Dignity in manner and comportment had never mattered very much to L; as a detective whose ego was huge but entirely external, he had a reason to take pride in his accomplishments but not necessarily his appearance, posture, or the general impression he left on others. Not looking like a crazy person just wasn't high on his list of priorities, but at this time, not looking like L somewhat was.
He could probably have fooled a lot of people, too, with the layers and the glasses and the conscious efforts to stay out of view. And he had been out of view lately, his brief and rare ventures outside the apartment since his accident numbering low enough to count on one hand. Unfortunately, Near was one of a select few who could spot him just about anywhere and under any circumstances, even when he wilted into his chair rather than sitting in his customary, peculiar manner. When a person stealthily settled into the chair across from him, an LCD pattern arranging and flashing accordingly behind his lenses, all he knew was that he was being joined by something animate and therefore likely human. That was enough to put him on his guard and alert him to the fact that, for whatever reason, someone wanted to talk to him.
And then Near spoke, revealing himself through a monotonous voice that L was rawly familiar with.
Though there were a lot of complicated emotions associated with his successors as a group, by now, he was still good at not demonstrating them. The glasses and eyes that looked deader than ever helped conceal that swift flash of recognition and from there, his face was placid and unmoving.
He did remove his hat, though, setting it on the table between them. The table was a barrier that, seemingly, needed to be built up just a bit more with this latest, unexpected turn. L reasoned that if anyone would approach him, it probably should be Near, given his ability to remain emotionally isolated from personal matters, but recent exclusions ...the silence after his get-well gift, the housewarming party Bakura had been told not to bring him to, and the intel mission that he was barred from... had made him realize that everyone, Near included, was probably of a like mind regarding what to do with him. As far as he knew, unaware of Bakura's misguided attempts, "silence" fit that definition well enough, and it had all happened while he was struggling to stay on top of two antagonistic relationships at once. One of those relationships had stopped being entirely antagonistic, and the other had culminated in a grisly gift that had left him blind, vulnerable, and very shaken. He had spun it into something positive in his mind, that at least he had taken the hit instead of one of what amounted to family, as even estranged family was still family... but it hadn't felt that way. It hadn't looked, or sounded, or been that way, except in name only, and everyone had started to meld into symbols and values once more. His successors meant the world to L, of course, and he would sacrifice himself to save a pair of pieces that were more valuable, of course, but they were ruthless and unforgiving and colder by far than the exhilarating rivalry he could claim made him feel alive. It was duty and obligation now, which felt nowhere near as rewarding as the victory that was a simple, civil conversation with the man L had once named a suspect to his face.
His coffee hadn't yet been brought. He had nothing on the table to fidget with or stack as he arranged his thoughts. His acceptance of Near's presence fell into the duty and obligation category, very different from the time they'd gotten drunk together, and he already felt drained. Like Near, he knew that they'd probably both be there longer than they'd initially intended. But his determination didn't approach Bakura's, having already distanced himself personally from his successors and acknowledged that it should have stayed that way when they all ended up in Death City, so perhaps it wouldn't be long, at all.
"Well. We've all been very busy." He paused, seeming to weigh an important decision, before casually inquiring "You wouldn't leave me alone if I asked you to, at this time, would you? Because I would prefer that."
no subject
He could probably have fooled a lot of people, too, with the layers and the glasses
and the conscious efforts to stay out of view. And he had been out of view lately, his brief and rare ventures outside the apartment since his accident numbering low enough to count on one hand. Unfortunately, Near was one of a select few who could spot him just about anywhere and under any circumstances, even when he wilted into his chair rather than sitting in his customary, peculiar manner. When a person stealthily settled into the chair across from him, an LCD pattern arranging and flashing accordingly behind his lenses, all he knew was that he was being joined by something animate and therefore likely human. That was enough to put him on his guard and alert him to the fact that, for whatever reason, someone wanted to talk to him.
And then Near spoke, revealing himself through a monotonous voice that L was rawly familiar with.
Though there were a lot of complicated emotions associated with his successors as a group, by now, he was still good at not demonstrating them. The glasses and eyes that looked deader than ever helped conceal that swift flash of recognition and from there, his face was placid and unmoving.
He did remove his hat, though, setting it on the table between them. The table was a barrier that, seemingly, needed to be built up just a bit more with this latest, unexpected turn. L reasoned that if anyone would approach him, it probably should be Near, given his ability to remain emotionally isolated from personal matters, but recent exclusions ...the silence after his get-well gift, the housewarming party Bakura had been told not to bring him to, and the intel mission that he was barred from... had made him realize that everyone, Near included, was probably of a like mind regarding what to do with him. As far as he knew, unaware of Bakura's misguided attempts, "silence" fit that definition well enough, and it had all happened while he was struggling to stay on top of two antagonistic relationships at once. One of those relationships had stopped being entirely antagonistic, and the other had culminated in a grisly gift that had left him blind, vulnerable, and very shaken. He had spun it into something positive in his mind, that at least he had taken the hit instead of one of what amounted to family, as even estranged family was still family... but it hadn't felt that way. It hadn't looked, or sounded, or been that way, except in name only, and everyone had started to meld into symbols and values once more. His successors meant the world to L, of course, and he would sacrifice himself to save a pair of pieces that were more valuable, of course, but they were ruthless and unforgiving and colder by far than the exhilarating rivalry he could claim made him feel alive. It was duty and obligation now, which felt nowhere near as rewarding as the victory that was a simple, civil conversation with the man L had once named a suspect to his face.
His coffee hadn't yet been brought. He had nothing on the table to fidget with or stack as he arranged his thoughts. His acceptance of Near's presence fell into the duty and obligation category, very different from the time they'd gotten drunk together, and he already felt drained. Like Near, he knew that they'd probably both be there longer than they'd initially intended. But his determination didn't approach Bakura's, having already distanced himself personally from his successors and acknowledged that it should have stayed that way when they all ended up in Death City, so perhaps it wouldn't be long, at all.
"Well. We've all been very busy." He paused, seeming to weigh an important decision, before casually inquiring "You wouldn't leave me alone if I asked you to, at this time, would you? Because I would prefer that."