This is a multiversal cross over fanfic which probably have absolutely no plot except for being cool, sarcastic, funny and maybe dramatic. Please saw open your cranium and deposit your brain besides you so that it doesn't explode from an aneurysm by a blatant disregard of canon and its rules. Indeed, it would be surprising if you didn't suffer from a headache due to all the crap that you will read here. Yes, all rules of canon are shoved into the scrap heap.
/$/ON THE DIFFERENT TYPES OF MINDSETS\&\
CH#1: The Letter, the Night God, the Mirror, the Demon and the Witch debut in this chapter but do not meet while the reader either skips reading the chapter name or is actually laughing at the author's sense of naming chapters and is actually justified in his or her amusement.
L rarely, if ever, slept. At least that was the way the children at Wammy knew him to be. And them being children meant that they were unbelievingly naïve and gullible at times. If they had been told that L was buxom blonde woman who could juggle sharks, they would have believed it. Although based on statistics that L was currently viewing for absolutely no reason, they would be happier if he was a ninja triceratops. Children's imagination was indeed quite unpredictable.
L did sleep but he made sure that no one except Quillish Wammy knew when he was sleeping so that on the off chance that someone did call him, Wammy would tend to the matter and make it appear as if L himself was the one they were dealing with.
Why did he cultivate such a useless persona? Why would people be afraid of a young man with bags under his eyes?
The simple answer was that they did not know that L was a young insomniac but rather recognized him as an untiring force against crime in general.
L was still perplexed why they tended to look at him like that. He had made it pretty clear that he did not chase criminals for the sake of justice but rather for the sake of avoiding boredom. It wasn't even entertainment to him.
Entertainment was like having an half an hour to spare and still watching Fight Club. Avoiding boredom could be said was the equivalent of watching one's own Facebook timeline in the hopes of someone updating their status and eventually having the fruits of their vigil being rewarded in the form of some idiot, they remotely know, liking the Twilight page.
Currently, he was in Dublin for no other reason than wanting to see the Emerald Isle. For a 350 euro per night rate, L had settled into the comfortable bed of the suite in the Shelbourne Hotel and gone to sleep. It was day time at that time. He had planned to get up at night and do a little exploring of the streets. His recent case had been once again, uneventful. To other people, it had seemed like a miracle that he had managed to piece together all the evidence.
To L, it was 37 hours spent receiving data, processing data and analyzing data. It had taken him such a long time to solve the case because the data he often requested was quite obscure and not easily available on the internet, which was why he had requested for it to be manually retrieved in the first place. That case, although being another triumphant success against crime in the media's opinion, was just a Tuesday and thirteen hours of Wednesday to L. And right now, he was in Ireland, sleeping away his boredom.
L had quite often tried to recall times when he wasn't so bored. He would often quickly arrive at the conclusion that it was when he was a child and had yet to learn about the mysteries of life. Sometimes L had contemplated on somehow inducing amnesia on himself just so that he could once again experience the joy of learning and getting surprised.
He would just as quickly shoot these ideas down himself. If he did manage to do that, there was more than a 90 percent chance that the new L wouldn't even be L. As he knew from statistics, memories and experiences were a huge factor in the development of a person's personality. If L had been raised as the adoptive son of the head of a crime syndicate, L was pretty sure that he would be a crime lord with plenty of cash and a perpetual fear of getting caught.
And probably a record of having murdered quite a few people, events which his loyal subordinates would no doubt sweep under the rug. Which reminded him of his time in Sicily. Those shepherds hadn't been friendly with him.
And then there was the fact that L would never actually experience those things himself, it would be himself with no memory of being L which would kind of render the whole strategy ineffective.
In short, L had no other option except solving criminal cases and being bored while the touring the world.
L woke up at nine am and proceeded to brush his teeth. Despite what people thought, there was a difference between being untidy and being filthy. If L had his shirt untucked, he was being untidy.
If he had crap sticking to his upper body garments, he was being filthy.
Of course none of this mattered simply because L didn't care. As he knew from statistics, most people dressed sharply to either make an impression on the general populace or on someone in particular. L didn't need to do either so why care whether his shirt was untucked or not?
It helped that his current attire made normal people think of shut ins. Although it was technically true since L mildly felt uncomfortable in crowds and open spaces and thus preferred enclosed spaces. The point being that no one expected L to be a shut in, they thought that L was a man or a team of men with Holmesian personality quirks stuffed in business suits.
L found it mildly amusing since he considered direct observational data to be misleading. Even trained field agents made so many mistakes when collecting data that was why L had grown rather wary of field reports. His preferred method of finding the culprit in any case was narrowing down the number of suspects using statistics or using the suspect's profiles to determine their innocence.
But then again, those were also Holmesian traits. L never attempted to find out why a person committed a crime. Just knowing that he was the one who did it was enough. The motives could come later. L typically depended on the fact that a culprit could possibly do it. Why would he do it was something he did not even attempt to explain. He was not a psychologist, he was a super detective. There was a difference.
His previous case had ended with the culprit committing suicide. The media was fed the story of that particular victim being innocent and him dying of a heart attack. The case before that had ended with suspect being gunned down to death. The media had been fed the story of the suspect dying of a heart attack. L had found a sort of grim amusement from the fake stories. Who would ever believe these stories? The public would get a hold of the facts sooner or later. And there were always the conspiracy theorists who would claim something else.
L emerged from the bathroom to see a very disturbed Wammy looking at him.
"L, I am afraid I have some bad news." He said gravely. His demeanor and message had no effect on L. The worst news he could imagine possible was him losing a lot of money and that didn't disturb him. He had no family or friends so the bad news couldn't possibly be about the loss of a loved one. On the contrary, L felt mildly interested.
What had happened that was apparently so bad that Wammy would call it bad news?
"The Japanese Prime Minister died of a heart attack. Several documents revealing his sick mindset were discovered besides him revealing him to be pedophile. However, the bad news is that he died while leaving behind a note saying 'I was murdered by Eraldo Coil'. We have been requested to fly to Japan to solve the case. Since this involves Coil, I thought it would be prudent to tell you." Wammy said somberly.
If L was happy, he didn't show it. The problem was, he was extremely happy. It had been quite some time since someone had been foolhardy and stupid enough to challenge him directly. Not only that, they had used one of his pseudonyms too! This was too juicy and opportunity to pass on.
"Make preparations." Was all he said.
Most people who knew about Light Yagami were aware of one thing.
He was extremely smart. That wasn't saying much since most people who could get the highest marks in school were smart. What made Light different was that he did not use conventional logic but rather preferred his own brand of logic.
Some audacious people had secretly called him insane. One of them was his best friend, Taro Kagami. Although for a sixteen year old boy to be friends with a thirteen year old one was slightly strange in the eyes of some people.
There were many things that could be considered strange about Light Yagami. He had once told Taro that if he was in a novel written by Jerry Ratchet like Globedimension, he would most probably not survive since even his brand of logic might not work there. Taro had told him that he was crazy.
He had also claimed that the greatest amount of wisdom could be gained if one took the world's best literature and subtracted everything that was unrealistic from them. Taro had told them that he was crazy.
He had also claimed that his best source of wisdom was actually Twilight. Taro had kicked him in the shin and told him that he was insane. Light had corrected him and told him that he was crazy, not insane. Taro had refused to talk to him for three days.
Currently, Taro Kagami was sitting in Light's room.
"Look what I found at school, Taro!" Light said, showing a black notebook to his young best friend.
"It's a goth's notebook." Taro deadpanned. Light took a moment to inspect the notebook, giving it a thorough once over.
"Doesn't look like a goth's notebook." He said in a puzzled voice.
"It says 'DEATH NOTE' on the cover. How can it not be a goth's notebook?" Taro said patiently. Apparently both Light and Taro argued like this quite often.
"That doesn't make it a goth's notebook. If it was, it would say 'GOTH NOTE'." Light retorted.
"Look, fascination with death is something that is commonly attributed to goths. Common sense dictates that this is most probably a goth's notebook." Taro argued.
"Many people who are mentally unstable also have inherent fascination with death. People who are over ridden with guilt also sometimes develop a fascination with death. Serial killers also develop a fascination with death. Just because it says 'DEATH NOTE' does not make it a goth's notebook. We first have to prove that it belongs to a goth." Light pointed out.
Taro sighed in a frustrated tone as Light proceeded to open the black notebook and read the rules. "The human whose name is written in this notebook, shall die." Light read.
"See? That means it is a goth's notebook!" Taro argued.
"No, Taro, I think it states pretty clearly that it means that if I write someone's name here, that person will die." Light answered. It took Taro a full minute to process what Light had said.
"Wait, are you serious? You think this notebook is authentic?" Taro asked.
"For the record, I am not serious, I am Light. And no, I don't believe that it is authentic because whether I think it is authentic or not will not change what it is. If I simply deny it being authentic and it turns out to actually be a real notebook that can kill, my denial will mean nothing. If it is a hoax and yet I stubbornly stick to the belief that it can kill, my belief will mean nothing." Light said.
"Belief and existence are separate after all." Taro mused.
"Oh so you read that book I lent you? Nice!" Light said in a cheerful tone, completely forgetting about the DEATH NOTE on the desk.
"Well it's not like I read it to please you or anything. I was just feeling curious." Taro said looking somewhere else.
"Anyways, let us test its authenticity." Light said. Taro once again had trouble in processing what Light had just said.
"You are actually going to test it?" Taro said in a horrified whisper.
"Well there is no harm in doing it as a joke." Light said in a nonchalant tone. He proceeded to take out a pen and write on the page. His right hand was immediately grabbed by Taro. The young teenager slammed the notebook shut.
"Come to your senses, Light! What if you actually kill someone?" He said in a panicked tone.
"My dear Taro, it is you who should come to his senses. Even though I consider everything to have a degree of authenticity, I also consider how much possible it is for that thing to be authentic. A note book that can kill? Let us suppose that it is authentic. What are the chances of it being scientifically manufactured in this era? Absolutely zero. Thus we can say that this notebook is supernatural in origin. What are the chances that whatever vampire, poltergeist, reaper or demon who originally possessed it to drop it in the world of humans? Quite close to zero. I would assume that he would want to keep his notebook close to him, being important and all and try not to drop it. So it is safe to assume that this notebook is a normal notebook which belongs to a goth even if supernatural notebooks exist because the chances of this being a normal object far outweigh it being supernatural." Light lectured. Taro let go of Light's hand. He was still frowning.
"But then why do you want to write in it?" Taro asked.
"It would be funny when the goth finds his notebook. I would include a note in the end explaining that such a useless sub culture is damaging to his health and that his notebook didn't work." Light said. Taro nodded reluctantly.
"Inshuu Manjoume dies of heart attack; Puts all files he has personally ordered to be sealed on his desk; Writes a note saying 'I was murdered by Eraldo Coil.'" Light said as he wrote.
"You are not only insane, you are sick! You are worse than Goths! Why are you writing the Prime Minister's name? And who is Coil?" Taro said in a disgusted tone.
"Coil is the world's second best detective; although I have no idea who is the first and I believe that I just proved that it is nearly impossible for this notebook to actually have any effect?" Light asked rhetorically.
"That does not remove the bad taste this prank has." Taro said angrily. Light looked at his friend for a moment.
"I think you are right. But then again, one should learn to enjoy jokes like this. Life is like a sick joke as well you know." Light said.
"Whatever." Taro replied.
"Well, let's check the television to see whether the prime minister died or not." Light said.
"Light! You just proved that it was impossible for this notebook to be supernatural! Then why are you going to check the television?" Taro exclaimed angrily.
"I never proved that it was impossible for this notebook to be supernatural. I just proved that this notebook had a higher chance of being normal notebook which belongs to a goth." Light said. Taro looked at his older best friend angrily.
"It would be very ironic if this notebook actually turned out to be supernatural, you know." Taro said.
"Would that be irony? I mean, we mistake many things to be irony. People mistake sarcasm as irony. People confuse the impossible turning out to be true to be an irony. People often blur the line between irony and pressing clothes." Light said.
"You know that this would be irony! In order to prank a perfectly normal goth with his perfectly normal notebook to prove that he is normal, you would just prove that the notebook is supernatural and the joke would end up on you! Probably pissing off whatever supernatural entity which owned the notebook previously as well!" Taro argued.
"If that were to happen, it would also mean white ravens exist in this world as well." Light said. The statement went over Taro's head who continued to angrily stare at Light.
"Well, look on the bright side. There is no breaking news about the prime minister's death anyways. It just means that I will go throw out this notebook and pray that the original goth will find his black notebook." Light said as he picked up the notebook and went outside. He returned fifteen minutes later.
"Threw it on the main road. Someone will find it." Light said in a satisfied tone.
"Couldn't you dispose of it somewhere more practical? I mean leave it on a café table or something?" Taro asked.
"This way it is guaranteed that the notebook will be picked up by someone." Light said. Taro opened his mouth to argue but they were silenced by the sound of a news anchor breathlessly narrating the breaking news.
Apparently, the Prime Minister Inshuu Manjoume had keeled over dead on his desk with a heart attack.
Light and Taro stared at each other with horrified expressions and then simultaneously bolted out of the house. Light's mother fruitlessly called after them. The two boys did not stop.
Apparently, white ravens existed in their universe.
C.C. looked at the current world they had entered. After travelling across multiple worlds with a crazy Lelouch, one would suppose that she would look more harried or troubled. The serene and calm expression she wore was nearly angelic, if angels had green hair that looked almost natural. The calm face and bizarre hair color made people look at her warily.
Lelouch, however, was only ruining the atmosphere.
"YOU!" He cackled madly. "YOU ARE THE ONE WHO SHALL LEAD MY ARMIES OF DESCTRUCTION!" he said, pointing at a random high schooler. Said high schooler immediately scurried away from the spot, actually wanting to go to school just so he could get away from that mad black haired man. C.C. sighed dramatically and dragged Lelouch away. It wasn't that she was embarrassed by Lelouch. Being embarrassed meant that she was uncomfortable. She did not feel uncomfortable in watching Lelouch make a fool of himself. However, she still wanted to keep them low key so Lelouch's behavior was kind of lacking in subtlety.
"I am sorry. He lost his head a while back." She apologized to a random person in particular who just gave her a strange look and scampered away. C.C. shrugged. It didn't make any difference to her.
The truth of the matter was that Lelouch literally had lost his head. It was a good thing his father's code healed him but there had been a single complication which ended up with Lelouch like this.
"ALL HAIL WAKAMOTO!" Lelouch roared. C.C. rolled her eyes. Lelouch had read that name somewhere and had decided that it was a good name. And then he refused to shut up.
They had traversed many dimensions, worlds of pirates and the high seas, worlds of intelligent machinery and mechanical humans, worlds of military and magical might, worlds of witchcraft and wizardry and many more. However, in C.C.'s opinion, her original dimension had its own unique charm which could not be matched anywhere. So every other dimension except the original one was treated with a level of indifference. It didn't matter to her whether the occupants of this world lived or died, not that she cared about her own dimension's occupants. She would just have preferred to return to her own world, that was it.
"Lelouch, if you will be quiet for a moment, I will buy you some tea." C.C. said as everyone on the street walk had now started staring at them. Lelouch immediately shut up. This was another quirk that he had acquired as a side effect of being separated from his body for so long. He was ready to do anything for a cup of tea.
C.C. and her charge walked into the nearest café where she proceeded to order two cups of tea. Lelouch sat extremely still, as if he was afraid the slightest move might ruin his chances for him receiving his favorite beverage.
C.C. proceeded to open the nearest newspaper and start reading quickly, skimming over the shallow and uninteresting stories, to better familiarize herself with this current new world they were crossing. The window to the next world was unknown to her and might take a few decades to find although she and Lelouch were in no hurry.
A story concerning the Prime Minister caught her attention, not because of the politics but because of the unusual circumstances of death. He had died of a heart attack yet he had left behind a note in which he claimed that some private eye named Eraldo Coil had killed him. According to the autopsy report, there was no sign of damage to the body through any means except a sudden heart attack. The Prime Minister was not the type who would suffer a heart attack so suddenly. The authorities had decided to treat the case as a homicide instead of a natural death, even though all they had was the late Prime Minister's word and a severe lack of concrete evidence. Despite this, C.C. approved of the course of action.
In C.C.'s opinion, the Prime Minister definitely had been killed by someone, although whether his name really was Eraldo Coil was up for debate. The reason she had come to that conclusion was something completely different. According to the report, a file had been found in the Prime Minister's drawer which had certain confidential documents. In C.C.'s opinion, the murderer had threatened the Prime Minister and forced him to fetch the file. The file probably consisted of certain pieces of dirty laundry or a bill for the approval of something controversial. Once removing or copying certain pieces of the file, the murderer killed the Prime Minister and calmly walked out of the building.
The theory was extremely sketchy, far-fetched and improbable. Lelouch might even have pinned down the murderer by now, in her opinion. Not pin down, only determined the motives, C.C. repeated. Even she knew that she had too little information to work on. However, it was necessary for her to start working her mind.
In one of their previous worlds, they had intentionally stayed there for an extra year just to help assassinate a certain tyrant. That world was extremely backwards, xenophobic and chauvinistic. Not to mention, since the women there were lacking certain features that C.C. had, the green haired witch had been the subject of male ogling. C.C. had disliked that world, since it resembled Pre-Revolution France too much, however Lelouch had insisted that they stay and help the people struggle out of the rule of a mad king.
C.C. suspected that it had something to do with the fact that the king of the country resembled his father in appearance slightly.
Contrary to both her and Lelouch's expectation, the people didn't attempt to get rid of them after the rebellion and they were instead hailed as heroes. Lelouch, to C.C.'s everlasting amusement, had actually blushed however in her opinion it was more out of pride than embarrassment. They had wanted to load them with jewels as another gesture of thanks. They had politely refused and proceeded to depart, Lelouch more eager than C.C. in that regards. Too many women back there had winked at him and strutted suggestively. C.C. had only smiled at that sight.
Now, C.C. was thinking about solving the mystery behind an assassination of a country's leader. She might solve the mystery. She was no tactical genius on warfare like Lelocuh, however after seven hundred years of escaping intrigues, causing intrigues, escaping assassination, ordering assassinations, committing murders, black mailing, extortion and observing the vile side of humanity, she had understood human nature and detective works enough. C.C. was already thinking of how much money to wring out of the deal after she produced the culprit.
The reason why she wanted money was simple. Despite being immortal, both she and Lelouch required nourishment. It didn't help them in their growth, since they were ageless, however a starved immortal could die only to be revived again by his code and then to die again of the same starvation. Immortals also needed to eat. And food could only be bought with money.
Not only that, C.C. and Lelouch often stayed in a dimension for a minimum time of a year. If they wanted to stay somewhere, they would be better off having a house. Houses also required money to be bought.
And finally, C.C. had been bored quite lately. Ever since Lelouch's madness, nothing else had remained as interesting as before. A queer homicide case like this one would brighten up her world.
"THIS DRINK!" Lelouch bellowed in an authoritative tone, scaring the waitress. "I LIKE IT! ANOTHER!" He said as he proceeded to smash the cup on the ground.
C.C. smiled. Even when insane, Lelouch failed not to proven her with entertainment once in a while.
And this is the first chapter! Flames are encouraged!