[Wearing his treated fireproof arrival robes, because nothing else can remain unscorched while in contact with his skin, L just goes ahead and lets himself in, stepping carefully to make sure that no soot gets shaken loose on the floor.]
Shōyō?
[He opens the door to the warmblood's room, too, finding it also unlocked, poking his horned head inside.]
[ he was made so aware of sounds now. the thunk of steps getting closer to the house, the creek of the front door slowly swinging, the clap of it closing, and then the opening of his own room dark and being shed light upon suddenly. picanha was at the edge of a bed raised by its right side, and egg (the torchic) could be found on the floor already staring at the mound beneath it.
that mound was shoyo— of dry, flaking skin pecked with solitary hairs before meeting the mane that surrounds his head. it takes a moment, to decipher what he's feeling; his heart jumps and rattles about his chest with frightened nervousness. it also pools and washes the knot forming in his gut with a fluttering sense of relief, then a nervous knot all over again. his chest feels warm. he said carnaval. the effort in bringing what may soothe his apprehension is being delivered so seamlessly that . . .
after the moment needed to gather himself, the beast moves from beneath the tipping bed to outside of it. it clatters once the furniture as a whole returns to the ground. what lazarus is met with is a large thing with an extra set of arms and too many eyes, slurping appendages that flit and uncurl from random spots, from what could be a tail to the girth of his fur.
all of the eyes are closed shut, and he sits on his hind legs, keeping all claws to himself and muttering out a garbled and very shy response: ]
. . . Feliz Carnaval.
[ it's not that he doesn't want to see him. he's pretty sure he doesn't want to throw up on him. nevertheless, he could feel his stomach tumbling, but not because he felt ill. this ugly thing was bringing all four extra paws together to fidget. ]
[It takes L no shortage of moments to discern what is going on with that mound, where the features are and how they are cobbled together to form a body, something like a face.
It gets easier when Shōyō emerges, to make out where everything seems to begin and end, but there is admittedly a lot of feedback to cross wires and confuse signals. If L hadn't communicated with Shōyō beforehand, he'd be confused and even frightened by what he's found, now, and certainly wouldn't immediately guess that it was Shōyō, or even could be.
If he was changing into anything animal-like, wouldn't it be a golden retriever, at worst?
To his credit, he doesn't throw up, and his own altered form is at least humanoid. L's features, posture and mannerisms are so distinct that even twisted into something scarier, they're fairly hard to mistake if one is aware of what's going on, and knows him even glancingly well.
Compassion is hard; empathy, even harder, but there are steps to follow for triage, comfort and tending. Even someone like L can learn and practice them.]
When was the last time you ate, and what sounds good? As long as they deliver, it's my treat, OK?
[ the thick, coarse hairs, wherever they may be, stray or not, always seem to quiver with the rise and fall of shoyo's breathing. this monstrosity was meant to represent everything that was negative about him— despite his sunny disposition and positivity, he could get anxious, he could get so nervous.
and when he gets nervous, when he can't control the overloading cup of emotion, it gets ugly.
his many eyes fail to open, just yet. the fidgeting fingers pat at his empty stomach, one that only now he realizes was screaming for food, even louder than it usually would (which was saying something). with a naturally speedy metabolism coupled with the emptiness warmbloods are feeling this month leads shoyo to realize one important thing that had been disposed of when he spilled bile in the bathroom when he got a look in the mirror: ]
Anything—? I'm . . . Really hungry.
[ the growl in his throat escalates and shortens out into a squealing whine of sorts. he then remembers one thing, one very important thing, while he had all these teeth and claws and— tentacles— ]
I—I promise I'd never eat you. Like that. Never—
[ all four of shoyo's hands have managed to find their way to his head, covering every inch of his eyes. he only opens a small crevice for the main right one, and slowly, carefully . . . attempt a peek. ]
[Whenever he speaks, it actually is obvious that this is Shōyō. If this is really the worst of him, L thinks, it's not so terribly bad.
Not like he's the Devil, or anything.]
I did say anything. Delivery is the only constraint, and I'm sure we could work something out even if that wasn't an option.
[He blinks, a little startled at Shōyō's implication, laughing faintly.]
Is that something you're worried about? Because I'm not.
[When Shōyō peeps open an eye, he'll see L's odd harlequin demon form crouching a few feet away. His skin is held together in places with thick, clumsy stitches, and a pair of impala horns poke out of his tangled hair. He's dressed in his arrival robes, since they're the only thing he owns guaranteed to not catch on fire, and he's encased his wings in large treated sacks to catch the soot that sloughs off of them.
He looks like himself, even if the black sclera with glowing with pupils are glassy and haunted and his teeth and clawed hands look very sharp.]
[ it actually touches him, in a way, that lazarus wouldn’t think he’d want to eat him despite appearances. when he finally sees, like so 🫣, shōyō stares and opens the rest of his fingers, to allow the other ones a better glance. ]
O-oh . . . [ oh— they’re looking at each other now. fully. after a small slip that leads to a smile, shōyō finally remembers something, causing two hands to shoot to his chest with relief. ] —Thank god you didn’t throw up. And I didn’t either.
[ that’s one step forward from where he used to be. he’s making progress. ]
You look, [ a gesture, ] pretty neat. A lot cooler than I do . . .
[ it really did look like carnaval! which obviously made shōyō feel a lot better about looking. ]
It's like I told you; I have a really strong stomach. And you don't have to flatter me...
[He thinks he looks pretty ghoulish, but maybe it's a different kind of awful with its own aesthetic upsides. Shōyō, by having tried to make him feel better even if not a whit of it is true, has punted the ball into L's side of the court, and the reciprocal nature of things is enough to give him a fair idea of what he should do next.]
I got used to the way you look very quickly. It's really not that bad... all of that hair means you're probably protected from how much heat I can generate. I've gotten better at regulating it, but... I've caught a few things on fire without meaning to.
[ — were his lips smiling a bit? well, more teeth were certainly showing, but not before they relax in surprise. ]
Like . . . Akuma? [ contrary to any fear he may possess of that, all of shoyo's eyeballs blink, and he attempts to take a step forward, hunching his shoulders and arms to appear smaller. funny, how he's finally huge but doesn't feel comfortable about it. highschool him would have probably cried tears of joy . . . and definitely would've thrown up more, so that's saying something. here, there is a simple, pleading bit of curiosity: ] Can I see?
[A little more western in nature, perhaps, and so it takes L a moment to connect the association. Only that, though; he nods, encouraging it, even if association with a demon at all isn't really ideal for him.
Isn't he supposed to be "justice?" Or is the Pthumerian responsible trying to tell him that being a demon, and being demonized, are not necessarily the same thing?]
You... want to see? I don't want to set your house on fire. I'd feel bad even if it was an accident.
[Just like he's sure Shoyo would feel bad if he accidentally ate him. To his credit, he's glad that the distance between them is closing, and looks ways what seems threatening at a distance can seem endearing, up close. He's always been good at that, in his way, sometimes to his ruin.]
[ if this is a trap— it’s working. if it isn’t, it’s still working. ]
Egg’s done it a couple times, hah . . .
[ but lazarus does have a way with his eyes! as if a response to what he sees, he inches closer with his hands still curled to himself, and a hunched back, mumbling something quietly as if a secret, after a thorough deliberation over it: ]
We can . . . Can we go outside?
[ egg shoots up the fires all the time— true facts, that fire inside a home can be deadly. ]
[ we are making progress! it’s solely because he wants to see the fire. egg might like to see it too, and begins encouraging for shōyō by his heels to follow through with the idea.
so he comes forth, looking lazarus up and down from a now closer angle, if not also pretty tall. ]
I’m . . . Huge. [ it’s so strange—! but, um! he’s shy to ask this, considering he has four clawy hands at the moment! ] Will you catch fire if we hold hands?
Yeah... you are. Not all it's cracked up to be, is it?
[Not that L's moderately tall height is anything close to being a mountain of fur and eyes, but it's an attempt at gentle lightheartedness, anyway.]
If we hold hands? Well... I've noticed that the fire is easier to control when I feel calm and happy. Holding your hand makes me feel that way, so... I'd expect that we wouldn't have to worry too much about it.
[He steps towards the door, waiting up if Shoyo seems reluctant at all, just enough to make him feel like they're making progress without rushing him.]
[ !!! it makes him feel—! calm and happy. shoyo can't blush, or show that he's doing so in any way, but he does . . . begin to shiver? like a fuzzy maraca, like a too-anxious chihuahua. or, maybe equally happy to hear that—? shoyo seems still, but not reluctant or rejecting. perhaps only pensive.
it begins to peel away, when he takes the single chance to reach out. accidentally, with two hands, he can't quite control each individually, but lazarus can choose whichever claw, if he were to choose. ]
[With all the caution that's probably best advised in a situation with this many claws between them, L gingerly reaches out for both of Shoyo's hands, squeezing them gently before choosing the right one to hold in his left, leading him toward the door.]
It'll be OK. No one will give us trouble.
[Even if it's only because they look terrifying and L will be shooting off firecrackers, it's not technically a lie.]
[ surprised but flattered as well as feeling absolutely fluttery, shōyō’s fingers try to grasp tighter in turn without having to use his claws in the process— which ends up being a strange sort of “can’t use my nails” sort of squeeze, but present either way. ]
Not even ourselves?
[ especially when it comes to shōyō’s easily upset stomach, but— lazarus making him feel as close to comfort as possible in this icky skin is . . . compelling and working. he feels more at ease. he feels more like himself. he feels like— lazarus can still see him. he’s still him.
his hands seem to be losing their claws, and shōyō’s very many eyes begin to shrink into nonexistence. ]
We're adults, in possession of our wits and morals. I'm sure we have nothing to be afraid of.
[He reaches out, touching a shrinking eye somewhere an eye wouldn't typically be. He brushes the pad of his thumb over it with gentle affection, as if to bid a soft goodbye to the feature.]
We've had some rain recently. That's good; it lowers the chances of starting a really big fire that spreads significantly.
[ it leaves spots of smooth skin in comparison to the leathery folds he'd find hidden beneath strands of wirehair. it seems to easily drift and fall off of him, in fact, further shedding when shoyo meekly keeps his hand behind his head and maintains it at a level low enough to keep lazarus closer to the gesture. a gentle gesture that made his insides flutter! ]
I think I'll be able to see it better now, too. [ no more fly eyes! or whatever that many eyes could cause to one's vision. ] Whenever you're ready, I could, [ you know, inch away, despite this current hand-holding! ] yeah.
[L notes that the distance between them really needs to be greater before he can safely set a fire. They step out into the street, and he nods his horned head a few times briskly, as if to signal that he's about to start.
He holds a hand out in front of him, his fingertips glowing, a pair of small flames appearing in his palm.]
[ —haha! for the record, shoyo's reaction might as well be of someone who has never seen a fire set beyond storied a tv screens, but no— he's just that easily excitable. egg follows suit at the beast's heels (who seems to be shrinking in size? oh,), and gets stary eyed watching the spectacle. he can do it, too!
little coughs of embers in the air that quickly chuff out, egg demonstrates. he'll get better at it soon enough! ]
For sparklers! [ as a child, to clarify. ] And bonfires on the beach for Festa Junina! You're your own lighter!
[ he seems to forget that they're both strange oddities by sight, at the moment. shoyo is losing his monstrous features bit by bit, and lazarus— lazarus was someone he wasn't having a difficult time seeing, truly. horns and fire and pale like paper, he still saw someone who he enjoyed spending time with, like this. ]
[L wouldn't judge, or even be particularly surprised, if it turned out that Shoyo enjoyed fireworks a great deal even as an adult.
L's demons, both figurative and extremely literal, are more complicated to sort out. Many of his insecurities are also his greatest strengths and the things that he's convinced make him worthy of living. He's going to have a harder time shaking his changes; they don't seem to go anywhere at the moment, but at the very least he's human-shaped and human-sized, and Shoyo's getting closer to that every second. Whatever this is really seems to be working.]
So, you were a really good boy, then. No petty arson for thrills?
[He's coy about whether or not that was his thing; L, as ever, is mysterious.]
[ ...... a really good boy....... now that's just going to make him blush under all of this. shoyo blinks with the only eyes he has now, garbles a word or two through two tongues, and asks, wildly: ]
[ which means he's bolting for the aforementioned trash can to bring it over. the problem (or not?) was the was shoyo comes back from this. the torn-up shorts he was wearing are a little overstretched now that his frame has returned to normal. mostly normal! he still has four arms! and probably will until— oh!
he had something to ask lazarus to, but that might have to wait. trash can in place, he is kind of, uh. a little more than semi-nude. trying to hold up his falling, ripped shorts, shoyo keeps his dignity with a rusty red, flushing face up to the ears. ]
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ok
i'm breathing
door's open
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Shōyō?
[He opens the door to the warmblood's room, too, finding it also unlocked, poking his horned head inside.]
Feliz Carnaval.
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that mound was shoyo— of dry, flaking skin pecked with solitary hairs before meeting the mane that surrounds his head. it takes a moment, to decipher what he's feeling; his heart jumps and rattles about his chest with frightened nervousness. it also pools and washes the knot forming in his gut with a fluttering sense of relief, then a nervous knot all over again. his chest feels warm. he said carnaval. the effort in bringing what may soothe his apprehension is being delivered so seamlessly that . . .
after the moment needed to gather himself, the beast moves from beneath the tipping bed to outside of it. it clatters once the furniture as a whole returns to the ground. what lazarus is met with is a large thing with an extra set of arms and too many eyes, slurping appendages that flit and uncurl from random spots, from what could be a tail to the girth of his fur.
all of the eyes are closed shut, and he sits on his hind legs, keeping all claws to himself and muttering out a garbled and very shy response: ]
. . . Feliz Carnaval.
[ it's not that he doesn't want to see him. he's pretty sure he doesn't want to throw up on him. nevertheless, he could feel his stomach tumbling, but not because he felt ill. this ugly thing was bringing all four extra paws together to fidget. ]
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It gets easier when Shōyō emerges, to make out where everything seems to begin and end, but there is admittedly a lot of feedback to cross wires and confuse signals. If L hadn't communicated with Shōyō beforehand, he'd be confused and even frightened by what he's found, now, and certainly wouldn't immediately guess that it was Shōyō, or even could be.
If he was changing into anything animal-like, wouldn't it be a golden retriever, at worst?
To his credit, he doesn't throw up, and his own altered form is at least humanoid. L's features, posture and mannerisms are so distinct that even twisted into something scarier, they're fairly hard to mistake if one is aware of what's going on, and knows him even glancingly well.
Compassion is hard; empathy, even harder, but there are steps to follow for triage, comfort and tending. Even someone like L can learn and practice them.]
When was the last time you ate, and what sounds good? As long as they deliver, it's my treat, OK?
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and when he gets nervous, when he can't control the overloading cup of emotion, it gets ugly.
his many eyes fail to open, just yet. the fidgeting fingers pat at his empty stomach, one that only now he realizes was screaming for food, even louder than it usually would (which was saying something). with a naturally speedy metabolism coupled with the emptiness warmbloods are feeling this month leads shoyo to realize one important thing that had been disposed of when he spilled bile in the bathroom when he got a look in the mirror: ]
Anything—? I'm . . . Really hungry.
[ the growl in his throat escalates and shortens out into a squealing whine of sorts. he then remembers one thing, one very important thing, while he had all these teeth and claws and— tentacles— ]
I—I promise I'd never eat you. Like that. Never—
[ all four of shoyo's hands have managed to find their way to his head, covering every inch of his eyes. he only opens a small crevice for the main right one, and slowly, carefully . . . attempt a peek. ]
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Not like he's the Devil, or anything.]
I did say anything. Delivery is the only constraint, and I'm sure we could work something out even if that wasn't an option.
[He blinks, a little startled at Shōyō's implication, laughing faintly.]
Is that something you're worried about? Because I'm not.
[When Shōyō peeps open an eye, he'll see L's odd harlequin demon form crouching a few feet away. His skin is held together in places with thick, clumsy stitches, and a pair of impala horns poke out of his tangled hair. He's dressed in his arrival robes, since they're the only thing he owns guaranteed to not catch on fire, and he's encased his wings in large treated sacks to catch the soot that sloughs off of them.
He looks like himself, even if the black sclera with glowing with pupils are glassy and haunted and his teeth and clawed hands look very sharp.]
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O-oh . . . [ oh— they’re looking at each other now. fully. after a small slip that leads to a smile, shōyō finally remembers something, causing two hands to shoot to his chest with relief. ] —Thank god you didn’t throw up. And I didn’t either.
[ that’s one step forward from where he used to be. he’s making progress. ]
You look, [ a gesture, ] pretty neat. A lot cooler than I do . . .
[ it really did look like carnaval! which obviously made shōyō feel a lot better about looking. ]
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[He thinks he looks pretty ghoulish, but maybe it's a different kind of awful with its own aesthetic upsides. Shōyō, by having tried to make him feel better even if not a whit of it is true, has punted the ball into L's side of the court, and the reciprocal nature of things is enough to give him a fair idea of what he should do next.]
I got used to the way you look very quickly. It's really not that bad... all of that hair means you're probably protected from how much heat I can generate. I've gotten better at regulating it, but... I've caught a few things on fire without meaning to.
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Like . . . Akuma? [ contrary to any fear he may possess of that, all of shoyo's eyeballs blink, and he attempts to take a step forward, hunching his shoulders and arms to appear smaller. funny, how he's finally huge but doesn't feel comfortable about it. highschool him would have probably cried tears of joy . . . and definitely would've thrown up more, so that's saying something. here, there is a simple, pleading bit of curiosity: ] Can I see?
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Isn't he supposed to be "justice?" Or is the Pthumerian responsible trying to tell him that being a demon, and being demonized, are not necessarily the same thing?]
You... want to see? I don't want to set your house on fire. I'd feel bad even if it was an accident.
[Just like he's sure Shoyo would feel bad if he accidentally ate him. To his credit, he's glad that the distance between them is closing, and looks ways what seems threatening at a distance can seem endearing, up close. He's always been good at that, in his way, sometimes to his ruin.]
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Egg’s done it a couple times, hah . . .
[ but lazarus does have a way with his eyes! as if a response to what he sees, he inches closer with his hands still curled to himself, and a hunched back, mumbling something quietly as if a secret, after a thorough deliberation over it: ]
We can . . . Can we go outside?
[ egg shoots up the fires all the time— true facts, that fire inside a home can be deadly. ]
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[He sounds glad about that, actually, and there's a lilt of encouraging hope to his voice.]
It would probably do you some good, if you've been cooped up in here, and... also for the best if you want to see the fire.
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so he comes forth, looking lazarus up and down from a now closer angle, if not also pretty tall. ]
I’m . . . Huge. [ it’s so strange—! but, um! he’s shy to ask this, considering he has four clawy hands at the moment! ] Will you catch fire if we hold hands?
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[Not that L's moderately tall height is anything close to being a mountain of fur and eyes, but it's an attempt at gentle lightheartedness, anyway.]
If we hold hands? Well... I've noticed that the fire is easier to control when I feel calm and happy. Holding your hand makes me feel that way, so... I'd expect that we wouldn't have to worry too much about it.
[He steps towards the door, waiting up if Shoyo seems reluctant at all, just enough to make him feel like they're making progress without rushing him.]
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it begins to peel away, when he takes the single chance to reach out. accidentally, with two hands, he can't quite control each individually, but lazarus can choose whichever claw, if he were to choose. ]
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It'll be OK. No one will give us trouble.
[Even if it's only because they look terrifying and L will be shooting off firecrackers, it's not technically a lie.]
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Not even ourselves?
[ especially when it comes to shōyō’s easily upset stomach, but— lazarus making him feel as close to comfort as possible in this icky skin is . . . compelling and working. he feels more at ease. he feels more like himself. he feels like— lazarus can still see him. he’s still him.
his hands seem to be losing their claws, and shōyō’s very many eyes begin to shrink into nonexistence. ]
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[He reaches out, touching a shrinking eye somewhere an eye wouldn't typically be. He brushes the pad of his thumb over it with gentle affection, as if to bid a soft goodbye to the feature.]
We've had some rain recently. That's good; it lowers the chances of starting a really big fire that spreads significantly.
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I think I'll be able to see it better now, too. [ no more fly eyes! or whatever that many eyes could cause to one's vision. ] Whenever you're ready, I could, [ you know, inch away, despite this current hand-holding! ] yeah.
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[L notes that the distance between them really needs to be greater before he can safely set a fire. They step out into the street, and he nods his horned head a few times briskly, as if to signal that he's about to start.
He holds a hand out in front of him, his fingertips glowing, a pair of small flames appearing in his palm.]
Did you ever set fires? As a child, or...?
[L never did. He sort of wonders what it's like.]
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little coughs of embers in the air that quickly chuff out, egg demonstrates. he'll get better at it soon enough! ]
For sparklers! [ as a child, to clarify. ] And bonfires on the beach for Festa Junina! You're your own lighter!
[ he seems to forget that they're both strange oddities by sight, at the moment. shoyo is losing his monstrous features bit by bit, and lazarus— lazarus was someone he wasn't having a difficult time seeing, truly. horns and fire and pale like paper, he still saw someone who he enjoyed spending time with, like this. ]
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L's demons, both figurative and extremely literal, are more complicated to sort out. Many of his insecurities are also his greatest strengths and the things that he's convinced make him worthy of living. He's going to have a harder time shaking his changes; they don't seem to go anywhere at the moment, but at the very least he's human-shaped and human-sized, and Shoyo's getting closer to that every second. Whatever this is really seems to be working.]
So, you were a really good boy, then. No petty arson for thrills?
[He's coy about whether or not that was his thing; L, as ever, is mysterious.]
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—D-did you?
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[A pause.]
Do you think anyone cares about that trash can? It looks like it hasn't been used in awhile.
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[ which means he's bolting for the aforementioned trash can to bring it over. the problem (or not?) was the was shoyo comes back from this. the torn-up shorts he was wearing are a little overstretched now that his frame has returned to normal. mostly normal! he still has four arms! and probably will until— oh!
he had something to ask lazarus to, but that might have to wait. trash can in place, he is kind of, uh. a little more than semi-nude. trying to hold up his falling, ripped shorts, shoyo keeps his dignity with a rusty red, flushing face up to the ears. ]
—And I think I need new clothes!
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