My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist
In pre-war Paris
Smuggling bombs for the underground.
And she met my father
At a fete in Aix-en-Provence.
He was disguised as a Russian cadet
in the employ of the Axis.
And there in the half-light
Of the provincial midnight
To a lone concertina
They drank in cantinas
And toasted to Edith Piaf
And the fall of the Reich.

My sister was born in a hovel in Burgundy
And left for the cattle
But later was found by a communist
Who'd deserted his ranks
To follow his dream
To start up a punk rock band in South Carolina.
I get letters sometimes.
They bought a plantation
She weeds the tobacco
He offends the nation
And they write, "Don't be a stranger, y'hear."
"Sincerely, your sister."

So my parents had me
To the disgust of the prostitutes
On a bed in a brothel.
Surprisingly raised with tender care
'Til the money got tight
And they bet me away
To a blind brigadier in a game
Of high stakes canasta.
But he made me a sailor
On his brigadier ship fleet.
I know every yardarm
From main mast to jib sheet.
But sometimes I long to be landlocked
And to work in a bakery.

-

"…Tell me your story."

Near stood in L's doorway with a brown teddy-bear clenched in his tiny hands. His grey eyes watched as the raven haired male looked up from the thick law book that the asylum had let him keep, and as he shuffled across the small room to close and lock the door behind the small fifteen year old.

They sat on the thin cot with the equally thin sheets; Near squeezed the teddy-bear closer to his stomach, not out of fear (because he felt anything but that) but just out of pure instinct.

L's dark eyes didn't study his doll-like face, but they stared at something above his eyebrow and in his curly white hair. Near could tell that he was thinking back over the many fantastical lies that he had told over the years, which caused the boy's sock covered feet to twitch slightly on the dirty carpet. He knew that the raven haired male wasn't schizophrenic, unlike the Yagami boy in room 303 who's padded cell swallowed his screams of demons following him, telling him to kill; Near had seen L go into the boy's room long after everyone was supposed to be asleep with apples under his white shirt.

The male dropped his dark eyes to Near's equally dark orbs with a corner of his lip twitching. He took a shallow breath, and opened his mouth, cocking his head to the side as if thinking. "My mother…was sold by my grandfather to pay off his gambling debts. She was the star of the certain brothel he had sold her too, but the leering men, and nights of bought, plastic sex caused my mother to go slightly…mad." L's cold fingers had started to undo the tiny white buttons of Nears shirt. The albino child didn't even bat an eyelash as the other male's white fingertips skimmed on his skin. "So…she ran away. She ran into the desert where she knew her 'master's' wouldn't be able to track her. For fifteen days," L began to push Near onto the thin cot, pushing the white material off of his shallow shoulders. "She wandered; she started to hallucinate, and soon she passed out from pure exhaustion. My grandmother found her only a day later."

Near let the teddy-bear fall to the dirty carpet riddled with dust and candy wrappers. He felt L's lips skim over the hallow of his collar bone, and he softly sighed. They lived in the asylum, social rejects because of their mental, or birth defects. L's happened to be that he was a compulsive liar, and a sexual deviant. It was something Near didn't like to reflect upon.

"My mother soon woke up and found that she was living amongst gypsies. For three years, she lived with out problems, then my father returned to his camp." L bit down rather savagely on Near's shoulder, causing the white skin to quickly redden. Near bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain. He felt L's spidery fingers rest on his flat chest, where a skeletal finger traced the outside of his nipple.

"They…'fell in love' (bullshit.) He married her after he found out that she was pregnant with me. For ten years of my life, he was barely there because he didn't care about my mother, and especially me. He resented me because I looked so much like him." He spoke against Near's thin neck and shuddered slightly. "On the eve of my eleventh birthday, my father killed the entire camp. My grandmother, my aunts, uncles, cousins: they all died because of him." His spidery fingers twisted painfully tight in Near's snowy white hair, which caused Near to whimper softly.

"Then…he set fire to the tents; this was to try to kill my mother and myself, but my mother took me and tried to run into the desert. My father followed her, grabbed me by my hair," He yanked back Near's head, and whispered against his ashen neck, "And whispered to me: 'You are not my son.' I then watched as he lifted his blood spattered arm, and shot my mother five times in her forehead. He then turned his hate filled eyes toward me and spat in my face, throwing me to the sand. He shot me in the leg so I wouldn't be able to go anywhere and then left me, the only survivor, to die."

L stilled his hand, and uncurled his fingers from the boy's hair. He looked down into Near's still expressionless face, and into his teary grey eyes. L sighed a long sigh, and got up from the cot. Even after the many times Near had visited L, and heard the different versions of how his mother died and his father left him, the male had never done anything more than fondle the boy.

"And then what did you do?" Near asked, sitting up on the stretched canvas, pulling up and buttoning his shirt.

"I watched as the Queen came and took me to live with her…where I…" L's eyes then took on a blank look, and he turned to Near with a confused expression on his normally blank face. "Who are you?" Near sighed, picked up his bear and unlocked the door.

He clicked the door closed, and faced the dark wood. He could hear Raito weeping down the hall…

-

-

Oh Jesus…I made L a sex addict.

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