#verse: reflection

[second-to-one]

30-seconds-to-mu

L’s eyes rose to meet Beyond’s, since he’s still hunched over he has to look up further just to keep eye contact with him.

He found the world ‘Backup’ unsettling. L never thought of Beyond as his backup. That word was only spoken by Roger. And it was Beyond’s mind that twisted that word and assumed the source was L.

“You would not be beneath me, if you agree to help me, you will work with me. I am asking for your assistance not your labor.”

L observed as Beyond’s gaze seemed to focus on something above L. The thought that anything regarding a Shinigami is still hard to believe for L, but no other possibly can explain the way Kira is able to commit these murders. And Beyond is the only source he has to any information about them.

“I do believe you now, since evidence has given me proof that Shinigami exist.” L lowers his eyes to the level of Beyond’s shoulders, speaking quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want to hear himself say the next words. “I don’t need your attention, Beyond. I need information on something you know and I don’t.”

“Heh, so the World’s Greatest Detective sees me as an equal now? Now that you want something from me?” Beyond paced slowly back and forth along the bars that kept L out of his reach, running his fingers against the metal as his nails scratched the worn steel.

“Let me get this straight? You want me to help you catch a criminal that you aren’t good enough to apprehend on your own? The type of criminal I aspired to be? Heh. I can only assume it’s Kira that evades you”

Beyond’s voice, low and melodious, sharply contrasted with the contorted visage that stared back at him. “Look me in the eye and say you can’t do this without me.”

[second-to-one]

Reflection

@30-seconds-to-mu

Beyond stared up at the ceiling of his 8X8 cell. The concrete floor was hard, but he welcomed the cold feel against his skin, even though his scars had long since hardened. Time had passed since he was raw, skin pink and tacky beneath peeling flesh. It was painful, but no physical pain ever found its way to him, could never touch him. After all, wasn’t that why he chose one of the most horrible ways to die?

That is if he had been allowed to die, a grand finale to a crime that even “The World’s Greatest Detective” couldn’t solve. No. Instead he found himself in the between again. Wasn’t he always in between? Alive, but always seeing death. A detective, but never the one chosen to solve the world’s unsolvable atrocities. Half burned, not welcome with the living but denied the release of death. A living corpse. A trophy to commemorate yet another case closed by the mysterious L.

The clang of the iron door and murmur of voices let him know he wasn’t alone. Why would anyone leave him to his self-pity?

He crawled across the cement, dragging himself along it for nothing more than dramatic ceremony and gripped the bars. He turned his eyes upward and was met with the familiar form of hunched shoulders, spikey hair, and disheveled white t-shirt and jean with hands shoved into the pockets. A form he had mimicked perfected in the details until he was better than the original.

Dark rimmed eyes stared down at him, displaying no emotion.

“L Lawliet.” His words dripped with contempt at his visitor. “To what do I owe the misfortune of your company?”