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hearthebellWho: L and Light
What: Light's arrival is fresh; he's still human and still alive. The same cannot be said for L.
When: Today
Where: The streets of Bavan
Warnings: Volatile mad child-gods and child-monsters basically just doing this bullshit.
If L had ever seriously entertained the notion of becoming a monster, he would have found it darkly amusing foremost. Knowing himself well, the man was always fairly aware of a short-circuit somewhere in the part of him that was supposed to care about other humans. He had learned how to imitate the phenomenon, of course; the truth was that once people knew they were dealing with monsters, they shut down and withheld trust, so while simulating the bare minimum was exhausting, it was a necessity. As much as he would prefer self-sufficient isolation, not even L could be an island; the best he could ever manage was a rickety structure of impressive height requiring constant maintenance and care to remain standing.
He's lasted longer in Ryslig than anyone might have initially guessed, given his long history of privileged, parasitic living. Though he lacks his support network, he is much as he ever was even after going through a fair number of changes: a monster, through and through, who happens to appear as a shabby, harmless human until much more intimate inspection. Then he's paler, thinner, and more still, and goes even longer without blinking; even then, he is less changed than an exaggeration of the traits that always made him unnerving. This evening, he is sucking gently at a bright red popsicle, loitering around a cafe and watching people leave. It's beyond idle interest; like someone engrossed in a television screen or slot machine, searching and waiting for some specific and desired result.
The focus comes at the expense of his usual all-encompassing observational skills. He's unusually easy to approach without his immediately noticing tonight.
What: Light's arrival is fresh; he's still human and still alive. The same cannot be said for L.
When: Today
Where: The streets of Bavan
Warnings: Volatile mad child-gods and child-monsters basically just doing this bullshit.
If L had ever seriously entertained the notion of becoming a monster, he would have found it darkly amusing foremost. Knowing himself well, the man was always fairly aware of a short-circuit somewhere in the part of him that was supposed to care about other humans. He had learned how to imitate the phenomenon, of course; the truth was that once people knew they were dealing with monsters, they shut down and withheld trust, so while simulating the bare minimum was exhausting, it was a necessity. As much as he would prefer self-sufficient isolation, not even L could be an island; the best he could ever manage was a rickety structure of impressive height requiring constant maintenance and care to remain standing.
He's lasted longer in Ryslig than anyone might have initially guessed, given his long history of privileged, parasitic living. Though he lacks his support network, he is much as he ever was even after going through a fair number of changes: a monster, through and through, who happens to appear as a shabby, harmless human until much more intimate inspection. Then he's paler, thinner, and more still, and goes even longer without blinking; even then, he is less changed than an exaggeration of the traits that always made him unnerving. This evening, he is sucking gently at a bright red popsicle, loitering around a cafe and watching people leave. It's beyond idle interest; like someone engrossed in a television screen or slot machine, searching and waiting for some specific and desired result.
The focus comes at the expense of his usual all-encompassing observational skills. He's unusually easy to approach without his immediately noticing tonight.
