deercountry | August + September Catchall

[There are still, somehow, quiet moments when it comes to being a detective. Restocking panic rooms probably qualify, and L’s not actually bored as he stacks the sealed cans on a shelf in one of his safe houses. It’s meditative, somehow, somewhat cathartic even.

All of that changes as there’s a shift in the atmosphere, and a rushing deluge that knocks him backward as he starts to scramble up the ladder. Lycka rams the trap door for him, but the leverage is wrong, and the space is filling swiftly.

He realizes that this is, plausibly, a way that he could die, trapped in a cellar and drowning alongside canned corn and beans.]

[water. ugh. not his favorite thing. his quirk still works underwater even if it doesn't go very far for obvious reasons, but he's never really liked slogging through wetness and then having to dry everything out. the flooding below him is far more easily managed when he can simply fly above it and not give a shit.

but somehow, within all of that, the banging sound is what gets his attention. arresting his motion, he drops from the skies, blasting once in a quick burst right above the roof, and alights on it. listens. and yeah, there's that banging again.

it only takes a few seconds for him to figure out where it's coming from. the cellar. someone's inside. and the water's rising. well don't it suck for them he's not a hero.

dabi descends to the cellar door, watching it jerk with each pound.]

Nice place. Ya mind if I take a look around while ya busy down there?

[Through the rushing water that's closing in around him and leaving him with an increasingly small pocket of air to draw from, L thinks he can hear a voice. Does it sound taunting, sarcastic, even familiar?

It doesn't matter. The great detective has come to that place he hates the very most in all possible worlds: one of desperation. It could be a cannibal killer up there and he'd take it, gladly, over drowning like a rat in a cage.]

The trap door!

[He chokes it out past a mouthful of water that splashes against his face. His ladder has been dislodged; there's nothing he can brace against and he holds onto Lycka, who seems torn between rushing for help and remaining at his side. Ironically for someone with an orca whale omen, he's not a strong swimmer, has never truly had reason to be.]

You may be standing on it! Get the trap door!

[It may also be jammed, or something may have fallen on it, or the lock may have latched with the shaking force of the water. Either way, it's not accessible to him, at this moment, to his great detriment.]

[taunting and sarcastic? hell yes. each jump of the door's latch is one more encouragement to ponder over what he wants to do. not sure who's down there, though the voice is somewhat familiar. dabi wades through the water curling around his ankles and then promptly stomps one foot atop the trap door, making it very obvious that he's standing on it.

obvious that this life is in his hands.]

Found it.

[mocking him? yep. dabi pushes the door with his foot a few times, glancing to the lock that's lodged in place. nothing he'd have a problem getting through, either by burning it open or simply unlocking the latch. could take some time to explore the flooding house and lift a few things... or he could let this trapped idiot out and have a favor to call in later...

that one sounds better.]

Ya owe me for this. Get away from the door.

[waiting for the vocal agreement and/or sounds of someone swimming away, dabi gives the person a few seconds to abscond from the vicinity before extending his hand towards the door. FWOOM!! blue fire blasts through wood and metal, crashing into the flooding cellar like a flamethrower fired straight down. water hisses and evaporates quickly from the intense heat before the fire cuts off, leaving the smoldering remains of the trap door barely holding onto the frame.]

[The sound of the stomping is hateful, in a way. Hopeful, too, if that mockery can find a way to cease.

He tries to voice his desperation, let him know in spite of what's obvious, but the water is nearly to his ceiling, now. He's gasping, he's choking; he's seeing darkness...

...and then light. Lycka pulls him away from the door as it's blown apart, and he winds up half-conscious on his orca whale's back as she surfaces, prioritizing his access to air.]

[more mocking than pure hate; he didn't know who was down there and generally doesn't hate random strangers until they give him a reason to kill them. and even then, there's hardly anyone in the world dabi finds important enough to actually hate. that intense emotion is reserved for two or three people at the most...

stepping back from the blown-open doorway, dabi sloshes to the side just in case the trapped individual comes bolting out with high speed. instead, what looks like a goddamn orca splashes out of the flooding basement and flops a figure he doesn't recognize immediately onto its back.

wait... hasn't he seen this omen before? ... no. but something's vaguely familiar. maybe the name... dabi slips his hands into his pockets, watching the pair.]

Gonna get up, or waste my efforts by lyin there drownin on me?

[It might be better if this was a random stranger, and not the detective who had caught Dabi red-handed just a couple of months ago.

He coughs up water, bracing a hand against the soggy floorboards and realizing that the wood is splintered under his hand. This safe house, which he'd coveted for the very handy hidden room, probably isn't much good anymore without the kinds of repairs that would draw a great deal of attention to it.]

Your efforts can be appreciated while I'm still recouping my own.

[Shivering and breathless, he sounds a little pitiful, but when he's able to look up, his pale face will be familiar to Dabi. On L's end, he's looking long at his rescuer, trying to put together pieces that may not add up to anything better than a portrait of "out of the frying pan, into the fire."]

[he's not putting the pieces together from some face-down stranger on the back of a miniature whale. even hearing him cough up some water isn't doing much to job his memory. though as soon as the other man opens his mouth and speaks, hell yes dabi recognizes him. kind of hard to forget when his first impression of the detective was voice alone.

and then he looks up and removes all doubt. dabi had taken pains not to show his face to the other man during their encounter, but voice to voice... and this guy's not stupid enough to fail at matching voice to face once he gets his bearings. wouldn't be doing the things he does if he was an idiot.

so he simply leans forward, resting one boot on the rim of the safehouse cellar door, and braces his forearm across his bent knee. a casual, but threatening sort of pose that really brings into play the kind of advantage he's got right now.]

Don't see ya makin much effort here, cop. Seems to me like ya almost drown in there.

[at least now l can put a voice to a face. a very burnt, patchwork scarred, stapled face that is.]

[Now that he's out of the immediate danger of drowning, L's typical clarity is beginning to return. He hears and remembers many voices, but there's no mistaking when and where he first perceived this one. Now he can connect it to a face, and he couldn't have picked a more gruesome or menacing one if he'd been invited to scroll through the rolodex of gruesome and menacing faces his own unfettered imagination could conjure.]

"Almost" is a word with no impact whatsoever on reality. I did not drown.

[A pause, because a lot of other things can almost happen, and that might be a toy too tantalizing for the burglar he's just getting reacquainted with.]

...I realize that's thanks to you.

[guess it was only a matter of time before they came face to face. this city might be a large place, but the sleepers tend to brush against each other fairly often. dabi knew he'd meet the detective again at some point. it's amusing that "point" ended up being the ironic circumstance of rescuing the man from drowning. pretty stupid of him to get trapped in his own cellar. though with the flood waters and everything, accidents can happen.

and wow, rude.]

Should I put ya back down there till ya lungs are fillin up?

[dabi's voice is piqued with a strange mixture of irritation and interest. because "almost" certainly has an impact on reality. now he's tempted to prove it...]

Uh-huh. Now get up and move. There's more water comin.

No; please don't.

[L's simultaneously matter-of-fact and pleading, somehow. His pale, bland features manage to pull off the affectation better than most frankly could. He rather specializes in expressional paradoxes.]

How do you know there's more? That flood was so sudden that it even challenges the definition of "flash."

[how does someone sound so callous and pathetic at the same time? dabi doesn't know, but it's made even worse by the detective's haunting features. looks like a vengeful ghost with those eyes... not someone he'd like to see in his room at night, though simultaneously looks like someone you'd see crouching on the foot of your bed.]

Storm clouds. Pretty sure it's gonna dump rain soon.

[and if something didn't flood before, likely going to this time.]

You've been outdoors more recently than I have, I'm sure.

[So he'll take Dabi's word for it, however unhappy he sounds that there'll be more water.]

There's an upstairs. Three stories total, plus an attic. It'd have to rain far more than your typical dump to even get our feet wet, which... means that the towels are dry, too.

[And neither of them are.]

They're not the height of fashion, but I do keep a few spare sets of clothing at this location in case of an emergency. You're welcome to them, if you'd prefer to be dry. You don't even have to steal them.

[the offer for shelter is one thing, another offer for towels to dry off is another. dabi eyes him for a few seconds, then glances to the window where the storm clouds are gathering. the water's still coming through the door, but running out elsewhere. it's not rising at least. cellar remains flooded.

hmph. doesn't feel like going out now. and i push comes to shove, he can escape the building should it start to buckle from the flood waters. so...]

Better get whatever ya wanna keep from downstairs before ya make your retreat.

[and heads for the stairs in agreement to the offer.]

This isn't my house. Just a base of operations for emergencies.

[He says this flatly, because it's not terribly cheering to think of all the ruined food in the flooded cellar. Still, he goes to the stove, fetching a tea kettle that retains a little heat from before the flood doused his heat source. He also grabs a small decorative tin, presumably full of tea leaves.

He follows close behind Dabi, relishing the moment when his feet finally touch something dry again in the form of the second or third step.

Upstairs is sparsely furnished. This is a shell of a living-space, bare bones and minimal. L has a few like it throughout Trench, intended as ports in a storm. He just never thought it would be so literal.]

I've got no means to heat this, so... if you want tea, now's the time.

Good idea.

[dabi also wasn't one to stick to a single location, having a few places he could crash and move around between. there was one place he tended to favor the most, but generally hasn't told anyone about it, instead opting to meet people at different areas rather than at "home" where they'd find out. most of his places are higher up, so the flood isn't bothering his stuff.

stepping out of the water, boots dragging wet prints behind him, he climbs the stairs with easy motions, coat tails slapping against the step for a brief second as he pushes up to the next one.

least the upstairs is furnished, even if it's small. meaning he's gonna go flop on the couch like a dick and stretch out on it. time to wait out the flooding and deal with leaving later.]

Didja bring cups?

[It's rare for L to sit or lie down to rest, even if he has the opportunity to. He sets the kettle down by a utility sink, digging through the cupboard beneath it. There are various odd containers, but no cups or mugs.

He returns with several clean but stained towels and a pair of flowerpots.]

Hopefully the paint isn't lead-based. Is chamomile OK?

[dabi doesn't have that problem, obviously, and stretches his arms over his head to dangle off the other arm of the couch. all long lanky and drippy. least the latter most is only below the knees thanks to slogging through the water below. head rolled to the side, he watches the other man work on rummaging up some cups.

or what he wants to serve as a stand in. flowerpots.

dabi arches a brow.]

Flowerpots usually got holes in the bottom. [head tilt towards said pots.] For the water?

[are those even clean, l?]

And yet, exceptions exist.

[He says so with a slight edge of impatient sarcasm, but restraint is also present. There's certainly the impression, or should be, that L is being politer than he feels or is his typical wont just because he's grateful that Dabi saved his hide.]

If you're a gardening aficionado, then it's not only the most surprising thing I've learned about you, but the first thing of any real substance, aside from what's obvious.

[What's obvious to L isn't always what's obvious to the layman, but Dabi isn't exactly a subtle personality.]

Uh-huh.

[dabi takes one of the pots and inspects it for himself. mostly looking for the hole(s) in the bottom or dirt. it's not like he hasn't drank out of a dirty cup before. surviving on the streets doesn't afford people to be picky.

mentions of his potential botanical interests and that being the first "substantial" thing he's learned about him earns the detective a brief scoff as dabi leans back against the couch.]

What, me bein a thief wasn't substantial for ya? Thought that'd get me points for bein a nice criminal distraction.

[he inverts the flower pot on his hand and a second later, a gout of blue flames abruptly bursts out from the overturned rim. there. now it's scorched but sterilized. dabi drops it in his lap for a few seconds to cool off.]

It does. But people who break the law for pleasure are usually at least as interesting as those who serve it for pleasure, if not more so. You have more to lose, starting with the popularity contest that is existing in society.

[His eyes widen momentarily at the flames. His brow furrows, before he holds out his own.]

Would you do that for mine, too?

Sounds like the opposite. If they do it for pleasure, then ya already know why and there's nothin fun to figure out. And they got less to lose if they're not doin it or anythin but aimless pleasure.

[those with plans and reasons have far more to lose, since pleasure can be obtained repeatedly, but a goal is usually a one-time objective that once lost (or accomplished) is never repeatable. no objection to the popularity contest though. that's true enough.

dabi glances at the pot held out to him... but takes it as a show of trade for the oncoming drink. inverts it over his hand and the flames cauterize it a second later. back it goes, scorched and probably not ready to take any liquid until it cools down. but it's definitely sterilized now. fresh from the kiln.]

[L nods a quick thanks, but hesitates to take it back right away. It's probably hot enough to burn his hands, after all, and he tends to be more careful with his hands as a general rule.]

Not all pleasure is aimless. There's a higher pursuit, the knowledge that you're not just settling for something animal and mundane. Only sentient beings are capable of that, which isn't to say that all of them are by a long shot.

[yeah, dabi doesn't want to burn his hand either, so he puts the pot down nearby until l's good to take it. a quick flash fire is fine, but not to keep holding. s'why he dropped his in his lap, using the damp ends of his coat tails to protect his legs.

despite producing such hot flames, he's ironically not fireproof.]

How many other people and things have to pay the price before ya figure that out and put a stop to it?

[The question seems to catch L off-guard, but he acknowledges it with a wry and slightly twisted smile.]

I told you that I'm not a cop. You still don't believe me. Ideally, no one else has to pay that price.

[He has, of course, caused more collateral damage than any cop. Maybe his tricky phrasing diverts from this.]

Lavish Desires (Closed to Dabi)

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