Freefall, Ch. 2

Chapter 2: First Verse
	I was walking through the little town next to Yamaku.  It provided things most everyone needed, a convenience store, shops, restaurants, housing for the teachers and staff.  The town was grateful to have Yamaku, and most of the students could walk around without being stared at.  People were used to us there.  At least, some of us.  There was a kid in year 2 who was missing an arm.  His hook still got looks.
	I rummaged through my green canvas messenger bag for my camera.  An old digital camera, it nonetheless got the job done.  More useful in my journalism days but came in handy for a number of other reasons.  I took a picture of the Shanghai from the outside.  I’d been there a number of times before; it was a popular hangout for Yamaku students.  But any evidence helped, and I thought better when I had a visual line of progression.
	A couple of snaps of the outside and of students sitting in the booths near the windows and I put my camera back in my bag.  I walked up to the front doors, pushing one open and crossing the threshold.  While waiting to be greeted by Yuuko, the waitress, I took my time to observe the occupants of the crowded teahouse.
	For eight o’clock in the evening, the place was packed.  Yamaku students mostly, though I recognized few uniforms from a high school the district over.  Small groups crowded the high booths and tables.  Scanning the crowd, I Maeda sitting with Lamperouge, the aphasic.  I heard a crash and a shrill apology off somewhere in the back.  Yuuko was busy, so I walked over to Maeda’s table.
	“Ah, Takashi, my good friend,” I said standing over them.
	Maeda was sipping a cup of some green liquid.  Tea, I presume.  Lamperouge was eating a sandwich and drinking juice.
	“Ritsu,” Maeda responded.
	“Mind if I sit down?  This place is packed.”
	Maeda’s face shifted.  His normally droll and bored look flashed with a bit of anger and resent, then back to normal.  He gave me a fake smile.
	“Not at all,” finally came the response.
	The table was square, with the two boys facing each other.  I pulled out the chair closest to the door and sat down between them.  I took my hat off and placed it on the table.
	“Why don’t you take off your bag, stay a while?” asked Maeda.
	“There’s no need, it’s just going to be a short visit.”
	Maeda cocked an eyebrow.  Lamperouge put down his sandwich and looked at me.
	“I need some information,” I said to Maeda, “I’m looking into something.  I need Lelouch.”
	“What’s in it for us?”
	“Don’t give me that, Takashi.  You owe me, you owe me good.  Might I remind you of last year’s incident?”
	Maeda was dragged through the mud last year when someone accused him of copying other people’s paintings.  I cleared his name but he’s always resented me for it.  He thought he could do it himself.  He couldn’t, but would never admit as much.
	He scowled now, crossing his arms.
	“Don’t ask me, he’s sitting right next to you,” he said, nodding over to Lamperouge.
	A deflection.  Maeda was the only one who ‘got’ Lamperouge so they were nearly inseparable.  Lived next to each other for three years now.  Lamperouge was so grateful to have someone understand him that he pretty much did whatever the artist said.  But Maeda had thrown the ball in my court, given me the go-ahead.  A win, in my book.  I turned to the poet.
	“Lelouch, are you willing to help me out?”
	Lamperouge looked from side to side, then over at Maeda, pleading for an answer from his friend.  For his part, Maeda nodded slightly.  Mimicking his motions, Lamperouge nodded slowly and turned his head to me.  A yes.
	“You see everything, Lelouch.  But you don’t say anything.  That’s why you’re good to have around,” I started.  “What did you see about Hisao Nakai?”
	In my peripheral vision, I saw Maeda uncross his arms.  His face went white.  Lamperouge was no different.  Blood drained from his skin.  Everyone was still recovering from the shock of his death.  Like I’ve said before, death is a part of a school like this but it still hits everyone hard.  Nobody wants to see anyone go, though him being new meant less pain for most people to go through.  I guess Ikezawa didn’t get that message.
	Lamperouge began talking, his words fumbling and stammering out of his mouth.  “Pentagram… pentacle… no, no, constant harmony?  Yes, that.  Constant harmony of… o-of…”  He frowned, lost on the word.  “Venus?  Venusian… chakusai… s-sokushitsu… Constant Harmony of Venus.”
	As usual, Lamperouge’s ramblings would have to be translated.  He was a good source of information, though it had to be parsed out.  I looked over at Maeda.  He glowered.  I raised my eyebrows.  He sighed.
	“Five,” he said, “Five girls.”
	Lamperouge nodded emphatically.
	“Nakai… was involved with five girls?” I asked aloud.
	Maeda shrugged.  “That’s what he says.”
	“Who were they, Lelouch?”
	Lamperouge motioned for a pen.  Clearly he needed to think things through more thoroughly.  I took a pen and my notebook out of my bag and handed them to him.  He solemnly opened the book to a fresh page and began writing.  Words, unrelated to anything, appeared on the page, got crossed out, and replaced.  He worked like this for a few minutes, then handed me back the notebook.  I glanced at Maeda.
	“Your on your own, when he gets to writing like that I don’t think I’ll be much help.”
	I glanced down at the list.  Five names, or rather, five descriptions.
	‘1. Wilting Flower
	2. Sight for Sore Eyes
	3. Deckard of the Track
	4. Two Van Gogh
	5. Bird With No Wings’
	This was going to be difficult.  I got up from the table, thanked the two for their help and left the teahouse.  I’d make coffee when I got back.  I had work to do now.  I had to go somewhere I could think.  I replaced my hat and started walking back to school.  Rummaging through my satchel, I pulled out my pack of cigarettes.
	I didn’t like smoking- Wait, that’s a lie, I do.  I like it a lot.  I don’t like that I smoke though.  I coughed and smelled like shit and it was expensive.  But it calmed my nerves, especially those in my wrists.  It was relaxing and let me think.  I’m justifying, I know.
	Taking a cigarette out of the pack, I held it in my lips as I put the box back.  I felt around for my zippo, which always fell to the bottom of the bag.  Pulling it out, the flick of the metal opening was enough to get my brain ready for the nicotine infusion.  Lighting the smoke and taking a puff, the smoke filled my vision and my lungs.  It felt good.
	I stopped walking for a minute to lean against a brick wall.  My life was a cliché.  Wilting flower… wilting flower… wait.  Ikezawa’s first name was Hanako.  Flower Girl.  Wilting because she’s always shy.  She’s one of the five.
	Time to get cracking on the others.