Disclaimer: I own nothing. Death Note and Final Fantasy are property of their respective owners.
"Why," Light darted ahead of Yazoo, cutting off his retreat. "Why? Because I'm more challenged by your cynicism than by that little stinger you carry?"
"Stinger?" Yazoo half laughed, half cried. "You wouldn't be half as high-and-mighty if I'd held my gun to your head!"
"I've stared down worse weapons than a gun," Light said, his bowtie loose and whipping in the wind. "You should know death doesn't scare idealists. And what makes you think I would be afraid of any weapon you could point at me, if you are as cynical as you pretend to be? Cynics are past the point of caring, and you'd have to care an awful lot to kill me."
In the pool of light fallen from one of the wu-taian lanterns, delicate dress-robe held in little fingers, Yazoo looked up at Light, a mixture of infuriated patience and something else, something almost delight, on the somber, sephirian face.
"You are an insufferable boy," he said again.
"Have dinner with me tomorrow."
"Why would I want to have dinner with an insufferable boy?"
"Do you want me to convince you?"
"I want to see if you can," Yazoo said.
"One, You owe me for the un-called-for threat on my life," Light said. "Two, You must continue our conversation. Three, I have champagne in my stateroom and money to burn on more."
"Oh, champagne, very idealistic."
"Nothing fuels idealism like wine," Light said. "Haven't you ever listened to La Boheme?"
"Puccini," Yazoo said, "yes, I have." He smiled, a smile that enlivened his jewel-eyes. "All right. Maybe. But if there is no champagne, I'm leaving."
Yazoo slipped past Light, silks hissing as he moved. He went to the lift; and when the doors open, spilling out the golden light of the ship, he looked over his shoulder and smiled.
"My name is Yaya," he said.
"Yaya," Light said. "Meet me here tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Yazoo called as the door closed, sealing him within.
Light went back to the railing. He felt flushed with success. He had made contact with Yazoo, one of Kadaj's gang. That meant he was close, close to catching Faremis (Ferrimas?) Gast, close to solving once and for all the mystery of their disappearance. It brought Midgar one step closer to ending the legacy of the Doctors of Death.
The issue of the clones themselves, that might be a point of contention between himself and the Turks.
He brushed that thought aside for the time being. The point now was to gain Yazoo's trust, to get him to take him into confidence and—the weighed heavily on Light's mind—to find the youngest clone, Kadaj. His intuition (and the evidence of his investigation thus far) indicated that the attack on Edge City lacked the genuine malice that Light sought to remove from the world. There was desperation in the attack, and an almost childlike insistence on reunion.
How much cognitive responsibility did the three bear for their actions?
How much of the responsibility belonged to Sephiroth, who had driven Kadaj to bring him back?
How much of the responsibility lay with Gast, who had trained them and kept them until that hour, and why, if not for his treatment, had they showed the suicidal rage that they showed?
Light continued to smoke, pondering these questions.