Sweet Dreams are Made of This, Who Am I to Disagree?
Who: L Lawliet dead_black_eyes and Belphegor of Sloth makesagoodwife
Where: An inn in Violet City
When: June 25, several hours after Mammon of Greed wakes up
Summary: L's had a thorough and not altogether welcome look at his own soul. Belphegor's had a hell of a week just trying to take care of her husk-friends and dutifully going after Shedinjas with the rest of Johto. But as weird and wayward as L's soul is, it finds its way back. He, his pokemon, and Belphe all ultimately consider this a positive development.
L's soul wasn't a mirror image of his body's appearance, like many of the others he had encountered during his week in the nightmare world. On the contrary, it had forced him to confront the fact that something about him was seriously off. While he was physically human (he didn't consider this point debatable in the slightest), psychologically, there was something missing in him, or something there that shouldn't have been, that made him... well. Hadn't he put it best to the children, miles away in an orphanage built because of him?
Lying monsters are a real nuisance. They are much more cunning than other monsters. They pose as humans, even though they have no understanding of the human heart. They eat, even though they've never experienced hunger. They study, even though they have no interest in academics. They seek friendship, even though they do not know how to love. If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by it, because in truth... I am that monster.
Really, he wasn't surprised that his soul was such a twisted, strange wayward thing. Childish, and hollow, and nameless except for the things he called himself. "L" stood for so many things. Last One. Lost One. Lying Monster. None of them were ever things he had dwelt on, preferring to distance himself from all the broken, human, weak implications. "Last" meant that he was responsible for a burdensome generation of investigators, setting the standard and maintaining it as long as he was alive and sane. "Lost" meant that no one knew where the hell he had come from or what he was, including himself. It made sense in a sad way, that his soul didn't know, either, that it looked like a saucer-eyed, vulnerable child with frightening characteristics that were usually more inconvenient than useful. He needed so much help just to survive. If it hadn't been for his handler in his own world, and Belphegor in this one, he had no idea how his life would have turned out. How his soul might have looked different if he'd led a less extraordinary life, but actually learned to fend for himself.
His body looked very thin and helpless, he thought, lying there in bed. He was currently between dimensions; his own identity was so loose and transient to him that finding his way back to his body wasn't quite as automatic as it was for those who had a clear idea of who and what they were.
He blinked his dull, black eyes, contemplating his existence and his purpose. Did he want to return to that body, and that life, understanding that he was as warped as he was?
"HAAAUNTER!!!!"
What was that?
"Haunter. HAUNTER."
Slightly loomed in front of him, looking pissed as hell, and drew his arm back. L's soul flinched as he felt the ghost pokemon's sucker punch connect with his cheek, and less than a second later, he bolted upright in bed, fully conscious and mobile once again. His Drifloon, which had been nudging his head lazily, was dislodged, and Kith and Gamine both snapped out of what appeared to be a light doze to rush over. They looked incredibly relieved and happy, but L's starter, the Haunter that had bitch-slapped his soul out of his existential fugue, was glaring and pointing at a message he'd scrawled on the wall directly in front of L.
YORE WELCUM YOO DUMASS FUK YOO FORE SKARING MEE LIEK THAT
Where: An inn in Violet City
When: June 25, several hours after Mammon of Greed wakes up
Summary: L's had a thorough and not altogether welcome look at his own soul. Belphegor's had a hell of a week just trying to take care of her husk-friends and dutifully going after Shedinjas with the rest of Johto. But as weird and wayward as L's soul is, it finds its way back. He, his pokemon, and Belphe all ultimately consider this a positive development.
L's soul wasn't a mirror image of his body's appearance, like many of the others he had encountered during his week in the nightmare world. On the contrary, it had forced him to confront the fact that something about him was seriously off. While he was physically human (he didn't consider this point debatable in the slightest), psychologically, there was something missing in him, or something there that shouldn't have been, that made him... well. Hadn't he put it best to the children, miles away in an orphanage built because of him?
Lying monsters are a real nuisance. They are much more cunning than other monsters. They pose as humans, even though they have no understanding of the human heart. They eat, even though they've never experienced hunger. They study, even though they have no interest in academics. They seek friendship, even though they do not know how to love. If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by it, because in truth... I am that monster.
Really, he wasn't surprised that his soul was such a twisted, strange wayward thing. Childish, and hollow, and nameless except for the things he called himself. "L" stood for so many things. Last One. Lost One. Lying Monster. None of them were ever things he had dwelt on, preferring to distance himself from all the broken, human, weak implications. "Last" meant that he was responsible for a burdensome generation of investigators, setting the standard and maintaining it as long as he was alive and sane. "Lost" meant that no one knew where the hell he had come from or what he was, including himself. It made sense in a sad way, that his soul didn't know, either, that it looked like a saucer-eyed, vulnerable child with frightening characteristics that were usually more inconvenient than useful. He needed so much help just to survive. If it hadn't been for his handler in his own world, and Belphegor in this one, he had no idea how his life would have turned out. How his soul might have looked different if he'd led a less extraordinary life, but actually learned to fend for himself.
His body looked very thin and helpless, he thought, lying there in bed. He was currently between dimensions; his own identity was so loose and transient to him that finding his way back to his body wasn't quite as automatic as it was for those who had a clear idea of who and what they were.
He blinked his dull, black eyes, contemplating his existence and his purpose. Did he want to return to that body, and that life, understanding that he was as warped as he was?
"HAAAUNTER!!!!"
What was that?
"Haunter. HAUNTER."
Slightly loomed in front of him, looking pissed as hell, and drew his arm back. L's soul flinched as he felt the ghost pokemon's sucker punch connect with his cheek, and less than a second later, he bolted upright in bed, fully conscious and mobile once again. His Drifloon, which had been nudging his head lazily, was dislodged, and Kith and Gamine both snapped out of what appeared to be a light doze to rush over. They looked incredibly relieved and happy, but L's starter, the Haunter that had bitch-slapped his soul out of his existential fugue, was glaring and pointing at a message he'd scrawled on the wall directly in front of L.
YORE WELCUM YOO DUMASS FUK YOO FORE SKARING MEE LIEK THAT