[November 27th was indeed an epochal date, one he would remember eternally in the same light as societies recalled any other theophany. The anniversary of that day would surely beatify him each time he was able to experience it through his short remaining years. But poetry of the reflection aside, did one really call it an anniversary if it were before the date were made notable? These were the type of philosophical (that is to say lacking in practicality or purpose) questions that plagued a brilliant mind numbed by a... well, mind numbing task. Or set of tasks. A full week's worth of them, in fact. All it would take would be one success to relight what was becoming an increasingly gray world, but then again success only had one definition; this was not at philosophical odds with Mikami's more broad world view.
But being a man of such standards of perfectionism being glum wasn't unusual. Watching people, countless people, endless people, people in the most populous region in the nation, did wonders for reminding him how much he hated people and seeing so many of them only further depressed him, to the point where even hearing talk of Kira, confirmation of his existence and thus coherence and order in a bizarre toss of nonsense, didn't do much. No, rather, that in itself was becoming, as the days wore on, another source of stress. December 4th. The evening of December 5th was not far off.
Even telling himself it wasn't necessarily over then didn't help. It would be best to find him before then, and in serving God nothing less than the best would do.
As focused and dedicated and down to earth as Light was, having had the Note's nature confirmed less than 24 hours prior, his attentions were probably on things a bit more mystical than Mikami--yes, even more so than time traveling Mikami. If he noticed himself being followed home from not long past the train tracks, or if Ryuk happened to find the decidedly haggard looking man worth commenting on particularly early, he probably wouldn't turn to talk to him first. After all, Mikami would take the first opportunity, when Light's path entered into the less teeming neighborhood areas, to call out.]
Sir.
[He'd wait for his attention, for the boy to turn around. He'd call out to him again, approaching closer if he needed to--admittedly, most high school boys were surely not used to grown men addressing them so formally unless they were selling something or passing out advertisement tissues; types one habitually ignored living in the city. But the man following him certainly didn't look the part of a company representative. What company would want to be represented by a man with long, only mildly kempt hair, a pair of jogging pants, tennis shoes and a briefcase? It was all just mismatched enough to be unsettling, the briefcase offsetting the look that might have otherwise passed for a man on an afternoon jog, and entirely too rigid of posture in greeting him.
It had occurred to Mikami while stalking his target that this was not the best first impression to make on God. That might be a part of what kept him sober rather than insufferably jubilant. That reservation tempered by shame might actually ultimately make for the best first impression someone like Mikami could hope to make, even if he couldn't appreciate that fact for himself.]
no subject
But being a man of such standards of perfectionism being glum wasn't unusual. Watching people, countless people, endless people, people in the most populous region in the nation, did wonders for reminding him how much he hated people and seeing so many of them only further depressed him, to the point where even hearing talk of Kira, confirmation of his existence and thus coherence and order in a bizarre toss of nonsense, didn't do much. No, rather, that in itself was becoming, as the days wore on, another source of stress. December 4th. The evening of December 5th was not far off.
Even telling himself it wasn't necessarily over then didn't help. It would be best to find him before then, and in serving God nothing less than the best would do.
As focused and dedicated and down to earth as Light was, having had the Note's nature confirmed less than 24 hours prior, his attentions were probably on things a bit more mystical than Mikami--yes, even more so than time traveling Mikami. If he noticed himself being followed home from not long past the train tracks, or if Ryuk happened to find the decidedly haggard looking man worth commenting on particularly early, he probably wouldn't turn to talk to him first. After all, Mikami would take the first opportunity, when Light's path entered into the less teeming neighborhood areas, to call out.]
Sir.
[He'd wait for his attention, for the boy to turn around. He'd call out to him again, approaching closer if he needed to--admittedly, most high school boys were surely not used to grown men addressing them so formally unless they were selling something or passing out advertisement tissues; types one habitually ignored living in the city. But the man following him certainly didn't look the part of a company representative. What company would want to be represented by a man with long, only mildly kempt hair, a pair of jogging pants, tennis shoes and a briefcase? It was all just mismatched enough to be unsettling, the briefcase offsetting the look that might have otherwise passed for a man on an afternoon jog, and entirely too rigid of posture in greeting him.
It had occurred to Mikami while stalking his target that this was not the best first impression to make on God. That might be a part of what kept him sober rather than insufferably jubilant. That reservation tempered by shame might actually ultimately make for the best first impression someone like Mikami could hope to make, even if he couldn't appreciate that fact for himself.]