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Light didn't move for a couple of days, after that. Well, more or less. Sometimes one need or another would prod him towards the bathroom - water, or the toilet - and then he'd curl right back up beneath his quilt, and drift back off into sleep. The broken mirror gave him nightmares, and so did she.
By the time he'd drawn himself back together, blanket stitch around and around the edges, he was past feeling hungry, so he didn't bother with the kitchen. He didn't want to go out, anyway. He's dreamy and floaty, lying on or in the bed, leafing through books with pretty pictures or straightforward text. Sometimes he really, really feels he should eat something, like he might even die if he doesn't, but mostly he's - tingly; he's lost weight fast, four or five pounds, and his hair's a mess, and he's a mess. He's waiting, in truth, for the pieces to draw properly together.
Just at present, it's been a week, and he's lying in bed, tired and hollow, clad in little besides a black t-shirt, and watching the play of pinprick lights on the ceiling, the ones only he can see.
[[OOC: private to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stripesandheels.]]
By the time he'd drawn himself back together, blanket stitch around and around the edges, he was past feeling hungry, so he didn't bother with the kitchen. He didn't want to go out, anyway. He's dreamy and floaty, lying on or in the bed, leafing through books with pretty pictures or straightforward text. Sometimes he really, really feels he should eat something, like he might even die if he doesn't, but mostly he's - tingly; he's lost weight fast, four or five pounds, and his hair's a mess, and he's a mess. He's waiting, in truth, for the pieces to draw properly together.
Just at present, it's been a week, and he's lying in bed, tired and hollow, clad in little besides a black t-shirt, and watching the play of pinprick lights on the ceiling, the ones only he can see.
[[OOC: private to
stripesandheels.]]
Light is, for reasons of his own, spread out in a chair in the music room. He's surrounded by rhythm instruments - drums, castanets, spoons - but looks a million miles away, and isn't playing any particular one. Reaching out, he taps a tambourine; all the little bells chatter.
Also, his hair is bright blue.
[[OOC: private tostripesandheels.]]
Also, his hair is bright blue.
[[OOC: private to
stripesandheels.]]It's another day, another kitchen - the first one Light was able to find, which happens to be on the sixth floor; finding his stolen room again will be a trial. He isn't taking any better care of himself - his tracksuit hangs about him, loose and dirty, patterned in that ridiculous hospital paisley nobody would ever wear, why did the mansion insist on giving this to him? His hair is increasingly unkempt and greasy, like his skin; he smells as if he hasn't showered for a week, which is true.
He stays hidden until he can't ignore the problems of his body any longer - which is why he's leaning over one of the counters, eating his way through a fruitbowl. Maybe if they come in, they won't notice him. Won't see him at all.
[[OOC: private torefractings.]]
He stays hidden until he can't ignore the problems of his body any longer - which is why he's leaning over one of the counters, eating his way through a fruitbowl. Maybe if they come in, they won't notice him. Won't see him at all.
[[OOC: private to
refractings.]]It's been a few days since Light vanished into a random bedroom, determined there to stay until he felt himself again. Unfortunately, his logic and reasoning are all heavily skewed sideways. Which is why he's standing against one of the kitchen counters in a loose tracksuit, poking at a cup noodle with which he seems displeased. His hair is limp, and it's clear he hasn't been taking care of himself since he disappeared.
[[OOC: private toijk_mno.]]
[[OOC: private to
ijk_mno.]]Light makes absurd promises in the middle of the night, and never intends to keep any of them. However, there's a first time for everything, which is why he's dragging himself through one kitchen after another looking for peaches.
[[OOC: private tofirst_successor.]]
[[OOC: private to
first_successor.]]Clocks and watches being what they are in the mansion, it's impossible to get any more accurate than "the middle of the night". Light is fast asleep on the floor of his own room, wrapped in spare blankets and sheets, curled on some futon's poor relation that pulled out of a bag.
Something has made him twitch almost awake at intervals, but he can sleep through a very great deal. At the moment, he's flying, ghostlike, through one floor of the mansion after the next.
[[OOC: private tostripesandheels.]]
Something has made him twitch almost awake at intervals, but he can sleep through a very great deal. At the moment, he's flying, ghostlike, through one floor of the mansion after the next.
[[OOC: private to
stripesandheels.]]It's been five days since Light (last) blew up at Matt. Three since he found she'd been eaten by As, and dragged into their problem with that one B - except, it's all of their problem, isn't it, a killer on the loose? It doesn't mean Light wouldn't like, please, to have been involved less directly.
Two days that he's spent kind-of sort-of hoping he'll get the opportunity to shout at her. One since he ended up with another B, mad in all kinds of different ways, who'd known things. I wonder if I'll find her first.
But he's not worried. Of course.
He looks his usual self; perhaps it's a loose top rather than a dress shirt, and maybe he looks as if he didn't get much sleep, but that's not exactly unusual. Something is cut in half on the table in front of him; it looks almost like a jam doughnut.
[[OOC: private toonlydisappear.]]
Two days that he's spent kind-of sort-of hoping he'll get the opportunity to shout at her. One since he ended up with another B, mad in all kinds of different ways, who'd known things. I wonder if I'll find her first.
But he's not worried. Of course.
He looks his usual self; perhaps it's a loose top rather than a dress shirt, and maybe he looks as if he didn't get much sleep, but that's not exactly unusual. Something is cut in half on the table in front of him; it looks almost like a jam doughnut.
[[OOC: private to
onlydisappear.]]It's almost exactly three days since Light found himself suddenly deaf. And there's no sign of it wearing off. At all.
He knows it could be days, or weeks; it's what the place does. But it might also be forever, and the thought of spending the rest of his life in this weird not-silence appals him.
Sat at the table, he's picking at a bowl of brownish-yellowish-mostly-rice... stuff. There's definitely seaweed in there, and fish flakes, and chopped spring onion that looks as if it might actually not have come out of a packet.
[[OOC: private tostripesandheels.]]
He knows it could be days, or weeks; it's what the place does. But it might also be forever, and the thought of spending the rest of his life in this weird not-silence appals him.
Sat at the table, he's picking at a bowl of brownish-yellowish-mostly-rice... stuff. There's definitely seaweed in there, and fish flakes, and chopped spring onion that looks as if it might actually not have come out of a packet.
[[OOC: private to
stripesandheels.]][private] there is ice and there is fire.
Jul. 1st, 2009 11:03 amLight is perched halfway up a flight of stairs, hands folded in his lap. Who'd have thought it? He's wondering about life, the mansion and everything, and the things he saw in the death room, which won't leave him alone.
"What's that smell?"
He's not a fan of artificial scents. Closing the door behind him with a brush of his hand, he concentrates hard on not sinking to the floor and sitting against it.
[[OOC: Continued from here. Private tostripesandheels.]]
He's not a fan of artificial scents. Closing the door behind him with a brush of his hand, he concentrates hard on not sinking to the floor and sitting against it.
[[OOC: Continued from here. Private to
stripesandheels.]]Light is, just about, ready to stop messing with the valium. He knows it's crippling, can't stand the effect it has on him - it's far worse than the usual shackles he drags behind him. Is it worse to randomly blow up at people, or to not care enough to?
It's so hard to think about it, just at present; too hard to think about anything. Visibly out of it, staring just a little, he's perched on the stairs between the fourth and fifth floor - exactly halfway up. Or down.
[[OOC: private tochilichoc.]]
It's so hard to think about it, just at present; too hard to think about anything. Visibly out of it, staring just a little, he's perched on the stairs between the fourth and fifth floor - exactly halfway up. Or down.
[[OOC: private to
chilichoc.]]It's a kitchen, deserted except for Light, who's ... more collapsed than sat at the table. His arm is resting on the surface, and his head is pillowed on it; the other hand is touching a half-eaten piece of toast - perfectly square, spread thinly with some kind of golden-yellow jam, and at least an inch thick.
Over the last week or two, it's got harder and harder to keep his temper; he keeps blowing up at people. It's intolerable; the solution he's chosen is to use (not abuse) some of the prescription sedatives in his medicine cabinet. He's been careful; he's started on the lowest dose, intending to titrate upwards. Unfortunately he didn't anticipate how severe the interactions with his usual medication were likely to be.
He's literally fallen asleep at the table.
[[OOC: private tostripesandheels.]]
Over the last week or two, it's got harder and harder to keep his temper; he keeps blowing up at people. It's intolerable; the solution he's chosen is to use (not abuse) some of the prescription sedatives in his medicine cabinet. He's been careful; he's started on the lowest dose, intending to titrate upwards. Unfortunately he didn't anticipate how severe the interactions with his usual medication were likely to be.
He's literally fallen asleep at the table.
[[OOC: private to
stripesandheels.]][private] angel on a mission of mercy.
May. 27th, 2009 04:13 amIt's the middle of the afternoon, and the sleeping tablets only wore off an hour ago. Light is sitting at the kitchen table, arguing with an instant noodle cup thing, and a cup of tea - genmaicha, since there's nobody else around. It smells like popcorn.
He looks exhausted. The scratches and bites and bruises are tucked beneath a scarf of thin cream wool - an odd sight in the mansion - and his hair isn't quite as sleek as usual - it's rougher, just a little disorganised, a bit more like that of his evil infinitwins.
No, it isn't the same kitchen, or the same table.
[[OOC: private toonlydisappear. Backdated to the afternoon of the 22nd.]]
He looks exhausted. The scratches and bites and bruises are tucked beneath a scarf of thin cream wool - an odd sight in the mansion - and his hair isn't quite as sleek as usual - it's rougher, just a little disorganised, a bit more like that of his evil infinitwins.
No, it isn't the same kitchen, or the same table.
[[OOC: private to
onlydisappear. Backdated to the afternoon of the 22nd.]]The room Light leads Matt to is a bar, which has been abandoned every time he's checked it. It's pure curiosity: something a little familiar. Heading to the counter - which is immaculate, as if someone scrubbed it down before walking out - he peeks behind there and steals a bottle of orange juice before looking back to her.
"It was some kind of genocide? Chasing utopia?"
[[OOC: private tostripesandheels.]]
"It was some kind of genocide? Chasing utopia?"
[[OOC: private to
stripesandheels.]]
