#「 old world’s runner up 」 ✞ ic isola

[chocoholicsinner]

@fierydaggers​ // x

The Archimedes Ward. That’s the name of the sector that Mello had learned was now his home, and he couldn’t say he was partial to the blues and whites that reminded him of a Grecian city. It’s not like he had an issue with it, either -- it just was jarring with his own personal aesthetic. He looked down at what he was wearing, the tight black leather that clung to his small frame, and grimaced at nothing in particular.

Mello already hated this place, and his mood didn’t seem to be improving.

As he wandered he found himself going towards the theater. He was more following the crowd, trying to blend in and assess his surroundings with a clear mind. It was hard to be level headed, however, when there was a distinct rumbling in his stomach. That made him frown even more; the pain felt like a stab in the gut that just reminded him:

Ah, yes. He hadn’t eaten today.

Thinking only about the possibility of chocolate sometime in the near future he kept his eyes on the ground as he walked straight into someone else. He made an undignified sound and fell right on his ass, his legs splaying and his expression morphing into one of extreme disgust. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

[chocoholicsinner]

@jeevastm​ // <3

Mello holds the bag of peas to his eye, a grimace on his face. The woman at the grocery store had looked stunned at his split lip and black eye, and the way he winced as he moved didn’t exactly help to make her stop staring. Though his pride was wounded he was too focused on the sharp pain in his side to care that much.

Dying had sucked, getting the shit beaten out of you almost sucked more. Maybe it’s because he had to face the humiliation afterwards, at least Takada had spared him from that.

Feeling both hungry and irritated he made his way out of the store with intent to go home, the peas doing barely anything to stop the swelling. His mouth was set in a hard line: today had really blown. It had blew more than his fight with Matt, more than getting stuck in this stupid city. 

He’s so irritated by the whole situation that he almost doesn’t notice that his best friend is smoking right outside. Mello feels something like regret coiling in his stomach, and he presses the makeshift ice pack against his eye more. He clears his throat and tries to look as formidable as one could in this state, though it hurts to make too many facial expressions.

“Matt,” he says, then coughs. The sound is undignified, and makes him cringe. He moves the peas just slightly, making it clear that’s what he’s referring to when he continues.  “Don’t… fucking say anything.” 

[chocoholicsinner]

@restiituo​

Mello hadn’t gone running in a long time. He used to do it all the time -- at Wammy’s, and when he was with the mafia -- it used to calm him down. After the explosion he’d found that he didn’t have time for it, always chasing down leads and staying up late, subsisting on chocolate and caffeine and alcohol.

Here, though, things were going to be different. Mello had the time to go back out for a run, vent his frustrations through the pounding of his feet against the ground. He had put on his leggings, then very short shorts on top as well as a sweatshirt to keep him warm -- in short, he looked part ridiculous and part serious about exercising. He shoved his hands in the pocket of the sweatshirt and opened the door from his condo, ready to face the early morning on his own.

And it was incredibly early. Though Mello wasn’t a natural early or late riser -- blame it more on his propensity for insomnia -- he’d noticed that people simply weren’t out this early in the day. He walked out to the street and started to stretch, not hearing a single soul around him. It was just him, his thoughts, and the cold air that tickled his cheek.

As he straightened his back and heard a few little pops, he yawned and closed his eyes. In the otherwise silent morning he could hear a door being opened. His eyes opened and he turned around, eyes widening for just a moment before realization hit him like a bag of bricks.

“You.”

[chocoholicsinner]

@baddestdangerboy​ // starter.

There are things that Mello has a recollection of, vaguely --  distant memories of time in another place that is so unlike this place in many ways, yet also so startlingly similar.  

His musings are cut short as he sees someone from those days, minding his own business. Or, perhaps more accurately, pretending to -- if Mello remembers anything about Badou at all.

“You son of a bitch,” he says, coming right up to him and crossing his arms, eyebrow raised. “What are you doing here?”

[chocoholicsinner]

@scullcss​ // x

Mello needed to relax. He wasn’t trying to hide from anyone, now, he didn’t need to worry about not showing his face or hiding his true name. It didn’t help that he’d been raised to be so cautious, however, and it was hard to fall out of old habits so quickly. So as he wandered around the Archimedes Ward, looking for anyone who might have information on where they really were, he kept his hood pulled over his head to obscure the long scar that went down his face.

He was looking off to the side when he noticed the small girl standing by herself. He tilted his head and walked over to her, his eyes narrowed as he approached. “Watching the crowd?” he asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “It looks like it might snow soon.”

[chocoholicsinner]

@dcnerunning​ // x

While it was winter, Mello found himself wandering more and more out of his comfort zone by traveling farther away from his condo. This wasn’t his favorite season, or… maybe it was. Mello never really contemplated things like ‘favorites’; that seemed like a luxury for someone who had less shit to get done.

Well, now, he guessed he didn’t have as much to do. He was dead, right? He could stop to smell the flowers, or whatever bullshit normal people did. 

He stopped in front of a small coffee shop and tilted his head to the side. He debated going inside, but there was something oddly nice about feeling the cold on his skin. As he crossed his arms he turned and saw the young girl with crutches, his brow furrowing at the sight. “Careful,” he said. “You might slip. Those things aren’t stable.”

[chocoholicsinner]

@mizukata​ // x

It had come to his attention that at some point, a man had to eat. Now, he’d been reprimanded before in the past for his dietary choices (and if Mello was being honest, rightly so), but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know how to feed himself. Sure, he had a sweet tooth, but that was because chocolate was easily accessible and extremely portable. 

As it turns out, a genius in one thing does not equate to being a genius in another. It appeared that Mello had absolutely no idea how to cook anything, and he definitely had no idea how to shop for food either.

He stood in the middle of the grocery store and turned to the man on his left. “Have you been around this city a while?” he winced internally at his own words. Asking a stranger for help? He could do better than that. He quickly backtracked. “Do you know… if another store has more variety?”

[chocoholicsinner]

@smallblueboyscout​ // x

It was definitely later in the day that Mello found himself wandering, yet again, from place to place. He shouldn’t have been so hard on himself as to expect that he’d have the entire city memorized in such a short period of time, but here he was.

(It’s hard not to expect such a thing, when you’re only second best.)

He thumped himself down on one of the benches, his whole body slouching forward as he ran his fingers through his hair. His head hurt like hell, definitely the start of a migraine. Mello groaned loudly as he started to rub his temples, and only then noticed he was sitting next to someone. “Hmph,” he groaned, tossing his head back and continuing to rub his own head. Kids. Didn’t they have parents to watch them?

[chocoholicsinner]

@duoxity // x

Mello had only been in this city for a few days. As such, he felt that he should tackle each of the four districts in a clockwise order, starting of course with his own -- he did, after all, want to get a bearing on where he was. This place was so different from any he’d ever known, and there was something… off.

That was a matter for later. For now, it was exploration.

He shook his head as he found himself near ‘the star trail’, and though the smells of rich delicacies wafted through the air he found himself craving one thing in particular. “Hey,” he said, stepping in front of someone who looked like they knew what they were doing. “Do you know if they sell chocolate here?”

[chocoholicsinner]

@esdaemonis​ // starter

Mello is dressed, as one is, appropriately for the weather. Or at the very least what he thinks is appropriate, with his leather crop top and rosary hanging down to the center of his chest. His leather pants are tight and his boots stop right below his knee, and to complete the look he has his sunglasses covering his eyes.

He nurses a coffee in one hand and holds a chocolate bar in another, content to mind his own business until he comes across a small child, sitting at one of the outdoor tables. He looks utterly confused as he stares at his city-issued cell phone, which in turn slightly amuses Mello.

“Hey,” he says, unable to stop himself. He grins, just a little, and motions to the cell with the hand holding the chocolate. “That’s a shitty selfie you’re going to take if you keep pouting.”

[chocoholicsinner]

@restiituo​ asked:  Δ

-- send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse playing with their hair. (accepting)

Mello doesn’t plan on falling asleep, but here he is. His arms are crossed in front of him, his head laying down gently and his breathing evening out; it had been almost a full twenty four hours since he’s slept last. 

Working on the case that his job had asked him to take on was no where near as stressful as what he was used to, but he has to admit, he is bone tired. As he’d poured over the case files and drank the last of the coffee he felt himself doze off, and for the first time in a while let himself drift.

It doesn’t take much, however, for Mello to wake up; he’s always been a light sleeper. But the feeling of a hand in his hair is enough to startle him, and he whips around lightning quick and slaps the hand that was touching him.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, his eyes wide and bloodshot from the caffeine and his ten minutes of sleep. He touches the back of his head and smooths down his hair. It’s embarrassing that it felt good, but he won’t admit that. “Don’t you have work to be doing?”