[if only ambrose knew about hannibal's culinary hannibalisms. as it is, instead, he follows judar through and looks around with curious eyes. lets out a low whistle as he comes through, turning his head to study the newly installed devices.]

My auntie Hilda would love it in here. She'd make up pancakes for breakfast. Mince pies for the season.

[he moves slowly through the room, the basket creaking on his wrist. touches the fridge handle very lightly, tilts his head to peer down into the dutch ovens. finds the spice racks, and fights down the urge to pick them up, open them, sniff. too much. mortals are only mortals, but they don't like strangers to touch their things.]

What would we be eating, if I said I were hungry? [there's a lopsided grin as ambrose looks back at judar curiously. candy bars and wine? something ready-made. worse fates, surely.]