The response is something he used to hear back in his schooldays; even back in Japan, his name had stood out. For a moment, the attention he's focused on the doorway becomes a little distant, before he replies, dryly, and just as much to himself. "It happens to be mine."
It's then that it finally comes into focus, the nagging feeling of déjà vu he's had throughout all of this. The imperious way not-quite-L is ordering him around at gunpoint - it reminds him of the Russian officers who'd been detailed to the camp from the invaluable natural resources in East Kamchatka. The way they'd offended what was left of his pride more than he could stand, until he'd learned to forget he ever had any. You, clean this guy up before we have to hit him again.
On top of the morning he's had, with the whispering, curious voice in his ear, and younger-Light passing through to rub salt in the wound - well, it's not helping, put it that way. Besides anything, L has him hemmed cleanly into the kitchen; he can't leave until this is resolved.
So, adopting a flat, utterly inoffensive demeanour, he steps slowly out into the corridor, both hands at his sides in plain view. There's something about him that suggests "street person" - he's dishevelled, worn down and too thin. Then there's the sword, of course - which he's clearly in no position to use.
For his own part, even with the gun pointing at him, Light assesses L with his usual unblinking calm. "Are you going to shoot me, or can we converse like grown men here?"
no subject
It's then that it finally comes into focus, the nagging feeling of déjà vu he's had throughout all of this. The imperious way not-quite-L is ordering him around at gunpoint - it reminds him of the Russian officers who'd been detailed to the camp from the invaluable natural resources in East Kamchatka. The way they'd offended what was left of his pride more than he could stand, until he'd learned to forget he ever had any. You, clean this guy up before we have to hit him again.
On top of the morning he's had, with the whispering, curious voice in his ear, and younger-Light passing through to rub salt in the wound - well, it's not helping, put it that way. Besides anything, L has him hemmed cleanly into the kitchen; he can't leave until this is resolved.
So, adopting a flat, utterly inoffensive demeanour, he steps slowly out into the corridor, both hands at his sides in plain view. There's something about him that suggests "street person" - he's dishevelled, worn down and too thin. Then there's the sword, of course - which he's clearly in no position to use.
For his own part, even with the gun pointing at him, Light assesses L with his usual unblinking calm. "Are you going to shoot me, or can we converse like grown men here?"