[L's own accent is difficult to discern, especially in these moments. Even the SQUIP, who has more access and ability to be close to the core of L's mind, wouldn't be able to determine what his native language even is. He's a talented polyglot, and has been from a young age; it's a distinct possibility that he doesn't remember, himself.

It might be British.]

Night off, so technically, I am wasting my time.

[He lifts a leg, defiantly showing the SQUIP the bony, bare sole of his foot.]

I'm also liberating myself from these torture devices. They're dead now, I killed them, and it wasn't like an ice pick in my brain.

[He closes the scissors, pulling the joined point of the blades concerningly close to his eyes to peer closer at them.]