Death Note fanfiction, of a sort
Jul. 17th, 2008 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tallulahgs[Title] The Big Sweet
[Fandom] Death Note
[Rating] G
[Pairings/Characters] L, Misa. Mention of Takada and Light (who has become Light to suit the nature of the location). Implied Light/Takada.
[Warnings] I tried to write first-person L POV. This may or may not have worked. Spoilers for L's real name.
[Notes/Summary] Film-noir-Raymond-Chandler-ish AU. Y'know. For the lulz. And I don't know why the characters have kept their Japanese names either ^^ Written for and crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dn_contest, prompt 'historical AU' :D
Los Angeles, 1949
Los Angeles in the summer. As sticky and yellow as a vat of buttercream frosting, although considerably hotter.
Despite the fact that I had not opened the blinds, there was now a thirty-seven per cent chance that my office had reached a higher temperature than that of any other room in the city. The fan above me had not turned for weeks. I am not bothered by excessive heat, but I was beginning to become concerned about the cake stored in the back room.
Sighing, I unwrapped another chocolate cigarette and placed it between my lips. It was already melting. I sighed again. This was not a particularly serious disappointment, but it was the latest in a long line of rather depressing events. Consuming the chocolate, I straightened my battered fedora, and, for the five hundred and sixty-seventh time, wondered if might not be advantageous to cease my detective career. They were, after all, recruiting in Mantolino's confectionery store, a couple of blocks down the street.
It was at this exact moment of contemplation that she walked into my office.
It did not surprise me that she hadn't felt the need to knock, or even to make an appointment. However, on entering the room, she stood still, as if she hadn't expected to gain entrance, or if what she was seeing had shocked her. I took advantage of the moment to assess her, although I hardly needed to; she was, after all, one of the most recogniseable faces in LA.
Her hair was a few shades brighter than marzipan, pinned up in the pigtails which had become her trademark. Her makeup, which she had clearly reapplied shortly before stepping through the door, was shiny and brash, and she was wearing a pink dress which I was ninety-five per cent certain would have cost her more than my entire year's takings. (This was not a particularly impressive deduction, as my entire year's takings had only allowed me to purchase, aside from necessities, two boxes of chocolate cigarettes, a packet of sugar-coated peanuts and a second-hand copy of Murder on the Orient Express, but it was, nevertheless, the truth.)
She was Misa Amane, the girl who had come to Hollywood to make it big in the movies and, against all odds, succeeded. The girl whose face could be found in the pages of in every magazine in town. The girl who had everything was standing in the office of the most disgraced (but still the greatest) detective in LA.
I found this somewhat unexpected, and said so.
She widened her eyes. I resisted the urge to do the same. She said, "Misa needs a detective. Why wouldn't Misa be here?"
"You are married to a detective," I said, and managed to let only three per cent of my emotions seep into my voice. "You are engaged to Light Yagami, chief of police, and, now that crime has dropped to record lows, the city's best-loved official. I am curious as to why you require anyone else's services, Miss Amane."
She settled herself on the rickety chair in front of my desk, and reached for her purse. I watched her over my knees as she took out a photograph.
"You know who this is, right?" she said.
I took the photograph. She watched me as I studied it.
"This," I said at last, "is Miss Kiyomi Takada, a plucky young news reporter currently making a name for herself on the LA Times." I watched Misa Amane carefully. There was no way she would be unaware of my history. This had to mean she was seeking some reaction.
It was quite the most interesting situation I had been in for some time.
Misa pouted, and folded her arms. Her fingernails against her sleeves were the colour of glace cherries, but I noticed that the varnish was chipped, as if she could not be bothered to repaint it.
"Kiyomi Takada," she said, "has been spending a lot of time with Light."
I raised my eyebrows and offered her a chocolate cigarette. She declined. I took one for myself and leant forward a little as she carried on talking.
"Miss Takada -" She sneered the words. "Miss Takada has been visiting Light at work. She says it's because she's doing a feature on him. Misa knows there is something going on, Misa is positive. And Misa wants you to prove it."
A standard infidelity case. I had considered myself above such things, once.
"What makes you think I will agree?" I asked, in the end. "Perhaps I have other matters to attend to. Perhaps I have no wish to have anything more to do with Light Yagami."
She smiled, then. I wondered who else had seen Misa Amane smile like that. It was sharper than the knife I kept in my desk drawer to bisect sugar lumps.
"Misa thought you would like the idea of spying on Light," she murmured. "Misa knew no one else would. All the other PIs would be too scared."
"Really?" I said, biting on my thumb. "Why is that? I wasn't aware that anyone else had accepted my suppositions regarding your fiance. After all, he did conclusively disprove that he had anything to do with... Kira."
Misa opened her mouth to speak, but I continued: "I also feel there is only a seven per cent chance that you have arranged this in order for me to... re-open old cases. After all, isn't it widely known that Kira arranged the hit on the man who murdered your parents?"
She didn't say anything now. She just watched. I watched back.
"Lastly, I find it very interesting," I said, "that the other guilty party in this, Kiyomi Takada, is the very same person who wrote up the story of my accusations against Light Yagami, blackened my character, and severely stunted my career."
At last, Misa snorted, and flicked her hair back over her shoulders. I turned to inspect the dusty blinds, wishing I had something else to chew.
"Paranoid," Misa said, but her voice was shaking. "I suppose all detectives have to be. But tell me this, L Lawliet." She leaned forward, smiling that sharp smile again. "Misa knows you haven't had a case in months. Misa hears people call you delusional and laugh at how you crouch here in this cheap little office. Misa read all the things Takada wrote. How you keep a bag of icing sugar in your desk drawer. How you wake up in the gutters covered in cream and butterscotch. How you buy cake from backstreet bakeries with no sign on the door -"
I turned to stare at her again, and she stopped.
"Misa doesn't understand how you can afford not to take this case," she said at last.
She had a point. I was low on funds, low on intellectual pursuits, and worst of all, low on cake.
It seemed that there was at least a fifty per cent chance that this was a scheme thought up by Light Yagami to discredit me further. Why he would bother, I wasn't sure, but I had never stopped believing in his guilt. Perhaps he sensed that. Perhaps he was choosing to bring Takada back into the fray for another round.
In which case, I would accept the challenge.
Or perhaps this was exactly what it seemed to be. An open-and-shut marital difficulties situation, where Miss Amane had searched for the one person in town who would not presume her husband to be innocent, who might even, she'd suspect, not rest until he were found guilty. Even only of infidelity.
As she said, I could not afford to let my pride stand in the way of earning a living.
Or perhaps it was something else entirely.
I wanted to believe it was simply the pressing need for more cake which caused me to nod, shake Miss Amane's hand, and clarify my rates per day. But perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it was a yearning for a reckoning, for excitement, for the chance to prove that my theories had never been wrong. Investigating Light Yagami's personal life might provide vital proof that he was, in fact, Kira, the mysterious unseen vigilante who, last year alone, had orchestrated seventy-two per cent of all unnatural deaths in Los Angeles. I could hardly turn down such a chance.
Clearly, if Mantolino's Confectionery Store wanted a new store clerk, they would have to look elsewhere.
[Fandom] Death Note
[Rating] G
[Pairings/Characters] L, Misa. Mention of Takada and Light (who has become Light to suit the nature of the location). Implied Light/Takada.
[Warnings] I tried to write first-person L POV. This may or may not have worked. Spoilers for L's real name.
[Notes/Summary] Film-noir-Raymond-Chandler-ish AU. Y'know. For the lulz. And I don't know why the characters have kept their Japanese names either ^^ Written for and crossposted to
dn_contest, prompt 'historical AU' :DLos Angeles, 1949
Los Angeles in the summer. As sticky and yellow as a vat of buttercream frosting, although considerably hotter.
Despite the fact that I had not opened the blinds, there was now a thirty-seven per cent chance that my office had reached a higher temperature than that of any other room in the city. The fan above me had not turned for weeks. I am not bothered by excessive heat, but I was beginning to become concerned about the cake stored in the back room.
Sighing, I unwrapped another chocolate cigarette and placed it between my lips. It was already melting. I sighed again. This was not a particularly serious disappointment, but it was the latest in a long line of rather depressing events. Consuming the chocolate, I straightened my battered fedora, and, for the five hundred and sixty-seventh time, wondered if might not be advantageous to cease my detective career. They were, after all, recruiting in Mantolino's confectionery store, a couple of blocks down the street.
It was at this exact moment of contemplation that she walked into my office.
It did not surprise me that she hadn't felt the need to knock, or even to make an appointment. However, on entering the room, she stood still, as if she hadn't expected to gain entrance, or if what she was seeing had shocked her. I took advantage of the moment to assess her, although I hardly needed to; she was, after all, one of the most recogniseable faces in LA.
Her hair was a few shades brighter than marzipan, pinned up in the pigtails which had become her trademark. Her makeup, which she had clearly reapplied shortly before stepping through the door, was shiny and brash, and she was wearing a pink dress which I was ninety-five per cent certain would have cost her more than my entire year's takings. (This was not a particularly impressive deduction, as my entire year's takings had only allowed me to purchase, aside from necessities, two boxes of chocolate cigarettes, a packet of sugar-coated peanuts and a second-hand copy of Murder on the Orient Express, but it was, nevertheless, the truth.)
She was Misa Amane, the girl who had come to Hollywood to make it big in the movies and, against all odds, succeeded. The girl whose face could be found in the pages of in every magazine in town. The girl who had everything was standing in the office of the most disgraced (but still the greatest) detective in LA.
I found this somewhat unexpected, and said so.
She widened her eyes. I resisted the urge to do the same. She said, "Misa needs a detective. Why wouldn't Misa be here?"
"You are married to a detective," I said, and managed to let only three per cent of my emotions seep into my voice. "You are engaged to Light Yagami, chief of police, and, now that crime has dropped to record lows, the city's best-loved official. I am curious as to why you require anyone else's services, Miss Amane."
She settled herself on the rickety chair in front of my desk, and reached for her purse. I watched her over my knees as she took out a photograph.
"You know who this is, right?" she said.
I took the photograph. She watched me as I studied it.
"This," I said at last, "is Miss Kiyomi Takada, a plucky young news reporter currently making a name for herself on the LA Times." I watched Misa Amane carefully. There was no way she would be unaware of my history. This had to mean she was seeking some reaction.
It was quite the most interesting situation I had been in for some time.
Misa pouted, and folded her arms. Her fingernails against her sleeves were the colour of glace cherries, but I noticed that the varnish was chipped, as if she could not be bothered to repaint it.
"Kiyomi Takada," she said, "has been spending a lot of time with Light."
I raised my eyebrows and offered her a chocolate cigarette. She declined. I took one for myself and leant forward a little as she carried on talking.
"Miss Takada -" She sneered the words. "Miss Takada has been visiting Light at work. She says it's because she's doing a feature on him. Misa knows there is something going on, Misa is positive. And Misa wants you to prove it."
A standard infidelity case. I had considered myself above such things, once.
"What makes you think I will agree?" I asked, in the end. "Perhaps I have other matters to attend to. Perhaps I have no wish to have anything more to do with Light Yagami."
She smiled, then. I wondered who else had seen Misa Amane smile like that. It was sharper than the knife I kept in my desk drawer to bisect sugar lumps.
"Misa thought you would like the idea of spying on Light," she murmured. "Misa knew no one else would. All the other PIs would be too scared."
"Really?" I said, biting on my thumb. "Why is that? I wasn't aware that anyone else had accepted my suppositions regarding your fiance. After all, he did conclusively disprove that he had anything to do with... Kira."
Misa opened her mouth to speak, but I continued: "I also feel there is only a seven per cent chance that you have arranged this in order for me to... re-open old cases. After all, isn't it widely known that Kira arranged the hit on the man who murdered your parents?"
She didn't say anything now. She just watched. I watched back.
"Lastly, I find it very interesting," I said, "that the other guilty party in this, Kiyomi Takada, is the very same person who wrote up the story of my accusations against Light Yagami, blackened my character, and severely stunted my career."
At last, Misa snorted, and flicked her hair back over her shoulders. I turned to inspect the dusty blinds, wishing I had something else to chew.
"Paranoid," Misa said, but her voice was shaking. "I suppose all detectives have to be. But tell me this, L Lawliet." She leaned forward, smiling that sharp smile again. "Misa knows you haven't had a case in months. Misa hears people call you delusional and laugh at how you crouch here in this cheap little office. Misa read all the things Takada wrote. How you keep a bag of icing sugar in your desk drawer. How you wake up in the gutters covered in cream and butterscotch. How you buy cake from backstreet bakeries with no sign on the door -"
I turned to stare at her again, and she stopped.
"Misa doesn't understand how you can afford not to take this case," she said at last.
She had a point. I was low on funds, low on intellectual pursuits, and worst of all, low on cake.
It seemed that there was at least a fifty per cent chance that this was a scheme thought up by Light Yagami to discredit me further. Why he would bother, I wasn't sure, but I had never stopped believing in his guilt. Perhaps he sensed that. Perhaps he was choosing to bring Takada back into the fray for another round.
In which case, I would accept the challenge.
Or perhaps this was exactly what it seemed to be. An open-and-shut marital difficulties situation, where Miss Amane had searched for the one person in town who would not presume her husband to be innocent, who might even, she'd suspect, not rest until he were found guilty. Even only of infidelity.
As she said, I could not afford to let my pride stand in the way of earning a living.
Or perhaps it was something else entirely.
I wanted to believe it was simply the pressing need for more cake which caused me to nod, shake Miss Amane's hand, and clarify my rates per day. But perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it was a yearning for a reckoning, for excitement, for the chance to prove that my theories had never been wrong. Investigating Light Yagami's personal life might provide vital proof that he was, in fact, Kira, the mysterious unseen vigilante who, last year alone, had orchestrated seventy-two per cent of all unnatural deaths in Los Angeles. I could hardly turn down such a chance.
Clearly, if Mantolino's Confectionery Store wanted a new store clerk, they would have to look elsewhere.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-07-17 09:27 pm (UTC)XD Oh, God. I love your writing.
After all, isn't it widely known that Kira arranged the hit on the man who murdered your parents?
I really like how you spun this! It works very well within the context yet still remains very DN-esque. :D
Hee. Great ending.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-18 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-18 07:20 pm (UTC)Great stuff, Tallulah!
no subject
Date: 2008-07-19 09:51 am (UTC)