After unpacking himself, Frank sat himself down on the couch in the living room, watching as Selma finished with hers. He wanted to help but in helping, he knew he'd probably have to ask where she wanted what (/He/ was more or less the guest after all) and wasn't in the mood for talking.<br/><br/>When she asked about the food, he jumped slightly as if not expecting her to be there, and feigned a smile. "Yeah, I'd be down for that. What did we bring again? The quarter pounder hot dogs right?" While some people in mourning could find themselves eating very little, Frank was one of those who had found himself eating a lot more. In the past few weeks he had to adjust his belt loops to fit his now slightly larger gut.<br/><br/>Although he had just arrived, something about the walls which they'd surrounded themselves in, felt too relaxing. The way the place smelled of rotting wood and dirt, something Frank would have expected to be stressful, yet he felt right at home.<br/><br/>"Well," he began responding to her second comment, "So much for distracting ourselves from our own thoughts," he chuckled dryly and without meaning, leaning back into the couch again.