C.C at the psychiatrist.
Mr. Pedofile leaned back on his comfy armchair and stared at the patient across him, a teenage girl with long green hair and golden eyes.
"Now then Miss…" He consulted the file in front of him. "C.C? Funny name. Anyway, tell me about your problem Miss C.C." S
She nodded, and said, "Well, there's this boy I like…"
"Perfectly normal." Mr. Pedofile replied. "You are a teenager after all. My son's a teenager too, and his hormones are currently on overdrive."
"I haven't finished." She said quietly. "He's…" C.C. thought about it for a while. "Younger than me."
"Ah… a younger man is he?" Mr. Pedofile said slowly. C.C. nodded. "Yes, by about seven hundred years."
"Seven hundred years? That's quite a- SEVEN HUNDRED YEARS!" He screamed. C.C. nodded imperturbably, as if she dealt with screaming men every day. "Yes, I'm immortal, you see. I've been around for seven hundred years. Your great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother was my best friend. She gave me this name card." C.C handed him a piece of yellowed parchment in a glass case to protect it from disintegrating into dust. It said:
The Pedofiles!
Top Psychiatrists: The Best in the 14th Century. Afraid you're a witch? Scared that you are a pedophile? Come to us – we'll dig out your brain and examine it, and we have a 0.% survival rate! Send us a pigeon (Hopefully disease free. Generally.) At 1800-WE-ARE-PEDOPHILES NOW!
Mr. Pedofile nearly fainted. He took a gulp of coffee from the thermos beside him. "Ah yes." He managed to say.
"Yes, and I'm afraid that I've become a pedophile. I mean, a seven hundred year old immortal witch loving an eighteen year old demon emperor who is currently taking over the world with a mystical power called Geass which allows him to control other peoples' mind, and then will die to bring about peace? Doctor, what should I do?" C.C. stared at Mr. Pedofile, whose hands were shaking so badly that coffee constantly sprayed out of the thermos in his hand.
"Yyyyesss, let mmmmeee ssssseee nnnooowwwww," Mr. Pedofile stammered. The unusually thick file on C.C. now made sense, if his family, who had been running the Pedofile agency since Arthurian ages, had kept a file on her since her first visit. "YYYooouuu sttttilll havvveee a teeeeennnnnaggge mind annnddd body rightttt. Thhhhisss mmmeeeaaannnsss yyyooouuu aaarrreee nnnooottt a pedoppphile."
"Really?" C.C. brightened. "Thanks, doctor. Goodbye." She skipped out of the office, making a beeline for the nearest Pizza Hut, Lelouch's credit card gleaming in her hand. (Some things never change.) Back at the office, Mr. Pedofile thought to himself, "I hope the next one isn't as loony as the last one." He looked at the next name on his list: Lelouch vi Britannia.