A/N: Here it is. Can you believe that M's the only one who's reviewed the fourth chapter of the Sugarfilled Wars? I haven't even started writing the fifth chapter yet, and no one reviewed the second chapter of A Space except for the marvelous ZR, who Ryuk thanks for the apple. So review.
Disclaimer: (Ryuk whines)
Ryuk: "C'mon, N, give me an apple! The Death Note authors were less stingy than this!"
N (Looks annoyed): "That's because they actually had a use for you, Ryuk. Say the disclaimer and I'll give you this one."
Ryuk: "N doesn't own Death Note!" (Swoops down and grabs apple, chomps on it and cackles maniacally)
There you have it. Read on at your sides' peril.
--
Raito breathed a breath of relief as he hurried into work, nearly late after losing track of the time while helping Sayu with her math homework – she was so dense-acting today that it was almost as if she was trying to stall me, make me late – thanking the Gods that he had survived tutorial week and now only needed to marginally supervise before he could go back to his old job sense of peace, his old life – as much as was possible with them still there. Just the final review, which he prayed they'd pass, and then …
He walked into the room, smoothing back his hair and expecting it to be empty because after his first day's admonishments everyone but Mihael and Mail had made a point of being there exactly on time, and he was still a clear five minutes early due to a most unattractive bout of hurrying and a shortcut through the park.
It wasn't.
The eyes of B, Nate, A, and L stared at him, a stalemate occurring for a moment as Raito's own terrified eyes widened almost to their level and the only sound was the soft swish, swish, swish of the tiny turning of a lock of Nate's hair around his finger, which B looked briefly annoyed about and A looked eternally annoyed about, among other things.
It might have gone on forever. They might have been standing there, frozen, until the end of time or, heaven forbid, Raito's superior's check-up, if fate hadn't intervened n the form of two teenage boys with attitudes and jobs to keep.
Mihael, careening into the room in his usual way, took a deep breath and yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING, STARING LIKE THAT?!?!?!"
"Bet they know voodoo," Mail muttered smugly, sheathing his gaming device and donning the smock with a little snort of disapproval, tossing one to Mihael and saying, "First day of real work, Mills. You up for it?"
"Duh," Mihael muttered, "I'm ready for fucking anything. And I'll do it better than stupid little Nate."
"No cursing, Mihael," Raito said wearily, figuring it was time to interject and use the precious little bit of authority he still possessed these days, "And you all have an assessment before I decide where to assign you. Everyone's here, so we'll start. If anyone talks without permission, they're automatically demoted to stock in the back. Understood?"
Everyone nodded. "Damn straight," Mihael muttered.
"No cursing, Mihael. Alright, then. First question: what does one say when greeting a customer at the door? Hmm … Nate?"
"Welcome to Wammy's, sir or ma'am, we wish you a pleasant experience and that you find what you're looking for," Nate recited quietly.
"Yes. Let's see … Mail! Put that away! How do you stack boxes for the F3 arrangement?"
"In the convex pyramid pattern, Light-Bright sir," Mail muttered, reluctantly resheathing his gaming console.
Mihael chose the time to comment, "Yeah, F3 – probably stands for fucking threesome, pyramid style. Mail snickered at the comment, and even L and B offered lopsided grins that stopped the second they looked at each other – B's got wider, causing A to sulk. Nate merely widened his eyes in a show of childish innocence.
"Ahem," Raito coughed, deciding that the sooner he got Mihael and his friend safely separated and preferably confined to stock the better it would be for his already tenuous authority and possibly sanity, "Mihael, since you're so eager to speak, why don't you tell me how to respond when a customer asks you for assistance?"
"Politely direct them to whatever stupid shit they missed in Aisle 4 and hover around until they pat you on the head like a dog and say you can go out and play again," Mihael answered promptly, leading to another bout of snickers from his workmates and a prompt demotion to working under his stalker Mikami in the shadowy kingdom of reject stock, sans Mail and an appreciative audience, which wasn't any less than he deserved in Raito's rapidly worsening opinion. He had a sore spot for his authority being trifled with, especially by pseudo-Goths with girly hair that wore rosaries and had every word out of their mouth a jibe or expletive of some sort, most likely both.
"I'll consider your frankness when deciding where to place you. Next question …"
And so on it went, every minute aspect of the training it had seemed no one listened to regurgitated in a bored-sounding tone from whichever employee he dared to call on – B and L in competition, A actually answering, Nate almost blinding in his studious, quiet cuteness, and Mail and Mihael amusing everyone but A, Nate, and Raito himself. He tried everything in the book, but they knew it all – so, really, the placement choices were up entirely to his discrimination. And, really, despite the abject humiliation of the whole process, he wouldn't have it any other way. Raito got to show them, now, exactly what benefits they'd been reaping.
He didn't bother holding back the maniacal, long-past-Insanity-and-into-the-land-of-sweet-Revenge smile that blossomed over his face at the thought, though he normally would. He had a feeling that nothing he could do would surpass the collective weirdosity already rampant in the room.
"It seems you've all passed the test, so you may be worth your paychecks yet. First-day assignments are as follows, to be enacted after our half-hour break before the store opens … Mihael and Mail." L wondered idly how much money he would win if he entered a picture of Raito's current face in a jack-o-lantern contest. Mail had the grace to look perturbed. "Mihael, you're to be working in stock under Mikami, Section B. Mail, you'll be on standby assistance when the store opens, but until then report for specialized training by Lidner in Customer Service. Nate, you're greeting. Adrian, cashier, register 2. Roger will instruct you further. L and B … external stockboys. You run messages, make displays and restock, help customers and generally make yourselves comfortable. For the first day I'll be watching to see how all of you do instead of my regular work, so be sure to do your best. Dismissed for your half-hour break."
B cracked his knuckles, testing out a maniacal laugh. "You're going down, L. Down. It's very considerate of our superior here to give us the same jobs and provide such a fair plane for opportunity." A pouted at that.
Raito cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Had that really been such a good idea? He needed his coffee. Spending time in the company of psychopaths was not how he wished to spend his break. "Dismissed, everyone. Break's just been cut down to fifteen minutes. After that, report to your stations for training."
"Certainly," B murmured, scuttling up to him crablike, smiling in a most decidedly unpleasant manner. "I can't wait for L's humiliation and ultimate failure to begin. Come on, A. Time to depart." He gestured to his sulky Goth princess and swept from the room.
"I believe I shall take my leave as well," L said, nodding, followed nervously by Nate as Mail and Mihael got out of there, already complaining and cursing as Mail got out his console and attacked it furiously to make up for lost time.
Raito sighed, slumping. He needed coffee. He couldn't deal with these people anymore. At least … at least Misa was out of town, on her Christmas tour. At least Mikami was chained safely down in stock after last month's incident.
Little did he know. But hey, the gods feel that someone as beautiful as Raito shouldn't have predestination or they would be driven mad … but that never stopped them from exploiting that to have their own fun.
--
"B," A sulkily pouted as he sat on B's still besmocked lap, pushing away the kiss B tried to plant on him, "you're always so into L these days. I know you dated once – and I know for a fact that he dumped you. Be honest now. Do you want him more than you want me?"
"I'd never take him back, A," B said reassuringly, spiky black hair brushing against A's pale cheek as he leaned in for that kiss. "He's only competition. Nothing more."
"If you deserted me for him I'd kill myself," A mumbled, leaning into him. B had to hold back a snicker at that.
--
Mail and Mihael might have been content for eternity, or at least all of their break's fifteen minutes, just sitting behind the hot chocolate machine and playing games and talking, but then Mihael (must be all that hot chocolate) had to go to the bathroom. He got up, received a barely sentient nod from Mail, and was halfway through the Christmas paraphernalia aisle when he saw that one kid, Nate, about to come down. Stupid little bugger.
Mihael smiled frighteningly as he stepped closer, preparing to lunge at the trembling kid once they met in the center of the aisle. He was right by the kid and then …
"RAITO! MISA MISA'S COME BACK EARLY TO VISIT YOU, RAITO! WHERE IS MISA'S RAITO? SHE WANTS TO TELL HIM ALL ABOUT HER TRIP!"
Nate squeaked in fright and jumped much nearer to Mihael, a bit nearer than he let even Matt come. He was about to shove him into the shelf, consequences be damned, and curse, but a polite cough met his attention. He looked very slowly down the aisle to see B, the cougher, with A hanging on his arm, smirking. "Before moving anywhere, I'd suggest you look up."
Mihael and Nate's gazes traveled slowly upward to the decorated ceiling, the fateful Christmas decoration in residence being … gulp … mistletoe. Nate had scarcely reached that conclusion before Mihael was protesting, loudly and vehemently and probably with enough force to convince anyone less freakish and confident than B to forget they ever saw.
"There is no fucking way I'm kissing the little freak! I'm not sure it's even legal! You're going to turn around right now, and I'm going to kick him and pretend it's you!"
"That's a naughty boy, Mills," Mail called offhandedly from the other end of the aisle, looking up briefly from his infernal DS while standing next to that other freak L, whose unblinking stare was quite possibly a full .5 up on the creep-out factor than B's. Oh shit … there really was no way out of this now …
Mihael took a deep breath, bending down a bit to the further shrinking Nate. "Look, let's make this quick. Any specifications for you freakish gay voyeurs?" He added, managing to whip his head around and pierce the gazes of both sides of the aisle at once, a not-to-be-scoffed-at feat.
B's smirk only widened. "One could suppose that you and Nate look so much like girls that this could very well be another type of explicit porn altogether, Mihael. Any rules you want to throw out, L? Before I make them better?"
"The kiss must last for a duration of three seconds, timed by myself and B," L droned out on cue, causing everyone to light up and turn to him. "It must be on the lips, there must be tongue, and Mihael must hold Nate during the duration beneath the mistletoe. Anything you wish to add, B?"
"Actually …" B shook his head, eyes glittering crazily. "No. Let the countdown begin."
Mihael grabbed the white fabric of Nate's shirt reluctantly (he was wearing jeans with it in a semblance of normality for his job) and looked at the still-silent, unaffected-looking white-haired boy, grimacing in distaste. God, he felt like such a fucking pedophile kissing this … Mihael shook off the thought and hissed, "If you screw this up for me or tell anyone I will kill you, hunting your soul down in the afterlife unreservedly, and drag you down to Hell with me and into Dante's seventh circle where I will abandon you to eternal, endless pain."
Nate's only answer was a tiny, somewhat terrified squeak before Mihael's lips were on his, very strange and demanding, possibly hurting … but not like other things had before. He bit back a horrified gasp as Mihael's tongue actually made it into his mouth and he realized that this was his first kiss – and, oh God, it was with a guy – who hated him –
"Time over," L and B announced almost simultaneously, B just a second later and pissed about it, though not enough to spoil the amusement he derived from seeing the two kiss. B cackled.
Even A managed a tiny smirk. Mail broke out into helpless snickers, pointing to his gaming console that wasn't really a gaming console but a modified camera and completely different from the one he had had earlier, Mihael could now see, and crowing, "Wow, Mills, I imagine that the girls at school won't be too happy when they see irrevocable proof of your gayness! Closet fanboys rejoice … Mihael Keehl will stop tearing up the closet and wreak his havoc in the open!"
"I'm going to kill you, Mail," Mihael snarled, lunging for him and running down the aisle while Mail, with the ease of long practice, beat a hasty retreat and held the camera out in front of him, snickering maniacally as he pressed a few buttons – apparently it also did email, the camera – and sending the photograph to probably the more social half of the entire school, which, sadly, Nate remembered that he attended as well. Though, if he wasn't beaten for supposedly being gay and/or being Mihael's lover, he may gain some tiny bit of status by association … but that was bad. That meant … popularity. And Nate River could barely deal with high school when he was a nobody.
Just then Raito's voice, scratchily and somewhat strained sounding, came over the intercom. "Break's over, new employees. Please report to your new stations for pre-opening training."
And then all the unfortunates in the still mostly deserted store were treated to a high-pitched giggle that blasted over the intercom and wracked everyone's ears, followed by the screech, "RAITO'S VOICE SOUNDS SO GOOD OVER THE INTERCOM! HE SHOULD TOTALLY BE AN ANNOUNCER! OR A MODEL!"
Collective wince. "Well," B muttered, rubbing his hands together, "beating L won't get done on its own. Come on, L. We've got a job to compete in."
Nate stood there for another few moments still, shellshocked. He collected himself quickly and reined in his emotions, but still … for a moment he had been in imperfect control of his emotions.
What was Wammy's doing to all of them? And, more importantly, how much more drama, angst, and fluffy fun could be executed before the characters broke?
--
Taken me forever to type this up, and I got pretty bored for a while in the middle. Live with it and add to my measly pile of two reviews … the future of Ryuk's apple supply depends on it. It's more fun that way (for me). Enjoy the post-Christmas fun!
-N