Characters: Izaya Orihara, President Lory Takarada, Kanae Kotonami (Moko), Kyoko Mogami, Shizuo Heiwajima

Chapter One: In Which Pandora's Fairy is Captured and a Vending Machine is Thrown with Unusual Ease of Practice

Izaya charmed the pretty LME secretaries into telling him what he needed to know about auditions, and they gave him packets on all the departments. Everything, everything, everything... Izaya loved humans. He just wondered if they ever knew when to shut up.

Well, whatever. It was fine. They had done well. Izaya had already figured out a scheme to get Shizuo where he wanted him, and he knew exactly which packet of propaganda to use.

In the meantime—

Complete with whistles and cowbells, Lory Takarada, President of LME, walked by, his footsteps followed by a chaotically long line of people, props, costumes and musical cacophony, a collection which might be called a 'parade' and the term would still classify as an understatement...

—Izaya completely lost his train of thought, which hadn't happened to him since before he came to Ikebukuro. Or perhaps that time when he first met Shizuo? He came to himself with a jolt. There was a girl with long black hair with a taut, sharp face and a fierce expression in a bright pink suit waving in front of his face.

She snapped her fingers. Didn't work. "Ah, mou," she said, and snapped them again. "Snap out of it!"

Izaya blinked and took a step back. "Uh. Thanks."

"Him!" The girl fumed, but stopped waving her hands in his face. "I wish President Takarada would think about mortals like us. First meeting, everyone zones out! Mou!"

"He's like that every time?" Izaya's eyes dropped to the badge on the girl's chest. The circular badge, only slightly paler than the shocking pink suit, read, LoveMe. A cartoon hand with thumb and forefinger outstretched formed the L. Izaya grinned. A member of the mysterious section was here, right before his eyes.

"Yes." She rolled her eyes. "He's the president." The girl harrumphed again. "You get used to it, of course, although he never fails to surprise with the current theme of the day..."

"Moko-chan!" A happy, grinning orange-haired girl in a matching pink unifrom sprang out from behind a door somewhere. "It's time to go to work!... Eh? Who is this, Moko-chan?"

"Coming!" said the girl called Moko, whirling away from Izaya so fast that her long black hair hit his face. It stung. "Mou! I couldn't let this guy keep staring a hole in the wall—!"

"Aa? Is that right? But you don't usually bother with the newbies, Moko-chan..." said the orange-haired girl in a cheerful, adoring voice. Moko-chan said something to her friend, changed the subject. Immediately a black mood descended, and the other girl turned away without saying anything, and hurried away preoccupied.

New. New. Newbie? Izaya's cold, pitying crocodile smile snapped open and cracked a little wider. He'd show them. He would never stay that way for long.

Just then he felt something slam into the back of his neck, something so ice-cold that it was hot—uuuh, like dry ice—it slipped and slid down, underneath his shirt. Whatever it was wriggled and made small, murmuring noises. Irritated, Izaya reached back and pulled out the thing, wincing as its blue-black aura bit at his fingers. No doubt he now had a rather long ice-burn racing up and down his back.

The icy thing warmed up just enough that he could get a good look at it. It was a blue-spirit version of the orange-haired girl. It was crying pitifully and trying to escape, though its freeze-burning tail was trapped between Izaya's fingers. As soon as it noticed Izaya, it redoubled its efforts to exude the chilling, freezing aura, but Izaya was wise to it and quickly covered it over with his sleeves as a countermeasure.

The 'demon' and the boy stared at each other. Izaya's grin stretched. He put the girl-demon in his pocket, and zipped it shut. He was done here; he left and, once home, he trapped her under a mug. The girl-demon huddled in a pool of tears.

The day of the audition arrived. Izaya had put much thought and planning into it. He decided he was going to show off his Parkour skills by jumping all over the stage, if Shizuo didn't arrive. If Shizuo did arrive, there would be an impressive fight. If only he could bring his knives. Izaya had already completed and entered Shizuo's paperwork for him; that was one advantage being an information broker afforded him. The trouble was making sure that Shizuo would arrive exactly when he was needed, and if he didn't come at that time exactly, then he needn't come at all. He managed it, though.

Izaya had planted a message to Shizuo yesterday with the LoveMe pamphlet. It was a time bomb. Lory Takarada's misplaced and romantically idealistic visions of love were just the kind of thing that was guaranteed to tick Shizuo off. Izaya then added his own message in Sharpie, writing it in English Pig Latin just to tick off Shizuo. Pig in his eye! That shouldn't be too hard for Shizuo, who was quizzically good at English while he struggled with other high school subjects. It was probably because he was actually interested. Anyhow, if Shizuo put his mind to it, Izaya figured that he would finish decoding fairly quickly. He helpfully included the time and place of the audition with normal Japanese words, so there would be no misunderstandings.

Which meant that if Shizuo didn't bother to look at the pamphlet, then he probably wouldn't come at all. If he was too late, Shizuo couldn't do anything, because of the witnesses, and the security. Not even Shizuo would test the likelihood of earning a lawsuit. Probably. Izaya checked the time.

He didn't wear anything particularly new, just his usual distinctive gothic outfit: black jeans, black shirt, black overcoat with brown faux-fur lining, black shoes, black hair. Nothing was new. It looked well-worn but un-scuffed. He kept the wide silver band on his finger and the silver cylinder earmark as well; though he thought the agency might not like those, they were a part of his edge.

Naturally, Shizuo would be wearing his bartender outfit. Izaya suddenly remembered last new year's resolutions—which he had promptly forgotten about, of course—one of which had been to get Shizuo to wear a new uniform... He laughed to himself.

There were other guys waiting for the audition. Some of them looked preppy and squeaky clean; these reminded him of Mikado, and his high school days with Shinra. Others were showy and brash, even punk, looking like they had dropped out of an amateur rock video. Naturally, no one wore their school uniforms. That would be uninspired.

The audition began. Izaya, along with the rest of the applicants, intoned his name, age, and blood type when his turn came. The judges asked a few questions about ambitions and motivations and so forth, and then the applicants were given time to prepare for their special talent section. Izaya fingered his watch.

"I am Izaya Orihara, number 46. Ouya, oiya, everyone." He waved. "My skills are called Parkour, which, simply put, is the way to move from point A to point B in a straight line despite obstacles. I have asked for the stage to be set up as an obstacle course." He surveyed the room. "Naturally, this is not enough."

He dragged a couple of chairs around, setting some upside down, some up, and some on their sides, and nudged the tables to less advantageous places.

"And now," he continued, "you will see me reach the summit—there." Izaya pointed to a point high in the air and beyond the judges—the video camera. The judges all twisted to see. "The video camera," Izaya clarified, with a small, pitying smile.

"That high?" one murmured in astonishment.

"Yes, yes. Have you got a timer?"

"Ah, yes." One man gulped and fiddled with a small pocketwatch device.

"Set it."

"Done. Are you ready?"

Izaya bowed.

"Set." Izaya straightened. "Go!"

Izaya lurched over the first hurdle, and got going uncannily fast. He leapt over the chairs and ducked under tables, swing around poles, flipped off the stage, and landed on the judges' table as smoothly as a cat. A few papers floated to the floor. Izaya dived forward again, grasping the rail behind them with his hands, and catapaulted himself to the seats of the grand theater hall that was also the audition room.

The judges, as expected, gasped and wrenched around so they could watch him. Izaya easily navigated the audience field, taking each empty chair one at a time by mostly running over the rims of their backs. He leaped, ran up the wall, sprang back to the last seat row and jumped to grasp the bars of the second story fence, flung himself up and around. He tilted across the last row of seats, ran up the wall again, and smacked the video camera. The filming crew gasped.

Izaya loped down to the first floor with a couple of casual swings and swatted the second video camera on the lower level. This time, he heard muffled cursing from the crew.

"I could touch them all for you," he offered. "There's at least two in the corners and two on the walls."

"No, no," said the judges, shaken. "That's quite enough." They could already hear the cries of the outraged stagecraft workers.

Izaya returned to the stage, and bowed. "That is my demonstration—" A flicker in the corner of his eye. He took a hop backwards and barely missed being hit with a vending machine. It landed and demolished the chair it landed on. The vending machine, Izaya noted, looked good as new—and, aside from a few scratches, unharmed. Rare. He flicked a glance at Shizuo.

"Iiiiiizaaaaayaaaaaa!" bellowed Shizuo.

Izaya hissed like a cat and hooked a chair right back at him, echoing in singsong counterpoint, "Shiiiizuuuuoooooo!"

It would have made a glorious crashing sound, but Shizuo snatched the chair out of the air and threw it down, spinning. Its stainless steel legs grated eerily as it scratched and slid across the waxed stage floor. Deliberately, he removed his blue sunglasses, took a toothpick out of his pocket, and snapped it.

The judges were silenced. The slight sound of the snapped wood bouncing on the stage could be heard.

"Pardon me," said Izaya with a sly grin, "It is time for my second performance of the day. Shizuo, you're late."

The judges gaped.

Their amazement irritated Shizuo. Out of sheer orneriness, he lit a cigarette and took a single puff. "Told you not to interfere with Ikebukuro," said Shizuo, swiping the smoldering butt on his boot.

Izaya crossed his arms. "This isn't Ikebukuro, Shizuo-kun. This is Tokyo. Tokyo, Shizu-chan."

"What's the difference?" Shizuo yelled. "Cut the crap! Kuso! Ikebukuro is part of Tokyo, you know! What do you want to do with this company? What the hell did you send me?"

"A recruiter's pamphlet," Izaya said smugly to Shizuo, then turned to the judges. "I have the honor of introducing you to Shizuo Heiwajima, number 47," and dodged a flying chair for his trouble.

Shizuo was livid, and he wasn't even breathing hard. "You mean," he said, his face like a death god's, "this is an audition."

"Of course. What were you expecting?"

Shizuo roared and leaped for Izaya. Izaya skirted him and slinked across the stage while Shizuo knocked chairs aside, skittered and slid in his formal black bartender shoes, and launched more things into the sky (to the judges' chagrin). With a critical eye, Izaya judged that the chairs missed hitting the stage's high ceiling by a mere five feet, and credited the unseen author of the universe for the luck that caused them to land, in fair shape, on the concrete floor just beyond the stage's delicate wood platform. Thank the author. Shizuo never thought properly about what he was doing, or where he was, beyond the heat of the moment.

"That's not fair, Shizu-chan," Izaya pouted. "Even if I had expected this, I couldn't bring my knives because of security reasons. Really, using the chairs is too much of an advantage for you—"

With a roar, Shizuo rushed forward, and Izaya led him on a merry dance before finally tiring of it. With the ease of planning and practice, Izaya ran up a wall, flipped, and landed on Shizuo's back. Izaya heard bones crunch and Shizuo crashed flat to the ground.

He did some quick grappling, knelt, and whispered in Shizuo's ear, "Let's try not to let them sue us, yes?"

He couldn't move. Izaya had made sure of that. Shizuo stiffened and grunted in response, and Izaya lightly sprang aside, letting him up. Shizuo stood warily, but didn't attack again.

The judges all stood up, cautiously.

"We're done," said Izaya, and walked back to the stage. To Shizuo's credit, it had not been irreparably trashed. He had grown these past few months. Dazed, Shizuo followed him. "Thank you very much," Izaya said, casually taking Shizuo's hand and pulled them both into a deep bow. Shizuo's jaw clenched. "On your time, I believe your back will heal in a week," said Izaya softly out of the corner of his mouth, so only Shizuo could hear. "No vending machines for you."

Shizuo ground his teeth.

"Stagehands, clean up. Next—Applicant number 48," said a shaken judge. Shizuo ripped his hand out of Izaya's, and the duo walked out.

Shizuo stalked off to wash his hands in the celebrities' clean and stainless steel sink. To be precise, to wash them very thoroughly. Not that he'd ever admit to believing in such a thing as cooties.

Izaya was waiting by the door, texting. He put the phone away when Shizuo came out.

"What's next?" said Shizuo. "I thought you wrote that you'd come to showbiz to ruin my brother Yuuhei's career."

Izaya smiled. "Of course." Accenting his speech with large, elaborate gestures, he said, "In a matter of speaking. I'm only doing what all stars who apply are doing: aiming for the top, only to bury my foes in the forgetfulness of the public mind." He ended with a flourish, and looked at Shizuo expectantly.

Shizuo gave Izaya a look of utter disgust, sighed and pounded his head against the wall, making it shake. Heads popped out of offices to stare at them in alarm. "Shut. Up."

"We could go looking for Lory Takarada," Izaya suggested.

Shizuo glared at him, narrow-eyed, through blue sunglasses.

"After the next audition part, of course."

Shizuo's lips thinned.

Izaya preened. "Of course we all know who will win. It's the acting part."

"Like hell you will," said Shizuo, extra loudly.

"Damn straight," Izaya shot back, and turned on his heel to go.

Incensed, Shizuo strode on ahead, and Izaya chuckled as he loped to keep up, tucking his hands in his fur-lined pockets.

It was just waiting and more waiting. Shizuo broke his toothpick five more times; then he twitched, rocked back and forth, and finally got up and paced—though it looked like he was stalking. Even the gothic rock-band boys kept away when he did that.

Izaya did what Izaya always did. He played around, turning on his phone and texting, flipping the top, playing a game, spinning on the ground... really, it didn't matter. Izaya looked like a mere kid next to the prowling Shizuo.

Finally all the boys were assembled, and the door opened for the next test.

"The real test," Izaya said, widening his eyes, letting a golden beam envelop his face. He looked rather like an overgrown kitten.

As if. Devil-child. Shizuo spat, "Whassat? Tch!"

Izaya's eyes blinked amusement at him. Then Izaya's eyes swiveled, and he let the expression dissolve as he watched the crack between the doors intently.

"So what's the next test anyway?"

"The reaction test."

Shizuo crossed his arms and frowned. "Go on. Elaborate."

"The president of LME, Lory Takarada, commissions a script that is delivered via the cell phone, which is handed from applicant to applicant. When the recording on the phone ends, you act out your response."

"What the—?"

Izaya shrugged. "I'm not sure what they're looking for, myself, besides good acting, except—possibly—the president is rumored to—" The door opened, and the boys filed out the door in order. Izaya stood. "Oh, sorry, Shizu-chan. Later." He swaggered out the door.

"Tch," said Shizuo. He put away his toothpicks, and took his place in line.

The judges were lined up opposite twenty-five applicants, seated on chairs on the stage. On one end, a cell phone was passed along. Shizuo and Izaya, who were at the other end, would have to wait. Most of the conversations—quiet, tender, difficult to hear—were dull, clichéd stuff. Even the judges had given up pretending not to be bored. Lory Takarada, who hadn't been there before, lounged in his seat and didn't even look up.

Finally, it was Izaya's turn. He stood up, took the cell phone, put it to his ear.

"Hello. Moshimoshi?" Izaya's voice had that irritatingly casual, yet dangerous, sound that was sure to mean that he was toying with whoever was on the other end of the phone. He listened, and then his voice changed with recognition to a welcome, lighthearted tone. "Ah! It's you." He listened some more. "Eh? Are you sure about this? Is this for real?" He spun around, walked towards his seat, moving the phone away from his ear and back again, turned back and faced the judges. "Ah, yes, yes. Well, this is very bad. Very bad, but, it doesn't have to be the end of the world, ya know? There are lots of other fish in the sea." He put it closer to his ear. "Hah? Being told I'm a monster doesn't ruffle my feathers? Stuff like that? I'll tell you why." His voice got serious and darkened. "I am a psychopathic monster. Ask anyone else in my business; they would say the same. When I was in school, everyone said I had the psychotic profile to match Iago's. You know, from Othello? Can you believe it? They put it right on the cover of my high school yearbook. It's not going to work, little girl. There is nothing you can do to hurt me. Do call me when you run into trouble again! Don't worry, I have faith that you can solve your own problems. So then, bye." He clicked the phone off and passed it to Shizuo.

Mentally, he took a step back when he saw the judges' faces—especially Lory's, whose face wore the expression of a kicked puppy. Maybe he had miscalculated. It was brilliant, the little monologue, but he'd known it was not what they wanted to hear. Izaya let it go. Not for one minute was this small setback going to ruin his plans. He'd planned for this. He calmly sat down.

Shizuo hesitantly stood up and announced himself, then put the phone to his ear. "Eh?" He muttered, as nothing but static came through. He pulled out the antennae and replaced it. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. What was that again?" His voice was resigned but irritated.

And now — crying. Eurgh, he hated it when girls cried. It was one reason why he liked Celty; she didn't have a head, so she didn't cry. Yeah, right. No, that wasn't it. Truthfully, she was just a very strong woman. When Celty cried, she would have a good reason for it.

"Yes, yes. What is it you want?" he said brusquely.

"I love you," said the girl.

"Okay..."

"But I'm breaking up with you."

What? The hell? Irritated, Shizuo balanced the phone on his shoulder. "I see. May I ask why?" Silence. Shizuo took the phone out of his ear, shook it, replaced it, took it out again. Put it back. "Come again?" Nothing. "Look, if I've done anything to offend you, it would be better if you would just come right out with it." Nothing. He frowned, and fiddled with the phone's flip lid before he put it back to his ear. "Here's the problem. If you can't say anything, I don't know why I'm even talking to you. You call this love? You haven't even got trust. Stuff some brains into your skull. Nothing's gonna change if you just rely on your fantastic boyfriend to read your mind—so in two seconds, if you don't tell me why, then I'm breaking up with you, for your own good. Got it?" He nodded. "One... two..." He frowned and flipped the phone off.

He looked at the judges. "I'm not sure if I did it right. Was it supposed to go silent, or something?"

The judges conferred, looking at their scripts. "Uh... no..."

Lory's lower lip stuck out petulantly, making an unhappy face.

"Uh," said Shizuo. Definitely did something wrong. It was still unnerving, though he had never intended to audition in the first place...

"Even so," Takarada said, and stood, "You both failed." He swept out of the room.

Izaya smirked. Shizuo shrugged and glared at Izaya.

They all filed out of the auditorium. Sure enough, Shizuo's and Izaya's names were not on the "passing" list. Shizuo shrugged, unsurprised, and turned to leave. "Sorry, but," Shizuo said, "I can't stand to be in your presence, and work starts at 9:00 PM. Bye."

"Just wait, Shizuo." Izaya caught hold of Shizuo's sleeve. "I'm not done with you yet. Don't you want to know how you managed to lose with me? C'mon, you were the best! Besides, you wanted to meet Lory."

Shizuo ground his teeth. Crap. He caught me. He said nothing.

"I've got a secret." Izaya took a string out of his pocket and held it up. "It'll lead us to an insider who can get us the answers we want—or it'll lead us to Lory. Come on." He pulled it all the way out of his pocket and held it up. The blue girl-spirit.

Shizuo took a step back. "What the—"

Izaya always had thought that Shizuo might be able to see the supernatural like him. Now he had proof. Not that this was helpful information, or anything—

"Don't worry, she's powerless," Izaya said, intending to be consoling—but coming from him, this was not comforting at all. "She'll lead us to her maker, the girl who broke Pandora's Box. Mind you, she's not half as powerful as Celty, or Celty's head."

Shizuo was about to relax, but caught himself. What? Celty's head—what does he know about it?

From the corner of his eye, Izaya caught that Shizuo had gotten the reference. Maybe something would happen, now. If he lost it, better than nothing. "C'mon." Izaya tossed the spirit in the air and let it hone in on some invisible signal while he followed its lead. Distressed, the spirit flew this way and that, leading them down the halls slowly until they arrived at a door marked, LoveMe.

"Ah, this looks right," said Izaya.

Shizuo sniffed and crossed his arms with disdain, looking almost like a proper English bartender for once. "Who designed this section?"

"I am so glad you asked. It was Lory Takarada himself. I was about to tell you: he's rumored to be obsessed with emotions of love. You didn't read the pamphlet, did you?"

Shizuo was disgusted. "As a matter of fact, I did. I just couldn't believe my eyes."

"Shall we go in?" Izaya knocked. "Hello? I think I have something to return to you?"

"Eh? Just a minute." The orange-haired girl came to the door, without her pink suit this time, and pulled it slightly open.

"I believe I have something of yours." Izaya held out his hand.

The girl's eyes followed the hand to the string it held, up to the blue-spirit, which then dived, frantically reaching to hug her face. There was just an inch of space between them.

"Ah... yes?" she said, smiling and cringing a little, opening the door a little wider.

"I have a bad feeling," said someone from behind the door. Mouko-san. "It's the same feeling that kept me from leaving LoveMe, wasn't it, Kyoko-chan? What did you say? 'We're all cursed together!,' or something, didn't you! Don't bring anyone else into it!"

"Um, yes, but..." Kyoko took the string, but Izaya didn't release it. "You have something to ask of me...?"

"Is this that Beagle guy you hate so much?" said Moko suspiciously.

"Um. No." Kyoko half turned to look at Moko.

Moko sighed. "How do so many guys get a hold of you this way? Mou! Tsuruga's going to blow a gasket if you get indebted to someone else, again, after that Valentine's chocolate fiasco."

"I'm sorry!" The girl bowed, backing away. "Would you please stay outside for a moment?"

"Sure."

Kyoko backed away and let the heavy metal door slam shut.

When it opened again, both Kyoko and Moko came out, changed out of their LoveMe suits. "Well?" said Moko. She recognized Izaya, but not the blonde man gritting his teeth impatiently behind him.

"This is yours," said Izaya, holding out the blue spirit again to Kyoko, "But we have a favor to ask before we give it back."

Give what back? Moko wondered, looking from Izaya's hand to Kyoko's face. She must have missed the exchange.

In turn, Kyoko looked from Izaya to Shizuo and back again, nervously.

The blonde guy cleared his throat and tried to clarify. "Don't look at me. Izaya felt compelled to torture me for the afternoon," said Shizuo, jerking his head at Izaya.

Kyoko wasn't sure if she heard him right, so she said only, "Um! Sure."

"We want to find someone who can give us a rundown of why we failed the audition and lead us to Lory Takarada," Izaya requested.

Kyoko glanced at Moko. "Do you think Sawara-san...?"

"Probably was there. I'm out. Don't do anything stupid, okay, Kyoko?" She said she was going, but Moko stayed taut, reluctant to leave. She felt some concern—they were strong, tall, there were two of them—but Kyoko never seemed to worry about things like that—even when she should.

"Yes. Um. Nice to meet you. I'm Kyoko Mogami." She bowed, very formally. It reminded Izaya of something, but he would have to see it again, maybe several times, before he could place what bothered him.

"Izaya Orihara." Izaya circumspectly released the blue spirit to Kyoko's care and inclined his head casually. That guy... Moko felt a sudden surge of dislike.

"Shizuo Heiwajima." Shizuo bowed back properly. He wanted to make a point, after all, even though his back hurt. At least he could give back her consideration, as good as we got.

"All right. Follow me," said Kyoko. Moko exchanged one final glance with her friend, and they parted ways.