Hell, the Pride Ring. Now.
Welcome to IMP CITY
Aside from a passing resemblance to the marquee of an old-time movie palace, there was nothing particularly welcoming about the town sign. The community's name was spelled out in what was likely the simplest and cheapest font to choose from, and written across what looked to be deck floor planks that hadn't even been varnished. The half sunset/half all-seeing eye logo that topped it was done using white paint that may have been glow-in-the-dark, but otherwise there was no illuminating element upon it.
The driver idly speculated that there were spotlights in position that switched on at night, but he doubted it. Oh, he was sure the local power grid could handle it, especially as the cityscape now spread out before him was not positively drowning in neon signs that advertised sex, gambling, narcotics, and weapons, or served to cynically welcome newcomers, which seemed a prerequisite for architecture about Pentagram City. But why waste resources on the infrastructure of a community which he'd gathered was essentially the local equivalent of Numbers? They were lucky to be permitted enough electricity to light their hovels much less decorate their slum, which was more than could be said of the ghettoes of the last area he'd been assigned to.
Nevertheless, he'd finally came upon the town sign he'd been told to look out for, and he was just relieved to finally see it after what felt like two days of solid driving by himself and his passengers. He continued to pilot the shabby sedan he and his company had managed to acquire along the expressway, taking an exit that left the sign to recede in the rearview mirror as he approached an office building positioned not much more than a stone's throw away inside of the city limits.
It looked no different from any of the other glass-and-steel edifices from his former life, albeit with a few of the diabolical accessories that seemed to be ubiquitous to this realm. From a distance, one could see the plant house for the elevator's machinery and the A/C system on the roof was built in a manner that brought to mind a squat, Gothic version of those cake layer-style buildings that Orientals were so fond of for their temples, even while anachronistically surrounded by antennae and weather vanes. And whether near or far, there was no missing the immense pair of asymmetrical black-and-white horns that jutted from the sides of the building threateningly. Granted, looking like giant traffic cones that had warped from the heat as they did, the threat they posed was more from the likelihood of them breaking off and crashing upon the streets below, but intimidating all the same.
All of that were just trivial matters, really, as just like most Christmas presents, the packaging was less important than what promised to lie within.
These were not the thoughts of the driver, of course, as he was not what one would call a deep thinker. He did exercise his brain enough to decide to stop the car in the middle of the street, something he would never have done before. But he had noticed the trash-strewn condition of the curb lining the sidewalk in front of the entrance, and knew his main passenger would never let him hear the end of it if he was let out where he would have to step directly into that mess. Besides, this was Hell after all, a fact he'd long since accepted unlike some of his comrades, and no one would care that he was blocking traf—
HONK! screamed out from behind him, quickly joined by others echoing from the near-distance.
Okay, maybe not no one at all, but nobody who couldn't be dealt with. Making sure the parking brake was firmly in place and wasn't going to skip gears, the driver jumped out of the car and raced around to the backseat's passenger side door. As he did so, he held up and twirled his automatic in his hand as meaningfully as he could while he affected a daring look in the general direction behind the sedan. Whoever had honked got the message and, more importantly, was not armed themselves, as the car horns immediately went silent but for those further back. Of course, another option was that they were armed too but didn't want to get into it with someone likely to be a trained marksman. After all, the driver's clothes may have been getting a tad threadbare, but were still clearly identifiable as a soldier's uniform.
Returning his sidearm to its holster with a little flourish, the driver then opened the door and stood to attention as his two passengers disembarked. The first was a squad mate of his, better armed with a carbine he managed to keep in order, who took a protective stance for the benefit of the last to exit the car, their commanding officer. While no great thinker either, this was a man for whom an analogy comparing the shabby-yet-sinister office building to a gift box might have occurred.
Emphasis on the word "might".
"What a godawful, depressing little hole," he sniffed as he brushed imaginary dust from the front of his uniform, including the little capelet worn over his shoulder.
As he did so, his opinion was not improved as he afforded the surrounding area a quick glance. The front of the building and the general opinion it provoked in him hardly differed from that of his driver, which has already been mentioned and needs no further discussion. To the left of the building he noted a car park, tellingly hemmed in by a chain link fence (which had a section of it either torn down or run over) and an unattended parking attendant booth (whose gate arm had been knocked off and left lying on the pavement, of course). It was packed full with vehicles of every known make and model – or reasonable facsimiles thereof – which all brought new meaning to the word "second-hand" as many looked as if they'd been treated to some DIY restoration and brought back to some measure of functionality over a dozen times. As if the ones in a state of barely forestalled disrepair weren't unsightly enough, there were a few that were just plain bizarre, ramshackle contraptions meant for motorized transport but hardly what would be called cars and vans by the living. Indeed, his first thought was that they were refugees from a half-forgotten cartoon that satirized cross-country motor races.
The rest of the neighborhood was just more of the expected components of a rundown urban setting, right down to the (pantsless?) hobo looking for handouts as he squatted in the mouth of an adjacent alleyway, although the inclusion of "Satan bless" on his cardboard sign was one of the unique local eccentricities that the officer and his men were still getting used to. Pointedly standing a few feet away from the transient was a rather tall and shapely female of the local variety with fire engine red skin, horns (or one that could be seen anyway) jutting up from her head, and a short pair of batlike wings sprouting from her back. The wings may have been natural or just an adornment, as they looked to be the same black coloring as what little clothing she wore. Indeed, her ensemble alone would have given police cause to arrest her for solicitation back home, but here would likely qualify as appropriate for "Casual Friday". It made it hard to say if she was a prostitute practicing her trade early in the day (which would be of no surprise given the local environment) or just an office worker waiting for her carpool to show up.
"She could be both," he thought idly, but not without a hint of hopefulness, which itself provoked some annoyance. While he was physically repelled by most of the denizens of this wretched place, it had been a while to be honest and he was starting to feel a little... antsy. The thought of taking as a bedmate for a night something that looked half-decently human was becoming less and less shameful for him, the same attitude as the time or two when he'd taken his fun with an Eleven.
Besides, he was hardly in a position to judge someone by their looks anymore, now was he?
He let that train of thought go, as not only had he serious business to attend to, but night was a way off anyway. Or at least it felt like it was only midday. He glanced at his wristwatch to confirm this, but then uselessly looked up out of habit anyway. Equally useless was the vast expanse of reddish hue that accounted for "daylight" here, making no indication of what time it was for him or anyone for that matter, other than it not being nighttime yet.
He was relieved to see that he was at least finally out from under the massive pentacle that eternally filled the sky over Pentagram City, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other over the megalopolis. Since the Imps' ghetto was supposed to be on the outer areas of the so-called Pride Ring, which all of this was apparently built upon like some evil version of a Flat Earther's wet dream, this was as it should be. While he remained unimpressed with the new locale, having a clear view of even a blood red sky was welcome, as the massive demonic symbol ever overhead left him with an uneasy feeling, as if he were trapped standing beneath a massive bull's eye constantly.
It helped that he no longer needed to keep an eye open right above himself all the time. Or not quite so much as in Pentagram City, he corrected himself, as his attention was then drawn by a scream to the sight of a vague figure dropping out of the sky in the far distance. This was still an improvement, however, as he and his men had yet to fully develop the "sixth sense" that allowed the experienced denizens, whether they were the monstrous freaks that made up the majority or the comparatively normal-looking ones that appeared in noticeable numbers, to generally avoid having some confused newcomer land on them.
He himself had wound up kissing concrete multiple times since he'd appeared here. The first two happened within an hour of his own arrival, starting with an anthropomorphic mangy cat whose panicked jabbering quickly revealed him to be an Eleven, likely one of the ghetto dwellers that the royal guard must have still been in the process of sweeping away, followed by a lowly infantryman whose first reaction upon standing back up was to scream "Another one!" at a horned, red-skinned inhabitant waiting at a bus stop before running off in a panic. Since then, there had been various dead Euros, Elevens and other Numbers, a Chinaman, a few of his fellow loyal subjects whether civilian or fellow military, and one he labeled "unknown" as he'd been having a particularly bad day at the time and shot the now-deformed woman before she'd given any indication as to her nationality.
With a sigh, he placed his officer's cap on his head, needlessly adjusting it to a proper position with deliberate effort. "Right... let's get this over with. They're on the seventh floor, so hopefully the elevator will work."
"Begging your pardon, my lord," the driver suddenly spoke up, halfway to returning to the driver's door.
The officer shot him a look for that, but not much of one as he would have before. Of the members of his company and other soldiers who'd been sent here during that miserable day, barely half of them still remained. The rest were long gone, either having panicked and run off in hysterics once they realized where they were, or had in time abandoned their discipline and their loyalty to join the casual anarchy that was a standard of living here. What remained like any limited resource had to be husbanded, and as such the rod had to be spared. Still, a slight hint of warning crept into his voice.
"Yes, corporal?"
"Will this work, sir? These... subhumans are obviously untrustworthy, so I am concerned this is all a confidence game that will affect morale. My lord."
He would never say anything to praise any of that, but he did note that his driver had worded it in such a way that it did not sound like his orders were being questioned. In addition, it did place the local Numbers on the spot if this whole operation did prove to be a farce. And so, he judged it worthy of a proper answer, rather than a rebuke.
A lesser man in his situation would have said that it had to work – "Because I don't know what we're going to do if it doesn't" – or something along those lines. Desperate yet honest... but also undignified, and therefore not proper. Thankfully, he was not a lesser man; he was a Britannian, by God. What's more, he was a Britannian soldier, which should mean something even here. As such, he gave his subordinate a confident smirk as he answered.
"Sure enough to make this godforsaken trip, as well as send in a recon team beforehand." With a nod of his head, he drew his soldiers' attention to the building directly across the street and then a few floors up.
"Their reports on our 'persons'-of-interest have made no mention of using any sort of access point here or elsewhere, but they have been regularly meeting with prospective clients. That and frequent weapons maintenance, along with some rather slipshod practice drills, suggests that they're not just sitting on their laurels, waiting for the gullible to waltz up and literally pay them for nothing.
"As for audio confirmation," he stopped and fingered a "bug" he'd hidden upon himself before finishing with a smirk, "that's our job. Then we'll know for sure just how accurate the boasts made by their advertisement are. In many ways, this is all just a 'con game' of our own so we can learn all the intricacies of their little secret for ourselves."
With that, the corporal's evident curiosity was settled and he began to duck back into the car for a fruitless search for a decent parking spot somewhere, the honking horns having formed into an evil collection of bell ringers in the past minute. His C.O. waited until he was nearly settled in before he spoke up again.
"And besides..."
His driver immediately jumped out of the car and stood to attention as his little jerkass power play concluded.
"... we've a duty. To protect our empire from threats both external and internal, and there's none more internal than that traitor."
This brought a look of anger mixed with determination to his men, which he nodded at as they both turned to their more immediate duties: the driver going off to find a parking space somewhere before meeting up with the recon team, while his guard followed him to his meeting. Feeling a little revitalized himself, the officer easily crossed the distance leading up to the front doors. As he entered the building that held the dubious honor of being the corporate headquarters for the Immediate Murder Professionals, however, his happy contemplation on the near future quickly evaporated as his stride was broken by the almost deliberately squalid state of the lobby.
"Dear God," he couldn't help but think, "this is just ridic—"
Earth, Area 11 (nee Republic of Japan). Sometime earlier.
"—ulous," the magenta redhead thought as she took in the opulent hall. The empty opulent hall that could easily be converted for use as a hospital ward or the center for some kind of outreach program. It might even serve as a schoolhouse in and of itself, but instead looked to be going to waste as the sound of her footfalls clearly echoed. She had gotten used to how upscale Ashford Academy was, with classrooms laid out more like a university's lecture halls as just one example, but this was getting to be a bit much.
"I didn't even know this place existed," the girl known publicly as Kallen Stadtfeld said aloud as she tried to get a sense of reason for the extravagance. It helped that she was speaking truthfully, but then again, she made a point of spending only as much time at the Britannian boarding school as was required to satisfy Baron Stadtfeld, so most of the grounds were a mystery to her now that she thought of it. She'd meant to correct that after she'd stumbled upon a chapel on campus she hadn't known about either, but had let that slip away before too long.
"It's the clubhouse for the campus's student government... by default," her target responded, his voice taking on a lecturing quality even as it remained a disinterested monotone otherwise. "They built it as a ballroom for special occasions originally, but as most of the students are commoners, with only a few children of nobles in attendance such as yourself, that doesn't happen as often as the headmaster intended. So it's become the Student Council's place for peace and quiet away from the more bothersome activity clubs, otherwise it would just go to waste."
Squelching the desire to voice her thoughts on better uses for the property, Kallen instead absentmindedly fingered her pink-trimmed clutch with its spring-loaded blade as she mentally prepared herself. The lanky boy with the raven black hair may have been someone special for her vapid Britannian "friends" to go into a tizzy over, but to her Lelouch Lamperouge was her main (and only) suspect for a voice she'd heard less than a week ago.
An unidentified voice on the radio, which had led her late brother's freedom fighters on a counteroffensive that horrible day in Shinjuku. It had not only guided them to an unattended supply of Knightmare frames, but also provided strategy and plans for attacks which stymied the Viceroy's royal guards at every turn, leaving the soldiers either dead or in retreat. The voice's transmissions had cut off in the last half-hour before scouts reported that the remaining Britannians had apparently decided to call it a day, withdrawing along with the prince's mobile base, which had somehow been damaged despite none of them getting that close to it.
The disappearance of their mystery ally had been of little consequence by then, however, as all enemy KMF's had already been neutralized, leaving only scattered bands of artillery and infantry to deal with. Other than Tamaki's dunderheaded use of fleeing civilians as bait to draw these remnants into one spot, which had proven to include a still-functioning tank of all things, their cell's retreat from Clovis's secret poison gas lab had turned from a fiasco into something of a victory for Japanese liberation.
Thoughts of the former entertainment district aptly serving as a stage for demonstrating the Japanese's continued resilience only lasted a few days before evaporating. This was due to the actions of a Britannian, but not the prince or some military official getting their pound of flesh back as she'd expected though. Nor had these actions been felt by anyone beyond herself.
Having returned to the academy at the insistence of her ostensible leader, Kozuki Kallen had hardly adjusted to once again doffing her rightful name along with her combat fatigues...
(A term for the set of active-wear she wore as an insurgent which was much preferable to the "sexy lederhosen" epithet some had tagged them with.)
...in exchange for the identity and private school uniform of Kallen Stadtfeld, when an unfamiliar student's casual mention of the freshly re-devastated ghetto to her – and his bizarre behavior immediately after doing so – had set off alarm bells in her mind. Alarms that were going to settled now, and with extreme prejudice if it came to that.
She was about to confirm that they were free to talk – or rather to act in her case – without any interruptions when...
"While there is a lot of room for just three people to handle, no place that you can call home is ever really a waste, young Mr. Lamperouge."
While hardly the most threatening thing she'd ever heard, Kallen nevertheless snapped her head around in the direction of the bubbly, mature voice that had just been added to their conversation. It was from a slim, full-chested woman of 20-something years who fairly skipped down the clubhouse's grand staircase towards them. That she did so would normally indicate a lack of common sense, as while it billowed out effortlessly enough, the woman's bluish-green skirt was still practically floor length. Yet she easily traversed the steps successfully and without tripping on the hem, suggesting keenly developed grace and balance instead.
As far down as it went, the skirt also reached upwards, its high, buttoned-up waist enclosing the woman's lower torso almost like a corset. Tucked into it was a cream-colored blouse whose body was decorated with a pattern of stemmed cherries, and was closed at the neck by a brooch. Said accessory was mostly a green gem – whether it was real or stage jewelry, only her equally snooty as she was slutty stepmother could have told at a glance – almost the same shade as the woman's eyes, which were smartly emphasized by a pair of oval-rimmed glasses that lay balanced upon the tip of her button nose. Definitely a different shade of green was the strip of a scarf being used as a headband, keeping back her mane of blond hair. She was a wheat blonde, her hair tinged with hints of a light brown but not so pervasively as to label her as a dirty blonde. In fact, given the aura of chirpiness she exuded, Kallen doubted that there was anything impure about the mystery adult's character at all, with not a single off-color thought in her head.
Which was not necessarily a good thing in Kallen's estimation. While the smiling woman was likely as innocent as she looked of any direct action against her people, it also made her part of the silent majority that allowed those who did to escape justice. As much as it felt like kicking a puppy, Kallen instantly wished for something to come along and nudge the woman off of her pedestal, whoever she was.
And as if in answer to that unspoken query...
"Mrs. Mayberry?!" Out of the corner of her eye, Kallen saw Lelouch actually do a double-take as he noticed the presence of the newly-named woman approaching them. To his credit, Lelouch quickly got over his shock as he more calmly addressed the third wheel. "I thought you had taken the week off for a visit to the homeland. To visit your husband Jarold for his birthday, right?"
"That was the plan, but for some reason, all outgoing flights are grounded until further notice. I was in the airport terminal when suddenly the information boards all started reading 'cancelled', then security personnel starting popping up everywhere I looked. I couldn't get any explanation from the lady at the ticket counter other than something about 'security matters'. Then she whispered at me to get out while I still could. I listened and was literally driving away just as a caravan of troop transports started arriving."
"Kuso," Kallen thought. "I can bet I know why... and maybe so can he."
She glanced suspiciously at Lelouch again, only to find herself more overtly joined by Mrs. Mayberry of all people. The adult's effervescent disposition had already dropped from a Level 9 to about a 5 with her account of her near-escape from a surely pointless night spent having to repeatedly explain who she was and why she was leaving Japan to people who were duty bound to find her story questionable without a royal edict signed in triplicate by His Imperial Bastardness. Now it was marred further by a raised eyebrow and a tilting of her head as she gave the teenaged boy a slightly worried look.
"You know, I don't recall ever telling you my husband's name, Lelouch."
"Why, Mrs. Mayberry, the name 'Jarold Mayberry' was listed among your job application papers under emergency contact information. I later noticed your wedding ring during your interview, and simply put two and two together."
His "Elementary, my dear Watson"-ish response was smooth, logical, and undid any trepidation of uncouth behavior on his part. It was also demonstrative of the presumption of Britannians. He might not have anything to do with the Shinjuku Massacre after all, but Kallen now determined that she was going to smack him around once she had the opportunity just the same. Mrs. Mayberry, of course, took an entirely different stance on this invasion of her privacy.
"Ah, that explains it. And that's exactly that sort of brainwork I like to see," she said, her expression all sunshine and baskets full of puppies again along with her voice. "Well, anyway, I started calling around to let people know I was still available, and young Miss Ashford caught the telephone here. We got to talking, and so now I'm here to hopefully make this a double celebration."
"'Double celebration'?" the teenagers said together as one, provoking a giggle from their elder.
"Why, yes. You are Kallen, aren't you?" Mrs. Mayberry asked as she approached her, holding a hand out to shake.
Face-palming himself, Lelouch answered the question for her, turning from one to the other and back again while gesticulating as he finally introduced them. "Yes, ma'am, yes, she is. Kallen Stadtfeld, Cerise Mayberry. Mrs. Mayberry, Baron Stadtfeld's daughter, Kallen."
Although bristling a bit at the unwanted form of introduction, Kallen still gave a slightly deeper than usual nod as she quickly stepped forward, the woman's suddenly bewildered expression showing she hadn't known that Kallen was the child of nobility. Before Mrs. Mayberry could turn her stance into – God forbid – a curtsy of some kind, Kallen willed her hand to slacken a bit to keep in character as the campus's "poor little rich girl" as she daintily accepted the apparent staff member's proffered handshake. Thankfully, her focus was enough that her grip didn't suddenly turn into that of a bear trap out of aggravation as yet another surprise joined the secret revolutionary's already crowded party.
From around the corner behind them, the telltale electronic ding of a bell was heard along with the unmistakable sound of elevator doors rattling open. It was followed quickly by another feminine voice shouting aloud, "Madame President! I think we found the right stuff this time! They look like they go with Lulu's computer, and they were in the basement just where Miss Sayoko said they'd be! Oh!"
The source of the voice, a girl about her age also dressed for the academy's high school division, suddenly came to a halt as she rounded the corner and saw Kallen standing there with Lelouch and Mrs. Mayberry. With her was a freshly dusted-off cardboard box which had "computer accessories" informatively written across its side in all caps with a permanent marker. She wasn't carrying it herself, but rather it was on the lap of a girl sitting in the wheelchair that she'd been pushing along, who thankfully kept a good grip on the box at the unexpected stop.
Kallen quickly took in this new pair of strangers, both of whom were more of your typical female Ashford student with looks ranging from decent-looking to attractive. Indeed, the girl her age was probably considered a looker by the boys: long legs, straight coppery hair that reached down to her slim waist, and bright eyes that were rather alike Mrs. Mayberry's. Bright eyes that were now giving her a look of unease for no reason she could guess. Kallen wondered about that even as she took in the girl in the wheelchair, in whom more similarities could be seen. Based upon the Ashford-brand pink gymslip she wore, she guessed the girl was a middle schooler. No refugee from a certain Victor Hugo novel either, her cute heart-shaped face and thick mane of wavy, sandy brown hair also brought the married woman to mind.
"A daughter?" she supposed, although it would help confirmation if she could see the girl's eyes, too. Wondering why she kept them closed, Kallen then noticed that there were no plaster casts on her legs or other visible reasons for the girl to be wheelchair-bound.
That was the last conscious thought that Kallen had for the next moment or two. Thanks to her survival instincts, developed from her time spent in the ghettoes and with her brother's resistance cell, her body automatically reacted to unconsciously detected changes around her. As such, she deftly stepped to the side just in time as Lelouch all but body-checked her as he suddenly came up from behind her.
"Hey, watch it!" she cried as he shot past, but her suspect's attention may as well been a million miles away.
"For God's sake, Shirley!" he snapped at one of the two newcomers, whom she soon guessed to be the standing high schooler as he all but knelt, fretting over the younger girl. "Nunnally nearly fell out onto the floor, you braked so hard!"
"Lelouch, I'm fine!" the girl, still holding her eyes closed, said with a voice that meant to soothe but also had an edge to it which, even having just met her, Kallen found rather surprising. Mrs. Mayberry and the apparent Shirley either missed it or were used to it, as they showed no reaction. Or less reaction than she did as her target suddenly responded with a tone that, while holding nothing like the adult's almost musical lilt, was suddenly un-robotic as he adopted an even more mollifying tone.
"Just making certain, Nunnally," Lelouch said while giving Shirley a look that made her wilt like a scolded dog. His blood pressure evidently leveling off after that little vent, he then opened the box – which he had lifted off from the girl with an audible grunt – to look inside. "What are you rummaging around the storage boxes for anyway? I barely use these on my laptop."
"Uh, yes, but they are the accessories for video-conferencing, right?" Shirley answered timidly, still smarting from Lelouch's tone a moment before. "And Mrs. Mayberry needs them for something special... and private."
"Because of her cancelled flight plans." It wasn't a question, simply Lelouch coming to another deduction. "Okay, I'll go get my computer and we can set up—"
"Rivalz is already helping with that in the conference room while Milly and—"
"Rivalz?!" Without another word, Lelouch practically performed a pirouette as he turned around and began racing towards another part of the manor. To Kallen's mind, however, the term "racing" was rather diplomatic. Perhaps it was because he was still lugging the box, but it was actually more of an energetic walk that he'd broken into as he "swept" past herself and Mrs. Mayberry.
"I guess he hasn't forgotten about Mr. Cardemonde's, uh, accident anymore than the Computer Club has," Mrs. Mayberry said to no one in particular.
"The computer lab still kind of smells like ozone and melted wires, even from outside," the younger girl, whose name was Nunnally evidently, added as her nose scrunched up a little.
"Yeesh, what the Hell did this Rivalz guy do?" Kallen silently wondered. But any hopes that the remainder of that little incident would be explained were vanquished as, visibly perking herself up by will alone, Shirley turned back to her junior partner.
"Okay, Nunnally. Should we go help Milly and Miss Sayoko in the kitchen, or return to the meeting room and stop your brother from committing a mortal sin?"
After a moment's reflection, Nunnally answered, "Let's go save Rivalz." Stifling a snicker, she then added, "Besides, you make it sound like it's too late for big brother already sometimes." While the orangette tried to sputter out a rebuttal, Kallen tried not to laugh herself, as did Mrs. Mayberry, with only limited success.
With her hands now free, Nunnally then drove forward her wheelchair, which for some reason was operated by what looked to be a pair of computer mouse "trackballs" embedded in its armrests rather than a simple joystick, after Lelouch. As she began to pass her by, however, the girl stopped and, facing in the general direction where Kallen stood, held out a hand.
"You're Kallen, right? I'm Nunnally Lamperouge, and this is Shirley Fenette. Welcome to our club."
"Lamperouge, too?" she thought before reaching out and taking the younger girl's hand. "Yes, I'm Kallen and... it's nice to meet both of you."
Her questions about being welcomed to some club died as their hands interlocked. Kallen naturally kept up an unconscious emotional wall, always on her guard while posing as a full-blooded Britannain. But a sense of genuine warmth and kindness flowed almost like electrical current from the girl in the wheelchair, penetrating the barriers Kallen kept around herself. Perhaps it was less of some vibe that Nunnally gave off, and more the apparent fact that, if someone like her was let loose around this place, then it wasn't some kind of trap as Kallen had feared and she could relax.
In any case, Kallen returned the unseeing girl's smile, doing so naturally as opposed to the conscious act she had to perform usually. She didn't realize it though until she noticed Shirley, no longer trying to defend herself from accusations made against the raven-haired boy, unconsciously nodding in approval at their exchange, whatever unease she had also felt a minute before gone and forgotten. With that done, Nunnally mentioned offhand they'd talk more after the business with the video-conference was done, then she and Shirley continued on their way.
"'Big brother'?" Kallen asked after a moment or two, finally alone with Mrs. Mayberry. Her brief interaction with the middle schooler had left her feeling that maybe she was safe around these people after all, and she could ask at least some point-blank questions about why she was there, among others topics.
"Oh, yes. Explains the Jekyll-and-Hyde reaction just now, doesn't it?" She then took a step forward out of the grand hall, entreating Kallen to follow her and meet with the student council president, who would finally explain everything to her.
"Glad there's someone around here who wouldn't mind telling me what's going on," Kallen thought moodily. While everyone – well, most everyone – had been pleasant so far, she was getting just a tad tired of being kept in the dark.
"She gives a better first impression than he does," Kallen spoke with a chuckle that the adult matched. "Plus, for a moment I was sure that she was, uhm..."
"Hmmm?"
"I thought I'd caught onto a resemblance between Nunnally and you," she added nervously, not sure how to broach the subject.
Mrs. Mayberry had been looking at her out of the corner of her eye, and suddenly came up short at that. Kallen stopped too and, even though she was looking away from her now, she caught onto a hint of stress in the woman which hadn't been there before. Or perhaps she just hadn't noticed it.
"N-no... sorry, but nothing like that. I'm complimented that you... but no," Mrs. Mayberry said with a faraway voice. She began walking again after a moment, her voice returning to almost normal as she explained. "Their parents aren't in the picture for whatever reason, and Lelouch steps up to the plate as both elder brother and parental figure, with some help from one of the Ashfords' staff and Miss Ashford – Milly – herself."
"No parents," Kallen muttered to herself, wondering.
"I believe that the headmaster, Lord Reuben, is legally their guardian, but other than that, I don't really know any of the details. I've never pried, but I have pieced together that they've lived here for a long time, likely even before Area 11 was founded... which provides all sorts of explanations for why Lelouch behaves as he does and why Nunnally is in the state she's in, I'm afraid."
Kallen took in a sharp breath as Mrs. Mayberry's words conveyed the unspoken. "So that's why she's using a wheelchair."
"And such a high-end one at that, too," she contemplated further. It hadn't been one of the typical aluminum pipe configurations that could be folded and unfolded for easy transport, with only some planes of upholstery bolted on to serve as a seat and the backrest. Rather, it had looked like an armchair with wheels on the sides, which if you were going to have to use a wheelchair for extended periods of times (i.e., the rest of your life most likely) was preferable. It had surely cost a pretty penny but was an understandable expense, not like the gaudy contraption Kallen remembered her stepmother had considered buying when she twisted her ankle while doing God knows what (or who).
"Honestly, that thing looked like a miniature spinning teacup ride!"
"Yes, as well as the, uh, er, oh my stars..." Mrs. Mayberry looked at her directly and waved a hand in front of her own face while affecting a blank stare. Kallen mentally slapped herself upside the head as she finally caught on that the younger girl was blind too.
"That does provide explanations... for a lot of things," she considered. Two children, caught up in the invasion, possibly orphaned by "friendly fire", and one left a cripple in a society that ruthlessly prizes strength above all else. Someone who'd experienced all that would probably have little hesitation about aiding and abetting terrorists if the opportunity arose.
"Which is how I got to meet them."
The apparent non-sequitur shook Kallen from her thoughts, bringing her back to the present as she gave Mrs. Mayberry a questioning look. "Huh?"
"Well, you see, schools in newly instituted areas usually offer better-than-average salaries as an incentive to attract educators. I needed the income for... reasons..." – for a moment, the tension from earlier was there again, but it vanished just as quickly – "and came here about a year ago to teach at a primary school affiliated with Ashford Academy. As such, Lord Reuben saw in my résumé that I know braille..."
"You do?"
"Oh, yes. Growing up, I had a great-aunt who had bad macular degeneration," Mrs. Mayberry explained as they continued down the hallway. "Anyway, that got me summoned for an interview with him – or Lelouch, rather – as a tutor for Nunnally after school. And that's how I met them."
"Along with the rest of us."
The amused voice, accompanied by a sweet smell and the clink of tableware, alerted Kallen that she and the slightly enigmatic teacher had made the short walk from the grand hall to the kitchen during their conversation. And while that had been a distraction for her, the sound of their voices had not gone unnoticed by the kitchen's occupants.
The first to gain her attention, if only because of his animated behavior, was a teenaged boy who suddenly whirled around from the refrigerator as they walked in, slamming it shut with a bang as he stood to attention in front of it. He smiled nervously at them and held his hands behind himself, freeing up just one to wave a rather pathetic greeting to them. He was old enough to be in the high school division too, although a tad shorter than herself or Lelouch, and was dressed appropriately in a black suit trimmed with golden lining. He had dark greyish blue hair, which to her mild annoyance was styled not unlike how she preferred her own hair with the sides and bangs flared out like tiny hawk wings, instead of hanging limply as hers did at the moment.
The next to earn notice was a woman of similar age to Mrs. Mayberry, smartly dressed as a maid and, more importantly, a fellow countryman, although that was obvious in her case. Unlike Kallen herself, whom you had to know was biracial to see the hints of Japanese ethnicity that she had sparingly received from her mother, there was no mistaking that this woman, whoever she used to be or could have been before the occupation, was an Eleven. Or more likely an Honorary Britannian to work in a fine establishment such as this. Kallen took this in at a glance, as well as remembering some things Mrs. Mayberry had said earlier, and correctly guessed she was the staff member charged with essentially being Nunnally's nurse.
She then moved onto the third and hardly last of the small group in the kitchen, the speaker who had more or less greeted them... and as it happened gave her little choice in the matter.
"Hello there!" The blond teenager had already crossed the room from where she'd been organizing items on a cart to meet the two of them, grasping one of Kallen's hands to pump in a double-handshake. She was clearly an upperclassman as her apron did little to cover the telltale necktie, blazer, and skirt combination they both wore, although she could pass as a first-year college student with her womanly physique. "The one and only Millicent Ashford, or Milly to my friends," she proudly announced. "And you must be Kallen Stadtfeld. Welcome!"
Yet another pleasant greeting, this one effusively so, that prevented Kallen from getting a word in edgewise. It didn't help that, just for a moment, there was a glean in Milly's eyes that made Kallen oddly nervous. It signified something not unlike when a lion came upon a succulent gazelle in the wild... or when the official Lady Stadtfeld espied a charming young man within striking distance. But, even more so than with the stress-filled moments with Mrs. Mayberry, it was gone just as soon as it had arrived, and Kallen wasn't sure if she just imagined it, letting her previous experiences with the nobility color her expectations.
"This is Miss Sayoko, who really runs the place," the blonde added, turning her head towards the maid, who answered with an amused smile before leaning into a quick bow. Kallen's eyebrow cocked slightly as she caught on to at least a hint of what may be some genuine appreciation and familiarity between the two, normally an anathema in most homes, noble or otherwise, around her defiled homeland.
"And I see you've met Mrs. Mayberry, yet another unofficial member of Team Ashford." Milly finally ended her handshake as she said so, only to clasp her hands together with a clap.
"Uh... ahem?"
For a moment, Kallen was confused as to where the mildly offended voice came from before remembering the rooster in the henhouse, then glanced at the slightly annoyed-looking boy that wore her hairstyle.
"He really does just blend into the background, doesn't he?" she thought, a reaction that Milly unfortunately also shared.
"Oops!" she said, covering her mouth in momentary embarrassment before changing it into a wave towards the flustered boy, her tone of voice suggesting no faux pas had happened at all. "And that's Rivalz Cardemonde. If you need anything, like a ride somewhere on short notice, call for him."
"'Computer Club' Rivalz?" she asked cattishly. Her assumption was not only right, but also hit a nerve as Rivalz slumped his head in defeat before rallying himself.
"For the millionth time, I just happened to be there when a power surge happened! Honestly, how could switching out mouses have caused all of that anyway?"
"And yet here you are instead of helping Nina with Lelouch's laptop," the mature girl playfully reprimanded.
"She could hook the darn thing up by herself, and Lelouch has it like... quadruple password-protected or something, so once we turned it on, there was nothing left to do really."
"I'm sorry you couldn't do more without Lelouch to help me, Rivalz, but at least you weren't tempted to try looking into your friend's files or anything," Mrs. Mayberry said, adding her two cents, although the boy then grinned nervously.
"Actually..." Rivalz began, but was cut off by a loud cough from the young heiress. Kallen just smirked as she watched the interplay between the two continue.
"Uh, well, it's not like we could even if we wanted to," he began again, trying to sound just a little too innocent, "but like I said, it has safeguards on top of safeguards. I'm no hacker, and Nina worried that the thing would self-destruct or something aft—uh, if it got too many wrong password entries. Besides, I needed to come back here and get—"
Rivalz suddenly stopped short and looked at them again out of the corner of his eye. Kallen really began to wonder what he was trying to block from view with his body as he started sidestepping around them.
"—er, get going back to the conference room and help with... with whatever else I can do for your party, Kallen. Pleased to meetcha, and, uh, bye for now!" Having completed his circuit around them and out through the door, the boy whirled around, again keeping whatever he was carrying out of sight as he did so, and ran off.
"Glad he brought that up again," Mrs. Mayberry said, turning her attention to the heiress. "Speaking of young Miss Stadtfeld's party, I think you need to elucidate what it's in celebration of."
Nodding at the adult gratefully, Kallen turned back to Milly as the bombastic girl set about talking a mile a minute, even as she continued fussing with the cart's contents. Seeing that everything was under control, Mrs. Mayberry gave Kallen a quick smile as she backed out of the kitchen herself, leaving the two teenagers to hash things out.
"Well, as the headmaster's granddaughter, I am student body president, which is a fancy way of saying I'm the school captain and head prefect all rolled into one. As such, I've assembled the Student Council using whichever students I feel can best do the job. Some are in clubs, some are not. That way, with people who share the perspective of the club members, as well as those who aren't beholden to any group and instead look at the broader picture, the council is balanced and can see both sides of issues like funding. Nice plan, huh?"
"Er, if you say so," Kallen answered unconvincingly. She'd been a little girl when Japan's nominally democratic government went poof, so how an actual parliamentary system of elected officials was supposed to work – outside the biased political science classes she'd taken – was a mystery to her. Behind the apparent ruler of the student body, Sayoko caught her eye as she gave Kallen a corresponding shrug of her shoulders.
"Anyway," Milly said with a tone that indicated Kallen's lack of understanding hadn't been lost on her, "my grandfather is concerned about you, as your medical condition gets in the way of you joining any clubs, which every student at Ashford Academy has to attend at least one."
"Didn't you just now say some of the council members aren't in clubs?"
"The Student Council is a club, a very unique club," Milly responded with a Cheshire grin even as she returned to her task on the kitchen's island counter. "I got access to the paperwork on you, saw your high grades, and decided that you're a good fit for us. And so, I sent out the word to invite you over here for your welcoming party."
As if on cue, Sayoko came over to a large serving platter sitting near Milly and plopped out of its pan one of a pair of thick, round cake layers that Kallen had smelled earlier, having been left sitting out on the stovetop to cool off. She immediately began to spread icing on the top of it in preparation for the next layer while Milly fussed with what Kallen now noticed was an icing dispenser, apparently trying to choose a nozzle to use.
"She just assumed I would jump at the opportunity? Either she's very confident, or I'm somehow giving off a 'one of the elite' vibe," Kallen thought for a moment. She dismissed the idea soon enough, getting a sense that Milly wouldn't want someone who was in it just to make their classmates kiss their feet, but that didn't mean she was open to the idea. "Don't want to spend more time with Britannians than I have to already, plus this 'every student must join a club' rule may give me the excuse I need to simply drop the academy altogether." Aside from the school itself, she hated the routine of having to go on sick leave for days on end in order to get any real work with the resistance done, and she'd rather move out of the mansion and back in with the others in the ghettoes. Sure, Ohgi would raise a fuss over her dropping out of school, but she'd take if it meant getting far from her father, his wife, and, worst of all, her own moth—
"Give it some thought before you decide," Milly added, her back to the redhead as she tried to test squirt icing in patterns or letters on a small plate. "It's pretty neat being on the Student Council. Sure, we have to calculate budgets and schedule who can do what when and where, but that means we have control over campus events."
"Bor~ring..."
"In return, we have easy access to pretty much the entire campus and everything in it. Even places that are usually off-limits even to the staff."
Now, that piqued Kallen's interest. Stroking her chin with a finger, she quickly considered the possibilities. "A discreet way in and out of school... I could use that to leave and return to campus without pretending to be at death's door all the time. Plus, it could also be of use to the gang if they needed a way in and around the settlement without being noticed. Also, access to Britannian information and supplies. Hmmmm..."
She was shaken from her musings when she noticed Milly had turned back to her, holding out a hand to shake as her face again was all smiles, as if she knew perfectly well the Faustian offer she was making to the freedom fighter.
"So, do we have a deal?"
End of Part I
