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fourth. text.
In the interest of having it completed some time this century, I'm taking over the project to create a guide document for new arrivals.
[And he's starting it from scratch, no thanks to Chris.]
If you can tear yourselves away from telling ghost stories long enough to reply, I'm interested to know what information you found most helpful when you first arrived, as well as what you would have liked to know sooner rather than later.
[And he's starting it from scratch, no thanks to Chris.]
If you can tear yourselves away from telling ghost stories long enough to reply, I'm interested to know what information you found most helpful when you first arrived, as well as what you would have liked to know sooner rather than later.
text
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[Which isn't the only reason, but it's the one he's willing to claim in public.]
It's been nearly a year since people were first brought here. It's clear they're not going to stop, and people who show up here should be as well armed as they can be to face what they've been brought to. If no one else is willing to take the initiative, I guess I'll have to do it.
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Just make sure to include something about not trusting the gods, or making fucking deals with them.
text ~> private voice.
[Then he switches over to a private audio feed instead, because he's had a lot on his mind in the past several days, and Sharon is probably the only person here who could understand - at least, she's the only one with the context, because she's the only one he's told so much about himself.]
Has anyone ever turned up here who you knew from before?
private voice.
She finds that she would much rather stamp the worry down than the jealousy. ]
Who's here?
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[The sound gets muffled for a few moments, but the shuffling in the background can still be picked out: footsteps, opening a door and closing it again after a short pause, then footsteps again. Mello's voice is much quieter when he returns to the phone, a deliberate change in an effort to prevent eavesdropping.]
You remember I told you that Kira killed someone who was important to me?
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[ That's a good thing, right? ]
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[That might seem like a good thing on the surface, but - well, It's Complicated.]
He asked me for something like this document when he arrived, and I had to tell him we didn't have one. [An ugly note of disgust takes over his tone - for himself, his failure to anticipate this need, though really, how could he reasonably expect to predict that L would show up here, five years after his death?] I should have been on top of this my first day here.
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[ There's a heavy hint of dark suspicion. ]
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[Mello exhales a long breath. There's so much about this situation that depends on understanding the context of Wammy's House and how it works, and navigating that minefield of secrecy in order to explain the situation to Sharon without revealing too much of the truth is no easy task.]
Gathering information is one of the things I was trained for as a child. I shouldn't have to be told to do something like that - I should've remembered on my own. And I didn't.
[I failed. Again.]
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Fuck what you were trained for, Mello. [ Blunt. ] You didn't make some mistake not writing up a guide. It's not your duty to do something so few will appreciate.
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[He's no humanitarian, and he has no illusions that his work will be appreciated by Hadriel at large. It's much more likely that new arrivals will be too overwhelmed by finding themselves in new and dangerous circumstances to even bother looking for all the answers to their questions in one convenient document.]
But what use am I if I can't even do something as simple as this?
[What can a failure like him offer the one person who embodies the pinnacle of achievement? Mello doesn't know, and he now has two Ls to compare himself against and be found wanting.
It's a mistake to talk about this, to show weakness - Mello doesn't believe Sharon would seize the opportunity to hurt him over this, or if she would, maybe he'd deserve it. But armor is a difficult thing to shed when you've crafted it to be a fundamental part of who you are. Unseen from the other side of the phone, he shakes his head and violently pushes down all the self-doubt and disgust and momentary despair that he's allowed to bubble up to the surface.]
It's not important. I said I'd take over the project, and I intend to see it finished. It doesn't matter why - what's important is that it's done.
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[ She takes a breath, a beat, and then: ] That is more useful, and important than some shitty guide.
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She can't, really, because she hasn't lived the life of a Wammy's child - L's child - and there is only so much that imagination can do. When it comes to understanding, there is no substitute for lived experience, and just as Mello can't truly fathom the full depths of the horrors Sharon has experienced, neither can she know, bone-deep, the particular ways in which the House broke and remodeled the children who passed through its great iron gates. Maybe if Mello had never been sent there, maybe if he'd been allowed to grow up in a more normalized fashion, maybe if he'd been expected to make mistakes and learn from them the way children and teenagers do as a part of their natural learning processes - maybe then he'd be able to see the truth of what Sharon insists to him now, that he has worth beyond the measure of his accumulated wins or losses.
But he didn't, and he wasn't, and Sharon's words are as unintelligible to his brain as the metamorphosed Gregor Samsa's to his terrified family. And Mello can recognize the Kafkaesque absurdity in this situation, that a girl he murdered is on the other side of the phone, trying to convince him that there is more to him than the sum of his many flaws - he can recognize the strengths she lists, because they're strengths he's recognized in himself. Mello is very self-aware; he has done things that most people would consider impossible, and in the past, he has seen them as glimmering points of pride against the darkness of almost was and not good enough.
But Near has always outshone him, and the combined illumination of him and L together is bright enough to completely wash out anything good Mello ever believed about himself. The old world's runner-up, he'd called himself, once. He can be many things, but there is one thing he can never be, and that is the only thing he believes truly matters - the best.
Mello wants something right now, and he isn't sure if it's to laugh or scream or put his fist through the wall, or all of the above, in alphabetical order. He does none of those things.]
It's all right, Sharon. Look - forget I said anything, OK? What you said is right - we can't trust the gods, and everyone who's unlucky enough to end up pulled into their power games deserves to know right from the start what they're up against. This information will help. And I'm going to have it finished and available before the next group arrives.
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Good luck with the guide. [ a pause, and then: ] If you need me, you know how to contact me.
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If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have let his mask slip like this, but if he had and she were anyone else, he wouldn't care about hurting her feelings. But something about the tone she uses causes a dull ache to spider out across his chest. It's a mostly unfamiliar feeling, but he recognizes it as being the same thing he feels whenever the idea of someone hurting her crosses his mind. It's unpleasant, and it requires action.]
... Thank you, Sharon.
[The words feel clumsy on his tongue, rusty from disuse; he hasn't ever had much cause to give or receive gratitude. But it's important for her to know that he does appreciate her - her words, her ideas, her passion, her presence. Mello has fashioned himself into a stringently self-reliant creature, but - maybe he does need her, even if it's only a little bit.]