siafukira: ([ by her long cool stare and her silence)
siafukira ([personal profile] siafukira) wrote2010-08-14 04:00 am
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As usual, Light is sitting in the kitchen, with a plate and a journal before him. Not quite as usually, he's neglecting both of them. He stares through the paper like he doesn't see it, and he's letting the little mound of cabbage cool.

What's wrong with him today? - well, he knows what's wrong with him, and he doesn't like it.

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
As soon as L appears in the hall, his eyes snap open, and a split second after that, he's on his feet, narrowed eyes darting around as he pats himself down for his wallet, his ID, his gun. All there. He draws the gun and ejects the magazine, which produces a click that's not terribly loud, but still a good bit louder than he'd like. A necessary evil. Sparing a glance down, he sees all his ammunition is in place, and shoves the magazine back into the grip with a slight frown.

He doesn't feel drugged, although he could have used more sleep. His gun's been either very cleverly sabotaged or left completely intact. But he has no idea where he is, or how he got here.

Why he might be have been brought here, though... that's a different monster entirely. Barefoot, in dark jeans and a ratty grey t-shirt, he stares into the hall, watching for any sign of movement.
Edited 2010-08-14 03:18 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
Light doesn't miss a thing, not even when he's lugubriously examining himself - and others - for failure modes. Arrivals make the tiniest of sounds, as they displace the air in the corridor, as their feet touch the mansion's ugly carpets for the first time. It's not quite audible, but still his head snaps up, as he silently rests one hand on the back of his chair, and turns sideways to face the doorway. Someone's out there.

He's listening as hard as he can, so the little click, when it comes, only serves to confirm what he already suspected. There's more than enough room for him to stand without moving his chair; he arranges himself that way without even thinking about it, just in case. One finger slides under the sword scabbard to prevent it clinking, as he moves as slowly as he can, as he crosses the room to listen beside the doorway, out of sight.

Usually, it serves him better to be audible, to be seen. But when he wants to have, he has all the concentrated silence of someone praying for their life, and he's using it now. It doesn't hurt, he thinks, to have the edge over new arrivals; not when too many of them think they know him.

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 03:44 am (UTC)(link)
Nothing. No cameras, either, that he can see. They might not even know he's awake. It's all a bit insulting, actually. If these people, whoever they are, know enough to abduct him, they should be aware of his value. He's almost tempted to fire into the wall, just to see who comes running.

But he's going to need all the bullets he can get, he thinks, so instead, he thumbs the safety off with another, quieter little mechanical noise, and settles into a low, frog-like crouch, ready to spring, or raise his gun to shoot.

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 03:53 am (UTC)(link)
Pressed against the wall, unaware of his possible narrow escape, Light is still listening with everything he's got. He's not unused to guns, not since he arrived in the mansion and got taught to use one, so the little noises aren't as unfamiliar as, perhaps, they ought to be.

So he's up against someone armed - quickly, he runs through all the usual templates in his head. A Matt, perhaps, or a Mello? Or someone he's not accustomed to, some variation, like him..?

Regardless of anything, one thing he knows outright is that anything handling a weapon in the corridor is human, and that anything that wasn't would be around the corner and on him by now, drawn by instinct or scent. And whoever it is out there, they're his problem to deal with, whether he likes it or not.

It's with that in mind that he takes a deep breath, in the end, and raises his voice, as if it's nothing. "Oi, whoever's out there," he calls, speaking clearly rather than yelling. "Can I interest you in some tea?"

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 04:09 am (UTC)(link)
L blinks, though there's no one around to see it.

It's possible – probable, more like – that the occupant of the room almost directly across the hall (Is it some sort of kitchen area? ... No matter.) is meant as a distraction, but only a truly stupid person would leave a decoy unarmed. If the decoy couldn't pull the target's attention, he would at least need to be good for something.

So, L's found one of the little mice in the walls. With his back against the wall, any movement on either side of the hall will register in his periphery; without rising from his crouch, he focuses on the open door and lifts his pistol to chest height on a man.

"I have a counteroffer," he replies, sounding for all the world as though he's discussing the weather. "You show yourself, and converse with me like we're both grown men, and in return, when I meet your superior, I won't mention that you asked me to play tea party. How does that sound?"

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
As soon as the person in the corridor speaks, it's Light's turn to blink. That's narrowed it down; the voice is accented, but recognisable from the Ls who've appeared here and there. But the wording, and the subject matter, and the fact that this is an L with a gun sounding like a yakuza—

Those translate as different, and that difference means he needs to forget the little he's learned about Ls, and take this one as something entirely new.

"That's a difficult one," he calls back. "I'd have to say that I'm my superior, here. If you have an objection to politeness, I'll keep that in mind, certainly." As he speaks, his hand has gone not to his sword hilt, but to the heavy knife sheathed beneath his sweater. "Are you aware of your situation?"
Edited 2010-08-14 04:30 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 04:44 am (UTC)(link)
"I have a rather strong objection to being abducted, left in a corridor, and then asked to tea by someone oblivious to the impossibility of being one's own superior."

L rocks back on his heels for a moment, biting at the corner of his lip. "My situation, as it were, was the topic I was planning on raising, but if you would prefer to lurk on the other side of the wall, it all seems rather uncivilized. You do have the advantage here, you know."

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 04:52 am (UTC)(link)
An advantage. History, Light thinks, is replete with reasons not to go up against a firearm with an edged weapon. But he won't be raising that subject just yet. The nitpicking is a little annoying, but Light hasn't yet had sufficient contact with Ls of any stripe to realise just how maddening it can be.

"I wouldn't argue with that." It's true, after all, that this is familiar territory for him. "But I'd ask you to consider how unlikely it is that someone would go to the effort of abducting you, and then leave you in a corridor both unattended and armed. Do you remember being attacked?"

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 05:05 am (UTC)(link)
"I think we both know how I came to be here." L doesn't know, actually, but he has pretty strong suspicions. He has more than his share of enemies within the organization, and, truly, it was only a matter of time until one of them risked discovery and disfavor for the promise of... what? Wealth? Surely not a better position elsewhere. Defectors hardly ever escaped with their lives. Perhaps it was merely the satisfaction of making life difficult for L.

Is he still being underestimated? Troublesome. He'll have to make an example of this one, he supposes. An unfortunate necessity, but at least time spent taking down scum is time not spent victimizing the innocent.

"And I wouldn't say I'm unattended," he adds. "And neither should you. Self-confidence is key in our line of work."

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 05:37 am (UTC)(link)
"Are you listening to what I'm saying? You haven't been abducted - or not any more than I have." Light's eyes itch, but he doesn't move. How thick are the walls - or rather, how dense are they? Would they stop a bullet at close range, or not? Not unattended - are there more people in the corridor? Impossible; Light would have heard that even more plainly.

It's clear that L-in-the-corridor either doesn't recognise Light's voice, or is pretending not to, and that thought is what leads him to introduce himself. "As for my line of work, somehow I doubt that we share one. I'm a doctor. My name is Light Yagami. I was brought here the same way that you were."

Which means, he adds to himself, that I have information you need. That's got to be worth a thing or two.

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 05:58 am (UTC)(link)
"What sort of name is that?" he asks, more to himself than anything. Fake, obviously, but it's not even making an effort. And then, because this Light Yagami still seems to be hoping he's stupid: "They're abducting doctors, too, are they? It makes sense. It's hard to explain some of the injuries we get to your annoyingly well-connected hospitals. I'm sure you understand." Feeling his legs about to go numb, he stands, keeping his gun trained on the doorway. "Now, if you want me to even consider believing anything you say, Light Yagami, you'll come out from behind that wall. I'll not attack a potential informant."
Edited 2010-08-14 06:09 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 06:47 am (UTC)(link)
The response is something he used to hear back in his schooldays; even back in Japan, his name had stood out. For a moment, the attention he's focused on the doorway becomes a little distant, before he replies, dryly, and just as much to himself. "It happens to be mine."

It's then that it finally comes into focus, the nagging feeling of déjà vu he's had throughout all of this. The imperious way not-quite-L is ordering him around at gunpoint - it reminds him of the Russian officers who'd been detailed to the camp from the invaluable natural resources in East Kamchatka. The way they'd offended what was left of his pride more than he could stand, until he'd learned to forget he ever had any. You, clean this guy up before we have to hit him again.

On top of the morning he's had, with the whispering, curious voice in his ear, and younger-Light passing through to rub salt in the wound - well, it's not helping, put it that way. Besides anything, L has him hemmed cleanly into the kitchen; he can't leave until this is resolved.

So, adopting a flat, utterly inoffensive demeanour, he steps slowly out into the corridor, both hands at his sides in plain view. There's something about him that suggests "street person" - he's dishevelled, worn down and too thin. Then there's the sword, of course - which he's clearly in no position to use.

For his own part, even with the gun pointing at him, Light assesses L with his usual unblinking calm. "Are you going to shoot me, or can we converse like grown men here?"

[identity profile] 2010-08-14 07:16 am (UTC)(link)
For his part, L looks, in many ways, startlingly L-like. The hair is a little longer but otherwise much the same. The skin is just as pale, the bags under the eyes just as striking.

But there's no slouch, and no faked expression of innocence: The eyes, while undeniably huge, are no wider than necessary, and his only expression at the moment is mild amusement at the echo of his own words. His clothes even fit better, although not by much, and this makes it possible to discern that he's somehow both skinner and healthier-looking than most Ls.

Most notable, though, is the long, pale scar down his neck, from his ear down and across to his collarbone, as though at one time, he very nearly had his throat slit.

In the time it takes to notice half these things, L's given Light Yagami a quick once-over and drawn his conclusions. East Asian. Scruffy. Damaged. With a sword, too. Symbolic, maybe? L finds himself hoping it's utilitarian. He can fight barehanded against blades, but he'd rather not deal with an organized lunatic hierarchy.

"I'm not going to shoot you if I can help it," he says, when he's done with his assessment. "But the gun is staying out. I'm sure you'd do the same in my place. But there's no reason we can't talk. Of course," he adds, "if you'd take off your sweater and your backpack, I'd probably holster it."

Utterly lacking in any sort of thug demeanor, as well, which is interesting. Maybe he was telling the truth about the abduction business.
Edited 2010-08-14 07:21 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2010-08-17 04:11 am (UTC)(link)
The minimal exposure Light's had to the standard-model L has been enough for him to learn certain of their patterns. As well as the speech he's already noted, he's seen the clothes, and the absence of visible weapons. He's seen the absence of the scar, too, which draws his attention; it looks as if it's skimmed the external jugular before whoever had the knife was blocked or pulled away.

He's not reacting at all correctly for a civilian in front of a gun; his manner's cool, distant where another Light might summon superiority and amusement. And he doesn't react as if he's used to defending himself, either - while his eyes are as alert as ever, and he's still and poised enough to make it clear he's ready to spin on a sixpence, there's no sign that he's going to move for that battered old sword he's wearing.

His hands rest against his sweater, wirily thin and unthreatening at his sides, and his voice is as calm and certain as if he's the one in control here. "No, I think I won't be doing that. But I'll make a compromise with you. I'll leave my hands in the open, and if I put them away before you're satisfied, you can shoot me." It's said without a blink.

"Is that acceptable?" He says it as if he knows it will be. You see, we're reasonable people, you and I. There's no reason for this.

[identity profile] 2010-08-17 04:49 am (UTC)(link)
L's expression doesn't flicker, but he has to fight not to grit his teeth. It's not acceptable at all, not with the amount of attention he'll have to keep focused right in front of him, and the uncertainty that will remain regarding the existence and location of a gun.

But, as the other man's tone reminds him, this isn't his territory, and so far he's been either absurdly fortunate or extremely well-treated. Quit while you're ahead. Sighing through his nose, he leans back against the wall, and, since his arm is getting tired and aim is hardly likely to be a problem at this range, shifts the gun to his other hand.

"Talk, then."

[identity profile] 2010-08-17 05:14 am (UTC)(link)
For his part, Light tends to think that if he'd had a gun and the inclination to use it, he would have produced it before entering the corridor - but then, Light has never spent any time in the underworld of Tokyo, let alone East London. Slowly, with a weird grace, he brings his hands in front of him, resting them on top of each other against his stomach, where they can be easily seen. It's rather like a girl bowing.

"I asked if you remembered arriving here. If you were attacked." It actually doesn't occur to him to append a waspish Shall we try that one again?"

[identity profile] 2010-08-17 05:34 am (UTC)(link)
"No, and not that I remember." His inclination is to add something to the effect of, Is that all?, but he supposes he can give Yagami another moment or two. During which time L can observe his body language, as well. It's interesting, not quite like that of anyone else he's come across.