[Though the situation is fraught and complicated in many regards, L speaks the most clearly with his actions. He wouldn't be here like this, permitting this state of prone emotional vulnerability, if he did not believe that they were on the same side. Even when unintended consequences have resulted in tremendous harm, L has never failed to believe as much, and therefore, there is nothing to forgive on Myr's part.
As Myr speaks and L listens, his shaggy hair is a tangled, neglected mess in the faun's fingers. Even when gently handled, little snags and tugs are inevitable, and he weathers them with as much grace as his situation can allow, but only gives a slight nod of consent for Myr to proceed with what simply will not get done, otherwise.
He wants to defend Mello to his other Bonded, insist that it's not like that and that Mello isn't trying to bend anyone's will... but he can't make himself believe it with any amount of mental gymnastics. If he can't convince himself, he won't be able to convince one who, while hopeful, also has a sharply canny and insightful streak. So he lets it rest, for now, perhaps to be revisited, but wouldn't it be a relief, in a way, if they never had to?]
When oblivion is what we come from, and where we're going and spend so much of our time, it makes sense to think of it as the only choice.
[Because, for all the power L has wielded in his life, the mental wattage at his command as well as the sheer number of real-world game pieces on a board he controlled, he's made shockingly few choices on a personal level. His gifts were great enough that to keep them to himself would only be selfish, and when one has no country, parents, home or name, it's easy for "personal matters" to be an insignificant, navel-gazing waste of time that people of less importance concern themselves with. Not only is it an immensely inhuman perspective, but it is largely at the heart of L's conflict with Mello, who wants all of the human connection without any of the frailty or uncertainty or inconvenience.]
The notion of other choices is, in fact, an auspicious start, but... as far as helping goes, you know that you do a lot of that already, don't you?
[And you probably feel, every day, that it's not enough.]
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As Myr speaks and L listens, his shaggy hair is a tangled, neglected mess in the faun's fingers. Even when gently handled, little snags and tugs are inevitable, and he weathers them with as much grace as his situation can allow, but only gives a slight nod of consent for Myr to proceed with what simply will not get done, otherwise.
He wants to defend Mello to his other Bonded, insist that it's not like that and that Mello isn't trying to bend anyone's will... but he can't make himself believe it with any amount of mental gymnastics. If he can't convince himself, he won't be able to convince one who, while hopeful, also has a sharply canny and insightful streak. So he lets it rest, for now, perhaps to be revisited, but wouldn't it be a relief, in a way, if they never had to?]
When oblivion is what we come from, and where we're going and spend so much of our time, it makes sense to think of it as the only choice.
[Because, for all the power L has wielded in his life, the mental wattage at his command as well as the sheer number of real-world game pieces on a board he controlled, he's made shockingly few choices on a personal level. His gifts were great enough that to keep them to himself would only be selfish, and when one has no country, parents, home or name, it's easy for "personal matters" to be an insignificant, navel-gazing waste of time that people of less importance concern themselves with. Not only is it an immensely inhuman perspective, but it is largely at the heart of L's conflict with Mello, who wants all of the human connection without any of the frailty or uncertainty or inconvenience.]
The notion of other choices is, in fact, an auspicious start, but... as far as helping goes, you know that you do a lot of that already, don't you?
[And you probably feel, every day, that it's not enough.]