The split opinion between the Infinites was not entirely resolved but that did not break the morale of those wanting to take action. Urged on by Monokuma, they formed groups, each given different tasks for the upcoming Night of Carnage. The main goal was to free Krista and take down the Carnage Sister ‘protecting’ her—both of these objectives got their own teams. However, there were yet other matters to attend to, such as keeping the rest of the hospital's robots away from the covert operation, which is what Daimyon eventually signed up for. As much as he had wanted to be the gallant hero to save the damsel in distress, he realised that his talents were much more fit for distraction than outright battle. He found that he was not alone in this belief as other Infinites also expressed willingness to do some crucial sideline work.
Right away the gears in his head got to turning, eager to make up for their earlier sputtering. There was a hint of desperation hidden in his determined motions as he hastily flipped through the pages of his notebook, looking for some particular information about the Carnage Sisters. Finding it was all it took for an idea to pop up: a rather crazy but, at least in the head of the poet whose lips curled into a wide smile in the next moment, brilliant idea. He needed some preparatory work, however, to make it successful. He needed a…musically inclined person, in particular.
...alas!
The most obvious choice was unfortunately out of the equation. And as Daimyon scanned the e-handbook for anyone else who could be suitable, he found the repertoire of musical Infinites saddeningly lacking. That would not stop him, naturally—and thus he approached a man he had not really spoken with before.
“Zachary!” he accosted the Infinite Archer, “Pardon my sudden entrance, but I need your, ah, help to prepare for the upcoming carnage.”
At the moment that he was approached, Zachary was seemingly lost in thought and hadn't even realized someone had come up to him. It took a minute for him to both look directly at Daimyon and speak. “Me? You need me for something?” he had found it strange that the Infinite Poet would request his help. Surely there was somebody he was familiar with that could help him prepare instead? Zach wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to do himself, truth be told. But then again, he'd resolved to help free their imprisoned Infinite, so worrying about things with Jez wasn't going to solve anything.
“Sure.” he answered positively. “I mean, if it's within my capabilities, I don't mind. What'd you need exactly?”
“You are good with...strings, correct?”
“Uh…” Zachary raised an eyebrow. “...probably? I guess it would depend on what you mean by that.”
“Perfect! You're just who I need. Would you care to accompany me, then?”
Barely even waiting for an answer, the poet beckoned Zach and headed out of the break room after waving a brief farewell to the rest of the Infinites.
“I assume you'll stand on the front line? You have the skills for it. I, myself, am unfortunately lacking in that regard,” Daimyon spoke up on the way to the resort. “Yet you see, I still want to help the group effort.”
“...right.” Zach still wasn’t sure what ‘strings’ had to do with him, but he was admittedly curious as to where this was going to end up. “You’re correct in that I will be a part of the group that intends on fighting, but I, hopefully, won’t be getting too close to Nariko.” he clarified. Pretending to nock an arrow and fire one from a ghost bow. Daimyon nodded—it made sense not to step in too close, for a bow was of little use bashing people in the head. “Range is preferred when using a bow. Though I’m not sure how effective I’ll be given that it’s a machine…”
Realizing that he was both digressing and revealing his lack of confidence in the fight to come, Zach shook his head. “Uh, anyways… So how do I factor in to you ‘helping the group effort’?”
“You shall see in just a moment!”
The poet quickened his pace. They stepped through the gate to the first floor resort and walked past the magnificent fountain, which the man regarded with exceptional esteem, until they reached the expansive theatre. After stopping for a couple seconds to take in the tall ceiling and long rows of seats, he quickly headed forward backstage. It was unsurprisingly messy in there with various props scattered around, including a row of cardboard cutouts of Monokuma, which Daimyon almost tripped over.
“Come on now, don't tell me you don't keep one of those here...” he muttered as he searched through shelves and even a cabinet. “Ah, this was supposed to be a place for higher art!”
Fortunately, he was not proven wrong in the end as he found exactly what he was looking for. He grabbed it from its unworthy place at a corner, dusted it off with swift motions, then presented it to Zach. It was a lute, and a quite decorated one at that: a thing of pure beauty to the poet. He had wanted to play one for ages; unfortunately, he somehow had never got around to learning it. That was when the Infinite Archer came into the picture.
“There we go! My only question is, Zachary, are you as deft with stringed instruments as with stringed weapons?”
Oh. I understand now. Bows have strings. Lutes have strings. Ah, this all makes sense. A lot of sense. Completely understandable…!
“...” Zachary was silent for a moment.
He turned to Daimyon with a warm smile, brighter than anything he’d ever given anybody else up to this point. It looked beautiful. “That is… CRAZY. What? How did you make that connection? Isn’t that stretching a bit? Bows and lutes aren’t the same! They’re entirely different, there’s literally just the string involved! You can’t make music with a bow! Bows are a weapon used to send arrows flying into distant targets, the sound they make is rather minimal and frankly not that nice to hear, unless you like weird sounds! No, no, no! You dragged me out here because of that?!” Zachary was almost shouting, though he did not actually seem angry, strangely.
“...boi. Do you even know how hard chords are?”
So in reality, the answer was probably no, no he was not great with stringed instruments.
Daimyon should have seen that coming; he had to admit he had made a couple leaps to think that Zach would be able to help him.
“Hmm...” The poet delicately plucked a few strings. The lute was well-tuned and the sound was clear—still, with the sheer number of strings on the instrument, it was clearly not simple to get a good melody out of it. “You're right. Ah, but who else could I turn to? Our main musician languishes in a prison as we speak...”
“I'm sure if she could be here right now, she'd be happy as can be.” It was not as though Zachary wanted to give off the impression he 'knew' Krista, it was just that from their brief interaction, she seemed like she'd be overjoyed at the prospect of teaching somebody. He could certainly be wrong about that, though.
“Weird that you choose now of all times to want to learn an instrument. You said you needed help for the upcoming night, but I'm not creative enough to understand how learning how to play the lute would benefit anybody.” Zach commented, eyeing the lute. He didn't seem very interested in the sound it made, but was actually observing the item as a whole. “I wish the strings weren't so thin. I'm sure I could fashion a bow out of that lute were they not.” he knew it'd be a rather cruddy bow, but a bow nonetheless. Maybe one could just use all the strings to make the bow? Probably would feel weird at best, honestly.
Nah, probably not.
“..anyways, I'm sorry, but I was always more of a wind instrument person myself.”
“...a wind instrument? The, ah, flute, perchance?”
Zach scowled. “What do you take me for, a brute? I’m experienced only in the finest, eloquent instrument in the world: the kazoo!” he declared while puffing his chest out.
Daimyon looked at the archer in disbelief, which seemed to be exactly what he was waiting for. Eager to prove the sceptic wrong, Zach pulled out the famed instrument and raised it to the air triumphantly. A moment's anticipative silence later he took it to his mouth and busted out a glorious solo that left even the poet—who thought himself versed in the world of music—in awe. It was so...different! His mind soared with inspiration and he soon realised there was only one way to elevate the experience a level further: to add another unlikely instrument to the mix, one that he happened to be holding in his hands.
He plucked one string, then another, clumsily, without much rhyme or reason, but artistic standards be damned, the two sounds together actually did not sound entirely cacophonous. As the spontaneous jam session went on, his play also became smoother and he managed to finger out a few very simple chords. Inspiration was all that he needed, in the end!
Now, once both men took off their rose-coloured glasses and the sheer majesty of hearing the kazoo and the lute in one tune subsided, they realised that no, it did not sound all that well, either. And that was completely fine—for if nothing else, the poet had achieved what he called Zach here for.
“Well! For the first time in a while, words escape me. I cannot quite describe exactly what we have just done. But! You have my everlasting gratitude for it, Zachary.”
He chuckled. Perhaps, things were not so hopeless after all...
Daimyon returned to the break room, which has quietened down somewhat but got no less busy. After the passionate debates, a number of Infinites remained here, mostly those who either had no intentions of going toe-to-toe with killer robots or simply felt that their talent was better suited for assistance. They were the support team, the fourth and final group. The poet thought of joining up with them; he had little to show in terms of fighting skill, after all. Still, he felt an unbreakable determination driving his ship forward into unknown and dangerous waters with the lingering feeling that everything would work out in the end. It always had, for him. Like a leaf, he had drifted through life on the gusts of inspiration, his eyes always on the sunny sky where every cloud had a silver lining.
This occasion was no different. Sure the stakes were higher than ever, but he had an extra card up his sleeve to match: a plan. That was not usual for him, and he had faith in it working out, even if others would have thought differently. He picked out a nice corner table in the hall, sat down and started gently plucking the strings and improvising a quick ditty for it.
Let me tell you a tale most unlikely
With no kings, wizards or dragons mighty
Merely murderous robots and bears
Let us see how our hero fares!
With no kings, wizards or dragons mighty
Merely murderous robots and bears
Let us see how our hero fares!
Mary was about to head to Daimyon's room to retrieve him, but happened to catch him in the break room. "Oh, Daimy-doo! Hey, that's a great song, but listen; we need to prepare for the coming night of cornflakes. Our job is to make sure those metal mannequins don't interfere."
The foes were strong and numerous
Dying wouldn't have been humorous
So he thought of a way to bridge the gap—
Dying wouldn't have been humorous
So he thought of a way to bridge the gap—
“Ah! Hello, Mary.” He turned to the streamer and put the lute aside. She took him by his hand, and began pulling him away.
"Let's go to the second floor of the hospital, that's where we were assigned."
“So we're assigned together? Why, I can't complain.”
—he devised a plan and...set a trap!
Though he had stopped playing, his mind still finished the rhyme and with that, gave him a great idea. Traps! Not the fellow Infinite kind, but actual, capture-capable traps. Neither him nor Mary were particularly capable fighters, so they needed something else to tip the scales in their favour. While Daimyon had a plan of his own, it only made for temporary relief. Something more...permanent was required.
“Say, miss, what do you think about...getting a little creative in our task?”
Mary was looking around, biting her lip in frustration as she looked around. "Well sure, if you can figure out something useful out of this. Like traps or something?"
“Exactly! We are facing robots, and they have one well-known weakness. If we can capitalise on that, we shall surely be victorious!”
They walked through the first floor hospital and up the stairs to the second one.
“Let's see...” Daimyon took out his e-handbook and examined the map of the area. There were not many facilities available on this particular floor, but, with some ingenuity, it was all they needed. “Now, I'm no expert, but I think we'll find what we need here. But! I'll need your help for it. Shall we?”
So away with ye, numbing normality
Daimyon looked at the clock, for the umpteenth time. The Night of Carnage hung above him like the sword of Damocles. There was not long to wait now. He paced back and forth in his room, but his thoughts circled back to the same topics again and again. As much as he had wanted to keep his composure, there was an unmistakable tremble in his step and feelings he could not quite place. Was he ready?
Step off, for I'm chasing immortality
He forced himself to sit down. His open notebook sat on the table. There was a half-finished poem on its most recent page. He picked up the pen, finished the unfinished line, but could not go further. He stood back up.
To form, to shape, to construct and create
The lute lay on the bed. He picked it up and played a few idle chords. They sounded surprisingly powerful, even in the hands of a novice like him. Perhaps that was just his mind dramatising the occasion.
That is my destiny, that is my fate
He looked away and around the room, and the wardrobe caught his attention. Perhaps such critical event demanded more appropriate attire?
Long have I wandered but I found the truth
Yes! The colourful, gold-adorned outfit, the white scarf, the white-feathered purple hat: the bard's clothes! He had completely forgotten about them. There was no better time to wear such special attire. Right away, he changed into it and then looked at himself in the mirror. Something did not seem right still though... He quickly headed back for the lute.
I blossom now in the second flush of youth
There he stood: Daimyon Londe, Infinite Poet, as the bard he had always aspired to be. The circumstances were not ideal, but it mattered not to him in the moment. When the announcement commencing the carnage sounded, he knew. He was ready.
