@notaheretic
The room in which Aymeric had awoken was dimly lit and decorated in a sort of severe, oppressive Gridanian style— the sort of thing he usually likes, under less peculiar circumstances. It had taken him the better part of an hour to explore the floor; though it wasn’t particularly large, the hallways twisted and turned in strange, labyrinthine ways. (This, too, Aymeric secretly finds comforting and homey.) He ignores the bedrooms— not his business, and they’re locked, besides— but discovers a well-stocked kitchen and dining area, a common area, a somewhat dusty library, and a room full of instruments that he’s afraid to touch.
After making what he thought was an accurate mental map of the floor, he’d returned to the room he’d started in. Not much to take stock of, there; a few of his belongings (notably, his sword is missing), a bed, a desk, a dresser full of clothes that seem to fit in a subdued yet sharp style, and assorted toiletries in the bathroom. The raiment of the Lord Commander seems inappropriate for the setting, so he changes into a deep blue turtleneck and some grey woolen slacks that he’d found in the dresser. That done, Aymeric decides to sit down and figure out the sleek tomestone device on the bedside table, which, aside from himself, is the thing that looks the most out of place in the dark mansion. The device’s welcome message identifies itself as a ‘holophone.’
This venture proves to be the more frustrating and time-consuming of the two. It isn’t that the device is difficult to use, really, but its functions are seemingly innumerable, and the idea of trying to write with the letters on the screen is daunting, to put it simply. He’s starting to think about taking a break (a first for him, but the brightness of the screen in this dark room is giving him a headache) when he smells the unmistakable aroma of brewing coffee. The kitchen had been empty when he’d explored it cursorily a little while ago.
That piques his interest. If there are other people here, he’d like to meet them. He leaves the bedroom— his bedroom, he supposes— and follows the scent down the hall and back to the kitchen. The door is slightly ajar, and he thinks he can hear someone bustling about inside. He knocks gently before entering, so as not to startle them.
“Pardon the interruption,” he says, pushing the door open only far enough to lean inside. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here until I smelled what you were making in here.”
