Disclaimer at the end!

Guest

It was the 4th of November, two o'clock in the morning, and the world's most famous detective – commonly known as L, or Ryuzaki for the few, who could spell it – was sitting (or rather crouching) alone in a dark room, that was lit only by computer screens. He was pretending to work, only to convince himself, that he didn't give in yet… Actually, he was far too depressed to do anything useful. He was about to curl up and try to get some sleep, when an uneasy feeling caught him. He wasn't alone anymore.

- Who's that? – he asked, whirling around, staring into the darkness. There was a tall figure in the farthest corner. Ryuzaki could barely see it, but none the less there it stood, darker than the shadows.

- Who are you?
The stranger stepped forward. It was wearing a long black robe and a hood, held something in its hand and was clearly dismissing the question.
- WELL, I CALL THAT STRANGE… YOU'RE NEITHER WIZARD, NOR CAT, HOW COME YOU CAN SEE ME?
Ryuzaki continued to stare then stare some more. The bloke turned up from thin air, wears black and has a scythe. So much of surviving this case…
- I… I've been expecting you. That's it, then? Time's up?
- UMM… YEAH, AS FAR AS I REMEMBER… GOTTA CHECK, JUST A SECOND…
Death reached under his cloak and after a few minutes of fumbling and muffled cussing took out an hourglass. It had a stainless steel frame and had alarmingly little black sand left in it.
- BUGGER. YOU STILL HAVE A DAY AND A HALF… SORRY ABOUT THIS, BUT I'M NOT LOCAL YOU SEE?
- Local?
- I'M NOT FROM THIS WORLD. SEE, EVERY WORLD HAS ITS DEATH AND I HAPPEN TO BELONG TO THE DISCWORLD.

Had anyone of the Investigation Team been present, he would have been the witness of a rare phenomenon: a clueless Ryuzaki.

- EH, WELL… YOUR OWN DEATH IS CURRENTLY THE TRANSCENDENTAL EQUIVALENT OF A NERVOUS WRETCH, DUE TO ALL THE MESSING WITH THOSE NOTE-THINGIES AND SHINIGAMI… HE JUST HAD ENOUGH AND ASKED ME TO TAKE OVER. 'SAID I HAD EXPERIENCE IN HANDLING CHAOS. NOW HE'S OVERSEEING A NICE LITTLE EPIDEMIC IN PSEUDOPOLIS…

Ryuzaki was now suspecting that Light might have had dropped something into his coffee and he was currently hallucinating.

- I thought that… Are the Shinigami not the Death of… - for the lack of better word – this world?
- DEARY ME! THOSE THINGS CAN DIE, HOW COULD THEY BE DEATH?
- They can? I didn't know this.
- YEAH, THEY DIE BUT WHILE THEY LIVE, ALL THEY CAN DO IS TO CAUSE HEADACHE AND MESS UP MY SCHEDULE. JUST LIKE THAT… FRIEND OF YOURS. – A shiver ran through the folds of Death's cloak and the blue light in his eyes flashed red. – AMATEUR! OH, I'D BE SO HAPPY TO TAKE HIM HERE AND NOW, AND BE DONE WITH ALL THIS MESS!
- Hey… Don't look at me like that, I don't like him all that much either!

Death went on without noticing the remark.

- THINKS HE CAN TAKE OVER FROM ME, EH? THINKS HE'S SMARTER THAN I AM? OH, HE SHALL SEE… HE CAN'T CONFUSE ME!
- Somehow, I thought that Death comes, just like that, without any careful timing…
- HAH! ONE ILL-TIMED DEATH CAN UPSET HISTORY ITSELF!
- I see. – Ryuzaki wasn't in the mood to argue or discuss philosophical questions.
- BUT! – Death went on proudly – I NOW CALCULATE WITH HIS AMBITIONS AND HAD MADE NEW, SILLY-BOOK-PROOF HOURGLASSES FOR ALL THE MAIN CHARACTERS, THAT SHOW THE ACTUAL TIME OF DEATH, NOT THAT LIFESPAN-THINGY THAT THE SHINIGAMI SEE!

The detective's head snapped up.

- Can I have a look at them? …Please…?

If he had one of those, Death would have raised an eyebrow.

- I SUPPOSE… IT'S ALL THE SAME; YOU'RE DONE FOR ANYWAY, EVEN IF YOU TRY TO TURN YOUR OWN HOURGLASS UPSIDE DOWN.

Having said that, he gave Ryuzaki two handful of hourglasses. The detective set them up in a row and looked at them carefully. Finally, he selected two, one with an ivory frame and pearly white sand and another with golden frame and red sand. He held them up, stared at them and slowly his lips curled into a smile.

- Thank you! – he said, handing back the hourglasses.
- YOU'RE WELCOME… ANYWAY, SEE YOU TOMORROW!

Death began to fade, but then had changed his mind.

- THERE'S SOMETHING I MUST TELL YOU. BOTH YOU AND THAT YAGAMI-PERSON ARE WRONG IN A VERY IMPORTANT MATTER.
- Are we? And what would that be?
- THERE'S NO JUSTICE. THERE'S JUST ME.

So. I don't own neither L or this particular portrayal of Death. Ooba, Obata and Pratchett do.