Harol sunk his spoon into the soup, raised it in front of his mouth, blew some air onto it, and then took a taste. Apparently the cheesy smell had not betrayed him, and he could recall the rich taste and the interestingly solid composition of the soup, while still not quite being pudding. This was indeed cheese soup, the recipe of which house Clasz's cooks treasured. Harol had not had the oppourtunity to ask what made them like the recipe all that much, for it was in the end a rather basic kind of food. Well, they had got this great aftertaste into it, so that was something, if he had to guess.

Mortimer ate slowly, and if one followed his movements, it was evident he was not all that accustomed to his blindness. However, he did not make any sort of a mess. A few spoonfuls later he attempted to start a conversation: "So... Harol, you have been through a lot as of late, both physically and mentally. As much as I would love to make sure that you get through all this, you most likely are more than capable of handling yourself for the rest of the day. Would make no sense trying to pushing you into thinking even more about it. However...", lord Mortimer said, downing another spoonful of soup after reachkng his little cliffhanger. Harol could see where this was going. Mortimer wanted to ask Freya something, there was no doubt about it. He also made note on how Cyrus stayed completely silent, slowly devouring his food without a word, as if in a grudging acceptance to something he disliked.

"We have not spoken yet... Freya, was it? Quite the beautiful name you have. I wish to know our guests better, so even though you seem to be the quiet type, it would be rather awkward to have someone stay with us for a longer period of time without knowing anything more than their name", Mortimer spoke and gulped down another spoonful of his soup. "For example, where do you come from? If I understood my visions, you have not had a definitive home for some time now, but I didn't see more than that about more personal things. You must have grown up somewhere, or were you a traveling soul from young age?" As Mortimer finished his sentence, Harol had emptied his bowl. A glance in Cyrus' direction showed he had had an empty one before him for a longer while, and he was waiting for the main course, no doubt just wanting to be off.