[All individuals operate differently — Mello has always been aware of this — and to think that anyone would share the desperate mindset of someone they'd never met before this moment is absurd. The laugh near-enrages him — of course it does — but if nothing else, even if this individual did have a hand in causing this, he's clearly mourning something. (Even if that 'something' can't possibly hold the ability to compare to a boy grown into a man witnessing the loss of something he's lost so long ago. A waking nightmare; a repetitive dream with no glitch point from which to end.]
Then we give them no choice.
[Isn't that obvious? If someone isn't willing to negotiate, you are to force their hand as they've forced yours with denial.]
What fucking Maker, [He snaps, perhaps out of annoyance. Perhaps it's due to his own wish that he could hold some form of faith that would allow Mello to believe something this catastrophic would work itself out. It occurs to the blonde that he and Myr aren't from the same place. Perhaps for the other, there is a tangible 'Maker." Maybe it's just another word for a God who has proven Himself non-existent by refusing to answer a single prayer.]
Don't answer that.
[He's thinking in circles. He wants hope. He needs hope. He doesn't care for an answer. Nothing will subdue him aside from those dark, long lashes fluttering open and a single sound from L's throat.]
[He closes his eyes, runs a hand over his face. He's taken note that the other can't see him — through his appearance, through his lack of response to most of Mello's movements — and Mello is grateful for it. No one should see the state of his expression. It's weak. A child's desperate insistence on a killer's face and oh, if Myr only knew what the body lying before them meant to Mello.]
[Who cares. Doesn't matter.]
He's still human. [Magic be damned.] He can't eat like this. [State the obvious, focus on the small things.] What's being done to ensure he doesn't starve?
no subject
Then we give them no choice.
[Isn't that obvious? If someone isn't willing to negotiate, you are to force their hand as they've forced yours with denial.]
What fucking Maker, [He snaps, perhaps out of annoyance. Perhaps it's due to his own wish that he could hold some form of faith that would allow Mello to believe something this catastrophic would work itself out. It occurs to the blonde that he and Myr aren't from the same place. Perhaps for the other, there is a tangible 'Maker." Maybe it's just another word for a God who has proven Himself non-existent by refusing to answer a single prayer.]
Don't answer that.
[He's thinking in circles. He wants hope. He needs hope. He doesn't care for an answer. Nothing will subdue him aside from those dark, long lashes fluttering open and a single sound from L's throat.]
[He closes his eyes, runs a hand over his face. He's taken note that the other can't see him — through his appearance, through his lack of response to most of Mello's movements — and Mello is grateful for it. No one should see the state of his expression. It's weak. A child's desperate insistence on a killer's face and oh, if Myr only knew what the body lying before them meant to Mello.]
[Who cares. Doesn't matter.]
He's still human. [Magic be damned.] He can't eat like this. [State the obvious, focus on the small things.] What's being done to ensure he doesn't starve?
[L is already so thin and frail.]