Disclaimer: As a warning for the entire story, I own nothing.

I wrote this a few months ago right after reading through the light novels' translations and then totally abandoned it after finished about half of it. I figured I might as well post what I've written and, if I get reviews and random inspiration, I'll finish it up later on. Lots of spoilers for the novels - if you don't understand some of them and don't want to read them, it shouldn't be too hard to understand...

Orihara Izaya


Orihara Izaya leaned back in his leather chair, the creak of the plastic wheels familiar to his ears. It was his throne of sorts, and he reigned upon his kingdom gleefully from atop it, just as a vicious monarch would sit and enjoy watching his subjects' beheadings. The very thought of how perfectly the metaphor seemed to fit made him sigh in ecstasy, something one usually wouldn't do when thinking of guillotines.

He could hardly help it, though; the city of Ikebukuro, a place known for and sustained by its typical chaos and havoc, was especially strewn with disaccord recently. While a fair amount of it had managed to not only affect but also ensnare Izaya, he remained ever smug. After all the messy business with stabbings and kidnappings, he felt he deserved a break to relax - and enjoy viewing the other citizens struggling to stay afloat in the sea of the city, the waves of asphalt streets. His grin widened as he wondered how many would fail in their attempts and ultimately drown.

If anyone could be called king of Ikebukuro, Izaya would be unanimously picked. It wasn't that he was always in control - often, he was just as confused as anyone else when it came to the daily happenings of the town's most pivotal characters - it was that his demeanor built a false facade of infinite knowledge and, therefore, dominance in the game board of the city.

He could easily be called the weakest, too, not in physical strength but in mental. His lack of ethics and simple human empathy was hollowly replaced with an undying love for the species that he could never understand or truly fit in with. It wasn't the control over their emotions that gave him that love; it was the lack there of. His own weakness when faced with other humans and his natural lack of understanding toward them made him hate that something could strip away his shell so well, so he decided to love them. Love their spontaneity; love their feelings and how they act upon them. Love all that his own sociopathic tendencies didn't allow him to understand.

Yet he honestly did love them, in his own way.

He realized fully all his hypocrisies even while he wished to deny them. His own humanity in that matter amused him to the point of giving him something else to smile about.

His smile never left his lips, not when threatened with certain death, not when being chased by the strongest man in all of Ikebukuro, not when all chaos was about to break loose; except -

Except that fearsomely endless night that continued to haunt his nights, when his only comforts had been his sisters' voices - usually bubbly or apathetic - screaming out dreadfully strained cries because of him, and cold, heartless lips (lips that he had made that way) whispering miseries into his ear through wet linen.

He twirled his chair around, as if to escape the subject, and faced a window overlooking some of the best sights Japan had to offer. His smirk, which had never left his face completely, strengthened again after removed the thoughts that weakened its certainty. When all was said and done, he and his sisters were as healthy and quirky as ever. It merely cost him a couple sleepless nights (a strange occurrence for the confident conductor of the city) and many, many 'thank you's to his favorite Dullahan, though he still loathed the idea of ever having to show anyone a drop of earnest appreciation.

The abundance of lights radiated from the dark sea of building and shown through the large window, reflecting off of his unusually redish eyes. It felt like looking onto a chessboard and pondering over which piece to move where next. His control was back and not to be taken away again.

His game of chess was progressing nicely, too, by his standards:

Mikado' trauma and panic left him desperately trying to reign Dollars and the Blue Squares in, something that, even after so long, he has not managed to accomplish. His single success, though, lay in the fact that he had trumped Aoba Kuronuma thoroughly. He had done his best to use Mikado as a pawn, not knowing any better (though Izaya didn't know at the time either) and Izaya had even envisioned him as a nice little chess master. Until, of course, Mikado had made it quite clear that, while being used was quite fine as long as he himself benefitted, when Aoba moved in to take away more control than Mikado felt like relinquishing, he had made sure his kouhei knew who was boss - a lesson learned painfully through a pen wound in his hand.

Even after his short victory, Mikado remained unable to control the large and ever-growing gangs that were under his jurisdiction. They were too undefined - in the case of Dollars - therefore casing division on issues, and too malicious, something both gangs had grown to share. The legendary founder of Dollars wasn't going to get a peaceful sleep any time soon.

To make matter worse (or, in Izaya's humble opinion, more interesting), Mikado's former best friend and ex-leader of the Yellow Scarves was back in town, an event directly caused by Izaya's hand. Mikado wasn't in any state to handle it, too mentally worn from the fighting and too hardened compared to who he had been. Besides that, the time spent apart spread like an expanse of desert, and Izaya knew if they met again other than their brief run-in before, there would conflict. Not intentional, for they both harbored strong feelings for each other, the bond of childhood friends, but something - if not outright fighting - would happen. The two friends would certainly have a lot to discuss, especially seeing as their time spent apart had crafted both of their hardened souls intricately and similarly.

Aoba had been allowed back into the ranks of Blue Squares and, while the lesson Mikado instilled on him wasn't soon to be forgotten, Izaya knew that his plotting was far from over; manipulation was a hard habit to break. The little wanna-be chess master - who Izaya was disgusted to find out had considered himself close in intellect to the information broker - still had some sort of plan up his sleeve that he was just waiting to spring. Izaya knew, for it was abundantly obvious, that regardless of whether he succeeded with his little plot or not, it would certainly steepen the drama of the city. Aoba's success laid almost entirely on the shoulders of Mikado, but if the small high schooler had taught Izaya nothing else, it was that underestimating the seemingly innocent Dollars leader was a deadly mistake. The informant was quite fond of his hands the way they were - hole free.

Besides the gang life, Izaya couldn't help but marvel at all the activity going on elsewhere in Ikebukuro, a never-silent city. Ruri's stalker, following his attack on Shinra, attempted to target his fiancé, a bad choice. He could've simply asked any motorcyclist of the streets - police included - ever since the infamous hunt for her spurred on by the offer of 10,000,000 yen and found out that the very thought of aiming to attack the allusive headless rider had deadly consequences.

All in all, the stalker wasn't that much of a threat, considering that Celty had counterattacked with the fury of any woman whose boyfriend had been purposefully injured. Really, she was sometimes a lot more human in her emotions and actions than most of the town's citizens (quite a few of whom weren't human, Celty included, of course).

Not to mention that, despite Izaya's greatest efforts that weren't at all deterred by his unexpected stabbing (he wasn't one to give up) Yadogiri wasn't going to be easily found, even with the combined forces of many, many furious individuals seeking him. It might be better for Izaya if Yadogiri ran free, anyway. It gave him enough time to extract as much information about Saiki as possible. After all he had done to bring Vorona and Slon here and complicate all that business with Awakusu Akane, Izaya felt like he owed the devious man something. After dealing out a well-deserved revenge. He wasn't too high-and-mighty to admit that he yearned for vengeance toward the man who had indirectly caused his weak state and capture, leading to the terrible night that would have left deep, eternal trauma on any normal human. At least Izaya, Kururi, and Mairu weren't normal and therefore relatively unscathed, though they certainly were human whether they acted like it or not.

Ikebukuro, throughout all the chaos, remained as sturdy a civilization as ever, staying undying and unaffected by all the strange happenings. If it was possible for Izaya to love anything more than humans, it would be the city. Despite all sorts of inhuman, monstrous inhabitants making no effort to protect the city from their destructive ways (Izaya, debatably, being one of them), it stood strong and levelheaded. Almost comparable to a metal and cement Simon - though Izaya imagined that, if the city were personified, it would speak better Japanese.

His own mind never stopped amusing Izaya, the thoughts weaving in and out of his consciousness. Even when thinking of all the insane happenings going on, he couldn't help but feel as though there was more to come. Like all the chaos presently happening was merely the exposition to a larger, crazier scheme. His lips parted to reveal smiling teeth. He hoped that humanity would never stop exceeding his expectations.

At that, he spun his chair back around, a quiet laugh escaping from his mouth and his hands in the air. His eyes opened, facing the room in front of him, and his smile faltered, if only for a second, when he noticed that one piece was out of place. He felt, deep inside himself, that his thoughts of a bigger event about to happen on the horizon had come too late, for it seemed as though whatever was about to arise had already been initiated. Lo, his grin reappeared and his laugh began again, louder and lower, and his trembling back shook the chair below him.

Yes, humans have barely even begun to show me what they are capable of, he thought, as his eyelids slid up and his pupils fell onto the decidedly empty space on his tall bookcase:

Celty's head was gone.

Basically just a long exposition. Eh, whatever, I like writing Izaya.

Please tell me if I have anything wrong with the continuity; I'm not used to writing plot-ful stuff. Also, I would absolutely adore reviews whether you liked it or hated it.