[While L's expressions can be difficult to read on his excellently cultivated poker face, his powerful moods have a tendency to practically manifest as auras. The temperature of a room can seem to raise or lower; a strange frenetic static seems to come with his agitation, and a weightless, more buoyant energy accompanies his single-minded mania. He moves and speaks quickly, animated, eager, as if there's just more oxygen in the air, and given the atmospheric nature of it, a Bond might well find all of it rather catching.
It's been like that now since they opened the agency. While the cases aren't difficult, feel novice, might as well be shooting fish in a barrel, it's a return to form for someone who has desperately missed a raison d'être. It's not sustainable, of course; the drive will come with a heavy crash later, because L doesn't defy physical limitations as much as will alone can seem to drive him. Everything must balance, and the pendulum must swing back, but for now, he feels invincible.
If he can live, and work, and Bond alongside his murderer, he might as well be, right?
He's still drinking coffee, on his third or fourth cup given the hour. The midnight oil is his favorite to burn, and they're just getting started on the cusp of twilight. Across from Light in an armchair that outsizes his slender frame, he leans forward, nodding his agreement as he sets down his cup for a moment.]
There's no pretending about it; I am interested. You don't have to buy something to find it fascinating.
[He hardly worshiped at the altar of Kira, after all, and yet so much of his life and death were dedicated to understanding the mind of the killer.]
no subject
It's been like that now since they opened the agency. While the cases aren't difficult, feel novice, might as well be shooting fish in a barrel, it's a return to form for someone who has desperately missed a raison d'être. It's not sustainable, of course; the drive will come with a heavy crash later, because L doesn't defy physical limitations as much as will alone can seem to drive him. Everything must balance, and the pendulum must swing back, but for now, he feels invincible.
If he can live, and work, and Bond alongside his murderer, he might as well be, right?
He's still drinking coffee, on his third or fourth cup given the hour. The midnight oil is his favorite to burn, and they're just getting started on the cusp of twilight. Across from Light in an armchair that outsizes his slender frame, he leans forward, nodding his agreement as he sets down his cup for a moment.]
There's no pretending about it; I am interested. You don't have to buy something to find it fascinating.
[He hardly worshiped at the altar of Kira, after all, and yet so much of his life and death were dedicated to understanding the mind of the killer.]