L does a quick once-over, making sure that everything is locked up and left the way they found it, and then follows after Cesar, taking the stairs at a somewhat more relaxed pace. Since his experience with the Mafia, he simply doesn't feel nervousness or fear the same way anymore; the physical aspects, sweating and rapid heart rate and a stomach turning somersaults, just don't affect him. Whether this makes him seem brave or just incredibly foolish is up for debate.

Once they're upstairs and exploring the rest of the house, though, he's noticeably uncomfortable. It takes a lot of willpower to resist cleaning some of those filthy dishes, or straightening the books and magazines that are littered all over a living room that is dirty as well as messy.

When he speaks, it's sudden in his typical tone of voice, and it might startle the hell out of someone who is on-edge.

"It's bothering me. Why would he keep his porn in the basement, and presumably make use of it there? It seems so uncomfortable, and like so much trouble to go through for gratification. I assume he has a bed, he at least has a couch, and he lives alone, so why go that extra measure for secrecy? He must have some really... really deep-seated issues with shame, or something. Which he should, but not for those reasons, I just... want to dump bleach on the floor and scrub. I can't believe a man lives like this."

He shines his flashlight on the cluttered coffee table, settling the beam on an ashtray.

"He smokes upstairs, too. It probably stinks of weed in here."

He pauses.

"Does it? You'll have to confirm that for me, my sense of smell is almost nonexistent."