyes held hope. ]
she leaves the bathroom, stepping just outside an unfamiliar territory, but the back-and-forth is gone, for the most part. she remembers her titles (good morning, director!) and her skills (how are you today, detective kirigiri?) and her friends (ohayo, kyouko-chan!) but very little more than that she has always known. as she walks down the hallway, eyes overscrutinizing, she cannot decide if this is a comfort or a cause for concern. ]
⚖ III. THE WILD CARD. (???)
( hi! i'm montana, and i'd like to try my hand at writing kyouko for this rp group. my kyouko canonically has lived through the events of dangan ronpa: kirigiri, dr1/dr:thh, sdr2, the dr3 anime, and the like. i am regretfully not 100% familiar with ndrv3 but i am spoiler-friendly and an infamous wiki diver. you can contact me on my plurk