Event Log: January, Return to Dorchacht

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Return to Dorchacht

I. A Tarnished Reality The teleporter to Dorchacht becomes operational by the 4th and the ambassadors return to their city with the first open, ceremonial operation of the device - along with any Mirrorbound who wish to join them, and Theodore Rosethorne and Sowilo, who make the trip as representatives of the Coven to ensure that all is well. Those who missed the first teleportation, never fear! Now that both waypoints are functional, Mirrorbound and others may travel freely between Aefenglom and Dorchacht at any point they choose to. Notably absent from the group, though - most of the Dorchacht refugees originally smuggled into Aefenglom. Only three or four are going back with the ambassadors, and they're primarily Witches. The rest have chosen to stay. Upon return to Dorchacht, it's obvious that some major changes have been made with the new regime. The sky is overcast, but it's merely fault of the weather at this time of year - the oppressive fog that used to hang over the Black City is gone, along with its effects on the natural lunar cycle. The auction blocks, damaged in the fires of the event the locals now call "The Rising", have been fully torn down, not a trace of them left to sully the streets. Where the triple stars of the Resistance used to be worn in secret, a majority of citizens now bear them openly (and in many cases, proudly) on pins and on clothing. In fact, any Witches who do not display the triple stars on their person somewhere, are generally regarded with suspicion, disgust, or fear unless they're recognized as Mirrorbound Witches - careful not to be mistaken for a Drummond sympathizer. The Monster citizens won't be outwardly cruel to any Witches, but will be somewhat fearful, hurrying their children along or crossing the street to get away. Recognizable Mirrorbound, those who were there during The Rising and before, are treated a bit like celebrities on the streets, though any Mirrorbound are given a warm welcome, albeit a little less warm for Witches. Storytellers share tales of how diplomats treating one another, Witches and Monsters alike, as equals so publicly and openly within Dorchacht gave them hope that such a life is attainable, or how a band of Mirrorbound snuck into the city under the cover of darkness and helped give their Resistance a leg up in the good fight against Drummond's extremists. Others share stories of being rescued from burning buildings or cruel Witches during The Rising by brave heroes. Many of these tales are shared in the form of song, as homage to those Mirrorbound who brought hopeful music to Dorchacht through the radio, which is still operational and playing a selection of music with a little more variety. Still a bit soft, their speakers and songs are, but as time passes, they grow a little more experimental, branching out from the lullabies that used to be played. Overall, the Black City is much less black these days, a little greener and brighter from the plants left by Mirrorbound before. Where the old Dorchacht could take your breath away with its feeling of barred oppression, many of those barricaded windows have been opened, reinforcements on the doors broken down. Though things are never perfect after a revolution, and it's clear that the work continues. Armed Resistance guards patrol the streets in trios, normally two Monsters and a Witch, to keep the peace. Their first priority is the protection of Monsters, many of whom still seem anxious and scared as they go about their days - not of the guards themselves, who they often greet with smiles, but of the Witches and humans they pass on the streets. In some cases, keeping the peace means breaking up fights between their own and those humans and Witches who do not want to accept Monsters as their equals, and in some cases it means putting Drummond sympathizers in their places with intimidation and force. While they do their best to keep skirmishes out of Mirrorbound sight, it's clear that despite the improvements, Dorchacht is still no utopia, and the road to a true peace is fraught with speedbumps. As noted, characters are free to travel between Aefenglom and Dorchacht by teleporter as often as they'd like! The waypoints will remain open even after this month and travel will be unrestricted; we will note if this situation changes in the future. Dorchacht quests are also now available ICly!

II. A Few Alterations a. The Coven Major changes are still underway. One of the biggest that Mirrorbound will notice is that the new administration of Dorchacht have moved the Coven. The old building is in a state of disrepair right now, doors and windows wide open, the interior stripped of trappings. The library has shed its books to somewhere else. The basement where so many horrors took place is abandoned. Instead, a sign has been erected outside it, stating that this center of Drummond's operations will be turned into a museum to remember their unpleasant history, and to memorialize those who lost their lives fighting for freedom. It's still a work in progress, and not high on the priority list when survival and care of the citizens have to take precedence, but inside, characters may still find small shrines set up in various places to Resistance members who died there. Instead, Dorchacht's new Coven is currently based inside an old manor located just a handful of blocks from the town square, and it's a much more informal affair. Magic lessons have continued with Resistance Witches, though the subject matter has changed instead. They experiment with different types of magic based on their own interests, but many are studying plant magic, medicine, and defensive spells that can be used out in the Wilde. Anything that will prove to be practical going forward. Lessons are also open to Monsters now, so they can see what their magical brethren are learning (and know that the compulsion and control spells that Morgana loved so much are no longer being taught). With the Coven being moved, visitors from Aefenglom are offered places to stay either within the manor of the new Coven, or in various empty houses around the city. Stay as long as you'd like, they say, and apologize that the accommodations aren't nicer - reconstruction is still obviously ongoing all over the city, repairing damages from The Rising and the fighting that happened afterward. They don't really have anywhere as nice as the rooms their ambassadors were given in Aefenglom. b. The Walls One of the biggest on-going projects in Dorchacht right now is removing the Monster control spells from the set of enchantments on their city walls. High on the list of priorities is making sure that Monsters can feel safe again, secure in their own minds and bodies. As the spells are made visible, particular sets of runes have to be ground down and smoothed over. A spell is either cast or provided to soften the stone temporarily, and then it's basically going at it with magitech-powered sanders created by Hilda. The particular runes that need to be gotten rid of will be provided on reference sheets - please don't touch the others, they chide! Those are to protect from the Cwyld, and are still very important. While help is welcomed with open arms and enthusiasm at most sections of the walls, those guards posted at one particular small district, guarded with trios of Resistance members at each entrance and warded with alarm magic to warn of escape, turn Mirrorbound away; these runes are being altered, not removed, to help contain unruly Drummond loyalists, they say. The people who now live in that guarded district are all human, whether they're Witches or no, and all refuse to bear the triple stars. "Troublemakers," the guards will explain grimly. "We have to contain them for now. It isn't a perfect solution, but they've hurt people, or tried to hurt people, since Drummond was run out of town." c. Bond Lessons Bonding is a bit of a tricky subject in the new Dorchacht. Many Monsters are afraid of the idea, as it was once used as one of the collars around their necks, but the Circle of Three recognize it as an important way to wean citizens off the lullabies and calming draughts that prevent going feral during full moons. As part of encouraging others to form Bonds, partnerships at the very least the way most Resistance members describe theirs, there are demonstrations and public seminars that pop up around Dorchacht on the regular. They may be as informal as a circle in what's going to be a park or as official-seeming as a talk held inside a shop or lecture hall, but they have one thing in common. Many of the citizens are keen on getting Mirrorbound in on it -- mostly by dragging them in, asking if they have a Bonded, and if they do, they tell the Mirrorbound to talk about their Bonded. They're interested in the ups and downs (but mostly ups) of having one in order to show that if the Mirrorbound are into it, you should be too! They accept all stories but prefer the happy ones - the aim is to encourage their Monster citizens and help them be less afraid of taking that step with Witches. And for those who aren't in a Bond, or decline to talk -- well, they get what amounts to a "flour sack baby" in the form of a Dorchacht citizen of the opposite role of their own (a Monster would receive a human/Witch, a Witch would receive a Monster) that they must hang with for a day, ensuring no harm comes to them, bound by one of the temporary Bonding potions so popular in the Wilders' ranks. (As a note, for the second option, you have free reign of the NPC; do the personalities you find fun, be they cooperative or mischievous, shy or loud, abrasive to your character or someone they can genuinely get along with. They are all willing - no one is being forced into this. No Fae or Dragons allowed for Monster NPCs, unfortunately, as they are still very much not about.)

III. Ahoy Mateys! With Dorchacht opening up again after the last few months of closed off internal fighting, plenty of trading ships' Captains are ready and raring to go build business relations with the new regime and find a new market for some of their wares. There has been increased interest in finding a shorter route to Dorchacht by sea - the teleporter is useful for small groups of people, sure, but it can't handle much cargo. The only problem? Ships are being turned back, barely halfway there, with significant damage to their hulls. Brave individuals looking for a seafaring adventure are asked to come aboard and help the crew navigate tumultuous waters, hopefully figuring out along the way what's causing the damage to previous ships. It's a three day trip to Dorchacht if the waters are kind, and characters can simply teleport back home once there. On board the various ships brave enough to return to the sea, Mirrorbound find the problem halfway through the trip: a colossal squid that's made it home at this point, thrashing ships that come too close to its den. While uninfected, it does have injuries on its body, which may be the source of its lashing out. The ships are able to bring themselves close enough for longer ranged attacks, and the Harpy on board are careful not to be captured by the churning waves caused by the thrashing, but there's others who want to seek a less violent mean to end this surf and turf conflict. Killing, healing, subduing, or relocating it are all valid options, but getting in close to do any of those will be difficult, as it has a tendency to ink up the waters around it and reduce visibility to nothing. Be careful of any creatures swimming around that are interested in the weakened squid as well, such as various carnivorous fish, sea-plants, and things that appear alike to Merrow, but rely only on instinct. The Merrow cannot be spoken to, nor are they infected; the Captains of the ships will explain that they're "wild", and refer to them as distant cousins to the Merrow that sparsely populate Aefenglom itself.

IV. Back At Home Back in Aefenglom, the stir caused by the Circle of Three's arrival takes time to calm. It's the talk of the town for days - many seem happy about Morgana Drummond's apparent demise. "Good for them," is the general sentiment in the residential areas more populated by Monsters and the Harbor District. They're glad to know that things are on the way up there. Others think this is a boon; should anything happen, now Aefenglom has an ally city to stand with them, one in their debt. Others still don't really care either way, and go about their lives as if nothing's happened. The refugees, in their neighborhoods on the far reaches of the Haven, seem happy to hear news from home and find The Dragon/Starlight/Fafnir freed, and while a few of them choose to return to Dorchacht, having never put down roots in Aefenglom, more still don't wish to leave the homes and families they've formed here, or the Mirrorbound who have helped them so much over the months. Some even doubt that things are as good as they say, and choose to remain for that reason - slavery and ill treatment from the upper class in Aefenglom instilled in them a sense of (well-earned) paranoia regarding the intentions of Witches, especially those back home. They hear that things have changed, but don't necessarily want to find out for themselves. Even still, the mood is upbeat, with a general consensus that if Morgana is really gone, that's at least a solid step in the right direction. In the Aristocratic District, though, the atmosphere is sour. The general sentiment is that they wish the refugees would have left with those ambassadors. The kinder ones think Aefenglom should focus on its own citizens - the people from the Outer City brought in to weather the blizzard have never left, after all, still living in the neighborhoods with the refugees. Those who are more vocally outspoken about the Mirrorbounds' presence in the city think they should have all left to Dorchacht. Let another city shoulder all the misfortune they bring with them! Many of the people grumbling about that are ones who were directly affected by the Mists back in October, either through temporary changes themselves or through being attacked by ferals. Some of the more hot-headed young people try to spread this message - through graffiti, on homes and businesses in the Haven and the refugees' district, though if caught, they're quick to run away and not willing to enter into a confrontation. The graffiti is wholly mundane and not particularly difficult to remove, just unpleasant, telling Mirrorbound and refugees alike to "go home" or "go back to Dorchacht", in so much colorful language. Seems there's still some work to do at home, as well.

Welcome to your establishing post for the current situation in Dorchacht! This log takes place through the entire month; characters can come and go as they please. As always, you can direct all your questions HERE. This month we're also putting up a City Tracker for PC actions, both in Aefenglom's plot later on and Dorchacht's log here. Let us know what your character is doing, good or bad! The cut-off for the tracker is February 3rd.

Comments

[hearthebell]

[L raises the glass to his lips, ready to undo the fleeting wholesomeness of the eggs with a taste of acrid oblivion. He stops mid-sip at Mello's question, and further explanation of it, turning it counterclockwise in his thin hands.]

I would. That was true even before we Bonded.

[He doesn't say that he had grieved A, and B. Would grieve Light, should he pass before L (though he clearly had not.]

Does that mean the same to you as caring, or feeling affection for you?

[He does not want Mello to walk. In fact, he reaches to turn the tap to lukewarm, noticing the steam, feeling the burn through their Bond.

[onamissile]

[There's nothing affectionate in that, no. Only a sense of responsibility on L's part that would be expected of anyone rational in his position. Mello doesn't know whether he wants affection — probably doesn't — and caring is something reserved for a life the two of them haven't lived.]

No.

[He answers simply, and he won't look L in the eye when he says it. Wants nothing to do with the rejected intimacy, here. Whether or not it was initiated on Mello's part in any way is up in the air, but he moves away from the sink, opting to go to the freezer for some ice to add to the cognac.]

You're reading too much into this, [He lies, because what else can Mello do?] and I think that your suspicions of my intentions are making you assume paranoid things.

[Lies mixed with truths; Mello's never been noble.]

[hearthebell]

[L really doesn't believe that he's reading too much into the situation. He also knows that Mello's aversion to losing face goes beyond what most people could live with, so he's willing to let the boy have this one. Much the way he'd put his mouth on Mello, when the boy all but begged for sexual contact, but never removed his own pants.

He wonders, distantly, if that "four or five percent" will involve more of the same, or if Mello is too proud to ever ask again, drunk or sober.]

What things?

[Because he's genuinely curious, about how Mello is going to try to turn this around on him.]

[onamissile]

That I'll do something reckless to hurt you.

[Item one: Mello has already accomplished this, though L hid it from him until he was forced to take on a Monster Bond to alleviate oncoming death, only to have his other Bonded confront Mello as though either of them stood a chance.]

Or that my intentions aren't pure. [Item two: no. His intentions aren't pure. He will, however, always put L above all else. Doesn't his mentor see? Doesn't he know.]

And you think I'll turn on you. No. [No.] You think you know I'll turn on you.

[A half shrug before another sip. Mello's already convinced himself of these things. Long ago.]

Am I wrong?

[hearthebell]

[It's only paranoia, truly, if one has no rational reason to believe the things they do. What's difficult is what Mello realizes, himself: L has reason, and experience, and proof.

And also, yes, some kind of obligation. If Mello were to handle him roughly and shatter him, L suspects that he would be mourned as a treasured possession like the rosary around Mello's neck.]

It's more complicated than "right" and "wrong." Every action and reaction in this world has a reason, and... I would hope that the same is true for that loyalty.

[That it goes beyond, merely, "you are L, therefore I listen and obey.]

I don't want blind faith from you. I want to know that I'm safe with you when I am truly and honestly lost.

[onamissile]

[While Mello's definition of safety is killing anything that would harm the person he's protecting: he can agree to it. Is astonished L wouldn't assume it straight away, honestly. That night in his bed was a fluke; L was weak, Mello was drunk and horny from too-close contact with a woman who put every other female in that place to shame, and he wanted a comfort that he didn't realize — at the time — L doesn't have to give.]

[But he knows it now. Fuck if he doesn't know it now.]

I'll tell you to trust me, and you might say you'll make an attempt based on my actions.

[That's just the way these things play out.]

But you won't until I prove it, and the only way I can do that is if you give me time.

[And there goes the rest of that glass.]

And patience. I never thought we'd end up like this; it's not the dynamic I'd imagined when I daydreamed of you still being alive somewhere.

[Grim.]

It was different, yea. Business. You were my teacher.

[hearthebell]

[L mimics Mello, raising his own glass, but sipping at it rather than throwing it back. Everything he does is a perfect balance between cautious and reckless... or, occasionally, a swinging pendulum that cuts to either extreme, and then slices back again.]

Time and patience, I can manage. If you can do the same, it can be business again. And I, a teacher. If that's what you truly want.

[onamissile]

[Whether or not Mello believes he can be patient, that most likely won't be the case. No one accomplishes anything waiting for things to happen. Constant action on his part is necessary; Mello creates and carves the path he chooses. A glance at the bottle — he really shouldn't.]

[But he will. And he does. Just a half-glass, this time. Not that it matters this far in.]

No, that's not what it'll be. [He slaps the bottle down a bit too hard after pouring.] You're not the person I imagined.

[He means no offense, really.]

Kids' minds, they're simple, yea. [Yeah.] I didn't take reality into account; you were always the same as you were the night I met you.

[But.]

That's not you. That was a version of you. Or I was too young to care about what lied beneath the surface.

[hearthebell]

[It matters all the more, this far in. Mello's going to be on the floor when this amount of liquor inevitably snowballs in his system.

L's not sure what's appropriate to interject, here, if anything at all. A reassurance? That he is that person, perhaps, though he's not? Should he take it as a threat, that someone who has spent his life clawing smooth marble to ascend has realized that he can just topple the statue? Is an apology in order, for that perception, for everything...?]

Children's minds are powerful.

[He corrects Mello quietly.]

They're adaptive, flexible, and passionate. They are piercingly insightful and feel emotions in their rawest forms. Only their motivations are actually simple, because a child's only real job is to grow up.

[Always. Except for L, whose motivation remains simple in even the most complex games. Win. If that was all Mello wanted, too, it could spare him so much pain. But with L as the hazily-defined conquest, what does winning even mean?]

You made it, didn't you? You chose a path and found your own way. After you forfeited the title to Near, you shouldn't have thought about it, or me, ever again.

[onamissile]

[Powerful. Yeah. Powerful enough to send him storming out on his own when he was almost fifteen with no discernible plan. Mello operated on pure rage and overconfidence, and his motivation wasn't to grow up, no. He'd already thought himself an adult back then, hadn't he? He eyes L levelly with another copious sip — maybe he'll end up on the floor, maybe he won't — and the t'ch he gives in response is his way of telling his Bonded that Mello is well-aware that L is talking him up to de-escalate a potentially rising situation.]

I didn't forfeit it to give up on my mission.

[Bitter, clipped.]

I gave it up to complete it; N would've held me back. I had to — have to — take Kira down for what he's done. If I erase you, it means nothing.

[It's hollow. An empty victory for power. No, Mello doesn't want that. At least he thinks he doesn't. He wants the satisfaction of knowing that someone slighted his mentor and lost eight fingers before losing his life. He wants the type of victory that comes with recognition of accomplishment, even if it was from a dead idol who couldn't have possibly granted it.]

[And Mello? Still feels emotions in their rawest forms — perhaps he hasn't quite grown up yet — hard enough to give off an air to anyone who would be too receptive to his emotional state. Like his Bonded. Like now, when frustration overwhelms the need to comfort; L will always reject his attempts, won't he?]

Your doe.

[The bastard.]

Said something to me that I dismissed immediately, but I'm wondering if he was right.

[He licks his lips]

About you needing care, and we needed to offer it to you as your Bonded. [He glances up at the ceiling, now.] Are you that helpless?

[hearthebell]

[Such a reckless thing; Mello always has been. L stays the impulse to push the poison he picked away from his lips, because after the things he’s saying, doubtless not even grazing what goes unsaid, perhaps a drunken stupor is a mercy. Perhaps L will seek it himself when he’s sure he can stare into the abyss alone.

His expression is difficult to parse, though it’s far from his typical poker face. There’s conflict and uncertainty in it, questions he never got an answer to from his own mentor figure.

Pride and reality quarrel for a spell. If Mello is still blind to the latter, can L lie and get away with it? Or is the truth something Mello is more attuned to as a drunk?

There is no easy or perfect answer. Mello has judged him to be deficient, based on Myr’s plea and his own observations. L, as a human without his shields and screens and handlers, really is so very disappointing, isn’t he? Ergo, that is the true reason he can’t go back to being the magical, grand thing immortalized in a child’s golden memory.]

Listen.

[Lean close; he won’t speak more loudly.]

I don’t say this out loud, and I won’t again. The world that made us, like this one, relies on balance. Every gift comes with a price. Every moment you spend studying one subject comes at the expense of another. Every choice you make closes infinite opportunities to you forever. You know this, but you aren’t special that way.

[Now he does take the bottle from Mello, eyes narrowed and lightless.]

If I’m helpless, it’s no more than anyone else is.

[And Mello has seen the gift L possesses, that flawless star system that spits out numbers and churns through possibilities faster than light cuts through space. Its only real weakness is that a human being is connected to it, and occasionally comes close to following the distant calls of sirens or stars or bells.]

[onamissile]

[There it is: a pride that Mello can preen over. L should be stubborn and strong, should be offended by the idea that he's anything close to weak. The Doe was wrong; Mello knew it then as he knows it now. What his mentor is currently experiencing is a natural chain of psychological events which occurs when one person loses another they'd considered a partner. M knows this, can cope with it and not look down upon his idol for it.]

[It's temporary. It's all so temporary.]

[His head is almost spinning, but he pinches another piece of bacon from the plate between two fingers and bites into it, chewing as he contemplates his response. L's pride is an intimate thing, spoken low over smoky cognac, and Mello can only listen with rapt attention.]

I'm insulting you.

[Thoughtful, distracted. Mello has pushed himself up on the counter, legs dangling over cupboards. His eyes are lazy and contemplative — glossy, faded blue — and when he takes his next sip, it's significantly smaller than the last. He raises them to properly assess his Bonded — frail, powerful thing — and the look L receives is nothing short of that of a child in awe.]

Even this, it's insulting. [The food, the doting.]

Why won't you tell me as much?

[hearthebell]

[Mello is reading it exactly half-right, as one might expect from an individual who is half-L. Because L never said he wasn't helpless, just that everyone else was just as helpless in different ways, and to different degrees. But L communicates obtusely, and one has to be listening carefully and without agenda to catch some of the subtler things. Endlessly frustrating, surely, to Mello, if he were told in such terms.

But for now, it seems to suffice. The facade can hold up for just a little longer, and maybe L can limp on as some semblance of adequate in his successor's admiring and highly critical eye.]

You see it that way? As an insult?

[His tone is hollow, aloof.]

It's something I don't have to think about, at least for a little while. Nothing more or less.

[onamissile]

[Yea, it's insulting. And L is being stubborn — something Mello admires with all of his pride — blowing it off like it's nothing when it's something causing visible distress outwardly with every word, every action.]

[Mello doesn't understand. His only loss was L. He doesn't remember his parents (mostly) and refused to form an attachment to anyone else after the fact. Except for one: they won't speak on him. Ever.]

I know what it feels like, [He confesses in a low, defeated tone.] You've a hole in your chest, and you're reaching out for something that's not there. Will never be there again. [He takes a small breath. Considers his confession.]

Your stomach is burning; everything seems fruitless.

[With a furrow of his brow, he hops down off of the counter. Reaches across to rest a hand on the side of L's head. Mello's never been any good at comfort, but he's making an attempt.]

It fades.

[No, it absolutely doesn't.]

You feel like you're dying. [How Mello has felt since he was fourteen. Even now.] You're not. You've got your Doe. [Pause] And me.

[Gripping at the mess of dark hair just a bit when he speaks.]

I don't know what I am to you. [And there's the cognac speaking.] But you're the only thing in this fucking world that matters to me. [Even now, Mello knows this confession is absurd.]

I won't let you hurt. You don't deserve it.

[Especially over someone who was essentially a machine]

Tell me what you need.

[And Mello will oblige. Because he's weak where L is concerned.]

[hearthebell]

[This time, Mello's significantly more than just half-right, and it hits significantly closer to home. So much so that it's uncomfortable, and L's instinct is to withdraw... but Mello won't just let him have that, now. That becomes increasingly clearer as the younger man cages his him, first with a near-caress to the cheek and then by knotting his fingers in hair that is far too tangled to extract from, quickly. L doesn't comb it without the SQUIP; it simply doesn't occur to him.

Nor does a specific title for what Mello actually is, to L. He doesn't know, either... because there was nothing quite like the arrangement in their world, with a mentor at arm's length and children who idolized the idea of someone who was above the law, and common debasing human urges and laws. If they knew, intellectually, that L was a human compromised of flesh and blood, it was at odds with their emotional reactions to him, with one white-haired exception, of course.

He wants to pull away from this, because what he needs is Watari, or the SQUIP before the catastrophe, someone who could help him maintain the illusion that he himself knew what he needed. Things were simpler, with people like them around; communicating wasn't essential, the shame that came with admitting deficiency discreetly swept up like so many broken bits of glass.

If you would ask me what I need, and believe what I tell you... that is, itself, a problem. Because he's such a child; what he genuinely believes his needs to be are absurd and nonessential. Left to his own devices his health would in fact deteriorate rapidly, a lack of nutritious food and sleeplessness overtaking him and resulting in a spectacular crash, one of which Mello has already witnessed the aftermath of.

He holds Mello's gaze, though it's difficult.]

If you don't think that I should hurt... there are potions.

[Pills].

You could probably help with that.

[Because a substance is easier than speaking frankly, committing to what's mundane and overwhelming. If L can dull his senses and silence the noise that's agitating Mello so much, it really solves both of their problems.]

[onamissile]

[The dead stare L receives in return is enough to weight holes into stone; Mello is offering anything — everything — he has. And his idol wants drugs. Granted, it's the easy route; Mello knows that much. Numb it all, block it out until it doesn't exist. It's why he's on his nth glass of cognac, isn't it?]

[And there's no point in pretending he can't get anything. Playing stupid would only paint him a liar, and what they both need right now is trust. While M doesn't personally indulge in "potions," they're readily available not far from his harbor-side flat, and if this is what L needs — ]

[Doesn't matter that he's potentially being used. Didn't he just offer himself up for just that? A slow, elongated exhale when he drops his hand away from his Bonded, assesses him with glassy eyes.]

You want me to get you high.

[They should call it what it is, yea?]

[Oh, they all fall so far. Don't they.]

Think you're being a bit reckless?

[It's definitely not a no. Only a challenge against L's current way of thinking. He wants to shut down; Mello knows. Is that really for the best?]

[hearthebell]

[L's answering stare is blank and calm; he's in a state of numb acceptance that this is in fact the correct course of action to take under the circumstances. If the machine isn't working, and neither of them know how to fix it, pulling the plug might be the right answer. Maybe that's what peace means, and don't both of them deserve it, if so?]

You asked what I needed, and you asked me to trust you. Is it too much...?

[If any part of Mello is fundamentally balking at the idea, or the risks involved, L wouldn't blame him. He'd also never expect him to admit it.]

[onamissile]

[L has a way of twisting Mello's words and intentions in order to get exactly what he wants, doesn't he? His successor lets out a little huff at the rhetorical question; of course it's not too much. Does he think Mello so incompetent?]

[Pride will do funny things. Like prevent Mello from pressing the subject. L wants drugs so he doesn't have to mourn a lover? Fine. People have done more for less, and Mello drains his glass, pushes the bottle closer to his idol without a word.]

[Then he's slipping on his coat and boots, running his fingers through pale hair before tying it into a tail at his nape. It's grown since arriving here, just an inch or two. Enough for it to be in his face, and he's taken to wearing it pulled back. The swiftness with which he snatches the key from the counter denotes annoyance, but he's got nothing left to say.]

[Actions have always spoken louder than words.]

[When he returns two hours later, he's visibly more off his head than when he left. His connections are slim and not what he would consider trustworthy; it was only natural to test the product before bringing something potentially deadly home to his Bonded. He slips through the door without a word, closing and locking it behind him. L might note that his movements are more languid, relaxed. There's a slight droop to his eyelids that has replaced the glassiness from the cognac; that has worn off to the end of a headache. A throbbing around his temples, and Mello rubs at his forehead before going into his pocket to deliver what L asked.]

You're paying next time.

[Cantankerous thing that he is. The amount and potency he obtained didn't come cheap, and there's no way anyone could sustain a habit like this on a tavern income, even if Mello gets his cash on the side.]

[He withdraws two glass bottles filled with small, pressed powder. Pills in this area come in the form of bringing the loose contents to something of a pharmacist who then pressed them down for him to obtain desired potency per dose. Which was an extra charge.]

The brown ones are derived from Valerian root with other herbal elements; it's essentially the equivalent of a benzodiazepine from home. [He shakes the bottle.] It's much stronger.

[The next bottle he presents: the pills are much smaller, pure yellow in color.] Derived from Poppies. Don't think I need to explain these.

[Mello sets them down, head positively spinning from the combination of the two on top of a day's worth of drinking.] Don't take them together.

[Because right now? He's not feeling so great.]

[hearthebell]

[The last thing Mello will see before departing the apartment is L pouring himself another half glass of cognac. Drinking alone is easier; no one's there to see him wince at the way the alcohol still goes down stinging and bitter no matter how much he's had, or how much he wants oblivion.

When Mello returns, L's sitting cross-legged on the couch, drying his hair with a towel, because apparently, he's taken another shower. He immediately notices that Mello seems off, and it isn't much of a challenge to guess why. It's touching, in a way, that he would offer himself up as a guinea pig to make sure that he wasn't delivering poison into the hands of his mentor.

He listens to the explanation, watches Mello set them down, and moves aside on the couch. He has the distinct feeling that Mello may need to take an abrupt seat, because he isn't feeling great, is he?]

...noted.

[Just how potent are these? He doesn't take his eyes off the younger man.]

If you'll sit down... I have cash in my shoes. I can reimburse you now.

[They're right there by the door. Easy enough to balance this out on at least one scale.]

Sorry for the late pop in!

[sing_for_me]

[ It was one of those days when Alex thought that checking on M might be a good idea. Considering how he was the last time she saw him, a while back as that might have been, it could be hard to tell how he really was with how the young man kept things to himself. At the tavern he worked as usual, sharp and charming to the customers. His interactions with her seemed to go back to normal, or so she hoped. Alex wasn't sure if she the awkward tensions she felt was because of her own consciousness around him now. The things he said and brought up in their last talk shifted things. But that wasn't enough to deter her from being concerned about M.

She can hear a door shutting as she approaches, and she wonders if he might have just gotten home. As she gets to the front of his home, she knocks. ]

M? Are you home?

yaaaaay hiiiiii

[onamissile]

[The knock jolts Mello out of his temporary zone; he's leaning against the kitchen counter, considering the ramifications of L's offer to sit near him. Honestly, all he wants to do right now is vomit up the contents of his stomach. But the pills have already reached his bloodstream, as has the alcohol, and nothing will do him much good. Only time.]

Fuck, [he mutters at the voice. He'd intended for them to meet, but now? Now? When he's off his head and L is in obvious distress, despite his demeanor. When Mello has been drunk for over a day, high as a kite, and he didn't have the time to explain his and Alex's dynamics to L.]

[Whatever, not like he cares. He can refuse to answer the door, but that would break everything. If Alex is to know him, is to see him more than she already has, she's going to see everything. Isn't she?]

[He throws a half-worried glance at L, brings the pills to the loveseat in order to tuck them into the cushions before heading for the door.]

The girl I told you about, [He throws behind him.] you don't have to tell her anything.

[About anything. Period.]

[With that, he makes his way to the door — unsteady on his feet as he is — and flips the lock. His eyes are sunken, his hair is disheveled, and there's a small chance that Alex might just turn around and leave. Not a good look.]

Hey.

[He greets her when he pulls the door open. Stunning as always. Concerned as always.]

I've —

[Speak up, boy.]

— got a roommate for a little while, yea.

[As though he owes anyone an explanation.]

[But.]

Come in.

[He moves aside to allow her entry. Casts a side-long glance at his mentor.]

[hearthebell]

[L's eyes widen. They can improvise and roll with this, of course, if anyone can... but it certainly makes things more difficult, especially considering that both of them have been drinking, and one of them has been indulging in something a lot harder for testing purposes. He pulls his limbs a bit closer, too long for Mello's clothes, making him appear even more out-of-place and awkward.

They look like they've been doing drugs, or at least drinking to damaging excess. The apartment smells like it would go up in flames if someone lit a match in here, at the very least, and though L's come down from being actually drunk, he's heavy, tired, dizzy and dehydrated; his eyes are also sunken, damp hair also disheveled.]

Hi...

[Because if he just remained completely silent, and truly said nothing about anything, it would be so much weirder and more suspicious. Truly, he is happy that Mello's found someone like Alex, and doesn't want to screw it up for his Bonded successor.]

[sing_for_me]

He--

[ The smell of alcohol hits her nose first, catching her by surprise. His haggard appearance is what she notices next, but before she can express any concern about it, the "roommate" gets her attention. A default reaction to strangers, especially men, her weight shifts more towards M, her head lowering slightly. ]

Hello..

[ She gives him a polite nod, taking a moment to observe him. He almost looked like a ghost, with the way he was curled up in the corner like that, pale-skin, large dark eyes that looked like they could swallow you whole. The clothes he was wearing didn't seem to fit him--were those M's? ]

Is..this a bad time?

[ Alex wasn't entirely sure, but almost as thick as the smell of alcohol was an odd sort of tension in the room. ]

[onamissile]

[The logical side of him knew this was inevitable; the prideful lion in him swore he could prevent it at all costs. While it's not something that threatens his way of life, per se, it's something awkward and inconvenient, and the less they speak about personal issues, the better.]

[Hm?]

No, [He reassures Alex. He would've stepped out into the hall, disheveled thing that he is right now. He would have prevented this encounter at any cost. But it's fine. Everything is fine. At least that's what the pills derived from Valerian are telling him. Mello notices the retraction, the way Alex presents herself in the same manner she presented when he arrived at the tavern for the first time. He scrunches his brow, places a hand on her wrist for... something resembling comfort. He doesn't know. It's always a bad time where he and L are concerned; the realization jolts him more than it should.] You're okay. [He reassures her in more ways than one. If anyone were out to do her harm, Mello would stop them in their tracks.]

This is Linden. [The title which follows is strange on his tongue.] My Bonded.

[He nods towards the counter. None of them should be sober right now; he'll make sure of that with the copious stash he's nicked from the tavern.]

This is Alex.

[He offers L a grave look. Don't fuck this up for me, please.]

We work together at the tavern.

[And that? Is all L needs to know for now.]

[hearthebell]

[L regards Alex with equal wariness; either her demeanor is making him uneasy, or it's simply secondhand uneasiness from the way things always are with Mello. He never wanted the two of them in the same room, not so soon, perhaps not ever, and his agitation is absolutely palpable. L seems to be disengaged from the rest of the room to a certain degree, content for the moment to stay curled on that loveseat and turning his scrawny body into a fortress. Though his presence is off-putting at the best of times, at least it can be said that he does not come across as immediately powerful or threatening. He doesn't fail to catch Mello's look; maybe it would be better if he went somewhere else for a bit and allowed them some time to be alone together.

Never mind that his disastrous solitary exploits are what brought him here in the first place. He glances around for his jacket; what happened to the clothes he brought with them and wedged behind the bathroom door? All thrown out for their filth and otherwise sorry state?]

I understand. That's neat...

[It sounds so incredibly stilted and unnatural. Mello's used to it enough that it doesn't faze him but to someone meeting L for the first time, it scarcely ever fails to draw notice.]

It seems like a good time to go buy some donuts... don't donuts sound good right now?

[He can leave them alone. Perhaps he should, though it's debatable how far he'll get seeming as strung-out and wan as he does.]