Last ChristmasOut of all the three hundred sixty-five days of the year, no day madeused to makeMisa happier than Christmas. The holiday and everything that came with it enchanted her to no end: the strings of ethereal multicolored lights, the caroling, the snowflakes on eyelashes, the presents in shiny wrapping paper, the mistletoe (especially the mistletoe) the list could go on and on, longer than the list of the bearded man in the fur-trimmed suit.
And for the star on top, Christmas happened to be her birthday.
"Which means twice as many presents for Misa-Misa!" whispered the disembodied voice of her mother into her ear.
"Merry Misa-Mas!" chimed her father. There was something sharp, nasty about the way her parents spoke to her, this time, as though they were mocking her. Taunting her lack of such presents, most of all the presents that gave true life to Christmas or a birthday, two days that meant nothing even when they were together.
Family. Friends. Faith. Love.
In all honesty,
FriendGirls are very strange creatures; emotionally, they seem all over the place. One minute, they'll comment on how your face resembles a monkey's. The next, they'll steal back into the monitor room and try to persuade you to go trick-or-treating like it's a rite of passage and you're nobody unless you've done it. Then they'll get teary-eyed about your lack of a social circle outside of your prime suspect and give you a hug to assure you that no, you're not alone and you're crazy if you believe otherwise, followed up by a blush and a stammered apology for crossing whatever line there was between you, and following that with an angry noogie when they notice that you'd taken the chocolate bar they'd stashed in their pocket (even though she was going to share it with you anyhow), and laugh about it all the while.
Immediately after, she asks for a cup. "You got any more tea? I think it's the least you can do for taking my chocolate, and I for one am parched."
Without a word, he pushes a second
SurpriseIt happens in a flash. One minute, the trio is cruising down the freeway, on their way back to headquarters after a successful trip to one of Misa's favorite malls (one of the few successes anyone's made, these days). The next—
What sounds like a gunshot on the left from behind them has all of them yelping as Matsuda hastily pulls over to the side of the road before he loses control of the wheel. But no assassin is chasing after them, which for some reason is the first scenario in Erin's mind. Instead, it's—
"Damn it! A flat, now?" the driver bemoans from just outside Misa's side of the car. Neither passenger can hear him over the roar of oblivious or single-minded drivers passing them by.
Misa undoes her seat belt and rolls down the window, peering out like a little child as she squirms onto her knees.
"What's the matter? Misa doesn't like that look on your face."
By the time Erin has wiggled out of her seat to scoot up behind the idol, Matsuda has already gotten up off
HolesWith the boys back downstairs, it isn't long before the girls go wild. Wild in the "jumping on Misa's bed, throwing pillows at each other, and squealing like the tweens they used to be while native pop music blasts at max volume from Misa's boom box" sense.
Misa starts it. Being the spontaneous girl she is, she lures her neighbor into her bedroom, lulling her into a false sense of security as she lets Erin sink in the room: spacious, dim-lit, fragrant, and decorated here and there with some of her favorite Gothic paraphernalia. Even her collection of plushies, some of them with big red eyes, chains, crosses or broad stitches around the mouth and limbs, do little but add to the playful creepiness of the room (or creepy playfulness, Erin can't decide).
For the briefest of moments, Erin can somehow imagine old L sitting among them in his little monkey-crouch. He could probably sit there between the pandas and never be noticed which prompts her to quit imagining this before it creeps
MistakeWith the emergence of the notebook and shinigami, it seemed that Light had finally boxed him in. He had managed to turn the task force against him, forced him to let him go and discontinue surveillance on Misa, all because of a single (conveniently placed) rule that hadn't been tested. He had been the only one of the group not satisfied with this evidence, but as was usually the case in a group, the majority won out.
If one could use chess as a metaphor to describe this long-running battle of wits, Kira had placed him in check. The lack of surveillance, on the one hand, could've been used to his advantage, as it would've been when Light and Misa would move again. And move they did: just days after Higuchi's death and their release, criminals had begun dying again.
But only he had brought up the fact that these killings had begun as soon as Misa had gone home, and of course, Light shut him down. With the 13-day rule in place, it didn't take long for Mr. Yagami and the others to side wit
LeaderWhen her ancestors first touched American shores, Lady Liberty had been the first to greet them, torch ablaze and tablet clutched tightly in her arm, but just loosely enough so they could see what her country had to offer them: opportunity, equality, liberty. The Great Famine had chased her Irish farmer ancestors—Mom's side—across the pond, where they duked it out in factory-run tenements to stay alive.
The Swiss roots on the tree—Dad's side—broke away from employment with the Invicta™ Watch Group and set out to promote original watches crafted by Stefan Bragger (who was known for dreaming too big and getting in too far over his head, almost like his great-great granddaughter). That pipedream never exactly made it off the ground, but he managed to make a decent-enough living for the family repairing clocks and pawning antiques in the Red, White and Blue under the surname "Blogger" (due to an error while registering at Ellis Island that was never fixed).
Proud as she is of her lineage,