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inmyownworld ([info]inmyownworld) wrote in [info]vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-04-07 21:00:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Current music:Ben Folds- "You Don't Know Me"
Entry tags:!complete, day 03, l lawliet, location: gas station, silent bob

Day Three- The Clueless Chump You Seem To Think I Am [finished]
Who: L and Bob
Where: The Convenience Store
What: L wants sugar. Bob needs to blow off steam towards a certain individual, and that individual just happens to be L.
When: Day Three, Early Afternoon
Rating: PG-13 for Bob's mouth!
Status: Finished



L's second day in his new environment was proving to be nearly as surreal as the first, but necessity was driving him outside of himself and into the unknown world to do something he hadn't had to for years: fend for himself. L certainly didn't consider himself spoiled; from the time he was about eight years old to right before arriving here, he had been fed and clothed and cared for almost like a machine that was being maintained. Those things were certainly not his own responsibilities when he was busy keeping his powerhouse of a brain running and crunching numbers faster than a computer while drawing obscure correlations with rare human creativity. Now, much to his chagrin, there were no computers and far too many humans around. Some, like Laura Moon, he rather liked, but others got on his nerves. That Bob fellow, for instance. A natural elitist, L felt that his genius and time were wasted on the obscenity-spouting lump, whose only response to L's patient and logical suggestions and deductions seemed to be... more obscenities. L had yet to get truly, publicly angry at the man, even though Bob had blown up a few times as a result of their conversations over journals, but he was certainly annoyed by what he perceived as simple-minded ignorance.

So, Bob said that he was pretentious. Arrogant. At least L knew those things. In his mind, Bob was too dim-witted to realize that he was dim-witted. He resolved to use his emotional detachment to his advantage and avoid reacting, should he encounter Bob at any point during his time here.

Approaching what appeared to be a convenience store of sorts, L pushed open the door and entered. He was aware that they probably didn't carry the sort of refined, rich and ornate things he was often given, but he was hopeful that they carried what he liked. Straight sugar, as simple as possible, in cube form. Stacking things like cubes helped L think. Glancing around, he started to look for anything resembling what his palette was set for.


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[info]silent_bob
2009-04-07 09:02 pm UTC (link)
Bob had walked around a fucking lot today.

He'd spent the morning chasing shit with Andy. Fucking looking for weed, and pills and a sewing kit. Then he fucking went to the carnival meeting and some shit. You know what Bob just had to do? He had to go to the Not-Quick-Stop. Fucking hell yeah. At the Not-Quick-Stop he could loiter and smoke and get more smokes and drink beer and fucking watch out for fucking Jay and shit. Yeah, Bob could do what he wanted.

So, what did Bob do? He manned his fucking post. He leaned against the stucco'd exterior and he smoked. Well, he smoked until he ran out of cigs, at which point he had a ready supply just inside. Walking behind the counter like he owned the place, Bob looked up at the varied soft packs. Sure, they weren't the best shit; but, what was a man to do with an addiction to feed? Just as he reached up he heard the door to the store open. 'Fuck!?' He mused silently, ducking down. Jay was off doing whatever. Who the fuck else would come in?

Taking a minute to compose himself Bob came out of hiding, brandishing the cigs in a gesture of surrender and offering his typical silent wave. It was just a fucking kid. Nice.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-08 02:31 pm UTC (link)
Staring at the man behind the counter, L canted his head to the side quizzically and nibbled his fingertip. In his eyes, the man looked almost deliberately sloppy. Also, he smelled like cigarette smoke.

Returning the wave hesitantly, as if he wasn't quite sure what the social gesture meant, he continued to gnaw his fingertip with oral-fixation vigor. Being a detective, L's first instinct was to study the man. His eyes skimmed over the smoker's sturdy body, taking in his backwards baseball cap, the pack of cigarettes, and patchy facial hair.

The whole time, he never managed to make eye contact once. After about a minute of staring, L returned to looking for sugar cubes on the snack section's shelves, handling things delicately as he moved them. In L's experience, people didn't typically bother you if you didn't make a nuisance of yourself.

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[info]silent_bob
2009-04-09 12:57 pm UTC (link)
Bob wasn't used to being stared at. He especially wasn't used to being appraised by some weirdass asian kid chewing on his fingers. Wasn't this kid a little old to gnaw at his fingers like that? tilting his head a little as the kid's gaze went this way and that, Bob was little creeped out. Not creeped out enough to throw things at him or anything - just perhaps a bit leery.

Slowly, the kid moved back to checking out the shelf and Bob was a little fucking stunned that somebody else around here didn't talk. It was fucking strange. He liked being the lone-fucking-ranger of silence around here. Pulling up the stool with a nasty scraping noise on dillapidated lineoleum, Bob opened up the celophaned pack of cigs and in a practiced motion took one out, lit it, and got nice and fucking comfortable at the counter.

Suddenly he understood why Dante and Randal liked working at the fucking Quick Stop so much.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-09 02:13 pm UTC (link)
Of course, one couldn't say that the root of all of L and Bob's disagreements would be L's difficulty reading expressions and Bob's predilection for favoring them instead of words. Though he was definitely on the quiet side himself, L relied on language a great deal to understand and be understood, and so Bob's absence of it was more than a little troubling to the socially awkward detective. Noticing rather quickly that Bob just didn't seem to talk, instead making himself at home behind the counter as if the quick-stop belonged to him, L's reaction was to try and figure out why.

Continuing to gnaw at his fingertip, an idea occurred to the young man. Of course... it was absurdly simple. There was a fairly high chance that this man was deaf. Briefly switching gears, L raised both hands and, in a flutter of spindly, long fingers, he attempted to communicate with Bob in American Sign Language. Still stubbornly avoiding eye contact, L signed, Excuse me. I'm looking for sugar. Plain sugar? The sign for "sugar" was one L repeated a few times, just for emphasis, taking two fingers and stroking from his chin to his neck.

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[info]silent_bob
2009-04-10 10:12 pm UTC (link)
Bob was puffing away at his cig. He was kind of amused that Jay hadn't come in - in fact, he wasn't fucking sure where Jay was. Where ever Jay was, he was missing out on an opportunity to say exactly what Bob was thinking in the sense that all his mind could think was 'What the fuck is it with you and your fucking fingers?'

Bob's question about this kid and his fingers came to an abrupt halt as the kid turned, and fucking started moving his hands around like fucking Helen Keller and some shit. Which was fucking weird. Then then kid started stroking from his chin to his neck in the oddest fucking gesture on earth. Bob didn't know what the fuck was up with that.

Staying behind the counter, Bob sort of canted his head. He wasn't fucking sure what the fuck this dude was waving his hands for; but, it was certainly a sign of crazy. Fucking crazy.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-12 08:09 pm UTC (link)
Well aware that his genius approach wasn't working when the man didn't respond, L lowered his hands to his sides and slipped them into the pockets of his loose jeans. He debated whether to comment on how annoying he found cigarette smoke and obstinate silences, but decided that he would next try to anger the man, if nothing else worked.

L sighed deeply. "I don't suppose you understand anything... I'm sorry. Perhaps you are in a profound state of mental retardation and are unable to comprehend any form of language."

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[info]silent_bob
2009-04-12 08:31 pm UTC (link)
Bob heard what the kid said. In fact, he mulled it around inside his head again, and again, and again. He could think of only one fucking person in this whole damned deserted town who would accuse someone of having mental retardation when they didn't fucking understand Helen Keller speak.

Internally, Bob was boiling over. The asshole who'd actually corrected his fucking spelling was a fucking kid. What the fuck was with the state of the world? Where was this kid's fucking parents?

Externally, Bob was quietly smoking his cig, the burnt end rapidly descending on the filter. As tobacco and paper turned to ash Bob could feel his self control starting to decline. Dropping the cigarette to the floor he carefully stomped it out before taking a deep breath and centering himself.

Bob would not be giving this little shit the happiness of pissing him off. "What," he started, a breath inserted as he carefully refrained from saying 'the fuck.' Continuing still quite quietly, "...are you looking for?"

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-15 06:53 pm UTC (link)
Though Bob thought of L as a child and he was far from the only one to see him as misleadingly young, the truth was that the detective was all of 25 years old. Part of it was his autistic-like behavior... his tendencies to avoid eye contact while staring rigidly, his bad posture, his wide and often thoughtless-seeming eyes, his fingertips and thumb that were so often in his mouth.

However, he had succeeded in getting the man to talk. He was, like Bob, starting to understand who he was conversing with, and the realization was making him slightly more cautious. "I am looking for sugar," he said, in a calm voice to match Bob's. "I thought that maybe this place might have some. You don't... work here, do you?" he asked, squinting uncertainly at Bob's clothing. "Because... you look like you might..."

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SO SORRY FOR BEING MIA!
[info]silent_bob
2009-04-19 07:40 pm UTC (link)
Bob listened, silently of course, as L explained what he had come looking for. He Personally didn't have any sugar. He also didn't think that this place really had any fucking condiments, either.

Shrugging to the first bit about looking for sugar and kind of furrowing his brow to the assertion that he looked like an ass clown who could work at a place like this Bob then shook his head in a definite rendition of a silent 'fuck no.'

He thought this kid was supposed to be fucking smart and shit? How the fuck could he work in a fucking store that had been out of commission for like fifty years and some shit. Taking out another cigarette and lighting it, Bob tried to let off some fucking steam.

"I don't," he breathed with a puff of exhaled carbonmonoxide filled goodness.

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lol, not a problem. :p
[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-20 12:36 am UTC (link)
L raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised.

"I thought that it was improbable... but you fit the scenery so well that I wondered," L said in a neutral, noninflammatory tone. "I think that there's a thrift store. I've read about it in the journals. Maybe you could find something nicer there and you could prevent that mistake from being made in future." He paused, creasing his brow. Apparently, his annoyance with Bob's smoke was mounting.

"You might not be aware, but smoking is actually carcinogenic." he paused significantly, before saying, slowly and clearly, "That means that it causes cancer. A disease."

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Re: lol, not a problem. :p
[info]silent_bob
2009-04-21 06:17 pm UTC (link)
Did he really just say that Bob matched the fucking po-dunk convenience store? A fucking convenience store from 19fucking50?

Crossing his arms, Bob furrowed his brow his lip curling upward as he wordlessly communicated 'Are you fucking kidding me?'

His nemesis, however, didn't stop there. No, the kid kept talking. He started talking about Bob's clothes and then Bob's cigs. He started talking about fucking cancer. Bob, was boiling over on the inside. His smoke was down to the filter. Dropping the butt to the floor Bob quickly drew another from the pack, lit it, and took a long deliberate fucking pull.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-21 10:27 pm UTC (link)
Yes, L had. And L would say more, especially as long as his snide jabs went unremarked upon. Like most children or immature individuals, L tended to enjoy seeing just how far he could push people. His experimental streak didn't help with that, either.

"That's a fire hazard," he said, glancing down at the cigarette. "And you're polluting your lungs and lessening the chances of passing on your DNA to the coming generation." After uttering that thought, L paused, nibbling his thumb. "I wonder if that would be a bad thing," he murmured thoughtfully.

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[info]silent_bob
2009-04-22 07:56 pm UTC (link)
Walking out from behind the counter calmly, Bob sidled up beside L and the candy stand. Reaching out he took up a candy bar before turning to face L with a rather blank expression.

Taking a long pull, burning the cig down to the filter, Bob held it long. He knew he was about to be a giant asshole.

Exhaling, he blew the smoke right into L's face before heading back behind the counter to the stool there behind.

Hope you fucking get cancer, asshole.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-22 08:07 pm UTC (link)
L's eyes widened. He stared through the smoke at Bob with his naturally wide eyes, suppressing a cough, looking like he was literally unable to believe what he had just done.

No one treated L like this. No one. As Bob shambled away from him, L's fists trembled at his sides for a moment before he seized a pack of everlasting gobstoppers, tore them open, and tossed them so that the mini jawbreakers clattered to the floor and into Bob's path back to the stool.

Just in case Bob somehow managed to evade that pitfall, L armed himself with a box of Popsicles, preparing to pelt the man with them. Childish, yes... but L had never been good at coping with not getting what he wanted.

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[info]silent_bob
2009-04-22 08:14 pm UTC (link)
It took a minute for the pinging of candy-coated goodness to register in Bob's ears. By the time he realized and looked down there was a scattered land of rainbow goodness right at his feet - little round jawbreakers were under his shoes and before Bob knew it - linoleum was under his ass.

Scrambling to get up Bob quickly fucking turned, seeing the little shit armed with fucking popsicles, Bob grabbed the nearest thing at his fucking disposal - all the fucking soft packs.

Taking them up, Bob started to fucking throw them in a barrage.

Then Bob charged. Unless he ran and hid, Bob was going to fucking destroy L.

Fucker.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-22 08:24 pm UTC (link)
L watched with a satisfied little smirk as the stocky man slipped spectacularly and hit the floor. It was difficult to predict what would indulge L's unpredictable and peculiar sense of humor, but even geniuses were known to laugh at maliciously premeditated slapstick.

Not that L had time to actually laugh. Almost immediately, he had a very angry Bob pelting him with soft packs and charging at him.

L did the most efficient thing he could think of. It took most of the wiry detective's strength, but he grabbed the candy sale shelves and tipped them over into Bob's path, clamoring to get nearer the door. The first lesson he'd learned about field work was to never, ever get boxed in.

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[info]silent_bob
2009-04-22 08:34 pm UTC (link)
His fucking path was impeded as L fucking knocked over the shelf and started for the fucking door. That little shit was going to try and fucking run away. He was really fucking going to try and run off like a little fucking pussy.

Running to the far fucking wall he'd have to go all the way around - but the fucking fat ass could run when he fucking wanted to.

L may not have wanted to get fucking boxed in - but Bob was a fucking bull and he wasn't going to fucking stop until he either physcially had to or he fucking squished that little fuck and made him cry uncle.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-22 08:51 pm UTC (link)
L didn't need to be informed that in a match of physical strength, Bob would be able to squish him like an insect. If Bob was a bull, then L was a stick bug. He leaned against the door, reaching for a few rolls of fallen bubble tape before making a hasty exit and tying the gum several times around the door handles with nimble fingers. It wouldn't hold very effectively, but it would hopefully get in Bob's way enough to buy L a few extra seconds.

He took off at a slight jog, pacing himself, realizing that it wouldn't do to use all his energy up in a short-lived sprint. Though he was far thinner than Bob, he was also in far worse shape, and he tired quickly.

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[info]silent_bob
2009-04-22 09:33 pm UTC (link)
From the other side of the store Bob watched as L snaked out the door and then fucking tried to tape the fucking doors closed.

Bumbling down the aisle with fury it only took him a couple of pushes to force the damn door open and be back out into the rapidly cooling day. Looking left and right he spotted the trotting L as he was headed off at a snails pace.

Charge! he screamed internally and fucking Bob was off like a fat-assed bullet his heavy coat billowing in the breeze behind him, the wind through his greasy locks and the perspiration thick beneath the band of his cap.

His steps were two to one in frequency and he was upon L like stink on shit. Grabbing the other's shoulders Bob fucking tackled L into the dirt.

That's right, the fat ass CAN run.

Fucker.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-04-22 09:55 pm UTC (link)
L's early childhood had been an autistic nightmare, but since then he hadn't been handled roughly very often. There had been a few close calls when he was a more tender-footed detective, and things had gotten a bit physical with Light a few times, but otherwise he'd been treated very delicately. No one liked to upset him.

The sheer mass of Bob, compared to L's skinny body, was enough to knock him instantly off his feet and into the dirt. He regressed rapidly to his childhood method of being handled roughly, going completely limp and catatonic underneath Bob's weight. His muscles slackened, he exhaled completely, and unlocked all of his joints, completely unresponsive.

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