The cabin they're in right now, at least, was never inhabited as far as he's aware. It was meant to be, just on the cusp of it, in fact. Fully stocked and furnished, ready to be lived in by people with loads of money to spend time relaxing by a lakeside resort. What happened in Milton kept anyone from getting out this way, though. Small blessing. He only wishes such mercies had extended to the people living over that way.
At least here, it means there's plenty of supplies for the time being. There's always tomorrow and the days and weeks and months ahead to think about, of course. Resources aren't infinite, but he believes in their collective ingenuity to adapt.
"We do," he's quick to answer, rummaging through the closet, shifting items around to grab what he needs in an armful of bandages and other medicinal supplies, which he rests on the small table for now because the tea ought to be ready. He's a man that's at ease moving around quickly from place to place, an abundance of energy in his limbs even when exhaustion may eventually tug at him. He's always more intentionally focused too, of course, when he has somewhere specific to direct his energy, which in this moment happens to be Arthur Lester.
"— or, we think. Some of us, anyway. The Darkwalker, I believe. You might have heard it when you arrived here, do you recall? A voice speaking to you — you are not part of nature's design," he calls from the kitchen, pouring the tea and bringing the mug over to him now. At last, he'll sit across from Arthur, giving them both a moment to catch up. For the Doctor, at least, he's quietly thrilled by anyone already asking the sorts of questions Arthur is asking. Someone he can bounce theories off of, perhaps? Meanwhile, he grabs the gauze, really having a good look at Arthur, wanting to more thoroughly check for injuries he might have obtained either before or during that little fall.
no subject
At least here, it means there's plenty of supplies for the time being. There's always tomorrow and the days and weeks and months ahead to think about, of course. Resources aren't infinite, but he believes in their collective ingenuity to adapt.
"We do," he's quick to answer, rummaging through the closet, shifting items around to grab what he needs in an armful of bandages and other medicinal supplies, which he rests on the small table for now because the tea ought to be ready. He's a man that's at ease moving around quickly from place to place, an abundance of energy in his limbs even when exhaustion may eventually tug at him. He's always more intentionally focused too, of course, when he has somewhere specific to direct his energy, which in this moment happens to be Arthur Lester.
"— or, we think. Some of us, anyway. The Darkwalker, I believe. You might have heard it when you arrived here, do you recall? A voice speaking to you — you are not part of nature's design," he calls from the kitchen, pouring the tea and bringing the mug over to him now. At last, he'll sit across from Arthur, giving them both a moment to catch up. For the Doctor, at least, he's quietly thrilled by anyone already asking the sorts of questions Arthur is asking. Someone he can bounce theories off of, perhaps? Meanwhile, he grabs the gauze, really having a good look at Arthur, wanting to more thoroughly check for injuries he might have obtained either before or during that little fall.