Characters: Celty Sturluson, Shinra Kishitani, Izaya Orihara, Namie Yagiri, President Lory Takarada, Shizuo Heiwajima, Maria Takarada

Chapter Six: In Which People Continue with Life, As Best They Can, And Have a Good Cry

"Tadaima! I'm home!" Celty called through her head, and Shinra rounded the corner and said "Okaerinas—"

He stopped, stock still, and spilled his coffee over his hands. His eyes stood out to her, glazed and round like polished pebbles, lizardlike, through his glasses. He could have used a third eyelid. The whites of his eyes were going red from not blinking for too long. Finally, Shinra bit his lip, licked the spot with his tongue, and blinked. Somehow, although he had been eerily focused on her a moment before, he seemed to stare beyond her. Through her.

"Shinra, you're going to give yourself a headache," said Celty, through her head, intending to scold but her voice just came out a bit disappointed, uneasy, and wistful. There didn't seem to be any other way to say it.

Shinra's head made small, jerky, minute movements on his neck before finally his hands started to work—again, small, minute, jerky—and spilled coffee on his fingers again. This time he switched hands holding the coffee cup and absentmindedly wiped his fingers on white lab coat. His fingers left behind a wavering watercolored light brown streak.

That instantly sent Celty into alarm. Because Shinra never, never ever dirtied his white lab coat, and his hands didn't shake even during the bloodiest, most brutal surgeries. Maybe especially then. He never even cringed. Celty's thoughts launched into overdrive. What if the coffee was hot? Was Shinra okay? What if something happened while she was gone? What did Shinra think? Why wasn't he speaking—no, why wasn't he shouting and screaming and crying and throwing a tantrum like she'd expected him to? That, at least, while annoying, she knew how to deal with...

She had to act. Now. Celty rushed forward, grabbed Shinra's hand, pulled him into the kitchen, dumped her head on the counter, thrust both of his hands under the cold tap, and turned on the faucet.

Shinra didn't make a sound, not even to say, Celty, you ruined my coffee. Coffee is black! An unadulterated substance! What are you doing, adding more water?

To which she would have replied, Shut up, you idiot. How can you burn yourself and worry about your coffee? Honestly! And what's this about unadulterated substances? Coffee is tastefully polluted water! You're lucky I was here to talk some sense into you! And he would have... never mind.

But the real Shinra was right here. Finally, he gave the barest ghost of a chuckle, and said weakly, "Celty, the coffee wasn't that hot." His nasally voice made it sound like he was whining, but he wasn't. He didn't look at her.

Celty immediately shut off the tap. "Better safe than sorry," her head said, softly.

"Yes, of course you're right," said Shinra, squeezing his eyes shut. "Celty, your voice sounds just like your voice that I hear in my head. Oh, my gosh, that sounds so stupid—" he said, and then he clapped his wet hands over his ears and backed into the living room. "All this time..." he mumbled.

"Shinra—" Celty followed him, leaving her head behind, and sat down on the couch beside him. Shinra latched onto her side, and pressed his face into her shoulder. "Shinra…" she said again, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"Celty, don't you ever leave me again!" His voice was thick, as if the tears he wasn't shedding now had clogged his throat. "Don't tell me you came to say goodbye. Why did you do this? I thought we had agreed—"

Okay, now while he was inexplicably teary, this was what she was expecting. And she could put up with a little cuddling, since he seemed to need it. And maybe she also needed it.

So Celty concentrated on the black smoke, and willed it to carry her head to the shelf behind and above the couch. She had a feeling Shinra didn't want to see it just yet. Once safely perched there, she put her arms around him, and said quietly, "I said I wasn't worried anymore. That I would be accept my fate and not worry about what happened to it, and I would quit actively searching for it. That's all. But nobody knows the day or the time when they will die, do they? Well, neither do I, Shinra; there are still things that can kill me. But everyone wants that one little ounce more of control over our destinies. I'm no different. When Shizuo gave me the information I needed to find my head, I couldn't ignore it, could I?" Celty stroked his hair, and soothed him. "Not to mention, I've always wanted those memories back. They're a part of me."

"Shizuo-kun?" Shinra's fingers trembled clutching Celty's the back of her shadow-leather suit.

"Yes. Unexpectedly, he received a tip. He relayed it to me, and I followed up on it." Celty's fingers drifted down to caress his face. "I was so very, very close, the whole time. It was practically right in front of my eyes."

"I—I see." Shinra gulped.

"I had no idea you were this scared of what would happen, Shinra. I knew you were afraid, but…"

"It's not that—or, not just that," Shinra mumbled into her suit, then pulled his face out of Celty's embrace and looked at her…no, at the smoke. "Would you still have done it?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Don't…don't be…" Shinra sighed and pulled Celty close to him again. "It's all my fault after all. Trying to keep you from finding it. And I always knew...you're your very own person."

"I love you, Shinra."

"I know. It's just hard." He closed his eyes. "I know I said, 'never leave me again,' and I meant that, but—" Celty put a finger to Shinra's lips, and stopped his words.

"Shhh. I know. I choose to stay."

"You mean it?"

"Silly boy. I love you more than ever."

"I don't understand."

Celty sighed. "My new memories that I found are all over loneliness. Can you imagine? Three hundred years of it. Alone...lonely...the same duties, all the time, and no real reason for why I did them, except instinct." Celty stroked Shinra's cheek once more with a tentacle of darkness. "I was innocent, and yet I was wise, but I could never know that about myself until the night my head was stolen. From that moment on, I had to think. I realized I had a self, something which I had always taken for granted. I could do what I pleased, like the humans, and have ambitions. In order to find my head, instinct was not enough. Because that happened, it will never be so again."

Where Shinra could not see it, Celty's head showed the beginnings of a smile. "So of course, without that loneliness to compare the feelings I have now to, it was only when I got my head back that I realized that these past twenty years were the best times of my life. How ironic. I'm afraid I took the companionship that I have for granted. Life was good—because of you, of course, but also, dare I admit it—your father, and Shizuo, and Izaya, and all the rest. Part of me is me, but I am also partly what you made me."

Shinra made a doubting noise.

"Well, a reaction to what you were trying to make me."

Shinra snorted behind his hand. "I'm not sure we were trying to do anything, Celty."

"Maybe not consciously." Celty shrugged. "Anyway, because the head never kept much personality to begin with, you needn't worry about it overwhelming what my body learned. Their consciousnesses are one and the same now. I never knew what I was missing, wandering Ireland's graveyards. What I mean to say is, even if they're sad, I'm glad I have the memories. How could I walk away from you after all that?"

"You're not…going back to Ireland, then?"

"Never. It may be beautiful, but just so you know — if I had wanted to leave, I would have left without a single goodbye. I couldn't bear to do it, otherwise. That itself, of course, is an indication that my body's memories are too strong." From its high perch on the bookshelf above them, Celty's head smiled tenderly. "Meeting you just once would convince me differently."

"Don't know about that. You're not the romantic type, but that sounds awfully..." Shinra straightened just enough to push the glasses up on his nose with his index finger. "Not that I don't believe it's true! So perhaps for a honeymoon, then?" Shinra said reluctantly. "I've always wanted to see it, anyway. But you'll stay in Japan with me? Forever?"

"What are you talking about, Shinra?"

"Well, you'll marry me, won't you? Celty?"

"Yes, of course, but—"

"Then we'll have our honeymoon in Ireland. So you can say your goodbyes. So you can show me what you loved about the country there."

A little nervously, Celty replied evenly, "That's a lovely idea, Shinra, but I believe you skipped a couple steps."

Shinra opened his eyes fully and burst out of Celty's hold. "Aaah! Omigod, I forgot the proposal! AAAAAH!"

"I'm not upset…" Celty's voice was tinged with bemusement.

"AAAAH! Celty, I'm SORRY!" Shinra clutched his head and turned around in circles. Then he shot across the living room and started searching frantically for a tiny box. He found it. "This!" He crossed the room again and slid to his knees in front of Celty, his eyes were desperately earnest and he had completely forgotten the stain on his white coat. He held out the box. "Celty, I love you, would you please marry me?"

"Shouldn't we wait until you're used to my head being around, first?"

Shinra finally leaned back to glance at the bookcase. Blushing, he put his eyes back on Celty's body on the couch. "That's exactly why I'm proposing! I can get used to it."

"But, and this is not for the first time, Shinra, I'm afraid I don't understand you."

Shinra sighed. "You've got your head. I love you. You love me. Nothing, not your memories or your old attachments or anything, will come between us now. From now on, it's just the two of us. I'll get used to your head. Heck, I think I know you're not used to having it back yet. Besides… we can wait on the ceremony as long as you like until we decide that we're both confident we're paying attention to it properly."

"Good point." Celty took the box, opened it, and took out the ring. "Then I accept. Thank you, Shinra."

"Ah, ah ah ah! Celty! Don't put it on yet!"

"What?" Feeling bewildered, Celty tried to think— she didn't notice anything wrong.

Shinra smiled apologetically, took the ring back, and slid it on her finger.

Celty giggled. "Well, if that's all…"

"Celty, I'd think you would know how these things go!" Shinra pushed his glasses back up his nose and stared intently at her, a bit indignantly. "Honestly! I want to make good memories together!"

"I know, but," Celty giggled again, "It would be an even better memory, seeing you get flustered. Besides, I think I would be alarmed if we ever approached something like Hollywood Kodak picture romantic sweetness...blegh."

"Oh, Celty! You're so cruel, it breaks my heart all over again…!" Shinra swooned theatrically.

"There you go, being all dramatic. I swear, the only difference between you and your father is the barest smidgen of common sense and your respective opinions over Tokyo's conspiracy theories." Celty's head smirked, safe from high above. "And also, a sense of Chivalry."

Shinra grabbed the collar of Celty's leather suit to hiss, "And the mask. And the age." He let go.

"Details, details." Celty used her smoke again to lift her head into her lap. "Now, it's time the two of us started getting acquainted all over again. Don't you agree, Shinra?"

Shinra's stared into the head's eyes ardently. "Yes. I understand why Seiji Yagiri fell in love with just your head, now."

"I suppose imitation is the greatest form of flattery," said Celty loftily. "And?"

"I was going to say this earlier, but your voice is just as beautiful. It befits you. It sounds like shadow and dry ice flaking into the air. Just like I heard—erm—imagined it to be. I'll have to get used to that."

Celty's head frowned and her brows drew together. "Heard?"

Shinra coughed. "That's why you surprised me when you called out, and came home. Normally, that doesn't..."

"So you really heard...me. You weren't just reading my body language? You didn't need the texts at all?"

Shinra waved both hands quickly back at her, in negation. "No, no. They were useful. Of course they were. If anything, they helped my memory, because I still think best in print. And then, sometimes it was useful to know the difference between what you were thinking and what you actually told or asked me..."

Celty made a point of eyeing him slightly suspiciously. Shinra hopelessly grinned like a doofus. Finally, resigned, Celty said tartly, "I thought you knew more about me than you should."

"Sorry," Shinra said in a small voice.

"Not your fault, except for not telling me about it, but that's water under the bridge." Celty shook her head. She never did have the teeth to put the fear into Shinra, or to hold grudges. "I suppose what I've really been needing to ask is: is there anything about my head that makes you uncomfortable, that we can fix?"

"I'm not uncomfortable at all," Shinra lied. That was completely obvious.

"Forget it, Shinra. You've been doing well enough to fall in love with me without a head. Now that I've got it back, you don't need to get all macho and make things harder for yourself," Celty said in exasperation. "Please."

"Well — okay, there's one thing. I don't know it this is what you wanted to know, but... Look, with your head back, what I don't understand is where you want me to look — when we're talking," Shinra hedged. He had turned a peculiar color.

Celty hummed. "Hnn, I thought so. Look wherever you like."

Shinra turned pink, and his voice steadily climbed in pitch. "I know, I thought you'd say that, but I've become so used to (ahem) staring at your boobs (ahem) all these years… I don't think…" His voice cracked.

"Oh, is that where you've been looking all this time? Pervert!" Celty's head, safely resting on her lap, clicked her tongue but couldn't help smiling with indulgent amusement. It couldn't be helped, after all. "I had been wondering where you focused to look at me so piercingly, when you hardly knew where my eyes were. Well, look at me, then, like a normal person! The head!"

"If you insist," Shinra sighed, pretending disappointment. "But that's even more confusing. Because your head isn't always where your body is, but my attention will be split between them… Or I'll forget..." He grimaced.

"I used to carry it under my arm," Celty reflected.

"I suppose that might work, but there's no way you can go out into the city like that. Is there some rule that says you can't re-attach your neck to your head?" said Shinra, a bit anxiously. When Celty didn't answer immediately, he added quickly, "Just checking."

But in her lap, after some thought, Celty's head nudged itself from side to side. "No. But what is severed won't reattach. It's rather like two magnets of the same poles, repelling each other. See?" Celty lifted her head to her neck, and demonstrated. Neck and head kept sliding away from each other, so that the head went up and sideways.

"Ahhh." Shinra frowned. "What if you made yourself a scarf of that black stuff? To keep your head from falling off?" This time, he turned a bit pale. "There'd be a gap, sure, but it needn't be large, should it?"

"That might work. I just can't think how…physically…"

"Or I could stitch your neck and head together," Shinra said doubtfully.

"Thank you, Shinra, that won't be necessary." Holding her head up, almost aligned over her neck, Celty rolled her eyes. "It sounds painful. I thought I was done with being scalpeled several years ago! Besides, being headless has its advantages. What's got into you?"

"An old Halloween story*," Shinra said quickly, and shuddered. "I guess it's okay if you don't die and I let you remove the scarf yourself," he muttered quickly under his breath. "I'm not touching it."

Celty made a confused noise.

He cleared his throat. "It's just an option. I didn't think scalpeling was the best idea anyway. Really." He frowned. "Oh wait, maybe the polarity is the problem? Maybe it actually is magnetic?..."

After a couple of experiments and some arguing back and forth, they went with the scarf idea and managed to come up with something that worked. Soon, for the very first time, Celty would be able to go out in the city without her helmet and pretend to be a normal person. She couldn't wait. What would she do with her newfound freedom?

Izaya came home. The door shut softly, with a click. Izaya threw himself down on the couch and addressed the ceiling. "Namie, was that who I thought it was?"

She nodded. "The Black Rider, herself."

"Did she take her head back?" Izaya passed his hand in front of his eyes. He hadn't expected this to happen so soon.

"I offered it," Namie said calmly. "We had a long chat," she added, a bit defensively.

"You offered it. Well, I should have known." Izaya got up again and paced the room, rubbing his eyes, before returning to the couch and sitting. He sighed. "Probably a good thing to get it out of this house. And now things will get interesting again."

"I'm not sorry."

"I never said you shouldn't be sorry. If I actually cared at all, which I would have a month ago, you would be on your knees apologizing right now. Your transgressions simply haven't interfered with my plans, so the matter is moot." Izaya waved a hand lazily. "You have lucky good timing, Namie."

"Do you have a headache?"

"Yes, it's a real motherffh—" Namie's eyes smoldered at him threateningly, and Izaya squelched the word. "You get the point?" he said weakly.

Namie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I do. Watch your language. Wait while I get you an aspirin. What were you doing today?" She went to the medicine cabinet and retrieved the proper pills.

"Painting."

Namie got a glass of water and picked up the pill in her other hand, and held them both out to Izaya. Izaya downed the pill in one gulp and returned the glass to Namie three-quarters full. Namie gave it back. "Yes, acrylics do that. I assume that's what you were using, at least. Drink the water, that helps too. You're dehydrated. Your lips are peeling."

"Mm." Izaya skimmed his bottom lip with his tongue. "Urgh, you're right. How un-a-peeling." He waggled his eyebrows, drank the water, and handed the glass back to Namie again.

"That was a terrible pun." Namie handed it back.

"What now?" Izaya exclaimed, outraged.

"Put - the glass - in the sink - yourself," Namie said as testily and clearly as she could.

"You're supposed to spare me the manual labor, woman!" Izaya was joking, of course, but Namie wasn't in the mood to take it.

"Say that again and see where it gets you," Namie snapped. "Also, you do enough labor at work, I don't see why it should matter at home. It'll make you stronger."

"Headache, Namie!" Izaya hissed.

"Poor widdle thwiiiing." Namie pursed her lips.

"Shut up..." Izaya got up and put the glass in the sink. "You're a terrible nurse!"

Something brittle and bitter in Namie's heart snapped without warning. "Ah, but you forgot: I'm a right miracle doctor," Namie purred, and her lips curved in a cupid's bow smile. She stalked him to the sink, leaned into his personal space, and whispered in his ear, "Poor little Izaya, dear, you've never seen my best bed-side manner. Nor the stunning array of my complete chemical arsenal... Tell me, I wonder how sick you would need to be to merit all of its use?"

Eyeuch. Izaya slid sideways against the countertop, away from her. Dammit, Namie was taller than he was. Once safely far away enough, his black eyes wide and dilated with alarm, he hissed, "I don't trust you like this. The day show me your best bed-side manner, Namie, that's the day I'll leave this apartment and run for the hills just after checking to make sure you're not a Russian spy! I'm serious. Please tell me this is a joke..." He really was unnerved. His face had paled.

Victory. Namie 1, Izaya 0. And Namie had realized something. She liked verbally sparring with Izaya. It was actually kind of fun, and it gave her something to do. But right now, she was annoyed, and winning to make him lose wasn't enough—she wanted him in pain.

So she smiled and blew him a kiss with a schoolgirl's simper. When she spoke, though, she kept her voice carefully controlled, cold and adult. The contrast chilled Izaya to the bone. "Of course it was a joke, Izaya. I'm cruel when I care."

Despite himself, Izaya shivered. "You're supposed to be cute, not cruel," Izaya muttered, eyes on the floor. He was (albeit belatedly) turning red. "I repeat, you're a terrible nurse."

"Easy does it, Izaya." Namie smirked. "How does it feel to have your feelings toyed with, hmm?"

That pulled him out of his sulk. He raised his head, glittering eyes fixed and neck swaying like a serpent about to strike. "Nasty. Not funny," Izaya snapped. "Maybe you actually are a Russian spy."

"As if. I'm terrible with languages. Unlike you, I haven't the slightest idea on how to communicate intelligently with Simon." Namie shrugged. "But if you can't take a joke, get out of the apartment."

"It's my apartment!"

"Precisely. Your apartment is Ikebukuro's lauded hidey-hole of pranksterdom, and you can't take a single comedy skit."

"It wasn't funny," Izaya repeated, eyes furious and on the floor again.

"Neither are your pranks. But I admit, my goal wasn't to make you laugh...it was to make you nervous. It's about power." Namie drew closer again, and stood over Izaya, shoulders back, chin level, feeling imperious and tall. "We both love power. It hurts very much to have it taken away...but as long as no one wins, we're both quite happy. You're just sore because you lost just now."

"I didn't lose anything. I don't remember entering any game." Izaya scowled. "You're just crushed because I implied that you're my HOUSEKEEPER, which you actually ARE! It's not sexist, it's not because you're a woman, it's because right now that's your damn job!" He winced and clutched his head.

"Yeah? Would you have offered it to me if I hadn't been a woman?" Namie shouted, and abruptly her voice ripped savagely. "As your candy-striper nursie?"

Izaya flinched. "There are lots of male nurses..." he murmured defensively, allowing himself to be distracted, running his fingers through his hair. Face flushing, he forced himself to look at Namie straight in the eyes, and swallowed hard. His hands convulsively gripped the counter behind him. "Look, I swear, I didn't mean anything— by it—! Not sexual, or predatory, or anything, you just jumped down my throat for no reason and you're not acting like yourself and my headache is getting worse and you're FREAKING ME OUT!" After this tirade, Izaya was breathing hard. In a more moderate tone, he hissed, "Namie, you just brought me my PILLS and I was play-acting whining!" Izaya raked his hands through his hair and twisted his fingers in it as if he was barely holding himself back from screaming some more. He had one more thing he had to say, though, so he shouted, "I thought you could tell! I didn't mean to insult you because you have a freaking DOCTORATE! I should know that better than ANYONE!" Gradually, he shifted his hands to press flat on the sides of his head, and turned away from Namie, facing the counter. His posture slouched slightly—ashamed.

Izaya, honest. Honest Izaya, honest. When he was driven to the walls, he was truly a nicer guy than he let on. It was Namie's turn to stare at him...tears trickling from her eyes. Slowly, Namie's hands crept up to her face to cover them. She couldn't move. "Izaya, I'm sorry," she whispered, and her voice strained.

"I DON'T—even—CARE," said Izaya, savage in his cold rage. Now he was the one who was hurt. His fingers flexed, pressing down on the cold tiles of the counter. He didn't turn around.

"Izaya—"

"GO!"

Namie fled.

She went to her room and cried. She'd been having fun, for a moment, but then it all went wrong. It wasn't even Izaya's fault. Where did that treacherously flirtatious personality even come from? Why couldn't she stop herself from hurting him? Why did she want to hurt him? Izaya wasn't as bad as she painted him. That was just her excuse. Yes, Ikebukuro suffered because of the criminal mastermind in its midst...it would go on and recover like cities do. But when it came to her—Izaya was as courteous as his nature allowed him to be. He sheathed his claws. Why hadn't she learned to do the same?

Maybe, the back of her mind whispered, because she hadn't realized she had them. How sharp the tips were. What scars they made. She couldn't remember the last time she had gotten this unreasonable and angry. Certainly never at Seiji...

Izaya had already told her he had forgiven her. Was she so afraid that he hadn't that she had to provoke him to prove that her suspicions were right? Worse, hadn't she given the head back to Celty partly to make him angry? That was twisted. And she had failed miserably.

Namie cried, and cried, and cried, and finally fell asleep.

At first he was too angry to do anything but grip the countertop and take deep breaths. When he was calm enough, he released the countertop and stood blankly in the center of the kitchen, listening to the refrigerator hum, which satisfyingly drowned out his thoughts.

Only then did Izaya become aware of the sobbing. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He walked up the stairs, and stopped outside her room, one hand on the door. He wanted to tell her not to cry, that everything was fine, that he had forgiven her and he understood why she had become provoked. He wanted to apologize.

No. It was best to give them both some distance. Later, he would do that. For now—let her cry herself out. Knowing his own sisters, Namie wouldn't thank him for the interruption. It would just make her more anxious. She hadn't properly mourned for the loss of her brother Seiji to another's heart, for her job, nor for her current position in the universe...for her loneliness...

Izaya ascended the stairs to his own room, and shut the door, and felt blood surge in his ears with every one of her sobs. At last Namie grew quiet, and he also fell asleep. After his nap, he woke to a wet nose, damp cheeks, and a subdued, quiet feeling of melancholy. Izaya glided through the rest of the day as if it were a warped dream; after staring at the blank TV for almost an hour, he got dinner for himself and closed all the curtains in the apartment before he went to bed. He hated taking naps. They made life...surreal. He hoped he wasn't getting sick.

These were his thoughts, and also his dreams: he made a girl cry. He made a girl cry. He made a girl cry.

Even if she had deserved it...it...had never mattered so much before...

He knew what would make her upset. He knew it before he hired her, before he ousted her from her company, before everything. He didn't know how hard it would actually be, nor how invested in her happiness he would become when he made those decisions, and that meant that to a degree he shared her pain.

He had always thought it was stupid to inflict pain on oneself, but inflicting pain on Namie, he had to admit, intentionally or not—these days the effects really weren't that far different from self-sabotage.

Namie—she was such an educated, smart, resourceful, completely capable woman and she was used to being independent. It had to smart to have that taken away from her. He'd seen this coming—this was why he wanted her out of the house as much as possible—but he wondered if he could have done more to stop it. Of course she was going to get frustrated and fed up with her job, which was so low class. That in particular really rankled her. Izaya didn't want Namie resigned to this life, no; all he wanted was for her to learn from it and move on as quickly and painlessly as possible.

As for Izaya, it was true that sometimes he despaired of his manual, by-the-book, backbreaking work in the LoveMe section. But though he could predict how Namie would feel, and it seemed, had done so correctly, he couldn't quite empathize. He had learned long ago to be content with whatever he had to work with, and he could remember no other way of life.

"Shizuo-kun," Lory Takarada began. "Shizuo-kun, are you listening to me?" Takarada was pretending to be a pirate today. It was rather gothically "realistic." That is, completely fantastic—better than reality—but not eerily cartoony like Halloween costumes...

Shizuo snapped out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry?"

Lory sighed. "Please keep your thoughts together. We don't have much time, which is why I wasn't able to hold the spy debriefing earlier. I went to America with my granddaughter to take her to her father. She wouldn't go otherwise."

"Really?" Shizuo cocked his head. "Wouldn't that be ... Maria-chan?"

"Oh, you've met?"

"Not really. Or, sort of. I think she was trying to help Kyoko talk to me, and after she introduced us, Kyoko and I talked and she didn't say much. I think she was satisfied. I hope we didn't offend her ... we kind of forgot she was there, actually."

"Hmm." Lory stroked his beard. "Since it was for Kyoko's sake, I don't think she minds. She spoke favorably of you, Shizuo-kun, which is unusual for new members. She only really likes Ren Tsuruga and Kyoko, you see. Something about them speaking truth to her and not censoring it because of her age, or something."

"Huh," said Shizuo. "She probably won't get attached to me, then. I'm horrible with kids."

"I think Tsuruga and Kyoko would say the same."

"No, you don't understand," said Shizuo. "I'm the opposite. I never know what to say, and whatever I do manage to say turns out to be made of clichés and then I just feel horrible the entire time I'm speaking to them. I was such a rotten kid myself, I should be able to talk to them, but I just...I can't."

"At least you're aware of it. Would you like to practice?" Shizuo stared at Lory, frozen. Lory shrugged, and said, "Afterwards, with Maria-chan."

"Okay. Fine." Why would that be helpful?

"Consider it another job. Now, tell me what you learned."

Shizuo counted on his fingers. One. "Kyoko keeps Sho's parents as acquaintances of hers." Two. "Any specific relationship Tsuruga has with Sho is through Kyoko, except generally, because..." Three. "...Sho regards Tsuruga as his personal rival even if Tsuruga doesn't see it that way. I don't know how Tsuruga feels about it." Four. "Kyoko is also Sho's ex-girlfriend. They were childhood friends and went to middle school together. Judging from the timing, Sho dropped out of high school to pursue his career." Five. "It's more than likely that Kyoko did the same, but rather than pursue her own career, she was ... Sho's girlfriend. So who knows what happened then. They become Exes, and Kyoko swore she'd claim her revenge by climbing to the top of showbiz. Kyoko then joins LME, and meets Tsuruga Ren." Six. "However, Kyoko also told me that revenge is not her primary goal anymore. She realized making hate the center of her life wasn't worth it, and she actually likes acting."

"Thank you, Shizuo-kun. That clarifies things quite a bit." Lory sat back and steepled his fingers in thought.

"All I really did was find out that Kyoko was Sho's girlfriend," said Shizuo blankly. "I thought you knew most of this already. Are you sure this is all right?"

"Yes, but that was the exact essential bit of information I couldn't get except by asking. You did well, Shizuo-kun."

"Thanks." Shizuo fidgeted. "What will you do now, President?"

"Nothing at all. I'm sure my actors can handle it. In fact, they probably already have." Lory waggled his eyebrows. "It does explain certain sets of incidents." He went silent. "I do hope Tsuruga won't try and get revenge on Sho on her behalf, although luckily I don't think that kind of action is in his nature. I understand that, unless provoked, Kyoko has pretty much given up that goal and has been concentrating on rebuilding her life. Tsuruga has been doing to his best to guide her in that direction already."

"So... what was the point of the exercise, if everything was fine anyway?"

"Didn't I tell you? I need to appear all-knowing, wise, and confident so my actors don't contradict me when I tell them to do things for their own good. Or intervene to save their skins. Because I'll be right, not guessing out of my hiney." Lory grinned. "Although I'm rarely wrong."

Shizuo snorted and rolled his eyes.

Lory looked at him fondly. "Do you know, I think you're the only one who isn't too cowed by my status as President to argue with me. Do me a favor and promise to tell me when I'm being stupid, no matter where you end up in life. In return, I'll forgive your chronic insubordination."

"Does that mean I can criticize your costumes?" said Shizuo snakily. "Because—"

Lory glared. "Not them. Everything else. The costumes are sacred!"

"Oh, I see." Shizuo crossed his arms. Fat lot of good that does.

"Go play with Maria-chan. She's lurking nearby."

"Am I being paid for this?"

Lory crossed his arms and stared Shizuo down. Shizuo mirrored him right back. Lory pointed out of the room. "If you leave. Go on! Get!"

"Yessir."

"Good morning, Maria-chan. Your grandfather sent me in to talk to you," said Shizuo, a bit sourly.

Maria sniffed. "Do I have to babysit every recalcitrant actor during my home-school hours?" She put her head down and wrote busily.

"Sorry," said Shizuo, shrugging, and sat down with his legs criss-cross. "Do I look like I need to be babysat?"

Maria looked him over. He didn't look like he was in disgrace. "All right. Why were you really sent over?"

"To learn how to talk to young children, I suppose."

Maria snorted. "That's not a problem." Maria turned the worksheet over and started scribbling on the other side.

"I usually do. Have a problem."

"You're not having one now." Maria paused in the middle of her calculation.

"And why is that?" said Shizuo, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs, glaring at her.

"Because you're not treating me like a kid." Maria tossed her hair, trying to get it to fall back over her shoulder. "No, actually that's okay, it's being treated as a child that gets to me. But don't worry."

Shizuo was confused. "Oh. But then I'm not doing my job properly?"

"Dolt." Maria stood to deliver a very soft karate chop to the top of his head. She sat down again and picked up her pencil. "It depends on what kind of adult you want to be. Listen, what section of LME are you in?"

"The LoveMe section."

"You're hopeless. What's your job type?"

"Stunts."

"Huh. I wonder what ojiisan is doing. Never mind. It's a common complaint, not being able to talk to children, but it's usually just not true. When do you have the most trouble?"

"At formal gatherings," Shizup answered.

Sounding bored, Maria said flatly, "That explains ninety percent of your awkwardness."

"Why?"

"Because the kid is awkward too, you big dolt!" Maria scowled. "Clearly you don't look down on children, you've just forgotten how to bridge the gap between your ages! And you ought to know better, because you've got more experience. They're waiting on you!"

"Is it better to have that particular problem?"

"If it were otherwise, I would say you're incurable." Maria sniffed.

Shizuo looked at her quizzically. "You talk back an awful lot, you know."

Maria shrugged. "At least it makes me easy to talk to. Comebacks come pretty quick when you're being argued with..."

"I see. So I should start an argument?"

"If you like. That's one way to do it, although you'll probably become the monkey's uncle. Especially if you get your way all the time." Maria concentrated briefly on one problem, and then started scribbling again. "You know—funny, loose cannon, and a strong personality. I don't advise tickling," she said, wrinkling her nose. "It's hard to get the adult back properly afterwards if they didn't know when to stop. But that would vary with the child. The point is, if you argue the wrong way, you could end up being seen as the irresponsible adult."

"It wouldn't be far from the truth," said Shizuo.

Maria looked up from her paper and cocked her head. Then she shook her head. "No. It's not true."

"How can you tell?"

"A really irresponsible adult doesn't even realize it! They never see how silly they look. They never restrain themselves. They don't wrestle with their conscience, they just do what it feels good to do!" Maria shouted. "You knocked ojiisan into a swimming pool because he made you feel threatened and then you felt so sorry about it afterwards that you did the dogeza! Do you understand how much shame we felt on his behalf for putting you in that position? We can't repay you for that! I don't know what more you could have done, but you could be a bit easier on yourself!" Maria's eyes sparkled with passion. "It was entirely understandable!"

Shizuo sat back, chastened.

"Now, do you want to learn about how to talk to kids or not?" She shook her head sharply.

"I do. Go on, please," said Shizuo softly.

"Just get them talking. Find their interests. Talk about something that they might have seen recently. Talk about music. Invite them to look at something interesting. Ask them questions about their opinions on stuff. Make friendly banter." Maria scrubbed her eyes, and gripped her pencil. "That's all, really. Don't be afraid to break formality, especially to say something surprising."

"I see."

"Also because you're big, the rowdier kids would love to get the jump on you. So when you half get to know the kid, you can offer them rides, or wrestle a bit with them—two, three, or four kids on one adult is totally fair—and if you're good at make-believe, even the shyer ones will help you make up a world or include you in theirs."

"I'm not, unfortunately, good at make-believe. And I'm too strong at wrestling to play with even that many kids. I threw your grandfather into the swimming pool, remember, and I can pick up vending machines like nobody's business."

"Really? That's a good point." Maria shrugged, and told him dryly, "Just make the offer to pretend. They'll appreciate it, even if you're no good, and they'll have fun teasing you about it. Maybe chasing will work instead of wrestling, then? Or give yourself a handicap of some kind."

"Thanks. Shall we practice sometime?" Shizuo got up, about to walk out.

Maria flicked her pencil at him dismissively. "I'll find you when I want you. I have a project I may need your help on."

Shizuo felt a bit curious. "Oh, what could that be?"

"I'll tell you later. I'm still thinking about it."

"Okay. See you later."

"Bye-bye." Maria smiled and waved merrily.

*Author's Note: The Halloween story Shinra refers to is a story I had to read when I was in first grade, I believe. The other stories in the book I was given were all boring, but that one horrified me. It's a twisted but a classic fairy tale structure:

Once upon a time there was a man whose wife had died, and he was lonely. Then one day he saw this beautiful woman with a tape-like scarf wrapped around her neck. He fell in love with her instantly. He courted her, and eventually she fell in love with him too. But she told him that he must promise her only one thing: no matter what happens, never to take her scarf off. Of course the man can do this for a while, but after being tempted three times, his curiosity gets to him. In a fit of anger against his wife over something-or-other, probably trust, he unravels the scarf. And her head falls off and blood spatters everywhere. She was never alive to begin with, and only weird ghost voodoo magic or something was keeping her "alive." He never marries again. (Or he may have committed suicide, or something, I can't remember—that may have been a different story.)

I have no idea why this story was fit to give to a first grader, but evidently it made an impression, so I couldn't help but bring it up again in this context. I beg your indulgence. If you have any idea what the title could be, please write it in your review, for I have assuredly forgotten it.

+ Props to the reviewer tsaurn. The story's name is "The Black Velvet Ribbon." There seem to be plenty of variations.