Characters: Kyoko Mogami, Izaya Orihara, Kanae "Moko" Kotonami, Celty Sturluson, Shizuo Heiwajima, Maria Takarada, Namie Yagiri

Chapter Five: In Which Everyone Acts Like Themselves and Hopes for the Best, Except Maybe Izaya

"I remember those days," said Kyoko sullenly as she watched fleet-footed Izaya leap to and fro with mop in one hand, water bucket in the other, scrubbing the hall floor. He still did all the chores, and stayed positively gleeful.

"I'll bet he doesn't wax and polish the floor too hard, either," said Moko, equally gloomy. "Took you ages to get that right. They'll put us to work soon."

"It's not like that's any more than we deserve, though. We've been lax. It's been nice," said Kyoko wistfully. "And then this slump without any acting work turned up..."

"Deserve? Totally! Absolutely! We've been in this section for a whole three-fourths of a year now!"

"Moko-chan, if you complain loudly, karma—" Kyoko stopped herself, then whispered, "No, worse, I mean, President Lory—"

"Ah, sorry. That was sarcasm." Moko wasn't that good at sarcastic remarks—she'd been practicing, to increase her actors' repertoire—but Kyoko was terrible at parsing it. Moko should have remembered.

"Sou, ...was it?" Kyoko's voice dwindled as she started daydreaming again.

"Clearly we don't deserve anything with our seniority level, Kyoko. Mind you, it's easier now than it was three-quarters of a year ago. We scraped up all the five-thousand-year old gum before he got to it," said Moko, not really expecting Kyoko to listen.

Kyoko nodded her head. "Mm-hmmm..."

Moko sighed. At times like these, the fairy-tale lenses of Kyoko's brand of rose-tinted glasses became oddly and impenetrably thick. Better than black magic, though. She spoke the first thing that popped into her head. "Do you really believe that the LoveMe section is cursed, Kyoko?"

"Eh? What?" Kyoko popped out of her daydream.

No sooner had Moko spoken than she realized that the thought was still half-formed. Never mind. She could ask later. "We should look busy," Moko muttered, and strode down the hall. Kyoko agreed, and followed after.

"Here's the letter. Thank you, Celty."

Celty waved off Shizuo's thanks with one hand, not bothering to type out her feelings.

The corners of Shizuo's mouth tipped up to show his appreciation anyway.

Ah, you could never win. Celty gunned the engine and hunched forward, about to drive off, but Shizuo laid a hand on her shoulder. She cut the power and turned to Shizuo expectantly.

Shizuo wasn't wearing his blue-tinted glasses this morning. His golden-brown eyes, staring as straightly at her as he could manage without eyes to go by, glimmered with sincerity, and a little anxiety. "Celty, I didn't know how to say this last night. I'm sorry, I almost forgot; I was very tired, and thinking about so many things—it takes me a while to recover from airplanes." Celty nodded for him to go on.

He hesitated. "It was something Izaya said. He probably meant for me to hear, but he hinted strongly that he knew where your head was. That he was keeping it."

Surely it's another scheme of his.

"Maybe." Shizuo shrugged. "But I had to tell you. Personally, I think he's just casting around for some action and he doesn't have a plan for it. You still want it back, right?"

Yes. Yes, I do.

"Okay." Shizuo's eyes leveled, and focused in intent. "And you're going to check it out. Please be careful."

Thanks. I will.

Shizuo looked away awkwardly. "It wasn't that I did think you would be. I just..."

Celty patted his arm. I know. You're sweet when you worry. I'm not offended. She watched in amusement as Shizuo stepped back and donned his shades with slightly tremulous hands to mask his embarrassment. Anyhow, I know you wish you could have told me something more certain. It can't be helped, now, can it?

"No, I suppose not," he said roughly. "Will Shinra be okay with this?"

Briefly, streaks and coils of black lashed into the sky before disappearing, beautifully sculpting the form of her anxiety. No, but he knew this could happen. We'll work it out. Thanks for everything, she repeated.

She drove away.

Kyoko received the remains of her Izaya doll in the mail, as Tsuruga's schedule quickly became too busy to return it to her in person. In fact, she'd already finished one doll of him by the time she got the unfinished remains of the other one back. It was rather humorous. She found she had to remove the remains of his costume that she had started on before she could put on another outfit.

Maria-chan intercepted her during a lunch break. "Whatcha doing, onee-sama?"

"Sewing. It's a doll of Orihara Izaya. See?" Kyoko showed her.

"Who's that?"

"Aaah..." For a moment Kyoko was dumbstruck. "Haven't you been down to LME at all ... recently?"

"No! Ojiisan took me to see Papa. On an airplane. It was scary. I burned thirteen candles the night before I left praying about the trip." Maria smiled innocently.

That caught Kyoko's attention. "Thirteen, huh?" Isn't that an unlucky number? "Any ... particular reason?"

"What? You don't see?" Maria giggled and spun around in a circle. Then she slapped the table and intoned with a look of complete horror, leaning heavily on the table. "IF I could survive ONE FLIGHT with enough BAD LUCK packed on it, I could surely TRUST MY LIFE to an airplane ANYTIME." The table lurched and Maria almost lost her balance, and Kyoko reached forward to help a little too late, but somehow Maria managed to pull herself upright and steady the table at once.

"Really, Maria-chan, you didn't have to go that far—" Kyoko's reassuring smile was getting a little strained. She held up her hands to ward off more worry.

"Well, it's all right now, isn't it?" Maria grinned brightly. "Nothing happened at all. I'll never have to do THAT ever again. I saw Papa, and I got to see his work, and we talked every day and he bought me presents and we went to dinner..."

"That's good, Maria-chan," said Kyoko, and wiped her brow in relief. "I am so happy for you!"

Maria waved off the niceties. "So what happened, oneesan?" Maria knelt on a chair, leaned her elbows on the table, and waited, hanging on Kyoko's next words.

"Oh, some boys joined the LoveMe section," said Kyoko reluctantly. Her news had suddenly become much less important.

But Maria-chan didn't see it that way. "Boys? Uwaaah! Why'd they go and do that? The uniforms are piiiiiinkkkkkk!"

Kyoko sighed. "Shocking pink. I don't know, Maria-chan. Their names are Izaya Orihara and Shizuo Heiwajima."

"Oh, I see. What do they look like?"

Kyoko propped up the finished Izaya doll on her water glass, in the pink shiny canvas suit. "Orihara looks like he's in his early twenties. He has short, heavy black hair, which hasn't been cut in a while because the ends are uneven. His smiles are unsettling, because he always looks like he's mocking you. And when he's not in his uniform, he wears black, black, black. And yet somehow he always nows how to charm someone."

"Sounds creepy," said Maria. "And the other one?"

"Heiwajima-san hasn't been around as much. He reminds me a little of Sho—it must be the fact that he's tall, and has blonde hair—yet I'm not afraid of him as much as I am of Orihara. In fact... he reminds me a little of Tsuruga-san. Isn't that strange?"

"Not at all," said Maria. "You have good instincts."

"I doubt it," said Kyoko, absently.

"No, it's true," Maria said earnestly. "You understood about me almost as soon as we met, oneesan. Hey? Could you take me to meet Shizuo-kun? Ojiisan seems to like him, too."

"I thought you said you didn't know about them yet."

Maria said, "I didn't, but ojiisan said Heiwajima-san's name. He's Yuuhei's brother."

"I don't think I've heard of him."

"No, but you'll know him as soon as you see him, I'm sure of it," Maria said confidently. "I think you should talk to him anyway. It would be interesting, and he might have more to say about Izaya, don't you think?"

"I suppose. He did say something about Izaya forcing him to come to LME as a torture session, or something..."

"You see, they know each other already."

Kyoko nodded. "I forgot that; thanks, Maria-chan."

"Why don't we go out and find him now?" Maria suggested.

"Are you sure...?"

"Oneesama! Be honest! I thought you didn't think like that." Maria frowned at Kyoko. "Yes, I'm sure. You're the one who's hesitant!"

"I'm sorry. That's just how I feel right now. But if you're sure you think it's a good idea for us to talk to him, then let's go," Kyoko replied, but took Maria's hand.

"Un. Let's go!" said Maria, and Kyoko pitched the sewing mess and the Izaya doll back into her purse, and Maria took her by the hand and ran off. Then it occurred to Kyoko to wonder how Maria knew where to take her. Maria slowed a little and smiled confidently. "I always know where the actors are. It's a talent."

Sure enough, Maria led her to roof, where Shizuo was standing and...thinking. Smoking. They stepped out of the elevator. Kyoko's stomach clenched, and she almost took a step back.

Maria looked at her. "It's okay, you know. Tsuruga-san said so. He told me to look after you." She grinned brightly.

Being looked after by a nine-year-old child. Kyoko laughed, but then, she knew Maria was perfectly serious, and older than her years. "He did? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Hee hee hee. He was busy. He came with ojiisan to pick me up from the Airport. Papa has been working with Tsuruga-san's father, you see," said Maria-chan, and twirled.

"Tsuruga-san's father came with you?"

"Hmm, I wonder what kind of person he is." She thought, just standing there, so Maria poked Kyoko and pulled her forward.

"Um, hello. Heiwajima-san." Kyoko waved, even though he couldn't see her.

Shizuo half-turned, a cigarette in one hand. Kyoko bowed, and he bowed back. "Hey. Mogami Kyoko, right?"

"Yes," said Kyoko. "Maria-chan wanted to meet you."

Maria whipped her head around and glared at Kyoko. Kyoko mouthed silently, Act for me, okay? Maria quickly reverted back to form. "Good afternoon," she said, and bowed.

Shizuo nodded back, and Maria looked back up to Kyoko. Then Maria said, "The truth is, Kyoko wanted to ask you some questions. She's been worried lately."

"Maria," Kyoko hissed.

But Shizuo didn't look angry. He cocked his head.

And to Maria's surprise, Kyoko asked her question without further prompting and only a little bit of a dry mouth. "Er. What I wanted to say was— When you came...that night you signed on to work with LME..." Kyoko trailed off, then caught up with her thoughts again. "You said something. Something like that Izaya was ... torturing ... you when he brought you here?"

Shizuo sighed. "Probably. Only in a matter or speaking, of course." He put the cigarette to his lips, and blew smoke.

"But don't you want to be here?" asked Kyoko in confusion. "Isn't Izaya your friend?"

He laughed shortly, and turned away. He leaned on the railing and gazed out at the city below. "Do I indeed? I don't know. I'm here now, but I shan't stay long."

"Then why..." Kyoko faltered.

"As for why I stayed on so far, my brother works here. My friends who know me well say that I should make the most of the opportunity that Izaya created for me. And Lory Takarada's philosophy is fascinating." Shizuo looked at Kyoko over his shoulder. "Izaya dragged me here. I would like to say it was against my will, but unfortunately, Izaya knows me too well. I came to have an argument with the president, not to get hired."

Kyoko blinked. "An argument?"

"Takarada-sama worked me around. I told him that I hated the concept of LME, and he just talked at me until, despite my better judgment, I saw its worth." He laughed again, under his breath. "I thought the love he promoted was fake. But I see now that he was right, and I was wrong. I was deceived by appearances. It's a good company," he admitted, after taking a breath.

"I see. Come to think of it, Lory talked me around too." Kyoko was quiet. "But I still do not understand you and Orihara-san. As things are now, I can't trust him. I do not know if I can trust you."

Shizuo put the cigarette to his lips, and then lowered it. "Mogami-san, I hope you'll forgive me."

"Why?"

"For sharing bad memories," said Shizuo, and snuffed out the cigarette by swiping it on his boot, and ground it into the rough cement roof under his heel. "There's bad blood between us. It's been that way since the beginning. Izaya tried to kill me, and frame me, and trap me. In return, I've done my best to get him back. But he always escapes, and I always get run over by a truck."

"Really?" said Kyoko, gulping. He called him Izaya.

"Really. Thrice now," said Shizuo, unsmiling. "By truck."

More than anything, that convinced her that what he said was true. She rushed to say, "But if you can't stand each other, then why—"

He stopped her. If he hadn't known a little of her past history from studying her file, he wouldn't have known what to say next. "Mogami-san. What do you think when you think of Sho Fuwa?"

She turned to stone, feet rooted to the floor. Her face darkened. "I hate him. I'd — I'd still curse him halfway to hell if I knew it would do any good. Even so ... I have to work to keep my hate of him from becoming the center of my world."

"And yet. You worked with him on the angel promotion clip."

"Yes. I did," said Kyoko. "It was one of the hardest things I have ever done." Her chin dropped, and her gaze fell to the ground.

"My name is Heiwajima Shizuo. It means 'peaceful island, quiet man.' In my life I have never been much like my name: if anything, I proved its opposite. It is a well-known fact in Ikebukuro that I am strong, and that I lack the self-control to manage my fury. I have never been content with that." He looked at her. "Are you?"

"Yes, exactly." Kyoko looked up. "In the end, I wanted to be more than what Sho expected me to be. I wanted to surpass myself, and become an actor in more than name."

"Izaya is my rival," said Shizuo. "It's a fact that can't be undone, at this point. I didn't mean to follow him here, to this place—but now that I have decided to make myself at home here, I will not leave until I have found my purpose. I will not chase after ghosts of the past to have revenge on his terms. That is why I am here."

"Yes, I see," said Kyoko softly. He came in spite of Izaya, not because of him. He wants to get away from him, but he is too proud to run. I wonder why I never wanted to run from Sho? I guess I was too angry. I wanted him to say that he wanted me back, if only so that I could throw his words back in his face and taste revenge. But if not for Sho, I wouldn't have found my calling. So we put our grudges on hold, and we do the work that our spirits needed to heal, despite our hate.

"Well, after hours it's a different story," said Shizuo, in a slightly different tone, with a yellow light in his eyes. "But I can't go around throwing vending machines or street signs on LME property while I'm on the job. That's the code I set for myself."

Vending machines? To mention it so casually...he must be extraordinarily strong. "Good luck," said Kyoko, extending her hand in the Western manner of greeting.

Shizuo shook it. "And you as well."

As their hands fell apart, Kyoko remembered something. "Heiwajima-san."

"Call me Shizuo."

"Shizuo-kun," Kyoko tried.

"Acceptable. Yes?"

"How did you know about Sho and I?" she said softly.

He smiled slightly. "The rumor mill. Takarada-sama is talkative. He has high hopes," said Shizuo, opaquely. To his relief, Kyoko accepted it. Perhaps she was relieved that someone hadn't misunderstood their relationship, like Sawara-san had.

She looked down. "It will feel strange if you keep calling me Mogami-san. Calling me Kyoko is fine."

"Kyoko-chan, then."

"Nice to meet you," said Maria, and Kyoko and Shizuo both looked at her, having forgotten that she was there, left clinging to Kyoko's uniform while they had been talking.

Shizuo replied slowly, "Nice to meet you, too. Shall we go back to work?"

"Yes," said Maria, a little more subdued. For the first time in a while, she felt chagrin for making herself noticed. After the awkward beginning, she knew they hadn't really wanted her there. "Let's."

Back in Ikebukuro, Celty stopped by Izaya's old apartment, which appeared dark and deserted, but wasn't. Celty knocked on the door. Now that she was here, and searching, she could sense the presence of her head even from outside the apartment. Shizuo had been right. After a couple of seconds, Namie came and opened it, her face unreadable.

Namie, is there any work from Izaya?

Namie shook her head. "No, I'm sorry." She hesitated, and then said, "Come in."

You know, I've never been in here before, Celty typed, and stepped over the threshold.

"Yes," said Namie. "I suppose you must know by now that Izaya took care to make that so."

Celty took off her yellow cat helmet. Are you lonely, without your company?

"I never had strong relationships with anyone to begin with," said Namie.

I see. Shinra never talks about work, either.

They took off their shoes and entered the house. Namie crossed the room and sat on the couch, and resumed sorting laundry, then stopped, remembering her manners. "Would you like some tea? Sit down."

Yes, thank you. Celty sat in Izaya's TV chair.

Namie got up again. "I used to be ... in possession of your head. For quite a long time. It was an heirloom of my father's, who kept close to Shinra's father." Namie poured water into a kettle, placed it on the gas stove, and turned on the fire. She was too far away to see whatever Celty typed into her cell phone. "And then my brother Seiji became obsessed with it. Izaya told me you chased down the girl whose face I reconstructed to match your head's in the park last summer. That must have been a disappointment."

Celty's neck relased a great gust of black smoke that passed for a sigh. That it had been. So how did the head fall from your hands? Namie jumped. Somehow, Celty had connected her words to the screen of the TV.

"My company was bought by a 'foreign investor,' " said Namie. "Then I was out of a job. The investor was more wily than I thought he was. Then it turned out he wasn't quite foreign at all, but an old friend of mine who realized that I had brought more attention on myself than was wise. He took the head, and me with it." She laughed bitterly. "The head is here, in this house." Namie nodded to the bookshelf.

Celty looked. The black smoke rising from her neck swirled.

"Won't you touch it?" asked Namie.

I see. The trace is very faint. No wonder I was confused. I knew it was here, there's a very general signal that told me it would be in this district of Tokyo, but it's only when I am particularly focused in it's direction that I know exactly—

"Yes. I don't know why, but that must have been part of why you were more attracted to that girl's head than to your very own," said Namie, sounding tired. "You've been here before, just not inside."

I was distracted. I see it now. Celty crossed to the bookshelf, and took the glass jar down. It is so very beautiful. Is this really me? Truly, Mika's new face is almost identical to this.

Namie said guardedly, "I believe it fits. A beautiful head for a beautiful body." Her compliment was sincere and solemn.

I wonder if Shinra would agree. He didn't want me to find my head because he worries that my old memories will give me a different purpose. Maybe he would change his mind if he saw it for himself.

"Yes." The tea had boiled. Namie poured two cups, and took them to Celty. Absently, Celty took hers. "The body has its memories, I'm sure, but the head probably has more, of a different kind. When I learned what you were — last summer — I often thought to tell you of it, but the subject was too close to home, with Seiji-san and his girlfriend on the loose. Someone always had their eye on me. Then Izaya took me, and he had plans for it. So I decided to wait. I'm sorry the word is so late."

I forgive you. If I can forgive Shinra for lying about the head, for hiding Saika, for dissecting me in the name of science, and all of his father's pettiness over the years, I can forgive you. I'm just glad you had the courage to make things right. A puff of chuckling black smoke escaped from her neck. And honestly, you probably saved Shinra and I quite a lot of drama by waiting...

"You're welcome," Namie said curtly. "I had no idea you had been through so much. But I'm not sure that it means much. I have nothing to lose, and I am quite bored. I also would like my revenge on Izaya. I believe this makes us even?"

Yes, at the very least, we're even. Celty laughed, and the smoke rising from her neck made rings. And yet, it really means everything to me. She laughed again. Can we be friends?

"Are you... quite sure?" Namie peered at Celty over the top of her cup of tea.

Absolutely. I have an impulse about these things. You seem like an honorable woman, and I am a free spirit.

"Not so honorable," said Namie, swishing the dregs of her tea in her cup. "I— I can't promise that I won't stay out of the underground, and end up sucking you and Shinra into some wild scheme... Especially as attached to Izaya as I am..." she trailed off.

You have rules that you don't cross, that's all that it means to be honorable. Celty waved away her concerns. The head was a fluke. The opportunity to study and tamper with it practically dropped into your lap. If anything, it is I who unwittingly changed the fates of Shinra, yourself, your brother, and Mika Harima through my carelessness. I apologize. Celty stood. Here's the real question. Are you ready to go forward with your life without something extraordinary to research?

Namie narrowed her eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Magic. Extraterrestrials. The strange and the unusual. That which is not ordinary. Are you ready to resign yourself to becoming a normal scientist?

Namie said, "I had not thought of that."

Celty expelled a cloud of smoke, so very thick, dark, and fast that it covered the living room ceiling before dissipating in the space of a breath. You've tasted the irresistible beauty of the otherworld. Somehow I doubt that you will live satisfied until you come in contact with something that intrigues and puzzles you into feeling compelled to explain it.

Rather than trying to deny it, Namie lowered her cup of tea and admitted, "I expect you're right. You're asking where I shall start."

I'm not giving you back my head, Celty warned.

Namie coughed. "I wouldn't expect you to in a million years."

But surely you're not happy with Izaya. You have too much ambition.

"It has its moments," Namie allowed, but she crossed her arms and said nothing more, as if struggling with herself over something. She unclasped her arms, leaned back with a thump, and crossed her legs instead.

Celty turned; rather than conveying her words through the cell-phone, she dispensed with that and used a trail of smoke to write directly on the television, scrub her message, and write down the next line of speech.

You and Shinra are alike. You need something to study that will capture your interest, with which you can persuade others to take an interest alongside you and fund your 'selfish' researches. You don't really intend to enmesh yourselves in the underworld, but that is the habitat of the rare and unknown. So, you are drawn in.

You wish you could be recognized for your achievements, but your most interesting work is in magic. People will dismiss your work out of hand, but the very subjects that would bring you credibility are boring to you. In the end, accreditation matters not one whit. Likewise, contributing to the benefit of humanity would be nice, but hardly an ultimate goal. What will you do, Namie?

"Probably create another lab," said Namie. "It will take time, but I have done it before."

But you must have some idea of what to study.

"That kind of thinking can't be rushed," Namie said with a slow smile.

I don't doubt it, but I wanted to make sure that your days would not be wasted while you remain under Izaya's roof.

"I don't see why you care, but I would not have it so. Although I admit that I have begun to tire of my own idleness of late. From now on, I shall be purposeful during my stay here." Namie rubbed her wrist. "Although you might not believe it, recently Izaya has been pushing me to do the same."

Ah, so we do agree about some things. Like keeping people busy. Celty flung out one arm, and inscribed a lazy circle with her hand: well, it happens.

"Seems so," said Namie dryly, and drank down the rest of her tea. "Celty, if you don't mind, I would like to see what happens when you come in contact with the head." She tapped one foot meaningfully. "Especially before Izaya comes home."

I could never forget. Don't worry. Celty crossed to the bookcase, leaning back to look up. I am merely delaying the inevitable. Namie sucked in her breath as Celty reached behind the books, and pulled down the jar, and stared into its eyes.

Slowly, slowly, the eyes opened, fluttering because of the sloshing of the aqua liquid in the jar.

Namie made a small choked sound in her throat.

Celty's hands shook, and she crossed quickly to the table to set down the jar. Again and again, waves of wide, wheeling black clouds rolled from her shoulders, leaving a thin thread of black trailing between each one. It was the closest she could come to taking deep breaths.

"Are you frightened?" asked Namie.

A tongue of shadow licked the TV screen, leaving the words, Who wouldn't be, in my place? I need a moment.

Namie smoothed her skirt, crossed her arms, and rested her back against the kitchen counter to wait.

A moment later, the head lowered its eyes, then flashed them open; as if this was her signal, Celty plunged her hands into the liquid, clasped the head firmly behind the jaws, and lifted.

There was a flash of white, then total blackout.

Celty had only to touch the glass, and she felt the consciousness of her head touch hers. Tentatively, delicately as a butterfly, but the sensation was powerful and heady. It was as she thought: they were one, and meant to be together, and nearly a hundred years of separation made no difference.

She gulped, watching the eyes. She knew. They were both ready. Celty plunged her hands into the jar, and gasped as their minds overlapped, overlayed, came so close as to be identical, but not in sync—it was dizzying—almost like it was swimming under her thoughts, and trying to breach the waterline, only just so— She clasped the head, and lifted it from the water...

Bam. The head's consciousness exploded within Celty's body, taking control, melding with Celty's new memories, merging every thought, every movement, every cell into its care and above all, becoming one.

Celty opened her eyes. The room was dark, completely black. It whirled strangely before her eyes, until she realized that the movement was due to the fumbling of her hands. She stopped, and the picture grew still.

"Namie?" She could speak!

"Celty? Is that you?"

"Yes," Celty said hoarsely. "What happened?"

"The power went out," said Namie. "I guess we can assume that was your fault."

Celty turned, and her elbow knocked into the glass jar, which hit the ground and shattered.

"What was that?" said Namie.

"The glass jar. Don't worry, I'll clean it up..." Celty closed her eyes in her head, still holding her head in her hands, and had to make an effort to "see" the world through her smoke. She scooped up the shards and tied off the strand of smoke, making a floating sphere, floated it over the trash can (Namie flipped the top for her) and dumped out the contents.

She remembered the time when she made dinner for Shinra and wrapped it up before he could eat it, just like this, and giggled—the sound came out through her head. Such a simple act created a terribly unnerving situation—the smoke blossomed from her neck as usual, but her head was moving in her hands—warm, heavy, organic, soft, squishy, and ever so tacky from the aqua liquid soaking. Namie's face reflected Celty's squeamishness. "This will take getting used to," said Celty ruefully. On the other hand I should just use my smoke-messages until I get home. I don't want to have an accident...

Namie chuckled behind her curled fingers. "I suppose you can see yourself out." Namie blinked, heard what she just said, and stuffed her knuckles in her mouth before she properly visualized it happening. The picture came anyway. Namie felt like vomiting.

"Are you okay?" said Celty's head.

Namie shook her head and stared at the wall instead of looking at Celty, and muttered, "Please, just go. It's my over-active imagination..."

"I see. Call me if you want updates on my condition, for scientific reasons," said Celty's head.

"Will do," Namie managed, and clapped her hands over her mouth. When Celty let the door shut, she ran to the kitchen sink and vomited, and immediately turned on the water to wash out the disgusting substance… She was glad she'd done a good deed today, but now she just felt terrible.

Namie decided she still owed something to Izaya. She would take him out for pizza. Well, really, she didn't want to use the sink to make dinner, not for a day or two, at least... He probably would be so tired when he finally got home that he wouldn't notice the missing head.

By some miracle, Celty managed to drive home, head safely tucked in her yellow cat-helmet, without crashing; but she was fairly sure that was partly because her near-sentient motorcycle steed was simply marvelous and wouldn't let her fall, alert to her more fragile condition. She was quite thankful not to run into the police on the way home. When her bike was safely parked in the garage, she praised it attentively until its engine rumbled and purred with contentment. Then she went back to the apartment she lived in with Shinra, bracing herself for the scene that would follow.