[L senses everything from the SQUIP's efforts to heal itself to its eventual rise and approach. His pulse quickens, but rather than shrinking in fear, there's almost a sense of despondent resignation to any possible retaliation from the supercomputer. He knows, based on the increasingly clearer play-by-play, that neither of them were kind, or gentle, or rational, but the lion's share of the culpability rests with him. It would have to. When things go too far, and L is involved, the result is often incomprehensibly fucked-up.
Does he regret it? Is he sorry? It's difficult to tell when his core is dense, numb, colder than the water pouring out of the tap. He owes it to the SQUIP to at least look at it; after all, it's damage he caused. The computer's typically impeccable appearance is disturbed and disheveled because of him.
He pauses in the rhythmic and oddly soothing striking of his skull against tile, swiveling his dark gaze toward the SQUIP, his bruised cheek standing out vividly against his pale skin.]
no subject
Does he regret it? Is he sorry? It's difficult to tell when his core is dense, numb, colder than the water pouring out of the tap. He owes it to the SQUIP to at least look at it; after all, it's damage he caused. The computer's typically impeccable appearance is disturbed and disheveled because of him.
He pauses in the rhythmic and oddly soothing striking of his skull against tile, swiveling his dark gaze toward the SQUIP, his bruised cheek standing out vividly against his pale skin.]