...Holmes and Watson, the reject variety :|a
Who: L, Mello
Where: L's room; 28C
When: Wednesday at one. I totally get things up on time.
Summary: L and Mello talk about deaths and cases and shiz, like they do. L is a shoeless creeper with too many questions, like he does. Mello tries not to pee his pants in excitement, like he does.
Rating: PG-13ish?
Warnings: Mello's mouth. Possible tl;dr-ness on L's part :|a
Twelve fifty.
Hn. L had been looking forward to this, strangely enough. He didn't make too much of a habit of inviting everyone into his room, his-- weird kind of fortress of solitude. But he didn't venture outside of it too often either. Mello had been distant. Perhaps it said something about the effects of this place that L had quickly trying to persuade himself of the worst of him.
He was proceeding with caution, but things were... working out nicely. Mello had approached him, the time was set, even the week's experiment had been so kind as to allow their meeting to go fairly smoothly.
L felt like he was pressing his luck. It was a matter of discomfort to him. He didn't even invest much stock in luck.
There was a pen between his fingers where he sat at his desk, crouched familiarly in the chair. It was silver. He arm was balanced on his knee, the pen waving idly back and forth as he rattled through his thought process. Twelve fifty-six.
He... was very interested in seeing what else was in that novel, were he to bring it.
Where: L's room; 28C
When: Wednesday at one. I totally get things up on time.
Summary: L and Mello talk about deaths and cases and shiz, like they do. L is a shoeless creeper with too many questions, like he does. Mello tries not to pee his pants in excitement, like he does.
Rating: PG-13ish?
Warnings: Mello's mouth. Possible tl;dr-ness on L's part :|a
Twelve fifty.
Hn. L had been looking forward to this, strangely enough. He didn't make too much of a habit of inviting everyone into his room, his-- weird kind of fortress of solitude. But he didn't venture outside of it too often either. Mello had been distant. Perhaps it said something about the effects of this place that L had quickly trying to persuade himself of the worst of him.
He was proceeding with caution, but things were... working out nicely. Mello had approached him, the time was set, even the week's experiment had been so kind as to allow their meeting to go fairly smoothly.
L felt like he was pressing his luck. It was a matter of discomfort to him. He didn't even invest much stock in luck.
There was a pen between his fingers where he sat at his desk, crouched familiarly in the chair. It was silver. He arm was balanced on his knee, the pen waving idly back and forth as he rattled through his thought process. Twelve fifty-six.
He... was very interested in seeing what else was in that novel, were he to bring it.