[private]

[subversion]

Light is bouncing off the walls. Not literally, just in the metaphorical sense. He's been here almost three weeks; almost, and there's no sign of one of the doors becoming the front door of his house. His ipod's run out of power, and he can't walk away from the people he exploits. He's so far outside his comfort zone that he can no longer see it,

Comments

[subversion]

[And at the table sits yet another version of himself - older, mid-20s, slightly longer hair than most, and brighter, fussier clothes: today, there's something spun into the blue weave of his shirt that might be the finest silver thread, barely visible. The bowl is sitting on the table, because the noise - some of which translated and some of which, Light already knowing the languages, didn't - had been indescribable. Poised against the back of his chair, Light was rather hoping whatever it was wouldn't come in.

It turns out the semi-familiarity of the voice wasn't a lie: it's him. Or not him: younger, and less defeated, and half-asleep, and angry. At the sight of him, Light's eyes narrow by a few millimetres, visible suspicion. His hands rest on the back of the chair, beneath his chin. What are you supposed to be? After all, based on what Light's been told, all his copies are mass-murderers...

Thinking about that, he waves one hand to the teapot on the counter. The comment isn't as offhand as it sounds; it's pregnant with meaning.]

[subversion]

[More noodles. The bowl's held in front of him as if he might throw it any second.]

Did it? It hasn't been so uncooperative with my clothes.

Perhaps it's because you're a serial killer.

[reprism]

Oh, just wait until you find yourself stuck in a princess costume. [bright grin.]

[subversion]

Now you're winding me up. Come on, you can do better than that.

[It's his best flat stare. Worse things have happened to him, but that's obviously intended for effect.]

[reprism]

No, it happens. And fishnets. I'll never forget the fishnets. Very bad for the mass-murderer rep.

[subversion]

Oh, I don't know. They're very in this season, fishnets.

[It is, of course, a lie. Fishnets were never in, at least, never outside lolita fashion and 1985.]

You aren't one of them.

[reprism]

Of course I'm bloody not. But you're probably going to run into so many Kiras claiming that, oh, of course they're not - I thought I'd give you a chance to experience it the other way around, you know?

[starting to fix himself some toast.]

[subversion]

Of-course-you're-bloody-not. Be fair. How am I supposed to know?

[Scowling into his bowl, he picks at it.]

For all I know, standing around kitchens in duck underwear is exactly what mass-murderers do. Turn it into a joke, hope people believe you when you say it isn't so? I don't know.

[reprism]

So you haven't met any yet? Kiras, that is. Actually, come to think of it, you didn't answer my question.

[subversion]

What's a Kira?

[Sounding bored, and honestly, he barely knows.]

You're only the second of me I've met. The other one - [just a bit of something sombre under his voice] - didn't seem so unlike me when I was his age.

[reprism]

Good lord, did nobody fill you in? [blinking.] I don't feel like explaining the whole thing right now, but anyway, you get the mass-murderer bit, which is most important. What was the other one like?

[subversion]

That's about what I got. Mass-murderer, new world and to hell with the old one, lots of followers, and so on, and so on. Also me, apparently.

[Sitting back in the chair again - he'd wanted to smack the kid.]

He was - seventeen, eighteen. World at his feet and didn't care who knew it. You know the sort of thing.

[reprism]

[with mild surprise, Light turns around from where he's cutting bread, and beams at his double.] I don't think I know him. But now, what about you? Your world. Give me the basics.

[subversion]

[The sudden smile takes Light somewhat by surprise: what did I say?]

That's quite a question to spring on me. What am I supposed to say? Third planet from the sun? Goes by "Terra" when it's feeling pretentious? Population approximately eight billion?

[reprism]

I'm asking about you, mainly. God, we can be so thick. Age, occupation, it helps me get an idea of what I'm dealing with. As for your world - what's the year? I've gathered you don't have zombies; are there, I don't know, dragons? World war three? You never know, people have all kinds of things going on.

[subversion]

[At that "we're thick", Light glares downwards, behind his hair; it's a vulnerable area, and he murmurs.]

Excuse me, I didn't misinterpret. You were unclear.

But nothing so spectacular, I'm afraid. No, my world's running itself into the ground as fast as it possibly can. [A lot like Light himself, in fact.] No dragons, no zombies, asteroid impacts, global wars, anything like that. Nothing but-

[He breaks off: "too many people", suddenly, doesn't seem like a phrase he wants to use.]

I'm twenty-four; it's 2010. October 20th, I think.