An advantage of echoing back a prodigy is that things like mentally rotating a signer's words are blissfully easy. Despite the alcohol and the rosy tint to his ashen cheeks, L's still sharp and tremendously lucid, and he snorts at Cesar's arguments.
"Obvious? I don't know about that. With a jaw that powerful, do you really need big arms? Call me overly dazzled by pop culture, but I just can't see a beast like that leaning over and picking over carrion with crows."
It's gleeful hyperbole, creating an image that lights up his dark eyes in amusement as Cesar pushes open the door, leading the way into an apartment he never would have thought he'd be permitted to see the inside of, a few months ago. He glances at their surroundings; he's never lived in an apartment this nice, or, admittedly, this messy. It's not that everything isn't being used, it's not clutter indicative of hoarding or general sloppiness, so much... but
...obsession?
L wasn't lying when he mentioned that his sense of smell was practically nonexistent. Years of cocaine abuse had taken care of that for him, and when he thinks he does smell something, it's usually an indication that his meds are off. The air feels stagnant and heavy, but he doesn't notice any staleness or dust, let alone comment on it.
He leaves his jacket draped across the back of a chair, seeming slightly wary about instructions as permissive as "make yourself at home." He thinks about asking whether or not Cesar is in the middle of something big, a project for work, and remembers something about it being mentioned... and then protected pretty secretively. Probably best not to broach it immediately.
"Yeah, I... thank you. Gin and tonic, if you can, and if you can't... rum and coke?"
Both simple drinks, with two ingredients each; anyone with even the most basic of bars would probably have the supplies to make one. Lazarus should be asking for water, or at the very least something non-alcoholic, but a healthy and moderate approach to potentially addictive and damaging behaviors was not what landed him in rehab.
"If neither of those are possible, I'll have what you're having."
no subject
"Obvious? I don't know about that. With a jaw that powerful, do you really need big arms? Call me overly dazzled by pop culture, but I just can't see a beast like that leaning over and picking over carrion with crows."
It's gleeful hyperbole, creating an image that lights up his dark eyes in amusement as Cesar pushes open the door, leading the way into an apartment he never would have thought he'd be permitted to see the inside of, a few months ago. He glances at their surroundings; he's never lived in an apartment this nice, or, admittedly, this messy. It's not that everything isn't being used, it's not clutter indicative of hoarding or general sloppiness, so much... but
...obsession?
L wasn't lying when he mentioned that his sense of smell was practically nonexistent. Years of cocaine abuse had taken care of that for him, and when he thinks he does smell something, it's usually an indication that his meds are off. The air feels stagnant and heavy, but he doesn't notice any staleness or dust, let alone comment on it.
He leaves his jacket draped across the back of a chair, seeming slightly wary about instructions as permissive as "make yourself at home." He thinks about asking whether or not Cesar is in the middle of something big, a project for work, and remembers something about it being mentioned... and then protected pretty secretively. Probably best not to broach it immediately.
"Yeah, I... thank you. Gin and tonic, if you can, and if you can't... rum and coke?"
Both simple drinks, with two ingredients each; anyone with even the most basic of bars would probably have the supplies to make one. Lazarus should be asking for water, or at the very least something non-alcoholic, but a healthy and moderate approach to potentially addictive and damaging behaviors was not what landed him in rehab.
"If neither of those are possible, I'll have what you're having."