It would be a fair amount of fingerspelling. L bites his lip, thinks of the self-inflicted cuts in his arms and how, prior to his surgery and Octavia's healing, the resulting tendon damage would have prevented him from communicating this way. His hands were weak and clumsy and largely atrophied, and only his index fingers and thumbs bent the way they were supposed to. Now, the surface scars remain, but the deepest damage has been repaired, and his hands are capable of forming those dexterous shapes. If nothing else, he can offer that much to Cesar, the promise of teaching him how to communicate more effectively with the loss of his voice. It would be more involved than teaching Anthony Braille, but if L had learned anything over the years, even if people didn't like him, they could usually use at least one thing he had or knew.

Nostalgia's dangerous to inquire about, though. L is catching on, understanding that the danger of getting too close means dredging up Moises, especially where the past is a factor. Very likely, the brothers watched these movies together, and it could be dangerous to inquire further about them. But that's unfair, people don't scatter breadcrumbs without expecting the crows to go for at least a few of them.

"What is wrong with the second one? The obsessive-compulsive completionist in me wonders," he says, and that is an interesting mess of signs to get across. "And how far into the future, and what is it like? Ridiculous?"