The small alliance of three is all she can manage before Merlin enters and all of the recruits stand to face him, more or less at attention. She doesn’t, partially because she’s already met him and he has less leverage over her than he does the rest of the group, mostly because she was never in the military and doesn’t see the point in mimicking the others.
Neither of her allies do either, and while she is pretty sure it’s not because they are following her lead, it gives a nice sense of nonverbal solidarity. Considering how well they seem to be communicating without words, she may just never speak to them.
She writes her alias on the body bag tag in kanji, so simple, only two characters and not even particularly complex ones at that. For next of kin she writes storm instead of lightning. She’s already been guaranteed she won’t die, but just in case, she figures Hayato-kun ought to be the first to know. So Vongola can avenge her properly.
When the recruits are left alone again, this time with no interruptions in sight, some of the herbivores go to pick on one of her allies. She’s had enough experience in being Ryohei’s best friend that she’s about to clamber over the bed between them to stand next to him, regardless of the fact that they would still be outnumbered, but he holds a hand out towards her and their third ally and shakes his head.
She acquiesces. But she seethes all the while as those herbivores insinuate and insult him. As if his class, as if his race, made him less worthy. And yet, he stands there with a skeptical, almost amused expression on his face.
Then she sees what their other ally is doing–not watching the spectacle, but making eye contact with the other neutral recruits. Most of them ignore him, but others nod in acknowledgment, in agreement. By the time the loudest herbivores have finished bellowing at, what she thinks even Kyouya-senpai would consider, an impressively composed carnivore their herd has decreased in number. And herds are only as dangerous as their numbers.
Before lights out her little alliance of three grows to an alliance of five, still entirely nonverbal.
A/N: So short. Sorry.