#He might as well keep the hook for the brief scene in the jail cell because it doesn't actually matter for the narrative | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

agerefandom · 3 years

Text

Restrained

Fandom: Death Note

Words: 4,150

Characters: Regressor!Light Yagami, Caregiver!L/Ryuzaki. Brief appearances from Soichiro Yagami, Shuichi Aizawa, and Watari.

Summary: Set during Light and Misa’s imprisonment (episode 16-17). Classification/Regressors Are Known AU: Light was classified as a regressor when he was fifteen, but has fought the identity ever since. L is classified as a caregiver, but has never used those skills further than calming people in interrogation situations. Things come to a head in the second month of Light’s imprisonment.

Warnings: Imprisonment, irresponsible use of restraints, mentions of death and murder, nightmares, panic attacks, involuntary regression, hidden regression being revealed non-consensually. Ominous ending.

Author’s Notes: I usually take issue with Classification AUs, because regression is a coping mechanism and not a fixed part of someone’s identity. Regression can change, and regressors can also be caregivers, and the idea that it could be ‘classified’ as part of someone’s political identity is kind of distressing. All of that said, it’s also a very comforting trope: it’s nice to imagine that you were ‘meant to be’ a regressor, naturally given that role, and that there are natural caregivers who want/need to take care of you. So, there are pros and cons to this kind of universe, as long as you remember that it’s an AU for a reason! Anyways, that’s my soapboxing done. Please note the warnings before reading!

Light was not a regressor.

It didn’t matter what the letter he received at age fifteen said. Didn’t matter that his age range was listed as ‘2-3’ and a permanent caregiver was recommended. Light Yagami was a neutral, collected, and precocious teenager. He was mature for his age, and always had been.

Admittedly, Light occasionally sucked his thumb to help him sleep. And he convinced his mother to buy him more expensive sheets because he liked to run his hands across the texture. And maybe he cast side-glances at the adult playgrounds all around the city, at the regressors who were happily running and playing on the swings.

But Light Yagami was not a regressor. He got top marks. He wore stiff, professional clothes. He didn’t cry, not even when he stubbed his toe. He turned his nose up at sweet drinks and packaged candy. In short, at seventeen, Light was a model young man.

Which was when the notebook fell outside his classroom window, and everything got a lot more complicated.

Could a regressor do this? Collectively bring the world to its knees, the news outlets humming with one story? Could a regressor kill hundreds, save the general population from the evil in its midst?

Light Yagami was Kira, and Kira was not an age regressor.

Light Yagami was not Kira.

Light was trapped in a cell, his arms shackled behind his back, and he was absolutely certain that he wasn’t Kira. What kind of idea was that, marching in and saying he thought he was subconsciously Kira? Absurd. He wouldn’t do that kind of thing.

He yelled at the ceiling, pleaded with Ryuzaki, and received cold answers in return.

How had Light sat here for a week, believing that Ryuzaki had been right to lock him away? It was absurd: he couldn’t have committed the murders without knowing at all, it just didn’t make sense.

“You told me to keep you in there, no matter what you said,” Ryuzaki repeated calmly, his voice crackling through the cheap speakers outside of Light’s cell. “I’m only doing what you told me.”

“Well, stop!” Light shouted, tugging uselessly against the leather cuffs that held his arms behind him. His shoulders ached from the position. “Listen to me now, I’m not Kira!”

“We don’t know that,” Ryuzaki said. “Until we can be sure, you will stay in that cell. I’m sorry, Light.”

Light felt tears well up in his eyes, and he jerked his head down to hide it. With his bangs hiding his expression, he tried to wrestle himself under control.

He felt scared and helpless and he just didn’t understand what he was doing here. Let me out! a voice was screaming inside him, younger and just as frightened as he was. Please, I can’t take it anymore!

What was he thinking? He was Light Yagami, part of the taskforce dedicated to catching Kira. He could withstand this. He would have to.

He didn’t bother to hide the tears as he raised his eyes again to the camera.

“Fine. I’ll stay. But you’ll see that I’m not Kira! I don’t know what’s happening, but I believe that my innocence will be proven one way or another.”

“That’s exactly what Kira would say,” Ryuzaki drawled into the microphone, and then there was a short sound of feedback as the conversation cut off.

Light rocked back to lean against the side of the bed, feeling exhausted but satisfied. He’d made his statement, and he had fought off the despair. He was Light Yagami, and he would deal with this imprisonment with all the dignity he could.

This was awful.

Light had never been so bored and anxious in his life. The days stretched on, with only Ryuzaki’s occasional check-ins to keep his mind busy. Out of lack for other things to do, Light started sleeping more than usual. His days were hazy, short bathroom trips out of the cell and the clatter of the food tray his only reference points for time. The lights shut off for seven hours every night, the cameras equipped with night vision to watch him toss and turn in his restraints.

There was nothing to do but ruminate, worry, wonder. Light tried to run through lectures in his head, even tried his hand at mentally writing a story. He wondered if he could convince Ryuzaki to play chess with him over the speaker system, but found himself worrying about whether that would make it seem like he wasn’t taking his imprisonment seriously.

It had been a month, and Light was suffering.

The nights were hardest. In the dark, Light cried, trying to stay quiet. He couldn’t bite his thumb, he couldn’t feel his soft blankets, and sometimes he couldn’t sleep for the tug of the restrains at his wrists and shoulders. He wanted to kick his legs, flail around, scream at the top of his lungs until they let him out. But he was Light Yagami, and he had dignity. Even with cameras fixed on him twenty-four hours a day, even with his wrists and ankles contained, even under the constant scrutiny of Ryuzaki and the other members of the task force.

He almost made it to the end.

Things that Light didn’t know:

-it had been a month since Kira had begun killing again -his father was in a matching jail cell, several blocks away -the task force had been pressuring L for weeks to let Light and Misa go, convinced by the new wave of murders that the two were innocent -L had a plan, and was simply waiting to contact Light’s father to play his part

(Light would never know most of these things, because before they became relevant, everything fell apart.)

L sat in the same place he’d been sitting for weeks, watching the same scenes play out on the same flickering screens. Misa sagged against her restraints, Light laid curled up on the bed, and Soichiro sat in his chair, staring down at his hands.

Nothing had changed, but everything was different.

Light and Misa were Kira, or at least they had been. L had never been more certain. Now they both seemed utterly convinced of their innocence, and L wasn’t comfortable with the implications of that. Were they truly ignorant of their role? Had their ability to kill been passed onto someone else, or had the two of them been unwitting puppets to some new and yet-unseen player?

Misa took a struggling breath, and went limp again. Light shifted. Soichiro got up and began to pace. His cell would fit eight of his steps before he had to turn around and begin again in the other direction.

L missed nothing. But the pieces weren’t coming together.

He tapped his fingers against his knees, a syncopated rhythm as his eyes flashed from one prisoner to the next. Watari had brought him a plate of fruit, not yet touched, with icing sugar sprinkled over them. They would make L’s fingers sticky, and he didn’t want to get juice on the controls. He would have to eat with one hand, and operate the microphones with his other. He was just about due his check-in with Misa-Misa.

Just as L began to reach for the berries, a movement on-screen caught his eye. He didn’t currently have the audio on for the cells, but from the visual, he would guess that Light just woke up screaming. L has had a few of those nightmares. They weren’t pleasant.

L switched the audio on, and listened to Light trying to calm himself down. He was talking out loud, a mutter only loud enough for the microphones inside his cell to pick up on. (Light always yelled to the camera when he was talking to L, as if he weren’t aware that the cell was bugged well enough to hear every last breath he took. They could take no risks with Kira, when they still didn’t know how he was committing the crimes.)

“I’m okay,” Light was muttering. “Don’t… don’t do this. I don’t need anything. I’m okay.” His breathing caught, paused, and then resumed. “I’m okay. Please, please- don’t.” His voice was trembling, and L leaned closer. He’d seen Light crying, of course, trying to hide it by turning away from the cameras. But this seemed… different. Light was on the edge of something, and if L was lucky, it might be some kind of confession, fuelled by a terrible dream that brought all of his crimes rushing back with the sudden weight of guilt that Kira never felt.

Yes, L had enough self-reflection to know that he was kidding himself. But it had been a long month and a half.

He remained crouching, one hand poised above the plate of strawberries and the other hand hovering above the microphone that would let him speak to Light. And he listened.

“I don’t wan’ do this,” Light whispered to himself, his words slurring together in a way that L had never heard from the other man. The distressed voice hooked its claws into his chest in a way that was both foreign and familiar. Was this… “I don’ wan’ do this,” Light repeated, and then burst into tears.

It wasn’t anything like the quiet, hidden tears of the night-time. Light was sobbing, pulling at his restraints, tossing on the bed. Unable to wipe them away, tears and snot made a mess of his face. L watched as the teenager struggled to his knees and pressed himself against the wall, as if he were trying to get some kind of comfort from the pressure. The tears wouldn’t stop, even as words started making their way through the sobs.

“Lemme out, I wan’ out, I can’t, I can’t. It’s too dark, I can’t. Please, I’m too… I can’t feel my hands!” Light wailed, collapsing in on himself, his shoulders straining against the cuffs.

L was dimly aware that his hands had dropped to his sides. He knew he was staring. He knew that Aizawa had come running to stand behind him, alerted by the cries coming through the speakers. His ears were ringing, and he could feel Light’s sobs in his own chest.

The truth was unavoidable: Light Yagami was a regressor, and L had not known.

How was that possible?

Light was registered as age-natural on his official documents. L had watched him for weeks, and he had shown no signs of regression, not at home when he was unaware of being observed, and not here in the prison cell. Until now.

This was a harsh involuntary regression, from the looks of it, and the part of L that had made them stamp ‘caregiver’ on his own documents was aching.

“Oh my god. Is Light a regressor?” Aizawa said behind him. “That looks like regression, right?”

“It isn’t on his file,” L said, pleased that his voice sounded even. He hadn’t been around a regressor in distress for a few years, and he’d forgotten how much it made his chest hurt. Knowing that he’d been the one to put Light in that situation made it worse. Rationally, he knew that Light being a regressor meant nothing to the investigation. In fact, it made L even more certain that he was Kira. To conceal his headspace that thoroughly, even under investigation, made it clear that Light was no ordinary teenager. That must have taken an immense amount of willpower and planning.

“You have to let him out,” Aizawa said. “You can’t hold a regressor in a place like that, and his innocence has already been proven.” Light was still sobbing, his harsh breaths providing an undercurrent to their conversation. “Ryuzaki, you can’t possibly let that continue.”

“I… think he knew this might happen,” L realized. “This is what he meant when he asked me not to let him out, whatever happened. He knew that he would regress under the pressure.”

“All the more reason to release him! He still doesn’t know that Kira is killing again, it’s not fair. You’ve put him under way too much stress. Let me talk to him.” Aizawa reached for the microphone, and L struck his hand away.

“No. The last thing he needs is more sensory input from the speaker system.” Aizawa recoiled from the physical interception, eyes wide. “And you could jeopardize the investigation,” L added, slightly belated.

“You can’t do this. I’ll call the rest of the team,” Aizawa threatened, reaching into his pocket.

“There’s no need for that,” L sighed. He knew that the rest of the team would agree with Aizawa. The legal system was more lenient for regressors, and keeping them in solitary confinement was widely considered cruel. “I’ll go myself.”

Just because Light couldn’t be held in the cell anymore didn’t mean that L was prepared to let him go without twenty-four-hour supervision. Luckily, he had a set of unusually long handcuffs that he’d already been prepared to use after Light’s release. He could just speed that process along… and tell Watari to order some more regressor-friendly accessories for their room, of course. Maybe pad the cuff that Light would wear, so he didn’t accidentally hurt himself.

L shook his head, pushing his chair back from the table with a sigh. His caregiver mind was getting in the way again. Light was Kira, regressor or no. He wasn’t keeping Light close so that he could take care of him, but so that he was unable to hurt anyone else.

“We’ll discuss Misa’s release when I return,” L added over his shoulder as he headed for the door, reaching into his pocket to call Watari with the car. Light’s prison was a short drive from the base, and the sooner L got there, the better.

Sure enough, the drive was agony.

L stared out the window, the seatbelt Watari had forced him to wear digging into his chest and disrupting his thoughts. He was trying to make plans, trying to think back to all of his interactions with Light and wonder if he should have known. Was that why Light had always sharply refused any kind of sweet drink, even something as simple as fruit juice? Was he afraid that he might slip into regression? Was that why he had been crying at night, quietly regressing just enough for his childish fears to come to the surface? How confused was he, how disoriented in the cell? He seemed to know he was trapped, but did he remember what he was accused of?

L barely noticed when the car came to a stop, but when Watari opened his door for him, it took genuine effort not to go running into the building. Instead, L moved even slower than he usually would. Each gesture would be planned. Each word intentional. Just because Light was a regressor, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. L had to be on his guard, even more because of his natural caregiver instincts.

He made his way down the cold concrete stairwell, Watari a few paces behind him. Hands tucked in his pockets, breathing slow and natural. No worries about what he might have missed in the two minutes he’d been away from the screens. Had Light hurt himself? Was he safe? Was he still crying? L should have brought water, he’s sure to be dehydrated-

They stepped onto the cell block, and L had a brief conversation with one of the guards to obtain the keys. He’d already texted ahead, and they knew to expect him.

Watari stayed behind, just within earshot as L padded down the line of empty cells to the one that held Light.

It was strange to see the cell in person. For the first time, L could see the camera that Light had shouted at so often. He could see the details of the walls more clearly here, the chipped tile of the bathroom corner and the scratches in the concrete that didn’t come through on the long-distance video feed.

And there was Light, curled into a ball on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms still tied behind him, much in the same position that he had been napping in before his nightmare.

L had approached soundlessly, and Light’s eyes were closed. He didn’t open them until L put the key into the lock and turned it.

“N—no, I don’t-” Light stuttered, and then looked up. “Ryuzaki? Ryuzaki!” He tried to get up, but the cuffs on his ankles made him stumble and fall. L heard his knees hit the concrete with a harsh crack, and Light teared up again. “No, no, don’t come in. M’sorry, don’t come in.”

“I’ll let you out of the cuffs,” L told him, his hand on the door but waiting to open it.

“No, I don’t want it,” Light managed. “Just… go.”

“Light, how old are you?” L pressed.

Light made a sound that resembled a squeak, and very slowly raised his eyes to L’s.

“How old are you right now?” L asked again. He watched Light’s expression twist from surprise to embarrassment to conflict, then Light started crying again.

“I don’t wanna be,” Light sobbed. “I don’ wan’ it.”

And there went L’s chest again, twisting and aching with the sound of a regressor in distress. He regulated his voice, unwilling to let it sound too caring. It came out flat instead.

“There’s no shame in regressing, Light. Two percent of the population isn’t an insignificant number. You’ll be more comfortable with your arms free.” Light shook his head, tears flying with the gesture.

“No! Don’t come in!”

“How old are you, Light? You’re young, I can tell that much. Probably in the toddler range, if I had to guess.” From Light’s glare through the tears, L had hit the nail on the head. “I thought so. Stop fighting me. I was going to let you out soon anyways.” Well, L hadn’t been meant to say that. But he could probably use that to his advantage.

“But… but you think I’m Kira,” Light mumbled. Interesting: he did have his full memories, then. Very little disorientation for such a young age range.

“I do,” L admitted. “But the taskforce doesn’t. They want you back on the team.”

“Me?” Light blinked up at him, and his eyes were even wider than usual, framed with perfect dark lashes, and L was in agony being separated by bars. This regressor was going to be the death of him. “But… I thought the bad things stopped ‘cause I was here.”

L was fascinated by the limits of Light’s mental reasoning while he was regressed. He would have to do some experimentation at a later time, but for now…

“I lied. Kira has been active for almost a month. I wasn’t convinced it meant you were innocent, but it makes a good case.” L watched that news hit home, but in a very different way than it would have hit an adult Light.

“You lied? Why? I thought… I thought I was bad, maybe, but you were lying!” Light tried to wipe his tears on his shoulder, only partially succeeding. “I don’ wanna know why. Probably a good reason, ‘cause you’re L and you do all the good things.”

Hmm. It seemed that Light’s certainty that he wasn’t Kira didn’t extend to his regressed self. Perhaps he was speaking more candidly in this headspace.

“I’m not fond of unnecessary cruelty,” L sighed, hooking one hand through the bars. “If I had known, Light-”

“You never woulda had me on the task force,” Light said, quite viciously. “Never ever.”

“That’s not true.” L traced one thumb against his lips. “I’ve known regressors who are exceedingly intelligent. Everything would have proceeded the same.”

“Even though I’m three?” Light asked, and L fought the urge to smile. Information, at last. Three. He stored that away.

“Even though you’re three,” L confirmed. “Your input is valuable to me. In fact, I would like to invite you back to the taskforce after you’ve recovered from this imprisonment.”

“Yes!” Light shuffled forwards on his knees, wincing at the movement. He probably bruised them earlier when he fell. “Yes, please! I wanna help catch Kira! And all the bad guys!” His eyes were shining with excitement and the tears from earlier. Looking down at him, L’s mind caught in a loop.

Light Yagami was Kira, but this… this was not Kira. What that meant about Light, or Kira, or the nature of Light’s regression, L couldn’t say, but he was certain of one thing.

“Can I come in now?” L asked.

Light visibly hesitated, then sank back onto his heels and nodded.

“Thank you.” L left the keys in the lock as he swung open the door and entered, making his way to Light briskly. It was easy enough to get the cuffs off his wrists, and Light whined when his hands were free, struggling to move his shoulders back into a natural position. “Give it time,” L advised, pressing at his spine with experienced fingers. Massages were one of his lesser-used skills, but easy to pick up with his wide knowledge of the human body. “They’ll hurt less in a few minutes.”

He wasn’t expecting Light to shift forward and wrap his arms around him, but that was exactly what happened.

L froze, his hands raised in the air as if in surrender. He’d comforted regressors before, at crime scenes and over interrogation tables. A few of the children at the orphanage were regressors, and he interacted with them when he visited. But none of them had dove into a hug like this. L was a detective, a mentor, a little too strange and intense to be approachable. Now there were arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, and L didn’t know what to do.

Falteringly, L returned the embrace, the tips of his fingers resting lightly on his own forearms. Light had lost weight over the last month, and his body felt almost frail against L.

“Had a nightmare,” Light whispered.

L wondered if Aizawa was listening, back at the base. He wondered if Watari had wandered closer, after hearing the cell door open. He wondered what kind of things Kira dreamed about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” L asked, and didn’t lean back from the embrace.

“It was bad,” Light said. “I was running, and there were hands, and a fence, an’ there were… bodies. On the fence. And they were… they were…” L could feel Light shaking, and he held the regressor just a little bit closer.

“Just a dream,” L said. He wondered how much blood was on Light’s hands, how much of it he remembered. “You’re safe now. It was just a dream.” L held Light in his arms, the ache in his chest finally fading as he looked down at him. There, the regressor was safe, and L could finally relax. Light’s breathing slowly evening out, his grasp on L’s shirt finally loosening. “You’re safe.”

Light blinked up at L sleepily, and then his eyes slid closed. A natural reaction to stress, and having a caregiver close by. Even if L hadn’t disclosed his classification, his actions combined with Light’s instincts had likely made it clear. L cradled Light in his arms, like a puzzle piece fitting into place, and watched him fall asleep. He would have no more nightmares with a caregiver so close by, and even if he did, L would be there to calm him down.

L knew that this was trouble. Light was Kira, and Kira was death. L’s instincts as a caregiver could only blind him further as he continued in the investigation. If he were being rational, he would attach Light to someone else for the rest of his surveillance period. Prevent the caregiver/regressor bond that had been formed between them from strengthening into something difficult to break.

But L didn’t like being rational. He followed his instincts, and they were always right.

Right now, his instincts told him two things.

I will not let go of Light Yagami.

This will be the death of me.

#death note agere #fandom agere #agere writing #agere fanfiction #agere stories #my writing #death note

65 notes · View notes

blooddrop-palace · 4 years

Text

Open Doors [1/2]

[Alternate tagline: Sera, that’s probably not a safe idea, but you did it anyway.]

Here’s another set of snippets of things bouncing in my head all day while I was at work. Except when things involve Vergil, it looks like I can’t keep it simple. This became longer than I thought. Guess this is part 1 of 2.

—

“I don’t care if you just like to do charity demon-slaying or whatever it is you’re here for, but it’s rude to leave in the middle of someone talking to you! And we need to talk!”

He knew he could easily out-maneuver the human woman, but it was at risk of her witnessing the clearly inhuman skills he possessed. However, the plan wouldn’t change from the last two times: he needs to run just far enough out of sight, find a safe target zone, and teleport away.

But really, the situation would have been better if that blasted female knight was never in the vincinity to witness him dispatch a small hoard of stalking demons to begin with.

—

“You have me very vexed, good sir.”

“And you, I. What will it take for you to leave me in peace?” He ground out in response, clearly irked at the knight who had climbed three stories up to the balcony that he thought was safely out of her reach and out of her view. She somehow knew other ways up here that he didn’t immediately see at first.

“You want me to leave you in peace? Did you know that word has gotten around about a foreigner in the city limits who has a peculiar demeanor about him? Doesn’t look or act like a tourist. Asks about history as if he’s hunting for something. And...” She paused to pull herself over the railing, catching her breath briefly. He noticed clever wire spools and snap hooks at her belt, no doubt tools that helped her climb. “And he doesn’t blend in by being overly concealed, and there is no record of someone matching his description having checked in to any of the few existing inns in this isolated island-city... leaving up to all sorts of imagination and gossip of where he could be camping out at—”

“It sounds like you have more pressing matters to tend to, then. I’ll leave you to that...”

“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not going to play the fool with me!” She cut him off, and then cut to the chase with a frustrated sigh: “Ugh, look, sir, this isn’t what you think. I’m hoping to not have to chase you down because the Order asked for your arrest or something. In fact, this wasn’t my original intention. By this point, it’s the fact that you have evaded me the first time, and then yet again a second time, when I had wanted to thank you properly for both occasions of...” She waved her hand in a nonchalant gesture in the air, “saving me the trouble of having to call for backup against demon ambushes in backroads that clearly needed more patrols—”

That wasn’t the case; the roads probably had enough patrols in the past. It was his presence that drew the demons to break their usual patterns. But she didn’t need to know that so he wasn’t going to tell.

The knight’s words dissolved into grumbling as she buried her face into her hands, trying to wrap up her explanation.

He was hoping if she got whatever damn idea of gratitude out of her head, she’d leave him alone from then on. So he lingered while mentally vowing to double check for anyone else’s presence from now on, before “accidentally” helping anyone fight off demons, again.

“This got more complicated than it needed to be.” She finally looked up from her hands and scrutinized what she could observe of him under his cloak. Not that the coverage mattered anymore. He knew she saw him without it in a fight already. “I got carried away; upset, even... because how did you manage to scale up places like this better than I could? I used to make sport of evading the knights by scaling the walls and such before I managed into the Order myself. And now someone is going to beat me at my own game?” She huffed, adjusted her stance to be more relaxed, and raised a brow at him.

“...Get to the point, so that we can leave each other be.” He was not going to show amusement at her sense of competition. What was human competition going to matter for him?

The knight took a deep breath, palms pressed together and fingertips at her lips as she carefully thought about what she was going to say next: “You either need to leave the island soon before the day comes that the entire Order tries to force you out, or you be a little less mysterious and stop allowing all these restless rumors about you float around. So give me as simple of an answer as you wish, so long as it’s an answer. What are you here for?”

“Why would what the masses think about a stranger matter to you?”

“Personal history and boredom.” She immediately answered with deadpan seriousness. “And the answer for my question?”

He thought briefly before slowly responding: “Research.”

“Okay. Nothing you need to hurt anyone for, would you?”

“I’m not going to stand here and be interrogated.” He turned to leave.

“Humor me. I’ll tell you right now that the worst case scenario is me leaving you alone with no more questions and no more games of tag. But depending on your answers, I might be willing help you stop being the hottest gossip topic of the entire city.”

He hated having to weigh his options on what was clearly a bargaining attempt from a human being. But this island that might contain answers to his quest for power was proving inconvenient with how xenophobic they were. With the slow rate his research was going, it would be...more than just mildly inconvenient if the city became too restless at his presence.

“Very well. I’ll... humor you. And to answer your second question, it would be counterproductive to cause a scene by means of assault.” He wasn’t making promises, though.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask for one on that.

“Let’s get down from this balcony first, before someone spots us.”

—

“Demon Hunter?”

“When I need the money.”

“On the road a lot?”

“...I don’t plan to stay longer than I need to, if that answers your question.”

“Name?”

“At the moment, we will remain as strangers.”

A sigh.

“Okay. I’ll accept that. Last question. Need a place to stay?”

Pause.

—

“I have questions for you.”

“I admit it’s only fair.”

“Why the offer?”

“I have extra night patrols because of your presence. People don’t like things that go bump in the night, which, to many, includes strangers.”

...?

“Wouldn’t your problem be solved by reporting my presence as non-threatening? That would seem like an easier solution to me.”

“I know protocol. Protocol would demand suspicious foreigners that apparently sleep in unknown places of the city be brought in. Stop holding the rest of your cloak so close to you. That fancy getup you have underneath isn’t as much of a problem as you think. You’re too cagey, and that’s what’s making you stand out. Just keep the hood on and relax. If someone’s asks about that sword, I have working answers.”

“Hmm. Protocol, you say? Is this place to stay going to be a jail cell, then?”

Yet, at the moment, they stood in front of an apartment door, and she was inserting a key.

“You? In a jail cell? I watched you slay demons like they were made of paper. Not only would a jail cell not contain you, but I’d have to get you into one, first. You tell me if that’s going to happen.”

As she opened the door to her apartment, he graced her with a brief chuckle.

“No. But I have more to ask. What deal are you meaning to strike up from this? I’d be a fool to think you are offering me help without ulterior motive.”

“Motive? I love my home city but I don’t love its hostile attitude towards strangers. My father wasn’t from this place. Causes me some grief. But I know you don’t care about that and I don’t need to share.”

“...I don’t need your charity.”

“Not charity. Gratitude and mutual benefit. Here’s the deal: I have a lot of thoughts on how foreigners at least deserve respect. You respect me, and I respect you. Sound acceptable?”

“I understand you mean to say that if I slight you, then there is no deal.”

“...and the opposite holds true, smartass. I’m not trying to lord anything over you. But if you want to get your research thing done and leave the city on your own terms, you’re going to need to get as much of Fortuna’s distrust off your back as possible. I’m not asking you to sign a contract. Just mutual agreements.”

“That’s a lot of trouble just to get yourself out of night patrols.”

—

“Good morning. The couch wasn’t too terrible, was it?”

“I’ve slept in worst places.”

“...I should have surmised. You’ve been up reading for a while?”

“Not too long. I believe I’ll be heading out soon to continue my research.”

“All right. I’m sure you’ve seen where the main library is. Tell them you’re Seraphina Valkyrie’s guest, and if there are problems, they can contact me. My story is going to be plain and simple. You’re a friend from mainland whom I came in contact with while I tried to solve the mystery of where my late amnesiac father may have come from. No headway there, by the way. The rest is, as they should know, no one else’s business but mine. Breakfast?”

“Acceptable reasons, and breakfast would be agreeable.”

“Assistance in breakfast would also be agreeable.”

—

“Am I correct in assuming you wish to barter help from me in solving the mystery about your father in return?”

“I actually don’t care. Family’s been dead since I was twelve. That was long enough ago. I got over it.”

“My condolences.”

The topic wasn’t pursued that day. It wouldn’t have been a good dinner table conversation anyway.

—

Five days later, he’s found some leads both into research and into reconnaissance about the Order’s goals.

He’s also found that, by “rules of being a respectable guest,” he somehow allowed himself to be roped into certain chores. Namely with assistance in the kitchen.

She also allowed him the guest bedroom after the first night’s stay.

—

Day seven. He still refused to tell her his name. She took it upon herself to call him something, taking an idea from the re-bound leather cover of his prized possession: the book of William Blake’s poetry collection.

He never corrected her, and now she called him “V”.

#devil may cry #vergil #oc #concept setup #fan writing

4 notes · View notes

quartings-main-blog · 7 years

Text

SP Part 7

VENTOR: Ciela-ugh-I was about to tell you I took that bomb out of its casing when I was examining Hobble's leg. CIELA: ...I hate you. VENTOR: You're welcome. And before you ask me what I did with the bomb- Ventor steps forward and pulls what appears to be a detonator from out of his pocket and presses the button on it. EXT. SKYRATE BARGE-NIGHT As Redstar and Hobble stand on the barge as it flies off, curious as to why their bomb hasn't gone off yet, Hobble notices the bomb lodged in her mechanical arm instead. Frightened, Hobble removes her mechanical arm and throws it off the barge, but it explodes midair nearby and badly damages the barge, lighting it ablaze and causing it to fall slowly. Redstar and Hobble are also blown back off the barge, falling into the distance of the town. EXT. ALTOS HOUSE-NIGHT Ciela notices that both the Arbei and skyrate zeppelins have begun to descend. CIELA: Ah dammit! Vents, get my Ma and Pyoma-yes, I know you're here! -back to the ship. I'm gonna go finish Redstar off. VENTOR: Ciela, the Arbei will handle things, just come with us! CIELA: No they won't! The Arbei won't leave without Pyoma and I want Redstar. If I can cause enough of a mess hunting him down to distract them, it's a win-win. 72. VENTOR: C'mon, just follow us back to the ship and we can outrun them! CIELA: Ventor Chanico Nism, you are taking my mom and Pyoma and you are getting out of here safely without me! Do you understand?! VENTOR: Ciela- CIELA: Just shut up and go, ya freakin idiot! I am not havin' anyone else get shot on my watch today!! End. Of. Story! Before Ventor can protest, Ciela tosses Ventor the keys to the Skylark and shoves him away before running off further into town. Pyoma then comes running out to meet Ventor, who is currently in the process of helping Mrs Altos to her feet. PYOMA: Ciela, wait! Where are you- Ventor grabs ahold of Pyoma by the arm. VENTOR: C'mon Pyoma, we're going back to the ship. PYOMA: But where is she going? Pyoma takes notice of an injured Mrs Altos standing alongside Ventor. PYOMA: Oh! Hello? Are you Ciela's mother? What happened?! MRS ALTOS: Yeah I am, not sure who you are though, young lady. VENTOR: -Alright, time to go! Ventor grabs both Pyoma and Mrs Altos by the shoulders and hurries them towards where the Skylark is. 73. EXT. PITCHBLEN-NIGHT Ciela runs through the streets of Pitchblen searching for where Redstar may have landed. As she reaches the outskirts of the town, her surroundings become more and more chaotic, with the wreckage of buildings and airships becoming more and more frequent. As she turns a corner, Ciela sees Redstar and Hobble on another skyrate zeppelin, which has descended to pick them up. However, the zeppelin has begun to ascend back into the sky. CIELA: Oh no ya don't! Ciela attempts to shoot at the zeppelin, but the mounted cannons on it return fire, with the aerial superiority posed by it making things difficult for Ciela. In response, Ciela climbs her way up to the top of a nearby building, using her revolver to shoot the flooring beneath her in order to propel her skywards towards the zeppelin. EXT. SKYRATE ZEPPELIN-NIGHT Ciela lands on top of the zeppelin's deck. Several skyrates immediately take notice of her, while Ciela herself spots Hobble and Redstar sitting further in the zeppelin, recovering. The skyrates charge Ciela, and after a brief fight, Ciela is able to break through them, albeit with several minor injuries. She walks towards Redstar and Hobble, determined. Hobble tries to get up unsteadily, but Redstar urges her to sit back down. He gets up himself to face Ciela. Ciela quickly tries to shoot Redstar with her revolver, but he swiftly knocks the Epheme burst away with his sword. He charges at her. In response, Ciela grabs a nearby hook/sword/pipe off the ground and engages in a close-quarters fight with Redstar. REDSTAR What's wrong, girlie? Can't we just call it even from here- CIELA: -SHUT THE HELL UP!! 74. The fight is fairly even on both sides, though when Ciela knocks Redstar a fair distance back, he opens up a compartment in his sword and fires a miniature missile at Ciela. Ciela attempt to use her weapon to quickly shield herself but the missile explodes against it nonetheless, injuring her and sending her flying off the zeppelin. INT. SKYLARK-NIGHT Ventor, Pyoma, and Mrs Altos notice the explosion aboard Redstar's zeppelin amidst the Arbei ships closing in on the scene, while they make their escape. VENTOR: -Ciela!! EXT. SKYRATE ZEPPELIN-NIGHT Redstar, noticeably exhausted from the fight, takes a knee and leans against his sword for support. REDSTAR (laughs) Fine...now we're even. EXT. PITCHBLEN OUTSKIRTS-NIGHT Ciela falls a great distance all the way from the zeppelin until she falls hard into a river just on the outskirts of Pitchblen City. With a serious injury on her midsection and unable to swim, Ciela begins to sink to the bottom until someone drags her out of the river. Said person is shown to be an Arbei soldier, surrounded by many others, including General Kester. Dazed, Ciela looks up and scowls at the soldiers, attempting to make a rude gesture, but she is handcuffed. Looking up at the sky, Ciela spots the Skylark flying away safely and she smiles weakly in acknowledgement. 75. INT. SKYLARK-NIGHT Noticeably stressed, Ventor continues flying the Skylark away from Pitchblen city. Mrs Altos leans against the wall of the ship whilst sitting on a chair, as Pyoma tends to her. PYOMA: S-so might I know where we are going? We are going to rescue Ciela, right? VENTOR: (Mumbles to himself) PYOMA: Well? VENTOR: Ciela told us to go on ahead, and that's what we're doing. I'm taking you to the drop-off point our clients told us about. PYOMA: No, wait! What about Ciela? VENTOR: She'll...she'll be fine. Don't worry Ventor gets out of the pilot's seat, leaving the ship on autopilot. VENTOR: Now move aside, I gotta- Ventor notices that Mrs Altos has been patched up and her wound has been treated slightly. He points at it and looks at Pyoma. VENTOR: Did you do this? Pyoma nods. VENTOR: Wow, how did you-? PYOMA: I was kept in a fortress for most of my life with shelves full of books. I've learned quite a fair bit from them...if you don't mind my bragging. 76. MRS ALTOS: Aww, such a nice young girl! And so well-spoken, too! I wish Ciela could've grown up like you. But instead, she chose a life of picking fights with random strangers for money. VENTOR: Um, you're making it sound a lot worse than it actually is. But... (sighs) I think all of us here can say that Ciela's not the kind of person who'd ever let other people make her decisions for her. And like it or not, I think it'll stay that way. Pyoma and Mrs Altos look down and reflect on this, as Ventor resumes flying the ship forwards. INT. ARBEI SHIP HOLD-NIGHT Ciela is carelessly hurled into a jail cell in the bottom of an Arbei zeppelin's hold by an ARBEI GUARD. Her midsection has been fairly treated and bandaged, and some of her clothes have been changed. Nonetheless, Ciela still clutches at her waist as she hits the cold steel floor of the jail cell. CIELA: (coughs) Really? Ya keep me in ya stupid clinic for two days and then ya just toss me in a cell? ARBEI GUARD: Be quiet! There are still questions we want to ask you. The guard then walks away from the cell back to his post. CIELA: Yeah, that's right! Just...Just run away. Ciela sighs and drags herself back into a corner of the cell to rest SYMOS: Hello? 77. Ciela notices Symos' voice from the adjacent cell, and looks over to see that he and Mona have also been jailed. SYMOS: Over there! You're the young lady who broke into our fortress! CIELA: Yeah? (coughs) What's it to ya? What're you doing in here, anyways? You blow your noses in Kester's shirt or somethin'? MONA: We're in here because we went against his orders to eliminate Lady Pyoma. CIELA: Hey hold up, what? The heck is he tryin to do? There's so many nutjobs out there going after her I can't keep track of what they all want. MONA: We were brought Lady Pyoma to take care of many years ago when she was about four years old. Kester ordered us to use whatever technological means to erase her memory and try to tap into her suspect latent control over Epheme. CIELA: What the heck...? What sort o' whacko does that? SYMOS: Kester seemed to believe that having control over someone able to manipulate Epheme would make them an invaluable figurehead for the Arbei kingdom's expansion. Though even we don't know where exactly she came from. CIELA: (groans lightly) Sonofagun... 78. MONA: What's wrong, sandscum? I mean, on top of everything else? CIELA: (laughs weakly) I didn't ask to be wrapped up in all this junk... All I wanted was just ta' make a livin' for myself. And now I wind up actually giving a crap about this weird-as-heck little girl. So that just leaves me lying here wondering what the heck to do with myself. Mona and Symos look at each other, then back to Ciela in disbelief. CIELA: I don't think you hoity-toity Arbei types get this, but out here in the real world? You lose people. People ya care about. A lot. So ya either go two ways from there: Stop caring, or start fightin' so you can keep caring. Yeah, it's a lousy choice, but it's the one we're stuck with. So- Ciela grunts as she struggles to get on her feet, carefully removing a leather pouch from her pocket and laying it against the lock of her jail cell. The pouch is partially open, and we can see that it contains Pyoma's bracelet, still glowing green from Epheme contraction. CIELA: I'm gonna make sure Pyoma gets to live without needin' to make that choice. Ciela puts a huge amount of effort into flinging a kick at the bracelet and it explodes in a small burst of sparks and flame, breaking the lock. The blast also sears the bottom of Ciela's boot, and she stumbles back to regain her footing. CIELA: So I don't think she'll mind me breakin' that. However, the noise caused by the lock shattering alerts a couple of guards standing at the end of the corridor and they run over to investigate. 79. As they do however, they are caught off guard and grabbed by Mona and Symos as they run past their cell. Ciela, walking out of her cell, takes this opportunity to grab one of the guards' dropped rifles and shoots them both with it, shocking Mona and Symos. Ciela then shoots the lock on their cell. CIELA: Now c'mon. You two wanna see her too, right? Then help me take this ship. SYMOS: A-alright then. But we are not killing anybody else, okay? CIELA: (pause) How are you two still alive? C'mon. EXT. EPHEME BRINK- DAY The Skylark has flown far up north to a large seaside cliff made of black rock, with a lighthouse standing against the sea at the end of it. Drilled into the cliff is a massive mine shaft in the form of increasingly smaller concentric circles reaching deep into the rock, with mining equipment and residential facilities placed along each layer of the mine shaft. As it flies into the crater to land, silhouetted against the caves drilled into each layer, several misshapen humanoid figures can be seen mining Epheme from the crater walls. INT. SKYLARK-DAY Pyoma looks out from the Skylark at the surroundings. She is noticeably disturbed by what she sees. PYOMA: What...what is happening here? What is this place? VENTOR: This is the drop off point we were given directions to. PYOMA: No, I mean, why is this place so...odd? 80. VENTOR: Oh, sorry! This whole crater is an Epheme mine, run by the Tyflos corporation, I think? The people who work here are basically slaves, and years of mining Epheme has begun to poison their bodies. PYOMA: Oh my goodness. Can we help them? VENTOR: Not as far as we know. There's no cure for Epheme poisoning. And to be honest, Ciela and I were surprised you don't have it. PYOMA: Oh... I see. The Skylark lands at a docking area lower down in the crater. Ventor and Pyoma exit the ship. VENTOR: Okay, Mrs Altos. We'll try to finish this as fast as possible, so just stay in the ship and wait. MRS ALTOS: Ya don't need ta tell me twice! (Laughs) Gonna go get some shut-eye in there! INT. MEETING POINT-DAY Ventor and Pyoma enter the meeting point- a small house near the bottom of the crater. Despite being made out of fairly sturdy materials, the house is clearly very old, and all the furnishings and walls are dusty and worn. As they cautiously wander around the house, Pyoma and Ventor hear the sound of someone approaching them. They keep their guards up as a figure approaches them. From the adjacent room, a middle-aged woman with dark skin, black hair and brown eyes, MRS CENERE, enters. She also shows symptoms of Epheme poisoning, and enters on guard with a gun in her hand, but once she sees Pyoma, she immediately stops in her tracks and lowers her gun.

0 notes