Something old, something new, but nothing borrowed or blue apart from the hoodie I'm in...
But first, a note to my dear friend Lee: coming into the study and bitching (wrongly) that I've been on the computer all day and that I'm so selfish for catching up with people and getting mine and Dan's talk for the service tomorrow typed up is really not the best way of getting online. No, really. You've tried it twice and it hasn't worked. I haven't been on all day- you know that- and this stuff needs to get done just as much as your MSN conversations do, if not more.
And you did not in any way say you had to get online urgently earlier. You said you wanted to get online to talk to your friends, and that you'd phone your aunt about that family business of yours later. Phone, not email. And about that talk Dan and I are writing- the small chance you might be gone tomorrow on that family business is no excuse to slack off on yours. You're going to make us all look bad with your laziness, so get on and do some work like you haven't since the old people's thing ended.
I'd swear like you're doing, but I'm determined not to sink to your level.
And to my dearest sister Anna: stop encouraging him. Stop lying too. I've been trying my utmost to put up with you both over this past week, what with you waking me up with a kick to the arse and his being rude to everyone he knew before Tuesday, but you're both really, really stretching my patience.
...time to get on with the fic, I think.
Title: What Might Have Been
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Light/Takada (ish); brief appearances by the Taskforce, Mikami and L.
Notes: This isn't what I normally tend to write, but I was initially going to write a Matsuda-centric fic for this week's dn_contest prompt of 'everyday life', and that... didn't quite work out. Idk why, but I don't seem to be able to write him all that well. So, the second idea that came up was what might have happened to Light had he never found the Death Note- admittedly something that has been done a few times previously, but it wouldn't let go.
Every day was the same. He woke up early- 5:30 a.m. sharp, no alarm clocks needed- and got up a second later, even in the coldest weather. He would leave the bed before his wife even noticed the movement before heading for the kitchen to make himself coffee. Black, no sugar, and as the machine whirred he would make yet another mental note to get a new one that was a little less noisy.
On some mornings Takada would be woken, others she would not. Often she stayed in bed whatever the case, but occasionally a smaller pair of feet would pad into the room behind him. A light kiss on the cheek would receive a cup of tea in reply a few minutes later, and she’d silently return to bed- neither of them would speak until their teeth were brushed even if she didn’t.
He never had breakfast. Coffee worked well enough, and he scoffed at the people who made breakfast the most important meal of the day. If they could not hide their carbohydrate-induced moods then that was their problem, not his.
He’d dress quickly, perfunctorily, but always looking impeccable when he closed the wardrobe door. His teeth would be brushed by this point, his hair still a little damp from his shower but not in any way spoiling the overall look of smartness. Any grey hairs would be noted as they appeared, to be dealt with later. Takada had raised an eyebrow the first time brown hair dye had appeared on the shopping list, but had said nothing. They both knew the value of outward appearances.
At 6:20 precisely he would leave the house for work, driving a perfectly nondescript car to the NPA headquarters, where he’d nod to the receptionists whose names he still didn’t remember before making his way to the office on the fifth floor. Unless Aizawa had had a fight with his wife, or Matsuda had fallen asleep, unnoticed, at his desk the night before, he’d be the first one in, followed by Mogi. When he first arrived, Soichiro was usually next, but he now had an office of his own after the Director died of a heart attack two years previously. Aizawa would thus be next, followed by Ide. Matsuda would be last unless he’d begged a lift off someone else, but he’d always be so cheerful that everyone else will forgive him.
The day would progress smoothly. Occasionally the team would go out to a crime scene or to investigate a place associated with the case they’d be working on, but for the most part they’d be deskbound. On the rare days they’d work with the legal department, Teru Mikami would likely drop by for some intelligent conversation, one rising department star to another.
Takada would not be home at 8:00, when he’d get back. He’d take off his tie, exchange his shoes for slippers and leave his keys on the hall cabinet as he went to make the dinner to which she’d arrive home at 8:30. They’d make small talk as they ate, then would sit in silence in the living room after the meal, reading case notes or novels until 10:00, when they would make for bed.
Every day was essentially the same- and it was all so boring.
Light woke in a cold sweat to the sound of L calculating percentages out loud. The chain jangled as he threw a sleepy punch, wondering just which world it was that he preferred.
-
Title: Clique
Rating: 12, for Mello and some OOCness.
Characters: The Whammy Gang, plus a damsel in that dress and one criminal whose night it really isn't.
Notes: This is the titular 'something old', posted last year as part of a thing I was doing where I wrote ficlets based on one-word prompts. That sort of fizzled out, but I still got some good stuff out of it, such as this more-than-a-bit-crackish Batman/Death Note crossover...
-
It was midnight over Gotham. All was quiet, until...
“Help! Help me!”
The terrified cries of a young woman rent the night as a man backed her down a dimly-lit alleyway, brandishing a knife which glinted menacingly in the lamplight. The woman shrieked again, striking out uselessly with her handbag.
The man only smirked in response. “Ain’t nooo-one to hear you, sweetheart. You’re all mine now!” he leered, the stench of alcohol rolling off his breath in waves as he raised the knife to strike...
BAM! It was snatched from his hand by three flying figures, leaving him gaping stupidly in response.
“Tan tara-ra-ra-raaa! ”
“Shut up, Mello! I’m trying to concentrate! ”
“Shouldn’t have brought the bloody game then, should you?”
“I’ll have you know, Bionic Waricle III is...”
“I don’t bloody care about bloody Bionic Waricle!” SLAP!
“Hey! I know you’ve got gender issues, but...”
SLAP!
PUNCH!
LEATHERY RUGBY TACKLE OF DOOM!
The woman sweatdropped and the only dark shape not fighting sighed as it landed in front of her. “Sorry about those...”
“Hey! Wat’cha doin’ wi’ ma...” the drunken knife-man staggered forward, only to be met with the point of an umbrella in a place it was hardly designed to go. “AARGH!”
“Indeed.” The shape nodded, satisfied, as it tucked the umbrella it had apparently produced from nowhere into a hidden fold in its suit. “Now, as I was saying, I apologise for the behaviour of my cohorts here. Gender-confusion issues, you know...”
“Who are you calling gender-confused, albino freak?” The dark shape that had trumpeted on entrance grabbed the smaller one by the collar, dragging him backwards and into the fight. The third shape took the chance to duck out of said melee, slouching over to the beleaguered woman and practically radiating annoyance.
“Sod broke my GameBoy.” he muttered, lighting a cigarette. “I love the guy, but some days...” he shook his head. “What the heck. I’m Matt, and I guess, since we came to rescue you, might as well get on with the job.”
The man behind him staggered up with a drunken roar, but Matt didn’t even turn- merely pulling the cigarette from his mouth and squashing it into the pockmarked nose behind him. “YEOW!”
“Not very articulate, is he?” The teen spoke as though he was at a social gathering, not beating up a drunk criminal in the dead of night. The woman just blinked in response, and the boy rolled his eyes as he turned to scavenge what he could of his GameBoy. “Always like this- only ever saying ‘thanks’ as we fly off, bloody ingrates...”
“YIEEE!” The voice was masculine (well, ish), but the pitch was very, very high. The blonde staggered away from the fight, cradling his groin.
“Ain’t nobody that can stand up to the family-jewel-poke of Doom!” The white-haired boy grinned, stroking the umbrella fondly in a way that had every innuendo-dealing part of the woman’s brain working double-time.
“And God help us all when Near feels like testing it.” Muttered Matt.
“Hi.” It was more of a wheeze than anything, the woman decided. Admittedly, the umbrella poking was the only thing reassuring her that this was indeed a male member of the species before her- his effeminate appearance had made her a little confused. She still didn’t answer though.
Matt chucked a battery at the blonde’s head. “Think she’s mute.”
“Not if those screams were anything to go by- the woman’s a regular banshee. I reckon it’s just my good looks.” The voice was returning to a more normal pitch. Matt and Near snorted simultaneously.
“Ha.”
“Winning one ‘beautiful baby’ contest as a child does not automatically make you a charmer, Mello.” Near intoned, still stroking the umbrella. “I daresay it’s quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Hey!” Mello snapped as Matt doubled over laughing. “No need to bring that up!”
“There was every need, Mellykins.” Matt gasped, still chuckling.
“And for the last time...”
“Look out!” The woman cried, as her attacker rose once more from the ground where he’d been writhing from the pain of the combined cigarette and umbrella moves. He yelled again and Mello turned, but this time the woman got there first- smacking the man over the head with her really rather heavy bag.
“Ungh...” he sank to the floor in a crumpled heap. The three boys turned to stare at her.
“Self-defence classes. My dad made me take them.” She explained. Mello raised an eyebrow.
“So why on earth were you so rubbish earlier?”
She shrugged. “I’d heard stories of a bunch of utterly useless caped crusaders flying around. Wanted to see if they were true, I guess.” She laughed at the look on Mello and Matt’s faces- Near disappointed, his visage stoically blank.
“And are they?”
She smirked. “Every one.”
“Hmm. It appears we will have to conduct a mind wipe...”
“Hey!”
“...once we have carried this man to the local jail.” Sayu glared at him.
“I don’t want to be mind wiped!”
Near shrugged. “All part of the job. Up and away, gentlemen.” The man on the floor was unceremoniously picked up by various parts of his clothing and the threesome flew off slowly, trailing him along behind. The woman watched as they became dim shapes once more amidst the night lights of the city then, as they flew over the jail, separating. The man fell, bounced off the wall and the woman could’ve sworn she heard a shouted curse as the three shapes flew down to catch him.
Well, that was them distracted. She didn’t really believe they could mindwipe her, but she wasn’t about to stick around and find out.
With a grin and a small giggle, Sayu Yagami ran off into the darkness.
--
And in other news, bahari's back! Woot! ^^
And you did not in any way say you had to get online urgently earlier. You said you wanted to get online to talk to your friends, and that you'd phone your aunt about that family business of yours later. Phone, not email. And about that talk Dan and I are writing- the small chance you might be gone tomorrow on that family business is no excuse to slack off on yours. You're going to make us all look bad with your laziness, so get on and do some work like you haven't since the old people's thing ended.
I'd swear like you're doing, but I'm determined not to sink to your level.
And to my dearest sister Anna: stop encouraging him. Stop lying too. I've been trying my utmost to put up with you both over this past week, what with you waking me up with a kick to the arse and his being rude to everyone he knew before Tuesday, but you're both really, really stretching my patience.
...time to get on with the fic, I think.
Title: What Might Have Been
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Light/Takada (ish); brief appearances by the Taskforce, Mikami and L.
Notes: This isn't what I normally tend to write, but I was initially going to write a Matsuda-centric fic for this week's dn_contest prompt of 'everyday life', and that... didn't quite work out. Idk why, but I don't seem to be able to write him all that well. So, the second idea that came up was what might have happened to Light had he never found the Death Note- admittedly something that has been done a few times previously, but it wouldn't let go.
Every day was the same. He woke up early- 5:30 a.m. sharp, no alarm clocks needed- and got up a second later, even in the coldest weather. He would leave the bed before his wife even noticed the movement before heading for the kitchen to make himself coffee. Black, no sugar, and as the machine whirred he would make yet another mental note to get a new one that was a little less noisy.
On some mornings Takada would be woken, others she would not. Often she stayed in bed whatever the case, but occasionally a smaller pair of feet would pad into the room behind him. A light kiss on the cheek would receive a cup of tea in reply a few minutes later, and she’d silently return to bed- neither of them would speak until their teeth were brushed even if she didn’t.
He never had breakfast. Coffee worked well enough, and he scoffed at the people who made breakfast the most important meal of the day. If they could not hide their carbohydrate-induced moods then that was their problem, not his.
He’d dress quickly, perfunctorily, but always looking impeccable when he closed the wardrobe door. His teeth would be brushed by this point, his hair still a little damp from his shower but not in any way spoiling the overall look of smartness. Any grey hairs would be noted as they appeared, to be dealt with later. Takada had raised an eyebrow the first time brown hair dye had appeared on the shopping list, but had said nothing. They both knew the value of outward appearances.
At 6:20 precisely he would leave the house for work, driving a perfectly nondescript car to the NPA headquarters, where he’d nod to the receptionists whose names he still didn’t remember before making his way to the office on the fifth floor. Unless Aizawa had had a fight with his wife, or Matsuda had fallen asleep, unnoticed, at his desk the night before, he’d be the first one in, followed by Mogi. When he first arrived, Soichiro was usually next, but he now had an office of his own after the Director died of a heart attack two years previously. Aizawa would thus be next, followed by Ide. Matsuda would be last unless he’d begged a lift off someone else, but he’d always be so cheerful that everyone else will forgive him.
The day would progress smoothly. Occasionally the team would go out to a crime scene or to investigate a place associated with the case they’d be working on, but for the most part they’d be deskbound. On the rare days they’d work with the legal department, Teru Mikami would likely drop by for some intelligent conversation, one rising department star to another.
Takada would not be home at 8:00, when he’d get back. He’d take off his tie, exchange his shoes for slippers and leave his keys on the hall cabinet as he went to make the dinner to which she’d arrive home at 8:30. They’d make small talk as they ate, then would sit in silence in the living room after the meal, reading case notes or novels until 10:00, when they would make for bed.
Every day was essentially the same- and it was all so boring.
Light woke in a cold sweat to the sound of L calculating percentages out loud. The chain jangled as he threw a sleepy punch, wondering just which world it was that he preferred.
-
Title: Clique
Rating: 12, for Mello and some OOCness.
Characters: The Whammy Gang, plus a damsel in that dress and one criminal whose night it really isn't.
Notes: This is the titular 'something old', posted last year as part of a thing I was doing where I wrote ficlets based on one-word prompts. That sort of fizzled out, but I still got some good stuff out of it, such as this more-than-a-bit-crackish Batman/Death Note crossover...
-
It was midnight over Gotham. All was quiet, until...
“Help! Help me!”
The terrified cries of a young woman rent the night as a man backed her down a dimly-lit alleyway, brandishing a knife which glinted menacingly in the lamplight. The woman shrieked again, striking out uselessly with her handbag.
The man only smirked in response. “Ain’t nooo-one to hear you, sweetheart. You’re all mine now!” he leered, the stench of alcohol rolling off his breath in waves as he raised the knife to strike...
BAM! It was snatched from his hand by three flying figures, leaving him gaping stupidly in response.
“Tan tara-ra-ra-raaa! ”
“Shut up, Mello! I’m trying to concentrate! ”
“Shouldn’t have brought the bloody game then, should you?”
“I’ll have you know, Bionic Waricle III is...”
“I don’t bloody care about bloody Bionic Waricle!” SLAP!
“Hey! I know you’ve got gender issues, but...”
SLAP!
PUNCH!
LEATHERY RUGBY TACKLE OF DOOM!
The woman sweatdropped and the only dark shape not fighting sighed as it landed in front of her. “Sorry about those...”
“Hey! Wat’cha doin’ wi’ ma...” the drunken knife-man staggered forward, only to be met with the point of an umbrella in a place it was hardly designed to go. “AARGH!”
“Indeed.” The shape nodded, satisfied, as it tucked the umbrella it had apparently produced from nowhere into a hidden fold in its suit. “Now, as I was saying, I apologise for the behaviour of my cohorts here. Gender-confusion issues, you know...”
“Who are you calling gender-confused, albino freak?” The dark shape that had trumpeted on entrance grabbed the smaller one by the collar, dragging him backwards and into the fight. The third shape took the chance to duck out of said melee, slouching over to the beleaguered woman and practically radiating annoyance.
“Sod broke my GameBoy.” he muttered, lighting a cigarette. “I love the guy, but some days...” he shook his head. “What the heck. I’m Matt, and I guess, since we came to rescue you, might as well get on with the job.”
The man behind him staggered up with a drunken roar, but Matt didn’t even turn- merely pulling the cigarette from his mouth and squashing it into the pockmarked nose behind him. “YEOW!”
“Not very articulate, is he?” The teen spoke as though he was at a social gathering, not beating up a drunk criminal in the dead of night. The woman just blinked in response, and the boy rolled his eyes as he turned to scavenge what he could of his GameBoy. “Always like this- only ever saying ‘thanks’ as we fly off, bloody ingrates...”
“YIEEE!” The voice was masculine (well, ish), but the pitch was very, very high. The blonde staggered away from the fight, cradling his groin.
“Ain’t nobody that can stand up to the family-jewel-poke of Doom!” The white-haired boy grinned, stroking the umbrella fondly in a way that had every innuendo-dealing part of the woman’s brain working double-time.
“And God help us all when Near feels like testing it.” Muttered Matt.
“Hi.” It was more of a wheeze than anything, the woman decided. Admittedly, the umbrella poking was the only thing reassuring her that this was indeed a male member of the species before her- his effeminate appearance had made her a little confused. She still didn’t answer though.
Matt chucked a battery at the blonde’s head. “Think she’s mute.”
“Not if those screams were anything to go by- the woman’s a regular banshee. I reckon it’s just my good looks.” The voice was returning to a more normal pitch. Matt and Near snorted simultaneously.
“Ha.”
“Winning one ‘beautiful baby’ contest as a child does not automatically make you a charmer, Mello.” Near intoned, still stroking the umbrella. “I daresay it’s quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Hey!” Mello snapped as Matt doubled over laughing. “No need to bring that up!”
“There was every need, Mellykins.” Matt gasped, still chuckling.
“And for the last time...”
“Look out!” The woman cried, as her attacker rose once more from the ground where he’d been writhing from the pain of the combined cigarette and umbrella moves. He yelled again and Mello turned, but this time the woman got there first- smacking the man over the head with her really rather heavy bag.
“Ungh...” he sank to the floor in a crumpled heap. The three boys turned to stare at her.
“Self-defence classes. My dad made me take them.” She explained. Mello raised an eyebrow.
“So why on earth were you so rubbish earlier?”
She shrugged. “I’d heard stories of a bunch of utterly useless caped crusaders flying around. Wanted to see if they were true, I guess.” She laughed at the look on Mello and Matt’s faces- Near disappointed, his visage stoically blank.
“And are they?”
She smirked. “Every one.”
“Hmm. It appears we will have to conduct a mind wipe...”
“Hey!”
“...once we have carried this man to the local jail.” Sayu glared at him.
“I don’t want to be mind wiped!”
Near shrugged. “All part of the job. Up and away, gentlemen.” The man on the floor was unceremoniously picked up by various parts of his clothing and the threesome flew off slowly, trailing him along behind. The woman watched as they became dim shapes once more amidst the night lights of the city then, as they flew over the jail, separating. The man fell, bounced off the wall and the woman could’ve sworn she heard a shouted curse as the three shapes flew down to catch him.
Well, that was them distracted. She didn’t really believe they could mindwipe her, but she wasn’t about to stick around and find out.
With a grin and a small giggle, Sayu Yagami ran off into the darkness.
--
And in other news, bahari's back! Woot! ^^