第5: esteemed emily #1 (voice)

[unfollowing]

[The few "letters" Emily has received since graciously offering her services as an advice-giver are, as expected, shit. Hell, two of them aren't even real requests, just her idiot friends being idiots (in the best way, she misses when it was always like this, simple, harmless, fun). The one actually serious one is about as bad as she'd thought she'd get from the hopeless disasters in this cave, so hey. This isn't bad.

Honestly, the hardest part about this is deciding what format to do this in. Finally, on the morning of the 21st, she decides to just get this shit done. At least one idiot out there needs her help. She doesn't want to video this (mostly because she doesn't want to work with the shitty makeup here, come on, she knows what cameras do to you), but text won't convey her message quite well enough, so. Voice it is.]

I'm just going to dive right into this. I got three submissions. I'm going to read them off one at a time and answer each before I go to the next one. These are supposed to be anonymous, so try not to be such assholes that you out someone if you figure out who they are.

Unless they're obviously trolling, which-- well. You'll see.

Here goes.

First up is this fucking gem [heavy is the sarcasm in Esteemed Emily's voice]:

Esteemed Emily,

I have a friend who is a total nerd but in complete denial about it, even though she's getting nerdier by the day and soon may surpass even me in the nerd ways. What should I do to help her accept her true self and her destiny?

Signed,
I'm locking my door so don't bother coming down here

[There's a pause where Emily sighs quietly, but even in the relative silence, it's exceedingly clear how unimpressed she is.] Chris, you're an idiot. You wish I were a nerd, just so you could claim you're cool by association with me. Newsflash: you aren't. Code yourself an app that'll run through some formulas or whatever to help you get the fuck over the fact that you will always and forever be the second nerdiest person I know.

Second, an actual question:

So say an opinionated girl made out with the local teenage girl hater. She's fairly conflicted about the whole thing. What should she do?

-Opinionated Girl

I'm guessing you're a teenage girl, so my first thought is, why the fuck did you make out with someone who hates you? Do you hate yourself too?

[NOBODY can guess who the local teenage girl hater is, right? Jesus fucking Christ.]

Seriously, I don't know what the fuck to tell you. Like, we all make mistakes, [she's thinking about Mike] but... like why are you conflicted here. He hates you. Was he that good that you want to hate makeout and maybe hatefuck? That's up to you, but if it were me, I would punch him in the balls and move on unless he changes his ways. Please fucking love yourself. Or at least be safe, goddamn.

[Another pause for breath. Christ. Dealing with hopeless people is hard.]

Finally, the best of the litter [again with the sarcasm]:

hey em i got this friend who likes giving people advice but im clearly better at giving advice i never steer anyone wrong

how do i take her job

Do I even need to tell you how wrong you are? Idiot. Besides, nobody's stopping you from starting Jolly Josh or whatever. No, you know what? Stick to shitposting. You've got that down to a science.

[Another pause, another sigh, and (if you listen very closely) a very dramatic eyeroll.]

Look, just stop being disasters, all right? There's like five of you that have come to me asking for dating advice already. Just talk to the person you like. If you want to fuck them, ask them. If you want to hold hands, ask them. If you want to just be best goddamn friends with them, ask them.

That's literally it. Stop being morons.

Goddamn.

[End.]

Comments

private text

[unitas]

You would know, huh?

[ no, she does not think she's a comedian, why do you ask? ]

private text

[torrefied]

I'm laughing on the inside. Really.

[Spoilers: he's not.]

private text

[unitas]

Oh, come on, it was funny. Don't be so sour, it all could have been much more embarrassing, I'm sure.

private text

[torrefied]

I'm sure it will be, eventually.

[Because that's just the way his luck tends to run.]

private text

[unitas]

Everyone will forget about it tomorrow. [ Except him and Big Mouth, of course. ] Don't let it bother you.

private text

[torrefied]

It's not just this. She knows other things too, and if she can't keep her mouth shut about something like this, I have no reason to believe she'll keep quiet about the rest of it, either.

private text

[unitas]

I'm sure you told her not to let anything she knows about you slip, but did you ask her not to tell about the make-out? [ when people get emotional, they get messy. ]

private text

[torrefied]

[Boy, does Mello ever know that.]

I didn't think it needed to be explicitly stated. Kissing and telling is usually frowned upon.

private text

[unitas]

Is anything about the relationship between the two of you usual? It was incredibly stupid of her to be so obvious, but she's just seeking advice because you've confused her.

private text

[torrefied]

No.

[Mello doesn't do relationships, unless they're a way toward something else that he wants. Nothing about this business with Ai is normal, and she isn't the only one who is confused.]

It was a mistake. I wasn't thinking.

private text

[unitas]

As far as mistakes go, Mello, it's pretty fucking minor. Not to mention fixable as long as you talk to her.

private text

[torrefied]

She's impossible to talk to. Believe me, I've tried.

private voice.

[torrefied]

[There's a delay between the last message and this one, just long enough for Mello's entire worldview to shatter. His voice is tense - more tense than usual, at least. Something has deeply unsettled him.]

Are you any good at throwing knives?

private voice.

[unitas]

[ she'd been in the middle of typing up a response, one that really amounted to try again, when the call comes in. he sounds stressed, bothered.

is this whole issue causing him that much trouble? ]

Because that's a skill most people need to develop in their lives. [ That's a no, Mello. Her dad taught her a lot of things, but that was not among them. When it comes to knives, she just focuses on stabbing. ] I'm a quick learner, though.

private voice.

[torrefied]

Yeah, me too. I haven't ever really done it either ... no time like the present, though.

[He pauses, inhales a shaky breath.]

Anyway, you should come find out. I'm in the park, a quarter mile in along the river.

[It's a sideways way of asking, but he's been too direct about too much already today, and he's drawn up his shields as much as he can muster.]

private voice. -> action

[unitas]

Yeah, sure. I'll be there in twenty.

[ It takes a little longer than twenty minutes, but, in her defense, she stops by the armory to grab a couple of extra knives in varying weights, stuffing them into her knapsack; she's seen knife throwing before, but she's really not sure what to expect, and wants to cover her bases. Soon, she's walking briskly along one of the many trails, occasionally kicking a stone out of her way and watching it roll. It's never a bad day to visit the park, not when the deities are quiet.

When she spots Mello, she gives a lazy, three-fingered wave. She's ditched the dark hoodie today, and has opted in for her slightly stained, but still incredibly comfortable, bright orange jacket, hood up. Her small knapsack hangs over her shoulder, resting against her hip, and nestled in her boot is the well-worn handle of a kitchen knife. She appears to be an easy mood today, shoulders less tense. ]

Hey. [ She says. It sounds lame to hear ears. ]

action.

[torrefied]

[Mello, on the other hand, is even more tense than usual, if that's even possible - he jumps, slightly startled, when Sharon approaches, but nods in greeting once he recognizes it's her. He doesn't smile, but he is glad to see her.]

Hey.

[There's a row of three trees about ten feet away from where he's standing, and he's hastily painted a bullseye target on each one with some leftover paint from Hope's last cleanup efforts. His jacket hangs folded over a low branch on one of the trees behind him, gloves tucked away inside the pockets; he's wearing the same black leather vest and pants combination as always. Four knives of varying sizes are scattered around the base of the center tree, and Mello holds a fifth in his hand, which he raises, aims, and throws at the target - and misses. The knife's handle hits the trunk, and the knife tumbles to the ground. As it turns out, Mello isn't very good at this.]

Damn it.

[He pushes an irritated breath out through his teeth and marches over to retrieve the knives.]

action.

[unitas]

[ It does not surprise her to see him startle, even with the knowledge that she would be arriving. Mello's world has become increasingly complicated as the weeks have gone on, and the arrival of his enemy has only made it worse (everything seems to be making it worse). In truth, she thinks he's handling it a lot better than she could, but she knows that it's only a matter of time before the stress of it all builds up and forces him to crack, if he hasn't already.

She slips her knapsack off as she comes closer, letting it hit the ground with a gentle thud, before she takes in the trees and the painted bullseyes; it appears as if Mello's skill in this department isn't just lacking, but rather nonexistent. ]

I brought extra knives. [ She didn't know what she would need, or how many he'd bring, so she took initiative. She kneels by her sack, opening it up and pulling out a variety of blades; the lengths vary, as do the weights, and many of them appear to lack in the typical handle (some wrapped, but others only bare their tang). She lays them out in no particular order before she picks a smaller one up. ]

You got any tips? [ He may not be adept, but it's likely he knows more than she does. ]

[torrefied]

Thanks.

[Not just for the knives; he also means thanks for being here. In truth, Mello feels very close to cracking, which is why he's here, letting off some of that pressure in a focused show of the violence he feels like enacting on the entire world. He gathers up the knives and brings his own collection to Sharon's, dropping them on the ground next to hers as he drops himself into a crouch, studying the assortment and chewing agitatedly on the nail of his index finger.]

Not really. I don't - I don't really know what I'm doing.

[Not just with the knives. His entire world has shifted out of balance, giving him cause to question every truth he has ever believed.]

[unitas]

[ She brushes the gratitude off, only offering an easy smile in response. It's not like it was any trouble, and she knows that, even if it were, she'd still find a way to make it here. She'd rather spend her time with him than alone, digging at the wounds in her heart knowing she shouldn't. Alone, she makes herself worse. With him, near him, she's not sure what it makes herself, but it's not worse—it's never really worse. ]

We'll figure it out together, then. [ She shrugs, observing him beneath the length of her bangs. There's no judgement, no questions. He's not in a good place, teetering on an edge with no way to step back down, and Sharon doesn't know what to do or how to help. There has to be words for this situation, anything small that could offer even an ounce of comfort, but if they exist in the world, they're not ones she's ever known.

She straightens up, adjusting her grip on her chosen knife; she first holds it by the tang, and then adjusts so she grips the tip of it gently between her fingers. The targets aren't far, and with their width, she figures her throw will stick, but when she does, the blade rotates in the air and embeds itself into the dirt at the tree's base. She curses beneath her breath, and grabs another knife from the pile. ]

I used to imagine someone I hated when I'd go the range. [ She bounces the knife in her hand, not looking at him. She's talking to fill the space between them, to move his mind from whatever subject that threatens to overwhelm him. ] Most of the time, it was just like dicks I knew from school, other times... people I couldn't remember, but could imagine. [ A woman in a blue dress coat, eyes that she'd have nightmares of. Other times, a janitor, with his uniform soiled. Back then, Sharon hadn't understood what any of that had meant, but now she does. She clears her throat. ]

I always thought it helped with my aim. [ She throws again and. Nope. Way off. Try again, loser. ]

[torrefied]

[Something about that word - together - hooks at him under his rib cage and pulls, hard, and it hurts, but it also doesn't feel entirely bad. It's unusual, because he has rarely (if ever) felt supported in this way, and it's overwhelming, but it's not a feeling he chooses to push away. Maybe what he needs now is to be supported, to have someone with whom he can be together, because he has all too often been left entirely alone.]

It's an effective strategy.

[One he's used himself, in fact. But maybe that's the problem with his aim - he's never hated Near entirely, but now, Mello isn't sure whether he can hate him at all. Mello picks up one of the knives and jams the blade into the ground in front of him.]

What was it like, where you went to school?

[unitas]

[ The question causes a shift in her attention, the grip on the new blade loosening gently, her expression a twist between guarded and thoughtful. There's no simple answer that she can give, furthering the realization that her life has been a mess since day one. ]

I kind of went to a lot of schools, but they were all pretty consistent in their shittiness. [ She tries to sound easy. The schools she attended, save for the private school she'd been in briefly as Sharon da Silva (when Rose and Christopher had high hopes of the future), were all inner city; they were the schools where the teachers didn't get paid enough to care, where no one would bother to look twice at the sketchy forged papers used in enrollment; they were the kind of schools that a girl like her could disappear in, where questions weren't asked. ]

The only thing memorable about any of them was the moment I got to leave. [ It was a burst of freedom, a shedding of her proverbial skin. She bounces the blade idly a moment, and then tosses it. It goes too wide, and disappears somewhere behind the row of painted trees, but she doesn't appear to care. She glances at him as she further explains. ] We were always just waiting for the moment when we'd need to leave, the moment someone would recognize us, when someone would get too close, or ask the wrong type of question. Dad wouldn't risk anything.

We got good at moving. [ It's meant to sound like a joke, but it sounds flat to her own ears. ]

[torrefied]

[Mello may not have all of the details, but Sharon disclosed enough of her past for him to make an outline and connect the dots - the terrible people in the town she mentioned, the ones who wanted her - before she was Sharon da Silva - to be a vessel for the birth of their god, they must have come after her eventually. People always pursue what they perceive as theirs. Mello chews his bottom lip in thought as he listens to her description of her life with her father - no mention of her mother, but he knows better than to ask. I ruined their lives, she told him once. If she wants him to know the details of what her brand of ruin looks like, she'll tell him eventually, just as Mello knows that he's going to end up telling her what shape his kind of ruin takes - he wasn't planning on it, exactly, but somehow, he knew it before he picked up his phone to call and ask her to join him that he was going to give her some of the details about his life that he's previously omitted.]

It's hard, being on the run like that. [He knows this too, from experience, albeit a different kind of experience than the one Sharon describes.] I can only imagine how much harder it would be for a kid, keeping on the move, blending in when you've come to a stop.

[But adversity does, as they say, build character. Surviving the things that have tried to kill you and failed makes you stronger. Mello knows this too. He moves on to chewing his fingernail for a moment as he makes the decision to tell Sharon this part about himself too.]

I never went back to school after I left the orphanage. I figured that I'd learned all I could from other people - anything else I needed to know, I'd teach myself through experience. But I miss it sometimes - reading books, staying up late to study for an exam. Finding the metric for how much knowledge you'd acquired in a given stretch.

[He pauses, inhales a deep breath, runs his thumb over the hilt of the knife embedded in the ground in front of him.]

I told you before that it wasn't just an orphanage, it was something like a private academy - and that's true, but there's more to it. It was also an elite training program for a very specific job. We competed for a title - potential successor to the world's greatest detective.

[Well, world's three greatest detectives, technically. But the main title - L - was the one that was important.]

That rival I told you about - I've known him for a long time, because he's like me - an orphan, and brilliant, and a product of this same training program. [Broken, too, but it feels too sharp an analysis to make aloud, even if Sharon isn't searching for his weaknesses to exploit.] And for as long as I've known him, he's always been able to beat me. No matter how hard I try, he's always just that much better.

[The word feels like glass shards coming up inside his throat. Mello settles onto the ground, dropping his head forward into an open hand, elbow propped on his bent knee.]

I used to hate him a lot when I was younger - he's infuriatingly perfect, without even needing to put effort into it, and it's like he doesn't even care about anything. Just solving the damn puzzle.

[unitas]

[ In just a stretch of a couple of words, her attention turns to him entirely, the blade in her hands not interesting—not important. Every new glance she gets into his past, she notices a new scar, a new mental anguish she hadn't before. He unravels himself before her, and she sees him a little clearer.

When he settles to the ground, she follows suite, folding her knees beneath her, curious, sympathetic gaze never straying (there's a fire there, too, a rage). An orphanage that uses children, grinds them down, and breaks them apart to mold them into something else. They think it's for the better good, she bets, but how many children walked the halls of that 'academy' and came out of it all right, or came out of it at all. ]

How could you not hate him? [ Like it's the only obvious feeling Mello could have had. She tries to keep the edge of fury from her tone. ] You were fucking competing, constantly being judged. That's so fucked, you know that, right?

[ It's not a real question, not one that needs answered because Mello knows just how fucked up his life was—still is. That he's going to die for his rival. That he thinks his rival his perfect, or better in any single fucking way. ] He's not perfect if you're the one that has to die for him to solve the puzzle.

cw implied child abuse

[torrefied]

I did hate him. I do still, I think - but there's more to it. It's complicated.

[How can he put into easily parsed words the emotional weight that Near carries for him? Not just because he's L, and because L is incredibly important, and because the idea of facing a world without L a second time is too painful to imagine - because he's Near, the flip side of Mello's coin. Even when they went years without speaking, Near never left Mello's mind entirely. A rivalry isn't pure hatred - there's an unspoken aspect of partnership to it, a push to outmatch the other that makes you better in the process. Without that push, what would Mello be? That's what he'd realized when he'd imagined Near falling victim to Kira's ruse, why he couldn't just sit back and watch it happen, why he couldn't just let Near die and move in to capture the king afterwards. Near would be fine without him, he'd thought. He'd continue doing what L always did, calmly and unemotionally solving puzzles. But Mello would have nothing to measure himself against, which meant he would have been nothing. He may as well not exist. Mello drops his hand from his face and lazily drapes his arm over his bent knee as he looks up to Sharon again.]

I know my upbringing was unusual. But I wasn't forced into it. It was my choice to be there, and it was a much better place than the first institution that took me in. No one there ever slapped me for speaking out or took a wooden paddle to me for whatever transgressions I may have committed. I was encouraged there - to compete, yes, but also to better myself. To think critically and creatively, and to solve problems too. Without that encouragement, I don't think the odds would have been in my favor.

[They weren't in his favor as it stands, but he can imagine how much worse he might have turned out without the House's influence. Maybe he would have become a criminal kingpin all the same. Maybe he would have become the sort of man who delights in hurting others. Maybe he would have been dead much sooner.]

I know he's not perfect. But he's as close to it as is possible in all the ways that are important.

[But she's right - Near should have considered the possibility of a fake notebook. It seems to so screamingly obvious to Mello; why wouldn't it have occurred to Near? Maybe that particular gambit stayed too far outside of the box for Near's mind to wrap around it. Mello reaches for the knife embedded in the ground in front of him and gives it a hard yank out.]

I don't know. Maybe I don't know him as well as I thought I did.