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Oct. 6th, 2015 08:13 am It was monsoon season, the summer months holding heavy clouds ready to downpour at any moment, and L had dreaded to walk outside. It was too wet to go without shoes, and going with shoes meant discomfort. But he had little left in his pantry that could be remotely considered actual food, and whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, he couldn't subside on sweets alone. He looked out the window of his tiny flat above a store from his perch on a chair, and finally resolved to go outside, regardless of the weather.
After pushing his feet into the shoes at the door - not even bothering to lace them - he shuffled outside, only seeming to remember to grab an umbrella and hook it over his elbow at the last moment, before locking up behind him, and started down the stairs, and down the street. He was a unique sight, but not one unfamiliar to the area - a young man hunched over as he walked, shuffling slowly, looking as though he was in his own little world. Many people in the neighborhood called him a zombie, some called him an eccentric. Some knew he was a detective, but couldn't believe it. It didn't matter. His ability to care what people thought of him hadn't grown since he woke up here, as if from a dream. He just kept on.
He trudged down the street, then across it, to get to the corner store there, to stock up on essentials. he plucked up a basket, holding it with as few fingers as he physically could as he walked through the aisles of the store, peering up through unkempt hair at the shelves of food, mentally processing the nutritional intake of each thing he set in his basket. If he had to eat properly - Watari wasn't there to feed him - he'd go with the most nutritionally satisfying food at the expense of taste, before resorting back to his sweets.
He was used to feeling eyes on him when he ventured outside of his apartment. He wouldn't even notice another set of eyes on him. Not this afternoon. His entire mind was focused completely elsewhere. Cases he had to pour over. Keeping himself fed and starting from scratch. This was the first time he'd been on his own, and without the cushion of prior work beneath him. He was lucky that there was a little money in his bank account, enough to at least give him a little baseline, a start. He had to work with an agonizingly slow, outdated laptop, and no matter that the brand of phone he owned was touted as a smart phone, his wasn't. Not really. But despite the setbacks, he felt he was thriving. He remembered dying, but he'd kept himself from over-analyzing it. He died, he returned, he started over. Nothing to see here, move along.
He wasn't expecting ghosts to come haunting him. Not today. Not ever.
After pushing his feet into the shoes at the door - not even bothering to lace them - he shuffled outside, only seeming to remember to grab an umbrella and hook it over his elbow at the last moment, before locking up behind him, and started down the stairs, and down the street. He was a unique sight, but not one unfamiliar to the area - a young man hunched over as he walked, shuffling slowly, looking as though he was in his own little world. Many people in the neighborhood called him a zombie, some called him an eccentric. Some knew he was a detective, but couldn't believe it. It didn't matter. His ability to care what people thought of him hadn't grown since he woke up here, as if from a dream. He just kept on.
He trudged down the street, then across it, to get to the corner store there, to stock up on essentials. he plucked up a basket, holding it with as few fingers as he physically could as he walked through the aisles of the store, peering up through unkempt hair at the shelves of food, mentally processing the nutritional intake of each thing he set in his basket. If he had to eat properly - Watari wasn't there to feed him - he'd go with the most nutritionally satisfying food at the expense of taste, before resorting back to his sweets.
He was used to feeling eyes on him when he ventured outside of his apartment. He wouldn't even notice another set of eyes on him. Not this afternoon. His entire mind was focused completely elsewhere. Cases he had to pour over. Keeping himself fed and starting from scratch. This was the first time he'd been on his own, and without the cushion of prior work beneath him. He was lucky that there was a little money in his bank account, enough to at least give him a little baseline, a start. He had to work with an agonizingly slow, outdated laptop, and no matter that the brand of phone he owned was touted as a smart phone, his wasn't. Not really. But despite the setbacks, he felt he was thriving. He remembered dying, but he'd kept himself from over-analyzing it. He died, he returned, he started over. Nothing to see here, move along.
He wasn't expecting ghosts to come haunting him. Not today. Not ever.
