"Sake-chan," the child says, closing the door behind himself, and his face twitches into a sweet smile in her direction as she looks up from her desk. It's not much more than a crate, really; turned on its side with one of its smaller brethren for a seat, with a little hole cut into the corner to hold a drink. Kuchisake-ko could ask for a better one, if she wanted - a plastic schoolroom one to replace her wooden contraption, or perhaps something equally fashioned out of wood but more purposeful. She doesn't, though, even as the child bothers her over it. She doesn't need a proper desk, really; not here, anyway, far away from any eyes they might capture and further from any that might pry. It's a monetary concession, after all; and what doesn't go to acquiring furniture goes towards her parents' comfort. They have done worse than complete homework on a slightly lumpy desk for her, after all; it's the least she can do.
"Nemo-chan," she replies, as she always does, and the child's smile only broadens. There is something about the address that cheers him, as much as it puzzles her; a sort of verbal amelioration of some great weight. It was, after all, at his request that she speaks so, even as the syllables stutter off-sync in the air in their casualness as she speaks them, like a backing track started too late. Children, he told her, have to present a united front. So even if the honorific feels deceptively light on her tongue, even if she isn't sure either of them are children at all, even if the grand chord he entreats her to play chimes discordant with the echo of something missing, she calls him Nemo-chan. In any case, he'd told her, Nemo was just a nobody. A face appended to a body, and nothing more.
Such a blanked-out puppet would hardly warrant any higher respect than a childish bow, would it?
"You're early today," Kuchisake-ko ventures, because it's true - Nemo is usually half an hour later than her to their little hideout, at the very least, especially on Sundays; but she's only been here for ten minutes or so, and here he is, standing in his faded-green-blue jacket and sweatpants and bloody-bloodied red shoes. "Did something happen?"
"Oh!" he chirps - he always chirps - she doesn't think she's ever seen him unhappy. "Nothing bad, Sake-chan! I wanted you to meet someone, that's all." He is bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands clasped in front of his chest; the vision of a boy barely touched by the aches of coming-of-age overlays his true self, a pinkness underlying the pops of freckles on his cheeks as his eyes shine, overexcited at the prospect of a new friend. Despite her own self, oft-praised by the elderly for its cuteness, something inside her whispers that she could never quite appear like a Child, as he does in his juvenile glow.
He is, she knows, just as old as she is.
"Am I finally getting that assistant I wanted?" she asks, cheekily. She's never asked for one; but her mother always said its was best to make your requests anyway, and beg rationality later. "I told you I'm not cut out for all this paperwork."
"That paperwork is important for internal accountability," he scolds her, teacher-like and teasing. His hands hang bored from his pockets; Kuchisake-ko wonders how fast he could get them clear, unfurl them from their curled sleep and lay five-fingers on an attacker. "No, I'm not getting you an assistant. Not one who can't do other things."
Kuchisake-ko considers him for a moment. It'd be a disappointment, if she'd truly expected an aide - but she's barely Nemo's, in that regard, so all she feels is vague strains of curiosity as she pushes her notes away properly. "Well," she says. "You must like them, at least. You don't share people you don't like."
"Ah, well," he says, with the casual guilt of one caught with crumbs on their face, and runs a hand through his hair. It does nothing to change the state of the unstyled, dark blue-purple that flows across his head and down across his eye; but then again, it clearly wasn't supposed to. "You know I'd hate for someone to hurt you, Sake-chan."
"You'd better," she sniffs, because they've had this conversation several million times, and Nemo will not budge; she cannot, will not, meet the sorts of people Nemo contracts in the short term. Too dangerous, too greedy, too connected.
He is nobody; she is not. This will not change.
"Show me, then," she tells him, and finally stands from her seat, lets her legs carry her over to her spot at his right side. "I wanna see this new person who's wormed their way into your heart."
"It - it's not like that," he says. She has the vague impression he'd squeak, if that was the sort of thing Nemo did - and that's a little unfair, isn't it, that he can maintain some sort of composure even at her teasing prodding. "It - aaah, Sake-chan. You tease me too much, you know?"
Then again, she thinks, her own issues are locked down too close to her heart for her not to be sensitive to their jostling. Perhaps she's simply poking at the wrong subjects. "Isn't that what children do?" she asks in reply, rhetorical and vaguely excusing; but he tilts his head at her, as if it were a true inquiry, as if the answer was dreadfully important. He doesn't answer, though, just knocks on the door, calls out to whoever is waiting outside.
"Okay," he says, voice pitched into birdsong. "You can come in, now!"
There's a short pause before the handle turns, clicking as it does so. Another pause, just long enough that the air has the chance to bloom with the taste of someone else's apprehension; and then the person tugs it open, and steps through.
Ah, Kuchisake-ko thinks, and takes in stretched-tall figure beneath the turtleneck and slacks, the empty brown eyes, the smooth, poreless skin of the blank face. This is why Nemo decided to share this person with her. This is not one of his shady contacts, or one of his too-knowledgeable indebted. This is not a temporary hire, or a shot in the dark.
This, she notes at the not-quite proportioned limbs, the runaway softening of the jaw, the familiar almost-grown-in shape - this is another child. Another one of them.
"It's wonderful to meet you," the child says, her voice high and soft, cracking at the peaks, and she bows politely to Kuchisake-ko, careful and measured and straight-backed. Her fine red hair flows across her shoulder, shifting in its carefully-curated ponytail as she moves. "The name's Haruka. Nemo-chan said you were his second. I'm in your hands, then. Please take care of me."
Kuchisake-ko notes the tremor of her speech, the brash reference to person, the careful, well-tread manner of laying out words dancing around a blunt identity. "It's nice to meet you, Haruka-chan," she says, because children have to present a united front, and then, "I don't wanna be rude, but are you gonna be using your forename for this? We don't wantcha to get in trouble, you know."
Haruka's head tilts, slightly; her ponytail sways with the motion, silky, light and free. "Oh, it's alright. I have another, at home," she says, simply - Kuchisake-ko half-wonders if she's joking, but the girl's face doesn't even twitch, so she's either a very good liar, or that terribly cryptic statement is entirely true, after all. "Thank you for your concern."
"Okay," Kuchisake-ko says, because there's nothing else to say to that, really, and then, "I guess Nemo-chan's already told you about me, but I'm Kuchisake-ko. You can call me Sake-chan, if you're gonna stick around."
"Thank you, Sake-chan," Haruka says, even as a glass-still pond. Her deep brown eyes crinkle, just barely, the faintest hints of shadow and gleam dancing across their still surface. They're similar in colour to Kuchisake-ko's real ones, she notes with some fascination, if differently shaped. "I will."
"Haruka-chan is a friend I made, recently," Nemo tells her, idly, and grins - doesn't smile but grins, the way he does when he has a plan, or a surprise, or an opportunity to take the contents of poor, unfortunate, sin-damned soul's life in his hands and tear it to bloodied shreds. She's seen him make that face at people too often, felt herself mimic it just as much on the occasions she takes his hand and follows him to the bloody sunset - and it's something of a terror, to learn to read a smile as a jagged slit, even when it's never a threat to her, and that terror needs to be crushed, before she can return his offering with such reckless abandon. So she doesn't quite grin back, as he continues, "You might know her in real life, actually! You're both more similar than you think."
She privately thinks she'd have noticed someone like Haruka if the former walked into her life, or even past her on the street. There's something a little too perfect about the young woman; something that makes her stick out to Kuchisake-ko's eye, like recognising someone who walks into your life intent to stay as long as they'll be had. She knows better than to question Nemo's knowledge, though. After all, Nemo knows Ochako.
Kuchisake-ko does not know whose body lies under Nemo's face. Not yet.
"Any~way," Nemo says, nudging her out of her thoughts, "I wanted to go over that case we were tracking - you know, the one with the nail Quirk?"
Kuchisake-ko feels, rather than lets, her face scrunch with distaste. She's seen the case plenty of times in the last week; somehow, though, the idea of it always feels fresh and raw. "Right. You said he was going after kids, didn't you?"
"Eh, Children," Nemo says, like there's a defined difference; she supposes there is, with the way Nemo speaks the word. She almost gets it, she thinks; almost, but not quite. He seems to understand the way she stands at the edge of final bridge, if the meaningful glance he sends her means anything. "But yes."
She hums, flexes her fingers experimentally. Ochako's disgust coils into Uravity's righteousness, burns into Kuchisake-ko's simmer of rage. "I thought you said we were lackin' in intel," she asks-not-asks, and knows Nemo will pick up on the well-suppressed miasma in her chest.
"Oh," he says to her - tells her, really, in an almost-exclaimed half-syllable. "Well, there was. But."
He pauses. Tilts his head towards Haruka, who blinks, pale lashes fluttering, and says nothing.
This girl, Kuchisake-ko thinks, with no small delight, is shaping up to be an excellent new addition.
"Well, show me the intel," she says, and makes grabby-hands in Haruka's direction. She's vaguely aware of the way the motion shows off the telltale marks of her Quirk; something tells her the risk is a good one. "Show me how to take 'em down with my own two hands. You can do that, right, Haruka-chan?"
It's a challenge as much as a request. Haruka looks at her for a moment - or maybe looks through her, sees something that's not quite there - and reaches a green-gloved hand into the pocket of her slacks, tugs free a carefully folded sheet of paper covered in miniscule, typed font. "Here," she says. "Don't lose it."
Kuchisake-ko smiles back - beams. "I don't lose things," she says, and Haruka seems to consider that, ponytail back in motion by the tilt of her head as her dark eyes flash over Kuchisake-ko for the second time that day.
"This is going to be Haruka-chan's trial run," Nemo tells them, cheerily. "So don't hold back, either of you. We can't move on until you've done this, okay?"
"Of course," Haruka replies, calmly pleasant. "I'll do my best to live up to your expectations, now and in the future, so long as you help me erase my bastard of a father." Her eyes gleam with something, cold and manic; somehow, Ochako thinks, the words fit in the girl's mouth perfectly, like puzzle pieces snapping into pre-designated places. It's an odd sense, but a welcome one - everyone, child or Child or not, has a reason for helping the child that calls himself Nemo. More often than not, it's money, or revenge. Such is the petty way of the world, the underworld, even the the darker recesses of Uraraka's soul; she has made her peace with it. A reason known is a hand gained, after all.
Ochako wonders if Haruka is the sort of girl for whom such worldly trifles matter, or if she's doing her part to save the world from something bigger than her. Then again, the two purposes are hardly mutually exclusive. Uravity is hardly just a bank account, after all; why should Haruka, or Kuchisake-ko, be any different?
"Well," she says. "I'll give it my all if you do, Haruka-chan."
"Of course," the girl acquiesces - or maybe assures - or maybe it's something else, some other understanding between them. A mutual challenge to live up to each other's expectations, perhaps; the idea is warm, and familiar.
Kuchisake-ko likes Haruka, she thinks.
"So," she says, lightly, and flips open the folded paper. Her eyes skip across the surface, carelessly - black printer ink, tiny neat font, narrowly spaced lines. Official government logo. "Oh, wow. You got the good stuff, huh? You must really hate that dad of yours, to come work with us. You're sure we're the right choice? There's others out there, you know. They'd pay a pretty penny for this, and they're not as nice as we are."
"You're not nice," Haruka says, mildly. It's not an insult, Kuchisake-ko thinks; but it's not a compliment, either. Simply a statement.
Nemo hums, at that, considering but not entirely agreeing. "Ah, I don't think being nice stops you being cruel, Haruka-chan. Isn't that what children do? Right? Be nice to each other, and band together, and tease each other, and be horribly cruel?"
Ah, Kuchisake-ko thinks, so he did think about it after all; and then, wonders if he's right. Nemo is right quite often, she knows - but she'd like to think it's a little more complex than that.
"I don't know very much about children," Haruka informs them, plainly - a little too plain, Kuchisake-ko thinks, for the subject, and wonders if Haruka is a stranger to others, or herself as well. "I know very much about my bastard father, though. Trust me with this; an Excision will hurt far more than a murder will."
It's a rather specific wording, Kuchisake-ko notes, with some interest. Hurt. Not what will be best; not what he deserves. Perhaps, then, Haruka is just as fallible as everyone else Nemo gathers up - at least in part. Kuchisake-ko hopes so; it would be a shame to grow to like such a person, only to end up chasing her shadow, from somewhere the light won't touch Kuchisake-ko's face.
"I'll take your word for it," she hums; because, really, there's no reason not to, and children need to present a united front, and children are horribly cruel, and even if she wanted to puzzle over it, she's been provided with quite the distracting tid-bit in the form of confidential legal documents.
Oh yes, she realises. Kuchisake-ko likes Haruka, and her pretty white printer paper and prettier face. She likes her a lot.
The shadow tugs at Kuchisake-ko's hand, and Ochako responds how she likes.
"Not totally done with the questions, though," she lets herself continue, idly. "I know Nemo does this because he wants to. I know I'm doing this because cash and waste disposal make a pretty meeting point. Why are you here, Haruka-chan? Why not cut and run when you get what you want?"
Haruka blinks at her, too fast to be feline, not enough to be surprise. "Why, Sake-chan," she tells her, slow and deliberate. "I'm doing this for Haru~ka. What other reason could I have?"
That, Ochako thinks, is a terribly vague answer. But then again, she knows it's the sort that Nemo adores even before he turns his wide, beaming smile on his new recruit; so she chooses not to be surprised, and lets herself buckle down to do what Kuchisake-ko does best.
There's someone out there chasing pretty little girls, after all; and, new allies aside, Kuchisake-ko can't wait to chase them back.