Chapter 82: The Interview
The morning sun streamed through the new windows of the guild hall, catching the polished floors and the freshly arranged flowers and the signs advertising the café and the souvenir shop and the pool that no one had time to use because they had spent all night cleaning up the mess from the fight. Lucy stood in front of the mirror behind the bar, checking her reflection for the tenth time. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was perfect. Her outfit was modest and professional and exactly what a reporter from Sorcerer Magazine would expect from a respectable guild member.
She smoothed her skirt again. "How do I look?"
Erza, who was sitting at the bar with a cup of tea and a stack of pageant paperwork, did not look up. "Like you are about to be interviewed by a reporter."
"That's the point. I need to make a good impression. Sorcerer Magazine reaches the entire kingdom. If I can get a feature, maybe a profile, maybe a spread, it could be huge for my writing career."
Erza took a slow sip of tea. "You are wearing a bunny costume under that, aren't you?"
Lucy's face went red. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You have changed your outfit four times this morning. The last one had ears."
"I was just trying things on. For fun. For... personal amusement."
Erza finally looked up. Her expression was perfectly neutral. "Of course."
Lucy glared at her and went back to checking her reflection.
Across the hall, in the storage room behind the bar, Gajeel Redfox tied the knot tight around Mirajane's wrists. She struggled against the ropes, her eyes wide, her mouth already gagged with a cloth he had found in one of the supply crates. He pulled the knot snug and stepped back to admire his work.
"Sorry about this," he said. His voice was low, rough, the same voice that had threatened Levy and destroyed the guild hall and started a war. "Nothing personal."
Mirajane made a sound through the gag. It might have been a question or a curse or a prayer.
Gajeel crouched down in front of her, his face inches from hers. His eyes were dark, unreadable, the eyes of a man who had done terrible things and was not sure he knew how to stop. "I've been here a day. A day. And everyone looks at me like I'm about to eat their children. The ice brat wants to freeze me. The Salamander wants to burn me. The red one is watching me like a hawk. The blonde one won't even look at me."
He reached out and touched her hair. Mirajane went very still.
"I need them to see me different," he said. "I need them to see something other than the monster who tore their home apart. So I'm going to give them something. Something from me. Something real."
He stood up. He looked at her one more time, tied to the chair, gagged and helpless, and something flickered across his face. It might have been guilt. It might have been nothing at all.
"You'll be fine," he said. "I'll let you out after. Promise."
He left.
Mirajane sat in the dark, bound and gagged, and wondered what in the name of the Spirit King she had done to deserve this.
---
The doors to the guild hall swung open and Jason stepped through like he was entering a sacred temple. He was young, maybe twenty, with hair that stuck up in a dozen different directions and glasses that were too big for his face and a smile that was too wide for his head. He carried a camera, a notebook, a satchel full of supplies, and the kind of enthusiasm that could only come from someone who had never had it beaten out of him.
"This is it," he breathed. "This is the place. The legendary Fairy Tail guild hall. Rebuilt from the ashes of war. Stronger than ever. I can feel the history. I can feel the power. I can feel…"
"Welcome," Makarov said from his spot on the bar. He was in his small form, his robes pressed, his beard combed, his expression the carefully neutral face of a man who had spent the night cleaning up after his children and was praying to every spirit in existence that they would behave. "We are honored to have you."
Jason bowed so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. "The honor is mine, Master Makarov. Sorcerer Magazine has been following Fairy Tail for years. Your triumph over Phantom Lord, your victory at the Tower of Heaven, your incredible resurgence. The readers are desperate to know how you did it. How you rose from the ashes. How you became stronger than ever."
Makarov's eye twitched. "Hard work. Determination. And a deep, abiding love for my children."
"Wonderful. Beautiful. Can I quote that?"
"Please do."
Jason straightened up and looked around the hall. His eyes moved across the tables, the bar, the pool visible through the archway, the souvenir shop with its rows of merchandise. They landed on the gathered guild members, who had been arranged by Erza into something approaching a presentable formation.
"Who should I interview first?" Jason asked. "Who has the most incredible story? The most dramatic journey? The most…."
"Me," Natsu said. He was sitting at a table near the back, still looking like he had crawled out of a fire, his scarf pristine against his burnt and sooty skin. "I fought the guy who built the Tower of Heaven. I ate crystals. I turned into a dragon."
"Later," Makarov said. "Jason, perhaps you would like to speak with some of our newer members. See how Fairy Tail is growing. How we are welcoming new faces into our family."
Jason's eyes lit up. He spotted Gajeel standing near the wall, his arms crossed, his face a mask of sullen discomfort. "The Iron Dragon Slayer! The former enemy turned ally! The man who destroyed this very hall and now calls it home! Incredible. What a story. What an arc. What…"
"I'm not doing interviews," Gajeel said.
Jason's smile faltered. "But…"
"I said no."
Jason recovered quickly. His eyes swept the room, looking for another target. They landed on Gray, who was standing near the bar with his shirt on for once, a small miracle that Lucy suspected had been mandated by Makarov.
"The Ice Make wizard! The survivor of the Deliora incident! The man who faced the Phantom Lord's Element Four and emerged victorious! What was your strategy? How did you prepare? What…"
Gray shrugged. "I hit them with ice until they stopped moving."
Jason wrote that down. "Excellent. Raw. Honest. The readers will love it. Who else? Who else has a story to tell?"
Lucy stepped forward. She had practiced this. She had rehearsed. She had a speech prepared about her journey as a Celestial Spirit Mage, her role in the Phantom Lord war, her part in the Tower of Heaven, her aspirations as a writer.
"Hello," she said. "I'm Lucy Heartfilia. I'm a Celestial Spirit Mage. I hold keys to the Zodiac. I was instrumental in…"
Jason walked past her.
He was already moving toward Erza, who was standing near the window with her sword at her hip and her armor polished to a mirror shine. "The Titania herself. The Queen of Fairies. The woman who stopped Jupiter with her bare hands. Please, tell me everything. How did you survive? How did you find the strength? How…"
Lucy stood frozen, her hand still raised, her speech still ready on her lips. She watched Jason interview Erza, then Elfman, then Mirajane who had somehow appeared behind the bar with her hair slightly mussed and a look on her face that Lucy could not quite read, then Levy, then Macao, then Wakaba, then Cana, then anyone who was not her.
He did not look at her once.
Lucy's jaw tightened. She walked to the back of the hall, to the storage room where she had hidden her bag. She opened it. She looked at the costume she had bought three days ago, the one she had told herself was a joke, the one she had told herself she would never actually wear.
She pulled it on. She adjusted the ears. She took a breath.
When she walked back into the main hall, heads turned. Conversations stopped. Gray dropped his drink. Elfman made a sound that might have been admiration or might have been a heart attack. Happy flew straight into a wall.
Lucy stood in the center of the guild hall wearing a bunny costume that left very little to the imagination, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders, her ears twitching with every breath she took.
"Hello," she said, and her voice was sweet, too sweet, the voice of a woman who had been ignored for the last hour and was no longer willing to accept it. "I'm Lucy Heartfilia. I'm a Celestial Spirit Mage. I hold keys to the Zodiac. I was instrumental in the Phantom Lord war and the Tower of Heaven. I am also a writer. I have submitted several manuscripts to Sorcerer Magazine. Perhaps you have seen them?"
Jason stared. His camera hung at his side. His mouth was open. His glasses had slipped down his nose.
Lucy smiled. She walked toward the stage at the back of the hall, the one that had been built for the Miss Fairy Tail contest, the one that was currently empty and waiting for a performer. She climbed the steps. She turned to face the room. She began to move.
It was not a dance. Not really. It was a series of movements that might have been a dance if the person performing them had any idea what she was doing. Lucy swayed. Lucy spun. Lucy kicked one leg up and nearly lost her balance and caught herself on the railing and pretended that was part of the routine.
The guild watched in silence. Jason watched with his camera raised, his finger on the shutter, his face a mask of pure, uncomprehending joy.
Lucy was about to attempt a turn that she had not practiced and that her body was not prepared for when the lights went out.
Not the soft darkness of Mirajane's song. This was sudden, absolute, the kind of darkness that comes from someone flipping a switch and meaning it. The guild went black. Someone screamed. Someone else swore. There was the sound of something heavy being dragged across the stage, then the sound of a chair being set down, then the sound of a throat being cleared.
Lights came up.
Gajeel Redfox sat on a stool in the center of the stage. He was holding a guitar. It was a cheap guitar, the kind that came free with a subscription to a music magazine, the kind that had probably been sitting in the storage room for years. He had a microphone stand in front of him, a stool beneath him, and an expression on his face that might have been determination or might have been terror.
"This song," he said, "is called Best Friend."
Lucy stood frozen at the edge of the stage, still in her bunny costume, still covered in shame, still trying to process what was happening.
Gajeel began to play.
It was not music. It was the sound of a man who had never held a guitar before trying to strangle it into submission. The notes were wrong. The rhythm was worse. The melody, if it could be called that, wandered through keys and scales and concepts like a lost child in a dark forest.
Then he began to sing.
"Best friend, best friend, you are my best friend. When I am sad, you make me glad. When I am mad, you are not bad. Best friend, best friend, let's be friends until the end."
Lucy's ears stopped twitching. Her hands dropped to her sides. Her face went through a series of expressions that would have taken her minutes to describe and that happened in the space of three seconds.
"Best friend, best friend, I like to eat iron. You like to eat bread. We are different but that is okay because we are friends instead."
A tomato hit Gajeel in the face. It was a good tomato, ripe and red and full of juice. It exploded against his cheek, splattering across his shirt, his guitar, his stool.
Gajeel did not stop. "Best friend, best friend, you helped me find the light. You helped me see the good inside. You helped me want to fight for what is right."
Another tomato. This one hit his forehead. Then another hit his chest. Then another hit his guitar, which made a sound like a dying animal.
"Best friend, best friend, I wrote this song for you. To show you that I am not bad, that I am not cruel, that I can be a friend, a tool, a fool, a jewel, a…"
A tomato hit his mouth. He swallowed some of it. He kept singing.
"Best friend, best friend, we will be friends forever. Through storm and sun and snow and weather. Together. Together. We will always be together."
The tomatoes were coming faster now. Someone had brought out the good produce. Macao was throwing with both hands. Wakaba had a bucket. Even Mirajane, who had somehow gotten free from wherever Gajeel had hidden her, was winding up for a throw that would have made a professional athlete weep with envy.
Gajeel finished his song. He played the last note, which was not a note so much as a sound of protest from an instrument that had endured more than it was designed to endure. He set the guitar down. He wiped tomato seeds from his eyes.
"Thank you," he said. "That was for all of you. My new friends."
He walked off stage.
The guild stood in silence. Tomato juice dripped from the ceiling. Seeds clung to the walls. The stage looked like a battlefield. Gajeel walked through the wreckage, his face dripping, his shirt ruined, his dignity somewhere on the floor with the rest of the produce.
Jason lowered his camera. His face was the face of a man who had witnessed something sacred. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wet.
"That," he breathed, "was incredible."
He left. He did not say goodbye. He did not ask for more interviews. He simply walked out the doors, his camera clutched to his chest, his notebook forgotten, his heart full.
The guild stood in the wreckage of the stage, the tomato juice, the shame, the confusion.
Lucy looked at her costume. At the ears. At the tail. At the mess.
Erza appeared beside her, silent, composed, her face a mask of perfect neutrality.
"I told you," Erza said, "that the bunny costume was a mistake."
Lucy did not answer. She walked off the stage, through the tomato pulp, past Gajeel who was trying to clean his face with a napkin, past Mirajane who was laughing so hard she could not breathe, past Natsu who was looking at her with an expression that she could not read and did not want to understand. She walked to the back of the hall, to the storage room, to the place where she had hidden her bag.
She closed the door behind her and sat in the dark and wondered what in the name of the Spirit King she had done to deserve this.
---
Across the city, in a small room above a tea shop, a man sat with a copy of Sorcerer Magazine spread across his knees. His beard was long and white, tangled, unkempt. His robes were torn, stained, worn thin in a dozen places. His hood was pulled low, shadowing his face, hiding his eyes.
He turned the pages slowly, his fingers trembling, his breath catching in his chest. He passed the article about the rebuilt guild hall. He passed the interview with Erza. He passed the profile of Gajeel, the feature on Mirajane, the spread on the new facilities and the new members and the new era of Fairy Tail.
He stopped at a photograph. It was small, tucked at the bottom of the page, a candid shot of a young woman in a bunny costume with tomato seeds in her hair and an expression of profound regret on her face.
His fingers traced the edge of the image. His lips moved, forming words that did not quite reach the air.
"Lucy," he whispered.
The room was dark. The tea had gone cold. The magazine slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor, open to the photograph, open to the face of the daughter he had not seen in years.
Jude Heartfilia pressed his hands to his face and wept.
---
Next Time: The Harvest Festival Begins