'Restless' couldn't even begin to describe the night's sleep enjoyed by Souta.  While the Watchers dutifully provided some furnishings to spare the denizens of the Citadel the stone floor, they amounted to little more than a sleeping bag made of some sort of spongy material that, while not unpleasant, was a far cry from cotton, feathers, or much of anything familiar to Souta.  He ended up sleeping on top of it, discovering instantly the intolerable warmth of the interior even with his jacket and shirt removed.  Furthermore, sleeping in a new place always made Souta uncomfortable for a few nights, and these inhuman surroundings expounded upon his unhappiness.  When he awoke to the sound of a Watcher's nagging, he found no way of figuring out how much time had passed, and he realized how badly he'd taken coffee and a morning shower for granted.  Groaning, he summoned water from his hoodie to clear his head -literally and figuratively- before getting up.  The mess hall, devoid of attendants, contained hard bread and meal with water.  Why had he not thought of this before signing up?

Changing circumstance soon brought his mind off the tragedy that was his awakening.  Donning his hoodie, he prepared along with others to enter a portal of the World Tree, though to be frank the briefing of Panoptos went in one ear and out the other.  He did catch the word 'library', however, and in short order found himself in one—one about a billion times nicer than the sad, neglected excuse of a bookroom to be found in the Charred Citadel.  He walked at the back of the small group, allowing the old one to lead the way with his little candlelight.  Blinking at the sunlight, he knelt down to grab a book and open it, curious.  Its text appeared indecipherable, though this didn't surprise him; be it an eldritch language or calculus, Souta did not have a gift for strange symbols.  [color=teal]”Ey,”[/color] he said out loud, calling for attention.  [color=teal]”If this place is abandoned, we oughta think about grabbin' some stuff for the Citadel library.  All this stuff won't do anyone any good here.”[/color]  To prove his point, he stuffed the tome into a side pocket, where it bulged conspicuously.  

The sudden attention of Mary surprised him and left him unsure how to react.  He seldom felt interest in or interacted with tall women, being of only average height himself, and even at his best he never quite approached the suave charmer seen in all the movies.  Having not paid too much attention at the meeting the day prior, he did not instantly remember her name, though she seemed to recall his.  [color=teal]”Uh...yeah.  That's me.”[/color]  Scratching at his stubble, newly arisen for want of a razor, he said, [color=teal]”Nah, I'm not with Gilgamesh.  I'm a designer for Regalia, one of Gilg's partners.  Like...a corporate blacksmith.”[/color]  He smiled slightly, pleased that he could form words despite still being a little muggy.  [color=teal]”Sune's the Gig representative.  Who are you?”[/color]  He abruptly cleared his throat, as if his blunt question had been its fault.  It also bought him time to try and remember her name.  [color=teal]”I mean, you're with the Demon Hunters, right, Muh, uh, Molly?  So, a real fighter.”[/color]  She certainly looked like a warrior, in a roundabout sort of way; he imagined that deadliness lurked beneath her elegance.  Tales of prominent Demon Hunters often made him aware of his own combat ability.

At that moment, he also remembered that the Charred Council had sent him here to find something, not dally around and talk.  He cast a glance at the rune-wreathed door, concluded that it must be important, and began toward it at a pace that indicated Mary should come along.