A Detour to Your New Life [Tuesday, February 25] [Closed]

[dead_black_eyes]

WHO: Lazarus Lawliet and Belle Goldman
WHEN: February 25, evening
WHERE: Belle's Apartment
WHAT: Echoes bringing back memories of a different life doesn't mean a person is free of the tendencies or demons in their current one.
WARNINGS: Mental illness, mentions of violence



The day had crawled by at a horrifically slow pace. From the very second his alarm clock had sounded, L had known that he wouldn't be able to make it to work; his mind had been moving too rapidly to sleep restfully, and he'd woken looking absolutely wretched. He'd managed to keep it together long enough to call Ray, report in sick, and fall asleep again with his ear against his police radio, hearing surreal strings of words in the empty static that influenced his dreams uneasily.

After waking up, he'd glanced at the network, and listened to music that actually made him feel something: deep, staggering depression. It was simultaneously exciting, for someone who had never felt anything on an emotional level while listening to music, and dismally unhelpful given his current state of mind. He suspected it was magical in nature, an ability echoed back to make the world just a touch more complicated than it had any right to be. Though Nathan's ice cane promised to be indispensible, should L ever need to fight someone, he found himself using it for the next several hours to coat his bed in a thin but solid layer of ice, waiting for his body heat to melt it through, and then re-freezing it to repeat the process. He only stopped when he was completely soaked in cold water, both of his numb ears ringing.

Pulling himself out of bed, he reached for the box he'd designated to contain the items he received back from his pulses.

A pair of handcuffs, connected by a six-foot chain.

A red cell phone from the early 2000s, with a charm that looked like a blonde, pigtailed voodoo doll, wiped clean of numbers.

A photograph of blood smeared on plaster, forming a hopeless suicide note in hiragana with the characters of one line spelling out "SHINIGAMI."

He knelt, scattering them in front of him to scrutinize for what felt like the thousandth time. They were so disparate. Nothing about them seemed to have anything to do with the other items, or the detective he supposedly had been.

Comments

[dead_black_eyes]

L hadn't been raised the way some children were, with ingredients lined up on the counter for the promise of a delicious meal. Walter had been more for microwaving his food, or ordering out, and frequently the two of them would sit in separate chairs, each holding a take-out carton and a pair of chopsticks while something inane blared on television and Lazarus' chess set had beckoned quietly from the corner.

"Better," he confirmed, tugging at the strands of straw-stiff hair on the back of his neck as he approached, bringing with him a strong antiseptic odor. It was hardly appetizing, but the rangy, pale young man looked famished.

[belphe]

The fumes were bad enough that her eyes were beginning to burn. Nonetheless, she attempted to go about the business of teaching Lazarus how to cook something for himself.

"All right...so," she gestured to a foil wrapped block of cream cheese and a small measurement of sugar sitting in the bottom of a measuring cup. "This is where you'll start...you're going to want to let the cream cheese assume room temperature so it's easy to spread....I've let this soften for about forty-five minutes. This and the sugar...about three tablespoons...are going to be your toast filling once you've combined them. I usually use a whisk, but you will probably want to use the hand mixer on a low setting."

She gestured at the small electric beater on the counter.

"Would you like to familiarize yourself with it?" Unfortunately, she lacked the gadgetry that his employer had provided, but the device was fairly light...

[dead_black_eyes]

Forty five minutes? L blinked, surprise by the foresight. If he was hungry, his tendency was to want it immediately; the idea that a meal could be planned for before the process of cooking even technically began was staggering to him.

At her invitation, he picked up the hand mixer, hooking his index finger under it and curiously pressing the button with the thumb of his other hand. The sudden sound and movement startled him and caused him to drop it, the whisks coming unattached and rolling away as the plastic appliance hit the floor.

[belphe]

If it had just been her, it would have been acceptable to rinse the beaters, put them back in the appliance, and use them anyway as she kept a clean house. But since this was Lazarus, and he'd been stretched thin enough as it was...

"It's fine..." she said, gathering them up from where one had rolled under the table and the other had come to rest near the fridge, placing both in the dishwasher before getting another set of them out of the cupboard to replace them. These were not quite meant for whisking, but they would do.

She started the mixer up on its lowest setting, producing a low, humming whir of the blades.

"Here." she said, adjusting her hold so that he could take the handle for himself. "The dial on the side adjusts the speed and the strength. This should work for what we'll be doing with it."

[dead_black_eyes]

Clumsy and anxious were a terrible combination. L watched Belle pick up everything, replace the mixers, and start the appliance running at its slowest, softest, most manageable speed.

Using both hands to hold it, he made sure to keep his atrophied fingers away from the whirring blades.

[belphe]

She kept hold of the mixer as he took it, making sure that he would be able to support it before letting it go so that he could hold it fully.

When he seemed to be able to manage it, damaged hands and all, she moved to unwrap the cream cheese, dropping it into a mixing bowl and adding the sugar in with it.

"These just need to be beaten together until they're combined and smooth. So..." she reached out to turn off the mixer as he held it. "...you will want to make sure it's in the bowl first before you turn it on, and then move it slowly around the edges."

As she said so, she kept her hands on the bowl's sides, knowing there was a good chance of it being spun right off of the countertop otherwise.

[dead_black_eyes]

It was an odd, delicate little balancing act, but he managed to maintain his hold on the mixer as she gingerly subtracted her hands from the awkward equation.

He held it, watching the blades twirl as she prepared what he'd be mixing. He listened to her instructions, catching himself before sticking the mixer in while the beaters were still in motion.

He followed her instructions painfully literally, sticking the beaters in the bowl, turning them on, and mechanically moving them around the outside of the bowl with little regard for what he was mixing and how it was behaving. Ultimately, the sugar was collecting lumpily in the middle.

[belphe]

Yeaaaah, so she noticed.

"You're doing well, but bring it to the center now and then to get what's clumping up. When it looks like frosting and tastes sweet, you'll know it's done."

Sadly...this was probably the easiest part of the preparation, too.

[dead_black_eyes]

He wondered how much of the compliment was meant to humor him, how much was meant to fill an awkward silence, and how much of it was actually honest. Equal parts seemed like it would be optimistic; he opted to just focus on making sure it didn't clump up, applying the same meticulous effort to the center of the cream cheese glob.

[belphe]

Eventually, it began to smooth out. The process was far more slow-going than it would have been if she'd done it herself...but the goal was not to have the toast made as quickly and easily as she went about it. The goal was to have him do as much as possible.

"That should be fine." she said after a few moments. "We'll move on to the bread now."

On the counter she had a loaf of brioche, waiting to be cut into.

[dead_black_eyes]

"OK..." he said, self-consciously turning off the mixer and setting it aside. At the very least, they didn't have to make the bread; he had a feeling that kneading dough would be nearly impossible with his hands like they were.

Cutting would also be difficult, though. Despite the fact that it was all completely ready, a more appealing option was certainly available...

"The bread," he agreed awkwardly. "I... learn best when I'm watching. Could you...?"

[belphe]

Her brow furrowed.

"All it needs is to be sliced. I have a serrated knife that doesn't require much pressure to use."

[dead_black_eyes]

"I'll try," he agreed reluctantly, reaching for the knife and holding it in his peculiar, delicate way. "I guess I should just be glad that you're trusting me with a sharp object. Not only sharp, it's serrated... anything done with that is almost impossible to stitch, I've heard."

[belphe]

If he was making a veiled threat, she seemed completely unimpressed by it.

"At this point, it should be fine as long as you're properly supervised." she said, standing by to observe his progress.

The chemicals and sharp objects were likely to stay locked up in her room for quite some time yet before they could return to their proper places...especially given his current state following his shower.

[dead_black_eyes]

It was a point he couldn't argue against... and with the privileges he'd doubtless be losing after tonight, he didn't have much room to argue. He was, after all, a guest in someone else's domain, even if he'd be contributing to next month's rent.

He grasped the knife as securely as he possibly could; nerve damage combined with his cut tendons made the process painful, but not necessarily more painful than what he was used to when going about his everyday tasks at work and home. The heel of his other hand held down the loaf of bread.

Biting his lip, he started moving the knife back and forth, but his control wasn't spectacular. His veiled threat made it even worse when his hand slipped and he sliced a line across the knuckle of his left hand, completely unintentionally. He hissed in pain and flung the knife across the counter in frustration, his knuckle traveling to his mouth where he sucked at it and glowered.

[belphe]

She took a step back as the knife clattered across the countertop in response to his having knicked himself.

"L," she said, moving to tear a paper towel off of the roll and wet it with cold water. "don't do that, it's all right."

She offered it to him to apply the cold to the wound and stem the bleeding.

[dead_black_eyes]

To his credit, he hadn't thrown the knife in Belle's direction, but it wasn't exactly a measured or rational moment. No matter how quickly he'd collected himself afterward, there was nothing controlled about what had just happened.

He accepted the makeshift compress, using it to dab at the small wound. There was a lot of blood, but it looked much worse than it actually was.

[belphe]

"I know it must frustrate you badly to have such limited use of your hands..." she said, moving to fetch the neosporin spray she kept on the kitchen windowsill for such minor emergencies as burns or cuts like the one in question.

"...but it helps to challenge yourself." she went on, attempting to apply a small amount of the spray-ointment to the cut.

"Let's try again. I'll help you this time."

[dead_black_eyes]

Her assessment was accurate, and the way she handled it was both calm and effective. L wasn't sure if he appreciated or resented it, but as she tended to the cut and offered help, conditional on trying again...

It wasn't the type of thing she had to do as his therapist. Many others in Belle's odd situation would have thrown in the towel, decided that he was unreasonably stressed, and given him two sleeping pills, but her patience was staggering.

He found himself nodding, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he reached for the knife a second time.

[belphe]

As he took the knife in his hands, she followed suit by folding her own over them to bolster his hold.

"Don't push, let the knife do the work." she told him, careful to keep any tone of indulgence out of her voice, knowing that coming off even slightly the wrong way could make it seem as if she were babying him.

Lazarus, she had learned in short order, highly resented anything resembling coddling despite his child-like behavior.

But helping one another figure out how things worked and sharing knowledge was something adults did for one another.

[dead_black_eyes]

Initially, L stiffened under her touch; like many bristly people with mental issues, he frequently went days and even weeks without physical contact of any kind, and it startled him when he was touched. Gradually, his shoulders relaxed and he acclimated to it, deciding that it was not coddling and therefore deserved no ire.

It felt like an adult interaction. As the knife sliced through the bread, he bit his lip, realizing that his palms were sweaty under Belle's, and actually hoping that she wouldn't notice.

[belphe]

And she didn't...especially after having handled a wet paper towel, the moisture was easily explained away.

She continued to assist until four thick slices of brioche had fallen away from the loaf.

"There." she smiled, removing her hands from his. "Now we turn them into sandwiches and they'll nearly be ready to cook."

[dead_black_eyes]

He stared at the fruit of their combined labor, surprised by the slight sadness he felt as her hands left his.

"So..." he fumbled, rubbing at the cub on his finger. "Just... spread the cream cheese in the middle? That's what's next?"

[belphe]

"That's right." she confirmed.

"After that, we're going to whisk together some eggs, milk, and vanilla to dip them in...and then all that's left is to put them in the pan."

*cut on his finger fjdlafjda

[dead_black_eyes]

Gingerly, he reached for the bowl, pulling the mixture toward him and digging the knife into it; room temperature had softened it, allowing the blade to slice through it easily, and it spread in an easy, even layer over the sliced bread.

"Like this?"

Notably, it was probably the first step of the process he hadn't tried to weasel out of.