[L's not currently particularly aware of the exact time, but it's most definitely after nine, possibly even pushing midnight.]
That's good... you're not far away from where I am at all. I can be there soon... probably before he's back, and I don't have to stay long.
[He doesn't think too much about the housemate right now. That's normal, after all; most people who have been here as long as they have have grouped up or paired off. They're not living feral, or transient, or nomadic. He has to remind himself a lot that what is normal for him very rarely matches up with what's normal for others; more now than ever, he has to really think before he speaks, or thinks something through to a disastrous conclusion.
That's gotten him into no small amount of trouble lately. The reminder is written in blood all around him, crusted and soaking into his discarded clothing and the floorboards alike. He swallows, tries to think of the taste of donuts though he has very little appetite currently.]
If you have donuts... I definitely won't say no, but if you don't, please don't go out of your way to obtain them. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you further. I'll see you soon, OK?
[And it's not long after that a wan-looking detective, wearing his arrival robes with his sloppily-stuffed backpack slung over one shoulder, knocks on Shōyō's door. He's done his best to scrub evidence away from the backpack and his skin, but the occasional errant streak of dried blood is obvious and vibrant on someone who just doesn't wear much color on even a typical day. He probably needs a shower just as much as a fresh and clean set of clothes. That'll be a start, until he can replace what's ruined by the blood, get a new blanket, figure out a new place to scout and stay...
He wraps his robes a little tighter around his skinny body, leaning his head against the door frame as he waits for Shōyō to let him in.]
no subject
That's good... you're not far away from where I am at all. I can be there soon... probably before he's back, and I don't have to stay long.
[He doesn't think too much about the housemate right now. That's normal, after all; most people who have been here as long as they have have grouped up or paired off. They're not living feral, or transient, or nomadic. He has to remind himself a lot that what is normal for him very rarely matches up with what's normal for others; more now than ever, he has to really think before he speaks, or thinks something through to a disastrous conclusion.
That's gotten him into no small amount of trouble lately. The reminder is written in blood all around him, crusted and soaking into his discarded clothing and the floorboards alike. He swallows, tries to think of the taste of donuts though he has very little appetite currently.]
If you have donuts... I definitely won't say no, but if you don't, please don't go out of your way to obtain them. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you further. I'll see you soon, OK?
[And it's not long after that a wan-looking detective, wearing his arrival robes with his sloppily-stuffed backpack slung over one shoulder, knocks on Shōyō's door. He's done his best to scrub evidence away from the backpack and his skin, but the occasional errant streak of dried blood is obvious and vibrant on someone who just doesn't wear much color on even a typical day. He probably needs a shower just as much as a fresh and clean set of clothes. That'll be a start, until he can replace what's ruined by the blood, get a new blanket, figure out a new place to scout and stay...
He wraps his robes a little tighter around his skinny body, leaning his head against the door frame as he waits for Shōyō to let him in.]