Huxley peered through the ancient, dust-laden boxes that had been stored there prior to his arrival. His mood was tainted with grumpiness directed at Dahlia, rendering him uninterested in engaging with her at that particular moment. He busied himself with the task of discovering something to effectively pass the time, oblivious to the fact that his actions were under your observant gaze.

A soft murmur escaped his lips, "It would certainly be more convenient if I were endowed with arms..."