I have returned. Do hope you all enjoy.
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Harry uses his sword as a cane. Peering down at Light from above. Smirk feral. Glowering, Light meet his eyes and perches up on elbows. Examining the very pink, strawberry cream cake that was exploded all down his midsection. It smelt delicious, and Light would have fancied a slice of it were he not a victim.
"Goodness," Watari, composure of a Shakespearean man, quickly unravels his handkerchief and starts wiping frosted dollops off Light's face. The man who was responsible for flinging him was apologising profusely next to Harry, before shamefully turning tail and fleeing. "People these days," Watari chuffs, "You must let me pay for the cleaning bill, and provide a change of clothing. I insist."
One glance at Harry's giddy look has Light deciding to let the story play out.
Whatever it may be.
Either way you slice it, he did need a change of clothes. There was no way he was catching the bus home in this state.
.
Light is led to a car that looked to have come out of a 1940s Rolls Royce advertisement. Watari opens the back door for him as a chauffeur would which has him guesstimating his job.
"One moment please," Watari rounds to the boot and returns with a Burberry blanket he deposits on the back seat. "Frosting does not bode well for leather."
Light takes his word for it and sits on the blanket that likely cost more than half his school tuition. The interior is as sleek and black as the outer appearance. After today Light thinks it will also smell like strawberry cream. No matter the blanket. The artificial scent is more potent than any perfume his mother has worn.
"Ah yes," Harry lowered his voice intimately, appearing in a silver cloud next to him with his legs crossed. Pointed slippers dangling off the tip of his porcelain toes. "Very nice," the God angles his thin neck around to get a good look, "It has been some time since I've been in one of these Wraiths. Last being, I recall, the summer of San Fransisco 1912 and my driver turned out to be a vampire working for the local mafia." Thumb coming up to prod his lower lip he chuckles. "What a shock she got when trying to make a meal out of me. Naive child."
Light ignores whatever that was and makes polite conversation with Watari after having introduce each other. Sometime around the 5 minute mark he has worked out the man is a chauffeur as initially presumed. For who, the decor indicated a wealthy European. Perhaps a CEO of some kind or a high-ranked official.
"Do you live outside of Japan, Watari?"
"My," the old man laughs. Eyes finding his in the rearview mirror. "How did you figure that out?"
"A slight accent."
"I wasn't aware I had one."
Watari drove into the private carpark of Tokyo's finest Hotel chain. Pulling into a spot near an elevator. The elderly man is out and opening his door quicker than Light could oppose. He damn near flinches when Harry appears at the lift. Rubbing his chin in thought at the buttons.
"In five hours the lift's cables will snap and kill five people after stopping at floor ten," the God says. Tone droll as though they were discussing math problems. "My cousin died in an elevator accident." He adds as Watari presses the up button. Light meet's Harry's chagrin smile behind the man's back. "Suppose we can't call it an accident if I were the one who cut the cable wires, though, eh?"
Light holds his snort as they all step into the elevator. After the mentioning of accidents, along with the impeding one, Light twitches when the unit jerks upwards.
"Phobia, is it?" Watari politely asks, noticing his slight unease. Light smiles, shrugging. "Try not to concern yourself, Mr. Yagami. The percentage of elevator accidents per year is remarkably insignificant."
"That's good to know, thank you." On the way up to floor ten a waiter joins along with a small group of foreigners. Watari leads him out of the crowding lift and down a red carpeted hallway to room 73.
"If you could wait here for a moment," Watari gently holds his shoulder at the door. Face amicable. "My ward is a shy man and spooks easily. I'll be out with a spare change of clothes in just moment."
Light makes himself affable and smiles with a nod. "Sure, no worries."
"Thank you," Watari smiles and disappears behind the door. Easy-going look dropped, Light peers down both ends of the dim hotel hallway. Harry having disappeared with Watari, Light closed his eyes. Mulling over things.
Ward, that title circles red in Light's mind. Whoever this ward of Watari's was has Light's God of Death interested.
It stands to reason that Light should be too.
.
Harry's opinion of the glamorous, victorian inspired hotel room is this: they could have done better. Lewis Carrol, in any right-minded universe would detest such interior design.
Maroon, velvet stitched slippers pat soundlessly as he followed the grey man from entryway to living space to master bedroom. Inside the darkened room was a corpse-like young man haunched in the centre of a bed in front of a laptop screen. Blue glow haunting emancipated features.
"Watari," the man speaks perfect English. Posh, upper class english, Harry spots. The sort the Malfoy lineage drilled into their young. L doesn't bother looking up to say, "you don't have cake."
Harry steps around Watari as the man explains what happened to his dessert, to steep over and gauge the research L was reviewing. A wave of satanic laughter seizes him at the reveal.
"Beautiful!" He barks. "Absolutely gorgeous." Eyes scrawling the documents L had opened on screen. Deaths linked together to form a coherent case of serial killing dating back centuries. Most likely by a cult called the 'Hallows'. Enamoured by this twist of fate, Harry hops on the bed behind L, almost hugging the man as he curls around him to scroll down what little revealed of case documents. Over the course of his career as Death, Harry liked to go old-fashioned and decapitate souls. Branding their corpses with the Hallows mark to ensure a safe passage through the spirit world to whatever afterlife meant for them. Who was he to know, that somebody out there would notice and declare 'foul play!'.
L and Watari's conversation cease at the flickering laptop screen. Frowning, L moves the mouse. Halting Harry's giddy investigation.
"This Yagami boy isn't aware of our relation?"
"I vetted him thoroughly on the way here leading me to conclude this was an unfortunate accident on both parties."
"Good. We should make a move tonight anyway, it's about time. " L tells Watari. Miffed, Harry rolls back onto the plush hotel pillows, finger gliding over his Hallow pendant on his silk collar. "I can't have strangers knowing my location."
"Understood, L," Watari nods. "Before we do, could the young man use the bathroom to freshen up? It is my fault he is in this predicament."
Eyes rolling, L waves a spidery white hand. "Do as you please. Just make sure he avoids my room. I'm working."
Bowing, Watari flicks on the chandelier overhead and glides to the closet. L hisses, rubbing his eyes as Watari takes out a white dress shirt, blue blazer and black pants.
"Next time you go getting desserts, avoid doors and idiots," L calls as Watari leaves the room. Harry stays on the bed, observing the detective sigh. Looking as though he hasn't stood in days, L wobbles off the bed and flicks the chandelier off. Cocking his head, Harry smiles. Death hung around the detective in a way different to Light. The other man embraced it, drank it in and licked it like a drug. L imbues himself to death. Devotes himself to it as though he could not live without it. Harry finds it terribly amusing and chuckles watching the young, scruffy haired man drag himself back to bed to his work. For all of this, there was also something tantalising L found about death.
Harry is deeply touched to see someone so interested in his work.
Maybe he should sent the man a message with the next reap. Let him know Harry's aware of his existence and interest.
Hopping off the bed, Harry flicks L's ear as he vanishes in a swirl of air. Partially witnessing L scratch it. Then he's in a turquoise and white tiled bathroom. Light, hidden behind a steamed glass shower door. Scrubbing himself clean with lavender scented soap. Being nothing he hasn't seen or care for, Harry turns away to other business.
On hangers were the change of clothes Watari lent. Draped over a heated towel rack next to the marble sink. Harry ran a hand over the collar of the navy blazer, dripping a smidgen of magic into it to make sure the material fit his toy perfectly.
"Good quality."
A squeak of a foot slipping and smack of Light's hand against a glass door has Harry smirking.
"Get out," Light hisses low.
"No need to be shy, Light," Harry turns around. Leaning against the marble basin, foot crossing over another. He twirls a finger around Light's bare everything, observing soap dripping down muscle. "I'm a God. I've seen everything humanity could possibly offer. Your body, Yagami Light, is nothing special."
Hands that were covering his flushed torso cautiously drop along with the hostile expression. Noticing how truly disinterested Harry was about his nakedness.
Pah. Such a silly human concept.
Reminds him of this funny little universe where everyone was stark naked and clothes were a concept of furious debate.
"That story about your cousin," Light asks with interest, "is it true?"
"Hmm?" Harry blinks, trying to recall. He says a lot of things, a lot of stories. More than half of which are made up. "Oh yes. I killed him."
"Another God."
Humming an old tune, Harry let the illusion hang in the air. "He was cruel. Committed so many sins, why, I had to," he says plainly, palms open. Full of innocence. Black suit sucking in the light of the room. "I like to think the world is better off without him in it."
"That's something you and I agree on," Light says. Shutting the shower off and stepping out. With a towel from the heated rack he rubs himself dry. When it comes to the change of clothes he smiles. Hands running over the perfect seams and rich texture. Clearly, he has never worn something so expensive in his life.
"Everything alright in there, Mr Yagami?" Watari nocks on the door.
"Perfectly, Watari. Thank you for the change of clothes, I'll pay you back."
"Nonsense."
"As if," Harry scoffs.
Light mimes him to zip it.
"You can keep the clothes, I'll drop your old ones back to you in a day or so from the dry cleaners."
Having quickly changed during the conversation, Light opens the door, scrubbing the towel on his wet head. Making an exasperated show of resigning himself to Watari's arrangements.
"My mother would corner you for the bill," Light says good-naturedly. Watari's eyes crease in amusement.
"Ah, then if I could get your mobile number. I will happily text you the rendezvous."
.
Watari insists on driving him home and taking care of the bill as they stop by another patisserie on the way.
Letting him off outside his house, Watari opens his door and bows. "Take care young man."
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Later that night as the human slept soundly in his bed, Harry opens the bedroom window and leaps to the roof. Winter's full moon lit the clouds in a drunken haze. Lifting a perfect hand up to the clouds, one eye closed, Harry presses his thumb and forefinger together - adjourning his title of Master and splits his fingers apart.
On command moulds of cloud divide. Like stage curtains they draw away from the moon, allowing rays of white light to catch on Harry's Hallow pendant. From the woven silver, a chilling chime flows into the spirit world like a small bell. Drowning any and all sounds of the human realm below it. Harry unsheathe his Gryffindor sword. Leans on it and waits for his calling to answer.
Murky, ill-looking cloaks of darkness crawl out behind the winter horizon. Harry makes out street lights flickering in their presence. Along with faint, whispering screams escaping their cloaks the closer they draw near.
"Master," dry voices rasp once his reapers have assembled. Taking up streets upon streets of spazzing lamps. Bones rattle at their bows of respect.
"I see you're all somewhat surprised to hear my call," Harry says in a low voice. Skulls stare back at him in eager silence. "Yet, there's nothing to be surprised at, at all. I am here to inform you all that I will be partaking in this night's reaping."
Teeth chattering amazement rise in the crowd of robes.
"Who here has a young, suspicious death? If you do, raise left right radius and ulna." From the sea, five or so reapers raise their respective skeletal parts. Sleeves dropping like ink. Alighted, Harry waves for them to "Come up dear chaps, come up."
Meeker then one would believe reapers to behave, the five did so and all reported their tasked reaping. He chooses the youngest of the five humans to reap. A child of a minister suffering from an undetectable disease, passing away in her sleep. After Harry will be through with her…Yes. That would do nicely to catch L's eyes.
"Begone with you, you scoundrels!" Harry poisonously exclaims. Sweeping an arm out at his congress of death. Green eyes like coals trapped in hellfire. "Retreat into the shadows and reap souls of the pitiful! Deliver them from the persecution of life! Do not let them weary on any longer!"
A fine sight it was watching his reapers fly away like smoke in the wind. At the last of them vanishing, clouds drift over the moon one more. Shine of his Hallow pendant dimming to obsolete.
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A wonderful thing it was to brandish his sword once again. Harry had found the girl close to death as a bee would to bountiful pollen. The house she resided in with her family was part of the wealthier section of Japan. Her room reflects her father's job well, Harry thought. Appariting into her pink, luscious room fit for a princess.
He waits for her last breath, witnesses the spectre of her soul float aimlessly out of her body. Bobbing a foot above her corpse, golden silk thread around her neck keeping her from drifting away. She was still asleep.
Harry raises his sword. Street light outside catching the sharp metal before he drives it down through her ghostly neck. Golden tether slicing in two, he flips his swords' butt to her forehead before she flew off. Hallow mark searing her human skin. Traditionally, they would leave it somewhere obscure.
Harry wants L to see.
The girl's ghost puffs into the next phase of existence. From the inside of his dress shirt, Harry procures a slip of canvas paper. Scrawled in elegant black calligraphy was 'L'. He places it on her chest.
Job done for the night, Harry vanishes into smoke.
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Thoughts? Feelings?
