Subjugate (Death Note, Beyond/Misa, #6)
Title: Subjugate [1/30]
Author: kyuudaime
Pairing: Beyond Birthday x Misa Amane
Fandom: Death Note
Theme: #6, The Space Between Dream And Reality
Disclaimer: Death Note Tsugumi Ohba, and Takeshi Obata, while the character of Beyond Birthday belongs to Nisioisn.
A/N: Yeah, before we start, there are some things you should know. Misa has just started her modeling career, the year is 2001 (December, to be exact), and last but not least, this story will contain spoilers for the whole novel. Feel free to ask if you don't know who Beyond is. On another note, I do know that Misa can’t use her cellphone in American unless she gets a new one (as my lovely beta-reader pointed out, thank you!), but I doubt Misa actually knows that herself (so get ready for a possible tantrum next chapter).
.CHAPTER 01 | CHAPTER 02.
“Nng…”
Misa clutched the bar of metal in front of her; how people could ride these infernal contraptions every single day was beyond her. She brought her body closer to the pole, any thoughts against doing so and keeping her coat clean out of her mind in an instant, and, oh dear God… Was the train shaking or was that her head?
This was supposed to be the best week of her life, she wasn’t supposed to be clutching a pole inside of a train crammed with people in the middle of December, her head pounding and dizzy from lack of oxygen. No. Not at all. She was supposed to be in a photo-shoot, looking absolutely fabulous and on her way to fame, not wrapped up in the cheapest coat she could buy with her pathetic pay-check from her shifts at Note Blue, and definitely not in a vermin infested subway just because her manager had suddenly decided to call her at the last minute and tell her that her photo-shoot had been moved up all the way to July and that he hoped it wasn’t an inconvenience.
Hah.
Inconvenience. Of course not, it was a fucking bloody nightmare, solely because, well, she was already in America -the same America that’s about fourteen hours away from Japan.
But no, Misa-Misa was supposed to be happy, and cheery and not pissed off at all, nothing like Amane Misa at this moment.
This photo-shoot was supposed to be quick, one week here, another there, and the she could return to Japan and spend her birthday with her family and friends. But no. She had to jinx herself the moment she waved good-bye to her friends and opened her big mouth to brag about how fabulous this week had been.
She couldn’t return to Japan, not now at least. She had saved up for that plane ticket and she certainly couldn’t afford to buy another without getting paid first. Really, what had she been thinking?!
God; she was screwed… No. She was more than screwed, being screwed would have been a privilege right now, she was as good as dead. How in the world was a 17-year-old Japanese model with little to no knowledge about Western countries suppose survive here?
Misa felt the train halt to a stop, the sound of metal grinding against metal and the sudden stampede not helping her current predicament. She needed to find a nice, quite place to think, maybe check if she could find a place that would take her at least one of her various cards and buy herself some water and aspirin.
She massaged the bridge of her nose, convincing herself to walk away from the germ-infested piece of metal and step out of the train. Her head hurt far too much, and she couldn’t care less about how she looked right now; she needed to find some place where her cell phone got reception and call the agency, tell them what happened and, hopefully, it’ll be better.
“That’ll work…” she muttered, not entirely sure if she was stating a fact or if she was trying to make herself feel better.
She stared at the florescent green sign bolted into the pillar, Misa squinted. Why did she have to fall asleep during English class while she was in school? Obviously, she didn’t expect it to be so important and she certainly didn’t expect to be standing here struggling to decide if the sign read ‘Vermont’ or ‘Vermillion’.
No use, unless she could magically learn proper English by staring at this sign. And being roughly pushed around by the crowd around her, Misa doubted it would be of much use to keep standing here like an idiot. So, she turned around on her heel and--
Well… That’s when it all happened.
It was to be expected, of course, but Misa wasn’t good at predicting, and really, this guy had just literally blocked her path, slamming into Misa and knocking both of them off balance. Oh, but that wasn’t enough now was it? The very same person just had to be carrying something, that dumped its contents all over Misa’s chest; and then, to make things worse, not only did he grab the front of her coat by instinct, he just so happened to grab the lower part of her body too, right where her skirt is.
The result was of course, disastrous.
She wasn’t covered in coffee, nor was she covered in water. Oh no siree, she was covered in jelly. Jelly. Who in their right state of mind, walks around a subway in California, eating pink jelly from a jar?
No, you do not have answer that.
In her fleeting moment of clarity before Misa hit the ground, she decided that, yes, she was actually glad for once that she wasn’t well known, this would have made fantastic front page news.
Looking down, Misa realized that she was on top of the stranger, seeing as how her view of the dirty concrete floor was currently being blocked by a pair of oversized jeans. She flushed; something up there was trying to get her.
She slowly picked herself up, refusing to stay in such position anymore and prepared herself for what could happen next, however; nothing could prepare her for the sight that greeted her.
Red eyes, he had red eyes. Wide and circled by what Misa thought -hoped-was make-up. Messy, black hair stood up in all directions, and Misa was sure that her hairdresser back in Japan would have a stroke just by looking at him. This… man was definitely a slob; maybe even a pervert, by the way he kept staring at her chest, nibbling on his thumb pad and tapping on a half empty jar with his fingers -his sticky jelly covered fingers.
She clenched the hem of her skirt, unable to pull her gaze away from his, even if she swore that this strange man was trying to undress her with his eyes.
He made a sound -similar to one that a parent would use when scolding a child, and shook his head, almost disappointed. Almost.
“What a waste of good jam.”
Misa gritted her teeth; she had tried to be patient, to see if this pervert had enough common sense to apologize. But no, he didn’t. All he cared was his jar of fattening pink goop; which, by the way, had just ruined her coat.
…Sure, it was cheap, and easy to replace, but this guy was so… So indescribable! Barbaric! Who in their right state of mind would walk around, eating jelly with their hands, and when they spill it all over someone else, all they care about is that it was a waste of ‘good’ food?
She gritted her teeth; oh, he was going down.
“Excuse me, what did you just say?”
Her English was sloppy, slurred, and almost gibberish. Calling English Class ‘Nap Time’ was a very big mistake.
“Oh, are you daft?” he replied, looking up to her as if he had just realized she was there. “I said that it’s such a good waste of jam, your coat just completely ruined it.”
His voice was deep, British, hoarse, and extremely bizarre. She twitched every time she heard it.
Daft? Misa swallowed, biting down a rather colorful insult. She had an image to conserve, and it just wouldn’t do if she went around L.A. randomly tackling idiots just because they happened to insult her, claiming that her coat had ruined his ‘snack’, if it could be considered so, and not the other way around.
So… She took the calm, rational approach.
“You spilled jelly all over me.” Misa said, trying to remain as calm as possible and finding it particularly hard to resist kneeing this person where it hurt.
He blinked, tilting his head and proceeding to lick the sticky substance off his fingers. “I didn’t spill jelly all over you.”
“Is that so?” she hissed, mentally counting numbers inside her head. A worthless attempt at calming her anger. “Then what did you spill all over Misa’s coat?”
“Oh, that.” He smiled, lopsided and strange, and Misa almost shuddered. “I spilt jam all over your coat.”
“…Didn’t I just say that?”
Jelly… Jam… Jelly… Jam…
Was there any difference?
“No, you did not.” The man said, as it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You said jelly, there is difference, you see.”
…Of course there was.
“I don’t care.” Misa snapped, appearances be dammed, this guy was getting on her last nerve and she was going to do something about it. Without saying another word, she grabbed the man’s hand -grimacing, her head held as high as possible and marched right over to the nearest vacant spot, ignoring the strange man’s protests.
“Give me your jacket.” She demanded, holding out her hand to receive it.
The man blinked, a glint in his bright eyes clearly showing his amusement. “Why?”
“Give me your jacket.” Misa repeated; this man could die from pneumonia for all she cared.
He smiled once again, and Misa wanted nothing more than to knee this man in the crotch and be done with it.
“Just… Give me your jacket. You already ruined my coat, so just give Misa your jacket.”
He made a small sound of disapproval before unzipping the front of his jacket, causing Misa to realize just how horrible his posture was. A little more and he’d be with his face on the ground.
“My name is Rue Ryuuzaki.” He suddenly said, putting the stretched and used piece of clothing in Misa’s hand.
She looked at him incredulously, suddenly regretting having asked for the jacket -mainly because it stunk, and partly because she realized she would probably look better with a jelly- jamstained coat than a filthy, ‘Rue Ryuuzaki’ scented jacket.
“Misa didn’t ask for it.” She responded, scrunching her nose as she held the jacket before her -it was probably three times her size, and wait, did first names go before the family name in America, or the other way. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.
“It’s common courtesy.”
“Ah.” She didn’t care, and didn’t really want to know anything else about this perverted red-eyed man. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Rue.”
And she was gone, happily aware about the fact that she would never see this 'Rue' person again.
Little did she know, that something, somewhere clicked.
“It was a pleasure meeting you too, Amane Misa.”
Beyond Birthday grinned.
Author: kyuudaime
Pairing: Beyond Birthday x Misa Amane
Fandom: Death Note
Theme: #6, The Space Between Dream And Reality
Disclaimer: Death Note Tsugumi Ohba, and Takeshi Obata, while the character of Beyond Birthday belongs to Nisioisn.
A/N: Yeah, before we start, there are some things you should know. Misa has just started her modeling career, the year is 2001 (December, to be exact), and last but not least, this story will contain spoilers for the whole novel. Feel free to ask if you don't know who Beyond is. On another note, I do know that Misa can’t use her cellphone in American unless she gets a new one (as my lovely beta-reader pointed out, thank you!), but I doubt Misa actually knows that herself (so get ready for a possible tantrum next chapter).
.CHAPTER 01 | CHAPTER 02.
“Nng…”
Misa clutched the bar of metal in front of her; how people could ride these infernal contraptions every single day was beyond her. She brought her body closer to the pole, any thoughts against doing so and keeping her coat clean out of her mind in an instant, and, oh dear God… Was the train shaking or was that her head?
This was supposed to be the best week of her life, she wasn’t supposed to be clutching a pole inside of a train crammed with people in the middle of December, her head pounding and dizzy from lack of oxygen. No. Not at all. She was supposed to be in a photo-shoot, looking absolutely fabulous and on her way to fame, not wrapped up in the cheapest coat she could buy with her pathetic pay-check from her shifts at Note Blue, and definitely not in a vermin infested subway just because her manager had suddenly decided to call her at the last minute and tell her that her photo-shoot had been moved up all the way to July and that he hoped it wasn’t an inconvenience.
Hah.
Inconvenience. Of course not, it was a fucking bloody nightmare, solely because, well, she was already in America -the same America that’s about fourteen hours away from Japan.
But no, Misa-Misa was supposed to be happy, and cheery and not pissed off at all, nothing like Amane Misa at this moment.
This photo-shoot was supposed to be quick, one week here, another there, and the she could return to Japan and spend her birthday with her family and friends. But no. She had to jinx herself the moment she waved good-bye to her friends and opened her big mouth to brag about how fabulous this week had been.
She couldn’t return to Japan, not now at least. She had saved up for that plane ticket and she certainly couldn’t afford to buy another without getting paid first. Really, what had she been thinking?!
God; she was screwed… No. She was more than screwed, being screwed would have been a privilege right now, she was as good as dead. How in the world was a 17-year-old Japanese model with little to no knowledge about Western countries suppose survive here?
Misa felt the train halt to a stop, the sound of metal grinding against metal and the sudden stampede not helping her current predicament. She needed to find a nice, quite place to think, maybe check if she could find a place that would take her at least one of her various cards and buy herself some water and aspirin.
She massaged the bridge of her nose, convincing herself to walk away from the germ-infested piece of metal and step out of the train. Her head hurt far too much, and she couldn’t care less about how she looked right now; she needed to find some place where her cell phone got reception and call the agency, tell them what happened and, hopefully, it’ll be better.
“That’ll work…” she muttered, not entirely sure if she was stating a fact or if she was trying to make herself feel better.
She stared at the florescent green sign bolted into the pillar, Misa squinted. Why did she have to fall asleep during English class while she was in school? Obviously, she didn’t expect it to be so important and she certainly didn’t expect to be standing here struggling to decide if the sign read ‘Vermont’ or ‘Vermillion’.
No use, unless she could magically learn proper English by staring at this sign. And being roughly pushed around by the crowd around her, Misa doubted it would be of much use to keep standing here like an idiot. So, she turned around on her heel and--
Well… That’s when it all happened.
It was to be expected, of course, but Misa wasn’t good at predicting, and really, this guy had just literally blocked her path, slamming into Misa and knocking both of them off balance. Oh, but that wasn’t enough now was it? The very same person just had to be carrying something, that dumped its contents all over Misa’s chest; and then, to make things worse, not only did he grab the front of her coat by instinct, he just so happened to grab the lower part of her body too, right where her skirt is.
The result was of course, disastrous.
She wasn’t covered in coffee, nor was she covered in water. Oh no siree, she was covered in jelly. Jelly. Who in their right state of mind, walks around a subway in California, eating pink jelly from a jar?
No, you do not have answer that.
In her fleeting moment of clarity before Misa hit the ground, she decided that, yes, she was actually glad for once that she wasn’t well known, this would have made fantastic front page news.
Looking down, Misa realized that she was on top of the stranger, seeing as how her view of the dirty concrete floor was currently being blocked by a pair of oversized jeans. She flushed; something up there was trying to get her.
She slowly picked herself up, refusing to stay in such position anymore and prepared herself for what could happen next, however; nothing could prepare her for the sight that greeted her.
Red eyes, he had red eyes. Wide and circled by what Misa thought -hoped-was make-up. Messy, black hair stood up in all directions, and Misa was sure that her hairdresser back in Japan would have a stroke just by looking at him. This… man was definitely a slob; maybe even a pervert, by the way he kept staring at her chest, nibbling on his thumb pad and tapping on a half empty jar with his fingers -his sticky jelly covered fingers.
She clenched the hem of her skirt, unable to pull her gaze away from his, even if she swore that this strange man was trying to undress her with his eyes.
He made a sound -similar to one that a parent would use when scolding a child, and shook his head, almost disappointed. Almost.
“What a waste of good jam.”
Misa gritted her teeth; she had tried to be patient, to see if this pervert had enough common sense to apologize. But no, he didn’t. All he cared was his jar of fattening pink goop; which, by the way, had just ruined her coat.
…Sure, it was cheap, and easy to replace, but this guy was so… So indescribable! Barbaric! Who in their right state of mind would walk around, eating jelly with their hands, and when they spill it all over someone else, all they care about is that it was a waste of ‘good’ food?
She gritted her teeth; oh, he was going down.
“Excuse me, what did you just say?”
Her English was sloppy, slurred, and almost gibberish. Calling English Class ‘Nap Time’ was a very big mistake.
“Oh, are you daft?” he replied, looking up to her as if he had just realized she was there. “I said that it’s such a good waste of jam, your coat just completely ruined it.”
His voice was deep, British, hoarse, and extremely bizarre. She twitched every time she heard it.
Daft? Misa swallowed, biting down a rather colorful insult. She had an image to conserve, and it just wouldn’t do if she went around L.A. randomly tackling idiots just because they happened to insult her, claiming that her coat had ruined his ‘snack’, if it could be considered so, and not the other way around.
So… She took the calm, rational approach.
“You spilled jelly all over me.” Misa said, trying to remain as calm as possible and finding it particularly hard to resist kneeing this person where it hurt.
He blinked, tilting his head and proceeding to lick the sticky substance off his fingers. “I didn’t spill jelly all over you.”
“Is that so?” she hissed, mentally counting numbers inside her head. A worthless attempt at calming her anger. “Then what did you spill all over Misa’s coat?”
“Oh, that.” He smiled, lopsided and strange, and Misa almost shuddered. “I spilt jam all over your coat.”
“…Didn’t I just say that?”
Jelly… Jam… Jelly… Jam…
Was there any difference?
“No, you did not.” The man said, as it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You said jelly, there is difference, you see.”
…Of course there was.
“I don’t care.” Misa snapped, appearances be dammed, this guy was getting on her last nerve and she was going to do something about it. Without saying another word, she grabbed the man’s hand -grimacing, her head held as high as possible and marched right over to the nearest vacant spot, ignoring the strange man’s protests.
“Give me your jacket.” She demanded, holding out her hand to receive it.
The man blinked, a glint in his bright eyes clearly showing his amusement. “Why?”
“Give me your jacket.” Misa repeated; this man could die from pneumonia for all she cared.
He smiled once again, and Misa wanted nothing more than to knee this man in the crotch and be done with it.
“Just… Give me your jacket. You already ruined my coat, so just give Misa your jacket.”
He made a small sound of disapproval before unzipping the front of his jacket, causing Misa to realize just how horrible his posture was. A little more and he’d be with his face on the ground.
“My name is Rue Ryuuzaki.” He suddenly said, putting the stretched and used piece of clothing in Misa’s hand.
She looked at him incredulously, suddenly regretting having asked for the jacket -mainly because it stunk, and partly because she realized she would probably look better with a jelly- jamstained coat than a filthy, ‘Rue Ryuuzaki’ scented jacket.
“Misa didn’t ask for it.” She responded, scrunching her nose as she held the jacket before her -it was probably three times her size, and wait, did first names go before the family name in America, or the other way. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.
“It’s common courtesy.”
“Ah.” She didn’t care, and didn’t really want to know anything else about this perverted red-eyed man. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Rue.”
And she was gone, happily aware about the fact that she would never see this 'Rue' person again.
Little did she know, that something, somewhere clicked.
“It was a pleasure meeting you too, Amane Misa.”
Beyond Birthday grinned.