InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "He's All I Want"

inmyownworld (inmyownworld) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2010-06-19 19:20:00

Current mood:	anxious
Current music:	Bright Eyes- "At the Bottom of Everything"
Entry tags:	day 1: reboot, john watson, l lawliet, location: oak grove court

Oh, My Morning's Coming Back, the Whole World's Waking Up
Who: L Lawliet (inmyownworld) and Dr. John Watson (j_watson)
What: This is the first day of the rest of your lives~
When: Day One, 10:00 A.M.
Where: 512 Oakgrove Court
Rating: PG-ish, for the oh-so-traumatic implication that these good people are not where they last knew they were!
Status: Closed and Active.

He was cold and wet from being outside in the rain, the grinning menace behind his suspect's wine-colored eyes seemingly only visible to him. He was back at his desk, tapping a spoon restlessly on the table before setting it decisively on its head against a page of the murder weapon. "I'm going to try out the notebook for real," he announced, to the horror and fascination of the individuals surrounding him like a cocoon. "It's all worked out," he assured them in a calm voice, explaining his plan. A criminal sentenced to die in thirteen days would write the name of a criminal sentenced to die immediately, and if he was still alive thirteen days later, he would be set free.

Light's father, the faultless, shining moral compass, had misgivings. "But still... to sacrifice a human life..."

"We are very close," L interrupted authoritatively. "If we work this out, the entire case will be solved." As if to punctuate his words, there was a sudden power outage, and as the backup kicked in, the sight of his mentor, caretaker, and handler clinging weakly to his desk. L couldn't reach him, or touch him, or help him, since they were in different locations and their only current connection was through a monitor.

"Watari...?"

He woke with a start, sitting up quickly, trying to find his bearings. He had been lying on a smooth, hard wood floor in an unfurnished room, with sunlight streaming through the window. Standing slowly and carefully, he thought back to what he remembered... or had it been a dream? Was Watari really dead? Had he really been about to die, himself? How long ago was it, and what was this place, here and now? He didn't want to jump to conclusions and assume that he was dead, but with what he currently had to work with, how was he supposed to rationalize waking up alone in an undisclosed location? Taking a deep breath, he resolved to keep his head on straight. He had never seen panic accomplish anything worthwhile, and though there was a churning, anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach that was worried for Watari and not quite sure that he should still be alive, he was going to approach this current situation as calmly and logically as he could.

His fingers fell on a small plastic box, and he wasted no time opening it and examining the contents. Inside, he found a pair of tube socks (no use to him; he occasionally suffered through wearing shoes, but despised socks), tic-tacs (orange), a journal with his real name on it (highly unnerving to the secretive and private detective), a ball-point pen, and what appeared to be a key to a Post Office box. He pocketed the key and tic-tacs, tossed the tube socks aside, held the pen, and tucked the journal under his arm as he tried the door. It opened easily, and he stepped out into a living space as unfurnished and bare as his room had been.

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j_watson
2010-06-19 11:56 pm UTC (link)

Doctor John Watson had slipped off his overcoat and had begun the nights work. In his lap lay three open files of Ms. Elizabeth Stride, late of Poplar, Ms. Catherine Eddowes, late of Spitalfields, and Ms. Mary Jane Kelly, late of Miller's Court. All three reports depicted grotesque dismemberment and gross degradation of a human body. Though it was not the most comforting of evening reading, it was of the utmost moment. The string of killings needed to stop and the Yard was desperate enough to ask for his assistance.

As was commonly the place at Baker Street in the evening, he was settled into his chair near to the crackling fireplace. The chill night air was slowly starting to burn off, and he found himself comfortably situated in for at least the length of the daunting documents he held in his lap.

A twinge in his neck pulled him from a heavy sleep. The stiff, unwelcoming surface which cradled his head had done poorly to keep away the craps of poor repose. He found himself lying, still dressed in his suit and shoes, in an empty porcelain bathtub. An oddly shaped bathtub at that.

What was worse is he had little recollection of how he had come to sleep here. Throughout his friendship with Sherlock Holmes, he had found himself sleeping in a number of strange places, but never in one quite so peculiar as this strangely tall and compact bathroom full of strange fittings and fixtures.

With a bit of resistance from his sore body, he shifted and searched around for his cane, figuring that if he had fallen asleep here, it must be somewhere nearby. The eerie sense that had first began to rise in him crept further over his heart as neither his cane nor his hat and coat were anywhere to be seen.

Determined to find them, he got to his feet and patted himself down in order to straighten out his clothes. He buttoned his suit coat and stepped from the room in the the adjacent, empty bedroom. If this were a hotel, it was the most peculiar one he had ever seen. And the most ill furnished at that.

"Hello?"

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inmyownworld
2010-06-20 12:07 am UTC (link)

L started, hearing a decidedly English voice call out a greeting as a query. Apparently, he wasn't alone here. Turning his journal so the name faced toward his chest, he shuffled away from his door frame and headed in the general direction of the closed door the voice had seemed to come from. He knocked sharply on it with thin, bony knuckles.

Should Watson have chosen to open the door, he would be treated to the sight of a young man with wide, dark eyes, a pale face, and unkempt hair, dressed in a pair of baggy blue jeans and wearing a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt. He was also gnawing his fingertip, giving him an oddly childish appearance when combined with his slouching, poor posture that concealed a height of 5'10".

	j_watson 2010-06-21 12:25 am UTC (link)
	Watson settled in for a moment with his journal and wonderful pen that worked like a pencil. Carefully, he read every page filled with strange, foreign styles of handwriting. He scribbled a few things down before looking up to respond. "I am to understand your name is 'L'?" It must have been a pseudonym of some sort. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	inmyownworld 2010-06-21 12:47 am UTC (link)
	"It is, and you may address me as such," L replied, all business. "You... seemed interested in the name Sherlock Holmes. Is he an acquaintance of yours?" Few things evaded L's notice, and he had paid particularly close attention to the way Watson's face had lit up with recognition when the name was spoken. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	inmyownworld 2010-06-21 05:08 am UTC (link)
	L nodded in firm agreement. If he was good at anything, it was finding people. "I'd suggest going to the diner. It would appear that people are gathering there." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	j_watson 2010-06-21 05:19 am UTC (link)
	"I see here some people are headed to a chemist's," he commented, pointing to his journal. "I should like to see if I can be of any assistance there." He then realized he had no idea where that might be. "However, first I must find it." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)