[Uma Musume: Pretty Derby fan fiction]
All grown up, just as Mejiro McQueen thought things would settle into something stable, Tokai Teio brought up changes neither of them expected, with long-reaching consequences.
Her name was Ikuno Dictus, and she did not live alone.
She would introduce herself as a data analyst for a certain marketing department of a particular company based in Tokyo, Japan, and she would express this with the exact same tempo at a precise count of seconds to whomever she was addressing. Depending on the friendliness expressed by her opposite, she might follow up with a correction that she was not a data analyst—she was THE data analyst, as the company was still trying to learn the ropes of utilizing big data analysis for its extended operations. This would be delivered with a more relaxed smile, albeit still fairly formal, as an attempt to raise banter. The opposite would usually reply with their own self-introduction, from which she would build topics to converse about.
She learned this particular method rather late. Loath as she would to admit, as embarrassing as it was, she was in fact not the most fluent person when it came to human connection. She could take extant data and learn from it—and in fact, it was how she always got through any situation that demanded her response—but connecting with other people required simultaneous observation of so many variables that she often failed to keep track of every single one as they progressed.
The only other time she had to keep track and respond to an almost equal amount of variables was on the turf, and it never lasted five minutes each.
Therefore, she decided to learn from the best: her former roommate and present flatmate, Mejiro McQueen, who now made a living as a liaison officer. And according to McQueen, it was possible to restrict these dizzying variables to just very few with a simple trick.
"It is called context," she said over dinner one day, after Dictus expressed her anxiety. "Everyone, with no exception, must follow certain unspoken rules in a professional setting. They will need to keep up appearances, so there are things that will HAVE to go in a very particular sequence, in an unbroken chain, until it finishes. Use this demand for tatemae—use their need to keep up appearances as your weapon."
"Such as?"
McQueen sipped her tea. "Say, for instance, if I smile and introduce my name. How would you respond?"
Dictus tilted her head, slightly. "I would smile also and introduce myself in response."
"Precisely. You would not be using the weather deck. You would not attempt to coax my hobbies out of me. You would not come with an analysis of the situation out of thin air, as you did when we first met. You would always, unfailingly, introduce yourself right back, correct? Have you wondered why?"
Dictus had to admit that she felt her face redden slightly when McQueen mentioned how they met. "Because … it's the polite thing to do."
"And there you have it. How many cues are there in a self-introduction?"
"I can … deduce their general mood," Dictus said, touching her chin as she started thinking. "I can tell whether they tend to lead or follow. I can tell if they seek dominance or collaboration. I can tell if they desire my presence or want me out of their sight."
"And that should be enough to begin or even end a conversation, no?" McQueen smiled warmly. "I imagine the number of variables you need to observe, and the list of things you need to check, have dramatically decreased."
"They have indeed," Dictus agreed. "Thank you, McQueen-san. I will evaluate my superiors' interactions and see what conclusions I can reach to form this introduction."
McQueen seemed amused by that response. "I wish you the best."
It was always how it was with Mejiro McQueen. McQueen, being the pride of the Mejiro house, always had this air of stability about her. In her most serene moments, it would seem that the toughest of crises would not even serve to deter her. She would stay unfazed and elegantly make her way to the solution, as if to prove that she was no mere princess—that, just like her name, she was a queen, a ruler in her own rights.
However, having stayed with her for more years than the fingers on two hands could count, Dictus knew that it was really not the case. McQueen was simply another girl, just like her teammates, just like her friends, and more importantly, just like herself. McQueen was not afraid to wear her emotions on her sleeves, even as she maintained the façade of the perfect Mejiro girl, which she kept to a stainless perfection. Dictus could say that both versions of McQueen were simultaneously one and the same, like a continuum rather than two different façades. She was the pride of the Mejiros. She was the strongest Stayer, and she had titles and achievements befitting her confidence. She was competitive, and her spirit unyielding. She was stubborn and would not be outdone. She would smile, laugh, cry, pull friendly pranks, and make little arguments over petty issues. She would crave sweets, and would suffer really strong mood swings until she gets the sugar rush she wanted. She would not be easily pleased or satisfied, and her striving to do better was a race that never stopped.
And, when her friend is in trouble, she would run miles and miles for them.
While McQueen was not exactly the description of stability as a person—which was a given, with how expressive she really was—there was something reassuring about her presence. She was a firm shoulder to rely on, even with her slender frame. One could never go wrong in trusting McQueen, and the consistency with which McQueen carried herself really put minds at ease.
It was this ease that occupied the majority of Dictus' mind as she carried McQueen, drunk and probably half-asleep, on her shoulders.
"This will get tricky," she warned her flatmate.
"Nnnngg," McQueen groaned in reply.
Slowly, Dictus lifted her friend up the steps that would lead to the entrance hall of their apartment. If she could get to the elevator, all would be good.
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Dictus had no idea how, but McQueen cooperated. With whatever energy she had left, she dragged her steps up the stairs, in sync with Dictus' steps. Dictus still had to prop her up, but it was otherwise no trouble for her.
So much so, in fact, that when they were near the top, Dictus no longer needed to focus on getting McQueen up the steps—she was, instead, beginning to focus on McQueen's warm breaths up her neck.
McQueen's face was so close.
Dictus took a deep breath as she pressed the floor of their apartment on the elevator button. Today was by no means her first time helping McQueen get home safely after she drank at Teio's, but for some reason, she only now felt McQueen's presence near her as she dragged her home along. Could it be because she also drank a little at the housewarming party? That could probably explain the lightheadedness she felt, or why her face felt so hot and red.
With little struggle, they finally arrived home. Dictus took out the keys, unlocked the door, and finally took McQueen in.
"Let's take your shoes off, McQueen-san."
"Mmm," McQueen moaned in response. "Welcome home…."
