aefenglom | [text]

Whoaaa no one told me there are TEMPORARY bonds... how long are those good for????

Oh, and are u monster or witch? Or does that matter

Monster.

I'm not sure how long they last for, as I haven't tried one before. I've only heard of them existing.

well as long as YOU know where to get them I guess that's fine....

But I'm not a witch. You probably need a witch, right?

It would be preferable.

Could you elaborate on your "unusual circumstances?" It doesn't have to be here.

I have gained some time.

[It's nothing he'd be able to keep to himself anyway.]

Edited 2020-08-28 22:02 (UTC)

How do you mean?

[L thinks he has an idea, but it could go two ways, couldn't it? Gaining time implies more years to live, especially given his last case and Near's first with the title.]

[On the other end, Near takes in a long breath and lets it out slowly.]

I mean I have ten new years of memories.

[He's heard of this sort of thing happening. It's the first time it's happened to someone he knows, much less someone from his own world in what passes vaguely for his circle. None of them just happen to live that long.

It's disconcerting, but he does his best to react as one should in this situation. What he feels is genuine, and positive... it's just through the same oppressive fog that's hung over him more or less since the incident with Niles.It's not Near's fault, any more than it's Near's fault that L was killed chasing Kira.]

I'm glad you lived for ten more years.

[He has so many questions about how the world might have changed.]

There's no doubt in my mind that it was a good decade, as far as your say extended.

[Near doesn't care what he thinks, might even throw this back at him just in case L's failed to reach that conclusion on his own. But L assumes he's spent that time working and building a legacy of his own, though he supposes retirement is some kind of possibility if Near actually lived to push thirty. That's deserving of some kind of acknowledgment.]

Edited 2020-08-29 01:07 (UTC)

I don't need your thoughts on the matter.

I just need your help.

[He can worry about his ego later, when there's no threat of losing it completely.]

[It's about what L expected, really... except for the pang he feels when Near confirms that he is, in some way, actually needed. L has always been willing to help his successors more than others, considering who they are and what they represent, but he is increasingly useless and superfluous these days. A task, apart from killing or being killed by Niles, is welcome, and it's so much better if it's a productive one that preserves something he values.

Near's the future; not his future, but something he's at least connected to.]

Of course.

[He can't offer too eagerly or too unconditionally. He has to first figure out what Near is actually looking for; a lot can change in ten years. Priorities, values, tastes and ideals.]

Tell me what you need today, and from there, we can establish what you'll need a week from now. At this point, it's rather a matter of triage.

[Beggars can't be choosers, in other words. Not even Near.]

Edited 2020-08-29 01:36 (UTC)

I need a temporary connection. Whatever will keep me from blanking out and losing myself.

I still have to put the pieces back together from what feels like a decade ago but wasn't.

[He has a very good memory. It won't take lone, but it isn't helping. His focus should be on keeping himself sane. He can't afford to have his thoughts divided]

I won't ask anything permanent from you. It wouldn't be good for either of us.

Edited 2020-08-29 01:47 (UTC)

[...ah.

He hadn't wanted to presume. It had seemed low on the list of possibilities... but given the additional context, it makes sense. L is, currently, Near's strongest connection who is able to bridge the gap between their world and Aefenglom, the person Near started as and grew to be.

It means he has to leave the cottage. Perhaps only briefly; perhaps longer, depending on what he finds when he encounters Near, any needs that weren't disclosed out of inexperience or pride. Metal fingers cease to clink as the dark cotton of his gloves slides over them.]

I'll obtain a potion for a temporary Bond and bring it to your shop.

[Even that is open-ended, not overtly volunteering to Bond with Near himself. It's a way to save face for both of them, perhaps, using the concoction and delivery potion as a jumping off point. Neither of them were ever very good at starting or finishing conversations.]

No.

Bring it to my house.

[And attached is an address. Near hasn't been to his shop since his return. He doesn't want to risk making a mess of things.

He lives alone, and there's enough space for him to comfortably slither back and forth in uncharacteristic anxiousness, though his tail has knocked a couple items askew regardless.

As he did the last time L paid him a visit, he will simply leave the door unlocked.]

[Yet more surprises. For all the support L requires just to sustain himself, and not wither away to nothing, he appreciates his privacy. He'd never have assumed that Near would invite him to his home... but he needs to stop doing that, making assumptions about Near based on who he is and what he does, or prefers.

They are, after all, two different people, even if they're shared a name for quite some time by Near's reckoning. Near was someone else before the letter, though, and how will that affect their rapport? Time will tell; time is what L takes as little of as he can as he makes his way to the Coven, obtains the potion, and travels to the provided address.

He does think to knock, but recalling the particular way Near leaves his door unlocked when he's expecting someone, tries the handle. It gives, and he steps inside a spacious interior ideal for a naga.

In keeping with old patterns, L likely seems a bit more insubstantial and faded since the last time Near saw him. Even with a monster Bond to siphon some of it off, the witch's power is substantial, nearly creating an aura... but it saps something from him, as well, along with all sorts of bad habits and unhealthy tendencies and thoughts. It bodes poorly, to Bond with even a very impressive tree that's rotting from the inside out... but Near, at least, knows what he's getting into.

For the moment, he keeps his hands in his pockets, gloved clockwork fingers wrapped around the bottle. If Near is at hand, he'll nod a stiff greeting while he attempts to acclimate to a greatly changed appearance; otherwise, he'll find a place near a wall to stand and wait.]

[L will be greeted first by a very excitable hyena dog, which runs up and growls at him from about two feet away. It's both happy to see a rare new face and protective of its territory, leading to a low growl while its little tail wags back and forth.]

Do you want a dog?

[Near's tired voice drifts in from the living room. His scales are the same, naga tail the same as it was before, and despite the extra ten years he hasn't grown in height at all. What has grown is his hair, which falls in grey curtains down to his waist as though he was Samson worried about losing his strength once it was cut.

And he still wears those same pajamas - at least the top of them.]

Take a seat if you want. [He gestures toward an uncomfortable looking sofa.] Sorry, I need to renovate.

[L and dogs don't get on; it's a cycle that feeds into itself, because dogs can sense nerves in humans and read it is being untrustworthy. L's skittish around unreasonable and instinctive elements that can't be reasoned with. He's actually surprised that Near isn't more so, but as the Naga approaches, he's struck by how much he's changed over the last apparent decade, and also how much he hasn't. He's still small; that's probably ten years of hair growth. The pajamas haven't changed. While this is Near's home, and he might live here independently, it doesn't appear particularly well-kept. As Near said, it's in need of renovations.

He moves toward the couch, keeping a wary distance from the hyena dog and taking a seat. It's in fact very uncomfortable.]

How did you end up with a dog you're so eager to give away?

[His words are precise and clearly enunciated, as usual... but there's something a little different about them. He had to learn to speak again after Niles split his tongue, which ironically gives him something in common with a snake right alongside Near. While it's since been stitched together and undergone healing efforts, it's lost sensation. His ability to taste is dulled, and everything just requires more care, including speaking in the way he wants to be heard.]

I got him as an early warning system. [And possibly for protection, as silly as that sounds, but the creature is still a puppy.] It sounded like a good idea at the time.

[There's also a very large silk-spinning worm in the back room, but there's no need to bring that up just yet. That, at least, is useful.

Near snaps his fingers a couple times and the dog comes up to him, tongue lolling. He gives it a couple rather patronizing pats on the head that it's happy for regardless before shooing it into another room and closing the door. He'll let it outside to make up for it later.

Then he slithers up to L, taking in his appearance in turn. Right now he's asking a favor, so he'll save any uncomfortable questions for later.]

I'm sorry for asking this of you.

[Protection never sounds silly to L, fortunately. The possibility for attacks always existed even when it didn't feel like a real or urgent matter; now that it's happened to him, the only thing preventing him from getting his own "early warning system" is the fact that the dominant parts of him still wants to antagonize Niles without an interfering cushion, for better or worse.

Near's good with dogs, at least this one. L wonders if being a Naga helps with that, or it came with age, or if it was always the case. For all he knows about his successor candidates, there were always smaller details, little mundane things, that never seemed important before.

He peers back at the Naga, still not used to the way Near has changed in ways not related to his monster type. He'll grow accustomed, he's sure, and a gloved hand withdraws from his pocket and produces the potion.]

I'd only have expected an apology if you needed help and didn't ask.

[And that's rich, of course, coming from him.]

This way... nothing bad will happen. At least for awhile.

For a while. [He agrees with a small frown. The main problem remains, of course. He still has to find a proper bond - a real bond. He's been here for over half a year now and still hasn't managed to develop anything permanent. The only one he'd been successful with was Mello, and that may have had some questionable results over time.

This is just a band-aid on a wound that won't heal. He knows that. But for now, it's all he can do.

He eases onto the sofa beside L, tail bending almost like a pair of legs to then curl around the side and out of the way. His eyes momentarily stray to the other man's gloved hand, but he holds his tongue. First they can take care of what he needs most. Any other questions can come later.]

I assume this doesn't require as much fanfare as the regular ceremony.

[It's only a bottle, after all.]

[As long as Near needs is what L is ready and willing to offer, but he realizes it's just as (if not more) likely that the boy (no, man, he must grow accustomed to thinking of him that way) will come to understand the special kind of torment that is being Bonded to L, and be glad to leave the arrangement behind him. It's wisdom that Mello lacked, to their mutual detriment; how differently might things have turned out if he'd focused everything into a Bond with Near, from the start, perhaps even long before Aefenglom?

He doesn't move or shift as Near joins him, as he might have once; he's no longer as jumpy around physical proximity and even contact, considering the myriad good and bad ways he's been encouraged to acclimate to it. Myr touches him casually and affectionately; Niles touches him with violence he goes out of his way to seek out, and that says nothing of all those who came before, including Mello. Involuntarily, L shivers, offers a pale smile at Near's question.]

Not nearly so much, no. It's actually ideal for emergency situations.

[Much like this one, he doesn't add. Best not to imply that this is an emergency; they both have far too much keen insight and wit for that, of course.]

It's a matter of swallowing the potion; nothing more.

[Aside from the mental burden, of course.]

[Nothing more. Nothing more than a temporary connection with the man his whole life has been based off of. Just the bod he'd been trying to avoid - had promised himself he wouldn't make. But he has only himself to blame. He was too used to being secluded, and hadn't allowed himself to get close enough to anyone else to consider forming a bond with them - even when he really needed it.

He doesn't take the potion right away. The dose clearly needs to be split between the two of them. They would have to be crafted individually to handle one bond per bottle. He doesn't know how easy they are to make, nor what it cost L to purchase it. The man had done so without asking for any kind of repayment.

Finally he sets a scaled hand on top of L's gloved one, brows set in a frown.]

Should I do it first?

[Blame, and its sibling guilt, are strange. The way they make their home in the hollow parts of someone's chest, chewing it more so, making pernicious suggestions of what if and what if I'd only just...

There's so much Near might begin to understand, either suddenly or incrementally, once they Bond. L's heart is going quickly, and it's partly because he's faced at once with someone familiar and a stranger ten years removed from his experiences. It's also because he's faced with the prospect of being seen by someone who was always supposed to perceive him as a mystery, and, of course, because there's the possibility that Near might comprehend things about the situation that are beyond L himself.

His breath releases in a soft sigh, and he very, very consciously doesn't stiffen as Near places a reptilian hand over one of his. It would feel like a hand to the Naga, up until the first knuckles; then flesh gives way to jointed clockwork and leather straps, an ingenious viking's elegant but very artificial prosthetic design. A lot's happened since they talked last; more of L has been very literally carved and chiseled away, but whatever is left of him is certainly something that Near of anyone can stake a claim to. It's why L had agreed readily, hadn't asked for compensation for the potion. He'd done this for Mello, after all, and that successor candidate had taken and taken to the point of endangering both of them. Near won't do that; Near has been L for ten years, now. He better understands the strain, the risks, and the limits, perhaps.

L nods.]

Please. Leave roughly half... it's not a precise measurement.

[Their souls are going to be melded in a few more moments, after all. A few milliliters won't make a difference in the grand scheme of things.]

[That obvious difference under the glove causes Near to narrow his eyes. His expression shifts into a look that's not quite concern but something close to it. He's not sure what he'd expected to be there, but this is a little alarming.

Ultimately, L's issues in this place aren't any of his business, but some of them might be for the short while they're connected to each other. He can't blame the other man when he wasn't the only one of them keeping his distance. If Near had been more concerned about this in the first place the time to act would have been before he reached a point of desperation. He doesn't have many other options now.

He once again says nothing about it, taking the potion from him. Near is exact, with a good eye for measurements. What he drinks is as close to precisely half as one could get without using an actual measuring tool, down to the drop. When he's done he hands it back over. His tongue darts in and out of his mouth a few times expectantly, against his wishes, causing him to brush some of his long hair out of the way of his face.

After this is over, he has a feeling all he'll want to do is lay down for a while.]

[There's no real going back, now. Technically, there could be, but it doesn't feel like an option, even if it was one that L truly wanted. The implications of Bonding with Near are many and fraught; it'll complicate something that was always better held at a distance in a way that both of them acknowledged, but... it would be worse, a hundred times over, if L just left Near alone to this, the same way he's been alone for the last ten years measured by the length of that hair. How much of that was Mello's fault? L's? He takes the potion and tips it back, if only to kill what's chewing at his chest for just a few moments.

He hasn't Bonded, even temporarily, since Mello. Myr's been his only connection for some time now, and he'd almost forgotten the wave of euphoric relief cut with dread and exposure. A Bond is sharing one's burdens, after all, nearly by definition... but to be in a place to need or want that is... well...

Something he can't let Near feel shame for, not when it doubtless took so much for his successor to get to this point. What he has to offer is a sharp and perilous mind, a sky full of stars (though there are dark and dim patches, now, bruised out by the others who have entered into a Bond with this man before.) There's water, too, deep and murky and frozen in places, but always restless, the hint of something huge and hungry beneath it. Best to stay close to the shoreline, for any type of grounding and reassurance. There are some places where the bank holds firm, where the stars aren't blinking out softly overhead that is safely out of reach of some prehistoric devouring nightmare, unseen but for the occasionally surfacing ridge or fin.

The impulse exists to drive Near away from this, but he's here already. It's done, for better or worse; which one, he wonders? Will Near be attached to him long enough to take out constellations of his own?]

Edited 2020-09-03 17:54 (UTC)

[That wave of relief is so palpable after months of being bondless that if Near was anyone else he would probably cry. The influx of memories had helped him focus on something else for a time, but it wouldn't have lasted. He could feel it eating away at his mind.

L might experience a moment of deep emptiness, feral hunger gnawing at his gut, an unbearable mental fog, before all of that is gone. Whatever Near picks up from the other man, none of that matters in this single moment as he bows his head, breaths coming shakily. He can't apologize to L any more than he already has, but he does hate how much that will resonate between them.

The hand that had been close to L's hand seeks a tight grip around his wrist - just in case he immediately thinks to run. He wouldn't - he at least knows his mentor better than that - but that doesn't stop him from making the gesture.

Stay here. Don't break this connection. When he can sort through his jumbled thoughts he'll be able to address the matter in the way it deserves.]

[There's a moment that goes beyond emptiness, bringing with it a disorienting plummeting sensation. The rush to balance a Bond when a point of desperation has been reached is heady, and L had nearly forgotten what it was like... but for him, the Bond with Myr that had saved him from oblivion had been immediately permanent. The Bond with Near, contrarily, is understood by both of them to be a mere temporary measure. It's wiser that way, safer... but the longer L exists in this void that slowly begins to fill with something that is cold but still human, he wonders, increasingly, how sustainable it will be without other immediate options to take his place once the potion fades. One temporary fix to another, eternally, is not sustainable... but then again, Near is truly his successor, seemingly in more ways than one.

That, more than anything, slows and almost stops his breath, forces him to swallow a catch in his throat that threatens to rim his eyes in red. It's the relief Near feels, filtered through a slight variation on the theme: the naga, at this point in his life, has been L for ten years. The isolation that comes with the position is absolutely unique, and L has never met someone who could even begin to relate. It was one thing to interact with the successors for whom the Kira case and the indignation it carried with it was a fresh and painful memory, but to feel the presence of someone who has inhabited his role for a significant amount of time could overcome him, if he let it. At least the hand around his wrist is grounding, firm physical sensation to center the mental overload.

He appreciates, newly, the keen and formidable intelligence of the other man. It's grown beyond the gifted child he was most familiar with, evolved past what L himself managed to achieve. Maybe the tendencies he shares with Mello stunted both of them, in the end, burned them out faster by their very natures, and Near's time in the darkness could permit these complex crystal formations to develop into something L could contemplate for hours. Existing in this Bond is demanding, but in a different way from existing in a Bond with Mello, and he can only inhabit the silence for a few more moments before debating internally who should break it.

Near (no, L) might not begrudge him the chance, as much as his voice and his advice had grated on his younger incarnation.]

I'm here... I'm not leaving, as long as you need this.

[And it is commitment, beyond mere intolerable obligation. If Near stood on his shoulders to reach the point he has, in their world, he not only needs to be a strong foundation, but knows that at some point in the past, at least, it was possible for him.]

[Hearing any sort of words of comfort out of L's mouth will always seem unreal to him. L was a figurehead, a letter on a screen with a distorted voice that may or may not belong to a real human being. There were some children in the orphanage who had believed that L wasn't one person at all, but several working together as a unit to solve cases. Why else would he need so many potential successors and never show his face to any of them? But Near always knew. The inflections on the voice's words, the places he inhaled when he spoke - it was always the same person: a cold, distant person who preferred to keep them all a safe distance away for their protection and his.

And it's dangerous to allow himself to become absorbed in these memories right now, because as he does so it becomes harder to tell where his existence ends and the other's begins. Because he's been that voice behind the letter, and there are still children on the other side to listen.

The hand that isn't gripping L's like a vice raises slowly to the bridge of his nose. He pinches it with a thumb and forefinger, a timeless gesture to focus himself. Twirling his hair is for idle thinking, and right now he can do anything but. As long as you need this, the other man says, and it feels like an unrealistic offer. At this moment he feels as though he'll need this for the rest of his life, which is an impossible scenario. He can't fall into this welcoming abyss and he can't let this attachment linger.

He releases L's hand abruptly and sits back. His eyes are still closed, his body trembling in a way he can feel in his fingertips. He's a solitary individual, always has been. Even the two people in his world he trusts above anyone else are kept at a certain distance. The fact that this has to be forced upon him makes him bitter, even as he wishes desperately to keep hold of it.

He starts to open his mouth to say something in response, but stops. Near knows if he speaks the words will be laced with emotion and he can't stand to hear that come out of himself. His mouth snaps back shut with nothing but a shuddering exhale.]

[Maybe the offer is unrealistic. Between the two of them, after all, one seems nearly to his breaking point, stretched thin beyond his natural expiration date in a world that's demanded things of him he was promised he would never need to worry about. But that's true for Near, too; Near hasn't even had the luxury of keeping his normal body, in dealing with the necessary adjustments asked of them in Geardagas. It's been difficult for both of them in different ways, and one of them perhaps understands his own limits better. He'll live longer for it, repeating the last world's pattern in this one in spite of any sincere well-meaning on L's part.

He'd be an even shittier predecessor if he actively wanted to outlive his successor, to be completely fair. That was precisely the opposite goal of having a successor, at all.

When it's released, L's own hand draws back, covered mechanical fingers curling in toward his concave chest alongside his other hand. Can Near pick up on the pain and disconnect of the original digits' absence, past what's possible to infer from the fact that he feels the need to wear gloves? Possibly; there's a fair amount happening right now, so much being transferred and shared between them through their Bond. It could be many things blurring and blending into an incomprehensible mess that is too interesting to look away from, too burdensome to keep forever.

He stands; perhaps it would be best to take his leave, since he's accomplished what he came to do, and Near no longer absolutely requires his physical presence. The mental and emotional ones will be plenty, lingering long after he's departed, but... something else does need to be addressed, on a more practical note, even if bringing it up so quickly might incite a bit of whiplash to both their states of mind.]

We need to have a plan in place for what happens after this expires.

[When, not if.]

For you to reach that point again would be unacceptable. I'll help you find a permanent Bond, if you feel you could benefit from the assistance.

[He can, L's sure. Even with ten years of time aging him and his experiences, Near clearly still struggles with connection. An undeniable advantage of the temporary Bond is what L can not only deduce and observe, but directly feel, and while it's probably terrifyingly true both ways, it allows such weaknesses to shine through.

Another advantage, of course, is that such weaknesses needn't be targets, but clarion calls for the kind of help L actually can offer once he's had a nudge in the right direction.]

Edited 2020-09-04 18:14 (UTC)

How long will it last?

[He hadn't asked before they'd started. Normally getting such details would be important to him, but these were special circumstances. His singular focus had been getting the temporary bond, in essence hitting the reset button. He would have time to worry about everything else afterward.

And of course L's right. That's nothing he didn't already know going in. He can't let things go on as long as they did before, meaning he has a couple months at best to make a connection with someone when he currently doesn't have anyone he considers above an acquaintance - except for the man in front of him. And that won't happen. Asking him for this had been more than he'd ever intended to do, and he's ashamed that it had to come to this point. He won't stay attached to L like a child clinging to a parent's coat sleeve.

He just hates how this bond has made it so he'll miss the man when he takes his leave.

Near purposefully keeps his eyes turned downward, his hand finally retreating to the usual place in his hair. His tail shifts on the floor, an indicator that he's alive and not sitting in complete maudlin contemplation. He only bothers to peer up through the curtains of gray when L mentions helping him again.]

Are you going to hold interviews?

[His tone remains neutral, but it's meant as a joke. He's just not very good at jokes, and he's not feeling it either.]

It lasts for about a day.

[He's aware that it's a shockingly short amount of time. Not much good, for someone who might require more to arrange a decent permanent match... but it's at least somewhat true that this mashes a reset button of sorts. Near will find himself unbonded tomorrow, but not immediately find himself in the same place of desperation that had put him in a position to ask for L's help.

L might guess that Near means it as a joke, but he answers seriously, nevertheless. He's likewise just not in the mood for humor, but it isn't Near's fault; it's been like that a lot, lately, and that's saying something for either of them, considering their typical rather somber approach to matters.]

That's one method; I could. My misgiving is that as the individual who needs a Bond in question, you should have a say in the matter, beyond objective data or my own biased impressions. You should know that while your specific needs are unique, your situation is not. There are many monsters and witches in Aefenglom who share your predicament.

[You're well within your rights to ask for this.]

If I'm to be asking around on your behalf, I should have a clear idea of what you need in a Bond. Try to think in terms of broad traits, rather than specific people who may or may not possess those traits.

[Like Mello, for instance... or perhaps L, now.]

Edited 2020-09-05 19:10 (UTC)

[A day. It's enough. A couple minutes would have been enough - at least for now. Without his mind clear, without the threat of going feral edging closer and closer, he wouldn't be able to take any of the next necessary steps - steps that he should have taken a long time ago.

There's always that cat. He should really address the issue of that cat again. It's only a matter of how much they'd be able to stand each other's presence for any length of time. Cats were always a little snooty, in his opinion, and this one also happened to be sentient.

If he knew what he was looking for, the process would be much easier. But he doesn't. He might as well ask L to help him find a new best friend.

His finger gets stuck in his hair. He leaves it there momentarily.]

I need someone I'll be able to stand. I think that's the most important quality.

[And there's a fair amount of people that immediately rules out - though it doesn't rule out as many as one might think. Near is more tolerant of idiots as long as they don't attempt to drag him down to their level.]

Someone who isn't too talkative and who doesn't require regular assurances.

[Well, it's a start, at least.

It's a shame that they're who they are, respectively... otherwise, L would really fit the bill for what Near believes he'll require in a Bond, or at least close enough. A Bond between them would make sense, at least on paper, but maybe his thinking is clouded by what's temporary but still highly secure. He did right by a successor, for once, and there are infinite ways he could screw it up, but... for now, this suffices. This will do.]

You need someone who is going to challenge you. Arguably... that's more important than everything else... I imagine that after ten years in your most recent occupation, the memory of what that feels like might have faded.

[There's a moment of silence after L says that, as it isn't entirely true. There had been one case, just the one, before he'd been brought here that had been a challenge. Perhaps he hadn't officially taken the case. Perhaps there were all sorts of supernatural elements that he couldn't account for, but the fact remains that it wasn't solved. He still doesn't know who had the notebook and he might never know.

At the very least they hadn't been going around murdering everyone. Whether or not they could even be considered a criminal was up for debate.

If he wasn't currently bonded to the man before him he wouldn't even mention it. But as it is that doesn't seem appropriate.]

...There have been a couple times. Only a couple. Where the notebook emerged in the human world again. It's never been as same as it was the first time.

[There may never be another owner like Yagami.]

[Near's silence alone isn't curious; L has always known Near to be a thoughtful and intentional speaker, and age only has a way of refining such tendencies. Gradual, subtle changes, like a master jeweler cutting a diamond... but the Bond lets L see it from a new angle and a new perspective, and he appreciates every new reflection even if the meaning carries notes of... bitterness? Regret?]

I expect that the world changed a lot, since 2004.

[Possibly more than it did between the time L came of age as a detective in the eighties, and the time he came of age as an adult (albeit a stunted and isolated one) in the nineties. Advances in technology and culture alone would be a lot to handle for even the most impressive social chameleon or tech-savvy savant, and L died before smartphones, before Twitter.]

Every new generation would deal with the appearance of a killer notebook in a different way by way of necessity and circumstance. Perhaps there would come a point where tracing it was actually impossible, but...

[Does L have room to talk, as one who died solving the same case a decade and a half earlier?]

As long as you expose yourself to new perspectives and influences, your limits won't have to be defined or determined. Your Bond can do that for you, even if it's frustrating and you clash sometimes.

[Especially then, truly.]

If you're lucky enough to survive failure, it's an opportunity, not an ending.

[There's a light, humorless chuckle at that.]

My life was never in any danger. I doubt they even thought about the fact that I might be trying to figure out who they were. [He pauses, tilting his head up.] Ryuk must get bored. That would be an interesting individual to see here, surely.

[Then he shakes his head.] I'm sorry, I've gotten us off track.

[It's a bit frustrating, this bond - with how comfortable it makes him around the other man. He had assumed that the temporary bond would make him desire a more permanent connection, but knowing that and actually feeling it are two separate things.]

[It's a little startling to hear any kind of laughter out of Near, regardless of affectation or context. In spite of the scales, it makes him seem a bit more human than he's ever been.]

Ryuk?

[What he knows, plus what the Bond gives him and what he's able to deduce, form an uncertain but ultimately pretty likely picture. He'd said shortly before his death that there was another notebook, and possibly more; it made sense that there would be more shinigami to go with them.]

The one I met was called Rem. I don't know what happened to her, after...

[They are off-track. He clears his throat; is it possible that Near being older, growing into his role as L has relieved some of the tension and the burden their relationship carried undercurrents of before?]

Near. Where your needs are concerned, for this Bond or future ones... don't dwell on them in silence. It's a privilege to help you in the ways that I'm able.

Later. I'll have to talk to you about it later.

[When the bonds effects are long gone. He does lean over to an end table on his side of the sofa, pulling open the drawer and shifting items around until he has a small notebook and pen in his hands. He sketches something out with the pen as he continues.]

If you're offering to come to my rescue a second time, I appreciate it. [Though it's technically been more than twice already.] Hopefully it won't come to that.

[He doesn't make friends well. He knows this. But if he has to slither his way back to his mentor in another month or so because no one could stand to be with him it will be a true embarrassment.]

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text; un: Linden Tailor

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