21. [Voice]
[The clatter as the recording flickers to life betrays it as accidental (most likely, at least). Something - someone - can be heard skidding over ground, messy ground, strewn with debris. Glass can be heard, crunching underfoot and tinkling, musical. There’s a pregnant pause, one of those short ones that seems so much longer.
And then the sound of a few sprinted steps. Air whistles - a strike, and there’s a definite collision, someone grunting from the force of it. Again, and again, it goes on, barehanded and quick, nothing to paint the picture but the pace of the footsteps, the negative space left gaping in between them. There’s another vocalisation, low, pained - and then it spikes into alarm as L is brought down. He can be heard hitting the ground - there’s one of those sickening scuffing sounds as he skids, tries to pull himself up and into another attack, and fails.
There’s a dull, wet thud, and then silence.
Silence, but for a silk-soft scraping sound. Glass, perhaps. Glass being sifted through (until just the right piece is found) and then, tearing fabric, unusually loud, before it falls quiet again.
Long, festering quiet - and it is long this time, not just some illusion of it. In fact, it seems like the feed might just cut out…
The sound that comes can scarcely be described. It’s sharp and low at once, barely even audible. It’s a wet sound, a sick sound. A cut maybe.
And L’s voice, his usually monotone voice, is twisted up into a yell, wordless and agonized.
(What follows it, very soft, may just be a snigger.)
The cry trails off into a slurred, tremulous groan, dizzy with pain.
And then, that quiet.
One more sound - somehow, it’s vaguely reminiscent of the ripping fabric.
But it doesn’t matter anyway. It hardly lasts long.
It’s drowned out by the sound of L screaming.]
And then the sound of a few sprinted steps. Air whistles - a strike, and there’s a definite collision, someone grunting from the force of it. Again, and again, it goes on, barehanded and quick, nothing to paint the picture but the pace of the footsteps, the negative space left gaping in between them. There’s another vocalisation, low, pained - and then it spikes into alarm as L is brought down. He can be heard hitting the ground - there’s one of those sickening scuffing sounds as he skids, tries to pull himself up and into another attack, and fails.
There’s a dull, wet thud, and then silence.
Silence, but for a silk-soft scraping sound. Glass, perhaps. Glass being sifted through (until just the right piece is found) and then, tearing fabric, unusually loud, before it falls quiet again.
Long, festering quiet - and it is long this time, not just some illusion of it. In fact, it seems like the feed might just cut out…
The sound that comes can scarcely be described. It’s sharp and low at once, barely even audible. It’s a wet sound, a sick sound. A cut maybe.
And L’s voice, his usually monotone voice, is twisted up into a yell, wordless and agonized.
(What follows it, very soft, may just be a snigger.)
The cry trails off into a slurred, tremulous groan, dizzy with pain.
And then, that quiet.
One more sound - somehow, it’s vaguely reminiscent of the ripping fabric.
But it doesn’t matter anyway. It hardly lasts long.
It’s drowned out by the sound of L screaming.]