No Coffee in Reikai

by Karina

Clack, clack, clackity, clack.

I don’t know why some writers actually prefer these loud typewriters.

Clack, clackety, clackity, clack, clack.

Maybe it makes them feel like they’re actually writing something.

Clack, clack.

A sense of…

Clack, clack.

Oh, I don’t know…

Clack, clack, clack.

Accomplishment?

Clack.

Yeah. That’s probably it.

Clack, clack, clackety, clickety, clack, clack, clack.

But don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about this writing stuff.

Botan roughly pulled the piece of paper from the typewriter and read it, lips moving silently.

He looked into the limpid pools of her blue eyes, and vowed silently that he would never let anyone cause those eyes to fill with pain. Never.

“Is there anything wrong, Cole?” she murmured, looking at him inquiringly.

“Nothing, my dear Adella (Botan gags at this point)” he crooned, stroking her wealth of auburn hair.  “I was just marveling at your beauty (gag).”

Her eyes lit up with delight.  “Oh, Cole!” she said, her arms enfolding him suddenly.  “You know,” she said, gazing adoringly at his ruggedly handsome face, “I do love you.”

He embraced her tiny frame tightly, as if he never wanted to let her go.

“I love you too, Adella,” Cole whispered against her delicately scented hair.  “You’ll never know how much.”

Ugh.

Double ugh.

Disgusting.

Botan crumpled up her fifty-first attempt at writing a romance novel, and let it fall to the floor, where it joined fifty other wads of unwanted paper.

I’ll never be a writer.

She gave herself the luxury of a prolonged yawn, and stretched lazily, looking at the clock in the hallway.  Ten minutes ‘til midnight.  Should get to sleep soon.

What did she have to do tomorrow? Work, work and more work.  She sighed.  Being a ferrygirl was no walk in the park.  After all, lots of people die everyday.  In fact, she didn’t realize just how many until she joined the Reikai work force.  Work.  That word again, she thought, wincing.

When Koenma first invited her to be a ferrygirl she actually thought it’d be fun.  Fun!  Imagine that.  She smiled wryly.  Well, at least the flying part is fun.

But it was still hard work.  Which meant she had better get to sleep soon.  But not before she tried this romance novel thing one more time.  After all, if she succeeded to write a halfway decent love story, she could spare herself from a whole month (!) of work.  That is, if Charon likes it…

 She ran a hand through her slightly mussed cornflower blue hair, which was not confined in its trademark ponytail.  A little bit earlier, she had yanked the ribbon off in “writerly” frustration.  Now, she was wondering where it could have landed.  Well, she thought, looking at the sea of crumpled paper with disgust, I could always look for it later.

She absently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Hair.  That’s it.  I’ll start with hair this time.

She flexed her fingers and got to work.

Masses of shiny-

Hmm…what color?  Botan caressed her chin in deep thought.  Ah, chestnut this time…

 -chestnut curls assaulted his senses, filled his world.  He buried his face in the softness, and inhaled deeply the scent of wildflowers softly wafting from them.

The feel of her small hands caressing his back with increasing urgency and the alluring curves of her body under her silk chemise drove him crazy with longing.

Uh, oh.  It looks like I’m about to write something NC-17 here…

Charon had offered Botan the use of her extensive “romantic” library (hidden under the floorboards) to help her get started in writing these paperback “corset-rippers”.  Botan read several, and at first, she was shocked by the “corset-ripping” NC-17 scenes, but in time (with additional doses of romantic fiction) she could read them without batting an eyelash.

It’s a lot different when you’re writing it though.

Very different.

Very…embarrassing.

She touched her warm cheeks gingerly.

Oh, what the heck.  Botan threw up her hands.  I might as well continue it.

Botan, still red as a tomato, continued typing, fingers bouncing rapidly off the wooden keys.

The look of her, the scent of her, the feel of her… everything about her pulled him slowly but inexorably closer.  His arms tightened around her waist.

She looked up at him, (what color? green) green eyes locking with his black ones.  He tilted her chin, and let his rough fingers trail over her cheek, down her neck, hovering over the décolleté neckline of her chemise.  She shivered-

I am NOT writing this, I am NOT writing this, I am NOT writing this…

 -at his touch.

He looked at her, eyes smoldering with desire.  “You, my dear,” he whispered huskily, “are a goddess.”

Botan continued, fingers tapping away nonstop for ten minutes.  She was afraid that if she stopped, she wouldn’t have the guts to continue writing what was proving to be the best thing she’d written so far.  Steamy, true, but nice.

At least it’s not sappy.

Sap. The whole floor was covered with sap.

Botan looked at the floor and groaned.  I’d better get a broom.

But not before she read her work.  She carefully pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter cylinder and began to read, for the fifty-second time.

This time, however, her reaction was altogether different.  With each passing minute, she blushed even brighter, absently rubbing her flaming cheeks with the sore tips of her fingers.

I can’t believe I wrote this.  She gaped at her hands, shaking her head in disbelief.

It was good, she knew.  It was at least as good as what she had read in one of Charon’s books.  Come to think of it, she thought, smiling wryly, I probably STOLE it from one of Charon’s books.  All writers, after all (except maybe for the very first one), are plagiarists.

But it was so out of character for her, writing something like this.

I’m a wholesome person, I really am!

She stared hard at her work, and it almost seemed to her that the sheet of paper had steam coming off it.  Wholesome indeed.

This is so not me.

Besides, what would Charon say?  That she was turning into some kind of pervert or something?  She imagined Charon’s blue eyes twinkling mischievously, under thick wire frame glasses, teasing her silently but relentlessly.  No, she’ll never let me hear the end of it.  She shook her head, letting another sigh escape from her lips.

Oh, well.

The paper felt dry and nicely crisp in her fist.

For a few seconds, Botan looked at the lump of paper with regret.  It’s like losing a baby…

The ridge that appeared between her eyebrows immediately smoothened.  Oh, how silly!  It’s only paper!  Giggling, she threw her latest literary exploit over her shoulder.

Well, so much for that.  She cracked her knuckles loudly, eyes lost in thought.

Okay.  I’ll give it one more go…but no more NC-17 stuff…

******************

The balled-up piece of paper rolled away from its author, traveling across the white marble floor, out the open door, finally settling in the middle of the hallway.

Footsteps nearby.  Someone’s slippers were slapping noisily against the marble.  If the ball of paper could feel anything, it would probably be uneasy.  The footsteps were heavy and uncadenced, predisposed to squashing poor objects in the middle of the hallway unknowingly.

In fact, a slipper—blue and furry—nearly stepped on the piece of art, missing it by an inch or so.  The owner of the slipper reached down and saved the piece of paper from

-oblivion-

its inevitable trip to the garbage can.  Male hands—smooth, but with calluses on areas where a wooden stamping tool would come into contact—scooped it up carefully, long, blunt-ended fingers gently unfolding the wrinkles.

Soft brown eyes quickly scanned the paper, first disinterested, then—reading more slowly—began to bulge out of their sockets; this eye-bulging was accompanied by a blush in the cheeks and quick shallow breathing.  Good Enma!  Who wrote this?!

He began to walk towards the room with yellow candlelight spilling out of it, clutching the piece of paper like a weapon.  He poked his head in the room slowly, stealthily, and caught a glimpse of blue hair, before he hastily withdrew his head—and the rest of him—into the safety of a nearby pillar.

Wait a minute…blue hair?!

He lost all concern for stealth and stomped noisily into the room.

Botan turned around, chair swiveling to face him.

“Botan!  What in Enma’s name are you doing?!” Koenma stage-whispered, waving the piece of paper around frantically.

    *******************

Charon blew out the candle on top of her bedside table, and thought about Botan. 

It was a week ago when Botan accidentally discovered her stash of romance novels.  It was a freak accident, really.  Who would’ve thought that Botan would ever be possessed of the impulse to actually clean their room?

She looked at Botan’s side of the room, at Botan’s empty bed.

Well, at least she’s working hard.

Botan had been shocked to discover all twenty-five of her romance novels (corset-rippers), the kind that sports a scantily clad woman (showing off maximum cleavage) passionately kissing and/or hugging a scantily clad man (big biceps and chest muscles are a must) on the cover.

What was she so shocked about? Wearing glasses and being serious most of the time doesn’t mean I can’t read romance novels, right?

Charon was a tall, reed-thin girl, with lank carrot-colored hair usually arranged in a no-nonsense bun at her nape, and blue eyes and freckles magnified to five times their size with bottle thick lenses.  She rarely smiled and joked around; if she did, she kept it to herself.

Okay!  So I don’t exactly look like the type to swoon over romance novels!  I probably have “nerd” written all over me.  Still, what did she expect me to have stashed under my bed?  Physics books?  The corners of her lips turned up slightly.

“I can’t believe you read this stuff, Charon!”  Botan had said, shaking her head in disbelief.  “I mean, you don’t seem like the type.”

Charon had raised her eyebrows.  “And exactly what is the type?”

“I don’t know…more not-serious, I think.  You just always look so serious, Charon.  And people always say these books,” Botan waves one in emphasis, “are so predictable and have no plot.  Why would you want to read them?”

Charon considered telling her the reason.  The predictability was exactly the reason why she liked these things; the knowledge that the hero and heroine will always end up living together happily ever after, amen.  No matter what happens in between--heartbreak, heartache and whatnot—the happy ending was a sure thing.  There were not a lot of sure things in this world.

However, it seemed like rhetorical question.  Botan seemed to be talking more to herself than prompting Charon to reply.  And so Charon remained quiet.

Botan was murmuring “…I bet that even I could do better.”

Hmm…interesting.

“I’ll tell you what, Botan.  I have a proposition for you.”

Botan seemed interested.

Charon paced around the room.  “I’ll take over your route for one whole month, on one condition.”

Now, Botan seemed really interested.

“The condition is, you will write a romance novel for me, at least three hundred pages long.”  Charon opened her closet and got something heavy from it.  “And I don’t want you to cheat by using large fonts, so you should use this.”  She dropped the typewriter on Botan’s bed, the bedsprings creaking loudly in response.  “Anyway, it’s better for putting you in the mood for writing.”  Charon gave her a small amused smile that made her eyes twinkle.

Botan looked perplexed.  “Huh? But why?”

“Well…you did say that you could write stuff better than my corny, predictable love stories, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean-“

Charon—who was meek, unassuming, and “nerdy”—waved her hand dismissingly, a gesture which surprised Botan perceptibly.  “I know you didn’t mean it that way, but you gave me an idea.  Besides, what have you got to lose?”

Botan had a look of deep concentration for a few seconds, before she broke it with a bright, cheerful smile.  “Agreed.”  She spit on her palm and held it out for Charon to shake.

Charon spit on her own palm, and reached to take Botan’s.  “But it has to be a good romance novel, huh?”

Botan snatched her hand away.  “And who’ll be the judge of that, Charon?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

“I will.”  Charon sighed.  “Oh, don’t worry Botan! I won’t cheat you.  I promise to judge your work honestly.  If it’s really good, I’ll acknowledge it and fulfill my part of the deal.  Agreed?”  She held out her spit-wet hand, matching Botan’s smile with one of her own.

“Promise to be fair?”

“Yes, yes, I won’t break my word of honor,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.  “After all, we’re practically spit sisters, aren’t we?”

Botan giggled.  “Oh all right!” she grumbled with fake grumpiness.

A handshake closed the deal.

 As Charon lay half-asleep, she wondered how Botan’s novel would turn out.  Whether it was good or not, it would provide her with entertainment, and that was always good.  What was taking Denise Lovelorn and Lavender Addams so long to write new books anyway?  The literary world, it seemed, was suffering from a drought of romance novels.  Frankly, I’m getting tired of rereading the same old books.  I can’t wait for Botan to finish her story.

And if it turned out to be best-seller material…well, she didn’t mind the extra work.  At least, she would have a valid excuse to travel Botan’s route for a month, and scout for romance novels she hadn’t read yet.

So even if I technically lose, I’d still win.  Sort of.

With that as a last thought, she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

********************

“Koenma-sama, what are you doing up so late?”

Koenma still looked bewildered.  “I was about to ask you the same thing.”  He looked at the piece of paper in his hand. 

Hmm…this has possibilities… He grinned impishly.

“Botan, I always thought you were an innocent, wholesome little girl,” Koenma said, keeping a smile off his face.  “And now I see proof that you aren’t!”  Koenma examined the piece of paper in his hand.  “Her small hands caressing his back with increasing urgency… and the alluring curves of her body under her silk chemise!”  He enunciated each word with gusto.  “It makes even me blush!”

Botan sprang out of her chair, and made a beeline for Koenma.  “Give that back, Koenma-sama!  Give it back!!”  She reached for the piece of paper, but Koenma manages to keep it out of her reach, while continuing to read select phrases from it.

“She shivered…”  Botan jumped to reach it, but Koenma was too tall.  “His eyes smoldering with desire!”

Finally realizing that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with her present tactic, she resorted to shaking Koenma violently, which made Koenma’s head bob back and forth, and his voice quaver.  “Oh, Darryl!  I love you so! she murmured, holding him-“

Botan reached out to cover his mouth.  “Hush! Do you want to wake up the whole of Reikai!”

Koenma grinned.  “Oh, I don’t think they’ll mind waking up to words like these!  I can see the headlines now…Botan the ferry girl, porn writer extraordinaire!”  He accentuated each word with a hand gesture. 

Botan shook him harder.  “You jerk,” she forced through gritted teeth.  “It’s not porn, it’s art!!”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Jerk.”

“Wait ‘til I tell George!” Koenma exclaimed gleefully, raising an index finger in the air.  “And maybe even… Dad!”

Botan immediately stopped shaking Koenma. 

“You wouldn’t…” Botan’s look was dangerous.

Koenma smiled, revealing all thirty-two of his pearly whites.  “I think I would…”

Botan’s next attack was so brutal, she made Koenma’s teeth chatter 

“You good-for-nothing, irritating, intolerable …Judas!”  Botan cried out. “I thought you were my friend!”  Okay, so maybe that’s too much…

She looked at Koenma’s bobbing head and chattering teeth and felt a bit of pity.  However, she didn’t relent and continued shaking him violently.  Just 5 more seconds then I’ll stop…

Something clattered to the floor. 

 “What was that?”  Botan raised an eyebrow.

Koenma shifted his eyes—a bit too quickly, in Botan’s opinion.  “Umm…it’s nothing.”

Botan looked at him slyly.  “It’s not nothing.  You’re looking shifty-eyed.”

“Shifty-eyed?  You’re imagining things, Botan.  But then, that’s good for a porn writer, isn’t it?  Imagination, I mean.”

“Shut up,” Botan muttered without heat.  She was more curious than angry.  “If it’s nothing, then you don’t mind if I have a peek, don’t you?”

“No, of course not.”

Botan moved to the right.  Koenma moved to the right.

Botan moved to the left.  Koenma moved to the left.

“Why are you blocking my way, Koenma-sama?”

“Blocking your way?”  Koenma looked at his nails.  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Botan pouted and crossed her arms over her chest.  “Oh, come on, Koenma-sama!  Let me see!”

“I told you.  It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”  Botan’s shoulders drooped for effect.  “Oh, all right!”  Botan turned away.  When she sensed that Koenma had let his guard down, she immediately swiveled to face him and darted quickly to the area where the unknown object had been dropped.

Koenma tried to intercept her, but it was too late.  She had already gotten hold of the object and was raising it up to the light to see what it was.

“Aha!” exclaimed Botan triumphantly, holding up the prize, which was…

…a baby’s milk bottle?!

Koenma turned crimson.

“Is this yours, Koenma-sama?” Botan said sweetly.

Koenma studied his shoes with grave interest.  “So what?  There’s nothing wrong with drinking milk, is there?  It has calcium, so it’s good for your bones.  Besides, it helps me sleep.” A huge sweatdrop betrayed him.

“But from a baby bottle?”  Botan giggled.  “I’ve always known that you had a thing for pacifiers…but this is ridiculous!  I can see the headlines now…The Reikai Prince is a Big Baby!”  She gave him a wicked grin.  “Wait ‘til I tell George!”  She raised an index finger in the air.  “And maybe even… your dad!”

Koenma looked like he was about to stick his tongue out at her, but changed his mind.  He settled for sinking heavily onto the swivel chair instead.

A stand-off.  Koenma with the incriminating piece of paper, and Botan with the incriminating bottle.  How interesting.

“How about a deal, Botan?”  He steepled his fingers under his nose.  “If you manage to conveniently forget about the milk bottle, I’ll also conveniently forget about your porn-writing efforts.  What do you say?”

“I told you, it’s not porn!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Koenma grinned.  “I have to admit though, it really did make me blush.  Where did you learn to write like that?”

“Well, I read a lot of Charon’s books…”

Koenma looked at her with surprise.

“Don’t stare at me like that, Koenma-sama!  I do know how to read!”

“Sorry.  Please continue.”

“Well, Charon and I have this bet…”  Botan proceeded to tell her boss about her deal with the red-haired ferrygirl.

“It would be nice if I could write something really good.”  Botan sighed.  “But look at this mess!”  She futilely waved her arms at the carpet of literary failure.

Koenma picked up one out of the fifty-one pieces of paper littering the floor.  As he read it he (events are cumulative) 1) scrunched up his eyebrows, 2) wrinkled his nose, and, 3) scratched the back of his head.

He looked up at a discouraged Botan.  “I see what you mean.”

Botan winced.  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“It’s not really terrible…”  Koenma groped.  “It’s okay, but…it doesn’t seem  very real to me.”

A blue eyebrow was raised.

Koenma explained.  “It’s well-written, sure…but it’s not realistic.”  He carefully picked out a piece of lint from his dark blue pajama top.  “Why don’t you write something out of personal experience?”

“Personal experience? Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Koenma observed Botan carefully for a reaction, taking in the golden glow of the candlelight on her hair, the shadows created on her delicate face, which seemed strangely to make it all the more lovely, but most of all, her eyes, those pale rose, luminous wonders…Nothing else like them in the universe…

He almost lost track of what he was saying.  Almost.  He continued to study Botan.  “Why don’t you write about a ferrygirl who’s madly in love with her handsome, debonair boss, and-“

“Dream on, Koenma-sama!”  Botan wasn’t as diligent as Koenma in keeping her tongue out of plain sight.  Handsome and debonair indeed!  She grabbed a fistful of crumpled paper from the floor and pelted him with it. 

Koenma sighed melodramatically and threw up his hands.  “This is what I get for telling the truth!”

Botan allowed herself a giggle.  What nerve!  He’s being so outrageously conceited, so un-Koenma-like…(It must be the calcium, she thinks) it’s hilarious!  Her single giggle was transformed into a steady stream of chuckles.

Koenma looked at her as if she had a disease.  He looked beseechingly upward and moaned, “She laughs at me!  She laughs at me! Enma, what did I do to deserve this?”  

Botan snorted, then laughed even harder.  Koenma was still looking boyishly indignant, sitting almost primly on the swivel chair and frowning at the injustice of having your subordinates laugh at you.  If he were a girl, he’d probably put his hands on his hips and pout like there was no tomorrow.  But he wasn’t, so he just sat there, looking…

Cute, Botan decided.  He looks cute.  Gorgeous, really.  The candlelight didn’t hurt his appearance one bit.  But she was laughing so hard that visions of candlelit dinners and misgivings about the “unprofessionalism” of thinking such thoughts about her boss immediately dissolved before they were even fully formed in her mind.

Koenma gave up trying to frown and laughed with Botan (about God-knows-what) until his sides ached.  His laughter bended perfectly with Botan’s, creating a sound that was warm and companionable, and which possessed a certain depth imparted by the wealth of unsaid emotions between them.

“Ouch!”  Koenma gasped for breath.  “This is all your fault, Botan.”

Botan merely smiled, too tired and content to argue about whose fault it was.  She felt absolutely suffused with warmth.  “We should do this more often,” she murmured languidly.

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

The warmth that had developed between them felt like it had been doused with ice water.  Koenma’s expression changed from cheery to pensive.

And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid…Frank Sinatra sang in her head.  Botan looked at Koenma worriedly, chiding herself for ruining the moment.

“You know what?” Koenma said thoughtfully.  “I think you’re right.”  He smiled brightly.

Botan exhaled with relief.

When was the last time we talked like this anyway?  Days?  Weeks?  Months?  Years?  She’d lost count.  On an ordinary day, conversation would consist of commands and grunts on his part, and “yessirs” and pleas to remind him of the bare necessities of life (like eating, sleeping and going to the bathroom…) on her part.  They were friends, sure, maybe even close friends, but she hadn’t realized that she missed their banter until now.

“Do I have your word on that, Koenma-sama?”

“That we should laugh more often?  Of course!”

Botan looked at him doubtfully.

Koenma threw back his head and laughed.  “You know me too well, Botan.”  His expression turned serious.  “But you know as well as anybody that there’s just too much work to be done; that doesn’t exactly leave me with much time for anything else.  Even laughter.”

How depressing.  “Then make time.  I’ll help you, if you like.”

Botan fancied she saw some inscrutable emotion flit briefly in Koenma’s eyes before he smiled at her.  “Such concern about my well-being.  How nice.”

“Well, your father won’t take it nicely if I let you have a nervous breakdown!” She frowned.  “You still haven’t promised!”

“Okay, okay!  I promise to make time for these…eherm…interesting conversations.”  Koenma gave her a twisty half-smile.  “I have to say though, that after this,” he waved Botan’s attempt at writing “porn”, “I’ll never think of you in the same way again…” His eyes were twinkling roguishly.

“Koenma-sama!”

He held up his hands.  “Easy.  I was just kidding.”  He touched his jaw gently.  “You shook me so hard, I nearly knocked off a tooth.”

“Serves you right, trying to blackmail me!  That was really rotten of you Koenma-sama!”

Koenma sighed.  “I nearly get seriously injured, and I don’t even get any sympathy!  What is happening to the world?!”  He settled back into his indignant, almost-pout.

Botan giggled.  “Don’t do that, Koenma-sama!  You’re going to make me start laughing again!”

He ignored Botan and continued glowering.

Botan knelt in front of Koenma and pinched his cheek.  “There, there, wittle baby,” she baby-talked, wiggling her fingers in front of his face.  “Don’t cry, wittle baby!  Don’t cry!”  She smiled wickedly.  “Don’t cry!  I’ve got a special treat for you!”  She dangled the milk bottle in front of him.

Botan snatched away the bottle before Koenma could grab it.  “Oh, no you don’t!” 

Koenma folded his arms over his chest.  “I suppose you think this is funny.”

“Oh, no!  I don’t think it’s funny.  I know.”  She brandished the milk bottle tantalizingly.  “Isn’t that right, wittle baby, you cute wittle baby, you…”

This time, Koenma actually did stick his tongue out at her. 

“Don’t forget,” he said, a bit smugly.  “I still have this.”  He fanned himself with Botan’s lemon.  “With this, I can make you my slave for a day…or a month…or a year…or-!”

“I already work for you, baka.”

“Right.”  He gave her a lewd wink.  “But you haven’t worked for me in that way, wink, wink, nudge, nudge…”

“HENTAIIIIIIII!!!!”  An oar materialized out of nowhere, and within milliseconds, made painful contact with Koenma’s cranium.  “Baka, baka, baka, baka, baka, baka, baka, baka…” A whack with the oar accompanied each baka.

“Stop, stop!  I was only kidding!  Kidding, as in, making a joke!  A joke!  Meaning something generally untrue, said for the purpose of humor!  Botan!”  He straightened up, only to be batted down again by the oar.  “I command you to stop!!!”

Botan’s oar remained poised in midair, as if daring Koenma to say more.  It disappeared with a poof.  Botan’s glare, however, didn’t disappear so easily.

“Who are you, and what are you doing with Koenma-sama’s body?”  She laid her palm on Koenma’s forehead.  “Begone, evil spirit!  Begone!”  He must be really drunk on that calcium!

Koenma looked up and saw that Botan’s eyes were closed and her lips were moving silently, as if in prayer.  The sight made him want to crack up.

What is she doing?  Oh, well.  Might as well go along with it.  He scrunched up his face and held his hands in front of him like claws.  “Yes,” he rasped.  “I am an evil spirit who molests unsuspecting women who write porn!”  He scratched at the air in front of him.  “Grrrrr…”

Botan opened one eye curiously, and saw Koenma’s distorted face.  She was dot-eyed for a second; then she exploded with mirth.  “BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA…” She slapped the table repeatedly, gasping with laughter.

Koenma turned his back on her and crossed his arms over his chest, the vein at his temple throbbing.  “…the nerve…laughing at me….this is unfair…should never have agreed to this…she laughs at my expense…this is bad for my health…mumble, mumble, grouse, grouse…”

He could hear Botan’s laughter winding up.  When the intervals between her chortles increased, he felt it was safe to gift her with a cold stare.

“Are you just about done laughing?”

Botan smiled brilliantly and saluted.  “Yes, sir!”  

“You know, this is really unfair.  You suggested that I should laugh more often, but you’re the one who’s doing all the laughing.”  Koenma frowned.

“I’m sorry, boss.  You just looked so much like an ape back there… I couldn’t help myself.”  Botan began to chuckle again.

“So much for our staff having a sophisticated sense of humor…” Koenma muttered under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“I know you did, porn queen.”  He tentatively touched his head.  “Ouch!” he flinched.  “What was the big idea?  Did you want to kill me or something?  That’s two assassination attempts already!”  He shook his head.  “I don’t think I’d live long if I stay around you.”

Botan lifted her chin proudly.  “I was defending my honor, sir.  You were suggesting something very…indecent.”

“o…kay…”

“Koenma-sama, you’re getting that hentai look again.”  She seemed to be ready to summon her oar again at any moment.

Koenma grinned.  “It’s just hard to believe a porn-writer could be so demure.”

The oar materialized again in Botan’s hand.  “Take that back, or the number of assassination attempts will increase to three…”

“Alright, alright.  I take it back.  I take it all back.”

“Good.”  The oar once again popped out of sight.

Since when have I become so…henpecked?  Koenma thought ruefully.  “You know,” he wondered aloud, “I could fire you for causing me bodily harm…”

“Fire me?”  Botan shook her head.  “You’ll never do that.  I’m too charming.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Admit it,” Botan challenged, smiling at him.  “I’m a charming girl.”

Koenma stared at her dubiously.  “Okay.  I admit you have a certain amount of charm…”

“A certain amount?”

“Okay!  So you’re charming!  But I still think you’re too violent…and I don’t exactly like the idea of having splinters embedded in my scalp.”

Botan gasped.  “Marmaduke does not have splinters!  I regularly polish her, for your highness’s information!!”

Koenma stared at her incredulously.  She named her oar?!  He hastily regained his composure.  “No need to get defensive about it.  But do promise that you’ll restrain yourself from bludgeoning me every five minutes.”

Botan stroked her chin thoughtfully.  “That’ll be tough.  You have to promise to be nice, Koenma-sama.”

“Nice is my middle name.”

“Shake on it then.”  Botan spit on her palm and held it out for Koenma to shake.

Koenma looked on, amused.  “You do realize that we’ll be trading germs and a variety of other unsanitary gunk, do you?”

“Shut up and shake my hand.”

Koenma chuckled, and spit on his own palm.  “What exactly are we shaking on?”

“That you’ll be nice to me.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “And?”

“That I won’t hit you with my oar…as…often…”

“You’re forgetting that you promised to help me discover the wonderful world of humor and laughter.”

“That too.”

Koenma hmmmmed.  “Sounds fair enough.  Shall we shake on it, partner?”

“Let’s.”

They shook hands.

Immediately after, Koenma reached into his pocket for a kerchief.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to wipe it off!  You’re defeating the whole purpose of spitshakes!”

“What am I supposed to do?  Wait for it to dry off?”

“I don’t know.  Just don’t…wipe at it, okay?”

Koenma sighed.  “I’ll tell you what.  I’ll wipe it off with this handkerchief and I promise that I will never have it laundered ever again.”  How’s that for preserving a memory?

“It sounds pretty gross…but okay.”

“Gross?  You’re the one who suggested that I should let this saliva stay on my hand, and now you’re saying that my idea is gross?”  He shook his head.

“I don’t know…”  Botan looked at him somberly.  “I just didn’t want you to wipe it off, ‘cause if you did that, it doesn’t seem like you’re taking our agreement seriously.”

Botan watched Koenma slowly wipe his hand with the handkerchief.

“By the way, can I borrow that?”

Koenma looked at her incredulously and laughed.  “Be my guest.”

********************

  George walked—bounced—along the hallway.  Gee, when they say that coffee keeps you awake, they really mean it.

He had his first cup that morning, when Koenma sent him to Ningenkai on a special assignment.  The assignment had something to do with the census department or something.  He found it hard to remember exactly what the assignment was.  He’d forgotten about it the moment he set foot on the streets of Tokyo and realized that he hadn’t brought a map. 

Fortunately, Keiko spotted him walking around, dazed and confused, and dragged him to the ramen house to calm him down with some tea.

As Keiko gingerly seated him on one of the booths (the chairs were too small), he felt the fingers of exhaustion working their way up his spine.  Eventually, he felt them tugging down his eyelids, lulling him to the comfort of sleep…

“George?”  A tap on his arm.  “George, you okay?”

He opened his eyes hastily and saw Keiko’s worried face looming over him.  “Good, you’re awake,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron absently.  “I thought you were going to land facedown on your tea.”

“Tea?”  He looked down and saw a steaming cup laid before him.  “Oh.”

“You know what I think?”  Keiko didn’t wait for a response, so George assumed the question was rhetorical.  “I think that you need some coffee.  To wake you up.”  Keiko walked away before George could formulate a suitable answer.

“Ko…fi?”  George’s brow furrowed.  What did Keiko mean?  What’s kofi?  She did say it was “to wake you up”.  That was a hint.  But exactly what was it?

Keiko cleared up the mystery by returning with another steaming cup of dark-colored liquid.  She laid it in front of him, and watched as he stared at the cup, befuddled.

“What are you waiting for?  Drink it up, George.”

The oni’s mouth rounded in enlightenment. “Oh.”  So that’s what you do with it.

“No coffee in Reikai?”  The fact seemed to amuse her.

“Yeah.”  He stared at the cup as if it was going to sprout legs and crawl over him.

“Well, it’s real good.  Smells good, tastes good and wakes you up.  Enjoy.”  With a smile, she left him to attend to some customers who have just entered the restaurant.

He looked at the cup uncertainly before deciding to take an experimental sniff at the thin snake of vapor emerging from it.

“Hmmmmm…”  Keiko was right about it smelling good.

Braver now, he lifted the cup slowly and brought it up to nose level, drinking in the savory aroma.  He inched it closer to his blue lips, and then took a tentative sip.

The effect on his body was amazing.  Keiko could swear—even standing, as she was, on the other side of the room—that the oni turned a darker shade of blue, and actually had smoke issuing from his ears and nostrils.  His eyes widened to twice their size, his whole body tensed, and he felt his cheeks warming up.  I am invincible.

George bolted out of his seat.  “Bye, Keiko!  Got to get back to work!”  He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before going out of the ramen house.

“Well, that rascal.”  Keiko chuckled.

 Now, fourteen hours later, George could still feel the effects of the caffeine on his body.  He felt that he could lift Koenma’s desk (now that was a daunting feat) had he so desired, without seriously injuring himself.  Still, he didn’t try it.  One can’t tempt fate.

He zipped by Koenma’s bedroom, and overshot it before noticing that the door was ajar and the room was empty.  Now that wasn’t unusual at all.  Often, Koenma would stay up late to finish his workload.  However, as the oni recalled, the workload wasn’t especially heavy today.  Now, what is Koenma-sama doing up so late?

George tried to tell himself that it was none of his business, that he shouldn’t really try to find out what Koenma was up to.  But old habits died hard, and he found himself following the trail of Koenma’s life energy, as he had done countless times before, back when Koenma was young and impetuous.

He tiptoed along the hall, not out of any desire to be discreet.  The manic energy unleashed inside him by the single sip of coffee seemed to dictate that he should be on his toes.  It seemed a good way to expend some energy.

The oni found himself standing in front of the recreation room.  Koenma’s trail ended there.

Now what is Koenma-sama doing in the rec room at this late hour?

He was about to barge into the room and ask that question when he heard Botan’s voice.  “You know, this was a really good idea.”  A rustle of fabric.

Koenma:  “Yeah, I know.”

“But you do promise not to have this washed.”

“Yes.”  George could almost hear him grin.  “You realize that we’ve just swapped body fluids.”

A beat.

What in Reikai are they talking about?

“Koenma-sama!  You make it sound so disgusting.”

“Oh, well.  That’s a matter of opinion.”

“Hmmm…well, maybe you’re just too prissy to have your royal hands dirtied!  Even if it’s in the name of…of  honor!”

Koenma chuckled.  “Hold your horses, queenie.  I was only joking.”

George sensed that Botan was pouting.  “Well, maybe you’d prefer it if it were a blood pact instead, hmm?”  A poof.

“Hehe.  I told you I was just kidding.  I will take my promise seriously.”

Did Koenma-sama actually sound nervous?

“Besides, you did promise that you wouldn’t try to kill me as often.  So put that away, Botan.”

Try…to…kill…?  What the heck-?

George Saotome was confounded.  Why is Botan trying to kill Koenma-sama?  Why doesn’t he defend himself?  What in Reikai is going on?

Another poof. And a sigh from Koenma.

George, after a brief internal debate, decided that he was going to barge in at that moment, to save Koenma who was obviously in danger.  However, Koenma’s next words made the oni pause in midstride, and consider whether his boss really was in danger.

“It’s late, Botan.  We should both be getting to sleep. Lots of work tomorrow, you know.”  That sounds perfectly ordinary, coming from Koenma-sama…

What is going on?

George heard footsteps coming closer, and decided not to stick around to find out.

******************

Botan felt a strange prickling at her nape, as if someone was observing her much too closely.  She didn’t care much for the sensation.

But then again, it was probably just her imagination.  Who’d be afoot in Reikai at this hour?  Nobody but the two of them, probably, were even awake.  But then again, they were both crazy.

Staying up late probably does make you crazy.

“It’s late, Botan,” Koenma said, as if reading her mind.  “We should both be getting to sleep.  Lots of work tomorrow, you know.”  Now, he was sounding more like the usual Koenma.  All work and no play.  Botan sighed.

“You go ahead.  I’m gonna give this thing one more shot,” Botan replied, patting the typewriter absentmindedly.

Koenma shrugged.  “Okay.  Don’t stay up too late though.”  He stood up, stretched lazily, and yawned.  “I, for one, am feeling very sleepy.  Must be the calcium,” he murmured almost to himself.

Botan hid a smile behind her hand.

Koenma paused at the doorway, as if reluctant to leave.

“Good luck with the porn-writing.”

“It’s not porn.”

“Whatever.”

“Good night, Koenma-sama.”

“What?  You’re still upset because I called it porn?”

“Good night.”

“Okay, okay.  I’ll leave.  Good night, Botan.”

“Good night.  And once again, it’s not porn.”

Koenma opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.  Instead, he waved at her and closed the door.

Botan listened to his footsteps until they gradually faded, then settled into the swivel chair, still warm from Koenma’s body temperature.  Funny, the whole room seems warmer somehow.  It was as if his presence left a mark on every item in the room. 

She looked around and realized that he did leave a mark.  Koenma had left behind his milk bottle.  Botan smiled fondly at the souvenir, and felt another onslaught of giggles bubbling up.  She covered her mouth tightly to stifle it.

Good night, Koenma-sama.  I’ve got some interesting plans for you and your bottle…

*******************

Botan felt the strange prickling at her nape all throughout the next day.  It made her extremely uncomfortable

-is that one of Koenma-sama’s spies? Wow…how paranoid…-

but she went about her business, like she would on any other day.  Koenma probably realized that she still had the milk bottle, and decided to have her closely watched to see what she would do.  After all, they agreed on a lot of things last night, but refraining from blackmailing each other wasn’t one of them.

Oh, well.  The thought that Koenma was having her supervised made her smile.

The fact that she was being watched—if she was being watched—wouldn’t really stop her from slipping a note into Koenma’s papers, would it?

Her grin widened.

She cautiously looked around before drawing out a folded piece of light blue paper from inside her left sleeve.  Tiptoeing carefully, she cracked open the heavy oak door leading to Koenma’s office and slipped her head in.

Empty.

Botan breathed a prayer of thanks, and ceremoniously dropped the note on top of the ever-present heap of papers on Koenma’s desk.  Then, she took off, a blur of blue hair and pink cloth.

****************

Botan didn’t notice as she ran that a furtive blue figure was watching her carefully.

Suspicious.

He watched the whole letter-delivering episode with bated breath, and many unanswered questions.  As she sped by him—not noticing he was there, to his eternal relief—he was frozen in place, and continued to be for a few more minutes.

What is in that letter?

The oni decided to take action.  He strode purposefully to Koenma’s office.

“Hey George!”

George spun around and saw Koenma walking towards him.  He was in his adult form, which he seemed to favor more and more often.

“I just went on a coffee break,” Koenma said sheepishly.

George started, remembering his own coffee experience.  He hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, and he was still feeling quite peaky.  All from a single sip of that liquid.  George wondered what would have happened if he had drunk the whole mug.

Koenma misinterpreted his reaction as surprise.  “I know it’s unusual for me to be taking time off from work.  But I’ve finally managed to convince myself to rest a bit by making the rest periods part of the work schedule.”  He seemed a bit embarrassed by this admission.

“That’s really good, Koenma-sama,” the oni muttered, a bit distracted.  He remembered Botan’s strange actions and considered telling his boss about them.  But then, that would lead to a lot of probing questions, which will definitely be difficult to answer, such as why he was following Botan in the first place.

So George kept quiet and waited to see how things would turn out.

“What’s really good?  My schedule or-?”

“That you’re taking time off to rest, Koenma-sama.  That’s really good.”  George cocked an eyebrow.  “But we don’t have coffee in Reikai.”

“What? Oh.”  Koenma grinned.  “I didn’t actually have coffee. It was just an expression.”

A silent moment.

George looked at him with concern.  “Are you okay, Koenma-sama?”

Confusion.  “Yeah. Why? What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you really okay?  Any problems?”  What’s the deal with Botan? he wanted to ask.

“Yes, I’m really okay.”  This is weird.  Even for George.  “What would make you think that I’m not okay?”

Oh, I don’t know.  Ferry girls trying to kill you, and dropping off suspicious notes?  “Oh…nothing really.  But you can tell me if there is something wrong, sir.  You can tell me.”

“o…kay…”  This is really weird.  “I’ll be going back to work now.”  Koenma entered his office, and George followed, sitting unobtrusively in the corner of the room.

Koenma was still puzzling over his oni assisstant’s strange behavior as he unconsciously reached out for the document topmost on his workpile, a piece of light blue paper.

He unfolded it and scanned it quickly, like any other official document, before its meaning sunk in.  His eyes returned to the start of the note, and scrolled down the note more slowly.

 To the Prince of Reikai (aka big baby),

If you ever want to see your milk bottle again, follow the ff. instructions to the letter:

1.  Bring Document A (the document you forcibly acquired, containing material of a sensitive nature) to the recreation room at 4:30 pm, on the day after you receive this letter.

2.  Sign at the space indicated below this letter, granting the sender of this letter a month-long leave with pay, and a year’s supply of wood polish.

3.  Do not speak nor hint of the contents nor the authorship of Document A.  Ever.  Even under torture.

4.  Do not try anything foolish.  Resistance is futile…

If you do not comply with all of these instructions, the sender of this letter will be forced to take the following courses of action:

1.  Announce in the PA the existence and ownership of a certain milk bottle in her possession.

2.  Forgo the usual forms of address and call you by the names Big Baby, Milk Bottle Boy, Googoo Gahgah-chan, and variations of these.

3.  Deal with you in a manner befitting your psychological age, not your actual age. (isn’t that right, you cute wittle baby, you…)

4.  In short, MAKE YOUR LIFE ABSOLUTELY MISERABLE. 

I trust that you will find these conditions entirely reasonable, and of wittle, eherm, I mean little, inconvenience to you.  Thank you for your cooperation.

Coochie-coochie-coo! ^o^

George watched his boss’s eyes widen with surprise as he read the letter.  The oni’s knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists, both because of concern for Koenma’s well-being, and frustration at not knowing what in Reikai was going on!

He gazed at his hands and slowly unclenched them.  The pressure left small crescents depressed on the skin of his palms.  George let out a breath and looked up to see how Koenma was reacting to the mysterious letter, only to find that the letter was covering his face, and therefore covering his reaction.  However, George could see that his shoulders were heaving, though it seemed to the oni that his boss was trying to conceal it.

Is he…crying?

“Koenma-sama, are you okay?”  George blurted out without thinking.

Koenma put the note down, and George saw that there were indeed tears streaming down his face, but not because of fear or sadness.  Koenma was laughing.

“That’s the hundredth time you’ve asked me that question, George.  I’m fine.”  His eyes sparkled with thinly veiled amusement as he surveyed Botan’s ransom note.

“Actually,” the oni replied with a raised eyebrow, “it’s only the third time I asked today.  I can’t remember exactly how many times I’ve ever asked you that question, but I’m sure that I’ve asked you more than a hundred times.  I could check the records, if you want.”

Koenma chortled.  “No, no, don’t bother.”  Koenma laughed harder at his expense.

George crossed his arms over his chest and fumed inwardly.  Well, I never…

“There, there, George.  Don’t get cross.”  Koenma smiled with good humor.  “You always take everything so literally.”  Koenma took out a blank piece of parchment, a quill, and a pot of ink

-you’d think that by this time they’d let us use ballpens! Oh well-

and continued speaking.  “I want you to deliver this note to Botan when I’m done.”

Koenma stroked his chin thoughtfully as he stared at the parchment.  He was conscious of the fact that his assistant was still bristling at not being informed of what was going on in his life.  But soothing the oni would have to wait.  He had a letter to write.

Hmm…let’s see…He licked the tip of the quill—out of habit rather than necessity—dipped it into the inkpot and began to write in a script that he had carefully developed over the centuries.

To my dear ferry girl (you naughty, naughty girl!),

 I have recently received your most…imposing letter, and I regret that I must politely refuse your conditions.  First of all, let me remind you that a year’s supply of wood polish is no joke.  Where would you store that amount of wood polish?  You’d likely be sitting, eating, and sleeping on wood polish cans for a year, and I’m sure you’d agree that that is a most uncomfortable situation.

I’m sure that Marmaduke wouldn’t mind, would he?

Secondly, I have seen no benefit on my behalf in fulfilling your stated conditions, aside from exoneration from the consequences you have also stated in your letter.

And thirdly, although I have to admit that the thought of the consequences I will face if I do not fulfill your conditions makes me shiver with fear-

 Koenma fought back a chuckle.

 -I will remind you that I also have ammunition against you.  The euphemistically named Document A aka your VERY impressive attempt at writing porn *snicker, snicker* remains in my possession.  You know, it seems to me that the more I read it, the more incriminating it becomes.  Oh well!

 So I guess what I’m trying to say is:  NO DEAL.

= P

 Hugs and Kisses and …*gasp!*,

Googoo Gahgah-chan

Koenma carefully folded the letter.  His thoughts were on how Botan would react to the letter as he let the red candle wax drip unto the paper, effectively sealing it.  He affixed the wax with his official seal, and with a flourish, handed it to George to be delivered.

She’d hit the ceiling! Koenma thought, thoroughly amused.  She’d probably barge in here with her oar—Marmaduke—as soon as she reads it.

Koenma noticed the oni’s worried look as he took the letter.

Koenma sighed.  “Nothing’s wrong, George.”

The oni nodded and went on his way.

*****************

 George bounced—but not as highly—along the hallway.  He still felt quite energetic but not like before.  His thirty-two hours without sleep were finally taking their toll.

He finally stood in front of Botan’s room and was silently deciding whether to slip it under the door, or to deliver it to her personally.  He was thinking about the finer points of espionage and letter opening when he finally decided to make his decision sitting down.

The oni settled down in front of Botan’s door.  The cool marble floor and the carvings etched on Botan’s bedroom door were strangely comfortable.

Funny…my eyes feel a bit heavy.

George closed his eyes.  There.  That’s better.

Now should I give this to her personally, or should I just slip it under the door?

After a few minutes, the oni’s thoughts drifted.  After some more minutes, he didn’t think at all.

****************** 

Botan’s own thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise—something akin to a motorboat, and just as loud—outside the room she shared with Charon.

What in Reikai is that?

Whatever it was, it was giving her a headache, and a headache she didn’t need. Not at this moment, now that she was working out the details of her romance novel.  She had already told Charon of the basic plot.  Her ferry girl roommate had nodded and said it was “very promising”.  Very promising.  Botan smiled at the thought.

Botan’s smile disintegrated as the motorboat noise pervaded her thoughts.

“Turn it down, will ya?!?” she hollered.

The noise continued, and—it seemed to Botan—even grew louder.

It began to look like she would have to deal with the culprit personally.

Hmmph.

She stomped to her door (noisy rascal!), turned the knob quickly, and pushed the door outward.

Oddly enough, the door wouldn’t open.

Another odd thing was that the noise seemed to be coming from the door itself.

Weird.

She pushed the door with Herculean effort,

-it’s a good thing that women can’t have hernia. whew!-

and managed to open it about an inch before she sank down to the floor, panting.

Wow!  Whatever is behind this door, it sure is heavy!

She got a sudden bolt of inspiration, and ran to her dresser.  She extracted a small mirror from the topmost drawer.

If I can’t move that thing out of the way, at least I’ll find out what it is.

She moved towards the door, clutching the mirror tightly.  Then, holding her breath, she slowly slipped the mirror through the inch-wide gap between the door and the jamb and saw…

…George Saotome, out cold, and snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.

What am I thinking?  We are dead.  Sort of.

It’s amazing how quickly one picks up these ningen colloquialisms.

She sighed loudly.  It looked like she was stuck here for a while.  At least until George woke up.

She got a clothes hanger and slipped it under the door, hitting something—the oni’s posterior probably.  Botan winced at the thought.

She repeatedly prodded the unknown body part.  “George!  Wake up!”

A snore was all she got as a reply.

With another heavy sigh, she withdrew the hanger. 

She stood up from the floor and started to place the hanger back in its proper place, when she noticed that it had snagged something.  A letter.  Addressed to her.

She hastily broke the seal

-Koenma-

and unfolded the parchment, revealing Koenma’s neat script.

She read the letter slowly, absorbing everything.  Why, that rascal!

With a strength she didn’t know she possessed she slowly managed to push the door enough so that she could go out of the room and confront

that RASCAL!

She strode purposefully towards Koenma’s office, clutching the letter tightly.

********************

 “What exactly does *gasp!* mean?”  Botan asked Koenma stonily.

Koenma grinned.  “It’s about time you arrived,” he said cheerily, ignoring Botan’s question.  “I was expecting you to burst through that door about,” he looked at the timepiece on his desk, “ten minutes ago.”

“What does *gasp!* mean?!” she insisted, pointing out where the word occurred in the letter.

Koenma stared at her.  She really looks lovely when she’s mad.  He tore his eyes away from her glowing cheeks and looked at her slyly.  “Well, it’s open to interpretation.”  He saw that the answer didn’t diffuse her anger at all, so he quickly changed the topic.  “So how’s…um…Marmaduke?”

“Oh, Marmaduke’s all rough and splintery…and eagerly awaiting contact with your skull.” Botan held up her hand, as if threatening to summon her oar.

Koenma sweatdropped and quickly drew the unwashed hanky from his pocket.  He waved the cloth in front of Botan’s face.  “You promised,” he chanted.

Botan sighed.  “Yes, I did.  Would you please stop waving that in front of my face?  It’s gross."

“Okay.” He put the handkerchief back in his pocket.  “So what took you so long?”

Botan frowned.  “I was barricaded.”

Koenma raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“George passed out in front of my door, so I couldn’t get out.”

“Oh.”

“You know,” Botan mused, “I never knew that George snored so loud.”

Koenma looked at her quizzically.  “George doesn’t snore.  His room is beside mine, so I’d know.”  His brow furrowed.  “And now that I think of it, he doesn’t take naps in the middle of the day either.”

“Well…that’s strange.”

Koenma’s eyes narrowed in thought.  “It’s very unusual behavior for George…or any other oni, for that matter.  Onis are very consistent beings.  They like routine.  That’s why they’re good office assistants.”  Koenma paused.  “The only time when I’ve seen an oni act out of the ordinary was when…” His eyes widened in realization.  “Coffee!”

“Coffee?”

“Yes, coffee.”  Koenma confirmed, happy to have gotten the key to the mystery.  “Coffee has a strange effect on onis.  Just a small dose can increase metabolic activity drastically.”

Botan hmmphed.  “In English, please.”

“I mean, coffee makes onis very hyperactive.  For a number of hours, they explode with energy.  But this energy eventually runs out, and they’re left feeling very tired.  So George passed out in front of your room.”

“Hm.  That explains it.”

“You know,” Koenma began, looking at her with a strange gleam in his eyes.  “If George is still asleep, and you couldn’t get back into your room, you could always go to mine…”

“Why, you-!”

Koenma shook his pocket.  “Hanky,” he reminded her lightly.

Botan nodded grimly.  “Hanky.”

“Besides, I was only joking.  Why would I seriously suggest something so indecent to someone who’s obviously a paragon of virtue?”  Koenma grinned.  “Isn’t that right, you naughty, naughty girl?”

Botan opened her palm to summon her oar.

Koenma shook his head.  “Hanky.”

“Darn.”

Botan shook her head.  After a moment, she finally smiled.  “You know what, Koenma-sama?  You’re absolutely outrageous.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“I thank you just the same.”

“You know,” Botan said, with a dangerous edge—it seemed to Koenma—in her voice.  “You never told me what *gasp!* means…”

Koenma crossed his arms over his chest.  “Well…you figure it out.  You’re the one with the pornographic mind…”

Botan clenched her fists.  Ooh, that-!

“Hanky,” Koenma and Botan said at the same time.

They’re eyes met and then they burst out laughing.

Botan shook her head ruefully.  “You make it really hard for me to keep my word, Koenma-sama.”

Koenma sighed.  “Okay.  I’ll be nice.”  He decided to change the topic.  “So how’s the romance novel going?”

“Great, actually.”  Botan smiled.  “Charon said it was ‘very promising’.”

“And that’s coming from our resident book critic.  I must admit, I’m proud of you, porn quee-“

Botan raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, Botan.”  Koenma smiled disarmingly.  “So did the ferry girl and her dashing, debonair boss end up together?”

“What makes you think I wrote about that?”

“I told you to write about personal experience, remember?”

Botan chuckled.  “I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again.  Dream on, Koenma-sama!”

“Oh well!”  Koenma shrugged.  “You didn’t answer my question.  Did they end up together?”

Of course, you ninny!  The hero and heroine always end up together. 

Botan smiled mysteriously.  “Well…we’ll see, won’t we?”

She stood up.  “I’d better go.  I shouldn’t keep you from your work.”

“Wait,” Koenma called out.  “You don’t plan to leave me in suspense, do you?”

“Well,” Botan grinned wickedly.  “Maybe.”

Koenma groaned.

Serves him right!  Botan walked towards the twin oak doors.

“Besides,” she heard Koenma say behind her.  “We still haven’t worked out what to do with this.”

Botan turned to face Koenma, and saw him waving her lemon alluringly.

“Hmmph.”  Botan sank back into the chair in front of Koenma’s desk.  “So what do you propose we do?”

“Um…”  Koenma smiled.  “How about coffee?”

“Coffee?”

“Do you really have to repeat what I say?”

“Uh, sorry.  You just took me by surprise.”  Botan bit her lower lip thoughtfully.   “Just what will we do while having coffee.”

Koenma threw up his hands.  “We’ll trade the goods, of course.  I’ll bring the lemon, you bring the bottle, and we’ll both promise not to blackmail each other anymore.”  Koenma smiled ruefully.  “Too bad, though.  I was beginning to enjoy this…”

I was beginning to enjoy it too.  The thought surprised Botan.  “But there’s no coffee in Reikai!”

“So we’ll fly down to Ningenkai on that oar of yours, Marmaduke.  Please make sure he’s polished, though.”  Koenma winced.  “I’d hate to have splinters embedded in my…my…never mind.”  That has to hurt!

Botan laughed.  “Don’t worry.  Marmaduke’s polished.  I don’t exactly like the idea of embedded splinters either.”

“So it’s all set then.”  Koenma’s grin was infectious.  “I’ll escort you to your room so you could get the bottle, then we’ll make tracks.”

Botan eyed the pile of papers on Koenma’s desk doubtfully.  “You’ll really leave all that behind?  I mean, really?”

“Pah!”  Koenma waved his hand dismissingly.  “It’s just work.  It can wait.”  He shot an unwavering look at Botan.  “Besides, you did promise to help me make time for humor and laughter,” he remarked teasingly.

If he says “Hanky” one more time, I swear I’ll scream… “Oh, I don’t think you have any problems with laughter.  You’re having a grand time laughing at me!”

Koenma beamed.  “True.  That makes us even then.  You’re always laughing at me.”

A beat.

Wait a minute.  Botan looked at her boss curiously.  “Koenma-sama?”

“Hm?”

“I have a question.  Is this…a…

…a date?”

Silence.

I certainly hope so…Koenma smiled mysteriously.  “Well…we’ll see, won’t we?”

They walked beside each other in a silence that was not awkward at all.  It was actually warm and comforting, and at the same time, crackling with a not altogether unpleasant tension.

“By the way, Marmaduke’s a she, not a he.”

“Oh,” Koenma looked at her, amused.  “Is that so?  Well, thanks for clearing that up.”  With a flourish, he opens one of the oak doors for her, and follows her out of his office.                                

~owari~ ^_^

Back to Fanfics