Author's Note: I hope you read and enjoy the beginning of what I've written so far—there will be more to come! R&R would be very helpful and needed! I never realized how fun it would be to write in Mello's perspective…anyway enjoy!
Its funny how things turned out. In the end did anyone really win? Not on their own…at least. Words and logic seem to fall short; I doubt there was any physic ass out there who could have predicted the outcome of the Kira case, lead alone any case L took on. No. The cases he took up and saw through (some 3,500 that are recorded) were ones that couldn't of been solved anymore quickly than they had been. And if it wasn't for that fuck Kira and his pathetic and petty excuse of a murder weapon L would still be solving cases. Hell—it's good to know that when cornered Kira didn't act any different than the small scummy criminal he was. His reigning saga as god ended and in his last 40 seconds of life he had fallen from his golden pedestal, straining to look up at the reaper himself. Companion and enemy, the shinigami abandoned his toy which was now drowning in his own blood. Time killed, the craving for entertainment now fully satisfied, the god of the new world and the terror that came with it was gone.
I'm not going to talk anymore about Kira.
Fuck Kira.
Here I am not going to talk about that Kira case; but instead am going to talk about L.
L.
I, myself, have seen L—not just the calligraphic letter floating in the center of a computer, but the person himself. The mastermind acting as hundreds of detectives in all parts of the world—the true L. On three occasions I have met him and one of those times it was in person. It was during the last occasion did he speak directly at me, it was right before he left for Japan, right before he opening threatened Kira. It was during this encounter did he tell me of three cases; one of which I have already recorded. These three cases were the ones that made L the great detective he was…and, hopefully, still is. Near, if you're reading this I hope in God's name that you won't be a push over like the fake L before you.
Here I hope to write about the cases that made L Lawliet L.
M.
Chapter 1: Moonlit Stroll
Mello pushed back a lock of his hair which blocked his vision. He strained his eyes impatiently waiting for them to finally adjust to the dark shadows of the night. The windowless hallway made it impossible to see what was in front of him as he attempted to quietly walk past the countless tired residents of Wammy's.
Normally he wouldn't give a rat's ass about disturbing anyone, but, for some odd reason even he himself couldn't explain he didn't want to be noticed. The desire to slip past dozens of unseeing eyes could be compared to a sleuth or a spy escaping enemy territory by simply disappearing even when in plain sight. A childish thought—yes at least Mello thought it was, especially at…What was it? 13? Almost fourteen? Certainly it was a childish thought, but what was he to say? Thinking about it, the thought wasn't so short near minded or purblind. Mello thought back to the previous afternoon when everyone gathered in Roger's office and was able to "talk" to L. What a load of bullshit. Mello remember muttering as everyone (and even to his surprise Matt) rushed over in front of the computer screen and began to ask pointless questions only troglodytes like them would ask. Near was probably the only one that heard him as he sat down to fatally attempt to solve one of his five rubix cubes. To Mello's amusement, a lot of the children were crushed as they listened to their idol, L, who said that solving cases was nothing more than mere amusement to him, nothing more than a simple childish hobby. Funny, Thought Mello, when you think you know someone…
Carefully, the blonde descended the polished staircase with meticulous caution.
Toe, ball, heel, toe, ball, heel.
He almost went into a straddle split, as he avoided stepping on five steps which he knew made a high pitched squeal that would most certainly echo throughout the entire house.
To his relief he finally made it down the long curving flight of stairs, his felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. 2 o' clock? 2:30? He knew he probably took almost twenty minutes sneaking to the ground level of Wammy's. Now I'm tired, after I decide to take all that effort in not getting caught I have to do the process all over again. Well, I didn't do all that to just to do it all over again. Mello finally concluded. I might as well get some chocolate or something…
Since everyone slept one the other side of the house Mello didn't put much effort in remaining quiet. The hem of his loose jeans scuffed the surface of the carpet in the formal refectory and the hinges of the glass paneled door leading out to the back peristyle which encircled the open garden courtyard screeched as the door was slammed open and closed.
Mello had no precise reason for going to the kitchen this way. If anything it would have been much quicker if he had went through the house instead of walking this long detour which wrapped around the entire back of Wammy's. Yet Mello mentally rationalized that there was no true rush to get to the kitchen and then back up that staircase of hell…again. Though he would never admit it; the blonde was curious to see garden at night. Sure he had been in the garden countless times, but never had he ever seen it like this.
The sky, a cool blue was streaked with a deep purple—the shade of the first plum you've ever tasted. The welkin sky held the moon whose light was like streams of silver thread suspending a watchful eye upon the night. White moon flowers that clung to the stone columns unpeeled their petals and leaves, trying to absorb the translucent light. It was beautiful; really…As Mello peered at the moonlit garden he felt a peculiar feeling of nothing. Nothing? Nothing. This feeling of indifference, this feeling of no motivation—to stand there for the entire night and simply gaze with no longing or no real thought was…odd. All his life he had felt something; why wasn't he feeling anything now? It was frightening in a sense. How all of his desires just for that moment, that long moment, disappeared. The goals and longing for something that he didn't have faded into the dark shadows of the courtyard.
Regaining his composure he quickly continued to walk towards the kitchen door on the other side of the walkway. Until…
CRASH.
His feet encountered something…squishy? Well, whatever he stepped in sent him shooting forward onto his face.
"What the fuck?!" Turning over, Mello laid on his back before he finally brought his hand to his nose. To his relief it wasn't broken, but it sure hurt enough to be smashed into bloody pieces. Opening his eyes his was met with the gaze of a figure. The moon light (no matter how beautifully described) was not an adequate light source. Meaning, that Mello could barely see his hand in front of him let alone make out any features of the dark outline peering down at him.
"I—I had left something down here I was just retrieving it. Oh screw it; I'm not reporting myself to Roger no matter what you say!"
Mello sat up from the ground and peeled off his socks which were covered in…custard? Looking straight forward Mello could make out plates piled with an assortment of delectable sugary substances, from what he gathered he evidently stepped on a plate of chocolate éclairs. The figure shuffled back over to the buffet selection of desserts and picked (what Mello presumed to be) a cherry.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to step in your food, but at least put it on a table or something!"
The figure sat down in a crouched position, upper body crunched, huddled over their knees. A wild mange of black hair fully covered their head and matched the shabbiness of the loose worn faded jeans and plain white top. Looking down at the figure, Mello recovered faint memories from not so long ago of his first and last roommate.
"Beyond?"
At this the figure turned around to look at the blonde. The resemblance was too close to be a coincidence, unless…If he remembered his fellow rival Beyond Birthday well, he would know that out of anger and through a sick distorted way of thinking Beyond emulated every habit and outer appearance of his enemy…It can't be…
"You're—L?!"
"Nice to meet you." The famous detective said in-between a mouthful of cherries.