They Sentenced Me to Twenty Years of Boredom
Characters: L Lawliet and YOU! Throw your friendly, stoic, cuddly, violent, saintly, and unsavory types at me.
Location: The metal-strewn rubble and ruins of Zone 2; specifically, tucked inside the curve of an side-turned old cathedral bell with a 9-foot diameter.
Rating: PG; to be updated if necessary
Time: January 6, Early Morning
Description: Disquieted by the morning's news, L heads to his favorite isolated thinking spot to take some notes and make some plans for the rapidly approaching future. These plans include finding himself a proper partner and tackling the tricky issue of international negotiations without a shred of credibility. Catch him adding to his 500+ page file filled with notes and observations about Death City. Contribute to the brainstorming session. Say "hi" if you know him, and "why" if you don't. The possibilities are as endless as Zone 2 and an antisocial genius can sustain!
Since finding out his Weapon form, L had started gravitating toward metal. He liked being near it almost as much as he liked being it, which was one reason Zone 2 had appealed to him as a quiet place to come and put his thoughts in order. The other reason was the enormous, rusted church bell, overturned and overgrown with shrubs and vines, perfect for crawling inside of or perching on top of, depending on whatever he fancied at any given moment. He'd been staying with Mello and Near for a full week, now, and while things certainly could have been going worse, there was something very strange about living with people who had grown up revering him at a distance. He was still startled in the mornings when he encountered them going about their business, still unnerved by eyes he remembered in faces that had aged beyond his own death date. But the most awkward element of the household's new dynamic was the simple fact that Mello and Near were a team, a Weapon and a Meister paired so perfectly that no matter how scarce L was, he felt like his very presence was enough to drive a wedge into something that Roger and Watari had always yearned for. His successors' cooperation was dependent on mutual effort, not competition... and wasn't L himself a relic and a reminder of that sullen past? His very voice was the echo of a distant and coveted trophy, which was why he'd been finding it better to go elsewhere. His own apartment didn't feel much like a home, but here, among other relics once overridden by a madness wavelength, L felt he had a place.
He started by pulling apart the pages of the morning's newspaper, removing a fat, heavy casefile from a blue canvas backpack and a ballpoint pen. His handwriting was terrible, ensuring that anyone who attempted to read it would have a very difficult time even if they could gather patience for the tedious endeavor, but all the same, the sheer size of the file, its very existence and the quantity of time and effort that had clearly gone into its construction were a bit suspicious. There were photographs, either taken by L himself or clipped from the daily news. Lists of names and addresses, designations as Weapons or Meisters, something like a diary detailing every item eaten by L himself, every conversation he'd engaged in, and, possibly the most fascinating aspect, lists of character traits and impressions by which to sort and categorize the human beings he'd come into contact with.
It was a labor of love, or of obsessive energy with nowhere else to go. But today was different... today, Shibusen was being threatened by a withdrawal of support that could deal the organization a harsh blow. He felt like if he could personally meet with Michael Madd... no, just contacting him would be enough, he could formulate an argument that would sway him. If protecting the citizens really was the man's top priority, he should be open to logic, should be open to the fact that Shibusen's protection was what many of those citizens relied on. Collateral damage was something that no one really liked to discuss frankly, but when it was unavoidable, it had to be addressed, justified, and moved past.
Not that L could simply say this and expect a positive response. It had to be done by someone who possessed an iota of tact. And maybe someone who carried themselves professionally, wore a suit, and put others at ease rather than making them want to find any excuse to leave the room. What L wouldn't give to have his old contacts; Aiber could have made short work of this.
L was a diminutive, curled figure, but his white shirt contrasted sharply with the dark interior of the ancient bronze bell. He wouldn't be difficult to spot, if anyone else was out this morning following the disturbing news of the day.
Location: The metal-strewn rubble and ruins of Zone 2; specifically, tucked inside the curve of an side-turned old cathedral bell with a 9-foot diameter.
Rating: PG; to be updated if necessary
Time: January 6, Early Morning
Description: Disquieted by the morning's news, L heads to his favorite isolated thinking spot to take some notes and make some plans for the rapidly approaching future. These plans include finding himself a proper partner and tackling the tricky issue of international negotiations without a shred of credibility. Catch him adding to his 500+ page file filled with notes and observations about Death City. Contribute to the brainstorming session. Say "hi" if you know him, and "why" if you don't. The possibilities are as endless as Zone 2 and an antisocial genius can sustain!
Since finding out his Weapon form, L had started gravitating toward metal. He liked being near it almost as much as he liked being it, which was one reason Zone 2 had appealed to him as a quiet place to come and put his thoughts in order. The other reason was the enormous, rusted church bell, overturned and overgrown with shrubs and vines, perfect for crawling inside of or perching on top of, depending on whatever he fancied at any given moment. He'd been staying with Mello and Near for a full week, now, and while things certainly could have been going worse, there was something very strange about living with people who had grown up revering him at a distance. He was still startled in the mornings when he encountered them going about their business, still unnerved by eyes he remembered in faces that had aged beyond his own death date. But the most awkward element of the household's new dynamic was the simple fact that Mello and Near were a team, a Weapon and a Meister paired so perfectly that no matter how scarce L was, he felt like his very presence was enough to drive a wedge into something that Roger and Watari had always yearned for. His successors' cooperation was dependent on mutual effort, not competition... and wasn't L himself a relic and a reminder of that sullen past? His very voice was the echo of a distant and coveted trophy, which was why he'd been finding it better to go elsewhere. His own apartment didn't feel much like a home, but here, among other relics once overridden by a madness wavelength, L felt he had a place.
He started by pulling apart the pages of the morning's newspaper, removing a fat, heavy casefile from a blue canvas backpack and a ballpoint pen. His handwriting was terrible, ensuring that anyone who attempted to read it would have a very difficult time even if they could gather patience for the tedious endeavor, but all the same, the sheer size of the file, its very existence and the quantity of time and effort that had clearly gone into its construction were a bit suspicious. There were photographs, either taken by L himself or clipped from the daily news. Lists of names and addresses, designations as Weapons or Meisters, something like a diary detailing every item eaten by L himself, every conversation he'd engaged in, and, possibly the most fascinating aspect, lists of character traits and impressions by which to sort and categorize the human beings he'd come into contact with.
It was a labor of love, or of obsessive energy with nowhere else to go. But today was different... today, Shibusen was being threatened by a withdrawal of support that could deal the organization a harsh blow. He felt like if he could personally meet with Michael Madd... no, just contacting him would be enough, he could formulate an argument that would sway him. If protecting the citizens really was the man's top priority, he should be open to logic, should be open to the fact that Shibusen's protection was what many of those citizens relied on. Collateral damage was something that no one really liked to discuss frankly, but when it was unavoidable, it had to be addressed, justified, and moved past.
Not that L could simply say this and expect a positive response. It had to be done by someone who possessed an iota of tact. And maybe someone who carried themselves professionally, wore a suit, and put others at ease rather than making them want to find any excuse to leave the room. What L wouldn't give to have his old contacts; Aiber could have made short work of this.
L was a diminutive, curled figure, but his white shirt contrasted sharply with the dark interior of the ancient bronze bell. He wouldn't be difficult to spot, if anyone else was out this morning following the disturbing news of the day.