random scenario

[estivates]

the random scenario meme

comment with your character.
respond to others
lbr — no one uses rng. just go wild, and maybe kinda sorta pick from the scenarios below?
post picture prompts OR write starters OR whatever!
have a grand ol' time

TYPES OF SCENES
① Action → Gun fights, bar brawls, fights to the death are all possible scenarios.
② Angst → Characters suffer emotionally or physically from relationships breaking up, death, injury, etc. Hurt and comfort themes are included.
③ Crack → Genderswaps, super powers, sudden compulsions are all possible outcomes.
④ Fluff → Something that is devoid of angst. It's light-hearted and might have the overtone of romance.
⑤ Gen → General fun, things that didn't fit in the other categories.
⑥ Sex → First times, kinks, even dubcon are all possible themes of sex related scenarios.
⑦ Your choice → Think of your own scenario, choose one of the above or make a combo even!

ACTION.
① Zombies → It's the zombie apocalypse, lock and load!
② Bar brawl → You had one too many drinks, said something wrong, and now you're being asked to take it outside.
③ Chase → You're caught in a high speed chase.
④ Gun fight → You're caught in a big shoot-out.
⑤ Fight with a friend → You're fighting with a friend, all out.
⑥ Interrogation → You're being interrogated for some offense you've done.
⑦ Aliens → Aliens are attacking and you're not going to take your probe laying down!
⑧ Final battle → This is it. The battle that will end all the fighting for you. Will you win? Will you get that peace you want?
⑨ Training → You're not actually fighting, just training for the inevitable.
⑩ No hope → You know this fight has no hope. It's not going to end well for anyone involved, but you can't turn away.
⑪ Sneaking in → You're stealing a diamond or sneaking in to kick some bad guy butt, but whatever it is, you have to practice stealth.
⑫ Blue wire → You're faced with a bomb that needs to be disarmed.
⑬ Fight for honour → You've been disgraced or someone you care about has, so it's time to fight for honour.
⑭ Showdown → Time for a cowboy-style showdown. Whoever draws the fastest wins.
⑮ War → You're caught in the middle of a war here. Remember to keep your chin up and keeping fighting.
⑯ Apocalypse → The apocalypse finally happened and now you're left to scavenge and fight for whatever is left.
⑰ Sabotage → It's time to sabotage someone's plan! How is entirely up to you. Do you set up a bomb in their toilet? Do you double cross them at the last minute?
⑱ Big damn hero → You know you have to handle this one alone, so that means disarming or knocking unconscious the person who wants to join you.
⑲ Fight club → You know the rules... you're in an underground fighting ring and you're fighting with all you've got.
⑳ Threaten → You've just been sent here to rough them up a little, threaten them into behaving.

ANGST.
① Injury / illness → Your character has become injured or ill! To what extent is the mun's choice.
② Last moments → You character has been gravely injured and this is their last chance to say their last words.
③ Depression → Your character is depressed, what actions they take is up to the mun.
④ Betrayed → You character has been betrayed by the other. How do they react?
⑤ Tortured → Your character is being tortured and needs rescuing or at least a sympathetic ear to help him through it.
⑥ Jealousy → Your character is feeling jealous and must deal with it, how will they do it?
⑦ Breakup! → This relationship has gone as far as it can, it's time to breakup.
⑧ Broken → For whatever reason, the character is broken, mentally or or physically.
⑨ Fight → You can't even be in the same room as your friend or lover without arguing anymore.
⑩ Lost → You lost the biggest fight of your life and now all you can do is try to pick up the pieces.
⑪ Worst nightmare → Whatever you fear the most is now real or maybe you're just trapped in a dream together, but whatever it is, it feels too real.
⑫ Addicted → You're addicted to something, alcohol, drugs, sex, whatever. It's destroying your life and you can't do anything to stop it.
⑬ Hurt you → You're being forced to hurt someone you love either by betraying them or even being forced to shout things you don't mean. It's for their own good in the end though.
⑭ Separation → You were forced to leave this person for their own safety and while you've been miserable without them, you really didn't mean to run into them again... maybe it was by accident or you were watching them from afar this whole time.
⑮ Becoming a monster → You are slowly changing, becoming a monster: vampire, zombie, demon, something you can't recover from and no-one can help you.
⑯ Frozen → You are entirely helpless, frozen, to stop some kind of disaster.
⑰ Prison → You were very bad and now it's time to pay the price by turning yourself in or maybe the law just finally caught up to you.
⑱ Fear → You're not sure why, but you are suddenly terrified and you can't deal with it. You need help.
⑲ Hated → You are now hated by the person you loved the most.
⑳ Down and out → You're living on the streets, you've hit rock bottom, and you don't know what to do.

CRACK.
① Sexswap → Uh-oh, you're suddenly the opposite sex!
② Forced confessions → No matter what it is and no matter how hard you resist, you're going to be compelled to spill some deep dark secret!
③ Mind-reading → You've suddenly got the ability to read minds!
④ Animal → You're suddenly part animal or transformed into an animal!
⑤ Awkward pick-up lines → You're compelled to use bad pickup lines on whoever is closest!
⑥ Back in School / Graduated → You're suddenly back in school! Or if you were already in it, you've aged and long since graduated!
⑦ Vampires, werewolves, and zombies, oh my! → You're suddenly a vampire, werewolf, or zombie! Maybe even a demon or a devil, whatever creepy crawly you can think of. What do you do now?
⑧ Ghost → You're suddenly a ghost or at least invisible. What are you going to do with this new ability?
⑨ Awkward conversations → So did you just fart or what? Any conversation goes, as long as it's embarrassing and awkward.
⑩ Crossdressing → For whatever reason, you're suddenly dressed in clothes of the opposite sex.
⑪ Suddenly naked → Oops! Your clothes are suddenly gone.
⑫ Suddenly a kid → You're a kid again! Have fun with that second childhood.
⑬ Fortune cookie → You've suddenly received a note with something that will happen in the future, either precise or vague.
⑭ Super power → And suddenly you're like Superman! Any power goes.
⑮ Bodyswap → Somehow you've changed bodies with the other person.
⑯ Back in time → Somehow, you wound up in the past again. Do you try to correct something or just sit and wait for time to jump? Maybe it jumps to various points in your life or maybe you actually think you're back in the day. Have fun, run wild with the idea!
⑰ To the future → Is it everything you've dreamed? Is it horrible? Whatever happens, you're here to witness what happens to you in the future. Either you take the place of your future self or you're just there to watch. Might cause some confusion if people start seeing double though...
⑱ Angels, mermaids, and fairies! → You're not necessary something dark or evil. You're just something different. How do you deal?
⑲ Locked in a closet → For some reason, you're locked up in a closet with someone else. Do you make nice and try to figure your way out or what?
⑳ Finger trap → You're caught in a Chinese finger trap... with somebody else! You can't figure out how to get loose either... have fun with that.

FLUFF.
① Cuddling → For whatever reason, characters feel like being close and cuddling.
② Pillow talk → After the main event, characters are up for some pillow talk.
③ Celebration → Anniversary or some other big event is taking place and characters want to celebrate!
④ Love confession → Someone has finally decided to confess their love and today is the day!
⑤ Appreciation → You feel the need to show appreciation for that person closest to you, even if it's just a pat on the back.
⑥ Apologies → You made a mistake and now it's time to make it up in some way you know the other can't refuse!
⑦ Get back together → Why did you break up again exactly? Whatever the reason, it was a huge mistake and you both know you can work through it.
⑧ Date night → You've planned for a wonderful night together and you can't wait to get it started.
⑨ Family → You've either found out you're pregnant or you've already got that addition to your family.
⑩ Marriage → You're just about to get hitched or maybe you're enjoying your honeymoon. Maybe you've been together for years now! Whatever the case, it's time for that next big step.
⑪ Meeting again → It's time for that happy reunion finally!
⑫ Love at first sight → For whatever reason, you are now insanely in love with the first person you set eyes on.
⑬ Flirtation → You can't resist to do a little bit of harmless flirtation all of a sudden.
⑭ In the snow → Look outside! It's a winter wonderland, so why not go out and play in it?
⑮ Engagement → You've planned it all out and now it's time to finally pop the question.
⑯ Friendly games → You've set up the game station or board games for a friendly competition!
⑰ Gift → Time to give that special someone a gift just because.
⑱ Recovery → You're taking care of someone who's just recovered from some illness or injury.
⑲ Healing → Time to help mend that someone who's been through hell and back.
⑳ Better than ever → You've finally got everything you've ever wanted here. What is your ideal life and who does it include?

GEN.
① Nice meeting you → It's your first time meeting this person! You bumped into each other on the street, in a bar, at work... whatever!
② Drinks → You're out for drinks! Or just chilling at home with some beers. Wherever!
③ Lost → You're lost and you kind of need help finding your way to where you're going. A little help with directions?
④ Costume party → You're at a costume party, both of you are wearing masks. Do you keep the anonymity or take it off and see whose company you've been enjoying?
⑤ Wrong number → Oops, actually you didn't mean to call that person...
⑥ Drunk → You're already drunk! Drunk dialing, stumbling into someone, showing up unexpected... what type of drunk are you anyway? Aggressive, loving, happy? How does the other react?
⑦ Old friends → you haven't seen this person in a long time!
⑧ Rivals → you're suddenly rivals! Or maybe you have been all along...
⑨ Problems → you've got a problem with each other, just got in a huge fight, whatever. Try to work it out!
⑩ What are your intentions... → This person? They're dating a close friend, family member, etc. You need to find out if they're going to hurt them! Or you need to discuss your friend/family's dating choice.
⑪ I saw you → you saw the other person doing something bad and you need to confront them about it.
⑫ Sorry but no → the other person has feelings that you just don't share. They don't necessarily have to be romantic... maybe you just don't agree with their sudden desire to quit their job and start a business making tiny, fuzzy teddy bears.
⑬ My hero → you need to tell this person how much they mean to you. They've been your best friend or your role model your whole life and they need to know.
⑭ Enabler → you're enabling the other (or each other) to do something bad, really bad. Addiction, stealing, killing, or just any other self-destructive behavior.
⑮ Cooking → Time for an impromptu cooking lesson!
⑯ Oh, sure, I remember you... → It's that awkward moment when someone comes up and seems to know you, but you have no idea who they even are!
⑰ Rescue! → One of you was in trouble, but you came to the rescue!
⑱ Boss → One of you works under the other. Is your relationship good? Are you scheming things? Or do you hate each other?
⑲ Perfect crime → You and the other person have just pulled off the perfect crime... or you're planning to! What are you doing? The heist of the century, an assassination?
⑳ Movies → movie night! Maybe it's a sleepover. Whichever the case, it's time to eat a lot and have fun.

SEX.
① First time → it's your first time together or your first time ever! Enjoy the awkward times!
② Bondage → You and your partner decide to experiment a little with ropes or handcuffs or whatever you'd like to tie your partner up with.
③ Rough / Aggressive → Your characters want it rough.
④ Romantic → Slow and gentle, meaningful, that's how characters want it.
⑤ Dubcon → Character A wants Character B and it doesn't really matter if Character B wants it as bad or not.
⑥ In public → Characters feel like taking a risk and doing it in a public place.
⑦ Roleplay → Naughty nurse fetish? Pirate kink? You and your partner decide to try it out now!
⑧ Healing → You've both fought hard or gone through a rough time and it's time to get some R&R in.
⑨ Last time → This is the last time you're going to this because you're breaking up or maybe your lover is running off to sacrifice their lives in some heroic way. The possibilities are endless, but you better make this one count.
⑩ No strings attached → You're just friends with benefits. Nothing wrong with that, right?
⑪ Anonymous → You met in a restroom or bar, any location of your choosing, but you don't even know each other's names.
⑫ Toys → You're eager to try something new, so why not toys?
⑬ Aphrodisiacs → You've been slipped a strong aphrodisiac somehow and now you absolutely cannot control yourself.
⑭ Show → You're putting on a show by either doing it right in the club or filming it for a bunch of people.
⑮ Ménage à trois → It's time for that threesome you've always dreamed of.
⑯ Non-penetrative → Frottage, handjobs, whatever you want to try out.
⑰ Controlled → You are under mind control and must do whatever your lover asks of you.
⑱ Hatesex → It's not just rough or aggressive, you absolutely cannot stand each other.
⑲ Extreme → Fisting, knifeplay, whatever you can think of so long as it tests the boundaries.
⑳ Fantasy → This is just a fantasy, a dream, and you know it, but what is your ideal fantasy and how willing is your partner?

Comments

near | death note (manga)

[precisely]

[blyat]

[The white transport planes on the tarmac look like strange ghosts in the heavy fog of dawn. Some are fighter jets, and those are colorful, painted in blotches of sky-colored cameo. Cain's eyes pick them out by name: a twin-engine, two-seater Su-30 with its bright red stripe on the wings; a grey Yak-130 with its little red stars; a Mig-29 that resembles an angry hornet more than an advanced piece of military-owned machinery. Silent sentinels dwarfed by the larger Russian aircraft at their side.

He'd give anything to be sitting in the cockpit of one of those fighters instead.

In one breath Cain leans back against the brick wall of the building, drops his burning cigarette, and scrapes it out with the heel of his boot. He's not here to fly, and maybe those days are beyond him now. He'd received the job's briefing during an unscheduled meeting at the painful hour of 3 o'clock in the morning - they woke him up for it, banging on the door of his shitty little apartment - but Cain's still not settled. His nerves feel like an exposed wire. Maybe it has more to do with the breakfast of bitter black coffee he managed to get down, because the caffeine feels like it's jangling in his teeth, but he doesn't think so.

The manila folder is tucked under the arm of his bomber jacket. It's so thin he almost dropped it on the walk out to the runway. Inside is only a single piece of paper with the barest information; he doesn't even have access privileges for place of birth. Whoever he's supposed to be shadowing on behalf of Japan's National Police Agency, the UN, and Russia's Federal Protective Service, evidently they don't want him to know a single damn thing ahead of time. Is he supposed to babysit the Prime Minister's secret mistress? That thought entertains him, briefly.

At the droning sound of an engine, Cain looks up. The plane is decelerating, descending, angled for the tarmac. Right on time. He switches the envelope to his other hand and walks forward, coming around the side of the sleek, black parked car that sits waiting. Whatever's going on, he surpasses his annoyance - he knows how to do his job well. They wouldn't have picked him for this otherwise.

He shields his eyes against a gust of wind as the private plane slows to a heavy stop.]

[precisely]

[The private plane slows to a heavy, shuddering stop. The engine whines as it winds down, as the cabin depressurizes, as a couple more lights inside the cabin switch on in anticipation. There's movement down the aisle--broad, ambiguous, but someone is moving past the windows. Finally, the cabin door opens up, and a sleek set of stairs unfolds from it, nearly touching the ground. A man appears at the atop of them. He's an older man, covered in wrinkles and spots, barely any hair atop his head; he's in the middle of polishing a small set of spectacles. He takes the stairs down carefully, but with the air of a traveler who has done this many times before, whenever circumstances demand it. A single stewardess follows after him, carrying what appears to be a rolled up rug with a short, dense nap.

As soon as the old man reaches Cain, he introduces himself as Watari. He says, in heavily accented Russian, that he can be thought of as a logistics manager, of sorts, and if Cain should have anything he's in need of, he should inform Watari immediately. After a moment's pause, he also thanks Cain for his patience and consideration. They could be standing here for a while, depending on how the other passenger feels, apparently. The stewardess, meanwhile, finishes rolling out the rug that leads from the bottom of the stairs to the rear door of the car.

About five minutes later, Watari's own patience seems to have run out. He excuses himself and returns to the plane. He stands in the doorway, looking into the rest of the cabin, and he says something in low but high-pressured English. If there's a reply, it's too quiet to be heard--but whatever he said seems to do the trick. He steps back to allow a teetering wraith to come forward, just this spindly creature that's thin and white all over, from hair to skin to oversized pajamas. His feet are completely bare--there's no convincing him to wear shoes--and he's clutching what appears to be a plastic figure of Godzilla. The way he moves is unnatural, too, if only because it isn't often that he has to be on his feet. He's too slow and too quick all at the same time, like he's been filmed at half the shutter speed and it's now being played back normally. Descending the stairs, he has to take Watari's hand at one point to stop himself from tripping over his own feet. Then he shuffles over the rug, all the way over to the car, barely paying Cain any attention. The one brief glance he offers is that of sunken, skeletal exhaustion.

It isn't until they're both settled in the back of the car that this strangely ageless man speaks up.] Hello, [he says to his lap, fluent and fluid, and he allows Godzilla to do the waving for him, with the twisting of one stubby plastic arm.] You may call me L. Let's make the most of our time together, shall we? [And that's a name Cain is likely familiar with, because pretty much everyone the world over is familiar with the world's greatest detective.

The car pulls away from the tarmac, heading for a top-secret destination.]

[blyat]

[A logistics manager? Fancy. He gives Watari a brief greeting and communicates his understanding, but the whole while, he's watching the cabin door. He's too far to grasp the words exchanged in English. More than annoyance at the delay, Cain finds himself curious.

But when that pale figures appears on the carpeted stair, his stomach drops. The feeling happens so fast it's like something hooked his gut and pulled straight down - an instinct - and then it passes. He realizes he has no idea who he's looking at through the white. The color distracted him from other details: the awkward gait, the glimpse of bare toes underneath the pajama's hem, the plastic monster toy.

As Cain sinks into the plush leather of the backseat, the name spins through his mind. L. Of course he knows who that is. He doesn't let it show on his face, but he's starting to get Bering's nagging that morning. He's even wearing a nice dress shirt under the casual jacket, and slacks with his normal boots. Not that it even matters, since the world's greatest detective looks like he just rolled out of bed and onto the tarmac.]

Sure. [L's Russian is smooth. Cain barely detects an accent. He doesn't mind speaking English, he even knows some rough Japanese, but the Russian is good. Serves to settle Cain's nerves. ] Promise I'll take good care of you, L.

[The name clicks off his tongue. While their driver loads the luggage into the trunk, his eyes never leave that round-cheeked face. Cain can't tell his age. He looks deceptively young, but the dark eyes don't match. On a whim, he reaches out to tug Godzilla by that same arm, to see if L's willing to relinquish it from his grasp.] Where'd you get this thing?

[precisely]

[Most people, upon meeting L for the first time, can't help but wonder what he's thinking about. He always has this faraway look to his eyes, like he can see straight through things at will, like a literal superhero with X-ray vision. A certain uncelebrated author put it best when he said L looks like he hasn't slept a day in his life. Like L's own sense of justice won't allow him to sleep, not when he has so many difficult cases to think about, "battling unfathomable pressure on a daily basis." Right now, L's sleepless gaze is drifting away from Cain, up and off to the side, at some arcane and unidentifiable angle. L is probably thinking about the very difficult case that drew him all the way to the country of Russia.

Actually, Near is thinking about how fucking tired he is. He's thinking about how he never wants to do this again, and he'd rather lie down on the tarmac and let a plane run him the fuck over than have to get back aboard it. This is the last time, he thinks to himself, staring at the early morning condensation on the window. Droplets. Streaks of white and silver. I swear this is it. One way or another. He can't help but envy their freedom.

Cain's nabbing of Godzilla is a totally unexpected move, by the way. Near makes a soft and startled sound as though he's been flicked in the center of his forehead, his mind snapping back into focus. His fingers, too weak to maintain a grip, close around thin air in a useless pantomime of holding on. He stares over at Cain, then, with a little bit of offense, a little bit of curiosity, and still more of that exhaustion that extends down to the marrow of him. The grey color of his eyes is a degree more obvious now.]

That thing... [Near doesn't look like someone who's all that interested in small talk, but he's willing to answer this question, at least.] That thing is known as Godzilla, the King of the Monsters. [Still straight-faced, yes, definitely. His voice is dry, as is his delivery, but this is not a joking matter for him.] One of my associates found it for me in a toy store in New York City. Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid.

[blyat]

[The Godzilla comes along, a plastic hostage, as Cain leans heavily into the seat. He sets aside the manila folder in order to get a better look at the toy, rolling the arm as far as it will extend. The joint creaks in protest. He's heard of Godzilla, the same way everyone's heard of Batman and James Bond, but that's as far as his recollection reaches - a murky familiarity in name, no other meaning beyond the barest skeleton of a title.

Like "L." Looking at him now, Cain has trouble connecting that pale slip of a body to the mountainous reputation.

It feels like victory to get some kind of reaction out of that walleyed stare. Coming out of the plane and onto the tarmac, L hadn't given him more than a glance. Barely looks at him now, as though there's a frosted panel between him and the rest of the world, untouchable, removed. If he'd known this would be his assignment, maybe he wouldn't have taken it. Maybe a military officer would've been better - at least he'd know what to expect. This is out of his depth. Either Cain's going to drink himself through the completion of his contract, or he'll pull teeth to get halfway decent conversation.

So far not so good.

As the car exits the runway, Cain crosses one leg over the other and lays his arm over the back of the seat. His gloved hand hangs inches from L's white, feathery head.] 'The King of Monsters'? Is that supposed to be like you? [He holds the toy up.] Or are you the one who gets rid of monsters? Like a superhero or some shit. Guess that's why people are trying to kill you.

[Never let it be said Cain practices decorum. He offers Godzilla back, by the tail, at least.]

Haven't met an international celebrity before.

[precisely]

[Now that Near is looking at Cain, really starting to look at him, there's none of that X-ray vision at all. He can't read Cain's life story in his loose posture, or the careless things he says, or how easily he's saying them, but Near is coming up with a litany of possibilities that may or may not prove to be correct with time. A dangerous man, he thinks, and he knows better than to push back against his own intuition. He's looking at someone who likes to assert his dominance in small ways, in bigger ways, pushing the envelope, seeing what he can get away with. That much is obvious now. That much is making him feel uneasy in ways he doesn't want to think about. It's giving him just the smallest scintilla of doubt and déjà vu.

Fortunately, Near has dealt with his fair share of dangerous, self-important men in the past. Fortunately, for now, he's looking at a man he's paying (generously, at that) to be his staunch ally. Enough cold hard cash tends to sort the wheat from the chaff, as it were.]

I'm going to guess you have no interest in hearing about Godzilla's shifting alliances, motivations, and beliefs over the past sixty or so years of canon. To summarize, I'm a much less complicated creature than the King of the Monsters. I do things that piss off the most corrupt and powerful people in the world, and then they--as you surmised--try their hardest to kill me for it. That's where you come in. Supposedly, anyway.

[You can't blame him for being a little bit paranoid.

His eyes flick down to Godzilla, so magnanimously returned, and he reaches out to take him back with both hands. Kind of protective about it, he cradles the snarling plastic beast against his narrow chest.]

I don't do autographs, [he adds, about as bland as white paste.]

[blyat]

[He almost asks, You actually know the last sixty years of Godzilla's history?, but his lips press over the question and it doesn't come out. The kid - though, really, that's not an accurate classification - is fan enough to own the toy and carry it around as a treasured totem. It's not how he would imagine a detective's behavior or demeanor. He's never met one before, except the stone-faced men in expensive suits who would occasionally appear in quiet rooms with closed doors on base. Cain isn't one of them. This aspect of what he does isn't a secret, even though his current assignment requires (and generously pays for) his cooperative discretion.

The smirk Cain wears is narrow as a switchblade with white teeth, his arms cross, and his dark eyes turn out the window. St. Petersburg unfolds ahead with its onion domes beginning to reflect the pale daylight of the newly risen sun. The city's coming awake in fits and starts, streets and sidewalks gradually filling with commuters.]

Good thing I didn't want one. It's not really my job to care about fancy titles, just make sure you stay alive, boss. [Cain's gaze settles, again, on L. The weight he puts into that word eases down like a hot iron, sounding severe in Russian. It's a better title than "L" to illustrate their relationship.] Anyway, you look a lot softer than the average asshole I've had to watch. No wonder they wanted me.

[Finally the car is slowing. They've reached a terminal - fashioned into an underground parking lot devoid of all other cars.] Sit tight. [Cain clicks open the door and slides out of the seat, speaking briefly with the driver and a nearby attendant, then circles around the car to L's side - to let him out, while their luggage is collected and carted inside.] C'mon.

[precisely]

[A dangerous man, indeed. But Near doesn't look all that impressed with Cain's bravado, Cain's severe tones, or even Cain's long and varied and reliably verified pedigree. His stare doesn't change shape, there's only the slightest tilt to his head, and then he's back to looking out the window at the passing scenery. This is the first time he has been to St. Petersburg. Though he wanted to stay removed from the action, the details of this case require more ground-level cooperation on his part. Pretty disappointing.]

It's a good thing this car didn't come equipped with a VBIED, or else we would be in an assortment of pieces right now. In the future, you should check for that sort of thing before allowing me to get into a vehicle, no matter its origin. [He watched Cain's conduct and demeanor from the window of the plane, of course.] It's one of the favorite murder weapons of Miss Inka Romanova, who fancies herself as my arch-nemesis. I'll have them prepare a dossier for you. She's a rather feisty one.

[You can't blame him for being more than a little bit paranoid.

Regardless, it's true that Near is much more helpless than most people. Ridiculously so. It's a real wonder he can even button his shirt in the morning, much less remind himself to eat or sleep or do anything like that. In a firefight, his greatest strength would be an ability to duck and cover and hope he doesn't get hit by any stray shrapnel...

So now they've arrived at what will be home base from now on. But, for some reason, Near doesn't exit the car right away, not even when Cain coaxes him. He looks up at Cain, and it's a wary, nasty-as-hell look; it's obvious he doesn't want to get out of the car. Not to be difficult, though most of his handlers assume that about him. He's... well, he's afraid. He's scared of new places. It smells different here. The fluorescent lights have that faint buzzing sound that drives him up the wall. Maybe he's reciting some mantra to himself, gearing up for a different sort of battle--all of the sudden, he peels himself out of the seat and gets out of the car. His stiff, underworked joints protest in the very worst way.

He squints into the middle distance.]

I'm going to need an hour to get everything set up to my satisfaction. You may make yourself scarce until then.

[blyat]

[Cain's eyes roll in an exaggerated gesture. A valid point, but unless someone had strapped a bomb to the belly of the car in plain sight of him on the tarmac, there wouldn't be one there. He wasn't so stupid as to not vet the vehicle provided by the very high-ranking individuals who seemed to wish L kept alive. Of course he had checked prior to the plane's arrival. Still, he refuses to give L the satisfaction of seeing him scramble to defend his own ego. (A point of ego in itself, maybe. Whatever. He's not letting it fuck with his head. This is his job; his domain.)

Miss Inka Romanova, however, is a name that fastens in Cain's mind. The promised dossier improves his mood incrementally. If there's anything interesting about this job, it's that combative element -- the actual enemies of those who are so privileged and protected. As a bodyguard, he's not supposed to pray for action, ut sometimes he just gets so antsy without. When was the last time he'd found himself in the heat of a firefight? Who knew he would miss the fucking military and its staunch, suffocating regulation.

When L appears reluctant to pull himself out of the car, Cain considers doing it for him. He bets he could sling L over his shoulder like a sack of beets and haul him bodily inside faster than it takes L to make the decision of placing one bare foot on the ground. He's motivated by his own impatience to check the building, to speak with the security team, to find a corner where he can have a smoke.]

Sure thing, princess. Let's just get you inside first. Want me to hold your hand?

[The edge isn't disguised in his tone. However L responds, inside they'll find a private concrete stairwell leading up to a -- very expensive -- hotel hallway. Cain has the key of the suite in his pocket. They won't pass a single person on the way up, and there's supposed to be no one else staying on that floor. Yet if L had trouble easing out of the backseat, will stairs prove an even more difficult obstacle?]

[precisely]

[Forget the high-class suite. Forget the key in Cain's pocket. Forget the very expensive hotel lobby, and the stairwell, and the fact there's nobody else in it. Near isn't planning to go anywhere with Cain until he makes a couple things clear. To begin with, he tucks Godzilla into the crook of his arm. Then he reaches into the pocket of his pajama pants, in search of a handful of hard candies, individually wrapped. Strawberry cream. Good stuff. He unwraps one of the candies thoughtfully, methodically; he's taking his time with it. He's really taking his time with it, fascinated with the plastic's crinkle. It's helping him to calm down. It's helping him to stay calm.

Before he pops the candy into his mouth, he says,] No, I don't want you to hold my hand. [With the candy pressed to his bottom lip, he says,] And if you call me "princess" one more time, I'll have your contract terminated immediately. [And his voice is so flat, so unadorned, as though he's reading from a book of scripture.] Once that is taken care of, I'll be sure to let your superiors know that you're a disrespectful piece of garbage that has done little more than waste my very, very valuable time. I'll also recommend that you be returned to whatever backwater hole you came crawling out of.

[Near allowed the "softer than average" and "asshole" comments to pass over him, because they are at least rooted in the truth. His patience, though, was limited to begin with, and now it has officially run out. "L" does have a reputation for being an asshole, and it's what he would call a well-earned reputation, in fact. He doesn't need anyone else's permission to be an asshole to his subordinates. There's no mistaking that he is one of the most powerful people in the world, with entire governments clamoring nonstop for a mere scrap of his insight and his influence. With a single command, he could send Cain through a meat grinder just for the fun of it. Cavalier motherfuckers really do get on his last nerve.

He slips the candy onto his tongue, letting it start to melt.]

Am I making myself clear?

[blyat]

[The words sound as though they should cut like little pieces of bent metal, but they don't, because of the unaffected tone of voice L uses to cast them out. He'd like it better if they were closer to shrapnel than someone reading him the daily fucking weather report. Only one thing -- fixed in his mind in rigid memory -- holds Cain rooted to that spot on the curb of the empty parking lot, still and silent, with his hands in tight bloodless fists and his jaw grinding down over his gums. He's hit people for less. He could hit L right now, and he suspects it would feel like putting his hand through gauze.

Cain pictures how Bering looked earlier in the dark midnight of the hour, flapping the contract in his face. All he'd had to do was sign it, and he would be employed for the foreseeable future. How long? Cain had asked, and he was told it could be a week, it could be six months, there was really no telling how long their "employer" would remain in Russian. "Employer" is what Bering had called L. It's not like you have a choice Bering said after that, and then he dropped the sheet on the table in front of Cain with finality. Besides, they intend to pay you very well for your trouble.

A long time ago, he thought this all would end. But it just kept going and going and going. And now he's here, and the leash is strangling him worse than ever.]

Yes, sir. [Spat out in English, Cain turns on his heel and marches to the door of the stairwell. His glare is black, but he knows it's wasted on the phantom presence of L. It will go right through him.] This way.

[precisely]

[Near smiles. It's the least sympathetic smile in the world.]

Now that is what I like to hear.

[Only one person has ever been allowed to disrespect Near like that. Only one person has ever been allowed to insult him, threaten him, do everything possible to piss him off and fuck him over--and that person is dead. It isn't out of the question that Near still has something of a death wish, though. He wouldn't blame Cain for taking a real shot at him, even though Cain would end up with a cold bullet in his brain for the trouble. (The driver is another agent in Near's employ, well-equipped and ready for anything.) But Cain moves away, less the faithful servant and more a whipped workhorse, and Near sighs to himself. Near follows after a moment later.

The concrete floor of the parking garage is not particularly kind on his bare feet, but he's willing to suffer through it. He doesn't complain. Confronted with the stairwell, he doesn't complain about that, either, despite it taking him longer than it should to climb the stairs upward. It's sheer force of will that gets him from point A to point B, and you wouldn't believe how relieved he is when his feet are shuffling over the soft, well-groomed carpet of the hotel hallway. This place has a distinct lemon-fresh scent to it that both appeals to him and makes his nose itch.

He waits silently for Cain to open the door to his suite, and then he heads inside, leaving a trail of empty plastic wrappers in his wake. He has chewed through four or five candies by now, all in an effort to steady his nerves. Thankfully, there's some computer equipment already set up for him. Something he can focus his mind on.]

Oh, right.

[He looks back at Cain.]

No drinking. No drug use. Not while you're on this job. The contract didn't stipulate what you're to do on your time off, but this is a much more involved operation than you might think.

[blyat]

[It isn't as though the rules are unfamiliar to protective work, but Cain has enjoyed a meager brand of freedom in his years of doing this at his commander's (blackmailed) behest. That, and for all the roughest edges that contain him, Cain does possess the ability to charm his employers when it gets him what he wants. His last assignment, a disgustingly rich woman by the name Marian Hart, had at least enjoyed draining bottles of vodka between the two of them. Cain suspects he would much rather have Marian's wandering hands and annoying idiosyncrasies -- even her cigar breath and guttural German accent in his ear -- over this arrangement. A small, pale, uptight prick who looks straight through him.

Glancing at the candy wrappers on the ground, Cain steps over them and grimaces. He's not a fucking maid. He won't pick them up. Let someone else do it, or maybe L can write it into the contract if he cares enough. Reminds him too much of militarized protocols where everything depends on that black, finalized script and signature. Cain loathes the paperwork.

So at those next words, he grinds his teeth before picking out his words like there are pieces of glass in his mouth.]

Wasn't planning on it. [He was, but, well. Lying is easy. What about smoke breaks? Whatever. Let L yell at him for it.] Someone should've warned me you'd be such a brat.

[Shit. It slips out without his even thinking; it's harder to mask his temper than expected. He's not sure why. Maybe it's just in his nature -- pushing the line of a cliff. It's going to get him fired. Not the first time, but probably the last. His hands are still in tight fists as he finishes checking the room (security would have done it already, but he knows how to be thorough).

Unless L stops him, he'll be intent to get out of the hotel room as fast as possible and continue the rounds.]

[precisely]

[Near perches on the opulent leather couch that's waiting for him, in front of three laptop computers the local IT guys must have scrounged up. It doesn't seem like he has anything to say about Cain's latest quip as he begins typing into a command prompt on one screen. Maybe he's already engrossed in the case at hand, with its political intrigue and ongoing murders--this entire hemisphere could be at stake, depending on what L decides to do next. Or maybe he's thinking about what the preceding L would do in this situation, with someone who is clearly incapable of keeping his fucking mouth shut. Obviously, L wouldn't have put up with any insubordination. Not a single scrap of it. But legend has it that he was a kindly man in his own way whenever it did happen, giving people the benefit of the doubt, giving them the opportunity to leave if that's what they preferred. After a period of reflection, they were allowed choose their own destiny. Get with the program, or get out of the way. Kind of admirable.

But what would Mello do?

This has been leaking in from the back of Near's mind more and more often, all sewage-slick for its appeal. That's not to say he doesn't think of Mello--he thinks of Mello constantly--but he isn't masochistic enough on most days to wonder what Mello would do if they were working together. Regardless, Mello also wouldn't put up with any such insubordination. He would have made Cain wish he had never opened his mouth in the first place. Really put the fear of God into him for stepping over the line. Of course, Near isn't even half as capable as Mello would be when it comes to morons and how to deal with them. Near can't kill a man with a machete just to prove a point about power, prestige, and following orders to the letter.

What would L do? What would Mello do? What am I supposed to be doing...?

So Cain might start feeling like he's home free, not even five step from leaving the suite, when Near speaks up again:] Just one more question before you go... [Near doesn't bother to look up, though. He's still typing away. He asks, cold and merciless:] Are you honestly the best that Russia has to offer? I've been wondering about it. And feel free to be honest with me; I'm not recording what you say at the moment. Because it seems to me as though you cannot handle a single reasonable expectation concerning your behavior, which shouldn't get you very far in business matters such as these. I wonder, then, if you were so much more talented at sucking your commander's dick in order to better earn the privilege of meeting me.

On second thought, I suppose I don't need to hear the nitty-gritty of that sort of thing.

Here's the deal: you're going to leave my hotel room right now, and you're going to spend a little while thinking about what you want to do. If you're only interested in wasting my time and attention, then don't come back in an hour. I'll have the contract voided, we'll call this another bump in the road, and you can go overdose in the gutter like the rest of your ilk. If you do come back here, I'm expecting you to treat this like the world-changing assignment that it's supposed to be.

Now get the fuck out of my sight.

[On another screen, a small timer set to one hour begins counting down.]

[blyat]

[Not five steps from the door, Cain holds himself still as carved marble while those words beat across him. He doesn't say a word. His mouth remains fixed firmly shut, either by stubborn resolution or realization or understanding -- not that he cares which, not that he cares about anything but getting away from that room. At L's last frozen command, Cain walks out.

The first thing he does is sequester himself in the empty lot down the empty flight of stairs. The car and the driver are both gone, and the emptiness echos back his booted footfalls. He sits on the curb and smokes two cigarettes in a row, then lights a third, then pulls out his cell phone. It isn't an interesting conversation. He tells Bering he won't do it, void the contract, give him someone else, whatever. Bering yells at him for a lifetime and spits worse names and insults than L had, stinging personal reminders that know their targets too well. It's followed with a reformatory lecture. He's heard this one before. In the end comes the promise again, the assurance he'll end up in the worst prison in the country to rot where he belongs, getting beat for fun and cleaning shit out of toilets. Worse than the gutter. At least the gutter has freedom.

After that, Cain smokes another cigarette. He thumbs a number into his phone once his hands lose their tremor. When he reaches Anna on the phone, he keeps it short: Yeah, I'm fine. Stop nagging. Look, I get it-- just feed Sasha for me. I don't know how long. C'mon, please? At least I'm asking this time! No, no, don't put him on the phone, I swear to fucking-- Didn't you hear me! Fuck. What follows is a scripted litany of responses. It feels like he's speaking to a priest. (Oh, right, he is.) Then Anna is back, alongside the garbled cooing speech of a baby, and then he's alone in a parking garage.

He doesn't know what time it is when he's done. Stupidly, he hadn't checked the clock when he left because he didn't plan to come back. 8:09. Was it seven when he left? He doesn't think so. Fuck you, L. Fuck you. Fuck you. But even the private chant on his way back up the stairs isn't curative.

He meets Watari in the hall with a tray of breakfast food. After a brief exchange, Cain carries it into the room in the older man's stead. He's wishing he'd brushed his teeth before Bering ran him out of his apartment this morning, because his mouth tastes like cold coffee and charcoal. Disgusting.

Silent, Cain stands near the door and looks for L. Obediently silent, with the narrow of his eyes and the tray of food (does a waif even eat?) as offering.]

cw: suicidal ideation.

[precisely]

[It shouldn't take too long for Cain to notice something strange: the suite is much colder than it was when he left, as though a cold front has rolled through it. It isn't winter around here, not yet, but the weather has been a smear of grey, drizzly bullshit that could turn into flurries any day now. There's a nose-nipping hint of a breeze, even. A stirring of the atmosphere. Somewhere up ahead... Through the sitting area, past the door leading to the master bedroom, there's a sliding glass door with the curtains drawn halfway closed in front of it. An especially forceful gust of wind pushes the curtains aside to reveal the balcony beyond them, and Near standing on that balcony. He still isn't dressed for exposure to the elements in those flimsy pajamas. He shouldn't be holding on to that ice-cold metal banister, either, but that's what he's doing with a white-knuckled grip. He doesn't seem to be doing much else at first glance, but then one of his feet (still bare) lifts up and starts trying to find purchase on one of the frost-covered balusters. He's trying to find the right leverage, and the strength to pull himself up, and over, in spite of everything. To be perfectly honest, it looks like he's about to climb over the banister and find out what happens next.

Or maybe he's just trying to get a better view of the streets below. Maybe that's all this is: a good vantage point, and he's been curious about it all morning. A fashionable-looking woman walks by on the sidewalk below, struggling to pull on a pair of fur-lined gloves. Two schoolgirls in their muted uniforms skip along together, arms interlocked, singing a patriotic song. There's a whole contingent of stray dogs lurking at the nearest street corner, on the hunt for their next meal. Near has noticed all of these things, these mundanities that prove the world will keep on turning, but mostly he was wondering when the vertigo would set in. That's all he was wondering about. Probably, that's all it was. The world's best detective, according to the mythos, can't afford to care about much of anything other than solving the next otherwise unsolvable case to land in front of him.

He settles back onto the solid concrete of the balcony, and then he looks over his shoulder, a bit windblown, noticing Cain there at the front door in nearly the same moment Cain notices him.] Oh, you've returned, [he calls back, sounding less like a bastard and more like he could use a good night's sleep. He winces, peeling his hands off of the banister, and then he rubs at his dry, tired eyes.] I wasn't expecting you to do that. They must have some pretty serious shit to extort you with, right? --Is that French toast? [Yes, Cain is holding a tray with a mug of milk tea and a plate of French toast that's been drenched in butter, maple syrup, and too much brown sugar for any one person. Watari also left a plate of sausage and scrambled eggs, on the off-chance Near decides to eat something substantial for once.

Near steps back into the suite, not bothering to close the sliding glass door behind him. Everything's fine.]

Just set that down on the table. And I don't want the sausage and eggs, so feel free to partake.

[blyat]

[He's met with a gust of icy wind through the door, plucking a stray unpinned napkin off a plate and scattering it across the carpet. L's voice rings out to him as soon as his gaze lands - a quick scan in adrenalized assessment - on the white figure at the balcony. In one mechanical move Cain is in action: three strong strides carry him across the room and then impulse freezes him there, stiff, just behind L.

L steps back inside.

The instinct to grab his benefactor by flimsy pajama-collar dies, not because he thinks L was about to throw himself over, but because the exposure is dangerous. What the fuck were you doing? is a razor-tipped question on his tongue, but that gets discarded through force of will. He doesn't touch L at all. Instead he deposits the tray on a near side table, moves past him and onto the balcony, gloved hand seizing the frigid railing. Cain leans out over it and scans the surrounding rooftops. Someone on the security detail would have checked, but as he's learned, safety is never guaranteed.

Unsupervised exposure is dangerous. Never mind the needling of his gut, the strangeness of L like a dark shape through the fog, standing bare-footed out on a cold October morning. (Never mind L got it in one guess; either he's that transparent to L's legendary intellect, or he read a file. Cain's entire life - real name, criminal record, blood type, favorite fucking color - laid out like a particularly dull news brief. Neither would be shocking.)

Cain lets out a breath as he returns to the suite. It's only then, shielded from wind, he realizes how freezing it is in the room. How long was the door open?]

Yeah. There's French Toast. [Tensely, he hovers by the glass door. Tone milder than its previous aggression.] Can I close this? Aren't you cold?

[A dog can learn its manners after all.]

[precisely]

[Near doesn't look the least bit inconvenienced by the meat locker chill of the room, as though he's impervious to that sort of thing. Of course, judging by the tremble of his hand, reaching for the fork, he's very much a creature of flesh and blood by any standard. He picks up the plate of French toast and retreats to the fancy couch, where he sits down in the since-grown thicket of computer equipment. His hand is still trembling, no matter how he frowns at it. But he sections off a corner of the French toast and takes a small bite of it. It's good. Pretty good. Good enough that he doesn't regret coming back inside, he thinks.]

Oh, yeah. Go ahead. I just wanted to have a look around while it's still feasible to do so.

[He wouldn't have made for an attractive corpse, anyway. That was less his concern and more so Mello's, but the outcome of the debate was the same. Now, with the glass door shut, it's really obvious that the air conditioning is in a panic, rattling around overhead, trying to get the room back to some semblance of warmth. Near doesn't pay that any mind as he chews through his French toast with the worth ethic of a fickle toddler. He's barely more than halfway through the first slice before he gets tired of it. Chewing, swallowing, all of that. Living. It's tiresome as shit.

He thinks about getting up for the milk tea, then decides it isn't worth it. Instead, he asks,] So just what is it they're using to control you? Debt? Gambling debts, perhaps? No, no... [Actually, Near hasn't read Cain's personnel file. He leaves such tedium--recruitment, vetting, the management of employees thereof--to Watari and only gets around to signing the checks. However, considering the state of their tête-à-tête, he probably should request a copy of it and take a peek himself...] It couldn't be that unremarkable, could it? [Near is supposed to be solving a string of mysterious murders, but he seems more interested in figuring out Cain's (many?) pressure points. There's an owlish gleam to the way he stares at Cain--not through him, but directly at him.]

The fact you haven't made a run for it suggests there's more to your world than your own ego. Interesting.

[blyat]

[The cold is a needling annoyance through the layer of his jacket, but with affected concentration Cain can ignore it. He once stood, unwilling and underdressed, an hour in a blizzard. The winds of morning in St. Petersburg won't ruin him.]

I couldn't say, sir.

[That tacked on honorific address comes with smoother, quelled ease. No worse than how he would speak to Bering, who he loathes, or how he spoke to his commanding officers in the past. Even if this isn't the military, it falls underneath a comparable umbrella of compartmentalization. He knows how to grit his jaw and bear it for the sake of an outcome, however murky.

Steps carry him across the carpeted floor, intent on a plate of yellow eggs and seared strips of bacon. It's a very Western breakfast for lack of porridge or quark and buckwheat pancakes. (He imagines, in wistful memory, a golden-brown plate of syrniki and blini.)

Standing beside the pinstriped hotel couch, Cain considers how else to answer -- in the same moment his stomach clenches around a spasm of hunger. He's had nothing but cigarettes. He keeps the rigidity of his posture and composure despite L's dark, weighted gaze, like the beads in a doll's head. It makes his skin crawl to be looked at like that.]

Nothing worth the interest. [Petty business by comparison to the world's greatest detective.

At last, he takes up the cooling plate, and then balances a seat on the arm of the couch to eat.] My file's got everything. [The criminal history, a psych eval (with every unspared adjective from promiscuous to vulgar), the trespassing charge that landed him in a penitentiary -- his military medals, his flight records, his mother's maiden name. The official publication of all his usefulness to the Russain Armed Forces, if L ever cared to look. Without it, he'd be rotting in prison somewhere.] You want me to stay in here while you work, or the hall?