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

Entry tags:

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.]

Threaded | 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.]

[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?

[In Toothless's case, he less stumbles upon the room L has claimed, and more detours to seek it out, likely having picked up his scent on the air. Hiccup is mostly here to look for someone else using another part of the barracks as an erstwhile home, dropping in on his way out of the city. He's had a productive day meeting with some blacksmiths and they're in talks to work up a set of armor that could be used by the Wilders for venturing out past the wall, inlaid with enchantments and dragonscales. He's also considerably richer than he was this morning, after selling some of Toothless's molted scales to eager craftsmen. (It's funny, to him, how much they'll pay for a single scale, when they're basically litter all over Berk, swept up en-masse by vikings grumbling at the mess.)

Toothless pulled away suddenly and bounded off, and now the dragon is nosing open L's door curiously, pawing at the frame and mrring out a questioning rumble. Hiccup's voice isn't too far behind.]

Toothless? C'mon, bud, I don't think Newt's staying over this way...

[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.

[With L's general lapse in caring for himself, namely because no one else is there to do it for him, a few things have fallen by the wayside. His hygiene has probably been better, in other words, meaning that animals with keen senses of smell would have little trouble drawing a bead on him.

He wakes with a start at the sound of something large and powerful pawing at his door and nudging it open, and though he hasn't quite shaken off sleep and he's both uncoordinated and disoriented, he's on his feet quickly. His tense posture relaxes slightly when he sees who it is, because fortunately he recognizes these individuals. He hasn't had reason yet to distrust them.]

Are... you and Toothless staying in the barracks, too?

[He runs a hand compulsively through his ratty hair. It does little to improve its appearance.]

[Toothless plops down on the ground, staring into the doorway, big head tilting curiously to the side and tail smacking against the floor once. When Hiccup catches up to him, he 'smiles' a wide, gummy smile, gaze flicking from his rider to L, as if to say 'look, look what I found!' He's proud of himself.

Hiccup, on the other hand, blinks back a bit of surprise at L's current state.] Uh- hey! Hey, wow. I didn't know you were staying here. Toothless, bud, you gotta stop nosing people's doors open, it's rude.

Us? No, no we've got a place we're fixing up with Keith, it's- you know, it's out in the slums, but it's nice! Or it will be. I was just coming to see someone else staying in the barracks- not that I'm not happy to see you. How- How have you been? [His state is... not what was expected.]

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 pages of the books flutter with the impact of Toothless' tail and the breeze it produces. L's tense, not because he's afraid, but... well, because this corner of the world he carved out for himself feels flimsy and inadequate now that other eyes are viewing it. But the frame is still broken, in the sense that the list of possible things that could fix it is long and feels unmanageable. For as good as L is at seeing detail in places other people don't notice, sometimes he misses it in the places everyone else does.]

If it's in the slums... you must be pretty handy.

[He's heard that it's even more broken-down than the barracks, and nowhere near as safe. Not an easy undertaking, even with magic, and at their level there's still plenty they can't do.]

Who are you here to see? I might be able to help you find them.

[The simple question, how have you been, also feels unmanageable. Fidgety fingertips pluck at the fraying edge of his sleeve.]

[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.

[Yeah, he's noticing the rather dilapidated state of things in this corner of the barracks. That door looks precarious and his fingers are itching to get at it. He knows he could straighten up the hinges and re-hang it in a jiff, but it would probably be rude to invite himself to do so.]

Well, you know. If there's one thing vikings are good at, it's fast and sturdy construction. We've already built up the drooping wall, and I'm working on putting in new beams for the loft. [It's been a satisfying sort of project, fending for themselves and helping out, out there where no one seems to have much. It sits better on his conscience than moving into someone's stolen cottage. After a moment, he pulls out a screwdriver, and motions vaguely to the hinges on the door.] I could fix that up for you, if you wanted?

Oh, just Newt, the guy with the oversized cat-creature, but it was just a drop-in. I don't have to hurry off. ["Please let me do some repairs to this sad living space."]

[One thing that coming here has done is put in stark perspective just how differently L led his life than most others. He always knew it, of course, always realized that he wasn't part of a society, neither drawing from or contributing to any kind of mutual support system. He had a caretaker, but that was entirely different... and the symbiotic relationship they'd developed benefitted from his results, even at the cost of his health.]

It sounds like your situation was an externally motivated one, which makes it different... at least, I think so.

[He isn't certain; even his monotone can't really conceal it totally. They're both uncomfortable, both trying to express something that's difficult to do gracefully without giving away more than they want to.]

I've always worked well under pressure, but... I don't know if magic follows the same rules as what I'm used to.

[Buried in a shallow grave is the subtext: waging a war against one's humanity might be fine for the results L used to get, but connection to that humanity might be necessary for these kinds of spells.]

It's almost dinnertime, isn't it?

[It's 4 PM. But he hasn't had breakfast or lunch, and his blood sugar has been coasting on fumes for awhile now.]

[If the state of the room is making Hiccup restless, it's doing the same to L, just in a different way. He's both in need of help and anxiously resistant to it, which is a combination that is stubbornly balanced and hardly conducive to rational improvement. And it's not even that he's too proud to ask for it; it's that the change, the loss of control and trust it means placing in another person, is a lot for him to handle.

He takes a deep, slow, careful breath.]

If... you're not in a hurry, I'd appreciate it very much. It's been rickety for awhile, which is probably why Toothless pushed it open so easily.

[At the same time, the mention of Newt's name sparks some recognition in his eyes.]

I've met him. He does spend a lot of time around here. The two of you are friends?

Sorry about him. By the way. He's rude. [Hiccup says sheepishly, stepping up to the doorframe the moment he's given permission to start re-hanging the door properly, tightening up the hardware. It's not exactly the kind of construction he's used to, but he takes to it easily regardless; his entire life has been spent fixing things, basically, and he enjoys it.

Toothless only snorts at the comment, shaking his head rapidly.]

I guess they haven't started fixing things out this way. You could have sent me a message. It's no big deal to come out and do some repairs.

[He pauses in twisting his screwdriver to flash a smile.] Yeah! He's a good friend. Toothless likes to play with Greg anyway, so we get together sometimes.

[francel has to check. fortunately, the communications pocketwatch serves as an actual watch, so he's able to check the time. he frowns.]

It's four in the afternoon. You'd be due for a late lunch, or a very early dinner, if that is your preference.

[he's willing to be generous, so he adds:]

I could run out and fetch you something to eat, if you're hungry. Or we could go together.

Please don't apologize.

[Because Toothless is a dragon, for one, and probably not beholden to the same social rules and norms, but also and more covertly, because L is kind of grateful that he nudged his way on into his sanctum-slash-tomb. He's been trying, but he comes from a world where trusting the wrong person even a little too much can result in sudden death. And for L, in particular, most people are, in fact, the wrong person.

He's just some guy, here. Linden Tailor, a student, no one special even if he can't really conceal certain idiosyncrasies with ease. But it's an unfamiliar new script for him, one he's never had to maintain for more than a week or two before his quarry has been apprehended and he can fade back into anonymity, delete whatever temporary cardboard front he needed for a phone call, a chance meeting, an opportunity to prove something incriminating when doing so himself was truly the best way.

Being a human being for sustained periods is so much harder, especially without his caretaker or connected network of liaisons he could always call on if he was in trouble. This unimpressive picture is the result of the Great Genius L being cut off from all of it, asked to forge his own identity and find his own success. It's so depressing that without that nudge from Toothless, who knows how much longer he would have been curled up in here?]

I don't know why I didn't think of it.

[He doesn't want to be audacious to the point of assuming they're friends, but Hiccup has been consistently helpful, never demonstrated a dishonorable or malicious motive or tendency. Someone like that would have to be putting on a hell of an act, if that's what this was, and while L knows it's possible, there's just no reason for a Viking from a different plane of reality to want to go to those lengths just to harm him. There's a point at which paranoia is no longer a reasonable precautionary measure, and actually becomes a sign of irrational, unreasonable neuroticism. It's the kind of label L would prefer to avoid if he can, even if much of the damage is likely already done by merit of this sort of scenario. No one would mistake him for being particularly capable in several regards, here. Fortunately, Hiccup isn't the type to take advantage of it, L would give it at least a 95% chance.]

I haven't exactly landed a job, yet... but if you tell me what you normally charge for contracting this kind of task, I'll of course compensate you in a timely manner.

[Another thing L misses: having bottomless coffers to the point where he can pay everyone exorbitantly and exactly on time.]

[L actually has to think, really catch himself, before asking what it really meant to be due for a normal mealtime. Running on an erratic, bizarre schedule dictated by a series of energetic spurts and wrung-out crashes, the clock only matters as far as the business hours of the establishments he needs to access.

But speaking of bodies, and humanity, and requirements and pain... he's been sitting here for a long time, now. The thought of going somewhere presumably by using his legs wakes him up to the fact that they rather ache, that there is a cramp in his thigh and a deep, radiating ache in a lower back that's been hunched forward for hours.]

I wouldn't mind going together, but... please don't feel obligated. It sounds as though you're not hungry yourself at this time.

[He's still coming around to the notion that people don't need reasons to go places together, that it could be sincerely motivated by nothing more than the opportunity to help someone or get to know them better. This delayed epiphany is probably why he's still alone and isolated in a place that encourages bonds, connections, companionship.]

[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.]

Hopefully you will next time! It's really no problem. [He's the helpful sort, and obviously used to a stronger sense of community. It's a little concerning, if he's honest, that Linden didn't ask for any help, and has just been living in this run-down room by himself. If that's what he wants, he can understand that (He himself lives in a run down shack in the woods, that he's willingly helping Keith fix up), but somehow, he doesn't think it is.

It doesn't take him too long to get the door straight again, make sure it's securely hung, and then swing it open and closed a few times to test it. It's still slightly off, so he sets to adjusting it. He looks up, though, when Linden says he hasn't landed a job yet.]

What? Oh, no, no you don't have to pay me for anything. What are friends for, right? [A slight frown, and he gestures to the rest of the room with the screwdriver.] Are you having money problems? Is that why you're not staying somewhere else? Because I've honestly got more money than I need right now, I could loan you some.

[in response, francel shrugs, generously dismissing l's concerns.]

I always have appetite for a bit of lemon cake. Or rolanberry, if that is in stock instead.

[the real concern is not francel's appetite — or waistline — but his wallet. chronic pain has left him unable to work; his coinpurse will realistically have to last him another few weeks. still, surely he'll be able to afford a quick meal for "linden tailor" and himself? he isn't that pressed for funds at the moment...]

Ah, but we needn't frequent a patisserie if that isn't to your taste. What do you prefer to eat?

[There's a moment where L might be waiting for something heavy and dangerous to drop, because surely it can't be that easy, can it? No one is just that nice unless they want something in return. L understood that when he was as young as five, and the man who came to treat him like a son noticed what he could do foremost, how they could work together and benefit from each others' skill sets and resources.

He blinks at Hiccup's use of the word "friend," and after a beat, he decides to draw closer.]

I... guess I can't argue with that.

[It would be really unwise to, if Hiccup really does consider them friends.]

I appreciate your offer, but in truth... I'd rather have a job. I'm getting restless, doing nothing but studying at the Coven and bringing library books back here. I don't think I've ever gone this long without being a lot more productive. How did you find yours?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 3

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

C

no subject

b.

a

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject