[private]

[curtainwizard]

It's another day, and the third time Light has been hit over the head with an age reversal. This time, he's a little older than the place has made him before - twelve years old, and more reserved and serious than you'd expect him to have become in just two years

Comments

[refractings]

[Light has been looking for a new outdoor room, and while this isn't quite what he had in mind, at least it'll save him a trip to the library.

--is what he thinks at first, but then he spots his alternate, small and strangely solemn. It's only the second Light he's met that's younger than him (he thinks). Both of them have been children, and he finds that when he's not in an embarrassing reindeer costume, he's inclined to fascination, or even protectiveness.]

Hello. Are you new?

[curtainwizard]

[The voice is alarmingly familiar; more like his mother's than his father's. He's heard it before. As far as he's concerned it's been two years, but still, hearing his older self cuts through the miserable rumination like little else could.

Casting an oblique look towards the doorway and the voice and the face, Light draws his hands out of his pockets, innocent, and rests them flat against the wall. A standard lamp bobs between the two of them.]

Not really. Are you?

[There's something adult and flat about his voice, and the set of his jaw is mulish. It could be disapproval, or it could be curiosity, or it could be the bastard child of both. He remembers meeting three adult Lights, but there's no way to know he met this one - and he's never seen one since he learned the things he'd done.]

[refractings]

[It was never as difficult to read Light's doubles as it could have been, never as difficult as perhaps would have made Light more comfortable with the security of his own thoughts. Over the course of months in the Mansion, it's gotten easier still, and so right now he can tell from several feet away that the boy doesn't trust him. That he knows what they tend to be -- or to become.]

No, I suppose you're not.

I've been here long enough. I don't believe I've seen you before, though. I met another younger version of us once, but you look a bit older than he was.

[He leaves the doorway and crosses to a nearby couch. The furniture brings him no closer to his double than he was, but it faces him, and is less awkward than hovering in the doorway. The sofa's floating movement doesn't unnerve him, exactly, but it makes him suspicious; he pauses in front of the couch, eyeing it.] Do you think these are safe to use?

[[[ooc: ::facedesk::]]]

[curtainwizard]

[Polite and careful, and a little more subdued than he ordinarily is, Light offers a grudging response.]

They're as safe as anything else around here, I guess.

[Which hasn't convinced him sitting on one is a good idea. His eyes don't move from his alternate; every centimetre between them feels essential. You're not very nice, when you're grown up. We killed them. It feels just as if time has passed normally, as if he's never forgotten, as if this other, older him is the awful thing he's meant to grow up to be.

There's nothing to say this is the one who was dressed as a reindeer, though he knows it could be, and he knows it's not the scary one, or the one who spoke English. He's not just trying to be nice. What does he want with me?

Sadly, Light's judging his alternate entirely by himself, by his own utilitarianism.]

Maybe it was me. I was ten when I was here before.

[refractings]

[He shrugs and takes a seat, crossing his legs in front of him and eyeing his double thoughtfully.]

The one I met looked to be about that age, but that was less than a year ago and you're, what? Thirteen? But it's possible, if you've been in and out... [He lets himself trail off in an invitation for his alternate to clarify.]

[curtainwizard]

[There's no way Light is going to confide in some strange version of himself he doesn't trust. But it's as well to open up a little, isn't it? As the adult (the boy) speaks more and more, something in the wording, and the mannerisms, and possibly something whispering out of Light's subconscious combine to form a certainty.]

You had - [and one small hand rises, to make a circle around his face.] - paint on. It was Christmas.

[refractings]

[He blinks in surprise. He honestly hadn't thought this child and the one from the kitchen were the same.]

And you had a hat. That was you, then. [The thoughtful look intensifies, but there's still nothing more to it than that.] You've been making yourself scarce, hm?

[curtainwizard]

[For all that he's trying to be pleasant, there's something closed and furtive about his face, and about the way his hands disappear behind his back.]

Maybe a little.

It's not as if there aren't other children here.

[Something about the level way he's speaking and watching - the suggestion of his usual confidence beneath it, perhaps - suggests that he doesn't view himself as one of them. It helps that he knows he really isn't a child. Still, at this age, it's flattering to be taken for older than he is - and it doesn't inspire any kind of trust.]

[refractings]

[Yes, yes, Light's seen it before and he knows what it means. He'll probably bring it up, if the boy alternate doesn't seem like he's going to do so, but he'll give him more of a chance to ask, first. He doesn't expect much.]

Hmm.

I've only seen an L, a few years younger than you. He was very... L-like. I should hate to think you're resigning yourself to his company.

[Again, he doesn't expect to discover anything telling, but nonetheless, he is testing his double -- no two Lights he's met have had the same opinion of, or reaction to, Ls.]

[curtainwizard]

[The mention of L doesn't startle Light as much as it could - but a mental warning flag goes up. It's the woolly phrasing: L-like. His lower lip wobbles, and it looks like he might bite it. As long ago as it was, he remembers feeling far, far more afraid of the L he met. Much more so than he is of this other, older him, and that's a bad idea, right?]

I haven't met him. Maybe he wasn't here before.

You don't - [it's hesitant, and secretive.] - you don't like L, do you?

[Yet Light had got one over on him, hadn't he? That had been interesting.]

[refractings]

Like him?

[He looks genuinely startled, almost confused, but only for a brief moment before his expression closes off.]

I would like to, but he seems determined to be as annoying as possible. And... [He grimaces at his double: He wants me dead. You understand.]

[curtainwizard]

[He does understand; it isn't hard. Light is a murderer. L is an investigator; L is what Light is supposed to be. And L works with Light's father, and what must he think of all that..? It doesn't even bear considering; he shuts it down hard. The fleeting awareness isn't new, or surprising, but it'll show around his mouth, and in his eyes. He won't cry, but he can't deal with it, either.

His question goes around and around in his head - should he ask it? It might ingratiate him; at a minimum it will give him some extra information.]

He, ah. He doesn't seem like-

[Again, he's hesitant, as if he's sculpting every word in clay.]

He doesn't seem like a very good person.

[refractings]

Do you think so? [Casually, as though he's just making conversation. He seems at most moderately curious, but his eyes don't leave the boy's face.]

[curtainwizard]

[That stare which isn't a stare burns into Light like a laser; he falters, and everything he knows bursts out in one quiet objection.]

... I haven't done anything wrong.

[refractings]

Of course not. [Light says this firmly and with no hesitation, brushing past the statement as though he's never doubted it -- which is, in fact, the case. The boy isn't even into high school.

His expression is serious, and open, and maybe a bit sad; it occurs to him that his situation isn't entirely dissimilar to that of this younger alternate.]

But you think you might, don't you? You're worried that there's no way to avoid becoming Kira.

[curtainwizard]

Kira.

[He repeats the word as if he's tasting it - and there's that sixth sense again, that awareness of things that comes and goes. It's not informing him, as it sometimes does; it's pleased with itself. That was you. You did that, and it was good.

It's a horrendous feeling, like he should be proud of something he knows is wrong. Like he's going mad.]

You're saying you aren't - you didn't-

[His hands are still hidden, and his suspicion's written all over him.]