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dj au ch 1
"Oh, you look like absolute shit," M.M. says with far too much delight for someone who calls herself his friend.
Well. The 'friend' part is something they both know is just a tentative title, anyway, but that doesn't make Mukuro's frown ease up at all. If anything, it only gets replaced by a bared teeth smile, muscles pushing away the wipe he has in his fingers. The effect seems to be minimal, for all the sharpie on his face, but it's doing a damn lot better than the garbage excuse for hand soap that the college had in its public bathrooms. "Oh, so nothing different or new than what you see in the mirror every day," he says snidely, and dumps his bag onto the table with complete disregard for her noises of outrage. It could be because of his insult. It could also just as easily be because his bag disrupts the entire delicate arrangement of her things, but, really, isn't that her own fault? She's sitting at a public table outside on college grounds, and, goodness, while some people might be too timid to interrupt her space, well... There are just all sorts of assholes out there, aren't there?
Mukuro is perfectly content with claiming that title when it suits him, and even when it doesn't.
While M.M. scrambles to make sure none of her things go scattering off the table's edge, Mukuro takes advantage of the chaos to snatch her compact mirror from the pile. Her ugly glare is nothing in comparison to having a clear reflection at his disposal. "They really don't make cleaning wipes like they should," he mutters in discontent, lip curled as he looks over the smear of black now all over his cheek.
"Maybe you wouldn't have to worry about sharpie problems if you didn't fall asleep in public where Byakuran can sneak prank you," M.M. drawls, fiddling with something on her phone. After a minute, music begins to filter out from the minuscule speakers. "Or just suck his dick already. That's what he wants from you, isn't it?"
"I would rather vomit out teeth," he informs her, saccharine sweetness dripping from every word as he works aggressively on cleansing the marker from his skin.
Although, then again, who knows? Perhaps that really is what Byakuran Gesso wants from him. It's frankly rather difficult to say. Mukuro knows a lot of things about the other man, having had plenty of time for it and more than enough spite for some investigating. Much like Mukuro, Byakuran seems to be from a predominately Italian family, although no one would guess it just from looking at him. No one has viewed him ever eat an actual meal, let alone a real vegetable, which only makes the amount of sugar he inhales all the more concerning for those who actually care about the wellbeing of another person. Most people seem to make their way through their college life understanding that he's charismatic enough to probably start a cult if he wanted, and at least a small percentage are waiting for it to actually happen.
M.M. has, more than once, taken pleasure in pointing out that they're far too alike to exist in the same space without a murder occurring, being "petty and overdramatic bitches". Even after vehemently denying it numerous times, Mukuro has to grudgingly accept that she's right. Dick sucking or not, it probably explains a lot of their clashing.
A good person would probably take this as a sign that, if they find the other party so insufferable, that they should make some sort of change to their life. Mukuro refuses. He's worked long and hard to be allowed to be this much of a bastard, and he's not letting another person take all the glory in that particular arena.
Utterly absorbed in erasing the latest incident of their constant prank and harassment wars that would quell a lesser man, it takes Mukuro a minute to realize that M.M. is doing something more than the usual of her pretending to study while in fact showing off her overall better appearance and various designer items. In fact, she seems to be actually studying. Raising an eyebrow, he realizes he's also never seen her listening to... internet radio? "Now this is new," he drawls, casting a critical gaze on his reflection. He thinks a doodled Cheep might be making progress in getting off of his face. "Last I checked, you weren't someone into... indie rock, M.M."
"I'm into whatever I'm paid to be into," she says dismissively, which isn't entirely wrong, he supposes. Tapping out a note with quick expertise despite the length of her nails, she raises an eyebrow at him across her strewn out notes. "Haven't you heard of the college radio, Mumu?"
Ah. His eyebrow twitches. "I've certainly heard of it," he says, putting down his wipe so that he can reach for his wallet. A dollar to make her shut up with the infernal nicknames; he's not in the mood to weather through it today. It won't pay for any information, but he can manage that all on his own. To wipe away the smug look on her face when he places the bill down between them? Well, he'll get back at her later for it. He shouldn't start up another minor war while he's still dealing with Byakuran, but at least with M.M. he can pay her to forget about it eventually. "But that still doesn't explain why you care."
M.M. slides the bill across the table to herself, tucking it away inside her bra. "Then you haven't heard everything about the college radio station," she says smugly, apparently content to give away the information for free. That must mean it's such common knowledge that it's basically worthless for her purposes. He really must have been caught up in his feud against Byakuran if he's missed it. "Quite a little conspiracy has cropped up around it, you know."
Oh, college gossip that has nothing to do with him. With the afternoon he's had, Mukuro supposes he can let it be about something other than him for once. "Do we have a new haunted location?" he asks languidly. Knowing all the rumored cursed places in the city is a hobby of his, among many other things that could debatably be called his hobbies. It never hurts to know what aspects of the cultural subconscious he can use to trick or antagonize other people. There's also his own predisposition to matters of the metaphysical, the idea of what's beyond or what terrifies people... But it's mostly using the knowledge to be a prick.
Knowledge he won't get today, judging by the flick of M.M.'s nails. "Think less haunted house," she says, clicking a button as the song on her phone changes, "and more numbers station. Did you know not a single person has an idea of who actually runs it?"
In a world of increasingly social uses of technology... That is interesting. Giving up on his face, Mukuro tosses the wipe to the side, barley managing to get it in a nearby trash can. "I would think it would be the school."
"You'd think but, allegedly, none of the staff have any actual answers. You have all sorts of tinfoil hats convinced they must be lying as part of a cover up, or that it's the government, or aliens..." Their friendship might be antagonistic even at the best of times, but Mukuro can appreciate the truly snide roll of her eyes when she gets into moods like these. "But it seems as though the idea of it is starting to pick up speed on campus. People think there's a message between the songs that are coming on- oh." She clicks her nails along the table as the strum of a guitar fades away, replaced by something more... electronic. "Speak of the devil."
Tugging out a hooded sweatshirt, Mukuro cocks his head to the side slightly while he listens to it. There's a considerable difference from the mellow sounds of rock that had been playing a minute before, artificial in time with a heartbeat, and the singer, he had to admit, leaned more towards a sort of pop or rap feeling... But he couldn't see anything particularly noteworthy in it, or its lyrics.
"Deep inside... It must be you..."
"It can't be the lyrics, surely," he says after a minute of further listening, wiggling through the hole of his shirt. It was a shame, considering how he often liked to dress up, but he needed the hood for his face. "I'm curious how a conspiracy theory could start out of a basic EDM love song." With the sheer number of circles that Mukuro liked to drift through- well. He wouldn't say he was an expert at every single musical genre or specific band group, but he could pick up on the basics well enough. There was nothing that made this song any different from literally any other EDM track.
"Oh, Mukuro, Mukuro," M.M. hummed condescendingly, fetching a nail file from her purse. He wondered sometimes how she managed to ever have enough room for her actual school supplies. He also wondered if there was anything in there for him to steal in retribution for the tone of her voice. "The song is only a part of it. Surely you noticed the completely different genre that preceded it, didn't you?" She flicked some of the nail dust from her file, letting it disappear into the wind. "That's part of the mystery, or so I've heard. As a general rule, that sudden shift only seems to come on at certain times."
He clicks his tongue. "Ah. So there's the numbers station connection."
"Bingo." She blows over her nails, lips just perfectly puckered in a way that's almost charming in its artificial. "I have no idea who started the first little rumor, but it has become a rather famous bit of college lore. If you listen to enough geeks, there's theories ranging from how there has to be a connection with the songs or artists, to the beats of the song... I'm amazed at the details people can come up with for something that's just a set track list. I suppose I can't complain, when I have people paying me to keep an eye on it."
"Such an entrepreneur," he says dryly, casting a sideways glance at the tower which poked out from the campus grounds and which broadcast the very music they were listening to. Certainly it was an interesting little tale, and information he'd be sure to use for his own cause at a later date... But for right now, he couldn't particularly care. "At any rate, I need you to pause in your other tasks, because there's something I want from you."
Expectantly, M.M. held out her hand first, and Mukuro patiently placed a five dollar bill into her waiting palm. He could go without the price of a bit of fast food for the steps of his latest revenge scheme. After checking it against the sunlight, M.M. slid the bill into her bra along with the single that had come before it. "Alright, who do you want dirt on?"
"What can you tell me about Shoichi Irie? And don't skimp on the details."
Like all good selfish bastards, Mukuro and M.M. carrying such titles themselves, Byakuran Gesso's social group was immense, fluid, and mercurial. Honestly, it had gotten to such a point between both of them that it was a miracle that there wasn't more cross contamination. Yet if it could be said that Mukuro had entered the college scene alongside M.M. as his tried and true "friend", then much could be same of Byakuran when it came to Shoichi Irie. For all that Mukuro had been laser focused on his rival, it hadn't escaped him how often Shoichi was around the sweets demon, although he seemed to have a talent for not getting caught up in any of the resulting bullshit. Yet that was all he really seemed to know about the other student, who didn't seem to fit in any of the many crowds that either Mukuro or Byakuran hung around in. What Mukuro knew of him was mostly based off of fleeting first impressions that told of a mostly average young man who seemed so mundane that one had to wonder how on earth he became friends with such an absolute bastard weirdo of am an such as Byakuran Gesso.
M.M.'s information stores don't have the answers to that particular question. What she can tell him for a nice clean five dollars are all the other things about Shoichi Irie, and that's more than valuable enough once Mukuro realizes that he's more than a mere nerd hanging around a popular douchebag. He's still a nerd, granted. It's just, he's apparently one of the handful of prime nerds that attend their college.
Shoichi Irie is at the very top of the engineering and software end of things, alongside a guy people only seem to know by the nickname "Spanner". Everyone who knows him, whether through sharing a class with him or some other method, is more than well aware of two things. The first, of course, is that he's every bit the genius one might think he is, with rumors already abound of various companies eyeing him for after graduation and projects he allegedly is already famous for on the internet. (Mukuro makes a note to look him up later, to see if what's true and what's fiction and what's a mix of the two.) The second is that he's an anxious mess who stresses over the following: Exams. Projects. Too much responsibility. Worrying about his friends having eaten healthily or not. If he'll be able to finish his personal projects alongside college ones. If he can get that recommendation from Professor Verde. If he's getting enough sleep. If he's getting too much sleep. All in all, M.M. paints the picture of a person who's held together purely by the strained strings of his own brain and pure anxiety, and is often done in by the weakness of his own flesh.
On paper, that sounds like it should be easy enough to corner the man in a library, or through some conversation basic societal weakness refuses to let him run away from.
In reality, Shoichi double takes at seeing Mukuro heading straight for him in the school cafeteria, loudly goes "Oh Christ", abandons two trays by Spanner, and bolts straight for the emergency fire exit but not before yanking the fire alarm on the way.
"I thought you said he got useless with anxiety," he hisses at M.M. inbetween her shrieks of laughter, his grip ironclad against her arm while they wait outside with every other evacuated student.
It takes over five minutes and some unglamourous wheezed laughter before she can answer him. "When it hits," she sniggers, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "A guy can have anxiety and still be a stubborn little prick, Mukuro."
"That would have been good to know ahead of time," he grumbles, adjusting his grip on the tray he stole out of the cafeteria. Considering his brief overview of the rest of the crowd out there with them, he's not alone in this casual theft.
M.M. steals a fry from a guy's tray without either of them looking, and pops it into her mouth. "Five dollars for the basic overview. You should have tossed in ten if you wanted all sorts of fun gossip, like the time him and Glo Xinia got into a nerd fight in the halls."
The name rings a bell, and it's not long before the memory has Mukuro snorting. Oh, he knows that name. "The one who got banned from the local BDSM business downtown, isn't that right? Well, I suppose some credit must truly be given to Shoichi Irie if he thought to get into a fight with a person like that." It's almost enough to make him like him. Ever since the man tried to hit on Chrome, he's never quite liked him, but not to the extent that he's ever bothered to laser focus on him. For one thing, Chrome had already ruined his life soundly, see: the BDSM business downtown. For another, well, Mukuro supposes it's because he has bigger fish to fry.
Unfortunate that sometimes getting a bigger fish means using a smaller fish as bait. Unfortunate because, in direct contrast to how he assumed this would go, Shoichi Irie is somehow even more difficult than Byakuran.
By all logical accounts, he really shouldn't be, especially once Mukuro starts digging into things such as his schedule or where he prefers to go eat at lunch. That this is mildly stalking doesn't concern him. Sometimes things have to get a little immoral for his greater good. As long as no one catches onto the legality of everything, it's absolutely fine. Or, it would be fine, if it would work for him. Yet while Mukuro has contacts, information, stubbornness, and plain good looks that really shouldn't send anyone running at all... Shoichi Irie has a talent for worming his way out of weird situations with such skill Mukuro has only seen in one other person before. Funnily enough, Tsuna Sawada also turns his heel on him when he sees him heading his way, and so there goes the chance to interrogate him on just how one would capture such a squirrely target. He's lucky Mukuro has his schedule booked, or else he'd get back at him for ignoring him like that....
A good month after first attempting to corner Shoichie Irie because he just wants to talk, and Mukuro dumps his backpack onto the desk of his Political Science class with his lip curling. Shoichi has leapt over stairway railings, scooted under desks, and outright wore a wig at one point just to buy himself a few seconds of time for his fleeing. What's even more impressive than his ability to run away or the apparent severity of the stomach aches which follow him afterwards, however, would be the fact that Byakuran himself has yet to get involved. Or, rather, it's more interesting. Mukuro would have thought, after all, that Shoichi would have run to his friend at the first sign of trouble considering that he has to be well aware of the feud that's happening. So either Byakuran doesn't care as much as he thought he did about this individual.... or Shoichi Irie is keeping it quiet himself.
Figuring out the answer with so little information is impossible at this stage, and Mukuro slips downwards to rest on top of his backpack with a frown. And this was supposed to be the easy way to find out more of Byakuran's weaknesses that weren't sugar-based. At least, it should have gotten his attention. He's still stewing slightly when there's the sound of another bag hitting the desk besides him; Mukuro has to hold back a jolt. Even after all this time, he never ceases to be genuinely surprised at the ghost-like existence of one-
"Chikusa Kakimoto." The name leaves his mouth with careful and pointed smoothness, a smirk leveled up at his much taller classmate. "So you came today as well. I'm quite surprised."
Expressionless as usual, the other man glances over at Mukuro with what appears to be the absolute bare minimum movement of head and eyes both. Behind that curtain of dark hair, it's almost hard to even recognize. "I need the credits... unfortunately."
That draws a laugh out of Mukuro. "You seem to think all the classes are unfortunate," he teases lightly.
"They are." While Mukuro laughs again, Chikusa slumps over his backpack in a way that can only be described as pure artistry. No one despises active existence quite like him. Those dark eyes of his remain on Mukuro, waiting him out, until he can speak up again. Chikusa often needs to wait, it seems, both out of his own exhaustion towards activity and his soft voice. "Did you do the assigned reading....?"
"Ah." He knew he'd been forgetting something. "It slipped my mind. I was rather busy, you see." He was busy losing Shoichi Irie for the millionth time, this time to a flash mob apparently planned for that afternoon and which he has a sneaking suspicion was planned by Irie himself.... But Mukuro doesn't see any reason to mention that.
There's no reason to worry anyway. Only that much is enough to rouse Chikusa, although perhaps 'rouse' is too strong of a word. Either way, it's incentive to motivate him just enough to slip his hand into his bag until it returns with a notebook. Chikusa doesn't even bother to ask if he needs or wants it. He merely holds it out to Mukuro. "...Here are the notes I took, then."
Mukuro's eyes positively glitter, but who is he to refuse a bit of generosity? "I will have to pay you back some day," he says as he accepts, even though he's said it before and has had yet to ever do so. Why bother when repayment hasn't been asked for anyways? Mukuro simply makes sure that the professor is still fully ignoring the class at large before the clock hits the appropriate time before he begins to speedily skim the tidy handwriting that takes up the pages. Still, every page or two, he can't help but glance at Chikusa from the corner of his eye.
Well. The 'friend' part is something they both know is just a tentative title, anyway, but that doesn't make Mukuro's frown ease up at all. If anything, it only gets replaced by a bared teeth smile, muscles pushing away the wipe he has in his fingers. The effect seems to be minimal, for all the sharpie on his face, but it's doing a damn lot better than the garbage excuse for hand soap that the college had in its public bathrooms. "Oh, so nothing different or new than what you see in the mirror every day," he says snidely, and dumps his bag onto the table with complete disregard for her noises of outrage. It could be because of his insult. It could also just as easily be because his bag disrupts the entire delicate arrangement of her things, but, really, isn't that her own fault? She's sitting at a public table outside on college grounds, and, goodness, while some people might be too timid to interrupt her space, well... There are just all sorts of assholes out there, aren't there?
Mukuro is perfectly content with claiming that title when it suits him, and even when it doesn't.
While M.M. scrambles to make sure none of her things go scattering off the table's edge, Mukuro takes advantage of the chaos to snatch her compact mirror from the pile. Her ugly glare is nothing in comparison to having a clear reflection at his disposal. "They really don't make cleaning wipes like they should," he mutters in discontent, lip curled as he looks over the smear of black now all over his cheek.
"Maybe you wouldn't have to worry about sharpie problems if you didn't fall asleep in public where Byakuran can sneak prank you," M.M. drawls, fiddling with something on her phone. After a minute, music begins to filter out from the minuscule speakers. "Or just suck his dick already. That's what he wants from you, isn't it?"
"I would rather vomit out teeth," he informs her, saccharine sweetness dripping from every word as he works aggressively on cleansing the marker from his skin.
Although, then again, who knows? Perhaps that really is what Byakuran Gesso wants from him. It's frankly rather difficult to say. Mukuro knows a lot of things about the other man, having had plenty of time for it and more than enough spite for some investigating. Much like Mukuro, Byakuran seems to be from a predominately Italian family, although no one would guess it just from looking at him. No one has viewed him ever eat an actual meal, let alone a real vegetable, which only makes the amount of sugar he inhales all the more concerning for those who actually care about the wellbeing of another person. Most people seem to make their way through their college life understanding that he's charismatic enough to probably start a cult if he wanted, and at least a small percentage are waiting for it to actually happen.
M.M. has, more than once, taken pleasure in pointing out that they're far too alike to exist in the same space without a murder occurring, being "petty and overdramatic bitches". Even after vehemently denying it numerous times, Mukuro has to grudgingly accept that she's right. Dick sucking or not, it probably explains a lot of their clashing.
A good person would probably take this as a sign that, if they find the other party so insufferable, that they should make some sort of change to their life. Mukuro refuses. He's worked long and hard to be allowed to be this much of a bastard, and he's not letting another person take all the glory in that particular arena.
Utterly absorbed in erasing the latest incident of their constant prank and harassment wars that would quell a lesser man, it takes Mukuro a minute to realize that M.M. is doing something more than the usual of her pretending to study while in fact showing off her overall better appearance and various designer items. In fact, she seems to be actually studying. Raising an eyebrow, he realizes he's also never seen her listening to... internet radio? "Now this is new," he drawls, casting a critical gaze on his reflection. He thinks a doodled Cheep might be making progress in getting off of his face. "Last I checked, you weren't someone into... indie rock, M.M."
"I'm into whatever I'm paid to be into," she says dismissively, which isn't entirely wrong, he supposes. Tapping out a note with quick expertise despite the length of her nails, she raises an eyebrow at him across her strewn out notes. "Haven't you heard of the college radio, Mumu?"
Ah. His eyebrow twitches. "I've certainly heard of it," he says, putting down his wipe so that he can reach for his wallet. A dollar to make her shut up with the infernal nicknames; he's not in the mood to weather through it today. It won't pay for any information, but he can manage that all on his own. To wipe away the smug look on her face when he places the bill down between them? Well, he'll get back at her later for it. He shouldn't start up another minor war while he's still dealing with Byakuran, but at least with M.M. he can pay her to forget about it eventually. "But that still doesn't explain why you care."
M.M. slides the bill across the table to herself, tucking it away inside her bra. "Then you haven't heard everything about the college radio station," she says smugly, apparently content to give away the information for free. That must mean it's such common knowledge that it's basically worthless for her purposes. He really must have been caught up in his feud against Byakuran if he's missed it. "Quite a little conspiracy has cropped up around it, you know."
Oh, college gossip that has nothing to do with him. With the afternoon he's had, Mukuro supposes he can let it be about something other than him for once. "Do we have a new haunted location?" he asks languidly. Knowing all the rumored cursed places in the city is a hobby of his, among many other things that could debatably be called his hobbies. It never hurts to know what aspects of the cultural subconscious he can use to trick or antagonize other people. There's also his own predisposition to matters of the metaphysical, the idea of what's beyond or what terrifies people... But it's mostly using the knowledge to be a prick.
Knowledge he won't get today, judging by the flick of M.M.'s nails. "Think less haunted house," she says, clicking a button as the song on her phone changes, "and more numbers station. Did you know not a single person has an idea of who actually runs it?"
In a world of increasingly social uses of technology... That is interesting. Giving up on his face, Mukuro tosses the wipe to the side, barley managing to get it in a nearby trash can. "I would think it would be the school."
"You'd think but, allegedly, none of the staff have any actual answers. You have all sorts of tinfoil hats convinced they must be lying as part of a cover up, or that it's the government, or aliens..." Their friendship might be antagonistic even at the best of times, but Mukuro can appreciate the truly snide roll of her eyes when she gets into moods like these. "But it seems as though the idea of it is starting to pick up speed on campus. People think there's a message between the songs that are coming on- oh." She clicks her nails along the table as the strum of a guitar fades away, replaced by something more... electronic. "Speak of the devil."
Tugging out a hooded sweatshirt, Mukuro cocks his head to the side slightly while he listens to it. There's a considerable difference from the mellow sounds of rock that had been playing a minute before, artificial in time with a heartbeat, and the singer, he had to admit, leaned more towards a sort of pop or rap feeling... But he couldn't see anything particularly noteworthy in it, or its lyrics.
"Deep inside... It must be you..."
"It can't be the lyrics, surely," he says after a minute of further listening, wiggling through the hole of his shirt. It was a shame, considering how he often liked to dress up, but he needed the hood for his face. "I'm curious how a conspiracy theory could start out of a basic EDM love song." With the sheer number of circles that Mukuro liked to drift through- well. He wouldn't say he was an expert at every single musical genre or specific band group, but he could pick up on the basics well enough. There was nothing that made this song any different from literally any other EDM track.
"Oh, Mukuro, Mukuro," M.M. hummed condescendingly, fetching a nail file from her purse. He wondered sometimes how she managed to ever have enough room for her actual school supplies. He also wondered if there was anything in there for him to steal in retribution for the tone of her voice. "The song is only a part of it. Surely you noticed the completely different genre that preceded it, didn't you?" She flicked some of the nail dust from her file, letting it disappear into the wind. "That's part of the mystery, or so I've heard. As a general rule, that sudden shift only seems to come on at certain times."
He clicks his tongue. "Ah. So there's the numbers station connection."
"Bingo." She blows over her nails, lips just perfectly puckered in a way that's almost charming in its artificial. "I have no idea who started the first little rumor, but it has become a rather famous bit of college lore. If you listen to enough geeks, there's theories ranging from how there has to be a connection with the songs or artists, to the beats of the song... I'm amazed at the details people can come up with for something that's just a set track list. I suppose I can't complain, when I have people paying me to keep an eye on it."
"Such an entrepreneur," he says dryly, casting a sideways glance at the tower which poked out from the campus grounds and which broadcast the very music they were listening to. Certainly it was an interesting little tale, and information he'd be sure to use for his own cause at a later date... But for right now, he couldn't particularly care. "At any rate, I need you to pause in your other tasks, because there's something I want from you."
Expectantly, M.M. held out her hand first, and Mukuro patiently placed a five dollar bill into her waiting palm. He could go without the price of a bit of fast food for the steps of his latest revenge scheme. After checking it against the sunlight, M.M. slid the bill into her bra along with the single that had come before it. "Alright, who do you want dirt on?"
"What can you tell me about Shoichi Irie? And don't skimp on the details."
Like all good selfish bastards, Mukuro and M.M. carrying such titles themselves, Byakuran Gesso's social group was immense, fluid, and mercurial. Honestly, it had gotten to such a point between both of them that it was a miracle that there wasn't more cross contamination. Yet if it could be said that Mukuro had entered the college scene alongside M.M. as his tried and true "friend", then much could be same of Byakuran when it came to Shoichi Irie. For all that Mukuro had been laser focused on his rival, it hadn't escaped him how often Shoichi was around the sweets demon, although he seemed to have a talent for not getting caught up in any of the resulting bullshit. Yet that was all he really seemed to know about the other student, who didn't seem to fit in any of the many crowds that either Mukuro or Byakuran hung around in. What Mukuro knew of him was mostly based off of fleeting first impressions that told of a mostly average young man who seemed so mundane that one had to wonder how on earth he became friends with such an absolute bastard weirdo of am an such as Byakuran Gesso.
M.M.'s information stores don't have the answers to that particular question. What she can tell him for a nice clean five dollars are all the other things about Shoichi Irie, and that's more than valuable enough once Mukuro realizes that he's more than a mere nerd hanging around a popular douchebag. He's still a nerd, granted. It's just, he's apparently one of the handful of prime nerds that attend their college.
Shoichi Irie is at the very top of the engineering and software end of things, alongside a guy people only seem to know by the nickname "Spanner". Everyone who knows him, whether through sharing a class with him or some other method, is more than well aware of two things. The first, of course, is that he's every bit the genius one might think he is, with rumors already abound of various companies eyeing him for after graduation and projects he allegedly is already famous for on the internet. (Mukuro makes a note to look him up later, to see if what's true and what's fiction and what's a mix of the two.) The second is that he's an anxious mess who stresses over the following: Exams. Projects. Too much responsibility. Worrying about his friends having eaten healthily or not. If he'll be able to finish his personal projects alongside college ones. If he can get that recommendation from Professor Verde. If he's getting enough sleep. If he's getting too much sleep. All in all, M.M. paints the picture of a person who's held together purely by the strained strings of his own brain and pure anxiety, and is often done in by the weakness of his own flesh.
On paper, that sounds like it should be easy enough to corner the man in a library, or through some conversation basic societal weakness refuses to let him run away from.
In reality, Shoichi double takes at seeing Mukuro heading straight for him in the school cafeteria, loudly goes "Oh Christ", abandons two trays by Spanner, and bolts straight for the emergency fire exit but not before yanking the fire alarm on the way.
"I thought you said he got useless with anxiety," he hisses at M.M. inbetween her shrieks of laughter, his grip ironclad against her arm while they wait outside with every other evacuated student.
It takes over five minutes and some unglamourous wheezed laughter before she can answer him. "When it hits," she sniggers, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "A guy can have anxiety and still be a stubborn little prick, Mukuro."
"That would have been good to know ahead of time," he grumbles, adjusting his grip on the tray he stole out of the cafeteria. Considering his brief overview of the rest of the crowd out there with them, he's not alone in this casual theft.
M.M. steals a fry from a guy's tray without either of them looking, and pops it into her mouth. "Five dollars for the basic overview. You should have tossed in ten if you wanted all sorts of fun gossip, like the time him and Glo Xinia got into a nerd fight in the halls."
The name rings a bell, and it's not long before the memory has Mukuro snorting. Oh, he knows that name. "The one who got banned from the local BDSM business downtown, isn't that right? Well, I suppose some credit must truly be given to Shoichi Irie if he thought to get into a fight with a person like that." It's almost enough to make him like him. Ever since the man tried to hit on Chrome, he's never quite liked him, but not to the extent that he's ever bothered to laser focus on him. For one thing, Chrome had already ruined his life soundly, see: the BDSM business downtown. For another, well, Mukuro supposes it's because he has bigger fish to fry.
Unfortunate that sometimes getting a bigger fish means using a smaller fish as bait. Unfortunate because, in direct contrast to how he assumed this would go, Shoichi Irie is somehow even more difficult than Byakuran.
By all logical accounts, he really shouldn't be, especially once Mukuro starts digging into things such as his schedule or where he prefers to go eat at lunch. That this is mildly stalking doesn't concern him. Sometimes things have to get a little immoral for his greater good. As long as no one catches onto the legality of everything, it's absolutely fine. Or, it would be fine, if it would work for him. Yet while Mukuro has contacts, information, stubbornness, and plain good looks that really shouldn't send anyone running at all... Shoichi Irie has a talent for worming his way out of weird situations with such skill Mukuro has only seen in one other person before. Funnily enough, Tsuna Sawada also turns his heel on him when he sees him heading his way, and so there goes the chance to interrogate him on just how one would capture such a squirrely target. He's lucky Mukuro has his schedule booked, or else he'd get back at him for ignoring him like that....
A good month after first attempting to corner Shoichie Irie because he just wants to talk, and Mukuro dumps his backpack onto the desk of his Political Science class with his lip curling. Shoichi has leapt over stairway railings, scooted under desks, and outright wore a wig at one point just to buy himself a few seconds of time for his fleeing. What's even more impressive than his ability to run away or the apparent severity of the stomach aches which follow him afterwards, however, would be the fact that Byakuran himself has yet to get involved. Or, rather, it's more interesting. Mukuro would have thought, after all, that Shoichi would have run to his friend at the first sign of trouble considering that he has to be well aware of the feud that's happening. So either Byakuran doesn't care as much as he thought he did about this individual.... or Shoichi Irie is keeping it quiet himself.
Figuring out the answer with so little information is impossible at this stage, and Mukuro slips downwards to rest on top of his backpack with a frown. And this was supposed to be the easy way to find out more of Byakuran's weaknesses that weren't sugar-based. At least, it should have gotten his attention. He's still stewing slightly when there's the sound of another bag hitting the desk besides him; Mukuro has to hold back a jolt. Even after all this time, he never ceases to be genuinely surprised at the ghost-like existence of one-
"Chikusa Kakimoto." The name leaves his mouth with careful and pointed smoothness, a smirk leveled up at his much taller classmate. "So you came today as well. I'm quite surprised."
Expressionless as usual, the other man glances over at Mukuro with what appears to be the absolute bare minimum movement of head and eyes both. Behind that curtain of dark hair, it's almost hard to even recognize. "I need the credits... unfortunately."
That draws a laugh out of Mukuro. "You seem to think all the classes are unfortunate," he teases lightly.
"They are." While Mukuro laughs again, Chikusa slumps over his backpack in a way that can only be described as pure artistry. No one despises active existence quite like him. Those dark eyes of his remain on Mukuro, waiting him out, until he can speak up again. Chikusa often needs to wait, it seems, both out of his own exhaustion towards activity and his soft voice. "Did you do the assigned reading....?"
"Ah." He knew he'd been forgetting something. "It slipped my mind. I was rather busy, you see." He was busy losing Shoichi Irie for the millionth time, this time to a flash mob apparently planned for that afternoon and which he has a sneaking suspicion was planned by Irie himself.... But Mukuro doesn't see any reason to mention that.
There's no reason to worry anyway. Only that much is enough to rouse Chikusa, although perhaps 'rouse' is too strong of a word. Either way, it's incentive to motivate him just enough to slip his hand into his bag until it returns with a notebook. Chikusa doesn't even bother to ask if he needs or wants it. He merely holds it out to Mukuro. "...Here are the notes I took, then."
Mukuro's eyes positively glitter, but who is he to refuse a bit of generosity? "I will have to pay you back some day," he says as he accepts, even though he's said it before and has had yet to ever do so. Why bother when repayment hasn't been asked for anyways? Mukuro simply makes sure that the professor is still fully ignoring the class at large before the clock hits the appropriate time before he begins to speedily skim the tidy handwriting that takes up the pages. Still, every page or two, he can't help but glance at Chikusa from the corner of his eye.