"He loves it, though he never cooked at home. I don't blame him, though; if I cooked for eight hours straight, I wouldn't want to come home, just to cook another meal." He says with a light laugh.<br/><br/>"I always smell it, too. It really is important, though; your senses of taste and scent are linked. That's why people who have anosmia--no sense of smell-- also have no real sense of taste, either."<br/><br/>He watched the older woman just stroll right on into his room and settle down on the bed. He just gives a shrug of his shoulders when she apologizes. "No worries." He didn't have a problem with it. He was half-tempted to try and come up with some sort of raunchy play on words, but couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound stupid.<br/><br/>He just sets his bags down  on the ground by the bed, and takes the key. He spends all of thirty seconds trying to get it onto a ring of keys he already has; why the hell were key rings also such a bitch to get the keys on to or off of? "I'll sort my things after dinner, and get properly settled." He would wait for them to both leave the room, then step out into the hall, shut and lock the door, and follow after Claudia to the dining hall.