Third Person (recycled): B cracked his neck twice before pushing through the heavy wooden door of the cathedral and shuffling out onto the cement steps, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the overcast sunlight. He was careful to close the door silently behind him, out of habit - he’d spent half of his life training to slip in and out of places undetected; allowing a door to slam shut, even in a public space such as this, would be unacceptably careless. This was a new, unfamiliar location, and B couldn’t be sure what to expect. He frowned, thinking, and shoved both hands into his front jeans pockets; the fingers of his right hand brushed something small and metal. B drew the bit of metal - a key - out of his pocket and held it close to his face, inspecting. His eyes flickered over the address scribbled on the attached tag - was this a clue of some sort? It was just an ordinary key, but all the same, B was certain he’d never seen it before. It appears I am supposed to find this location, B pondered as he slowly ambled down the steps, toward the sidewalk, away from the church. Perhaps there will be an answer of some sort there.
To the average onlooker, B’s characteristic hunched-over posture as he walked down the street would appear as if he were staring at the ground, unaware of his surroundings, when in fact, B always carefully observed his environment through his peripheral view. In addition to the element of subterfuge lent to his observational mode, this stance allowed B to disregard the endless sea of names and numbers he would otherwise view above the heads of the people he encountered. All the death in the world, he occasionally thought in passing, a routine internal reminder, I see it all. This gift wasn’t something he had ever been able to explain, even to himself - B only knew that as far back as he could remember, he was able to tell a person’s true name and life span just from looking at him or her.
Something was different, however, in this new location. B noted as he passed a scattered half-dozen people on the street that the names were still there in plain view, but not everyone he saw had the accompanying numbers. This was not something he had ever encountered before, and B found it most peculiar.
B approached the next man passing by on the sidewalk and rasped out a flat, unruffled greeting. “Excuse me.” He once again retrieved the key from his pocket and held the tag with the address out for the other man to read. “Could you tell me how to get to this address?”
Beyond Birthday || Death Note || OU || Reserved || Part 5/5
To the average onlooker, B’s characteristic hunched-over posture as he walked down the street would appear as if he were staring at the ground, unaware of his surroundings, when in fact, B always carefully observed his environment through his peripheral view. In addition to the element of subterfuge lent to his observational mode, this stance allowed B to disregard the endless sea of names and numbers he would otherwise view above the heads of the people he encountered. All the death in the world, he occasionally thought in passing, a routine internal reminder, I see it all. This gift wasn’t something he had ever been able to explain, even to himself - B only knew that as far back as he could remember, he was able to tell a person’s true name and life span just from looking at him or her.
Something was different, however, in this new location. B noted as he passed a scattered half-dozen people on the street that the names were still there in plain view, but not everyone he saw had the accompanying numbers. This was not something he had ever encountered before, and B found it most peculiar.
B approached the next man passing by on the sidewalk and rasped out a flat, unruffled greeting. “Excuse me.” He once again retrieved the key from his pocket and held the tag with the address out for the other man to read. “Could you tell me how to get to this address?”