Mello watched with calculating eyes as he gripped the rock he held in his hand. He had been waiting behind the same bush for quite a long time; he knew that Near, his nemesis, would walk by some time or another, for the bush was located near the main entrance to the Wammy's House, and the little freak used the door as a way to get in and out of the building. Mello twitched with anticipation and fidgeted—his patience resembled that of an ADHD child, and he was having trouble holding fast to his plan, but suffering now would all be worth it in the long run.
When his target came out of the double doors, Mello pulled his arm back, ready for the attack. He only had one shot, and he needed to make it count. Contrary to his expectations, however, he saw Near fall to the ground before he let go of the rock, landing face-first into a large mud puddle. The orphan struggled to regain his stance, but all of his efforts were for naught, negated by the slippery nature of the muck, and Mello laughed under his breath. The only thing better than stoning Near was watching him flail around in wet dirt.
Something else caught his eye as he stared at the little twerp—in place of the white socks that Near normally wore was a pair of grey sneakers (at least, Mello assumed they were grey; they were completely smothered in mud at that point, so it was hard to tell.) It all made sense now: Near wasn't used to wearing anything other than socks, so he didn't know how to balance himself in anything else. He hadn't fallen, he had tripped. Near couldn't walk in shoes.
Laughter gave into hysterics, and Mello could hardly contain himself. It was just too perfect a situation, and now he had a straight shot at Near's head. He calmed himself down and aimed at his archenemy again, who had stopped trying to stand up and lay in defeat, but he couldn't bring himself to release the rock. Second thoughts flooded his mind—hitting Near would only get him in trouble, anyway—and he got up and sauntered over to the other boy. He had his fun, watching the little twerp slide around in the mire, and the least he could do now was give the guy a somewhat-dignified exit.
Mello shouldered one of Near's arms and brought him to his feet. "Come on, get up," he ordered harshly, hating the fact he was actually doing something to help his adversary. The aforementioned adversary shot a confused look at him; Mello glared in response. "Shut up. I can't have a rival who doesn't know how to walk. It would make me look bad."
Written with AlmightySponge in mind.
