When compared to Carlisle, Rose is definitely low-key; he gives her an apologetic look as he pushes the door to his cottage open, stepping aside to allow her access. "Yes, despite the circumstances indeed."

Though small, the shed-turned-house is fairly cozy: there's one wall dedicated to gardening implements, complete with shelves and a worktable, while the rest of the interior is clearly a living space of sorts. There's a small sitting table, a bed, a couple of chairs, even a trunk in which he can keep a few things. Though he has another sweater in there, he'll be damned if he's undressing in front of a near stranger, ink all over him or not.

What he retrieves instead is a dark towel and a pail, setting them beside one of the chairs. He hesitates to take a seat, motioning for Rosie to take one first. He might be panic-stricken, peevish, and often sickly, but he remembers his manners for the moment, taking the time to conjure a palm-sized orb of water, dropping it into the bucket as he starts on another. Looks like irrigation really isn't much of a problem for him.

"Was it your home that didn't have nature? Or were you elsewhere before being brought to this place?"