Day Off
In Shinjuku, while Shizuo dreams about chasing Izaya down the streets of Ikebukuro, Izaya is sitting in front of his computer. He's been talking to some kid about the perils of life all morning and the conversation, like many others he's had before, is beginning to bore him. "Wonder what you'll think of your life when we meet," he says to himself. He promises to continue the conversation some other time, logs off, and looks up at the woman whose lost herself in the bookshelves in front of her. "What's my schedule like for today, Namie?"
She settles the book back in it's place, looks over the rails connected to the staircase and says, "The CEO of TV Asahi postponed today's meeting for the 28th of this month."
"What a shame!" He leans back. "I was looking forward to that." He's lying. "Anything else?"
"No." Namie walks down the stairs. "Is there anything you need me to do?"
"Let's see," Izaya looks up at the ceiling and thinks. "Actually, there isn't. Why don't you take this time to do some holiday shopping?"
Namie looks at Izaya as if he's said something strange. She didn't think he'd have a spec of holiday spirit in him, but who knows. He probably has some twisted plans up his sleeve instead of gifts and candy canes anyway. Chances are she'll hear something about it before it's set into play. She gestures good-bye and walks to the door.
As it opens, Izaya calls out. "Don't forget to get me something! Oh," she stops, her head slightly turned, "be sure to pick up something nice for Seiji." The door slams shut. "Heh."
He spins his chair around, pulls out a pair of theater binoculars, and studies the sea of people hurrying below him. There's a girl with bright red hair talking to some hot-shot high schooler who's obviously trying a little too hard to seal the deal. A young couple sits closely together; trying to hide their domestic problems in front of their friends. An old, tired man sits outside a nice restaurant in a table for five people; alone. "Hmmm."
Izaya drifts his focus further down the sidewalk. He freezes when he spots a man with a suit and blonde hair. "Shizu-chan?" He leans in closer, tilting his head side to side, opening his eyes wide and squeezing them to get a better glimpse. The man turns. It isn't him.
The arm drops. His vision blurs as the sounds that echoed in the room when Shizuo was there start to vibrate in his ears. He catches his reflection in the window and sees the marks his face has had to flaunt in front of his clients. Shizuo did this to him. He intended to do worse, but he stopped. Why?
He sets the eye-wear on the desk and looks over at his couch. "It's about time I get rid of you, ne?" His right hand shoots out, releasing a new flickblade from his sleeve. His lips stretch. "Die!" He takes off running, jumps over the armrest closest to him, and lands on the couch. Slash! Stab! Rip!
"Ahahaha! Hahaha!" The polyester stuffing begins to fly everywhere, flooding his vision with foam snow, but then... he sees him. Shizuo's body is laying under him, swimming in the debris of the mutilated couch. Izaya's pupils dilate as his smirk fades into a firm pout. "Does a monster even have a heart?" The flickblade falls one last time, puncturing the imaginary Shizuo right in the chest.
"Ah, what does it matter." The mirage evaporates. "It's not like Shizu-chan would know what it's for," he pulls the flickblade from the battered cushion before he continues, "or what to do with it."
He zips up his coat, leaps off what's left of his couch and struts down the stairs that lead to the street.
He calls out for a taxi, waits for it to park and takes a seat on the back. "One way to I-ke-bukurooo!"