can't face the truth, why can't things always just begin, because they always end in tears.

[reprism]

[heading back from the music room, guitar case slung over his shoulder, Light hums quietly to himself. he's tired enough that he kind of just wants to lie down and sink into the floor, but he's also good at ignoring physical exhaustion, so he continues down the halls at a brisk pace

Comments

[curtainwizard]

[It's roughly mid-afternoon, by Light's unreliable timesense. He's heading back from the snow room, small black sketchbook tucked unobtrusively beneath one arm. He's a bit damp, and more than usually chilled: there's only so long he can crouch in the snow drawing polyhedra from different angles. He'd diversified into snowflakes, in the end: one annoyingly asymmetrical star-shaped crystal after another.

He listens for footsteps, glances to either side of him before opening his bedroom door: what he really wants, at this moment, is to shower and change his clothes. Nothing particularly evil is ticking through his head, unless the cold determination that what's behind the door will be exactly what he expects counts. Except, then he opens the door, and steps inside - and it's a room he doesn't recognise. And you.

A sigh.]

Hello, Light.

[reprism]

[whirling around when the door opens, an expression crossing his face which might, perhaps, be called the frail old grandma of horror and/or annoyance - exasperation tinged with apprehension, both watered down, maybe.] Oh, jesus, it's you?

This is going to be fun.

[curtainwizard]

[That expression's like a fire alarm going off: something bad here, some kind of dangerous interaction that you want to avoid. Light's eyes narrow, barely perceptibly.]

"Oh, jesus, it's me"? Popularity is so hard to come by around here.

Do I want to know what this room does?

[reprism]

What sort of underwear are you wearing right now?

[curtainwizard]

Bla-

[The answer springs to his mind, and his lips: black silk briefs. He bites his lip. He's heard of the truth room - in fact, you told him about it - is this it? He's compelled to respond truthfully - and to give honest answers - but the compulsion isn't irresistable...

What is he going to ask me? ... what should I ask him?]

I see.

Do you have any other questions like that to get out of the way?

[reprism]

Oh, yeah, definitely.

Do you sing in the shower? Did Sayu ever stuff you into princess outfits when you were a kid? Ever run through the sprinkler naked? Or make out with Ryuuk? What about Misa? Did you need a stepladder? Who was your first crush? Or are you, like, seriously asexual? Can you do a funny squeaky voice [demonstrates] like this? Ever tried to write with both hands at once?

God I hate this room, telling the truth doesn't mean anything if you're being forced, ugh.

[curtainwizard]

[As the questions break over him like a wave, Light realises his mistake, and his face sits in increasingly frozen disdain: he can't believe the things you're trying to get out of him. And the answers chime through him as you ask - no - no - yes - NO - yes - no - denial - definitely - possibly - yes.]

Yes, no and nobody - and - the things that go through your mind, Light. Honestly.

[That last answer isn't a lie: he really believes it. And - two can play at this game, and he'll do it better. A hint of malice enters his voice.]

So, tell me. What do you see in that L you're sleeping with?

[reprism]

Hey, you asked for it.

[a brief pause.] I guess I could say, he has always been nice to me, he's smart, he doesn't take things too seriously, but it's not about that, and you'd know, even though it's all technically true and part of the reason I like him. Because it's not enough, just for someone to be funny and kind and intelligent, we're not that different that I'd be so easily charmed.

[silent again for a beat or two.]

I remember the first time I heard him sing one of my songs. He - he got everything right. Every nuance I put in there, every little - I don't know. When I write something for him - he sees it. It's this sort of... both of us are private people and yet, I'm a writer, he's a singer, it shouldn't work to be private because both things deal a lot in emotions. So we trade. I don't have to expose so much by singing what I write in front of audiences, and he can keep himself safe by borrowing my... soul is really cheap and melodramatic-sounding, but it's the word of best fit

[curtainwizard]

[Light listens in - silence, rather bored silence: the emotional appeal of music is something he only understands as a negative, and your explanation's falling on deaf ears. When he speaks, he's dismissive: no matter how much truth there was in what you said, he'd never acknowledge it. And while what he says isn't true, he really believes it.]

That's normal, Light. Everyone feels that way, that the other people around them aren't real. And - as you say - most people don't ever notice it. They distract themselves. Alone. Isolated.

[He's echoing his alternate, and doesn't realise it. But he does smile: just as you're distracting yourself with that L. Why you didn't evade the question, why you would answer it in such depth - he thinks he can guess.]

So. Did you want to say all of that, or did the room make you do it?

[reprism]

You asked. I answered. [he shrugs.] That's all.

Okay. Two for you. What did you see in Misa, and are you dead?

[curtainwizard]

[He gives you the answer to the one: it isn't a secret, and it's not worth defending.]

Yes, I am.

What makes you think I was with Misa?

[reprism]

You answered yes. "Yes, no and nobody", and there's only one question to which "nobody" could have been the answer, so "yes" must have been for the one about Misa.

[curtainwizard]

Your logic doesn't follow. "yes" or "no" could have been the answers to any of those questions.

[reprism]

Oh, whatever. [laughing a bit and putting down the guitar case, setting off to pace the perimeter of the room.] You musical at all?

[curtainwizard]

I don't care for music.

[It's half an evasion, driven up from somewhere - because he knows he hates music. As if, deep down, some part of him thinks he should have been musical. He looks across at you: something he wants to, obliquely, ask about.]

Do you wish you'd grown up in Japan?

[reprism]

[at that, Light stops, looking back thoughtfully.]

Not really. It would be kind of a waste of energy.

I mean, yeah, in the first couple of years it was really hard and there were times when I just wanted it to be over, I just wanted to go home. You settle in eventually, though. I'm almost evenly divided now, time-wise - ten years to nine. And... like I said, it would be a waste of energy. I try to cut away that kind of stuff, you know? Sitting around and wishing. It doesn't do anything for you. It's not real. So I don't bother. I've got a good life in America. Maybe I would've had a good life in Japan.

[or maybe I would've ended up like you.]