[The difference in atmosphere is enough to wake Valjean instantly.
It's been a long time since he truly expected to be woken by the police entering his home, but this is not something he's ever remotely expected. It's not a cell jail - and really, had he been arrested again, they would not have been so gentle as to leave him sleeping. And what are these glowing bulbs around the mirror? There doesn't seem to be any immediate danger in here, so he picks up the little booklet to leaf through it. Best to learn whatever he can.
"Jean Valjean"
Valjean darts a sudden look up at the door, as if expecting the police to barge in right that second. Nothing. Who on earth could have known this? And to call him Breadwinner, even - that's a morbid sort of humor. There's few people he'd expect to recognize him at this point...though it seems that one of them is in fact present.
Except - no. He squints at the picture, then moves to hold it up to the light from the bulbs. The name is clear enough: Inspector Javert. No Christian name provided, though he never knew that to begin with. The description isn't inaccurate, if one ignores all the strange talk of actors. But the picture? That isn't Javert. It may have been a decade, but he still knows the man's face, and that isn't it. Whoever printed this knew plenty about the both of them; why did they make such an obvious error?
Not that it truly matters. This is bad. This is disastrous. But remaining in this room will not improve his chances of escape. Valjean tucks the key and pamphlet away, straightens his shoulders, and exits.
He carries himself warily, but not aggressively, as he explores the building wing-to-wing, testing every possible escape route. He's been known, in his time, for his ability to find them, but no possibilities are presenting themselves here. A lot of these things are unfamiliar to him - he definitely spends some time in the kitchen, picking up a few appliances for inspection and opening and closing the fridge curiously. The amount and quality of the food here is somewhat staggering, but even royalty would not have such machines. They don't exist. What is this?
Compared to the rest of the building, the lobby is intimidatingly open. It may have been years, but this situation is bringing out a thousand old instincts that never really died, and he keeps to the walls as he moves about. Eventually, he pauses in front of the rules, reading them over.]
A for Kitchen/Somewhere Else, B for Lobby!
It's been a long time since he truly expected to be woken by the police entering his home, but this is not something he's ever remotely expected. It's not a cell jail - and really, had he been arrested again, they would not have been so gentle as to leave him sleeping. And what are these glowing bulbs around the mirror? There doesn't seem to be any immediate danger in here, so he picks up the little booklet to leaf through it. Best to learn whatever he can.
"Jean Valjean"
Valjean darts a sudden look up at the door, as if expecting the police to barge in right that second. Nothing. Who on earth could have known this? And to call him Breadwinner, even - that's a morbid sort of humor. There's few people he'd expect to recognize him at this point...though it seems that one of them is in fact present.
Except - no. He squints at the picture, then moves to hold it up to the light from the bulbs. The name is clear enough: Inspector Javert. No Christian name provided, though he never knew that to begin with. The description isn't inaccurate, if one ignores all the strange talk of actors. But the picture? That isn't Javert. It may have been a decade, but he still knows the man's face, and that isn't it. Whoever printed this knew plenty about the both of them; why did they make such an obvious error?
Not that it truly matters. This is bad. This is disastrous. But remaining in this room will not improve his chances of escape. Valjean tucks the key and pamphlet away, straightens his shoulders, and exits.
He carries himself warily, but not aggressively, as he explores the building wing-to-wing, testing every possible escape route. He's been known, in his time, for his ability to find them, but no possibilities are presenting themselves here. A lot of these things are unfamiliar to him - he definitely spends some time in the kitchen, picking up a few appliances for inspection and opening and closing the fridge curiously. The amount and quality of the food here is somewhat staggering, but even royalty would not have such machines. They don't exist. What is this?
Compared to the rest of the building, the lobby is intimidatingly open. It may have been years, but this situation is bringing out a thousand old instincts that never really died, and he keeps to the walls as he moves about. Eventually, he pauses in front of the rules, reading them over.]
This is madness...