whosthatpokemon | Game Over; [Voice]

Game Over; [Voice]

[A dark night, cold for the time of the year. Nothing but the stars above, and the whispers of the forest below. Scurries of the nocturnal pokemon, soft voices and rustles in the bushes. The sound of the wind, scattering all them. Mingling them. Except for one human voice, quiet in it's own right and yet so loud in the dark of the night.]

O merciful God,
take pity on those souls
who have no particular friends and intercessors
to recommend them to Thee, who,
either through the negligence of those who are alive,
or through length of time are forgotten
by their friends and by all.

[The words of a prayer, even if the one who voiced them didn't particularly believe in any god or celestial being above. As such the words were empty, and yet still they continued.]

Spare them, O Lord,
and remember Thine own mercy,
when others forget to appeal to it.
Let not the souls which Thou hast created
be parted from thee, their Creator.

[Another pause, longer than the first, and the voice lets out a sigh. Bored as much as it is listless.]

May the souls of all the faithful departed,
through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Amen.

[The feed seems to cut off there, but if one listens carefully, the sounds are merely muffled. The PokeTop is closing, but not fully disconnected yet when the last words are whispered to the wind.]

Donec obviam iterum Mihael.

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[ Old habits die hard, the voice is pretty ...scrambled. But it's definitely L. ]

Interesting.

[For a moment, the only response is the flick of a lighter and a near inaudible exhale. Because really, what is there to say? What purpose was there in letting almost everyone hear a moment that by all rights should have been private? Maybe he wanted L to hear. Maybe he wanted Near to hear. Someone who would know, who might care. Might being a big key word there. He was never good at judging characters, that was always Mello's job. Mello and L, Near and Mello... He couldn't make heads or tails of what the others thought of the blond, even if he knew his friends opinions of them as if they were his own.]

Pori makes sure Light can't see anything I don't want him to.

[An assertion of privacy, the ability to talk freely without having to hide behind walls and aliases. But, does it really matter? He hasn't been able to figure L out yet himself. He never knows what to say or what to do around the other man, especially when they're alone with all pretenses dropped.]

I never got a chance to say good bye to Mello. Guess being an optimist who thought we'd somehow make it out of that alive had its down sides.

[ Light can't see this? He drops the muffled voice and there's an unfettered tink of silverware scraping against a plate. He's eating a cake, but that's to be expected. Another sound of the spoon being set against the plate and then that set on the surface next to the computer's microphone. ]

You're perfectly justified in that reasoning, it was good for Mello to have you around. [ Maybe that wasn't comforting enough? He's not sure how to really express it. But Matt was very good for Mello, just like Near could've been good for both of them. There's the faint sound of him chewing on something and then a pause. ]

Wanting to say goodbye before you die is natural. I know the feeling well. [ He won't go further than that. ]

[Another moment of silence passes between them, Matt not sure what to say, if he should say anything at all. He stares at the forest in front of him for a while, he'd wandered off on his own in the middle of the night to get a couple miles away from town. Some private time to himself. Time to think. Time to say good bye.]

...Your death really affected Mello. Right when Roger gave him the news, he was back in our room packing. He left without telling me, didn't want me to follow him.

[A soft snort, almost amused but not quite. Bitter, almost. For those lost years he'd spent at Wammy's alone. For the time he'd left to try and find him, only to have little to no success.]

It wasn't until five years later when I had to pull his ass out of a burning, collapsing building that he was ready to accept my help. Couple months later and I guess we both went down that day. Mello knew. Bastard didn't tell me, and I should have known he'd planned a suicide mission.

[But again, his ego had gotten the better of him. Despite appearances, he'd always been the more cocky of the two of them. Mello knew his limits and listened to a little thing called common sense. Matt thought it was overrated and liked to prove it wrong. Only this time, the odds weren't in their favor.]

My death was unavoidable and my own fault. [ There's no sound of... any sort of remorse in his voice. It was just him stating the truth. It was his fault that he was killed. He played too long. ]

An improvement, none the less.

[Again, Matt isn't sure what to say. Honestly, this is probably more words he's spoken to L than the whole time since he's joined them. He always prefers to be that kid in the corner, not really paying attention to the conversations that Light and L have and only adding his own input when prompted.]

I'd say at least none of us died in vain since it all added up to Kira's defeat, but that's a load of shit. Guess that's why I never bothered aiming for the top. I'm not a hero. I'm just a selfish nobody who ended up another john doe in the morgue.

Is that how you view yourself?

[ He, himself, isn't really sure what exactly to say to Matt. He's not one for offering comfort when it's... well, not the blatant truth. ]

Never having ambitions of your own and instead helping another sounds selfless in a way.

[ L pauses again and there's more sound of spoon and plate scraping and then a soft sigh. ]

I don't think I'm doing a good job of comforting you. [ Blunt as always. ] You're a good person, better than most.

Edited 2015-04-15 18:09 (UTC)

Mello was...

[The words die out as soon as they leave his mouth. What the hell is he doing? Not only does he barely know L, he doubts the detective cares much more than he's already given. And even if he does, doesn't seem to be any better than Near when it comes to human interaction. Maybe being a genius makes people totally inept at being human. But then, maybe that's what pulled him to Mello. A moth to flame. Knowing he'd get burned, and yet drawn in so tightly despite that.]

Thanks for trying. Wouldn't be too sure about the good person opinion though.

Mello doesn't define you.

[ He thinks that's a good place to say that. ]

Edited 2015-04-15 18:28 (UTC)

[Something so simple, and yet something that hits harder than he anticipated. A constricting feeling in his chest, in his throat, as memories surface. No. There was a time before Mello. Times after, when he'd left him to fend on his own. Before, when he was Mail. After, when he was nothing but a lost teen hacking and stealing his way to get by.]

He was my ambition.

[It's all he can think to say, because claiming Mello was his life didn't sound right. He was empty before he met him, callous. Uncaring of most around him. But that fire burned so brightly, it was near impossible not to get sucked into it and feel a little happier, a little more excited and energetic about life and everything around them. Giving hope to an abandoned child who'd long sense forgotten the meaning of the word. Clinging onto it until he found him again, hellbent and determined to find the stubborn son of a bitch and give him the help he knew he needed.

But now... What is there now? It's just a game. Just another one of his gameboy games, only a little more reality tossed into the mix. Nothing more than that.]

You'll find a new one in time. Grieving is expected.

[ It's quiet initially save for a steady click not unlike what one might hear were someone expertly placing dominoes atop a hard surface of some kind. The clickclickclick continues for a moment. The pieces aren't difficult to place. That prayer, the age reflected by the voice tell him enough. ]

Matt.

[ It's a simple utterance, a greeting. Intentional or not, the click that follows rings more decisive. ]

[L's words, no matter how comforting they may have been intended to be, leave him feeling hollow. Even more so than before. So when he hears the clicks, the knows what it is. He knows who it is. And with each decisive sound, there's another pang of guilt.

He's still in Vermillion. He knows he should have said something, anything to Near when him and Light had beaten the gym, when they had gotten their badges from Near and that strange alien that accompanied him. But he couldn't, not with Light there with him. Not without blowing his cover.

So why didn't he approach the other later, when he got away? In times like this, when he finds himself alone just a couple miles outside city limits.

He honestly doesn't know.]

Near.

[He's spent so long with Light, following him. Pretending to be someone who doesn't know who he is, what he's done. Trying not to think of what Mello would think of him now, of how empty he'd become. There was a time when he wouldn't mind lingering around Near, when the boy was the only thing left to remind him of Mello's ambitions back in that year before Matt bailed out of Wammy's too.

But now, what does he say? He barely has words for himself, for anyone.

Because honestly, what do the dead have to say to the living?]

I assume this transmission is secure.

[ But could he make it more so? In theory, no one in this world save L, Kira, Matt, and himself should know of their history, but theory was just that: theory. There was no telling if lips had been loosened or to what degree and certainly not everyone in the world was benevolent, be it theirs or this world they'd found their way into. He had no desire to risk certain information finding its way back to Light. Thus, the unspoken question of, 'Can this transmission be made any more secure?'

What he isn't expecting is that small pang that sees him pause in his placement of the domino pieces. He knows this; it isn't unfamiliar. Their win had not been secured without losses. ]

I wouldn't have broadcasted if it wasn't perfect. Light isn't that much of an idiot.

[An idiot he is, Matt will stick to that, but for far too many reasons that he knows he shouldn't go into. Reasons Matt has debated with himself, thought what would he have done, if he were given that power?

Fucked up thoughts he shouldn't have been having. Ones he had no choice but to have, being alone with Light Yagami as his only companion for months on end. And of course, the ever constant reminder of how easy it was to be unknown. How he was never written down in the Death Note, he hadn't mattered. His life had been lost in accident, a minor casualty in the big scheme of things.

No one knew his name. No one would remember him. Mello wasn't the only forgotten dead, he can never forget that. And even if he's alive now, how alive is he really?

Thoughts he keeps to himself. Has kept to himself, for far too long it seems. There's a click from his end, that of a lighter. His smoke has already gone out, he needs to light a new one.]

He isn't the only possible danger here.

[ But Matt knows that surely because Matt isn't an idiot. His movements, however, had been somewhat troubling to Near, namely in that he hasn't heard a peep out of him, nor seen him since he and Light had come to the gym in Vermillion to challenge its leaders for their badges. He understood the need not to give himself away before Light. Certainly, the lack of so much as a word of recognition had been merited at that time, but time enough had passed that Matt could have sought him out over these devices or in person. Matt knew where he was. He knew how to contact him; and yet, he's the one initiating, and to the best of his ability.

Why?

Time had changed them. Near wasn't so naive as to think Mello and Matt hadn't changed in some ways for all that they had likely remained the same in others, but Mello wasn't, isn't here. If he was, things would be different. Matt owed him nothing, regardless, but that radio silence had proven too bothersome to let pass. The blip that was L finding his way to him had been something, at least, and, of course, there was the matter of Matt's company. For all it appeared benign, nothing good could come of it, not for Matt. Light was Kira; Kira was Light. Matt was... ]

How long will your thumb hold the square before it gets tired?

[The puff of a surprised laugh is the first thing heard, he hadn't been expecting that.]

This was supposed to be a way of me letting go and saying goodbye, for now.

[Because there's still hope there, even if minuscule, that he'll see Mello again. The feed goes dead shortly after those words, and Matt can't help but ponder his next move. He's not like the others. He doesn't plan ahead, doesn't see everything like a chess game. He's always been the type to play a different kind of game. One where you make decisions of the moment, ones that can be changed. Some that shouldn't be made, but can always be salvaged at some point in time.

He sees this as one of those times. Honestly, he has nothing else to do tonight, so why not? There's no warning, no inclination of an idea of what he has planned. His poketop goes into his bag he slings over his shoulder as he hops down from the tree he'd been perched in.

It's a long walk, one that costs him a pack of cigarettes and an extra five minutes to stop by the store to pick up a new one on his way. In total, the trip back probably takes him just over two hours. But it's time he spends thinking, reflecting. Debating. He doesn't know why, doesn't care to second guess himself. But it seems far too soon he finds himself on the doorstep of the Vermillion City gym. He doesn't even know if Near's still awake, it's getting late into the night after all, or if he'd even care after the more than a little rude way Matt had simply cut their conversation short.

Not to mention the huge ass alien that lives here.

But he doesn't care, because it's hard to worry and fear when you feel like you don't know what you're living for anymore. So he lets himself in to the gym, moving around to the back areas that were meant to be off limits to trainers.]

Hey, you here?

[ 'Goodbye,' that was the word that stuck in Near's mind when the feed went dead. They never had said that, had they? 'Goodbye' was a word that carried such a strong degree of disconnection, of finality. For Matt to say that now -- it saw a finger brush a domino for a moment's hesitation in placement, the puzzle folding prematurely and falling into a mess the pieces of which he moves to draw to him again after a tense moment.

"For now."

And later? Later, Near is up late at the 'insistence' of his Plusle and Minun, a blanket wrapped loosely across his shoulders as the two electric types bound about the not quite makeshift fort. That is, until that voice cuts through the air and sees the three of them pause in their playing, the robot in Near's hands gripped a little more tightly as his eyes move to follow that voice to its source. ]

Matt?

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