savetheearth | You Told Me Something That Scared Me to Death [Closed, backdated to December 3]

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You Told Me Something That Scared Me to Death [Closed, backdated to December 3]

Who: Lazarus "L" Lawliet and Tony Sparado
What: Two friends take some downtime to talk about recent events.
When: Backdated to December 3, two days after this nasty business
Where: Willow Ridge Surveillance Center
Warnings: Talk of suicide

It had been a tense couple of days. L had been preparing for the old school to be used as a sort of base obsessively, but his careful planning and arranging for hosting and heading future mission controls at his basement intelligence center had been interrupted by a terrible accident. Well... accident was putting it generously. From L's point of view, it had been a deliberate enough act, despite claims that the Mafia thug in question had been scared and too used to being a lousy shot to think that his bullet would actually hit its mark. He was no fan of Luca Dantonio; had he been there, he felt it was unlikely he would have taken mercy on him with Tony lying prone just a few feet away, having had a bullet tear through his grey matter.

L was still trying to come to terms with his feelings on a lot of what had happened that night. He toweled his face dry after rinsing it quickly with some cold water, but when he met his own eyes in the mirror, they were drawn quickly to a vibrant bruise across his cheek bone. It took relatively little for his pale skin to bruise, and Tony's flailing blow had connected strangely, but enough to leave a mark. More for the poor kid to feel guilty over, if he saw it... L idly wondered if it would be too transparent to ask a girl over the network about concealer tips, but ultimately decided against it, considering it a misuse of such a valuable resource. He'd just have to suck it up and hope that it faded quickly.

The upside of being thorough with preparations was that things got done and were consequently in order for when they were needed. The downside was that L found himself, for the first time in a long time, with no immediate job to do. He pulled his room's chair toward the window, cracked it open, and lit a cigarette. Maybe at some point he'd try to make the dorm room he'd claimed for himself a little more comfortable than bare white walls and Xander's sleeping bag lying directly on the boarding school's original rusty twin bed frame. For all his intellect, though, L didn't know the first thing about comfort.

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Tony still hadn't sorted out everything. He knew bits and pieces, fragments of memories along with fragments of bullet he still found himself spitting out every now and then. By now he assumed he'd gotten rid of all of it, but even so... how had he survived? Even more, how had he healed so completely?

There were other oddities that had come with that, but none he really felt like getting into. It had taken some time for his mind to rewire itself so he stopped hissing and snarling at anyone who came near, and then he'd just slept.

Slept a whole hell of a lot.

As such, he'd not really obtained the whole story. Eventually he'd ask Shou or Hajime about it, or hell maybe the lizard since it seemed like they were keeping him around now? What was he, a pet? Whatever, it felt wrong to kill him after all of that. He was just a stupid scared kid, and deep down wasn't that what Tony was as well? These thoughts troubled the teen as he made his way to L's dorm, pausing to knock sharply on his door. It was about time they had a chat, what with the mafia hit coming up so soon and everything else that had gone down recently.

He couldn't hide forever, even if he really wanted to.

Teenagers acted like smoking was some rebellious and edgy thing; to him, it was a step back from the edge, a compensation prize, the mildest of buzzes to meagerly appease his appetite for the most glorious high. Meager or not, he'd take it.

When Tony knocked, L was in the middle of taking a long, relaxing drag. The knock wasn't all that interrupted that drag, though; he had to stifle an unexpected cough. His lungs were long past the point of being rosy and sensitive to smoke, perplexed, he stubbed out the cigarette and went to answer the door.

One surprise after another; he hadn't really thought Tony would come find him so soon. When he saw who it was, his eyes widened, but he didn't say anything to indicate that Tony's presence shocked him.

"Hello," he said, to break the strange silence, something keeping him from opening the door wider. "You're... it's good to see you're up and around, you know..."

Edited 2014-12-12 03:02 (UTC)

Hah, smoking lost its charm when you had to scrape just to get a bite to eat. Some smoked, some couldn't help themselves, Tony was glad he'd never gotten into it. He could have been wasting valuable pennies on a stub rather than a gas station sandwich.

He smelled the smoke, but said nothing of it. Better than some of the alternatives he knew L enjoyed. Still clean, he hoped? Clean enough anyway. That was good, as much as Tony tried to tell himself it wasn't any of his business he couldn't help but feel a twinge of over-protective ire when he realized L wasn't taking care of himself properly.

His visible eyebrow rose at the expression, and he tilted his head to the side slightly. "You gonna let me in or what?" He drawled lazily, concealing the instinctive twitch to turn and walk away before things got uncomfortable. No, he was committed now, to what he wasn't sure but damn it he was here. "Yeah... I imagine so." He was trying not to look to hard at the bruise. Had he done that?

L blinked twice rapidly. "Of course," he answered, as though woken abruptly from a trance, pulling open the door and standing aside to allow Tony to enter. It was good; it gave him a chance to turn in a way that obscured Tony's view of his cheekbone, which he hadn't just been aware of; he had felt it, like something real and tangible.

L's room was a sullen and bare travesty. To say it was clean was like saying that a nuclear bomb was warm; every surface was scoured, save for the ashtray, which had only one half-spent cigarette butt in it. One desk, one dresser, one chair, one sink, one bed frame with a sleeping bag tossed across it. The only personal affect was an old menorah sitting empty on the windowsill.

L crawled onto the sleeping bag, sitting indian-style so that Tony could have the chair, and he busied himself with straightening its lumpy edges. Though the direction he's facing is a little off, given where the chair is positioned relative to it, L's doing it for a reason; it lets him make the bruised side of his face the moon's other side.

That, at least, spared Tony staring at it for a time. He let his eye drop and instead swept it around the room as he strolled in, making himself at home by flopping down on the chair. He let out a low whistle. "Damn, L, I think prison cells are probably more lively than this," Idly as he leaned back, draping an arm over the back of the chair. "You need me to bring you something to add a little color to this place?"

It was more a threat than an offer, because in Tony language that meant he absolutely was going to do it, and was going to give L the brief opportunity to choose what it would be. Otherwise he'd choose for him.

L stared very hard at his sleeping bag project. He had thought that keeping the room as sparse as possible would ease some of his obsessive-compulsive tendencies; if there was no mess, there was nothing to obsess over, no compulsions to move in as coping mechanisms. He'd been wrong to think it could ever be so rational; as always, other things moved in to fill the places of things he had thought he'd banished.

He laughed uncomfortably at Tony's joke, feeling, acutely, that he wasn't ready for the mood the younger man is trying to affect.

"It's... I don't need anything, Tony. I sleep here. I don't have a lot of visitors. Shou wants to make the surveillance center comfortable, but this is... more conducive to a disciplined mind. The fact that a lot of people write excellent novels while they're in prison should serve as a testament to that claim."

Never mind that he was actually embracing the prison cell comparison...

To Tony, it just looked sad. Kind of depressing, very lonely, and really uncomfortable. At the very least he was going to force a mattress on the guy. Wasn't going to do himself or anyone any favors sleeping on hard springs in a sleeping bag. Come on, L, at least comfort yourself a tiny bit.

Sorry, L, he didn't know how to even begin to approach any sort of topic revolving around what had happened over the last couple days. Humor was his coping mechanism, even if it was poorly executed. "At least get a mattress, dude. That can't be good for your back." He'll draw him something. L probably won't care much for the gesture, but Tony felt the sparseness was just... too much. Overwhelming. It was claustrophobic in a way that didn't make any sense to him, but it sure did weird him out. Like the walls all judging him with their pristine sparseness.

Nothing pristine here. Only a monster.

"Why would you wanna live in a prison cell anyway?"

He pulled away a corner of the sleeping bag, dispassionately surveying the springs beneath it. "My back is fucked, anyway," he shrugged, laying it down again. "It doesn't bother me."

The question was one he was willing to answer, but as his mind opened, his body closed, curling more tightly into itself. Though he lived there, and spent a lot of time surrounded by those pristine, judgmental walls, he actually felt very similar to Tony in that respect.

"It's cathartic, in a way," he said. "Pure. It purges what doesn't belong, and protects what does. Even the smallest speck of dirt stands out, here. I notice it right away. This is a room where nothing can hide."

He moved closer to the wall, the springs creaking under his thin frame as he shifted his weight, leaning his cheek against it and closing his eyes. "This was one of the first rooms I renovated. It took a long time. It was almost completely taken over with mold. It took days to get it cleaned out, a lot of bleach, you should have seen the rash I got... but now, sometimes I think I can hear the walls thanking me for healing them."

Edited 2014-12-12 04:50 (UTC)

"You say that, but when's the last time you slept on a good mattress?" Really, L, that is the worst excuse. Ruining his back further isn't going to prove a point to anyone other than that he is exceptionally stubborn, which everyone already knew.

Tony makes a face, some kind of awkward lip curl like he was perhaps slightly disgusted but mostly uncomfortable about the entire thing. Sure, but surrounded by that did anyone belong? Your room was supposed to be your sanctuary, not where you go to be judged and distressed. "What d'you think'd even try to hide in your own room, L?"

"L... I hate to say it, but I think you might have inhaled too many fumes. Just sayin'," He scrunches his nose, then runs his fingers awkwardly back through his hair. Pausing briefly over the tissue that felt almost scarred, a reminder of just how much head he'd really lost only a few days prior... "Feels like the walls are starin' at me. You sure you don't want something to put on 'em? Just a spot of color? Might do you some good."

On a good mattress? The question was a difficult one. L had had beds in a lot of buildings: hotels, psych wards, rehab facilities, countless couches, hospitals, and the apartment he'd tried to die in. Only this one actually felt like his. Despite his insistence that he had "healed" this room, though, it seemed to have taken its strange, unwholesome "health" from a source L couldn't afford to lose it from. Rather than answer the question, he ran a finger along the smooth white plaster; a shade or so lighter, and it would vanish against the stark surface.

He sensed Tony's discomfort with the room, made worse by his, to be fair, unsettling explanation. L had a difficult time putting worried people at ease, largely because by the time the cracks were showing, he was well past the point most other people would have asked for help. "It doesn't matter..." he replied in distracted answer to the second question. "Nothing real, nothing important, it's... just for the sake of my own peace of mind." That hopelessly elusive thing.

"If you are uncomfortable, here... we can move. There are other sections of the building that feel very different," he offered. Every time the room judged him, he felt it was crushing the weakness and filthiness of his own soul and welcomed it with open arms, the way he reveled in the prickling and burning of lysol sprayed directly on his skin. Though ultimately damaging, the rationalization was that the pain meant it was working. But to hear Tony's assessment was to remember that it was the rare occasion when he was not alone in this creepy old building hoarding demons of his own.

Edited 2014-12-12 05:12 (UTC)

Those didn't exactly count as "good" mattresses, by any means, but Tony understood. He's slept on piles of cardboard, old wet mattresses tossed out in alleys, and even just straight concrete. He knew discomfort, he also knew that it was much nicer to not sleep on those things.

"If you're sure," He accepted the explanation with a dubious look. Trying to understand all of what went on in L's mind was a task best left for someone more experienced and maybe a little more sane than Tony. He didn't get it, and as long as L wasn't hurting himself he wasn't going to worry about it too much. Maybe just enough to insist on giving him a tiny touch of color. Really, just a bit, this is too much white.

"Y'know normally I'd be alright with it but... yeah, can we move?" He didn't like it. It didn't actually burn, but the way it glared down on him certainly made him think it might at any moment. Where L craved the burn, Tony knew all it would do was burn away parts of himself. And for the longest time himself was all he had, he didn't want to lose any of it even if it was turning into something dark and twisted.

He was already worried he'd lost enough as it was.

Sometimes, understanding was enough. Sometimes, just trying was; L had his problems, and his ills and his not-so-well-concealed skeletons. He'd hardened, lately, grown stronger and more determined... but he was still Lazarus, who needed a friend who could juggle the virtues of patience and firmness with equal adeptness. Even though Tony was far from perfect in most regards, not always the portrait of sane or composed... somehow, where L was concerned, he had managed to balance those two crucial qualities.

He said nothing, but rose, slipping into his steel-toed boots and opening the door. Hearing that Tony wanted to leave was enough, and he led the other young man into the hall, closing the door behind them and leaving the scrutiny and sadness locked up for him to access again, alone, later.

"There's the control center that Shou wants to turn into some kind of posh bachelor pad," he suggested, starting down the hall. "There's also the gymnasium, which... I don't actually know if you remember it, but it's nothing like where I sleep, at least."

He tried, not always successfully but he tried. Tony never judged L for his weaknesses, real or perceived. Mental health, social and economic status, those things didn't matter to him. What did matter was honesty, loyalty, and determination. These things L had in droves, even if he needed a little help getting there sometimes. Everyone needed picked up every now and again.

Tony was up and following as soon as L moved, almost too eager to be free of the strangely prison-like room. He didn't like feeling trapped, maybe that was part of why he'd run away so many times. Attempts to trap him only made him more desperate for freedom, and he would have it one way or another.

"Pfeh," He chuffed, an amused sound through his nose. "That's Shou alright. Wherever you want. Somewhere without too much light if you don't mind, head's still killin' me."

L could never put it into words, not if his life depended on it, but he didn't like feeling trapped so much as he felt he deserved it. He found it cathartic to discipline himself before others saw it necessary to.

"That's not a problem... especially since it's night," L said, trying to make it sound teasing and gentle, but as often happens, his tone doesn't quite cooperate and it just sounds odd. He heads toward the gym, empty since the event of a few days prior; the exercise mats are even still sitting there untouched in the middle of the floor.

If he'd known about it Tony would definitely worry more about L. No one should have to feel like that, like they somehow deserve punishment for... what, exactly? Existing? Not being perfect? Ridiculous. Who would even want to discipline him, really? Other than that uncle of his.

"Heh, you ever seen a fully-lit gymnasium? Those lights aren't exactly dim you know." He muttered, not irritably more just tired. It took a lot of energy to heal a head wound and he was still feeling the effects even if for the most part he felt semi-normal. Since the mats were still there, he just meandered over to flop down on them and curl up in a little ball. Good a place as any.

L had carefully guarded secrets, even from close friends like Tony. It was nothing personal; just, like many things, a way to prevent him from seeming even weaker than he was. Talking about his childhood was something therapists begged for, but no one else needed to know about beyond the barest basics. All that really mattered was that L was fucked up, and how it happened, at this point, was practically moot.

"Chess tournaments happen in gymnasiums. Sometimes," he said in a noncommittal tone. "But it's an old gym, and no one said we had to turn on all the lights." And, in fact, when he flipped the switch, the ancient lights flickered and only about half of them staggered to life. L didn't follow Tony's lead and flop down, preferring to remain on his feet and meander around the edges. One would think that someone who looked so chronically exhausted wouldn't be so restless, but there it was.

"I come here a lot. There's plenty of foot traffic, since the teleporter's in the basement, but it's almost always really quiet in here."

For someone who kept so many secrets he really liked to dig around for the secrets of others, of course that was usually the way it went wasn't it? Oh well, Tony didn't really need to know the reasons anyway. One didn't have to know everything about their friends to keep them.

"Do they?" Coming from a guy who had never even played chess, of course he didn't know. He blinked his one eye open at the lights, squinted, then sat up apparently satisfied that it wasn't going to be too bright. He stayed sitting where he was, watching L whenever he was in eyesight, otherwise just slumping over his own lap.

"Yeah, I imagine so. Not a whole lot of use for an empty gym for the average person I guess."

L was absolutely that guy who pried and poked his nose into everything with varying degrees of subtlety but seemed uneasy and caught off-guard when others asked him a question about himself. He reacted selfishly and fearfully, as if he interpreted even casual interest as an attempt to take something vital away from him. It meant a lot to him when people didn't demand answers to certain questions. It was like they were letting him remain whole, human, and, until proven otherwise, something like normal.

"Yeah. Imagine this place filled with rows of tables, pairs of students, clocks and chess sets. No one speaks but the sound of pieces moving and those clocks is... it's like nothing else. If I close my eyes I can hear it again; if I'm lucky, it's louder than the other things I hear, sometimes."

His steps quickened before suddenly slowing, as if he realized that his pace had picked up and sought to correct it before it was noticed.

"It was pretty useful the other day."

Good thing Tony was content to let secrets stay that way. He understood, and did tend to get snappish when anyone pried too much on his own personal life. There was a degree he'd tell others, beyond that it was none of their business. So as long as L didn't pry too hard (even if he had somewhat, he paid for it with a sandwich) he'd leave the other man be.

"Sounds..." Boring. "Impressive." Chess was something L was passionate about, and while Tony didn't get it he didn't get a lot of things. Whatever, let the guy reminisce. The increased pace was noted but not commented on, he'd just turned his head to watch L more sharply for a brief moment, fixating almost predatorily before shaking himself and going back to a relaxed slump. Don't do that, he's jumpy.

"Was it?"

L's steps slowed further before shuffling to a complete stop. Partly because he noticed Tony's brief agitation, and partly because he felt that the conversation's turn required more focus and stillness.

"How much do you remember about what happened the other night?" he asked quietly.

Tony was quiet a few moments while he thought it over, one hand unconsciously reaching up to rub at the slight scarring he could still feel on his scalp. The rest had healed, almost completely, but there was still a small bit that remained.

"Not a whole lot," Admitted quietly. "Tryin' to corner the lizard, he picked up his gun.. Looked like he hadn't handled one before in his life. From there it went dark."

Sure he was aware he'd taken a bullet to the face, but remembering it was a different story.

L watched silently as Tony rubbed at the remnants of his wound. It was impressive and envy-worthy, even if damage still remained.

"I thought so," he murmured in response. "What possessed you to go out looking to ambush him? More importantly... why didn't you tell me or Richard?"

Even that seemed to be fading, though with less speed. He'd been... itchy, and the scar from his surgery was fading as well, but those things he hadn't mentioned to anyone just yet. The whole thing had him rather unnerved, who the hell got up and walked away from a gunshot to the head anyway?

"What do you think?" He spat, more vitriol in his tone than he necessarily intended. "Because you'd both tell me not to, or try to stop me." He leveled a defiant stare at L. One constant with Tony was he didn't like being told what he could and couldn't do.

Even if that would prove to be a fatal mistake.

Not many people did walk away; in fact, it was almost unheard of, exceptions far removed from the rule. Gunshot wounds to the head were practically synonymous with sudden death, and Tony was far from the only one unnerved by it.

L weathered the vitriol calmly, no visible change in his placid features as Tony sounded off. "Yes, we would have," he concurred, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his thin chest. "And we would have been right. You should have died; insane good luck saved you, but what if it hadn't? You knew the risks, you're not stupid. You knew what we'd say, and you still went for it. Why would you do that to us?"

His eyes said it was worse than the bruise spread across his pale cheekbone, in terms of what Tony could have done to hurt him.

A slight twitch at the emphasis on the word 'stupid', but otherwise Tony's steely gaze remained locked on L, chin held up in further defiance. He faltered, however, guilt digging its claws in as his eye grazed over that bruise. He'd done that, he could have done even worse. His shoulders hunched and he ducked his head. "Like it would have even mattered..." He muttered quietly to himself, looking away.

But before he could risk being called out on that he snapped back up, baring his teeth almost savagely. "So what? Sit back, do nothing? Sit pretty in a cage while everyone else does all the hard work? I'm not some pet to be bossed around and brought out when it's convenient to everyone. It was my problem and I took care of it."

Or, well... almost died trying.

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