disorder_heaven | Magic Hunt at MFing Aokigahara

Entry tags:

!plots for fun

Magic Hunt at MFing Aokigahara

The fact that Urushihara had a keen eye for patterns and trends was one of his less appreciated skills. As one of the war generals in Demon King Satan's army, it made his division highly feared and nearly unstoppable.

Here, it had gotten him something more along the lines of a snarky comment from Ashiya. "About time," or something like that. Hard to tell. Urushihara hadn't really been listening.

Either way, upon Urushihara's elaboration regarding the Suicide Forest, Ashiya had grown more and more uncertain. Eventually comments about warning signs and body sweeps deteriorated into snide remarks about cell phones failing to work and the pitch blackness that came with noon.

A bowl of miso soup full of something-whatever beta took care of the bitching, but Ashiya managed to come out of the bathroom just long enough to lob a thick volume of Maou's favourite manga at the back of Urushihara's head. So, when Maou returned home from his long, hard day at MgRonald's, it would be to the sight of Urushihara on the ground and Ashiya in the bathroom groaning dramatically.

Just another day at the Devil's Castle.

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"Okay, okay, you got me. This is pretty cool."

It was also unexpected, and a rather delicate situation on top of that. Urushihara followed Maou into the restaurant, leaving it to his senpai to greet the hostess and find a seat.

It was easy to disguise, but Urushihara was actually very nervous in public. When he couldn't summon his wings or make threats, and couldn't be recognized as a force to be reckoned with... That made him uneasy. As a human, he posed little threat. He sat quietly, watching Maou almost as intently as Suzuno tended to watch Emilia when in public.

Maou was grinning all the way to their seats, practically growing with pride. Once they had a table, though, he shifted under Urushihara's gaze, then looked down to the menu. He didn't quite peg Urushihara's nervousness as such, but something did feel off. It set in his chest like a subordinate's expectations. Or maybe, he thought, they just weren't used to eating out together because they never did ever.

Either way, Maou would come at the situation like he did everything: charging forward full-throttle. He looked to Urushihara. "Know what you're gonna get yet?"

The awkwardness was actually a combination of Maou's two best guesses. Urushihara busied himself with the menu, staring for a looooong time before looking up at Maou.

"Ah... No, I guess not. What do you get? Can I just get that?"

He didn't get out enough to know what a lot of these foods were.

...Or what a lot of this kanji meant.

Maou lit up and leaned forward over the table. "Yeah! The beef intestines are amazing, seriously. Pretty much everything comes with rice an' you can get veggies too if ya want," he finished lamely. Ashiya wasn't around to make him eat healthily, so he sure as hell wasn't going to take it upon himself.

"Rice and veggies?" Urushihara quirked a lazy eyebrow. "Dude, relax. I'm not Ashiya. I'll let you eat all the meat you want."

But intestines sounded a little gross. He wrinkled his nose childishly and leaned over the menu, sounding out what bits of kana he could understand.

"...You're sure the beef intestines are good? I never was one of those kindsa guys."

"Totally good." Maou leaned back, arms crossed sagely. He smiled decidedly, nodding. Then he shrugged. "But if ya don't wanna try new things, basically: If you can think of a meat, it's here."

A beat.

"Human meat." Another beat, and Maou reiterated with a point, "Meat eaten by humans locally."

"I'll trust your word on the whole cow entrails bit, there, Maou," Urushihara replied tentatively. "But you might want to. You know. Not talk about human meat in public. It's generally frowned upon in this society."

There were several ways to eat another man's meat in this world, but either way, it was hardly appropriate table talk.

"Right, right. Sorry," Maou breathed, clearly not really sorry. "I just love this place, an' I haven't been here in forever."

However long forever was to the Demon King Shift Manager at MgRonald's was a mystery. Truly, he'd be excited about yakiniku anyway, but he was thrilled he could introduce Urushihara to something so new and awesome.

"So! Two orders o' cow entrails." Maou grinned devilishly, then called over a waiter and placed their orders. Surprise dinner out, and he was paying--if Maou were the sort to think of these things, he'd realize this was practically a date.

"Thanks, Maou. For this, I mean. I don't say it much, but it's there."

Translated, it meant "I never say this and I'm not gonna say it again." But it was genuine, and he folded his arms on the table, not exactly the picture of good table etiquette. He looked around, his sharp eyes taking in the restaurant and all of its patrons.

"Man. What a place. It's like... Not expensive, but not exactly Yoshinoya, either."

"No problem, man." He sounded casual, but a corner of his lips was curled like a pleased devil's tail. Maou heard the message loud and clear, and it was enough to drive away a good chunk of the dark cloud that was tailing him.

As far as the restaurant went, Maou agreed. "It's a good balance, right? Though . . ." He leaned an elbow on the table himself, bent over the wood. "If you keep starin' at everyone, they're gonna give ya weird looks that'd rival the ones they gave my inspired speech about eatin' innards."

"Japanese people don't notice shit," Urushihara murmured in an undertone. "Everyone keeps their heads down. If they notice me starin', they'll just look away. The only ones that might stare back are those foreigners in the corner."

Despite his words, he obeyed Maou's suggestion and looked across the table at him, instead. He shifted, then sat on his hands, clearly ill at ease.

"Ashiya would kill us, you know."

Maou had been messing with Urushihara, so since he got the effect he wanted, he smiled. A grin that soon flattened into a serious line. He recited his battle plan.

"Ashiya will never know. We got you MgRonald's on the way home. There's enough red-'n-yellow bags in the trash he won't even question it."

"F'you wanna know what I think, I think we should get him a medium pork bowl from Sugiya on the way home."

He said with a pouty voice as he messed with the wash packet on his side of the table, opening it and washing his hands lazily with the damp, scented cloth.

Perhaps he was only teasing, picking on Ashiya. Or, on a deeper level, he wanted Ashiya to feel what he felt for once. Left out and fed table scraps.

But of course, that implied Urushihara was deep. Which he wasn't.

"No one's getting a pork bowl tonight," Maou drawled, sitting back. He could never submit Ashiya to that kind of irony! "I already brought him leftovers from work. That'll last us."

Of course it was for a reason like that. Though if they weren't keeping this outing a secret, Maou would have suggested getting Ashiya a bento, same as he did Urushihara. He didn't always play favorites.

True, and Urushihara probably would have denied Ashiya the takeaway, same as Ashiya had denied him. Then again, he would have done it out of revenge, not spite. Not sheer spite, anyway.

He was silent, save for a sharp, quick intake of breath that left him unbidden as he shifted in his seat.

Thoughtful red eyes bore into Urushihara a long moment as Maou tried to decipher that breath. Did he break a rib, and it was still healing? Was he going to have to hold his subordinate down to heal him properly? And how long could Maou keep that up before it felt too non-con for comfort?

Thankfully for them both (perhaps mostly Urushihara), the arrival of their meals interrupted, bowls of rice and little saucers of deliciousness accompanying them. Maou grinned at the spread and snatched up his chopsticks.

"Yesss! Thanks for the food," Maou said before intensely placing blobs of intestine on the grill like so many torture victims.

Urushihara watched Maou, now less intent and more simply curious. He was already picking at his rice, but he didn't quite understand the spread of what seemed to be raw meat. Didn't humans get sick off of this kind of--

Ah. That made sense.

"I'm confused," he said, blinking and speaking around a small mouthful of rice. "It costs more than the konbini crap you bring me, but you have to cook it yourself?"

"That's the fun of it! There's a kinda satisfaction to hearing flesh sizzle by your own hand," Maou sang, even his toothy grin lilting.

Rather than work on his own rice, he enjoyed watched the meat cook, chuckling darkly to himself.

"...You kinda miss being home, don't you?"

His tone wasn't snarky, but it wasn't pitying or accusatory, either. He spoke for the sake of speaking, to fill the awkward hole that had been created when Maou had slammed him into the ground hard enough to break bones.

"Not all the time, but sometimes." That dark satisfaction couldn't have just been because entrails were that tasty, right?

Maou's smile faded, subdued and faint. He kept his eyes on the grill. "Yeah."

Rather than sad, it was the voice of quiet acceptance and, perhaps, airy nostalgia. As far as Maou was concerned, he was admitting to the obvious.

"How could I not?" He prodded a dollop of meat with his chopsticks. Just to have something to do. "Home is home, y'know? It's the Devil's Castle, wherever that may be."

"...I guess we're kinda lucky, right? I mean, you and Alciel showed up and then so did I, but Emilia... What, she's got us, and this random human girl, and some Inquisition assassin who sucked at her job more than I did. We're pretty lucky."

From Urushihara, it was quite a comment. He nibbled at a single grain of rice on the edge of his chopstick, the picture of rudeness in contrast to the uncharacteristically thoughtful words.

Maou had no idea what he would do without his top two generals. If he had arrived alone, he doubted he would have made it. So, them, lucky?

"Yeah. Yeah, we are." Maou looked to Urushihara and smiled genuinely. He glanced away at once, however, brow drawn together. "Makes me feel kinda bad for Emi, though. Not that I want her hero buddies hangin' around, we got enough stalkers. But still."

Maou's eyes returned to Urushihara, his tone testing the waters that now churned between them. "We kinda got a family thing goin' on."

"Yeah, and I guess I never had that back home. No matter where I lived."

His voice was very even, his words carefully chosen. Anyone who was listening in would think that they were simply foreign, but Urushihara, of course, meant further from Japan than any human could imagine. He alone had lived in all three of Ente Isla's inhabitable areas, both moons and the continents themselves.

His idle confession spoke volumes.

Shot down. Maou looked back to the grill, the downward flick of his eyes speaking back just as loudly. For once, the Devil King was backing down.

"That home isn't exactly the kinda place for families," he said quietly, idly turning over a piece of intestine. It sounded like an excuse, but it simply felt different there. On Earth, there was less pressure, more opportunity for that sort of closeness to grow.

When they returned, would that closeness fade?

Maou met Urushihara's eyes, expression blunt. "Did you not feel like you belonged?"

"Well... No, dude. I would've thought that was obvious. I dropped from Heaven like a newborn giraffe, fucked around until you got off your ass, had bitchfights with Malacoda and Alciel, and then got stabbed through the heart by the great hero who now seems to be your best frenemy."

He pulled a shred of meat from the grill and put it in his mouth, parting his lips a moment later to breathe out heavily, a last-ditch effort to avoid burning his tongue. After a time, he chewed and swallowed, seeming to lighten up a little after the delicious mouthful.

"But here's... Well, it's not really that much different, but it's kinda different with you, sometimes."

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