[It's not the first time L's led someone through the paces of something akin to friendship, or at least a mockery of it just sad enough to seem earnest. Yesterday, he might have assumed those same paces might be painful, but it's a driving sort of flare, burning him from the inside, lighting up his dark eyes and giving them that bite.]
Quite a talent.
[One he shares. He doesn't say so; he shouldn't need to, for it to be true. Mentally, he divides the room into a grid, trying to make sense of the black-eyed man's features, in fearsome, foreboding motion even when he's standing still.]
You jumped the gun. My way was working.
[And then you stopped me, because I struck a nerve.]
You owe me another door, for the one you took away. Produce it.
[Worth the lip, probably, to see if he can. A paleblood can mold and influence a dream, reading secret meaning into its turns and bends; who is more powerful, here?]
no subject
Quite a talent.
[One he shares. He doesn't say so; he shouldn't need to, for it to be true. Mentally, he divides the room into a grid, trying to make sense of the black-eyed man's features, in fearsome, foreboding motion even when he's standing still.]
You jumped the gun. My way was working.
[And then you stopped me, because I struck a nerve.]
You owe me another door, for the one you took away. Produce it.
[Worth the lip, probably, to see if he can. A paleblood can mold and influence a dream, reading secret meaning into its turns and bends; who is more powerful, here?]