[private] angel on a mission of mercy.

It'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 to onlydisappear. Backdated to the afternoon of the 22nd.]]