Death Note Drabbles
by Kyrianne
A/N: These aren't written for any particular reason, except maybe to help me work on my prose. They're all random scenes or ideas that have been floating around in my mind for some time, and I've finally decided to finally get them down on paper (figuratively speaking -- I've only typed them). Any time there are spoilers or pairings, you will be warned. Please tell me what you think -- what do I need to work on, what parts did you really like, and what are your general feelings overall? I appreciate any and all comments, even flames if they have a valid basis to them. But please, don't flame just to flame. And I would really appreciate it more if you were just polite about your criticisms.
Before I forget -- I don't own Death Note or any of its characters, and I certainly don't wish to be sued. Death Note and all of its counterparts are sole property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Jump Comics. And whoever it is that's responsible for the anime. Sorry, I'm not sure who it is and I'm too lazy to look it up right now. ;
1. The Real Thing
Sort of spoiler for chapter 37, but not exactly. This doesn't fit very well with the actual series, per say. ; Maybe spoiler for chapter 55?
Two fingers of L's left hand gingerly pinch the area of fabric between clasp and strap, holding the purple and pink polka-dotted item in question level with his face. His arm is outstretched as if he doesn't wish to touch the item more than necessary. He leans closer to it as he brings his right hand forward, index finger extending to hesitantly poke the perfect curve of padded fabric.
"What are you doing with Misa's bra?!"
L turns to peer at the livid girl standing behind him. Impossibly, no guilt mars his pale face; instead, only mild surprise at her entrance can be seen. Misa's anger fades slightly to be partially replaced by uneasiness as L stares at her disconcertingly, large dark-rimmed eyes unblinking like a cat's. The hand that had been poking the bra is now at his mouth, thumb lifting the corner of his upper lip. He still holds the bra in his other hand, and his eyes flick toward it as he contemplates an answer.
"Would you rather I examine the real thing?" he inquires finally after much deliberation, his eyes gliding back to look at her as he speaks.
"Misa knew you were a pervert!" The shriek is indignant, infuriated.
Her anger spikes and blonde hair trails behind her as she stomps forward to snatch the bra back. L surrenders it without resistance and watches Misa's retreating back as she clomps out the door and slams it behind her.
He continues to stare at the closed door for a moment, wondering what was so perverse about his suggestion, before turning back around, resituating himself in his chair to maximize his comfort. His gaze slides to the monitors that line the wall before him, easily finding another activity to distract him from his boredom...
A/N: Geez, is there any sort of synonym for the word 'bra' that doesn't sound like it came from a textbook? Sorry if my constant use of the word made it sound too repetitive. ;
2. Death of Perfection
Spoilers for chapter 74 and sort of 83. Maybe just the 80's in general, actually.
The first time Mello saw his reflection after the explosion, he had screamed.
Really screamed. The fear of sounding like a girl held no precedence over what he saw in the mirror.
The flawless swell of skin on his left cheek reduced to shreds. A mask of lumpy, angry-red scar tissue replacing perfection.
He had expected to die in that explosion. Now, he wishes he had.
It has taken him a while, but he has finally gained composure. He is almost too calm; his thoughts are on suicide.
He is seriously considering ending his life, has planned it out, every detail laid out with precision in his mind. He even decides on a date before he has a revelation.
If he quit life now, Near would win.
His thoughts do a complete turn of 180 degrees as he realizes this. His face contorts into a livid grimace, and he's barely able to curb the urge to let loose the savage scream of revenge that is climbing up his throat.
It's true that he'll never feel beautiful again, but at least he now has a goal:
Find Kira before Near does, then kill them both.
A/N: Poor Mello. He's one of my favorite characters, actually; after he's reintroduced into the series in chapter 83, I just want to hug him or something. It's never specifically brought up, but you can tell that he feels ugly because of the scarring. If only someone showed him that he is still wonderful, he might not be so violent...
3. Hide It With Leather
Once again, spoilers for chapter 74 and general 80's. This one's kind of a continuation of the last drabble.
Hiding his scars was harder than Mello had imagined.
He could no longer wear the sleeveless leather shirt-vests that he used to love so much. Or at least he'd have to wear a jacket over it at all times.
The scarring wasn't only on his face; it went down his neck and covered his left arm, parts of his back, and continued down until it stopped just above his knee.
He wore long pants anyway, so that wasn't going to be a problem. But his face -- how was he going to cover the scar on his face?
He found a solution: he grew out his hair, using it as a yellow curtain to hide his ugliness.
He completes his new look with gloves, to cover the scars on his left hand, and wears sunglasses whenever possible.
Now all he has to worry about is what he'll do when it gets too warm for a full outfit of leather.
A/N: I don't actually think Mello looks ugly from his scars. I think it adds a certain adorable charm to him, truthfully. ;
4. Comparing Scars
Again, same spoiler warning. ; I guess I'm in a Mello sort of mood right now.
Mello watches with fascination as the blood from thin cuts on his left wrist trickles down the length of his arm and falls into the sink drain, one small crimson drop at a time. His right hand trembles slightly, still holding the cheap, orange plastic razor that he had used to cut the careful, even slices on his wrist.
The self-inflicted wounds sting. He pushes on the edges roughly, forcing more of his blood to run into the sink, adding to the dark pool that lingers around the drain.
A smile creeps onto Mello's face slowly, this moment of masochistic torture bringing him altogether too much enjoyment. He raises his gaze to the mirror slowly, as if to share in his triumph with his reflection.
His breath catches. The smile drops from his face. A wave of nausea pulses through him, and he leans back over the sink to empty his suddenly convulsing stomach.
When he is finished, he looks back at his reflection. A pathetic, dispirited face stares back, looking dull from sickness and [despair. A face of white scars and grey skin. His face. Even his eyes have lost their color, and his hair seems desaturated and lacking any sort of shine. Like he's a ghost.
Mello looks down at his wrist, its throbbing begging him to pay it some attention. He wills himself not to get sick again, and closes his eyes. The vision of bright slashes of red against a background of white burns under his eyelids, and no matter how much he wills it to go away, there it stays, haunting him. He waits, patiently, for peace.
He finally opens his eyes and turns on the faucet, pushing his now-silent wrist under the soothing flow. The cleansing water washes over his arm, diluting the red to a pale pink and then finally sweeping it away, down the drain to where Mello doesn't have to think about it anymore. He lets the moisture on his arm rain to the floor as he gets up from his kneel, making his way to the trashcan. He drops the razor, realizing he'd had a death grip on it, satisfied to hear the clunk as it hits the bottom. This new satisfaction gives him a bit of hope, and on a sudden whim, he grabs the tissue box. He plucks about 6 from the box and drops them after the razor slowly, waiting for each to settle before sending off the next, burying the weapon in its grave and vowing never to use it again. The final tissue falls from his right hand, which is no longer wavering, but holding still with his new determination.
When he looks back down to his wrist, he sees that the cuts have started to scab, and he knows they would be leaving more than just a physical mark.
Later, months from now, he would be comparing the scars on his arm, from explosion and razor. And he was already positive of something.
He would be hating himself for these.
A/N: I'm not trying to say that Mello is emo, or anything. I just thought that he'd probably have some sort of moment like this. I think I like this one the least so far; maybe just because it seems kind of unreal, cheesy in a way. Please tell me what you think, maybe I'm just being stupid about it.
5. Always The Winner
Somewhat spoilery for volume 4 in general, but not really. If you've read past that, you're fine.
Light coughs into the crook of his elbow for the seventh time in quick succession, and L finally decides to say something about it. "Raito-kun, do you have a cold you've decided not to inform me of?" He takes a bite of his cake with a nonchalant grace that no one but the best detective in the world could accomplish.
"I don't have a cold," Light responds, stubbornly, refusing to believe the fact that even God is succeptible to germs. He withholds many different expressions of pain; the skin at the back of his throat is sore and raw. He won't give L any satisfaction by giving proof that, yes, Yagami Light has a cold.
L notices his attempts to hide his expression anyway, but decides to go about it by a different approach. "...Does Raito-kun have to use the restroom?" he asks solemnly, though he is unable to keep the slightest of teasing smiles to work its way onto his face. His thumb reaches up to cover the quirk of his lip, but its mission fails; his enjoyment of this situation is only easier for Light to view.
And, as if to taunt Kira further, L's toes curl comfortably around the edge of his chair, as if he's settling in for the show.
Light can feel the grimaces fighting hard to display themselves, so he only works harder to conceal them, trying to ignore L in the meantime. His eyebrow twitches with concentration, and his jaw is set in determination. He won't give up. He'll win, just like he always does.
L lacks the kind of attention span needed to torment me like this, he assures himself, squashing the doubts he has about that statement before they can completely form in his mind. Yes, he's beginning to turn away already...
L turns toward the microphone set up beside his Mac. He presses a button, and immediately a giant capital 'W,' in his standard cloister black font, displays itself on every monitor on the wall.
"Yes, Ryuuzaki?" says a distorted voice before L can say anything.
L gazes up at the many screens as he answers into the mic, "Watari, please purchase some laxatives for Raito-kun. He seems to be having some...difficulties."
The detective waits for Light to respond, knowing that he will.
"I'm not constipated!" Light exclaims indignantly, secretly glad that L and he are working on the case alone this time; he hopes that Matsuda doesn't hear of this. L turns to look at him, the quirk of his mouth growing wider, then turns back to the microphone.
"While you're at the store, pick up some cold medication as well. I believe there is someone who will need it soon."
Watari, who had been silently waiting for his complete orders, finally replies. "Yes, Ryuuzaki. Anything else?"
"No, that is all." L is about to let go of the button before he adds, "Actually, I would appreciate an eclair or two."
"Laxatives, cold medication, and a dozen eclairs. That is all?"
L polishes off the last of his cake, plucking the final bit, a strawberry, from its place on the plate. He pops it into his mouth, contemplating its flavor with his tongue.
Light sends imaginary daggers at L with his mind, and the detective seems to have picked up on this, despite the fact he is turned away, because he answers:
"I've reassessed my earlier conclusions about Raito's need for the first item. Please, remove it from the list. That is all."
Despite the fact that Light had been directly made fun of by L, he is feeling quite good about himself.
Because while L was busy talking with Watari, Light had coughed all over his cake.
A/N: XD I love this one. It's just so...silly. And if you're wondering why I use the true English spelling of 'Light' in the normal text and 'Raito' in L's speech, it's because 'Raito-kun' sounds so much cuter when spoken than 'Light-kun'. And since I'm an L fan, this is much appreciated cuteness, in my opinion. x3
I really hate colds. I have one right now, in fact. That's the only reason I thought of this, actually. coughs --; Writers shouldn't be able to get colds, either. We're gods in our own right, you know.