[L's plan for the evening was very different than what ended up happening. As one who has long accepted and internalized that most of what other people do just isn't for him for all sorts of reasons, he can talk himself out of recognizing actual evidence to the contrary.
He'd been invited as Paul's friend and Bond. He'd still chalked it up to a mistake, and made arrangements for Lycka to deliver a note and gift so that Paul would know that he hadn't forgotten, and understand that the real present is his unselfish absence. He doesn't trust himself to not pull something (someone) irresistible apart, ramming a screwdriver into the delicate workings of an uneasy truce that seems to mostly be for Paul's sake.
He's in the Archives, his books and self covered in a fine layer of dust, when he receives Paul's message, and he stops what he's doing, nudging aside his cold coffee and glancing uncertainly at Lycka.]
It's got to be some kind of trick, right?
[His orca omen responds by summarily pushing over his chair.
He commits to what will give him time to derail his current plan and cobble together a new one. He leaves the Archives, cold coffee and all, checking into a hotel so he can shower, shaking out the wrinkles in the clean set of working class men's clothes that had spent a little too long shoved into the bottom of his backpack.
He looks like a slob, in the end, but at least one who has been fastidiously scrubbed down. An effort was made.]
A. The Skinny-Shamer in the Room
[He arrives a little later than he'd said he would, seeming vaguely flustered. His dark hair is flat and wet and his drably-colored clothes look oversized and rumpled, but the olfactory glow of strawberry-scented soap hangs about his slouching and lackluster frame like a halo.
After giving the skeleton his coat and taking in the decorations at Bone House (a place where he will always feel like an unwelcome intruder), he heads to the refreshment table, surveying the excess and finally just taking an angel food cake. The whole thing, serving platter and all.
He doesn't think that skeletons can really look judgmental, but if one could, this one might have just managed it.]
You're too skinny. You should eat more.
[It feels so powerful to be the one saying that instead of hearing it. The skeleton's eye sockets just stare, and L stares back, leaning down to take a large, dominant bite out of the top of the cake without breaking eye-socket contact.]
B. The Adult in the Room
[In truth, L probably would have felt too old for a party with fun and games and lively antics when he was about eight. Childish as he is, there are other ways he seems ancient and jaded, and he wanders around as though trying desperately to search for the appeal in the silliness.
It's a celebration of Paul, which also feels oddly dissonant. But if this can give the teen a break from his typical somber sense of duty, it must be a good thing... and it's indicative, in places, of someone like him, who doesn't really understand humans but is trying to pull together something that can appeal to them. Kaworu went all out, huh? Honest effort...
He steers clear of the obvious alcohol and drugs, because he feels that it's important for him to remain clearheaded while in Bone House. He's already struggling not to stray and poke around where he isn't wanted, specifically, because doesn't it mean that something is being hidden, something that could hurt others, hurt Paul once "The Captain" has no further use for him, or Paul dares to defy or question his authority?
He puts it out of his mind. He's here to show Paul that he remembered what the unselfish decision actually was, and acted on it.
He takes a tooth, lets the skeleton spin him, and wins the sandworm game that is basically impossible to lose. His award is a tequila shot, which he frowns at. The skeleton nudges it toward him insistently.
One won't hurt. Everyone else is so much further gone, because they started earlier. I still have an edge.
He's determined to retain that edge, but L is anxious in crowds and destined to win a lot more games. Who's to say how long it'll last when there's the gentle easiness of laughter that comes with social lubrication, and also brownies?]
C. The Detective in the Room
[This room is significant. This room is locked.
The lock is flimsy. L could pick it and toss it aside, without even bothering with blood magic, and no one is even watching.
He weighs the decision, but either because the inherent alienation he lives with has driven him to seek a more familiar situation, or the bits of imbibing that have made it into his system have emboldened his resolve, he's reaching for the lock, speaking softly and clearly in the antique language that is laced with blood magic.]
Metarkares sheffoleskra.
[Submit to me. The lock breaks delicately, almost politely, and L slips into the study.]
D. WILDCARD
[You can have it all! Throw your prompt here and I'll roll with it!]
Lazarus Sauveterre (L Lawliet) | Death Note | OTA
[L's plan for the evening was very different than what ended up happening. As one who has long accepted and internalized that most of what other people do just isn't for him for all sorts of reasons, he can talk himself out of recognizing actual evidence to the contrary.
He'd been invited as Paul's friend and Bond. He'd still chalked it up to a mistake, and made arrangements for Lycka to deliver a note and gift so that Paul would know that he hadn't forgotten, and understand that the real present is his unselfish absence. He doesn't trust himself to not pull something (someone) irresistible apart, ramming a screwdriver into the delicate workings of an uneasy truce that seems to mostly be for Paul's sake.
He's in the Archives, his books and self covered in a fine layer of dust, when he receives Paul's message, and he stops what he's doing, nudging aside his cold coffee and glancing uncertainly at Lycka.]
It's got to be some kind of trick, right?
[His orca omen responds by summarily pushing over his chair.
He commits to what will give him time to derail his current plan and cobble together a new one. He leaves the Archives, cold coffee and all, checking into a hotel so he can shower, shaking out the wrinkles in the clean set of working class men's clothes that had spent a little too long shoved into the bottom of his backpack.
He looks like a slob, in the end, but at least one who has been fastidiously scrubbed down. An effort was made.]
A. The Skinny-Shamer in the Room
[He arrives a little later than he'd said he would, seeming vaguely flustered. His dark hair is flat and wet and his drably-colored clothes look oversized and rumpled, but the olfactory glow of strawberry-scented soap hangs about his slouching and lackluster frame like a halo.
After giving the skeleton his coat and taking in the decorations at Bone House (a place where he will always feel like an unwelcome intruder), he heads to the refreshment table, surveying the excess and finally just taking an angel food cake. The whole thing, serving platter and all.
He doesn't think that skeletons can really look judgmental, but if one could, this one might have just managed it.]
You're too skinny. You should eat more.
[It feels so powerful to be the one saying that instead of hearing it. The skeleton's eye sockets just stare, and L stares back, leaning down to take a large, dominant bite out of the top of the cake without breaking eye-socket contact.]
B. The Adult in the Room
[In truth, L probably would have felt too old for a party with fun and games and lively antics when he was about eight. Childish as he is, there are other ways he seems ancient and jaded, and he wanders around as though trying desperately to search for the appeal in the silliness.
It's a celebration of Paul, which also feels oddly dissonant. But if this can give the teen a break from his typical somber sense of duty, it must be a good thing... and it's indicative, in places, of someone like him, who doesn't really understand humans but is trying to pull together something that can appeal to them. Kaworu went all out, huh? Honest effort...
He steers clear of the obvious alcohol and drugs, because he feels that it's important for him to remain clearheaded while in Bone House. He's already struggling not to stray and poke around where he isn't wanted, specifically, because doesn't it mean that something is being hidden, something that could hurt others, hurt Paul once "The Captain" has no further use for him, or Paul dares to defy or question his authority?
He puts it out of his mind. He's here to show Paul that he remembered what the unselfish decision actually was, and acted on it.
He takes a tooth, lets the skeleton spin him, and wins the sandworm game that is basically impossible to lose. His award is a tequila shot, which he frowns at. The skeleton nudges it toward him insistently.
One won't hurt. Everyone else is so much further gone, because they started earlier. I still have an edge.
He's determined to retain that edge, but L is anxious in crowds and destined to win a lot more games. Who's to say how long it'll last when there's the gentle easiness of laughter that comes with social lubrication, and also brownies?]
C. The Detective in the Room
[This room is significant. This room is locked.
The lock is flimsy. L could pick it and toss it aside, without even bothering with blood magic, and no one is even watching.
He weighs the decision, but either because the inherent alienation he lives with has driven him to seek a more familiar situation, or the bits of imbibing that have made it into his system have emboldened his resolve, he's reaching for the lock, speaking softly and clearly in the antique language that is laced with blood magic.]
Metarkares sheffoleskra.
[Submit to me. The lock breaks delicately, almost politely, and L slips into the study.]
D. WILDCARD
[You can have it all! Throw your prompt here and I'll roll with it!]