Alethea Darcy /
The World Needs a Hero
Oni: Hello! I'm in charge of compile all the posts this first time! I've chosen 'The World Needs a Hero' as the song for the chapter.
"Hey! Hey!
All right well its about time we hold the line
And for the truth hell it's about time
The call is sent out loud and clear
To the boys in the pubs downing their beer
And when the time comes to hold the line
Will you stand idle by?
Or will you join us in the front and rear?
Will our enemies cower in fear?"
"Hey! Hey!
When the enemy invades our soil
And plunges our people into turmoil
Will you sing the battle cry?
Will you hold the line?
When the battle seems to tough to win
Will you ante up and kick in?
I gotta know will you hold the line?"
I hope you enjoy this chapter. There's at least one post per character currently accepted in the role-play. As a recap of the key, here it is:
-+-+- England – Wammy's House
+-+-+ Shinigami Realm
+ + Japan – Not at HQ
+ + + Japan – HQ
- - - England – Not at Wammy's House
Some characters will be introduced later, but for now, this is it.
Disclaimer: We do not own Death Note. We only own the characters that we made up. We are not connected to Death Note's publisher or authors, Ohba-sensei and Obata-sensei, in any way, shape or form. We do not have the right to copy other's work and will not do so. You are responsible for your choice of deciding to read this story, this choice was made by yourself and we cannot be held responsible if you read something you find inappropriate or that you did not wish to read.
We also do not own the song 'Hold the Line' by B. Haizlip.
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Alethea Darcy
Alethea smiled darkly as she caressed the wings of the butterfly that sat on her hand - a dead, crumpled butterfly. She blew gently against it, watching the wings flutter. Her eyes sparkled and giggled softly, kissing a wing softly, brushing her lips gently over a wing tip. She brought the butterfly up to eye level and stared at it with her cynical blue-green orbs. She smiled morbidly and set the butterfly down. Gentle, delicate fingers stroked the butterfly once more before returning it to the glass shelves that housed many other mangled, dead butterflies she had saved from the grasps of the more violent members of Wammy's House. Her obsession with butterflies, which started out innocent - a symbolism of her wish for freedom and beauty, but it soon turned darker and more twisted and soon her obsession extended to broken butterflies, dead ones that were crushed and mangled by human hands. She quietly closed the glass door to the shelved case, touching the glass with the pads of hr fingertips before backing away. She sat down upon her chair at her desk. Her eyes wandered to the small window that looked out upon grassy hills of her room. She tore her gaze away from the outside world and turned to look at a small piece of paper that rested on her desk.
She dragged her fingers through her long turquoise dyed hair, combing through any knots that might exist. After combing through her hair a few times, she played with the loose gray sleeve of her cape. She crossed her legs delicately and adjusted the belts on her hips to make herself more comfortable. She pulled at her gloves, smoothing out her gloves that coved her to the first joins of her fingers. Sighing quietly, she looked up again, looking serenely at peace, not a single trace of the previous malice remaining upon her face, maybe except deep in her eyes. She reached down and into her book bag and pulled out a black notebook. The front and back cover were blank. She flipped it open to a blank page and picked up a pencil. She drew the faint outline of a mangled butterfly with its wings slightly torn. She stopped, staring at the picture, before closing the book. She rested her cheek against the back of the notebook. Her eyes stared blankly at the wall opposite of her, the one that her bed was pushed against. The teen, at age 17, was more perceptive than most and noticed the smallest of changes. She was smart, but not genius. She was no where near as close to being as smart as the other kids at Wammy's House, but she had a gift they couldn't deny, and that's why she had earned a spot in the intellectual safe-haven and schooling facility for intellectually gifted orphans. Her arms hung limply by her side, her long tendrils of hair catching between her lithe fingers. Her breathing was gentle and even, almost like that of a sleeping baby. A gentle, but horrid mix between a smile and smirk was formed by her soft lips as she continued her blank staring. To most, she looked like she was spacing out, but in her head, she was playing scene by scene what she had imagined the final showdown had been like. They were wrong not to want her on the Kira Task Force. She could help them because she understood Kira, at least the original Kira. She could give them insight, but since she wasn't a genius, but was allowed to stay at Wammy's House, people didn't like her and saw her as different. Her interesting style of clothes didn't help either, nor did her hair, but she saw it as a way to show the world who she was without showing them through emotions and larger actions.
She eased herself gently back against her chair and looked up, only to begin staring at the wall in front of her, to which her desk was pushed up against. Her blank eyes looked straight ahead, ignoring the world. She was trapped in her mind again, exploring her imagination and her own world. She feels trapped within the cage of her imagination, but she knows nothing else. It's her escape, and if it's escape, then there was no use fighting it. It wasn't worth the fight. Her world, her little world within her mind, allowed her to do things she wouldn't be able to do in the real world. In her world, her little mental world that is slowly crumbling along with her mental state, she can pretend to be free. As time passed, the girl slowly began to lean forward, until she was once again, laying her head upon her desk, her cheek resting gently on top of a little black notebook, her little black book of death.
Even as this happened, her mind sleeping, yet still awake, her eyes open, but blank and dulled, her lips formed perfect words, soft and breathy floating from her parted lips. "I won't show you mercy. I won't show you love just because, just because you want it, or need it because I can't keep this from falling, from falling, falling, falling, from breaking, breaking breaking." She smiled quietly in her semi-conscious state. 'Only thought and opinion. No good, no evil. I'm here to see both ways, to understand, not to judge, to flourish and whither. How much longer I can stay from falling, from breaking, I don't know, but for now I'm here. Here with death, here with life, and here with mind, dreams and emotions.'
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Misa Amane --The Shinigami
The Shinigami realm sure could get boring after a bit, and she was pure evidence of this. The female Shinigami reclined back against the deserted waste land that she now called home. Once upon a time this female, had been a beautiful model, singer, and actress all at the same time, but sadly times had changed. She was no longer the peachy perfect girl she used to be. Still Misa-Misa was a happy girl. Her blonde hair toppled over the sides of her face. Her soft brown eyes looked around. Couldn't something interesting happen. Light had told her to get another death note if at all possible, but it seemed impossible.
She stopped thinking about this for a bit, she really needed to stop worrying so much. Back when she was a human Misa almost never worried, but now she often became stressed out. Mainly when she was bored. But Misa always got what she wanted to matter what. She was determined to get what she wanted, and she was determined to get Light back. That meant he wanted to rule the world, then hey, Misa-Misa was more than up for that.
She stood up, and pulled a lollipop out of her pocket. Misa's recent obsession with lollipops was due to her ability not to have to eat. So she ate what she chose, lollipops, they were yummy and filled with sugar. It made her slightly happier and slightly lovelier looking; it gave her plump red lips. Misa liked that. She twirled the lollipop around and stuck it into her mouth, now it was time to sit and wait.
-+-+-
Alethea Darcy
Alethea opened her previously closed eyes, revealing the deep, blue-green depths of her eyes. She raised her cheek from her desk, rubbing at it to lessen the affects of sleeping against a notebook. When she was sure the unsightly pinkish blemish was gone from her smooth cheek, she sat up straighter, moving to the edge of her high-backed, wooden chair. Tucking a strand of her excessively long, turquoise hair behind her ear, she scooted her chair forward towards her desk. Her fingers delicately stroked the black notebook upon her desk, the pads of her digits dragging along the cover. She smiled at it and picked it up to return it to her book bag. She slid it in between two notebooks within the canvas messenger bag. She withdrew with another notebook in hand. Once again black, this notebook had a satin cover with a floral, rose design on it in velvet. She put away the piece of charcoal she had been sketching with, opting for her black varnished fountain pen and inkwell from her box of supplies. She swept the pen back and forth, the tip hovering over the paper indecisively. She dipped the tip of the pen into the inkwell. Removing it, she made sure not too much ink had been removed from the well and drew an elegant 'D', slightly slanted to her right, complete gentle curves and flourishes. The blank ink dried quickly upon the paper as she watched the ink seemingly sink into the paper and solidify.
She started to write in elegant, scrolling script across the white sheets of paper. Her hand writing was neat and small, perfectly spaced on the page. Her neat script spanned two sheets of the white 4"x6" papers that were in the notebook. She spoke quietly as she wrote. Her voice gentle as the words flowed onto the paper from her pen and into the air from her mouth. Her hair fell in a sheet like curtain around her, hiding her face, except in small slivers, from view.
"People who don't have triggers are addicted. People who are addicted shouldn't get all the pity because they're not in pain., they're not about to break. People who are broken should be taken care of, but they are broken because no one cares. No one sees them or cares about them. They must hold up by themselves and to keep moving. They try to keep going by themselves, waiting and hoping the suffering of life will stop soon. They can question themselves if life is worth all the pain and suffering if they could just end it. Is it worth it? Would anyone care if those who are broken slipped away when they can't endure any longer. Will someone even notice, let alone care." She stopped her hand for a second before continuing. Her voice was soft and melodic as she spoke, lilting, even self mocking."Well, is it? Maybe, maybe not. One day we may be able to look back upon the days of suffering and laugh, but maybe one day, those memories will be what pushes us off the edge. We aren't meant to suffer. Out bodies protect our souls, but how about when both your body and soul are attacked. Can we continue to stand, or will we fall? I can't keep crawling forever. It will become too much. I don't know how much longer until I go too far, past the point of no return. Maybe I never will, but I wouldn't count on it. The pain that I hate and the pain that I enjoy and need are the same, yet different, they both hurt and the both break people, but one is finite, ending, and the other will last for all of eternity. Can eternity keep all the pain or will it kill us all in the end. The misery, the helplessness. I want someone to care, but no one's here for me, never has been never will and that hurts. Must I keep going even when I'm hurt, must I keep trying to live?
Sincerely,
Alethea Luminita Darcy."
She signed her signature with a flowery flourish and set the pen lightly on her desk. She stared at the text that now covered the pages. She hated this. She hated this pain. Her eyes looked around her room, surprised and hurt that Mirza wasn't there. Wasn't her mind supposed to be with her at all times, her constant companion always there for her to look at and to think about? Was her imagination failing her again. She hissed and clawed desperately at the wood of her chair, angry, annoyed and upset. Her eyes flashed dangerously. Her hair fell in long tresses along her shoulders, waist and hips. She brushed at it, batting at the fringe at the end before standing up. She snapped the notebook closed and tucked it under her pillow. Her eyes traveled around the room again as she went over to her closet. She pulled out a pair of dark jeans and long sleeved layered shirt. The main shirt had pale purple butterflies of alternating size and winding pale green vines and leaves printed upon it and the sleeves were a dark gray with pale green vines and leaves printed up, spiraling up her arm until around her mid-forearm. She then took out a long, ash gray coat that flared out from the waist down and at the sleeves. The edges were trimmed with black faux fur. She stripped down, out of her cape, white shorts, leg warmers, detachable sleeves, gloves, belts, stockings, shirt, and brown shoes, ensemble. She pulled the jeans, shirt and coat on. She walked over to her desk, stuffing her diary roughly into the messenger bag. She hoisted the black bag onto her shoulder and walked towards the door. Her bare feet padded softly over to the large wooden door and she bent down, scooping up a pair of black ankle boots, trimmed with fur.
Alethea reached out, taking the door knob in her hands and twisted it slowly, making little to no noise as she pulled the door open. She peeked outside, looking left and right down the long hallway before stepping out. She took small, gentle steps down to her right, towards the back gardens of Wammy's House. Her feet made a soft pitter-patter sound as they carried her down the hall. Her eyes were vacantly staring in front of her, but she was listening intently for other people's foot steps or their breathing. She didn't feel like dealing with anyone. She hated being treated the way she was. She was an outcast and knew it, not that she really cared that much. She liked the solitude, but she hated the feeling of cold, non-acceptance coming from them, the freakin' geniuses, always tolerant, as it was their way not to show much emotion and to be polite, but never accepting or welcome. That's why she was still in Wammy's House. She knew that she would benefit the Kira case, but no, she was still stuck here. A soft sigh escaped her slightly parted lips as she continued to walk bare foot towards the garden. Her gaze never wavered, it was steady but dull and unfocused. Her long tresses swung, swirling around, as she continued to walk along, the bright turquoise an extreme contrast to the dull, ash gray of her coat
Her book bag bumped against her hip with each step, making a soft 'mmph' noise as it did so. She clutched at the strap of the bad with her long pale fingers. Her nails dug into the cotton-polyester strap as she continued her slow walk. Her knuckles, always pale, where white as her hands gripped the strap tightly at the spot over her heart. Her head was lowered slightly, her hair hanging around her and shadowing her eyes. Her eyes stared straight ahead, only moving every once in a while in a furtive flickering motion. Her slow even steps matched her stead breathing pattern: in slowly-out slowly-in slowly-out slowly. The rest of her body seemed relaxed, her clenched hands the only obvious sign of her discomfort. She rakes her thumb nails across the strap viciously, gouging at it with her nails, leaving little streaks across the fabric in their wake. After a few moments of tense, scratching, tightened muscles and emotional output, her hands began to tremble slightly, small tremors racking her hands, causing her grip to relax ever so slightly. Her hands soon slipped from the strap and her arms fell to her sides, hanging limply there, swinging in time with her steps.
Keele walked swiftly down the crowded streets, trying not to ram into people as he went by. He wanted to get home quickly, since he was expecting a call from someone. His team in the police force was figuring out more about this mysterious murderer. Kira, was it? He had just learned about this case two days ago, and those two days have driven him insane. When he was only a little kid he heard about this case, and how the great L... actually failed. Of course, he didn't give much thought to it at first, even if he was a member of the Wammy's House. He just thought it was another case all the detectives could solve. Without even paying attention to what was in front him, Keele drifted off into his own world. He was trying to think of all the things he was told about how Near solved the case. It was so hard to analyze in his mind, he was eventually bumping into every person on the street. If he wasn't so deep in thought, he'd apologize to everyone he hit.
He finally made it home, and threw off all his outer wear on to a chair. Incredible timing was on his side, and his house phone started ringing. He was 90 sure it was one of the other detectives (not from the Wammy's house) working on this case; Konsen. For many reasons, they spoke to each other in German often. No one else in his police team could speak German, but he wasn't hiding anything from them. He just wanted to make sure he was correct with his information before telling them. Also, not many people in Japan could speak German, so it was also a privacy issue. "Hallo?"
"Takeru... es tut mir leid..."( "Takeru... I'm sorry..." ) Konsen said softly.
"Was ist los?" ( "What's wrong?" ) Keele said, a little surprised.
"Ich kann es nicht machen. Ich bin nicht ein guter detektiv. Ich kann nicht fortfahren, auf wiedersehen" ( "I can't do it. I'm not a good detective. I can't continue, good bye." )
"Wartezeit! Ich benötige sie!" ( "Wait! I need you!" ) Keele yelled at the phone, but it was too late. Konsen hung up and Keele had a feeling that he'd never see him again.
Now I'm losing my force. Dammit... I need someone else. I can't work alone! Keele cursed silently. For some reason, he wasn't THAT surprised that this happened, considering how dangerous and risky this case was, but he really did need help. He might have been good at noticing patterns and such, but that's all he was really capable of doing. He needed someone with different strengths to help him out. However, he didn't even know where to begin looking.
-+-+-
L Lawliette Mirza+
Even in death he was subjected to an unending supply of injustice, but now, there was no consequence. No punishment, no heaven or hell. But perhaps their evil deeds were justified by an eternity of death. They didn't seem to mind. L seemed to be the only one who even resembled a human figure but he couldn't care less, knowing over time he would start to turn and twist and rot like the others. Already his skin was white, ashen pale, almost translucent as the blood chilled in his veins. It was a stark contrast to his black hair and dead, obsidian eyes set in dark circles sunken into his face. But even as there was no crime to killing in the shinigami realm, he only killed those in need of death-- to end suffering. He wouldn't revert to Kira's methods, even after he had used them for his own selfish retributions, to relieve a past grievance. Because of this hypocrisy he was stuck between life and death.
He remembered the wave of relief and satisfaction that had filled him as he watched Light slip away, finally feeling that the battle was over. Perhaps now he could rest peacefully, but that was far from the case. His heart ached and his head split at thinking that all his hard work had gone to waste, but at the same time felt confident that no other could be as clever as Light, or as brilliant as L. He knew Light would suffer the same fate, and yet he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he was hiding..
Or he was trapped on earth, just like him.
"You really shouldn't do that." Mirza droned, perched atop one of the tall garden walls, dark eyes staring down at the girl. He hated her-- she was a criminal as well, having stolen his note, but at the same time she could also be a gateway. "You'll hurt yourself." He went on, referring to the way she was abusing that strap on her shoulder. Not that he really cared, but he wanted to make himself known as he drifted down to the ground.
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Jonas Edgewater Jojo
"Father, I just don't see the point in coming all the way down here," droned the voice of an extremely annoyed seventeen year old. His cell phone was pressed up against his ear as his wagged war upon the person whom he called father. The boy had been told prior that he was to visit the local orphanage to drop of a check his father had meant to pay them, a donation more or less. He hated it when his father forced him to go. Why couldn't it just be a servant who brought down the money? No, it had to be him, Jonas Edgewater. "But father," he protested his voice slowly trailing off."Fine bye,"Jojo didn't wait for an answer he just snapped the phone shut.
His brown eyes darted to the roof of the limousine. Limos were one of the perks of being wealthy. He enjoyed this, being able to ride in style. Jojo was the son of a multibillionaire who didn't really care what his son was up to. So, Jojo moved away from his family, but helped to run the family's company in his own way. Others might think this to be hacking into computers or spreading computer viruses. These were some of his hobbies, but now Jonas had another way to make sure he got what he wanted. This own personal Death Note.
Jojo looked out the tinted windows. There they were at the Wammy house, the house for gifted orphans. Poor people, with no families was more like it. Sucked to be them. Jonas saw the children's eyes widening at the sight of his limo. How stupid they looked. Jojo waited for the vehicle to stop before he stepped out. As he took the first step out he pushed up his glasses. Jonas couldn't help, but glance at his outfit. Okay, so maybe he was a bit overdressed for this occasion. He had decided to wear a simple business suit, but seeing what the orphans wore, made him feel slightly bad about his attire, but it was his father' fault for forcing him to go.
He sighed slightly. Just Jonas' luck, he would be surrounded by these kinds of people. "Don't touch my limo, or else,"Jojo said sharply before heading off. These idiots really didn't need to make such a commotion, it's like that had never seen a limousine before. Still Jojo walked at a brisk pace towards the front door, he needed to drop this off and get out of here.
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!?Odd Wirmwoode?!
Odd watched as the water spattered his windowpane, focusing more on it than the trees and other scenery beyond. He usually went outside when it rained, but was currently unable to locate his umbrella. Certainly, he never used the device, but having it was always good. Plus, he didn't truly feel like frollicking in the rain that day. It was one of those "down" sort of days. The cause was a letter he'd recently received; it was apparently a suicide note from his father, addressed to him. Usually he read anything he got his hands on immediately, but he refrained for a few days. Something about the letter just made him feel... "down." In any case, the contents of the letter were as follows:
Dear Oddie,
I'm sorry that I'm not going to be there for you, son. I don't want to leave you alone, but I can't stand this pain anymore. Your mother was the only thing that had kept me here, and you're currently young enough to do well without me. Besides, you'd be better off with someone who can give you their love rather than someone who constantly feels like dying. It would never be a good place for you to grow up in.
I'm sorry that I'm going to miss your first birthday, your first Christmas, your first day of school, your first lost tooth, and all the other important milestones. Hell, I'm sorry that I'm even writing this. I don't want to inconvenience you, son. But, if you ever get this someday, know that I'll be watching from somewhere, and be proud of you.
Forgive me.
His name hadn't been written, but the letter served it's purpose. Odd had always wanted to know a little more about his parents, but they seemed as elusive to him as the Wammy House had instructed him to be. Inwardly, he wondered if they had attended the house as well, but he soon dismissed it. If they had been, he probably would have gone there immediately rather than his first orphanage. Sighing, he wondered if his father had been watching him. Was he truly proud? Another sigh escaped him and he stood up from his perch, planting his bare feet on the soft, cold carpet of his floor. In a few strides, he'd gathered his sketchbook and a few inking pens, and was seated back in front of the window.
Odd looked out his window, scratching his pen along the paper of his sketchbook. After all the time he'd lived here, he'd never really taken the time to sketch the scenery beyond his window. Most of his imagery was purely fantasy, and he almost never drew backgrounds. However, maybe it was the rain, or the desolate look of the trees that compelled him to draw it. This might very well be one of the last sketches he could do before devoting himself fully to the Kira case. He intended to make it good, so that he would be pleased with it at the very least. Then, if he felt like sharing his sketchbook, he would let others voice their opinions.
Of course, he'd have to leave his room for that to happen. He didn't really feel like leaving; besides, there probably weren't many others awake at this early hour.
&Haruki Murasame&
Haruki sat through another lecture, avidly taking notes into his binder. It was important to have anything of value written down, otherwise he might be unprepared for a test. He didn't really bother to read his notes after writing them, but he did so out of habit. Writing things down just helped him remember, and he could always go back to check what he'd forgotten. Having a good memory was important, especially with his current undertaking. After all, if he was going to create a utopia, he needed to make sure he wouldn't be caught. A vigilante could still be caught and prosecuted, and he intended to remain out of harm's way. Even the original Kira had been caught, and he didn't want to risk anything.
He was hyperaware of everything he wrote into the Death Note. Perhaps he was overthinking things... yes, he must have been. There was certainly no way of tracking him down, right? His first victim hadn't died of a heart attack, and he was sure that he wouldn't be given any attention for that. The first Kira had made it seem as though heart attacks were his only means, and he hoped to keep it that way. Of course, if he really wanted to make sure he was doing well, he could always ask his shinigami. That wouldn't guarantee an answer, but he'd been very informative in the past.
His thoughts had distracted him, and he almost didn't realize the lecture was over until everyone started getting up. He hadn't really written many notes, so he'd have to get them from his roommate. That was always a hassle; the other man was always out drinking with his friends and being stupid in general. Inwardly, he wondered why he hadn't killed him off yet. No. He shouldn't have been thinking like that. It was possible for anyone searching for him to link that back to him. He groaned outwardly; he was thinking too hard.
"I'm sure I've got nothing to worry about yet." Haruki muttered, "I've still got time to move and judge freely. For now, I'll make careful moves until it becomes obvious that I'm under scrutiny." He felt satisfied with that, although he was starting to annoy himself. There wasn't any reason to be overly cautious yet. At the moment, he wasn't even sure if an investigation was being launched. That didn't mean he doubted one would come into existance, but he felt that the moment was about as safe as it would ever get.
Sighing, he seated himself on a bench by one of the trees killed by winter. The light snow seemed to muffle everything, and give the place a peaceful feel. Haruki reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and a mechanical pencil. One of the criminals he kept stockpiled was about to die. Carefully, he imagined the man's brutal features as he scratched his name onto the page. Once he finished with the name, he set about putting in details.
Yugito Sakebana Heart Attack
Before his time of death, cuts his finger open and scrawls the following message on the wall:
Come and find me Lord, for I am sick
And tired of living this life.
Get me out of this hell hole. Save
Me!
Promptly after finishing the message, dies of a heart attack at 4:32 PM
Satisfied with his handiwork, Haruki checked his watch before standing up. He doubted it, but it was possible that he'd hear about Yugito's death on the news. At the very least, he was sure he'd be able to incite the police. Being careful could happen once he knew he was suspected. For now, he'd just taunt the authorities, and keep cleaning up the world's mess. The utopia would be formed without a hitch this time, and no one could stop him.
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Jonas Edgewater Jojo
Jonas quickly entered the building. He hated the rain; it always seemed to get him wet. The annoyed young man looked around the area. He shook his coat out. Water, lots and lots of water, this was why he often hated his life. He pulled his glasses off his face a wiped them on a dry part of his shirt before sliding them back on his face. Jojo looked around the area, he was dripping wet, but thankfully his briefcase was indeed waterproof. He looked at the dopey children. "May I speak to somebody in charge around here," he said in a dismissive tone.
Children could make such a ruckus; he saw one of them reach out to touch his coat. Couldn't they just keep their grimy paws away? Jojo hurried away from the cluster of those maddening orphans. Hopefully they wouldn't fallow him. Jonas was looking for somebody older or somebody in charge. Mainly somebody he could give the donation check to and get himself out of here. This place gave him the creeps, and not many things gave Jojo the creeps, look at who he was, and Jojo didn't find his own self frightening.
Jonas tightened his grip on his briefcase. For a seventeen year old he could be a bit skeptical, these people had to be infested with diseases or something, it was like a hospital. If he stayed to long he might catch an illness or something. Jojo suppressed a shudder. He really was getting lost, couldn't find his way in this mess of an orphanage. Why did he stray from the door way, somebody would have to find him eventually. Jojo was half tempted to call the limo driver and demand that he be located and shown to the head of this establishment, but no. Jonas was determined to find his way and that was that. He was to proud to ask an orphan for help. At least that was how it seemed.
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Alethea Darcy
Alethea promptly looked up as L spoke. A small smile graced her lips as her eyes alighted on the shinigami. Her feet tapped against the cobblestone path in the lush gardens. She breathed in deeply, the smell of rain surrounding her as small drops of water showered upon her head. She could feel the rain splattering all around her. She looked up towards the sky, her smile becoming bitter. She lifted a hand up, her palm getting pelted with the rain. The water slid down her wrist and arm, some drops getting absorbed by her sleeve on the way down. She was at the back of the building so she didn't hear the commotion out front as Wammy's House was a large building after all. She was aiming at going further back towards the back of the estate where people almost never went. Toes were curled awkwardly as she gripped the ground to keep from slipping. She refused to put her shoes on. She didn't feel like it or feel that it was necessary. She kept walking on, that small smile on her face. The rain rolled down her cheeks and face like tears. Tears had in fact gathered in her eyes and were now following after the rain drops. You wouldn't be able to tell that they were tears though. They looked and felt like raindrops to the point that Alethea didn't even know that she was crying. Her bitter smile had become a frown and as she continued to look up into the cloudy sky, stopping her slow, steady walking, opting to stand in the rain. Her head slowly tipped down, the wet tendrils of her long hair sticking to her cheeks and face. She let out a low sigh, boots still resting upon her messenger bag, which happened to be holding true to the claim that it was waterproof. The turquoise haired girl looked up after a few moments, her breathing soft and even. She let her mouth hang open slightly and stuck her tongue out, feeling the droplets fall upon her tongue. The slightly un-pure taste of the water slid over her tongue, collecting at the back of her mouth. As more drops fell and collected, her eyes wandered around. As they found L again, drifting behind her, she swallowed.
"Thank you for your concern," she said softly. She was referring back to when he had told her to stop clawing at the strap of her bag. Even though she knew by the tone of his voice that her imagination didn't care a scrap about her, she would continue to be nice to him. No need to hurt her mind any further. He seemed not to care a thing about her; he seemed to dislike her a great deal actually. They rarely spoke to each other, because she never really had talked to any of her imaginary friends. Mirza was the first to seem so real though. He had been there for over three years, almost four. To her, he was a friend that would always be there, wherever she was. She expected that since he was, of course, imaginary. That's why she was always confused when he wasn't there. "Mirza, why aren't you always with me?" The question was innocent enough. She was just curious, confused even. She saw him as something her mind had created out of desperation to be with someone, to have someone as a companion, silent or not. She never once thought that he might be real until now, not until the Kira case had started. For once, she actually bothered to look into the history of the great 'L'. There were no pictures of him, never. All the books she had read on him were about how great he was, his sense of justice, his downfall, and little snippets of the Kira case. That was what started her doubts, the small seeds of doubt in her mind. Kira could kill with only a name and face, that was exactly what the Death Note allowed you to do, but then how had the second Kira kill all those people, most of the time without even knowing their names. Could Mirza really be real? She shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts. They were getting jumbled again. She watched L. Could he, Mirza, not be part of her imagination? If he wasn't, and grew bored of her, would he leave her alone to create someone else to keep herself company? Being close to insane, or already past that point, was confusing and it bothered her greatly.
Alethea sighed. She had only begun talking to him recently. She used to pretend that he wasn't there, like a guardian angel of sorts, that she could neglect and never have to talk to and still have there. She had, of course, seen him snacking on sweets in the kitchen before, and that too added to the doubt that had now been planted. She went over everything in her head. It was, to put it simply, impossible for someone to have wings, to go through walls and to have a notebook that could kill with a name and face. It was this desperation, this feeling that she would be upset if Mirza left that really left her feeling disconcerted. This attachment to someone was unnatural for her. It wasn't love, not even in the context of friends, it was simply an unusual feeling of companionship that really shouldn't be there at all. She didn't get attached to anyone or anything. She hated it. She hated having to depend on someone or something else. It made her feel like she was showing people that she didn't deserve to be here or to even live at all. She didn't depend on anyone! She was on her own! She'd always be alone! No one would come save her. Of course no one would. 'No one. No one will save me. I am not attached to Mirza. I have simply become used to his presence. If he disappears, I can always make a new friend just like how Mirza came when Sidnett left. I'll get a new friend if my brain stops keeping Mirza here. I'll get a new friend. A new friend.' She always called them her friends even though she had never felt any sort of attachment or feelings of caring for any of them, that is, until Mirza came along. He was more, advanced, if you wanted to put it that way. He was more realistic, yet fanciful than those before him. She was bothered by that and she needed to get things straightened out. Besides, it wasn't time to think about her mental state when people were being killed for the sake of a perfect utopia again. She didn't like any of the Kiras' methods. They were too clean. They were cowards, afraid of killing for themselves and using some other means that were suspiciously similar to the terms of the Death Note. Another sigh swept from her mouth.
"Mirza, would you come to Japan with me once all the detectives that were accepted into the task force leave Wammy's House? I want to go join them. I want to find Kira,"she ended softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were staring far off into the distance. "Would you help me, or leave me? Would you disappear from existence and leave me to make another friend?"She added this, her voice just as soft as it was several moments before. She wanted to know what he thought. She wanted to know if she needed to start putting her imagination to work on another imaginary friend. "Also, what do you think about the Kira case? Do you think Kira is evil?"She didn't know what was with all the question asking. She just couldn't help but voice her thoughts at the moment. Right now was one of those times where she wasn't clipping her finely trimmed mask, keeping it perfect and immaculately preened for others. Right now, she was letting those precious human emotions show. Her eyes held a tint of sadness to them as her gaze left the landscape to focus on the shinigami. She was so used to having him around that the thought of him leaving was eerie and uncomfortable. She didn't expect him to stay forever, but she wanted, needed, him to stay for at least a while longer until she was comfortable with letting go and creating someone new. She started humming gently, the words not willing to spill from her mouth, only the tune of 'Stand in the Rain' permeating through the air. The soft humming was oddly vulnerable, if you could really detect that from someone's humming. It was insecure and scared, yet strong and determined. It showed how really inwardly confused and mixed up with different emotions Alethea really was.
Alethea began to move again, her steady humming still flowing outwards. She made her way over to a relatively dry bench under a large evergreen tree. She sat down on it with a conscious grace. She set her bag and boots down next to her and unclipped the bag open. She rummaged inside, looking for something. When she couldn't find it in the main compartment, she moved to the pockets of the bag. She methodically went through the pockets from right to left, checking each one thoroughly before moving to the next pocket. Her long fingers reached into the small corners. She finally found one that she was looking for and kept it clenched in her hand while continuing to search the other pockets. She eventually found six more of what she was looking for in her bags. She rolled them around in her hand for several seconds before closing all the pockets with even, measure grace and zipped up the main compartment. She then neatly clipped the bag shut and set her hands on her lap. She still had what she was holding covered up. She looked over at Mirza, her eyes searching and eager, a sense of despair and longing surrounding her. The rain continued to fall around them.
"Do you hate me, Mirza?" She asked of L. "Do you not want to be here? Do you want me to die?" Her words were strong and clear, but her moment of weakness still continued, her voice betraying her usually close kept emotions. She hated herself for that. Punishment was in due coarse later. She clenched her hands tightly. She looked at L, her eyebrows furrowing. "You hate me don't you? You wish that I'd just die? Maybe you're hoping that I'll kill myself? You do don't you?"Her voice was accusing and bitter. She glared with a surprising amount of anger and sadness at the same time L. "You guys always leave. Always. Robert was my first. He left after only one week of staying with me. You all hate me. Before you there was Sidnett." Her voice had risen in volume as her anger bubbled to the surface. Her hands clenched tighter, her knuckles turning white. "You all hate me." Her voice had gotten soft with self-assured conviction. "Here,"she said, thrusting her fist out, palm up. She opened up her spidery, pale fingers to reveal seven neatly wrapped hard candies – four red strawberry, one blue raspberry, one grape, and one green apple. She shook her hand slightly, causing the candies to rustle together, offering them to him. She rested her elbow against her knee, leaning forwards to rest her chin on her palm, feeling her elbow press against her knee as the weight of her head pressured slightly on it. Her eyes were diverted to the ground, no longer looking at L. "You all hate me…," she repeated, whispering the words to herself. She would depend on no one because eventually they would leave her just like they always did because no one cared.
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?!Odd Wirmwoode!?
Odd had finished his picture, looking down at the final piece. It was dark and moody, with harsh lines and heavy contrast. There was no color, reflecting the grey, bleak feelings of winter. By then, he heard a sudden commotion from the floor below, and he was certain he'd heard the doors open. Someone must've come back to the Wammy's House. Was it Near? No, probably not. He almost never visited, since he was too busy solving high profile cases. Perhaps he'd be working on this new Kira case? Before he could think further on the matter, someone knocked on his door. It was a soft, light, but insistent knock, so it must've been one of the younger children.
"Mr. O," The voice called, definitely that of a young child, "There's a man in a business suit here. He's looking for someone in charge. Maybe you'd like to speak to him?" Odd pondered for a moment, before standing up and shuffling toward the door. He slipped on his flip-flops and carefully opened the door, looking down at the youngster. She looked like she was very curious, and had an air of excitement about her. They didn't usually get visitors; maybe it was someone who had come to the Wammy's House in the past?
"I'll go speak with him," Odd replied, smiling gently, "I just hope you guys haven't been crowding him." The girl's posture told him that was exactly what had been happening, but he didn't lecture her about it. Children were always quite curious, and it was a trait that he himself hadn't been able to lose yet. Fishing through his pocket, he pulled out a candy cane and peeled off the plastic wrapping before heading down the stairs. Sure enough, there was a man in a business suit, looking very uncomfortable and lost. He probably wasn't good with kids.
"May I help you?" Odd asked, raising his voice slightly to draw attention to himself as he descended the stairs. He was already nibbling on the candy cane, his grey eyes peering past his white hair at the man. It was apparent that he hadn't previously lived in the Wammy House, judging from the way he was acting around the orphans. To be honest, his body language made it seem as though he hated being even remotely near them.
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Jonas Edgewater Jojo
The filthy children, we all touchy, touchy, pokey, pokey, it was so annoying. Jonas suppressed a shudder, couldn't they just go back to their childish merriment. It was beyond annoying the way these things acted. If they wanted to be successful in today's society they would need to learn to shape up a bit. He wrinkled his nose at the smell. Why did Father have to give money to places like this, and why couldn't it just have been someone else from the company like it normally was. No, it was sent Jojo instead, he will not mind in the least.
That was when he heard a voice. Jonas spun around till he was looking at the speaker. It appeared to be the man descending the stairs. Most likely this fellow was older than Jonas was, but Jonas was the one who dressed more maturely. He gave a look of dismay at the other mans attire. This place was filled with freaks, even the adults. The candy cane really threw him off. Candy canes were for decorating Christmas Trees. Still it wasn't even close to being December. Jojo shook his head. These people were so odd.
He knew he needed to answer the person, and hopefully he could hurry up with this and get it over with. This place gave him the creeps. Jonas knew what he wanted to say: Hi, there I'm Jojo, my father told me to deliver money for the poor people, please take this check and let me flee this place. that was what Jonas wanted to say, but he couldn't say that. Instead he stuck out the hand not hold his briefcase, in a friendly manner. "Good day Sir, I am Jonas Edgewater of the Edgewater company. The management has requested that I deliver the company's bimonthly donation to this fine establishment. I assume that you guys have gone about these procedures in the past, so that this may only take a minimal amount of your time," Jojo said in a pompous tone.
The company had donated before so this should be a simple matter. Not much to worry about. It should be over in a few minutes and he could get out of this hell hole, and back to the safety of his manor. Jojo did have some business to take care of. It seemed the Millen Company was getting more sales, than his own. Jonas would just have to fix that, in his own behind the scenes way.
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L Lawliette Mirza+
"I drift in and out. You don't talk to me often and I get bored, but I'm never very far away." L said flatly, voice shallow and empty. Sometimes he would simply drift about the Wammy House, watching over the children who were supposed to follow in his footsteps. If only they knew what had become of their idol.. As he spoke his tone seemed to carry an accent but it could simply be mistaken for arrogance. He preferred his solitude, even though he had grown used to her presence as well, he liked to be secluded and alone but as of late he figured he would spend more time with her if only to prove his existence. It annoyed him how she passed him off as some figment of her imagination to be forgotten and tossed aside. Again he wasn't terribly concerned but after so many years, he was growing bored.
"Kira.." he ghosted, staring dreamily up at the gray sky, the rain veiling his thin frame but seemed to avoid touching him. The name... every day it was spoken in his mind but never from his lips. He couldn't remember ever bringing it up with her, but following someone on the task force. "That would be quite interesting… Yes, I may help you if I can." the shinigami droned, easily hiding the anxiety beneath his voice. Evil… evil was a matter of opinion. At the question he slowly dropped his head, leaving him to stare at the soaking grass below. She still didn't know about L, she only knew Mirza. He didn't want to admit to the hypocritical deed that had landed him in this purgatory hell, or how he had come so incredibly close, how he had come so far.. and fallen so fast.
He tilted his head at an odd angle, a subtle, amused smile twisting the corners of his lips."Kill yourself? My, that'd be messy." L said condescendingly, amused at her sudden rant as he sat down on the ground in front of her. He never would have pictured someone like her to inhabit the house of his successors, but if she were to pursue the case he would be impressed and interested for the first time in years. "No, that would be quite unfortunate. I can't lose you just yet." He mused thoughtfully but refused to elaborate as to why. "You still seem to be laboring under the delusion that I'm just some sort of imaginary friend. I am neither imaginary nor a friend, but thank you all the same." L said monotonously, snatching the colored candies from her hand and devouring them within moments, wrappers and all.
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!?Odd Wirmwoode?!
Odd gave Jonas a quizzical look, obviously confused by his statement. He hadn't been aware that the Wammy's House received donations, but it must have. That was probably one of the ways they were able to make ends meet; donations. Jonas was holding his hand out, a gesture he wasn't entirely familiar with either. It stood to reason that it must have been some form of greeting. Shrugging, he approached the teenager and gave him a hug, embracing him with surprising strength.
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Edgewater," Odd smiled, letting go of the younger man, "I personally do not run the establishment, but I've lived here for most of my life. I would have no problem giving your kind donation to the head of the Wammy's House." He bit the end of his candy cane off, chewing it loudly while his mouth remained closed. Perhaps the Wammy's House would've done well to teach its inhabitants better people skills. For a brief moment, Odd squinted at Jonas, moving his face a few inches away from the bespectacled man.
"I believe that you're developing a whitehead." Odd announced, still only inches away from Jonas' face, "Right here, as a matter of fact." He made sure to touch the area he mentioned, so that Jonas would be able to recall where it was later. After all, there wasn't a mirror nearby, and he wouldn't be able to check for himself until later. In his eyes, he was doing the young man a favour. Who wants to walk around with a zit while being none the wiser?
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Jonas Edgewater Jojo
Jojo had waited patiently for his hand to be shook, but was more than baffled when he was hugged. "What the hell,"he muttered. These people really were freaks, and now he was infested. He was infested with poor people germs, their poorness was probably infectious. Now Jonas was going to die of orphan germs. This was disgusting. He would have to have this suit washed three possible four times just to get the filth off of it. He paused and was thankfully released. Still the expression on his face was one of disgust mixed with fury.
Jonas nodded, of course he was pleased. Jojo attempted to smile. "What did you say your name was,"Jonas was half tempted once he got the name to write it down in his death note. But of course people might notice this; he might just have to wait till he got back home. Then he could end this hugging filled freak, and his pitiful existence. Well, even if he wasn't in charge it was somebody to give the check to so that he could get out of here. "Well, then let me get that for you," Jojo said reaching into his coat pocket.
He was about to pull out the check book when he noticed the other man's face mere inches from his own. Wait what? That's it these people were beyond weird. Of course it was the last straw when the other touched Jonas. His hands began fists, but Jojo counted to ten he didn't want to lose his temper. Once he got this person's name he would feel all better. And later everything would be taken care of. "Thanks for the information,"Jonas said rudely pushing the fellow away. Jojo instantly pushed up his spectacles these people were getting weird by the second. "But now if you don't mind I would like to get this over with, I'm sure you have things you need to do," with these words Jonas pulled the check book out of his pocket.
A look of surprise formed on Odd's face as he was pushed away, stumbling and almost falling flat on his backside. Fortunately he was able to catch himself, despite nearly falling over. It also helped that one of the other orphans behind him had pushed him up. He was a bit confused by Jonas' actions, but decided not to say anything. The prim looking teen probably wouldn't have pushed him if he hadn't overstepped a boundary of sorts. Perhaps he'd try to figure out just what he'd done wrong later. For now, he'd have to attend to the check he was to give to Roger.
"Ah, thank you, Mr. Edgewater." Odd said, grabbing the check by its corner with his index finger and thumb, "Your donation is greatly appreciated. As for my name, you can call me Olvier Tunstall. I have to get back to my research, so I suppose this is where I leave you. Have a pleasant day." He smiled and headed up the stairs, his sandals snapping loosely against the stairs as they nearly fell off his feet. The alias he'd given had been created off the top of his head, although it would probably please the younger man anyway. After all, there wasn't any reasonable way he'd be able to determine that it was fake.
Once he was up the stairs, he shuffled along to the room Roger usually inhabited, and after knocking on the door, he slipped the envelope through the crevice beneath it. He preferred not to bother Roger; he was usually busy helping Near, as well as other detectives on big cases. Besides, he probably didn't really want to hear about the commotion in the lower level anyway. It was too minor an issue to trouble him with. Now that he had dealt with Jonas and his charitable donation, he simply meandered back to his room, where he promptly seated himself before his computer. It was old and dusty, but it got the job done. He'd probably be spending the rest of the day looking up information on the previous Kira investigation, aside from the natural food breaks.
SUt - +
Esther Frore D'Amelie
The weakened light, due to the gloomy flakes of white falling from the sky, escaping through the slanted cracks of the tightly shut blinds, strands of faded gold cascading onto the surface of the darkened area only to quickly be halted by a fabric barrier known as curtains, a figure's pale hand releasing the cloth after they were convinced that the sun's remaining beams would not leak into the hotel's room once more. Turning on their heel, the moon-kissed person retreated to the shadowed sections of the large suite. The silence ensued, except for the repetitive slurpings of one whom was desperately attempting to gather the rest of the liquid still remaining in a carton and, soon after, the hollow sound of an item, most likely an orange juice container, connecting with the concrete flooring. The daily noises that emitted from the room caused by none other than Esther Frore D'Amelie; or, more commonly known: the orange juice addict, Sutaa. A brilliant detective that often kept herself secluded and distant from the normal civilians of Tokyo, Japan.
A slight glowing attracted the young female's attention, as she rested upon her newly found recliner, her azure orbs trailing away from the most recent bottle of orange juice mind you, this had possibly been her tenth since this morning to the flickering images created be minuscule pixels. She took note of the middle-aged Japanese man within the television. Another couple deaths, she presumed, was what he was informing the people of Tokyo. It had been of late, the number of deaths were rising--and, of course, Frore had realized over the couple of days that the pattern had risen that most of the deaths were, in numerous ways, related to criminals. How amusing, yet odd, that this situation always carried her constant thinking back to the original Kira case fourteen years ago.
The young adult lightly tapped her full, bottom lip with her porcelain-like pointer finger, her eyes suddenly dazed as her attention was taken up by the swift thoughts running through her brilliant mind. Despite the fact that these deaths appeared to be the workings of an unknown force that resembled Kira, Frore could not be ignorant towards her inner-voice, which continuously informed her that the number of deaths within, mostly, each day were of a higher percentage than that of the first Kira.
"And, why is this?" The woman began a one-way conversation with herself; a normal occurrence for Esther, " Perhaps, and though I'm certainly frustrated to admit this, there is possibly more than just a single individual whom is causing these deaths. . ." However, it was rather difficult for Frore to decide upon this issue as murder or mere coincidence. "If this is a number of humans that behind these actions--"drink of orange juice,"--than it is safe to say that I'll be needing a helping hand in this matter," Her monotone voice was unexpectedly weaved with venom; she loathed having to convince herself that she'd need more than just her in solving the case.
Though, despite this, she was certain that her assistance would be of no one normal; no, she needed a mind that resembled hers, that was capable of solving problems easily. But, and this was the question that'd caused her to bite her lip in a slightly nervous manner, how was she supposed to find one such as her; it was possible that she could contact the head of the Wammy's House and ask of one of the top detectives-in-training. . .though, this was only a plan that would be acted through desperate measures. For now, she'd research some of the popular detectives, not including herself of course, and consider contacting them. . .
All in all, Esther had decidedly chosen that, if by chance, this were an organized grouping behind the events that slowly killed off the criminals, she was to be one that would find and rid of them and their outrageous ideals of a utopia. Because, and Frore had found this opinion of hers extremely correct, not that she never found her opinions right, a world without evil left society and order itself unbalanced. There could never be good without it's opposite: evil. And, to even attempt to eliminate the 'bad' of humans--it would only bring harm. Harm and nothing better. So what if these people were criminals--they couldn't 'deserve to die', as many stated. No one could deserve to die unless the Big Man Upstairs said so. Anyone whose idea was to kill off other beings were, in Frore's opinion, inhumane--no one could decide on another's life sentence. And Esther was going to bring justice back into the world by ridding of this thing called Kira.
Squirming out of her indian-styled position, Frore's ocean blue gaze trailed to the ticking clock adorning one of the victorian-styled walls. Shuffling over to the double-doored entrance, she contemplated exiting the building, and, after moment's hesitation, shrugged on a dark, leathered coat and wrapped a thin scarf around her, now unexposed, neck. Strolling past the double-doored entrance, entering an elevator, and rounding a couple dozen corridor corners--the onyx-haired adult was soon wandering aimlessly down the streets covered in pure white, the freezing wind nipping at the skin left uncovered by cloth. The furred hood of her leather jacket shielded the ravenette from the gentle flakes that were being pulled down towards the ground's surface. The female sighed before letting the hand, which had recently been cramped up in the pocket of her tight pants, fiddle with the gleaming cross dangling from her left ear. Perhaps she'd reward her hard work as a detective with some refreshing ice cream; that sounded like a splendid plan.
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Jonas Edgewater
Jojo nodded as the check was taken from him, thank goodness he wouldn't have to deal with more of this. Jonas simply nodded as the fellow departed, Oliver Tunstall, he would have to make a note of that name. For later uses that is. He might have this person hug a knife or something, that's what people get for their over hugging. Jojo let a laugh escape his lips. Slowly he turned to head off. Jonas weaved his way out of the groups of orphans. He stopped as he neared the door.
Jonas leaned against the wall and opened his briefcase. This was where he stored his death note. He turned to a page making sure that nobody saw what he was doing and then he wrote down the name he had been given. "Goodbye Oliver Tunstall"Jojo muttered to himself, he quickly shut the notebook. Now all he had to do was wait for forty seconds and he would be able to tell if this had worked or not. Jonas leaned against the wall near the door. Slowly he let the words fall from his lips, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty," Jojo paused looking around. He should be dead by now, all Jojo had to do was wait for the commotion to know that he had done his job correctly.
+L i g h t +
Death had not been one of Lights most enjoyed experiences but he had thrived within the realm he had called 'home' for what felt like a millennium, wandering about the decaying land with a sense of power and authority which he had possessed back on earth. Shinigami were more pitiful then humans, constantly gambling and napping about like children, no hope to live, to kill, to even exist. It was in this area of activity that Light took pride in. All the while still acting, as the other Shinigami called it, human.
But he had a plan; he had always had a plan from the moment his eyes grazed the soft leather cover of the book which had ruled his life since he was seventeen. Many would have thought death had taught him a well deserved lesson but that was not the way of Light Yagami. He was still under the impression that what he was doing was right and that L and his little successors were wrong for standing in his way. Yes, near had succeeded but because Light had slipped up- as all humans do. But Light was no longer human and he took great pride in this, planning on using it to his advantage. He would become god of the new world whether he did it himself or through someone else.
And that's exactly what he did.
Though when he had dropped his notebook, he had had his doubts. There were so many people in the world that the chances of someone with a well placed backbone and a brain to boot was going to be hard to find in the world these days. He needed this in order to succeed. Someone… someone just like him.
He hadn't counted on Haruki.
Light had watched him with curiosity from the Shinigami World, noting the way he had handled finding the Death Note, testing it out on a cab driver whom he later learned had a personal grudge against concerning his deceased sister. The way the man had died impressed him and he took his skills and mind into account before flying down into the world he had once inhabited, noting the filth which had returned in his absence. Everything else had gone smoothly from there, ranging from his introduction to Haruki and convincing him of my ways. I showed him how horrible the world was and how we could work together to make it a better place. Everything was set .
"Taunting them is definitely going to get their attention," Light assured, happy to finally leave the stupid lecture room. The snow wasn't any better but it had no affect on him, the flakes falling through his slim body"But if you keep killing people like that, their sure to notice a pattern." he knew he was being careful, but he liked to keep him on his toes. Besides that, he was bored and rarely had a chance to speak around him.
Oni: After a little over 22 pages in MS Word, the first chapter is done! The second chapter is on its way. Do realize that the speed at which we update is dependant on the speed at which we post, so don't expect chapters to come out faster than two days between unless we have a huge role-play session where we're all posting and everything really fast.
Anyhows, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review and give us some feed back. The next chapter may or may not be uploaded by me, so next time you may be hearing this from someone else.
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The next chapter will definitely be shorter, but you never know.
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