"What's that smell?"

He's not a fan of artificial scents. Closing the door behind him with a brush of his hand, he concentrates hard on not sinking to the floor and sitting against it.

[[OOC: Continued from here. Private to stripesandheels.]]

Light is, just about, ready to stop messing with the valium. He knows it's crippling, can't stand the effect it has on him - it's far worse than the usual shackles he drags behind him. Is it worse to randomly blow up at people, or to not care enough to ( Read more... )

It's a kitchen, deserted except for Light, who's ... more collapsed than sat at the table. His arm is resting on the surface, and his head is pillowed on it; the other hand is touching a half-eaten piece of toast - perfectly square, spread thinly with some kind of golden-yellow jam, and at least an inch thick ( Read more... )

It's the middle of the afternoon, and the sleeping tablets only wore off an hour ago. Light is sitting at the kitchen table, arguing with an instant noodle cup thing, and a cup of tea - genmaicha, since there's nobody else around. It smells like popcorn ( Read more... )

The room Light leads Matt to is a bar, which has been abandoned every time he's checked it. It's pure curiosity: something a little familiar. Heading to the counter - which is immaculate, as if someone scrubbed it down before walking out - he peeks behind there and steals a bottle of orange juice before looking back to her ( Read more... )

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, ( Read more... )