There is no language like Japanese for apologies; they are a veritable art form, Lazarus understands, a different one for every occasion at every level of formality. The one he needs is one that expresses both his remorse and his helplessness.
Moshi wake arimasen.
I have no excuse for myself.
He has the words, but not the voice. It sticks in his throat in a heavy lump, and he swallows it, imagining it wet and leaden and slimy in his stomach as a young woman sobs beside him.
L's doppelganger chuckles darkly. "'Saw?' Certainly one way to put it. I'm into it, by the way... All those straps, the blindfold, definitely watching y--"
He's interrupted mid-sentence by Lazarus staggering to his feet, striding forward and twining the chain around his forearm to shorten it. Before he can protest, the doppelganger is getting kicked in the face so hard that his head almost spins 180 degrees on his scrawny neck, and he's knocked to the tile floor where he stares dazedly and then scrambles uncoordinatedly backwards.
no subject
Moshi wake arimasen.
I have no excuse for myself.
He has the words, but not the voice. It sticks in his throat in a heavy lump, and he swallows it, imagining it wet and leaden and slimy in his stomach as a young woman sobs beside him.
L's doppelganger chuckles darkly. "'Saw?' Certainly one way to put it. I'm into it, by the way... All those straps, the blindfold, definitely watching y--"
He's interrupted mid-sentence by Lazarus staggering to his feet, striding forward and twining the chain around his forearm to shorten it. Before he can protest, the doppelganger is getting kicked in the face so hard that his head almost spins 180 degrees on his scrawny neck, and he's knocked to the tile floor where he stares dazedly and then scrambles uncoordinatedly backwards.