The man under Tony moans, the sound sick and miserable with pain. The frost-touched men struggle like insects caught in amber, but the thick ice glaze imprisons them; though it was created quickly it's strong, stronger than anything L had ever thought he could make. The most recent foolish soul, the one who had unwisely tried to take out his gun, is sobbing and cradling the bleeding remnants of his hand.
L pulls his hand away from his head, where he'd been gripping dark hair and bracing in reaction to the gunshots he hears on the other side of the counter but can't see the aftermath of. His phone is lying on the ground a few feet away. Anthony is still motionless, and rather than creating unease in L for moving despite being dead, the opposite is true now: the fact that Anthony's existence actually makes sense now that he's been reduced to a simple, still corpse is horrifying.
A significant part of L might have wanted to curl under the counter at this point, abandoning the situation to be handled by more competent individuals with constitutions that can weather the mental and emotional taxes. Instead, he straightens, using the counter to pull himself upright, and at the sight of him, all five men flinch. At some indiscernible point, L had become what he formerly relied on to pull him out of trouble, but the victory rings hollow.
"Tony." His voice is clipped and sharp and devoid of emotion. "An ambulance is coming. So are the police. Drop the gun; if you take this further it can't feasibly be called self-defense."
It helps to focus on what's happening, approaching it like a list. What's most important is making sure Tony doesn't murder anyone, regardless of what's deserved and just; later, he can mourn, fall apart, do what he has to... but there's no way he can convince Tony to remain calm if he isn't.
no subject
L pulls his hand away from his head, where he'd been gripping dark hair and bracing in reaction to the gunshots he hears on the other side of the counter but can't see the aftermath of. His phone is lying on the ground a few feet away. Anthony is still motionless, and rather than creating unease in L for moving despite being dead, the opposite is true now: the fact that Anthony's existence actually makes sense now that he's been reduced to a simple, still corpse is horrifying.
A significant part of L might have wanted to curl under the counter at this point, abandoning the situation to be handled by more competent individuals with constitutions that can weather the mental and emotional taxes. Instead, he straightens, using the counter to pull himself upright, and at the sight of him, all five men flinch. At some indiscernible point, L had become what he formerly relied on to pull him out of trouble, but the victory rings hollow.
"Tony." His voice is clipped and sharp and devoid of emotion. "An ambulance is coming. So are the police. Drop the gun; if you take this further it can't feasibly be called self-defense."
It helps to focus on what's happening, approaching it like a list. What's most important is making sure Tony doesn't murder anyone, regardless of what's deserved and just; later, he can mourn, fall apart, do what he has to... but there's no way he can convince Tony to remain calm if he isn't.