soul_logs | I Thought Perhaps We Could Sit Down for Tea [OPEN, June 25]

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I Thought Perhaps We Could Sit Down for Tea [OPEN, June 25]

Characters: L Lawliet and OPEN to anyone
Location: Death By Pastry
Rating: PG
Time: June 25
Description: 104 degree heat and being blind aren't dissuading L from shaking his cabin fever and going out to do something. Without help. In public. If you recognize him under all those seasonally inappropriate layers and the bulky cyborg sunglasses, flag him down and harass him. He'll run into a lamp post before he can run very far.

It was more difficult to see the little flashing lights on the insides of his glasses
in broad daylight. Contrast between light and dark was all L could see, and the Sun interfered significantly with that meager aptitude. Not as much as it could have, due to what L could only conclude was considerable cloud coverage, but going was still slow, breathing air that was so hot and humid he might as well have been moving through bathwater.

He refused to carry a cane, which made traffic difficult, but he took the roads that weren't as busy, counting steps, pausing to listen as his cameras read text and relayed the information to him via his ear bud. Altogether, minus a few jarring bumps into bewildered strangers and city sounds that blended confusingly into one another, it was a smooth enough journey to one of L's old haunts, Death City's pastry shop.

He was almost unrecognizable, dressed inappropriately for the sweltering heat, with a winter coat piled on top of a sweater and a wide-brimmed hat that he only pushed back when he needed to "read" something. He spoke quickly and softly when he ordered his coffee with cream and eight sugars, as if concerned that someone might hear him and identify him based on the sound of his voice. When the barista handed it to him, though, trusting that he could successfully close his hand around an object that was right in front of him... well. There was only so much L could discern about the world based on a series of blinking lights.

"Damn it!" The barista hissed as the cup dropped onto the counter and they were both sprayed with flecks of hot coffee. "Man! You still have to pay for that, you know!"

L cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. When he spoke, it was in a low, measured tone.

"You're going to get me another cup of coffee and some napkins. I'm going to find a table; you can bring them to me. Take your time. You can clean this up, first."

"Huh! That's rich, you drop coffee and it spills all over the place, and now you're telling me to..."

L set his jaw. "I'm blind," he said bluntly, briefly lowering his glasses enough for the barista to see the clouded, opaque corneas.

There was an awkward silence, and then a muttered, hasty apology as the barista snatched up a rag to start mopping up the counter.

With coffee dripping from the front of his wool coat and a few people stepping helpfully aside, having heard the exchange, L pushed through the line to find an empty table.

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The layperson, even one in full command of all of his senses, might not have been able to notice that little bit of insomnia. But even if L had been able to see, he might not have given it much thought. Chronic sleeplessness, after all, was what he considered normal, along with a variety of other bad habits that have bleached his skin and wasted his scrawny body to the bone.

A man... in his thirties or forties judging by the sound of his voice, perhaps, addressed him as he brushed by. He also called L "kid", which, while not an unusual perception since the detective looked the better part of a decade younger than he was, was not something L was accustomed to hearing on a regular basis. Being an authority figure meant that usually, his honorifics and titles were upgraded regardless of how childish he appeared.

Not that many people in Death City viewed his authority as valid, or even knew about it to begin with.

Immediately, the stranger's comment put him in a dark mood, so he responded in a way that seemed tonally appropriate.

"Is it, now?" he asked. "I figured I'd just suffered a sudden, traumatic death and ended up in hell."

Sadly, Tony was well used to annoyance. It seemed to be the response to anything that came out of his mouth more often than not. As such, he barely acknowledged that testy tone and responded in his usual snarky deadpan.

"So Satan dressed you up like the kid from A Christmas Story." Tony's He gestured at the kid's clothing. Seriously, who dresses like that in this weather? (Nevermind Tony's own layers, a T-shirt under a sleeveless hoodie, but that was to hide the glowing circle in the center of his chest. He had good reason to dress like a shabby teenager, thank you very much.)

"Just take off a coat or... three."

The unfortunate truth was that L was so easily annoyed, and his recent experiences and the ensuing isolation had admittedly caused much of the positive developments his personality and social skills had accrued to backslide. Some of it he couldn't help. Some of it he was directly responsible for, and knew it full well. 100% of it couldn't be helped at the current moment, and therefore, neither could his tetchiness.

L was always pleased to point out people who threw stones from glass houses, or called the kettle black while being firmly classified as pots. Again, his impaired vision (two quick blinking lights were the only indication he had that Tony was even a human, or was at least shaped like one) wasn't exactly a boon in the snark department.

"I don't watch pictures, or celebrate Christmas. Sadly, your reference is wholly lost on me, but I'm sure it is both apt and devastating to the ego," he responded in his typical monotone. "That being said, I'm not overheating. The air conditioning is always turned up too high in the summer, anyway. Since I spend more time indoors, I dress for indoors."

The layers served other purposes, of course. The long sleeves hid scarred wrists that took a long time to explain when most people were content to draw their own sordid conclusions. During the month he was being stalked by his former insane successor and the following weeks after the little psycho's disastrous parting shot that had resulted in L's injury and blindness, he hadn't slept or eaten much, and the result was a weight loss of around six pounds. A stomach flu for most people, but frightening on someone who was already considered drastically underweight for his height.

"I'll 'take off a coat or three' when I start to sweat. At present, it doesn't seem imminent," he said coolly, outstretched fingers closing around the back of a chair.

Tony raised his eyebrows. Kid clearly had a temper on him, so he let the topic slide with a shrug he knew the stranger probably couldn't see. He obviously had reasons for the layers, reasons that he defended like a snarling pitbull and that Tony frankly didn't care enough about to pry.

"Wow. Ray of goddamn sunshine, aren't you," he replied dryly, deflecting the kid's ire with practiced ease. He'd been the dangerous combination of playboy, billionaire, and CEO for long enough to master the art of redirection.

"Well, there goes my Gordi La Forge reference, which would actually not have been devastating to the ego, thanks. Not a bad engineer, Commander La Forge, and bonus points for putting up with that Wesley kid. But I digress."

Tony took a long sip of his own coffee, set it down, and leaned back in his chair.

"The good Commander is an apt reference, ah, because he has a visor not unlike those." He pointed at the bulky glasses. "More high-tech, though, better visual output, less, ah, hideous."

Maybe extending an olive branch would help the kid's mood. And the glasses really were hideous. Tony gestured at that chair, adding for good measure: "You can sit down. You know. Hey, come on, it'll be fun. Oh. And Tony Stark."

L's temper tended to take the form of quiet contempt rather than outward aggression; that being said, an experienced people-reader could doubtless pick up on it, even if his voice was even and an onlooker out of hearing range would assume that they were merely having a casual conversation in passing. And while a snarling pitbull might have been a little bit over the top for the detective's wiry, barbed manner and bearing, there was definitely something slightly wary and feral about him.

The digression was frankly wearisome. L hadn't had time for science fiction even when he could see, and he frankly had little appreciation for the arts or culture in general. His own life had been more eventful than any fantastical journey imagined by an author, and his experiences had wasted his body and spirit to the point where anything extra just felt superfluous and draining. Superheroes, myths and fads were all well and good for most people, but L stood outside of humanity's easily amused collective. There were only so many hours in a day, and his intimidating reputation was as much of a prison as it was a motive for its own upholding.

Well. It had been, anyway. Nowadays he was just struggling to find doorknobs and railings.

But it was strangely comforting that someone was openly making fun of him. He hadn't been sure what to expect out of his first solo outing since his accident. Patient tolerance or pity, but not ridicule... and it was, at least, something he could rise to.

"They are ugly, aren't they? Not that I have a reason to care about appearances. Aesthetically pleasing things are wasted on me, and that's not even a recent development."

He took a seat. "It's Rue Ryuzaki." Weird, yes, considering L's dark hair and fine features were the only things vaguely Asian about him. For the most part, he looked European, and spoke English with a perfectly bland, "media ready" midwestern American accent.

He slipped the glasses off, setting them on the table and closing his own bruised-looking eyelids. His damaged eyes were achingly sensitive to light. He turned them so that the back of the lenses, along with the little patterns they flashed, faced Tony. "They're not particularly streamlined. But a friend purchased them for me, in the hopes that they might help, and I would hate for his efforts to go to waste."

Another time Tony might've questioned the name. Then again, he also knew a guy named Thor who spoke like Shakespeare, so unusual names didn't mean as much anymore. In this case, however, the name got nothing more than an acknowledging hmm, because there was tech in front of him.

"Butt ugly," he confirmed, leaning forward to inspect the glasses. "Both sides."

He scowled as he lightly handled them as if he found merely touching such inferior technology repulsive. Said scowl was all too evident in his voice when he spoke.

"Jesus. How did you get here in these? I'm sure these would be helpful if you lived in an 80's video game but the thing is the real world has a z axis. You need something that registers depth, ambient echo-positioning, ah, sonar. Maybe lasers. Shit, my robots have better visual mechanics."

He leaned back, dusting off his hands as if ridding himself of the inferior technology.

"I can build so much better."

Every situation in the detective's world called for a good fake name, and in all honesty, L wondered if "Tony Stark" wasn't one. It sounded like the sort of name a man might make up to sound cooler, more interesting, mysterious, and tough. He unflinchingly accepted Tony's appraisal on the glasses, providing only a light shrug in answer. Appearances didn't matter to him, and everything about him said so fairly plainly. His hair was uncombed and very Edward Scissorhands-esque, to the point where it looked like it might break any comb that touched it. His clothes were ill-fitting and shabby, and he seemed fidgety until he pulled his legs up under him, perching on the balls of his feet. That seemed to fix the problem.

"It was definitely difficult," he admitted. "But I used to come here a lot, so the route, at least, was somewhat familiar. I thought it was a good idea to start with familiar, given the technology's limitations."

The last few words lilted upward a bit, a break from L's monotone, inflecting them with a soft, resigned little what are you going to do about a bad situation that otherwise can't be helped?

"Others have gotten by in a similar situation. More will. Even if it's slow going, I'll manage, because the simple truth of the matter is that I don't have a friend who can 'build so much better.'"

The barista approached the table, very, very carefully setting the cup of coffee on the table in front of L and hesitantly tapping him on the shoulder.

"That's fine. You can leave, now."

The barista was more than glad to comply.

Tony Stark was, unfortunately, all too real. Though he would certainly agree with a description of cool, interesting, mysterious, and tough. He had a James Bond-ian air of smooth confidence about him that was larger than life, only just too fantastical to be faked.

Speaking of mysterious, though.... Tony watched Ryuzaki fidget, absently reminded of Dr. Banner. Shabby fidgeters with that edge of wary tension. Banner had a pretty good reason for his mannerisms, a good green reason. What could this kid be hiding? Then he shifted position and okay, that perching thing was a little weird. -Er. Weirder. Kid was already kinda weird.

Tony listened sagely and nodded a few times when he finished talking despite the fact that his companion obviously couldn't see the motion.

"Mm, yeah," he acknowledged with a light, dismissive tone. "Or you could just ask."

Ironically, Tony Stark was sitting across from what James Bond would have been, minus the weapons, the looks and the charisma, and if he'd never left his hotel room or brought women into it.

...which, admittedly, didn't leave much, except, of course, for the brilliant mind that was singularly well-suited to finding and catching criminals. He was weird, and unsuited for the vast bulk of what constituted human experience and obligation, but he could say that he was the best three detectives in the world. Minus a set of seeing eyes.

So it wasn't a terrible surprise that his identity was in limbo.

His whited-out eyes slimmed at Tony's implication. He had never been the trusting type, and typically, strangers didn't offer life-changing technology to him in coffee shops. He quirked one of his hairless brows, as if wondering just what the catch was.

Reaching for his coffee, he dropped in eight sugar cubes one by one while he considered Tony's question. Then he added two more for good measure. He sipped it, grimaced, and added another four cubes.

"You don't sound like you're lying about your ability to craft a superior solution," he finally decided. "That being said... it's a hell of a thing to ask a stranger for. It requires faith even with the benefit of sight, not to mention the monetary aspect. There are too many unknown variables to just assume... and it's foolish to ask for something unless one is at least 75% certain that they can attain it."

Edited 2013-08-30 05:32 (UTC)

Tony let him take his time, barely resisting the urge to ask if he'd like some coffee with his sugar. Rue didn't seem like he'd get the joke, and more importantly it would derail the conversation.

"Okay, first, I can build this in my sleep, I'm a genius, it's what I do. Please, I've built way more complicated things in way worse conditions."

A miniature nuclear reactor in a cave with bits and pieces of missiles, for instance.

"To pay me would be insulting, frankly. Second, I'm a nice guy. Philanthropist, superhero, saved the world, again, what I do. I'm a do-gooder, I do good, like giving free shit to a weird blind kid who puts fourteen sugar cubes in his coffee. You don't look like you'll turn into a power-hungry supervillain, so I think I'm safe there, but even if you did you'd be stupid because anyone could just knock the glasses off your face. And if that motivation isn't good enough for you, third, I'm also really bored."

Tony paused to sip his coffee as well as let Rue ruminate on the offer. He had to add, however, a further thought. Kid seemed like he needed it.

"Fourth, don't be a schmuck. If you want something, go for it, none of this 75% certain crap. You won't get anything like that. Piece of advice."

Unfortunately, L's sense of humor wasn't particularly strong or healthy. Many aspects of his personality somewhat resembled plants that had been watered regularly but kept in the dark, with moist roots that plunged deep and sickly, unhealthy leaves that had no sense of when to flower or seed. Some geniuses, like Tony and L's own partner Light, were also charming and sociable and well-rounded enough for any odd habits to go unnoticed or be forgiven. Others, like L and many who had come after him, were bound and limited by their neuroses to the point where they were savants in specific fields, but ill-suited to life outside of a locked room with several faintly glowing computer screens. Though L had done much, he had seldom needed more than an internet connection and a few trusted liaisons to carry out his work.

So he wouldn't have laughed, and Tony made the right call.

"In summation, it's easy, you like helping people, you're bored, and I should be more assertive?" He asked, stirring the sludge-like paste in his coffee cup with a thin, tapered index finger. "I haven't been blind for very long. I won't pretend that I'm content, being able to see nothing except a few flashes of light. But I've had some... setbacks, lately, to say the very least. So. If you're going to do this for me, out of the kindness of your heart, contributing your time and your talents and your advice, I don't want a minor improvement over this pixelated nightmare. I don't want you to change your mind today or tomorrow. I don't want charity, the food you didn't eat or the shoes you're finished wearing. I want an elegant solution. Something that becomes a part of me, something that you would wear yourself, in my place. Something you stay up late working on, that has not been built in your sleep."

"Correction: easy for me. Big difference."

The tone Tony used was perhaps strangely not that of bragging. It was confidence belonging to a man who was so certain of his talents that he accepted them as fact. Tony Stark did not boast of his intelligence, he restated what was already true. He built impossible things, things that lesser minds in his fields could only dream of, and he had a genius and creativity few could match. Making the distinction of easy for him and easy for anyone else was necessary, and not just to stroke his ego.

"And no," he continued matter-of-factly. "I won't give you what I would wear myself, because what I would do is probably really dangerous, experimental, and in general a bad idea. And while I am notorious for enacting bad ideas upon myself, I'm not going to do it to a kid."

He sipped his coffee with an air of finality, as if daring Rue to argue.

"What I will give you, however," he added. "Will still be pretty damn cool."

Edited 2013-09-05 01:48 (UTC)

It was a tone L recognized. It wasn't just that he was brilliant and confident in his abilities; he used to have an entire fleet of people training to take his place someday who were similarly brilliant and confident. All geniuses, all prodigies, all too neurotic and arrogant to function well in society but perfectly suited to compete for the coveted title L would relinquish when he died.

He'd even had a tech genius. That tech genius was actually in Death City, but like his other successors, certainly not interested in talking to the man whose obsessive inability to let go of his final case had been seen as a betrayal.

"Yes. It's a difference I understand," he replied mildly. "And your reasons are kind and I'm sure your intentions are to protect me, but I'm not exactly in a position to lose much. I'm 25 years old, I'm blind, and the experimental and dangerous excite me. 'Pretty damn cool' is impressive for a science project. But if you're as good as you say you are... as my will to live needs to believe you are... you can have some fun with this. I'll sign a waiver, if you want me to."

Go big, or go home.

"Do you gamble, Mr. Stark? My job relies heavily on my ability to see. My job is my raison d'être. If this was any game with any stakes, I would be all in. I'd rather risk everything for the best you can do than settle for the safe and easy and, within the scope of your professed ability, mundane. It's what I want, and I'm going for it."

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I Thought Perhaps We Could Sit Down for Tea [OPEN, June 25]

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