middaeg | I Am Embracing the Cold Rushing in Like Ice to a Diamond [OPEN, Catchall for June]

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I Am Embracing the Cold Rushing in Like Ice to a Diamond [OPEN, Catchall for June]

Who: L Lawliet and OPEN
When: Throughout June
Where: Various places;
What: Sans caretaker, an antisocial, world-renowned detective separated from all his resources searches for lodging, work, and purpose. All while continuing to practice magic.
Warnings: None right now; I'll update it if that changes!

A. More explosions make debris (Barracks)

[To say that there's been something of an adjustment period since L arrived here is an understatement, to say the least. Once, he had a handler who took care of everything he needed, from laundry to finding him things to eat to telling him when it was time to sleep. While it wasn't the kind of life that most adults were content leading, it had suited him just fine, allowing him to devote more energy to his one truly passionate pursuit: solving the world's most bizarre and complex cases.

One month in, and he's semi-adapted to his new environment, in the sense that he is surviving, but not exactly thriving. He's carved out a niche for himself in the barracks, where stacks of overdue library books stand in place of furniture or decor... but otherwise, one would be forgiven for believing that this particular building is unoccupied. There's no real sign that anyone has taken up residence here from the outside; restoration efforts haven't reached this section of the barracks yet, and the plants outside are overgrown, some of the windows drooping and dilapidated, the door hanging precariously from one hinge that only sort of works.

If you did make this very understandable mistake and you opt to enter, you might stumble upon the only room that's being actively used, and it's sort of a pathetic sight. A scrawny, dark-haired young man is seated in a curled position on the floor. His back is against the wall and his shaggy head is drooped over his bony knees, with clumps of candy wrappers and four open books around his bare feet. He is wearing the set of Coven robes he received on the first day here, and they appear, after a month, to be in desperate need of a good cleaning. Fast asleep in a clear state of exhaustion, he doesn't notice you... but if you stick around or make even the slightest noise, that's bound to change quickly.]

B. Catching it kind of suits you (Coven)

[L avoids going out in public nearly to the point of being agoraphobic. The pallor of his skin suggests that he's never even seen the Sun, and the shuffling, tentative way he moves is absurdly ill-suited to crowds of jostling strangers. But he makes exceptions for certain things, and must; his only other true option is to stagnate and slowly wither away to a brittle, frail collection of bones. The unfortunate realities of distrusting people while being rather more reliant on them than most grown humans are coming home to roost, in the sense that L's faltering a bit without Watari's constant, vigilant maintenance. Soon his health will begin to suffer, and as a Witch, it makes sense that the best way to be sustainably self-sufficient might be buckling down and learning how to heal his own injuries, restore his own energy if he's lacking sleep, and make food materialize out of thin air so he doesn't have to go out and purchase it.

After a month, he's found that it's not nearly so simple. Some branches of magic have been more promising than others; he seems to have a knack for Divination and Illusion, which probably shouldn't be surprising given his background as an investigator. But L tends not to be merely average at anything; his destiny is either extreme proficiency, or extreme disaster, and the latter seems to be the case with Abjuration and Transmutation. It seems that healing and mending things are what give him the most trouble, to the point where his attempts actually backfire and have the opposite effect.

What started as a minor abrasion on his left hand, that any extremely basic healing spell could make short work of, has spread to many abrasions all over his hand and wrist. His attempts to mend the Coven robe he is still wearing since receiving it on his first day are actually unraveling the threads holding it together. His frustration is real and powerful, but his expression doesn't betray it. Just maybe the occasional swift exhalation, or a murmured question about his future success before he consults tea leaves and sets aside the cup, disgusted with the answer he reads there with comparative ease.

Maybe these particular disciplines come easier to you and you have a heart. Or maybe you just want to laugh at him.]

C. Well it doesn't suit me (Runetchers)

[L is a fast reader, and a fast learner. When he's exhausted what he has to work with in a day at the Coven, advised not to overdo it before he has a bond with a monster who can help him cycle his magic, there are still many hours left in a day... and really, when money is a concern and not just managed in vast quantities to be thrown around when it's required, the necessity of it can't really be overlooked.

But when one has worked the same job since early childhood and needed no introduction at the top of his field, it's an issue. When one is off and peculiar in his interactions and socially irregular, it's an issue. When one secretly considers himself above most offerings, it's especially an issue, and so a month has passed with nothing catching L's interest and no currency changing hands. However, when Runetchers put out a call for steady hands and loading scrolls with spells, it's a prospect... and when they add that they are willing to teach on the job, L is sufficiently sold. At least for a little while, this will suffice, especially if he doesn't have to come in contact with chipper inquisitive customers or nitpicky coworkers.

Did you also take this quest? Or did you just drop in to check out the shop that smells like old parchment and cloves? Either way, the spindly, wide-eyed youth is watching you, pausing in his work so his dark, lacquered eyes can better follow you around the shop. If you move to get away from him, you might notice that he's even left his desk to keep closer tabs on you. ]

D. With the Sun setting low and the shadows unfurled (FULL MOON, around the city)

[It's been an especially long day. As L's magical practice deepens, so does the exhaustion that comes with trying to do it alone, and the ensuing snappishness and irritability... but today, in particular, it's been difficult to use magic at all. His attempts at spells are either weak or they fail entirely, and while he's wrung what he can out of him to get through work, he was dismissed early and told to get some rest when it became clear, quickly, that even his ability to draw pretty straight lines was suffering.

He's on his way home tonight. Maybe you're another witch who's similarly weakened, or a monster struggling with their changes. Either way, it's dark, and he's wearing dark clothing, and it's entirely likely that you just don't see the guy and walk right into him. Hopefully it's not claws-first, and with the way his eyes are narrowing, it would be great if you were in a better mood.]

E. Can you live with the way they make you look unreal? (WILDCARD)

[Don't see it? Want it? Have at it! If you want a quick and easy way to get ahold of me for plotting purposes, I am on plurk at

lexil.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He's not the only detective stuck in a retail job that they'd rather be doing something else, that's fore sure. Only Hank has years upon years of getting old and grumpy about it.]

Y'know, back home books have become pretty fucking rare. Everyone just using their phone and electrical notepads to read and jolt down shit. Nice to be able to do something like this again.

[L glances sharply toward the older man. With his age and scholarly surroundings, it would be easy to guess that he was actually this shop's owner, but... no, he's a mirror import, like L, and so many others.

He breathes a quick, shallow sigh. Small talk is not his strong suit, nor is it something he particularly enjoys. He's sure that nothing about his hunched posture and closed body language is inviting it. And now there's the conundrum of either ignoring the man completely, pretending that he's deaf, or... well, actually finding a way to answer. The third option is probably the best for not antagonizing someone he might have to see a lot in the near future, so he clears his throat, turning to sort-of make eye contact. He has an eerie way of doing it, seeming to stare through a person rather than make any sort of connection on an equal, personal level.]

I see.

[He doesn't blink, only shifting slightly forward expectantly as he waits for the man's response. He's perhaps more coldly serious about it than the mood set by Hank should warrant; in fact, he seems to be approaching the conversation more like a grenade than something to actually relieve tension.]

[Hank's seen worse, working at the force. The kid almost looks drugged and he has to wonder if he's been smoking something. His reaction is that of a typical lieutenant who has dealt with a lot of shit; shrug it off.]

Right.[Okay then, he might do better finding other people who like holding a conversation.] You look like the type of kid who prefers to be left alone, right?

[It's clear, quickly, that nothing about L's response landed the way he would have considered ideal. He fidgets where he sits, pulling one of his bony knees closer to his chest, staring owlishly at the other man as though retrospectively searching for places he might have erred. Because he certainly did, in ways that his rival and "friend" Light Yagami would not have, in his place.]

I didn't mean to give that impression.

[It's both incredibly honest, and doesn't actually answer the question. The use of the word "kid" seems to give him pause; he's in his mid-twenties, after all, but his proportions are narrow, rangy, a touch juvenile. It's understandable when people underestimate his age, and he doesn't try overly hard to correct them when it happens. It benefits him to be underestimated, in most regards.]

If you work with me, I should know who you are, so... I was trying to give you a chance to say more about the role of books in your world, why you find this pleasant.

[It's very... detached. Almost professorial, sans any real passion for the subject, but the interest is undeniable. It's an odd set of contradictions.]

[francel's made visiting the coven part of an almost-daily routine — in part because his monster changes have been coming for him so abnormally, and with so much pain, that he's been subjecting himself to near-constant observation to make sure that all as well.

as such, he notices l hunched over his wounds one day, seemingly trying to fix them. clearly, he's not having much luck.]

...Linden?

[at least, francel supposes he has the privilege of calling "linden" by his forename. the alternative — "master tailor" — just, er, sounds a little odd, even by eorzean standards.]

Are you all right?

[Deep in concentration, L is putting his all into making this work. It's broken handily when Francel approaches him, and L's shoulders curl forward guardedly. Because of everyone he's met, Francel has been consistently kind, helpful, approachable and nonjudgmental, he does believe that his intentions at this time are good.

What's difficult, actually, is just reconciling all of this with the uncomfortable reality that he's just not used to being bad at things like this.]

Francel...

[He nods a stiff greeting, managing to keep the stinging pain out of his voice.]

Certain spells are proving challenging. You... perhaps can guess which ones are giving me some difficulty.

I... I see.

[francel bites his lip, over-empathizing with l's pain despite trying to restrain himself. in this case, of course, linden tailor's pain is physical, and francel's pain is most typically emotional, but all the same, the young lord has a certain affinity for open wounds that only get worse and worse over time.

the obvious advice would be to tell l to just stop, but francel is sensitive to injured pride, and it seems cruel to tell anyone to stop merely because they are bad at something.]

Perhaps you might practice on things that are not yourself, or your own? There's no substitute for wounded flesh, I know, but with regard to your robes, you could practice on a sheet of torn parchment...

[The impression L gets is an uncertain one. Francel might see, truly, but he could also be humoring him, or stalling until he figures out a better way to do it. There's an uncomfortable impression that Francel's at least as bothered by the lacerations as L is, but true empathy is something that the detective struggles with at least as much as this type of spell. It's as though that part of him as always been numb, deadened, heavy and alien.]

I've been practicing...

[With little success.]

I can't say I've found much success, and it was my hope that the truly needful would drive faster success.

[Higher stakes light fires under people. He's seen and felt it. This approach does make sense to him.]

...You mean to endanger yourself until you see improvement?

[honestly, it makes sense in a way, but francel can't stop himself from sounding appropriately horrified. his expression steels over, though he's clearly wrestling with it.

this... certainly explains why he suspected that l was the kind of scholar who would quite literally burn the candle at both ends.]

Linden, I... perhaps you've heard this before, but I'm not certain that's the best way to study.

[That's precisely what he means; he doesn't even nod to confirm it. It just shows in the unwavering way the light hits his dark eyes, the resolve, the blank acceptance of any cost.]

Actually, I haven't heard it before.

[Not from anyone who mattered, at least. No, he was always allowed to study how he pleased, pursue his methods how he pleased.]

I suppose I always got results, so... no one questioned it. How would you study?

[He takes a break, folding his long fingers to at least partly conceal the bleeding, turning genuine interest onto Francel.]

[of course he hasn't heard it before. it would almost be funny if it weren't mostly sad. wasn't your family concerned? francel almost asks, stupidly, but the answer is staring him plain in the face: l either does not have any family, or they are precisely the kinds of people who would tolerate this kind of behavior. either way, asking would open up a can of worms, one which francel knows he would drop onto the floor if he found it in his hands.]

Personally, the threat of physical punishment only ever served to make me do worse. I had tutors aplenty who thought such methods would light a fire under the seat of any young lordling who was failing to live up to his potential, but I would only... well, I would panic and make bad decisions, essentially.

[he shrugs, looking more flippant than he feels.]

Of course, I do not believe that you are panicking now. But I wonder if you would not see more improvement under more... healthy conditions.

C

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C - Runetchers - does second half of June works?

Works great!

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