Eating... Vaughtar sensed that he could be in danger of embarrassing himself when they would go eating. The problem was not that he couldn't eat, the problem he was afraid of was that, according to his experiences on Munimis, he had a tendency to eat more than the human beings around him approved of once he had warmed up. And it was consensus that his table manners were somewhere between strange and dreadful. His claws had not been designed to hold a fork, a spoon or a knife, but to impale things and slice them.

For now, trying to keep his worries below radar level, the gargoyle sat down again on the crate. Hopefully there was nothing valuable or otherwise important in there, because it was noticeably deformed by now.

[i]'There ?'[/i] Vata likely hadn't directly intended it, but this single and seemlingly unimportant word was raising Vaughtar's hopes instantaneously. If he was talking about a 'there' and if he was talking about complaining about the cold, it could only mean that he intended to return to this castle. This... submarine... yes, Winston had called in that way, was dry and fairly silent, but what he would need on the long term was true freedom. So far he had not seen a single room that would have been large enough for him to spread his wings and start flying - he just couldn't stay like that for the rest of his life. He just had to try and join this mission, but he wouldn't blurt it out.

"Erm... So you want to go back there with a team ?" he asked to everybody around.