Author's Note: Alright guys! Here's the concept. This is not a whole new story, nor are the stories inside meant to be taken as a chronological set of events. These are writing exercises that Dale and I have done while trying to get into the minds of our most beloved DN characters. So, please--don't flame us and tell us that the story "has no plot" or that it's "confusing". Please, just read, okay? It will help a hell of a lot more if you do. I'm smiling for you, by the way. Aha.

So anyway, there's the concept. If you don't like it, go away.

Exercise Concept: This is supposed to be Near, during the meeting in Roger's office about L's death and his particular thought process. I'm calling this one (or rather this particular scene where Roger is telling the kids L's dead) "Telling the Heirs" and I have about three different version of it, depending on which character I'm writing. (You'll see later.) Near's a hard character to write so bear with me, alright? Hmm. I write these exercises (usually) from the first person point of view, because it helps get in their heads. Let me know what you guys think, alright? Thanks, lots. Love, Chip

Telling The Heirs: Near

The day L died—or rather the day we select few were told of his death—Roger called us into his office and delivered the data in his unnecessarily comforting fashion, obviously trying to soften the blow for us. It wasn't necessary for me really—I was simply upset, but I would not break down into a yelling, sobbing mess like that fool Mello. I wasn't quite so childish. Still, I fiddled with the toy in my lap and pondered quietly how it was that L could have fallen for something so obvious, so silly—he, who always advised me to be on the look out for simple solutions that sometimes made more sense than the complexities I unraveled later on.

My puzzle box wasn't too complex. I left it in my room though—bored of it, already, I suppose. I would have to tell Roger I needed a new one.

Wasn't everything that happened during the Kira case all about simplistic answers? That's what the data led me to believe and that is what I think L knew, just before his death; he knew he had purposely over looked the answer and therefore, defeated himself in the process. The equation panned out right, but it was…more personal, I suppose. No—it had to be something more personal; L would never have been tricked or connived by some common charmer of a criminal.

Criminals were punished by super heroes in the popular comics and story books. Idly, I wondered if there was a new action figure I could commandeer from one of the other children. This old, beat-up plug-doll was rotund in the middle and ever-smiling in the face. I wanted something new, without the rosy cheeks and piano-key teeth.

I turned the little plastic doll over in my hand, analyzed the smooth way it rolled, categorizing it as "well-worn"--and then discarding from my thoughts altogether. Roger suggested we do something together—work together, Mello and I. Typical Mello, unable to control his temper—or restrain his jealousy. I turned my eyes away because the display disgusted me.

"What do you think of the idea, Near?" That was Roger, being so kindly, so gentle. I offered him the best of my attentions, directing my eyes to his lips because I understand his aversion to my direct gaze and have categorized it as "uncomfortable". I did my level-best to sound interested—but that particular affection of attitude lies well within the range of those acting skills I never bothered to memorize and so I left the attempt in its infancy. "I think the idea has merit in theory, Mr. Roger—but it's absolutely hopeless in real practice. Mello and I cannot work together without collision and disorder." I paused, to allow him to interject, but there was nothing. "That sort of thing is not conducive to finding out the identity of Kira." I didn't feel the need to share with either of them that I already strongly suspected the true identity of that killer.

I wanted some dice, now. There was a blue-print forming in my mind for a new tower of dice and a whole plaza to build beneath it.

Very suddenly, there was a mass of golden-blonde hair in my face and Mello was there, hauling me up from my chair with one hand clutching at the front of my pajamas. I sincerely hoped the buttons didn't pop at the strain. It would be tedious to sew them on later.

"What the hell, Near! You think you're so much better than me?!" Another of this boy's particularly annoying habits—stupid, rhetorical questions. I wanted to sigh—because I was missing the opportunity to build my dice tower. This was taking too long. I had information to quantify and plazas to lay out.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mello. The facts very clearly prove that I am better than you. It's not just my own personal thought—though it appears I was, as usual, correct."

I was dropped unceremoniously back into my seat and Mello whirled away from me, thankfully. He turned to face Roger and I watched disinterestedly. Watching Mello make an emotional fool of himself was such a common occurrence that it no longer held the same unbridled amusement for me that it once had.

"Roger! Do you see what I have to put up with?! He's a big-headed cry baby who cares more for his toys more than he does about being L's heir!" The blonde was pointing at me with a single, accusatory finger.

I put the plug-doll over my own forefinger like a puppet and held it up in front of my face, waving it slowly side to side. "That's a very cruel thing to say, Mello." I point the doll at him, "Cruel, but not uncommon. I have come to understand that it is your general way of doing things--to rant and rave and throw fits but it's all very unseemly and hurts my ears." My puppet danced a little jig for me and I offered the blonde my direct gaze, catching his own firmly. "Besides...you shouldn't be so upset over my obvious superiority. It's really not your fault that your genes stunted any possibility you had of being an intelligent, worth-while being."

"What?! You little twerp—!" Mello was cut off as Roger suddenly came around the desk and seized him by the shoulders, holding him back. I watched. Violence--number two on my list of Mello's typical reactions to basic facts. I knew it and Roger, kindly gentlemen that he was, knew it as well.

Roger shook the blonde by the shoulders a little. "Mello? Mello! Listen to me, boy—you must be calm! Do not be so emotional. We must talk this out now and decide what you'd like to do. L appointed you to be his successors, the both of you--and Matt. Now that the time has come we must not fail him. We must push on, even though L is gone." The man, I noted, sounded tired. His reaction as I categorized it was "sorrowful". I looked down at the carpeting to give him the privacy that I heard people wanted during emotional moments.

"Argh! Lemme go, Roger! Lemme go!" Mello's voice sounded thicker to me—like my plug-doll's waist—and I could imagine that, typical of him, there would be tears. I decided immediately that it was not something I wished to see today.

Rising from my chair slowly, I placed my bare feet down on the carpet and shuffled across the room, careful to avoid the swinging, snarling beast that was Mello. He was glaring after me, I was sure of it—I could feel the weight of an angry gaze burning into the back of my neck.

I removed the plug-doll from my finger and placed it down on the decorative table beside the door to Roger's office, turning it so that the smiling, overly-happy face could view all the horrendous hilarity of an angry Mello trying to fight off the tenacious, trapping arms Roger had wrapped around him. Maybe the plug-doll would find it more entertaining than I did this time.

"Mr. Roger, I'm very upset to hear about the death of our beloved L. I will pray for him." I paused for a three second interval--an acknowledgement of the weight and power of this grave news. "However, I would like to return to my room now and will be going there at this moment. Good day, sir." I turned the knob over in my hand, careful to keep the length of my pajamas sleeve between me and the cool metal.

"Near, please wait…"

I turned my head minutely to look at Roger, "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Roger. There is one other thing I require." I pointed my sleeve at the plug-doll grinning madly on his table, "I've tired of those. Please bring me others. And a new assortment of puzzles. I shall be passing the old ones onto the other children now. I require more." I bowed my head a little, respectively. "Thank you." I shuffled forward, my feet warmed by the friction.

"Near…"

I closed the door solidly behind me and moved away from it. The dice tower could wait no longer. I now decided that there should be another section of the plaza where great figures of importance might be buried. Maybe I could lay out a plot for L. I could make the shape easily enough.

The stairs were a little bit of a challenge, crawling up them on my hands and feet—I grew so tired of walking places. I was very tired at the present, having gone all day in this strange mode of non-entertainment. Emotional Mello and Sorrowful Roger and I—all day afternoon in that office, it seemed. I wanted to go lie down…or better yet, work on a new puzzle…

Where was the interlocking nail puzzle Julia had? It would be exceedingly simple, but…at least…it would entertain me. I could probably do it in fifteen seconds if I looked at it for a little while. My first working of it would take approximately five seconds then and would, of course, succeed.

After that, I could probably do it in two or three seconds, if I was so motivated to do so.

But I probably wouldn't be, so I didn't ponder it any longer.

I made it to the top of the stairs and moved on, toward my room. The door was closed—as I left it—but I could sense that there was someone behind the door, hiding in my room. As if to confirm my suspicions, the tiny Lego I placed on the inner knob of my door before I closed it was just visible beneath the crack of the door.

No doubt it was deliberately left there.

That someone had gone into my room made me mildly angry and I rose a little, straightened; my hand rose to touch my shoulder through the fabric of my sleeve and then went higher, my fingers emerging to twirl a particular curl into a tightened ringlet.

I didn't like people in my room.

I opened the door with my other hand, the sleeve covering my palm; in I went, looking over the intruder with my eyes. I wondered why this person was not as easily affected by my gaze as Roger and the others. I categorized him as "annoying" and "persistent" and a whole host of other things.

But mostly "aggravating".

Matt was sitting on my carpet, playing with the neat pile of dice I'd left there on the corner of it, ruining and restacking the columns and rows I made until they were completely out of sequence. My Fibonacci sequence, ruined.

If I were any less used to this older boy's intrusions, I might have become very, very upset.

Closing the door behind me, I shuffled around him. "Please leave my room, thankyou." I moved toward my bed, "I wish to rest." The mattress dipped under my weight.

The older boy gave me a grin that I filed away as "patronizing" and then rose to his feet, two of my precious ivory dice pinched between his fingers. "I'll be taking these, Near—thanks." He moved toward the door, the handle turning in his hand, "I told Mello I'd be up for a game of Monopoly later, but it seems all the dice have gone missing from all the game boards in the house. I thought it'd be wise to follow the clues—aha, and look where they led me!" He rolled his head along his shoulders, as if to eye the entire room at once, "Lucky break, huh?"

I tried to roll my eyes—it was unworthy of me. "Of course—how very brilliant of you, Matt. You are very nearly a detective with those skills." I glanced away, "Now, please…leave."

Matt glared at me for a moment longer—I could feel it—and then my door slammed shut. Finally, I could return to bed. The blueprints for my dice tower and plaza were stowed in my mind and memory for later consideration.

I climbed in between the blankets, feeling the coolness of the sheets I abandoned only a few short hours ago—or was it more? I couldn't care. I reached out, scooping the hard plastic bundle that was my Transformer into my arms and turned on my side. My other hand rose up and I imagined, for just a moment, that it might have been L touching my hair, twirling it around his long white fingers.

An utterly foolish thought.

I let sleep claim me.