A/N Yet another bonus chapter. This one is dedicated to again, Mistress, and Anonymous for suggesting other characters to do.
Pearl Fey
Pearl had always been surrounded by people since she was born—an assortment of short-lived friends, a collection of acolytes, a small clan of villagers. But these were mostly temporary; groups of friends that changed and shifted, disciples replaced by new disciples, villagers flowing in and out of her company. The one who was most constant in her life was her mother. Morgan Fey.
Her mother loved her. Pearl believed it.
Pearl believes it.
But her mother was separated from her, by the people Mr Nick worked with (or that he met while doing his job, anyway) called the po-leese. She knew what her mother had done—and then she tried to get Pearl to do something for her, something that would hurt Mystic Maya.
Morgan Fey loved Pearl. A strange sort of unclear, murky emotion; subjective.
Maya, on the other hand, was clear-cut. She cared about Pearl. Caring entailed loving as a prerequisite.
A clear difference between the two.
Because why exactly did Morgan love her? Because she was her daughter? Because she was who she was?
No.
Because she could carry the legacy her mother failed to obtain.
Because she could bear the burden her mother struggled to achieve.
Because she was born with a blessing, a gift, and never a curse.
Pearl had strong spiritual powers. Not materialistic, technically. But a shallow, callous reason nonetheless.
Mystic Maya cared about her. Because Pearl was her cousin. Because they'd been through so much, they supported each other. Because she loved Pearl as a character, a kid sister.
With Maya came others who cared, as if her black-haired cousin was a talisman of hope. Mr Nick. And with Mr Nick came others, more and more!
But what if they stopped caring?
No, worse, what if they continued, but for all the wrong reasons?
Pearl had experienced that before. It was nasty.
What if they cared… because it was their job? What if they cared… because they had no choice? What if they cared… because they wanted to make use of her?
Pearl fears this, especially because she will keep on clinging on to them, unable to let go. She was frightened, extremely frightened, when she thought she had lost her powers—why? It didn't matter all that much to her… but that was exactly it. Her mother cared about her powers. Despite this empty love, Pearl loved her mother all the same.
The young girl never did learn how to let go.
And when, if, they let go…
She keeps clinging like a spoilt child…
Love, never truly returned.
Malnourished.
But don't worry—she's sustained with fear.
Larry Butz
Alone in his apartment, with a strange assortment of objects in the cluttered room.
A few picture books with bright and endearing covers; a blue security guard jacket; a tattered recipe book tossed across the room, the page open at 'Samurai Dogs'; a silver, ridiculous-looking suit with odd tentacles looping from its back; and many, many sad mementos carried from failed relationships.
Unwanted items, kept only for… nothing.
Because these items were nothing to him! (Deep inside his mind, of course, he knew that the 'items' he was referring to was mainly the bulk of gifts from his various hookups.) No one wanted him—wait, that wasn't quite right. He wanted no one!
Who were these people to toss him away? Who were they to discard him like some unwanted rag doll? Who were they to think that they had some power over him? That they could manipulate his emotions—influence his actions—force him into depression, or denial—change his mindset to life or to alter his values?
If he seemed a little dull, a little dim, a little naïve… But everyone had their flaws. (Not that the aforementioned were one of his. If he had a flaw, it was enjoying life all too much and casting a shadow over Nick and Edgey.)
But everyone needed someone. Even someone that needed no one. He was that someone, of course. But if everyone needed someone, then someone needed everyone, and he was that someone who needed no one, which in turn would mean that no one needed someone—but all that was overturned by the 'even', meaning he was that someone who needed perhaps not everyone, but another someone.
A contradiction!
(And by this statement, one could deduce that Larry was surrounded by lawyers all too much, which warped his unique intellect into an even stranger one.)
But if he overturned his previous statement (see paragraph 4), then it all made sense, adding in the sense of denial of course.
So it seemed they could warp his thinking.
The ones who dumped him and left. Why did he still have to have this… influence from them? Why did they have influence over him?
Unable to change his own life, unable to move on without remembering the day she left, when he cried out to his two best friends.
Will he never be able to take control of his own life?
More importantly, or more potently, will he ever be able to have someone by his side without the nagging insecurity below his happy-go-lucky exterior?
Will he ever rid himself of this fear?
But the fear is just—he will always be left alone.
?
Is… someone there? Does she… hear something? Where… is she?
Who is… she?
She doesn't even know what she looks like anymore, what she sounds like, and indeed, who she is.
Perhaps it was the personalities that she was forced to adopt, or the multitude of disguises she was forced to don, but the fact remained that she didn't even know her natural hair color.
She can barely remember her real name. Or maybe what she's remembering is yet another pseudonym buried far into her past.
Because she had many names. Calisto Yew, Shih-Na… And with each name came a story. A character, a look, a voice, a set of traits that slowly began to erode herself, who she really was under all those falsehoods.
For the sake of convenience, she began to refer to herself in her own thoughts as the person, real or fake, that she was masquerading. At this very moment, she was Shih-Na.
And she was beginning to think she would be Shih-Na for a long time now.
Beside her was a man, a wolfy sort of character, wearing an unusual expression on his face. There would usually be a languishing grin, or a self-satisfied smirk, maybe even a grimace or an open mouth of shock, but now… there was nothing. No twist to his lips, just an odd faraway expression that made Shih-Na apprehensive.
She was in a police car, not as a part of law enforcement, but as a criminal.
She had been caught.
Shih-Na wouldn't be pretending to be someone else for a while.
No cackling laugh; she was not Calisto Yew. No professional seriousness; she was not Shih-Na. Except she was. She didn't know how to be anyone else, not anymore.
"Damn bullet."
Shih-Na glanced at the Interpol agent who had placed his hand gingerly on the bandage on his leg. Without insisting to go to the hospital, he had only wanted to make sure Shih-Na got to the penitentiary.
Shi-Long Lang. He was an idiot. That bullet that had caused his wound had been meant for her, when she had grabbed that fake Yatagarasu girl (or rather, the wannabe Yatagarasu girl) and held her hostage. And like the fool he was, Lang had taken the bullet for her. Didn't he realize that she wasn't his subordinate?
Feeling a bit out of place, Shih-Na remembered to stay in character. "You should have gone into the hospital." Then she remembered that they knew she was a traitor. Nevertheless, as she had mulled over earlier, she would still be Shih-Na for a long time now.
"And give you a chance to break out? Not a chance." Lang paused, then a more familiar wolfish grin spread across his face. "Lang Zi says: Give your prey a chance and they'll slip right under your claws."
"Is that so." A bored tone.
The duo fell into silence, but her thoughts filled the awkwardness.
Shih-Na could only be Shih-Na now; the people she met knew only Shih-Na. Miles Edgeworth, Kay Faraday; they knew Calisto Yew as well, but the character of tacit silence seemed more fitting than a dramatic hyena laugh in prison.
She was Shih-Na.
But both behind and in front of Shih-Na is a dark uncertainty. Questions, more questions.
Who is she?
Perhaps just one question, but one that holds much significance.
Shih-Na is standing, quite precariously, on a thin, tiny platform amidst a sea of black. One step forward, one step back, or indeed one wrong move sideways or otherwise could get her landed in a torrent of question marks and darkness.
But there it is, the night creeping up at her ankles, threatening to pull her in. As a particularly stubborn one snaked up her leg and tried to reel her in, it left behind the same question, the same uncertainty, the same fear. A fear that leaves a bad taste in her mouth.
Who is she really?
A/N One word: Review. And I'm still accepting requests if you guys want more.