A/N: Refs to ch: 64, 91.

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created. Or Nietzsche. Or Goethe.

So… how had he been made to come along on this again…? Heavens knew Shiro was not in the mood for amusement parks, yet here he was: kicking up dust on Mepphy Land's sunbaked asphalt in blue jeans and a threadbare old Rolling Stones t-shirt. And Mephisto had already bought himself one balloon, one pinwheel, five packs of puccho candy, three of Hi-Chew, and two servings of takoyaki.

Between the art of politics, hair-flipping and whatnot, Mephisto's greatest artistic talent was, beyond a doubt, pestering-you-until-you-comply. Going to Mepphy Land had been on his to-do-list all summer, and now that holidays were down to the last week he was dead set on going: and would drag Shiro along by the hair if need be. Their bet over the noodles hadn't helped, of course. If there was anything Mephisto loathed, other than uncleanliness and chewing gum, it was to be in debt. So yeah: to Mepphy Land they went.

"…should I ask him?" No, the possible uses for that information were too many. "I could ask around the subject out of general interest. No need to mention it has practical application." Mephisto would see through that. Mephisto was the god of words and riddles, dammit: he would see through his attempts at worming information out of him. "I'll gather my own information. It should be enough just to observe and draw conclusions. 'Cause, evidently…"

Nothing was different.

"Everything is different."

There are various eyes, and as a result there are various truths. Nietzsche, was it? Germans and their damn consonants… Philosophy didn't come naturally to Shiro - or at least it hadn't, until he had had reason to question everything he thought he knew. Demons, exorcists, and those who were both and neither… it was a different world alright. Various eyes, various truths: various worlds. Glancing idly from face to face of the people that passed them by, he wondered what kind of truths their eyes saw. What kind of worlds the people around him perceived. Not the same as he did, that much was for certain. Pff, there must be six billion different worlds, as many as there were people with eyes to see it: and the only truth was that nobody truly knew what the world looked like.

His own world…? Shiro felt like he was watching it from a distance while everybody else trotted around unawares, like a scientist observing colonies of bacteria through a microscope. Queues and moving throngs of people provided him snippets of conversation about alien things like school plays, obnoxious colleagues, the upcoming Bon festival, or inviting close friends over for supper. The funny part was that those were everyday things. In some worlds.

"Keep brooding and you will have worry lines before thirty, young man."

Shiro's own world was brought back into focus by the merry chiding from one who was both an obnoxious colleague and a close friend.

"I thought we'd established that it would be a miracle if I even reached thirty?" he returned quicker than he could think.

"Live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse: won't accomplish that last one if you keep at it like this. Contrary to popular belief, I can't read minds", Mephisto confided with casual ease, "but it's no sport guessing what's eating yours."

That look. That green gaze from the corner of an eye: so very watchful, despite the drooping lids.

Various eyes… various truths… and just how much of the world did those green eyes see?

"You're lucky, Shiro: in many ways. Your slip-up could have ended much worse than it did." What a piece of art it was, that voice. Merry and casual as ever: and sincerity slipped discreetly in between the words, where you wouldn't notice it if you didn't know where to look. "And the women are easily numbered who would be mutilated by their partners and still forgive with honest heart. Fool's luck indeed." Mephisto shot him a knowing smirk. "Who knows? You might even make it to thirty."

To say that Mephisto cared about his well-being may have been an exaggeration – at least if you asked the clown himself. Nonetheless, he put surprising effort into coaxing Shiro out of his gloom that day. One could almost be fooled into thinking the old demon had a human strain in him.

"You make such poor company when you drift off in thought."

…almost. But the blunt confession still made Shiro release a huff of laughter.

"Well, if it's action you want, I know one thing we could try." Shiro drawled his words, feeling the familiar wolfish grin return to his lips as an idea took shape. "And if I win, I won't have to dye my hair pink this semester." Because he really didn't look forward to having this hair on his school ID card. "Are you up to it?" he asked, nodding his head at the colourful air gun stand ambiguously named Mepphy Shooting.

"You can hardly pick your home-ground for combat zone and expect me to step up to the challenge."

No, it would require some fine-tuned smooth talking first. Petting the dog and all that.

"I seem to recall I challenged you on your home-ground last year, when I cut your hair", Shiro reminded with a shit-eating grin, knowing full well that taunting the dog can also work. If you know the dog.

"I shouldn't need to remind you that you are reckless beyond belief, while I am a tactician."

"Fancy way of saying you're too chicken to go outside your comfort zone." Yeah, that hit the right spot. Time to switch stick for carrot and sweeten the deal: "If you win, I'll let you pick what I wear this semester when I'm not wearing school uniform. Anything you like, until Christmas."

Oh, how his pointy ears twitched with interest at that! Shiro's Rolling Stones t-shirt was doomed, as were his pride and reputation. Mephisto was tempted, very much so… but not quite convinced.

"I know firearms is your forte", he remarked with translucent disinterest. "That you would wager such a thing only serves to show my odds of winning are next to nil."

"Oi, I've got a splinted trigger finger." Shiro wiggled the recuperating appendage. "Is that not handicap enough for your royal wimpiness?"

That did the trick. Mephisto unloaded his food and souvenirs on the shooting range counter, and Shiro paid for two from his nowadays delightfully well-fed wallet.

The following five minutes confirmed that while Shiro was indeed a reckless idiot, he also had the qualities of an observant tactician.

Demons have all the weapons they need from birth: claws, fangs, strength – some have magic, too. Humans don't stand a chance against that, and so create swords, guns, grenades and seals to even out the odds. Point being, humans rely on tools and demons rely on innate ability.

Mephisto had excellent motor control, as demons generally had. He was skilled with objects that worked as an extension of his body, such as swords, fans, and game controllers: projectiles, on the other hand… Demons have no use for long-range weapons: with their immense strength and regenerative abilities, they are predisposed for close combat. The opposite is true for humans, who benefit from ranged weaponry and having demons as far away from themselves as possible when fighting. All in all, when a human challenges a demon in the use of projectile weapons, it can really only end one way.

Yep, there was one more thing Mephisto loathed, besides uncleanliness, chewing gums, and being in debt: humiliation. Man, did he hate a humiliating loss.

Very few knew that Mephisto had a temper – in fact, Shiro was willing to bet that no one knew that, save the servants of Faust Mansion who had been privy to the outbursts when an arcade game high score narrowly slipped their master's grasp. The reason no one knew was, of course, that Mephisto very rarely lost. The other reason no one knew was that when he did lose, pride forbade him to let the frustration show. Because the King of Time was always in control: of his games, of his environment, of himself.

…but he did make an adorable face when he sulked.

"So, you win. Not very unexpected."

Mephisto had taken his sweets and his souvenirs and left, before Shiro had even collected his prize.

"One moment, please!" the vendor cried after him when he'd started to jog after Mephisto. Shiro had a heel-turn and stuffed the plushie in under his arm to cup his hands together for something the vendor was holding out to him.

"Give Faust-san this, if you would be so kind? As a consolation prize." The wiry vendor dropped the matchstick-sized toys in Shiro's palm with a plastic clatter.

Shiro had in all honesty intended to give the plushie to Mephisto – a huge white cat that looked more like a bread bun wasn't something he would ever have use for – but seeing the consolation prize… yeah. This was the right gift for the moping old clown. No doubt about it.

"Thank you", he said, and set off jogging at medium pace. Mephisto had already made it to the picturesque little pavilion that housed the cotton candy booth but was easy to spot with his height. "Hey, wait up!" And his ears were still dipping at a very displeased angle. "Here. The vendor got you a consolation prize."

"I don't need any consolation prize", he grumbled, biting off a wad of cotton candy that was not even remotely consolatory in nature. Not at all.

"No, but you never say no to free toys", Shiro returned with a smile and dangled the keychain with the two miniature mecha robots in. "Come on, it's a gift."

"Keep it."

"You're the one who's crazy about mecha anime", he pointed out, half jogging to keep up when Mephisto stalked ahead on his long legs. "And you're the master of keys."

"I already have a keychain."

"Have one more, then. They'll go fine with the dice for your collection." He slid the ring with the mini-mechas onto the nave of Mephisto's pinwheel. "There: something to remember me by. Or at least remember what a pain in the ass I can be."

"Hmpf. Why would I want to commemorate a debacle?" His reply was a curt snort - but even so, he caught the keychain as it dropped off the pinwheel.

Yeah, why…? The smile of a much older man ghosted the Esquire's lips when he spoke:

"'Cause it's the bad things in life that teach you to treasure the good ones." No, philosophy hadn't been a natural part of Shiro's thinking. It was a cheesy thing to say, one he had never expected to hear himself say... But then he hadn't expected himself to bite off a girl's face, either. Tch... It's one of those lessons in life you have to fail before you lear-

"You sound like Johann."

Shiro snapped abruptly back to their conversation.

"Hm? You were saying?"

"It was one of those things Johann used to say when he wanted to make fun of me", the demon smiled to himself, hooking the keychain ring up with his claw and letting it slide down over his finger so as not to drop it. "He claimed it was one of the fundamental things that set humans apart from demons - and that it was something I, as a demon, would never understand, no matter how vast a knowledge of the human race I boasted. Naturally, I contradicted him." Naturally. Besserwisser was another word Shiro had learnt from Mephisto: a consequence of the many times he lacked a proper word for the demon's bigheaded stubbornness. "Posthumously, I suppose I will have to give him right."

"Keep talking: I'll just nod and pretend I get what you're rambling about", Shiro enlightened as they rounded the brightly coloured house of mirrors and made for the slowly churning ferris wheel.

"The highest highs and the lowest lows of human existence." Mephisto's voice took on that special lilt, as if he were reciting verse without rhyme. "That's what he asked of me. All of life's pleasures I could understand", he mused, twirling the cotton candy stick absentmindedly between his fingers, "but I have never been asked to bestow all of life's suffering before. Or after. And yet Johann would claim that was the yearning at the core of every human heart. That pain would somehow add flavour to bliss. That inevitable loss made the battle sweeter than any victory." His brow furrowed in dissonant annoyance. "And when I claimed it was a simple matter of contrast and comparison, he just laughed at me."

"Suppose I'm not the only one who thinks it's fun to annoy you, then." Shiro's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Just how similar were he and Johann? Was he really just a replacement...?

"Oh, you're far worse than he ever was…" Mephisto muttered – and made Shiro's face crack into a full-blown grin. The old goat may not have been able to read minds, but then again much of the time he didn't seem to need it.

Nothing was different. As much as it puzzled him, Shiro couldn't help but enjoy it. He enjoyed the food, the rides, the games – both he and Mephisto scored top results on the High Striker, and were rewarded life-sized plushies of Mephisto's dog form. Mephisto himself was not amused when Shiro drew angry eyebrows on his prize, to which Shiro merely replied that his irked face only made him look more like the modified plushie animal. He then proceeded with drawing dark crescents under its eyes, whereupon Mephisto poofed away his marker pen.

Nothing was different. And rather than wonder what dark truth lay behind that, Shiro chose to linger in the fleeting present and treasure the good moments life offered.

"So, what are your thoughts of tomorrow?" the demon asked, finishing his last takoyaki ball as coloured lanterns began to light the dusk around them. Mepphy Land was closing for the day, and a slight evening chill had surfaced out of the ground to help herd the visitors towards the exit.

"You tell me", Shiro replied, drawing a shallow breath on his cigarette. "It's a closed hearing with only the Arch Knights and the Branch Directors invited – how worried should I be?"

That is, would Mephisto have his back, or would he be on his own? It was something Shiro had thought of asking, ever since he had found the letter in his mail compartment. Now the hearing was only a night away, and he hadn't asked. Not straight out, at least. He wouldn't get a straight answer anyway, so he didn't see the need to bother.

…and relying on others had never been something he was good at.

"None too much, I'd say. They called you for a hearing, not a trial – which might only serve to let Beaumonde roast you without fearing objections from the Grigori, but what use is worry in situations like this?" Mephisto replied good-naturedly. "Make a good impression and leave the rest to the Knights."

Leave the rest to the Knights? Or to the Honorary Knight?

A/N:

Hi-Chew is a type of edible chewing gum. I think Mephisto would dislike chewing gum for several reasons: it's unhygienic to spit out food, it sticks everywhere, and it's something you taste but don't actually eat (like being teased with something pleasant but never allowed to consume it?).

One of the things I love Goethe for is all those existential observations woven into the verses. I don't know what the German version says, but this is the one I have:

Faust: But thou hast heard, 'tis not of joy we're talking.
I take the wildering whirl, enjoyment's keenest pain,
Enamored hate, exhilarant disdain.
My bosom, of its thirst for knowledge sated,
Shall not, henceforth, from any pang be wrested,
And all of life for all mankind created
Shall be within mine inmost being tested:
The highest, lowest forms my soul shall borrow,
Shall heap upon itself their bliss and sorrow,
And thus, my own sole self to all their selves expanded,
I too, at last, shall with them all be stranded!