Welcome To The Black Parade

"Ask your question."

Makoto swallowed. The interruption to hurry him had actually derailed the cool, succinct phrasing he'd been working on, in order not to tax Izuru's patience. Now he was just flustered. "So with your fashion talents, um, you must have to keep up to date, right? Assuming they're not just frozen in time from the moment you got created, cuz that didn't sound very ultimate."

"Fashion, technology and many more of my information-based talents require upkeep, yes. Fifteen minutes of reading and posting in the morning usually suffices."

"Oh, cool... posting?"

"I do not merely follow fashion. That would not be an impressive talent."

"You post fashion pictures???" Why had he not known this important, nay, vital news before?

"Of course. Trends require tending and pruning in order to have the best chance of providing interest."

"...can I see them?"

Izuru regarded him for a moment, then picked him up and tucked him under an arm.

"Wha--?!"

"Come. Since you have expressed interest, you may serve as focus for Dressmaker, Aesthetician and Gothic Lolita. Perhaps your appallingly untrained luck will even occasion non-boring replies in the comments."

Makoto grabbed his phone before it could fall out of his pocket. Come 2 new building 3rd flor studio QUICK, he texted.

On my way, Celeste replied, followed by I expect this to be worth my time unless you want to be demoted to B-rank.

Makoto didn't think that would be an issue. This conversation definitely hadn't gone how he'd planned - he was hoping he could persuade Izuru into something specific using talents as a justification - but hanging out with him was a good outcome too. And Celeste would enjoy it.

"Doctor Matsuda, why are you here?"

"Ungrateful." Matsuda's petticoats rustled. He slurped tea at Makoto.

Celeste sipped hers daintily.

"I -- for what?"

"Slaved over those macarons for hours."

"You made these?" Makoto looked awedly down at the half-depleted plate. "They're amazing! I thought Izuru must have made them! Thank you!"

Izuru tossed a green one into the air, caught and balanced it on his nose, then flipped it into his mouth. "Bad," Doctor Matsuda admonished him. Izuru ignored it.

"What a charming gathering," said Celeste, stirring, pinky outstretched. "We really must do this more often."

"It gives mother something to do outside the lab," Izuru remarked.

"Other than regret your existence," Doctor Matsuda fired back.

"Well, that's good!" Makoto beamed at Izuru. All that black lace over dramatic red fabric was making him feel some kind of way. Something about a cute boy in ruffles and white silk stockings...

"And a reason to shower."

"Shut your backsassing mouth!"

Celeste watched the doctor trying to tug at Izuru's ringlets and sipped her tea once more. If Makoto wasn't mistaken, she seemed to find his bad temper really entertaining.

"There's no need to damage--"

Matsuda lunged again.

"--beautiful bracelet Izuru was wonderful enough to bestow on--"

Komaeda kept fending him off.

"--can't remember the last time someone gave me a gift!--"

He threw down the cutters, sick of this bullcrap. (Matsuda woke up every noon already sick of the day's bullcrap and was very seldom proven wrong.)

"That's it. I'm'a get the sedatives."

"Matsuda-kun is too kind, really. That's not necessary," beamed Komaeda, surreptitiously trying to kick the bolt cutters further away.

"The hell it isn't. Kamukura kept insisting he doesn't have the key." In that particular toneless of voice that meant he was being pedantic about it.

"Oh, he doesn't," said Komaeda.

Matsuda paused.

Paused...

He felt a vein start itching.

"YOU'VE HAD THE GODSDAMN KEY THIS WHOLE TIME?"