There were a few things he was expecting as a reaction when he approached the stranger in his chair, but none of them included having to wait for her as she read his journal. The audacity of her to raise a finger, as a stranger in a home that wasn't hers, was highly amusing to him, all things considered. Whoever this stranger was, he had to admit they were ballsy, but perhaps because they had no idea what he was. From her perspective, he could almost imagine she was asking some simple old man to wait while she finished what she was reading.<br/><br/>Then there was the fact that she was<i>in his home</i>. Outside of visiting scholars and scientists, which was no longer as often due to the advent of video conversations, no one really ever came to his home. From what he knew there was a supposed rumour that his house was haunted, or some other strange reason for people to avoid his manor. And yet there this stranger was, despite all of that, sitting in his chair reading his journal.<br/><br/>Then she spoke and he couldn't help but scoff. "A cult? Really?" He asked, "as oblivious as you humans may be, you have a sense for danger. If such a cult truly existed they would've been discovered and this manor burned to the ground." He held out his hand. "Now, hand me my journal and I'll see you out."