[L's eyes linger witheringly on Mello. Mumbled or not, able to hear clearly or not above the ambient din in the bar, the general gist of his meaning isn't difficult at all to discern.]
You've always been angry. At nothing and everything. I don't suppose you know how to be outside of that state, when it informs the baseline of your very existence... but anger asks for an object, or it doesn't really work. It's like curiosity or anticipation, that way.
[The shrunken orca has started to circle L's wrist again, but slowly, as though it's a quarry.]
Unconsciously, we all work to maintain what we know and where we're comfortable. At the bottom of enough glasses, here, you'll find anger, and I'll find melancholic boredom. Wherever we go to bed, that's what we'll respectively find, and wherever we wake up, that's what we'll respectively find. It's not fucking with you; it's that nothing changes, not even here.
no subject
You've always been angry. At nothing and everything. I don't suppose you know how to be outside of that state, when it informs the baseline of your very existence... but anger asks for an object, or it doesn't really work. It's like curiosity or anticipation, that way.
[The shrunken orca has started to circle L's wrist again, but slowly, as though it's a quarry.]
Unconsciously, we all work to maintain what we know and where we're comfortable. At the bottom of enough glasses, here, you'll find anger, and I'll find melancholic boredom. Wherever we go to bed, that's what we'll respectively find, and wherever we wake up, that's what we'll respectively find. It's not fucking with you; it's that nothing changes, not even here.