[L's vision is gray and fuzzy around the edges as Niles pulls his scrawny, reclined frame out from under the library table. Prone and unwound and dazed, he's aware of Niles taking away his knife, but strangely distant and removed from the experience. His stomach lurches; for a moment, he thinks he'll vomit, and turns his head, but it passes, and he feels pressure as Niles rudimentarily dresses his wound.
His head clears enough to hear what Niles says, and oh, irony can be either sweet or stinging, depending on which side of it one is standing on.
L knows that he's not an imposing man. He realizes that he's willowy and that there isn't much substance to him. Nothing puts it in perspective quite like being tossed over Niles' shoulder like filthy, stale cargo, and what little bits of dignity he retains in this situation rely on him not futilely struggling against this. He won't prevail; heavy-lidded eyes watch the hypnotic motions of Niles' tail as the chimera starts off.]
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His head clears enough to hear what Niles says, and oh, irony can be either sweet or stinging, depending on which side of it one is standing on.
L knows that he's not an imposing man. He realizes that he's willowy and that there isn't much substance to him. Nothing puts it in perspective quite like being tossed over Niles' shoulder like filthy, stale cargo, and what little bits of dignity he retains in this situation rely on him not futilely struggling against this. He won't prevail; heavy-lidded eyes watch the hypnotic motions of Niles' tail as the chimera starts off.]