"Dorian?" L asked uncertainly, glancing the young man up and down over. He was sleek and slim, but it suited him; L himself always looked slightly ravenous and unhealthy, with his protruding bones and sallow skin.
L's own British accent would go nicely, in a conversation with this individual. "More about myself?" he asked, knitting his eyebrows. "That's not too specific... but I'll try..." he paused guardedly, in case Dorian flew into spasmodics again at the mention of the word "bastard." He continued in trepidation when that wasn't the case. "I guess because... because I don't like bastards. And I don't like L. It's really tough to explain," he said lamely, unable to articulate something so vague. "I'm doing my best, Dorian," he said, drawing his knees closer towards his chest. "But this isn't any easier now than it was when people started asking me things like that. So... so you're the Dorian you would have been, if...?"