Author's Note: I need to stop writing these. I seriously doubt their as funny as I seem to think they are at four in the morning. I'm working on a serious story, I swear! This one was inspired by the Potter Puppet Pals. "Let's do it again!" "Right-o!" and I thought "Raito. Right-o. LAWL." Yeah. Stupid. I know. Think of this as Light, pre-Death Note.

Also, I don't own Death Note.

He had been in a shop the first time he'd heard it.

"Right-o!"

He whipped his caramel head around, searching for the source. "Yes?" he'd answered tentatively.

"Something wrong, Light?" his mother asked, eyeing a vase while his father and sister browsed elsewhere.

"N-nothing, Mom," he shook his head. "Nothing. I guess I'm just… hearing things."

After that, he heard it everywhere.

Dinner that night was the worst. The family of four had, in an attempt to embrace local culture, decided to have dinner in one of the many small restaurants that speckled downtown London. Light, who spoke the best English, had told the waiter to bring them the most typical British meal he could think of. The waiter had nodded, running off to fetch something called 'Bangers and Mash' while Light and his family made small-talk. He was actually having a good time, until he heard it.

A peal of laughter from across the restaurant, then, "Right-o, my good man!"

Light was confused. He looked around, eyes scanning the smoky interior of the restaurant.

"What are you looking at, Light?" his sister asked. "Pretty girls?" she laughed. "Ohhh, Light, you're such a dog!"

Light resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No, Sayu. I just thought I heard-"

The rest of Light's sentence was cut off by the waiter's slamming down a large platter of fat, brown sausages and mounds of mashed potatoes.

"Bangers n' mash, fresh outta th' kitchens," he exclaimed merrily. "Enjoy!"

The Yagami family eyed the platter warily.

"Excuse me," Light waved a hand. "Could you bring us more napkins, please?"

"Oh, right-o," the man beamed before scurrying away, leaving Light more bewildered than he could ever recall being, and angrier than he had been minutes before.

After their meal, the Yagamis decided that a nice evening stroll through the London streets would be a fantastic way to end the day. Their hotel wasn't far, after all, and why waste money on a cab?

Light heard it three more times that night from three different directions. The accented 'right-o!' pierced his eardrums like knives cutting through bangers. By the time they reached the hotel, his perfect teeth were on edge. One more time, and he wasn't sure what he would-

"Right-o!"

Light threw his arms skyward. "What?" he exclaimed, earning him several strange looks from the hotel staff. "What do you want with me?" he cried.

"Son, are you… feeling okay?" the patriarch of the Yagami family asked.

Light was muttering violently under his breath in Japanese, cursing the English language, cursing the British, and cursing bangers and mash to the deepest, darkest depths of hell imaginable.

"I'm fine," he hissed, stepping into the elevator, chocolate eyes burning holes into the metal doors.

Throughout the remainder of the trip, Light could feel his sanity slipping. Each repetition of the word (Right-o, right-o, right-o) sent him spiraling deeper and deeper into a pit of madness.

Light had so been looking forward to his family's trip. His father didn't get that much time off from work, and Light had never been outside of Japan before, and he thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to practice his English. Not that he needed practice, of course. He was top of his class. No one had warned him about the seemingly innocent colloquialism that was threatening to tear him apart. The two-syllable phantom that seemed to haunt him wherever he went. Right-o. Right-o. Right-o.

"I'm right here!" he muttered under his breath. "What do you want from me?"

Two years later…

"I was the junior champion of the English Cup Tournament," L explained in retort to Light's boisterous comments as they marched to the tennis court.

Light's eye twitched. "Are you… are you from the U.K.?" he asked.

"I lived there for about five years," L answered.

Light narrowed his eyes, hate coursing through his veins. I'm going to have to kill this man. he thought.