The Clock Froze Around Midnight, I Can Feel It In The Room [October Catchall, OTA]

[hearthebell]

Who: L Lawliet (Lazarus Sauveterre) and CR old and new
What: Catchall for October; includes event prompts and slice of life wildcards.
When: Throughout the month, dates are ambiguous unless otherwise noted
Where: Various places in Trench (flexible unless specifically noted)




[October is a season of change and loss, and in Trench, it’s not really any different. L nevertheless feels a sense of restlessness that manifests in snappishness and irritability; exceeding what usually visits him in the ambivalent season of his birth.

He goes about his business anyway, keeping to his own odd schedules and doings in a mostly solitary routine. He avoids contact with others this month, not least because the typically stoic detective is struggling to discern when his mood will shift and his tears might start flowing and refuse to stop.

It’s better, perhaps, to guard what he’s always known to be raw in a month where he can feel it so keenly and plaintively.]

Comments

[hearthebell]

L chuffs a sound of deflated indignation at the question.

The most insulting thing about it is, of course, how very logical it is given the gulf between their abilities in this arena. The only real question, then, is whether L is more proud or more logical, and he prefers to think that he knows the answer.

"Bridal, or piggy-back?" he asks dryly, though the effect is somewhat dampened by his audible breathlessness.

[martyrofduty]

Though pride may first bristle at being carried, it may be what guides the question—the consideration of saying yes. Bargaining part of saying yes.

Duty considers both options L asks about as well as others. Fireman's carry is stable, moderately comfortable, and leaves one arm free. However, better though it is than simply tossing L over one shoulder, it lacks certain dignity bridal ad piggy-back offer.

Pride again.

L's strength likely means he needs support over the course of the run, but Duty still prefers a position that gives him a faster reaction time, even fractionally. "Piggy-back," Duty says.

[hearthebell]

L pauses before answering, as though shrewdly considering the benefits and drawbacks like a man with actual options.

He nods his curt acquiescence that could probably stand to be a bit more grateful, under the circumstances.

"We'll do that, then," he says, and just like that it's a mutual agreement that they worked together to reach. He takes a few shuffling steps closer like a slight jockey on his first day, looking for something resembling a stirrup.

[martyrofduty]

L has many skills; a running leap onto Duty's back likely isn't one of them. If it were, they wouldn't need to do this. Duty pauses, crouches deeply, and holds one hand twisted back to help L up along with using his shoulders. The compass remains in front, observed.

"Up you go," Duty says evenly. He doesn't have to say anything at all, so it serves well enough as a reminder they're on the clock, enough not to dally since they've committed to this.

L may be risking his pride, but Duty's volunteered to hold the paleblood close over the course of the run. Oh, and the physical exertion, but that doesn't worry him.

[hearthebell]

The gesture is one an adult might offer a child in the same position. L doesn't dwell on it; if he did, he might consider that it might have been politer to take off his shoe before putting it in Duty's hand.

He does his part when he's on, anyway, wrapping his arms around the man's shoulders and crossing his ankles to better secure himself. He's bony and not particularly pleasant to have pressed close, but he's decent enough at holding still.

"I suppose I owe you one, for helping me beat the time limit."

It's said in exactly the manner of someone who doesn't expect, but would love to, hear oh no, not at all, glad to help.

[martyrofduty]

Given L's built like a necromancer, the boniness is nothing new. Duty anchors the upper limit of how muscled a necromancer can get, and the bell curve is nearer the lower limit. As soon as L is secure, Duty checks out the compass and begins to run.

To someone else, Duty might say they owe him nothing at all. L, however, has walked John's dreams and played Alecto. L sees John and cannot, it seems, help but press buttons until he knows how they work (only to keep pressing them, as much as possible, afterward).

"Yes," Duty replies.

He shifts direction to match the compass again. "You haven't been eating."

[hearthebell]

[L clings haplessly and silently, like a child, his bony ribcage stretching and shrinking with his shallow breaths against Duty's back. His grip only tightens as the Saint begins to lope along to make the time he could never beat alone, and his elbows and thighs pull inward more tightly to accommodate.

The man who can't keep from pressing buttons, it seems, struggles to hold on in a relatively mundane circumstance. His sinewy limbs feel the strain.

He does not answer, because he cannot, save for a nod against Duty's shoulder led by his sharp and bony nose. It could mean that he's not eating. Everything else is silent appreciation of the muscle that is pursuing his desire for him, and he understands.

He comprehends.

He realizes that, yes, for this compass, he owes Duty.]

[martyrofduty]

That's that, really. Bony and bumpy though the run is, Duty's a strong, experienced athlete with stamina for multiple hour long battles. A run through the forest following a compass, even with a breathy passenger is nothing.

They reach the edge of the forest, with nothing worse happening than some bruises that have already faded from Duty's body. He stops and lets L down and holds out the compass freely. "It's yours," he says.

[hearthebell]

L finds his feet relatively quickly, readjusting to having them under him again. He reaches out for the compass with both hands, long fingers framing its face. It's a prize he might not have managed to win otherwise.

And still might pay for more dearly than he technically is able, if terms aren't set soon.

"Should you have a score to settle... for any reason... I hope you'll remember me."

Duty knows well enough what he can't do. Perhaps by now, he has just as good an idea of where L is not only useful, but among the best at what he does.

[martyrofduty]

Duty hands over the compass without pause or mental hesitation. The decision was made back in the woods, and he stands by his decisions.

"How could I forget."

Duty squeezes both hands over the compass in one of his, nods, and makes his way off into the city.