[ He steps out as invited, a hand chasing absently after where Travis' had snaked beneath his shirt, smoothing fabric, still feeling touch like it had come with electrical charge. But composure, with a slight hair toss en route into corridor, is gathered for the walk to room 100.

It's very quiet. Unpopulated. No ambiance of opening doors, conversations behind the walls. His posture is very prim, by course of habit. ]

Now, [ Charles says, turning to walk backwards a few paces so as to address Travis directly ] you'll have to forgive me, but there's a labrador I'll have to relocate from my room before we go much further.

[ He turns back to see where he's going, passing door after door. ]

Otherwise he'll expect all attention is for him.