[L nods, fervently, as though Kyle is engaging sincerely and not just humoring what, in fairness, sounds like fevered and delusional gibberish.

L doesn't even have time to reach down and pat gently at one of the Lamp Friends' hats. He blinks up, bewildered and disoriented in spite of traveling often by lamp.

He's disoriented by a fair amount right now. He lets himself collapse onto the couch like a puppet with its strings cut.]

I like your house. Usually... I move every three days so no one finds me. There's no time to make those places nice.

[He does such a good job at not sounding like a paranoid head case.]

I take my tea with twelve sugars! And ample cream!

[He holds up an adamant, but still somehow very wavery, index finger. It flops right back down on his chest.]