There's a reason Viatorus likes this room. He's always grown up around old world grandeur so it makes him feel comfortable. As do books. Which is why he is steadily building a fortress of beautiful spines and piling notes. His papers sprawl across the table, notes and sketches as varied as the subject materials he's surrounded himself with: Portals, curses and ethics being the primary concerns.

The shuffling doesn't stir him from his work, but the question does. He turns around and, seeing a familiar face (and a distinct lack of weaponry), he smiles. "Miss Ronsam."

He takes time to finish his sentence before he sets his pen down and stands up, approaching her with a bit of fidgeting. "How are you?"