[Though it seems normal, it's a bit strange to L, mostly because this isn't the type of setting he's accustomed to. It's nice, though; he sits down for a moment to partake in the spilled snack crackers, watching the television for all of about 30 seconds before growing bored with it. It's the scene where the dogs are all rolling in soot to disguise their white coats. Though he relates well to the concept of disguising oneself in any number of ways to pass as something one isn't, he finds himself disdainfully analyzing the film as it plays; he's always had problems with these types of stories, losing patience with them quickly. Labradors have heavier muzzles and thicker bodies than dalmatians, and so changing the color shouldn't be enough to create a convincing illusion. Even Cruella's bumbling henchmen have to notice that there certainly are a lot of those black puppies around. Even if they're not the expected color and pattern, the quantity should be a dead giveaway. It's a smuggling operation, plain and simple and so painfully obviously, and who would want to make coats out of dog fur anyway? He doesn't think that anyone's around, so he prepares to break his nervous silence with a frustrated scream, but his voice catches and withers in his throat when he hears a someone speaking.

While he's been indulging in dropped snacks and being driven quietly crazy by 101 Dalmatians, there has been a man standing just through a doorway over his shoulder at the foot of a stairway. He stiffens, setting the snacks aside as carefully as he can, creeping closer to find out who the strange man is talking to in such an angry tone. More than that, he's curious to know who he's talking about. Always cautious, L presses himself against the living room wall, peering through the doorway while exposing as little of himself as possible.]