It was as cold outside as it looked, and the wind only made it seem colder. The clouds rolled in continuously with the wind, looking more and more like a shade scale as they gradually darkened and thickened with the ticking of the clock on the wall. He stood on the balcony that was horizontal to the 'common room' that the investigation team liked to set up their network hub of laptops in. Watari had gotten him a long tan trench coat to try and fend off some of the harsh wind and he wore it now, to no avail. He still distinctly felt the wintery air surrounding and caressing every part of his body as he stood there, the goose-bumps from said cold rising on his arms. He stood hunched over, his shoulders squared against the gale as he continued to stare down at the flowing crowds in the streets.
Even now they keep going, even after the air pressure has changed so. What is wrong with humanity?
He stopped, mentally lurching forward with the velocity that he had managed to accumulate. Did he really think so poorly of humanity for not being meticulous? The people beneath him were content, if not happy, to just overlook the despair and depression that permeated the air around them. How could he criticize them for carrying on? How could he stand there and just label these people as ignorant when he was clearly the mental minority? He tasted bile on the back of his tongue as he analyzed his own thought process. He was probably the only person in the entire city who even wasted time to observe something as infinitesimal as the weather. Nowadays, people could simply dash into a building, or under and overpass, or into a car, or under an umbrella in order to simply forget the weather. They all had better things to think about, such as families or friends, pets and term papers, stock markets and work, or significant others.
He allowed himself a shiver with the thought of significant others.
It wasn't as if he didn't have work to think about; more than one section of his brain was always attuned to and mulling over the Kira case. He was doomed to be constantly processing each and every hypothetical chess move and its counteractions; cause and effect, attack and repercussion. No, he wasn't just wasting his own time in noticing the weather. He just happened to have space in his vast brain to contemplate multiple things at once; both a gift and a curse.
He could hear Matsuda through the thick glass of the sliding door, rambling on and on about the latest media scandal. That boy managed to trump the wind itself with his incessant babble. He didn't have a problem with Matsuda, no; he even had a slight fondness for the boy, in theory and at a distance. He was careful to avoid being alone in the same room with him though, as his patience spread thin when dealing directly with the hyperactive and eager task force member. He was a good addition to the team regardless, as his antics kept the room in a lowered state of tension more often then not.
Sighing, he turned to go back inside, slipping his unobtrusive, plain black flip-flops off and holding them both in his left hand as he opened the door. He shut the door as he stepped in, shaking his head slightly to get his black hair to lie in its regular disarray in lieu of its windblown state. Watari was waiting by the exit door across the room, his smile etched onto his face again as he patiently watched L move slowly across the room. Matsuda and Ide were talking in one corner, quietly now that he had reentered, as Ide tapped relentlessly on his keyboard. Soichiro and Raito were murmuring softly to each other as the need arose whilst hard-at-work on their own laptops. The whole team was in the room, working diligently on the case.
He bit back another sigh as he reached Watari. He hadn't noticed it before, but the old man was holding the matching hat to his coat, and with a quick flick of his slightly age-spotted wrist, had tossed it into his own hands. He let the corners of his mouth tilt up before he adjusted the hat onto his head, effectively hiding most of his hair and casting a nice shadow over his eyes. Trust Watari to be prepared to disguise him as best as possible in public. Watari opened the door, standing to the side as to let him saunter out into the hallway, before following him out and bolting the door again.
"Shall we go, Ryuuzaki? I have the Mercedes Bison waiting with the doorman."
Nodding, he followed in Watari's steps as the old man led the way to the elevator. The wine colored walls were empty and bland against the gold carpet coupled with the tan crown molding and baseboards. He had managed to procrastinate for an hour and a half longer than Watari had previously suggested, and the windows at the ends of the hallway let in the early morning light; the pale white overcast-glow illuminated the potted maple and bamboo plants that stood like sentinels guarding the elevator doors. The sun had risen by now, and the light it cast made the all of the stratus clouds lighter by one or two shades but did virtually nothing to dispel them.
As Watari pressed the button to signal the elevator, he chanced another glance at the crowds beneath them. The roads had only grown more active as the business men and women began to reach their destinations alongside the later-commuters who were just venturing into the city. Busses began to be more frequent among the cars, and the subway stairs were constantly being trampled as people picked up speed in an attempt not to be late to work. He let his eyes wander over the hundreds of tops of people's heads, absently monitoring the ebb and flow of the street.
He was only vaguely aware of the elevator's pinging to signal its own arrival, or how the carpet slid under his feet as he padded barefoot into the elevator itself when the doors opened. His attention was trained in solely on the window as remnants of his previous thoughts floated back into his mind; no one else on this island is being so observant so as to be stuck on the idea of the weather changing. The people in the street were just focused on getting to where they needed to be. His eyes caught and remained on one tiny speck of tan in the crowd; someone wearing a tan hat.
His eyes widened as the tan speck froze in its place, pausing before the speck itself was almost eclipsed by a new, pale white color. The people continued to flow around the one immobile person, weaving in and around themselves and cars and streetlights to get on their own paths. His breath hitched slightly as he realized the person in the street was staring up at the sky, so concentrated on it that they had to stop walking to do so properly. Then, as if on cue by his thoughts, two silver flashes came right in his direction from the pale part of the speck at the colors rotated together.
Someone in that crowd was staring back up at him as he stared at them.
The doors to the elevator closed robotically, cutting off his view out of the window.
Nestled somewhere deep in the English Countryside was a medium-sized whitewashed building, with a picket fence surrounding it and an acre of grassy hills and part of a small forest. Inside this moonlit building, in the back section of the large kitchen to be exact, was a circular oak table with six oak chairs stationed around it and several mugs of coffee, tea and hot chocolate, respectively. At this table, bathed in artificial light from a bare light bulb above the table, were an elderly man and three boys. Newspaper in hand, the old man lifted his mug of coffee and took a hearty swig before setting it back on it's coaster and flipping the page. The old man pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose while trying to drown out the chatter produced from the three other occupants of the table.
From the red-haired boy came electronic noises and the occasional hushed cuss word. His hands, sheathed by black gloves, were all but soldered to the portable game console before him. His raving/riding goggles rested on his shaggy maroon locks as his emerald eyes darted back and forth restlessly across the screen in his hands. His black combat boots rested in the chair to his right as he slouched in his own chair carelessly, his black skinny jeans wrinkled in the thigh area and in the waist where it met his red and gold striped shirt as he slowly slid a few inches further down against the sleekly polished wood. His cup of tea was abandoned before him on the table, having only been sipped two or three times and then set down half on the coaster and half off at a hazardous angle without another thought in favor of the video game.
From the blonde boy at the left hand of the red-head came much louder cuss words thrown into strings of insults and angry remarks. From his seat directly across from the old man, he was constantly hovering somewhere between sitting in his seat and standing on it in his excited state of emotion. His shoulder-length, straight blonde hair was being tossed about as he energetically antagonized his battleship opponent. His rosary bounced against his built chest as he jumped up again, cheering his own small, partial-victory, only to be silenced and motioned into his seat momentarily again by a glare from the old man. His dark maroon leather pants emitted slight noises when he moved too quickly against the wood, the same way his black leather gloves squeaked when his strong hands fisted. Indignant snarls and the occasional threat of painful death leaked from him as he chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, attempting to thwart his opponent.
From the boy to the left of the loud blonde came little to no noise. It was as if his ears, hidden beneath his shock of white curls, were immune to the blonde's remarks. He remained still, his knees pulled up to his chest and his toes alternation between being curled up under themselves and dangling over the edge of the chair. One pale hand rested on his striped-blue pajama-pant sheathed knee and the other drifted up to absently curl a lock of white hair between its pointer finger and thumb. At his side in the chair, wedged between his hip and the back of the chair, was a brightly colored toy robot, and the only noise that it made was the occasional tap as its limbs connected with wood. Emotionless eyes on an expressionless face drifted over the game before him, calculating and analyzing the pieces.
"Near!! Near you whore, pay attention! I'm beating you by one point! Ha-ha! Near, do you hear me? I'm beating you! Roger, make Near stop ignoring me!"
From his position, Roger set down his newspaper and let the scowl that was present of his features be seen. He sat up, leaning forwards slightly in his chair so as to glower at the blonde. Why did he even let his friend Watari coax him into taking this job? He hated children! All of them! Sniveling, snot-nosed, whiney, annoying brats!
"Mello, he's not answering because he, like the rest of the house and I, want you to shut up and stay sitting down. The only reason you are even sitting here instead of being in bed like the rest of the children is because you three are the eldest in the house. For some reason, Watari seems to think that that has some precedence over your treatment. Near I can handle, seeing as he isn't as obnoxious and is better mannered than you, but you and Matt only serve to give me a migraine!"
He stood, folding the newspaper up into a neat little square, and stalked across the kitchen to set his empty mug in the sink, grumbling to himself the whole time. Matt, swearing angrily, turned to his blonde friend beside him for a moment before letting his eyes lock back onto the game.
"Y'know, he has a point Mello. You have to- Damn Zombies! - chill out. It's just a game, dude."
This earned him a particularly venomous hiss from the defensive blonde. Mello paused, turning around in his seat to face his friend, gritting his teeth dangerously in sync with the intensification of his glare.
"Matt, stay out of it! You know well enough that Roger is just tied in a knot because of his hemorrhoids. I'm beating Near; this means I get to celebrate. So help me, if you get in my way, I'll burn all of your memory cards."
Matt chose to ignore the threat, allowing a moment of his concentration in order to wave one hand dismissively at his friend's anger before returning to his battle against the undead swarms that had begun to overthrow the world's most intricate governmental facilities.
"Mello, you really are just being rash and overemotional. How can you expect to triumph over anything if you are only worried about beating me? Aren't you here to learn how to beat criminals?"
Near's small, soft voice only served to fan the flames of Mello's fury. His blue eyes sparked angrily and he actually began to growl at the white-haired boy in front of him. His hands fisted, one of them succeeding in crushing a small plastic boat in the process, and slammed down on the wooden table as he seethed. Matt forgot his game for a moment, watching as Mello stood up quickly, shoving his chair backwards with one knee. Roger had returned from the other side of the kitchen when the sound of Mello's hands hitting the table caught his attention.
"How dare you, you insignificant twerp! Don't you fucking dare to even think that you are better than me! I'll… I'll… Goddamn it, I'm going to tear your jaw off!"
Before Mello could lunge at Near, and before Roger could even raise a hand to stop Mello, Matt had pocketed his game and grabbed both of Mello's elbows. Pulling them behind his back, Matt shook his head and sighed before dragging his spitfire friend out of the kitchen and across the building to their room. Roger, uncomfortable being left alone with Near, whom he was secretly a little frightened of, cleared his throat and quickly moved to put the chairs back in order and take the dishes to the sink.
"I don't blame you for his outbursts, Near. He's just an insufferably sore loser. "
He bit his tongue, restraining himself from continuing his own train of thought on the blonde boy. Oh, how he hated having to work with him. Him and his lackey, the video-game-kid. Hmph.
"Not to worry you or anything, just to give you a heads up and something to think about, I wanted to let you know that what I was reading in that newspaper is something that I think you should know. Go ahead and take it back to you room with you and give it a good read. I don't really want Mello to find out about it, so try not to let him see it."
Roger sighed, adjusting his tweed vest before turning to leave the kitchen and get some rest himself. Near, slowly and quietly standing up and sliding his chair in, tucked his robot under one arm. He shook his shoulders a bit to let his blue pajama-shirt straighten out before he turned and padded barefoot over to the counter above which the light switch was located. He eyed the newspaper that had been thrown onto the marble countertop, and sighed inwardly at his own curiosity before picking it up and tucking it under his free arm. He switched the light off and silently made his way out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Once he was directly in front of his bedroom door, he turned slightly to the left, bathing his front-side in white moonlight.
He gave up, letting his curiosity flood his mind as he unfolded the thin paper. He got it unfolded properly and held it up in the light, letting the illuminated words become imprinted in his mind.
Mass Murderer Escaped:
Beyond Birthday Has Escaped From Alcatraz And Remains Beyond Police Grasp
