Knowing the Way
Title: Knowing the Way
Fandom(s): Death Note and Revolutionary Girl Utena
Characters: L and Souji Mikage
Word Count: 1327
Summary: A belated birthday gift for Neva (happy belated dear)! A closer is brought in for a case of serial arson. What does the world's greatest detective make of such a man?
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to either of the characters or the series that they come from. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and I make no profit from it. Without any further ado I give you
L was 98.6% certain that the man they had captured was the serial arsonist whose fires had done millions in property damage and claimed at least sixteen lives. However, the man was intelligent, in his own way. He was silent, refusing to talk, and even with his lawyer he was reserved. While the investigative squad had evidence that the man had bought the materials to start fires like the one that had been burning in this country, there was any number of possible explanations for why the man had bought them. He had been in the general area of the fires when they had begun, but this too could also be easily explained away. As much as L hated to admit it to himself, they needed to call in an expert, an interrogator to be more specific.
Normally L would not have even thought about stooping so far. Normally, any of the methods that he had used in the past would have broken almost anyone. Few were the sort of people who could withstand the extreme form of isolation that L subjected people to. This alleged arsonist seemed to have no issue with silence and loneliness. There was just not breaking him, at least not by the conventional methods. With time running out to make the conviction, L was desperate. Watari was desperately going through every possible interrogator within three hours of travel when a single name appears that struck L’s interest. What it was about the name that made L decide on the man, he was never able to logically explain afterwards (something that he never admitted to anyone). All L knew was that this name was the one to break the potential arsonist.
A phone call and forty minutes later, the man entered. The men of the investigative squad whisper about the way that the man carried himself and his unusually colored hair. Other whispers were centered on the almost school-boy style uniform he wore. Still more whispers briefly circulated about the silver ring on his finger and its possible implications. He either did not hear them, or care what they said. Rather he walked over to where L was (who was at the moment sitting crouched with a mug of rapidly cooling hot cocoa in his left hand) and bowed simply. From behind simple wire framed glasses, a pair of eyes of an ambiguous color and all too calculating looked out.
“A pleasure to meet you L-san, you may call me Mikage Souji,” the man introduced himself. Something in his tone made L 96% sure that name the man had given was not his real name, but then again, L should hardly be one to judge on the use of a soubriquet. “Will you be kind enough to fill me on the details of the case?” Mikage asked, breaking L out of one of the many silent meditations that the detective was prone to engage in. In his usual dry tone, L informed the pink haired man who simply nodded, listening intensely (or at least that was what L guessed what he was doing). Thanking him, Mikage left and went into the interview room. The entire squad sat to watch the closer the world’s greatest detective had brought in. L watched on a small television monitor, hot cocoa forgotten in favor of a raspberry tart.
In setting up the interrogation room, there was a certain methodology in what must have seemed otherwise madness. Mikage had dimmed the lights and took out a single picture, what looked to be a sort of insect chrysalis. He then gave the small nod indicating both the suspect and lawyer were to be brought in. From the instant the suspected felon entered the room, Mikage’s eyes did not leave his. The interrogator’s voice was low and even, and each word was calculated. It was obvious that both parties invited were at least initially slightly ill at ease with the interrogator, however by the time he had finished explaining the suspect’s rights, the mood in the small room evidently lifted.
“Alright, let’s begin,” Mikage intoned, and it was if with those syllables that the invisible gag around the suspect’s mouth was removed. Mikage didn’t say anything; rather he just sat passively, his eyes always locked with the suspect. At first, the man’s ramblings were the basic complaints about housing, his car, and things of that nature. At the appropriate intervals, Mikage would make small remarks; ask questions, but nothing that would drive anyone to confession. Halfway finished with the raspberry tart, L wondered if he had chosen the right closer for the job. Then, out of nowhere there was a single penetrating question when the suspect had been talking about Christmas as a child, sitting at a fireplace.
“The fire always spoke to you, didn’t it?” the question was gentle, not really asking for a verbal response. However a verbal response began to pour out of the suspect. Soon, the man was talking about the how the world couldn’t understand, no wouldn’t understand the way he felt about fire. The lawyer’s face blanched white and as he began to move into silence his client. Mikage shot the lawyer a quick glare and with the icy calm that had been the defining tone for most of his interview was lost. Instead it was now a tone of command, something to be obeyed. “It is obvious that he wants to tell me more,” he intoned to the lawyer. Then turning back to the suspect, there was a moment of perfect silence.
“Deeper, go deeper,” Mikage almost whispered. The lights in the small interview room flickered, and for a moment the picture of the insect chrysalis that hung on the wall seemed as if it had shifted position ever so slightly, like the room was descending. As the suspect began ranting, his anger coursing out of him, blame falling on everything with myriad details about how it deserved to burn, L almost dropped his fork. The descriptions continued for close to five minutes. At the end of the time, the man was shaking, confession given willingly, and Mikage stood, offered a short bow to the arsonist and the lawyer. As the interrogator walked past the astonished investigative squad, L followed him with his eyes.
“Dr. Mikage,” L began.
“You’re going to ask me how I did it, aren’t you?” Mikage responded without looking over his shoulder at the dark haired detective.
“A very astute observation. Techniques such as the ones you used would improve my ability to catch criminals by at least 56%,” L intoned flatly. The pink haired psychologist turned, and out of the corner of his eye, L saw the man twist the silver band around his finger. There was a flower of some sort, a rose most likely, ink black that stood as the signet. For a second, L wondered if it were jet or obsidian, but that did not matter, not really.
“I wish I could teach you,” Mikage voiced, “but believe me when I say the only way to learn involves great personal sacrifice.” L just nodded, not quite sure what to say. It was obvious that much had been given for the pursuit of justice, and he was willing to give much more.
“If you should ever seek to learn, you will follow a road that leads you to an end of the world. You might be able to follow it, you’re already brining about your own sort of revolution. I wonder what will happen when you meet someone who has a different vision of the same revolution,” Mikage offered. With that, he turned and walked out. L then finished the tart, knowing that all the poetry, all of the philosophy the man had talked was covering or hiding something. At the same time he knew that trying to follow ‘the road’ Mikage had mentioned would get him nothing that he didn’t in a way have already.
Fandom(s): Death Note and Revolutionary Girl Utena
Characters: L and Souji Mikage
Word Count: 1327
Summary: A belated birthday gift for Neva (happy belated dear)! A closer is brought in for a case of serial arson. What does the world's greatest detective make of such a man?
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to either of the characters or the series that they come from. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and I make no profit from it. Without any further ado I give you
L was 98.6% certain that the man they had captured was the serial arsonist whose fires had done millions in property damage and claimed at least sixteen lives. However, the man was intelligent, in his own way. He was silent, refusing to talk, and even with his lawyer he was reserved. While the investigative squad had evidence that the man had bought the materials to start fires like the one that had been burning in this country, there was any number of possible explanations for why the man had bought them. He had been in the general area of the fires when they had begun, but this too could also be easily explained away. As much as L hated to admit it to himself, they needed to call in an expert, an interrogator to be more specific.
Normally L would not have even thought about stooping so far. Normally, any of the methods that he had used in the past would have broken almost anyone. Few were the sort of people who could withstand the extreme form of isolation that L subjected people to. This alleged arsonist seemed to have no issue with silence and loneliness. There was just not breaking him, at least not by the conventional methods. With time running out to make the conviction, L was desperate. Watari was desperately going through every possible interrogator within three hours of travel when a single name appears that struck L’s interest. What it was about the name that made L decide on the man, he was never able to logically explain afterwards (something that he never admitted to anyone). All L knew was that this name was the one to break the potential arsonist.
A phone call and forty minutes later, the man entered. The men of the investigative squad whisper about the way that the man carried himself and his unusually colored hair. Other whispers were centered on the almost school-boy style uniform he wore. Still more whispers briefly circulated about the silver ring on his finger and its possible implications. He either did not hear them, or care what they said. Rather he walked over to where L was (who was at the moment sitting crouched with a mug of rapidly cooling hot cocoa in his left hand) and bowed simply. From behind simple wire framed glasses, a pair of eyes of an ambiguous color and all too calculating looked out.
“A pleasure to meet you L-san, you may call me Mikage Souji,” the man introduced himself. Something in his tone made L 96% sure that name the man had given was not his real name, but then again, L should hardly be one to judge on the use of a soubriquet. “Will you be kind enough to fill me on the details of the case?” Mikage asked, breaking L out of one of the many silent meditations that the detective was prone to engage in. In his usual dry tone, L informed the pink haired man who simply nodded, listening intensely (or at least that was what L guessed what he was doing). Thanking him, Mikage left and went into the interview room. The entire squad sat to watch the closer the world’s greatest detective had brought in. L watched on a small television monitor, hot cocoa forgotten in favor of a raspberry tart.
In setting up the interrogation room, there was a certain methodology in what must have seemed otherwise madness. Mikage had dimmed the lights and took out a single picture, what looked to be a sort of insect chrysalis. He then gave the small nod indicating both the suspect and lawyer were to be brought in. From the instant the suspected felon entered the room, Mikage’s eyes did not leave his. The interrogator’s voice was low and even, and each word was calculated. It was obvious that both parties invited were at least initially slightly ill at ease with the interrogator, however by the time he had finished explaining the suspect’s rights, the mood in the small room evidently lifted.
“Alright, let’s begin,” Mikage intoned, and it was if with those syllables that the invisible gag around the suspect’s mouth was removed. Mikage didn’t say anything; rather he just sat passively, his eyes always locked with the suspect. At first, the man’s ramblings were the basic complaints about housing, his car, and things of that nature. At the appropriate intervals, Mikage would make small remarks; ask questions, but nothing that would drive anyone to confession. Halfway finished with the raspberry tart, L wondered if he had chosen the right closer for the job. Then, out of nowhere there was a single penetrating question when the suspect had been talking about Christmas as a child, sitting at a fireplace.
“The fire always spoke to you, didn’t it?” the question was gentle, not really asking for a verbal response. However a verbal response began to pour out of the suspect. Soon, the man was talking about the how the world couldn’t understand, no wouldn’t understand the way he felt about fire. The lawyer’s face blanched white and as he began to move into silence his client. Mikage shot the lawyer a quick glare and with the icy calm that had been the defining tone for most of his interview was lost. Instead it was now a tone of command, something to be obeyed. “It is obvious that he wants to tell me more,” he intoned to the lawyer. Then turning back to the suspect, there was a moment of perfect silence.
“Deeper, go deeper,” Mikage almost whispered. The lights in the small interview room flickered, and for a moment the picture of the insect chrysalis that hung on the wall seemed as if it had shifted position ever so slightly, like the room was descending. As the suspect began ranting, his anger coursing out of him, blame falling on everything with myriad details about how it deserved to burn, L almost dropped his fork. The descriptions continued for close to five minutes. At the end of the time, the man was shaking, confession given willingly, and Mikage stood, offered a short bow to the arsonist and the lawyer. As the interrogator walked past the astonished investigative squad, L followed him with his eyes.
“Dr. Mikage,” L began.
“You’re going to ask me how I did it, aren’t you?” Mikage responded without looking over his shoulder at the dark haired detective.
“A very astute observation. Techniques such as the ones you used would improve my ability to catch criminals by at least 56%,” L intoned flatly. The pink haired psychologist turned, and out of the corner of his eye, L saw the man twist the silver band around his finger. There was a flower of some sort, a rose most likely, ink black that stood as the signet. For a second, L wondered if it were jet or obsidian, but that did not matter, not really.
“I wish I could teach you,” Mikage voiced, “but believe me when I say the only way to learn involves great personal sacrifice.” L just nodded, not quite sure what to say. It was obvious that much had been given for the pursuit of justice, and he was willing to give much more.
“If you should ever seek to learn, you will follow a road that leads you to an end of the world. You might be able to follow it, you’re already brining about your own sort of revolution. I wonder what will happen when you meet someone who has a different vision of the same revolution,” Mikage offered. With that, he turned and walked out. L then finished the tart, knowing that all the poetry, all of the philosophy the man had talked was covering or hiding something. At the same time he knew that trying to follow ‘the road’ Mikage had mentioned would get him nothing that he didn’t in a way have already.