Chapter Two

If we desire respect for the law, we must first make the law respectable. - Louis D. Brandeis

December 18, 1994

L Lawliet was exhausted… frustrated… irritated… and had a terrible, throbbing headache. The dark-haired teenager flopped back on the grayish-blue couch with an exasperate breath, computer silent on his lap as he closed his eyes to review statistics. He was seriously beginning to consider reevaluating his views on religion, and praying to some non-existent entity to hold together his already questionable sanity; but it may have been the insomnia speaking, so he quickly disregarded the notion.

Three days… Three days since he entered that meeting with Interpol, and he thought he was going to go stark, raving mad in another few hours. Two desktop computers sat on the glass coffee table to his right, one displaying various pieces of video footage, the other idling as it waited for test results. His laptop rested innocently on his lap, unintentionally becoming the most irritating device within his possession as time went on.

He should never have listened to Watari. The man simply existed to make his life miserable. It had been endless meetings and reports once the collective police forces realized that L was not, in fact, a figment of their imaginations. It was almost comical how many of them attempted to exert some form of control over him once it became apparent that Detective L was going to become a rather permanent feature in the world.

But L was not in a mood to be amused. Therefore, they were quickly learning that it was foolhardy at best—professional suicide at worst—to toy with him. Already there were a total of seven major officials that had been forced into an 'early retirement' under suspicion of professional misconduct when they attempted to bribe, or otherwise coerce the stubborn teenaged genius into various schemes that he had not taken the time to acknowledge due to inherent stupidity on their part. It was only natural: men instinctively wished to control something beyond their understanding. That did not mean that he would overlook it; these men were supposed to be responsible for upholding the law. If they could not do that, L felt no remorse whatsoever for the actions he took to remind them of that fact.

L's eyes narrowed as Watari forwarded yet another email. He pushed himself back into a sitting position to look at the beeping computer. If this was another consultation, he was ignoring it. He knew for a fact that none of the countries were actually interested in his opinions, or help. They simply wished to speak with Detective L themselves to determine one of two things: if he was worth following, or attempt to trace his whereabouts so they could 'accidentally' inform the crime syndicates. L deftly double clicked on the email icon blinking in the bottom corner of his screen.

If there was one thing he hated about his fight to the top, it was the politics. He had been typing eight different tunes for the past two days now, and it was beginning to wear on his patience. L needed a foothold. Something to elevate him to a higher level in their eyes. His plan to accomplish this was relatively straightforward, though Quillsh would be horrified to discover what the teenager was putting himself through to achieve it… This was what? His… seventh cup of coffee in the past half hour?

He had not slept a wink since the sleeping pills had been forced down, and while this would not typically be a cause for concern, L knew that he was exhausting a great deal more mental energy than usual as he attempted to cope with the sudden changes. And, while he hated to admit it, he was at a loss as to where to start, and feeling more than a little out of his depth.

There was Danuve, the terrorist, a serial rape/homicide case, four unresolved 'cold' cases, and two government scandals with potential connections to homicide. With the added routing of corruption among Interpol's ranks, these ridiculous 'meetings,' and various other miscellaneous problems that Quillsh/Watari continued to bring to him… well, he was quite frankly amazed that he was still functioning at all, much less actually keeping pace with this insanity. All the while, one certain person was working hard to make everything even worse…

Cobalt eyes glanced down at the shrill cell phone laying discarded on the table to his right. It released a second nagging trill. And a third.

The sound itself did not bother him. No, L was quite accustomed to the sound of beeps and alarms and various other computerized vocalizations. What bothered L was that this was the sixth time it had gone off in the past hour. Only one certain person had that cellular phone number. And that one certain person had deemed it his duty to harass the young detective at every given opportunity.

Why, you ask?

L snatched the phone up after a few more rings as he filed the email Watari had sent.

"Watari, I want you to disregard all attempts to contact L." The dark-haired teenager stated in precise monotone, the only indication of his growing irritability. "You are to act as Detective L's voice in these trivial matters; if this dissatisfies the representatives, I expect that various diplomatic explanations will suffice."

Silence greeted the abrupt command.

"Certainly," The older gentleman acknowledged.

"And no," L added as he dragged up the results of new forensic evidence for one of the cases. He could almost see the annoyed expression on Quillsh's face.

"I didn't say anything." Quillsh muttered.

"You were thinking it."

"L, it's not going to kill you—"

"This conversation is over, Watari." L interrupted. He most certainly would not be taking anymore helpful advice from his… subordinate. It was mostly his fault that the teenager found himself suddenly swamped with too much work anyway. Of course, Quillsh did not know about the extra cases… or the idiocy he had to deal with on a daily bases… If he did, L would be lucky if the man didn't lock him up in an asylum… 'for his own good.'

"L Lynn Lawliet, Don't you dare hang up that phone, young man." L froze with the cell phone held before him, right in the middle of doing just that. He knew that tone. That was the you'll-wish-that-torturous-death-at-the-hands-of-criminals-were-your-only-concerns tone.

… He hated that tone.

"Stop creating haphazard names for me." L grumbled, once again with the phone pressed to his ear.

"One week, L," Quillsh ignored the teenager's sulking, "that's all I'm asking."

"No."

"L—"

"No." Quillsh sighed. He would leave the topic alone, but would definitely come back to it later. L's increasingly workaholic behavior was beginning to worry him, and Quillsh felt that he had to do something about it before the habit got out of hand. But that would have to wait.

"Have you reached any conclusions about B?" Watari asked.

L allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. Ah yes, there was that little problem as well. The trouble with being a genius was that it was extremely difficult to lie to oneself for an extended period of time. In L's case, it was no longer than an hour or two at most before his intellect forced him to face the issue and confront it. He had been trying to convince himself all day that there was no successor. It was not successful for long, but he still did not appreciate the reminder of yet another responsibility (that he would have readily done without).

The teenager glanced at the monitor showing "B's" study room at the orphanage. If he were entirely honest with himself—which he nearly always was—it was difficult to ignore for longer than fifteen minutes. He was justifiably intrigued by the dark-haired boy. How could a child be capable of such a work ethic? L was in no position to question that, as he had been quite similar when he was young, but he still found it difficult to accept.

"L?" The young teenager shook himself out of his musings. He was hesitant on how to reply to that question—which was an unwelcome, and more frequent occurrence: the hesitance. While he was a decent thirty-two percent certain that this 'B' child would do better than the first, he did not want to say it. Not if doing so would result in the boy becoming trapped like A had.

"I doubt you will meet with greater success if you insist on driving the boy toward goals that are not his own." L answered honestly, leaving out the fact that there was over a thirty percent greater chance of success simply because of personality. He frowned suddenly. "Watari, see if you can procure files on the Miami case. The Federal Bureau of Investigations should be an excellent place to start." Quillsh sighed.

"Do I look like a miracle worker? You're not that influential, L. They are not going to simply hand them over." Watari explained patiently.

"Ask very nicely," it was meant as sarcasm.

"That will not be anymore successful, L."

L sighed and held back the snide comment he had been about to spew. For one, he was not that influential yet. Two, the man really had no sense of humor – not that L was one to talk, but at least he made attempts… The teenager peeled his eyes away from the quietly working figure on the monitor next to him and regarded the crime scene photos now decorating one of the laptop screens in all their gruesome glory.

"Contact Mary," he advised, "she has a few more favors before her dept is paid off."

"That is illegal—"

"Thank you, Watari, I am perfectly aware of that," The older man said nothing: a clear sign that he was seething with disapproval. L's lips pursed in not-quite-irritation; it looked more like a pout. "Never mind," The adolescent murmured, skimming through the contact list on his computer. "Are there any other issues that require my immediate attention?" He asked for courtesy's sake, wishing he had hung up when he had the chance.

"When will you meet with B?"

"I will not."

"…"

"Is that all?"

"No." L's fingers unintentionally ground into the keyboard. He had important things to do. This was beginning to become irksome. The boy inhaled slowly and patiently tapped the backspace key as he waited for the Englishman to elaborate. "You need a holiday, L,"

… If there was a god somewhere in the Great Unknown, it certainly was not merciful. No, it was surely a sadistic, spiteful, half-senile creature with nothing better to do than play cruel jokes on unsuspecting mortals… but there was no such thing; which left him with simply a very bothersome old man that could not leave well enough alone.

"I do not." L replied, opting to ignore the semi-coherent rant that had occupied his thoughts moments previous. This topic was becoming tedious.

"L, you cannot continue like this forever." Quillsh lectured. "What about your childhood? You will regret spending your whole life working." L sighed in exasperation.

"Not. Now."

"Then when?" L ran a hand through his shabbily cut hair. He was definitely annoyed now. If he was going to have to contact Mary Kenwood himself, he had to get the old man off his back. The sooner he contacted her, the closer he got to solving one of his many cases.

"Irrelevant. Sometime later I will take two days off, and—"

"A week."

"Two days." L asserted, shifting his weight in impatience. He deftly dialed in the number he had been searching for and held the pink cell phone to his left ear.

"You have three months to finish your most prominent cases," … Maybe the man did know how much the boy had taken on… "and then I am going to shut down your network for five complete days." The other phone picked up after the sixth ring.

"There had better be a bloody global crisis, L, or I'm going to…"

"During which, you are not to set foot within fifty meters of any computer or television news channel at any time. Understood?" L held the pink phone away from his mouth as he replied first to the outrageous demands Quillsh wished to place upon him.

"Watari, those conditions are entirely ridiculous," L muttered quickly, wide eyes giving away the boy's desperation. He did not need to deal with 'Interventionist Quillsh,' now of all times. There was too much at stake. He could not complete everything he needed to in three months. Detective L was in the public eye now, so to speak. He was finally gaining some momentum. He would have to be insane to take a break… He needed to build L's image. And Quillsh was giving him three months to turn L into the omnipotent being he wanted.

"This is not up for discussion." Quillsh informed him plainly and promptly hung up. L blinked silently for a few seconds, slowly snapped the phone shut, and stared at it in disbelief. It sat there innocently, and inanimately, like it always did; but L was certain it was mocking him. The frustrated teenager deftly chucked the phone across the room in an impulsive demonstration of stress.

Hypocrite… He thought spitefully before turning his attention to the now giggling woman on the other line.

"I see you two get on as well as ever." The young woman scoffed. Her voice was slurred and a little raspy: probably drunk. "An' what the hell're you doing calling me up at some god awful hour in the morning?" Her tone went from amused to sharp in three seconds.

"It's two hours after noon." L said. It may have been morning where he was, but it definitely was not in North America.

"Ehh…?" He heard rustling on the other side. "Really—? Ow, ow… Okay, I believe you."

"Wedy," he used her most prominent alias to catch her attention, "Focus." Sometimes he felt like he was speaking to someone half his age, rather than the young woman that had studied alongside him at Wammy's.

"Yeah, yeah…" A thump sounded, immediately followed by colourful cuss words. L waited patiently for the fit to be over, but was cut off by a question instead, "what do you want?"

"I need you to obtain copies from Case File: 613EB46, from the FBI." He rattled off the number from memory.

"Ehh—? Naughty, naughty detective… Those are classified files, Dearie." L sighed, telling himself that it was not a yawn, and shifted his laptop from his lap to between the two desktops next to the couch.

"I am perfectly aware of that," he murmured, "hence why I have chosen to contact you." The blonde made a noise of mock disapproval at the back of her throat. L ignored her when the left computer beeped excitedly as new files filtered in. The teenager shifted himself toward it and double clicked on the blinking icon, only half listening while Mary continued to lecture him. L stared blankly at the monitor for a few seconds.

Sulfur Compounds? L sighed in disappointment. He disliked chemistry; but unfortunately, it seemed to be a required subject in most of his work. Sulfuric compounds gave him nothing. Anything decomposing would result in it, and considering the body had been found in a dumpster…

L frowned and scanned the other chemically analyzed substances discovered on the victim.

"L!" He was pulled out of his silent musings by the irate young woman on his phone.

"Yes?" L murmured, still hunched over the keyboard.

"Are you even listening to me?" Mary demanded.

"No." The adolescent replied. "Voice some constructive information, then I will." The order was greeted with silence. L briefly considered that he might want to rethink the statement if he desired those files, but he shrugged the thought away. They had never been on ecstatically good terms, even as children. He saw no reason to change that now.

"… Asshole." The self-proclaimed Greatest Thief In The World growled. No doubt she would have slapped him had they not been on opposite ends of the world. The thought brought the barest ghost of a smirk to his face. "By the way, happy belated birthday," L said nothing in response to that: it was two months ago, and he had never understood the desire to celebrate such an occasion. "Did you get your present?" L opened up a document to continue compiling evidence to support his theories.

"Yes." He could clearly picture the mischief induced grin painting the eighteen-year-old's pretty face.

"And…?"

"And you have decidedly unique ideas for gifts, Mary." He said, referring to the rather extensive stack of foreign pornographic magazines that had arrived in the mail for him at Wammy's a month ago.

"Oh come on!" She cried suddenly. "Is that all you have to say about it?" L considered the question for a moment. He understood that she had simply been attempting to get a reaction, and while it had inspired little more than mild curiosity, he supposed he could humor the capricious woman for once.

"They were certainly interesting," he compromised, "though it would have been nice if the article writers had understood the bare concepts of functional English, and I believe Quillsh nearly had an aneurism when he saw them."

"Ooh… You're not supposed to read them, you silly boy." She chided with her best pout voice. L shrugged. While the concept of human sexuality was a fascinating concept to him on an intellectual level (so many of his cases focused on such crimes), he did not understand the appeal in those rather simple and crude books.

"That's because you live in a box," Mary teased when he gave voice to these opinions.

"When will you have the files?" L attempted to steer the conversation back to a more professional topic.

"Consider it finished by tomorrow morning." She said before abruptly changing the subject, "You should come visit Meee." Mary crowed in a sing-song voice.

"Too busy." L mumbled, typing one handed as he held the cell phone with his left.

"Oh foo…" L's toes dug into the carpet in suppressed dread. He did not like it when 'Wedy' got into one of her Promiscuous Moods. It was nearly as intolerable as 'interventional Quillsh.' "Please? It's been almost two years…"

"No." The teenager deadpanned.

"Jerk."

"Anything else?" Mary sighed.

"Not that I can think of." She answered. "And why not?" She decided to push the visiting issue. "I know you have cases here."

"They do not require my immediate presence." The young detective quickly finished off his reports and sent them to Watari to send to the police. One more case down… forty six to go… "I will tell you the next time I am in America," the teenager lied as he switched his attention to another case. "Does this satisfy you?"

"Not really." Mary grumbled, "But I suppose it can't be helped,"

"I will speak with you later." L stated, and with that, hung up.

The dark-haired detective continued to work silently for a few seconds, clicks and beeps filling the room as he opened and closed documents to update himself on three of his easier cases. While he did not like the idea of wasting his time with them, suspicion might arise if he allowed his other personas to fall silent. L dropped the phone on the floor next to him and quietly eyed the monitor…

L quickly shook his head, unable to ignore the nauseous feeling in his gut after the brief dizzy-spell. The teenager glanced at the clock across the room. Two hours since he had last eaten. L frowned. Not good. Another hour and he'd be out cold. He slowly levered himself to his feet, and shuffled over to the kitchen.

Two muffins, a protein shake, three slices of toast, and a small carton of mango ice cream later; L carefully made his way back toward the couch, a second Hagen Daas ice cream bucket in hand. He slumped into the cushions with a grimace. The teenager briefly considered seeking out a bottle of painkillers, but decided against it since they made him feel drowsy… well, more drowsy than he already was. The young detective attempted to turn his attention back to the case at hand, but found his eyes drifting instead to the young boy on the monitor.

Dark grey eyes narrowed in thought as he regarded the video feed. Pale fingers daintily plucked the lid from the small ice cream carton as he thought. They had eased up on the intensity of their little 'training program' after the disaster with A, but he doubted that would be of much help in the end. He could not think of how to help the boy. While he was a genius capable of more reasoning ability than seven of his elders put together, he was only fifteen. For some unfathomable reason, that seemed to make all the difference in their eyes. It was… frustrating… Yes: frustrating. He wouldn't go so far as to call it infuriating, because he knew that they could not help but think the way they did, and had therefore learned to tolerate their ignorance at an early age.

In fact, it was mildly insulting that they were so persistent in creating a successor. Did they honestly think him so incompetent that he would get himself killed this early in the game? The detective watched when one of the hired staff entered B's room with breakfast; L frowned pensively as the boy seemed to ignore her.

He would admit that Danuve was a fairly substantial threat, but he had no doubts that he could outwit her in time. The woman was street smart, and knew the law and all its loopholes, but she was up against someone with the intelligence to strangle her in those very same escapes she sought to exploit…

If only he had a little more evidence…

L's eyes narrowed in irritation as he tore his gaze from the small screen. Thinking about it would certainly not help if he did not take action; the only problem being that he could not conclude a reasonable course to follow. That was nearly a first for the young genius. L blinked in surprise as he suddenly remembered the existence of his quickly melting ice cream.

The detective deftly stabbed his spoon into the syrupy mess, and brought a sizable mouthful to his lips. The clinging lethargy swiftly retreated as the icy substance acted as a catalyst to his meandering thoughts. L ignored the goosebumps rising on his arms as he took another bite of the triple chocolate treat. He had an epiphany; as if the sudden cold spurred his thoughts into action. It was a very unpleasant realization, but one that he had to admit—to himself, if to no one else.

As discomforting as it was, he did not know what to do. With his unwanted successors, with Danuve's rivalry, with the ignorant human beings that were dictating his life… He just did not know how to repair the damage that was being done. That fact bothered him almost as much as the situations themselves. It was suffocating; unable to so much as turn to a more experienced adult since they did not see (nor comprehend) the problems in the first place. L's teeth clicked against the metal spoon as the boy clenched his jaw in an attempt to focus his whirling thoughts. It would do no good to allow his emotions to get away from him… though it was sorely tempting when the thought of sitting and doing nothing seemed to be the most probable action.

L impatiently shrugged the thoughts away. He would take it one step at a time. Achieve what he could, and simply wait until his subconscious worked out the problems that he could not currently solve. A simple solution that, while he was not entirely content with, would allow him to continue forward. It was either that, or permit his indecisive mind to stall his progress.

That decided, the young teenager leaned intently toward the laptop, fingers speeding across the keyboard as he pulled up surveillance footage from all the airports in Eurasia.

"This is not up for discussion." Watari stated, then clicked his cellular phone shut. The dark-haired boy ignored the one-sided conversation that had been terminated behind him. The old office fell into silence following the conversation's conclusion, neither of the room's two occupants choosing to acknowledge each other for the moment.

Beyond Birthday felt eyes on his back as he continued what the slow-witted people around him have labeled 'inane scribbles.' He understood very little about these people, but he could see the incomprehension in their glazed expressions. There was incomprehension, then there was expectation, and then confusion if he decided to explain.

Again Beyond ignored the man as 'Watari' moved to stand next to him. The black pen skittered across the blank sheet of paper. Slowly, the empty canvas began to take shape. Words and images cascaded down the page in a controlled, meandering collage, their purpose (and meaning) known only to the one creating it. B glanced up as Watari voiced a question.

Quillsh Wammy. That was the name he saw above the man's head. As he always did. Still, he went with the ruse that 'Watari' had constructed.

"… I do not expect you to understand it, Watari. Call it a riddle, or an abstract visual puzzle, if you will." He answered to the inquiry: 'What is that?' or 'What are you doing?' He had not been listening, but the question was predictable enough. As was the actual meaning behind it: 'why are you doing it?' But he chose to answer the more literal question as it tended to disconcert people a great deal when he gave voice to answers they did not know they wanted.

The boy found himself content with the sigh he received in response. He respected the man for his patient acceptance of ignorance; that in itself displayed a level of intelligence that his 'peers' and instructors lacked.

"How is your homework coming along?" Beyond paused, and nodded toward the neat stack of mantilla folders on the arm of the cushy, leather armchair he was seated in. Quillsh regarded the papers in surprise. He had assumed they went with B's… hobby. The older man curiously lifted the files and opened one to glance at the first page.

It was blank.

Greying brows furrowed in… more confusion. He flipped to the only other page in the first folder to discover a single name typed in size ten font in the center of the page: Sebastian Greeves.

Quillsh nearly scowled.

"B…" The boy ignored him. Quillsh sighed and nicked the paper B was currently engrossed with. Red-hued eyes lazily rose to stare through him. He held the folders in front of the nine-year-old to emphasize what he was saying. "This is not adequate, B." Beyond gazed listlessly at the mostly blank page. He did not see the problem with it. They had given him the 'evidence' and expected the correct answer. He wrote the answer.

"You have to… organize it. Articulate and document exactly what led you to think this man is guilty. Be meticulous." Watari said.

"… Meticulous." B repeated, as though testing the word. He gingerly took the folders Watari offered and stared at them for a few seconds. Beyond pushed himself from his chair and shuffled toward the door without a word. He hugged the files to his chest with his left arm, pushed the door open, and entered the hallway.

Late morning light filtered through the arched, high-swept windows, throwing the rose-coloured, marble architecture into chill shadows and contrasting light. Quiet hums of sound drifted from various open doorways lining the corridor; childish voices raised in laughter, or exclamations of excitement. A young, red-haired girl detached herself from one such group as B passed.

"B!" She called, trotting up to the pale prodigy, braided pigtails bouncing as she flicked her hair over her shoulder. B turned his attention from his internal musings, his eyes finding focus on her white-sneakered feet. B's wine-tinted gaze drifted upward to the bottom hem of her plain, chocolate dress at her knees, to the earnest expression in her mud-hazel eyes and freckled cheeks.

"V," Beyond blinked his too large, garnet eyes in acknowledgement and paused as she came level with him. B noted that a significant percentage of the conversations nearby had tapered off after his name was vocalized.

V huffed and set her hands on her hips in a caricature of feminine disapproval. Her expression scrunched into one B recognized as 'irritation.'

"Vivian," she corrected with all the authority a ten year old could muster. "I've chosen a name now, you can use it." The last was said with an encouraging smile, an expectant silence falling between them as 'Vivian' waited for B to acknowledge her new status in the orphanage's complicated hierchy. It quickly dissolved to disappointment, and then discomfort when B simply stared at her. Vivian shifted uneasily, her tiny silver crucifix catching the light of the morning dawn for an instant.

A few of Vivian's companions were peering curiously at them from the safety of their playroom. B hypothesized they were speculating why he had not simply continued on when the redhead fell silent. There was no great secret to it; V was one of the few tolerable beings he had interacted with in his lifetime. Her tenacity, while misguided, was a quality that B acknowledged as being a positive attribute. And while her insistence on no less than one conversation in a day baffled him (as he could not remember ever having encouraged this social ritual), he often found himself humoring the cheerful girl more than he probably should.

"Vivian," B quietly corrected himself after a few seconds consideration, though Vanessa Raine glowed in subtle red letters above her head. Vivian's expression brightened instantly, before her eyes took on an inquisitive look.

"Have you decided on one yet?" She asked. Her dress made a swishing sound as she shifted her weight back and forth with suppressed energy.

"Beezlebub," B voiced on a whim as the crucifix caught his eye again. Delicate freckles stood out in contrast as Vivian's softly rounded cheeks bleached of colour.

"I-I'm sorry?" V squeaked, assuming she must have misheard.

B's eyes lit up with this new discovery. He stepped closer to observe the way her skin changed colours; his curiosity temporarily overpowering his need for personal space as he reached up and ran an index finger along one freckled cheek - to research any temperature or texture changes.

"It seemed fitting," B murmured distractedly, unaware of the mild panic attack he was causing in the slightly older girl. He blinked as Vivian flinched away from him and took a few steps away. Her smile was… nervous? He had seen enough of the emotion to recognize it, but had never seen such an expression on the cheerful girl's face before. Perhaps she did not understand the humour intended with the name… but it was obvious that she would understand the reference, thus…

B nearly frowned as she chittered a string of incomprehensible sounds hastily, before retreating to her social network of fellow children. He was contemplating trailing after her to ask for clarifications on his theories, but decided against it at the hostile stares directed his way.

He dismissed the situation with a shrug; it was another mystery to consider in his spare time… Perhaps while wasting away on recreating his Home Work assignment that night.

Author's Note: Soo... Long time no see, guys. o.O (What's it been? Three years?). Hows the Death Note fandom doing? I'd give an explanation for the disappearance, but I doubt anyone even remembers me. And no, this doesn't mean I'll be picking up regular updates again. I'm too lazy, and more obsessed with the little novella I'm trying to get finished for publishing and such. But yes, enjoy this chapter, I guess. Feel free to point out any mistakes I've made (I'm a crappy editor, and my beta - Sublime Decree - looked this over nearly a year ago. I've added scenes and such since, so there are probably lots of mistakes). Also, I usually have no idea what I'm actually talking about when it comes to the law (and too under motivated to research it), so I take lots of liberties with making stuff up.

EDIT: lol, I keep finding my mistakes on my own. XP Even in Chapter One... *shrug* Meh, I guess nothing can be perfect. But I'll still edit them anyway.