Light is bouncing off the walls. Not literally, just in the metaphorical sense. He's been here almost three weeks; almost, and there's no sign of one of the doors becoming the front door of his house. His ipod's run out of power, and he can't walk away from the people he exploits. He's so far outside his comfort zone that he can no longer see it, and goes to pieces at the drop of a hat. Not to mention that two people have already tried to kill him. And that he keeps being threatened with overachieving mass-murdering versions of himself.

All in all, this is still not the worst October he's ever had.

He's at the table in the third floor kitchen, curled around the back of one of the chairs, and poking at a bowl of packet ramen. It doesn't look too bad, actually.

[[OOC: private to reprism.]]