| private | video |ls_rueflectionJuly 5 2010, 16:19:43 UTC
[And B's chuckles have grown fairly audible, forcing him to retreat deeper into the crawl towards the cavern, and the area is of drips and coolness, only one light hole, an area he is sure Mihael and his dog haven't found yet. He settles into the corner, chalk pale face even whiter in the beams of moonlight and his pale lips curve, tight. They're still suppressing low laughter because, as little as he does know of Kira and the serial murders, it is clear to any intelligent human being that dear Light Yagami confessed.
In a dream.
For what? Guilt? Fear? Nostalgia?
Oh, he has a fit of the chuckles.
His knees draw to his chest, a smooth motion that is nearly habitual in nature, feet dragging over the lava-rippled floor. He doesn't need to concern himself with the dangers of video. Light knows his face. And he knows his name. But that is irrelevant here, now isn't it? Aha, the boy isn't cut out for violence, regardless; withdrawing to the safety of books to murder. How pathetic-- and the cause? Loneliness. Bullying. Fuckin'
( ... )
[Eyes narrow, and Mello resists stepping back as B steps forward. Yes, he remembers B trying to grab at him, remembers how his body sounded when it thumped against the floor. Remembers how L was so fucking passive about it, and then he blocked it out. Blocked it out because there was no point in dwelling on it. What was done was done, and lingering on it wasn't going to change anything.
He wants to tell B that he brought it on himself. That maybe if he hadn't jumped at L like a rabid fucking animal when he arrived, the detective wouldn't have been so quick to choose him as the test subject.
But that's not entirely true, is it? Mello had solid custody of B when L made the decision, and there's a chance that L knew he would come back. That he wouldn't stay dead. And after? L hasn't asked after him at all, has he
( ... )
Had to do, huh? Now that explains the brutality of it. Didn't even feel like mentioning what you were doing? [Sniggers.] I thought I was getting to see L, talk to him, maybe be judged, but I'd finally get-- earn-- what he gave you.
[And the proximity lessens, just so, enough to safely press his cheek to the side of the barrel, nuzzling. Chalk smears over cold metal.]
You could never be L. Your voice is so strong, serious expression but-- you're practically shaking. Mihael saw... when he hurts, kills, he doesn't shake. Because it isn't hurting him. Why would he? L doesn't give a shit about me or you-- and all this ridiculous loyalty isn't going to change that.
[And he spits in the man's face, not for the first time, barrel roughly forced aside with his face to be seized in a vice grip by his free hand. His inching foot crosses the remaining distance sharply, hooking behind the man's ankles and B slams forward. Intending to shove him down.
[The ground is hard when it seems to come up under him; back slamming against bare dirt and jutting rocks, and he's gripping B's shirt, trying to pull the gun back with the other hand. Once down, a leg is arched back at the knee, and abruptly shoved forward again to meet with Beyond's torso.
Fuck this shit. It doesn't matter what L cares about. What matters is whether or not his mentor has one person in this fucking place who gives a shit about him. And Mello will be that person. Because to be an object of such hatred with no one to protect him, L's a walking target.]
You don't know shit. [It's forced, grit, and he's releasing that shirt, reaching up to dig fingers into the side of B's face as he tries to maneuver his other leg out in order to gain leverage.]
[Fingers tighten around the barrel and, with the momentum of the fall, he shoves the other's hand violently against the jagged stone, attempting to twist it away. A burst of pain and he whips the hitomi aside to shove down at the offending limb, thumb immediately finger a particularly soft spot along his inner thigh. And it jerks deeply into, pushing down.
His breathing is ragged, gradually recovering from the kneeing and he quickly drops his weight down against the smaller male in order to less the intensity of any further violence. His head tilts from the hand, eye nearest to the fingers shutting instinctively and his own hand sweeps at the forearm.]
Hehn-- more than you. [Chuckles breathlessly, reaching up to work his fingers around that exposed throat; much like with his thigh, he shoves his thumb in deeply.]
[It's funny how even the most conflicted ambivalence can simply get blown away, as if by a puff of wind (or smoke), when things really go to shit. Matt was trying to sleep without dreaming, especially after talking a bit on that crazy network that's somehow wetjacked into all of their subconscious minds.
But, speaking of the subconscious, his must've noticed something was up, because when he blinks awake, he's not surprised to see he's alone in the cave. Sounds of a scuffle outside, and Matt leaves everything behind to hurry out.
And yeah, Mello made the plan that got him killed, and Matt's pretty sure he'd go on with it even if he knew that, if he thought it would also work. And yes, secondhand stubbornness is why Matt's sleeping, or not, in a goddamn cave. But. Matt sees that creepy fuck's hand around his best friend's throat, and there's no room for thought, he's launching himself right at Rue to try to tackle him away.]
[The second he hears Matt's voice, Mello's fingers tighten around the handle, finger slipping away from the trigger. The safety isn't on, and the last thing he wants is for an impact to cause the piece to go off.
And he slips his leg out simultaneously, moving to plant a knee into B's side. But the fingers around his throat are constricting, and he has to focus on turning his head to the side, trying to get in a proper breath of air.
He swears to God. When this is over, he's tossing B into a fucking river and not looking back.]
[Mail's approach was fairly audible before he entered Beyond's peripheral and releaseed that loud shout (perhaps the first real reaction), and B quickly shifted to adapt. His knee dug into the ground beside Mihael's hip, foot hooking around his thigh, essentially pinning it, and the throat is released, hands reaching past for a chunk of stone. The harsh pressure of the blond's knee earned Mihael a sharp backhand--- and, vision whirring sharply sideways, his breath is again expelled from his lungs
( ... )
[Matt's too committed to the tackle to get himself out from under Rue, and he can't dodge the rock, and he knew he was shite at fighting, but one unexpected side effect of being dead is that you kinda stop caring about life and limb.
The blow cracks his goggles, and it feels like it cracks his cheek open, too, and Matt's pissed now. He grits his teeth against the pain, a fleeting thought--that if anything were broken, it would hurt a hell of a lot more--there and gone, and swings a hard left hook right for Rue's face.
He doesn't know what the hell Mello's doing, but he hopes he does it fast.]
That whip of B's hand across his face was hard, jarring, and it had Mello's vision spinning for a few seconds. But adrenaline is a fucking powerful thing, and the moment he sees Matt struck, he springs up, gets himself behind B, and with one hand cocking the safety again, an arm slides around and locks itself against B's neck. Pulling back, squeezing, and no matter how much he thrashes and scratches, elbows, tries to kick back- the cold metal is against the other's head again, and Mello knows that if any further threat is posed, he will shoot. Without hesitation.
Because for his own ass to be on the line is one thing. But Matt? No fucking way.
"Get the fuck up. Now." And he's pulling back as he urges, and he gives Matt a fleeting glance. "If he pulls any shit, kick the shit out of him. I'll hold him." And he will. And enjoy the hell out of it, at that.
[The shock to his cheek is ignored, decidedly foreseen, as they often flail when mounted and, really, his abdomen is the primary source of aches at the moment. As long as there's little kneeing, he will maintain control. When he rears back again, there is a whir of blond in his peripheral, sliding towards his rear and Beyond exhales hard
( ... )
[When that foot strikes out at him, Matt flings himself backwards fast enough that he topples over, and a plastic shard falls out of the cracked lens on impact, making the sky, when he blinks up at it for a split second, look like it has a jagged, lighter hole in it.
He scrambles to his feet as fast as he can, and stands at the ready, giving a nod he hopes is grim, and says he means business. He almost hopes he gets an excuse to kick Rue around some. Who cares about playing fair? The guy broke his fucking goggles.]
Aren't there jails here, or something? [he asks Mello. His favorite plan at the moment is to pitch Rue off a cliff and see if he can come back from that.]
[The arm tightens, and Mello lets out a sharp exhale, gritting his teeth against the impact. It's like the fox; a wild, bucking animal constrained only around his neck. The only difference is that this one is going to come back, no matter what.]
No. I'm the fuckin' jail. This is the problem. [And with that, he yanks B back, moving to spin them both around so he can use the momentum to slam the fucker on his face as hard as the ground can take it.
This is bullshit. It's all that he can think, over and over, because how the fuck did he end up stuck in this place with the one person who would blatantly threaten the only person that Mello feels like he has some kind of permanent obligation to protect?
And L has to know it, too. Otherwise, he wouldn't put so much trust in the fact that Mello's holding B. His mentor knows that Mello would do this shit without an outward complaint, if it's necessary. Ngh, how could he do this shit? There's no death, no goddamn finality. Just a cycle that's going to repeat over and over and over with no
( ... )
[A sharp, gutteral sound, like a gear catching and studdering; the system trembles and, with it, he has to lean back further, stretching his neck backwards for oxygen. Fuckin' Mimi. His foot doesn't connect, and -fuck- the lack of snapped, cracking, it's absolutely frustrating. The man already knows what's happening as they twist and, with a squirming hack, he abruptly feels a deep rip beneath his cheekbone. His hands are equally roughed up, having attempted to lessen the blow through catching himself as he landed
( ... )
[Matt has to wonder, sometimes, what the hell L did to inspire such single-minded devotion in Mello. Now would be one of those times. If Matt was being followed around by a lunatic--not that he would be, he's the one who does the following--he would've said 'fuck you, babysit your own crazy person,' right around the first day. It's that weird note out of tune with the rest of Mello's personality, or maybe Matt has just never understood caring enough about anything, a cause, a person as an idea, anything, to knock himself out for it like Mello's obviously doing here. Even the job that killed him was a lark at first, scattering Kira devotees, driving fast and recklessly through city streets.
He hasn't forgotten about the knife, and he knew Rue wouldn't have, either, after the big deal he made about it earlier. He sees the guy going for it, and doesn't even think, he takes a jog-step and kicks a booted foot hard for Rue's stupid head.]
In a dream.
For what? Guilt? Fear? Nostalgia?
Oh, he has a fit of the chuckles.
His knees draw to his chest, a smooth motion that is nearly habitual in nature, feet dragging over the lava-rippled floor. He doesn't need to concern himself with the dangers of video. Light knows his face. And he knows his name. But that is irrelevant here, now isn't it? Aha, the boy isn't cut out for violence, regardless; withdrawing to the safety of books to murder. How pathetic-- and the cause? Loneliness. Bullying. Fuckin' ( ... )
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I did what I had to do.
[Eyes narrow, and Mello resists stepping back as B steps forward. Yes, he remembers B trying to grab at him, remembers how his body sounded when it thumped against the floor. Remembers how L was so fucking passive about it, and then he blocked it out. Blocked it out because there was no point in dwelling on it. What was done was done, and lingering on it wasn't going to change anything.
He wants to tell B that he brought it on himself. That maybe if he hadn't jumped at L like a rabid fucking animal when he arrived, the detective wouldn't have been so quick to choose him as the test subject.
But that's not entirely true, is it? Mello had solid custody of B when L made the decision, and there's a chance that L knew he would come back. That he wouldn't stay dead. And after? L hasn't asked after him at all, has he ( ... )
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[And the proximity lessens, just so, enough to safely press his cheek to the side of the barrel, nuzzling. Chalk smears over cold metal.]
You could never be L. Your voice is so strong, serious expression but-- you're practically shaking. Mihael saw... when he hurts, kills, he doesn't shake. Because it isn't hurting him. Why would he? L doesn't give a shit about me or you-- and all this ridiculous loyalty isn't going to change that.
[And he spits in the man's face, not for the first time, barrel roughly forced aside with his face to be seized in a vice grip by his free hand. His inching foot crosses the remaining distance sharply, hooking behind the man's ankles and B slams forward. Intending to shove him down.
Hard.]
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Fuck this shit. It doesn't matter what L cares about. What matters is whether or not his mentor has one person in this fucking place who gives a shit about him. And Mello will be that person. Because to be an object of such hatred with no one to protect him, L's a walking target.]
You don't know shit. [It's forced, grit, and he's releasing that shirt, reaching up to dig fingers into the side of B's face as he tries to maneuver his other leg out in order to gain leverage.]
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His breathing is ragged, gradually recovering from the kneeing and he quickly drops his weight down against the smaller male in order to less the intensity of any further violence. His head tilts from the hand, eye nearest to the fingers shutting instinctively and his own hand sweeps at the forearm.]
Hehn-- more than you. [Chuckles breathlessly, reaching up to work his fingers around that exposed throat; much like with his thigh, he shoves his thumb in deeply.]
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But, speaking of the subconscious, his must've noticed something was up, because when he blinks awake, he's not surprised to see he's alone in the cave. Sounds of a scuffle outside, and Matt leaves everything behind to hurry out.
And yeah, Mello made the plan that got him killed, and Matt's pretty sure he'd go on with it even if he knew that, if he thought it would also work. And yes, secondhand stubbornness is why Matt's sleeping, or not, in a goddamn cave. But. Matt sees that creepy fuck's hand around his best friend's throat, and there's no room for thought, he's launching himself right at Rue to try to tackle him away.]
Get the fuck off him!
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And he slips his leg out simultaneously, moving to plant a knee into B's side. But the fingers around his throat are constricting, and he has to focus on turning his head to the side, trying to get in a proper breath of air.
He swears to God. When this is over, he's tossing B into a fucking river and not looking back.]
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The blow cracks his goggles, and it feels like it cracks his cheek open, too, and Matt's pissed now. He grits his teeth against the pain, a fleeting thought--that if anything were broken, it would hurt a hell of a lot more--there and gone, and swings a hard left hook right for Rue's face.
He doesn't know what the hell Mello's doing, but he hopes he does it fast.]
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Because for his own ass to be on the line is one thing. But Matt? No fucking way.
"Get the fuck up. Now." And he's pulling back as he urges, and he gives Matt a fleeting glance. "If he pulls any shit, kick the shit out of him. I'll hold him." And he will. And enjoy the hell out of it, at that.
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He scrambles to his feet as fast as he can, and stands at the ready, giving a nod he hopes is grim, and says he means business. He almost hopes he gets an excuse to kick Rue around some. Who cares about playing fair? The guy broke his fucking goggles.]
Aren't there jails here, or something? [he asks Mello. His favorite plan at the moment is to pitch Rue off a cliff and see if he can come back from that.]
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No. I'm the fuckin' jail. This is the problem. [And with that, he yanks B back, moving to spin them both around so he can use the momentum to slam the fucker on his face as hard as the ground can take it.
This is bullshit. It's all that he can think, over and over, because how the fuck did he end up stuck in this place with the one person who would blatantly threaten the only person that Mello feels like he has some kind of permanent obligation to protect?
And L has to know it, too. Otherwise, he wouldn't put so much trust in the fact that Mello's holding B. His mentor knows that Mello would do this shit without an outward complaint, if it's necessary. Ngh, how could he do this shit? There's no death, no goddamn finality. Just a cycle that's going to repeat over and over and over with no ( ... )
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He hasn't forgotten about the knife, and he knew Rue wouldn't have, either, after the big deal he made about it earlier. He sees the guy going for it, and doesn't even think, he takes a jog-step and kicks a booted foot hard for Rue's stupid head.]
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