( another wry twist of his lips at the flattery, though it feels more endearing than annoying this time around. a small island of familiarity amidst the ocean of strangeness. )

You have my thanks, Wriothesley. I will try not to take too long.

( lest both the food and tea become cold.

and true to his word, he keeps his ministrations short, though he cannot help but set aside a few minutes for a shower, the cool water spraying across his skin the closest he's felt to normalcy ever since arriving. then it's a simple matter of running a brush through his hair and tying it up in a high ponytail at the crown of his head, and sourcing a change of clothes. it feels...overly intimate to barge his way through wriothesley's private quarters, though the lack of interior decoration and personalization makes it feel less of an intrusion. none of the clothes hanging in the closet are his usual fare - to be expected - and he settles for a simple sweater, v-necked and slightly baggy on his more slender frame, and a pair of black slacks.

re-dressed, but still barefoot, he pads his way back to the kitchen, though he pauses in the doorframe at the sound of music drifting idly through the air. )

I see you've managed to obtain several of your old comforts here as well.