(no subject)
Who: L (hyper_vigilant) & Alphonse (thesoulbound).
When: Shortly after L’s arrival at Veles
Where: Cafeteria
Rating: G
Summary: L is hungry for both food and information; Alphonse appears to be willing to provide both.
Warnings: Pretty sweet for L
Status: Complete
The first rule of survival; he needs to eat and for L that means extreme amounts of calories usually obtained by sweets. And why not? Sweets are good, they deliver them quickly and that’s what he needs: pure, sugar propulsion.
Following Alphonse as he winds his way through the crowd, L with his bag of belongings slung across his shoulders and sagging slightly, refused to lose the teen in the sprawl of the city. He twists and turns, running when he must, although he hates to do so, he can’t afford to rev his metabolism even more, he remains within an arms-width of the boy. Stifling a sigh of relief as they reach their destination, he tilts his head upward, eyes narrowing as he studies the stars. They look different. Not extraordinarily so, but enough.
The feeling of disquiet swells as they make their way through the crowd, find a seat. An instinctive finger leaps to his lip and ideas coalesce in his mind. Propaganda, ID bracelets, guards, esteemed guests; could it be true that we’re not prisoners?
As they sit, L turns to teen; he’s been a valuable source of information, a good ally to keep. Drawing his knees to his chest, he pulls his hand from his mouth. “Alphonse. Tell me about the military here. There seems to be an unusually large ratio of uniforms to civilians.”
When: Shortly after L’s arrival at Veles
Where: Cafeteria
Rating: G
Summary: L is hungry for both food and information; Alphonse appears to be willing to provide both.
Warnings: Pretty sweet for L
Status: Complete
The first rule of survival; he needs to eat and for L that means extreme amounts of calories usually obtained by sweets. And why not? Sweets are good, they deliver them quickly and that’s what he needs: pure, sugar propulsion.
Following Alphonse as he winds his way through the crowd, L with his bag of belongings slung across his shoulders and sagging slightly, refused to lose the teen in the sprawl of the city. He twists and turns, running when he must, although he hates to do so, he can’t afford to rev his metabolism even more, he remains within an arms-width of the boy. Stifling a sigh of relief as they reach their destination, he tilts his head upward, eyes narrowing as he studies the stars. They look different. Not extraordinarily so, but enough.
The feeling of disquiet swells as they make their way through the crowd, find a seat. An instinctive finger leaps to his lip and ideas coalesce in his mind. Propaganda, ID bracelets, guards, esteemed guests; could it be true that we’re not prisoners?
As they sit, L turns to teen; he’s been a valuable source of information, a good ally to keep. Drawing his knees to his chest, he pulls his hand from his mouth. “Alphonse. Tell me about the military here. There seems to be an unusually large ratio of uniforms to civilians.”