So Far, So Coke
Ban strolled to the kitchen, leaving the students to bicker behind him, where the black butler was waiting for him, a silver dinner knife in hand.
“The kitchen is off-limits to guests, sir,” Tebastian smiled, holding the knife to the man’s throat.
“Oh? Then why are you here? You don't work for these people at all, do you… SEBASTIAN MICHALIAS!”
Tebastian/Sebastian’s smile didn't falter. “Oh so you recognise me, eh? I am not surprised, what with my dashing good looks, my spectacular taste in clothing, and my affinity for the - what do you call it - underage males, preferably prepubescent?”
“Of course I remember you, after all these years at Pedophile’s Anonymous, how could I forget?”
“And if you knew my identity, why didn't you say anything to the others?” Sebastian twirled a fork both menacingly AND sexily in his other hand.
Ban shrugged. “It's anonymous isn't it? No one needs to know. In all honesty, I don't care what you're up to, as long as you don’t go after any children I have my eye on.”
“Then why did you follow me to the kitchen? If you fail to recall, I am not underage, though I am both fascinated and disgusted by your proposition.”
“In case there were kids around of course! I mean TECHNICALLY I'm not a pedophile- she’s 700 years old! It’s not MY fault she looks 12! That's just how fairies be! If anything SHE’S the pedophile, I'm younger! But I would never say no if there were spare kids and their Pokkle’s Pockets going around ya know?”
“Indeed. I understand all too well. But there are no children here.”
“Shame.” Ban turned to leave, but then paused and said, “Nice touch with the fake moustache by the way- very convincing.”
“Oh no, this is not fake. While it didn't originally grow on my face, I procured this hair from my own body. Would you like to know where?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I'll bend over real quick and show you.”
“TEBASTIAN!” Tamaki called. “I was under the impression I had ordered some TEAAAA! And yet, I do not have any here. Are you a butler, or aren't you?”
“One moment sir!” Sebastian called back, trying to control his murderous instincts. He turned back to Ban, “unfortunately I am indisposed.”
Ban clapped him on the back, grinning. “Another time then eh?”
With a grin and a lazy salute, Ban strutted back into the living room, sumptuous ass muscles jiggling as he walked away.
The Oxbridge students didn't even notice him, too caught up in their bickering on their next move to sell the ever dwindling supply of cocaine.
“Blonde man! Prince! King! Reeee!” Inosuke came slamming back inside, Hawk squawking from under his arm.
“I thought I ordered you to leave?” Tamaki asked.
“I was going to, but I was mistaken as a servant of the house by someone outside. Can you imagine, me, a servant? Hahahahaha! I am only the boss! A boss everyone should be prostrating themselves to!”
“Well, you might as well put the uniform on. Don’t want you sullying the Suoh house name,” Tamaki aggressively suggested, hopping up and down “TEBASSSTIANNN!”
“What did they want?” Kyoya asked.
“Who?”
“You said there was someone outside. Who were they and what did they want?” Inosuke’s inability to focus was quite irritating. Twas no surprise he squandered all of the coke money that was SUPPOSED to go to the poor potato-chip bereft prisoners.
“I can't remember, I wasn't listening. A boss does not take orders, he only gives them! Were you listening Hak?” Inosuke turned to his squealing cousin.
“It's HAWK!” the pig cried.
“And?” Kyoya snapped. “Were you listening?”
“He said something about coke? And I also would benefit from a can of coca cola, I am PARCHED. Parched I say!” the pig screeched, ending with a honk.
“Tebastian! Go get this pig some coke!” Tamaki called.
The black butler decided to ignore him, still brewing the tea. He stirred his tears in, sobbing. Acting as a butler reminded him too much of Ciel and his missing tasty soul, particularly when it came to making tea for his new ‘household.’ Oh, how he loved to work within the regal walls which reminded him so much of his young master Ciel, a place before Pokkle, away from the monster which used him as a footstool - his delectable demonic being which could be used for anything, weaponised, but...
Before Tamaki could call for the butler again, he was interrupted.
“Master Tamaki, there’s someone at the door for you,” the maid looked at ‘Tebastian’, who had finally entered with the tea, in confusion, “A new hire? It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” the black butler said with a roll of his tongue. The maid swooned, a blush appearing on her cheeks, she fell backwards onto the carpet and cracked her head open.
“TEBASTIAN!” Tamaki shouted, excitable from his cocaine consumption, “CLEAN UP THIS MESS, YOUNG FELLOW! Oh no, I didn’t mean that Hannah. Oh, poor Hannah Faker, my poor poor Hannah Faker,” Tamaki fell on his knees beside the body of the maid and stroked her hair out of her face, “You’re so young. So young. Fresh, like a petal. A soft, horny petal. HOW COULD I ALLOW THIS TO HAPPEN TO YOU!” Tamaki shouted to the ceiling, anguished, voice breaking, hands held in fists beside his head. “I’ll give you this. The forbidden elixir. If this won’t resuscitate you, nothing will,” Tamaki said through his tears, using shaky hands to drop a fistful of cocaine onto Hannah Baker’s face.
Nothing happened. A few seconds passed. Tamaki let out another anguished cry, “DEAD! DEAD! AND SHE NEVER EVEN WANTED TO DIEEEE!”
Toni, having heard this via Tiler, who was sitting outside of Tamaki’s house in a tree like a STALKER, quickly disposed of all thirteen of Hannah’s raisins. She clearly didn’t want to die. Not if Tamaki had bequeathed it.
In his anguish Tamaki grabbed the nearest thing - the wriggling body of the oversized piglet Hawk - and threw it toward what (in his warped coke-addled perspective) was a closed window. Unfortunately twas not, and instead of the pig’s body bouncing off the closed window it got yeeted right on out with a squeak and squeal, a shocked HOOONNNNKKKK.
“Master Tamaki?” Another maid came in. She had a very short skirt on, and perhaps no panties. “My name is Elizabeth. I apologise for my tardiness today, I twas simply being a smol receptionist at that university, I forget which one. I lost my single set of panties to the fiend melodious, and I also lost my razor to that fiend called TEBASTIAN KEEPS STEALING MY RAZORS so if you see anything bushy, tis just an honest mistake. But anyway, my reason for disrupting your endeavours and your very important conversation with your cocaine pile. There appears to be a number of elusive figures asking for you at the door, perhaps you shall be willing to spare them a moment of your time.”
“Tell them,” Tamaki cheered, “NO! This is a closed party, for myself, my cocaine, and all of the people in this room. For Kyoya, rattail Kyoya,” Tamaki pointed at Kunikida, “Dazai, BTEC Dazai,” Tamaki pointed at Akutagawa, “and all the others! All of them! Apart from anyone not here. I refuse to talk to them. Tell them I say NO!”
Elizabeth went to relay such information, walking over the still-warm corpse of Hannah Faker, not to be mistaken for the already deceased Hannah Baker.
A few more moments passed of Tamaki throwing cocaine over Hannah Faker’s face and the other students watching on with disinterest. Kyoya briefly considered asking Yosano to come visit and reignite the lyfe into Hannah Faker, who quite possibly wasn’t dead yet, but realised he’d left his phone on the coffee table which was JUST out of reach.
“Chuuya Nakahara!” sounded over a megaphone. The voice was coming from outside and was accompanied by the strumming of what sounded like a sitar but what an experienced ear would easily recognise as a guqin.
Chuuya’s expression shifted. He curled his fists and uncurled them, teeth gritted. Everyone nodded in his direction but he couldn't nod back. Not now. His legs felt weak, palms sweety. He couldn't feel his arms anymore, panic replacing every sensation.
“Chuuya?” Sanji asked, taking in Chuuya’s demeanour, “What’s wrong? Who is that?”
“It’s me, Lan Wangji!” sounded over the megaphone.
“Ah,” everyone nodded in unison, though no one recognised the name.
Sanji frowned, “Who is that, Chuuya? You’re worrying me.”
Chuuya shook his head, refusing to respond, lips pursed. Sanji’s heart throbbed. His friend had never seemed quite so troubled before! There was never a trouble that they couldn't solve together, something they couldn't discuss in their daily pillowtalk and figure out, and seeing his good friend Chuuya stressed only made Sanji feel upset and uncomfortable. What was it outside that darned window that made the ginger hat-wearing martial arts champion have such a queasy expression upon his wonderfully carved and effeminate face?
Peering out the window, Sanji spotted him. He was an older man, sitting upright and formally in his wheelchair. He looked very Chinese-y (not an insult to someone who’s Chinese), long black hair framing his face, headband wrapped tightly around his forehead. A fancy headband, mayhaps? He wore an elegant long white bathrobe, it looked very zexy. He had thin lips, a frown wrinkling his brow and mouth wrinkles. His fingers continued to strum his guqin, an instrument that had a distinct likeness to the guitar and the sitar. Those long fingers, similar to the fingers used by Fukazawa to pleasure Ranpo night after night.
Flanking the bathrobe wearing FIEND’S wheelchair was an entourage of Chinese men, all wearing similar ancient Chinese robes (though perhaps a tad more formal and less bathrobe-esque) in a baby blue colour. Not great for camouflage. Under their billowing sleeves each person gripped at least one automatic shotgun, all frowning, a few checking their magazines for bullets.
“I’m that mafia man! Remember, your old mafia buddy? Remember that conversation we had about your friend, Dazai, teasing you about your height?” Dazai, having heard the words over the megaphone, sniggered. “It wasn’t a good look for you, bro. Alas, you stole all of Gusu Lan Sect’s cocaine and left an IOU in its place. I’m here to collect!”
Kyoya tapped his pen on his clipboard, “So THAT’S where you got it. You smooth, smooth bastard. Shifting so much cocaine on your own, without anyone noticing? How did you do it?”
“I’d also like my tow truck and skip returned! I can’t see it, where ISSSS it?!”
“I lost it,” Chuuya admitted to the students, a hand over his brow in panic. “I dropped it off with the Oxbridge valet, and next thing you know - BOOM, it’s gone! WAAAA!” he started to pace, biting at his nails. “But how did he even find me?”
“I was informed of your location by one HELL of a butt-ler! And what a butt it was!” Lan announced, his gentle and commanding voice reaching the ears of the students. Dazai shivered. “I hope it is being used to its full capacity, a shame if it were to go to waste! Alas, if it weren’t for my baby boi Mo-slash-Wuxian that BUTT-ler would be right here, by my side, ready for my every desire.”
Sebastian, hearing this, quivered from joy. Oh what a compliment! Surely Lan would be proud if he knew how Pokkle had used his butt-ler as not only something to throw poisonous darts at, but also for any pickles he didn’t want to eat (and a lot of other root vegetables) and his dildos! That one compliment alone was enough to compensate for all the woes he had experienced at the hands of Pokkle. But still, it was Sebastian’s time to leave, to depart, from the Suoh mansion, before chaos ensued. He slipped from the room silently, bringing the tea with him- Tamaki did not deserve this tea. Bringing the Gusu Lan sect here was a major accomplishment, and he was sure it would throw a spanner in the works to sell all that coke.
“Oh!” Lan shouted from outside. “I see a pig here.”
“Get off!” Hawk screamed. “You don’t wanna get on my bad side!”
“Tis mine! This is my ransom until you give me my coke back! What a wonderful pig. If I ate meat, I’d be roasting it up right now. He has a very plentiful rump!”
Inosuke sighed wistfully. He knew far too much about his cousin’s plentiful rump.
“Lan Wanji?” Ban stood from where he had been idling on one of the many couches, monching some coke, “Lan Wanji, from PA? We were in the graduating class of 2015, then 2016, and also 2017, 18-”
“Ban? Ban! How could I forget your melodic voice! What’ve you been up to, I heard you stopped going? I mean I stopped going too, but that’s because I found my baby boi Wuxian. He was dead the whole time, but he came back to life in the body of someone even younger! What a lucky man I am. I must have done something in a past life that made me deserving of this, a young warm body to lay under me as I pound it to oblivion.”
Ban shook his head and muttered conspiratorially to the room, “The poor lad Wanji had to start using walking aids when his legs gave up on him a couple of years ago. Ah, old age, the demon coming after us all. He’s now wheel-chair bound, but he likes to act younger than he is.” Ban shouted out the window, “Sound great! You’re so lucky, bro! My chick’s yet to come back from the dead, but I’m a-prayin! I think Sebastian’s still waiting on Ciel too, we need some of that sweet sweet resurrection elixir.”
“Broooooo!” Lan cheered from outside. “I think they’re selling it at that mystery pound store down the road! That’s where I got it! Cost only like, one pound note.”
Kyoya pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. So the one pound note was a real currency? Interesting. How very interesting.
“Broooo! You might wanna duck, imma gonna start shooting now!!” Lan Wanji yelled from outside. “Xue Yang! Lan Sizhui! Mo Xuanya! Aim your shafts, and release!”