Though largely collected, Manson couldn't help but to raise an eyebrow at his new ward's flirtatious, (and misleading) comment - a thin, though genuinely amused laugh escaped him as she expanded to admit she only needed to pack; she was witty. He liked that, though it worried him, too. Wit and cunning would make her all the more difficult to keep track of. And she was experienced in these skills, he could tell simply from the offbeat manner she jested so suggestively. Perhaps the key to this would not be to chase her every time she ran - perhaps a better plan was to stop her from wanting to run all together.<br/><br/>Manson returned Keena's curious gaze with little more than a polite glance. "I don't need to pack. I'm always prepared." he explained, smiling coyly to himself as they made their way to her bedroom.<br/><br/>"Hah. No more suits after today. Not for a while." He responded, once more sending her a calm, but inquisitive look as she flirted playfully with him. No wonder her father was having so much trouble with her. She was a bright spark. Manson hesitated deliberately in the doorway, regarding the corridor in a careful and calm manner, because entering the room. Rather casually, he explored the room, running his fingers over the top of the vanity to check for dust, pushing on the mattress to hear how loud its squeaking was, examining the angle of the T.V. - all the minor things with which he felt he ought to be acquainted. It was the little things that would give away trouble. A fingerprint in the dust, a change in the mattress's squeaking, movement on the T.V.'s position. Once satisfied that he was comfortable with her bedroom's layout, he did the same with the en suite, tactfully but shamelessly analysing every nook and cranny.<br/><br/>Eventually, he waltzed back into the bedroom itself, hands in the pockets of his suit, for once last glance as Keena packed. Curiously, he returned to the one item he had not paid much attention to initially - the small red stuffed fox that lay nestled in the bed. It struck Manson as perhaps the odd thing out in the room, and against his better instincts, elected to enquire about it. "I like the fox." he commented, cheerfully, but careful not be mocking. "Does it have a name?"