April 5th, 2004
"So then he sucked you up his ass?" Miura echoed, hiding her snicker behind a tall glass of iced long black.
18 was not amused. "When you say it like that..."
"Oh, 18! You're a riot."
There's something seriously screwed in her brain, 18 thought, exasperated, keeping her icy blue eyes on her as she drank her cappuccino. Then again, she grudgingly admitted that it might have sounded funny in retrospect, being consumed alive through what had essentially been Cell's anal passage.
They talked for a bit more, neither of them shy in sharing secrets now that they were both in a new world free of any dangers—but only when appropriate topics of conversation came up. For now, they simply discussed their statuses as stranded strangers.
"So you're stuck here, too," Miura said, sighing emphatically. "Well, can't be helped, I guess. At least you have someone you can count on back home. What was her name again? Bloomers?"
18 snorted. "Bulma."
"Right. Bloomers. Like the underwear."
The waitress brought a slice of cake, setting it down in front of Miura even though 18 had been the one who had ordered it. 18 assumed that the waitress didn't think she looked very much like a cake person when Miura—with her more childish features—was sitting right across from her in the dining booth.
Miura pushed the cake to her.
"Not a cake fan?" 18 ventured.
"Well, can't say I'm not a fan, considering I've never tried it."
"Seriously?" 18's brows rose. The waitress had been considerate enough to give them two forks, as well. She held one out to Miura. "Try some. I'm not a sweets person myself, but even I won't pass on a good cake."
But Miura shook her head, laughing airily. "Trust me, it won't be a good idea. Unless you have positive feelings toward me vomiting my guts up on your shiny shoes."
18 withdrew the fork from her, dragging the plate of cake closer. "Never mind." Miura must have been allergic, or something along those lines.
"You know," Miura started after a while, swirling the ice at the bottom of her tall glass. "I've never really had the privilege of relying on anyone before. So I have my own plans to get home. If you want... we could work together. The tech here is pretty old—"
"Older than the dinosaurs."
"—so I could use all the help I could get. What are you again? Er, a robot?"
"Android," 18 supplied, helpfully. "Or artificial human or whatever. Ugh. It's a whole mess I'd rather not get into. But putting our heads together is a good idea. With your brains and my programming... We could probably get further than we would working by ourselves."
Miura grinned. "Exactly what I was thinking!"
Outside, the sun was beginning to set. They had sat here for many hours now, refilling their coffees.
The cafe was to close at seven, and they were asked to leave ten minutes before closing. Shrugging her bag on her shoulder—it held all of her important supplies, like her stolen wallets and storage capsules—18 followed Miura outside, briefly relishing in the cool evening breeze.
"What now?" Miura asked no one in particular, craning her neck to try and spot some stars in the sky. But in the big city, it was an impossible feat.
"You could start by telling me what you are," suggested 18, crossing her arms. "I already told you what I am, so it's only fair."
"True... But to be honest, I'm feeling a little hungry, so why don't I just show you? If you're really as strong as you imply, it shouldn't be a problem."
18 narrowed her eyes. What—was Miura planning to jump her in an alleyway or something? The girl wasn't even remotely threatening to 18—she was but an ant. So, seeing nothing to lose here except for a potential friend, she nodded. "Fine. Lead the way."
Miura did. She was a fast walker, but 18 had no trouble keeping up. They walked through the city, eventually ending up in a shady neighborhood. 18 glanced down at her stolen designer watch. It was nearly seven o'clock—if she wanted to complete her skincare routine tonight, she would have to find a hotel soon. Or a place to spawn the house that was inevitably hiding in one of Bulma's gift capsules.
A low moan sounded.
The two women turned their heads to the left, seeing a staggering drunk of a man limping toward them. In his hand was a pathetically flimsy pocket knife.
"Gimme all yer money," he slurred, stumbling forward.
Miura did nothing.
For a moment, 18 thought the younger woman had frozen up in fear.
"You wanted to see what I am, right?" Miura suddenly said, and 18 could feel something dark flood the area.
"Yeah. But I'd like to be freshly showered by eight, if you don't mind. So hurry up."
"Hah! So impatient, 18."
Something happened, then. If she were human, she might have missed it. But she wasn't, and 18 saw it all, muted shock on her face. Tentacles with spiked structures decorating the surface emerged from the small of Miura's back.
The mugger shrieked, dropping his knife and falling on his ass. He began to babble, trying to dismiss the nightmarish sight as a drunken hallucination. Like all humans tended to do when they knew they were about to die, he pleaded to god—every god he could name, including one called Kira of all things. 18 didn't think too much of it, fixated on the sight of Miura advancing on the man with her hellish appendages. No god would save him now.
"Sorry." Miura didn't sound sorry at all, eyes bleeding black. "I'm sure you're a nice guy. You were just here at the wrong time."
"He was trying to mug us," 18 pointed out.
"You digress." Without much inflection to her tone, Miura ripped the man to shreds with her tentacles. Blood sprayed, and 18 tilted her head to the side to avoid a flying chunk of brain.
"What are you doing?" 18 inquired when Miura crouched beside the decimated corpse.
"I told you." 18 recoiled in disgust as Miura shoveled flesh into her mouth. "I'm hungry. Which is weird, because I normally only eat once a month."
"Fuck, that's disgusting."
"How mean of you, 18. I thought we were in this together."
18 scrunched up her nose. "You're eating a person."
"Because I have to survive," retorted Miura. "You asked what I am, and this is the answer. I'm a ghoul. Human flesh and coffee are the only two things that I can consume."
A ghoul... 18 mulled her words over in her head. Finally, she said, "Fine. I get it. Sorry for being a bitch about your dietary requirements."
"Oh, that's quite alright. You're reacting really well for a non-ghoul. I'm quite impressed, frankly."
18 eyed the body. "It's not really anything I haven't seen before." Before she'd been absorbed by Cell, the bug-man had eaten his way through several hundreds of towns and cities of people. Granted, Cell hadn't nearly been so crass about his feasting, but the idea was the same.
Miura ate about seventy-five percent of the drunk before standing up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Can I try kill you now? I did kinda want to test how strong you are."
18 rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "Sure, knock yourself out. Just let me put down my bag."
As soon as the bag had been set down, Miura's kagune launched forward, sharp and deadly. 18 side-stepped it, grabbing the tentacle and swinging Miura into the adjacent building without even breaking a sweat. Miura screeched, her body making a deep crater against the brick.
"Fucking hell!" she swore.
"Was that too much?"
"I felt all the bones in my legs break!"
"Sorry. Thought you would've been stronger than this." Even Krillin, who was fully human, would've been able to take that without so much as breaking a bone.
"Ugh, I yield. Shit, that was humiliating. Mind dragging me home?"
"Where do you live?"
"Nowhere, really."
There was still the house in the capsule. "Fine, I'll bring you to my place." Now was a better time than any to set up a semi-permanent base in this strange world. Then 18 paused, remembering something. "Or should I bring you to a hospital?"
"No, no. I'll be fine." Miura chuckled, mirthless. "It should be mostly healed by the time the sun rises." 18 picked her up bridal style. "Argh! Easy on the pelvis, 18, I'm pretty sure that's fractured, too!"
"Sorry," 18 said again, the meaning in her apologies beginning to lose some steam. Without any warning for the wounded ghoul in her arms, 18 shot into the sky, making sure to fly at a speed that wouldn't have every other bone in Miura's body breaking as well.
Miura shrieked. "You can fly?!"
18 stared down at her. "You can't?"
"No! No, I cannot! You're breaking literally every law of physics!"
"Hm."
What else was new?
18 had never really cared about the law anyway.
Inter-dimensionally Displaced Bride and Hungry Ghoul
April 6th, 2004
Things in Tokyo had been strange lately, but the Yagami household maintained its levels of normalcy. Light got up, got dressed, had breakfast with his family, and went to school. His mother planned out her errands for the day, Sayu talked about how nervous she was for her first year of high school, and his father went to work.
With the Kira Task Force.
With L.
Damn that L. Ryuga. Whatever. Light didn't care what he went by—at the end of the day, the detective was still trying to get him executed.
Light passed by a stand selling newspapers. Deciding to do the seller a great deal of kindness, he bought a copy for two-hundred and fifty yen and read it on the train to To-Oh.
Things in Tokyo had been strange lately.
Disappearing femme fatales getting away with millions of dollars of yen worth of merchandise and mutilated bodies appearing in the alleys of the city. A building which looked like it had been smashed into by a wrecking ball.
Honestly, thought Light, disgusted. This world has always been rotten, and this just further proves my point. It hardened his resolve as Kira even more—no, he would not back down. He couldn't, even in the face of an adversary like L. If he did, he would be betraying his principles and all the good people who were depending on him.
What Light needed to do right now, while he still had some semblance of peace, was to mentally go through all the problems he had to tackle. L was the most prominent one of all, followed by Miura. Miura. I can check her off my list. No doubt the notebook had worked its magic—Miura would be dead by now. He wouldn't have to worry about seeing her at school and making doe eyes at Ryuk, thank god. It didn't matter that Miura had been able to see Ryuk while she'd been alive—no human escaped the Death Note.
It was in the very first rule of the book.
The human whose name is written in this note shall die.
Nice and simple, unlike everything else going on in his life right now.
When he arrived at school in time for his first class, he was pleased that he did not encounter Miura. Dead, he told himself. Of course she's dead. Foolishly, perhaps, Light had considered the possibility of her living—of pulling the wool over his eyes like Naomi Misora had done five minutes before he sentenced her to death. For once, he was glad that he was wrong.
Mika Miura was dead.
Now I just have L to deal with.
And that brainless Misa and her annoying shinigami, he supposed, but L was still the bigger fish that needed to be fried.
Light Yagami would send them all to hell.
