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Under any other circumstances, Daimyon would have felt like he had won the lottery. The sheer impossibility and macabre hilarity of the situations he and his Infinite partners had been thrust into one after the another—from being herded by a group of robotic dolls riding robotic steeds into an unrealistically professional theatre, to being told by a robotic black-and-white bear that they were locked in here for good unless they went ahead and killed one of their own—provided the poet with enough inspiration to write a whole volume of poetry. He also had confidence that it would sell well, though people might think it unrealistic, even for fantasy standards.

Unfortunately, he could not even call it a fantasy; and it also dawned upon him that his greatest worry would not be the length and composition of a poem book, but [i]his own survival.[/i] And this thought, which made its crushing weight felt with each passing moment as it sank in, almost got to him. In fact it was so close to polluting the nooks and crannies of his pleasant, carefree mind that he had to try his damnedest not to let it do that. He clung to the small reliefs and delights, such as the fact that their shiny new e-handbook had a note-taking function. He would certainly not trust an electronic appliance of dubious origins with his dearest poems and deepest secrets while he still had his treasured notebook with him, but it would still be useful for recording general information.
Monokuma—for that was the black-and-white robot bear's name, Dr. Monokuma Killgood, to be precise—had also said that the 17 Infinites would each have their own, custom-furbished and equipped rooms. Daimyon counted everyone in the theatre and was impressed by the concentration of the talent, even though the circumstances were unfortunate. Still, and this was yet another hope to stick with, he was sure that together they would eventually figure out something—a way to escape, preferably; perhaps with the added bonus of figuring out who put them here and getting some sweet revenge—without having to resort to the...designated way.

No one wanted to kill anyone, right?

The flurry of joys and worries, of hope and despair were making his head swirl and he was most delighted to finally enter his room through a door that had his nameplate and a...pixellated image of his face. The room itself was situated at the very end of the curved hallway, farthest away from the rest of the facilities on the floor, which meant that he only had two direct neighbours: the streamer star Mary to the right and the web designer talent Shaun in the opposite room. On the other hand, though, he would always have to walk the whole distance, which meant the highest possibility of meeting others along the way. He liked that. And he was bang next to the entrance of, as explained by a helpful sign, some kind of resort. He may or may not have liked that, depending on what qualified as a ‘resort’ in this...pretty unorthodox hospital. Oh and he was perhaps the farthest away from a potential murder.

...silver linings, right?

Stepping inside, Daimyon was pleasantly surprised. There were literary books of all genres scattered about and classical paintings decorating the plain white walls. The windows were covered by red curtains, the same shade used for theatre drapes—except on closer inspection he noticed that there were actually no windows behind the curtains. Curious design decision and not a healthy one at that, he thought. Still, there was plenty to be thankful for, for example the wardrobe which featured exactly the kind of clothes he preferred: not too revealing or flashy, but still embellished enough to be noticeable. Right next to it was a mannequin...wearing the costume of a medieval bard!

This was a particularly exciting item, even though it defied the poet's general rules of clothing: the bright multi-coloured attire was adorned with gold, had a white scarf and a purple hat with a feather included to complete the appearance. All that was missing was the lute and Daimyon had secret hopes that he would find one somewhere in the facility. For a moment he even forgot that it was not the lack of a costume, but a lack of instrument skill that kept him from the coveted minstrelship.

The other thing that caught his attention was the table that stood next to the hospital bed. Not only was the equipment of a writer from a couple centuries back—a quill, some ink and even a slightly-yellowed parchment—present, there was also an actual present, a neatly wrapped-up gift. The battle of cautiousness versus curiosity did not last long and Daimyon soon opened the curious box to find...a few things he had no idea about until he read the words written on one of the small cloths included: [i]‘Premium Care for Wooden Instruments’.[/i]

He quickly flipped through his notebook to find the only person who this could belong to: Krista Müller, Infinite Violinist. He was sure it would be a delightful surprise for her—provided she still had her instrument—and he was already thinking about the perfect time to give it to her.

He still thought about it when he was in bed and drifting into a sweet, long-deserved sleep...

[hr]
Daimyon Londe dreamt. He dreamt of the swallow, of long treks on a winding road in its pursuit, of meeting wearied travellers on the way and sharing stories with them. The thematic has been recurring for him for a while, though he did not know for how long and with what purpose. All he knew was that he enjoyed living it out every night and was always hesitant to let it go. Still, he did what he must and woke up on time. ‘On time’ usually fell into the ‘too early’ spectrum for him, that was how he knew. Sitting up on his bed, he first reached for the notebook, read and wrote a couple words to start off the day. The state of the room and all its equipment struck him with similar surprise than the night before; he still needed a while to get used to it. He [i]could[/i] get used to it though. It was pretty nice.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, had a brief shower—more for refreshment than hygiene, and they were in a hospital after all—and walked out into the hallway with no other immediate reason than to socialise. The person at the forefront of his mind was Krista: after all, the gift Monokuma provided him with belonged to her. He had also made a note below his introductory poem from yesterday concerning her, though the reason for that did not spring into his mind right away. Either way there was plenty to talk about.

He headed in the one direction he could head, and ran into people as soon as he turned the corner. A tall, blonde-haired guy—free running champ Felix, Daimyon recalled—was caught up with two girls, one of them holding up her e-handbook to him with a plea. As soon as the poet realised who she was, her request also became clear. Poor thing simply wanted to know the rules of this ‘killing game’ they were dragged into, but could not find out for herself. Daimyon's smile faltered for a moment. He cursed his selective memory that was unkind to anything but rhyming plenty of times, but at least he had his notebook readily available at any time to remind him of anything he might have forgot. She however had lost one of her irreplaceable senses, perhaps the most important one, forever.

[color=SeaGreen]“Will you manage?”[/color] he asked Felix, then waved at the second girl. [color=SeaGreen]“Hi Rika. Everything all right?”[/color]
With her large cassette player and fully bandaged-up body, the firebug Rika Roux was as unforgettable as they came and Daimyon had no difficulty remembering her, though they have not really spoken before.

He spotted more people further forward, mostly heading towards a particular room and he was planning to join them. But first, he had a sudden idea to follow up on...

[color=SeaGreen]“Aleecia. Let me tell you something,”[/color] he accosted the blind girl.

[i][center][color=SeaGreen]Darkness may be all you see
But in your soul, there is light
When it shines for people, let it be
And you will see their delight.[/color][/center][/i]

[color=SeaGreen]“Don't let anything get you down, friend.”[/color]
He smiled again after the small poem he thought up to cheer up the distraught Aleecia at least a bit, and left for the open area.