With a more observant glance about the space around the couch one could easily tell the polar bear likely slept on the couch.The bear's small fridge contained only two things. A large hunk of meat, roast of some sort, that had been seasoned with a rub and dry aged, it was clear he had been just cutting chunks off the raw meat. As well there was a shelf dedicated to cans of beer that were easily recognizable. It was a cheap brand available just about everywhere, it has a very high alcohol volume for the price and can easily be considered a mead instead of a beer. Hanging from the side of the fridge is a large cleaver, the only noticeable utensil in the tiny kitchen.<br/><br/>Pookie took a remarkably short time to clean himself, a loud blowing can from the tiny bathroom, sounded kind of like a leaf-blower. He was soon coming from the side room, clean and particularly fluffy. He looked Damion over with a soft smile before he went to his fridge.<br/>"What should I call you?" the bear asked, it seemed almost suggestive the way he asked as he set the meat, which was on a cutting board, on the counter, one of the beers in hand. In a swift series of motions he had retrieved the cleaver and chopped a hefty chunk of meat from the roast as he opened the can with his free hand. He took a deep drink as he put the meat away, stepping away from the fridge with the chunk of meat in hand. The bear was nonchalantly as he took a bite of the raw meat before another drink of his beer.