A/N: Rejoice and be glad, for another chapter has come. There's a ton of ridiculousness in this one, mostly about Ashiya. I regret nothing! Also some Emi/Maou and Texan accents. Enjoy!
Emi's cell phone rang.
While this was not unusual, this case deserves special mention. Mainly because of the contents of the call, and the extremely gullible person who picked up the phone.
"Emi Yusa's phone." Ashiya answered, a look of disgust evident on his face.
"Is your refrigerator running?"
"Well," Ashiya cocked his head, "probably."
"Then you better go catch it!" There were some giggles in the background.
However, the kids who made the prank call had no idea what horrors they just caused.
There was silence, as Ashiya stared at the phone in horror.
"I knew it!" Ashiya yelled, throwing the phone against the fluffy couch pillow. "I knew that a 70% discount on a refrigerator was too good to be true!"
"What?" Maou glanced over at him. They were both in Emi's apartment; Emi was in her room, preparing herself for a night out with Maou and the gang. Maou decided to escort her; Ashiya followed him to her apartment.
"I apologize, Sire, but I must go. We've been betrayed."
"A traitor?" Maou half-rose, but Ashiya pushed him back onto the couch.
"Be not afraid! Your trusty General will take care of this!" Ashiya said, stamping his chest proudly. "Be vigilant!"
And so began the Mystery of the Running Refrigerator.
Ashiya dashed out of the apartment; Maou looked on in amusement, before pulling out his phone and texting Urushihara.
Great job. Worked perfectly; he left right away.
He swiftly received a reply.
'Twas my pleasure.
Maou got the feeling that wasn't the first time Uru and Suzuna placed a prank call.
A noise behind him made him turn around, slipping the phone back into his pocket. The sight made his jaw drop.
The door to Emi's room was open, and out she had stepped. She was dressed in a long, flowing green dress; her red hair cascaded down her shoulders. She was stunning–radiantly beautiful! Maou swore his heart skipped a beat.
He, on the other hand, was dressed in jeans and a button down shirt.
The moment she saw him, her smile morphed into a frown. Her eyes narrowed.
"…you must be joking."
"Uh, hold on," he held up his hands pleadingly, "I didn't think–"
"Clearly." She began to stalk towards him.
"Well, the website didn't give us information on the dress attire–"
"You mean, besides the name of the event: Orchestral Performance of Handel's Messiah?" She stopped near the TV, picking up a baseball bat.
"Well, how was I to know that orchestras required formal wear?" He began to inch towards the door.
"Perhaps by the fact that all the pictures were of men in suits and tuxedos?" She angled her approach, cutting off his route to the door. He glanced around the apartment, looking for another exit.
It's a no go. He swallowed.
If I can't calm her down, there's always the window, he reasoned. A five story drop isn't as terrible as an angry Emi Yusa.
As she drew near to him, she sighed and plopped down on the couch, tossing the baseball bat into a corner. "Did you really not know about the dress code, or were you trying to send me a not-so-subtle message?"
He cocked his head. "Well, the message still seems pretty subtle to me, since I haven't seen it yet."
She eyed him. "Something along the lines of: 'I don't want to go, so I'm dressing poorly, hoping to force your hand'?"
His eyes widened. He shook his hands violently. "Oh! No! No, not at all!"
She blinked. "Oh." Her voice brightened a little. "Really?"
"Yeah. Seriously." He sat down on the couch beside her, scratching his head. "I'm sorry, Emi; I really am. As stupid as it sounds, I just didn't think about it."
They sat for a moment in silence before Emi spoke again. "…I really ought to be the one apologizing, actually."
"Eh?" He raised an eyebrow. This was rare.
She gave him a pre-emptive glare to stave off any more thoughts along that particular train. He held back a smile, and waved her on. She continued.
"I know that you three living together are still barely scraping by on the monthly expenses; I should have realized that you wouldn't have the money to spend on buying an expensive suit."
"Well," he shrugged, "you'd be surprised. We've actually gained a new source of income."
"Huh?" She glanced at him, surprised.
"Yeah. Ashiya, believe it or not, is exceptionally good at gambling."
Emi's expression fell. "…this time, you better hope you're joking."
"No! I'm serious! He's an incredible poker player!"
"Poker?! But he doesn't have a poker face! He's an open book!"
"And that's precisely how he wins!"
"That makes no sense."
Maou laughed. "That's what I thought. But you don't understand the nuances of his mind. In fact, no one does."
To explain his point, Maou launched into a story of Ashiya's most recent endeavor (as described by Ashiya) into the world of poker. This was at a 1,000,000 yen championship last week at a local club.
The game was Texas Hold'Em. The player is dealt two cards, which he keeps hidden; then five cards are slowly revealed in the center of the board. Everyone has access to these cards; whoever can construct the best five-card hand from his two cards and three of the five in the middle wins the pot. Betting occurs at various stages of revealing the middle five cards.
The first hand was dealt. Ashiya glanced at the cards in his hand. He sighed.
A King and a Queen of Hearts…he sighed. Why does everything remind me of King Maou and his untimely entanglement with that witch of a woman? My Lord needs no Queen!
"AUGH!" He cried out loudly, clutching his head. "WHY AM I SO UNLUCKY?!"
He half-heartedly tossed out a small beat; the other players, poker faces set, placed their bets. The first card was unveiled: a Jack of Hearts.
The other players, noticing his foul mood, decided to up the ante. Double the usual.
Ashiya's frown remained. Needless to say, he wasn't paying attention to the game at all. A Jack. Useless to the Court, doesn't do anything; kind of reminds me of me, doesn't it? Just does the housework! That's all I do! No vacation time, no appreciation–
"IT'S ALL USELESS!" Ashiya cried out before throwing more chips in, calling their ante.
The second, third and fourth cards were revealed: a Three of Spades, a Nine of Hearts and a Five of Clubs. Ashiya smiled at the Five.
Five's a good number. Four Generals, plus the King: five. Just five.
But his mood soured when he realized that he, Maou, Urushihara, Suzuno and Emi also made five.
"I DESPISE YOU, FIVE! YOU FALSE HOPE!"
He facepalmed. The others took that as encouragement that his hand sucked, and slowly upped the ante. At this point, all but three, Ashiya included, had folded.
He called their bet again, much to their surprise.
The final card was revealed: a Ten of Hearts. The others gasped, as Ashiya mumbled about a lack of spending money.
One gentleman went all in; the other also went all in. Ashiya did the same.
Turns out he had a straight flush, Nine to King, of Hearts. One other had a straight, and the other had a flush. So Ashiya ended up winning a million yen.
"Turns out he thought the game was about matching colors. So if someone placed a certain colored chip, he threw one of the same in with it. The fact that his thoughts had absolutely nothing to do with the game ended up being the best poker face possible. Nobody had a clue whether he had a great hand or a terrible one."
Emi laughed. "Did someone eventually tell him?"
Maou sighed. "Yeah. It's a real pity; now he can't manage to win at all."
"…what is Ashiya's skill set? Now that I think about it," Emi frowned, "I never knew what he was good at. We never really fought in combat."
"Well…" Maou tapped a finger against his chin, gazing at the ceiling, "he was really good at keeping the books balanced."
"No surprise there."
"Honestly, he's probably the best manager you can imagine. The only reason I'm working the assistant manager position at MgRonalds and not him is because he didn't trust me to be conservative in my shopping. Or to clean the house." He furrowed his brow. "Though, if he did get a job, we'd probably be able to hire a maid."
"Speaking of Ashiya," she glanced around the room, "where'd he go? He came with you, didn't he?"
He smiled with a hint of malice. "He's gone…running."
She frowned at him for a moment before shrugging. "Shall we?" She extended her arm to him.
"You still want to go, even when I'm dressed like this?"
"It's not like I'm the one who will be embarrassed," she said with a laugh.
He sighed, but linked his arm with hers. She leaned her head against his shoulder and breathed a sigh of content.
"Thanks for playing along."
"Of course; isn't that what the gallant knight's supposed to do?" He asked, as he led her out the door.
"He's also supposed to actually live up to the gallant part."
"I'm working on it."
Ashiya was indeed running.
Some might think that he cut a strange figure while running: a cloak billowing out behind him (picked up from the house), shining white hair, sprinting at top speed…
But no one was watching him. On the contrary: every eye was riveted on what he was chasing.
It was a refrigerator.
Well, it wasn't actually a refrigerator. In reality, it was a very fit person inside of a rather convincing cardboard-imitation refrigerator.
This poor soul had been hired to do a simple job: jog by this certain house, at this certain time, and wave at the silver-haired man walking into the building.
Unfortunately, the silver-haired man started yelling and chasing him.
"I've never heard of magic so…vile!" Ashiya cursed before yelling. "I'll tear out your innards, you sorry sod!"
The refrigerator responded: "Well, you did buy them, so I guess that's your prerogative–"
"Don't mock me, refrigerator! I knew that discount was too good to be true!"
"Hey, I kept your food cool, didn't I? Of course, now that I'm not plugged in–"
Ashiya gasped. "Don't tell me anything's ruined!"
"Didn't anyone tell you not to cry over spilled milk?"
"I think they'd make an exception when it's been stolen by a running refrigerator!"
"Is it really theft? I mean, you did give it to me."
"I loaned it! It's your job to keep things cool so we can use it; you're breaking the contract!"
"This is more like slavery than a job; don't you support freedom and liberty?"
"Refrigerators don't have rights!"
"I don't know; I'm pretty sure organ theft is illegal. And these are kind of like my organs…"
"You aren't even alive!"
It wasn't until this moment that Ashiya realized something strange.
He was chasing a running refrigerator.
He slowed to a stop and leaned over, catching his breath. The refrigerator slowed down, continuing to taunt him.
"Mmm, I think I'll have a nice orange now. Or maybe I'll try this delicious beef you bought; raw's fine, right? I'll need to beat it against the ground first–make it more tender…"
"Aha!" He stood up, pointing his finger. "I knew it! You're a fake!"
"If you ever suspected otherwise, you must be a dunce."
"I told Urushihara that I bought beef when, in reality, I bought beef-colored laxatives! It was my master plan to discover if he was stealing food from the fridge at night, as he would most certainly try one. So he must have set you up to this!"
The refrigerator was silent for a moment. "Dear God, you're a terrible person."
Poor Urushihara heard this fact moments too late, as he had just finished eating the first of the laxatives back at the Maou household.
It was a long and painful night for them both, as Ashiya nursed his wounded pride, and Urushihara took residence in the bathroom.
Maou was never so thankful in his life.
He and Emi had arrived at the orchestra to find, as Emi expected, an entirely formal event; almost everyone there wore high-class suits and dresses. He flushed red almost as vibrant as Emi's hair; and with a gorgeous girl like Emi on his arm, they attracted a great many glances.
However, the orchestra was Handel's Messiah–an English piece of music. It was being performed by a famous choir from the United States, so the population of Americans was significantly higher than normal.
In particular, a Texan gentleman walked up beside them, tipping his stereotypical cowboy hat to the two of them. He, too, had a girl on his arm–a Southern girl (also from Texas), complete with long, flowing blond hair and black dress.
"Well, I sure didn't expect another feller to be wearing jeans tonight," he laughed gaily. "But you sure ain't a Texan."
His Japanese somehow retained a Texan accent.
"Well…" Maou scratched his head. Emi supplied an answer.
"He forgot."
"Hey!"
The Texan and the lady laughed. "Well, if y'all would like, we have a few seats open beside us. It'll help you blend in a little–maybe make others blame me for your strange dress."
"Eheheh," he chuckled, "that'd be nice. If you're sure you don't mind–"
The girl waved his worry away. "Aw, don't be shy! We're all music lovers here; let's enjoy the show!"
And so Maou ended up avoiding the embarrassment of his life.
As they took their seats, Emi laid her head on Maou's shoulder; he leaned his head onto hers. The faint smell of her hair made him close his eyes in bliss.
"Thank you, Emi."
"Hmm?" She hummed.
"…you're amazing."
"Oh, stop," she shushed him, a faint blush rising on her cheeks, "we're in public!"
He chuckled in a low voice. "Alright."
Soon, the theatre grew quiet and the orchestra began.
Though Maou and Emi sat with closed eyes, neither fell asleep. Rather, they listened to the music, in tune with the beating of the other person's heart; they felt the passions conveyed by the orchestra rise and fall, all the while thinking one thought, the same but for the subject: how much I love her! How much I love him!
And when the Hallelujah chorus came, and all the crowd rose as the glorious trumpets sang, they knew: this was the song of their heart in that moment.
Hallelujah! For I have found the love of my life; and it shall never fade!
Hallelujah indeed.
