He believes that wolves are constantly present, and will slip in when the slightest break in composure is shown. They follow a human down the beaten path, hiding amongst trees and carefully avoiding leaves and twigs under the worn pads of their paws, the wind never quite picking up on the stench of their filthy fur. Wolves, L knows, come in many forms. Some are obvious, while others are so perfectly disguised that not even a world-class detective would be able to see through the guise until the clothes fell away, teeth were bared, and it was too late to do anything but attack, or be attacked.
Beyond Birthday is the former.
He wears his fur proudly, teeth exposed for all to see, dark eyes shining with the thrill of the hunt, because to him, L knows, everything must be a game. It is what keeps him breathing, keeps him from accepting that the wolf's fate is to fall by the hand of Man, no matter the circumstance. Hunt a thousand men, and one will eventually be the one to bring you down. It is walking into a lake of fire on a very thin, worn sheet of limestone, fully aware that the weakest point is the middle, and yet Beyond walks toward it without a reservation in the world.
"And this makes you Man."
"Naturally."
"Wolves were always more cunning, Lawli." And this is said with an even stare, one that L knows was adopted from his own, as though Beyond fully expected L to choose the role of wolf for the same reasons he did.
A dip in the path. A few jagged pebbles.
"And if I disguised myself in Man's flesh?"
"I don't know, Beyond. You have yet to attempt it."
Contemptuous. And set down as a challenge that unfortunately, has gone too far. Predictable, however.
If L wanted a challenge, then B was obligated to be the challenger.
If L wanted to hunt, then Beyond would be the hunted.
Unfortunately, when Man chose to hunt wolves, they found themselves inevitably… hunted.
"Did you choose her for her high cheekbones, L?" The tilt of a head, disheveled, too-long, darkened hair brushing Beyond's browbone. His dry lips are massaged by the pad of a calloused thumb, and L thinks that he would never allow his hands to become that used. "She looks sculpted when she stands in natural light. It's not attractive at all."
Of course B would focus on the aesthetics. It was the primary source of his attention, in any situation. Dress yourself up, and no one will see the sharp canines beneath.
…
"You look nothing like me."
"I'm going to kill her, you know. Poor girl~ Left to walk alone on the wolf-laden path, set off to Grandma's house and— Oh, that makes you Grandma, doesn't it?"
And the feed is cut before the figure on the other end could commence that lunatic laughter he's adopted during the past few days. Too much time alone, maybe. Or not enough. Either is an acceptable reason.
But they have veered off of the path of the tale. The body count has risen too high, and some games are better played in private.
Kohl liner is smeared against the base of L's thumb, lips parted and kiss-swollen, throat marred and bruised, and there is a constant pause between panting, in which Beyond stops to align their breathing properly.
"Stop doing that." Their skin's shade is almost the same now, B having purposely stayed out of direct sunlight for weeks at a time, ensuring the hues would eventually match. Perhaps it is the only thing he has done correctly. Everything else is a disastrous mess. Too many authorities involved, too many lives lost, and in the middle of it, poor Red Riding Hood, basket in hand, intent on seeing something beyond her understanding through to the end.
L has almost called off the investigation twice.
"The wolf reached Grandma's bed before she did, Lawli. Does this put everything back on track?" Teeth are scraping at L's shoulder, tongue following, and the thrusts have ceased for the time-being. Both hunter and hunted are too sated, too content in this disgusting state of utter chaos to even entertain the idea of moving.
"Have you had her, Beyond?"
"Do I smell like her?"
"Then you're going about this improperly."
Teeth sink deeper this time, because oh, how dare Man taunt the wolf while fangs are at his throat.
The game is coming to a close. They both know it, and if the threat of additional victims weren't so prevalent, L would certainly drag it out as long as possible. He is winning, as far as he is concerned, but the wolf settled in the bushes, almost obliviously bathing himself with his tongue, knowing there is a rifle aimed at his head, would disagree.
Have they ever agreed on anything?
"I am calling her off of the case."
"Oh, don't. You. Dare." Laughter follows, fading in and out with the background noise of evening traffic, the connection wavering as B walks into the thicker part of downtown.
And this is all so ridiculous, L thinks. It was a game fabricated between the two of them, and a suspect could easily be fabricated, created, convicted, but Beyond will not have it that way, will he? Let someone else take responsibility for his doing? Never.
"You're finished, Beyond. I will have it all taken care of by morning."
"Just one more."
"No. We're done, here."
"But the wolf dies at the end, Lawli."
Yes. Yes, the wolf does. But Naomi Misora is no Red Riding Hood, and there was definitely no bored detective orchestrating the tale.
And the wolf certainly didn't set himself on fire in a last, mocking action toward the unseen narrator. Perhaps Beyond had decided that they had indeed skewed a good story, and sought to burn the book that contained it as a final retaliation. Frustration could produce such horrid actions.
And desperation, Beyond learned the hard way, was never L's game.