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21 July 2008 @ 09:02
FIC: Non Chalant [Death Note].  
Title: Non Chalant.
Fandom: Death Note [manga].
Rating: PG.
Genre: Humour, crack, Mattofluff.
Summary: Matt finds a puppy under mysterious circumstances. Near is intrigued. Mello is secretive.
Warnings: Excessive adorableness and possible OOC-Matto-ness (but then, it's rather hard to tell with him.)
Pairings/Characters: Near, Matt, Mello, Roger.
Author's Note: Wammy's house crack/fluff for darthmokona, who's having a rough time of it lately. Sorry this is so much later than I promise, m'dear - I'm having a lot of writer's block issues right now, but hopefully this doesn't suck too hard. <3 Thanks to Twitch for teaching me about languagey things in general and specifically for providing me with a complicated equation for Matt to get wrong and most of all for coming up with something approaching an actual plot for this ridiculousness. Thx bb~.
Disclaimer: Death Note is the property of Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I merely nibble it occasionally to supply the writing dragon within. 8U 'Carmen' belongs to Bizet. 'Chopsticks' probably belongs to the devil.




When considering the nature of words, Near was often puzzled, but never more so than in the case of the English language. It was so irregular as to be entirely bizarre, a hybrid of linguistic histories, derivations, and traditions that together became a patchwork creature of utter ridiculousness. A language whose rules existed more or less to be contradicted was less a method of communication than a purposefully vexing puzzle.

Near had had no problem learning it, of course.

Occasionally, however, he found himself fixated on a particular oddity, trying to tease it apart to its origins. He was particularly irritated by prefixes attached to nonexistent word stems. The most prevalent example was that of the word 'nonchalant'. Near had never heard anyone described as 'chalant'. This was because it was not a word. Someone who is not nonchalant would be called anxious, perhaps, or eager, depending on the situation. Therefore, 'nonchalant' was an entirely ridiculous word that should be crossed out of the dictionary. He made a mental note to mention this to Roger.

There was a muffled noise from the hallway, and then a loud 'shh!'. Near pulled on his lip, watching the door as the door creaked open and Matt cautiously poked his nose into the playroom.

There it was again, much more clearly now - a yip. Matt said 'SHHH!', getting saliva all over the doorknob, banged his head on the door frame, and fell on his face, knocking the door open further. Something yelped from underneath him, and he rolled over quickly - and scooped up a tiny brown puppy from the floor.

This was so unusual that Near found himself addressing Matt before he'd lined up the appropriate sentence in his head. "Matt, ah - " he began, and stopped, unsure of how to proceed.

Matt whipped his head around. "Near!" He grinned, frowned, grabbed the dog, and tucked it deep into his vest. "What's kickin'?"

Near deliberated momentarily before deciding to ignore this. "Why do you have a dog, Matt?" he asked, staring at the boy's wriggling shirt-front.

"Dog?" Matt exclaimed, his mouth an exaggerated 'o' of confusion. "What dog?"

"The dog in your shirt, Matt, is the dog to which I am referring," Near murmured patiently.

"There's no dog in my shirt!" Matt folded his arms across his chest, prompting a squeak from its inhabitant. "I'm just, uh, hungry. My stomach's rumbling." The dog popped its head out of Matt's collar and began to drool.

At least he had found an example of chalantness, Near thought. If anyone in the world could be said to be chalant, it would be Matt at this moment, with a dog's spit on his shirt and its hair on his neck. Near looked at the other boy levelly. "That looks to me quite like a specimen of Canis lupus domesticus. A dog," he enunciated carefully. "Which is in your shirt. Are you hiding it from someone?"

A panicked expression crossed Matt's face. "Nooo, of course not! I'm just, um, taking him for a walk."

"He's not walking, Matt. He's in your shirt."

"Er, well . . . he's taking me for a walk."

"He is also drooling on your shirt." Near felt unable to keep this information to himself any longer. "There is a large patch just under your collar."

Matt beamed. "Oh, he's so smart!" he cooed, stroking the puppy's ears. "Yes he is. Yes he is! Who's a smart puppy? You are! Who knows how do drool so good? You do!"

There was really nothing to say to this. Nevertheless, Near muttered, "That would be 'well', not 'good'."

"It's no use, Near," sneered a voice from the door. "His performance rate on just about everything goes down when he sees something cute."

And as a soccer ball bounced off of Near's head, Mello sauntered into the room.

Near sighed. It really was tiring, Mello's pathological need for making a dramatic entrance. Especially when said dramatic entrance involved pain on Near's part (which it almost always did).

"Mello," he said neutrally, nodding. "This seems likely. However, I would like to see it demonstrated, if you don't mind."

"Do it yourself, bighead!" Mello snapped. He pulled out a frisbee and rolled it hard into Near's knee.

Near flinched. "Ow," he said. "But he is your friend. It is not my right to test his abilities."

"He's not my friend!"

"Mellooo," cooed Matt, who had apparently just noticed the other boy. "Look at my puppy! Isn't he cuuute? Puppyyy!" And he dangled the puppy in front of Mello's face.

"Bark," it said, with some displeasure. Mello just glared at it, flaring his nostrils. However, it did not appear to become any less cute.

"Fine, Near-butt," Mello muttered eventually, conceding defeat to cute puppy-hood. "Hey, drool-on-yer-collar! Find the value of x when x^3 + 4x^2 + 12x + 5 = 0?"

"Mmm . . . prob'ly seven. And a quarter," Matt hazarded, as the puppy licked his face.

Mello raised his eyebrows meaningfully in Near's direction.

"Interesting." Near scratched his nose. "Matt, where did you say you'd gotten this animal?"

Matt stuck his lip out. "I'm not telling you! You'll tell Roger and he'll take him away from me! And I looove him!"

Grabbing the squirming puppy, Mello sprinted across the room to stand on the piano stool. He smirked. "Where did you say you'd gotten him, again?"

"He was in a cardboard box in my room this morning after breakfast! I don't know where he came from!" wailed Matt, chasing after Mello and flailing his arms. "Now give him back, Mello, you're mean to animals!"

Mello dropped the puppy into Matt's arms. "You know that's right," he said smugly, as Matt began to teach the puppy how to play 'Chopsticks'.

"Thank you, Mello," Near murmured, slightly surprised.

Mello gave a truly remarkable, bordering on physically impossible, grimace and stuck his tongue out. "I just enjoy dangling cute, furry things in the air, all right?" he growled. "Don't make a big deal out of it, bighead-face."

"Nevertheless," said Near, and left it at that. Privately, though, he considered that perhaps the lady doth protest too much - and it was a private thought because, had he voiced it, Mello would have made a rude comment about Shakespeare, women, the veracity of authorship, and sexism in the Elizabethan era, and subsequently beaten the snot out of him.

"Mellooo," Matt stage-whispered, interrupting Near's train of thought and, for some odd reason, tugging on Mello's sleeve. "Where can I hide Stanley? You have to help me!"

"Stanley?" Mello looked around. "Who the hell's Stanley?"

"My puppy!" Matt held him up (he looked very disgruntled at having his practice interfered with). "I named him Stanley."

Mello rolled his eyes. "Stanley? No way, Matt, you can't name a puppy something lame like Stanley! You should name him, like, Butch or Bruiser . . . or maybe Justin!"

"Justin is a boy band-member name," Matt argued. "Anyway, he's my puppy, he was in my room, so I get to name him!"

"Whatever, you freak." Mello folded his arms. "I'm calling him Justin."

Stanley/Justin squirmed unhappily.

"Regardless, Mello, I believe that Matt may have a point," Near said, eyeing the dog suspiciously. "He is not able to hide it well, most likely because, as you have proven, he is unable to perform up to his usual standard when confronted by things he considers . . . cute. It is very likely that Roger will discover and confiscate the dog."

"Yeah, see, Mello! I need your help!" Matt begged, clutching the puppy to his chest. "I don't want Roger to take Stanley away!"

"Justin," Mello corrected automatically. He narrowed his eyes at Near. "If we figured out a way to keep him, Near . . . would you tell?"

Near gazed from Mello's balled-up fists to Matt's happy grin to the puppy's slightly confused, lopsided face, and sighed. "No," he said. "I suppose it is . . . charming, in its own way. As long as it does not pee on my bed. But I am not sure how you expect to convince Roger to let you keep such a thing."

Mello grinned, big and wide and self-satisfied. "Well, that, Mr Bighead," he said proudly, "is where you and I differ. I am the type of guy, you see, who can get creative."


Though still not definitively named, with half of the study body favouring Stanley and the other half vehemently supporting Justin, the puppy was in any case the talk of Wammy's House by evening. Who had ever before heard of a puppy rescuing a boy from a tree? While Matt was being universally made fun of for having gotten stuck up there in the first place, he seemed not to care as he held the puppy in his arms and stroked his ears blissfully. And Mello was looking very smug, although only two other people knew that this was because he had fitted the little dog with tiny cleats for climbing the tree and trained him for hours to grab Matt by the collar and not the neck.

Near, for his part, was glad it was all over. He was content to return to his musings on linguistic idiosyncracies. The uselessness of the word 'inflammable', for instance.

And if he saw Mello retrieve a cardboard box from Matt's room and sneak it back into his own closet, then he made no noise about it - merely smiled and returned to his puzzle, as behind him in the playroom he was serenaded by Bizet's 'Carmen', scored for paw.
Madness level: exhaustedreal frickin' tired
ZERØ ✘ the rogue of dawn: Amused; Konata; Lucky Starexpletives on 22nd July 2008 02:16 (UTC)
♥♥♥ Whaaaaammies~~

This is awesome. XD Love the in-characterness, the fact that it includes a puppy, and now I really wanna figure out the answer to Mello's equation. >.<

I vote Stanley, by the way.
ayetechnovanilla on 22nd July 2008 02:32 (UTC)

"Stanley?" Mello looked around. "Who the hell's Stanley?" luls.

Plus, you put in Carmen so I love you long time.

twitchdemon: Heartstwitchdemon on 23rd July 2008 10:03 (UTC)
B'AWWWWW. SO KYUUTO~! I love Matto and his puppy. Also Mello's asinine insults, lawl. This is realllllly adorable.