"I seen the dullahan myself, stopping on the brow of the hill between Bryansford and Moneyscalp late one evening, just as the sun was setting. It was completely headless but it held up its own head in its hand and I heard it call out a name. I put my hand across my ears in case the name was my own, so I couldn't hear what it said. When I looked again, it was gone. But shortly afterwards, there was a bad car accident on that very hill and a young man was killed. It had been his name that the dullahan was calling." -W. J. Fitzpatrick
A woman in biker clothing stormed into the office, typing furiously at her pad: "Why do you have my head?" The blackhaired young man just shrugged, his hands still in the pockets of his furry coat. "Who knows?", he smirked. "Maybe it was a gift. From a very good friend."
Celty's shadows spiked in shock. No, it couldn't be. They were over it, had talked about it. She stared at Izaya, who was still smirking. Suddenly, her posture lost its' tension. Her scythe was still in her hand, but it was held so lax Izaya was almost worried it might fall on him. He frowned. That wasn't the reaction he'd expected.
"You're lying", she typed, her fingers steady and fast. Not denial, Izaya noted, surety. "I am", he confessed lightly.
"Stop", Celty typed. He grinned cheekily. "Never."
The scythe moved to his neck so fast he didn't notice it moving. And Izaya was fast. "It would be a very, very bad idea to kill me", he slowly stated. "I have your head. Without me, you'll never get it back."
"I don't care", came the cold text and for the first time Izaya could imagine her with her own head, with the face of a true monster behind the helmet. He had to keep himself from grinning maniacally. So that was what monsters looked like. This was so very exciting!
But this was different from his usual dealings. One falsely calculated step could, would mean death. And Izaya really didn't want to die. He had too many plans.
He cocked his head to the safe side. "Shinra will be sad."
It was a fact, not a probability. Even though he loved the headless woman more than enough to forgive her, they had been friends once. Still were, though not nearly as close.
She hesitated. "He'll forgive me", she typed, though her fingers' rhythm didn't sound as sure as before. She brought down her scythe.
But Izaya was ready. He knew she'd do that and was fast enough to jump away because of that. Celty was too late to stop the scythe's momentum, so Izaya gained a few more seconds.
He pulled something glittering from his pocket and blew it into her face.
A horror she had never experienced befell Celty. She screamed soundlessly and jumped back, taking the scythe with her.
"So", he started casually, "since it appears that you won't listen to reason, I have to use more... convincing arguments. The whole ceiling is filled with gold powder*. If my heart stops, all of it will rain down on you." He took a step towards her and allowed himself a manic grin. "Of course, it will not kill you, but the time it'd take you to recover without your head would be long. A few centuries perhaps?" She flinched. Oh, apparently someone didn't like being reminded of the difference between human and faery life spans. Interesting, though not surprising.
Izaya took another step forward and placed a hand above his heart. "So, kill me." She didn't do anything, though he saw her fingers twitching in response. He spread his arms and shouted: "Kill me!"
Celty slumped, surrendering. "Are you willing to listen to my terms now?"
She glared at him and started typing, so fast she seemed to be triping over her own fingers. Izaya smiled, amused by it and proud of his ability to make a fallen god angry. Though that wasn't much of an achievement, considering what he had read about Crom Dubh**. Suddenly his mobile vibrated. It was the one reserved for information concerning life-or-death only, so he bothered checking it.
"If you'll excuse me", he politely said to his 'guest', who only shook her helmet and typed forth.
Mysh to koshej*** - ur undergrund doc friend been ataked by colur gang lol-
Koshej to Mysh -Where?-
Mysh to koshej -161-0035 Tōkyō-to, Shinjuku-ku, Nakai, 2 Chome−19**** -
Izaya sighed. The grammar of his teenaged migrant informant was atrocious as always.
"Looks like our meeting will have to be postponed", he told her, throwing the phone to her. She caught it easily and wanted to storm out. "Wait", he called, urgent enough for her to stop. Everything about her signaled impatience. He went over to the door and stepped out. She knew, noticed that he'd given up his secure hiding place. He didn't need it anymore. The leverage he had now was much more precious. "Call me later", he said, slipping her his card. He moved to whisper near the cat ear of the helmet: "After all, you owe me."
With this, he disappeared into the night. Later, when he heard the sounds of a motor bike driving over the speed limit, he laughed.
The wind whipped at Celty's clothes - not a foreign sensation for her, but for some reason, it felt deathly cold. She knew that being an underground doctor was a dangerous line of work. Enemies of the patients could be vengeful.
But they were careful. The apartment was secure enough to hold off most people and she protected him while he worked on the more dangerous jobs. But the address Izaya had shown her led into a backalley a few blocks behind a McDonalds. Why did he take such a risk? Especially without her!
Her shadows were spiked, her coach-a-bower irate. Her whole being was out for blood. It was kind of liberating to be nothing but personified wrath. Less room for worry, desperation... for love. She understood now more than ever why Shinra had kept her head from her. This being she turned into terrified even her.
No traffic lights stopped her - Whenever she rode by they flashed green. Even the sirens of the police force she usually feared had been left behind.
The Dullahan finally turned into the alley Izaya had pointed out to her. She didn't stop, instead, she sped up even more. The friction set fire to a garbage can.
A bulky man stood above a crumbled, bleeding figure, a knife raised. He looked up as he heard the sound of a motorcycle - and screamed. He recognized Ikebukuro's urban legend, the headless rider.
That was all he had time for, before a wheel slammed into him.
Celty tried to keep herself from using shadows. Unstable as she was, she could hurt Shinra and wouldn't risk that. The small group that stared at her in various degrees of terrified and angry quickly got over their shock and split up, so she couldn't get them all at once.
They hadn't been prepared for this situation. They had only wanted to avenge their leader who had been killed by a traitor they thought dead - Which he would've been, had a certain underground doctor not patched him up.
One of them, a lanky guy with a rat's face and a bandana around his head panicked and raised his pistol, firing at the figure that was moving towards him with incredible speed. Panick wasn't a good state to be in when you're shooting - Only a few bullets even reached her. Not that it would've mattered; shadows she wanted to surpress instinctly rose to protect her.
Now that they were out, Celty gave up on not using them and pierced through all of the men simultaneously. Much faster. Without pausing, she turned around to run towards Shinra - and froze.
There was a lot more blood around him than when she had last seen him.
She knew, felt it in her bones, her very essence that he was dying. Yet in denial, forgetting she had no voice in her despair, she asked unbelievingly: "Shinra?"
The doctor, now even paler than usual, slowly sat up. The bullet that wasn't meant for him had punctured his lung, as far as he could feel. Paired with the ribs the thugs had probably broken, it caused him unbearable pain.
But because Celty had asked with such a voice, a voice he had never wanted to hear that was still so beautiful in it's sadness, he got through it and smiled a bloody smiled at her.
He wanted to tell her how happy he was to hear her voice, how beautiful it sounded, how happy he was that even with a voice she was still very much the same Celty he loved so much.
Only a cough came out.
His eyes set on what he loved most, Shinra Kishitani died.
And the grieving beloved he'd left behind couldn't even cry for him at the funeral. Nobody minded, least of all the deceased.
The dullahan left Ikebukuro. It needed to keep moving. You see, there is a legend that people die when the dullahan stops. And the only words it will ever utter, are those of the dead one's name.
*Gold powder is said to be the only possible way to scare the Dullahan away. It's not a real defense though, since the Dullahan is death's herald and death is inevitable. However, as Celty doesn't have her full powers she's vulnerable against it.
**Crom Dubh is an ancient Celtic god who ruled in Ireland about fifteen hundred years ago and who legitimised human sacrifice to heathen idols. Being a fertility god, Crom Dubh demanded human lives each year, the most favoured method of sacrifice being decapitation. The Christian missionaries denounced all such worship but Crom Dubh was not to be denied his annual quota of souls, and took on a physical form which became known as the dullahan as the tangible embodiment of death.
***Mysh means mouse in Russian and koshej is an evil, immortal magician and king in Russian lore. As Izaya is able to speak Russian I thought he'd use that kind of code names^^
****This is something I copied from Google Maps. Since it didn't show any street names I have no idea exactly what it is, so I'm sorry for any misinformation. Corrections would be appreciated^^