[The time of year is a strange one. The seasons are about to turn, Samhain is here, and in another world, L had been born on this day. While roughly six months had slipped away between leaving Tokyo, Japan through a reflective guardrail in November, and arriving in Aefenglom in May, he calls it turning twenty-seven. Big-eyed and gawky-framed, he continues to not look his age, but he's seen a grey hair or two. If he squints at the mirror, he can see fine lines starting to form around his eyes. Now that he smiles (and frowns) more, it's happening around his mouth, too. Time and experiences are eroding Mello's effigy, and he wants to think that he's actually better for it.
Some changes are slower. Some things never change. Some things regress like a cassette tape being rewound, or reset like newer technology that only takes the press of a button to kick into motion as though for the first time. L's experienced a bit of it all, lately; in some ways, he needs to continue swimming up and catching glimmers of kindness and hope from one of his Bonded. In other ways, he never left that rooftop, never turned from that guardrail, and can pick up precisely where he left off now that Light Yagami has discovered and interrupted him.
He's still, as ever, not the sort to assume that even those who are fond of him truly want him around. He's skittish about believing it even when the invitation is pointed, personal, and blatant, and though Myr's moon-giddiness had gently pulled at him through the Bond, the promise of merriment sent to many in a hurry at an odd hour had seemed more like an accident. Myr's heart is soft and forgiving, to all sorts of riffraff and trainwrecks, and they'll be alright because they have been before. Some space to sort it out is all it'll take, and Myr will spend the evening doing the kind of drinking that leaves one happier, with the sorts of people that will only burden him with a song or a romp. What's heavy and somber will remain, when the cold morning brings Noveuer with it.
In the meantime, L's had an evening that was equal parts somber and gently festive. Light is an attentive pupil when it comes to his studies, but also when it comes to L himself, and he had thought through his strategy, considered his approach, earned a few real smiles from a pale face that's one year older, and still familiar.
The night's young enough while still being late, and there are times when L looks across the table at Light, or at a wrist he grew too accustomed to seeing in a cuff, and forgets for a moment that there are two minds in this Bond. They groove together naturally, work like some seamless machine, picking up where the other left off and complementing respective strengths and weaknesses. It turns out that's possible, when they're not trying to reveal and exploit the chinks in each other's armor; it turns out it's pleasant, as much as L revels in the game.
Still, his feet take him outside, seeking distance for the sole sake of finding perspective. What he likes is rarely what he believes he deserves, and in his Bond with Light, he seems to have found both. It's like the full moon overhead, untouched by any speck or crescent, but when he steps out in his shirtsleeves, it wanes just a bit. He has himself again, just a bit darker and emptier, useful, at least, for considering and recording the events and conversations of the last few hours, writing them in a slightly different voice and a lens that is, singularly, his own.
Pumpkins? It's a bit silly, isn't it?
But somehow
It's nice that you thought of this
No one ever has.
There's a shift again. The moon has all his attention, too bright, almost like--
...oh.
If he hadn't felt the Bond, felt his chosen name that's carved out a new life for him here before seeing Myr's changed, larger form, he might find it alarming when it followed the approaching sound of those hooves.]
...Myr.
[Not a question. Still a surprise, apparent in his voice.]
...Happy Samhain. You're... having a happy one?
[Wary, uncertain. He'd filled himself to the brim, to drowning with his other Bond tonight to edge out the heavy dark that has no place in a revelry. Had he found a way for it to spoil things for Myr, anyway?
He takes a stiff, careful step toward the white stag that's grown at least to a moose's size, reaching thin fingers toward his nose.]
no subject
Some changes are slower. Some things never change. Some things regress like a cassette tape being rewound, or reset like newer technology that only takes the press of a button to kick into motion as though for the first time. L's experienced a bit of it all, lately; in some ways, he needs to continue swimming up and catching glimmers of kindness and hope from one of his Bonded. In other ways, he never left that rooftop, never turned from that guardrail, and can pick up precisely where he left off now that Light Yagami has discovered and interrupted him.
He's still, as ever, not the sort to assume that even those who are fond of him truly want him around. He's skittish about believing it even when the invitation is pointed, personal, and blatant, and though Myr's moon-giddiness had gently pulled at him through the Bond, the promise of merriment sent to many in a hurry at an odd hour had seemed more like an accident. Myr's heart is soft and forgiving, to all sorts of riffraff and trainwrecks, and they'll be alright because they have been before. Some space to sort it out is all it'll take, and Myr will spend the evening doing the kind of drinking that leaves one happier, with the sorts of people that will only burden him with a song or a romp. What's heavy and somber will remain, when the cold morning brings Noveuer with it.
In the meantime, L's had an evening that was equal parts somber and gently festive. Light is an attentive pupil when it comes to his studies, but also when it comes to L himself, and he had thought through his strategy, considered his approach, earned a few real smiles from a pale face that's one year older, and still familiar.
The night's young enough while still being late, and there are times when L looks across the table at Light, or at a wrist he grew too accustomed to seeing in a cuff, and forgets for a moment that there are two minds in this Bond. They groove together naturally, work like some seamless machine, picking up where the other left off and complementing respective strengths and weaknesses. It turns out that's possible, when they're not trying to reveal and exploit the chinks in each other's armor; it turns out it's pleasant, as much as L revels in the game.
Still, his feet take him outside, seeking distance for the sole sake of finding perspective. What he likes is rarely what he believes he deserves, and in his Bond with Light, he seems to have found both. It's like the full moon overhead, untouched by any speck or crescent, but when he steps out in his shirtsleeves, it wanes just a bit. He has himself again, just a bit darker and emptier, useful, at least, for considering and recording the events and conversations of the last few hours, writing them in a slightly different voice and a lens that is, singularly, his own.
Pumpkins? It's a bit silly, isn't it?
But somehow
It's nice that you thought of this
No one ever has.
There's a shift again. The moon has all his attention, too bright, almost like--
...oh.
If he hadn't felt the Bond, felt his chosen name that's carved out a new life for him here before seeing Myr's changed, larger form, he might find it alarming when it followed the approaching sound of those hooves.]
...Myr.
[Not a question. Still a surprise, apparent in his voice.]
...Happy Samhain. You're... having a happy one?
[Wary, uncertain. He'd filled himself to the brim, to drowning with his other Bond tonight to edge out the heavy dark that has no place in a revelry. Had he found a way for it to spoil things for Myr, anyway?
He takes a stiff, careful step toward the white stag that's grown at least to a moose's size, reaching thin fingers toward his nose.]
You could still have a happy one.