Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is copyright © 2012 Turnabout Writer. All rights reserved.
Playlist (Yup, I'm actually going through with this – feel free to skip this over and start reading if you are disinterested!)
Très Bien ~ Beauty Hermitage (2004)
Reminiscence ~ The Bitter Taste of Truth (2004)
Godot ~ The Fragrance of Dark Coffee (2004)
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"Honestly! I can't believe Maya called me for something like this!"
Mia laughs on the short stroll back to Très Bien, abandoning poor Phoenix in the park – oh, how whipped Victor Kudo is!
And Maya seems to be having a blast with her new job – Mia is glad that Maya can take on some real responsibility now, and not just pester Phoenix and his empty wallet.
Regardless of the light situation, Mia is a bit concerned for Phoenix and his imposter; but, if she knows Phoenix well enough, he will figure it out.
"Bienvenue à Très Bien!" she hears in the distance, but is too indulged in her thinking to notice who the customer is.
The trial is tomorrow and Mia knows that if there is a problem, Maya will call her. Phoenix is strong, though, and Maya will help him see through the holes in testimonies and the prosecution's claims.
Speaking of which, there is something about that white-haired prosecutor that bothers Mia.
Prosecutor Godot was nasty to Phoenix that last time she saw them in court, but his overwhelmed, flabbergasted facial expression made Mia think things through. He does seem to look a bit familiar to her – maybe she encountered him during an investigation for a case.
But the mask, his strange visor, would have stricken her as odd and she would have recalled it . . .
"Mademoiselle! Come now, ma chérie! Don't keep z'is customer waiting! Bring 'im ze coffee!" Jean Armstrong sings from the kitchen's small window.
"Oui, oui, Monsieur!" Mia calls out, grabbing the cup; she's suddenly laughing again, as if she is giddy from a weird, sensational high – she's enjoying this waitress act a bit too much and decides to not go back from Maya's body for a little while – and it's so childish, so foreign to her. She doesn't recall ever laughing this much since . . . him.
Afterlife was a strange place, where no heaven or hell existed. She searched the outlandish, yet enchanted enigma of the spirit world of the dead for the man who she fell in love with, her fiancée.
If only she had known that he was going to die only two days after proposing . . .
She walks over to the table, but the frown on her face quickly dissolves into a hard thin line of her lips mashing together upon seeing the familiar white hair peeking out of the strange mask.
Mia sees the rose between the chef's teeth and the open-mouthed gape directed towards Prosecutor Godot.
And suddenly Mia feels a possessiveness run through her; it shocks her that she could feel like this for some stranger!
"Gimme the cup of the bitterest, dark coffee you've got, Kitten," the prosecutor says to her, without looking up from the files spread across the desk.
Mia stifles a gasp, one hand flying to her mouth while other suddenly grabs the edge of the table for support, the pink, frilly fabric of the tablecloth wrinkling in her grasp. Luckily, the cup manages to land lightly on the table with a small thud and clatter, with only a drop of coffee to spill – still, he would consider it to be a waste.
Kitten.
There is only one person in the world who calls a woman 'Kitten'.
Him.
Oh, and the coffee!
How could she have been so foolish?! The man drank at least 20 cups of coffee during the course of the day! And she'd always reprimand him; he would always then pull her close to him and lean in to kiss her – he'd smelled like the offending beverage.
And how could she have forgotten that he only drank dark coffee? Every time he saw Mia drink coffee with her milk and sugar, he would always grimace, teasingly saying, "No matter how much a little Kitten tries to act like a tigress, in the end, she will always stay as a Kitten."
And she recalled how during the Mask*DeMasque trial, Prosecutor Godot mentioned that he was at his 17th cup, the last cup, during the last testimony of Luke Atmey.
"I drink only 17th cups of coffee during a trial. That's one of my rules."
"Diego." Mia's voice is flat, but she feels tears form in her eyes – Maya's eyes.
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Godot looks up from the testimonies of Maggie Byrne's previous trial – apparently, that Trite claims that the trial was invalid, since there was no real defense attorney, but an imposter of him.
Hmph. Trite . . .
The sound of the waitress's hand slapping against the table catches his attention, and he looks up from his files and to her hand, where she fists the tablecloth.
"Diego."
And this time, Godot's face jerks up to the waitress's – no one's called him that in years. Her voice is so familiar, so comforting to him, that it sounds like an angel's voice.
Mia.
"I searched through the depths of the afterlife for you and it turns out you're alive!" She smiles scornfully.
"Ha . . ! So, we meet again." His smile is crooked, his head tilting to the side and slightly inclined upwards, inspecting Mia's waitress outfit. "Très Bien's Coffee Kitten, eh? I like it."
But there is only one thing the woman can manage to stutter out.
"D-Diego . . . what happened to you?"
He smirked, though it was a small one. "This, my Kitten, is my victory from fighting with the fiery pits of hell. I was dead and you were alive. Then, when I return from the deepest pit of hell, you're the one that's dead, thinking that you'll find me somewhere. Your shining rays of hope were spilled on with the blackest, darkest coffee . . . bitter with its acid, turning the light in your heart to darkness."
Truth is that he wants to cry – he desperately needs to lets his tears out.
But not only does he decide to hold them back because a lawyer doesn't until it is all over, but because he doesn't want his Mia to see him cry.
He can't.
And it was no longer a question of his manhood, but of the fact he doesn't want her to worry for someone as useless as he is.
"Diego," he hears her whisper as he feels two soft hands caress his face, his hair, fingering his mask delicately – it's a good thing Godot wasn't seated in a booth, because it made it so much easier to respond to Mia's touch, when he wraps his arms around her waist.
"Call me 'Godot'. Diego Armando is dead for the world."
"Not dead for his Mia," she counters back, her voice sad and upset.
"Touché, Kitten – not ever dead for his Mia." He pauses. "How are you . . ? It's not your hair, not your style . . . but the same face."
"Kurain Spirit Channeling technique," she answers in response. "It's Maya's body, my little sister."
"Ah, yes, of course – the one that I thought to be more peculiar than a peculiar phenomenon of the world." Mia was, as usual, puzzled by his words, but let it go. "Hm . . . your sister, the little kitten who always hangs around Trite!?"
"Why do you call him that?" she asks, her tone almost accusatory.
"Because I can." It seems like he wants to add more but he stops, suddenly diverted. "Tell, me, my Kitten, why are you on his side?"
Mia looks puzzled. "Who?"
"Him. That Trite, who couldn't even protect you from Redd White!" Godot snarls, clenching the coffee cup tightly. "It was his job to look after you! He couldn't even do that!"
"Diego!" Mia's voice is almost scolding. "You can't just blame Phoenix for my death – he wasn't responsible for it! I brought it all upon myself, alright? I took risks when gathering the information that cost me my life! Phoenix knew nothing about it; he was only an apprentice! I'm sure that he would have known he would have done something about it!" she protests.
"Hmph. I'm not going to argue on such trivial matters with you, Kitten." He grabs the cup of coffee and brings it to his mouth, gulping the coffee down.
And abruptly pushes Mia away from him as he spits the repulsive, disgusting beverage out from his mouth.
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"Ew, Diego!" she squeals. She runs in Maya's brown heels to the tray full of dishes, cutlery and napkins.
He's coughing loudly. "The most . . . pathetic . . . excuse for coffee."
She grabs a glass of water and a handful of the pink tissues and returns to his table, snickering.
She hands him the glass, which he gratefully drinks, and by pure instinct, instead of tending to the mess on the table, she gently wipes his mouth and his clothes.
He chuckles, setting the glass down and then catching her hand, stopping her. "You've cleaned the mess that should remain untouched, chaotic and muddled as it already was, but why not the one that needs to be attended to, Kitten?"
Mia sighs and closes her eyes to prevent the tears spilling over the corner of her eyes. When will he stop putting himself down?
"Kitten – " he sighs, but she stops him.
"I have to go," she whispers. "I can't stay like this forever, you know? Maya will get mad and Phoenix will be suspicious." She grabs the napkins and disposes them in the ornate garbage can in the corner and then takes a hold of the half-empty cup of coffee and the glass that once held water.
But he grabs her hand – Maya's hand – and brings it up to his lips – Maya wouldn't mind at least to that, no?
He cradles her hand with both of his, his thumb running over her knuckles. "So, this is goodbye, Kitten?"
"D-Diego! Your visor!" It looks overheated, blinking the glowing lights, smoke coming out from the sides. A strange smell permeates the air, like melted leather and rubber mixed together.
Diego smirks. "Ha . . ! Again, worrying for the wrong thing, Kitten. It happens all of the time. Hm . . . maybe it's not goodbye – maybe the little kitten will channel you again when I face off against Trite in court!"
Mia smiles. "Or Pearly," she adds, clutching his hand.
"Or Pearly," he agrees, recalling the picture of the small toddler he once saw in her office.
"Au revoir, mon accro du café, mon lion intrépide." Mia leans down and lets her lips press against his forehead, her free hand running through his hair. "Je t'aime."
Then, for the benefit of Jean Armstrong, she stresses her voice to be louder.
"Revenez à Tres Bien vite, Monsieur!" she bids, quickly scurrying to the tray in the high heels to drop of the cup and glass. Diego doesn't move from his seat.
Instead, he looks up into her eyes, and smiles sadly.
He murmurs, before she walks away. "Je t'aime, my kitten."
Mia quickly wipes away her tears before her hands push against the restroom door that reads 'Dames'. It's time, she decides. She can't keep this up any longer, or else she may end up doing something she might regret.
"Goodbye, Godot," she whispers under her breath, before she feels her spirit being pulled away from Maya's body.
Before she returns to the hell – hell, because he's not there – known as afterlife.
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Translations:
Bienvenue à Très Bien – Welcome to Très Bien
Mademoiselle – Miss
Ma chérie – My darling
Oui – Yes
Monsieur – Mister
Au revoir, mon accro du café, mon lion intrépide – Goodbye, my coffee addict, my fearless lion.
Je t'aime - I love you.
Revenez à Tres Bien vite, Monsieur – Come again to Tres Bien soon, Mister!
Dames – Ladies
I hope you enjoyed! :)