[private]

[siafukira]

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.

Comments

[l-undetected.livejournal.com]

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.

[siafukira.livejournal.com]

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.

[l-undetected.livejournal.com]

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."

[siafukira.livejournal.com]

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?"

[l-undetected.livejournal.com]

"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.