Summary: Naoko Takahashi is Misa Misa's best friend, and has been for years. They were inseparable until one day when Misa dropped off the face of the planet and Naoko chased after her.
Rating: T (some chapters will be rated M)
Pairing: Follows the canon. (Not that you can't read into it.) But OC isn't to end up with anyone.
Warning: Moments of foul language, frequent mentioning of sex, scenes of violence, description of eating disorders, possibly disturbing subtext.
This story uses the events and dates in the manga.
Disclaimer: Death Note belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Naoko is a character of my own invention, however not my SI or my mouthpiece, so the views and opinions expressed by her (or any of the characters) are not necessarily my own. Furthermore, I am not promoting/slandering any brand names mentioned in this fanfiction.
A.N – This is a bit of an experiment with writing style, characters and plot, and I'm curious to see how it goes, therefore your feedback is really appreciated. Criticism is loved, really.
Forgotten Eden
Thundering applause lit the room and everyone cheered as the billboard was unmasked and my enlarged powdered face appeared in Times Square, looking glorious and kissing a perfume bottle.
Bang! The stereo began to sing. Pop! Champagne in all the glasses. Hugs from all the girls, handshakes from the lads with a kiss on the side. My glass was refilled once more, and I took a small swig, winking at a sneaky camera as I did. Models, managers, dancers and actors had come to this party, whenever they knew it was in celebration of my latest photo shoot success was unknown, and really didn't matter. You couldn't see the walls for the bodies, ladies in sparkling dresses and men in their tuxedos, or stylistic variations of, swaying to the beat of robotic music and making conversation to their own little cliques. My manager caught me on the makeshift dance floor, offering me more congratulations in a slurped manner, telling me how much she would miss me for the next few months, but would I really not reconsider?
No. I shook my head with a sad smile, so she sighed dejectedly and went to speak to my replacement. Tomorrow, in less than twenty hour hours, I would be catching a flight, twelve hours journey, to Tokyo to be reunited with my best friend, who I had not seen in nearly four months, only spoken to via emails. Sisters, people said; it couldn't be helped.
Several well pressed servers carried silver platters of finger food: cold ham on salad crackers, crab claws, liver parfait, but also carrot, cucumber and pepper slices of which I was to take pickings of. Remembering my promise to my flat mate, I grabbed a dish of prosciutto from one, took my friend from the fold of her dress and pulled her over to a particular designer she had her eye on. No time like a party to make a business contract. I offered him and his company some food, complimented his outfit, introduced my friend and lingered long enough to make sure she didn't blow it.
Thankfully she didn't and I could move on, popping a chilled grape – it's just a grape, no biggie- into my mouth as I navigated the crowds as well as one can in three inch heels. A kind server took the tray from my tiring hands with a rather nice 'thank you, madam'. I was fairly cheerful this evening, in spite of all these vague faces in my current home dropping crumbs on the carpet. But the small talk! I could scoff. Yet, would you expect anything different? Talk about celebrities and their immoral affairs, talk about setting styles and trends, talk about business associates, and sometimes talk of Kira, complete all their speculations and fear mongering. Did you hear they suspect there is a second Kira? Yes, I heard, it's all anyone talks about. There was an earthquake in Bachu and bushfires in Canberra but all anyone really worried about was a mysterious killer. But it's so spooky and supernatural! I don't believe in that. Supernatural and paranormal are in the teasing wives tales my mother loved to tell me, and at nearly twenty-seven years I'm too old to be fooled. We've all got our theories on whatever this Kira is, logical and otherwise. Aren't you worried, then, going to the land where Kira resides? That L proved it you know!I'll be sure not to murder anyone then, I think I'll be fine. Would you like some parmesan pastry bites?
I'd take Kira over a conversation with my mother though. Has Madam Akane been informed of your big achievement, darling? Yes, my mother called me earlier. She's currently in Spain with her boyfriend, working on her magazines. She's having great success, if you must know.
My mother, who blessed me with high cheekbones and symmetrical features, had a special way when it came to business. She fluttered her long eyelashes and hid behind a perfectly calm mask, hiding her sharp eyes and smirks behind a goofy grin and plenty rhetorical questions until she had a whole team of managers nodding their heads at her every whim. I had not inherited this gift, but got what I wanted with flaunting my attributes, having instead inherited the height and high chin of my American father who had yet to offer his congratulations. Possibly because I was modelling for a rival company of his, and he knew I didn't even wear perfume.
His wife did though. Perhaps I should send her some.
My riveting conversation with a journalist was interrupted with a familiar face, an old photographer friend with a pencil moustache he's desperately trying to bring back, and, what with his slicked pompadour, I wish him the best of luck. "Darling, how is your little friend doing all across the seas?"
I'll begrudgingly give him points for remembering. She is not little, she's a rising star, and "Her name is Misa Amane. But excellent, thank you."
Misa and I had been practically inseparable… until four months ago when she began her career in Osaka and I came here to fulfill a contract with a big designer label. Large red crosses in my calendar had been counting down the days for my return, though I knew it would be a busy one: I had a series of shoots lined up with some brands in several magazines, a television advert, including a catwalk or two for the spring show, oh-! And an interview.
Well, when you live off people looking at your face and knowing who you are, better play into it. Even if they were just going to stare at my bones and remind me that I'm hardly a healthy role model.
More importantly, however, I would get to see how Misa was doing making a career. I had been there to see her shoot for the magazine Eighteen. She had gotten herself a strict-bitch manager who was 'a real sweetheart really' (her words, not mine) and who secured her an official magazine double spread, modeling a small punk-lolita stores wears with an article about her being a rising starlet, but which was not to be scoffed at. She was admirable, though, she's a hard worker who deserves what she gets. None of my name-pulling, sweet-talking and sly introducing required; she doesn't need my help. She moved to Tokyo of her own accord in April.
She has a beautiful smile, exercises regularly, sticks with diligence to a good diet, takes a strong interest in fashion and media, oh-! And is a much more sociable, likable creature than I.
I needed some fresh air.
Squeak of the patio door. Rattle of the frames as it shuts. Stepping out onto the balcony of my shared apartment gave me peace from the thumping noise and grating chatter, greeting a few of my smoker friends with a smile and a murmur. There was an uncomfortable chill in the night air, causing everyone to shudder, but then it passed, like the wind from a birds wing. I sighed at my billboards expression, pastel colors shinning against the dark sky. Dark, although adverts either side and the still ongoing traffic lit up a city of the material in a comforting, settling way in that, in this busy street, you could keep your distance from the honking and the swearing and the foul attitude by hiding behind the great blinding lights.
You could slip into shadows if you really tried.
In spite of my success, New York perhaps lacked the charm that came with my mothers home city. I longed to return to Tokyo.
Tokyo is a city of wonders, but not the wonders you might think of. It is a collection of small cities which grouped together create the most populated city in the world. I have spent at least a third of my life there between the catwalks and the stages, the alleyways and the nightclubs, and will always discover something new every time I go. There will be a home or a business behind every corner, and when that is not the case it is because you are walking with a sea of bodies towards the brightest neon light in the sky on a carriage-wide road. Golden transit can take you any place you desire, however you and a thousand others will be packed sardines on a single shabby train until you reach your destination. Cower too quickly, and hop off, you may find yourself lost and at the mercy of the busy station until a kind stranger in a bright bonnet directs you back onto your path. Know the language, or be miserable without it.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Take a map, you will be fine. Visitors like to visit the major districts, Aoyama, Shinjuku, Harajuku, but you may go wherever you please in this city. If you know where to go, you can find a fair meal for a fair price, or a second hand book shop with a novella in perfect condition. Sometimes you may find yourself in a street utterly devoid of people – unusual, but do not panic; Tokyo is safe. Obey the rules and you will be fine.
Tokyo is a city of pleasure. Whatever you want, you will find in Tokyo. The best food may be expensive but is mouth-watering and the chefs that prepare the delicacies are licensed artists whose fugu will not poison you. The eager will try yakitori and relish in the spicy coal tints in the crackled skin which covers a moist and succulent flesh. And if that does not appeal to you, there are noodles on the street corner beside you, or you can dine on okonomiyaki in a restaurant four minutes away.
Electronics hang from the sky, and the greatest new developments in MP3 players, game consoles and cinema screens will keep you occupied and entertained. And if you're looking for anything in particular, try Akihabara and enjoy the views as you go. Everything comes with a price, and you must always pay it first.
The clothes, oh! The clothes, why, you will be lost in the arcade maze of the most elaborate and fantastic designs, a thousand different looks for a thousand difference faces, to find the outfit which calls out to you. You wear what you want in Tokyo, but we insist you wear something.
Tokyo is clean, and must remain that way. You must never litter the ground or hide the rubbish within the foliage, but you will bin it appropriately or take it home.
Tokyo is a city of light, but you must obey the rules.
Misa would always give me a cheeky grin when I told her this. "As if you eat any yakitori!"
"Misa! That's beside the point. I'm talking about the city!"
"Sounds magical, Coco."
"You know it is."
"Hm… not until I see it." She would say.
I whipped the cigarette from my friend's mouth and held it to my lips to take a needed drag. Fuck, I said, although I didn't know why. Where had the stars gone? None in the sky; they walked on concrete pavements and were worshiped like idols. I was now one of them. Sort of. A rather dull star.
They say that you ought to make a wish on the first star you see in the sky. If you wish something before a second star appears, it'll come true. For best results, says my mother, wish upon a falling star.
But they also say that throwing salt over your shoulder after spilling some will ward off the bad luck, and that bells will keep evil spirits away.
"Are you coming inside, Naoko?" my friend asked. Inside, into the warmth, into the mass of expensive bodies in even pricier outfits, hot breath and sensitive hearts.
I asked for a minute, to finish the cigarette, to watch the smoke twirl into nothingness. I shouldn't have had that grape. I shouldn't have left Misa alone. My hands shake because I know I shouldn't have left her. Her hair was in bunches last time I saw her. What will she say to my new pixie cut?
It is May 26th 2004.
Sometimes they say if you stand on the edge of a ledge you deserve to fall off, for having done something so reckless in the first place. It's a bit of a cruel thought, if you ask me. What if you're pushed? Did you deserve to get pushed? And who wouldn't risk it for the spectacular views you can only find on the edge of life?
The spineless, I suppose. But who am I to talk.
I stayed out on the balcony, throwing the cigarette butt to the winds. It disappeared from my sight; it would land somewhere on the streets below my perch where it ceased to be my problem. Let someone else clean it up.
Square your shoulders. Harden your heart. Go back inside. With a final glance at the billboard, I laughed softly to myself and took shelter amongst the congregation in what was, for a time, my home.
A.N- You can review anonymously, or pm me, if you wish. Thank you for reading!