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I've always liked storms.
Everything about them. There is no logic to them. The quiet before we have no choice but to pay attention. There is all kinds of science, but even advanced human attempts to give anyone a heads up, to communicate, warn the population, their systems have widely failed. There are a great many, perhaps even you, that are afraid. Are there many like that here? I can understand that. But, I am here to help you beyond your concerns. Beyond what you are reading, about what might or might not be a powerful torrent. You out there, reading about this unstoppable inevitability. I find myself sometimes enduring a discomfort once in a while with the truly angry, sometimes bereft sound of Thor's hammer. A true force, a true construct of mother nature bent on what some would consider harm, perhaps a God's attempt at finding fun. If you look closely, you'll find the truth in the eye of a malevolent being turned benevolent in the centre of its all encompassing arms. Torrents of wind and power. The eye of the storm that welcomes you to where the wrath of these Gods are best seen. Gods though? Perhaps to some a Reaper. To you? There isn't any denying that. Death is a possibility in the worst of storms.

However, with common sense and with perseverance against Darwin's theory, at least to me, it means you can survive. You may hide under all your beds, you could do that if you want. Under all your blankets, but really if you're inside you're alright. Despite that a lot of you think you're not safe. Those outside, brave enough to stray from the warmth and comfort of your fears homes for necessities or for others, might I offer that even if it’s not raining or there aren’t clouds overhead, you’re not safe from lightning. There are more than seven hundred thousand people in this place and the statistics based in the USA of which a great many countries enjoy using their statistics. The games of numbers, pleasures for those out there so mathematically inclined.

I digress, but with your furthered education in mind, out of those listed statistics in a lifetime, one in three thousand will be hit by it. I imagine already that means a great amount of you will miss the big it: Lightning. You know, I'm in the favour of full disclosure, mostly after a lightning strike, life isn't a kinder of the two options. Why is it then that a lot of us are out in this? Is it a temptation? Are those full of fear more free? I don't think so. I think that the chances I see everyone taking are comforting. Braving their ultimate ending. I like to see bravery in the face of mortality.
Or maybe for you it's the sound? Why don't you tell me what it is I have to discuss if I am to change your mind about storms. Come then. To me we're all a brother or a sister here, aren't we? Struggling to survive and help a world around us thrive? I've detailed you small tidbits and the tippy top of my information on things that might go bump in the night for you to digest. Please, either ask so I may abate your fears or perhaps we can discuss them in greater length so I may understand your side. Respond as you wish.

((OOC: This is a bold-use-cipher. The key is located at that link. This is Beyond's permission post as well, I promise it's short as hell but very important that you at least read especially if you're going to reply in video. Thank you!))

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I want to meet.

[[An easy confirmation of what "M" says.]]

Aww... You think I would make you go out in this weather? I'm the one that suggested it and I'm not afraid of storms. I said that you could send me somewhere. Why not just look through your window down a street?

[[Beyond knows he has interest, or there wouldn't be even the bit of a chance, but he likes this game a lot. He likes being strung along with the need to work for this a little.]]

I've never been afraid of anything. Even if you were threatening me, I would still want to meet you. I know that you might not see it, but successors shouldn't be at odds. You and I are the same, M, even in our differences. Did he tell you about A?

[nice try, b.]

Do you really think me so careless as to all but broadcast where I live? I’m not afraid of you, but I don’t want to deal with the annoyance of having you turn up under my bed uninvited, either.

[which is definitely a thing he’s been known to do in the past.]

He mentioned A, but not in detail. All I know about A is that the two of you were peers, and A committed suicide when the pressure of the curriculum became too much to manage.

[[Can't blame him for trying. Though it does thrill him to know that he's got a challenge where being sneaky is going to have to be more than surface level.]]

I had hoped you weren't, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to try. Besides that, for you, I would knock.

[[No he wouldn't.]]

How kind of him to omit his own sins but for brevity sake I guess. All of us are destined to die, there's no changing that. For A things were different, not in the untimely demise, but it wasn't "the curriculum" it was everything. That place took everything. He took everything from him down to the last trickle of his what he would have called a soul before the lights went out in his scared, worried and tired eyes. He knew nothing of A.

He also knew nothing of you. Or me, for that matter. It wasn’t his job to know us.

[no matter how much the children who lived in his house might’ve wished otherwise. but beyond isn’t wrong in his analysis; that place took their names and identities and gave them new ones, fashioned after the great detective they desired to emulate. mello isn’t naive - he knows the way they were raised is unorthodox and prioritized some aspects of their lives at the expense of others. children like mello and beyond weren’t like other children, set apart by more than their intelligence and respective orphaning. they’ve both been broken and remolded in strange ways, and that should do more to bring them together than force them apart.]

Is that why you left? To seek revenge for A?

Didn't he? It sounds like things ran very differently.

[[If they did or didn't, he's not letting on. Even still, they both definitely knew that Wammy's wasn't exactly doing too many favours to those who were selected for the program at the higher levels.]]

Without us ever knowing one another I think you know the answer to that. Primarily, no. Secondary? Quite certainly he was a driving force. They watched him die, M, much like I did. Only I knew he was dying, they didn't even care to check.

Am I using this to manipulate you? Likely a little, you can decide that on your own, but we're both playing the game we were raised to, aren't we? Do I need to include this information? No, not really. I just feel like I want to be honest for now.

Not as differently as you’re trying to convince me things ran. If you truly desire to be honest, you’re not doing a very good job of convincing me.

[mello believes L had nothing to win by lying to him about anything regarding the labb murders, or beyond birthday, or the history of wammy’s house before mello’s own tenure there. he’s nearly 100% certain that L has never been involved with the orphanage’s daily affairs, where his would-be successors were concerned. L had cases to solve - he would have been too busy to keep tabs on a group of children, gifted though they may’ve been.

and if beyond is attempting to manipulate mello’s feelings, the effort isn’t necessary. mello has always felt a great deal of sympathy for beyond, ever since he learned his story, though he hasn’t given any indication of it to beyond. that would be foolish, this early in the game.]

You had a small advantage over everyone else, if you want to call it such. You knew A was dying because you could see it. You see it in everyone.

Perhaps a conversation for another time. I don't find it as interesting any longer.

[[Maybe because Mello just outed that he knew he saw things differently.]]

Yes. I watched. I didn't do so passively, if that's what you're asking. I did try to tell him that if he were planning on going somewhere that I would prefer if he never left. He gave me a small, sad smile and touched my face then told me: "I'm not leaving, I'm escaping." then to get some rest. I remember it vividly, as most things our ilk do. I find it a nuisance sometimes, remembering everything we see. Why would he touch my face? I've always wanted to know. Even if you answered, I suppose I still wouldn't know. You're not him and your reasons must be different.

I came back so he wouldn't be alone. There was nothing I could do, but at least he wasn't alone. Would you like to know when you're going to die, M? Is that why the segue? Or are you trying to leverage something? Hm... No. It's not leverage. Curiosity?

I don’t need you to tell me about my death.

[mello is already dead; there is no mystery for him as to how it happened. he remembers all of it - kidnapping takada, showing her his face, driving the truck to the abandoned church to park and wait to die. not exactly a suicide but a sacrifice, one he thoroughly considered ahead of time, but a burst of bitter envy clutches at his heart as he considers the difference between b and a compared to himself and near. the kind of touch beyond describes can be assumed as a gesture of affection, perhaps even love, for whatever measure people like them are capable of expressing such a thing. near ... probably didn’t even care that mello gave his life so near could continue to solve the case and bring kira to justice. he wouldn’t care that mello died alone, grimly determined to see his stratagem through to the end, despite an all-too-human, instinctive fear of his own death. mello had no one to mourn him as beyond clearly did for a. he was just another device to be used and discarded once no longer useful.

maybe that was his purpose all along. the queen protects the king at any and all costs, and maybe that’s still his purpose here. beyond may be a sympathetic figure, but he’s still dangerous. near can’t be put at risk by coming into beyond’s awareness. mello will need to provide the necessary distraction.]

If you still wish to meet, I’ll be at Azure in one hour. I trust you’ll have no issue determining which patron is me.

[[That's an interesting way to put it. Mello's inner turmoil over his sacrifice is unbeknownst yet to this successor who threw himself into everything he could to fight against what he was told he should become. 'Backup' was never an option and not just because of his winning spirit. Even more so after A's death. All still Beyond sends a reply all the same.]]

Be sure to dress warm.

How exciting. No one ever wanted to meet with him back home, the guards even kept their distance and the one time they made the mistake of giving him a cellmate, the man was so undeniably cruel. The idea that he had been put there specifically to try to hurt Beyond for 'his crimes' whatever those were, ultimately, had been for the best. The best for Beyond that is, he got another play thing and also he never had to have another room mate again.

He also died, eventually, but that's just how those sorts of things go. The tick, tick, tick away of numbers and letters. Beyond considered that maybe "M" lived close, or far, neither was an indicator and it almost gave him an untoward thrill that this level of caution still applied to him. Maybe he wasn't as down and out or washed up as he considered himself to be. Maybe he was still more threatening than a great many. With that in mind, he made his way to Azure. At least they both know that they can get there within an hour. That narrows it down and Beyond knows he's said as much by not saying he couldn't make it there in that time. That suited him fine, "M" could know for now. He could always move if he needed to.

In the allotted hour that they had designated, Beyond showed up, soaken hair stuck down to his face and his unnaturally hunched walk at least allowed for his burned hand to reach his face easily to move the hair aside. Seeing names around, seeing ticking clocks around, he tilted his head. The smiling faces were a write off, no successor smiled and looked normal doing it, the ones with their backs to the door were also a write off. It left easy options, really, M intended to meet for surely. There were also other factors that didn't fit in and after a few mere seconds of deciding who this person was, he sat down at the table with his left shoulder toward the door.

The strong mass of man pulled his feet out of his shoes to settle his feet on the edge of the chair he was in, chin on his knees while he cast a studious and unblinking look. Mostly, the look was above his head for a good long, awkward moments after the study of his face. "It's pleasant to meet you, M." His voice was low enough, smooth enough, but he knew what he was doing. Leaning over his knees in an impressive show of agility for someone of his height, he gave a small frown, keeping his voice nicely between the two of them. "Or is M for Mihael? It's an uncommon spelling, but it's very fitting. Were we both born for that? To be like God but never attain his status?"

Mello arrives at the café twenty minutes early, to scope out the terrain and secure an appropriate space at the back where he can wait and watch for Beyond’s arrival. He leaves the hood of jacket up and orders black coffee and a bar of chocolate to warm and perk himself up after that trek through the rain, which has left him oddly tired.

Once he’s seated, all that’s left is the wait for Beyond to arrive. Mello isn’t good at being idle; he fidgets with his rosary and taps out a rhythm with gloved fingers on the table to soothe the anxiety of anticipation, going still only once he’s made eye contact with the man he’s meeting, a man who held great importance in his life, served as a compass for Mello’s own path. His heartbeat picks up speed as Beyond approaches the table and folds himself into the chair, but his expression remains impassive until he’s called by his true name. Then, his eyes widen a fraction, the muscles in his jaw tense, his nerves spike with adrenaline and triggers the all-too-familiar fight-or-flight response. Mello hadn’t expected that - he’s dead, after all. The dead don’t really have names. Slowly, Mello inhales a shaky breath and uncurls his fingers, stretching out a fist he hadn’t realized he’d made. In an equally low, even voice, he replies:

“‘God is dead. God remains dead.’”

A quote in context that could easily be a general affirmation of Nietzsche’s original meaning, or a literal comment on L. Wasn’t he a godlike figure to the children of his House? Couldn’t Beyond’s statement on the fit of Mello’s real name be applied here as well?

“M is for Mello. That’s the name I was given and known by, but the initial stands either way. However, I’d appreciate it if you keep the other name to yourself, for obvious reasons.”

Neither name holds much power for him now. Mihael Keehl is the name that killed him, so it served its purpose. Mello is tied to Wammy’s House, and that connection has now been severed twice over, by leaving the orphanage years ago and now by his death. The secrecy of his real name is more reflex than any other immediate concern.

“You don’t remember me, do you? I was still just a child when you left.”

True enough that if Mello were just a corpse in this place, he would have no name and nothing to his personage that Beyond could see. Much like looking at a plant or a chair, bodies were just objects after all. Mello's retort out of nowhere to answer the comment Beyond had certainly aimed toward L caused an interested look on his face, one that had him considering an array of other things to ask when Mello was done explaining the obvious to them both. That their names were precious and Beyond had cheated.

"Mello." he repeated, his finger shadowing onto his lip where he could bite gently at the side of his scarred hand, lifting it only away from his lip when he began to talk again. "Your appreciation means a lot to me, of course I will keep it safe. A shared secret is a sacred oath." Even if he had stolen it quite a long time ago, which Mello was the first to bring up.

"No, I remember you. A different you and so perhaps I don't remember the man sitting in front of me." He wrapped his arms around his knees, chin on them again with a studious look. Beyond already knew that timelines were a thing, he read it himself on the network, but this was an interesting turn. "Now you are a man who likely doesn't recognize himself, either. I remember a small boy and a great many exasperated teachers who didn't know how to handle your anger, either." A momentary bite at the side of his thumb, not really able to do more damage than a whole body burn had done, "Nor mine. I wasn't allowed too often to roam freely, I don't know why..." It couldn't be because he was going to likely kill someone one day. "Unimportant... How is the other little boy? Mail? Do you speak to him still or was it just a reign of terror that bonded you two?" His curiosity was two fold. Beyond knew what the glance upward had afforded him when he had first came in. Mello didn't need him to say when he was going to die, because he had. This place was a place for ghosts, if anyone asked him.

A man who doesn’t recognize himself. Beyond‘s remark hits incredibly close, closer than he could likely know without detailed knowledge of Mello’s most recent history. Without the goal he’s worked toward for most of his life, Mello is adrift, unsure of his identity and place in this weird world where he’s been brought.

And yet, his frazzled ego is soothed by the acknowledgement of Beyond’s recognition. Mello should be noticed, should be remembered, even if it’s not for being the best. It’s for something almost as good - a way in which they are similar.

“It’s not my fault they were bad at their jobs.” Mello shrugs; he knows he was a handful from the start, and yet his mother seemed to manage.

His mother ... that’s a thought he quickly shoves down, because it is not helpful or relevant to the current discussion, which has now shifted to someone else from their former home, a boy named Mail. Mello’s expression pinches in momentary confusion, because he doesn’t remember anyone with that name, then the missing puzzle piece clicks into place: Beyond must be referring to him by his real name, something Mello never learned.

“You mean Matt.” A hard twist settles in his stomach as the memory that pulls to the front of his mind, Matt’s shot-up car on the TV screen as he drove the truck carrying Takada to its final destination. He frowns, drops his gaze to his cup of coffee, gloved fingers wrapped tightly around it. “We still spoke. He’s dead now.”

And it’s my fault. But he can’t afford the luxury of ruminating on his feelings of guilt right now, not in front of Beyond, who is highly likely to feel out this spot of weakness and exploit it to his advantage. Mello snaps off a bite of his chocolate bar, holds it to the roof of his mouth with his tongue to let it melt, washes it down with a mouthful of bitter coffee. Shivers, because despite the fact that he had, in fact, dressed warmly for the excursion, the rain had managed to soak through his clothes anyway.

He’s tired.

“Children grow up, get older,” he remarks, once again looking up to meet the other man’s watchful gaze. “You of all people know that death is inevitable. And that world now is a very different place than the one you left behind.”

Edited 2020-09-07 22:42 (UTC)

He made the remark of not recognizing himself for a great many reasons. It was clear that they had both gone through the trials of fire. Out from the frying pan, really. The how interested him, of course, but he knew for the moment that it wasn't his to ask.

Though the lack of smile was there, he made an amused, huffed noise at Mello saying they were in severe negligence of their jobs there. That was an understatement, and it wasn't any of their faults. "Certainly." He replied easily, smoothly, tilting his head to lay his chin on his knee. He had an inkling that maybe by this age, if he had Mello's age right since he didn't know what age he was now versus how he knew he was going to die young, so was the other one. But it gave him a better idea, a better scope. "Yes, he is." Beyond admitted, "Matt has helped you prove you're really not out to lie to me."

Really he didn't sound disappointed, but he didn't seem thrilled either as he spoke about on the topic of children getting older. "Death is inevitable. No matter what you do or don't do. It was very interesting to watch and know that what I did, sometimes, didn't even contribute quicker or slower to the speed at which death came. I admire them for their sacrifice, but then again a great many are dead for ideals that none should have been because L lost. How disappointing. He sent out perfectly well adjusted successors to die by not having the strength to win."

Ah well. "Do you want something else?" he asked, unfolding his legs and putting his feet back into his shoes. "I'm going to get something, it's why I'm asking, because I'm polite."

Mello hadn’t had time to process Matt’s death at the time; he was busy finishing his own plans, and since he expected to be dead soon thereafter, it was more or less a non-issue, something to be compartmentalized and stored away. Since finding himself here and alive (is he?), Mello has made a great effort to avoid analyzing his own death, or Matt’s, or his lingering feelings of guilt over all of it.

Calling any of the children who grew up in the House well-adjusted is a complete joke.

“You’ve given me no reason to lie to you.” Omissions are different than outright lies, and that’s an important distinction. Mello idly taps one finger against the side of the coffee mug he’s holding; he doesn’t appreciate Matt’s death being used like this.

“He didn’t send me anywhere - I left. It was my decision entirely. Nothing remained for me to learn from that institution, so I didn’t see the point in staying any longer. I gave up my claim to the title and set out on my own to do things my way.”

Again, truth, but not the entire story. Mello gave up his claim to L’s title because L hadn’t chosen him outright to succeed him, which hurt more than Mello liked to admit even to himself, and because he could imagine no circumstances under which sharing the title and working with Near would prove to be satisfying. He has always been fiercely independent, and being under Near’s thumb - he assumes that’s how it would’ve gone - would be too frustrating to tolerate.

“No.” And because he can also be polite, he adds: “Thank you.”

Beyond knew that likely he was going to hit some buttons, but really, Mello had taken every single one of the things he had said with a grain of salt. If the man was upset past just posturing it out, or that tap on the mug, he couldn't tell or he could surmise that he knew better. That left him very excited over the prospect of finding out what would rile him up and why the death of his friend hadn't been that thing.

All of that came to a halt when he said that he had left on his own. Now that was news. They both had quite a lot in common. He was long standing there, quietly regarding Mello and bit softly on his bottom lip, letting it slide from his teeth, hands held in a t-rex stance while he tilted his head to regard him. One of his hands flipped over, finally, after a long, uncomfortable silence. Or it would be if they both weren't power play experts. "You did the right thing." Beyond relates before heading to the counter and making his order, politely. Despite the odd look he gets, the order was placed and he slid his way back into the chair, shoes back off again.

"You and I aren't much different. I suspect we have our differences, but certainly not too different. Who did they pick to succeed him?" he was curious, of course and couldn't give himself any one reason or the other not to ask.

Mello went into this meetup expecting Beyond to make an attempt at pushing his buttons, and he was prepared for that. What he hadn’t counted on was this measure of empathy, the other man telling him that he did the right thing in leaving - he was right, full stop, and that isn’t something Mello has heard often enough from anyone whose opinion he values. In light of everything he’s been ignoring about his death, everything about the Kira case, everything about his entire life at the orphanage and the years after, that affirmation fucks him up a little, if he’s completely honest. His fingers tighten around the mug as he drops his head and winces at the pain those words have pricked at his heart. You did the right thing.

He only allows himself that momentary faltering. This is what he craves, to be seen and acknowledged, and he still can’t trust it entirely. Beyond could very well be playing him; if they’re as similar as the other man claims, he’s likely to guess at exactly what Mello would want to hear. Beyond is a masterful manipulator, Mello knows this better than almost anyone - certainly better than anyone else here, save Beyond himself.

And yet, a traitorous voice at the back of his mind whispers at Mello, asking what does it matter? Either way, they’re both dead, both failures, both far removed from what they cared about most. Even if Beyond is batting him around like a cat with a mouse, Mello has his attention, and he intends to keep it.

Mello raises the mug to his mouth and swallows a drink of his coffee, schooling his expression back to neutral by the time Beyond returns to the table. He knew this question was coming, sooner or later.

“He was killed before he could choose one of us.” Technically true, though not the entire story. “His murderer took his name. So you can see why I chose to forge my own path - his methods failed. A different approach was required.”

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cw suicide mentioned

cw: definitely suicide mentioned

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cw: suicide talk

same, kinda

1/2 Just I think all over the cw is that we're interacting LOL

2/2 To Action; We're still probably a walking cw

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