Yes, I should be writing TBOYH. I'm finding it quite difficult at the moment. But fear not – a new chapter should be up soon.
This is…something different. It is a well known fact that L is at least part British and was brought up in England, and as an Englishwoman myself, I've always wanted to write something with L being quintessentially British. As he speaks about 300 languages, I thought that he would know all the English dialects fluently. Hence, this.
There's a poll on my profile over whether I should translate this. Personally, I think it might lose the effect, but if you so wish then I shall add another chapter with a translation. I will also translate in PMs if you ask.
This is dedicated to my good friend LaSuen. I hope this will add to your expanding English vocabulary. You can even impress your teacher with some of these phrases.
It was quite clear that being the World's Greatest Detective was a reputation that one had to earn, and L was not the type to let a simple thing like being chained to a murder suspect prevent him from maintaining this reputation. However, when discussing cases with Watari, he would speak in a veritable plethora of languages that Light could not understand, just to make sure that he would never hear anything that he might be able to use if he were Kira. Over the past few weeks, Light had heard the detective speak Portuguese, Russian, Turkish, and a multitude of other languages that he couldn't even identify, including one that seemed to be primarily composed of whistles and clicks.
This was different. It was English, that much was clear, but it wasn't anything like the English that Light knew. In fact, Light had a sneaking suspicion that L was deliberately talking like this to make him feel stupid.
"Eyup, dook," was the greeting L gave Watari as the elder man entered with a file. At this point, Light had assumed L was just speaking some obscure language again. "What's occurring?" No, that was definitely English, albeit a dialect Light had yet to come across.
"Got grass on yer bloke," Watari responded.
Grass? Wasn't that slang for cannabis?
"Giz a butcher's." OK, now he was just making things up. 'Giz' was not a real word, surely?
L took the file and began to flip through it. "Int this that geezer what skanked the lolly?"
Skank? Lolly? What?! An unhygienic person and some candy? Just what kind of a case was this?
"The fuzz?" L asked.
AH! Now that Light knew meant 'police'. He felt rather pleased with himself for figuring out some of L's bizarre code, a feeling that evaporated with Watari's next sentence.
"Nicked him, but he scarpered. Toe rag were int' bog and did an oak table."
Light decided that it was probably better for his sanity if he didn't even try to decipher that.
"They caught a gander of the wide boy pinchin' fags from an offie." Watari continued.
"Bit pikey, innit?" L remarked.
"He were somewhat trousered at t'time."
"Ah, of course."
From what Light had gleaned so far, there was some kind of fish, and maybe pants, and … gay people? What all this had to do with oak tables, he had no idea. He felt a little bit like his brain was turning sideways and trying to escape through his ears. A small whimpering noise escaped his lips as he desperately tried to keep afloat in the sea of bizarreness around him.
"Well, love a duck!" exclaimed the detective. "Larry there ent the foggiest what we're blabbering about."
"He must reckon we're doolally, eh, mush?"
Light might not know all the words, but he could work out the context and was fairly certain that the pair had switched from talking about the case to talking about him. He narrowed his eyes at them as they continued to spout nonsense.
"Oi, poofter!" L said, now quite clearly addressing Light. From the strangled choke Watari gave, Light guessed that 'poofter' was a less-than-savoury word. "Soz 'bout the palaver. This blarney must be right bamboozling."
Light opened and closed his mouth, swallowed a few times. He had to say something, anything, to restore his rapidly dwindling pride. Racking his vast intellect, he desperately tried to think of a response to give the smug detective.
Light grinned. He had remembered something, a comedy clip he had been sent by an Anglophile friend. At the time, he had dismissed it as drivel, but now it was a shining diamond to rescue him from this humiliation.
He turned to L, one eyebrow raised. Folding his arms in an expression of defiance, he uttered five golden words that made the detective's jaw drop.
"Does my face look bovvered?"